#got a couple vintage car ads for the ladies too

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Brigitte Empire needs money, which can be exchanged for goods and services. Turns out, so do a lot of people! Some of them need it to live, and some of them need it to keep their shareholders happy, and some of them need it for blatant self-promotion. Watch the video and try to pick out who's who!

Then, if you feel like it, meet me under the cut for a little more on MARKETING!

All right all you cats and kittens, I got two discount bellinis in me and a silly topic that could still end civilization as we know it if we don't deal with it appropriately. Take my hand, and let me tell you the story of Capitalism figuring out that marginalized people buy things too!

Capitalism exists without the constraints of morality. If people are willing to pay for a thing, you should let them buy it, and jack up the price as much as possible. Regulations that prevent you from selling your child as hamburger meat are not a feature of Capitalism, but a constraint placed upon it by the rest of society. Thus, as soon as there is money to be made, multiple individuals and corporations will try to make as much money as possible. The only political consideration is, "What do I need to SAY I believe to maximize the profits?" It doesn't care about you, it just wants your money. We are all here to be exploited, no matter our various intersections.

Thus, it only fails to market to a specific group if it doesn't seem like that group would buy a specific thing, and/or if the consequences of the marketing would eat into the profits too much. A baby isn't going to buy a Virginia Slim cigarette (babies prefer Marlboros)

...and such a campaign would make mommies and daddies very upset, so they don't run ads with smoking infants in Highlights magazine.

But a funny thing happens when, all of a sudden, someone smacks themself on the forehead and cries, "Oh no! Babies DO buy Virginia Slims!" Or, more plausibly, "Wait! WOMEN BUY CARS!" Nobody has been marketing to that demographic, there is no playbook to follow, and they scramble for a strategy.

Oh, and it is hilarious watching them trying to figure out what a new demographic wants out of their product.

Uhhh... Pinkness and an automatic transmission, you guys? Is that good? Bill, would your wife buy one of these? If you let her, I mean, ha!

Likewise, in Brigitte's early strawberry ad: Uhhh... Glitter! The "tran"s love makeup and glitter! And a relatable, pretty nobody, and donations to worthy causes!

They're still dialing it in. Even poor Dylan up there doesn't seem to have much idea why someone who likes her brand would like a cheap, lite beer. She decided to just be honest and relatable too. "Well, it's nice having my face on a product, and one assumes you drink this while watching a sport...? Ha-ha-ha, this is kinda silly, but I guess they're trying to be nice. Well, anyway, Bud Light exists!"

It's really quite cute. It makes me like HER, but I'm not gonna buy a Bud Light. Likewise, that Gillette commercial was super sweet, but it didn't make me wanna go out and buy a Gillette razor, or anything at all. Conversely, when Goya foods shot their mouth off, I didn't stop buying them. I never started buying them. If they didn't have what I wanted in the store brand, I might have gotten a can or two of Goya, if they were the cheapest. After the beans hit the fan, I quit doing that with no more effort than moving my hand a few inches to one side or the other. No hardship to them and no hardship to me.

Me, and my friends on the left, are not big name-brand fans, or big Capitalism fans. These things are notable as cultural bellwethers - "Ah-ha! Someone did a thing! Now let's see how everyone reacts!" - but not as something we're going to go out of our way to spend money on. We define ourselves by the media we consume much more than the physical products.

The people who market physical products do not know how to handle that. It's kinda freaking them out. That's why we get all those stories about "MILLENNIALS ARE KILLING [THING]!" No, they're just not willing to be ride-or-die with a brand, or even a type. "Hmm, these ciders are all too expensive... How 'bout some box wine?" We don't have the disposable income to be picky, because Capitalism will devour itself for profit as much as anything else.

The throwbacks who are still willing to define themselves via a brand tend to skew right, but they're volatile as hell. Anything that looks like progress or "wokeness" makes them SCREAM. The pundits and politicians like it that way, it keeps them in power - the corporations, not so much. It's getting less and less feasible to be an AMERICAN [or other national identity] brand. There's a culture war in progress - but no matter which side you pick, they will not remain reliable, complacent consumers.

That's why corporate culture is involved in this weird "two steps forward, two steps back" dance. When it's clear who's winning, they'll pick a side. Until then, they're like a bunch a little kids at a party who really want to pick up the pinata candy, except the kid with the blindfold is still staggering around swinging the stick. Meanwhile, the leftists are busy looking for hot dogs in the trash, and the conservatives are screaming, pointing, and throwing more candy on the ground, so they can demonstrate how much they hate the latest evil product.

That last one doesn't make any damn sense, right? Boycotts are rarely effective, and buying more of a thing is not even a boycott. Bud Light will take your money whether you love their beer or hate it. You can throw it at a cop if you want, they just want your money.

Guess what? So do the conservatives. Also, your attention and your validation. That's why they're yelling so loud. All of us need to be heard and seen. All of us perform to show others who we are on the inside. When you film yourself performing and post on social media, though, you can make actual cash. Build enough of a following for your content and Bud Light will show up on your doorstep and offer to put your face on a can!

You're reading this on Tumblr right now, you are at least somewhat aware of how algorithms serve up content, and that the search function will serve you more engagement if you're doing something popular. I already know this post is gonna crash and burn, too, 'cos I don't have a lot of followers and it doesn't involve a fandom. Maybe later the Tumblr goblins will find it and like it, but not for a long while. If I wanted clicks (and I do) I'd give you something on Guardians of the Galaxy, or Spiderverse, or more Kung Fu Panda. If I were branding myself as a conservative gun nut, I'd get a lot of eyeballs on me if I bought a case of Bud and assassinated it right now. I don't want those eyeballs, but some folks sure do.

It's exploitation all the way down and we shouldn't be surprised. People need money to live, and if they have a little extra, they can have fun with it. Bud Light hires themself a trans spokesperson, as an investment, and she needs the money so she does an ad for the beer, and herself. Conservative culture warriors launch themselves at this latest target, every one of them also doing an ad - for themselves and their entertaining and justified outrage. And the platforms that host them rake in engagement from both sides, and more money. All that commerce, all that profit, all that potential, springs from the body of one trans influencer who likes to purchase goods and services - as one does.

In this instance, the beer people freaked out and spent a lot more money taking two steps back. It ain't always gonna be like that - and the next folks who want money from the trans demographic will have some valuable marketing data for the future - but we'll have to wait and see.

Now, I did say this was a silly topic that could end civilization as we know it if we don't handle it right, so picture some scary music right here. There is a market for grinning white faces who shoot guns at "wokeness," and the people with grinning white faces and guns know that, as do the platforms that host them. They make money for the platform and the platform makes money for them. Without intervention, this is a closed circle that only requires a new, popular thing to be mad about, and they can manufacture those at will. Violence and outrage are becoming a commodity, and people are already buying it.

It's popular to be mad at trans folks right now, but "woke" can be anything. They do not actually care what they are mad about, or what anyone who consumes their content does with that anger, they just want your money (clicks, attention, data, etc). Say what you will of the stochastic terrorism of the past, at least it had a political agenda. A privileged politician isn't going to turn on you nearly as fast as a social-media-climber looking for clout. Do you think you're stealth, invisible, acceptable? Do you wanna find out what happens if suddenly you're not?

Regulation and deplatforming are the only way to keep the outrage machine from eating up real human lives. But we are not asking sociologists or internet scholars or anyone who might have a clue to regulate anything. Regulation is something politicians do, and I wouldn't trust any of 'em to set up a wireless printer. As for deplatforming, for now, that's in the hands of the platforms, and they just want your money.

I'm just talking about one potential brand of annihilation, here. Capitalism will sell us everything we need to destroy ourselves, for as high a price as the market will bear. It doesn't care.

If we want it to stop, we have to care enough to apply the brakes. Ai-yi-yi, but I know we've already been trying, and we're not getting much traction.

Better get yourself one o' them pink cars with the automatic transmission, and buckle in.

[jinterlude]

Knock

→ Pairing: Kim Myungjun x Reader (female OC) [feat. Kim Seokjin and Park Jinwoo] → Genre(s): Romance, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, and & Slight-Angst → AUs/Tropes: Non-Idolverse, Fashionista!Reader, Fashion Editor!Reader, Accountant!Myungjun, Strangers to Lovers trope → Word Count: 5.6K → Warning(s) & Rating: alcohol, alcohol consumption, heartbreak, swearing, & shameless flirting from MJ | PG-15 → Summary: In what seemed like a normal meetup with a friend ended up changing your life forever... → A/N: The majority of this story is set in the past; hence, the past tense, but near the end, it does switch to present tense as the two leading characters finish reminiscing about their first meeting! I apologize in advance if it’s a bit confusing and/or hard to read! I will use some sort of line break to separate the past from the present to make it, hopefully, a tad easier!  ☄ This one-shot is dedicated to an incredibly good friend of mine, Beanie @jinned​, who is the sole reason why I even got into Astro and officially place MJ on my list of ULTS. He may or may not even be ult of ults. We will see! 

“In the end, you’ll thank me as our marriage would’ve been a mistake...You know it. And I know it…” 

That phrase knocked the wind out of you as you remained speechless ‒ practically mute ‒ while the loud and bustling noise of the fine dining restaurant continued in the background. You opened your mouth, desperate to form a coherent sentence. Shit. Even an audible word would suffice, but you honestly couldn’t.

The person you firmly believed, with all your heart, that he was the one for you, sat right across the table and declared that the wedding was off—terminated. 

The wedding was scheduled to happen in just two months. Two...fucking...months…

“___,” Your fiancé began, breaking you away from your thoughts, “I honestly can’t express how deeply sorry I am for doing this to you, but it was the only way I can preserve our twenty-something friendship.”

“Friendship?” You scoffed, finally finding your voice. “You broke our year-long engagement so that you can PRESERVE OUR FRIENDSHIP?! Are you kidding me, Kim Seokjin?!” You practically boomed, alarming the patrons around you, but you didn’t care. 

Seokjin tried to calm you but ultimately fails. Your emotions ran rampant throughout your body that nothing and no one could relax you. Well, Seokjin used to be able to, but since he’s the source of your fury, it’s pointless. 

Forcing an airy chuckle, you reached over to your wine glass, drinking it all in seconds. The cool liquid hits the back of your throat but soon leaves behind this warm sensation. You felt that warmth settles within your cheeks, creating this pinkish hue, as you flag down a passing waiter and swiftly order another glass of your favorite wine. Within minutes, your second glass of wine appeared right in front of you. At first, you’re tempted to down it as you’ve done with the first glass, but then you opted against it. The last thing you needed to be was a drunken, heartbroken woman in a luxurious restaurant. At the same time, your ex-fiancé remained calm and collected. Then, the surrounding people - both the workers and customers ‒ would sympathize with him and utter phrases like, “Damn. He dodged a bullet. Look at the way she’s behaving, especially after he explained that he only wants to preserve their friendship.” 

“God damn it…” You whispered, taking a long, deep breath, as you realize that Seokjin is right. Your marriage would be a mistake, especially if you’ve fallen out of love with him. 

“___?” Seokjin questioned, noting this trance-like expression written all over your precious face. 

“Why do you have to be right? Even up until the end of our relationship, you just have to be right…” You trailed on as a small, almost nostalgic-like smile slowly dances across your face. 

Seokjin chuckled softly, “Well, someone has to be.” 

“Yeah…” You nodded, maintaining that tiny grin as your eyes trail down to your ring finger. Slowly, you slid off the engagement ring, freeing yourself of this heavy burden that you’ve never known you had until tonight. Then, with your right hand, you placed it gently in front of Seokjin, saying one last farewell to him. You thanked him for being your first of every romantic milestone you’ve experienced.

As you stood up, placing a few twenty-dollar bills on the table, you said softly, 

“I hope you find someone that will make you unconditionally happy.”

“I hope the same for you, ___. I truly do hope you find your soulmate.” 

You uttered a quick thanks before walking from the table and towards a new chapter in your life. 

An intriguing yet uncertain chapter where you explored the idea of being single again after so many years. 

It should be a fun adventure, right? 

Well, it was in the beginning. Yet like with everything else in life, it was only natural you’d experience some ‒ let’s just say ‒ writer’s block. 

The first few pages contained incredible details of the first year since your breakup from Seokjin. You found yourself going back to school and majoring in fashion while finding the time to minor in journalism. During that good old university life, you met a person who you now considered a dear, close friend of yours. 

Eun Byeol. Now that was a true definition of a “ride or die” friend. To this day, you still remember how you essentially handcuffed your roommate-turned-best friend to the closet door handle, preventing her from driving over to your ex-fiancé’s place and destroying his most prized possession. Yep. You guessed it—his 1960s candy red Jaguar E-Type car. Stereotypical of a fella valuing his vintage ride above anything else, but shit. Even you found yourself admiring that beautiful car once in a while. 

But that was ancient history. Old news—just like your editorial on the most fashion show in Milan would be if you didn’t stop reminiscing about your first love and haul your ass. 

Lightly shaking your head, forcing yourself back into reality, you cleared your throat a few times, sniffing the Tropical fruit scents that lingered around your office. 

“I could really go for a mango shaved ice…” You muttered, blankly staring at your document as little to no inspiration enters your mind. You drummed your fingers against the keys, desperately hoping that something - anything - would jump right out of your brilliant mind and land directly on the page; thus, resulting in a finished article to hand over to the boss lady. 

Yet here you sat for another couple of hours staring at the same paragraph. You were pretty sure that you edited that paragraph to the point that it wasn’t even a paragraph. You somehow managed to dwindle it down to a three-sentence summary of Emma Aruda, a rising top model, and how stunning she looked walking the runway. Great. Now your column was too short, thanks to your sudden need to edit before it was even completed. 

“Come on, inspiration…” You groaned, slouching in your office chair as you swiveled back and forth, looking at the blanket of white that you called a ceiling. 

“You know...the longer you keep your head positioned like that, the higher the chance of your brain cells leaving will be…” quipped a familiar voice, causing you to swivel towards your door. 

Soon, a small grin formed on your face as you lightly scoffed at that person’s words. 

“Well, hello to you too, Eun Byeol.” You greeted, sitting up straight but still resting your elbows on the arms of your chair.

Eun Byeol flashed a warm smile ‒ so warm and inviting that it could even get the coldest, most standoffish person to greet her back ‒ as she strode towards your desk and leaned against the edge. 

“Dumb question, but what’s with frustration radiating off of you?” 

“Oh, my brain stupidly remembered my relationship with Seokjin while I was in the middle of writing this article, and now I’m stuck…”

You heard Eun Byeol winced, grimacing as you went into details of the memories that resurfaced in your mind. As each word escaped your sweet lips, the more this unbearable stab pressed against the chest. To be more precise, this cruciating pain that invaded your heart. 

“Damn, ___. It’s been like, what? Five years since he called off the engagement? I thought you were officially over that arrogant ass.”  asked Eun Byeol, clearly fed up with your ex, as evidence in her tone of voice. You couldn’t help but shrink in your chair as each of your drear friend’s words grazed your soft skin. 

Taking a long, deep breath before exhaling slowly, you tilted your head towards your friend, revealing a small and remorseful smile. You felt guilty mentioning him towards, fully aware of how she had rather colorful opinions of him. 

“I am over him, but can you blame me for remembering the good old days I experienced with him?” 

Now, it was your friend’s turn to feel a tad guilty for allowing and directing her fury towards you. Eun Byeol knew you were over him, but you fell victim to the old saying, “One never truly forgets their first love,” and that was Seokjin. He was your first love, and he might be even your last—unless her boyfriend’s longtime friend was still single. 

Then, a lightbulb lit up in her devious mind as this scheming smirk danced across her face, instantly alerting you. That smirk usually led to some rather “exciting” shenanigans, and most often than not, you went home questioning your life choices and wondering how on Earth did your friendship with Eun Byeol last this long. 

As you opened your mouth, ready to warn your friend, she beat you the punch. 

“What are you doing tonight?” 

“Uh, besides pulling an all-nighter to finish this article? Nothing. Why?” You asked with a wary expression. Your eyes slightly narrowed while your brows became knitted together. 

“Wrong! You’re coming out with me for drinks at this bar Jinwoo and I usually frequent whenever our schedules allow it.” Eun Byeol announced, overly excited, further adding to your suspicions. 

You swiftly glanced at your editorial piece before flickering your gaze back to your friend. You sucked in some air through your clenched teeth. Your mind desperately tried to find any, if at all, hidden motives behind Eun Byeol’s random invitation. Unfortunately, you came up with nothing. No secret plans that laid underneath the seemingly harmless invite that your brain could zero in on. 

“It’s just the two of us, right?” You asked, feeling apprehensive towards Eun Byeol’s invite. 

Eun Byeol simply nodded, smiling brightly as she promised you that it would be just the two of you, and that was all. 

After mulling it over for a good minute or two, you whined loudly before agreeing to go out with her. 

“But I’m stopping after two Whiskey Sours! I still have a deadline to meet, unlike someone who’s currently in my office and clearly being a bad influence.” 

Eun Byeol snorted in response, “Please. If I was such a bad influence, would I suggest that we steal Seokjin’s car and take it on a joy ride?”

“Actually, you did. Like, several times.” 

“Shut up and write your damn column.” Teased Eun Byeol before exiting your office. As she created enough distance between her and your office, she fished out her phone from the pocket of her black slacks and sent a quick text message to her boyfriend. A message that read,

“Hey, can you convince MJ to come to our favorite bar? I’d think he’d be perfect for ___!” 

Not even a minute after pressing send, Eun Byeol received a response that said, 

“I’ll do my best, but he’s been moping lately since his last date ghosted him without any warning. Plus, you can’t forget how soul-sucking our line of work is, babe.”

Eun Byeol giggled softly as she typed out, 

“Even more reason to add a certain fashionista to his dull life. She’ll liven it up with her colorful and bright personality,” 

She then scrolled through her list of emojis, picking the perfect one before sending it. After waiting for what seemed like ten minutes, her boyfriend didn’t reply, meaning that he was on board and hopefully planting the seed at that moment. 

“Oh, please let them hit it off…” thought Eun Byeol as she journeyed back to her office, dying to know if her boyfriend executed his mission perfectly. 

Yet like with any task, there were bound to be tiny hiccups as Jinwoo exhausted all his go-to methods to convince his close friend, Kim Myungjun. While Eun Byeol and ___ worked at one of the top fashion empires, he and Myungjun worked a regular office job, crunching numbers for their CEO. 

Again, a soul-crushing type of profession, and it didn’t help that their office space was oddly white. Everywhere Jinwoo turned, it was just pure white. Apparently, someone thought it’d be a brilliant idea to add fluorescent lighting into the mi; the entire building gave off this abnormally cleanliness vibe. 

Every day that Jinwoo walked into the office, he seriously felt that he entered that agency from the hit movie Men in Black, especially in his black and white two-piece suit that his company required the workers to wear.  What was next? He’d get a cool gadget that wiped civilians’ memories? 

“Oh, man. That’d be amazing…” He mumbled, unaware of someone standing behind him. 

“What’d be amazing, JinJin?” asked an all too familiar voice belonging to a person that Jinwoo actually had to see. 

The eager man turned his chair around, now face-to-face with his close friend and coworker—Myungjun. 

Quickly clearing his throat, Jinwoo plastered on the warmest smile his face could handle and happily greeted his friend. 

Myungjun, at first, felt weirded out by his friend’s sudden surge in energy but soon brushed it off. He then matched Jinwoo’s energy, capturing the attention of a few bystanders. 

“So back to my question, what would be amazing?” questioned Myungjun, ignoring the strange glances he and Jinwoo earned from their coworkers. 

“Um…” Jinwoo began, nervously chuckling, “It would be amazing if you and I go out for drinks tonight, especially after how shitty this week has been.” 

“I don’t know, man, like you said, it’s been a shitty week, and I don’t think I’m up for going out and having a fun time with you and the rest of our buddies.” 

“Come on, MJ, you’re still not moping about what’s her face? She’s not worth your time, especially when you weren’t worth hers.” Jinwoo retorted, hoping that his tough-love approach would entice him to come out and meet his girlfriend’s friend. Sadly, it didn’t. If anything, his words made Myungjun even more upset as this solemn expression washed over his once joyous face. Now, his friend looked as if someone took his heart right out of his chest and crushed it with their bare hands. 

“Alright...new approach…” Jinwoo switched tactics, going for the more “brotherly advice” approach, “Look, I was out of line, and for that, I’m sorry MJ. But I honestly hate seeing you upset over her, so please come out with me tonight. Tomorrow, you can sit at home alone and mope on the couch. Deal?” 

Myungjun made a face, weighing his options but ultimately leaning towards going out. After all, Jinwoo was right. His loneliness and favorite couch would be there tomorrow, so where was the harm in downing a few shots of Vodka to numb the hurt?

“Fine, deal. What’s this place called?” 

“Ahora.” 

A quizzical expression slowly washed over Myungjun’s face as he couldn’t help but question the intriguing choice of that bar name. 

While the uncertainty still filled his entire body, something deep within told him that something ‒ or maybe someone ‒ would change his life after tonight. 

Mustering his signature thousand-watt smile; his eyes practically disappeared as he did, Myungjun gave his friend a thumb’s up and said, 

“Alright. See you tonight! Maybe you and I can finally see who can drink the most without acting goofy after the third drink!”

Jinwoo playfully shook his head, letting out a few light chuckles. 

“I don’t know, my dude. I think I got you beat the last time we had our little drinking competition.” He teased, masking his hidden motive behind inviting his buddy out. Secretly, he hoped that Myungjun would ask like his goofy self since, according to Eun Byeol, you had a thing for comedic guys. 

Now, the real question was, how would Myungjun successfully capture your heart? 

“So, what should I wear?” Jinwoo heard Myungjun ask, forcibly removing him from his frenzy thoughts. 

“Um…” Jinwoo paused, silently panicking since his girlfriend never told him what you were going to wear tonight or even your preferred style on men. “Do you still have that purple and black striped sweater? You know with that creamy-tan color as well? I think it might be cold.” He suggested though he was unsure of his own recommendation. Honestly, he began questioning his life choices when he said, “purple and black striped sweater.” 

A faint hum emitted from Myungjun’s lips while he mulled over his buddy’s fashion suggestion. Then, he simply shrugged, going along with Jinwoo’s choice. 

“Yeah, I think I have that sweater still. Wait.” The biggest grin danced across his handsome face, “I knew you loved that sweater on me!” He cheered, flinging his arms around Jinwoo’s neck and giving him the warmest hug known to man. 

“Let go! People are staring at us weirdly!!”

“Let them stare! I want the entire world to know how amazing of a friend you are to me!”

“Damn, you just had to make it even creepier. Didn’t you?” 

“You know me so well.”

Later that evening, while Myungjun knew what he’d wear on his night out with the fellas, you were the polar opposite. You rummaged through your walk-in closet, flinging every single clothing hanger you could get your hands on. You tossed aside the latest peacoats, dresses, wool sweaters, everything onto the floor because nothing matched the vision you had in your fashionista brain. While, yes, it was just going out for a few drinks with Eun Byeol, you still wanted to look reasonably decent just in case Mr. Right made an appearance. 

Silently scolding yourself while you tap the pads of your fingers against one another as you desperately try to capture the perfect attire you envisioned yourself. Minutes had gone by, and you still drew a blank. You even pressed your cold lips against your fingers, slightly enjoying the warmth that radiated from your hands. Then, it finally dawned on you as millions of light bulbs lit up in your pretty mind like a beautiful and well-organized lamp display at a furniture store. 

“I’m a dumbass.” You teased, softly chuckling as you pulled out this dark gray pin-striped black peacoat and gently draping it over your desk chair. Then, you flipped through your rack, your fingers grazing the fabric of your blouses, button-ups, and plain old t-shirts. Your eyes scanned each article of clothing until you found the perfect blouse that would compliment the jacket perfectly. You pulled out this satin white long-sleeved blouse with ruffles on the ends of both sleeves and the collar. 

With a pleased smile, you gently laid the blouse over the jacket before grabbing a nice pair of navy blue slacks. The very same pair of slacks that Eun Byeol has dubbed “the highlighter” because apparently it perfectly accentuated the best parts of your body—whatever that meant. 

Grabbing both the coat and blouse with your pants draped over your forearm, you made your way towards the restroom. Just as you’re about to disappear into the well-lit room, you commanded your Alexa to play your go-to “getting ready” song, “Rebirth of Slick (Cool Like Dat).” The second the opening beat dropped, you bobbed your head to the tune, even swaying your hips as you jammed out.

One by one, your lounge clothes dropped to the floor and soon replaced with your jaw-dropping outfit. You smoothed out any wrinkles that your eye instantly locked on before switching focus to your makeup. 

Now, this might not be an easy task compared to picking out your current outfit. Any look would pair well with your fashion statement. You could go for a “girl next door” look, but did you really want to portray an innocent person tonight, especially with drinks involved? Probably not. 

Suddenly, a short gasp exited your lips as you grabbed all the necessary components for your femme fatale look. Your outfit almost reminded you of the main heroine in a 1940s movie. 

“Okay, let’s see how red I can get my lips this time.” 

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Myungjun wasn’t exactly having the time of his life.  He remained still as a statue, staring blankly at his closet. Did he genuinely want to go out tonight? Part of him firmly believed that he only agreed to drink his sorrows away and forget about this girl that ghosted him a few weeks back. That was always his problem—he had the tendency to develop an infatuation before the girl does. It was honestly quite pathetic. 

Just as he was a step away from backing out from the hangout, a high-tone pitch echoed throughout Myungjun’s condo. 

With a curious expression, Myungjun shuffled his feet towards his phone, taking it off the charger. His brows perked up as he saw that he received a text message from Jinwoo. 

“Huh. Maybe Jinwoo wants to back out.” He wishfully thought, unlocking his phone to read the message. It said, 

“Hey man, I’m going to be a few minutes late, so you can get a head start on our little drinking competition!” 

Nodding his head, Myungjun hit the message box. Just as he was about to type out his reply, a photo appeared. The image contained a person, who looked to be female, and to his dismay, her head was cropped out. 

“Okay?” He thought, typing out his reply and asking his friend why he received a picture of a woman with excellent taste in clothing. Then, for laughs, Myungjun added, “Is that what you’re wearing, JinJin? I didn’t peg you as the type to wear a frilly blouse.” 

Not even a minute later, the playful fellow received a response, 

“Fuck you, MJ! And to answer your serious question, if you see this girl, can you politely let her know that Eun Byeol is also running late. Apparently, that lady is a college friend of Byeolie, and they coincidentally also wanted to meet at the bar we’re going to. Cool? Thanks!” 

Slightly shaking his head, Myungjun replied with a thumb’s up emoji before locking his phone. 

“Well, I guess you can’t back out now,” He muttered, opening his closet doors and revealing a wide array of clothing, coming in every color known to man. “What did that old man suggest earlier? Oh! Purple, cream-tan, and black pull-over!” Then, a sudden pause filled the air, “That was oddly specific of him to suggest…” He realized, thinking back to their conversation at work. Yet he merely shrugged it off, thinking nothing of it except his friend perhaps wanted him to look good just in case he’d were to meet his Miss Right. 

“Alright, MJ. Pick up the pace. We don’t want the pretty lady waiting too long, do we?” 

Sadly, that happened, and to put it frankly, you were pissed off at Eun Byeol for making you awkwardly wait for what seemed like forever. Granted, it was only an hour that you waited for her, but that was beside the point. 

Nope. The long wait time was not the sole reason behind your agitation. Nuh-uh. It was the fact that your oh-so-dear-friend failed to mention that every couple known to man appeared at the bar tonight. Thus, resulted in you nervously sitting alone at the bar, running the tip of your finger against the rim of your whiskey sour. You then gulped down the last remaining sips before almost slamming it on the counter. With a sour expression, you held up one finger and politely asked for another glass. Just as you mumbled a quick thanks, you felt someone tap your shoulder. 

Instead of giving the “drunken” stranger, more than likely looking for a one-night stand, you wave the person away, citing that you were already waiting for someone. 

“I mean, from the looks of it, I don’t think your friend is coming.” pointed out the stranger, with an unusual high-pitch voice. Though, to give the person the benefit of the doubt, you were used to deep, manly voices. This unknown bystander’s voice was honestly a breath of fresh air. 

