#richard munoz x you

[minigirl87]

The push broom

Richard Muñoz x GNReader

Summary:-

Both you and Richard are invited to the wardens Halloween party, and you come up with a couples' costume idea nearly giving Richard a heart attack of the middle of it.

Pure Fluff, gender neutral, no mention of readers looks. I love Richard. I did some research and couldn't find the dogs name. Also looked into American prison library info and found that the staff call the inmates patrons as it gives a more relaxed atmosphere. Also, the libraries tend to be underfunded, and some library staff are happy to take book donations.

It's my first time writing for Richard and for Halloween, so I hope you enjoy.

Please feel free to comment and share

Word Count:- 4348

🎃 HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🎃

Sometimes, you didn’t see Richard on your break. Working in a prison in different departments and remaining professional despite being married wasn’t difficult to miss each other. But today in the staff canteen, Richard sat hunched over his lunch in deep concentration as the cheese in his sandwich fell onto the table.

Walking over to him and gently laying a hand on his shoulder, to which you felt the tension.

“I’m sure the table is enjoying your sandwich that your loving wife prepared for you” amusement filling your voice.

Richard looked up at you, his big brown eyes looking like a deer caught in the headlights. His sweet voice filled your ears as he took a few minutes to comprehend what was happening. But his face illuminated when he saw that it was you. You take a seat opposite him, smiling at him.

“Sorry my love” his cheeks flushing as he looked at his sandwich.

You smile lovingly at him he’s too nice for his own good. Sometimes, you think to yourself.

“It’s only a sandwich sweetheart, is everything OK?”

“yes of course, my love. It's just that....” Richard trailed off looking agitated.

Richard stands up all 5ft 9 of him stretching as he pulls a card out of his back pocket and hands it to you.

“We’ve been invited to a Halloween party” he grumbled

You read the invitation addressed to both you and Richard from Irene. Richard wasn’t keen on the idea of going. You can see it on his face, but I’d conflict as it’s from the warden.

“It’ll be fun sweetheart” as you take his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“We can do a couples costume sweetheart” giggling as you think of ideas for the both of you.

Richard mumbles something to himself about preferring to stay home with you and your dog. As much as you were introverted, you enjoyed Halloween and were looking forward to the party.

“trust me to marry an introverted extrovert” Richard laughs as he tidy’s his luch away

“I’m weird, but you love me anyway” you smiled up at him.

“for my sins I do” he looks around and sees no one’s watching and bends down, kissing the top of your head. “I love you”

You blush at his affectionate nature with you

“Elephant stew you too” You both laugh as Richard heads back on shift, and you finish your lunch heading back to the prison library to set up the patrons book club.

You’re sitting in the lounge with a cup of tea and working through a folder for work and a box of donated books a neighbour had handed you for the prison library patrons, when you hear Richards key in the door. Rosie looks up from next to you on the sofa, giving an annoyed bark as Richard walks in, mumbling in Spanish as his rucksack catches on the outside screen door.

“Hi love, you alright” he looks tired but has a soft smile on his lips “your dinners in the oven love” you stand stretching walking over and planting a tender kiss on his lips stroke his cheek as he nuzzles into your hand.

“I’m happier now I’m home with you, my love” he kisses you back a little more needy. Unbuttoning his shirt and gently rubbing his shoulders as he hums contentedly.

“Go get changed, and I’ll bring your dinner through love”

Nodding his head as he walks away to get changed, you bring his dinner out getting him cutlery and a drink setting it down for him and switch the tv channel as you make more tea familiar tune starts playing and you squeal in delight as an almost naked Richard runs back into the lounge panting panic evident on his face.

“My love is everything alright. Are you alright?” As he leans on the door frame, watching you carefully.

“I know our costume idea, my love” smiling excitedly at him, your eyes sparkling in delight.

“You nearly killed me for a costume idea” he frowns, then starts laughing. “What idea?”

“Bob and Linda Beltcher. You’ve already got Bob’s push broom” laughing as you walk over to him, taping his moustache.

Mumbling “it’s not a push broom” as he tries to look annoyed but fails miserably as you cuddle him tightly.

“You’re more handsome than Bob, my love” you purr, stroking his cheek.

Richard shakes his head, going back to the bedroom to finally get changed. Minutes later he returns in his pj’s sitting down next to you wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close to him as he proceeds to eat his dinner and you both watch Bob’s Burgers and then both laughing uncontrollably when Rosie starts snoring and kicking her back legs as she Dreams.

@melodygatesauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @my-secret-shame @missscarlettangel @missdictatorme @jake-g-lockley @steven-grants-world @romanarose @campingwiththecharmings @writingforcurrentobsessions2 @welcometostayingawake @novanitee @micheleamidalajedi @annautumnsoul @guruan-is-not-here @ivystoryweaver @whirlybirbs @whatthefishh @lonely-dark-moon @missscarlettangel @missdictatorme @lonelyisamyw-0love @madlittlecriminal @midgardian-witch @saturn-rings-writes @madlittlecriminal @gigachadcowboy @yeetus-thyboomer @draggolblackthorn @he-burnt-my-shake @musicsavedme98 @mess-of-fandom @missdictatorme @hon3yboy @ominoose

[boredzillenial]

Laurent Leclaire

Sweet Relief

Laurent finds you during a difficult time of the month, he wants to help you feel better.

Jonathan Levy

A Simple Arrangement

Jonathan wakes you in the night to meet his needs with your agreement

King John

Exhibitionism

🎃 King John upholds his scandalous reputation and takes what he wants.

Collared

🦇 One escape attempt is all it takes for King John to put you on a tighter leash… Literally.

Jack Jackson

Dirty Talk & More

🎃 You come home to find a stranger by your pool.

Richard Muñoz

Vouyerism

🎃 Richard knew better than this, but he just can’t help himself.

Nathan Bateman

Data

Your boss Nathan needs your body “for science”

Cecil Dennis

Threesome Drabble

Drinking with Cecil

🦇 Cecil isn’t gonna let a little whiskey dick stop him from making a point

Outcome-3

Seduction Drabble

Kane

[ofstarsandvibranium]

My You-niverse: Richard Alonso Munoz

Fandom: Oscar Isaac

Pairing: Richard Alonso Munoz x F!Reader, throughout the series: Marc Spector x F!Reader, Steven Grant x F!Reader

Summary: You and America get stuck portal jumping until you reach your universe again. In the meantime, you meet various versions of your husband.

Warning: mentions of domestic abuse

A/N: sorry its been almost a month since i last updated...i can't promise that it wont happen again.

Series Masterlist

"You've been coming around here a lot lately," you state as you take your mail from Richard.

"Dana's on maternity leave, so I'm taking over the women's block as well."

Your brows shoot up, "Oh. I didn't know she already had the baby. Tell her I said 'Congrats'."

Richard gives you a nod and a soft smile, "Will do."

_____________

Steven groans and wipes his mouth after throwing up. America gives him a sympathetic look, "Yeah, that happens sometimes."

"Strange, not that I don't enjoy all this universe hopping and what not, when will we find, Y/N?"

Stephen rolls his eyes at Marc's alter, "It's not like I put a tracking on her."

"There's no spell of some sort that could help us track her?" Steven asks in desperation.

Stephen thinks and then his eyes widen. He turns to Steven, "Do you have anything of Y/N's?"

Steven rummages through his pocket and pulls out a necklace, "Here. I gave this to her on our first wedding anniversary. She makes me hold it during missions because she doesn't want to lose it."

"Perfect. Hold it up." While Steven holds up your necklace, Stephen does several hand movements, creating different glowing magical shapes. He pushes the shapes to your necklace and it proceeds to glow. The light from it then fades and the necklace is just the same as it was.

"...soooo...what was that supposed to do?" America asks with a cocked brow.

"This," Stephen points to your necklace, "will glow if it senses any trace of Y/N."

America threw up her arms, "Why didn't you think of this earlier?"

"I didn't think of it until now."

Steven groaned, "Would've saved us a lot of time, mate, if you did!"

"Doesn't matter now. All that matters is that we're closer to finding Y/N." Stephen created a portal to the next universe, "Shall we carry on?"

____________________

Twenty-five years to life. Shit. Well, you suppose that's what you get for killing someone. That someone being your sister's abusive ass ex-husband.

"I'd do it again," you murmur, pushing your food around your tray while Richard sat across from you, "No one, especially my sister, deserves to be treated the way he treated her," you spoke, the memories this universe' version of you flooded your brain, "If I didn't do it, there would've been another woman after my sister that he'd use as his personal punching bag. I couldn't have that."

"I get it. I don't condone what you did, but I get it. I've read the letters your sister sends you. I can tell she's very grateful of you."

You nod and let out a deep breath, "So you probably know everyone's dirty secrets, huh? Having to read everyone's letters and whatnot."

Richard smooths over his mustache and shrugs, "I try not to really get into all. Just have to make sure no one is trying to break out of here or trying to hurt someone."

You smirk at him and lean in closer so that he could only hear you, "Have people sent nudes?"

He gave a nervous laugh, "Oh God," he shakes his head, covering his blushing face, "I'm surprised how many people send naked photos of themselves to these inmates."

"Oooouu, Ritchie!"

"I don't look at them long. Just to see it's nothing harmful and then set it back in the envelope." he scoffs, "I've seen more naked women here than I do outside of work."

Your brows rise in surprise, "Really?"

He shrugs, "Yeah, is that surprising?"

It's your turn to shrug, "I dunno. I just-you're sweet and funny and handsome. Thought you'd have someone to give you some lovin'."

Richard sighs, "Unfortunately, there is no love for me."

You prop your elbows up, resting your chin on your hand, "I'd date you if I wasn't locked up here."

"Yeah?" Now it's Richard who looks at you with surprise.

You nod, "Yeah. Like I said, you're sweet, funny, and handsome. Very understanding and a great listener."

One of the guards then announces that lunch is over and that everyone should be heading back to their cells.

You groan and hang your head low, "Guess I'll see you around, Ritchie."

_________________

"So all of these versions of Marc's are just a bunch of tossers, aren't they?" Steven says with a snort, but then he punches himself in the face.

"Shit!" he cries out, "Unnecessary!" He begins to start arguing with Marc.

America starts slowly moving away from them but closer to Stephen, "So, Doc, are we getting closer to finding Y/N?"

"I think so," he fiddles with your necklace in his hand, "It's getting warmer, so we might not be that far behind." He looks back at Steven and calls out, "If you two are done bickering, I'm sure you'd like to get back to finding your wife?"

Steven nods, "Right," he straightens his jacket, "Let's go then." He catches up to Steven and America.

He and America trail behind Stephen and as he follows wherever your necklace is leading him. He's fully concentrated on the task at hand.

America then speaks up, "So, Steven, I know Y/N and Marc are married, so does that mean you're married to her too?"

"I suppose yes, in a way," he holds up his left hand to show his wedding ring, "But technically no. On the marriage certificate, it's Y/N and Marc's name. To be fair, I was never really a relationship person. That's all Marc with the romance and sweeping her off her feet. It took me a while, but I've come to love her as well. There's no title, really. She's mine just as much as she is Marc's and vice versa."

The teen suddenly looks upset, "I really am sorry I got her into this mess."

"It's not your fault. Marc's pissed, yeah, but it's at himself. He gets hard on himself whenever something happens to Y/N. And this is unknown territory for, well, all of us. But Marc doesn't like being so blind to all of this."

"What about you? How are you feeling about all this?"

Steven chuckles, "It's rather thrilling, innit? Visiting multiple universes and timelines and all that?"

America chuckles, "Yeah, it's pretty cool. Maybe once I really get the hang of my powers, we can do this again sans losing Y/N and trying to get her back."

Steven winces and rubs his belly, "Maybe not for a while," remembering how many times he's thrown up already from the universe jumping.

America laughs, "Fair enough."

________________

Richard should be keeping watch of everyone else in the courtyard, but he can't. His attention is captured by you.

You're laying in the grass, soaking up as much sun as possible. He can tell you're at peace in this moment. He doesn't want to disturb you, but he can't help the pull that draws him to you.

He crosses the basketball court, to the area of grass that's starting to yellow as the summer heat is rolling in.

When he approaches you, your eyes are focused up at the sky.

Your eyes go to him and you smile, "Care to join me?" you pat the grass beside you.

He shakes his head, "I'm alright. I just wanted to check up on you."

You hum, eyes going back up at the sky, "When I look up, I'm taken away from this place. I'm not in prison, I'm somewhere else. Somewhere I'm free." You look back to him, "And you're there with me."

"Am I?" Richard gives a chuckle.

You nod, "Of course. You're sharing all of the poems that you've written and read to me." You sit up and turn to him, "Have you written anything new?"

"I'm...working on something."

"Can I get a sneak peek?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?!"

"Because I only want to show you when it's finished."

You hold up your hands in surrender, "Fine, fine. I won't budge."

You put your hands behind your head and lean back to lay back down. Once your head hits the grass, you're suddenly somewhere else.

You're on a cold floor. Standing above you is another version of your husband. His hair is slightly longer, more salt and pepper. He's also donning a beard similar to Nathan's.

"I win again, stardust." this version of Marc holds a baton towards you.

You groan, sitting up, "Ow."

He offers a hand to you and pulls you to your feet, "What's hurt?"

"My ego," you answer with a pout.

