Overwarm || Ashton & Sal

storybooksouls :

"Listens well? Are you sure we're talking about the same little girl? Mine never listens." Sal teases bouncing Brielle a little when she shoves at his shoulder.

"Daddy, stop fibbing." Brielle insists with a small pout, meant to look innocent but they both knew better. It was an act for her instructer and also Ashton is her ballet teacher. Sal does all of the more annoying lessons like, how to share, how to not throw tantrums when you want something, how not to take a cookie when you were told to wait until dinner. None of those are fun lessons like ballet. It doesn't suprise Sal in the least that Brielle is more well behaved here.

When Ashton smiles, Sal's heart skips a beat. He didn't think Ashton could get any prettier but then he smiled. It wasn't fair at all for anyone to be that damn pretty.

Primeras Veces || Closed

donttouchthestetson :

Vinny takes in the appearance of the newcomer, definitely not a regular. Also, definitely not from around here. Though, Vinny allows his eyes to linger a little longer than they should. Vinny wasn't one to flirt, but this man was far too gorgeous for his own good. It's only after he realizes he's let the poor man stand there all this time waiting to be seated."Hello, welcome to Venice, sir." Vinny says, rushing over to the stand.('and was that emphasis on the sir completely necessary, Vincenzo' a voice speaks to him in his head, sounding like a mix between his mother and his second oldest brother, Giuseppe. Leo isn't around enough to chastise him in a way that Vinny will remember.) "I'll hope you'll forgive the delay, my host called out sick and I've been doing two jobs. Will anyone else be joining you today?"

Spooky Shenanigans

storybooksouls :

Giovanni is not used to this many compliments, or at least not with the gentle sincerity that Sasha is delivering them. He's used to being told he's pretty, gorgeous, sexy, all of those things but the way that Sasha phrases the compliments, it's almost as if Sasha is complimenting Gio as a whole, not just what he looks like in appearance and it makes him shy, blush a little which is not normal for him. He blushes occasionally to seem far more innocent than he is, but this is real, genuine.

"I don't know about being good, that might be a little hard for me." Gio teases softly as he trembles a little beneath that soft touch. "Never was any good at behaving."

Pulsepoint || Tess & Giuseppe

storybooksouls :

It takes his mind a bit to catch up with her, having to yank himself from all the things he's letting torment him right now. He recognizes her voice before her face. Her accent wasn't one he could forget so easily. There may be decades between when they'd last seen each other but that voice, that name. He remembers it all now. All the times they'd made sure to pick each other for partners in every class project where they shared the same schedule. He remembers her coming over to hang out at his place and his mother making sure she had plenty of her home cooked pasta before she left. All of his friends were too thin for his mother, she always thought they were starving it seemed. He remembers all the good times they'd shared together.

He also remembers- no- he knows that it's her name on his wrist, always had. It was something they had never spoke of. Maybe because it wasn't his name on hers or maybe it was also because Giuseppe saw first hand what having attachments could do to a person, especially now. And now was such a bad time to be meeting her again but he still can't help the warm smile from growing on his face.

"Tess," He repeats back, no air of confusion but instead one of fond familiarity. "You're one to talk about pretty eyes. How have you been?"

On A Saturday Night

fakesmilesandsecrets :

He's so offended. "My butt is nice and firm, thank you very much, not big." He huffs at the stranger. Where on earth had she been taught how to start a conversation. "Do you want a fat ass or? I don't understand what kind of conversation you're going for here."