Reaching for your second glass of the evening, you swiveled in your seat, coming face-to-face with the stranger. But the moment your eyes landed on him, you felt your jaw drop slightly, forming a tiny “o.” Holy crap, this guy is incredibly gorgeous. 

Quickly snapping out of your gaze, you cleared your throat. 

“I’m sorry? I. Um. What do you mean my friend is not coming?” 

“Just that. I mean, originally, I was supposed to be here 45 minutes ago and give you a heads up that Eun Byeol was running late. Still, I lost track of time getting ready to meet my friend here. However…” he trailed on, looking around. He, too, noticed all the couples chatting it up everywhere and anywhere in the bar that evening. “I’m starting to think that we were set up on a blind date.” 

You softly giggled, “Yeah, I’m getting that hunch as well...I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” You replied, unknowingly disregarding the fact that Myungjun mentioned your best friend’s name. 

“Oh! I’m Kim Myungjun, but my friends call me MJ,” Then he playfully winked at you, flashing a bright smile, “I can’t forget pretty girls, like yourself, as well.” 

You snorted, shaking your head in disbelief, “Well, I’ll think about it, but thank you for that disclaimer. Also, you can call me ____.” 

“What? No playful yet flirtatious tactic like me?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. The night is still young, MJ.” 

Hearing his nickname slip past your innocent lips, Myungjun couldn’t help but raise a brow with an interested gleam in his eyes. One corner of his mouth curved upwards as he observed your body language. He silently hoped for your non-verbal cues would give him the “okay” to continue his flirting. When he didn’t see any signs of uncomfortableness radiating off you, he took that as the first and ‒ hopefully ‒ of many positive reactions he’d gained from you throughout the evening. 

Clearing his throat, the suddenly nervous young man glanced around the busy establishment, looking for a vacant booth for the two of you to occupy. Lucky must be on his side as his focused gaze immediately locked on an empty stall in the far right corner. With pursed lips, he swiftly analyzed the location and the atmosphere that surrounded it. Myungjun noted how dimly lit that corner was. With the added candles, that location had this romantic aura swarming it and those who sat in that spot. 

It was perfect for this sudden blind date. 

“So, would you like to sit over there?” asked Myungjun, pointing towards the only empty booth. 

You followed his finger and landed on the isolated corner that screamed passion. Instantly, your eyes widened as your heart rapidly drummed against your chest. Oh, you weren’t prepared for this, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel this unexplainable excitement and giddiness. A few emotions that you hadn’t felt in a long time—not since your relationship with Seokjin. Yet to be quite honest, you didn’t feel scared. In fact, you were ready to take that plunge into the deep romantic ocean. You weren’t worried about drowning or hitting a bunch of jagged rocks. You just wanted to take that leap of faith and, perhaps, maybe Myungjun would catch you. 

With a long, drawn-out breath, you steadied your racing heart before answering him, 

“Yeah, let’s do it.” 

In return, Myungjun greeted with his signature thousand-watt smile, resulting in this warm sensation creeping on your pale cheeks. 

“Positive reaction number 2.” He silently cheered as he abruptly held out his hand, hoping you’d take it. “After you, m’lady,” said Myungjun with a hint of playfulness. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle, slightly shaking your head in the process.

“Why, thank you, my kind sir.” You played along, gently grasping his hand and curling your fingers around his. The second you did that, this unspeakable spark shot through both of your arms, surging through your entire body. What made that reaction spectacular was that he interlaced your fingers together as he softly smiled with a genuine warm expression written all over his handsome face. With that smile alone, all recent thoughts about Seokjin and any doubts caused by your former relationship evaporated into thin air. Now, it was just you and Myungjun. 

You took a mental note to thank Eun Byeol for setting up this blind date as you guided your bodies towards the booth. Naturally, you picked up the pace as you didn’t want anyone else to steal that perfect spot meant for the both of you. 

Little by little, you pushed through the sea of people, swiftly closing the gap between your bodies and the table. 

“Which side do you want?” You politely asked as you couldn’t help but notice a defeated couple look for somewhere else to sit. Huh. Perfect timing on your part. 

Myungjun softly tapped his chin with his free hand as this faint hum emitted from his lips. Then, a bold idea appeared in his mind. Depending on how you’d answer, he could either make incredible progress or back to square one with you. Well, it was time to find out. 

“I have a better idea. Why don’t I sit right next to you? You know so that you can hear me better, especially with how noisy it is right now.” 

A tiny squeal escaped your lips as your eyes went round. Your face flushed from Myungjun’s boldness. 

“Okay, ____. You need to form a string of coherent words.” You chastised yourself, feeling a tad foolish that you’re this nervous to the point that you can’t even form a simple sentence. “You can do it. All you need to say is, “Sure. You can sit next to me.” Is that so damn hard?” You mumbled to yourself—or so you thought. 

“Um. I don’t know, sweetheart. Is it tough to say that you want to sit next to me?”

“Uh...no?”

“Really? You don’t sound so sure of yourself.” 

“I mean, yes, we should sit right next to each other.” 

You nervously chuckled as you entered the booth, placing your drink on the edge of the table just before shuffling towards the middle of the table with Myungjun following after. You then kindly ask him if he could slide your almost finished Whiskey Sour to you, which he did but not without some playful quips towards you. He teased you for acting like a nervous wreck, blaming the fact that you probably had one too many drinks already. You argued back, stating that you only had two drinks and that it was all his fault for making you this worked up. 

Myungjun chuckled in response but soon, that boyish grin vanished from his face and was replaced with a scheming yet charming smirk. What was he planning? And as soon as you parted your sweet lips, Myungjun’s face was inches away from yours. One wrong you move and the two of you would lock lips right then and there. That’s how close you were to each other. 

“Oh? So, it’s my fault, then how are you feeling now?” He whispered. His warm breath fanned your cheeks as his gaze darted between your doe-like stare and your apple-red lips. “Am I making you extremely worked up—”

“Hold up! That’s not how our first date went, MJ.” You say, interrupting your boyfriend’s somewhat exaggerated story. You’re almost sure that he’s currently telling a rendition of what he wishes occurred on your first date. 

Myungjun scoffs, putting on the theatrics, clearly finding your words offensive. 

“It is so! I distinctly remember you had two drinks that evening; hence, you becoming a blushing mess around me. Ooh! You can’t forget the fact that you wanted to kiss me as well.” He argues, acting like a child debating who’s the better superhero, Superman or Batman, with a school friend. You don’t know how you’ve managed to last an entire year with this dramatic fool. 

“JinJin! Tell her how wrong she is!” Myungjun whines to his close friend and boyfriend of Eun Byeol. 

You shoot Jinwoo a look, questioning why he’s even there on your anniversary date. 

Jinwoo pauses, silently sipping his Coca-Cola as he still needs to drive home after he’s done hiding from his girlfriend, who he accidentally angered. A look of hesitation washes over his face as the poor fella absolutely does not want to get in the middle of your guys’ argument. After all, Myungjun is the reason why he’s able to safely hide from his furious significant other. But also, that stupid pretty boy is the cause of his and Eun Byeol’s argument in the first place. 

So…

“Well, first of all, you’re both misremembering your first date because it actually wasn’t a blind date. You two had met previously at mine and Eun Byeol’s housewarming party. Then, you two decided to start out as friends because,” Jinwoo points to you, “You're in a relationship with Seokjin. Myungjun was seeing some random chick that I’ve forgotten the name for her.” He stated, debunking the first part of your love story. Before continuing with his explanation, Jinwoo chugs the rest of his soda and holds up a finger, flagging down a waiter to order another glass of Coke. 

“Alright, now where was I?” He releases a tiny burp as he continues his journey of stating the facts of your relationship, making Myungjun protest and whine. 

Then, your dork of a boyfriend leans towards you, his lips hovering over your ear. 

“Why did I let him tag along with us again?” 

“Because you two are tighter than a clam’s ass. That’s how close you two are to one another. It’s quite freaky at times.” 

Myungjun, being his dramatic self, gawked, stumbling over his words, 

“W-what? Name one-time that JinJin was with us.” 

“Last night.”

Suddenly, Myungjun’s face becomes blank. Checkmate. 

“And another thing! I wasn’t even the one who convinced you to go out that evening! It was Eunwoo!” 

Knock is copyright 2021 by jinterlude, all rights reserved.

[mymoonagedaydream]

Domestic Bliss (Part 3)

Summary: No word from Stark, so you and Bucky are left to your own devices playing husband and wife for a while

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x y/n

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: I’m really enjoying writing this story :) hope it isn’t too slow burn

---

'What are you doing?'

You jumped out of your skin- for a metal unit of a man he somehow managed to move without making a sound. He was leaning against the kitchen door frame wearing a tattered t-shirt, with his hands in the pockets of his low-riding sweatpants.

'What does it look like? Making breakfast.' He furrowed his brows, seemingly astonished at the idea of you cooking. 'You want some bacon?'

'Hell yeah.’ He waltzed into the living room, adding sarcastically over his shoulder ‘you keep this up I might even marry you for real.' 

To be honest, breakfast was intended as a sort of peace offering. You'd thought about it some more and he was right, you were being an asshole yesterday. You even decided to give him more bacon than you. Now that’s an apology.

'Have you heard from Stark?' He shook his head, not looking up from the pile of meat he was shovelling into his mouth. 'Me neither. I just figured it would help if we actually knew which house we were monitoring.' 

'Must be one of the other three in this dead end bit, I'll head up and check out all the gear he's left us after breakfast.' 

Not a bad idea, but you'd had one of your own too. 

---

‘Cookies!’ You said excitedly, piling three Tupperware containers into your bag.

‘Yeah I’m not blind, just confused.’

‘This happy husband and wife are going to introduce themselves to the neighbours and these’ you shook the last box of cookies at him ‘will win us favour.’ You ignored his derisive nod.

The first house was next to yours on the left, similar looking on the outside but with two pretty expensive vintage cars parked outside. You pressed the bell and heard movement approaching. Just as the lock clicked on the other side of the door, Bucky quickly snaked his arm around your waist and pulled you into his side.

'Oh, hello.' Standing in front of you was an old lady with a British accent and warm smile.

'Hi- um...' Bucky had completely knocked you for six and, judging by the smug smirk on his face, he knew it.

'We've just moved in next door.' He piped in. 'Thought we'd come by to introduce ourselves. My wife made you some cookies too, you won’t believe how good she is at baking.' 

Well shit, you'd never heard him sound so much like a normal person. He even punctuated his sentence with a polite chuckle. 

'Well aren't you two just lovely.’

You smiled sweetly at her, finally back on your game, and handed over one of the Tupperware boxes. 'I'm Jo and this is Tom- it’s great to meet you.’

You made small talk with your neighbour for a couple minutes, ending with a promise to be back round for tea at your earliest convenience. As soon as the door closed, Bucky's hand dropped from your waist and he headed towards the next house.

'Maybe warn me next time Barnes? Freaked me right out.' You complained, as if that wasn't his intention. 'And if that hand goes any lower I'm taking it off.' 

He stopped and saluted at you sarcastically as you passed him to go towards the next door. 

The other two houses seemed completely inconspicuous too- a middle aged lady with fiery red hair who insisted the two of you join her and her husband (the lawyer) for drinks one night this week, and a couple not much older looking than you and Bucky with two young children and a new-born baby. 

'Well that got us a big fat nothing.' He complained, plonking himself down on the armchair in the living room. 

'You're joking, right?' He looked at you, one eyebrow raised. 'It's our first day here and we can already clearly identify the supposed residents of each house, we've convincingly consolidated our cover with each of them and two of them even invited us over.' 

'Huh, suppose when you put it like that… We can probably just take the rest of the day off then.' 

And he did. You spent hours in the surveillance room typing up a mission report, he watched TV for two hours then slinked off to the mini-gym for the rest of the day. 

Seems he was settling into married life quite well too.

---

The next night, you and Bucky were leaving for drinks with Kate the redhead and her lawyer husband. 

‘I don’t see why we’re doing this.’ He was fidgeting in the shirt that was far too tight over his shoulders. ‘That redhead hardly seems like the boss of an international crime gang.’

‘If criminals seemed like criminals they wouldn’t be very good fucking criminals would they, Barnes. And since Stark has been all-but-ignoring us since we arrived, we’ve got to explore all avenues.’

You were greeted by Kate at the door and she led you through to their house. It was decorated like a hunter’s log cabin, all brown leather and dark wood. In the living room, the lawyer was waiting with two expensive-looking bottles of scotch. Bucky was invited to join him for ‘man time’ while you and Kate were sequestered to the kitchen with a cheap bottle of wine. 

You wouldn’t be coming here again. 

Kate was nice enough but you had very little in common, and you could sense years of simmering resentment between her and her husband. She glared at the door after every obnoxiously loud chortle from the living room, even though you recognised some of them as Bucky, and she kept asking you whether your husband was starting to become emotionally distant yet. The evening didn’t pass nearly fast enough and you actually found yourself wishing that you had listened to your reluctant partner. 

Hours later, when you finally felt you’d got as much as you could out of Kate, you made your excuses and headed to grab Bucky. He was leaning back in the leather armchair, looking different somehow. He gazed at you with a carefree grin, no tension in his shoulders and a look in his eyes you didn’t recognise. 

Was he tipsy? One of the whiskey bottles was empty and they were making good progress on the second. 

‘You ready to go honey?’

‘We’ve got half a bottle of Macallan scotch to drink yet sweetheart, you’re welcome to run along home if you please’ the lawyer piped up. You never bothered asking his real name, didn’t seem worth your time. 

‘Nah, I’m good,' Bucky cut in, 'I think it’s time to take my beautiful wife to bed.’ 

He launched himself off the armchair with great effort and stumbled towards you. You were taken aback by his sudden familiarity but careful not to blow your cover, so you let him pull you in by the waist and plant a few soft kisses on the top of your head. You may even have enjoyed that part, just a bit. That was probably the wine talking though. 

You didn’t enjoy, however, having to all-but-carry him for the short walk back to your house. He weighed a fuck-tonne. 

The two of you spilled through the front door and into the living room, Bucky collapsing onto the armchair with all the grace of a newborn horse. 

'That guy was an asshole, man.' He had his head back and his eyes closed, so you had a bit of difficulty deciding whether he was speaking to you or himself. 

'Yeah? How so?'

'Just a stuck up rich guy y'know, plus the way he spoke to you was out of order. Give me the word next time and I'll bust his ass.'

'I appreciate the sentiment Barnes' you chuckled,  'but I can look after myself just fine.'

Content that he'd survive the night with nothing more than a throbbing headache, you started walking past him towards the stairs. As you got to his side he reached out, grabbing you by the wrist softly, but with enough force that you stopped dead and looked over at him. His eyes were open now, he was staring at you earnestly. 

'I'm serious y/n. No-one speaks to my wife like that.' 

---

‘What the HELL?’ 

You jolted awake. Turning your head, you looked at the time. 3am? What in Christ's name is he shouting for? 

Oh fuck, you’d forgotten. 

You were pissed off at Bucky earlier for leaving all his dirty plates in the sink, so you’d put them in his bed. Petty, yes. But your point was a fair one. 

You’d left him on the armchair, he must’ve slept there for a few hours then woken up and decided to go to bed. He stormed into your room. 

‘Why the FUCK are there plates in my bed?’

‘Oh gosh, I’m not sure. Maybe the dish fairy, you know the one who puts your dishes in the washer after you leave them all over the place, put them there?’

Swaying slightly and clenching his teeth, you guessed he was probably too drunk and sleepy for a proper argument. 

‘Right.’ He pulled his shirt off.

‘Whoa Barnes, the fuck are you playing at?’ Bucky was undoing his belt and in a matter of seconds was standing in your room in just his underwear. 

‘Move over.’

‘Instinct says... no.’

With a slightly jarring look of determination, Bucky clambered over you to the far side of the bed and pulled the covers over himself. For a second you were silent with shock. You and Bucky were in bed together, both just wearing underwear.

His thigh brushed against yours and sent an electric sensation up your side. 

Granted, it would be a hell of a lot easier to just accept this and go to sleep, but you had to be seen to make some kind of protest. You half-heartedly grabbed his arm, trying to yank him towards the edge of the bed- a pointless endeavour. 

‘This is not happening.’

‘Go sleep in the ketchup bed then.’

‘You’re an ass.’

He let out a deep chuckle before turning his back to you and getting comfortable. After firing an irritated groan at the back of his neck, you flicked the lamp off and turned your back in kind. 

Before falling asleep, you and Bucky shared a thought. You tried not to over-analyse it, but it made Bucky grin to himself.

You could easily have gone to sleep on the sofa. 

---

Part Four

---

@billy-jeans23

---

[imagineredwood]

🍒 The Yard Sale 🍒

Summary: EZ sees a yard sale selling pink things he’s pretty sure Amaya will love. 

Pairing: EZ x Amaya (OC)

Warnings: None

Word count: 1K

***I don’t know if i ever asked but if any of y’all want to be on Maya’s tag list just let me know. I don’t want to tag y’all if you’re not into OCs***

“You look beautiful, querida.”

Amaya smiled and held her hands together under her chin, framing her face playfully as she turned her hips, her pink skirt flaring out with the movement. EZ laughed and shook his head, reaching for her. She placed her hand in his and leaned forward to press her lips to his. She pecked him repeatedly, inquiring in between each show of affection.

“Where are we going anyway?”

“Yard sale. I saw it yesterday, she’ll be out again today. There’s an old lady selling her stuff from when she was younger. Almost everything out there is pink and it’s all vintage. Toasters, blenders, kitchen appliances, some decorations. I know you’ll love it.”

Amaya’s smile was even wider now, and she squealed, hands holding onto EZ’s wrist as she bounced happily on her feet.

“Well let’s go!”

EZ’s smile mirrored hers at the excitement. Walking out to the driveway, she pointed at his bike.

“Do we need to drive? Or can we walk?”

“We can walk if you want.”

She was wrapping her hands around his forearm then, strolling down the driveway and down the street, the couple making small talk. It did not take long for them to walk the last block and come up to the house, Amaya’s eyes beginning to twinkle as soon as she laid her eyes on the tables that were set up in the yard. Amaya grinned, her feet moving even faster as she got closer to the yard sale. EZ laughed and sped up his own steps, both hurrying across the street and into the driveway of the old woman. She had a head of white hair, fluffy and curly and hair sprayed into perfection. Her lipstick was a bright shade of pink, more vibrant then the toaster that was sitting beside her. She smiled as soon as she saw the couple, recognizing EZ from when she had spoken to him yesterday.

“There you are young man. this must be the beautiful Maya you were telling me about.”

She held two shaky hands out, squeezing EZ’s in hers before releasing them and turning to Amaya as EZ nodded proudly.

“This is her.”

The woman gasped and grinned as she looked at Amaya’s outfit.

“Such a pretty set you're wearing. Looks like something I would have worn back in my day. I'm Gladys, by the way.”

Still holding on to Amaya’s hand, the lady walked around the table, using her other hand to motion to all her belongings.

“You two lovebirds can take as long as you want. I'm sure you'll find something that you like.”

Amaya and Ezekiel thanked her before starting to slowly walk along the tables, eyeing everything. It was not long before Amaya gasped, eyes wide as she looked at a collection of pastel old-fashioned milkshake glasses.

“EZ, look!”

He followed her finger as it pointed, knowing how desperately she had been looking for pastel milkshake glasses. No matter where she looked, they were always either flat at the bottom like a cup or too brightly colored, lacking that retro aesthetic that she wanted. Grabbing the pink one first, of course, she looked it over and made sure it was in good condition. She was grabbing the others then, Gladys quickly shuffling into the garage.

“Let me get you a bag, honey!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Both Amaya and EZ let out grunts as they heaved the bags up onto the counter. Amaya had splurged just a little, snatching up almost anything that was pink at the sale. She took the blender, the milkshake glasses, a rug to put in the living room under the coffee table and a few other little knickknacks that had quickly added up. EZ had to return to her house and pick up her car just so they did not break their backs bringing everything back home.

Now with everything on the counter, they could start putting everything away. Amaya pulled her hair tie from her wrist and tossed her hair up, EZ admiring the messy pink bun at the top of her head.

“I like that shade of pink. Not as bright as when you first dyed it.”

Her smile was all teeth as she hugged EZ, remembering how enthusiastic he was the night she had him help her dye the new wig. He had taken the entire process very seriously and she knew he had fun, even if his hands were stained pink for the days that had followed. Leaving a soft kiss to his cheek, she sauntered off to her bedroom.

“Let me change and then we can put everything away.”

By the time she came back out, EZ had taken care of it all for the most part, only the bender and milkshake glasses left, and idea popping into her head.

“We should make milkshakes and then watch some movies!”

EZ looked over at the clock on the wall, pointing at it.

“It’s almost four, mama. We haven’t even eaten dinner yet.”

She pouted, head tilted down, and hands folded in front of her as she crept forward, EZ already shaking his head at her puppy eyes.

“No, Maya. We need to eat dinner first. Sweets later.”

His rationalization fell on deaf ears as she transformed into the little devil that sat on people shoulders.

“Aw, come on. We’re adults. That’s what’s so good about being an adult; you can do whatever you want and no body can say shit.”

Her cheeks were full as she peered at him, hoping to convince. EZ stood his ground though, shaking his head, his voice firm.

“First, that’s not true. And second, we’re not having milkshakes before dinner and that’s that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``

Amaya grinned as she took her first sip, the strawberry flavored sweetness making her do a little wiggle as she sat on the couch next to EZ, a look of resignation on his face as he took a sip of his own milkshake. Reaching over, he pulled her into him, ignoring the smug look on her face as he started the movie.

“You’re a brat.”

Her only response was a shrug, her body pushing closer to his as she laid her head on his bare shoulder, her straw making noise as she took another sip.

“I prefer strong willed.”

[galaxycosplayart]

A Man on a Roof

A simply short story I wrote heavily inspired by a dream I had. I tried my best to do research on 1920's fashion and culture, as well as try to make the New Orleans theme authentic. Constructive criticism is appreciated! (There's also some lgbtqia+ representation in here since I'm basing this off my dream where I was the narrator and I am in fact LGBTQIA+) ---

The sound of jazz resonated throughout the rather extravagant hotel venue, loud and upbeat. People swung along: dancing to the sweet melodies like there was no tomorrow. The band’s performance was booming with energy, passion and life; the colourful music painting a perfect picture of the ‘20s in all of the attendee’s minds. The dance floor was packed of all different shapes, ages and sizes. This gathering was one you wouldn’t forget. The sights, the sounds, the feeling; this 1920s themed extravaganza surely did live up to that title. I would know. I was smackdab in the middle of it all.

I’m going to be honest: I don’t really like parties. Too populated, too loud, too obnoxious – but I can’t say no to some swing. This party really was worth coming to, and for once I have to say I had the time of my life. Something about the general aesthetic, the beaming faces of everyone there, the historical backstory, it just made me swell up with joy (and excitement!). I was on my own, my parents were probably off making friends with other adults. In my hand was a glass of non-alcoholic champagne. I am but 13-years-old, after all. I continued to sway, careful not to spill my drink, when I happened to notice a boy leaving the party. He caught my eye, not for attraction, but intrigue. He looked to be a young man, around 16 or 17, but he was somewhat tall and lanky. Unfortunately, I didn’t get enough time to take a proper gander. Fortunately, nothing stopped my compelled urge to follow.

---- He was going to the roof. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry. No, he trotted nonchalantly to the elevator, his footsteps in sync with the music. He seemed to caper with the pleasant melodies coming from the venue. As he entered the elevator car, he lingered on to the tune with each step. The door closed before I could join him, and I watched the floor-level indicator above the gate gradually flicker to the roof of the building. Now, I know tailing people isn’t very polite, but I had taken a liking to the man’s... energy. Once taking a separate car up and searching a bit, I spotted the man near the edge of the flat roof. He continued to tap, now bathed under the glow of the full moon, illuminating his dancing figure. Since I could finally see his face, I can tell you he certainly was a rather attractive man. His warm amber skin basked splendidly under the moonlight; his eyelids shut. His low-ponytail of curly black hair swayed with him as he stepped, the music taking control of his body and mind. His outfit was truly vintage: a neat white dress shirt beneath some dark brown suspenders, the shirt tucked into his black dress pants. He also wore a dark chocolate-coloured bow tie and a light-grey longshoremen cap. Strong jazz could be heard, slightly muffled from the floors below, but that didn’t stop the young tapper from Charleston-ing his way around the roof.  Listen, I’m no professional dancer, but I like to have a bit of knowledge in any given topic. My little knowledge prompted a question in my head, “Aren’t you supposed to have a dancing partner for this particular swing?” I said nothing aloud though, for my focus was on observing this man’s joyous pep. I leaned against the wall, quietly enjoying the stranger’s strut, when the moment was cut short by the sound of giggles. He opened his eyes, revealing mahogany brown irises, only adding to his beautiful appearance. He and I both turned to see a group of young women, looking to be around his age, goggling the boy. I mean, you could say I was too, but I didn’t interrupt or jest at his actions; I merely gazed politely. The nearest girl walked up to him and began to chat, which ceased his dance. This disappointed me, he seemed to be enjoying himself and they decided to throw off his rhythm. He appeared uninterested in talking too, giving the girl a bored look and responding in short answers. From what I heard, she was clearly chatting him up, probably attempting to make a move on him. However, this encounter was also interrupted; for it was his turn to spot me. We made eye contact; his line of sight aimed downwards at my short figure. I immediately panic, thinking, “Crap. How am I supposed to explain why I’m here? ‘Hello sir, I followed you upstairs, I liked the vibes?’ Hell no.”  As I ran through all the possible excuses or justifications for why I decided to basically stalk this man up the hotel, I didn’t notice him making his way towards me. Nor did I sight the annoyed look of the girl he just left behind. He comes up to me, and soon realizing I was lost in frantic thought, gently places a hand on my shoulder. I snap out of my frenzied state, jumping at the touch and looking up once more to see him a lot closer than he was a couple of seconds ago. “Hey, you alright? You seemed frozen in time, dere,” he said with a gentle smile. His accent was faintly reminiscent of downtown New Orleans, which explained how his energy matched the parties so perfectly. It was smooth and peppy; an endearing tone. “Oh, yeah, of course,” I say quickly, still trying to find the right words. “I- uh- I liked your dancing,” was all that came out of my mouth, and I mentally facepalmed with the awkwardness that came with the broken statement. Instead of cringing at this display, however, he instead laughed. “Thank you, cher. And what are you doing, all alone on this here roof?” he asked kindly. “Just... exploring. I happened to notice you dancing when I got to the roof, so I kind of... watched for a bit,” I replied sheepishly. I mean, I wasn’t lying. I did explore the roof a bit before I found him, and I did spot his Charleston when I did. I just happened to omit the details of following him up the elevator car. And through the lobby. From the party. No biggie. “That so? Well then, can you dance?” he asked, extending a friendly hand and dishing out a genial grin. I panic again, but this time for a different, more trivial reason. “Oh, no, no I’m not that good at dancing-” “Really? Ya seemed to be enjoying it down there at tha’ party.” “...You saw me there?” “I watched you follow me, sha.” “...” Well, this was incredibly embarrassing. If I wasn’t already blushing from this whole ordeal (which I incredibly doubt – my face felt very hot), I most definitely was now. I should be thankful for his carefree attitude, because when my spluttered apology attempted to vocalize itself into comprehensible words, he simply waved it off and laughed once more. “Oh, it ain’t nothin’. Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he assured light-heartedly. “Still, I wouldn’t mind if you joined me. It’s fun to have a dancin’ partner, ya know?” “I- well... I guess a bit of dancing wouldn’t hurt,” I admitted. He extended his hand once more in invitation. I hesitantly accepted, and as soon as my palm fit into his, the grip strengthened as I was whirled to his side in the open area near the edge. As the next song started to play, and we couldn’t help but get lost in the music, I heard one phrase be exclaimed from the still-anonymous boy beside me, “Laissez les bons temps rouler!"  ---- I had easily resumed my cheerful demeanour by dancing with the man, enjoying our time to the fullest. Despite my lack of expertise in cutting a rug, we enjoyed ourselves quite a bit. It was more of feeling out the music and letting the rhythm take you, relishing a fun stranger’s presence. Sadly, this enjoyment was often interrupted by a third party, who continued to loiter around on the roof; each individual taking their turn in attempting to woo the boy. Louis, as I now knew him, also kept up his trend of giving the girls a cold shoulder, and we exchanged a cheeky grin each time one would storm off huffing. However, something did confuse me slightly. Well, the women were exceptionally beautiful. They also didn’t seem rude, or arrogant; they actually seemed rather kind and friendly. Some even referred to Louis by name, meaning he was probably familiar with the ladies. They simply were shooting their shot, and Louis would keep refusing one after the other. Obviously, he wasn’t obliged to humour any of their advances, but it’s like he didn’t even acknowledge the idea of dating them. I am a curious – and frankly, unfiltered – soul, so as the last dame trudge off to the group, I turn to my new friend and say,  “Hey, mind if I ask you something?” “Sure, what's on your mind, cher?” he replied smoothly, as we both watch the gaggle of women finally exit. “You know em’? The group there, I mean,” I clarify, though there wasn’t such a need for it anyway. I just have a bad habit of... shedding light on things that aren’t as dark, you feel me? “Yeah, they’re good friends of my brother’s. Why?” “Oh, well, they seem awfully interested in you.” “Yeah, they do that now and then. I’m used to it.” “Can’t take a hint, huh?” “Yeah, you right.” I decide to sit down as the current song begins to fade out, allowing myself a small break before the music resumed. Louis takes a seat beside me, sighing. I press further, while simultaneously pondering why I was so curious about his decision to dismiss these dates. Looking back on it, it was really none of my business, but something about the rejections just felt oddly... familiar. Still, I probably shouldn’t pry into other people’s matters. “May I ask why you constantly say no? I mean, they seem like lovely ladies. Are they just not your type?” He doesn’t reply at first, so I immediately jump to the conclusion that I upset him in some way. He’d be justified in feeling so, but I soon come to realize he was thinking of how to answer. After a few moments, I got the reply. “Sort of. I mean... in a way? They don’t know that though,” he says with a smile, to which I respond by giving him a quizzical look. What was that supposed to mean? I’m pretty embarrassed I didn’t realize it sooner when he sees my expression, and states, “Oh. I’m gay.” I stare at the boy for a few moments, blinking. I then burst out into laughter. What a heteronormative approach I took to my questioning. Me, of all people! He was amused with me, and we share a joyous laughing session to the realization.  “Ah... no wonder I related to your rejections,” I say with a cheerful grin. He quirks an eyebrow, and asks me with a curious twinkle in his eye,“Hm? What are you talking about sha?” “I’m bi. And non-binary. That’s partially why I found it so ironic that I didn’t get that sooner.” We chuckled once more, now aware of how hysterical the situation was when the final song of the evening began. He gets up first, helping me up, and we find ourselves dancing our way into the night.