He gives a low chuckle and kisses your head, "You're fine."

"My Duke Leto," a man enters the room, "your meeting ," he reminds Leto, as you've learned his name.

"Right. I lost track of time." He hands you the baton, "Maybe you should join Paul in his lessons." he playfully nudges you.

"Ha ha."

Leto gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and heads for the door, "I'll see you at dinner, stardust."

You wave at Leto and then take a look around the room you're in. It's all stone of some sort. You walk towards the only window in the room and peer through it, seeing waves of water crash against a cliff.

The sky didn't look right. Were you on some other kind of planet?

[temptressofwaikiki]

Well this is a damn shame.

We need more of this sweet man.

[temptressofwaikiki]

Rereading my sweet man. Richard just makes me so damn soft. I blame the eye crinkles and his curls.

Still waiting for someone to write about Richard and the reader being in a book club together. 🤞🏻🤞🏻

OKAY BUT HEAR ME OUT

Richard Alonso Muñoz x reader:

Postman!AU

He delivers LETTERS for goodness sake. It means the world to him.

He jaunts around the neighbourhood whistling a jolly tune.

He knows everybody’s name and always says hello.

That man always gets the best tips and gifts during the holidays, because everyone loves him. Even the dog which bit another postal worker’s arm last June is soft for him.

He wears these impossibly cute shorts as part of his uniform, which always make a heat rise in your cheeks.

Your house is the favourite part of his route.

He always hopes to see you in your garden, tending your flowers. You have such a beautiful garden.... and you are the finest rose amongst them all, he thinks.

One day he’s too hot from walking his route and you give him some homemade lemonade. You start to chat, and from then, each day he makes record time with the rest of his deliveries in hopes of talking with you.

He’s never been so excited to see a gas bill, as when it has your name on it.

He remembers your birthday, from the flurry of cards you always get, and one year he’s brave enough to slip a card/letter of his own into the pile too. The gesture thoroughly warms your heart, after you open this one mysterious letter without a post-mark.

Richard doesn’t mean to, but he has a naturally good memory, and he ends up knowing a lot about you from all the things you get delivered. Like, ingredients from your fave mail-order bakery.

Maybe you even go a little overboard with deliveries sometimes, just so you get to see him.

One day, he gets chatting to you about it and you invite him inside for some freshly-baked goods.

You work up the courage to give him a little kiss and it’s even sweeter than your cupcakes.

He calls you his “sweetest rose”. 🌹

And then, you’re no longer on his route...

...because he ends up moving in 🥺☺️🌹

He still sends you letters though - just this time they’re love letters.

[ophelialoveshandsomemen]

A december writing challenge that I will try. If you want to send me one of Oscar Isaac’s characters and a day to write for, go ahead! If I don’t get any prompts, I will be writing my own choices. Ask me if you wanna be tagged!

Female reader or GN reader only please!

I’m more comfortable with female reader, but I can easily write gender neutral. Male reader, however, I am NOT comfortable writing for too many reasons to state here.

Just a warning, I’m not big on cities, so this will feature mainly rural/country settings.

Warning. There may be religious themes in some of these, which I will tag accordingly.

** indicates smut, both light and heavy.

Day 1 - Baking || Vanilla, sprinkles, and chocolate flavored kisses. (Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader)

Day 2 - Frozen Lake || Cold hands, Scarves, and Snow.(Duke Leto Atreides x fiancée!fem!reader) **

Day 3 - Hot Chocolate || Marshmallows, warm hands, and soft smiles.(Abel Morales x fem!reader)**

Day 4 - Cozy Cabin || Patterned rugs, soft blankets, and warm baths.( Santiago Garcia x wife!fem!reader)

Day 5 - Fire Places || Fuzzy socks, soft rugs, and hands intertwined.(Pt.2! Duke Leto Atreides x fiancée!fem!reader .sequel to You’re handsome with snowflakes in your beard.)

Day 6 - Blanket Fort || Fluffy pillows, movies, and snacks(Modern!Poe Dameron x pregnant!fem!wife!reader)

Day 7 - Catching a cold  || Tissues, savory soup, and cuddles.(Llewyn Davis x fem!reader)

Day 8 - Snowed In || Candles, snow drifts, and quiet.(Mikael Boghosian x fem!reader)

Day 9 - Sledding || biting wind, cold noses, and laughter(Laurent Leclaire x fem!reader. Canon era.)

Day 10  - Winter Market || Murmuring crowds, rows of stalls, and the smell of food.(Blue Jones x gn!reader)

Day 11 - Snowball Fight || Heavy breathing, footprints in the snow, and warm hugs.( Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader. Part 2! sequel to Kisses of Chocolate.)

Day 12 - Lonely  || Gloomy skies, soft blankets, and a warm fire. ( William Tell x fem!reader)

Day 13 - Warm Bath || Bubble bath, soft music, and gentle hands. (Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader. Part 3! )

Day 14 - Homemade Meal/Cooking || Savory spices, hot meals, and family. (Mikael Boghosian x wife!reader)

Day 15 - Sleigh Ride || Sleigh bells, foggy breath, and the smell of cedar.(Nathan Bateman x fem!reader)

Day 16 - Mistletoe || Warm lights, smoke, and friends.(Jonathan Levy x fem!reader)

Day 17 - Gingerbread || Icing on their cheek, smell of cinnamon, and playful kisses.

Day 18 - Sunsets || Golden hour, towering pine trees, and warm coats.

Day 19 - Movie Nights || Laughter, snacks, and cuddles. (Nathan Bateman x fem!reader.)

Day 20 - Hiking || Rough ground, crisp morning air, and sunrises.

Day 21 - Sweaters || Cozy feelings, goosebumps, and comforting hands.

Day 22 - Unique Traditions || Smiles, acceptance, and making memories.

Day 23 - Proposal || Nerves, candles, and a tasty meal.

Day 24 - Holiday Traffic || Car horns, comforting words, and snow.

Day 25 - Lazy Mornings || Soft blankets, familiar arms, and the morning light.

Day 26 -Furry Friends || Shining eyes, the pitter - patter of paws, and that fuzzy feeling in your chest.

Day 27 - Roasting Marshmallows || Roaring bonfires, laughter of friends, and gooey marshmallows.

Day 28 - Huddle for Warmth || Warm bodies, steady breaths, and comforting feelings.

Day 29 - Holiday Lights || Holiday music, bright colors, and joy.

Day 30 - Fireworks || Loud booms, sparkling light, and a breathtaking kiss.

Day 31 - Wild Card || write anything you want!(Victoriano ‘El Catorce’ Ramirez x fem!reader)

[minigirl87]

Masterlist

Welcome to my master list. It will almost be a year since I started writing fanfiction with help and encouragement from @melodygatesauthor, Mel's stories, and art are amazing.

I'm a bit of a quirky bohemian, witchy 30s something female.

I am currently only writing for the Oscar Isaac fandom, but I am hoping to venture further by the end of this year, so I will keep this updated.

The first movie I saw starring Oscar was Inside Llewyn Davis because I loved the ginger cat (I'm a crazy cat lady, and I sometimes include my furball in my works). Then the short movies Lighting face and Ticky tacky on Venmo. And then I was really hooked when he played Poe Dameron (I love Star Wars. My first crush was Luke Skywalker).

I hope you enjoy reading my stories as I had writing them.

P.s. Please feel free to message me, I'm a bit forgetful, so nothing personal if I don't respond right away.

⚠️🔞 I can not state this enough. Most of my work is NSFW and is 18+. 🔞⚠️

Marc Spector

Peaches and Cream

My Favourite Study Buddy

Happy Anniversary Marc

Steven Grant

I see you, I’ve always seen you with Steven Grant

Lavender & Mint

Ice is the only hard thing (MK bingo)

Jake Lockley

ROSEMARY & TIME

Third times, the charm

Layla el Faouly

Sugar & Spice

Marc, Steven & Jake

It's ok, love, we're here

We love you, and as such, we take care of you

Richard Muñoz

The push broom (Halloween)

I'm always here for you

Llewyn Davis

MoonRiver and Me

Soon

Steven Grant

MINE prt 1

Mine prt 2

Damaged goods & no returns Chp.1

Laird Leto

The Laird & The Lassie Prt 1 Au

FO Poe Dameron

New Toy part one

New Toy part two

FO Poe Dameron

New Toy part three (Coming soon)

Please feel free to send an ask or message if you are interested in a request. Please send the characters' names and details you want put in. More details help me to build they story better. I write for most Oscar Isaac fandom.

Please feel free to add your user name to my taglist to keep updated.

Banner by me and deviders by @cafekitsune

[helloworlddemo1122-yahoopar-blog]

Star Sightings: Katie Holmes Stylishly Steps Out, Gabrielle Union & Dwyane Wade Party With Rick Ross & More!

The temps are starting to heat up and celebs' sartorial styles aren't cooling down! Katie Holmes rocked a pretty navy blue asymmetrical JD Williams jumpsuit for a photo shoot in New York City.

Sophie Fritz

Heidi Klum went even bolder, topping her outfit with a bright green “Henny Faux Fur” trench coat from KUT from the Cloth while on the set of Germany's Next Top Model in Santa Monica, California, in early June. The 45-year-old model’s stylist, Rob Zangardi, originally got the jacket as a gift for Cara Delevingne, but Klum fell in love with it, so he gave it to her instead!

Rob Zangardi

Shay Mitchell kept warm in some, well, not-so-cold temps by layering with a jacket by Canadian designer Ellie Mae. “When it’s 52° in the morning and mid-70s by lunchtime, a faux fur jacket with a crop top, seems sensible👌,” the Pretty Little Liars alum joked on Instagram on June 6.

When it’s 52° in the morning and mid-70s by lunchtime, a faux fur jacket with a crop top, seems sensible👌🏽

A post shared by Shay Mitchell (@shaymitchell) on Jun 6, 2018 at 2:17pm PDT

Younger star Nico Tortorella rocked the Teva Hurricane XLT-2 when he stopped by the shoe brand’s Festival Gifting Suite at New York City’s Extra Butter on May 30.

Kimberly Mufferi

Cara Santana donned a pretty burnt orange dress for POPSUGAR x Winemaker's Selection Launch at A.O.C in Los Angeles on May 24.

Joe Scarnici/Getty Images for POPSUGAR

On fashion's biggest night, the 2018 CFDA Fashion Awards in New York City on June 4, Rosario Dawson was among the celebs who snagged a complimentary LYFT to get home safely following the after-party in New York City.

Madison McGaw/BFA

And Miles Heizer, Derek Luke, Alisha Boe, Katherine Langford and Dylan Minnette all looked quite nice at the 13 Reasons Why ATAS FYC Event held at Netflix FYSee at Raleigh Studios in Los Angeles on June 1.

Eric Charbonneau

Workouts were on the brain of Hollywood's elite as well.

Jordana Brewster enjoyed a day at the horse stable with her family in Los Angeles last week, where she exclusively revealed her favorite go-to beauty trends to ET. "I love Fascia massages. They really get deep into your muscles, even more than a deep tissue massage. This massage really helps stretch your muscles when you are tight and extra sore," the 38-year-old actress, who works out six days a week, explained. “I am also loving dry brushing because it really gets your circulation and lymphatic system going." The Lethal Weapon star also revealed that "allergies are a challenge all year round" for her.  "Whether I’m heading to the Farmers Market with my kids or trying to exercise outdoors, my runny nose and watery eyes can be really disruptive, but, thankfully, I take ZYRTEC to give me consistent allergy relief," she added.

Michael Simon/Startraks Photo

Also in the City of Angels, American Woman co-stars Kyle Richards and Jennifer Bartels hosted a panel at Flywheel’s Larchmont studio on what it means to be a woman in 2018.

Lauren Katz

Rather than hit the gym, James Franco, New York Mets pitcher Noah Syndergaard and NBA trainer Chris Brickley took in a game, watching the NBA Finals together at The Ainsworth East Village in New York City on June 2.

Andy Cohen was also in the Big Apple, enjoying a birthday lunch with his parents and a friend at Black Tap Craft Burgers & Beer's Midtown Manhattan outpost on June 1, where he ate an All-American Burger and drank seltzer one day before turning the big 5-0. And Michael Kors dined at NYC’s db Bistro Moderne by Daniel Boulud for a quiet lunch with a small group of colleagues on June 1, enjoying restaurant classics like the Original DB Burger and the Peekytoe Crab & Avocado Tartine.

There were plenty of parties and performances going on not just in New York and Hollywood, but Las Vegas and Miami as well.

Fresh off a romantic vacay, Gabrielle Union and Dwyane Wade partied with Rick Ross at Rockwell Nightclub in Miami Beach on June 2.

Seth Browarnik/Worldredeye.com

Hailee Steinfeld and birthday girl Normani were in the audience for the Jennifer Lopez: All I Have residency at Zappos Theater at Planet Hollywood Resort & Casino in Las Vegas on May 30, posting snaps to social media as they took in the show.

Hailee Steinfeld/Instagram

Logic returned to the stage at Drai’s Nightclub atop The Cromwell in Las Vegas on June 1, wowing the crowd with hits like “Everyday” and “1-800-273-8255.” After his show, which was taken in by the likes of San Francisco wide receiver Pierre Garcon, Oakland Raiders wide receiver Martavis Bryant and DJ Henry Fong, the rapper chilled in a stageside VIP booth with friends.

