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amiedala · 3 years

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DINCEMBER #11: UNFROZEN

PROMPT: Tree SUMMARY: “Well,” he sighs, finally, adjusting where he’s sitting to move his thigh flush against yours, immobilizing you, “good thing you’re not my bounty, then.”

His voice has thickened, deepened. Even through the modulator, you can tell. It makes warmth ricochet up from the butterflies restless in your belly to your cheeks. Your ears pound with the rush of blood. “If I was,” you say, trying to keep your voice even and tempered, “your bounty, would you freeze me in carbonite?”

Silence. A long, full second of it. Then Din shifts, turning his metal-clad body towards you. The spread of his shoulders is so broad. It eclipses everything else, makes your vision blur at the edges. “Yes.”

Something in you deflates. You feel both frozen and unfrozen, like you’re preserved in amber and running as fast as you can. Your heart pounds, loudly—loud enough for Din to hear it if he’s paying attention to the inescapable thrum of it—and you twirl a strand of loose hair around your finger, trying to appear nonchalant.

“But,” Din says, so quietly that you barely hear it at all, “I’d probably fuck you first.” WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of sexual content, slight prey/predator (totally consensual), (i genuinely don't know how i turned "tree" into this filth but here we are) WORDCOUNT: 2,495 AUTHOR’S NOTE: day 11 of @dindjarindiaries’s Dincember!!! all throughout the month of December, i’ll be writing (relatively) short din djarin x reader oneshots (alongside all the other incredible participants!!!). today, what came out was snow and heat. we're talking SPICY, y'all ;)

There were worse planets to get stranded on.

“Like Corellia,” you offer, up to the frigid, clear night. If you tip your head back against the rough bark of the tree you’re camped under, you can see handfuls and handfuls of glittering, twinkling stars. The sky is black, cloudless. The moon is so bright it casts a shadow off your boots, across the snow-covered ground. You had hiked into town to see if there was anything that could repair the Razor Crest, and after spending most of the night trying to locate the town itself, the two of you had ended up smack-dab in the middle of a silent forest, huddled up together against the base of a giant, ancient tree, the roots embracing your two bodies, caught together like an oil slick. “Getting stranded on Corellia would be worse.”

Din doesn’t say anything. Even fully armored, even though he’s stoic and persistent in his silence, your heart clenches at his silhouette. You chew down on your bottom lip. Maybe he’s asleep—unlikely, because you’ve rarely ever seen him even try to close his eyes and get a few hours in—or maybe he’s just out of words for a day. There were a lot in the cockpit earlier, when the Crest’s engine failed for the hundredth time, and the two of you had to battle the metal beast of a starship to land somewhere safely, instead of sputtering down to nothing in the black static of space.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to you. The thought of it calcifies like a rock inside your chest. That’s a possibility—you’re not stoic and silent like he is. You can blather on about nothing for hours and hours. You don’t like to live in the quiet. You sing—loudly—when it’s your turn in the shower. Even your breathing is a thousand times louder than his is, without the pulse of the modulator to amplify it.

But you know his name. You know that he prefers you onboard than piloting the ship without you—he’s told you in the dark. You know which rations he likes better than others, and even though he doesn’t keep a normal eating schedule, you always leave them untouched when he comes back from bounty hunting. You know where he keeps all of his weapons, and you watch them disappear into the armor before the gangplank lowers. You know how easily he falls into trust with the people around him once they’ve proven themselves. You know he wants you—that he trusts you enough to touch him in the dark. You know how the press of his lips against yours feel. You know he smells like gunsmoke and cinnamon and metal and something you can never quite identify. You know, to whatever reduced, small level it rests out—he wants you, too.

That alone sings in your chest, high and clear. A melody you never stop hearing.

“Got stranded on Corellia once.”

You’re startled out of it, the reverie of just Din and nothing else. “You did?”

He nods, through the helmet. The tiniest glint shines off the metal in the pitch dark, the moon gathering up enough light to illuminate the shape of your Mandalorian. “Bounty screwed me over, messed with the ship.”

You lick the parting of your lips, gathering up both of your legs against your chest. There’s a shiver that threatens to wrack your body, but it has nothing to do with the chill of the air around you. “The bounty…messed with the ship?”

One sharp, curt nod. “Tried to scramble the engine to escape on the next planet. That’s the last time I let bounties stay unfrozen back to Nevarro.”

You bite down on your lip again, looking at him out of the corners of your eyes. You’re sitting with your shoulder and Din’s shoulder pressed up against each other. Down the middle, in the expanse between your two bodies, there’s a gap, until the valley meets up again at your thighs. His is armored, covered in silver; yours is unarmored, covered by fabric. It makes your heartbeat contract a butterfly rhythm, even though you’ve felt his uncovered body in the darkness, pressed your lips to his skin. You’ve done everything in the quiet black of nightfall, everything except sex. You want him, you’ve moaned his name when Din’s face has been buried between your thighs—but you don’t push it. You don’t beg him for it. You think that it’s probably part of his Creed—kissing and touching have loopholes, fucking is forbidden. But even though you know his body in the confines of the Crest, it’s different, being out here together—even under the cover of night, even as the only two human beings in the middle of this forest. In the dark, on the Crest, you can make noises that refract back to you. You can kiss his stomach, move your tongue over the places no one else can see—even you. But here, even with no one around, there’s an invisible audience.

You trace a finger through the snow. You can feel Din’s gaze against the side of your face. “You don’t let any bounties stay out of the carbonite?”

He inhales. “Not anymore.”

You run your tongue over your teeth, letting your finger trail back up over your thigh. “I screwed with the engine,” you admit, your voice quiet and meek. “The last time you were on-planet. I didn’t do it intentionally—I didn’t mean to mess it up. It was a problem that I didn’t know how to fix, but I—I tried to fix it anyway.”

Din’s gaze—under the helmet, through the visor—is focused on you, immobilizing. You don’t need to see his eyes to know that he’s staring. The air feels too full, like it’s holding in a breath. “You did.”

You force yourself to meet the unreadable T of the visor. “Mhm,” you answer, nodding, “I did.”

Din cocks his head to the side, regarding you. You don’t know if it’s in judgment, but it’s thrilling either way. It’s his tell—the proof to know he’s focused on you and absolutely nothing else—and something about the intensity of it feels like he’s undressing you with his eyes.

You always want him to undress you with his eyes. His hands. His instruction for you to rip your clothes off itself. It lives inside of you, an insatiable, hungry pulse, buried somewhere low in your stomach, fluttering between your thighs.

“Well,” he sighs, finally, adjusting where he’s sitting to move his thigh flush against yours, immobilizing you, “good thing you’re not my bounty, then.”

“But,” Din says, so quietly that you barely hear it at all, “I’d probably fuck you first.”

Your head snaps back on the helmet. You stare, unabashedly, your entire body on fire. “W—what?” you manage, voice all shaky, shooting through multiple octaves.

Din’s helmet doesn’t move. It keeps you in place, immobilizes you like a tractor beam. “You heard me.”

Your mouth falls open, agape.

“C’mon,” he says, rough through the modulator, “you don’t get to act all flustered at that after all the things we’ve done in the dark.”

You stare at him. “I—” you swallow, the cold air immediately burning in your throat, “I thought that—that it wasn’t allowed.”

The gloved expanse of Din’s full palm spreads over your thigh, clenches down. It’s a good thing you don’t want to move, that you want to get sucked into his orbit, because you’d be dead fucking meat if you tried to move. He anchors you there, thumb grazing over the inside of your leg, and you shudder. “Sweet girl,” Din croons, and your heart isn’t the only thing that clenches, “I’ve felt you. I’ve had my fingers inside of you. I’ve tasted you for hours while you’re wrapped around my tongue.” His hand tightens even more. You’re frozen there, everything in your body flooding with a red, wet heat. “The only reason I’ve never fucked you is because you never asked.”

You’re on fire. Your body doesn’t even feel the cold anymore. You just stare at Din, pinned down to the cold ground, plastered against the tree, with his touch and nothing else. If you weren’t in over your head before, you’re a goner now. “I’m asking now.”

Your heart is pounding. The helmet moves closer. Din’s not just tethering you there, not just telling you what you’ve wanted his lips to spill for months, he’s sucking every other thing out of you until all you’re left with is heat, desire, and a sick, sweet need.

Din reaches forward with his other hand, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. His gloved fingers skate over the exposed terrain of your neck, and you let out a squeak that’s startled out before it can turn into a moan. “Asking for what?”

You can barely breathe. He’s suffocating you, and all you want is to be dragged under.

“Please,” you whisper, the word barely anything at all, your legs clenching together around the slick, hot wetness gathered there.

“Use your words,” Din whispers. His helmet is so close to you now, it’s your only focal point. The rest of the world drowns out, the stars choking on the darkness of the night, the cold frozen forest insulated by Din’s touch.

“Fuck me, please,” you beg, a cloying, desperate thing. “I want—need you. Need to feel you. Please, Din,” you whisper, his thumb stroking down to the pulse point on your neck. Above you both, the nonexistent stars explode, a supernova you can feel in your bones. “Please.”

And just when you think he’s going to move his hand up at the apex of your legs, Din’s touch disappears. “No,” he says, simply, and before you can stop it, shame trickles like a cracked egg down the back of your neck, and you’re about to pull away, but then his hands fly out to cradle your face, hard enough to make your lips pucker. “I’m not fucking you in the middle of the forest. On top of snow. You deserve more than that,” he grits out, dragging the pad of his gloved thumb over the cleft of your lip, “sweet girl.”

You feel like you’re burning. Like you could pass out right here from the allure of it. Every nerve in your body is singing to a crescendo you can’t drown out. Want lives inside of you, buried to the hilt, so deep you know you can never dig it out. The crush you had on Din before is suffocated by how you’re feeling right now.

“Would you still be talking to me like this,” you manage, even though the breath has been knocked clean out of your lungs, “if I was your bounty?”

“Yes,” Din whispers.

“Would you still freeze me?”

“Maybe,” Din grits out.

You inhale, a shaky, desperate thing. “Would you turn me in to the Guild?”

Din’s head cocks to the side again. “No,” he admits, a low, low breath catching in the modulator, “I’d keep you for myself.”

Shakily, you pull out of his grip, trying to get your starstruck, staticy feet underneath you. In one fell swoop, you heave yourself up against the bark of the tree, heart pounding, reverberating through your whole body. Din’s grip trails down around your calf, steel and grounding.

“Where are you going?” he asks, and you blink, catching the air in the hollow of your mouth.

“You won’t fuck me out here,” you say, as evenly as you can manage, “so I’m going to find the Crest.”

You try to move backwards, that low ache in your pelvis banging its fists against your every instinct to run, but the sharp inhale through the modulator tells you you’re on the right track. You raise your chin, smile gliding across your face.

Din’s grip releases. “I’ll give you a head start,” he says, and your eyes widen. “And then I’m tracking you down. Go ahead, sweet girl. Run from me.”

Your heart pounds like it’s threatening to escape. You feel him everywhere. “Are you going to freeze me in carbonite?” you ask, one more time, and then slowly, slowly, the helmet shakes back and forth.

“I have better ways to keep you,” Din rumbles, pushing up on his knees so that the helmet is even with your waist. Your legs are splayed open, and his free hand travels up your right inner thigh, until it finally presses flush against you, cupping everything between your legs. Your knees give out, just a little, and Din laughs, a dark, seductive thing. “I don’t need carbonite to keep you on my ship. You do that willingly.”

“How much of a head start do I get?” you manage, breathless.

“Thirty seconds,” Din grits out. He holds you there, in place, looking up at you through the visor, and then the rest of the forest filters back in. You have no idea where you are, or where the ship is, but you know that even with a head start, Din’s going to find you before you find it. “You ready?”

You nod. You’re done for. It should be scary—the galaxy’s most feared, respected bounty hunter insatiable for hunting you, finding you, keeping you—but it’s thrilling. Every part of your body is scarlet with want and wetness. Your legs tremble under his touch.

“Three,” Din whispers, letting go of your hip.

You swallow.

“Two,” Din continues, moving his hand away from where he’s cupping you between your thighs.

You square your shoulders. You’re a livewire.

“One,” Din grits out, moving back. For a second, a fleeting, heart-pounding second, you feel pinned to the spot.

“I want you,” you breathe, uncontrolled.

Din looks up at you. You can’t see his face, and you have no idea what his smile looks like, but you can feel the curl of his lips. “Go.”

You run. In what feels like just a breath, you can feel him chasing after you, still silent and quiet under the moonlight, and the thunder of it, the threat—it just feels like sweet, sweet relief.

#i am sweating #dincember #dincember 2021 #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x you #mando x female reader #mando x reader #my writing

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kageyamatobiyogurt · 3 years

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haikyuu boyfriends singing pt. 2

a/n: honestly i wrote this as soon as i finished the first part lmao, i had so much fun with these.

includes: ushijima, tendou, iwaizumi, bokuto, osamu

part 1

ushijima:

honestly prefers to listen to you and he always smiles softly at the little dance moves you do

he’s not super shy with singing but he gets so focuses on you he forget to join sometimes

ngl it makes him fall a little harder every time

but he will join a little during the choruses if he knows the song

his voice is so deep and soothing

he hums absentmindedly if you two are cuddling and it’s the most relaxing thing

the best position is when he’s laying on his back and your head is on his chest as he pulls you close

you can feel the vibrations from within him as he hums and lulls you to sleep

hums you love songs awie

think: cherry wine by hozier

tendou:

this boy is ENERGY ENERGY ENERGY

also one to listen to a pretty wide range of music but so much of his playlists are fast paced songs and general shit that goes hard

can rap? impressively fast? and he doesn’t miss a beat nor run out of breath it’s crazy

he’s also not that much of a broadway fanatic but he still managed to memorize all of hamilton - all two hours and forty-five minutes of it

he listens to select musicals because songs with characters and a story are pretty fun too

such a dork because a good 10% of his brain is just dedicated to anime openings too

the most fun to sing along with because he gets into character and everything - the facial expressions are immaculate

omg he sung you never ever getting rid of me from waitress and it was the sweetest thing ugh

“oh, im gonna love you so!” is his favorite line to belt to you

he was dancing around your kitchen one sunday morning while you made breakfast just serenading you

literally takes your hand to give you a small twirl or maybe he’s just dancing with you in his arms

he loves to see you giggle and smile

his voice is pretty funky, not perfect, but still fun to listen to

i mean have you heard those vocals *baki baki ni OOre*

he tickles right under your chin when he gets close to you, nose scrunching in adoration

iwaizumi:

okay he’ll huff if you try to force him and he’s not really feeling it

he refuses at first a lot of the time

but because it’s you he caves a lot too, he’ll sing every other line while sneaking an arm around your waist

okay but it really gets good if you get him a little drunk because any restraint is gone

you play his favorite song while he’s tipsy? he’s grabbing the mic (if there is one) from you

pls but he also sounds so sAD for some reason - regardless of what song is actually playing

he’s going all out there’s no stopping him

mans sang need you now by lady antebellum and that shit was beyond funny

mans’ voice was HURT as he belted the lyrics

“and i nEED yOU noOOW” he half-wails, one hand clutching yours as his eyes are shut

you managed to get a video and he gets so grumpy when he finds out

his ears are pink and his face has a very visible scowl

mans doesn’t sing in front of you for a month :(

bokuto:

knows every song on the radio, like i swear he doesn’t miss a lyric EVER

his body just bumps to the beat of whatever’s playing

he’ll insert claps and very wild dance moves too lmao

it’s a slight safety hazard but we love the energy

probably the kind to look forward to karaoke - gets the most excited to go up

honestly he’s the life of the party

bo gets a little too emotional with the songs omg

PLS he legit teared up while he was singing once

you turned away for one second and when you looked back, his hair was droopy and his eyes were watery someone hold this baby

the song: total eclipse of the heart by bonnie tyler

really fell apart at “every now and then i fall apart”

you gotta pause the song to ask if he’s okay omg

when the song pauses he totally snaps out of it and wipes away his tears without giving them a second thought

if you play a hype song right after he’s all bouncy again like ???

osamu:

sings better than atsumu and atsumu hates him for it

see it’s because he doesn’t overdo it, he’s pretty casual and he isn’t loud like his twin

he tends to sing if he’s cooking and just lost in his own world

this baby makes small random songs while he’s working

“mix mix mix the egg,” he goes, making your heart swell ugh

even if you catch him he’ll deny he ever did it

but some days you two are in that cute mood while you cook in the kitchen together and you’re both humming and singing random things

he also has a habit of singing steps of cooking to tunes of actual songs or swapping out random lyrics

think- royals by lorde

but instead of “and we’ll never be ROyals” it’ll be “and they’ll never be OMelettes” when he accidentally broke them

it’s so cute and he’ll blush if you tease him, maybe even threaten to not give you any food

but kiss his jaw and he’ll met like putty anyway haha

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sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

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#9 our first dinner party, with Zach?