[musedblues]

Always Something There To Remind Me [Part: 2]

summary: Home is where the heart is. You're working on finding yours. After a handful of misfortunes, your old friend Joe helps to unravel life's greatest mystery while adding a bit of extra grief to the mix.

warnings: Another death and a funeral (I'm sorry in advance) general sadness but also a bit of resolution!? He’s here lads.

w/c: 4k

a/n: ❗This time only I'm adding lovely mutuals to my tags, who gave feedback in the first chapter so this one doesn't flop 😳 moving forward I'll make a normal tag list so, let me know if you'd like to be added!

@anincurablefangirl​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @supersonicfreddie​ @ogrogerbattle​ @sonic-volcano​ @tensecondvacation​

Part 3

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The sound of sirens pierced through your head. You thought you were dreaming.

You were home, in New York, in bed. You had been here for two weeks. The last you saw of Wales was the airport, where Tegan dropped you off and promised to ship some of your things to America. Every day you woke up in your childhood home, a new small package would arrive at your front door. You would tote the boxes inside and your mother would remind you to brush your hair, like when you were a kid. But instead of taking you to school, she would take you to therapy.

You tried to drive there on your own once, but you broke into a panic before you could pull out of the driveway. So your mother drove and tried really hard to act like everything was fine. She would play Bruce Springsteen songs on those drives and gush about his music. You used to obsess with her, but your head usually ached too bad to think of anything besides how much it hurt. You knew the headaches would go away if you figured out how to sleep again. But sometimes your daydreams were too nightmarish and you were terrified to fall asleep and let your subconscious take over.

That's why when the faint shriek of sirens grew loud enough to wake you up, you were only frustrated with your imagination. You had finally fallen asleep, for once. But when red and blue lights flooded through your bedroom window, you realized you weren't dreaming. You shot out of bed in a panic and prepared for the worst. A familiar vice tightened around your throat as you crept downstairs to investigate.

Your mother was wearing a vintage silk robe and her hair was frizzy and wild from sleep. She rubbed her eyes and watched you float down the stairs in the same pajamas you'd been living in for some days in a row.

"It's three in the morning. What could possibly-" Your mother wondered, peering past the blinds where the red and blue lights shone brightest. You watched her grow a frown and the vice around your throat tightened ever so slightly.

"What?" You plead to know.

"Mr. Mazzello hasn't been doing so well this month. The ambulance is stopped across the street."

"No." You frowned, scurrying toward the window, hoping you wouldn't see anything but a quiet suburb. But there were indeed cop cars and an ambulance stopped outside your favorite neighbors home. You watched lights turn on inside the living room window, and a sickening regret-filled your stomach.

You had been home for two weeks and hadn't seen the Mazzello family once. You heard Joe's mother stop over one morning and chat with your mother downstairs. You recognized her voice from behind your closed bedroom door, but couldn't bring yourself to leave and face her. So you didn't.

Your mother turned her dusty grey eyes toward you. They were sad and tired.

"Go back to bed. I'm sure things will be alright."

"You shouldn't say things will be alright just because you want them to be." You groaned on your trek up the stairs. Maybe everything would be alright, but it seemed foolish to hope for otherwise, these days.

///

The next morning was worse than the night before. You were the one who opened the front door to a weeping Mrs. Mazzello. She was as beautiful as ever, hair light at the roots, eyes like stars. But you only caught a glimpse of the lady before she threw herself in your arms and proceeded to cry. Of course, you held on to her and tried to unravel your complex feelings- happy to see her again, but terribly afraid of what caused her such grief.

Your own mother appeared and started begging her best friend to explain why she was in such distress. With a deep breath, Mrs. Mazzello shared the news. Her husband didn't make it through the night. After her world started spinning the opposite direction, she was sent home to get some rest. Mrs. Mazzello couldn't imagine going home all on her own and apologized for showing up at your door and causing such a scene. Your mother cried along with her, and try as you might to express the storm inside of your chest, you just couldn't. Joe's father always made sure to invite you to every Halloween party, and every spur of the moment family game night. He was the closest thing you had to a father figure since moving to New York. You never got to tell him hello again, or goodbye. Now, you only sank deeper into the dark pit that had swallowed your heart whole, some weeks ago, searching to claim it once again.

After a cup of tea, and even a few giggle-filled stories, Mrs. Mazzello hugged you again, this time with a smile. You always thought Joe had her smile, the kind that reached his eyes. The kind that made your heart melt a little.

"Sweet girl, I'm so glad you're home." She cooed into your hair as you hugged her back; happy to know she still thought you were sweet, like in high school.

Eventually, you and your mother stood on either side of Mrs. Mazzello and walked her across the street. You helped her inside the old familiar oak front door, and into the living room that hadn't changed much since last time you'd been there. You tried not to look around, strangely afraid of feeling too attached to a home that wasn't yours.

///

You waited in the car of all places, while your mother attended Mr. Mazzello's funeral. Your throat grew tight at the prospect of sitting through a drawn-out goodbye, and even though you were dressed for the occasion, you couldn't move. Your mother wasn't angry. She was almost afraid to leave you alone. But you coxed her inside the funeral while you sat in silence. When folks started leaving, your own self pitty was trumped by regret.

When folks started trickling out of the service, you demanded your mother to follow the procession, instead of taking you home. The cemetery was dusted with snow that melted underfoot. You barely made it onto the greying green before you were reduced to tears of panic. Your mother turned around and suggested you stand and watch from the car, like your own twisted safe zone. You leaned against the cold metal and watched your mother shrink in the distance, to a gathering between to empty branched trees. The late autumn chill reddened your nose and the cold weather became a perfect excuse for the tears you were suppressing and making your eyes all puffy.

The crowd was full of faces you recognized, but couldn't bother contemplating. When the group thinned out you asked your mother to wait while the car heated up, so you could pay your respects in private. There was a cold looking priest and some cemetery workers chatting beyond the freshly dug grave. The headstone was respectable, inscribed with Mr. Mazzello's name. His casket was in your line of sight. Looking at it made your stomach churn, and you wished you would have just stayed home today. You loved Joe's dad, but you weren't ready for another funeral. You were still coping with the last one you'd planned. Your therapist had their work cut out, that was certain.

"I didn't know you were in town."

You knew that voice. It was velvet cutting through the cold. It belonged to Joe. You turned your head toward the sound in near wonder. Joe was there, standing a few feet behind you, sporting a warm looking coat, and red looking eyes.

"Surprise." You barely smiled as you turned to face your old friend all the way. You were bound to see him, but you weren't so sure you recognized the man standing before you. Joe was all grown up, decorated in dark stubble and expensive-looking shoes. Nothing at all like the worn-out pair he ran around in all of senior year.

"You're just a little late." Joe joked. Or... did he? His expression was empty and he made no move to approach you like the friends you once were.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I-I shouldn't have come here." You realized fully, digging your nails into the sides of your coat you'd been gripping. Your old best friend watched you hurry past him and toward your mother's car. You wanted to turn around to see if he was watching you walk away, but your eyes were fogged with tears.

Your mother parked the car in your very own driveway and made a move to cross the street. The Mazzellos were hosting a dinner party and guests were already headed in with pans of food in hand. But you couldn't do it. You raced inside your own home and locked the door, knowing your mother had a key and that anyone else who tried to disturb you, couldn't.

You took a shower and cried for as long as the water was warm. As the sunset, you lit a few candles and called Tegan. You told her all about the funeral and seeing Joe and when she asked how you felt about it, you couldn't quite tell her. She cursed in Welsh and her raspy tone was music to your ears. You giggled and thanked her for listening. She said nothing was the same without you around. She spoke to you for hours. Tegan begged you to call her once a week and you begged her to bump it up to two or three more times.

///

The next day, your mother was preparing to leave to take photos of a couple's engagement. You were sitting at your writing desk, going through the latest box of knickknacks Tegan had shipped over. Last night's conversation with her was better than all the therapy sessions you'd received in the past three weeks. For once, since Kris died, something in you settled.

You heard the front door creak open downstairs and thought it was strange that your mother wasn't leaving through the garage entry, and without shouting goodbye to you. But then you heard muffled voices and you realized someone else was here. Who could have possibly shown up at eight in the morning on a weekday?

Then you heard heavy footsteps taking your staircase two at a time, and before you could worry over what was happening, Joe was standing in your bedroom doorway. He was dressed in joggers and his auburn hair was mused like he'd just woken up and bolted across the street to your door.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Joe asked you, his luminescent eyes were wide below two furrowed brows. The second time you laid eyes on your friend of too many years to count, you still couldn't believe how much he'd changed since last you really truly saw him.

To make matters worse, you really couldn't be sure of exactly what Joe was talking about as you stood from your desk to face him. Was he wondering about your homecoming, or had he found out the reason for it?

"Why didn't I tell you what, Joe? Yesterday didn't seem like the time for twenty questions."

He only responded by rolling his eyes and clenching his jaw all while stepping further into your room. You trade places with Joe, shutting the door as your stomach churned.

"Shit, I'm sorry." You sighed, afraid that bringing up yesterday might be crossing some kind of line. Since when were there boundaries between you and Joe?

"It's okay, it's..." Joe breathed after a moment, casting his eyes around your room that had barely changed since highschool. He'd spent many nights helping you build forts out of the blankets still decorating your bed.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Joe asked one more time. The sorry timbre of his voice was hint enough to what he was really asking.

"I tried." You shrugged, shifting a little closer to your old friend. You'd called Joe the morning after you found out Kris died. You called him before you called your mother. He never returned the missed connection.

Now, Joe's brows were pushed together and the look in his eyes seemed nearly unrecognizable, and that pushed you over the edge.

"I'm sorry about yesterday, and everything else. Can we just like, be friends again?" You plead all of a sudden. You weren't sure you ever stopped being friends in the first place, but you'd certainly drifted far from the bond you once had.

Joe just barely grinned. And then you watched as he seemed to relax completely, you could almost see the weight being lifted from his shoulders as he stepped closer to wrap you in a hug. His embrace was warm and familiar. You hadn't felt such peace in months, maybe years if you were being honest with yourself. Joe was back on your side.

"I'm sorry too. It's been weird." Joe kept his comforting latch on you as he mumbled into your hair.

"I know. You can hang around here, if you want." You reminded as you pulled away. Joe was smiling for the first time since your reunion. It was a real, gentle and genuine expression.

"Are you sure? You can finish whatever you were doing before I came over to yell at you." Joe nodded toward the box on your desk with a little laugh.

"Oh, God no." You glanced toward the shipment of your leftover Welsh memories. Unpacking them fell to the bottom of your to-do list, all of a sudden. "You came here just to yell at me, huh?" You smirked at your friend.

"No. I came over because we have a  lot of time to make up for." Joe handed out a loaded statement. But said so with a little half-smile. So you opened your bedroom door and made a show of gesturing he follow you downstairs. Your mother was slinging her camera bag over her shoulder and sliding into a pair of strappy sandals. Her grey eye's lit up when she noticed you and Joe descending the staircase together.

"Well, I've got to run. I should be home by lunch."

"I'll make something." You shrugged, suggesting a change of pace. You hadn't done much of anything besides sulk since you landed back in the states. And you were seriously craving lentil soup. Your mother shot you a suspicious smile as she reached for her car keys and nodded your way.

"Have a good day, kids." Your mother waved as she hurried off to her job as the best damn wedding (now engagement) photographer in the whole state. Joe gave your mother a pleasant goodbye as she shut the door and left you alone with your best friend for the first time since God knows when.

"Sit,  I'll make some coffee." You pointed Joe toward the living room as you shuffled toward the kitchen. Joe followed orders, and you lingered near the coffee maker, finding clean mugs in the dishwasher and putting some other glasses away while the coffee pot filled up.  You made Joe's coffee the way he always used to like it and started toward the living room to offer him the drink.

You rounded the corner to find Joe comfortable curled up against an old decorative pillow, asleep. He must have been exhausted from all the family business he'd been dealing with. You abandon the mug of coffee on the table near the sofa, for when he woke up. And before you left the living room, you watched Joe laying there, seemingly content, breathing deeply. And for just one moment, you felt fine. You didn't feel like you used to; like a highschool kid. You felt like your boyfriend was dead, and so was Joe's dad, but that it was alright because Joe was still right next to you. The things that we're okay right now balanced out the worry that they wouldn't always be.

Joe stayed just like that for the next couple of hours, so you went about your day like normal. Putting the rest of the dishes away, sipping your coffee, and folding a bit of laundry. You were sat at the kitchen table with a new book in hand when Joe finally woke up.

"Hey, thanks." He noted, walking into the room with his old cup of coffee. Just then the dull thrum of a blasted radio and the sounds of car doors slamming in the distance were unmistakably coming from across the street- Joe's house.

"Should you be over there?" You wondered, shutting your book as Joe moved to put his mug in your microwave.

"It's actually nice to uh, not have to worry about all of that for a minute." Joe cast his eyes around the room and you understood what he meant. Living in Kris's house with the knowledge that he was never coming back through the door again was worse than waiting up when he disappeared for days on end.

"Well, you can hide out here for as long as you want." Everything was normal again. He grinned while the microwave counted down seconds.

"Sorry for falling asleep. What'd I miss?" Joe chuckled lightly.

"Uh..." You let out a breath of a laugh, a thousand memories from the past few years hitting you like a wave. But certainly, that wasn't what Joe was asking, now. "Not much." You responded because everything you'd done while he napped, wasn't worth mentioning.

Your friend with tired eyes seemed to consider your answer, and then the microwave beeped. Joe's mug was steaming as he carried it over to the table. He eased into the seat next to you as you raised your own mug to your lips. Joe had yet to look at you, his jungle toned eyes focused on the patterns of your dining table. But after a quiet moment, Joe raised his eyes to look right at yours.

"What happened?" Joe dared to whisper. You watched his eyes stay glued on yours and felt sorry for letting too much time pass. You knew exactly what Joe wanted to know, so you sat your mug to the side and thought for a moment before speaking up...

"He was drinking and driving." You started easily. You had talked through this with your mother, and Tegan, and therapist. The latter helped you sort out your mourning Kris, but there were still scattered fears of driving cars and falling asleep you had to sort through. But side effects aside, it didn't hurt so much to recount the outlines of what happened. And oddly, you still felt security spilling your guts to Joe. You both kept your focus on each other as you went on filling in blanks

"Things were really bad. I mean before, with Kris and I. It doesn't matter why they just were. He was never home and he was always drinking. Then... he died. So... I guess that's the short version of what happened." You sighed emptily. The fights and the misunderstandings and the late nights, all built up and up until they crashed over a bridge with Kris. Now you were here. Joe cast his troubled gaze back toward the table, while his fingers tightened around his coffee mug handle.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" You wondered. About his dad. About how he was feeling.

"I'm sorry I never called you back." Joe looked up again. Sure, it had been a while, but you were together again, weren't you? These long faces of his were making you a little too sad.

"Why don't you make it up to me by staying for lunch?" You grinned. Joe did too, nodding in agreeance. The two of you spent the next hour scrolling through Pinterest to find the most exciting recipes you had enough ingredients for. Then you made plans to make dessert. It was like once you started you couldn't stop, planing for soup and bread and even an apple fucking pie.

Joe helped you bake, spinning around your kitchen because he already knew where you kept most things. As you stood cutting up apples at the counter, conversation about kitchenware lulled and you couldn't go on any longer without asking what Joe had been up to, all this time.

"What were you working on in London, anyway?" You asked, a little embarrassed to be so far outside of the loop. Your friend was leaning against the counter at your side, watching you work.

"Bohemian Rhapsody." Joe shrugged, stealing a bit of chopped up apple as you went on cutting.

"Like the Queen song?" You wondered, a bit confused.

"Yeah, like the Queen movie, now. I landed a roll in the biopic."

"Joe. Holy shit." You rested your knife and turned to face him head-on. That was a big name drop. He really was living his dream, huh? Joe was holding back a cocky smirk as he stole another bit of apple from the board at your side.

"Starting right now," You chucked as you reached for the knife. "we're telling each other things again." You pointed the utensil near him like you meant business.

"Whoa, I surrender... and agree." Joe laughed, moving out of the way as you reached for a big bowl. Your afternoon faded into a mess of home-baked goods and stories you'd been meaning to tell each other. Yours were silly ones about missing the bus and making friends with a stray cat who showed up at your door every night for a year or two.

But Joe's news was far more enchanting. He simply gushed over his newest castmates, and the members of Queen he was lucky enough to meet. As your apple pie baked, and you started to make soup, you began to realize the extent of Joe's career. He rambled about leaving soon for the premiere of his new movie. You realized he wasn't going to be around like he used to be. Like always. So you listened more intently to what he had to say like maybe this was the big finale of your friendship where you got to tie up all your loose ends and move on. You didn't want to move on. You wanted to move through this shit together. But you knew that was selfish and you knew Joe had a life to get back to, one that didn't include keeping you any sort of company.

Your mother nearly fell to her knees when she came home to find the feast you made, waiting on the stove while you laughed in the living room with Joe. You insisted he tell you everything he'd been up too, genuinely afraid this day was a one-off chance you'd never have with Joe again. You all ate lunch to the tune of his most hilarious stories, and Joe even helped clean up, while your mother complained about her day and the traffic.

"Well, I'm off to London." Joe laughed like he was kidding, but he wasn't. "The U.S premiere is like twelve days away. You know, I can put your name on the list." Joe shrugged as you walked him to the door. The sun was low in the sky, and his flight for the UK premiere was leaving tomorrow afternoon.

You figured he'd just offered out of politeness, as a way to trade thanks for this strange easy going day. But no matter your friend's motive, there was no way you'd be able to prance through the city and mingle with his superstar friends. You barely made it out your front door in weeks.

"Thank you, Joe. But I don't think I'm ready for all that. I hope you have a safe flight and a fun time, though."  You nodded softly, really wishing him well. Joe deserved every good thing.

"I guess I won't be seeing you till Christmas Eve, then." If you hadn't been so caught off guard by his comment, you would have noticed Joe pout a little.

"Christmas Eve?"

"Duh. Same time and place as always. Right across the street." Joe chuckled lightly. "You'll always be invited. I'm just glad your home to finally start showing up, again." Joe shoved his hands in his pockets and bumped his elbow against yours as he joked.

"Yeah, okay... I guess I'll see you across the street on Christmas Eve, then." You smiled softly as Joe reached for the front door. He lingered in the doorway, telling you goodbye one final time, and you stood there watching him jog across the street, spinning around to flash his smile your way. The kind of smile that reached his eyes and melted your heart just a little. You could have easily settled back into spending every waking hour with Joe. Even after spending all day with him, it seemed like you'd hardly caught up at all. Funny how you'd been fully prepared for him to leave with a halfhearted thanks and a vague goodbye until further, distant notice. Christmas was a couple of months away, but now you had a reason to look forward to it.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[etlunainmorte]

Perfect. Everything was going smoothly and according to plan.

Later after the party, Christopher would pay Salvador a huge sum of money for doing his job. Well, he should admit that, at first, it seemed so difficult. The victim, himself, didn't look that intimidating, sure, but, his pets sure did. What were they again? Ah! A glowing panther and an extremely talkative blue parrot.

Who is this V person, anyway?! An exotic pet smuggler?!

Eh, it doesn't matter now! Thought Salvador as he glanced at V's house from his own car. Stealing those vintage clothing and that necklace was a,...

"Piece of cake!" The man exclaimed as he adjusted the rear view mirror. Taking a comb from the pocket of his black leather jacket, he began fixing his already slick - looking hair. Giving his own reflection the gun fingers, he sang along to the music in his car speakers, "We're talking away, I don't know what I'm to say I'll say it, anyway. Today's another day to find you shying away. I'll be coming for your love, okay? Take on me,... TAKE ON ME - !

"WHOA!"

Not a moment too soon, Salvador found himself stumbling on the ground next to two pairs of feet. Somehow, the car door ( which was locked ) was forced open and he felt strong hands dragging him out. He looked up and saw two very irate - looking strangers. The woman had her arms crossed and the man was tapping his booted foot on the ground.

"WHO ARE YOU, PEOPLE?!" Salvador screamed as he tried to scramble away from the two strangers. However, his escape was unsuccessful when the man grabbed his jacket and yanked him off the ground. "H - HAVE MERCY ON ME, PLEASE!"

"Is this the one, Nico?" The man asked the woman, who just lit up a cigarette and began smoking.

Pointing two fingers at Salvador, the woman called Nico spoke. "That's the one. Or, unless I'm wrong and he's not the one spying on V here for almost a week!"

"Y - Y - YOU GOT THE WRONG PERSON!" Salvador pleaded, already feeling his sweat run cold and his bones weaken. He tried to pry himself loose from the man's grip but, he was just too strong! "I - I - I DON'T KNOW W - WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!"

All of a sudden, they heard an awful noise coming from the car, and a few moments later, that same talkative blue bird came into view.

"HE'S GOT IT!" The noisy bird squawked as it pointed at something with its wing. They all turned towards the direction it's pointing at and noticed that same glowing panther, the pieces of the ripped vintage clothing in its mouth, standing just next to the car.

Which means,...

The awful noise that Salvador heard earlier was the sound of his car trunk breaking!

"YOU,... FUCKING ZOO MASCOTS!" Salvador howled in anger.

It happened in a matter of seconds. Poor Salvador was about to fight back when he felt his body go numb all of a sudden. It's as if an incredible jolt of electricity ran through his system to the numerous ends of his nerves at the speed of light, making him fall to the ground, helpless and unmoving.

As a matter of fact, he really felt he should've been dead with that unprecedented attack but, miraculously, he's not.

"I can't find the necklace anywhere!" He heard another woman say. Where did that come from?!

"Let's check again!" Answered the other female, the one who smoked.

It's,... no use,... Salvador thought, his face still lying flat on the ground where he fell. B - boss,... has the w - wretched thing!

"It's not,... fucking here!" The aggravated male swore a few moments later after all that ruckus in the car.

"We should let him know." The woman who smoked said. "He's the one who originally owns it."

"I agree with you on that, Nico."

He? Salvador thought helplessly. Who the heck - ?! What now?!

*

Fly me to the moon,

Let me play among the stars.

Let me see what spring is like on

A - Jupiter and Mars.

In other words, hold my hand.

In other words, baby, kiss me.

Fill my heart with song and let me sing for ever more.

You are all I long for,

All I worship and adore.

In other words, please be true.

In other words, I love you.

The voice of the Frank Sinatra wannabe on the stage soared high above the romantic place as the couples, all dressed in their best vintage, danced to the hypnotic, timeless tune.

And as you danced the dreamy Foxtrot with your tall, green - eyed partner, your mind couldn't help but go over, and over again through the events that led right to this moment.

"Oh, for I can't help falling in love with you,..." V's low and gentle voice mesmerized you. There simply was this special something in his voice. Something very warm and familiar. You've noticed it the first time during Avery's wedding where you've met him but, you didn't pay it too much attention. At least, not too much. However, during that night when he visited you and read to you that lovely story about Cupid and his beloved muse, you could no longer deny that fact. You can't actually pinpoint what it was but, it certainly lured you in closer to him.

Yes, there's no use denying that now.

You feel something for V, that you're definitely sure of.

You just kept wondering, is he really the one? Were your feelings even mutual? And what if the same thing happens to you? That thing that Christopher did to you?

Many doubtful things about V plagued your mind since that night but, now that he's here, right before you, you're very sure. Very sure, indeed.

You almost did not hear his shy, and yet bashful voice above the overwhelming applause and cheers he received from the other guests as he spoke to you after his heartwarming ( and cheesy ) song. His warm smile, pleading eyes, and gentle touch as he took your hand and planted a kiss on it made you feel like you were the most enchanting woman in the whole wide world.

The one and only enchantingly beautiful woman in V's whole world,...

"Pardon my delay." He told you, the guests still cheering wildly for the both of you. "I was,... catching up on some - "

You cut him off, placing a single finger over those supple lips of his. With wide green eyes, he saw you lean closer to him. And with a wildly racing heart, he heard you whisper sweetly to his ear, "I know. It's alright." Then, giving him an equally warm, and sweet, smile that flung his heart beat off its normal rhythm, you added, "You came. That's all that matters."

"Well, well! If it isn't Mr. Domestic guy!" An obnoxious voice boomed all of a sudden, destroying the sweet and tender mood and killing your moment with V. "How rude of you to keep your lady waiting!"

That,... mother - !

Earning disgusted looks from the people standing closest to you ( especially Trish and Lady ), Christopher went on with his self - primping. And bullying. "And what,... old clothes you wear!"

There, he said it. He emphasized the words, old clothes.

He knew what's going on! You thought as you threw the man a scornful, disgusted look.

Showing your,... true colors! V thought at the same time as he held you closer to him and shielded you from the overbearing guy. I see,...

I will make you pay,... Christopher thought as he gave V a very awful and challenging look. You two,... will pay!

"The better," You answered, your brave voice soaring high above the noise of Fleminger's ball room. " ... to spend this beautiful vintage evening with."

"So, we're talking about spending nights with someone else now, huh?" Christopher, like the rude man that he was, bit the bait, a very visible tint of red coloring his face. You knew that look. He was getting really riled up. "Let's see,... hmm,... how about," He uttered in a sickly sing - song voice as he pointed an accusing finger at both you and V. This made you stand instinctively in front of V, reversing your positions from before, and protecting the poor poet from your evil ex. And this made Christopher even angrier. " ... a challenge, perhaps? Whoever grabs the title of King and Queen this year,... wins! How about that?"