Tony Tran Photography

Jhene Aiko also had a big night out at The Cromwell over the weekend, celebrating a friend’s bachelorette party at an exclusive dancefloor booth during her boyfriend, Big Sean’s, performance at Drai’s LIVE.

Tyga closed out Memorial Day weekend on May 27 at Oxford Social Club at Pendry San Diego, performing his hits like “Rack City” and “Faded” and inviting a few partygoers onstage when he introduced his new single, “Taste.”

Oxford Social Club

Rapper Pusha-T hosted Beats by Dre's Governors Ball party at PHD Rooftop Lounge at Dream Downtown in New York City on June 1, ending his performance with “Infrared,” the song that started the recent drama between him and Drake.

Ty Dolla $ign got the crowd pumped at Jammcard's private JammJam event at Capitol Records in Los Angeles on June 3.

Rodjiana Munoz

Ben Rector hit the stage at a Spotify Secret Show at Nashville’s Bits & Pieces Antique Boutique on May 23, performing songs like "Brand New" and "When a Heart Breaks" off his upcoming album, Magic, which drops June 22.

Destiny J. Keller

Betty Who performed at Moonlight Rollerway in Los Angeles to celebrate the launch of Henry’s Hard Sparkling Water.

ographr

And Antonio Banderas hopped in the DJ booth during the Miami Fashion Week Designers Dinner at the Doheny Room at Delano on May 31.

Seth Browarnik/Worldredeye.com

Plenty more stars were out and about for fun events.  Lauren Bushnell and her pals attended a brunch at Skin Laundry's new headquarters in Newport Beach's Lido Marina Village on June 4 to celebrate the launch of her new wine line, Dear Rosé, just a few days ahead of National Rosé Day.

Sydney Wallace

Paris Hilton chatted with fellow dog advocate Megan O'Brien about her hound accessory, the Dogipack, during a wellness event at her mom, Kathy Hilton’s, home in Bel-Air, California, on May 26.

-

Katrina Bowden celebrated the opening of the La Fete french cocktail bar, a new hot spot from IB Hospitality Founder Rohan Talwar, in West Hollywood on May 31.

La Fete

Tamera Mowry was the keynote speaker at Fashion Mamas: Mamas Making It Summit at the Line Hotel in Los Angeles on June 3.

Jacky Andrews

Mom-to-be Christine Lakin showed off her growing baby bump at Neocell presents Bloom Summit by New Bloom Media, sponsored by Mychelle Beauty, Radar Roller and more, at the Beverly Hilton in Beverly Hills on June 2.

Stefanie Keenan/Getty Images for Bloom Summit

After all that fun comes some R&R!

Actress Leven Rambin enjoyed a late 28th birthday celebration with boyfriend Tilky Jones at Aqua Beach Resort Cancun in late May, enjoying the beach and lounge around their Presidential Suite’s rooftop hot tub and leaving the resort to explore the Mayan ruins in nearby Tulum and Cenote Chaak Tun in Playa del Carmen during their week-long stay.

Karla Ruiz

Red Hot Paris’ Ashley Hutson snapped a selfie with a clean-shaven Robert Pattinson at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, France, on June 1.

Red Hot Paris

Real Housewives of New Jersey star Melissa Gorga visited plastic surgeon Dr. Ramtin Kassir for Botox and Photo-Facial procedures in early June.

Astrit Sabani

Plus, Kyle Busch’s wife, Samantha Busch, grabbed new Walmart Family Mobile smartphones from a Walmart in Charlotte, North Carolina.

Michael Simon

For even more must-see star sightings, click through the gallery below.

RELATED CONTENT: 

Star Sightings: Drake Parties It Up, Jessica Biel Hits Up Vegas, Emily Ratajkowski Works Out & More!

Katie Holmes and Daughter Suri Cruise Enjoy Glam Night Out at the Ballet: Pics!

Bella Hadid, Lili Reinhart and More Look Stunning at the Dior Beauty Backstage Launch Party

[ofstarsandvibranium]

My You-niverse Masterlist

Fandom: Oscar Isaac

Pairing: Oscar Isaac's Characters x F!Reader

Summary: You and America get stuck portal jumping until you reach your universe again. In the meantime, you meet various versions of your husband.

Status: COMPLETED

Marc Spector

Blue Jones

Laurent LeClaire

Nathan Bateman

Bud Cooper

Santiago Garcia

Richard Alonso Munoz

Duke Leto Atreides

Poe Dameron

Marc Spector & Steven Grant

*I WILL NOT BE TAKING TAGS!*

[ao3feed-lokiangst]

Touché by an anti-hero aka Music in the air

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3npulIw

by PenAkimbo (PendulumPending)

Hello Hi Shippers!

This is a place for the rare pair lovers, all I have for now are basic outlines for one-shots or chapters.

I'll leave them up for two weeks, the ideas with the most engagement get a full write-up, either chaptered or one-shotted.

Each idea is linked to a Song/songs and trope.

Let me know which you like.

Words: 234, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Rare Pairs

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV), Captain America (Movies), Doctor Strange - Fandom, Iron Man (Movies), Black Panther (2018), Black Panther (Comics), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Thor (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, Deadpool - All Media Types, Star Trek, Star Wars - All Media Types

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Major Character Death

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi

Characters: Nakia (Black Panther), Hikaru Sulu, T'Challa (Marvel), Wade Wilson, Sam Wilson (Marvel), John Walker (Marvel), Rey (Star Wars), Shuri (Marvel), Nyota Uhura, Erik Killmonger, Ayo (Marvel), Sarah Wilson (Marvel), Ororo Munroe, Richard Rider|Nova, John Stewart (DCU), Thor (Marvel), Loki (Marvel), Avengers Team, Armando Muñoz, Stephen Strange

Relationships: Nakia/Hikaru Sulu, Black Panther/Deadpool, Sam Wilson/John Walker, Rey Skywalker/Shuri, Nyota Uhura/Erik Killmonger Stevens, Ayo/Sarah Wilson, Sam Wilson/John Walker and Sam Wilson/Thor and Sam Wilson/Loki, Armando Munoz/Stephen Strange, Ororo Munroe/John Stewart/Nova|Richard Rider, Nova and Green Lantern

Additional Tags: Love Trapezium, Love Confessions, established relationships - Freeform, Not beta read we die like Thanos, Strangers to lovers to strangers quick no angst minimal pining, Sappy love things, Heart wrenching stuff ahead, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Pre-Loki, post xmen first class, First Class did Darwin Dirty by the way, An unforgivable character death is something I may do, just not to my man Armando, Bisexual T'Challa (Marvel), Pansexual Wade Wilson, Labels confuse me yet here I am, Rare Pairings, Pansexual Rey (Star Wars), Okay I'll stop here because love is love no need for all this, Post Captain America and the Winter Soldier series, King T'Challa (Marvel)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3npulIw

[ophelialoveshandsomemen]

Kisses of Chocolate.

Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader

A.N. I wrote this in one hour when I got a spell of inspiration when I saw a december challenge. It’s cute, it’s fluffy. It’s Richard.

Warnings. Food and fur and mention of Advent.

The sound of Loreena McKennitt's In Praise of Christmas drifts from  your antique gramophone sitting in the corner of your living room, or study as you prefer to call it, across your house, prompting you to absentmindedly hum along. Meanwhile, you sit cross-legged on top of the sturdy wooden kitchen table, calmly stirring the ingredients to your fifth batch of cookies of the day. Well, fourth really. One of those batches were in fact brownies, your boyfriend's favourite dessert, so you had to make at least one batch.

  It being a few days after the beginning of Advent, you were getting a head start on your Christmas baking. Chocolate and Cherry Drop Cookies, Apple Cinnamon Biscuits streaked with honey, Triple Chocolate Brownies laden with dark chocolate nubs, Vanilla Ginger Cookies, a plain white cookie loaded with dried berries of every kind. And now you were working on a simple Chocolate Mint cookie which you always made with homemade syrup using peppermint, spearmint and wild mint which you love to go pick around your back pond in July.

  Unknown to you, Richard had decided to stop over straight after work instead of returning to his place to change and only arriving for dinner. He'd had a very long and bad day at work. He was in desperate need of some cheering up. You had been first and foremost on his mind all day, the thought of your unbridled smile and your delighted giggles pulling him through enough to survive the day. But now he longed for the real thing.

  Entering your house by the back door in hopes of surprising you, Richard gingerly steps around your fur decked winter boots, haphazardly thrown off and abandonned in a puddle of melted snow. Knowing you, he figured you must have run out to check your sheep and been in a hurry to get back to the kitchen. You always had something cooking and had a habit of forgetting things in the oven. But the heavenly scent of melted chocolate and warm fruit greeting him informed him that you'd been in time to save your cookies.

  After saving your boots from their fate, Richard quietly removes his own boots, jacket and gloves, hanging said items on their designated hooks and placing them on the rag rug. Then he sneaks to the kitchen, thrilled to find you with your back turn to him. A smile immediately graces his face at the sight of you, decked in your cozy blue plaid wool skirt and plain burgundy long sleeved t-shirt, sitting on your table to mix your batter. That's how you preferred to bake, it confused him at first, but now it is one of your many quirky traits that renders you endearing to him.

  He grabs a still warm brownie from beside you at the same time as he slips his left arm around your waist tugging you to him to enable him to bury his nose into your neck. You shriek at an ungodly decibel and raise your spoon to fight off your attacker. Only to stop short at the familiar laughter in your ear.

  "Richard!" Your relieved exclamation of his name dissolves into giggles as he rubs his mustache under your jaw, tickling you softly.

He lifts his head and swiftly takes a bite out of his stolen goodie.

You merely stare at him in adoration.

"Good?" You ask.

"Deliciosa, mi mariposa!"

Outside, the snow once again begins to fall. Inside, the fire in your study crackles and sparks.

Richard gently grips the back of your head and minutely tips you back for a flurried series of chocolate covered kisses.

Mariposa= Butterfly

[ultralifehackerguru-blog]

New Post has been published on http://www.lifehacker.guru/everything-youve-ever-wanted-know-like-attend-celebrity-studded-met-gala/

Everything you've ever wanted to know about what it's like to attend the celebrity-studded Met Gala

Zendaya at the Met Gala in 2017.

Mike Coppola/Getty Images for People.com

Ah, the Met Gala— one of the biggest star-studded events of the year. Unless you’re an A-list celebrity or fabulous designer, chances are you will never know what it’s like to attend the “Oscars of the East.”

But thankfully, enough celebrities and guests have spoken about the event that we have a glimpse of what it would be like to actually get into this storied ball.

From pricey tables to celebrity interactions, here’s what it’s really like inside the Met Gala.

The Met Gala serves a purpose — to raise money for the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Vogue’s Editor-in-Chief Anna Wintour at the Met Gala. She is the chairwoman for the event.

Larry Busacca/Getty Images

The Met Gala, known formally as the Costume Institute Gala, is a fundraising gala for the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute. It’s essentially an annual ball that serves as a glamorous arena of high fashion for designers and celebrities.

It’s hosted by the chairwoman of the gala, Vogue’s Editor-in-Chief Anna Wintour, with famous faces usually co-chairing the event. This year the honor went to Amal Clooney, Rihanna, and Donatella Versace. Last year, it was Katy Perry and Pharrell Williams.

Though it’s been around since 1946, Wintour took over as chairwoman of the gala in 1999 and ever since then, it’s gone from a philanthropic event to the “Oscars of the East.” In addition to a red carpet spectacle, guests can expect a cocktail hour and formal dinner.

It’s hosted on the first Monday in May every year at the Met in New York City.

Beyoncé at the Met Gala.

Larry Busacca/Getty Images

The Met Gala takes place every year on the first Monday in May (obviously the inspiration behind the title of the documentary, “The First Monday in May,” about the event).

It’s not only the launch of the Costume Institute’s annual show, but a time to recognize the East Coast’s influence on celebrity and culture.

You probably will never get invited.

Actresses Lupita Nyong’o, Margot Robbie, and Emma Watson at the Met Gala.

REUTERS/Eduardo Munoz

Sorry — if you’re not an “It” actress, celebrity, musician, sports superstar, or designer, you’re going to have to shell out, big time.

A ticket to the event can range from $30,000 for a single ticket to $275,000 for a table, according to The New York Times. Sometimes designers can get a table discount depending on the size of the brand and its relationship with Vogue, according to StyleCaster.

That money goes to the Costume Institute, by the way — in 2015, more than $12.5 million was raised, according to The Times.

Oh and just in case you thought you could save for it, Wintour reportedly has a say over every single invitation.

If you do get invited, the invites are pretty nice.

Of course Anna Wintour gives out the best invitations.

Vittorio Zunino Celotto/Getty Images

The invites are just as classy as the event itself. Obviously, Wintour wouldn’t settle for a generic e-vite, so guests are given gorgeous invitations that features what the theme will be with typically an artistic flair, such as a Richard Avedon photograph or a Man Ray painting.

You can see invites over the years here.

This year, there is an age restriction.

At the 2016 Met Gala, Willow and Jaden Smith were two young stars in attendance.

AP

There was never an age restriction in place at the Met Gala — until this year. According to The Hollywood Reporter, the rule was established because the gala is “not an appropriate event for people under 18.”