To my lovely @tardisfangurl , I am so sorry that you have had to wait so long for this but what with trying to work full time and apparently, I have to parent too (wtf is that about?) BUT IT IS HERE NOW!

Thank you to my beautiful, @yespolkadotkitty for the beta - YOU ARE A TRUE STAR ⭐️

Zach Wellison x Reader (Brothers and Sisters)

Warnings: PTSD, anxiety, food, smut

Zach and the Dinner Party

“C’mon you,” you tug at Zach’s sleeve as he stands by the sink, staring off into the middle distance, obviously at a loss as to where to begin, “Everyone is desperate to get to know you properly. You don’t need to worry because they love me - they will welcome you and you’ll be part of the group before you know it.”

When he turns to face you, you see his khaki t-shirt is trembling from his heart racing. “Yeah, and they’ll see that I’m not good enough for you. A washed up ex- marine doesn’t really offer much.”

“I wish I could open up that head of yours. Take out those thoughts and throw them away as they’re not doing you any good. Just making you feel rubbish and for zero reason,” wrapping your arms around your boyfriend, you squeeze him until he grunts due to the lack of oxygen, “Anyway, this isn’t your granny’s dinner party. This is just friends who work stupid hours, getting together to eat and drink before we put our noses back to the grindstone. It just so happens that you’re here and instead of me feeling like I’m the only one out of my friends who can’t hold down a relationship, I will have you to pass me beers and kisses all night.”

After sucking a sharp, juddery breath and nodding, Zach manages to smile down at you, “I can pass beers. And kisses - I can definitely supply some of those too.”

“That’s not all you’re going to be doing, mister,” you pull rank with your former marine, hauling yourself to your full height, despite your head just reaching his shoulder, “It’s field day, soldier and there’s lots to do.”

“Oorah!”

Throwing a cloth and spray at him that he catches effortlessly, you bend over to unravel the flex from your ancient vacuum cleaner and notice from between your legs that Zach has not started to clean, “Why haven’t you started moving yet, soldier? You waiting for a goddamn invitation from the president?”

“Just admiring the view, ma’am,” you catch Zach’s eyebrow twitches minutismally as he gazes at your butt, that you can’t help but wiggle at him - garnering a sweet chuckle in response.

“The quicker you clean, the quicker I can let you admire the view up close,” you purr, tapping him on the leg with the head of the cleaner.

Putting on some nostalgic rock from the nineties, you turn the volume up as the two of you quickly scrub through your tiny shared space. The beautifully domestic feel of singing out of tune - totally fucking harmonising but somebody doesn’t appreciate your talents - and dancing ironically badly with air guitars as you land on sofa cushions to save your poor old knees, isn’t lost on you. It has only been a short time of knowing Zach, but when you know, you know right?

You first met him whilst he was helping in the kitchens of the VA office where you supported vets to complete their high school education with their maths, reading and writing, find vocational courses or for those who were ready to go further, their college applications. Every time you popped by to grab some food, he’d always sneak you a bit extra so that he could be treated to one of your beautiful smiles that totally eclipse your face, making your eyes disappear.

One day, you put on your big girl panties and leant across the serving hatch to say how much you looked forward to seeing his face every day and that you’d love to take him for a drink after work. Amusingly, you had to repeat yourself several times as he gazed dumbstruck at you - almost as if you’d been speaking in Klingon and had three heads with the level of confusion painted across that poor man’s face.

Later, he owned up that he’d felt like an IED had gone off in his head - that there’d been literal ringing in his ears. That the pretty girl he looked forward to seeing asked him out for a drink. His shock at being asked - genuinely asking if you meant him - had made you roar with laughter as you passed him your number on a serviette.

One date bled into another until three months later, here you were, virtually living together (he totally had moved in but neither of you were ready to own up to that obvious fact) with all your spare time either tangled together across the couch or snuggled up in bed. Tonight would be the night where he met all of your friends at once. He’d met most of them individually and was well liked amongst the crowd, but you knew that the thought of your looming turn of the dinner party was making him tremble with anxiety.

When you’d offered to cancel with your friends, there’d been a flash of anger from him that had ripped through his body like a hurricane - pouring out during his dreams. The anxiety that you thought him weak - not worthy of being around your friends - had left him a sweaty damp mess that night as he woke screaming, flailing - still thinking he was in Afghanistan. He’d tried to push you away when you’d cradled him to your chest but the tears that flowed on him realising that you weren’t going to let go, were the sweetest release he’d felt in a long time.

“You look hot,” Zach rubs his thumb across the beads of sweat collecting like a tiara of hard work upon your forehead as he becomes distracted by you cleaning near him.

“Yeah, I do,” you wink, grabbing his butt so that his hips are flush with yours.

The laugh this brings from Zach is music to your ears as his face crinkles at your cheesiness. Standing so close, you nuzzle his cheek - his sandalwood scented soap making every nerve within you fizz and tingle as you allow your lips to lightly graze his skin. Tilting his head slightly - a smile still playing upon his mouth - he searches for you. With his fingers finding your hair, your heart catches in your throat as his lips brush tenderly against you.

You don’t want this moment to end but as Zach draws back and places a small, loving peck on the tip of your nose, you stick your bottom lip out like a truculent child which elicits another chuckle from him, “C’mon sweetheart, we need to get started on dinner.”

“Can’t believe you are going to have me making pasta from scratch. Did you know - there are places that make it for you so that all you have to do is throw it into boiling salted water,” you grumble sarcastically, brow furrowed.

Zach shakes his head at you - rolling his eyes slightly as he takes your chin between his fingers, “When you cook for people, it’s nurturing them - that’s something everyone needs. For years, all my food was ration packs and eaten quickly as if you take your time, that can make you and your whole squad vulnerable.

“I know I’m not the greatest catch - I can’t offer you everything I want to give you but I can cook. And knowing that my food nourishes you, eases me here,” he taps his chest on the left before bringing his fingers to stroke your cheek, “It’s also great to have the time to enjoy creating something where I’m not at risk of being shot at.”

A brief flutter of guilt at your laziness flickers within your chest as you consider everything Zach has been through before he arrived at your door. You bury your face in his chest to hide your wincing, not feeling worthy of his gaze - breathing the smell of your shared laundry soap and conditioner, and that smell that is just just entirely him. Always immaculately clean and scrubbed, Zach still takes militaristic care with his showers - only ever becoming preoccupied if you decide to join him.

“Hey, hey beautiful - I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” a kiss is pressed into the top of your head, “If you want, I can run out and buy some pappardelle.”

“No, I’m sorry and I deserve to feel guilty as I was entirely being a dick,” you mumble into his chest, “Let me swim around in it until I get all prune-y.”

Prising your head gently back from his chest, Zach smiles down at you, “Nope, soldier. I can’t let you do that, I need you fit and ready to concentrate, stat.”

“Yes, sir. ‘Oorah.”

✪✪✪✪✪

“I stole my mom’s pasta machine,” You throw over your shoulder at your boyfriend, as you scrub your hands at the sink behind him in your galley kitchen - your bums almost touching due the narrow proximity.

A chuckle vibrates the air by your ear as a pair of arms wrap around your middle, “Not stolen. I asked her if we could borrow it for tonight.”

“Oh,” you huff, “So there was no need for my cloak and dagger tactics to get it out of her kitchen?”

You watch as a large hand tries to muffle the laughter erupting from Zach’s mouth, “I wondered why you were being so weird that night. You kept disappearing.”

“Yeah, I was loosening it surreptitiously from the table so it didn’t have to be a smash and grab,” you frown at the unnecessary effort you’d put into pickpocketing until you catch Zach’s twinkling eyes, “Look, I warned you that this was a thing with my family. We all try to steal things without the others noticing - you know this! You hollered at my brother when you caught him - what can only be described as - sashaying away from here in my heels.

“It’s like a really irritating bit that has gone on far too long but now you messed it up by asking for my mom’s permission - gah! I will never live this down, teacher’s pet,” you playfully jab your boyfriend in the ribs.

With nowhere to easily escape, Zach’s hands simply catch your wrists to try to cease your tickling torment of him, pinning them effortlessly above your head to an overhead cabinet before growling in your ear, “That’s right, I’m a good boy. I asked your mom for permission to borrow her pasta machine.”

After pressing a line of kisses into your neck, he suddenly releases your hands leaving you desperately wanting more as he grabs the eggs and flour from the side, “C’mon you, we have pasta to make.”

Biting your lip and wishing that Zach had continued in that vein, you follow his broad back through to your living room where your dining table is for once, not only clean but clutter free. Using a large bowl, you watch as he pours in three cups of 00 flour to one cup of fine semolina flour - his large hands gently whisking the two together, barely causing a cloud of dust to rise.

“Right, beautiful, while I mix these - you beat these eggs,” Zach instructs as he brushes floury handprints onto his joggers before passing you a bowl, six eggs and a fork.

Diligently cracking each shell against the side of the bowl, the contents of the eggs plop satisfyingly as you whips them together into a frothy orange concoction, “Where did you learn to make pasta? Is it since you’ve been working in the kitchen?”

A small snort to your right makes you look up at the gorgeous crinkles emanating from his eyes, “Hah, no. Not much fresh stuff served in the canteen.”

With a small kiss to the side of your head, Zach disappears momentarily to reappear cradling a pile of rosemary, garlic, anchovies and a small bottle of white balsamic vinegar, “When I was small, my mom and dad just worked all the time or went out with their friends, which made me the typical latchkey kid of the seventies and eighties. Our apartment was next to a lovely Ligurian lady who’d immigrated here in the fifties and she hated that I was left alone so often.

“Signora Guilia would have me finish my homework at her table and then make me scrub up to help her make dinner. The food was always much tastier than whatever my mom left me to make with the microwave chef at home and I loved spending that time with her.

“She had this heavy wooden dinner table that must have been passed down generations before it got shipped across the seas. The knots that surrounded the pasta machine were always slightly floury as it was constantly in use - it was my favourite point to sit at the table.”

Feeling your heart grow within your chest, you watch avidly as Zach traces the imaginary knots of the old lady’s table gently across the Formica surface in your home. He so rarely shares anything willingly about his past - only allowing you in when he’s at a virtual breaking point - that you treasure these moments of peaceful reflection.

Perching on a barstool by the kitchen door, you swing your legs whilst you watch him confidently moving around - your favourite pastime even when you’re both at work. The moments you snatch together between classes, with you leaning against the stainless steel surfaces of his work space with a steaming coffee in hand, chattering away to Zach as you watch him preparing the canteen lunches with his sous chef hat on. - him sneaking small kisses and sharing shy smiles with you.

Having roughly chopped the ingredients, Zach throws them all in the blender, adding a good glug of vinegar to the mix before blitzing it into a green sauce and setting it to one side. After checking the beaten eggs, he creates a well for them in amongst the mix of flours in the bowl slowly bringing the ingredients together with a couple of tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil until it creates a ball. Plying and pressing back and forth, Zach’s knuckles effortlessly knead the gloriously golden dough - adding a little more flour after initially finding the mixture too sticky beneath his warm palms.

“Signora Isabella would cut the dough into smaller sections - flattening each piece with her rolling pin before handing them to me where I’d feed them into the machine, watching them grow thinner and thinner and longer and longer with each pass through the rollers. I loved being in charge of that dial, turning it until the dough was papery thin.”

Not realising that you’re just gazing at him adoringly until you catch the rosy hue upon the tips of his ears, you avert your eyes to try to quell the embarrassment building within Zach, “What can I do to help, honey?” you offer, “I’m just sitting here like a lemon while you do all the work.”

“Wanna get the meat started?” Zach’s eyebrows question as his brow furrows, “Needs seasoning, a layer of flour and browning in the pan.

Think you’re up to that, chef?” he winks at you, flashing that delicious dimple your way.

“Oh I dunno, you’re testing my skills of domesticity there,” you tease before shaking your head and gesturing at the comfortable yet mismatched living space of randomly gathered nicknacks and creaky second-hand furniture, “As you can see, it’s not my strong point.”

After sliding from your seat, a slap on your bum sends into the kitchen as you shoot your boyfriend a mock shocked look across your shoulder. Opening the fridge, you not only grab the neck of lamb but two bottles of beer that seem to call your name. Blindly passing it through the doorway, you can’t help but smile when the bottle in your hand is swapped for a gently pressed kiss to the inside of your wrist.

Heavily seasoning the meat, you roll it in flour before heating the oil beneath a cast iron casserole that you’d discovered for a steal in a local goodwill. Sneaking up behind you with the green sauce in one hand, Zach comes to check on your progress as you absentmindedly flick through your phone and steal an amaretti biscuit instead of turning the steadily browning meat.

“Browning not burning,” he mutters as one arm removes the meat from the gas to a nearby plate and the other arm slips around your tummy. Biting the juncture between your neck and shoulders as a playful warning, Zach then deglazes the pan with a splash of white wine, reducing it until the liquid from the pan disappeared. Still working one handed with you snuggled into one side, he throws the lamb and the green sauce back into the casserole before spinning you into him to swap places so he can grab the chicken stock from the fridge to add to the dish too.