"We have no intention of - " V began but, you cut him off once more. You,... just couldn't stand Christopher's bullying anymore.

This has to stop! Here and now! And you will not stand by idle, and do nothing! You will fight this! And win the war! No matter what it takes!

"How do we do that?" You questioned, feeling your blood boil for the evil doctor. 

"Eh, it's obvious, isn't it?" Christopher gestured with his thumb, pointing at the middle of the room where Dante began doing his Michael Jackson routine once more. "We go by Fleminger's rules. We rule the dancefloor. If you win, I'll leave you two lovebirds alone. If not,... well! We'll see! How's that, Little Miss Domestic?"

Leaving V for a while, you stepped closer towards Christopher and looked at him straight in the eye, dead set on bringing the evil man down.

"You're on," You answered, and with a hint of sass in your voice from being bullied, as well, you added, "Mr. Narcist."

"Now, I wonder who the Damsel In Distress really is here." A male voice interrupted. Turning your eyes to the source of this new voice, you found the robust ( and bald ) host of the party. Smiling at you and bowing theatrically, he spoke. "Pardon my,... intrusion. As you may have already known, I'm called Flanagan Allen Fleminger. But, you can simply call me,... Fleminger."

"Sir Fleminger!" Christopher greeted in an overly exaggerated way. "How wonderful it is to finally meet you. I' am - "

"Did I hear a challenge just now?" Fleminger asked with a very curious smile. "Because I do love challenges!"

You and V gave each other a worried glance, both pondering whether you should take this Fleminger man's intervention as an opportunity or as a warning. The man looked suspicious enough! Really suspicious,...

"Well! My spacious ball room is more than ready,... and equipped,... for any,... chivalrous challenges,... in the name of love. And honor! If I may add." Fleminger exclaimed as he excitedly clasped his hands and glided towards V. How does anyone simply glide like that? "I hope you find it,... challenging enough for your taste,... My Lord." He said and walked away with that mischievous smile on his face.

Fill my heart with song and let me sing for ever more.

You are all I long for,

All I worship and adore.

In other words, please be true.

In other words, I love you.

The music wound to a close, and as you and V took your bow, you heard the audience's excited cheers as they called for Christopher and Lady's name above all other couples who were dancing along with you. It's very difficult to deny it but, that Lancaster guy do have a way with ballroom dances.

And he clearly looked like he's winning the game,...

You felt V's grip on your hands tighten as you noticed him looking with such distress at the horrible enemy. You couldn't really blame him. Three dances in and people just couldn't help but be entranced by Christopher and Lady's moves. It's as if their perfectly choreographed moves has the ability to put anyone under a spell, and that alone spells trouble for both you and V.

What would happen to the two of you if Lancaster wins this?! What would happen if he and Lady becomes King and Queen of The Night? He probably would never stop bullying you and V for the rest of your life!

"Heads up!" You heard Trish tell you with a pat on your arm, making you turn your attention to her and her dance partner, Dante.

"Hey! Rockin' the dance floor?" The Devil Hunter greeted you with an overly confident smile that said I'll nab the title of King! all over despite Christopher's undeniable popularity. And this made Trish roll her eyes.

"Popularity polls don't matter!" Trish went on. With a sly glance at Fleminger, who was watching the dances at one of the upper boxes, she added, "It's him who decides the winner." And with a reassuring smile on her face, she said, "You're doing just fine."

"Yeah, right. Thanks" You answered as you watched the woman regally walk away with Dante. How could any woman stay perfectly poised and fresh after rounds of Waltz, Quick Step, and Foxtrot?!

"(Y/N)," All of a sudden, you heard your partner speak, his low voice slightly making you worry. " ... I should not have dragged the both of us in this hopeless situation. Forgive me,... "

What? "Hey, it's not your fault! I was the one who accepted that man's challenge." You reminded him as the rest of the couples took their five - minute break before the next dance. "It's not your fault, V."

"But, I was the one who invited you here,... " And it was the truth. V wanted you to have a memorable and fun night with him. He planned this event through and through in his head and he honestly thought that everything would go smoothly and perfectly. In his eagerness to fulfill your last wish, he was not able to predict one tiny setback.

And that setback happened to be the biggest, most annoying throat choke that ever lived on the planet. One that just wouldn’t go down in defeat even with more than eight glasses of water and a few cat scratches on the neck. Or, in V’s case, one that refused to stay in the Underworld after being kicked there.

Why didn't he just stay in Hell for good?! That damned Christopher Lancaster?!

"Oh, my!"

V's eyes widened and his protective instincts kicked in as he saw Lady just bump into you. On the other hand, you didn't even notice it when the woman who looked like Audrey Hepburn suddenly, and out of the blue, appeared just like that, and you totally blamed it on your lack of focus.

"Oh, how silly of me!" Lady apologized with a smile as she helped you on your feet.

"It's alright. I wasn't paying attention. I - "

V's eyebrows knitted in confusion as he saw Lady whisper something to you as soon as you got up. He was even tempted to barge in but, when she left a few moments later, he noticed that there was something in her different - colored eyes. A knowing glint,... that apparently only you and her understand.

"My dear, are you alright?" V began asking when he noticed your facial expression changing to a more,... challenging look?

"Yes, I'm,... super!" You answered as you thoughtfully drummed your chin with your fingers. Looking up at him, you touched his arm and said, "I'm just gonna,... fix something."

"P - pardon? Is everything alright?"

"I'll be right back, I promise."

V helplessly watched you as you made your way towards the powder room, and it was definitely not helping with the situation, at all! With Nico, Nero, and his familiars all gone on an errand, he felt his focus vanishing and slipping off his fingers! And being left alone on that unfamiliar dance floor made him feel like he was standing, in the middle of the vast ocean, with about a hundred, hungry sharks swimming about, on a thin sheet of ice that was threatening to break beneath his cold feet!

And he never felt that tensed in his miserable life!

V's eagle sight noticed the musicians as they went back to their pedestal for another round of dance music, and he became all the more nervous for what will occur!

But, he must remain calm! And focused! And -

***

🌸 Okay, this one literally took almost an hour to upload. But, all of a sudden, I developed a strong urge to put V and his beloved into this cheesy 80's music video. It's now 5am, and I'm still singing TAKE ON ME! Oh, rip! Oh, rip, indeed! 😅😅😅 🌸

🌸 @la-vita , @dreaming-gamer , @birdgirl69 , @v-vic , and @hanniskywalker . 🌸

***

"Told you I'll be right back." V heard your sweet and playful voice once more, and when he turned around with vast relief to see you, he was more than shocked!

Your skirt,...

Your beautiful and elegant white skirt,...

YOU RIPPED YOUR SKIRT!

But,... WHY?!

"(Y/N), dear, I don't think that's - !" V stuttered in distress, wanting to blurt out the word inappropriate as gently as he could, as his sight wandered over your bare legs. But, he just could not find any word to replace it. What’s more, he was even beginning to notice the audience taking notice of your sudden change!

"Trust me, V." You reassured him as you smiled confidently at him. Yes, you don't quite trust Lady. But, her words earlier,...

There was no way in hell that she would lie to you! No fricking way!

You looked up at the upper boxes and noticed Fleminger excitedly leaning in closer to his seat the moment the musicians picked up their instruments. A tall guy, followed by two ladies ( probably back up singers ), stepped on the musician's platform and grabbed their own microphones.

Then, the music started.

Oh, Lady was definitely right!

You spread your arms confidently wide in a seemingly familiar pose, waiting for V to take the lead.

A few moments later, V realized,...

The next dance was,... !

***

🌸 Three Wishes 🌸

***

XIII

***

🌸🌸🌸

***

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

The Hunter Who Loved Me (Part 1)

Series Page

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Jack Kline, Dean x OFC

Series Summary: Part Three of Some Sunny Day. Dean's trying to balance his new relationship with Julie and his need to hunt. How long can he keep it from her? And can Julie keep her curiosity at bay?

Section Word Count: 6300

Section Content: language, fluff, dirty talk, smut, Domestic!Dean, Slight Dom!Dean

How did I get so lucky? That this was turning into just another day in her life with Dean Winchester made her shake her head. This has to be what it feels like to win the lottery.

Julie sprayed the top of the sliding glass door with a window cleaner. She took time to enjoy all the sexiness on the other side of the glass, the view of Dean in her backyard, while attending to her household chore. A few final touches and Dean would be done with the assembly. Crouched down and bent at the knees, Dean added some utensil hooks to the side of the grill. Unknowing, he was giving her all of that gorgeous, serious profile of his to study. Sunshine streaked through his hair and flamed the fiery orange-red tips incognito most of the time. She wiped away the cleaner slipping over her view. 

The grill had been an impromptu purchase on her end the weekend before. She and Dean had gone to, of all places, a home improvement store together. He had noticed a couple things around her house that needed fixing. But he wanted to run the ideas past her and some options before he went ahead and did anything. It was very domestic and thoughtful of him. It brought a huge grin to her face. 

He’d snuck a peck on her cheek when they were alone in the garden and patio center, talking about the drop in price of some seasonal stuff. His eyes lit up at a behemoth gas grill. He whistled and spouted off the stats: three burners, one on the side, plus a sear station burner to boot. The sucker could deliver 60,000 BTUs, which according to Dean, was awesome. Those meaty, handy fingers of his glided over the stainless steel top. Julie heated up.

It was decided that since Julie was throwing Brigida a surprise birthday party that following weekend and the October weather was pleasant enough, why not buy a grill and make it an outdoor affair. Most of the guests would end up outside anyway. Would Dean be keen on manning the meat for her? Julie tossed the unintentional innuendo out and had the six foot plus Adonis blushing in the middle of the display floor.

Satisfied with the streak free glass, Julie went out to check on Dean’s status. He leaned up from his work position and smiled. “All good. She’s ready for action. Just lit her up.”

Julie nodded, sighing in relief. “Cutting it close.” A couple hours from now the guests would arrive. And Brigida would definitely be on time, if not earlier, an hour after that.

“Yeah. But, it only took me threatening three store clerks at nine am this morning. Pulled a working igniter out of the floor model to get this baby up and running.” He waved both hands in the air with a flourish. “Now, we’re golden. No more nose crinkles. The meat’s marinating in your fridge.” He cocked a thumb over to Wes and Samuel’s house. “They’ve got the booze covered and some side dishes.”

“You need me to dash out for anything else before I finish up my food and the cookies to go along with the ice cream cake?”

He shook his head and drew her in by the waist, their bodies snug. “You trust me with all that fire power?”

Her hand rubbed over his vintage AC/DC t-shirt right under the collar. Sweat stippled his brow from the running around and grill tweaking. The mix of it with his sharp, clean soap scent got her warm and tingly. God, how does he make sexy so effortless? “You can handle it. I’m no Prometheus. You should worry more about my mom trying to take over the grill once she gets here.”

“Hey, it’s her birthday. If she wants the tongs and spatula, I’ll hand them over and be her sous chef.”

Julie smiled. “She’d probably love that.”

He grinned and bent down to dust her bottom lip with his mouth. “How many we gotta feed again?”

She rattled off the memorized total. “Twenty-two, not including us. Fifteen adults, three kids, two teenagers, and two dogs.”

Dean tipped his head. “Piece of cake.”

Julie smirked. “Not pie?”

His fingers flirted over the denim covering her ass. “Saving your pie for later.” He leaned down again for a deeper kiss.

Julie’s backyard had never seen such activity. Lawn chairs scattered over the freshly mowed lawn. Stacey and Carl’s two older children, Evan, 10, and Rory, 7, played cornhole in the driveway. Brigida had latched onto their youngest boy, two year old Dylan, right after everyone had given her a Happy Birthday surprise welcome. Karen’s boyfriend, Carter, the New York Mergers and Acquisitions lawyer, Wes, and Carl kept Dean company by the grill. He seared chicken, flipped hot dogs, checked and rechecked the pork ribs, sipped his beer, and took doneness requests for the beef burgers. 

Samuel chatted under the covered patio with Karen, Stacey, Cat and her partner Sheila, along with the handful of Brigida’s Little Italy neighbors that had made the short trek out of the city to celebrate. Karen’s teenage boys hid most of the time, busy on their phones under the shade of the carport. Julie attempted to involve Karen’s oldest, Khaleel - a sullen 16 who more than likely wanted to be anywhere else - asking if he would man the playlist blaring out of the portable bluetooth speaker. The younger by two years, Kevin, emerged from his cocoon to explain TikTok to Dean. The explanation only furrowed the cook’s brow even more.

Julie caught Dean’s this-is-for-the-guests smile settle into the I’m-actually-kinda-glad-to-see-you version when Cas and Jack finally showed up. Cas had picked up some weekend shifts to make ends meet. Jack was still working his side job as much as he could, balancing school, to save up for his trip to Texas over Winter Break. He was going to MIRL with this fantasy girl if it was the last thing he ever did. At least, that was the confession he had told Julie as the four hung out for a movie and pizza over Dean’s a month back.

Cas took his usual post at Dean’s right side by the grill. Julie glanced over every so often at the comical duo. Somewhere between Abbott and Costello and Martin and Lewis. Dean monitored his friend’s interactions with the new group of men. If Cas needed to pull back on the conversation a bit or shift to another topic, Dean cued him with a slight shake of a head or cough. Cas held his beer in a fierce grip and mimicked Dean when he took a sip. God, there is so much codependency there. What they hell did they go through together? Dean gave Jack a pair of tongs and had him man the second round of dogs. Jack smiled from ear to ear like a teenager getting the keys to the car after passing his driver’s license. And, he’s like a second dad to that kid.    

As was always the case in hosting, and determined to not have her mom lift a finger, Julie barely had time to relax or eat for the first hour of the party. She made sure the other food got served when Dean plattered and presented grilled meats. The two of them used a lot of hand gestures and miming to coordinate everything. Dean would every so often switch things up and make Julie blush with a few obscene ones.   

Once Dean had been schooled by Cat on Salt and Pepa’s breeds - a Samoyed and Belgian Sheepdog, respectively - he had them eating out of and drooling into his hands for scraps. Cas and Jack procured a frisbee from the outdoor toys and tossed it back and forth with the kids. The dogs played monkey in the middle.

Dean called out to Julie once everyone else was situated and eating. “Jules! Got a medium-well burger with your name on it, ready in a minute.” He winked over. She set the last of the latest round of drinks in front of guests and gave him a thumbs up.

Stacey cooed. “Knows just how you like your meat, does he?”

The old college friends did their share of giggling and cackling. Julie pointed a finger from Samuel to Stacey. “No more of your red wine for this one.” 

Carl tapped his wife’s knee. “Take it easy, sweetie.” Stacey gave her husband a slobbery raspberry on the cheek.

“That is a sweet ride.” Carter pointed to Baby in Dean’s driveway as her owner snuck behind Julie. He presented a cheeseburger on a perfectly toasted bun. Julie smiled at the lettuce, tomato, onions and pickles - all her favorites - already on top. The charred meat and fixings smelled divine. Her stomach grumbled. A side glance noted her mom’s own smiling face. Brigida stared over at the both of them while talking to the two older couples.

“Well, you can take a look under the hood later if you want, Carter. Rebuilt her more times than I can count.” He whispered in Julie’s ear. “Eat something before you pass out.”

She grinned, wanting to tease that he sounded like Brigida, but thought better of it. Stacey and the crew were watching their interactions like hungry vultures, ready to pounce on anything too tasty to tease about.

“So, Dean, if the ladies have another girls’ night, maybe we can get us a poker game over at my house.” Carl interjected.

Sheila chimed in, “Only if I can join.”

Julie overheard Cas whisper to Dean in confusion. “Wouldn’t Sheila be a part of girls’ night?”

Dean muttered back, “Not if she has better taste in music than the rest of them.”

Carter shook his head. “Oh, God, you wiped me out last time we played poker Sheila.”

Dean cocked a brow and gave Sheila a lopsided grin. “Some actual competition. Sounds like we gotta make that happen soon.”

Sheila tipped her beer to Dean and gave his frame a thorough inspection.

“My poker skills would benefit from someone new to play with, as well.” Cas nodded to Sheila. “I know all of Dean’s tells at this point. It’s getting rather boring.”

Sheila patted the empty seat next to her. “You might be my new best friend, then, Cas.”

Cas smiled and puffed out his chest.

Dean whispered to Julie, “Should I break the news that he hasn’t a shot in hell?”

Karen helped Julie with some of the kitchen cleanup before dessert. It was really a ruse for alone time and girl talk.

“How was it?” Karen asked in a hushed tone, in case anyone snuck in. She’d known about Julie going on birth control again. Had actually been the one to give her the idea in the first place.

“Which time?” Julie smiled. “We’ve been at it every night since the middle of this week when I surprised him.” She added. “Sometimes two or three times.”

“Jesus. Two or three? Carter’s five years younger than me and two times in one night has never… never happened. Three?” Karen fanned herself over the sink and running water. “How are you handling all that man, Jules?” Her brown eyes widened while she rinsed plates to drop in the dishwasher. 

Julie answered by holding her hands apart to approximate Dean’s length.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Karen’s voice raised. She slapped a palm over her mouth at the outburst. Water and suds flew everywhere.

Julie crossed a finger over her chest, blinking at the water that splashed her face. “When have I lied under oath?” 

“Be careful or you’re going to get a UTI.” She added in a whisper, “From all that fucking.”

Julie laughed. “I booked a follow up with my gyno as soon as I got the prescription. I see her next week.” She whispered back. “Kar, it was amazing, mind blowing before this. But now, it’s like…” Julie trailed off, daydreaming about her lover in the backyard. Her insides sore, throbbing with the memory of him; a deep and beautiful stoking she couldn’t wait to experience again. 

“I think Carter and Carl have crushes on him.” Karen shook her head. “Carter might come in his pants if he gets that car tour.”

“Don’t tell Cat, but I think Sheila might be crushing, too.” Julie giggled.

“We heard that!” Stacey and Cat screamed in unison. Karen and Julie screamed back in shock. Cat, a bit tipsy herself this afternoon, sported a toothy grin. From Julie’s vantage, she was lighter than usual, airy even. One of her arms draped over Stacey’s shoulders as the duo sashayed into the kitchen.

“Only speaking the truth.” Karen raised a hand as the other still clutched her chest at the friendly fright.

Stacey waved a hand. “I get dibs on Dean when Jules is done with him.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Julie rolled her eyes. “Not planning on it anytime soon, Stace.”

Cat opened her mouth. Her eyes caught the threat Julie’s eyes beamed with an intentional telepathy. Cat snapped her jaw shut before the other ladies noticed.

“Not fair to keep all the juicy details to yourself.” Stacey whined, sliding out from Cat’s grip and into one of the kitchen chairs. She slumped over the table, elbow propped, cradling her chin in a manicured hand. “Some of us have needs.” She sighed.

Cat leaned against a counter, eyes glazed behind her glasses. “I think Brigida’s had one too many.”

Julie was happy for the segway but not pleased with the content. She settled her own glasses against the bridge of her nose in a nervous tick. “Really? A saw her with a glass of wine. But, she usually only has a little.”

“I think Wes and Samuel made her a special birthday cocktail.”

“Ugh.” She wiped both hands down across her face. “Love ‘em but those men and their alcohol.”

Stacey did her best pigeon impression again. “Do you love ‘em as much as Dean?”

A very deep throat clearing had all four ladies turn their head to the hallway. Dean stood there carrying a huge empty platter covered in meat bits and juices. “Am I interrupting something?” Julie blushed at the proud grin on his face. He skimmed past Stacey’s seated frame. Stacey was eye level with the denim hugging his ass and licked her lips. He excused himself again and slid around Cat, lifting the platter over Julie’s head winding past, to end up near Karen by the sink. “This is a nasty one. Let me take care of this, Karen.” He offered.

She shook her head. “Hand it over. Least we can do after you did such a stellar job at the grill. You got Kevin to eat a burger that doesn’t come in a fast food bag.”

“That is high praise. Thanks.” He smiled and gave Julie a once over before asking, “Anything else have to go out?”

“You think I should grab the ice cream cake out of the basement fridge?”

“It might be a good idea soon.” Dean shrugged. “Everyone’s either winding down or is pretty hammered.” He glanced over at Stacey.

Julie nodded and pointed at the counter behind him. “Would you take that tray out with the dessert plates and all the other necessities? Pretty please?”

He winked. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Stacey groaned. “Ugh. Could you two reel in the cuteness?”

Julie ignored the request. “Thank you. Cat.” She turned to ask her friend. “Wanna help me with the cake?” 

“Um, sure.” Cat hesitated.

When they got down to the basement, Julie listened to ensure Dean’s heavy steps had made their way out the sliding door and Stacey and Karen were busy talking in the kitchen.

“I’m not the best person to ask to carry a cake upstairs.” Cat mumbled.

“You can spot me.” Her hand rested on the fridge handle. “Speaking of looking out for me…”

“I know. I haven’t reached out much since that last conversation we had.” Cat shrugged. “You sounded happy that night, with him. I figured I should mind my own business for once and stop investigating.”

“Thank you, Cat.” Julie smiled.

“He seems decent, Julie. A good guy, even. Simple. Easy.” Cat waved a hand. “I don’t mean either of those things as a negative.”

Julie laughed. “I know. But, trust me, he’s anything but simple or easy to figure out.” She tilted her head. “I’ve been thinking... would you send me over a couple of those books you found?”

Cat pursed her lips. “I’ll think about it.”

It was ten o’clock by the time Dean and Julie finished with a majority of the clean up from the party. The last dishwasher load had been started, all the guests had gone home, and Brigida was fussing in the kitchen. Dean looked like a very uncomfortable giant next to the birthday lady.

“I don’t need-ah to stay.” Brigida insisted. “Dean-ah can take me home.” Her Italian accent was a lot heavier laced with alcohol.

“No, Dean can’t. None of us should be driving, Ma. We’ve all had a bit too much to drink. You have your extra meds here in your room. You’re going to take them, drink lots of water, and go to bed.”

She waved her hands. “I don’t want to be in the way.”

Julie rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Brigida, we just threw a party for you. How could you think you’re in the way?” Dean asked with true sincerity in his voice.

“Dean-ah.” She clutched his forearm. “I don’t want-ah you to run home. And, I know-ah this one won’t leave me in the house alone-ah. Thinkin’ I won’t be able to walk twenty steps without falling over and knocking myself out-ah.”

Dean shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, I’m pretty tired. Long day.”  

“Ma, Dean can stay over if he wants to.” Julie widened her eyes to encourage Dean to play along.

“Ye-yeah. Sure. We’re both exhausted.” He faked a long yawn and stretched out an arm. “Sooo tired. Gonna conk out as soon as my head hits the pillow.”

Brigida grinned. “You are a bad liar.” She tapped his tummy. “Fine. I’ll get myself ready for bed.” She raised both arms at Julie. “Appy?”

“Very happy.” Julie smiled. “Need me to help you with anything?”

“No.” Brigida motioned for Dean to bend down. She gave him a very long mama bear hug and then squeezed a cheek. “Thank you.”

Julie’s heart warmed at the interaction.

His facial features squirmed under Brigida’s vice grip. “Welcome.”

When she retracted her fingers, she announced, “I’ll be up early cleanin’ and makin’ breakfast.” She shuffled out of the kitchen. Her loud voice rang out in the hallway. “Don’t come down here naked in the morning, Dean-ah. Not-ah unless you got plans for me.”

Dean snorted as Julie yelled. “Ma!” 

Dean shook his head. “She’s even more of a pistol drunk.” He wrapped arms around Julie when they were alone. “I’ll hang out until she’s in her room and sleeping. I don’t think it’ll take long. Help you clean up some more. Then, I’ll duck out.” His kiss was soft and warm.

Julie hummed. “You heard her. She’s making you breakfast.” She shrugged. “You can stay.”

Dean smiled. “Sweetheart, if I stay, we won’t be sleeping.”

“Good.”

They took turns in the upstairs bathroom. Dean first, as usual, since Julie took longer with her nighttime skin routine. Cleanser, applied to her face in gentle circular motions, wiped away the makeup and sweat from the day. Cool water splashed against her skin. Splashes of moments from the party entered her mind. Her mom’s absolute shock and then subsequent soft crying at the surprise. Stacey wrangled the girl power squad together for a group selfie. It would post onto the social medias before Stacey got well and fully sloshed. Cas pulled her to the side to give her a genuine, heartfelt thank you for the invitation. Jack assisted with the dish clearing without even having to be asked. Mom’s ancient, pudgy neighbor, Lydia, who didn’t move once from her seat under the patio, tugged at Julie’s wrist to tell her she needed to do a better job holding onto this man than the last one. 

She patted away most of the wetness with a face towel. This man. She opened the medicine cabinet to put away some items and grab the moisturizer. Everything she disliked about her face on bright display under the bathroom lighting. The pads of her fingers danced over the circles under her eyes and some of the wrinkles forming around her mouth. All those old Italian women and their snarky little comments. Wondering what Dean’s doing with me. Even with all of his secrets and all that she still didn’t know, she still felt that tug of insecurity. Not being good enough. His imperfections, the cracks appearing over the months of infatuation and obsession with this man, were making themselves known. But they were all things she could handle and cast aside at the end of the day. Because all it took was that one second of his eyes locking with hers in that way. That very Dean way. Craving it in that moment, she hurried and worked the cream into her skin.

She entered the dark bedroom. The only illumination was from the television, the volume low and muffled. White light from the screen flashed like lightning over Dean, laid out on the still made bed. 

He had slipped on the grey and blue plaid pajama bottoms Julie bought him. She picked them up as an afterthought one Sunday shopping when he’d started staying over a couple times a week. He came across them, folded and waiting, on the unspoken but understood side of Julie’s bed that was now his. A lopsided grin had been given as thanks.

There was a reason I didn’t buy him a shirt. A remote in hand rested on his tummy and that luscious bare chest. He cradled his head atop two pillows with his other palm; his biceps curled, primed, and ready for action. Legs crossed at the ankles and his foot swayed with an ancy rhythm. The image of him stretched out imprinted in her brain under the bright pops of light as if someone were taking lots of polaroids of this magnificent specimen.  

He turned to her, smiled, then whispered, “Wanna watch something?” The remote was used as a pointing device toward the floor. “I can’t tell if that’s a chainsaw or your mom snoring.”

Julie nodded. “I told you, you can hear everything in this house.”

“Maybe soundproofing needs to be another project.” He frowned. “This is going to be torture.”

She giggled low and soft, hands on her hips, cinching in her oversized nightshirt. “Why?”

His fingers skirted over the comforter creeping in her direction. “Cause I want to make you moan like the other night.” 

That very Dean way. The sexy stare made her smile drop. “Thought you were tired.”

“Come here, sweetheart.” He gave her a chin nod.

Julie sighed and eased onto the bed, aware of every creak and squeak. “Karen was right.”

“‘Bout what?” He opened an arm. His embrace clutched her to his warm chest.

She snuggled in. “You’re going to give me blushing bride syndrome.”

“A blushing what now?”

His lips pressed to hers cut off an immediate response. She nibbled on his chin when he released. “Too much sex. You know, can cause issues down there.”

He pulled back to study her face. “I’m not going to apologize for wanting you.”

“Not asking you to.” She pressed into him.

Mischief lined his lips. “Maybe I should take it easy on you. Give you a break. Since we have to be quiet and all.” He flashed the all-knowing, hot shit grin that stopped her heart. “I mean, we know you can’t keep that dirty little mouth of yours shut when mine’s all over you... or inside you.” His voice was husky and gritty, breathing near her ear. 

“Oh, really?” She whispered her retort. “Who was the one panting and groaning last night about how hard he was going to come?”

Dean latched onto one of her knees. The pull dragged a thigh to rest over his hip. His warm hand traveled and danced along her skin. It snuck under the night shirt; pushed it high up past her waist. Fingers clutched at the top of her bare ass and kneaded. He shifted into her more and wedged their bodies tight. “Nah. You couldn’t have heard that. You were too busy screaming my name over and over.”

A jarring motor-like sound drifted up from Brigida’s bedroom for only a second. They froze in place. Dean chuckled. Tangled together, Julie rested a finger on his mouth. “Shhh.” She pressed into the softness of his perfect pout with more force and threw in a nose crinkle for good measure.

