Visit Blog
Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.
#Dean Martin
horaetio · 9 months ago
thinking about when anthony bourdain said “what nicer thing can you do for somebody than make them breakfast?” / and when dean martin and helen o’connell said “how do you like your toast in the morning? i like mine with a hug” / and when honorée fanonne jeffers said “see, stay alive/in the meantime, laugh/a little harder. go on/and gnaw that bone clean” / and when i called her on the phone my mama said “come home and i’ll cook you whatever you want, i just want you home”
3K notes · View notes
sunforgrace · 7 months ago
imagine Benny coming back in season 15 and meeting Jack.... "you and your angel have a kid together now?" fdjgjkdsk so much wasted potential...
oh my gooooood. Benny meeting hold on a second, hold on a SECOND. now imagining Benny doing that thing were he grins and goes, “aw, really?” but instead of it being sarcastic to push Cas’ buttons it’s in earnest as Jack excitedly talks about star wars or marvelous martin or Dean taking him fishing or beating Cas at connect four
2K notes · View notes
zeldasayer · a year ago
Whiskey & Gin 3: An Indecent Proposal
Pairing: Jack Daniels/Agent Whiskey x reader
Summary: Desires get in the way of a job for you and Agent Whiskey and he wants to see just how far he can push you.
*set in 1970s New York City
Warnings: graphic sexual language, graphic threat of violence against a woman, smoking, drinking, mention of drug use, language
Tumblr media
gif by @pariztexas
“Pardon the way that I stare, there’s nothing else to compare...” Jack sings along into the crook of your neck, his hands splayed across your exposed lower back. “The sight of you leaves me weak...”
“Okay, Jack.” You sigh, tapping his shoulder as you sway with him.
“But, Mrs. Estrada...” he sighs, kissing along your shoulder as Frankie Valli himself, from the stage in front of you, belts out the chorus.
Jack kisses back up to your neck and you turn your face away.
“Yes, Mr. Estrada?” You say through your teeth.
Jack dips you and swings you back up, holding you in his arms, he sings along into your ear, “Oh pretty baby, don’t bring me down, I pray.”
You roll your eyes, “What a coincidence.”
“Oh pretty baby, now that I’ve found you, stay. Oh pretty baby...” he continues to hum.
Your partner comes up to face you, grinning eagerly, “I got him to play this.”
You scoff, “You did not “get” Frankie Valli to play the number one song when I was sixteen.”
“You were sixteen in 1967?!”
“1967? Wait - no, I would’ve been seventeen.” You bite your lip.
Whiskey groans, “You girls born in the ‘50s are going to be the death of me.”
You roll your eyes and Jack shrugs as he starts to move his hand down lower, meeting the fabric of your red silk open backed dress just above your ass.
You exhale and kiss up his jaw to his ear, “If you go any lower, I’ll knee you in the crotch.”
“You can do whatever you want to me, honey,” Jack hums, hands snaking up your back, “As long as you kiss it better.”
Jack bites your shoulder as the back of your hand caresses his jaw, tracing your fingers along the side of his neck, up around to the back of his head and you weave your fingers into his hair. You pull on it with a small but uncomfortable jerk, so his teeth release your flesh. He growls in his throat as you bring his ear to your mouth.
“I mean it, cowboy.” You whisper, “If you don’t stop touching me like this, I’ll break your fucking nose again in front of all these people.”
“Alright, fine. Fine.” Whiskey says, resting one hand on your lower back, and taking your hand in his other in a sort of lazy waltz.
“See, this is nice.” You smile, resting your head on his chest. “I like this, Mr. Estrada.”
“Yeah?” He pauses. “Okay, sweetheart, I can work with this.”
You feel Jack fumble for a moment, not entirely sure what to do with your sudden display of soft affection and he settles on resting his chin on the top of your head.
He smells of amber and cedar wood and you have to resist the urge to nuzzle his chest that is vibrating from his humming. The music has transitioned to something slower that you don’t recognize, and you are still surprised by Jack’s taste in music.
“You are very surprising, you know.” You coo. “I didn’t expect you to like this kind of music.”
“What did you expect? Country and western?”
You nod against him, “I even imagined your favourite movie to be Rio Bravo.”
You sway softly together as he chuckles, “So, Can’t Keep My Eyes Off Of You is too old for you, but not Rio Bravo?”
“I love Rio Bravo,” you confess. “Dean Martin is such a dream.”
“Isn’t Dino I little old for you, baby?”
“Not at all,” you sing, looking up at Jack with your most innocent eyes, biting your lip.