Both Zach and you stand there in silence watching the meat stew come to a simmer upon the stove - the worn, softness of his t-shirt against your cheek.

“Ready to help me make the pasta?” Zach muffledly asks into your hair.

Against his chest, you nod albeit entirely reluctant to let him go. Following Zach back into the living room, you stand beside him at the table - whilst you were browning the meat, he’d separated and rolled out the blocks of dough, ready to be passed through your mom’s machine.

“So what do I do?” You ask, peering over the machine as despite it being a permanent fixture in the family kitchen of your childhood, you’d only ever run your playdough through it as a kid and gotten such a telling off, that you never went near it again.

“We’re gonna start with it on the widest setting, and keep passing and tightening it until it’s about the thickness of a dime,” he passes you a piece of dough to start feeding into the machine - you catch a slight smile curling up at the corners of his mouth as he takes in your confused expression, “C’mon, you must have used this with your mom as a kid?”

“Nope,” you pop the p, shaking your head in response to Zach’s question, “We weren’t ever allowed in the kitchen as we’d make a mess. Ruin something. Probably what cemented my love of microwave dinners.”

“Time to put that right then,” he brushes your cheek with a warm, slightly floury thumb, “‘K, so you need to feed it in from the top really slowly and crank the handle - don’t look so panicked - I’m gonna help you.”

As you start to send it through the rollers, you watch the magic being created - the dough being squeezed ever thinner and flatter. Over and over, again and again, Zach adeptly changes the setting each time until you are left with an impossibly long, papery thin pasta, ready to be cut into chunky strands of pappardelle.

You cannot help but be amazed by this transformation - all big eyes and mouth agape as you turn to Zach. The tug you make upon the seam of his t-shirt is entirely unnecessary as you notice that he’s grinning at your childlike expression of wonder.

“Look what we made! That’s so cool,” you enthuse emphatically, “I do feel like that’s the best you’re going to get from me unless you let me have a coffee break though.”

“‘K soldier, at ease. Want a cookie with that coffee?” Zach asks, pressing a kiss into your forehead.

“Only if you insist.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands clasped tightly around mismatched mugs of steaming coffee, the two of you stretch out together on the sofa with the tv softly playing out some comedy in the background. You still giggle at the lines you’ve heard a million times before but you notice the tap, tap, tapping of fingers against the ceramic of Zach’s cup. Placing your cup upon the creaky floorboards, you remove the mug from his hands - putting it down next to yours - before moving to the opposite side of the sofa to snuggle into his chest.

On placing your head upon him, the rapid thud of his heart sends a wave of worry through you and as a response, you tuck your arms around him, squeezing Zach tightly. Oh how you wish you could squash all those fears that roar away inside his brain. How you wish you could pull him out of that reaction to retreat inside himself and switch off that constantly ringing alarm inside his head.

“I’m right here, you know,” you utter gently, as you nuzzle into him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

A heavy swallow comes from above you but no verbal response. You stick your hand between the sofa cushions behind you - rummaging through broken remotes, crumbs and hair grips before your fingers find purchase on what you were looking for and triumphantly pulling out your half rolled up tube of intensive hand cream.

“I love the special places you have for keeping your things,” Zach chuckles tightly.

“Hey, I knew exactly where it was,” you shuffle yourself so that you’re now sitting between Zach’s legs - holding out your hand for him to place his in yours, “C'mere baby, let me sort those hands out for you.”

Massaging Zach’s hands is one of your most favourite things to do. When he’s constantly scrubbing them at work to ensure hygiene, they often get cracked and sore and so they benefit from the miracle cream that you rub into them but that’s not the only reason you do it. Squirting a large blob into his left hand, you start to relax the muscles by using your thumbs to caress large circles into his palms - working in spirals from the centre to the edges.

Stroking downwards from his knuckles to his wrist, you start to feel a little of his tension ebb away as his head flops back on the armrest and his thick, dark eyelashes flutter softly upon his cheek.

“I swear, your skin is like lots of little straws just drinking up this moisture,” you utter as you wrap your hand around each finger, gently rotating each joint, “It’s so dry. I’m gonna get you a tube to keep at work.”

Your only response is a deeply satisfied grunt from the other end of the sofa, followed by a settled sigh as his breathing evens out. Starting at the base of each finger, you rub in anti-clockwise circles until you reach Zach’s fingertips - at which point, you realise he may have dropped off. Still keeping the soothing movements going, not wanting to startle your handsome boyfriend from a much needed doze, you watch his chest slowly rising and falling, remembering his initial fear of sleeping next to you - how he used to fly out of bed to lie upon the sofa.

It took weeks of gentle cajoling to convince him that you were at no greater risk from his nightmares than he was from your bed hogging nocturnal activities. Gradually, Zach allowed himself closer and closer to you and spread himself more evenly across the mattress rather than trying to sleep on the edge of the bed. Now, you are pretty confident the only reason he ends up there is because of your need to starfish during the night.

As you switch to his other hand, Zach shuffles slightly - one eyebrow raising his eyelid to check it was still you between his knees. His lips part into a sleepy soft smile as both eyes slowly blink back open.

“Think you’ve got magic in those hands of yours,” he mutters thickly through a yawn, sniffing as he rubs the heel of his left hand in his eyes.

You feel a glow beginning in your tummy at his words. Kneeling forwards you press a kiss to his forehead, “What’s left to be done?”

“Dessert, and entrée - but I’ll sort the antipasti once people arrive,” Zach scratches his chest, gazing up at you, “The tiramisù needs making.

“Listen, I’ll go get the ingredients and put some fresh coffee on - you sit here,” Zach pulls himself upright, ready to get back to work, patting your bum to get you to sit further back so he can slide past.

Grabbing your now almost iced coffee from the floor, you watch your boyfriend’s ass disappear back into the kitchen from where you can hear the electrical hum of the kettle, the bangs of cupboards being rummaged through, and the soft clunk of the fridge closing again. Moments later, Zach reappears with his arms full of delicious things - including that box of amaretti biscuits that you may have dipped into several times already.

Setting the things down upon your table, as a gesture to get up and help, Zach then strokes the back of your neck.

“‘K so Signora Giulia would always make her tiramisù with amaretti biscuits - might have to be a bit lighter on how many she used to pack into hers though,” he chuckles, shaking the nearly half-empty box in your direction.

“Must be those damn mice again.”

“Yeah, I’ve never met mice that are as neat as yours,” Zach drops the last biscuit into the freshly brewed coffee, “I mean, they even put the wrappers in the bin.”

“I’ve trained them well.”

“If you could do that with the ones that hang out in the dry storage larders at work, that’d be great,” Zach muses as he whips double cream, mascarpone, golden caster sugar and Marsala together.

You turn back to enjoy how the brisk whisking of the delicious mixture highlights the lean muscles in his arms, “You know the mice aren’t so keen on lady fingers. They told me that the sponge isn’t as moreish as the almond flavour.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Zach chuckles as you sidle over, wrapping your arms around him, “Hey, you here to cause trouble?”

“Always,” your hands slide beneath his T-shirt, enjoying the soft, smoothness of his back muscles as you rub up and down his body.

“I can’t concentrate with you doin’ that.”

You giggle, sliding the worn material up before nuzzling the bare flesh between his shoulder blades, “Y’see why I always smack your hands away when I cook - you do this to me all the time!”

“Okay, okay - just stop kissing me while I grate chocolate across the top of the desert. I need my fingers, if you don’t want to serve your friends Pot Noodles and donuts from the bodega,” Zach pleads with you as you continue placing delicate kisses down his spine.

Sliding your hands around to his tummy, you keep them travelling lower until you reach the thick cotton waistband of his joggers. For a moment - as you feel his hands rapidly grating dark chocolate back and forth - you hover your fingertips just above his sensitive skin, refusing to touch until the need for band aids has passed. A satisfying clunk of metal upon Formica tells you that the danger has passed so your hands wrap around Zach’s steadily growing erection. The breath that catches in his throat makes your pulse quicken.

Pushing away the bowl of trifle, Zach suddenly spins around. After a short, hard spank to your ass, he wraps you in his arms. With zero hesitation, you search blindly forward until you find Zach’s lips upon yours - little shivers of pleasure rushing through you as he deepens the kiss. A moment of guilt passes quickly when you consider that he can probably taste the almondy sweetness of the stolen amaretti mixed in with the bitterness of the espresso from earlier.

All thoughts rapidly subside as you hear a small growl emanate from the back of his throat when your fingers snake into the curls of his hair. His hands are on your hips, steering you towards the wall - your head bumping a poorly hung frame to the floor in your desperate need for each other. You catch a small worried look from Zach as he quickly checks you for gaping wounds but on seeing that you are still in one piece, he returns to devouring you.

Tugging the hem of his shirt upwards, Zach breaks away from you momentarily to pull it off before his hand finds purchase on the back of your head to pull you close again.

“You are such a fucking tease,” he growls in your ear - nibbling and licking a stripe up your neck, “I’m gonna have the image of you clasping my cock, kissing my back whilst I cook all next week.”

“It doesn’t just have to be an image,” you softly pant, “Perhaps I’ll have to come visit you - not just for a coffee.”

With those words, Zach swiftly dispatches you of your T-shirt - and oh, how the sensation of skin upon skin maddens you. Just jammies means no underwear. His hands find your breasts - softly squeezing them as his thumbs brush relentlessly against your nipples. He pushes the wall away from behind you, guiding your body backwards until the back of your calves hit the sofa where you fall in a puzzle of limbs.

Leaning on his elbows over you, Zach nudges your nose with his to get your attention, “You sure?”

Had it been any other man, you’d have teased him but with Zach’s bruised and weary soul, you remove the element of sarcasm, “Yes. Yes, I want you. I want you to fuck me.”

You catch the tic in his bottom lip as he kneels up between your legs - his warm calloused hands skirting gently over the curves of your body. Zach then gets up from the sofa, grabs the leftover mix of tiramisù from the table and flicks your torso with it - the coolness of the liquid making your skin twitch.

“Oh,” your breath catches in your throat, “Zach, you made a mess.”

“Yeah,” he considers as his eyes rake over your body, “Better clean that up, huh?”

Small huffs of warm breath tickle your skin as he lowers his face towards you. Starting with the smudge upon your collarbone, his tongue expertly laves across your body - not missing a spot of mixture. His mouth descends further south - every lick inciting fire inside you - until he sucks upon your nipple when every meaningful thought ceases to be.

Your desperation builds as he continues to feast upon your breast - your hands clawing, scratching at him. Zach only breaks momentarily to swap sides, fastening his mouth around the other nipple with an indecent slurp. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders and squeezing tightly, you crush his head into you before tugging his hair to bring him back up for a kiss - his tongue delivering a sweetly creamy flavour from your skin.

Zach’s hands stroke and grab at the flesh upon your hips before his thumbs find the elastic of your pj bottoms to slide them off. You tug at the string of his joggers, rolling them down over his hip that his cock suddenly springs free, tapping his tummy with a tiny bead of precum. You stroke your finger through it before bringing it to your mouth - making sure that his eyes are upon you as you suck upon your digit.

Quickly shucking himself of his socks and pants, he settles himself back between your legs but now… now it’s your turn. Grabbing the spoon from the bowl on the floor, you trickle a trail of mixture down from his tummy button, over the sweet little curve of his belly. You keep the trail of sweetness going right from the base to the tip of his cock.

The shallow hitch in his breath and groan he releases as you slowly pay attention to this most sensitive part of his body is music to your ears.

“You are so fucking delicious.”

Your hands clasp around his peachy butt as you lick the mixture from the head of his cock - swirling your tongue back and forth, licking the little drips from where the head meets the shaft. There might not have been too many there but you take your sweet ass time sucking and licking there whilst keeping your eyes upon his face.

Occasionally, you feel a soft stroke upon your cheek or a rub into the knots in your shoulders as Zach watches the movements of your tongue. As there was still a lot of mixture upon the top side, you suddenly take the whole of him into your mouth eliciting a thunderous growl from him. The mix acts as a tasty lube - adding extra wetness that makes it easy to slide Zach’s cock in and out of your lips.

As his hips start to roll towards - meeting the forwards and back motion of your mouth - and you see his head drop back, you know that it’s time to slow it down again. Ensuring that you’ve licked and sucked every bit of the mixture from his skin, you release his dick with a pop.

With a gentle shove, Zach pushes you backwards - a grin upon his lips, “Two can play at that game, beautiful.”

Scraping the metal spoon against the sides of the bowl, Zach takes the remaining mixture and splatters it against your tummy and thighs. And then he pauses. Staring deeply into your eyes, he waits. Stretching the moment out before lowering his head to lick the batter from your belly - licking tiny circles into you, nuzzling the softness and kissing your sensitive skin.

Trying to send wordless hints to Zach by lifting your hips and opening your legs wider goes seemingly unheard with zero response. It isn’t until your tummy and thighs are licked sparkling clean that he gives a hint that he already knows where you want him. Need him. Shuffling closer to you, he lifts your knees over his shoulders before sliding his hands between the couch cushions and your bum. His fingers squeeze the ample flesh as he takes a deliciously long pause to gaze appreciatively between your legs.

You are wide open in front of him with his face hovering less than an inch above your pussy. Slowly, you watch him drag his eyes up your body until his eyes catch yours. He begins to lick - softly, delicately right upon your clit and it’s almost too much for you. Flattening out his tongue, he laps long, slow stripes, hungrily tasting your slickness before returning to the mind-bending, ultra-light flickering.

Feeling his eyes fall upon the heat surging through your body, you glance down to watch how he wrecks you beneath his tongue. Breathing hard and fast, you writhe under his touch before Zach moves slightly lower, sticking his tongue right into your cunt. Thrusting back and forth - making the muscle as hard as he can - he prepares you perfectly. Riling you up, making you wild for his cock - the best control Zach exerts over you.

Easing himself up, you feel Zach leave you once again. Leaving you wanting and desperate for more.

You call teasingly after him as you hear your bedside table drawer go, “Grating chocolate over me next or dripping lamb ragú across my body?”

A soft baritone chuckle tickles your ears, “Neither of those are good suggestions- I’d end up grating my fingers and I’d have to blow on the ragú before spilling it over you.”

Taking the condom from his hands, you roll it down towards the tight curls at the base of his cock. A frisson of excitement rushes through you as he lines himself up at your entrance - the thickness and weight of his length pressing against you. With one small thrust, Zach pushes the head inside and you instantly clamp down with all your might - your muscles trembling, fluttering around his hardened flesh. You look up to see him smiling down at you before pushing in a little deeper.

His spread of you is exquisite. How he opens you deeper and deeper until he bottoms out inside, with you both moaning your pleasure to invisible gods. You lock him in place by wrapping your legs around his back - your eyes focussed on each other in the golden afternoon light.