“I wasn’t going to say anything…” His lips struggled to release the words under her finger. Julie had learned early on upon their meeting that Dean enjoyed teasing out a variety of reactions from her.

She sighed and relented the tiny attempt at restraint. “What?”

“When you were in the bathroom earlier and I got a good listen of it all. Actually had something to compare it to.” He paused. “You snore like your mom.” His grin spread slow and wide, lips pursed tight.

Julie’s eyes widened on defense. “No, I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do.” He nodded, still grinning, lifting his brow for emphasis. “Get so loud.” A slight, controlled circling of those strong hips began. The motion matched the sensual rhythm of his verbal descriptions. “You start off so nice and quiet. Then it’s up. And up. And up. Like a freight train in here some nights, sweetheart.”

A few more seconds of silence followed. “Shit.” That was the only admission Julie would allow, listening to his description of her inherited sleeping habits while succumbing to the wondrous feel of his body lighting her up. “Don’t compare me to my mother while doing that, Dean.”

Dean laughed and gave her another chin nod in victory. “Still. Proves my point. Can’t help yourself. Way louder and noisier than I could ever be.” 

Julie nuzzled close, finding the tunnel under his arm. Firm strokes down the slope of his back relished in the heat vibrating through his body. She ran a thumb back and forth over that plump pillow of a bottom lip. “You were the one that almost broke my headboard. Remember? Talk about noise.” And talk about fucking hot. “White knuckling it to get some leverage, slamming it into the wall.” His mouth parted and a hunger filled his gaze. She grinned at the erection hardening more in the pajamas against her patch of curls. “While you were slamming into me.”

He caught her thumb with a clench of teeth. His tongue flirted along the pad before he sucked at it with a low moan. His lips released it when he whispered back. “That was a memorable fuck, sweetheart. You under me. Letting me ride you so hard. Wish I could pound you like that for days. Wreck us both.”

“Jesus, Dean.” Julie moaned, rocking soft against his clothed cock.  “There wouldn’t be anything left of me.”

The hand left her ass, skirted under the shirt. Those meaty fingers landed on the curve of her breast and massaged into bliss. “But what a way to go.” He groaned, then peeled away enough to dip down and mouth a nipple through the shirt. “Shit, got me so hard.” He spoke between licks and sucks. “I wanna fuck you. All. The. Time.” The warmth and wet of his mouth soaked through to the taut nub. “All I could think about today was getting you alone. Here. Like this.” He nudged at the material with his nose to expose the dark, pebbly flesh to the air and his mouth. “Sliding inside you again. Nothin’ but me and you.” He suckled at her tit. When he came up for air and met her gaze, he whispered in that smoke and honey tone. “It feels like home inside you, Jules.”

Dean’s eyes lit up with another flash from the television. Glassy, eager and laser focused with intent. He always downplayed his ability to convey and verbalize feelings. But that confession, those six words - It feels like home inside you - made her whole body shiver. Like the night they’d first had sex. You feel so safe. It had been four little words back then. Not THOSE three little words. But it was pretty damn close.

“I think we should give ourselves a challenge.” The seriousness faded from his face, replaced with that impish grin. “A quiet, well contained, controlled fucking.”

Julie giggled, her body still buzzing from his actions and words. Her hands answered, pulling the pajamas down past his ass. He lifted up from the mattress an inch to assist with the disrobing. The fabric bunched around his knees.

He groaned when she tugged at his cock, free and rigid. She curled toes and peeled the material down far enough so he could shake his feet out the rest of the way. “Turn around, baby.” His voice held an authoritative tone. “Everything. Off.”

In the process of her slow and quiet one-eighty flip she rid herself of the nightshirt. The cool air in the room prickled at hot skin. He moaned at the sight. “That’s not being quiet.” She tisked.

He lassoed her in with a bear hug, onto her side, this time her back sealed along his chest. A haphazard pull at the band released the ponytail. His fingers brushed away strands. Searing lips attacked the exposed flesh of her neck. “Are you gonna be good for me?”

She stifled a moan and nodded.

“Hm.” Fingers slid into the folds, finding the wetness. “Very good so far.” He pushed farther in and searched. Circled her entrance. “All this for me already?” He groaned in her ear. “Goddamn, I wanna get my mouth on that. But we know you really can’t contain yourself when my face is between your legs.” Those fingers ended up at his mouth. She could smell her excitement, inches away. The sound of his lips sucking and his moans stoked her need. “Maybe a challenge for the morning.” He thought aloud.

His body, large and eclipsing, leaned up, shifting. His cock slid between the cheeks of Julie’s ass like a heat seeking missile. She let out a pitiful whine and bit her lip. They hadn’t even talked about that as an option. But every time his cock got tantalizingly close the thought had crossed her mind. She’d never wanted to try, not even with Steve. But Dean. Dean made her want to experience everything.

The sex with Dean had been many things over the past months: fun, playful, sweet, luxuriating, romantic, fast, rough, hard, naughty, and tons of dirty talk. Yet, none of that fifty shades stuff or roleplaying she had anticipated. Almost vanilla sex in comparison from what her mind could conjure up. 

Almost, but never vanilla. Not with Dean. It was that French Vanilla ice cream that you’d get at a family owned creamery worth a two hour drive. One made by an artisan, churned by hand. One bursting with flecks of vanilla bean hitting all the taste buds. It was rich, creamy, indulgent, velvety, cool, lolling about on your tongue, savoring the flavor in the moment, crystalizing a memory for wonderful recollections.  

Still, there was a palpable restraint by Dean, holding back, in terms of physical limits even if never in vocal declarations. Sometimes she thought she could feel the inner shift in Dean. It could be an imperceptible tell if their bodies weren’t so connected; a retraction of his muscles under that worn skin and the myriad of scars she would cling to in mounting desperation of the most amazing kind. He never out and out stated it. Dean never would. But she felt like the pilot in this jet when it came down to it. He was her trusty co-pilot, offering suggestions but always adhering to the final decision, charting her course, making sure she stayed on track, allowing her control. Allowing her safety. 

“No one’s gonna be quiet if we give that a try tonight.” Dean read her mind, again keeping her on track with the original plan. He scooted down, cupping her figure with his. “Any other night, sweetheart, you let me know.” He dotted her back with kisses and wedged a knee between her legs. The motion splayed her bottom half, spreading her. His palm crooked under her knee, bent it just so. “But, this way.” The cock tip pressed at the entrance. “I think we can both get what we need and not wake sleeping beauty.” He licked little patches along her shoulder blade. “What’s that thing you always say?”

Jesus, why is he teasing me now? “When?” She huffed out.

“When you come over and decide to clean up my kitchen.”

“No muss, no fuss?”

He rumbled into her back and began the slide. Inside. “Yeah. That’s it. No Muss. No Fuss.” His large palm grabbed at her breast, latched onto it, thumbed the nipple. She could feel the strength of his hips guiding the wondrous length and girth of his cock. He bottomed into her and stopped. She wanted to feel how tight his ass was clenched in that moment. Sought it out with a hand and squeezed. “Hm.” He approved of the action. “How does that feel, sweetheart?” His voice, low, deep.

“You feel so good inside me Dean. You feel good everywhere.” She moaned when the controlled pistoning switched on. 

“Hm. So, the quiet part is gonna be impossible for you, huh?”

She moaned again, softer, she thought. “This is me being quiet.”

“Baby?” He moaned out the question.

“Yeah?”

“Would you be alright if I helped keep you quiet?”

A fire lit up in her belly. “Yeah.”

He groaned. An arm threaded between her rocking body and the mattress. His hand slid up her chest, over her neck, her jaw. Settled over her mouth. “If it’s too much.” He panted. “If I get too carried away, you tap. Okay?”

She tapped his ass cheek to confirm she understood. Listened to his inhales and exhales. His thumb wedged between her upper lip and the underside of her nose. Two massive fingers clamped over her mouth. The other two had a firm grip under her chin, ensuring her lips stayed closed. All while he pumped in and out of her from behind, slow and purposeful.

“Feel so fucking good.” He whispered. His mouth pecked at her back, shoulder, her side, her arm, anywhere it could reach. “Four nights into your ‘I’m on the pill’ surprise.” He panted out his confession. “I’m sure I’m going to come down eventually, Jules. If that gives you some hope. About this blushing bride thing.” A soft growl left his mouth. “I mean, I’m no Superman.” She moaned into his hand when his pace and thrusts picked up. He was still very much in control and not rocking the bed like she knew he could. “But, I am Batman.” His chuckle vibrated into her back.

He shifted, circled, found that spot in her and focused all his energy. More muffled moans erupted from Julie.

“Shhh, sweetheart.” He used more of his palm against her mouth now, pressed harder against the flesh. “Be good for me.”

The subtle restraint was electric, increasing her pleasure tenfold. The sounds of her slick and his rutting inside her only made her more wet.

“I gotta feel you cum.” He begged. His other hand glided over the top of her thigh, rested against the mattress and palmed her pussy. “I’m gonna work you quick, baby. Okay?”

She nodded as much as she could with the hold of his hand.

He parted the folds, found her swollen clit and took no mercy. It was hard, fast. Explosions of light began popping into her brain. Her body jerked with slight tremors. It wouldn’t be long. “Yeah, that’s it. I love it when you come undone. Cum all over my cock.” Dean whispered.

His voice tipped her into the orgasm. She moaned, tightened, while he continued to pump.

“Yeah, right behind you, Julie. Yeah. Fuck.” And, he was, chasing her with his own orgasm. The pulsing of his cock, the spilling of him inside, warm, mingling with her wet he’d produced. His pants and groans against her back. His weight on her body, hand still cupping her mouth. “Man. I give us an A for effort. But, I wasn’t much better than you in the sound department. I might need a damn muzzle.”

Julie smiled into his palm.

“Sorry, baby.” He removed his hand from her mouth. “Should have tapped me. You okay?”

She nodded into the comforter. “Oh, yeah.” Eased onto her back. “Definitely. Can we do more of that?”

He laughed, staring with those beautiful eyes, crinkles extending the gleeful expression on his face. That very Dean way. “Sure.” He shrugged. “Just maybe not tonight?” He kissed her lips, then flashed her an exhausted smile. “I really am pretty beat. Been one helluva long day.”

Julie nodded. “Me too.” She tapped his forearm. “Bathroom again for me and then sleep.”

“Don’t be long.” He collapsed onto his back and closed his eyes.

She smiled, closing the bathroom door. He’d be asleep by the time she slipped back into bed. The sounds of his snores would cover a variety of animals from a grunting pig to a snarling lion. But she wouldn’t tease him in the morning about it. She promised to give him a pass.

Part 2

Series Page

[lolabean1998]

This Better Work! Part 1

Sweet Pea X OC

Summery; Hey guys, not sure how well this is going to go but I originally put it on Wattpad so its way long, but hopefully its not horrendous. Let me know what you think! So, it follows the story line kind of, it’s not exact but I have tried and it follows my OC Ali as she navigates through the hell that is Riverdale. Whilst struggling with financial, social and romantic difficulties, she has the added pressure of keeping up with school work and bonus of being thrown into the frightening world of the criminal underground.

Side Note; None of the gifs or pictures I use are mine, I’m not talented or smart enough to even begin an attempt at making my own. Thank you to those who have such abilities and if you don't want me using them then please let me know so I can remove them for you. 

Word Count; 3487 (Give Or Take)

Masterlist   Part-2

"She's so hot it hurts!" Reggie groaned as he watched the bubbly blonde smile, dance, flip and cheer her heart out alongside her red headed best friend Cheryl Blossom. Her long blonde hair swishing and flicking as she moved effortlessly to the beat, her bright, happy smile shining like a beacon and catching like wild fire. Her cheerleading uniform hugging her tanned and toned body in all the right places, accentuating her muscular but feminine figure as she elegantly threw herself into a somersault.

 She had moved to Riverdale a few years ago with her mum and sister from England when her father passed away. They had decided to move to get a fresh start and be closer to her uncle Gary, their last remaining relative. She worked with him at his garage, picking up the work he didn't have time for. When she wasn't busy getting straight A's, cheering, tutoring or helping at the Blue and Gold. It went without saying that she was the hardest working person in Riverdale.

"Catching flies Reggie?" She chirped as she took her seat beside him waiting for the game to begin.

"Cute Ali, What d'you say to grabbing a bite to eat with me after I win this match?" He replied slightly arrogantly. Ali laughed placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Thanks for the offer but it's a hard pass, I already have a very hot date with a vintage car and very sexy Harley." Ali grinned, her smile contagious as ever and her eyes seemed to radiate cheerful rays of sunshine, day or night. Cheryl laughed wrapping her arm around her best friends shoulder placing a kiss on her rosy cheeks.

"Punching way above your weight there don't you think Mantle? She's on a level so high the only one equal to her is mwah, run along meat head she's spending tonight with me." Cheryl interrupted with a grin. 

"Hey Cheryl darling, can you wear the handcuffs tonight after our naked pillow fight? My wrists are still sore from last time and I still have teeth marks on my boobs." Ali asked, her face deadly serious as the girls teased and tormented Reggie. Cheryl grinned wickedly, she loved the effect their little jokes had on the guys, she nodded sincerely before moving down to rest her cheek on the side of Ali's boob.

"I'm sorry my babies, was mommy too rough last time? I'll be gentle this time I promise." She cooed, speaking softly to Ali's boobs. Reggies jaw dropped further, sending the girls buckling over in raging fits of laughter.

"You two are cruel you know that, cute but cruel." he stated with a smirk as he got up and headed onto the pitch. The girls spent the whole game cheering, smiling and dancing letting out loud hollers and flips when Reggie won the game. Before rushing to the changing rooms to shower and change ready for the long night ahead. 

Jumping in Cheryl’s stunning red, 1961 Chevrolet Impala convertible and tearing out the school parking lot. With Ali quickly jumping out as Cheryl dropped her off at the garage before speeding down to Pops to pick up their order. Ali hurriedly covered up the necessary sections of the old-style flame red hearse. Before turning on the heat pad she and her little sister had made to keep their food warm whilst they worked and grabbing the masks and goggles ready for the spray gun she would be using after they'd eaten. 

"Jesus, what happened to this poor little guy?" Cheryl asked as she stepped out of her car and passed a very beaten and broken motorbike. Her eyes filled with sympathy as she stared at the helpless wreckage, placing the bag of deliciousness that was Pops cheese burger, fries and onion rings on the heat pad Ali had set up.

"Hurts to look at doesn't it!" Ali agreed grabbing a cheese burger and taking a large bite. She was always hungry after a game. All that cheering, and dancing worked up quite the appetite. 

Whilst the girls shared barely any sympathy for other people, they made up for it by sympathizing with the vehicles Ali was given to fix up. They stared at the broken, mud splattered bike for a moment. Eating their food in peaceful silence.

"What happened to him?" Cheryl asked after finishing the last bite of her burger and grabbing a few fries.

"He got into it with the big guy over here!" Ali pointed towards the hearse they were about to re-paint. "If his rider hadn't thrown them into a ditch, we'd be holding a funeral instead of an operation." She sighed shaking her head. 

Cheryl stared, puzzled at her best friends comment. Silently hinting for her to elaborate.

Ali sighed pointing to the bike "Snakes" then pointed towards the hearse, "Ghoulies".

"Enough said." Cheryl rolled her eyes. Covering the food and pulling on a pair of grubby overalls before placing the goggles and mask carefully on her face. Giving Ali the thumbs up to get started on the paint work. 

After an hour of tedious spraying and endless gossiping the paint job was done. The roaring red, orange and yellow flames had been restored to their former glory. Ali and Cheryl could finally lay the paints and stencils to rest.

"I'm so glad that's over. If Malachi scratches this paint job again, I'll kill him twice!" Ali whined stretching her arms and wrists to relieve some of the tension. Cheryl nodded, releasing an agonizing groan in agreement. Only to jump enthusiastically to her feet immediately afterwards,  throwing the mask and goggles to the worktop and sliding the slightly dusty red tool box to the centre of the room.

"Now it's time for the fun stuff, you sure you've got all the parts for tough guy in the corner?" Cheryl grinned eagerly as Ali nodded wheeling the bike to the centre of the room beside her tool box. 

"All we need now is background music, food and gossip. Shouldn't be hard!" She grinned plugging her phone into the old boom box on her worktop and pressing shuffle play. Pulling two stools with her as she moved back to the bike. 

"Still can't believe the state of this poor baby." Ali sighed as she began digging out bits of mud and debris left over from the ditch.

"That's boy's for you. It's just typical, they get into all kinds of trouble, cause a hug mess and then leave it for us girls to clear up. Whilst the misogynistic pigs continue fuelling their already oversized ego's. Telling everyone about how they wrecked their bike doing something reckless and crazy." Cheryl ranted, pulling a large twig out and splattering herself with mud.

"You want to be careful what you Northsiders say about those misogynistic, egotistical boys. They could just as easily snap you in half young lady." A deep gravelly voice spoke up from the shadows. However, Ali and Cheryl were far to absorbed in the fixing of such a magnificent bike to notice they were no longer alone.

"Ali you live on the Northside of the border. That makes YOU a Northsider too. And what’s up with your voice? You sound like an old, spent, has been that smokes 3 packs a day." Cheryl questioned. Her eyes carefully inspecting the now almost completely clean bike, scanning for any further damage. Ali popped her head up almost meerkat like at Cheryl’s comment.

"What are you talking about? I didn't say anything." She puzzled, spotting the tool she had been looking for, lying besides Cheryl’s leg. 

"Hey, can you pass me the thingy ma jig by your leg?" She asked pointing to the tool. Nodding a thanks when Cheryl stopped to pass her the spanner. "Cheers, what were we talking about?" 

Before Cheryl had a chance to answer a tall, middle aged man with a rugged grey beard appeared from the shadows.

"I believe you were calling me a spent has been!" The gravelly voice spoke up again, making the girls flinch ever so slightly.

"Jeez Hog-Eye, knock next time! We thought you were a dangerous criminal or something!" Ali exclaimed wiping the back of her hand on her forehead. Hog-Eye sighed, slumping into the office chair by the worktop and pinching the bridge of his nose in exhausted annoyance.

"Ali I AM a dangerous criminal" He declared now rubbing his temples to relieve some of the stress that came with talking to Ali. She was so used to dealing with criminals and dangerous gangs, that she forgot they were dangerous.

"Oh yeah, you were weren't you!" She chimed brightly grabbing a set of keys from the back pocket of her overalls and throwing them to the mentally drained Serpent. 

"Next time you loan out your truck make sure they can actually drive stick! It physically pains me otherwise!" She called out as Hog Eye made his way out the garage.

"You're lucky your cute Ali cat!" He called back semi joking. Ali grinned, winking at Cheryl as she replied.

"Not to mention the best mechanic in town!" She shouted grinning. Waiting for the response he always gave, smirking when he shouted the words 'No Comment' before driving off in his truck.

The girls laughed and worked through the night. Locking themselves in so there were no more surprise guests. Pausing for a well needed rest at some horrific time in the morning and napping for a couple of hours on the hammocks at the back of Ali's work shop to regain some much-needed energy.

6am came around and the girls had finally finished returning the bike to its previous magnificence. They were sat on the bonnet of Cheryl’s car admiring their handy work when Cheryl’s phone lit up with a message from her mother. 

"Oh god, looks like this is my queue to leave." Cheryl groaned finishing off her 4th cup of tea, since it was the only thing Ali stocked. She has yet to acquire the taste for coffee. 

"We still on for our spa session later?" Cheryl chirped jumping in her car.

"Oh, hell yeah, I'm going to need it after the day I have planned" Ali exclaimed, waving good bye to her Bestie and heading back inside leaving the garage door open slightly to let some fresh air in. She quickly began putting everything back in its place and cleaning up her work space. Pausing every now and then to admire the beautiful bike posing perfectly in the centre of the room.

"Don't you look all handsome and full of life now!" She complimented the bike, smiling proudly to herself at the thought of her handy work. 

"If the outdated death carriage is ever mean to you again, I'll scrap it myself!" She threatened glaring at the flame covered hearse in the corner. She had just finished packing away her tools when a skin crawling voice brought her back to reality.

"You know for first thing in the morning you still look hot as hell, even with all the grease, engine dirt and crazy talk." That voice made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and she had to force down a shudder that was desperately trying to creep up her spine. She knew exactly who it was.

"That's sweet of you Mal but we both know I prefer 2 wheels not 4 and I like guys, not girls." She teased, casually making her way over to the office door where a tall, man with dark curly hair and a crazy look in his eyes, stood leaning against the frame. 

His chiselled face, masking the crazy in his eyes with a friendly smile. His bare chest covered only slightly by the studded leather jacket that hung from his slender but muscular build. Ali stopped in front of the man raising an unamused eyebrow when he refused to let her past. Instead placing a bony hand on her waist and leaning closer towards her. 

Ali huffed grabbing his hand and crushing it in a firm death grip as she moved it away from her body, twisting it, forcing him to spin round giving her free rein to lock his hand painfully between his shoulder blades. Her grip was shockingly strong considering her build and the fact the she was barely 5'3. 

"Really Malachi? Really!" She sighed shoving him forwards to make herself and the Ghoulie a cup of tea with her free hand. 

"I thought you were the smart one in your little circus club. I told you, next time you try that I'm going to break your wrist, but do you listen? Nooooo!" She ranted calmly before releasing him from her hold, handing him a mug of black tea and patting his shoulder. A warm but sleepy smile perched on her slightly grubby face.

"You know if you weren't so damn cute and the only one who can make a decent cup of English tea, I'd let the boys have you." He scowled flopping down on the worn, grey couch rubbing his wrist. Ali raised her eyebrows at him, a smirk tugging on the corners of her perfect lips.

"You do that and next time I'll use a tattoo gun instead of permanent marker." She warned crossing her legs as she made herself comfortable perched on her desk. Giggling at the memory of the last time she had a run it with Malachi's goons. She had been out on a late-night jog when she was surround by his second in command and 2 of his puppets. She had grabbed a pipe that was nearby and managed to knock 2 of them out, sending one of the puppets running. As a sign of shame, she wrote the words 'Beaten By A Cheerleader' on their foreheads. Though Malachi found it amusing, his second did not. "Besides you love me far too much to let me get hurt. If you didn't you would've killed me for shaming your puppets." She pointed out with a smug grin, she knew she had him in a corner.

"Shut up and drink your tea Ali cat." He grumbled slurping down his tea just to spite her.

"Aw you DO love me!" Ali beamed.

"Don't tell anyone, they'll think I've gone soft!" Malachi admitted, standing up and rustling Ali's hair as he placed his empty cup in the sink beside her. Ali huffed playfully, blowing the strands of hair from her face and handing him the keys to his car.

"It still has to dry but I'll move it out front once Gary's moved the tow truck and you can grab it later on." She informed him following him into the garage so he could inspect her work. Pulling a large envelope of cash from his pocket and handing it to her. Kneeling to inspect it closely. 

"Do I pass?" Ali asked curiously, staring at the thoughtful look on his face from her new spot on the bench. "Jeez Mal don't think to hard you might pull something." She joked shoving the envelope in the safe under her desk.

"Yeah of course you pass. When have you ever failed me?" Malachi asked straightening up. "That should cover the paint job and the compensation I owe you for the idiots that trashed the place the other night." 

Ali looked at him a little taken a back. But he quickly held up his hand to silence any comment she had brewing. Instead she wrapped her arms around him pecking his cheek before dropping to her swinging feet to the dusty grey floor.

"Thanks, Malachi and as always, I shall tell everyone that you are a vile, arrogant creep that tried to cheat me out of my money. Can't have people thinking you've gone soft now can we." Ali mocked, she knew the drill by now; he'd be nice to her if she pretended he was the insane wild card everyone thought he was. 

"Until next time Jackass!" She called as he disappeared into the early morning sun. Heaving a sigh of relief Ali turned to the pile of homework on the work top. Throwing her long hair up in a scruffy pony tail she slumped into the patched-up office chair to finish the homework she had been avoiding all night. 

"Looks like it's just you and me!" She sighed combing through the rest of her geometry homework. 

After what seemed like an eternity, she had finally completed all her homework. Her head now fried from all the extra thinking. Ali sat admiring her handy work, sipping the steaming celebratory tea she had made for herself. 

"I've made a few modifications to your engine, so this time you'll be able to out run anything. Even with Goliaths grumpy, love child on your back. Just don't let the clumsy fool boss you around!" Ali instructed the proud Harley. 

"You know it can't hear you right?" A voice spoke up breaking the blissful peace of her empty garage and sending Ali flying. Almost spilling her tea.

"GOD DAMMIT! I Am Putting A Bell On That Door!" Ali yelled spinning around to see who had sent her heart beating at a hundred miles an hour. 

"What The Hell Fangs?! You gave me a heart attack!" She yelled at the tanned, dark haired boy leant against the door frame. A leather jacket wrapped around his muscle-bound arms.

"And it still didn't kill you? Damn I'm going to have to up my game." Fangs remarked stepping into the room to do a few laps circling the bike, admiring its new physique. 

"You know how screwed you'd be if it had been him coming to pick up his bike this morning instead of me?" Fangs commented nodding with admiration after a few laps around the bike.

"Who flower? Please, bit of weed killer and I'd be grand!" Ali replied casually, brushing off Fangs' warning like a bug on her shoulder. It took a lot to scare Ali. Unless it's a spider. Ali does NOT do spiders. 

"Don't say I didn't warn you Ali Cat." Fangs sighed grabbing a chair and pulling it up beside her.

"Pfft whatever errand boy. The mighty Pea Pod ever going to collect his own bike or is he going to stick to sending you down to hide his shame." Ali mused adding up the total and writing down the total bill in big clear letters on a bright pink post it note. 

"Hey, I'm no errand boy! I offered to come down. Since that Andrews kid waved a gun in his face, he's been super wired and if I'm honest, the Serpents versus Bulldogs fight the other night has only made him worse." Fangs offloaded. Ali could tell he was feeling the pressure. She placed a friendly hand on his arm. Ever since Joaquin disappeared Fangs had seemed a little lonely, he still had his 2 best friends, but he missed having someone that was on the same wave length as him. Suddenly a light bulb sparked up in Ali's brain sending an excited, yet mischievous grin spread across her face. 

"Oh no I know that look! Whatever it is the answers no! Absolutely not, nope, not going to happen, no, NO!" Fangs declared but he knew it was hopeless. She gave him her best pleading puppy dog eyes, hugging his arm and pouting. He caved in less than a second. 

"Fine what?" He threw his arms up in defeat.

"Just get Flower, Jughead and Topaz to the Quarry tomorrow at 5 and bring water balloons." Ali grinned handing him the post it note and keys to the bike. 

"Tell him it's in big letters so he can read it." Ali smiled. She had never met Sweat Pea, but she had heard enough about him from his friends to know the temptation to wind him up was too great. 

"This is why I volunteer every time. This exact reason Ali cat. You two would be a lethal combination." Fangs explained throwing on his helmet, swinging his leg over the bike giving Ali a final wave before disappearing down the road towards Sunnyside trailer park.

"And then there was one." Ali sighed moving inside to get started on the mountain of paperwork her uncle had left her. 

[kisskissbanggang]

Apple Pie

[~15 Min Read/~4K Words -- Working Stiff!Johnny x Working Stiff!Fem Reader Domestic AU -- Fluff & Smut -- Second Puberty, Self-Discovery, Experimenting with Roles]

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It started with a pie.

You could pretend to be ignorant, but you knew exactly when this whole mess started. The first week after you had returned to the workshop after your grandmother's funeral, you had been chewed out for something you knew you were much too experienced to get wrong. Your supervisor had more than enough right to reprimand you, but let you off with a stern confrontation. You had gone home, seething and nursing a pulsing headache from the stress, and once again regarded the dusty cardboard shoebox that had been sitting on your dinner table for days.

Inside the shoebox was the most tangible thing your grandmother had willed you. Yes, she had skipped your mother and left you the majority of her savings in bonds and accounts that you weren't to touch until much later, but she had also left you her most valuable possession: her recipe book. Well, at one point in time it must've been a book. Now, it was a shoebox filled to the brim with recipes, some neatly written on formal recipe cards, some transcribed from friends and scrawled on memo pads, some simply clippings from magazines and food packaging with modifications jotted in the margins. In all of your frustration and grief over the woman that raised you more than the mother she already raised, you plunged your hand into the box and pulled out a recipe. Blueberry pie.