Every day has been a constant battle between your restricting pride and what your body has been absolutely screaming out for: Jack. You fluster your self with your ability to snap from threatening violence against him, to batting your eyelashes up at him. You’re torn completely between your thick heady desire to feel him consume you from the inside out and not wanting to be like every other girl that was stupid enough to believe that Jack Daniels had the power to “request” Frankie Valli’s most popular song.
You change the subject instantly. “Do you have eyes on them?”
“Yep.” He answers.
He turns to the right. “One.”
To the left. “Two.”
To the left again. “Three.”
He turns back and pauses. “Where the fucks the fourth one?”
Jack turns to the right again and your breath hitches as someone presses themself against you, cold metal at your temple.
“Evening, lovebirds. How about you two come with me, and I wouldn’t try anything funny or I’ll blow this pretty girls fucking head off.”
With the departure of Agent Galahad back to his native United Kingdom, you were now the reluctant partner of Agent Whiskey. Tonight was supposed to be a basic pre-mission, attend the gala for a mayor elect as the esteemed wife Clementine Estrada, of Oscar Estrada, the son of a Cuban media tycoon. The objective was simple, due to the escalating accusations that a certain mayoral candidate has been excepting generous “donations” from the mob, attend the gala put on for said mayor and take note if any members of the mob were in attendance and if possible, get wires on them.
“I’m not even fucking Cuban.” Jack muttered as you entered the event, and you squeezed his arm in support. As lovely as the gala was, put on in the grand ballroom of The Plaza, champagne towers and crystal chandeliers. Gold dripping from the necks of guests and the walls of the exquisite room. Jack as handsome as ever in a black tuxedo and bow tie, you in the silk dress and a fur coat. Even though you felt so vulgarly luxurious on his arm, you couldn’t help but get frustrated with these bullshit missions. You were so much better than being a set up, even though you knew it was only because you and Jack were on standby for Statesman LA. It seems a certain band had been talking up their incredible time in New York with certain execs at Juliette Records, and you and Jack needed to be ready at a moments notice to head to Los Angeles in case anyone started asking too many questions.
“Do you hear that Whiskey?” You sang from across the boardroom table, “Statesman LA needs us.”
“Possibly.” Ginger cuts in, but you two were already on a roll.
Jack dramatically slapped his hand across his heart. “I do, Gin. But how could little old us from nowhere New York City even survive in California?”
You shrugged animatedly, “How will we fair in all that sunshine? All that heat? Those endless highways? Wait, I can’t drive.”
You turn to Ginger, now realizing the realities of the irritating west coast.
“Yeah, where am I going to get a proper bagel in the morning?” Jack asked.
“What do they even do for fun there? Drive to places? And for what?” You groaned.
“You can see shows on the strip?” Rum suggested from the end of the table.
“Okay lets be real, rock and roll is dying.” You snapped.
Jack nodded in agreement.
“There’s the beach? Hiking the Hollywood sign?”
“Ew. I don’t want to do any of that. The beach? Hiking? No. Do they even have any museums?” You asked.
“I don’t think so,” Jack responded lowly, looking off in dread-filled thought.
“Okay!” Ginger cut in again, “You’ll be working so it doesn’t matter, and you’re on standby. Relax.”
“I don’t see how I can. Statesman LA hasn’t even caught the Zodiac killer yet. Can you believe that? The guy is literally still writing letters to them, he’s sending them clues and they have nothing!” You exclaimed.
“We would’ve caught him by now.” Jack nodded toward you.
“I know that!” You agreed.
Jack hasn’t brought up the kiss at Max’s Kansas City, but neither have you. Perhaps the whole ordeal was filed away with your field reports and it’ll never be brought up again, much like your alcohol and coke intake from that week. Perhaps it was all just a hazy drug induced dream, and that is the only place Jack would be brave enough to make another move. However, he’s been suspiciously kind ever since, and you’d even be so bold to say you’ve been getting along - a point you brought up to your best friend later that morning. You slipped into the Comfort Diner in midtown just as Evil Ways by Santana came on in the crowded establishment and it made you feel like you were in a movie. Strutting through the aisles in your two piece light blue corduroy suit that matched your tinted aviators perfectly. Metallic platform boots hidden under the immaculate bell bottom of the pants. You pick up your pace when you notice the back of you best friend, Cherry’s head.
“Look who it is!” Cherry smiled to her daughter, Jade, sitting who was sitting next to her, scribbling on paper with crayons.
“Hi aunty Gin.” Jade sniffed.