As your cunt clenches upon him again and again, a switch is flipped in Zach’s head. Gone are the gentle slow strokes and in their place are short sharp hammers from his hips and small bruises under his fingertips. The slapping of skin upon skin as he draws you in and pushes you away all starts building to a delicious crescendo as he finds that sweet spot inside you- hitting it again and again.

As he hammers away, you can feel your muscles start involuntarily squeeze and buck around Zach’s cock as you drown in waves of pleasure. Crashing through your tummy and spreading to your limbs, you allow yourself to be swept away as pleasure ripples throughout your body - not only submerging you but pulling Zach under too. He groans deeply in your ear, driving back and forth for a final time before permitting his own orgasm to overwhelm him.

✪✪✪✪✪

A cloud of steam puffs out as the silhouette of your boyfriend appears from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and one draped around his shoulders. His dark curls are hanging damp and soft over his eyes as he roughly rubs them dry, you can’t help but watch him rather than focus on the book you have open and resting on your tummy.

“You gonna get dressed, or are your friends so used to your exploits that nakedness is an option for you?” Zach teases as he sits on the edge of the bed - the hand not drying his hair, lazily squeezing your breast.

A cheeky grin spreads lopsidedly across your face, “Yeah - skin is always fashionable and surprisingly, always fits - no matter how much my boyfriend feeds me!”

The giggles and chuckles that fill the air are rudely interrupted by the sharp buzz from the intercom. The fun and ease dissipates quickly - a flash of panic distorts Zach’s features replacing the easy smile that was so recently there with a furrowed brow and mouth agape, gasping for air.

Raising your eyebrows insincerity, you grab his chin in your fingers as you gaze deeply into his eyes, “I can tell them to fuck off,” you gaze over at the alarm clock on the side, before turning back to him, “They’re fuckin’ early for a start. Listen, it’s still not to late for me to tell them all to fuck off - you and me, we can have a week of eating lamb ragú and homemade pappardelle until it comes out of our noses.”

A huffed laugh breaks through the short breaths, “You’d do that for me?”

“Course I would,” you laugh, “want me to?”

A few droplets fall like tiny diamonds upon your skin from where he shakes his head firmly. The intercom buzzes again, so you jump up - as naked as the day you were born to answer it, “What do you want?”

The tinny voices beg to be let in from the burning sun so you throw one last look at Zach over your shoulder, checking he is ok before responding, “‘Spose you can come in but take the stairs slowly, I’m still naked.”

A mock yelp of disgust echoes through the speaker with promises of pigeon steps to your front door.

“See, I bought us some time,” you grin, pinning Zach between your legs and pressing kisses all over his soapy sweet skin - his lighter chuckles muffled by your neck.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You alright, love?”

A bunch of brightly coloured gerberas are thrust into your face on opening the door of your apartment by your old colleague from when you both worked together in the local high school. There’s a flurry of kisses, handshakes and hugs before you push ice cold beers into Alex and Gray’s hands. Alex follows you onto the sofa chattering ten to the dozen about some of your former shared students. Half listening to him, you watch over Zach’s buzzing around the room protectively.

“How’s he doing? Tonight must feel quite overwhelming for him seeing all of us at once,” Alex mutters quietly as he catches your wandering gaze.

“Not great, but he did manage to sleep without any major nightmares last night - which is fucking massive progress,” you twist the fabric of your shorts between your fingers as you continue to watch him flit to and fro between the table and the fridge organising the antipasti.

Alex’s boyfriend, Gray sits upon the bar stool making small talk about where he likes to buy his prosciutto from, trying to take Zach’s mind off his obvious discomfort. Eventually, you watch him jump up to help alongside him - asking how he can help. You hear a small murmur from your boyfriend asking for the focaccia dough to be brought through from where it was resting in the kitchen.

You allow a little relief to run through your veins as you watch the two men working alongside each other, preparing sundried peppers and tomatoes, bresaola, and mozzarella across the plate - sprinkling them with olive oil, basil and chilli. Zach gives a muttered instruction to Gray who seems to understand as he retreats into the kitchen to find whatever it was your boyfriend asked him for.

“Gray’s being beautifully patient with Zach,” you whisper in Alex’s direction, your fingers tugging at the label of your bottle.

“He’s been there. He gets it.”

“What, being the new guy in the group?”

Alex snorts, “No honey, not just that. He was Delta Force. Fighting for president and country fucked him over too. We still have nightmares, sobbing and panic attacks.”

“Shit.”

You watch Alex drain his beer, nodding at you across the sofa. He sniffs before responding, “Yeah, no plain sailing here. But, he’s worth every crushingly tight hug. Every set of sweat soaked bed linens. Every welfare phone call from the police checking we are both okay from the shouting our neighbours hear.”

“I love him, Alex,” you quietly confide.

“I love Gray,” he agrees, patting your leg, “They are both two incredible men but fuck, have they both been used up and spat out.

“Want another?” Alex waves his empty bottle at you.

You nod smiling at him before returning to watch the two men preparing food quietly next to each other, their hands happy to have something to do.

✪✪✪✪✪

The door buzzes twice again with you answering to more friends and their partners, who are laden with beers and plants that soon fill your minuscule apartment to the brim. Zach finds comfort in adopting his work role - ensuring everyone is fed and watered adequately - managing tight smiles through his anxiety. Every time you pass him, you kiss and stroke him, whispering in his ear, kissing him between his shoulder blades as you squeeze past him in your tiny kitchen and passing him beers as soon as his empties.

“Thought that was my role tonight,” Zach mutters into your hairline as you press the latest ice cold bottle into his palm.

“Yeah, well, you’re slacking in your duties,” you tease before tugging his hand to get his attention away from the simmering pasta, “How are you doing?”

“S’a lot of people,” he honestly responds.

You nod at him, “Yeah, it is. A lot of people in quite a small space. If you need a break, go lay down - no one here will judge you. In fact, I remember a dinner party at Alex’s where he’d split from his previous partner and he spent the entire time in bed, sobbing whilst we all sat there eating gyoza and sushi we’d ordered in as he couldn’t bring himself to open the fridge.”

The tale brings a smile to Zach’s lips, just enough to make his dimple flash, “Nah, m’okay but thanks. Thanks for everything. You’re so fucking patient with me.”

“Just as well you’re hot, eh?” you wink at him, pinching his butt as you grab the mix of pasta bowls and plates from the side.

“Right folx, we fucking made the pasta from scratch so be grateful bitches or I will personally sling each one of you out of here,” you jokingly warn your friends.

“Like fuck you did,” Chimi pipes up from the sofa across the room, “You are telling me that the person who would probably burn a Pot Noodle has made pasta from scratch?”

“Zachary Wellison, what have you done to our favourite these-hotdogs-are-only-a-week-out-of-date human?” Chimi’s husband, Anthony, questions.

Zach spins with an air of alarm in your direction with the pot of ragú held tightly in his hands, “You served out of date food? I thought these people were your friends?”

Alex chuckles across the room, “Yeah, you should see how she treats her enemies.”

“You’re fucking mean, the lot of you. Anyway, dig in you ungrateful bastards,” you moan as Zach slinks over to swap a kiss for a plate of food, squishing up next to you on the sofa.

An air of slurping silence fills the room as everyone tucks into the delicious food. Groans of delight gradually trickling through the room as the freshly prepared food hits tastebuds perfectly.

“Zach, this is incredible,” Soph gawks at her plate wide-eyed as she spins another strand of pasta around her fork.

You furrow your brow in mock anger as you grumble, “Where’s my praise?”

A chorus of wows and well dones bring a rosy hue to Zach’s cheeks and you feel him shift awkwardly next to you. Where your thigh rests against his, you try to send him a small signal of just being there for him by knocking your knee into his.

“Zach, my sister is looking for a sous-chef in her restaurant - if this is how you cook, she’d be really interested in having you work for her,” Anthony calls across the room, “She has a lot of ex-military and homeless working for her so she’d get your background completely.”

Pushing himself up suddenly from the sofa, you watch as Zach marches out of the room - his knuckles white and his mouth a thin tight line- hiding himself in the bedroom.

“‘Scuse me,” you place your plate next to Zach’s on the floor.

“I’m so sorry — I didn’t, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just thought it would be the perfect opportunity for him,” Anthony apologises profusely as you turn to leave the room.

“I know, honey. Just give me a minute,” you pat his arm as you pass him.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hot tears run in rivulets down his cheeks, pooling on the pillow beneath his head. You quietly shuffle onto the bed next to him, running your fingers through his curls.

“They all think I’m a fuckin’ waste of space. Utterly useless and undeserving of you,” Zach stutters into the thick material.

“Is that what you took away from that conversation?” You gently question, stroking the wetness away with your thumb.

Zach sits up with a snarl in his throat, “I took from it that I’m in need of saving. Of pity jobs passed my way, ‘cause they can see that I’m just a washed-up vet who’s draining and using you.”

“Okay,” you pat his thigh. “Give me a moment. I… I want to tell you something.”

A creak signifies your weight leaving the bed and you swear you hear a louder gasp from Zach as you walk away into the living room. Five concerned faces and one guilt-stricken one turn towards you as you come into the room.

Chimi quietly asks, “How’s he doing? We can all go if it’d make it easier for him?”

You shake your head confidently, “No, I don’t think that would help him. Just… Can I borrow you for a second Alex, please?”

Pulling him closely behind you, you knock at the door before entering, “ Zach, honey. I have Alex with me. You know we used to work together at Laguna Creek with the seniors?”

A silhouetted nod comes from the hunched figure sat on the opposite side of the bed to where you and Alex come to rest.

“So when the job at the VA came up, I couldn’t help mulling it over as it seemed perfect for me but I couldn’t actually make myself sit down and write the resume or cover letter. If they didn’t shortlist me, it would have been a confirmation of every teacher’s nightmare that they’re no good at their job and letting the kids down.”

A tearful snort comes from Zach, “That’s ridiculous, you’re amazing at what you do.”

“Might seem like it but it felt very real at the time,” moving closer to him before continuing, you add, “If I made it to interview but they didn’t hire me then it would have been confirmation of the same and I don’t know that I’m tough enough for that rejection as before you came along, all I was was a teacher. It was my whole personality. I lived for every kid who passed through my hands but it wasn’t really living.

“Anyway, it was Alex who made me do it. He sat one night and rewrote my resume - adapting it perfectly for the job. He also wrote my cover letter too. And… and drove me to the interview.”

You watch as Alex’s phone lights up in his hands as he scrolls back through his Google Docs - you see your name written next to the acronyms of CV and CL as he slides the phone across the bed.

“And thank fuck he did, or I wouldn’t have you here with me,” You place your palm between his shoulder blades - still feeling the erratically fast pounding of his heart through his shirt.

You see a small shrug from Alex, before he responds, “That’s what friends do. When they spot a great path for you, they lift you up. Encourage you to go for new experiences and explore ways for you to grow.”

“I don’t know what it’s like working with my life at risk. I don’t have your lived experiences. Nevertheless, I do know what it feels like to not feel worthy or good enough and I now know that the paralysis from that fear, almost held me back from meeting you.”

With a tug of your arm, Zach pulls you across the bed into him, wordlessly sobbing into your hair as you hold him tightly in the darkened room.

✪✪✪✪✪

“…Then the surgeon had the audacity to ask me to make him a cup of tea, as if I hadn’t been there for entire fucking 12 hour surgery making sure that his patient was suitably anaesthetised and moved fucking regularly,” Soph splutters over her story as you shake your head in wonder as to how she hasn’t murdered one of those egotistical maniacs yet.

A soft shuffling in your hallway alerts you to a presence in the doorframe. The corners of your mouth instantly turn up on seeing Zach’s beautiful face as he shyly enters the room. A genuine, caring welcome back cheer erupts amongst your friends on seeing that he’d rejoined you.

“I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“Shhh,” Chimi quietens him abruptly, “You have nothing to apologise for. Want me to heat your food up?”

“Oh, that’s really kind but I think I’m done, thanks,” Zach smiles gratefully at Chimi, patting his tummy before turning towards her husband, “Anthony, I’m truly sorry and I’d love to take you up on that offer.”

Anthony shakes his head at Zach, “You have nothing to apologise for - I should have thought about how it looked to you. I’m truly sorry, man.

“I hope you don’t mind but I’ve boxed some up to drop at hers tonight - already texted her about you and your food and she’s really excited.”

“So, who’s ready for dessert?” you jump up from the floor, grabbing licked clean plates from your friends’ hands.

Zach quietly sits on the couch listening to another of Soph’s tales about the OR - even allowing himself a small chuckle at how she had gotten her own back on the baby doc who’d been so rude to her.

As you pass around heaped portions of the tiramisù on mismatched plates, a collectively indecent groan is sung in chorus by the guests. The hum of approval, you deflect from his cheeks by piping up and winking at your boyfriend, “Yeah, it had a similar effect on me earlier when Zach gave me a little taste.”

Your comment has Soph snorting the trifle through her nose as Chimi’s eyebrows hit the ceiling. Zach gives you a playful shove as everyone resumes eating before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I’m gonna need another container if there’s any left over,” Anthony mutters thickly, his mouth full of mascarpone.

Chimi narrows her eyes at this, “Thought she had Moretti on desserts?”

“Nah, this isn’t for her,” Anthony shakes his head as he loads up another forkful, “It’s for me - once you go to bed.”

✪✪✪✪✪

The happy sighs of full tummies fill the room as Anthony and Gray gather up the remnants of a meal well enjoyed. A whoosh is then added as the two men get on with washing up while Chimi and Soph grab the empties, popping them in the box by the front door with yawned promises from Alex that he’d take the box out as he leaves.

Coffee cups drained, you sit cross legged on the couch with Zach’s head resting in your lap - your hands alternately trying to plait his longer curls and stroking gently through them. You watch as his eyes grow heavy under your tender touch, his breathing slowly becoming heavier and his face morphing into a little boy’s - the day’s stresses and tribulations ironing away the furrows and creases, leaving slightly parted, pouty lips.

“Listen,” Chimi interrupts your reverie, “I think we’re all agreed that if you ever want us to come over for dinner again, Zach needs to be busting your ass with the cooking ‘cos that was fucking amazing.”

“Not just for his cooking skills though,” Soph agrees, “He’s softened your edges and it’s genuinely lovely watching the two of you together. He’s a good man.”

Alex nods over the top of the cushion he’s curled around, “I like him. He’s a keeper.”

You nod, gazing down at the precious soul in your lap.

“I just got a message from the sitter that they’re still awake,” Anthony grimaces at Chimi.

With a roll of her eyes, she holds her hand out to him to be pulled to her feet, “Guess that’s us, theydies and gentlethems.”

Alex ruffles Gray’s hair before adding, “We’d better head too. Soph, did you Uber over?”

“Straight from work, baby. I am dedicated,” she stretches out her arms in a ta-da of sorts, “Mia’s got the car as she’s on nights so a lift home would be really fucking appreciated.”