You marched right back out of the apartment, still in your shabby work clothes, down to the bodega down on the corner and grabbing everything you needed, foregoing a basket and just piling all of your findings out of your arms and onto the check stand. You marched right back home and set to work. You'd never made a pie entirely from scratch before.

By the time Johnny got home that night, you weren't sitting on the couch as usual. You were stood at the oven, patiently watching your pie baking inside. The apartment smelled like your grandmother. He warily approached you, first bewildered by you baking, but then startled as he noticed the tears on your cheeks. Wordlessly, he pulled you to him in a hug. He hadn't even set down his work bag yet.

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For the next couple weeks, you kept pulling out recipes from the box. One of the early tasks was to organize everything once you'd made hors d'oeuvres for dinner one too many times. The shoebox was now home to a binder, with multiple recipes nestled safely in plastic sleeves. Everything was now in order and categorized. Cards slowly began showing your own new modifications, things you'd learned along the way or simply things that made more sense for your kitchen.

The next development didn't take place until the next month. You were finally tired of getting flour and oil splatters on your clothes, so you dug up an apron you had originally thrifted for one of Johnny's Halloween costumes back in college (a very successful gender-flipped I Love Lucy couples costume) and put it on. Upon tying the ridiculous thing around your waist, you even noticed a small table of measurement conversions pinned to the inside of the frilly pocket. You smoothed down the ruffled, pastel and gingham fabric, feeling odd as you realized it felt sort of... Pretty.

You attempted not to think much of it as you set about making dinner for the night: a chicken pot pie that smelled just like your childhood. It had been easy to get into the zone, concentrating on getting lost in cooking, that you hadn't even noticed the front door open. You pulled the piping hot pie out of the oven and gasped, nearly dropping the damn thing as you turned to set it on the dinner table. Johnny was stood in the kitchen threshold, staring slack-jawed as he eyed you up and down.

"Uh--" he stammered, "It smells amazing in here."

"Thanks?" You smiled, attempting to shake off how startled you just were and be a little humble. It did smell amazing in here.

Johnny kept staring at you as you sat at the dinner table, you thumbing through a book while he mindlessly scrolled through the day's headlines.

"Something wrong?"

"No," he answered, sounding far and away. You let it slide -- Johnny was never the type to bottle things up that were boiling over. He'd come to you eventually.

You took it upon yourself to observe your boyfriend a little more closely for the next week. Clearly, Johnny was going through something. You hadn't thought much of it when Johnny was excited to go out fishing with some work friends. He'd never been fishing before; of course he wanted to go. You hadn't really registered Johnny getting more interested in baseball again or expressing interest in the vintage car show downtown.

Johnny finally snapped a few days later. You just happened to catch him perusing old magazine ads -- something he regularly did for work -- but you happened to notice that they all had the same motif: husband, wife, picket fence and luxury. You were starting to get a full picture. You set out a handsome lasagna for dinner and gently prodded him as he scrolled through more ads.

"Johnny?"

"Yes, babe?"

"Have you been... Thinking about something?"

Johnny nearly imploded from exasperation. "I guess I haven't been super discreet about it," he sighed, "Remember my self-discovery kick in college?"

You did. Johnny felt so out of touch with his heritage that he worked on his Korean, took a couple trips there, learned everything he could about the history and food and culture... What did this have to do with that?

"I guess I spent so much time figuring out what that part of my heritage meant that I... I guess I don't really feel American either?"

"Johnny, I don't want to invalidate you but that sounds ridiculous."

"Does it, though?" Johnny massaged his temples in frustration. He'd hardly touched his dinner. "I keep thinking of this idea of the classic manly American man and what it would be like to feel that. Like, to feel that self-assured and free and... I don't know. It sounds insane now that I say it out loud."

"Well... Not really, actually."

"Really?"

"It was quite the dream, wasn't it? You spent a lot of time learning what masculinity was, if I remember correctly. You figured out how to filter out the more toxic bits, but now it sounds like you're figuring out how to... I guess how to embrace your manliness."

Johnny lit up, ecstatic that he didn't sound like a lunatic. Feeling more content, life went on as normal for another few weeks.

Until the skirt.

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With spring in full swing, you found out the hard way that you were running out of new and practical shorts and capris one overdue laundry day. Desperate for an outfit to get the shopping done for dinner, you found a skirt at the bottom of a drawer that you had worn years ago to a brunch your grandmother dragged you to. It was nothing special: a simple and classic skirt that flared just a bit from your waist. You paired the skirt with some sandals and a cute blouse and went shopping.

You hadn't thought anything of your clothing choice until Johnny came home to you pulling a pot roast out of the oven. It would've been hard to miss his entrance -- Johnny's work bag slid off his shoulder and hit the floor as he stopped short in the kitchen. He took in the sight of you: skirt, apron, hair done up and out of your eyes.

"I like it." He blurted, the smallest hint of a blush crawling over his cheeks.

"What?" You asked, puzzled as you set the pot roast on the stovetop to cool.

"I like... All of this." Johnny gestured awkwardly, waving his hand in a circle encompassing the whole picture of you. You felt probed. "I like -- good god, this sounds weird but you don't like it when I dance around issues -- I like it when you're all domestic-y like this."

The hairs on the back of your neck raised. Domestic? Your mind raced. Johnny babbled as you breezed past him and locked yourself in the bedroom. He ran after you, knocking on the door. He knew you wouldn't keep him out long, but he was taken aback when he noticed you were crying as you opened the door.

"I'm not some tamed animal," you stated, still a little wounded.

"That was a stupid choice of words. I'm sorry," he immediately offered.

"What did you even mean by that?" You cut to the chase, not wanting to worry about formalities of apologies.

"I meant..." Johnny sighed as he held you close, "I guess I meant that I like seeing you being such a provider in the house. All this baking and cooking? I never saw it coming from you, and you know that. Coming home to the smell of dinner cooking? Having a fresh baked pie on a Sunday afternoon? The apartment actually feels even more like a home than it already did. I like seeing you like this. You seem happier."

Soothed, you relaxed into his embrace. However, you both knew he also meant something else. Maybe Johnny had a point. You had never aspired to be a homemaker in any fashion. You had actually met Johnny when he was doing a piece for the campus paper on your activist coalition in college. Head shaved, hairy legs and armpits, no bra -- everything you could do to fight against the classic ideals of femininity you blindly fell into your whole life before then -- and Johnny had fallen madly in love with you. He called you "Tiger Lady" inspired by your favorite girl band and because of how feisty you were. Even now after college -- mostly grown out of your physical displays of rebellion but still favoring practicality -- Johnny still called you Tiger Lady. It didn't seem like Johnny wanted you to be some Stepford wife. In fact, it didn't seem like Johnny wanted that at all. He just wanted what he liked about those old ads -- a capable and pretty mate who put as much effort into her home as she did in herself. You liked to boast about your put-together life, including your mature and skilled partner. Wouldn't that mean Johnny wanted to as well? Learning to cook was a huge thing; of course Johnny was impressed. And, maybe, it fulfilled a little of that American dream he'd been coveting. Johnny thought you being happier with your looks and your skills also made you look more attractive. You suddenly felt lucky to have a partner like Johnny. Well, didn't an attentive partner deserve some attention in return? You set about a sneaky plan.

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Johnny came home on Friday evening to a bright apartment. For a moment, he wasn't sure it was his apartment. The place was spotless, for one thing. You both normally ran a tidy ship, but this was the cleanest it had ever been. For another thing, some furniture had appeared. In his favorite space by the bookcase, his rickety rocking chair had been replaced with a plush recliner. Next to the chair sat a tasteful side table with a lamp on it. He regarded the chair, curious as he set his bag down. He cautiously sat down, momentarily alarmed at how soft it was as he kicked up the footrest. He noticed a drink on the side table: a cold gin and tonic. He gladly tasted the drink, nearly coughing it up as you finally entered the room.

You smoothed out your dress. You had picked one out that matched your new apron and looked just like those housewives in the old ads, complete with petticoat and pearls. In fact, you had donned all the appropriate accessories, including a face full of makeup that took you an hour of video tutorials to finish. You were snapped and buttoned and pinned into place, your bobbed hair puffed up and sprayed. You had to admit looking this good felt incredible. Johnny was speechless as you approached, your high heels giving your hips a natural sway.

"Welcome home, honey." You cooed, leaning down to leave a red lip print on Johnny's astonished cheek. "Do you like your present?"

"Which one?" He replied incredulously as he set the cocktail down. His hands were immediately drawn to you, absently wrapping around your cinched waist and dragging you down to sit on his lap.

"The chair, silly. You work so hard, I thought you deserve an easy chair, so you can take it easy after a long day."

"'Easy' is certainly a word for it." Johnny fumbled for his glass, sharing a small laugh as you flashed your lacquered nails reaching for it and placing it in his hands. "Is everything alright?"

"More than alright," you soothed, "I just wanted to show some appreciation for you encouraging me to embrace change."

Johnny tentatively pet your meticulous hairstyle, his hand lingering as it traveled down your back. "Change isn't always a bad thing," he said matter-of-factly.

"Took me a second to recognize that. I don't feel like entirely the same person."

"Good!" Johnny laughed, "Can you imagine if we acted the same as we did three years ago? You're not a new person; you just changed a little. If you change the wallpaper, the house isn't new, it's just changed a little."

"I'm a house?" You smirked, bemused.

"You're a home. I can go anywhere with you and feel safe and welcome."

"So, I'm not new then?" You offered a sly smile as you shifted on Johnny's lap to face him more.

"Nah," Johnny insisted flippantly.

"But my dress is new--" you pouted, smoothing out the fabric.

"It is. It's very nice."

"-- and my apron is new--"

"I saw that. I was thinking of getting you a new one."

"-- and this is new." You slowly unsnapped the top three buttons of your dress, letting your it fall open to reveal the delicate bra and cincher underneath. Johnny's eyes shot wide, impressed at the amount of effort you’d made. He reached a wanting hand towards your displayed chest--

When the oven timer rang.

Johnny gawped as you buttoned back up, kissing him on the cheek again as you got up. He followed you dumbly into the kitchen, reeling as you whipped back around to face him.

"Hope it's alright if we skip straight to dessert," you grinned.

"I was wondering why you said it was okay to eat on the way home," Johnny smirked.

"Go ahead and sit at the dinner table and I'll be right there."

Johnny watched expectantly as you set a slice of piping hot apple pie in front of him, complete with a scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream. "No way," he laughed excitedly, "I was wondering when this was coming."

"About as American as it gets, honey," you winked. You gracefully sat on the edge of the table, legs crossed and gently tipping Johnny's chin up to look at you as you grabbed a spoon and scooped up a bite of pie. His eyes pored over you as your red lips closed around the spoon, savoring the texture and taste. "You feeling pretty manly today?" You asked softly as you picked up another scoop. Johnny stared right into you and let you feed him. His hands were balled up into distracted fists on the table as you grabbed another bite for yourself. Finally, he gave in, unable to hold back from you any longer.

Sliding the chair back, Johnny plucked the spoon out of your hand and set it on the table before hauling you back into his lap. He breathed hard as he cupped your face in his hands, his chest rising and falling as he tried to stay calm. "Before I get too distracted," he said, "this isn't actually a cry for help or anything is it?"

"You're too much sometimes," you laughed, "but thanks for checking. Don't worry, I just want to show off."

"Show me everything," he breathed as his lips crashed into yours, kissing you almost entirely too hard and more desperately than you'd previously imagined. This was almost surprisingly effective. You tugged on his necktie, making him grunt against you in sync with the throb felt through all your layers of undergarments. His fingers dug into your hips but traveled no further, really giving you a chance to take the lead. You unsnapped your top three buttons once again, bringing you right back to where you previously were. Johnny's Adam's apple bobbed as you softly slid off his knee and onto the floor between his legs. His eyes flitted to your shiny red nails as you worked his belt undone and dug his cock out from under his briefs. Johnny's breath caught in his throat as you slowly trailed your tongue up his entire length, your plump, ruby lips enclosing around the head and gently sucking. You looked up under your eyelashes as you heard him curse sharply under his breath. You moaned contently as Johnny gripped the chair, his whole body tensing as you bobbed the majority of his entire length into your throat. Throwing his head back, Johnny groaned. "Good god, honey," he laughed breathlessly, "are you kidding? You haven't sucked my dick like this in years."

"Oh, you want me to back off?" You smiled devilishly as you sat back on your heels.

"No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no," Johnny hurriedly grabbed your shoulders and guided you back, "it feels amazing, you feel amazing, please don't stop yet."

You sweetly leaned forward, kissing the tip before sucking him deep into your mouth and relishing his deep moans. It wasn't entirely clear how much longer you went, but your jaw just began to get tired as Johnny finally eased you off. "I can't finish like this," he panted, "I need more." You watched as Johnny stood up and pulled you to your feet before sitting you back on the edge of the dinner table.

"What are you going to do to me, darling?" You giggled as Johnny visibly shivered at the endearment.

"We’ll see. Show me what you're hiding under that dress," he smirked.

"Oh, it's nothing," you shrugged nonchalantly. You slowly slid the hem of your dress up over your knees, Johnny's hungry gaze following close behind as you pulled the dress up your thighs. Once the snaps of your garters came into view, Johnny cursed again. You giggled sweetly, enjoying yourself as you sat up to shimmy down your delicate, sheer panties that were sat on top of the suspenders for just this occasion. Your bare pussy fully on display, framed by your lacy garter and stockings, Johnny bit hard into his lip. He didn't even have to say it for you to know what he was marveling at: you were hardly ever hairless, but you'd really wanted to give it a try for this. "Do you think I'm wet enough?" You asked innocently.

Johnny was already knelt in front of you. "I guess I'll have to check." He dove into you, his tongue gliding over your velvety pussy as he hooked your thighs over his shoulders.

"How is it, darling?" You asked, gently peeling his head back from you.

"Perfect," he sighed, his eyes glazed over, "sweeter than your apple pie." Johnny rose from his knees, laughing gently at the demure blush that bloomed under the powder brushed across your cheeks. His hand was firmly stroking his erection, keeping him hard and ready before he pushed into you, both of you erupting into moans and clutching onto each other. He filled you, encased by your warm pussy. You squeezed your eyes shut in the pleasure shooting up through you, your hands grasping at his necktie and yanking him close. Johnny met you in another impassioned kiss, his tongue hot and pleading in your mouth. He reached a hand out to brazenly grope at your breasts in the intricate bra you wore, not daring to take it off and instead choosing to admire the display you laid out for him. You reclined on the dinner table that wobbled beneath you with each of Johnny's thrusts, your legs wrapping tight around his hips to hold him close.

Johnny's hand traveled from your breast up to your face, confidently smirking to himself as you instinctively poked your tongue out and pulled his passing thumb into your mouth. The hand traveled down to your neck, pausing momentarily to squeeze on your throat gently, almost affectionately, playing with your pearl necklace before tracing down your stomach and down further to your pussy. "You're so beautiful," he moaned. His thumb gently stroked your clit, pausing to revel in how you arched your back at his touch. He gazed down at you, hypnotized at the sight of you dressed up and disheveled on the table, laid out like a feast with your gorgeous outfit bunched up around your hips, your blushing pussy sheathing his cock as he stroked your trembling clit.

"You're so good, Johnny," you mewled, "please don't stop." You quietly and repeatedly begged, rolling your hips onto his erection and against his strumming thumb. "You're so good to me, darling," you prodded, "please make me cum." Johnny nodded, determined and concentrating as he touched you just the way he knew drove you wild. You attempted to hold back, suddenly very aware of the neighbors as you crashed into your orgasm, your squeaks and squeals still escaping practically unrestrained. Johnny smiled, content and proud as your climax continued to course through you. You knew he wouldn't last long -- he loved how much harder you throbbed around him after you came.

"This is so god-damned good," Johnny growled, the thin sheen of perspiration showing on his brow.

"It is," you whimpered, "and I need you to fill me up, Johnny." Johnny's hips stuttered, nearly pausing at your request. It was a rare one for sure. His eyes lit up, somehow even more aroused than he had been up until now. "Fill me up, darling," you begged sweetly. Johnny nodded fervently, grunting as he tried to hit the right pace with his fast approaching climax. His hands circled your waist, gripping you hard and pulling your spasming walls down tight around his erupting cock. He cried out, almost immediately doubling over on top of you as he filled you up.

He stayed like that for a couple minutes, letting his breath slow and enjoying how you affectionately stroked his hair. "Would you like help getting undressed?" He asked optimistically, murmuring against your neck. He rose, letting his soft cock slide out of you. He snatched a paper napkin from the table and quickly patted himself dry before shedding his clothes. He watched intently as you pulled off the apron and stepped out of your dress, his deft fingers immediately reaching out to help unclip your cincher, bra, and garters. He placed gentle kisses to the lines and indents the undergarments had pressed into your skin, making his way down to softly tug off your delicate stockings. You excused yourself to go run to the bathroom, savoring the feeling of the steaming hot shower in your afterglow.

You found Johnny reading in bed after your shower. He looked up, almost elated to see you in your usual sweats and messy bun as you crawled into bed. "Hey, Tiger Lady," he whispered into your hair as he pulled you close, "how're you feeling?"

"I'm feeling really good," you sighed, "I'm wondering what to make for dinner tomorrow."

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[quickeningheart]

Ten

   “Hey, you hungry?” Chris asked as he and Chex followed Alley out of the office. “There’s a great bar and grill right on the school grounds. They’ve got the best seafood chowder this side of the country.”

   Alley hesitated. She really should get back to the garage and let Charley know what she’d seen, but she was a bit famished. She hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and it was already past six o’clock. Her stomach gave a long, low gurgle at the reminder, and she grinned as Chris laughed. “I could use a bite to eat,” she agreed.

   “Then right this way, if you please.” He steered her away from the parking lot and toward another smallish building that was only two stories tall. “This is the Atrium,” he explained. “Well, the first floor of it is the actual atrium; the upper level is offices for the teachers and staff. It’s pretty much the hangout for students. The bar is inside, a few small gift shops, the school bookstore, and lots of seating for just hanging out and relaxing.”

   “Best part of the whole school,” Chex put in. “Although if you plan on drinking, you’ll have to show ID.”

   “I’m only twenty,” Alley admitted.

   “Really? I kind of thought you were older than that,” Chris said, looking surprised.

   “He’s into the older chics,” Chex teased, poking her brother in the ribs.

   “Why? How old are you?”

   Chris looked embarrassed, scratching his head. “Actually, we’re only eighteen. Just graduated high school.”

   Alley’s jaw dropped. “Seriously? I thought you were like my age or something!”

   “You’re only a college freshman, too, right?” Chex wanted to know. “Shouldn’t you be in a higher grade?”

   “I took a year off after graduating to work full-time and save up extra money. And to figure out what school I wanted to attend. I did take a couple of weekend courses at the community college to get in some of my credits and stuff, but nothing full-term.”

   “Hey, that’s fine. In college, age doesn’t really matter. We’re all still consenting adults,” Chris said.

   Chex smirked at him and waggled her eyebrows. “Consenting for what, I wonder.”

   “Aw, shut up, Red. Nobody asked you.” Face flushed, Chris stomped into a dimly-lit restaurant and made his way to the bar.

   Chex laughed. “He’s such a weenie around girls.”

   Alley grinned. “He’s kinda cute, though. For a kid,” she teased, earning a dry look in response.

     ~*~*~*~*~

   The food really was good at the Atrium Grill. Not only the chowder, but the thickest, gooiest grilled cheese sandwich that Alley had ever had the pleasure of biting into. “I’ve died and gone to nirvana,” she sighed, wrapping the cheese that had oozed out of the bread onto her plate around her fork. “What was in that sandwich?”

   “Cheese.” Chex took a bite of her fried chicken.

   Alley snorted a laugh. “Well, duh. I meant what kind?”

   “Not sure. Trade secret, but I’m pretty sure they use a blend,” Chris replied. “And they grill it using mayonnaise instead of butter. Supposed to be healthier or something.”

   “Right. Because six different blends of cheese in a single sandwich is the absolute epitome of health food,” Chex said blandly.

   “How do you know that?” Chris eyed her suspiciously, and she smirked.

   “I have my ways.”

   “You boinked the head cook, didn’t you?”

   “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

   “Actually, I really, really wouldn’t.” He shuddered as Alley sought to hide her grin behind her soda glass.

   “How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching for her bag, but Chris waved her off.

   “Don’t worry about it. My treat,” he replied.

   “Are you sure?”

   “Of course! What kind of gentleman makes a woman pay for her own meal?” He ignored Chex’s derisive snort and flashed a smile at Alley. “I invited you, so I’ll pay this one, okay?”

   She consented with a nod and a smile. “Well, if we do this again, let me pay for you as thanks. Both of you,” she added, not wanting Chex to be left out.

   “Oooo. Friend-zoned!” Chex sang under her breath, earning a kick under the table. She just smirked at her glowering twin.

   Alley bit her lip, hoping she hadn’t offended him, but he gave her another charming smile and pulled some bills out of his wallet. “School year is just beginning,” he said casually. “I’ll definitely take you up on the offer for another meal."

   “Yeah. Me, too,” Chex added, grinning. “You seem like fun. Even if you do look like a Barbie doll.”

     ~*~*~*~*~

   It had grown dark by the time they left the Atrium. Alley had stopped by the bookstore to pick up the last two textbooks she needed for her classes. Chex said her goodbyes before heading toward the dorms, where she was staying. “More privileges of being the dean’s kid. Really cheap boarding, and I don’t have to live at home with the wicked step-mom,” she explained with a smirk.

   “She’s not that bad,” Chris said with a frown.

   “Not to Mr. Perfect Son. But she doesn’t like me very much. I refuse to bend over and kiss her ass.”

   “Well, maybe if you wouldn’t dress like—”

   “Like what? Like someone with her own brain and a willingness to use it?” Chex stopped walking and faced him with a fist planted on her hips. “I’m my own person. I have my own way of living, and there’s nothing wrong with how I dress. You might be willing to let her groom you like a little lapdog, but I refuse. She’s not even our real mom, and she hasn’t done anything to earn the title.” She flipped her cherry hair. “Besides, you’re one to talk. You’re living in the dorms, too!”

   “Because there’s no point in driving to school when we can live right on the grounds,” Chris sighed, clearly used to this conversation.

   “Right, whatever. I’m heading back. See you around, Alley. We should hang out sometime.” She stomped off, skirt swishing.

   “Yeah, I’d like that,” Alley called after her.

   Chris flashed her a sheepish grin, shrugging. “Typical sibling spat. They never last long,” he apologized. “She’ll be over it by morning.”

   “You said you had a step-mom?”

   “Yeah. Our real mom took off when we were just little.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Dad was always busy in the school, so we were mostly raised by nannies. Then he came home one day a few years back and said he was getting remarried. Her name is Victoria. She’s a real classy lady. She comes from money, you know? I guess Dad had met her at some associates’ function raising money for the college. Anyway, I was okay with him getting married, but Chex took it hard. I guess … she was always holding out hope that Mom might come back someday. Or something.” He shrugged again. “We were seven when she left. Chex took it the hardest. Mom hardly ever contacts us. Maybe a birthday or Christmas card here and there. But she made it clear she just wasn’t willing to be a mother. She’s living it up on some tropical island somewhere.” His smile was brittle.

   “I’m sorry,” Alley said softly. “I didn’t mean to pry or bring up bad memories.”

   “Nah. Not your fault. Anyway, guess you should be getting back, huh?”

   “Yeah, Charley’s probably getting a little worried by now.” Alley juggled the books as she fumbled for her keys in the bottom of her bag. Chris pulled his phone out of his pocket, fiddled with the touch screen for a few seconds, and then the camera flash flicked on, effectively giving her light to see by. “They need to install more lights along the walks. Dad’s been after the board to get on that for years,” he complained.

    “The parking lot is lit well enough.”

   “Yeah, but getting to it can be dangerous after sundown. Not everyone around here is as nice as I am, and you’re a really pretty girl.”

   Alley blushed a little, charmed by his fumbling attempts to flirt. “That’s sweet of you, but I can take care of myself. I’ve got pepper spray with me. And I also know self-defense. Dad made me take some classes when I started growing boobs.” She laughed at the expression on his face. “The truck is right … over…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes fell on the pickup. Or, more precisely, on the three very large men who were standing around the pickup, talking amongst themselves. “Aren’t those…?“

   “Limburger's thugs,” Chris huffed. “What’re they doing? Where’s the boss?”

   Alley slowed and ducked behind a large SUV parked in the nearly empty lot, trying to see what they were up to. “Are they trying to break into the truck?” she whispered.

   “No, looks more like they’re keeping watch. Or waiting for someone.”

   “For me to come back?” Alley shifted nervously. “Why would they be waiting for me? They don’t even know who I am.” Unless somehow they’d figured it out … but how would they? She hadn’t given Limburger her name, and there was no reason for him to ask for it. She doubted she even registered on his radar enough for him to get curious. There was absolutely no way he could have figured out who she was in those few brief moments of passing.

   Unless…

   “The truck,” she breathed, smacking her forehead. “It’s got the garage’s name on the doors. He must’ve seen it and recognized the name, and thinks Charley is here. And he’s sent his thugs to wait for her to come back.”

   “Planning on jumping her?” Chris whispered.

   “I dunno. Wouldn’t surprise me. He’s a nasty piece of work, from what I heard. And he really doesn’t like her friends.”

   “We should call the police. They won’t touch Limburger but his thugs aren’t off-limits.” Chris pulled his phone out again, but was stopped by Alley’s hand on his.

   “Wait. I think … they’re leaving,” she said, slowly standing up. Indeed, the men had backed away from the truck and were currently sauntering across the lot to a pair of what looked like dune buggies parked in the shadows.

   “Hey, weren’t there three of them?” Chris asked. “Where’d that fourth guy come from?”

   “Who cares? I’m just glad they’re gone.” Alley made a beeline for the truck, only to be brought up short by Chris’s hands on her shoulders, bringing her to a staggering halt. Just as a large, gleaming, vintage 1930s Rolls Royce cruised slowly past them. Alley’s jaw dropped. It would have been a beautiful car … had it not been painted an eye-gouging shade of purple. She knew instantly who it belonged to. To prove it, the car came to a gliding halt and the window rolled down. Alley instinctively held her breath as Limburger’s cold, gleaming eyes met hers.

   “So, young lady. We meet again.” His voice was cultured, refined, smooth as an oil slick. His eyes left hers, darted to the truck she stood only two feet away from, slid back with a raised eyebrow. He said nothing, but his gaze was suspicious. She bit her lip, feeling light-headed from lack of breath, and prayed he’d just leave before she passed out. “Be careful out there,” he warned, a humorless smile tugging at his thick lips. “There may be … unsavory people lurking about.”

   “Thanks for the warning,” she choked out, and let loose the breath she’d been holding when the window rolled up and the car moved on. “Okay, I’m totally freaked out. Are you totally freaked out? ‘Cause I’m totally freaked out,” she babbled.

   “Hey, hey, relax,” Chris soothed, putting an arm around her shoulders and rubbing her arm vigorously. “The creep is gone, we’re fine. Are you okay?”

   “I don’t know,” she groaned, staggering to the truck to lean heavily against the door. She looked it over, checking the locks, but nothing seemed out of place. Then she frowned as she recalled the fourth thug who’d popped up from nowhere, a niggling suspicion forming. “Lemme see that light again,” she grunted, kneeling on the ground beside the truck. “Shine it under here.”

   He complied, and her worst fear was confirmed: Something dark and liquid was leaking in a steady drip under the cab, steadily forming a large puddle. “Holy shit,” Chris breathed. “What’d they do?”

   She sighed. “I’m pretty sure they cut the brake line. They were aiming to murder me. Well, my cousin, anyway.” She flashed him a weak smile. “Still think he isn’t a threat?”

   “I’m calling the cops.” His voice left no room for argument.

   “And tell them what? Limburger has it in for my cousin so he got his goons to sabotage her truck in order to kill her? There’s no proof he had anything to do with it. We didn’t get a good look at those guys, either, so we have no descriptions.”