Pulsepoint || Tess & Giuseppe

She needs mangos. They’re necessary, and in season–and it’s 3 in the morning, but who the fuck said that mangos at 3am are unreasonable? Moreover, who the fuck said that Tess can’t be unreasonable every once in a while. It’s not like she was in bed, sleeping–struck by a craving when she woke up to the sound of a car alarm a few streets away. Not like she had to get up, put on clothes, leave her house, get in the car, and drive fifteen minutes to get to Tesco’s.  Nothing like that, nosiree.  Except–here she is, at the worst hour imaginable; wandering Tesco for no reason (she has her mangos, but she’s here, and she knows the dogs are low on kibble.) She paces the aisles slow, and watches the workers watch her curiously. There aren’t many people willing to grocery shop in the middle of the night–and it’s a silent, strange sort of agreement they’ve developed here–I’m going to buy fruit and probably a lot of other unnecessary things, and you’re not going to ask me if I need anything.  They stick to their end of the bargain. Tess, however–takes it upon herself, on rare occasion, to make sure other people have what they need. Other people being a fantastically pretty boy at the end of aisle four; what he needs being the wallet that just slipped from his pocket. She dips as she walks; retrieves it–doesn’t look inside, and follows the man; soft call of “sir? Your–y’dropped…” leaving her as she goes; basket with mangos and a new addition of candy being the only bystanders to her chase.

Giuseppe made up the entire reason to go to the store at this ungodly hour, just in case any of his siblings woke up, or if fucking Giovanni was still awake, which he was but too drunk to give half a flying fuck what Giuseppe was leaving the house for. It was the nightmares again, that were plaguing him, the scene of him shooting Silvia repeating over and over in his head. It wasn't a fresh wound, it was one that had been festering for awhile. Sal's son, Giuseppe's nephew who he'd never been allowed to touch, was almost two now, after all. A song had come on in his car on the way here, one of Silvia's favorite and he'd damn near crashed right through the front door of the Tesco because his vision had become so blurry. He pulled the car into park, took a few steadying breaths, determined not to leave this damn car without dry eyes.

Once he'd calmed down, that was when he finally stepped out of the car and into the store, wandering the aisles as if he were searching hard for something. The benefit of coming in so late was that no one really wanted to talk to him, and there weren't any other customers who weren't half drunk or high, looking for munchies while they wait for a mother, father, a big brother to come and pick them up. Giuseppe had been that a couple times for Gio, for Sal and Silvia even once upon a time.

The voice startles him from a memory of picking up Silvia and Sal from some stupid party that Sal and Giuseppe's father had expressly forbidden him to go to, drunk and giggling all the way home between begging Giuseppe not to tattle on them. He had been smiling, sadly but then jumped at the voice. He looks back at the woman, and oh dear lord she was pretty, what was someone so pretty and so... not shit-faced doing at a Tesco this late at night? She has his wallet in her hands and he smiles, stopping in place. "Thank you, most people would have probably ran off with it." He says holding out his hand for it.

30 days of grant ward ▶️ day seven - favorite outfits

Worth It || Sasha & Gio

noroomforheart:

He tugs Gio close gently–careful; doesn’t want the other to feel inappropriately handled, or, worse, like he’s being forced into a connection he doesn’t want. Arm around his waist, still careful–Sasha is strong and he knows it, knows that Gio deserves to be treated like something precious. Gaze down, back up slow; the writer all but traces over the softness of Gio’s collar absently; soft fingertips along red fabric before he nods. “You–look gorgeous t’day,” he says; starts off with something honest, drops his hand away before it finds itself in Gio’s hair, tracing softness of brows, he wants to touch and he needs to stop. This isn’t about bodies.  “’Nd I got–I dunno if you’re allergic, so I got ones that’ll probably…not–” He leans slightly; reaches behind the bar; cool plastic against his palm and fingers before he offers the flowers to the other man. “They uh–they’re supposed t’symbolise affectionate desire, ‘nd–I think the guy there said sommat about trust? ‘R…safety?” He pauses; a slow, smoky-sweet laugh curling from his mouth, “whatever they mean, they’re pretty. ‘Nd…those things ‘re all fair true of my feelin’s for you, so it all works out.”  Another pause–he hesitates, only just; working of nerves fluttering through him before he does the same with the envelope; presents it carefully with a quiet explanation. “I–wanna take you away? Just–just for a week, if…y’wanna come with me. Flight leaves in eight hours, headed t’ Rome, back in seven days.”  He still hasn’t moved his arm from around Gio’s waist.  This isn’t about bodies–but god, he doesn’t wanna stop touching him. 