“Yup, gotchu girl,” Alex leans over to kiss your cheek as his goodbye - your arm pulling the back of his neck into an upside down and slightly awkward hug.

“Has everyone got their doggy bags?” You question as they head towards the door to find their shoes.

Lots of confirmations, thank yous and shout of goodbye echo through the hallway before it’s just you and Zach again.

“‘K you monster, you can stop faking it now.”

“Wasn’t faking it. Was dropping off at points but then they started saying nice things and I fought the sleep to hear what they said,” a thick, low rumble from Zach is spoken into your thigh.

“Yeah?” you tease, tickling his sides, “Ego suitably inflated?”

Snuggling his head into your thigh, you feel the cock of his cheek as he grins, “I think they missed the fact that I’m devilishly handsome but talking about how I bring out a softer side in you and that I’m a great cook - that’ll do for now.”

“Cheeky fuck,” you dig your fingers into his tummy before stroking the jab away, “I was thinking that perhaps we should get a key cut for you. For here. Cos it seems like you might not be working at the VA for much longer.”

“Baby, don’t get too ahead of yourself - I don’t know that she’ll like my cooking let alone hire me,” Zach gulps as he props himself up a little. His eyes dart around a little before he focuses on the sean of your shorts, “Also, I don’t know if I want to leave the VA. The thought of not seeing you all the time is not one I’m sure that I want to consider.”

“Sweetheart, you’d be coming home to me. You’d still be laying in bed next to me and making my coffee first thing in the morning,” you assure him as you stroke his slightly stubbly cheek, “The VA isn’t meant to be a permanent stop for you. But me? I’ll be permanent for as long as you’ll have me.”

Zach pushes himself to his creaky knees before taking your face in his hands, “Guess we’d better get that key cut.”

Tag list: @astroboots @silverwolf319 @sirowsky @leonieb @alliterative-albatross @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @day-off-inkyoto @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @ezrasbirdie @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @honestly-shite @sharkbait77 @speakerforthedead0 @agirllovespancakes @songsformonkeys @adamdrivercouldchokeme @lv7867 @anxiousandboujee @kesskirata @insomniamamma @elegantduckturtle @charnelhouse

If you’d like to be added or dropped from the tag list, let me know ❤️

#pedro pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal#ppascaledit #pedro pascal smut #zach wellison x you #zach wellison x reader #zach wellison #brothers and sisters #Zach Wellison fluff #Zach Wellison smut #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal edit #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic

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lovingjeankirstein · 3 years

Text

meeting filipino! iwaizumi's family scenario/headcanon

- filipino! iwaizumi pt. 2! gn! reader

- this one is for my loves @jesus-christ-super-ace and @nanaomiomi ! i've been wanting to write this one since the first part an they only urged me to do it more (thankfully)

- this will be written in headcanon format bc it's the only way i really know how to write these things but enjoy babes!

(lemme fangirl over this gif for a sec) WHY CANT HE BE REAL </3

okay moving on. you haven’t met the filipino side of iwa’s family yet, and he invited you over for his mom’s birthday.

referencing back to pt. 1, his family already knows he has an s/o.

everyone wants to meet the person that won kuya haji’s heart.

he decides to pick you up so you arrive together.

tita: “jowa mo yan haji?” (auntie: is that your s/o haji?)

iwa: “opo tita” (yes auntie)

tita: “ANG GANDA/GUAPO SIYA SEUS SUERTE KA TALAGA HAJI” (THEY'RE SO PRETTY/HANDSOME JESUS YOU'RE SO LUCKY HAJI)

they’d def call you anak despite just meeting you LMAO. (anak is a name parents/older family call their children.)

when meeting his mom, you bring her a gift and call her tita.

“thank you anak! pero call me nanay. ay! hajime! ang cute yung jowa mo!!” (thank you dear! but call me mom. oh! hajime! you're s/o is so cute!!)

iwa is so proud the entire time while lightly blushing and you’re RED AS A TOMATO

cue the mano po to his lola (grandma), lolo (grandpa), and elder family members. (mano po is a gesture done by younger family towards older family for respect.)

you win points from them for being so respectful

omg his little cousins would call you ate/kuya right off the bat. (kind of like san and kun but used for older cousins/siblings in the family. ate is for girls, and kuya for boys.)

you’d get excited over all the filipino food while iwa puts food on your plate for you (heart throb talaga sha) and you guys sit at a table.

you steal his eggrolls and he'll steal spoonfuls of rice and ulam and the family would be kilig. (ulam is food eaten with rice and kilig is like a giddy feeling towards romance.)

all his titos (uncles), titas (aunties), mom, and dad would bombard you with so many questions about school, your guys' relationship, and about your own pinoy family.

you're super nervous because WE ALL KNOW how judgmental filipinos can be at times.

dw tho! they love your personality; much to your relief.

after all the questioning, you and hajime play with the younger children.

he would let them hang onto his arms while he swings them pls. and you'd give them piggyback rides.

you'll all play outdoor games.

if there was a crying baby, you and iwa would try to put them to sleep and they def look like your child.

cue the "eeeeee" and "ooohhhhh" from LITERALLY EVERYONE.

talking to you tita baby.

literally makes you blush so hard and you both become so flustered; iwa is just looking away like "stop pls"

they tease him more for how he acts.

AFTER THAT, it's time for karaoke 🤪🤪

i feel like iwa will be a good singer. like he can sing good but not extravagantly. BUT STILL GOOD YK???

you'd let tito sing "total eclipse of the heart" first and they'd want you two to do a duet.

if you don't want to, iwaizumi will assure you it's okay and he'll sit out and watch everyone with you.

BUT NAH HE AIN'T GETTING OUT OF IT YOU'RE MAKING HIM SING.

"HOY HAJIME KANTAHIN KA PARA SA JOWA MO" (HEY HAJIME SING FOR YOUR S/O)

KILIGGGG (they do that a lot)

now he can't escape. he's going to make you pay by serenading you with a love song.

he'll choose something sappy like "kahit maputi na ang buhok ko" by rey valera (reference to last post) or "with a smile" by eraserheads.

THE COMMENTS FROM HIS FAMILY ARE SO FUNNY AND THEY TEASE YOU TWO SO MUCH

proud smirk on his face. (and when they aren't looking, he'll kiss your forehead.)

if you do duet, you guys would duet something lowk throwback like "halik" by aegis or "my way" by frank sinatra.

whether you sing more or not, haji will just discreetly snuggle with you on the couch to avoid the teasing while everyone else sings.

LINE DACING TOGETHER PLS-

singing both maligayang bati and happy birthday when his mom blows the candles.

you'll share a slice of cake and you'll try to feed him but he refuses because HE DOESNT WANT TITA TO KILIG AGAIN

but he'll give in ONCE bc you're his love but call you an idiot/dumbass and look away

when it's time to leave everyone's like "bye anak come back soon!"

when he asks for their opinion of you, they think you're an amazing person, already count you as a part of the family, and 100% approve of you as haji's jowa.

they also say he's fallen hard for you.

and he agreed with them <3

aoba johsai masterlist

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi headcanons #iwaizumi scenarios #iwaizumi hajime #hajime iwaizumi #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#aoba josai headcanons #aoba johsai #aoba jōsai #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu scenarios #hq iwaizumi #iwaizumi imagine

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probablynot-john · 2 years

Text

Okay I've put a lot of thought into this, and I think it's safe to say: Total Eclipse of the Heart is the perfect kalluzeb song. I could rant for paragraphs on why this is, so I will! (Look up the full version on YouTube, this is the best one I could find on here).

First of all, Eclipse>Space>Starwars. Obviously

Second of all and way more importantly, the lyrics fit perfectly to the characters and all the best (in my opinion) kalluzeb tropes!

The amount of fanfics I've read where Zeb's eyes are described as "luminous", or Kallus' gorgeous golden eyes which are undeniably "bright".

Also since Alex is usually the angsty one you can assume it's him singing but either of them could work. Or it's none of them singing but it still works!

If you've read any hurt/comfort kalluzeb fics (which is my bread and butter) the lyric "every now and then I get a little bit helpless and I'm lying like a child in your arms" just feels like every bit of cuddly Kallus fan art/fic and I love it!

The lyric "everynow and then I get a little bit angry and I know I've got to get out and cry" sounds like one of them (probably Kallus, since Zeb has had a loving support group and several years to process his trauma, while Kallus is/ has been extremely isolated and emotionally repressed for a good chance of his life) definitely having a panic attack, and I know this isn't a specific kalluzeb trope but I just had to mention it because of how much I love this song.

The part of the chorus "once upon a time I was falling in love, now I'm only falling apart, nothing I do total Eclipse of the heart " is the part of the fic when Alex knows how hopelessly in love with Zeb but he still has intense self esteem issues so he can't do anything about it.

Can't you just imagine poor depressed Kallus having an episode just quietly singing "everynow and then I know you'll never be the boy you always wanted to be" because of me. And Zeb always standing just out of reach trying his best to get kallus to "turn around" and see that he's right there waiting for him. And then his sweet Sasha whispers "every now and then I know you'll always be the only boy who wanted me the way that I am" that set him on the path to redemption.

"Every now and then I know there's no one in the universe as magical and wonderful as you", "turn around"," everynow and then I know there's nothing any better, and nothing that I just wouldn't do"

I mean come on, how perfect is that!

Honestly I love this song so much and I could probably find a way to make it about any of my favorite ships, but right now kalluzeb is my otp and the beautiful sweeping music and the dramatic angsty lyrics just fit so well with everyone's favorite purple cat man and golden sadsack.

#hot kallus #sw rebels #kalluzeb #bonnie tyler #star wars #80s music #god i love this song #Spotify

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thran-duils · 3 years

Text

Total Eclipse (P.2)

Title: Total Eclipse (Part Two) Summary: Fem!Reader x Sherlock Holmes (RDJ). Sherlock had an impression on the reader from a formative age but he was always so busy running with cases. Their moments of passions were coveted between the two but they were few and far between. He left with Watson on a case and in that time, her parents found her a suitable man to give her to. Wealthy and accomplished. Sherlock and her have not been able to let go of each other though. Words: 3,792 Warnings (for the whole fic): Angst, infidelity, smut, swearing, substance abuse, non liner storyline, character death, 18+ as always Author’s Note: There is heavy backstory here in italics! I was reading up on Victorian customs and tbh, I’m not privy to it at all, so I apologize if things are not historically accurate!

Part One || Part Three || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

You walked away from where your ladies tea was going on, brushing your skirts out. You had begun to become uncomfortable sitting on the blanket and wanted to stretch your legs.

“Do not wander too far,” your mother called out to you.

“Of course not, mother,” you called back over your shoulder.

She would not notice how far you wandered when she was this engrossed in the latest gossip from the castle.

Coming onto the cobblestone, your eyes set on the fountain. There were goldfish inside and you made a point to always come to the fountain when you visited this park. You nodded at a couple as you passed them, exchanging pleasant smiles. They did eye you somewhat curiously at the fact you were walking alone but pleasant, nonetheless. Reaching the edge of the fountain, you leaned over, peering into it.

Just as you were reaching into the fountain, a small gust of wind hit you and you felt your hat fly off the top of your head. You let out a noise of frustration, turning around, eyes searching. It was tumbling away and coming to the feet of a gentleman sitting on a bench. His eyes were on you, and you had a feeling they had been for a bit.

He dipped down, picking your hat up from the cobble stone and stood up from the bench. His hands came up to brush at it as he walked towards you. He was careful with the fabric, his own coat bristling in the small breeze at his sides.

“Your hat, miss,” he said holding it out to you, giving a small bow.

You thanked him and took it.

He was terribly handsome. Dark hair, tousled just so, not to the point that he looked unkempt. His eyes were an alluring shade of chocolate. There was a playfulness in them and they excited you.

“You must keep a good hold on that. It’s woven perfectly,” he continued.

“Perfectly?” you asked, putting the hat back on.

“Yes. It’s immaculate. The stitchwork. Whoever did it took great care. I believe it is the work of the hatter on Bishop’s Gate, east end?” Your mouth fell open in surprise as you pulled the ribbon down beneath your chin and you froze. He gave a light chuckle at your expression, “Sorry, I have a keen eye for detail and a memory to boot. May I?” He asked suddenly, his hands reaching ever so slightly towards your face, eyes on the ribbons for a moment to explain what he was asking.

You stilled, your hands falling to your sides, and he took it as invitation. You breathed easily even though your heart jumped at him being so close. You did not even know this man; he was bold. Coming forward, his hands latched to the ribbons, tying it better than you could. He had a nice smelling aftershave and you locked eyes, your breath hitching. He was suspended in your gaze for a moment before clearing his throat.

He gave a brief smile as he pulled away. “That’s better.”

Something had happened there. And you pressed it.

“Are you sure you would like to tie it that tight? I may want to lose it again if it means you’ll fetch it for me?” you asked.

He actually looked amused, and you were relieved. You were constantly scolded from a young age for being so coquettish. “Bold. Aren’t you?”

“I’ve been told so.”

“Miss….?”

“Miss Y/N L/N. And you?”

“Sherlock.”

“That’s it, then?”

Now he was coy. “For now.”

“So, there’s to be a future, then? Between us?”

He caught your wit, amused even further. Thankfully he did not think you crass and he did not chastise. He was returning your flirtations. “I think so, Miss Y/N.”

“Well, I look forward to the future then. You live in London?” you questioned.

“Yes. Do you?”

“Most of the time.”

“’Most of the time?’” Sherlock repeated and you shrugged.

“Sometimes I dream of escaping. It takes up some of my time, pulling me away from here.”

He smirked at that. “I suppose I should say most of the time too. My mind pulls me to places. As well as my job.”

“Lucky you,” you said sincerely, and his expression was warm. He was interested in you. He was older, not terribly but there was distance. Reaching out, you touched his topcoat. “You are a bit of a pyromaniac it seems. Or just terrible with the cherries of your cigars. Please tell me it’s not the latter.”

“What makes you say that?”

You cocked your head and pulled down his vest and his eyebrows rose at the movement as you exposed some of his chest hair peaking out from beneath his dress shirt. You ignored his stunned look, doing your best to not linger on his exposed chest. Your finger landed on his dress shirt, pointing out the singe. “Do you think I’m blind, Mr. Sherlock?”

He let out a small laugh.. “I thought I hid it well enough beneath the vest.”

“You must not move as quickly as you have been to keep it hidden. Now, tell me. Why would you not just get a new shirt? You surely have the money. I mean, if you know the hatters on Bishop’s. And it’s not just anyone that splurges on a silk tie.”

He cocked his head, eyes running up and down you. You smiled in response, seeing you had impressed him.

“I haven’t gotten around to it,” he shrugged.

“Busy man, then.”

“Quite.”

“Too busy to escort me through the park?” you asked.

He eyed you and asked, “Would that be entirely inappropriate? We did not set this up beforehand.”

You shrugged now and said, “I could tell the gallant story of how you saved my hat from getting dirty in the mud. And I asked for you to walk me back. I did get quite a look for being on my own on the way over here.”