“Hi babe.” You said, presenting her your cheek and she gives you a kiss. You took Cherry’s jaw playfully and plant one of your own on her cheek, giving an exaggerated, “Mwah.”
“I hope you weren’t waiting too long.” You slid into the booth, taking a cigarette from the pack in your pocket and you light it as a waitress fills your coffee cup up. You thank her.
“Not at all.” Cherry hums.
“So what does he do again?” Cherry asked as you were both colouring with Jade. Your other arm bent up, cigarette burning away.
“He’s the president of eastern operations.” You lie quickly, believing its the most equivalent position Jack would be to senior agent.
“Oh, yeah that’s hot.” Cherry said through her teeth.
“I know.” You said, rubbing your eyes. “I know.”
“Okay but what is the worst thing to happen if you f-u-c-k him?”
“I can’t go around f-u-c-k-ing upper management if I want to be taken seriously. I want to be a president myself one day.”
“So he can f-u-c-k whoever he wants without any professional backlash, but you can’t?”
You shrug. “Apparently.”
“Do you want him to f-u-c-k you?”
You groan into your hands. “Yes and it’s so stupid.”
You put your cigarette out and return your hands to your face, “I can’t even focus anymore.”
“I know what you guys are saying.” Jade teases and you look up.
“Oh yeah, what?” You chirped.
Jade just smiles and returns to her drawing, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Cherry laughed and you all lean back as your order arrives. The only rule to your weekly brunch dates is that Jade gets to pick all the food. Today it’s club sandwiches, banana pancakes, extra side of bacon and hash browns with peanut butter and chocolate milkshakes. The young girl’s eyes went wide with the amount of food put out in front of her and she picked up a fork immediately.
“Then you must focus on all the bad parts about him. That ridiculous moustache. The pet names. You hate the pet names.” Cherry continued, unfolding her napkin.
“That’s the problem. We’ve been getting along lately. Joking around even.”
“Okay, well what about that stupid collection he has? The lassos!” She smirked.
“Yeah, that is stupid.” You said from the corner of your mouth, looking away in thought. “He has a whip though, he can crack a whip.”
“Okay, now that’s interesting.” Cherry leaned in intently.
You both laughed, picking up quarters of the sandwich.
“Maybe after you didn’t reciprocate that kiss he’s given up.” Your best friend shrugged, “Maybe you’ll just be civil now.”
“Yeah, maybe.” You sighed.
“You are fucking unbelievable!” You snap, pushing your office door open as Jack follows in behind you. You don’t bother turning the lights on, leaving the glow of the buildings around you to light the room.
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset, the only thing that should bother you is that those fuckers thought we were NYPD.” You hear him lighting a cigarette and you spin around and take it from his lips before he can even take a puff, smashing it in the ashtray on your desk.
“They were going to shoot me.” You seethe with anger.
“I was not going to let them shoot you, relax. I’m your partner, you need to trust me.”
You scoff, “Right. Trust you. Sure.”
“Why are you so mad? We have been in far more dangerous situations than that.”
He was right, it was a routine pre-mission, and like expected, there were no bodies. A few sets of teeth knocked out, and your heels were left behind when you had to make your run for it but neither should have happened at all if you hadn’t drawn any attention to yourselves. Agent Whiskey is affecting your work performance, the one person who you’d swore you’d never let affect you at all has now been the cause of your first Statesman blunder. The one thing that means the most to you.
But what truly fills you with rage is that you liked it. You liked that he knew all those silly songs and how he hummed them in your ear. You liked how he shamelessly grabbed and kissed you without any thought of what someone would think. You liked how your arms looked draped around his thick delicious neck, and how it felt to have your hand in his hair. The intoxicating scent of him, and how tiny you felt in his arms. The heat of his skin on your lower back and the pathetic ache of your core when he called you sweetheart. It is so infuriating to be completely unravelled by him, and you wished you were in any other profession so you could submit to him totally. But you aren’t in another profession.
“Every time I think I can get along with you, you never fail to prove me wrong. Grabbing me instead of keeping look out? How did you make it this far? We had one job and we failed because you wanted to, what? Pretend to be my goddamn husband?”
He smirks. “Hardly, baby.”
You slap your hand on your desk and point at him, “I am not your fucking baby.”
He puts his own hands up with a pout. “Why are you so angry? Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
You step out and around your desk, closer to him, “You are absolutely exhausting to work with. You know that? What is your problem? I just wish-“
“That I’d fuck you already?” Jack cuts you off, looking you up and down.
“Excuse me?” You spit, crossing your arms.