This means that young Hollywood faces like Maddie Ziegler and the kids of “Stranger Things” aren’t eligible to attend.

However, there is an exception to the rule. Guests who are under 18 are allowed to attend, as long as they’re chaperoned by their parents.

If you do get to go, you must dress to the nines.

Rihanna at the Met Gala in 2015.

Mike Coppola/Getty Images

Guests at the Met Gala go all out when it comes to what they wear. Since the Met Gala is associated with a museum show, guests typically dress thematically — sometimes the show will honor a designer, like this year’s Commes des Garçons gala, or perhaps it will have a broader directive, such as “Manus x Machina” or “Model as Muse.”

From this theme, celebrities are typically courted by designers to wear their custom looks. These are often dramatic and daring dresses or accessories. Sometimes it backfires — think Madonna’s risque Givenchy look in 2016— but often it wows, such as Rihanna’s robe designed by Chinese couture designer Guo Pei in 2015.

Getting inside can be a hassle.

Karolina Kurkova and Georgina Chapman pose for paparazzi outside the Met Gala.

AP

The Met Gala takes place every year at New York City’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. Guests arrive at the bottom of the Met’s famous staircase and walk up the red carpet. The tent is filled with flashing bulbs and the screams from pedestrians cramming in to try to glimpse the stars and their dresses.

Sometimes, traffic can be a challenge getting to the ball on the Upper East Side. When President Barack Obama was planning to go to two fundraising events on the UES — just a quick walk away from the Met — in 2015, traffic was a major concern.

And once you’re in, expect for it to be very crowded.

The Met’s Grand Staircase will be crowded with celebrities and designers during the gala.

Wikimedia Commons

Between 600 and 700 people attend the event, ranging from A-list stars, to designers, to employees from Vogue, the Met, the Costume Institute itself, and some of the brand sponsors.

But it’s worth it, considering the gorgeous interior.

Imagine having a cocktail hour inside the Temple of Dendur room at the Met.

Flickr/Phil Roeder

Planning for the event happens over the course of the entire year, according to Vogue, which means that the interiors get more fantastical with every event — from the Met’s grand staircase decorated completely in bamboo in 2015 to a double helix of roses in the great hall in 2016, each event is more outrageous and decadent than the last.

You can see a full gallery of some of the most gorgeous Met Gala interiors over the year over at Vogue.

You get to party throughout the museum, too.

Claire Danes at the “Manus x Machina: Fashion in an Age of Technology” Met Gala in 2016.

Larry Busacca/Getty Images Entertainment

The guests at the Gala are led inside and around the museum, typically through the Costume Institute’s upcoming exhibit, as well as allowed to mingle for a cocktail hour.

Eventually, everyone is led to where the performances and dinner will take place — in 2016 and 2017, it was in the gorgeous Temple of Dendur room, while in 2015, Rihanna performed in the courtyard of the American Wing. Regardless of where it occurs, you can be sure it’s impeccably decorated.

You’re not supposed to take selfies (but people still do).

Of course Kim Kardashian took pictures at the Met Gala.

Charles Sykes:AP

In 2015, Anna Winter made the decision to ban photos or social media posts from inside the event. Of course, many celebrities ignored the ruling, including Kim Kardashian, Kerry Washington, and Alicia Keys.

It was rumored Winter was thinking about punishing those celebs who broke the rule, but no action — that we know of — was ever taken. In 2017, even more celebrities broke the no social media rule.

The rule was likely to keep celebrities’ privacy since they let loose inside.

Taylor Swift and Tom Hiddleston met at the Met Gala.

Frederick M. Brown/Monica Schipper/Getty Images

Easily the best part about going to the Met Gala are the performances and watching the celebrities interact with one another. From bathroom selfies (hey, celebs are people, too!) to Justin Bieber meeting Kim Kardashian and Kanye West, the Met Gala is like celebrity prom on steroids.

You’re also likely see new friendships or romances forming — in 2016, Hiddleswift became a huge thing after Taylor Swift and Tom Hiddleston danced together at the Met Gala.

And though this all sounds fun, some people hate the Met Gala.

Gwyneth Paltrow famously hated the Met Gala. Here she is attending in 2013.

Jamie McCarthy/GettyImages

Not everyone has fun at the Met Gala. Gwyneth Paltrow famously said she had no fun whatsoever: “I’m never going again. It was so un-fun. It was boiling. It was too crowded. I did not enjoy it at all,” the Goop maven said.

Amy Schumer similarly hated the event, calling it a “farce” to Howard Stern and saying the entire event was like a “punishment.”

Demi Lovato also said that one star treated her so terribly that she felt like drinking alcohol, and had to leave the event early to go to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.

And then there was Lena Dunham, who drew intense backlash after criticizing not only the Met Gala, but Odell Beckham Jr., the famous New York Giants wide receiver who she was seated next to.

“I was sitting next to Odell Beckham Jr., and it was so amazing because it was like he looked at me and he determined I was not the shape of a woman by his standards,” she said in a conversation with Amy Schumer in her Lenny Letter. “He was like, ‘That’s a marshmallow. That’s a child. That’s a dog.’ It wasn’t mean — he just seemed confused.”

Many accused the “Girls” creator and star of unfairly singling out Beckham, while others called her comments at best problematic and at worst racist for immediately sexualizing the gaze of the black man seated beside her.

Dunham, meanwhile, said it was a joke about being “an average-bodied woman at a table of supermodels and athletes.”

This year’s event will likely be one of the most memorable — and controversial — yet.

Dolce & Gabbana’s 2014 Milan Fashion Week presentation included pieces with religious art.

Vittorio Zunino Celotto/Getty Images

This year’s theme is “Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination.” The gala has selected a variety of themes over the years, but this year’s pick is already being called controversial.

According to Vogue, approximately 150 pieces will be on display. Some of the well-known names participating this year include Dolce & Gabbana, Coco Chanel, Balenciaga, and Valentino (all of which have incorporated religious elements in their clothing at some point).

There will also be 40 pieces loaned straight from the Vatican, some of which have never left Rome before. The pieces include the mid-18th to the early 21st centuries, like a pair of shoes worn by Saint John Paul II and a papal tiara given to Pius IX by Queen Isabella II of Spain.

In keeping with the religious theme, the exhibit will take place across three different locations: the Anna Wintour Costume Center (which is part of the Met), the medieval galleries (also part of the venue), and The Cloisters (a museum that’s part of the Met, but located in upper Manhattan).

The gala will be co-chaired by Amal Clooney, Rihanna, and Donatella Versace (who is a sponsor this year).

(C)

[minigirl87]

I'm always here for you

Richard Muñoz x FReader

Warnings ⚠️ 🔞 🤬

NSFW over 18's only. Mentions of oral, P in V. Unprotected sex. Stimulation. Cum eating female. Swearing in Spanish. Mentions on female body.

Summary:-

Richard comes home back from work agitated, and it leads to soft, needy, and sleepy sex. Established relationship between Richard and reader.

Please enjoy, comment, and reblog. I absolutely love Richard ❤️

Spanish translation using Google:-

Buenas noches, mi amor = Good night, my love

Mi amor= my love

Follar= Fuck

Tan mojada (f), mi amor= so wet

Es muy buena chica= such a good girl

mi niña hermosa= my beautiful girl

Word Count:- 5748

You were laying in bed, the only noises filling the room were the air purifier, and the tv on low occasionally being interrupted by Rosie’s snores. The room was bathed in the soft, warm glow of the tv. The soft cotton linen brushed against you bare legs as you turned in bed, your favourite washing powder filling the air with a relaxing sweetness.

 Richard had returned from work agitated earlier and had remained quiet throughout dinner. You were concerned for him but left him to open up to you when he was ready. You knew he was dealing with a death row inmate, and it always affected him. You adored his caring and gentle nature. He is always the best for everyone.

 Just as you turned in bed, Richards weight shifted on the mattress as he turned and spooned you. Your bodies now unconsciously mould together after years of this position. Your bum rests against his crotch, your legs intertwined. You feel the tingle of flannel material of his pyjamas against your skin. He pulls you closer your back flush against his chest, his large hand gently but firmly hold you left hand as both arms lay across your waist. His other hand gently caressing your hair.

You lay in comfortable silence just holding each other. You feel Richards chest expand against your back as he let’s go of a breath both of you never realised he was holding. You feel Richard lips gently kiss the back of your neck as his moustache tickles your skin. You sigh contentedly as Richard whispers his accent like velvet.

“Buenas noches, mi amor” it’s like him speaking the words would disturb the fabric of the night.

You Squeeze his hand reassuringly, you’re reply as gentle as you can muster.

“Good night, my love. I’m always here for you”

You’re sure his lips feel damp as he kisses your neck again, as his breathing evens out and the sand man’s takes him on a journey to dream land before collecting you for yours.

 You both sleep peacefully through the night, occasionally turning and snuggling again throughout the night. The black and purple velvet night sky descends into a pink and lilacs silky sunrise. The soft rays of sun gently fill the gaps in the bedroom curtains cast an angelic glow on Richard sleeping face. You stare in awe at his golden skin and messy curls.

 You turn away to start getting out of bed smiling, when Richard wraps his arms around you and in a sleepy begging voice, you hear Richard. “please mi amor, don’t leave me. I need you” as he pulls you against him. Soft lips kissing your neck as his hand strokes your stomach, sending electricity through you. You turn to face him, kissing him gently, running your fingers through his curls. The gentle kisses get more passionate as you feel his cock hardening and poking your stomach.

 You whimper into his mouth as he kneads your breasts, gently pinching your nipples through your nightdress. You start unbuttoning his pyjama top, revealing his chest “so handsome my love” A faint blush colours his cheeks as you kiss along his jaw, and you enlisted a moan as you nip his ear lobe.

 “Follar, mi amor” his hands squeeze your hips tightly. You hand plays with his waist band coyly before you slip you hand in and grasp his this cock, pre cum coat your thumb “Es muy buena chica” his accent heavy on the “chica” pumping his cock as Richard groans and spews obscenities in Spanish. His cock throbs against your hand as you struggle to get you hand round his girth.

“Follar, Follar mi amor” suddenly his hand grasps you wrist. “stop mi amor, I don’t want to cum yet. Turn around mi amor” you do as he asks. “mi niña hermosa” running his finger tips along and down your hip. Your legs open as his index finger runs along you slit his calloused thumb massaging your clit as you writhe and whimpering his name over and over like a chant.

 “Tan mojada, mi amor” he whispers in your ear. You can only whimper in response “only for you, my love. Gripping his hand as your core feels on fire. You can feel you slick on your thighs as Richard rolls your clit between his thumb a pointer, your head rests against hist chest. Your about to cum when Richard withdraws his hand. You’re about to protest when Richard grips and lifts you thigh and slams his cock in your went cunt as you gasp in delight.

 He balls your nightdress in his fist as he thrusts against you, his using the material to pull you back against him. His cock stretches your walls as his thrusts are getting harder, you clench your walls against him feeling his cock throbs. The room filling with a mixture of declarations of love, curses and moans from you both in your loved and lust filled state.

 “Mierda” Richard stutters as his thrusts become sloppy as ropes of hot white cum paint you insides as you moan in bliss against him. You both lay there blissed out and happy. Just as Richard moves his arm to hold you close, you move breathless and kneel neck to him and gently kiss his softening cock before engulfing him in your mouth sucking and lacking his cock clean tasting the salty yes sweet tang of his cum, you look up to see Richard staring at you lovingly as he reaches his hand down stroking you cheek, as a small whimper leaves his lips as you pop his sensitive cock from your warm mouth.

 You move back to lay next to him, gently kissing him and snuggling against him as he wraps you in a tight embrace, kissing your forehead.

 I love you, mi amor. I’m sorry for ignoring you last night” his words are full of love for you.

 Caressing his cheek, leaning in to kiss him. “I’m always here for you, my love. No matter what” you both lay in bed a little long, hugging and kissing each other. Neither of you say it, but you're both thinking, "How did I get so lucky to have you."

@melodygatesauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @my-secret-shame @missscarlettangel @missdictatorme @jake-g-lockley @steven-grants-world @romanarose @campingwiththecharmings @writingforcurrentobsessions2 @welcometostayingawake @novanitee @micheleamidalajedi @annautumnsoul @guruan-is-not-here @ivystoryweaver @whirlybirbs @whatthefishh @lonely-dark-moon @missscarlettangel @missdictatorme @lonelyisamyw-0love @madlittlecriminal @midgardian-witch @saturn-rings-writes @madlittlecriminal @gigachadcowboy @yeetus-thyboomer @draggolblackthorn @he-burnt-my-shake @musicsavedme98 @mess-of-fandom @hon3yboy @ominoose @jayke0 @theaussiedragon @reallyrallyauthor

[temptressofwaikiki]

It’s been a day, I’m reblogging this because I need more Richard in my life. Please join me.

—

This sweetling would take such good care of you after a hard day.

The minute you get home (if he hasn’t surprised you at work to give you a ride home), he’ll smile softly at you, and ask if you need anything before ushering you into a hot bath or shower while he gets dinner ready.

He would of course make your favourite, and he totally made a special trip to the store to ensure he had your favourite drink (wine, soda, sparkling water, whatever).

You’ll come out in your favourite comfy clothes, all warm and relaxed from your bath.