Sherlock’s lips pulled into a smile, and he gestured for you to walk. You were thankful he had initiated it; it was societally appropriate for him to initiate everything. How you wished you could loop arms but that itself would be societally inappropriate considering you had just met. Your mother would simply have a heart attack if she saw that, especially with so many possible suitors in the park.

He came to a stop, and you stopped as well, watching him curiously as he left the path. He reached for the rose bush, and you grimaced as he reached straight into it. He could cut his hands. But he yanked, his fingers moving ever so, pulling a single rose off the bush. His hand was unharmed.

He presented it to you, and you took it gently.

“A token of appreciation of your company, Miss L/N,” he said.

Examining it, you observed, “Pink. Are you of grace and sweetness? Or is that to refer to me?”

“I would have given red would it have been readily available,” he smiled, and you felt heat creep. “Also, pink can symbolize admiration. That is breaching on the red, is it not?”

You shrugged, keeping it close. “Yes, I suppose so. A fine point.”

The two of you walked on and Sherlock asked lightheartedly, “Where is your escort, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I am here with a ladies group. They’re probably sitting at the blankets still, tittering about the gossip,” you responded. “My mother especially. She loves being in the center of all the gossip and drama.”

“My, I must watch my back returning you. Would not want to start any rumors.”

“Would rumors about us be so bad, Mr. Sherlock?”

He was tickled. “You really have no shame, do you?”

“Only in the presence of people I think I can trust. Not all women are complete straight laces. And frankly, most are only that way in public. Have you not spent a lot of time with women in private spaces?”

Sherlock chuckled, “That is a very loaded question, my dear. Where did you ever learn to banter like this?”

“I have an older brother. And your ‘dear’?”

“Have I offended you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

His eyes were alight, sharing a look with you. It was only interrupted as you passed another couple and nodded at them, Sherlock doing the same.

“Ah, like I said,” you said coming back over the bridge. You spotted them still eating their small cakes and sipping on their tea. Sherlock followed your gaze and you leaned in, “Thank you for providing me a walk. My legs had become quite numb sitting on the ground for so long.”

“My pleasure,” Sherlock responded.

You saw that one of the women had noticed you and Sherlock approaching over the bridge and you needed to hurry up the conversation. Pressing your luck, you asked, “Do you happen to have an invite to the Mayberry Ball?”

“Unfortunately,” Sherlock sniffed.

“Would it still be unfortunate if I was there?” you inquired.

Sherlock’s eyes were locked with yours and you came to a stop in the path. You stared at him with sincerity, waiting for his answer.

He cleared his throat, looking away. “It would liven up the event, that is for sure. I am terribly bored at those events, but I am dragged along by my… partner.”

“‘Partner?’” you asked, your fiery hope getting water doused on it.

“Confidant. Flatmate,” Sherlock explained quickly sensing your discomfort, meeting your gaze once more. You visibly relaxed, and he no doubt noticed. He resumed walking with you down the path. “He encourages me to get out. It is why I am at the park today. I had only been out for about a quarter of an hour before you showed up and I had already been considering heading back inside.”

“What a shame, sir. To hide yourself away. Who knows who you’ll meet if you only ventured out?” you stated, shrugging in a lighthearted manner.

“Too true,” Sherlock returned, eyes bright. He shot a look towards where the tea was being held and then cleared his throat, straightening up. “Well, it looks like we have been found out, Miss L/N. I suppose I should let you get back to your lunch. I have taken up too much of your time.”

“The pleasure was mine, Mr. Sherlock,” you assured him as you reached the edge of the grass.

Sherlock gave you a curt bow and turned towards the ladies and gave them a smile and a bow as well in acknowledgment. The ladies bowed their head in return, and you kept yourself from smirking at the fact they all looked like chickens bobbing their heads in unison, eyes fixated on him.

“Enjoy the rest of your afternoon. Make sure to keep that hat tied tightly, Miss L/N,” he told you before turning on his heel and walking off.

You watched him walk off for a few moments before turning back to the tea.

Your mother was on you the second you sat down.

“Who was that man? And where did you get that rose?”

“My hat flew off and he fetched it for me before it went into the mud. I was foolish, I should have tied it before walking off. A gust of wind caught it,” you told her calmly, fixing your skirts around your legs as you relaxed in your sitting position. “And I made a comment about the roses, so he picked one for me. I was afraid the poor man was going to hurt his fingers, but he was careful. Very kind of him to do so, it does smell lovely.”

“And his name?”

“Mr. Sherlock.”

Your mother eyed where he had walked off and she said, “Why does that name not sound familiar?”

The other ladies looked at a loss as well and you merely shrugged in response. “Maybe he is new to the city. I am grateful he walked me back. Are there any cucumber sandwiches left? I am famished.” You acted as if you had little interest in him to get your mother off your back, but you were already thinking of what gown to wear to the Mayberry Ball.

<><><>

You looked down at your gown for the umpteenth time, making sure nothing had spilled on it. You had chosen a deep purple, silk brocade with silver detail. It was one of your finest and your mother encouraged it, considering it was the courting season and especially since it was your fourth season. Your father listened to you when you told him you were uninterested in the men who had tried to court you thus far, but you knew even his patience would wear thin with your pickiness and your hand would be forced.

Eyes wandering, you stood by where your brother was recounting a story to your father and mother. People spun to the dance, others off to the side, exchanging flirtations. You suddenly locked eyes with Sherlock across the room.

He grinned briefly before raising his eyebrows. He turned, disappearing back into the hallway behind him.

Your family was distracted with your older brother, and you easily slipped away through the crowd, following where he had gone. The hallway was empty and there were doors at the end of it. You pushed them open and were expecting him. But you were met with empty air and your brow furrowed.

“Sneaking away, Miss L/N?”

You startled hearing him from behind you. He was sitting on a bench against the wall, nestled between two tall plants.

Stomping over you glowered down at him.

“Did I offend somehow?” he asked as he stood up from the bench.

You scoffed, “You told me to sneak away! And then you startle me!”

“I did nothing of the sort! I merely made a face. And you assumed from there. I don’t argue your detection skills though.”

“Why do I feel as if you are jesting?”

“Never.”

You sighed before saying, “Well, I would accept a dance. But I am sure my mother would be on you in a second. She was already curious about the walk.”

“As you suspected. And she should be. A strange gentleman walking her daughter through the park. Especially during the season. And who said I danced?”

“Is that why you were standing on the outskirts?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

You cocked an eyebrow and said, “If you haven’t noticed, I am single. I am to be escorted at these types of events. My father and brother were keeping me close until someone approached me to ask for a dance.”

“You’d already danced with three by my count.”

“You were watching me. For how long?”

“The detail on your gown is exquisite.”

“Will you always compliment my clothing? Is there nothing else about me to compliment?”

There was a pause, the two of you staring at the other. Sherlock’s lips twitched and he hid a smile. “It would be inappropriate of a me to engage in other compliments, no matter how much they are warranted.” Well, that answered your question in a sly manner, much to your pleasure. “But, being found outside with a man alone would tarnish your reputation. And yet you followed. Speaking of inappropriate.”

“And you encouraged it. Plus, it is not like I am a lady. I’m simply middle class. It would not affect me as greatly.”

“I would not say ‘simply’ in that regard. It is very respectable to be middle class. Especially since I can deduce your family is further into the elite side of it. And on the contrary, not being upper class, the situation which we are describing would certainly affect you greater considering you are closer to having less equity if a suitable match was not made within your own social class. Middle-middle class is less than lower upper class.”

He noticed your eyes were narrowed and he cleared his throat, stopping in his speech.

“Do you always speak so much?” you asked him.

“Yes.”

You spotted your brother going through the crowd inside in earnest, certainly searching for you.

“Well, do not change, Mr. Sherlock,” you told him, giving him a quick smile. His interest was piqued by the comment, and you added, “I’m quite serious. It amuses me so. You have intellect. But I must take my leave. I spot my brother who is certainly going to talk my ear off in an unpleasant way about wandering off alone. Even if I say I was using the lavatory and did not want to interrupt their conversation.”

“If you find yourself on New Bond Street…” you said in invitation. Sherlock looked taken aback and you quickly said, “I am sorry. I did not mean to be too forward.”

“No,” he recovered quickly. He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, that’s not it. You are just… very close to me. A few blocks actually… fascinating.”

You saw your brother cross again and you hurried, “Oh, well, yes, that is. What a coincidence. Well, good night. I hope to see you again.” You gave him a half curtsy before you turned.

He grabbed your hand and you stopped, facing him again. He brought your gloved hand up to his lips and gave it a kiss, keeping his eyes on you. “And I as well.”

A smile was on your lips as he let your hand go and you hurried back through the doors back to the ballroom.

<><><>

The day after your tryst with Sherlock, you were not surprised you were called on at home. Thankfully, Arthur was not home.

“A gentlemen is here to see you, ma’am. A Mr. John Watson.”

You greeted him in the parlor, the door cracked. You did not want to arouse suspicion about this gentleman visiting you while Arthur was out, no matter if he was known as an acquaintance. Although, he was far closer to you than anyone in the household would ever know. If the maids wanted to eavesdrop, they could do so gladly.

“John,” you greeted him and he took his hat off to greet you in turn.

“Y/N, you look lovely as always,” he complimented as one of your maids brought in a tray of tea.

John waited for you to seat yourself before he sat down as well. You reached forward, preparing two cups of tea for the pair of you.

“Thank you. You look well. Mrs. Hudson must be feeding the two of you well.”

“Quite,” he answered.

“Sugar?”

“Please.”

You handed him his tea and he placed it in front of him.

John asked point blank, “How was he?”

Of course John knew you had seen him. If Sherlock left 221B Baker, you were one of, if not the first, stops he would take on most of the time if John was not with him.

“He was Sherlock.”

John took a drink and you watched him closely. He met your eyes again and sighed, “He’s been manic.”

“Then it’s a good thing he’s coming back out to see us then, correct? He confirmed he would be at the masquerade.”

“It’s gotten worse since—”

“I don’t need to be reminded again,” you told John.

“I think you do. Are you happy here?”

You bristled at the comment. Why did men think they had such a liberty to comment on your choices? Maybe you should have closed the door, but you did not expect something like this from John of all people. Sherlock, certainly. But not him.

John noticed your expression and he opened his mouth, but you cut in testily in quiet tones.

“I wish you wouldn’t speak so loudly about such matters right under my husband’s roof.”

You did get up now and go to the door, closing it. This was turning into something else entirely than what you had expected. John was watching and you hoped he realized he needed to be quick about this to not give too much time for them to speculate what was happening in here. You sat back down.

He matched your quiet tones, thankfully, even with the door closed. “It’s the most sure-fire way to get your attention on the matter.”

Taking a drink of your own tea, you kept your eyes pinned on him. Swallowing, you placed your cup back down delicately. “I cannot leave my husband.”

“I wasn’t asking you to do that.”

Cocking your head, you asked, “Then what are you asking, John?” His lips were pursed and you knew you had caught him. You shrugged, “You’re asking me to leave my husband. Divorce is illegal for me to initiate if you have forgotten.”

“I know that. He’s always better after he sees you.”

“But?” you asked, knowing there was more.

“But he always reverts.”

“Because he’s not with me?”

John gave you a look now and he said, “You know it is true.”

“John, is this for you or for him?”

“Can it not be both?” he asked honestly. “I am concerned for my friend, and I can simultaneously be concerned for my own mental health and anxiety.”

You sighed heavily, looking out the window.

“I know it is near impossible for you to obtain divorce – or even a separation – but… if you simply saw him more.”

“How?”

“Bring him into your circle. Then it would not be suspicious if the two of you were speaking with each other. On the street, in a restaurant, at the park.”

“You know it not just speaking that Sherlock and I engage in,” you whispered.

John rose his brows, looking embarrassed, but said, “I know. But just seeing more often may encourage him to imbibe less and relax.”

“Do you understand how much I wish I could be with him?” you asked seriously. John was quiet and you shrugged. “There will always be a hole, John, for me.”

John leaned forward and said, “Then try what I am suggesting. Please.”

Studying his face, you exhaled, running the risk of the idea through your mind. Sherlock was unorthodox, but perhaps he could put up a front to be around the gentlemen your husband surrounded himself with. It was farfetched but… possibly.

“I’ll consider it. I am going to see him tomorrow night at the ball. I trust you are attending?”

John nodded, “Yes. I am.”