“Do you wish I was buried deep inside, what I know is the prettiest little wet pussy on god’s green earth?” He growls. “Do you wish I could show you what it truly means to be fucked? To have you so spaced out all you know is my dick stretching you open? Because I do. I wish I knew what it was like to have your hot little body underneath me, moaning for me. Coming for me over and over until you can’t even speak. All I wish is to have my hands wrapped around that soft beautiful throat again, fucking into your tight dripping cunt until you know that your pussy belongs to me.”
Your mouth falls open and without skipping a beat you smack him across the face. Jack’s head jerks to the side and he looks back at you with a snarl. You stare at each other, and you know it’s only for a moment but it feels like eternity when suddenly his mouth is on yours. Arms wrapping around his heavenly neck, he pulls you up by the backs of your thighs, tearing the slit in your tight dress up to the top of your pelvis. His fingers dig into soft flesh of your ass as you cross your legs around his back, pulling him closer to you. He tastes just as delectable as the night you were drunk and stoned and his body is just as strong and warm. You want to feel the crushing weight of him against you, within you. Jack stumbles forward, placing you delicately on the desk, you moan into his mouth as he pushes your things off the tabletop and nudges your legs apart to press his growing bulge into the cool silk draped between your thighs. Feeling his tongue against yours, you pull him impossibly closer to you from the base of his neck. You’re getting dizzy, as Jack starts to cradle your head as he kisses you expertly with fever, smoothing your hair back and it feels so perverse it leaves your entire body aching in want. Everything is Jack and you are so overwhelmed, from the brushing of his moustache to the tracing of his thick fingers against your jaw, you’re his. It’s excruciating.
He pulls away and you’re both panting. Looking at each other with dark eyes, you go to slap him again but he catches your wrist before you make contact with his magnificent face and you whimper.
Jack knocks his forehead against yours and through his panting he says, “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll never do this again.”
You don’t speak, the only sound escaping your lips is the panting that matches Jack’s as he cups your face in his hands.
“But if you do want me, honey I promise if you let me, I won’t stop until my own thighs are sticky with your cum.”
You whimper, bringing your hands up to grip his wrists and you nod. “Okay, Jack.”
“Yeah baby?” He whispers into your skin, pressing his incredible nose against your cheek, “You gonna let me fill that hot little pussy up?”
You moan softly, nodding your head rapidly and you wrap your arms back around his neck to anchor him for another kiss. He responds eagerly, raking both hands through your hair and you absolutely adore how it makes you feel like his most prized possession.
You leave no room in your mind for second guessing and this time you pull away, kiss his jaw and take his hand as you slide of your desk. You lead him out of your office, your whole leg slipping through the rip of your dress and with a sigh you say, “Come on, cowboy.”
Tags: @rise-my-angel @cosmo-bear @allthingsthotty @captncoldcrunch @candiesandcherries @suffocateitfromitsface @nerdysuperchick @raveviolet @showwyrmlove @midnightsinger @jenniferdaniels12 @intense-sneezing @squidlywiddly87 @aeryntheofficial @slashscowboyboots @creedtheconquer @slytherinquill @readsalot73 @whyisgmora @otherthingsinhead @takemepedropascal @applesislife @jaegers-and-kaijus @fangirlfreakingout @sad-anxious-girl @petalduck @maryan028 @the-resident-demon @wecouldbeheroesinbooks @sav-a-nna @stevieharrrr @ragnarsdrapa @kaylaylaylayla @watsonwise @aurorasmith419 @unbetaedimagines @onaheroicmission @raveviolet @700teacups @mutantsandproud @ladyfogg @sistasarah-sallysaidso @sin-oh @sparkleoftruth @izzyisavengersupernaturaltrash @bitch-imma-head-out @capsironunderoos @self-polarized @fortunatelywaywardsandwich @jojo-buttercup @cielphantomhixe
A/N: Sigh........... Love, Zelda
967 notes · View notes
mericatblackwood · a year ago
headcanon that percy is like extremely pretentious and obnoxious about people’s music taste
his narration when he’s subjected to music he hates, like the elevator on olympus playing neil diamond or chiron’s collection of dean martin, is so funny and over the top.... whenever someone plays shit he doesn’t like he’s like UGH my EARS are BLEEDING!!!!!!1!!11
we know he’s a classic rock guy and likes the white stripes, he is probably that dude who is like “ugh kids these days with their top 40 ....... i only listen to REAL music :/” or at least has a temporary phase like that
it’s also really funny to me that thalia is described as being punk and wearing all black and being all scary and she listens to green day ...... percy definitely makes fun of her for that. he probably likes 70s punk like the clash and the sex pistols and whenever thalia tries to act too smart or intimidating percy’s just like “ok pete wentz ....... go back to listening to all time low” and thalia’s like 😡😡😡
WHICH also makes it really, really embarrassing for him when he eventually, unintentionally, starts liking taylor swift. he’s in denial about it for a really long time and it doesn’t fare well for him when thalia finds out
of course a lot of his favorite tswift songs remind him of annabeth, and he 100% has a playlist (or several) with really sappy romantic songs about annabeth and their relationship 
841 notes · View notes
thebeatleaesthetic · a year ago
John: Uh, this is John Lennon talking to you from the heart of the West Side of New York in an interview exclusive — full interview — with brand new New Yorker Sean Ono Lennon, spelled S-E-A-N. Okay? Now tell me Sean, what’s your first impression of New York? Sean: [Baby noises] John: I see. 