You’ll opt to skip dinner at the table, instead curl up on the couch with a TV tray that’ll get moved aside once you’re both done.

And after dinner he’ll wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side, and then he’ll press a sweet little kiss to your temple.

Then of course he will proceed to cuddle you so damn hard.

Well this is a damn shame.

We need more of this sweet man.

[ophelialoveshandsomemen]

A december writing challenge that I will try. If you want to send me one of Oscar Isaac’s characters and a day to write for, go ahead! If I don’t get any prompts, I will be writing my own choices. Ask me if you wanna be tagged!

Female reader or GN reader only please!

I’m more comfortable with female reader, but I can easily write gender neutral. Male reader, however, I am NOT comfortable writing for too many reasons to state here.

Just a warning, I’m not big on cities, so this will feature mainly rural/country settings.

Warning. There may be religious themes in some of these, which I will tag accordingly.

** indicates smut, both light and heavy.

Day 1 - Baking || Vanilla, sprinkles, and chocolate flavored kisses. (Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader)

Day 2 - Frozen Lake || Cold hands, Scarves, and Snow.(Duke Leto Atreides x fiancée!fem!reader) **

Day 3 - Hot Chocolate || Marshmallows, warm hands, and soft smiles.(Abel Morales x fem!reader)**

Day 4 - Cozy Cabin || Patterned rugs, soft blankets, and warm baths.( Santiago Garcia x wife!fem!reader)

Day 5 - Fire Places || Fuzzy socks, soft rugs, and hands intertwined.(Pt.2! Duke Leto Atreides x fiancée!fem!reader .sequel to You’re handsome with snowflakes in your beard.)**

Day 6 - Blanket Fort || Fluffy pillows, movies, and snacks(Modern!Poe Dameron x pregnant!fem!wife!reader)

Day 7 - Catching a cold  || Tissues, savory soup, and cuddles.(Llewyn Davis x fem!reader)

Day 8 - Snowed In || Candles, snow drifts, and quiet.(Mikael Boghosian x fem!reader)

Day 9 - Sledding || biting wind, cold noses, and laughter(Laurent Leclaire x fem!reader. Canon era.)

Day 10  - Winter Market || Murmuring crowds, rows of stalls, and the smell of food.(Blue Jones x gn!reader)

Day 11 - Snowball Fight || Heavy breathing, footprints in the snow, and warm hugs.( Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader. Part 2! sequel to Kisses of Chocolate.)

Day 12 - Lonely  || Gloomy skies, soft blankets, and a warm fire.

Day 13 - Warm Bath || Bubble bath, soft music, and gentle hands.

Day 14 - Homemade Meal/Cooking || Savory spices, hot meals, and family.

Day 15 - Sleigh Ride || Sleigh bells, foggy breath, and the smell of cedar.(Nathan Bateman x fem!reader)

Day 16 - Mistletoe || Warm lights, smoke, and friends.(Jonathan Levy x fem!reader)

Day 17 - Gingerbread || Icing on their cheek, smell of cinnamon, and playful kisses.

Day 18 - Sunsets || Golden hour, towering pine trees, and warm coats.

Day 19 - Movie Nights || Laughter, snacks, and cuddles.

Day 20 - Hiking || Rough ground, crisp morning air, and sunrises.

Day 21 - Sweaters || Cozy feelings, goosebumps, and comforting hands.

Day 22 - Unique Traditions || Smiles, acceptance, and making memories.

Day 23 - Proposal || Nerves, candles, and a tasty meal.

Day 24 - Holiday Traffic || Car horns, comforting words, and snow.

Day 25 - Lazy Mornings || Soft blankets, familiar arms, and the morning light.

Day 26 -Furry Friends || Shining eyes, the pitter - patter of paws, and that fuzzy feeling in your chest.

Day 27 - Roasting Marshmallows || Roaring bonfires, laughter of friends, and gooey marshmallows.

Day 28 - Huddle for Warmth || Warm bodies, steady breaths, and comforting feelings.

Day 29 - Holiday Lights || Holiday music, bright colors, and joy.

Day 30 - Fireworks || Loud booms, sparkling light, and a breathtaking kiss.

Day 31 - Wild Card || write anything you want!(Victoriano ‘El Catorce’ Ramirez x fem!reader)

[writefightandflightclub]

Somebody to love (PART 1/2): Richard Alonso Munoz x fem!reader

Summary: Whilst your neighbour, Richard, is in love with love, you are a little more commitment averse. When he performs a small act of kindness though, your feelings start to unravel, and you wonder if you may have found somebody to love - right next-door all along.

Richard is a sweet, gentle man, and so I hoped to create a sweet, gentle story. I hope you enjoy spending some time in it!

I HAVE POSTED THIS IN TWO PARTS, ONLY BECAUSE OF LENGTH. WHILST YOU COULD PROBABLY(?) READ EITHER PART AS A STANDLONE THEY ARE MEANT TO WORK TOGETHER.

Genre / tropes: pining, friends to lovers (sort of - neighbours to lovers), getting together, domesticity, fluff, smut, nothing bad happens, ends happily, quite a slow burn for a one-shot, I guess?

Author’s note: This is part of my friends to lovers event, prompt requested by @foxilayde who I adore and you should too. Prompt was: he does something utterly mundane which shows how well he knows you, and your feelings hit you. I took some liberties with the prompt, and there is zero pressure to read this - IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB! :P More of these requests in pinned post!

Warnings/ Ratings:

PART ONE (Mature, 18+ ONLY): swearing; sexual themes (erotic poetry, thirsty internal monologue, sexual tension); food themes inc. mentions/consumption; family mentions - reader has nieces but they need not be biological; brief mentions of the prison system - Richard is a Corrections Officer; exceedingly brief mention of the Holocaust in context of a non-fiction book Richard is reading (I believe this is a canon read but may be wrong); loneliness (theme, not too angsty); self-esteem issues if you squint.

PART TWO: (Explicit, 18+ ONLY): swearing; explicit sex, including - oral m + f receiving; unprotected vaginal sex; creampie; f squirting (first time doing so); well-endowed man, ahem.

Word count: 10k for part 1, 9k for part 2.

You had been thinking about the small gesture all day. You had been distracted all the way through your shift, and then all through dinner with a friend.

Richard -your neighbour to the right- had turned-up at your door that morning, before setting off on his way to work. His visit had been unexpected, and you had opened the door in a fluster, seeing him greet you with a characteristically soft smile - just visible from beneath the thick brush of his bold, impressive moustache.

He had held them out to you - in between his index and middle finger. A small book of postage stamps.

You had simply looked at him in confusion for a moment.

“For your letters,” he had stated, in his soft-spoken voice. “You said last night you didn’t have any stamps, and I found these in my drawer, so...”

It was true. You had said that. Had forgotten you’d said it. Had barely registered running into him, since it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Your routine overlapped minimally with Richard’s -though more so since his new role in the letter room had him working days exclusively- but sometimes, you would meet serendipitously, as neighbours tend to do. Last night, in the liminal space between your work day ending and your home life beginning, you had stopped to chat with him, and -you remembered now- had made some offhand comment about needing some stamps.

The topic of letters had come up; naturally, given his new position. It caused you to mention having written some letters to your nieces -packaged up with little illustrated portraits you’d gotten commissioned for their new bedrooms. Letters which you hadn’t gotten around to posting.

And so, here Richard was. On your doorstep. With stamps.

It was a little thing. So little, it didn’t even register at the time. In fact, you had bundled him off your porch with a quick, cursory “Thanks, Richard!”, prioritising finishing your morning scramble and making it out of the door on time.

It didn’t register in the moment, no; but you were noticing it now, alright.

“-so, this morning,” you explain to your friend opposite you in the pizza parlour, as she absent-mindedly dips her crusts in some hot sauce, “there he is on my doorstep, and he’d brought me some stamps.”

Your friend, Jaz, dips her chin and slowly raises her perfectly shaped eyebrows, her glossed lips curling in an amused, incredulous smile. “So, let me get this straight. He brought you some... stamps, which he already had, from his house next door,” she recaps, her smile inching wider by the second, “and now you want to fuck him?!”. Her eyebrows knit together in faux concern and she clamps a hand over yours where it rests on the table. “Sweetie, we need to talk. How low is your bar these days? Exactly how dick-starved are you?”

Ordinarily you’d be more than game for the light fun she pokes at you. Would even have a smart riposte ready. This time, though, you simply huff, your jaw twitching in minor irritation at how flippant she is being. So, shaking your head gently, you pull your hand away from hers, folding your jacket around yourself, suddenly feeling exceedingly self-conscious.

“Never mind. I’m obviously not telling it right. And, wait - hold up- who in the hell said I wanted to...” you look around the parlour, voice dropping to an indignant whisper as if anyone around you would hear or care about your hypothetical sexploits “...fuck him?” Your tone is defensive, and you shift to take a masking nibble on your straw, slurping the dregs of your soda and bouncing your leg nervously under the table.

Your friend merely raises an eyebrow, with a healthy -and not entirely unfounded- scepticism, and so, you try to rein your protestations in, lest you get slammed with a “methinks you doth protest too much”.

“Okay, okay,” Jaz concedes, holding up her hands and leaning back in her chair. “All I’m saying is, it seems like you have a hard-on for him all of a sudden. You’ve lived by him for years and you’ve never noticed the guy! It’s just stamps, baby cakes. It’s just your paunchy, kindly neighbour, who gets milkshake stuck in his moustache.”

At least he’s not afraid to make a mess of himself when he’s slurping, you think idly, your eyebrow ticking up - the thought leading you in a very particular direction and sending a sudden scorching heat to your cheeks. Also - paunchy? I like a beautiful soft tummy to rest my head on, thank you very much.

Yeesh. You are not okay. Still, before you go full feral, you shrug your shoulders in partial concession, widening your eyes in innocence. “Uh huh. Sure. Yeah.” 

“Seriously?” Jaz continues, shaking her head in good-natured disbelief - blatantly seeing right through you. “Are stamps your love language now, or what the fuck?”

She’s not wrong. It is very… sudden. You’ve never felt that way about Richard before. But is it so preposterous to think you might begin to?

“Jeez! Who said anything about love?!” You swirl your straw in your cup, concentrating on puncturing the remaining bubbles and ignoring your friend’s peals of bemused laughter. “Look, okay? I guess you’re right, Jaz. Maybe I’m just dick-starved,” you suggest, a smile finally claiming your lips. “It has been… a little while. And the last encounter was not very... inspiring.” You wiggle your eyebrows at her and your shared laughter mingles in the space between you. Still, you’re more than a little keen to deflect, and you bounce your foot more furiously under the table in your haste to change the subject. “I just thought it was sweet of him, that’s all, but… forget it, okay? Tell me everything about your hot date with Jackson.”

As soon as the invitation is given, Jaz jumps on it. And, as you listen to her spill the tea on her latest hook-ups with her fancy man, you try really hard to focus - but you can’t help that your thoughts keep wandering time and again to a certain man. A man with the kindest, most soulful cola-coloured eyes. Your neighbour to the right.  

You’re unsure why, but you feel a little bent out of shape - a little annoyed, even- that Jaz was so quick to dismiss Richard. Particularly that she had seemed to miss the whole meaning behind his small gesture. He was listening to you. He was thinking about you. And, as you dwell further on it, you realise that maybe -just maybe- you want the kind of guy who brings you stamps, goddammit.

Shit - maybe Jaz wasn’t too far off when she said stamps were your love language after all.

And, true, maybe you hadn’t paid the faintest bit of romantic attention to Richard -for the most part- in the years you’d lived side-by-side with him... but maybe it was time to start. Maybe, in fact, it was well overdue.

***

Granted, it hadn’t struck you right away how sweet Richard’s gesture was, but as soon as it had, you started to notice everything. To remember everything.

You remembered how he pushed a flyer through your door one evening, just in case you might be interested in the latest art exhibit going on at the local rec centre. You recalled how he had duct-taped the handle of your garbage can back together after it spectacularly broke one morning, causing your trash to spill over the sidewalk. It hadn’t seemed like a huge thing at the time, but now, as you imagine him painstakingly unfurling the roll and passing it around and around the broken piece, entirely on his own steam, it takes on a new meaning.

You have begun to notice - really notice- how he always smiles and stops to chat to you, his face lighting up as if he is genuinely pleased to see you. You have begun to notice everything he has done for you, over the years, a deluge of kindness flooding your heart. Details -little things- which seemed insignificant at the time, but which weigh heavier than gold now that you reflect on them.

And, most of all, you have noticed him.

Richard.

You have noticed his positivity. That bounce he gets in his step when he’s enthusiastic about something (which is always). The way his expressive, long-lashed eyes reveal everything he’s feeling whenever he talks or listens - his emotions and his compassionate heart pinned firmly on his sleeve, as prominent as his Corrections Officer badge. You notice how handsome he is; a fact which has inexplicably passed you by for the longest time. Perhaps, because of how understated he is? Not cocky and assured and alpha like the guys you’re usually drawn to.

Tonight, though, most of all, you are noticing that he’s not home, as you sit on your front porch steps, entirely locked out of your own house. You know for a fact that a couple of neighbours have spotted you there - you’ve observed pairs of curtains twitching- and yet no-one has come to your aid so far, mean bastards. You know, in contrast, that Richard would help anyone who needed it, without hesitation. And, it’s fair to say that sitting here, waiting for him to return and help you out, is certainly providing you plenty of opportunity to dwell on thoughts of him. In fact, you can’t wait for him to get home; not only because you wish for relief from the elements, no. But because the thought of seeing him actually excites you. You are looking forward to it.