“Good,” you told him, getting up again and going back to open the door a crack. You did not see anyone in the hall but you doubted they had not been there and had only run away when they heard your footfalls coming towards the door. Facing him again, you said in your normal voice, “I am looking forward to the gooseberry pie myself.”

~~~

Fic tags: @undecidedsworld @mcnegan

#sherlock holmes x reader #rdj sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes rdj #my shit

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dross-the-fish · 2 years

Text

Totally Underwhelming Eclipse of the Half-Hearted

Because I am not done talking about Dance of the Vampires.

If you want to see what I had to say about act 1 here are the links to my other posts

Now, the good news is that this second act is probably the better half of the musical. It's less consistently bad and a little closer to the European version, there are even a scant hand full of things that work.

But the bad stuff is really bad.

After Crawford sings the midnight serenade to Sarah we cut right to Total Eclipse of the Heart.

The problems in this number aren't anything we haven't seen before, I mean Crawford has been an unwelcome presence for most of act one, the choreography is shit, and the set, if you can call it that, is pretty pathetic, (fucking bleachers!) but I want to talk about a few things I haven't really gone into detail about yet.

The music. For the most part the music is generally the same, although it does sound like someone took Tanz and shrunk it. The orchestra and choir really lack the epic quality of the European version, but whatever, it's close enough. I'll give credit to Mandy Gonzales, she sounds great. In fact she sounds so good here that it just serves to highlight how awful Michael Crawford is.

youtube

Then you get to the lyrics.

The lyrics are a huge problem with this adaptation because in a lot of key songs, they weren't actually adapted. What we got in the final product isn't a translation of Michael Kunze's lyrics, rather it's a copy/paste of the existing lyrics (with some minor tweaks) from Jim Steinman's songs.

It's easy to say this was done out of laziness but given what I know and recently have learned of Jim Steinman I'd say it's very likely he didn't want his lyrics compromised. He has a reputation for being a massive ego and I'd be lying if I said I couldn't see the telltale Jim fingerprints all over the final product. I may expand on that later, but before I deviate too much from my initial point.

The lyrics.

Because they are cut and pasted from existing songs they no longer sound like the voices of the characters. They sound like the voice of Jim Steinman. In Total Eclipse Von Krolock sounds lovesick rather than predatory and Sarah sounds like a world weary old soul who's been burned before and is afraid to love again.... instead of... you know... and 18 year old girl who's never left her father's inn. This is even more egregious in Starker Als Wir Sind/Braver Than We Are because so much of the English version's lyrics are vague biblical metaphors that don't actually make much sense coming from a character like Sarah.

Example in Braver Than We Are Sarah sings "How can we fly like an angel in the sacred air?" At first that kind of sounds pretty, but in the context of the moment it doesn't really fit. It has almost nothing to do with what Sarah is doing or feeling and it's just empty imagery.

This is a fairly consistent shortcoming of Jim Steinman's songwriting. Style over substance plagues a lot of his songs. Even his best songs sometimes have weird lyrics that sound cool but don't actually mean anything.

Amazingly that doesn't hurt his music nearly as much as it should. All three Bat out of Hell albums are pretty strong, so much so that I'd be hard pressed to pick a favorite between them.

In the context of a musical, however, it's a different story.

Let's take a look at the Tanz version to do a comparison.

youtube

The lyrics here illustrate a Sarah that is giving into temptation but feels shades of regret. Even as much as she wants what's being offered she knows there's no going back. Superficially it doesn't seem that different in theme from the English version but the lyrics do a better job of revealing Sarah's thought process.

Speaking of temptation let's touch on that for a sec, temptation and resisting it vs giving in is a huge theme of this musical. Draußen ist Freiheit and especially Das Gebet are all about temptation. How it pulls us, how the thing that finally breaks our resolve must be stronger than we are. Sarah is tempted by a voice that calls to her and offers her something dark, sensual, and forbidden. A fall from grace that will damn her forever but grant her her wildest dreams. Really the overarching theme of temptation needs its own post because there are so many layers, so I'll save it for after I've finished my breakdown of the full play.

We spend all of Draußen, Starker, and Das Gebet watching Sarah teeter on the edge and Finsternis is where she finally falls. There is a LOT of emotion here. The lyrics beautifully illustrate what she's feeling and how Von Krolock continues to suck her in by offering her her dreams.

In other words less this

and more this...

hell even this would have been preferable...

... you know I'm starting to see a pattern with young girls name Sarah and mystical older men in uncomfortably tight pants.

So why doesn't Tanz suffer from the same problem's with lyrics?

Probably because Steinman doesn't speak German and so had little say over how his songs got adapted into the German language.

The lyricist for Tanz is Michael Kunze, known for his work on Elisabeth and Rebecca and Kunze is honestly a wonderful lyricist. He does an excellent job giving each character a consistent voice while giving the lyrics depth and nuance. Which might not have saved the Broadway version, but it would definitely have helped.

Speaking of lacking depth and nuance....the next scene is the one where Von Krolock greets Alfred and Abronsius at the gate of his...

.... completely empty stage.

Hang on to your butts folks. It's gonna get real ugly.

#Youtube #european musicals #tanz der vampire #michael crawford #dance of the vampires #phantom of the opera #tanzblr

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casifer-is-king · 3 years

Text

Goldfish

PI!Frankie Pt. 2 (Private Investigator Frankie Morales Pt. 1)

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x fem!reader

Rating: M

Warnings: some language, sexual situations: dry humping and making out.

A/N: I can't get this these two out of my head so I just keep writing hah. It is cross posted on AO3 under my username BlondiMarie.

Frankie is bored out of his mind - watching some high up bank employee as he sits through some shady meeting - when his phone pings.

Pollito: Today's the day. At 3pm tonight I will officially be a divorced woman. And by 9pm I will hopefully already be drunk on celebratory drinks! Are you gonna come have a shot with me??

Sorry dulzura I have to work.

Pollito: Bank dude still? You must be slipping, Mr. Morales. You've been stalking that guy for weeks now.

Please don't call it stalking woman. It's surveillance. And I'll have you know I'm about to close this one.

Pollito: Oh I don't doubt you. You're the best investigator I know XD

Frankie shakes his head with a grin. The meeting he's been watching seems to be coming to a close, so he throws some money down for the coffee he'd ordered and walks out to his truck. He looks over the information he gathered from this most recent surveillance and knows that tonight is going to be the best night to follow up on it. He just wishes he could put it off. Spending the evening celebrating with you sounds like a much better time. Especially after everything you've gone through this past month with the divorce.

In the past few weeks, the texting between the two of you had been just as constant as ever, but you had added hanging out together to the mix as well. There had been one dinner so far, which you insisted on paying for, claiming you'd never pay him back if he paid. Then there had been a couple of times you went out for drinks, but Frankie did pay for those even through your complaints that you can pay for yourself.

It was all friendly, though. Not that Frankie didn't want to move on from friendly. He just didn't want to push that move too quickly. You were already stressed enough without him adding his own shit to the mix. So he goes on being the supportive friend, ignores his growing feelings and focuses on work.

And it's a plan that works well for him up until this night.

It's almost midnight when the next text from you comes through.

Pollito: where ar youuuuuu

I'm working Pollito.

Pollito: but yo should be here drikinh with me Fishyyyyyyyyy

Sometimes Frankie really wishes he hadn't told you about his Delta call sign, but he can't help but smile down at his phone as he waited for whatever you were typing now.

Pollito: I need a ride home :(

I thought you had it covered dulzura

Pollito: nuh hh. Come get me?

Frankie bites his lip and peeks up through his windshield. A man in a suit is walking up to the door Frankie has been watching for the past hour. One more glance at the slew of little sad faced begging emojis you had just sent and Frankie was out of his truck and closing the distance to his target with long strides.

Simultaneously hitting record on his phone and pressing a forearm into the target's chest, Frankie quickly takes control of the situation. “This is being recorded. Now I want you to tell me what you and your buddies are doing here tonight?” he asked in a tone that commands an answer.

“Get off me!” the man tried to push Frankie away, but ended up being pushed harder against the building behind him.

“You tell me what I want to know and you can go on your way. Now, what are you doing here tonight?”

“I will call the cops,” the guy made one last ditch attempt. His voice was weak, though, and didn't hold near the authority he had hoped for.

“That's not going to happen,” Frankie's growled out. He glared into the target's eyes for a moment, his teeth clenching. “What's going to happen is you're going to tell me exactly what you and your pals are doing in there. In as much detail as possible.”

“Ok! It's a skim operation!” The man finally gave in. He proceeded to give Frankie everything he needed without any additional prompting from the ex-special forces soldier.

When Frankie got everything he needed, he finally let up on the target, who immediately collapsed into himself. “See, that wasn't so hard,” Frankie said. “Thanks, man. I'm sure you'll be hearing from some people soon.”

Walking away, Frankie looks down to his phone. It's been 15 minutes since your last text.

I'm on my way bonita.

〰️〰️〰️

You know that you're well past drunk when you find yourself singing Total Eclipse of the Heart at a karaoke bar, surrounded by your best friends. Said friends are just as drunk as you are after too many rounds of sickly sweet shots.

You saw him as soon as he strode into the bar. He was wearing his usual baseball cap, but tonight he was wearing a black leather jacket over a tee shirt that stretched deliciously over his chest. You locked eyes with him from the stage, then followed his broad form as he made his way to the bar. With a beer in hand, he watches you sing with a warm look in his chocolate eyes.

As soon as the song is over, you're off the stage and by his side. With a huge smile you throw your arms over his shoulders and he stoops to wrap his arms around you in return.

“I'm so glad you came, Fishy!” You yell directly into Frankie's ear.

“You look like you're having enough fun without me, Pollito. And stop calling me that” Frankie retorts, pulling away with a faux glare.

“I'll stop calling you that when you stop calling me a chicken!”

Frankie laughs outright, showing off the adorable dimple in his cheek. “I promise it's just a nickname. It's not meant to be offensive.”

You glare up at the taller man, fingers still holding onto the plush leather of his coat. He only smiles down at you, though, with a fond look in his dark eyes. “Have a shot with me!” You finally demand. “We are celebrating the fact that I'm a free woman, remember?”

Frankie indulges you with a smile as you grasp one of his large hands in yours and turn him back toward the bar. He doesn't pull away, so you take that as a good sign and lightly run your thumb down the prominent vein running down the back of said hand.

Ever since the night Frankie came and kicked your ex out for good, he had been tip-toeing around you. You were more than certain that the man felt the same about you as you did him, but he hadn't made any move to go any farther than the dinner date you took him on. But every time he'd peek the tip of his tongue out when he concentrated on something you wanted to kiss him. And whenever he'd wrap his arms around you and pull you into a friendly hug, you wanted to push him against the nearest surface and leave marks across his neck. Not to mention all the little things, like watching him drive and yearning to grab his hand in yours. Or even just sitting next to him on the couch and wishing he'd pull you closer so you could just bask in his warm existence.

But, ever the gentleman, Frankie does none of those things. He texts you all day, spends time with you when he's not busy, and lets you vent to him endlessly about your divorce. And so maybe that's where the issue lies: you were technically still a married woman and Frankie is just the kind of gentleman who wouldn't make a move on a married woman? Regardless of how separated she was from her husband.

Marriage isn't an issue anymore, though, you think happily as you and Frankie down your shots of Jameson and it's subsequent pickleback in two smooth steps. Because this was your celebration as a newly single woman! You just had to make sure Frankie was aware of this as well.

Your little Frankie bubble was invaded as your friends squish up to the bar beside you. “Oh, look who made it right as we are leaving!”

“Hello, Erin. I see you two have been taking care of her,” Frankie nods toward you with a mildly facetious smile.

“Only the best divorce party for our best friend!” Ashley cheers, sloppily throwing her arms around your neck. “But our Uber is here, so it's time to pack it up.”

You can almost feel Frankie's eyes squinting at you as you turn to your friends. Oops. So maybe you had exaggerated just a little bit to convince Frankie to show up tonight. But it was worth it now that he was here. “Actually, Frankie's gonna take me home.”

Erin and Ashley exchange looks and you know, even in your drunken daze, that is time to usher them out to their waiting ride. “Come on, loves, your car won't wait forever.”

After long winded goodbyes, multiple hugs and some empty promises from Ashley that you would all get lunch the next day, you finally packed your friends into their Uber.

“Ready to go, too, cariño?” Frankie asked, looking down into your eyes.

Your head tilted to the side. This was a pet name he had not called you before. You are about to ask about it, but suddenly his large hand is covering the span of your lower back and warmth is radiating from that spot straight into your belly. With a dreamy nod, you allow Frankie to lead you across the lot to his truck. He gently lifts you into the passenger seat and his full torso covers you momentarily as he leans across to buckle you in securely.

You're struck, in this moment, by the realization of how broad this man's shoulders are. Of course, it's not something that you can miss; but in this moment, warmed by his body covering yours, he seems broader than ever. Shoulders leading to strong arms, ending with those hands. It was obvious that Frankie was accustomed to working with his hands, with long, thick fingers calloused from engine work and handling guns. But it's the little things about Frankie's hands that always captured your attention. The way they twitched when he was feeling anxious, always looking for the first thing he could to occupy them. He'd caress the table beneath his fingers, following every groove over and over again. Or when he tapped along to the music on the radio as he drove and his fingers would flex, showing off all of his tendons.

You're brought out of your thoughts when one of those fingers reaches up to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. He's still close. Close enough that it wouldn't take much effort to just lean forward and place your lips on his.

But in the next instant he's retreating, shooting you a wink as he closes the door and jogs over to the drivers side.

“Did you get the guy?” You asked once Frankie had pulled away from the bar. “The one you've been watching.”

“Of course I did,” he drawls. “I'm the best, remember?”

“I am certain that's not what I said,” you laughed.

“That's what I remember you saying.”

You laugh at him, enjoying how his deep laugh harmonizes with yours, enjoying the moment with him. You wish you could drag this moment on, you think blearily. But soon enough he's parked outside your new condo and gently helping you up to your front door.

“Stay,” you whisper as Frankie fights to get your door unlocked while also dealing with you draped all over him. He grunts, just a general signal that he heard you speak, but he doesn't answer your request.

He's depositing you onto your couch when you say it again, more forceful, “Frankie. Stay with me.” You're grasping at the sleeve of his coat, both hands attempting to pull him down with you.

Frankie freezes, suddenly a statue in the middle of your living room. Seeing that you aren't going to be able to make the man budge by pulling him down, you relent your grip and move on to pouting up at him.

“Not a good idea, cariño. Not tonight and not like this.” He sounds just a little bit regretful. So you latch onto that and double down on the pouting.

“I want you to Frankie. Want you to stay here and kiss me and touch me with your pretty hands.”

Frankie groans in a way that makes you feel like you've won, but instead he takes a full step back and pulls off his hat to run his hands through his hair. The curls are messy, but they look so soft and you want to touch them desperately.

The next thing you know, you're standing in front of him and Frankie's hands are curled gently around your wrists as he's pushing you back at arm's length. “Dulzura, it is time for you to go to bed.”

You frown and whine, “don't wanna go to bed.”

“Goodnight, cariño,” was the last thing you heard before you drifted off to sleep under your warm blankets.

Frankie 🐟: The guys are doing an early bbq then the fight is tonight.

You pick up your phone to read the text as it pings a second time.

Frankie 🐟: You're still coming right??

Of course! What time should I be ready?

Frankie 🐟: I'll be there around 3.

Sounds good. See you then!

Frankie is there at 2:47pm. It's the first time you've seen him since the day of your divorce just a week ago. You aren't exactly ready, but he only stands around impatiently for 10 minutes before you are finally out the door. The drive is across town, and 20 minutes later Frankie is pulling up to a nice little house in an equally nice neighborhood.

Frankie walks into the house without knocking, leading you through to the back door. In the back yard a group of guys are standing around a grill, two of them with beers in their hands and one with a water bottle.