An interview John did with his son, Sean, circa 1976. The Lennon family had just gained permanent residency in New York. Sean had been born October of the year prior. I apologize for the background music - I didn’t add that. My favorite quotes/partial transcript:
John: I was wondering if the fiscal crisis of New York had any — 
Sean: [Baby noises]
John: Uh-huh, that’s the one I was talking about, yes.
Sean: [Baby noises]
John: Exactly!
John: I see you know which subjects to avoid and which not to. Very sensible. Must be running for office, is that what it is?
Sean: [Baby noises]
John: It is exciting, isn’t it? And such a strain on the - on the old ticker. [Laughs]
John: Oh, he's smiling, folks. 
John: [Very softly] Perhaps you'd like to tell me your favorite color?
Sean: [Baby noises]   
John: That's not good enough, I'm afraid.
Sean: [Baby noises]   
John: [Normal voice] No interesting color.
John: Will you be doing any concerts while you're staying - while you're here?
Sean: [Baby noises] 
John: Yes, I thought so. You haven't got the group together. I understand completely. 
Sean: [Baby noises] 
John: Uh, I heard you were backstage at the [Bob] Dylan concert, or was that just a rumor?
Sean: [Baby noises] 
John: An outright lie? My goodness.
John: I was wondering what it’s like being the son of such astoundingly famous, beautiful, and talented parents as John and Yoko? I wonder what it’s like... 
Sean: [Baby noises]
John: Oh, I see. I mean, could you - could you give me — 
Sean: [Slight cry]
John: Ah, mhmm, yes - more full... background into that?
Sean: [Baby noises] 
John: I see you're very fascinated by this - this black box that I'm interviewing you with - this tape recorder. In fact, it seems to inhibit you a little bit. I mean, are you conscious - or self-conscious about the tape recorder?
Sean: [Baby noises] 
John: Well, he’s turned his head away because he got very paranoid [laugh]. It’s alright, you know. Just think of it as a very dark relative.
John: Elton! What about Elton [John]? He’s your godfather!
Sean: [Fussy baby noises]
John: Do you want to tell me how it is to have such a famous godfather?
Sean: [Begins to cry]
John: Well, I know you haven’t been able to see him yet. That’s because he can’t come into the country until January!
Sean: [Continues to cry]
John: Well, let’s just get him on the phone. Get his ass over here.
Sean: [Fussy baby noises]
John: Well, I think at that point we've left the interviewee because he obviously was getting violent at the thought of not seeing Dean Martin and all those people in their prime, as it were.
944 notes · View notes
meetmeinfleetwood · 11 months ago
Tumblr media
Warnings: smut babayyyy
Word count: 2.7k+
Summary: A quiet evening in Italy with Harry.
On an Evening in Roma - Dean Martin
The coral hue of the setting sun seeps through the open doorway leading to the terrace, casting a similarly colored shadow onto the tile floor as the two of you move around the kitchen. A warm breeze drifts through the room causing the curtains framing the door to flutter daintily and the scent of the homemade bread to waft throughout the house, setting a soft and romantic mood for the evening. 
You leisurely pour a second glass of wine for Harry and yourself before you begin crafting your meal, the warm buzz of impending intoxication lulling the both of you peacefully along with the soft jazz you have playing quietly in the background. You both have aprons tied around your waists to prevent your clothes from being splattered with flour or wine, aware of your tendencies for clumsiness.
“Can you crack the eggs into a bowl for me, darling?” You request, nudging the small carton of eggs towards Harry as you scoop the right amount of flour from the bag and onto the clean counter. 
“Mhm,” He hums happily, “How many?” 