Finally, thankfully, after the evening chill has long begun to bite at your extremities, you see Richard approaching. He whistles a jaunty tune as he comes up his drive, happy as usual. From his silhouette, you note that he’s dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and his usual ill-fitting jeans, his keys already jangling in his hand, and he stops abruptly when he sees you sat out front as though his feet are glued to the floor.

You can just about make out the smile which tugs at his lips, moments before his words do. He always seems happy to see you, and, on this occasion, you echo that feeling too, more so than ever. “Locked out?” he calls, and at the sound of his voice you stand, hopefully, clasping your purse on your shoulder, your own feet glued to the floor too.

“Yeah,” you call, throwing your voice over to him. “Waiting for the locksmith.”

You grip the strap of your purse a little tighter, as Richard takes a few steps closer, a polite but cautious smile lighting his face. “Want to wait inside?”

“Hell yes,” you gush with a relieved exhale of breath, gratefully trotting around to meet him on his porch where the security light bathes him in a halo of orange. “You’re a babe. Thank you, Richard.” You allow your eyes to gently rove over him as you approach. He’s wearing a turquoise bowling shirt, you realise. A bowling shirt with “Alonso Muñoz” stitched in an adorable flourish of red embroidery above the left shirt pocket. What’s more, he looks cute as all hell in it too. You seem to recall he’s in a casual league with some buddies.

“It’s no trouble,” he says with a warm, disarming smile, deep, pleasing creases radiating from around his eyes – and, even though you aren’t usually one to be lost for words, it is all you can do to smile back at him vacantly, clutching your purse strap tight enough that your knuckles strain.

Richard pauses too, seemingly taking a moment to remember the keys bunched and readied in his hand - as though your presence has pushed all other thoughts out of his head. “You must be cold. Let’s get you warmed up,” he says finally, snapping himself out of his stupor.

Yes please.

And so, with a bashful flutter of his long lashes as you shuffle even closer to him, Richard opens the door and guides you inside, hover-handing his palm at the small of your back.

He smiles widely as he is welcomed by his little fur ball, Lady, the white dog yipping and wagging and jumping up at his shins. Richard stoops to bundle her into his arms, the animal rasping its tongue over his shapely jaw, which he raises as he squirms away from the wet, eager kisses.

“Aw, you’re so precious, Lady,” you baby-talk, reaching out to apply fond scritches to the mop of her head. “I forget how cute you are, little bean!”

Richard chuckles with mirth, seemingly warmed by your sweet interaction with his pupper, and only when Lady gets restless in his arms does he set about plopping her down and refilling her food bowl.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Richard offers, before he briefly excuses himself, dipping away into another room and signalling he’ll be right back.

With Richard gone and Lady chowing down on her dried food, you take the opportunity to glance around the place, surprised by how at home you do feel, already, even though you’ve never set foot in here before. You’ve been in his yard before; for example, when he’s hosted block barbeques, or, when the summer sun has withered from your yard, you’ve sometimes shimmied your deck chair to be side by side with his as you languished together in the remaining patch of sun. But you’ve never been inside his home. Now that you are, you drink in the details of him, eager for any new information you can glean, and scanning over the books and paintings and photographs with particular interest. You smile as your eyes fall upon Lady’s bed, filled with a procession of carefully arranged stuffed animals and chew toys.  You are warmed by the painting of a beachy, mountain-edged, palm-fronded sunset, propped against the ‘sill.

You note that his place is homely and well-tended, and you also can’t help but notice that the place signals a rather solitary existence. One plate and one fork drying on the dish rack. A perfectly placed easy chair -for one- in front of the TV, the small couch to its side covered with stacks of books and papers, as if it has been a while since he entertained a guest. In fact, you would take a seat -make yourself at home- but you don’t want to intrude on His Seat, and nor do you wish to disturb his personal papers to clear the couch.

As you ponder this, Richard re-enters, extending a soft, flannel shirt towards you. “Here. In case you’re cold.”

You smile your thanks to him (grinning like a dumbass, actually) and you gratefully slip the garment over your shoulders, feeling instantly warmed. As you wrap it around yourself, you get a waft of fresh-scented detergent. You would never have guessed that you’d be able to recognise any particular Richard-y scent, but as the shirt’s pleasant odour engulfs you, you realise it is infinitely familiar. That it is wildly comforting.

You watch, a brief moment of awkwardness as Richard self-consciously combs his fingers through his thick moustache; sweeps a hand over his already immaculate, plastered-down curls. He looks so... neat. Controlled. Restrained. It crosses your mind that you’d like to mess him up a bit, see him come undone - of course, if he wanted.

Then, noticing your seating predicament, Richard surges over to gather up the strewn piles of mess, shifting them on to the coffee table instead. “Here, take a seat,” he indicates. “Sorry for the mess- I emptied the bureau looking for the stamps. Please. Every time I think to put it back I get distracted.”

His comment is nonchalant, but for the second time since he arrived home, you are at a loss for words, and you can only stare at him as you sink your ass down, gratefully, on to the now emptied couch. He’d gone to that effort for you? And now he’s apologising right to your face for the mess of it?

“That was kind of you, Richard,” you state, finding words again, and he shuffles nervously from shoe to shoe in response. You note that his brown skin grows increasingly flushed, with a deepening undertone of crimson as his eyes skim cautiously over you. “And thank you for letting me hang here. Promise I’ll be out of your hair soon. The locksmith should only be...” You suck in air through your teeth as you un-pocket your cell and glance at the time. “Yikes. Another hour. I’m so sorry to get in the way.”

His moustache twitches with a shy smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you from beneath his lashes, his eyes all big and pretty. He certainly doesn’t look put-out, at least. “Not at all - it’s… really nice to have you here,” Richard insists, polite and sincere as ever. You are the one to feel bashful now, and you tug his shirt more firmly around your shoulders for comfort, the act serving to further fluster you and entrance him, it seems. He seems frozen to the spot again, and meanwhile, you’re now feeling overly warmed.

He looks a little lost, for a moment, as though it’s been so long since he had a visitor that he doesn’t quite know what to do with you. In the next second though, his practiced hospitality kicks in, his warm and affable nature shining through as he determines a course of action. “Have you eaten? I could fix you some dinner.”

You are hungry, you think, your tongue darting out along your bottom lip at the thought of food. Well, if he’s going to feed you, you’re not letting him do all the work -you decide- so you tentatively rise from your seat, clapping your palms together, signifying action. “Only if I can help you?”

“O- okay. Yeah. Thank you,” he nods; then, he comes to stand with his hands on his hips, thumbs to the front, causing his soft, rounded belly to protrude exaggeratedly from under his shirt. You’re not sure why that sends a very subtle flare of heat down between your legs, but it does all the same.

Meanwhile, oblivious to your thirsty inner monologue, Richard looks at you reservedly, until you smile and cross together to the humble kitchen, where, with another bashful flutter of his lashes he begins grabbing out utensils and ingredients. All the while, he moves seamlessly around you, so careful never to touch or to invade your personal space. The pronounced and careful lack of contact makes you realise, however -as he skims his body so close yet so far from yours in the compact space- that maybe you desperately want him to touch you. That you wouldn’t mind if his hand brushed your back, or lower. That maybe having him envelop his arms around you would feel as warm and comforting as his shirt – or even more so. That even, perhaps, if he pressed you from behind into the counter, his soft stomach leading, followed by his wide hips pinning you in place, his moustache grazing up the column of your neck, that you wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, the thought of his touch, and even the mere potential of it, fills you with an excited buzz deep in your belly. A thrill that you haven’t felt for a long time – at least, not quite like this.

Right now, though, you set these thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. You move around each other a little awkwardly, but thankfully, the conversation flows far more easily than your bodies. Richard’s shy and gentle, but he’s friendly. Inquisitive and interesting, and he keeps you chatting. And, so, you converse and cook together, until the resulting, homely odours waft into your nose, keeping your mind firmly on your much more literal hunger; at least, for the most part.

When the steaming food is plated up, Richard invites you to take a seat on the couch and you oblige, watching him fondly and with interest as he produces various condiments, a bottle of Mr. Chimi’s Churri sauce taking pride of place on the surface in front of you. You add a healthy dollop.

“Mmm, this is so good, thank you,” you say approvingly when he invites you to dig in, eagerly wolfing down forkfuls.

As soon as Richard has plonked himself down in his chair and balanced his own plate on his lap, he flicks on the TV – likely, more out of habit than anything. A vibrant telenovela sparks to life in the background, a particularly melodramatic scene in full swing. You smile to yourself. You recognise the show - you’ve heard him talk about it too. Even get the impression he watches religiously.

Richard’s eyes fix on the screen for a moment, and he is visibly suckered-in by the unfolding plot, his food disappearing at an impressive rate as he scoops it up to his mouth while he watches. Still, he doesn’t forget you’re there. Quite the contrary.

“It’s so sad,” he explains for your benefit, between his mouthfuls of dinner, his eyes overflowing with warmth as he turns to you. “Carlos and Adela are so in love, but they can’t be together. She’s engaged to Luis. She has to stay with him to save the family home because she already signed some papers.”

You smile, Richard’s heartfelt summary filling you with warmth. He cares about people. It’s what he does. Apparently, he’s even invested in the fictional ones. You try hard to supress your good-natured amusement at quite how invested he is; however, when his gaze meets yours once again, flicking back and forth between you and the screen, he must catch a hint of it in your expression. “Sorry,” he flusters. “I can turn this off, if you like?” he offers gently, eyes apologetic.

“Are you kidding?” you respond, with a warm smile. You’re no stranger to becoming over-invested in fiction, you suppose, and besides - you like the prospect of sharing this with him. “Catch me up some more,” you encourage. “So, we’re rooting for Carlos?”

Richard smiles gratefully, nodding vigorously in response. You like seeing him like this. In his own element, his own environment, doing things he typically enjoys. It’s nice to see him living his best life, thriving on the drama of the trope-laden plot. “I hope Carlos crashes the wedding. Luis doesn’t deserve her.”

“Yikes. You’re brutal, Alonso Muñoz,” you tease, a musical laugh lilting out of you.

You chat back and forth, an amused smile twitching at the corner of your mouth for the duration, and although Richard seems somewhat entranced by the developing storyline, he seems even more invested in you. He makes sure to listen to you, even when you’re sure you must be talking over an important detail. He ensures he fills you in on any prior plot point you may need for context.

And, while his eyes do intermittently flick back toward the screen, your eyes, however, remain firmly fixed on him. On the singular swoop of his meticulously parted, grizzled curls. On his long lashes blinking, his deep eyes shining beneath them, glinting in tandem with the light from the screen. His warm, brown skin and the lines etched in it when he smiles cast with a bluish hue, flickering light and shadow ghosting over the contours of his strong nose and chin and his heavy brow. The soft, inviting rolls of his stomach as he relaxes into his chair, and the way his belly shakes when he laughs. Of course, his glorious moustache, positively flourishing on his upper lip. Last but not least, what most gets you though, are his eyes. Eyes as kind and expressive and open as this sweet man’s heart is.

You laugh alongside him, hoping he is enjoying the company as much as you are. You could get used to this, you think; used to him. Indeed, you have no idea how you have managed to overlook this man, beautiful inside and out, until now. You resolve though, that you won’t make that same mistake again.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you thank Richard once more for the food. He carries your plate over to the sink, insisting -when you offer- that the dishes can languish there for one night. And so, instead of rising, you pat the couch cushion beside you invitingly. His throat bobs around a hard swallow as he stands before you, his feet momentarily glued to the floor; yet again. When Richard finally musters movement and takes a seat next to you, he places himself as far away from you as he possibly can on the small two-seater; out of respect rather than repulsion, you are more than sure. However, the compact space affords him little chance to keep his distance, and his clothed thigh presses warm against your own. He doesn’t make any attempt to move away though, and, equally, nor do you.

“Thank you, Richard,” you say, your voice softer and far more breathy than you intended, now that he is so close to you.

He clears his throat self-consciously, before his eyes crease with a sincere smile. “It’s no trouble. Anytime.” He sounds like he means it too.

You lean back, settling yourself deeper into the worn and slightly lumpy couch cushions. His posture, meanwhile, is still alarmingly stiff beside you, his torso upright and his hands folded formally in his lap. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d say that, perhaps, you made him nervous.

“Richard, I don’t bite,” you soothe. “Sit back. Relax. It’s your home.”

He nods in concession, exhaling his tensely held breath. “Yes, Ma’am,” he sounds obediently. You don’t think you’ve ever had anyone call you Ma’am before; but you note that you don’t entirely mind it, out of Richard’s mouth. You maybe even… like it?

Anyway, outside of your increasingly feral internal monologue, Richard reaches over to flick on the soft, ambient lamp to his side -the room having grown thick with shadows- and then he is sinking back, resting his head against the couch cushions alongside you.

You turn your head and tilt your torso a little towards him. When Richard does the same, it evokes a sense of intimacy that you weren’t all the way prepared for; the rest of the room seems to disappear as you are both held in a close circle of oranged light, the TV nothing but a lulling, background hum now. “I mean it... I... I wanted to thank you properly. For the stamps.”