   “Well, what else can we do?” he huffed, frustrated.

   “Can I borrow your phone? I have to call Charley. She’ll have to come tow the truck back. And she’ll want to know I’m okay.” Alley sighed. “Maybe you should take off. If Limburger figured out I’m related in any way to Charley or the mi--her friends, he’ll be back. And you’ll be targeted, too. Just by association.”

   “If it comes to that, I’m a target, anyway. He’s after this place, too, and I am the dean’s son, after all.” Chris handed her his phone and crossed his arms. “I’m not about to take off on you now. So don’t even bother trying.”

   “Thanks.” She smiled at him gratefully and dialed Charley’s number. “Come on, pick up. Pick up!”

   The line clicked. “Last Chance Garage, this is Charley speaking.”

   “Charley? It’s me.” Alley held the phone away from her ear as Charley immediately started in on her.

   “Where the hell have you been? Do you know what time it is? I mean, I know you’re a grown-ass woman and all but for cripe’s sake couldn’t you at least call and let me know you’re not gonna be home for supper or something?” Charley bellowed.

   “Ma? Is that you?” Alley deadpanned, earning an indignant huff on the other end.

   “I can see now why your mom worries to death over you,” Charley grunted. “You don’t even have a phone! Where are you calling from? And what’s the matter?”

   Alley sighed and rubbed her temple. “It’s a long story. To make it short…” She took a deep breath. “I’m still at the college and Limburger showed up ‘cause he’s after the land and he saw your truck and I’m pretty sure he cut the brake line and I’m calling you from my friend’s phone to ask if you can please come pick me up ‘cause I’m really kinda freaking out right now,” she said in a rush.

   There was a moment of silence. Then, “What?”

   “I said—”

   “I heard what you said. Are you okay? Is he still there?” Charley’s voice radiated genuine concern.

   To her horror, Alley felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes, her emotions dangerously unstable. “No, he’s gone,” she replied, voice trembling despite her best efforts to steady it. “He drove off in that hideous car. His thugs are gone, too.”

   “You said you’re with someone?”

   “Yeah. His name is Christopher Archer.” Alley sniffed and swiped impatiently at her tearing eyes. “He and his sister were hanging out with me today and showing me around. They’re really nice.” She flashed a watery smile at a concerned Chris.

   “Listen, go back inside the school and wait, okay? I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

   “I think…” Alley bit her lip. “He saw me at the truck. I think he’s suspicious about who I am. I’m pretty sure it was you he was aiming to murder.”

   Charley muttered a curse under her breath. “Well, he’d figure it out one of these days anyhow. Just … go inside, and if he shows up again, hide until we get there.”

   “We?”

   Charley chuckled. “The guys overheard. Big ears and all. You won’t keep them away even if you tried. So maybe lose your friends before we show up, yeah?”

   “Yeah, okay. I’ll be in the Atrium. It’s the small two-story near the back of the property.” Alley ended the call and handed the phone back to Chris. “Look, thanks for all your help. You’ve been so great. My cousin is on her way, so if you want to take off now, I promise I won’t be offended or anything.”

   “Pfft. Right. I’m just gonna leave you by yourself after all that?” He shook his head. “Not happening. Come on, we’ll go to the Atrium like you said. I don’t know about you, but I could use something to drink!”

   “Hey now, Mr. Dean’s Son. Aren’t you a little young to be imbibing in alcohol?” She gave him a teasing poke in the side.

   “Who said anything about alcohol, old lady,” he teased back. “There’s a vending machine that sells fantastic hot chocolate. I could really go for a cup. How about you?”

   “In the middle of an August heat wave? On top of all that hot food we just ate?” Alley shrugged. “Sounds like a plan.”

     ~*~*~*~*~

   The chocolate was good, and Alley savored every sip of it as her jangled nerves slowly calmed, but no matter what she said, she couldn’t talk Chris into leaving her alone. Part of her was annoyed (she wasn’t a little girl, for cripe’s sake), but a larger part was relieved by his persistence. She doubted the Purple People Eater would be back, but she felt safer having someone by her side. Even if that someone was essentially a perfect stranger.

   Half an hour passed, and Alley spent the time curled up on a cushy sofa, paging through her textbooks as Chris delved back into his novel. It was quiet, with only a few students hanging around the Atrium. That’s why, when the front doors suddenly burst open with an ear-jarring clatter, Alley just about jumped out of her skin, nearly falling off the couch and dropping her book in the process.

   She looked up, wide-eyed, as a tall, slender man dressed in head-to-toe black strode through the doors, paused to look around, and then honed in on her. He headed right for her, head encased in an oddly-shaped biker helmet. She started to panic, wondering if Limburger had sent someone back for her after all, before she caught a gleam of reflected light, saw the long, metal tail lashing behind him. She relaxed, recognizing him. Stoker.

   She didn’t know where he’d dug up the leather biker clothes, but it was astonishing how different he looked in them. Without the fur and mousy features to distract her, she could appreciate for the first time how built he was, the dark material hugging his lean, muscled body. He moved with purpose, strides smooth and graceful, like a dancer. A traitorous thought worked its way into her mind that, under all the fur, he was really kind of beautiful. And she wondered if all of the mice had such beautiful forms. She hastily banished the thoughts from her mind.

   Chris had put himself between her and the agitated mouse, nearly a head shorter, but still determined to protect her as he faced down the intimidating figure. “Who’re you?” he growled, voice cracking just a bit.

   Stoker just chuckled.

   Alley’s eyes widened when she saw Chris’s hand clench, quickly scrambling up from her seat to grip his arm. She didn’t even want to think of what might happen if he took a swing at the war veteran. She didn’t think Stoker would hurt him, but then again, he was a trained soldier. He might not take kindly to physical violence. “It’s okay,” she said. “He’s a friend … of my cousin.”

   Chris relaxed by degrees, his fist unclenching.

   “Where’s Charley?” Alley asked the mouse, who hadn’t bothered to take off his helmet. All the same, she could feel his gaze on her, assessing.

   “She’s looking over the truck with the others,” he finally replied, voice muffled behind his helmet. “I came to find you. You okay?”

   “Yeah, sure. I’m fine.” She flashed a bright smile, and turned to Chris. “Look, thanks for everything today. I mean it. It was so nice meeting you and Chex. I hope I’ll see you around, once classes start."

   Chris’s gaze slid away from Stoker and he offered a weak grin. “Yeah, same here,” he replied. “We’ll do this again. You know, when things get a little less crazy around here.”

   “Definitely.” Alley squeezed his hand. “Tell Chex I’ll call her sometime. When I get a phone, that is. Maybe you can both come with, help me pick one out? You can show me around Chicago or something, too. And I can buy you lunch like I promised.”

   Chris chuckled, sounding nervous as Stoker cleared his throat and crossed his arms, impatient. “Sounds good. Well…” He shifted, casting an uncomfortable glance at the tense, black-clad man. “Your family’s here, so guess you don’t need me around anymore. Take care, yeah? Hope I’ll hear from you soon. I’m gonna grab another cup of chocolate and head back to the dorm.” He gave an awkward grin, a polite nod to Stoker, and then he turned and walked off.

   Alley released a breath and picked up her bag, cradling her books to her chest. She turned to leave, and jumped when a heavy arm abruptly settled around her shoulders, as Stoker led her gently but assertively out of the building. “Hey, do you mind?” she hissed, red-faced, as she caught the stares of the few remaining students in the building. She tried to balk, but Stoker was stronger than he looked. “I know where the parking lot is.”

   He didn’t answer. His hand merely tightened on her arm, leading her away from the Atrium, and then off the walk and into the darker shadows cast by a towering oak. Only then did he remove his helmet, and she was taken aback by the genuine worry etched across his features. “Are you okay?” he repeated, his voice soft. “Did he lay hands on you in any way?” Under the concern, she heard simmering anger, and she shifted uncomfortably.

   “He didn’t even get out of the car,” she mumbled, looking away from his intense gaze. “It was his thugs that killed the truck.”

   “But he saw you at the truck? You sure he knows you’re associated with us?”

   “I was headed right for it. The lot’s pretty much empty.” Alley shrugged. “I doubt he could mistake which car I was aiming for.”

   He sighed, running his hand over her hair in a soft caress. “Sorry, honey. Looks like you might be involved in this war now, like it or not.” He quirked a grin. “Don’t suppose I could talk you into runnin’ back to Florida now, can I?” He chuckled at the look she gave him. “Didn’t think so.”

   Alley, uncomfortable with his proximity, not to mention the way he kept looking at her, stepped out from under his hand and continued to the parking lot, where she found Charley and the three other mice hooking the pickup onto the back of her tow truck.

   “Alley Cat!” Charley handed the winch to Vinnie and threw her arms around her cousin. “You okay, kid?” she asked. “You sounded really upset on the phone.”

   “Yeah, a little shaken up, I guess.” Alley offered a small smile. “I’m okay now. Chris stayed with me until you came. He’s a really nice guy.”

   “Do tell.” Charley raised an eyebrow with a catty smirk. “Not even started classes yet and already have the boys wrapped around your finger.”

   “Well, that’s nothing new,” Alley replied, earning a laugh from her cousin as she clambered into the passenger seat of the tow truck and leaned out the window. “Was there really any need to bring the entire army?” She gestured to the mice.

   “They were worried. And who knows if Limburger would come back and wait for me to show up, if I really was the target. No sense taking chances.” Pickup secured, Charley climbed into the driver’s seat. “Okay, guys. Let’s head back now. Thanks for coming out with me.”

   “Not a problem, Charley-girl,” Throttle replied. “Glad you’re not hurt, Alley.” He smiled up at her, gave a signal, and the four bikes took off down the road with the tow truck following close behind.

Next

[futuremrszainmalik]

#2 First Date (Based On Night Changes MV)

!HARRY: You were very thrilled for your first date with Harry. You still can't believe someone as amazing as him was interested in you. Anyway, you were getting ready to go out with him. You wore a black skinny jeans and a casual white long sleeved t-shirt and wore a black scarf to complete the look. The thing was, you didn't know where Harry was gonna take you. He wanted it to be a surprise for you. When you were searching for your purse, you received a message from him, that said "Hey! Are you ready? I'm at the door. H." You heard the door bell ring and you rushed off to the door to answer it. "Found it!", you muttered to yourself, taking the purse from the dining table, putting on a black coat and opening the door quickly. "Good evening, beautiful!" He flashed a bright smile, his green eyes sparkling. He wore a white shirt and a big black coat, with a beautiful orangeish brown scarf with maple leaves patterned, around his neck. He then pulled you into a hug, and gave a peck on your cheeks. You felt yourself blushing. He then led you to his car. You asked him, "So, Harry, not that I don't trust you, but where are you taking me to?" He grinned and said, "You'll see, y/n." You both finally reached the destination. It was a big ice skating rink. "Wow. This place looks amazing.", you breathed out. You saw Harry staring at you, smiling and said "You ready?" You nodded and he took your hands and led you towards the room where they provided the skating shoes. He picked one pair for himself and took another one and gave it to you. When you were about to put on the white shoes, he interrupted and said "No, Let me." and sat on one knee and helped you put them on. You smiled at how much of a gentleman he is. You both then went to the ice skating rink and had an amazing night. It was a bit difficult for you at first, but with Harry's constant support, you actually nailed the art of ice skating :P. You laughed, tripped, swirled and swung around the rink, having the time of your life with Harry beside. You thought to yourself that it was the best first date you ever had.

NIALL: Niall had called you and set up a date night at his house in London. It was situated in the outskirts of the city, but still wasn't that difficult for you to find. When you got off from the car, you saw Niall in a cute navy blue sweater, waiting for you. You ran towards him and he pulled you into a hug. "Helloo, y/n. Ya alright?" He asked, brushing some snow off your coat. "I'm alright. But its freezing out here. Care to take me inside?" He laughed and said "Of course. Of course." We went inside and he took off my coat and hung it in the coat-hanger. "You have an amazing home." "Glad you think so. Com'ere I'll give you a quick tour." He showed you the different rooms and places of the giant mansion, you were mesmerized by the beauty of the house. He then led you to the living room. It was big and cosy. And it had a small fireplace which just added a lot to its beauty. "y/n, wait here. I'll be right back." I nodded. After a few minutes he came back with two red cups of hot chocolate in his hand and handed one to you. He went into the kitchen again, and bought a tray of small chocolates with him, this time and placed it on the table. Suddenly a cute brown dog rushed to the living room and it stared at you with the cutest puppy eyes. "y/n, meet my best friend Sam. Sam this pretty lady is y/n." You smiled and patted him. He playfully jumped at you and began licking your hands. Niall quickly pulled him off from you and you giggled. He said "Seems like Sam really likes you, y/n." You grinned. He turned to Sam and whispered "That makes two of us." 

You blushed. You both talked about a lot of things and you were feeling all kinds of things when you looked at how his blonde hair was perfectly messy and how his blue eyes sparkled like a fire, feeling lucky to be with somebody as wonderful as him. After a while Niall said " So what do you say, y/n, let's have a play of Monopoly, yeah? Of course I'm gonna win, but -" He shrugged. You fake laughed and said "You wish, Horan. Fun fact: I'm about to kick your ass." Niall laughed and said "It's on!" After a fun filed game of Monopoly which you won, you guys moved on to play Jenga in which he won. After a very amazing and fun filled day, you checked the time and realised it was time for you to leave. You thanked him for an amazing date and he said it was his pleasure. He gave you a kiss on the cheek and sent you on your way back with lots of amazing memories filled up in your minds.

LIAM: You made your way inside the crowded carnival through the big door. You searched for a while and finally saw Liam standing in front of a store. He looked really handsome in that plaited shirt inside a big light brown colored coat and a red scarf hanging around his neck. You both hugged each other. He smiled and said "Good Evening, love! Here have one..", handing you a caramel apple stick. "Thank you, Liam." You smiled and breathed out "Wow. This carnival is really beautiful." Liam, in a low voice, said "Just like you." You pretended that you didn't hear this and hid your blush. You both wandered around the carnival buying stuffs along the way. He said "Let's take a selfie." You nodded and posed. He took one and then turned to you and said that you looked amazing in it. You saw that some fans identified him. They came up and asked for pictures. Being the wonderful person he is, he obliged to their requests. You were really impressed by the man's humble behavior. He saw you staring at him and asked if you were alright. You smiled and said "Like never before." He grinned. While walking, you then saw a big brown teddy bear in one of the stalls. You said "Aww... What a cute bear it is, isn't it?" He looked over and saw the one that you were talking about.. He said "Yeah. It is. y/n, I'm gonna win it for you." You said "There's no need Liam. You don't have to do that!" Liam insisted. A lot. And finally you agreed. He went inside the shop and the shopkeeper handed him a set of darts. He nailed the game in the first round itself, much to your amusement . He was then handed out the big fluffy Teddy Bear and he puppeteered it before giving it to you. You laughed. "What are you gonna name it, y/n?" You replied after thinking for a while, "Bear." "Good choice." You both then went on and tried all the different and special foods found in different stalls, buying a few for later, you then went to a lot of fun rides in the carnival, played games with each other. The night finally came to an end with him hugging you and telling you that he had the best night ever. You agreed with him. He stood there looking out for you, until he made sure that you were safe and called out one last time "Bye Bye y/n. Bye Bye Bear." You laughed and said your byes too.

LOUIS: You were dressed in a classic plain pastel pink assymetrical midi dress and an off white faux fur collared coat and your hair was put up in a classic ponytail. You couldn't be more excited about your lunch date with Louis. You were in a cab on the way to a park where you both decied to meet up. And finally when you reached, you saw Louis waiting for you, in a blue vest and a big cream colored trenchcoat. With his hair neatly styled, he looked really handsome. "Wow y/n, you look gorgeous." He said and greeted you with a hug. "Thank you. You look like a gentleman, yourself, Louis." He smiled and nodded his head. "Your ride for the day Ms. y/l/n.", he said pointing to the amazing vintage blue convertible car that you just noticed. You shreiked "Wow. This is so cool, Louis." He nodded and opened your door, like a real gentleman, and said "Come on in." You both hopped inside and put on your seatbelts. He put on some musics and you both sang along to it and had a crazy time, while doing so. After a while you undid your hair, letting the wind bounce it around. You leaned towards the door and enjoying the cool breeze, brushing through your hair. You saw him stealing glances at you, every once. You smiled to yourself. "So y/n, where do you reckon we are going?", he asks. "I don't know, sir, you tell me.", you replied. He laughed and said "Well. We are going somewhere that means a lot to me. I have been visiting this place since I was a kid. And, You are really special to me, so why not take a special girl to a special place?" You were really sure he saw the blush that you failed to hide. After a few more minutes of an amazing drive, he pulled over to a place near a big and wonderful lake. You were awestruck by its beauty. You said to him, "Louis, it looks soo amazing. It just makes you feel so good and refreshed." He nodded and said "It does, doesn't it? It just gives out a calm and relaxing feel." You agreed. He then took you to the pavement where you saw a flock of pigeones flying around. You sat there and enjoyed having nice and warm conversations, just like the ambience that this beautiful place had. He then showed you around the places, your hands in his hands, causing your goosebumps to rise, talking about anything and everything. You both then headed out to a small house, where an old couple, welcomed you both. Louis explained how he met these amazing couples on one of his visits and how close he became to them. You lunched at their home and had a wonderful time listening to their sweet stories. They then bid their farewells when you were about to leave and you both promised to come back again. On your drive back, you looked at Louis and saw your future in his eyes.

ZAYN: You were getting ready for your dinner date tonight with Zayn. You wore a knee lengthed red, fit and flare, 3/4th sleeved dress, did your cateye makeup and your brown wavy hair was left open. You wore a woolen coat over the dress and headed on your way off to a very classic French restaurant. Zayn had asked you to meet him up in the backgates of the hotel, as he didn't want to be spotted, and sure enough, there he was standing with a bunch of flowers in his hand, in an all black suit, his black hair sleeked neatly, looking like an absolute dream. He said "Wow. Y/N you look breathtakingly beautiful." He pullled you into a hug and then handed out the flowers saying, "Here, these are for you, babe." You took it and said "Aww, thank you, these are really pretty. You didn't have to bring me these!" "What do you mean? You deserve this and a lot more." You found yourself blushing at this remark. He then led you through the kitchen, introducing you to the nice people working there, and then to a private table in a corner, which was reserved for you both. He pulled out your chair and sat you there, like a gentleman and then returned to his seat. "This place is really fantastic, Zayn.", you told him. He gave a smile and nodded. He then introduced you to a very nice man named John, who was your waiter. He brought an exclusive Red Wine and you both toasted to an amazing night ahead. John came back and took your orders. "So, y/n how was your day?", he asked you. "Well, it was okay. It was a bit of a tough schedule-" and you began explaining your day to him.The conversation then moved on to different topics, like your dreams, your pasts, your families, and learned a lot about each other. He listened to every words you spoke intently, like he could never get tired of them.You caught him staring at you admiringly, quite a lot of time. Zayn then got a call from someone, but he ignored it. You then said to him, "Zayn, it's okay, answer the call!" "Nah, its nothing. Besides, tonight's all about you, love." You shyly smiled. Meanwhile, John bought the food you ordered. And boy, it looked yummy. You both began to eat them. "y/n, have a taste of this spaghetti, it's delicious.", he said and fed you a spoon, himself. You replied, "Oh yeah!" He then stared at you and said "You've got some of that sauce on your face." "What? Where?" Zayn leaned in and he himself cleaned it up for you. You looked down and blushed. You both talked a lot about a lot of things and midway when you were explaining about your recent work travel, he placed a hand on yours, sending you an electric sensation, and you were lost for words. You then managed to come back to earth and finish the story. After the dinner, Zayn walked you to your car and said "I love the fact that you love to talk. And man, I could listen to it all day, Y/N, I had the best time. We should do this again sometime." You smiled and nodded.

A/N: Tell me if you liked it, guys! xx Also, look how dreamy our boys look!!

[tevotbegotnaught]

Dubov's Last Jump-off pt 3

Saturday afternoon, we found out the club couldn’t (or wouldn’t) accommodate our third night. Dubov had to pay us, of course. Mo was looking at other venues, possibly for tonite, realistically for the coming week. He asked our availability. Once we all responded, possibilities quickly evaporated. That weekend passed and more days after.

After waiting a week, I texted Mo about money. Hours later, he replied:

“High paint he otter eyes or sue didn’t cut anything”

At the gigs, I watched Mo use his phone; its screen at his nose, glasses mid way between forehead and hairline. He looked down precipitously, grumbled, grumbled again, then pressed send. What usually came through was a ransom note clipped from Beckett. He never corrected these puzzles until one of us asked. Here, a fully translated version of our exchange:

“I paid the other guys, you sure you didn’t get anything.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Did you send your invoice to Julie.”

“Yes”

“I’ll call them”

“is there anything I can do to expedite this?”

“Chris, I’m not your employer”

“Right”(!)

“There’s a rehearsal tonite, will you be there”

“I didn’t know about a rehearsal. Where and when?”

“Still working on a place. Maybe 7?” (3 hours from now)

“Tough for me”

“No worries. If you go, you’ll be paid of course”

“Ok”

“No worries. I’ll get back to you”

Now, I was enrolled in the Godot payment plan. Dubov was looking at spending four lifetimes in more chains than Issac Hayes ever wore. I just wanted to get my money.

Weeks later, Mo Bedbug went live.

“Bears ash oh Friday”

Mo called in a favor with some Long Islanders. We had a show Friday. I lobbied for travel money.

Any evening rush hour on the LIE (a highway, not an enormous falsehood) was a parking lot. Friday rush was tailgating minus libations. I pressed him for my other money in the bargain.

“I paid Pianist with Venmo. Do you have Venmo.”

(I send my Venmo)

“This is will be easy, I didn’t know you had Venmo.”

“Ok”(I offered twice before)

“I’ll see you Friday my place"

Mo balked at travel money, though. Arranging an Uber from his place and promising we'd miss rush hour. To get to Mo's, I took the bus, two of them. It cost me way more than the fare. Flushing Avenue, Shabbat imminent, was a sightseeing tour: high school kids, restaurant workers, construction crews. So many people boarding, I couldn’t see nor hear my stop and had to walk an extra half-mile.

Turning onto Mo’s street, a familiar Bushwick tableau appeared. A massive pit, surrounded on three sides by green plywood. Graffiti tags and band decals fading under the shrouds of old posters. At the curb, a ziggurat of garbage-strewn ten-foot pipes and a marooned RV, black spray paint scrawled over its siding and vents, windows cracked and stuffed with wads of insulation, front seats piled to the ceiling with bundled magazines and crumpled newsprint.

On the next block, I found Mo's address stenciled on the brick wall of a old factory. Drummer stood away from its entrance smoking and scrolling his phone. He looked up.

"Man, I texted him like 10 minutes ago."

"No answer?"

"He said he’s coming right down"

"I’ve been giving him progress reports. F***ing bus was crawling."

The building’s entrance, a glass and brushed steel module, sat cheek by jowl with a battered freight elevator. After a text reminder and more waiting, the freight elevator doors parted vertically. Mo let the canvas strap swing overhead.

"This way" he said, glancing over his shoulder at the gleaming foyer before pulling the strap down. The elevator enclosure, a hypoxic chamber of fuel vapors and sawdust, led darkly to a huge steel door. Mo punched a code and pulled the handle. Inside, a newly carpeted hallway, filled with tarps, drywall, paint cans and the potent smell of sandalwood.

"They’re still doing work....as you can see. My place is cool, though.”

"Where’s Keys (the new pianist)?"

"He’s here. Been here a while. Working on the music."

"You have a piano?"

"Uh, I have kind of a studio. Not for recording, but you know, instruments and stuff."

Mo had room for those instruments and plenty more. His walls sprouted art in every medium and material: paintings on wood, metal, plastic jugs, shards of glass; sculptures of bottle caps, cardboard, styrofoam; violent, erotic black and white photos fetishizing punk style and concert posters from Downtown’s acme.

I stooped to gawk at an undulating video in a KFC bucket.

“That’s from my gallery. I used to have a gallery. When it closed I moved everything here. Well, not everything, but…you know.”

Keys sat on a leather couch. He was a kid, maybe twenty-five. I was his grandfather. That messed me up. Before excusing himself, Mo pulled me an espresso from a fancy Italian machine. I packed sandwiches and coffee, but the extra shot was welcome. From a closed door, medicinal-grade weed wafted. We were a full hour behind schedule.

Out on the street, waiting for the Uber, Mo nodded at the construction site and listing RV, saying in his mumblecore voice,

"That’s my girlfriend’s art project.... I mean, ex-girlfriend. "

"The RV? She did THAT?"

"Yeah....Well, her friends... they did it together. I don’t know who did which part"

(There were ‘parts’?)

"How long has it been there?"

"Uh....nine months. Wait...yeah. We broke up six months ago. She was living in it for a while."

"Living in it? You’re kidding. Was that part of the project?"

He chuckled. "Yeah...I don’t know."

"We’re still friends" he said, mostly to tumbling litter in the street.

Inside the Uber, Mo continued: “the realtor told me this was east Williamsburg, but it’s not, it's Bushwick. I don’t care what they call it, of course. I don’t mind living in Bushwick. It’s easier to have a car here.”

“You have a car?”

“Not now. Had to get rid of it. Wasn’t right for this neighborhood”

“Wasn’t right?”

“it was an Audi R8. Midlife crisis car. These streets are so bad, I kept having to get it fixed.”

Driving due east, the winter sun behind us pooled on the shiny road. We careened through four lane traffic. Ahead, break lights fanned out, ruby droplets cascading off a humpback’s tail.

Drummer and Keys talked through the set, then volleyed gossip about mutual friends.

When the radio spun an artist he knew personally, Mo turned around and apropos-ed a story, interrupting the other guys. In the 80s, he produced videos for many fledgling stars. It was a new medium for him and Pop music. A few of his clients soared from Downtown digs to world domination. Mo didn’t stay on for their ascent, though. He also worked on an early Dubov-produced movie until the boss’s relentless cost-cutting and hostility wore him down. While he rambled, a vape pen did plenty of its own talking.

Tonight’s venue, a redux of a famous Long Island rock room, now tucked in the basement of a new boutique North Shore Inn. That building, a block-size Cape Cod, dropped like Dorothy’s whirling farmhouse at an angle to the tony commercial strip.

We had a seriously low pressure slot, opening for a veteran blues band. Ten white guys from three generations; a solid outfit with a long history playing sincere, tasty covers. Always simpatico, Karolina added "Stormy Monday" to our set list. Due to the short notice, we lost Pianist, our stellar MD, and Trumpet wasn’t available. Pruned to prototypical stripper band: saxophone, piano and drums. Not without some irony..

When the ladies hit “Uptown Funk", shimmying and signifying, the audience, almost all sixty year-old white dudes with the occasional spouse, started hooting and whistling. T and A wasn’t on the bill, but it still satisfied. Margherita did her canned steps for ”Too Darn Hot". Karolina was confident and sold her songs. Keys somehow kept the basslines and harmonies together. I completely missed the famous trumpet intro to “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy". The ladies jumped in undaunted. The Male Gaze kept the show alight until we exited, dodging the headliner's B3, Leslie and vintage amps.

The ladies were pros now and we repaired to the underground parking lot to celebrate. The girls in jeans and hoodies, band in our "gangster suits". While she waited for Keys to blaze up. Margherita asked me,

“Did you have fun?”

"Sure, I always have fun" I told her. What counts as honesty when the entire premise of an act is fakery?

"Great" she said, tracking down the joint.

A couple hits and we went back inside, sitting down near the jacked-open exit door. The blues band’s horn section looked on wearily as the front man sang verses fashioned by tougher men for harsher times. From our seats, we saw Mo sweep through the green room doorway, his long canvas coat and scarf swinging. He pivoted at the closest table and exchanged with the owner, a grizzled man with a barely legal date. Their conversation rearranged chairs and sent the men striding out of the club, proving there actually were blues to be had everyday.

When Mo and dance partner failed to return, we headed upstairs and onto the porch, where patio furniture gleamed under blinding lights. At the foot of the wooden steps, livery cars glided in and out of the glare. After a flurry of texts, the ladies gathered their garment bags and kissed us goodbye. A black SUV, indistinguishable from the others, stopped and a rear window opened. Inside, Dubov’s face, like crumpled paper, if paper were milled from lipids and dusted with ash. "Good job guys" he said, voice level and hoarse. We thanked him. The ladies got in on the far side, Dubov’s window closed and the car drove off.