“Two is fine.” You smile, shaping the flour into a decently large pile before pressing your fingers into the middle to make a well for the eggs and sprinkling a little bit of salt into it. 
Harry quickly cracks the two eggs into a small bowl and sets the bowl on the counter besides you. “Okay, now what?” 
“Now, we pour the eggs into the middle of the well I’ve created in the flour, like this,” You start, reaching for the bowl of eggs as Harry watches intently, pouring them carefully into the well. “And then we knead it with our hands, like this.” You finish, burying your fingers into the flour, kneading slowly and carefully as Harry rolls up the sleeves of his button up. 
“Can I just-” He mutters, walking behind you slowly and wrapping his arms around you, placing his hands over yours as he rests his chin on your shoulder to watch what he’s doing. “That’s better.” 
You snicker girlishly at him, shaking your head as you continue to knead with his hands over yours. “You’re an absolute idiot.” 
“Mmm, yeah, but you love me.” He hums through a chuckle, nudging his hips against you playfully. 
The two of you knead the flour and egg mixture into a malleable dough, making sure to add flour when needed. Harry’s playful attempts to flick flour into your face has a smile glued to both of your faces as you giggle and scold him for getting into your hair, though truthfully, you don’t mind.
Once the dough is thoroughly mixed, you form it into a ball and wrap it tightly with cling wrap to let it rest.
“Now, after we let the dough rest for 15 minutes, we flatten the dough out with a rolling pin,” You announce, slipping from your place between Harry and the countertop to find a rolling pin. “And then, after that, we cut it into the noodles.”
Harry wiggles his eyebrows excitedly, taking his half empty wine glass from the counter and downing the rest of the liquid as he watches you. “What kind of sauce are we having?” 
You pull a wooden rolling pin from a drawer, mumbling a small “aha!” before setting it on the counter. “I was thinking alfredo, if that’s alright with you. It’s simple and doesn’t take long at all.”
“Sounds amazing,” He hums, stepping towards you to curl an arm around your waist and press your body against his. He leans down for a moment to capture your lips between his and your hands come to rest on his chest. Your lips meld together languidly for a few passing moments as he presses you into the counter and trails his lips down your jaw to your neck. You can’t help but whimper from the plush warmth of his lips, sponging along your skin. 
“Salad!” You exclaim suddenly.
Harry frowns, pulling his face from your neck, “That’s what you’re thinkin’ about right now? M’doing some of my best work over here and all you can think about is salad?” 
“Well, we need something to go with the pasta and bread and we have that vinaigrette that we still haven’t tried.” You reply, patting his cheek with your hand before you wiggle from his grasp. Harry watches you with a pout on his lips, making you roll your eyes at him as you take a container of lettuce from the fridge.  
Minutes later, the two of you are back working on the pasta, a pot filled with water is put aside as you slice the rolled dough into fettuccine pasta. Harry watches as you cut into the dough, creating almost perfectly measured strips, all dusted lightly with flour to prevent them from sticking to the counter. 
“Can you turn the stove on to let the water boil? I’m almost done with the noodles.” You hum, glancing up at him. He quickly complies, smacking a kiss to your cheek before sliding over to the stove and turning the dial to high. “Oh and salt the water, too. Helps it boil faster.” You add, sliding the salt shaker towards him. 
Once the noodles are boiling and the bread is cooling on the counter, you and Harry pour yourselves some more wine and begin swaying to the sound of Dean Martin crooning in Italian. His arms are loosely wound around your waist, one hand grasping his wine glass. You have one arm draped over his shoulders, the other grasps your own wine glass, allowing you to sip it at your leisure.
“Quite like this,” Harry purrs, eyes focused on yours. “Havin’ you all to myself for awhile. S’nice.” 
You smile, bringing your hand up to tangle your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. “It is nice.”
He leans down, pressing his lips to yours gently, continuing to sway the two of you side to side. His lips taste strongly of red wine as he licks into your mouth, a low grunt vibrating from the back of his throat. Your fingers tug at the curled tendrils of his hair as you adjust your grip on the wine glass, careful not to spill or drop it. 
Suddenly, the hissing of water overflowing onto the hot stove causes your face to separate from Harry’s with a quiet smack as you whip your head to the side to see the water from the noodles spilling over the side of the pot. 
“Shit,” You mutter under your breath, unwrapping yourself from him quickly to turn the heat down and fan at the bubbles with an oven mit. The water and bubbles calm to a simmer and you sigh in relief, stirring the noodles slowly. 