“It’s no trouble,” he repeats, his voice deep and resonant and close now, catching you off-guard. No trouble? Sure. Despite the fact he’d clearly emptied-out everything in his living room to find them. “Did you send your letters?” he enquires softly, his eyebrows jumping up a little.

You can’t supress the bittersweet smile which inches over your face as you respond. “I did, and I got the cutest video call from my nieces when their mail arrived.” That wouldn’t have happened. Not without him being so thoughtful. You’d have put it off and put it off. The letters would still be sat on your dresser.  

Richard’s eyes light, and he looks genuinely pleased for you, his face glowing. “I’m glad.” He smiles, revealing a flash of his cute, ever so slightly imperfect (and therefore entirely perfect) teeth. Finally beginning to relax again, his hands rest flat astride his sturdy thighs and his head lolls towards you. With his next words, his voice becomes even softer. “I can tell you miss them since they moved away. Portland, right? I, uh. I really hoped you would send those letters. I know how much they can mean to people.”

“Portland. Yeah. Wow, you remember that?” You have to admit that you are a little shocked. Richard listened to you. Really listened to you. And, not only that, but he clearly read between the lines, connecting the dots between each one of your ad hoc interactions in a way which you -apparently- had failed to do thus far.

Jaz would scoff at you right now, you know it, if she could see you becoming all shy and flustered for him.

And now you want to fuck him?

But it wasn’t only that he brought you the stamps, okay? It was why he did it. He did it, because he knew what it might mean for you. Because, evidently, not only did he notice that you were sad -about something you barely let yourself acknowledge, by the way- but he also cared enough to try to make you happy instead.

The realisation that he cares is an emotional thing, causing a slight lump to rise in your throat. It should probably make you happy, but in fact, it saddens you. It saddens you because -you realise now- you have taken for granted all this time how easy Richard is to talk to. Have taken for granted the way he has been privy to so many candid details about your life.

Richard has often been the first person you’ve spoken to when you arrived home -sometimes the only person- and you have never hesitated to share your good news and triumphs with him. Nor have you hesitated to vent, sharing the more difficult details of your bad days. You’ve taken for granted just how much of yourself you’ve cumulatively shared with him; in a way you don’t often share with anyone else. Richard has been an important part of your life all these years, without you truly realising it. Perhaps because your interactions with him have tended to exist in such a liminal, peculiar space in your day. Perhaps because you were too close to see the big picture, instead of this collection of valuable, little things.

You hug your arms around yourself. You can merely repeat it again. “Thank you. For real.”

“It’s just a little thing,” he dismisses, modestly, and you are very suddenly tired of him dismissing himself. You want him to know how appreciated he is. Embodying this, your hand darts out to grip his where it rests on his thigh, and Richard looks down at this small spectacle in mild shock; and yet, he doesn’t pull away from your touch.

“It’s not. It’s a lot of things, Richard. I want you to know I appreciate everything you do. It has... It has been a long time since anyone was so sweet to me.”

Feeling self-conscious suddenly, following your outburst of affection, you inch your hand away from his; retreating, and reining yourself back in. For a moment, Richard’s fingers twitch up from his pant leg as though they might chase yours; but then, his hand stills, settled on his thigh just as before.

Then, a crease appears at his brow. “None of your Adonises are sweet to you?”

Your nose crinkles in confusion. “My... Adonises?”

“The... your... gentlemen visitors.”

Your brow creases, as you try to detect whether there is any judgement or malice in his observation, but, knowing him, you are not inclined to think there is. Still, you feel there is more to uncover. He’s noticed your dates coming and going then? He thinks they’re… Adonises? He’s surprised they aren’t sweet to you?

Still, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, perhaps realising how they might be misinterpreted, that crimson undertone to his skin flares again, this time reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. He looks like he wants the couch to swallow him up, and you can’t help but feel for him. “I just meant...”

“-It’s okay,” you say, swooping in to rescue him before he can start helplessly blabbering. He keenly takes the invitation to stop, his mouth suddenly clamping shut, ready to listen. And you? You are ready to talk. The words seem to come so easily around him. “I guess... you’re right. I’ve been on some dates but they...” you sigh, furrowing your brow as you try to find the words. “That’s all fine. Most of the time it’s really fun. Or it was. But... lately...”

“Lately?” Richard encourages, when you don’t go on, his voice barely above a whisper as he hangs on your every word.

“Lately, I think… That maybe it would be nice to have somebody who doesn’t just come and go. To have… somebody to love, I guess?”

“Somebody to love,” Richard ponders, his expression becoming wistful. His head begins moving up and down ever so slowly, gradually building to a more adamant nod. He smiles, but his eyes don’t crease at the corners this time. “That really does sound nice.”

It shocks you, but seeing him even a little sad, like that, has your hands fisting in the material of your skirt, as you resist the urge to reach out for him and offer comfort. You want to cup his face in your hand and kiss him senseless, until his eyes glow once more, imbued with his characteristic positivity. You want to care for him and protect him and make him laugh and spend time with him and…

Fuck.

You want to love him, you realise, and the thought scares you down to your bones. It scares you enough that you sit forwards, breaking this most peculiar tension. Changing the topic. And, abrupt as it may be, at least it works.

“What are you reading?” you ask, shrugging his shirt from your shoulders as a hot, cloying flush creeps along your skin and up your neck, prickly enough that it feels like fingertips. As you imagine Richard’s fingers dancing the same path over your bare shoulder blade, slipping beneath the spaghetti strap of your top, peeling it down, you hurriedly pick up the first book you can put your hands on, turning it in your palms without taking in a word written on it.

Poor Richard. You must be giving the sweet man whiplash.

Still, he leans forward in his seat too, sombrely taking the book from your hands and gazing down at the cover.

“Ah. It’s a bleak topic,” he warns. A deep crease appears in his brow. “It’s Night, by Elie Wiesel – a survivor’s account of his experiences during the Holocaust.”

Your expression turns grave and pinched and you nod, listening carefully as Richard recounts some of the key details. Then, together, you continue to pore through the pile, tackling each book in turn. You listen intently to Richard recount the various synopses, passionate and precise and sensitive in his summaries. It seems he reads a lot of non-fiction. Heavy reading, with many titles about the prison system, and atrocities - often both. But, you understand why it’s important to him. You are grateful to understand how his empathetic nature begets yet more empathy, as he seeks to expand his knowledge of experiences and histories different to his own. 

At first sight, you think it’s seemingly at odds that such a positive man seeks out such dark accounts, but it makes sense to you, in a strange way. After all, he wants to understand how things can be better. He believes they can be. You don’t know anything more Richard-y than that.

Reaching for the next title, you find it is a little different to the rest. You are reluctant to segue too abruptly from such heavy topics, keen to give them the merit they deserve, but at the same time you are grateful for a little lightness as you pick-up what appears to be a slightly trashy romance novel. You smile fondly, connecting the dots between this and the telenovela plotlines that seem to grab his attention; the way he seems so in love with love. Again, you consider how the two sides of him -the more serious and seemingly more trivial - may seem at odds, but that actually, they each reveal what is at the core of him. He is interested in people. He’s invested.

“And this book?” you ask tentatively, not even trying to stifle your smile as your eyes wander over the cover, two half-dressed people locked in an erotic, sordid embrace. You are especially keen to hear what he has to say about this one too.

“Well… Like you said. Somebody to love - right? Don’t we all need those kinds of stories?”

Your eyes glow with admiration. Whilst he’s not cocky or overly assured, no, you are coming to admire Richard’s quiet confidence in who he is and what he cares about. His integrity and his lack of embarrassment in the things he chooses to value. His delight and lack of shame in the things that he enjoys. He’s not afraid to be who he is. You think that’s wonderful.

Next, your eyes flick back to the final book on the pile, partly for completeness but also out of curiosity. You feel with each title you pick-up, you are learning something about him; and, frankly, you want to know everything there is to find out. You look at it with a start however, when you realise what the final book in the pile is.

It’s your book. It’s the anthology of poetry you’d self-published around a year ago, and sold at your local readings. You reach for it instantly, almost cradling it in your hands like a precious object. Not because it’s yours - not exactly- but because it’s his. His copy looks eminently different to the spares you still have boxed-up in your house, all fresh and crisp, spines unbroken. This one looks a little worn around the edges - well-thumbed, spine broken-in. Some of the pages are dog-eared, and various makeshift bookmarks are sticking out of it. You’ve never seen one of your publications looking so… beautiful. So treasured.

“You actually read this?” you ask, a little overwhelmed, your heart hammering, and tears spiking in your eyes.

“I read it often. I told you, I really like it!”

You stroke the cover with your palm. “Honestly? I thought you were just being polite.”

When you’d mentioned to him for the first time that you wrote poetry -specifically erotic poetry- and had invited him to the reading, Richard had looked, at first, as though he was ready to die of embarrassment. Regardless, he’d still come along - your only neighbour to have done so. You vaguely remember having spoken to him the day afterward about it, but when you think of the show itself, you can’t picture him there. Now, you desperately wrack your memory of the event, searching for him. Wishing you could recall him showing-up for you in such an important way. 

It had been such a blur, though. You’d had a lot of friends there. You’d had a date there, who, at the time, you’d thought was the be all and end all. Now, however, you curse yourself for overlooking Richard. You wish you could go back and root through the crowd for him. You wish you could bring him into the spotlight. Bring him into your arms. And yet, while you ponder all of this, Richard reaches for the book and gently lifts it from your hands, with a gentle hum. It practically falls open on one particular page.

“This one is my favourite,” he admits bashfully. “Salted Peach. I must have it almost memorised by now.” You turn to him, studying his face. His expressive eyes are full of a heat gentler and more nuanced than your words could ever hope to be, you think, as he pores over the page. Over your words.

“No way. Prove it, Alonso Muñoz,” you challenge, exhaling a laugh that is surprised and disbelieving and utterly delighted all at once.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it, but the man sets his face, both more determined and more playful than you think you have seen him so far, as he hands the book back to you. “Okay,” he smiles, softly. “I’ll give it a go.”

You hold your breath as his eyes flutter closed -so that you know he has zero chance of cheating- his long lashes fanning-out beautifully over his cheek. You take the chance to look over his handsome features, while he can’t interrupt your surreptitious study.

Then, he begins. His voice is hushed and unsure, yet the richness of it washes over you, right from the first line.

“Like salt kept on the lips,

To resist is to rust,” he begins, and your breath catches in your chest.

“Let me be an oiled thing under you, all fluid and opening smoothly

With keen, slick hinges.”

First, you are struck that he really does know it. That he really does remember it, almost word perfect. You exhale a breath in disbelief, your chest filling with butterflies.

“A ruined peach

Spilling nectar over your thumb,” he continues, and desire knots deep in your belly.

It’s not that the words are explicit – they aren’t. But something about the way he recites them -recounts your desire- makes them feel positively sinful, his voice quietly confident and subtly erotic as he recites your words. You don’t only hear the words, but you feel them, almost as if his thumb really has punctured you.

You are becoming slick already, feeling like a ruined, grateful fruit. You want to be his fruit, you think. His salted peach.

“You can be my stiffness

My joints

My... (my stone heart? Is that right?)” he interjects.

“It’s perfect,” you encourage, your voice trembling slightly, even as his grows ever more robust, and, as you bolster him, he sits a little taller in his seat, his posture proud and the new confidence reflected in his voice as he proceeds. As he grows, stiffer, taller, you become liquid, and you writhe your heat subtly against your seat. You press your thighs closer together.

Enraptured, you watch his lips and tongue move seamlessly around the words. The micro-expressions on his face, revealing how tenderly he wishes to portray them, every word imbued with care. With expression, and feeling.  

“(Got it...) My stone heart

And I, boneless;

Bodiless flesh.”

As he continues, you close your eyes too. You stop checking the words against the book and you let yourself feel them. You let them wash over you. You let his voice wash over you; to sink and curl into the pit of you. You squirm in place, and yet this shifting makes you all too aware of your stillness – this fixed position and distance from him, when surely you should be moving and surging and undulating on him? Surely you should be leaning in and hearing the deep yet gentle timbre of his words waft into the shell of your ear, or fanning over your skin?

Surely, he should be touching you?

Your heart is racing.

“Salt me, then.

Lick your lips and taste me; sweetly.”

You want to taste him. Be tasted.

“Only on your tongue, do I exist.

Only in your hand, do I perish.”

You want to exist and perish on his hand.  

“Do not keep me on your lips.

Oil me with your writhing”

You want to be swallowed by him. Oiled by him. Made slick.

“Or else I rust.”

You are rapt. His words -no, your words, spoken by him- melting you.

His voice. So rich, and so sensual, and you could swear, as you listen to him, that your words have never sounded so erotic. That you have never felt them as deeply as you do now, hearing them fall from his tongue and his lips. Hearing them flow from his heart, as he recites them in a way you’ve never heard them; an interpretation entirely unique to him.

In fact, listening to him, like this, lights a flame in the pit of you, a heat suffusing through you, warming everywhere. He warms you, even from this distance, and you can feel how much heat he has to give. And, on boy. You want to lap it up. Every. Last. Drop.

“I... I forgot the next part,” he adds, shyly, his confidence wavering, and you open your eyes, beginning to recite the rest for him.