Compliments on how pretty, how gorgeous, how beautiful he is, Gio is used to that. He believes them occasionally. It all depends on how much Gio's had to drink today or whether he's drank at all just yet or whether or not he was on something. It depends on whether or not Giuseppe's spit something nasty at him recently, making him feel like he's nothing yet again. He doesn't struggle with it as much as other compliments. Like Gio hasn't the slightest idea of what it's like to be the object of affection and not just lust. He doesn't know what it's like to make someone feel safe or to be trusted. It didn't make him uncomfortable though and he presses into Sasha's touches like the attention starved thing that he is, he's just confused by it all. These aren't things he's ever been told before.

He's shocked again that Sasha wants to take him away. His instincts tell him this might be bad. What did Sasha know about the Diangelis family? Did he want to take Gio away to murder him? For ransom? If it were the latter of the two, Gio would have to tell him that he's not going to get much for him, if anything at all. He's not one of the important children, that's Sal or Gabriella. Even Leo had an important job. Gio wasn't completely useless but his skills could be easily replicated by Vinny, who was just as pretty as he was, just a little less small and slender. Gio appealed to the bigger men who 'only do this sometimes' because his features were feminine in some ways. Vinny was a lot more handsome than pretty.

Another part of him tells him that he's worrying too much, why on earth would Sasha go to so much trouble just to kill him later? And besides the occasional smack to the ass, Gio hardly thinks that Sasha is capable of causing anyone real pain. Trust wasn't something that Gio should dole out so easily, he knows. He can't help it with Sasha though. The man makes him feel safe.

Gio takes the flowers, sucking his lower lip into his mouth for a moment so it doesn't tremble. He doesn't want to cry but no one's ever been so sweet to him before, no one has ever wanted him for so long. "I... I want to come with you. I should probably pack. I don't think I can make do with your shirts, though I could probably just wear them as dresses, you're so damn big." Gio teases lightly, blinks hard to will away tears.

Bad Ideas || Micha & Gio

He’s compact and pretty, and Micha wants to take him home.  The sergeant comes here to get out of his own head for a while; lose his consciousness in the steady murmur of people, in the smoke in the air and heady standings of whisky on lips. Hormone levels are usually warm here; he stays away from the places full of sadness and missing-her’s, instead comes to where he knows he’ll be lulled by the quiet heartbeats of others.  His name is Giovanni–he murmurs introductions, when the right people happen upon him–and Micha tries very hard not to stare. It’s not like he’s incapable of controlling that about himself–but god, the boy is pretty. It’s dangerous to be involved, and Micha is aware of just how involved he’d like to get with the man; how much it seems like it could be a good idea to go over and say something.  He sends him a drink, and says nothing–tries to ignore the logical part of his brain that’s telling him this is a Very Bad Idea. 

[ @noroomforheart ]

Giovanni is used to people hitting on him. Gio is used to men and women sending drinks his way in an effort to win his favor, to make him come home with them. He turns the women away gently, they always take it easy when it's clear that they're missing a key ingredient to what recipe makes up Gio's 'type' but he rarely ever turns down the men. He plays hard to get for awhile, giggles and says 'no, no' to their touches at his waist, his back, and especially when they grope his ass like this isn't something he wants. Though, it's quite the opposite, Gio knows he's going to go home with a man within the first few moments they look at him, but where's the fun in that? The chase is what gets them high and what gets Gio laid, possessively. For the night, Gio belongs to someone, Gio is wanted and it feels almost like being cared for and that's all Gio really wants.

Then he picks their pockets before they leave, steal their watch when they come back for one more kiss before they go. They use Gio and in turn, Gio takes his payment. He knows this reeks of some haphazard prostitution but he doesn't care.

When the drink comes and a hand is gestured over in the tall, blond and handsome. Gio allows his eyes to trail over the other man's body as he picks up the drink and pointedly takes a sip. It'll look a lot like he's just checking the other man out, which granted, he is, but he's also looking at the man's hand, void of rings or a watch, nothing to easily steal at the end of the night. Though, that doesn't really deter Gio this time. The man was enormous, in height and just in existence in general. Gio finds himself wondering if sliding into his bed would be a challenge.

His eyes trail back up to the other man's face, gives him a little wink, a tiny jerk of the head, inviting him over to his table.