“Everything good?” Harry asks, leaning over your shoulder to watch you stir. 
“Yeah,” You breathe through a sigh, “I think they’re done anyways.” 
Eventually, you’re serving the noodles onto two plates as Harry tosses the salad and slices the bread. You slice a few small pieces of butter onto the steaming noodles before grating parmesan cheese over them generously and stepping back to admire your work. 
“Looks delicious,” Harry smiles, slicing a few pieces of bread from the loaf. 
Once everything is finished, you bring the food to the terrace, placing all of it on the small, round table to set up for the evening. Both of you discard your flour dusted aprons to reveal your cream, silk slip dress that reached to mid thigh and Harry’s white button up with a lavender sweater vest layered on top of it, paired with his brown, flared trousers. As always, he looks like a dream.
You sit across from each other and enjoy one another’s company as you eat, the sun slowly setting as you lounge. Harry endlessly moans over how delectable everything is and you giggle at him, nearly kicking them under the table every time he makes a sound. 
After both of you clean your plates completely, you finish off the bottle of wine, splitting the remainder of the liquid between the two of you before migrating to the metal railing of the terrace. Harry’s arm is wrapped around your waist tightly, pressing you into his side as you gaze out into the quiet street.  
“Lovely view,” He says from beside you and you nod, glancing at him to find him staring directly at you. 
You roll your eyes, taking a sip from your wine glass and muttering “Wanker” under your breath before turning your attention back to the actual view in front of you. He chuckles to himself quietly, easily dragging you around to his front so that he can wrap both arms around you from behind. His lips drop to your shoulder, softly trailing along your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. You can still hear the music playing in the house, Etta James’ “A Sunday Kind Of Love” drifting from the small speaker on the kitchen counter to the small terrace where the two of you sway.  
You stay like that for awhile, drinking in the perfect weather and enjoying one another’s company until the sun goes down and the only sources of light are the street lights below and the soft light coming from the kitchen. By this time the tune of Yes’ “Yesterday and Today” is playing, the soft piano nearly lulling you to sleep in Harry’s arms.
“S’gotten dark,” He hums into your neck.
“So it has.” You reply, opening your eyes for the first time in what seems like hours.
“Think we should head in?”
You grunt quietly in response, allowing Harry to unwrap himself from you and lead you to the doorway. The sudden prospect of what’s about to come causes both of you to become giddy with excitement. The alcohol coursing through your veins heightening your emotions immensely. 
The two of you stumble back into the house from the terrace, tripping over one another’s feet as you giggle drunkenly. Neither of you bother to shut the door behind you, leaving it wide open for anyone to hear or see into your house.
 Harry falls back onto the couch, gazing longingly at you as you stand above him. His hands dropping to the backs over your bare thighs and tugging you forward to straddle him. You snort loudly and press your nose into his cheek as you wrap your arms wrap around his neck. 
“Dinner was nice,” He mumbles, pressing hot kisses to your neck. You hum in agreement, clutching the curls at the base of his neck as his lips move. “Think I’m ready for dessert now.”
You chuckle softly, rolling your hips into his, “What kind of dessert were you thinking?”
He pulls his face from the crevice of your neck, his hands sliding to grip your waist and push you against his growing bulge as he gazes up at you with lust blown pupils. “The kind where you ride me right here on the couch.”
The delicious feeling of Harry’s bulge pressed directly against your clit mixed with the sexy rasp of his words causes a quiet whimper to pass through your lips. You lean forward, capturing his lips between yours fervently as you grind your hips against his slowly over and over. 
“How’s that sound, baby?” He asks, pulling away for a moment to gaze up at you. 
“Sounds good, s’good, just- please,” You slur, desperately pulling him back in for kisses. He chuckles drunkenly against your lips and slides his hands up your thighs beneath your dress, bunching the fabric around your waist so that he can easily grasp your ass and press you into him. You whimper a little louder this time, fingers tangled into your lover’s mop of curls as he works you up. 
Harry’s fingers find the waistband of your thong and he helps you tug them down your legs  before dropping them onto the couch cushion beside him. Your hands start to fumble with the button of his slacks, fingers working loosely due to your intoxicated brain. 
Finally, his trousers are off and kicked to the side along with his briefs and you’re stroking him slowly as his lips brush against your clavicle. He’s discernibly hard already, rutting his hips up against your hand despairingly. You push yourself up onto your knees above him, holding him right against your entrance before slowly sliding down onto him. Once you’re fully seated in his lap, you gasp out a moan, pressing your forehead to his as he breathes out his own guttural moan. 