“Oh, love,

I long to be a fluid thing;

Under you.”

It sounds… true. It feels right. It feels so right to say those words to him. So right that it knocks the air from out of you.

At the sound of your voice, you watch a soft, unfiltered smile appear on Richard’s face, his still-closed eyes creasing deliciously at the corners, his moustache animating with it.

“And yet you resist me; rust me,” you continue, voice full of fissures, and Richard’s eyes slowly peel open, pooling with heat. This time, unlike the other times his eyes have met yours, he holds your gaze - doesn’t drop his eyes from yours in a flurry of bashfulness and fluttered lashes. He holds your gaze and he holds you, in this moment. In this little circle of intimacy, his eyes glowing, all for you. Pooling with that heat, so nuanced and gentle, but every bit as hot as anything you’ve ever touched.

Your voice and your smile and your heart crack wide open as you continue.

“You are salt kept on my lips;”

You complete the last lines at the same time, eyes locked. 

“Always tempting.

I seize up.”

Of all the swimming emotions rising at that moment, gratitude balls in your heart most intensely, and yet again, it is all you can do to thrust it towards him, your humble offering.

“Thank you,” you say, for the nth time that evening, a smile of the purest joy still splitting your face. “That was really beautiful.”  

It’s hard to comprehend how moved you are by what just happened. You are shocked. Flattered. That someone appreciates your words, that they resonate at all, makes you feel so seen. That the person is Richard is more of a treasure than you can fathom, and it causes a flood of raw, reckless emotion, joyful tears brimming in your eyes.

In return, Richard’s eyes shine as he regards you, with an admiration so deep and yet prominent that you almost shrink back from it. “They’re your words,” he impresses, aiming, as ever, to shrink himself instead.

You shake your head. You won’t have that. “No, Richard - it’s the way you recited them. I swear you should do my next reading for me. You’re so…” You search desperately for the right words, and you can’t find ones any more fitting. “…So fucking beautiful.”

And you call yourself a poet?

Your eyes well up.

You feel entirely caught off guard and just a little silly that you are getting yourself upset in front of him, and yet Richard’s eyes narrow kindly as you try to scrub a stray tear away from your cheek. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soothing, and in the next breath he reaches out to touch you, his hand settling over the top of yours. The gesture is a little awkward, unsure, but only until his hand is in place. After that it simply feels... right. Perfect, in fact.

He strokes you, his thumb ghosting slowly, minutely over your pulse point, sending a delicious shiver along your spine. His eyes search yours, and you become thoroughly lost in the intensity of them. Lost in a way that you don’t ever wish to find yourself again. Lost in a way that turns everything on its head - has you finally feeling found.

“I loved hearing you read. It was so wonderful. You should definitely do another event,” Richard gushes. “I’m sure I could listen to you read from this all night.” With that, and the scenario it conjures, perhaps, he looks down at his hand on yours. Maybe growing self-conscious, or worried that he is overstepping; that he has lingered there too long. Suddenly, though, you don’t think any length of time could be too long for him to be touching you.

When your gaze drops to his lips, however, his moustache bristles, and he quickly snatches his hand back to his lap. “Have you written anything lately?” he asks hurriedly, scooping up the book again, his topic change giving off the same energy as yours did previously.

You wonder if he is imagining your fingers trailing over his bare flesh now too. You hope so. Oh how you hope.

At his question, though, you exhale a small laugh, pumping your eyebrows once as your face splits in a smile. You shake your head gently. “I haven’t been... it’s a while since I was, let’s say, properly inspired by an encounter,” you explain, looking down at your hands in your lap, missing his contact already. “I’m just... Hmmph. I don’t know. It’s just... missing something. Guess they don’t make Adonises like they used to,” you add flippantly, poking light fun, partly at yourself.

Contrary to your flippancy, Richard becomes more serious. A gulp trails down his throat, and he seems suddenly frozen in place; seized up. As if he needs you to oil him so that he doesn’t rust. “W-What are you missing?” he asks, his voice lower than you’ve heard it, slightly more grit to it. His chest visibly rising, breaths slightly quickened; just like yours.

You look into his deep, cola-coloured eyes.

You?

What are you missing? You’re not sure, but somehow you feel that whatever it is, Richard could give it to you in moments.

Still, you don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you ask him a question in return. You ask him a question feeling that, somehow, in a roundabout way, both of your questions may arrive at precisely the same answer.

“Why that poem?” you question, softly, lifting your eyes to him. “Why is that one your favourite?”

“I... I think...” he swallows again, then he whets his plush lips with a flick of his pink tongue. “It’s about longing, isn’t it? About being... lonely? About... wanting... someone in particular.” He fixes his expressive eyes on a point on the table, unable to look at you, it seems, in that moment. Still, his words are telling enough alone, you think, even without you seeing that same sentiment mirrored in his eyes too.

Now, you have another question. “Do you ever... get lonely? Are you? Lonely?”

It’s not even an assumption about him, you vaguely realise. It’s a projection. A projection of how you feel, and how you never realised you felt. It’s a desperate plea for affinity. For that longing to be understood, finally.

You are the one who is rusted. Seized up.

However, as soon as the question is out of your mouth you wish you could retract it. Loneliness is a solitary thing, after all, and you have no business, you suppose, wading into anyone else’s.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t answer that,” you mutter quickly, your fingers darting out to ghost along his forearm in apology, your naturally tactile nature coming through.

He drops his gaze towards your fingers there, watching them skimming his warm skin and the soft, dark hairs on his arms. He doesn’t inch away. Instead, he lifts his eyes to you, and you know the answer before he says it aloud. You know the answer as his emotions are written clearly in his eyes. Worn on his sleeve, like his badge.

The weight of his loneliness crushes you as if it was your own.

“Me too,” you admit, nodding softly, and his mouth curls briefly into a small, sad smile as your fingers continue their slow inch across his skin.

He sits in that sadness for a moment, and then, tentatively, as a thought flashes across his eyes, he brightens, just a little – looking mildly more hopeful. “Well,” he suggests, bravely. “Maybe we can… keep each other company?”

That really does sound nice.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Richard reaches out to fumble away the single tear ever so suddenly coursing down your face, swiping a line on your cheek with the pad of his thumb, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt anything so tender as his touch in that moment. It is yet another little thing; like the graze of a match head along its box. A little act, charged, with all this dangerous potential for a much larger, blazing thing to ignite.

You nod, the corners of your mouth trembling. “I would like that.” You would like that a lot.

Richard searches your eyes, and, ever so slowly - always slowly- as if you don’t wish to scare him away, you dare to hook your arm into his at the elbow, and you lower your head until it is resting on top of his shoulder.

“Is – Is this okay, Richard?” you ask in a small voice, pleading inwardly with the universe that he will say yes. That it is.

“This is... perfect,” he responds, even as he remains stiff against you, and, given his affirmation, you curl and scooch your body, shuffling a little closer to him. Bolstered too, with seeming new-found confidence, Richard raises him arm over you, and he nestles you safely against him where you can better feel his warmth. Where, with your knees drawing up on to his lap and your ear coming to rest on his chest, you can feel and hear the quickened thud of his racing heart as he holds you. His beautiful, kind, open heart.

Your mouth extends in a watery smile as you are held by him. He’s right. It’s a little thing, but it is perfect, isn’t it?

Still, again, although you should feel light, you feel heavy. With emotion. With longing. And so, you reach for another topic change. You reach for lightness. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an incredibly impressive moustache?” you enquire into his shirt, another solitary tear slipping over the bridge of your nose and wetting the flourish of red stitching.

Giving yourself whiplash now, you smile, as Richard’s chest shakes beneath you with gentle, easy laughter.

“Well, not everybody is a fan.”

“Who would actually dare?” you exclaim, as if thoroughly scandalised. “Fuck them, Richard. I like it. I like it a lot.”

His fingers trace shapes on your back. “Thank you.”

You are pleased to feel him gradually relax against you, his form melding with yours, his body becoming less stiff. Less rusted; more of a fluid thing.

“Do you… do you have a little moustache comb?”

Another chuckle. “I do,” he confirms, and you don’t know why on earth that detail settles it, but you think that he must certainly be the most perfect man on earth.

You go silent for a moment, but Richard prompts you gently - “No more questions for me?”- as if he was enjoying your mood-lightening segue. You are more than happy to oblige the sweet man by continuing, and you chew on your lip as you come up with something.

“Are you on Tinder?” A cheeky smile claims your mouth again - you’d kill to see his profile.

You’d think about the fact he’d probably never send unsolicited dick pics, but… then you’d be thinking about dick pics, and that’s one dangerous road towards Feral Town.

While you ponder this, Richard laughs again, but it’s a little self-deprecating this time. “No... I... I was for a while, but I...”

“What?”

He inhales and sighs his whole breath out again - a sad sound. His tone when he speaks is equally morose. “I’m… not sure people are looking for someone like me.”

At that, you abruptly sit up, narrowing your eyes and fixing a determined, earnest stare on him. You reach up, gingerly, moved to cup his cheek with your palm, his groomed sideburn and the plume of his moustache pleasantly rough under your fingers. You make sure he is looking you in the eyes. “Richard,” you contest, with every scrap of sincerity you can muster; and then some. “I think everybody must be looking for somebody like you.” 

His eyes are pierced by a peculiar emotion you haven’t seen there yet. At first it looks like pain, but then it levels off until his eyes are shining, with something resembling pride or gratitude. When a smile finally twitches his moustache, your gaze drops to his lips again, and you are no longer surprised by how easy it is to think about kissing him, desire unfurling in your belly at an alarming rate. A palpable, mutual longing eddies in the space between you.

You surprise yourself though, by dipping to press a sweet, chaste kiss into his cheek, rather than sinking towards his lips as you so wish to do. When you perform this gesture, his eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a soft, involuntary hum, the sound gathering in your very bones and setting up camp there. As you dip back from him, the edge of his moustache grazes your cheek, and you have to admit it’s sort of electrifying. You imagine how it would tickle if you were kissed by him. How it would tickle wherever you were kissed.

The lines of poetry, so to speak, are writing themselves in your mind, already. You haven’t felt this inspired in a long time, and yet, on this occasion, you want to wait. You don’t want to rush it - even though you’ve never felt the need to quell your desires on many occasions before. Life is short, after all – too short to waste. However, something tells you that Richard is the type of man you should savour. Something tells you, that you may have found somebody to love, and, you may not love often; but when you do, you love slow.

So, you pull away from Richard, and you note that his eyes have fluttered closed. When he opens them again, you know that this kiss on the cheek was the right thing to do. You see subtle tears shining in his eyes. Again, he looks pained -with first appearances- but these tears, on second examination you think, are joyful. His heart joyful yet heavy, exactly like yours. After all, when you are overwhelmed with joy all at once, with a flood of little, happy things, it can weigh you down, at first, if the measure of joy is not one which you are quite accustomed to. If you are not practised at carrying it.

At that point, contemplating joy, you are ripped cruelly from the moment, as, with the worst and best possible timing, your phone buzzes to life, vibrating against your hip until you reach to fish out the insistent device.

“The locksmith is here, Richard. I have to go.”

“Y- yeah. Okay,” he nods, despite the fact everything about him is conveying the opposite sentiment.

I don’t want to go.

“Thank you so much.” 

He nods again, and, wanting to leave him with a parting thought (or, not wanting to leave him at all, but needs must), you have the bright idea to pick up your book from the table, thumbing through it quickly to find the page you want. A poem called The Flood.

“Recommended bedtime reading,” you wink, thrusting the book towards his chest and standing, grabbing your purse and making your way towards the door. “I can give you back your shirt tomorrow, right?” you say cheekily. “Maybe after dinner?” 

Richard stands too, following you towards the door like he’s magnetised to you, Lady trotting along too, inquisitively, her little black nose snuffling at the air.

“A-after dinner?” he enquires, confused, as you sweep out in a little bit of a whirlwind.

“Yeah, Richard,” you smile coyly from beneath your lashes, injecting some flirtation into your tone. “I owe you dinner. To make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make it up to...”

You arch an eyebrow at him, looking at him pointedly and smoothing your hand over his upper arm until he gets the gist. When your meaning dawns on him, he gets that adorable, excited little spring in his step. You revel in his bright toothy smile, striking and pearly from beneath the thick brush of his moustache. “I know a nice little pasta place. And there’s a great documentary playing at the Coolidge if you want to catch it?”

“Sure,” you agree, dipping forward to plant another lingering kiss on his cheek in the doorway, relishing the feel of that moustache all over again. “It’s a date.” 

Evidently flustered, and in no bad way, Richard fumbles for words and finds none, omitting a mere collection of stunted syllables and unfinished sounds in response.

You wink at him, and before swooping off, you add one final thing. “Feel free to consider the bedtime reading a preview, okay? If you’d like.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up in disbelief. You get the feeling he already knows exactly what that particular poem is about. “Yes, ma’am.” he nods, looking sweetly and longingly and adoringly after you as you sashay away.

“Goodnight, neighbour to the right.”

“Goodnight, neighbour to the left.”

You allow yourself one last long look at him before you retreat, an unstoppable smile splitting your face, and, seeing him stood in the doorway, smiling after you, only cements everything you have come to learn this evening.

From now on, neither of you will be lonely anymore. There will be no more longing. Instead, there will be a flood, you think.

THE END

PART TWO IS HERE