“Hey! Look who finally made it!” One of the guys calls out as he sees you and Frankie approaching. A wide smile graces his handsome features.

“Hey guys,” Frankie greets, “Sorry we're late. Someone wasn't ready when they said they'd be.” Frankie ignores your huff in liew of introducing you to his friends.

You shake each man's hand, trying to match faces to names you already know: Santiago with his dark eyes, stubbled jaw and curly hair; Benny is the one with the wide smile and crystal blue eyes; and Will who's eyes match Benny's, but who has blonde hair and a beard that enhances his chiseled jawline perfectly.

“I've heard so much about you all.” It's a cliché line, but it's the truth. Frankie talks about these guys more often than he talks about himself.

“Want a beer, dulzura?” Frankie asks. When you nod he turns back to the house.

“So we finally get to meet Frankie's new best friend,” Santiago turns to you with a smile. “You and Catfish have known each other…. How long now?”

“One month, two weeks and four days,” Will pipes up from your left.

Before you can even comment on the absurdity of him just knowing that, Santiago is already going on. “Exactly! And we are only just now meeting you?! It seems a shame that Cat would keep such a niña bonita from us!”

“You know how possessive Fish can be, Pope,” Benny cuts in. “I'm surprised he didn't wait another one month, two weeks and however many days.”

The guys laugh and you join in, though yours is definitely more confused than anything. “I don't think that's it,” you reply. “Just timing hasn't matched up, ya know? But I'm glad things worked out tonight. I'm excited to see your fight, Benny. Frankie talks a lot about y'alls training.”

Frankie appears by your side again, handing you your beer bottle and casually draping an arm over your shoulders. “Ben's gonna do great tonight. He's put in a lot of work for this one and he's gonna leave that ring the champ.”

“I always leave the ring a champion,” Benny puffs up.

“Except when you get the shit kicked out of you,” Santiago says, feinting a jab to Benny's torso which leads to Benny grabbing Santiago in a headlock.

Will gives an exasperated eye roll and he and Frankie begin to drift over to the smoking grill in tandem, you being pulled along with them from under Frankie's arm. “You really thinking he's got this one?” Will asks as he opens the grill to check on the food inside.

“No doubt. He really has put the work in, and we've been working on taking advantage of Thompson’s weaknesses. Benny's the better fighter between the two anyway, so this one is a no brainer,” Frankie replies with confidence.

Will seems convinced by this and nods. “Good. He needs this win.”

They leave it at that as Benny and Santiago make their way over, still pushing at each other and laughing.

“Ok, save it for the ring, brother,” Will says to Benny. “Foods done, let's eat.”

〰️〰️〰️

Frankie downs the rest of his beer and peeks over at your own bottle. Seeing that it's nearly empty as well, he leans in and interrupts your conversation with Will by whispering in your ear, “another drink?”

You turn to him with a sweet little smile and a nod before turning right back to listening to whatever Will was telling you.

Standing and walking into the kitchen, Frankie can't help but feel happy seeing how well you're dealing with his best friends. Brothers, really, after everything the four of them had been through. Which is just another reason for Frankie to smile, knowing that the guys are going out of their way to make you feel comfortable.

Opening the fridge and grabbing two more bottles, Frankie hears the soft padding of footsteps and raises his chin to see that Benny has followed him. He steps back and let's the younger man grab a water bottle and a beer.

“So, you tappin’ that yet?” Benny asks with a salacious wiggle of his brows.

Frankie rolls his eyes at his friend's crudeness. "Come on, man, she just got divorced."

"Ok, but if that wasn't an issue?" Benny pushes.

"I don't know. Maybe. I don't know if she'd even want that."

“But you are into her?"

"Of course I am, Benny!"

"Well, don't wait too long, brother. Don't let her slip through your fingers."

〰️〰️〰️

In the living room you are left with Santiago and Will. Santiago takes the opportunity of having Frankie out of the room and turns to you. “So, has Fish been treating you well?”

You're confused by the question, but answer, “of course. He's a really good friend.” You smile as you lower your head.

“But I'm sensing you're maybe interested in more than that?” Santiago pushes.

“Um, well, I'm just kinda going with the flow. He's just kinda been there for me through a whole shit storm,” you explain.

“Well one of you is gonna have to make a move at some point.”

Before you can deny anything, Will comes to your defense. “Come on, Pope. This isn't an interrogation here.” You smile at the man appreciatively, but then he ads: “anyway, we both know Frankie is gonna take his time making any moves."

The conversation is cut short when Benny saunters back into the room, presenting you with another beer in a flourish.

“Do you do any fishing?” Santiago changes the topic swiftly.

“Not at all,” you laugh.

“Don't like fish?”

"More like fish don't like me. I had a goldfish once, but it died pretty much as soon as I got it home."

“How do you murder a goldfish?” Benny asks, looking your way incredulously.

“I don't know! I did everything the guy at the store told me to do.”

“Well, lucky for you, it's ok if the ones you catch die, goldfish killer,” Benny jokes. “The goal is to eat them anyway.”

“I don't know. I have zero experience with fishing,” you protest.

“Don't you worry, we will teach you everything there is to know,” Benny says with a wink. “I hear catfish are pretty easy to catch.”

Santiago snickers and you see Will try to hide a smirk.

“Is that what you guys usually fish for?” You ask, trying to gain some context for the comment and following reaction.

“No, darlin’, it's not,” Will answers, his smirk evolving into a smile. “But we will be happy to have you come with us whenever you want to tag along.”

“Where are you guys trying to take her, hermano?” Frankie asks as he re-enters the living room. You notice that his lips are turned down slightly and his brows are pinched, creating that worry line between them that he sometimes gets when he's thinking too hard about a case.

“Just offering to teach the goldfish killer how to do some real fishing.” Benny's smile is wide and definitely leaning away from innocent.

“It was literally just one goldfish,” you mumble.”It's not like I'm some mass goldfish murder.”

Frankie pats your shoulder as he takes his seat beside you, “of course not, cariño. I know you'd never purposely hurt a fish.” His tone was only mildly sarcastic, so you let him off with a glare.

“Well you might have to break that rule once we get out to the lake with a hook in the water, but I think you'll manage just fine,” Benny laughs. “Here, put your number in my phone!”

Benny's phone is slapped into your palm, so you have no choice but to comply with his request. He also grabs for your phone and unlocks it to immediately start adding his contact info in return. Only seconds after you have swapped phones back, your own phone alerts you to a message. Opening the screen you note that you have now been added to a group message labeled “Operation Teach Goldfish To Reel In A Big Catch”. You see Frankie listed in the chat, as well as two other phone numbers that are not saved in your contacts.

“Kinda long for a chat name, don't ya think?” You comment, raising one brow toward the younger Miller brother.

“It's a working title,” Benny laughs out loud. “Now let's get going, guys. I have a fight to win!”

There were only a few people there when you got to the venue where the fights were being held. You go back and watch Benny warm up, surprised that the goofy guy from back at the barbecue has now turned deathly serious. He's definitely in his element here. Frankie and Will offer some pointers and words of encouragement until it's time for him to go change.

“I'm gonna go get our seats,” Frankie says as you all file out towards the changing room.

“You're not gonna walk out with me?” Benny sounds suddenly anxious.

“I don't wanna leave her alone, hermano,” Frankie explains, gesturing toward you.

Benny's brows pinch together and his frown deepens.

“I can go save the seats myself,” you assure with a smile at both men.

“Are you sure, cariño?” Frankie looks mildly worried, but he's also glancing back to Benny, clearly at a loss for what to do.

“Of course! You guys do your manly ritual stuff and I'll be out there when you get done.” Turning toward Benny you give him a bright smile, “good luck out there!”

The smile Benny gives in return is full of relief and appreciation. “Thanks, Goldfish.”

“That's… You didn't forget my name already, did you?” You ask hesitantly.

Benny laughs outright at that. “Of course not, sweetheart. But Goldfish Killer is too long to say every time.”

With a huff and an eye roll you try to hide the smile that's creeping into your face. “Ok, asshole. You go focus on not getting knocked out in the ring.”

“Not a chance of that happening,” he retorts with a wink before turning to go into the changing room.

Frankie turns to you once more. “You sure you'll be ok out there?” He asks once more.

“I'm positive, Morales. You go make sure Benny is ready to win this thing.”

Frankie smiles down at you with a soft look in his eyes. “Kay. I'll see you out there soon.”

People are starting to trickle in as you enter the arena and scope out for the seats Frankie had mentioned earlier where they usually sat. They are in the front row and still open, so you make sure to stake your claim on four seats and sit down to wait.

You're scrolling through social media when a shadow falls over you. You look up and see a man standing next to you, waiting to catch your attention. “Hey, are these seats taken?” He asks.

“No, those ones are free. I just have these ones on my left,” you smile politely.

“Thanks,” the guy smiles back before taking the seat next to you. You focus back on your scrolling for a moment before the guy speaks again. “Should be a good fight tonight, huh?”

Looking back up, you see the stranger is still addressing you. “Yeah, I'm sure it will be,” you respond.

“Who are you betting on?” He asks.

“Ben Miller,” you answer without a thought.

“Really? Ok,” the guy laughs.”I'm Nick, by the way.”

You give him your name in return and, with mild reluctance, allow him to engage you in a conversation.

It's 20 minutes before the lights dim and loud music starts pouring out of the speakers. You turn to focus on what's happening, but Nick leans closer to say something else. In that moment, you feel Frankie settle into the chair to your left, his arm automatically falling across your shoulders and he's pulling you toward him.

“Hey, sweetheart. Sorry that took so long.” Frankie's voice is deep, but usually it's a soft gravely sound that drapes over you like a warm, wool blanket. In this moment, though, his voice has turned stentorian. It's so clear, even over all the background noise, that you are sure Nick has heard every word without issue.

To prove that point, the stranger immediately backs off.

You smile up at Frankie thankfully as Santiago and Will make their way over, passing beers to you and Frankie. He takes his beer in his left hand and keeps his right arm firmly around your shoulders. Accepting that he wasn't going to move any time soon, you subtly lean toward him and focus on the fight that's starting in the ring.

As the second fight begins and the announcer introduces Benny, the solid arm moves from your shoulders and Frankie's hand drops to your thigh. The weight of that hand causes your stomach to flutter as he gives one squeeze of his strong fingers.

You glance over to the owner of the warm hand and see that he is leaning over Santiago, listening to something Will is saying.

You take the opportunity and bring your hand up as well. You allow yourself to touch the denim of his jeans, feeling along the solid span of his thigh, moving inward until the tips of your fingers are touching the inner seam of them.

His hand squeezes your thigh again, this time just a hint harder. Not a warning to stop; probably not even something he meant to do, you realize after peeking up at his face through your lashes. Frankie is straight faced, appearing to be watching as Benny gains the upper hand early on his opponent. But his eyes flicker down to your quickly every few seconds, and each time you catch him you move your hand just a little farther up his leg.

〰️〰️〰️

Frankie's arm is around you again, but this time he has you pulled firmly into his side as he leads you down the hallway. The announcer had barely finished announcing Benny as the winner before he had grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the arena. With one sharp turn he leads you through one of the doors along the hall and has you backed against it in one swift motion.

“I've been waiting to kiss you for so long,” he growls into your neck.

“So why haven't you already?” You counter. And that's all it takes for Frankie's lips to come crashing down on yours.

It's a rough meeting of mouths, both of you having lost all patients after weeks of waiting for this. His mustache tickles you and you giggle a bit at the sensation of his facial hair as well as the euphoria of finally kissing this man after dreaming about it for so long. He takes this opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth and you eagerly accept.

The kiss has melted into a deep exploration of each other's mouths while his hands find their way up your sides. Those hands cover your ribcage, up just below the swell of your breasts; he caresses the very bottom of them with just his thumbs before both hands continue toward your back. He traces fingertips down each vertebrae of your spine until he reaches your ass and firmly takes a handful of each cheek.

This action causes you to be pulled closer to his body and it's that moment that you realize he has slotted his leg between your thighs. The friction causes you to gasp and your head falls back against the door. Frankie takes this opportunity to begin exploring your exposed neck, mapping out all the places that make you moan and squirm on his thigh.

You move your hands up to push your fingers through his curly hair, knocking his hat off in the process. As his mouth meets the juncture of your neck and shoulder, electricity flashes up your spine and you grip a handful of his hair in one of your fists. The pull on his scalp rips a moan from deep in his chest and he jerks his hips into yours. With this added closeness, you can clearly feel his excitement pressing into your hip.

You drag a hand slowly down Frankie's body, feeling all the firm muscle of his shoulder and pecs, traveling further down his stomach until you reach the edge of his tee shirt. His mouth has migrated toward the other side of your neck as you push your hand up under the bottom of his shirt, fingers dancing across skin covered in a speckling of hair, following the trail down to his belt and…

Suddenly both of your phones are vibrating at the same time. You squeak loudly as you feel his phone through the pocket of the leg he has firmly pressed into your center.

“Fucking shit,” Frankie curses, stepping away from you and reaching into his jeans for the phone. “Fucking assholes,” he curses again, turning the phone to show you that Santiago is calling him.

You fall back onto the door and retrieve your own phone with shaking hands. It's Benny calling you, which you allow Frankie to see with a shake of your head and sardonic smile. He huffs out a deep breath and ignores the call.

“Guess we better find them,” Frankie sighs, running a hand over his kiss-swollen lips.

“Yeah, we should do that,” you agree, running your hands through your hair in an attempt to tame it. Once you both have composed yourselves to the best of your abilities, you allow Frankie to open the door and lead you out with a hand low on your back.

Immediately you hear Benny's voice hollering from down the hall, “Well well well, there they are.”

You feel your whole body cringe before turning toward the rowdy voice, knowing full well your face is flaming red from both embarrassment and where Frankie's stubble had rubbed your skin sensitive.

“And where have you been?” Benny questions as the three men approach.

“Around,” Frankie answers, barely nonchalant.

Benny laughs loudly, but Will expertly leads him continuously down the hall. Though not without throwing you and Frankie a knowing smile.

“Did you lose your hat while you were “around” exploring random storage rooms?” Santiago inquires with a leer as he also sweeps past the two of you, following the Miller brothers.

Frankie's hand shoots to his head and he runs his fingers through uncontained hair. He curses under his breath then turns to hastily swoop his hat from the floor and place it back on his head.

When he stands back to his full height, he pauses a moment to gaze at you. The corners of his eyes crinkle into a smile as your eyes meet his and in an instant he's leaning down to deliver a soft, quick kiss to your lips. “We better catch up or we'll never hear the end of it,” he comments.

The three men are standing around outside the doors when Frankie finally escorts you out. Benny wastes no time pulling you into their conversation. “Bar? I need a drink after that win!”

You turn to look up at the man beside you, your eyes meeting is chocolate ones instantly. The two of you have a moment of silent communication before Frankie turns to his friends. “I think we'll skip the bar tonight, hermano. You guys have fun though.”

“Oh, you hear that, gentlemen? Frankie and Goldie are gonna skip the bar,” Santiago says satirically.

“Oh, we heard, brother,” Will affirms in a matching, though more subdued tone.

“Yeah yeah, ok,” Frankie interrupts the banter. “Come on, cariño, let's go before these comedians get too deep in their skit.”

The guys laugh and start their rounds of manly goodbyes.

You turn to Benny when he's stepped back from Frankie's hug. “Great job tonight. Congrats on that win,” you smile up at him.

The beaming man instantly pounced to sweep you into a hug. “Glad we finally got to meet you, Goldfish.”

“You're not gonna give that up, are you?” You glare good-naturedly.

“I've already changed your name in my phone. Can't go back now.”

You sigh half heartedly and return Benny's hug. “It was nice to finally meet you too,” you pull away with a sincere smile.

Back on the ground you get a side hug from Santiago and Will offers a friendly nod and a smile. Then, with one last wave, Frankie grabs your hand and leads you to his truck. After each of you are buckled in, he turns to you with hesitant eyes.

“So….” he doesn't hold eye contact for long, quickly tipping his head forward to hide behind the bill of his hat.

You smile at how cute he is, here in this moment. A distinct difference from the man who had you crowded against a door and rubbing yourself all over his thigh not even 15 minutes ago.

“So, I have this new condo full of brand new furniture, if you wanna check it out,” you suggest.

“Sounds perfect to me,” Frankie agrees, reaching over to grab your hand as he sets off toward your house.

✨✨Three✨✨

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