“So fuckin’ tight,” He mutters under his breath, hips jutting up into you subconsciously. 
The thin strap of your dress slides off your shoulder as you begin to move on top of him, the movement causing your braless breasts to nearly spill out of the fabric. Harry leans forward, pressing hot, wet kisses to the swell of your breasts as you move, both of you whining breathlessly. 
“Mm, Harry,” You gasp after he thrusts up into you harshly, his tip brushing directly against your g spot and causing your legs to quiver violently. 
“That’s the spot, hm?” He growls, wrapping his arms tighter around you to aid him in thrusting against the same spot over and over as you bounce against him. You nod weakly at his venereal question, hiding your face in his neck and pressing your chest flush against his. 
Your tepid, clammy bodies slide against each other with every girate of your hips, fingers tangled between locks of hair, tugging and combing at the tendrils. Neither of you are fully undressed, Harry's vest and button up crumpled up over his belly button, both straps of your silk dress barely holding on to your shoulders, but you’re both so entrapped with each other that neither of you care. 
“Fuck,” you whimper, biting into his shoulder. “You’re so big, H. Always feel so good.” 
He grunts, pushing up into you harder and silently requesting a kiss from you by moving his head to nudge against yours. You move your head to kiss him, haphazardly taking his bottom lip between yours. His tongue slowly works its way into your mouth as you kiss, hands pressing into your ass cheeks to push you onto him deeper. You move back against him harder, chasing your imminent release no matter how much your thighs burn and ache with your constant movements. 
“I’m gonna cum,” You breathe into his mouth, his arms immediately tightening around your waist to pull you into him and thrust upwards harshly. 
His hand slips between the two of you, thumb quickly gliding over your slippery clit. “Shit- c’mon, cum for me, baby.” 
You toss your head back onto your shoulders, Harry’s lips immediately stamping into the column of your throat as you gasp and your thighs tighten around his waist. You cry out as the knot snaps and warmth spreads across your body from within, Harry continuing to fuck into you from beneath you. 
“That’s it, good girl.” He mutters into your throat, perspiration building at his hairline as he chases his own orgasm and brings your body down into his. 
Moments later he grunts into your skin, cum spilling into you thickly. Your hips roll into him slowly, coaxing everything out of him as his head falls against the back of the couch. Your fingers slip into his sweaty curls, gently and soothingly stroking his scalp whilst the two of you catch your breath. Leaning forward, you press gentle kisses to his face and he mumbles under his breath, “So fuckin’ good to me,” 
The playlist you put on is finally repeating itself after sifting through nearly 2 hours of songs. The door to the terrace is still wide open, curtains quivering slightly from the steady breeze. Harry finally regains his strength and rolls the two of you over so that you’re lying back against the couch cushions, hips still pressed together as he hovers above you. He presses a few kisses to your neck and face before he pushes up onto his knees and pulls out of you. 
He steps away for a moment to grab a damp washcloth for you to clean up with and returns with a clean pair of boxers on and a t-shirt for you to wear (along with the washcloth, of course). He helps wipe the stickiness from the inside of your thighs before waiting for you to change into his t-shirt.
Once you’re both (for the most part) cleaned up, you pitter into the kitchen to grab a small container of gelato from the freezer.  “Up for some real dessert?”
if you enjoyed this piece and would like to support me, pls donate to my ko-fi!
OK HEY!! i kinda just wrote this bc i saw a tik tok of a couple making pasta and wanted to write something similar so here ya go <3 don’t forget to reblog and send me asks!!!<33333
846 notes · View notes
jacketry · a year ago
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
@pangur-and-grim my parents have two big house rabs and I thought you might be interested in meeting them. The spotty one is Daisy Mae and the solid boy is Dean Martin. They only want snacks and to create chaos.
750 notes · View notes
oh-ckdexterhaven · 2 years ago
Frank Sinatra not being able to perform properly because Dean Martin kept talking/singing/screaming in the background (1965)
2K notes · View notes
weirdlandtv · 2 years ago
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Marilyn Monroe celebrates her last birthday on the set of SOMETHING’S GOT TO GIVE (1962), with co-stars Dean Martin and Wally Cox. The latter briefly appeared in the unfinished film as a shoe clerk (images 3 and 4).
2K notes · View notes
1950sunlimited · 3 years ago
Tumblr media
 Las Vegas 1963
1K notes · View notes
weirdlandtv · 2 years ago
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Marilyn Monroe with Frank Sinatra and his Rat Pack in Santa Monica in 1961. Photos by Bernie Abramson.
1K notes · View notes