************************************************************************************

After dropping him at the factory, Mo left the meter running on our Uber so the band could get home. On the way, we speculated about Dubov’s eventual prison sentence, Mo’s fee and when "the New Yorkers" might book their first Bar Mitzvah.

The driver, a Bengali, navigated without commenting on our post-mortems, confirming and re-confirming each address for his app. I was last on the circuit. Once we were alone, I asked the driver about his night. His answers were brief and courteous. As we waited at a light, he turned his head toward me. "Excuse me, one question. Have you ever been to Las Vegas?"

[dontshootmespence]

Through the Lens

Part 2

Shit. This place was fancy. Apparently, the food was delicious, but you were going to a fancy restaurant with the most beautiful model in the world. Fuck. What in the hell were you supposed to wear?

Rummaging around in your closet did no good. Nothing was good enough. How could anything be good enough for the beautiful JJ and this fancy ass Italian restaurant? 

Over the past couple of days, you and JJ had been exchanging text messages and getting to know each other more, so you texted her with your worries.

Y/N: What is someone who normally wears oversized sweatshirts and skinny jeans supposed to wear to this place?

JJ: Whatever you want!

That wasn’t helping!

Y/N: JJ, that’s not helping! I looked up this place and it’s super fancy and I look like a bum in my normal clothes.

JJ: But you’re a cute bum.

You blushed at JJ calling you cute and decided to go out and find something to wear. Dresses weren’t your staple, but you did like them, so you decided to find the perfect dress. After nearly two hours of shopping by yourself, during which time you asked for JJ’s opinion on each outfit, you’d settled on the perfect one without showing her; you felt great in it and it was totally you. Vintage was always your style. You loved it because it was clean and demure on the outside, but that wasn’t how you were on the inside. Though shy at first, once you got comfortable with someone, you let yourself be freer. 

Now it was time for your date. JJ was going to be here in less than five minutes and you were looking yourself over in the mirror for the 18th time. The outfit was perfect. It was light blue chiffon with a thin black trim on the flowing cap sleeves, as well as the bottom of the dress; a matching black strap cinched your waist and was adorned with a cute black bow. You’d also bought black strappy stilettos and a small black clutch. Last but not least, you added your great grandmother’s wedding ring, which was impossibly small, so you kept it on a chain around your neck. “I can do this,” you said to yourself. “You’re going out with JJ. She asked you out.” Even the best pep talk wasn’t helping. Still nervous.

The knock on the door startled you, bringing a blush to your face that actually complimented the natural makeup you’d applied. “JJ?”

“It’s me!” She sounded adorable, and she was, but when you opened the door, you had to make sure you kept your mouth from falling to the floor. She looked drop-dead gorgeous, decked out in a royal blue, backless mini dress. “I’m hoping your speechlessness is good?” She asked cheesily, smiling as she stepped into your apartment.

“Y-yes,” you laughed. “Very good. Very very good.”

Once downstairs, you were met with a driver to take you to the restaurant. “I reserved a table for us. I know the owner; his name is David Rossi. His mother came to the U.S. from Italy and brought all her recipes with her. Rossi is the absolute sweetest. If there was ever a person more perfect for his job, I haven’t met him, because Rossi is it.”

The ride to the restaurant was short, but filled with laughter and more easy conversation. Though JJ made you feel at ease, there was one lingering thought in the back of your mind; JJ was one of the most sought after women in the world, not just in regards to a relationship, but the paparazzi. Anyone she dated was going to be photographed constantly, and you were an intensely private person. Somehow, despite not knowing each other for more than a few days, JJ seemed to know what you were thinking.  “I hope you don’t mind, or at least, can deal with having your picture taken, because unfortunately, it does come with the territory.” She grimaced as the limo driver pulled up to the restaurant; she loved what she did, but if she could do it without fame, she would in a heartbeat – getting followed around sucked.

“Well, I’m sure as hell not used to it,” you replied. “And it’s probably going to take some getting used to, but I will, and I want to, because the pros definitely outweigh the cons.” Smiling as you got out of the car, you grabbed her hand, intertwining your fingers together as you walked into the restaurant.

“Reservation for two for Jennifer Jareau,” she said.

“Oh, hello Ms. Jareau,” the maître d’ said. “Mr. Rossi is expecting you. Would you like to be seated at the back of the garden?”

She looked at you, silently asking where you’d feel more comfortable. It was a beautiful day out, so you decided to take a seat next to the small fountain in the garden while you looked over the menu. Everything looked delicious; they offered everything from stuffed peppers to antipasti to six different kinds of risotto to chicken, fish, meat, and an array of nearly 20 desserts. “Oh my god, JJ, what do I eat? I like food. I want it all.” 

“I’ve had everything here at one point or another,” she laughed, her eyes glancing upward. “It’s the restaurant’s owner.” She spoke as she got up and embraced the older Italian man in a giant hug. “Y/N, this is David Rossi, the owner of Barbetta’s, Rossi, this is my date for the evening, Y/N.”

The older gentleman would definitely be categorized as a charmer. He grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it. “Any friend of JJ’s is a friend of mine,” he said, as he began regaling you with the history of the restaurant. Such fancy surroundings had given you an expectation of what the owner would be like – stuffy and off-putting came to mind, but he was the exact opposite, so much so that by the time he got to telling you the specials for the day it was nearly 15 minutes later. “Well, I hate to leave you two beautiful ladies, but I do need to get back to the kitchen. Let me know if I can do anything for you.”

“You’re in the kitchen all day?” It came out a little harsher than you’d intended but again, you’d never imagined the owner of such a fancy place to be back in the kitchen.

Apparently, he was used to the shock though. “I own the place because I didn’t want it to end up outside of the family, but my first love is cooking, so I’m here every day to lend a hand. It makes me happy.” 

As he left the table, both of you were beaming from ear to ear. “He’s so sweet,” you said, falling back into conversation as if nothing had happened while you looked over all your options. Eventually, after much deliberation, the two of you decided on splitting a roasted pepper appetizer. Then, because you personally couldn’t decide between all of the different foods, JJ got the Atlantic salmon and you got the roast chicken – that way you could split them evenly.

Throughout the meal, Rossi came to check on you both. He’d personally made both of your meals; the most adorable smile painted itself across his face when you told him that although you had been eating Italian food your whole life, this was quite possibly one of the most delicious meals you’d ever eaten. “Would you mind if I surprise you with dessert?” He asked. “I’ve been working on a little something I think you both might like.”

You liked surprises - especially if they were food-related. “I’d love that.”

“Me too,” JJ smiled. The entire meal had been so delicious and the atmosphere so soothing that you’d barely had time to register just how beautiful JJ was, but out in the garden, amongst the flowers and the sun, shielded slightly through the trees, her cute, dimpled smile outshined it all.

Rossi dismissed himself again, leaving you and JJ to talk about upcoming projects – most pressing being that of New York Fashion Week. JJ had been before, but you were waiting on word regarding whether or not you’d be going. The slight buzzing in your bag startled you both, and while you hated being on the phone at the table, you noticed your boss’s number. “This is my notice about whether or not I’ll be working during fashion week,” you said. JJ encouraged you to answer the phone, waiting eagerly as you conversed with your boss. “Blake?”

“The one and only,” she laughed. “Yours truly has been pulling every string imaginable. If it weren’t for your amazing work recently, I don’t know whether my pull would’ve done anything, but I’ve gotten you a pass for the fashion week.”

You pumped your hands in the air, silently kicking your feet and screeching. “Alex, you are amazing, and the best boss anyone could possibly ask for. Will you be sending me my assignments?”

“As soon as I possibly can,” she laughed. Just like you, Alex had only started to make a name for herself in the field, but she had – as not only professional, but kind, innovative and funny. All of a sudden, Rossi returned with your dessert, exclaiming to JJ before realizing you were on the phone. “Are you at Barbetta’s?” Alex asked.

“Yes, everything is delicious. I’m actually on a date and I feel totally rude, so I’m going to go. Talk to you soon?”

Blake apologized profusely before reiterating that she’d send you your assignments in a couple of days; she had a few other calls she had to make and then she’d be hunting down the best possibilities for you to showcase your talent during one of the biggest times of the year in the fashion industry. “Talk to you soon, love.”

“Bye, Alex. Thanks again.” Rossi approached the table, smile still plastered to his face as he laid the plate on the table. “I’m so sorry for being on the phone. I just got my go ahead for fashion week. I hope I get to work on at least one of the runways you’re on,” you said to JJ.

“Me too.” She placed her hand on top of your before turning to Rossi to ask him what he brought for them. “This looks delicious. What is it?”

Rossi took two spoons out of his sparkling clean apron and handed them to you. “Again, I’ve personally prepared something I’ve been working on for a while. You’ll actually be my guinea pigs if you will because I’ve only served this to family before. It’s an apple cider risotto cheesecake, topped with apple slices that are coated in brown sugar and cinnamon.” Each of you took a bite. JJ closed her eyes and you had to keep yourself from making an obscene noise.

“Do you need a moment alone with the cheesecake, Y/N?” JJ laughed.

You might actually. “I think so, yea. This is actual perfection, Mr. Rossi.”

“Please, Rossi or David. And you like?”

“I love it! So many times, dessert tends to be overly rich and heavy, and although delicious, I can’t enjoy it as much, but this is perfectly fluffy, and delicious, not to sweet. Actual perfection. I may need you to bring me the rest of the cheesecake.”

While you were gushing to Rossi, JJ had already taken another two bites. “You snooze, you lose.” While you playfully poked at each other with spoons trying to get the last bites of cake, Rossi dismissed himself. Upon his return, he handed JJ the check, which you tried to take, but she wouldn’t allow it, and handed you a box. Inside was the rest of the cheesecake.

“That’s on the house,” he said, when you tried to at least pay for that. “Enjoy it. I hope to see you again.”

“You will definitely be seeing us again,” you laughed.

JJ paid for your meal and agreed that next time you could pay before you left the restaurant and headed back to the car. On the way back to your apartment, she got a call from her boss, Derek Morgan. “Derek, where am I walking this year?” Though he was the CEO of the company that employed JJ, he made it a point to talk with any model he employed at least once a week regardless of whether they had a separate manager. She put the phone on speaker, introducing you both.

“Treat my girl well,” he said, his voice light and protective, yet not overbearing in the slightest.

So many people in the industry weren’t lucky enough to have such enthusiastic managers. “I plan to, don’t worry.”

“Okay, so I have you walking for Prentiss, Christian Siriano, Nina Tiari, and Balenciaga.” Such diverse designers. But Derek Morgan could afford to have JJ working with such an array of clothing – she could pull off anything. “Other than that, you are free to go wherever you like. Is there anyone in particular whose show you’d like a ticket to? I can get one for Y/N too if you like.” The two of you quickly conversed; she’d always loved Marchesa, but had never had the chance to wear it, and you’d always loved the intricate and delicate designs they came up with, loving how they played against the camera. “Marchesa it is,” he said. “I’ll have to pull some strings, but I think I can pull a couple of tickets for you.”

“Oh, can I also get Alvez and Hermes if possible,” she added quickly before Derek could hang up the phone. “Spencer is supposed to walking for them this year and I’d love to be able to see him. We’ve both been so busy, we haven’t been able to see each other in nearly two months.” Theirs was a known friendship in the industry – normally because the tabloids always claimed they were dating, despite the fact that Spencer was gay, not bi like JJ.

“I’ve got you covered.” Employer and employee said a few more words before they hung up.

“So are you happy with your assignments this year?” You asked. You couldn’t wait to get your own assignments.

JJ nodded happily, stomach full of delicious food. “I’m going to have to be in the gym for a week to make sure I’m good to go after this meal.”

That you did not envy. You loved food too much. It outweighed your love for clothes. “Well after fashion week is over maybe we can come back here and fill up on deliciousness again? My treat this time?”

“It’s a date.” 

You smiled like an idiot as she leaned into you. You’d been having a great time, but self-doubt always lingered, and you’d been wondering if she wanted a second date. Thankfully, she did.

As the driver pulled up to your apartment, JJ got out and walked you upstairs. “I’ve had a great time.”

“Me too,” you replied. “We’re both busy until fashion week is over, so…I’ll see you there?” 

“Absolutely,” she replied, stepping forward and gently touching the side of your face. “Hold on to this until then.” She pressed her lips to yours, practically melting into you as her tongue parted your lips. Thank god you were inside – less likely to have your picture taken, but you wouldn’t have blamed someone for snapping a couple pictures. The way JJ was kissing you was definitely picture-worthy.

@coveofmemories @sexualemobitch @jamiemelyn @unstoppableangel8 @iammostdefinitelyonfire26 @marvelfanlife @amarislestrange @obsessed5sosfreak @sonhadoraativa @1enchantedfantasy1 @ace-and-rosey @blakendores @twelveyearoldchildprodigy @offbrandcursewords @entelechysymphony @milkandcookies528 @pugs-cats-bb-8 @davidr0ssi @sarahkay-19 @alexialoveseverlark @gigglyprentiss @myhogwartslibrary @stunudo @the-slytherin-ice-queen @ultrarebelheart

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[pipbabi]

sport necklaces

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[talltalesandbedtimestories]

A View To A Winchester (Part 7)

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Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle. Gotten pretty cute and fluffy, with some angst. I’m a few sections ahead now in my writing so the outline of the story is taking shape and smut is on the near horizon. This has been a fun escape during stay-at-home orders. Getting to know Dean through my heroine’s eyes has been a great writing exercise and therapeutic reduction in anxiety. There should be studies done on what staring at photos and video of Dean/Jensen does to the human body. (But the SPN fandom has probably done one already; if not, it could be the next big scientific breakthrough.)

Section Word Count:  3,385

Section Content: fluff, angst, R-rated language, drinking, Spice Girls references, Dean being Dean and turning ladies to puddles

Thank you to @deanwanddamons​ for reading some of the story so far. Appreciate it.

~~~~~

Dean had not returned the next day. But Julie was apparently on his mind. He’d texted her that morning with an update. Another job had dropped into his lap. One too good to pass up. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone. But he was looking forward to seeing her when he got back.

That was on a Monday. She filled that day with decisions about what to make for her “girl power get together” scheduled for the end of the week. There was also the necessary recuperation from overdoing it with the wine. She hadn’t been that hungover in a while. Bingeing on caffeine and “The Office” helped.

By Tuesday, she’d become ancy. Staying home was not going to work. If her mind was going to run around in circles, there would need to be something else to occupy it. Rifling through options landed on a trip to a nearby state park. She’d decided on one with a bit of a challenging hike. Composed of winding hills and trails near the Brandywine River, the nature reserve filled her senses, balancing the whirlwind of emotions. She spent close to an hour sitting beside the riverbed. A turbulent spot chosen where the white water rushed over boulders and splashed into a slight descent. The river’s frantic pace cancelled out the chirping of busy birds. A gauge nearby displayed a healthy amount of rain had occurred over the past few weeks.  

Even the intrusion into her personal space by a talkative, friendly dog walker didn’t bother her that much. The petite raven-haired woman, whose age was hard to pinpoint, made some chit chat while Julie trekked back to her car. Her name was Ina and she was new to Delaware. Currently, she was in search of a server job at a high-end restaurant where the tips would make it worth her time. “Any recommendations for decent food markets? Best place to order take-out, Thai being my favorite?” Ina’s chocolate lab, Cocoa, sniffed at Julie’s sneakers with abandon as questions were tossed in her general direction. Julie pet Cocoa, dodging some inquiries and rambling off information about places near her home. Cocoa got a few good scratches behind an ear before she wished Ina well settling into Pike Creek.

Wednesday ticked by even slower. Her fingers itched to text Dean. The basement had been the lucky recipient of her time and attention. A large amount of progress was made unpacking boxes, sorting out donations, and finding permanent spots in the house for decorative items. She broke down and reached out to her brother and sister-in-law, Patty, and face timed with her nephews later that night. 

By Thursday, she went over her mom’s house. They ended up going to the mall and then shopping for the food Julie needed for her Friday night get together. She was reminded by her mother to feed the ladies well, with various cooking tips. Dean was also a large part of her mother’s focus. Julie feigned as much non-interest on the Winchester topic as possible. But her mother knew her well enough. She was reminded upon leaving to feed him the lasagna in the freezer soon.

Karen, Stacey, and Cat benefitted from a substantial number of Julie’s hours in the kitchen that Friday night. She’d attempted chicken parmesan, one of her mom’s signature dishes. Sauce had simmered on the stove for a couple hours - not as long as Brigida’s, but not bad. They were on the second bottle of red wine, having moved out of the dining room and into the living room. Cat, sensible and responsible as usual, was abstaining and had driven the other former college roommates over to Julie’s house.

Streaming radio played. They ended up singing along to “Holler” by The Spice Girls, sans Ginger. Julie had always been eager to take Posh’s lines, mainly because hers were few and far between. But, Karen, with her mocha colored skin, coiffed haircut, and pencil-thin skirt wrapping a pencil-thin body truly embodied the word posh. In spite of all that, Karen tapped away on her cell phone while covering Scary’s verses.

Julie had always admired Karen’s drive and dedication. She even hoped to get the divorce thing down as well as Karen. Her two teenage boys were spending the weekend at the Ex’s. She was heading up to New York by train to see her wealthy lawyer boyfriend Saturday morning. Karen made more money than “new man” did. She was a partner in a very successful law firm.  

Stacey always loved Baby Spice. She had the requisite long blonde hair and blue eyes and curvy figure. She also apparently loved babies, as she had birthed three of them in her fifteen years of wedded bliss. The youngest child was two and at home with the rest of the brood that night. Her somewhat sickeningly sweet hubby was great with the kids, she gushed. “He doesn’t think he’s babysitting when he spends time with them.” She nodded and pointed at all three women in succession. Her affinity for wine had not faltered either from their college days. Stacey’s lips are already way too loose when she’s sober. Her rouge stained mouth was downright slippery at present, wet with a good Cabernet Sauvignon.

“Lucky you.” Karen quipped. “My ex went to the mat to get shared custody. Yet, every time it’s ‘his’ weekend, there has to be an argument.” Karen’s love for air quotes hasn’t gone away. She smiled over at Cat. “You should have tried harder to seduce me, Kitty Kat. Would have saved me decades of dumb dick.”

Cat, who always seemed relegated to Sporty Spice by default, pushed black rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. Her blue eyes crinkled behind the frames. “It wouldn’t have stuck, Kar.” She dipped and sipped at her soda. Sharp angles of her brown bob curtained a pale face. Stubby fingers with short nails - that she probably still bites - flicked the hair back. “Besides, I wouldn’t be happily domesticated with Sheila now. And you hate dogs. I have two, remember? Big ones.” Cat turned to Julie. “What about you, Jules?”

Julie’s eyes widened behind her own glasses. “Are you offering to try and seduce me, Cat?”

Karen and Stacey laughed. Cat blushed. “No, smartass. Are you going to get a pet to keep you company?”

Julie shook her head. “Don’t think so.” She was taking it easier on the wine than the other two, still milking her second serving. There would be no hangover repeat.

“Well, a man, then?” Karen asked.

Stacey guffawed. “It’s only been a few months. Give the woman a chance to grieve.”

“Grieve over what? A shitload of baggage she never checked on the flight.” Karen shot back.

Cat rolled her eyes. “Here they go,” she mumbled.

Julie cleared her throat. All three turned to stare in her direction. “There is… someone.”

Karen slapped her thigh. “That’s my girl!”

“Already?” Stacey’s lids blinked in rapid succession.

Cat waved a hand at Stacey to hush, looking at Julie the whole time. “Details.”

Julie began the very lengthy tale that was Dean Winchester. When she was done, she was met with mixed reactions from the trio.

“He’s been stalking you?” Karen’s brow furrowed.

“He’s a bounty hunter?” Stacey added her concern.

“What’s his name again?” Cat pulled her tablet out of the huge purse by her feet. She was a communications manager at a large non-profit and social media was her specialty.

Julie shifted in her seat. “Dean Winchester.” Defense mode shot up. “To be fair, it’s not like I was innocent in the whole stalking thing, either.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t go much beyond some Googling, right? He got downright illegal in his activity.” Karen shook her head.

“Hm.” Cat frowned. “You said he’s around our age?”

Julie nodded. “43, he said.”

Stacey wagged a sluggish finger. “Hey, we’re 40. Don’t age us all prematurely. Nature’s doing a fine job of that without any additional assistance.” Stacey’s starting to slur. May have to cut her off soon.

Cat ignored Stacey, swiping and typing. “I’m not coming up with anyone around that age with that name. Weird.”

“Why’s that weird?” Stacey asked.

“Everyone has a digital footprint. Something can be found on anyone pretty quickly. Even if it’s the smallest, inconsequential bit of data. But, to find nothing…”

Julie shrugged. “Maybe he’s good at covering his tracks.”

“Even more reason to be wary of this guy, Jules.” Karen attempted a maternal look. “He sounds like the epitome of a bad boy. Come on, a vintage muscle car? You’re a sucker for that type. We were study partners working on our Minors in Psychology together, remember? Think about it. Ten years with a man you thought was a good partner and reliable, only to have that rug ripped out from under you? I’d be searching for the exact opposite, too, faster than you could say peanut butter sundae.” No wonder she makes the big bucks. She presents a damn good argument.

“Karen’s right.” Stacey tried to sound soothing. “You’re in a very vulnerable state right now. Hormones are probably all over the place. Any guy with ill intentions could take advantage of that.”

Julie raised a brow. “If you saw this man in person, Stace… trust me, you’d be all aboard the Dean Train. Remember Gavin Teller?” Julie leaned forward for emphasis.

“Yeah?” Stacey squeaked out the question. 

“Imagine Gavin having aged to perfection, like that fine wine you enjoy so much.” She pointed at Stacey’s glass. “Now, square that. You get Dean Winchester.”

“We all remember Gavin in his heyday.” Karen let out a low-key whistle. “Damn. I may have to reconsider my opening statement.” Her original career path of a prosecutor fell by the wayside midway through her college career. An enticing salary that could be earned helping clients buy and sell publicly traded companies won out.

Stacey shushed Karen. “College quarterbacks don’t turn into bounty hunters.”

Cat raised both hands in the air. “That is an opinion, not fact. And a totally ridiculous leap. Besides, Gavin Teller sells cars at his dad’s dealership now, is bald, and has a pot belly. His local TV spots are downright cringeworthy. Such a pain in the ass when his company sponsored one of our events. Wanted his cheesy grin inserted in so many media posts. How is that better than being a badass bounty hunter?”

Julie smiled at the tension and exchanged a knowing glance with Karen. They had long suspected there’d been some sexual experimentation between Cat and Stacey around college graduation. It had centered around a night of lemon drop body shots.  

Stacey tilted her nose up. “He was always nice to me.”

“That’s because he liked how you looked in that cheerleading skirt, Stace. I know I did. But, really, Julie… you should be careful.” Cat repeated the other’s concern.

The doorbell chimed. Stacey gasped and Karen’s posture stiffened. Cat returned the tablet to her purse. 

“Did you order more food?” Nervous laughter from the ladies followed Cat’s question.

Julie shook her head. She looked at her watch. It was not quite 7:30 pm. Seconds later her phone buzzed. She tapped at the screen to view the text.

Knock, knock

“Oh, shit.” Julie whispered.

“What?” Karen placed her wine glass atop a coaster on the coffee table. Even in high alert, the woman has good etiquette.

“It’s him.”

Stacey cupped a hand over her mouth.

“Dean Winchester?” Cat asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why’s he coming by unannounced?” Karen was in full-blown fact-finding mode.

Julie wrinkled up her nose. “I may have told him to stop by when he got back.”

“How desperate are you?” Stacey scolded.

“Stacey…” Julie sighed.

Karen raised two hands in the air with a smile on her face. “This is great.”

“Why?” Cat asked.

“So we can all get held hostage by Julie’s lady killer?” Stacey’s voice got higher with each word.

“We can vet him.”

“Vet him?” Julie groaned.

“Yep.” Julie had seen that stern nod from Karen countless times. “If he seems like a creep, you’re done with him. I’ll call in a favor to get a court order issued if need be.”

Stacey nodded. “Yeah. Between the three of us, we’ll be able to give you a decent character profile. And Cat’s not affected at all by men…”

Cat slapped both palms on her thighs.

Karen waved Julie to the door. “Hurry up and open it.”

“This is a horrible nightmare,” Julie mumbled. Her stomach was doing somersaults. What the hell will Dean think? What will the girls do?

“Your phone’s buzzing again.” Cat commented. “Anxious little bugger, isn’t he? What did you promise the man?”

Julie took a deep breath, her hand on the doorknob. The last rays of daylight sparkled through the etched glass. Maybe this is good. I may really need an objective opinion. After all, he’s probably not as irresistible as I’m making him out to be. Context.

When she opened the door, Dean greeted her with a full watt smile. “Hey there.” The two words slipped out slow. His hands held the cake box, fingers thrumming against the cardboard sides. “I was told to deliver this as soon as I got back.” His tongue darted out to the side for a quick lick of his bottom lip while he inspected her.

Damn. He was outfitted in a light grey, muscle-hugging t-shirt and faded blue jeans. Positively edible. Fuck context. She couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over her lips. This will be fun.

He stepped up into the entryway, not waiting for permission to enter. His hands offered Julie the box. She was careful to grab the box from the base. He glanced over her head and spotted the company in the living room. His eyes narrowed, tilting down to look into Julie’s eyes. “Sorry. Am I interrupting?” He whispered. “I saw the car parked out front when I drove into the neighborhood… didn’t recognize it…”

Julie arched a brow. “Were you worried for my safety? Or being nosy?”

He grinned. “A little of both.”

She nodded him into the living room. “Come meet some friends.”

He nodded in return and shuffled into the living room, hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders back, a swirl of timid confidence. The ladies were all up from their seats. The tiny living room felt even smaller with the congregation and Dean’s frame occupying some of it. Julie’s slow steps gave her time to take in the reactions, hiding somewhat behind Dean’s impressive stature. In his wake, she picked apart his scent. The heady mix of leather, sweat, and grease was sharp and crazy intoxicating.

Stacey’s mouth hung open in slight disbelief. Karen fiddled with her hoop earrings and gave Dean the full top to bottom to top inspection. Cat’s eyes narrowed.

When Julie strolled up to Dean’s left, she saw his cautious smile preparing to melt the group. “Dean, these are some college friends of mine.” Julie rattled off their names in order. “Karen. Stacey. Catherine.”

Cat smiled over at Julie, appreciating the replacement of her nickname reserved only for select company.

And, then, Dean unleashed the smile that Julie was certain would topple their wall of uncertainty. He extended his hand and shook each one with the right amount of strength. “Pleasure to meet you, ladies. I didn’t think Julie had any friends.” He chuckled. “She doesn’t get many visitors.”

“And you’d know that because of all the spying you’ve been doing on our dear friend, I hear.” Karen was ready to knock him down a peg or two right out of the gate. But the look on her face betrayed the lackluster attempt at disapproval.

Dean’s eyes widened and he stared at Julie. “Have you been talking about me?”

Julie pursed her lips.

Dean shrugged, intense eyes still on Julie. “Well, if you appreciated beautiful ladies as much as I do, you’d understand.”

Stacey cleared her throat, Dean reddening her cheeks even more than the red wine had. She looked in desperate need of fanning. “Where’re you from, Dean?”

The question pulled his gaze from Julie. He smiled at Stacey again. “Kansas.”

Julie tilted her head, wondering if it was the truth.

“Long way from Kansas.” Cat added.

“Well, I’ve been all over the country.”

The three nodded in unison. Karen asked, “Have you gotten a tour of Julie’s house yet, Dean?”

Julie’s eyes zeroed in on Karen with laser focus.

Dean licked his top lip. Julie caught Stacey and Karen taking particular notice of that sexy tick of his. Not the only one at the mercy of those physical attributes, am I, Ladies?  “Um, no. This is the first time I’ve been allowed entrance into Julie’s compound, actually.” He pointed to the sliding door. “I’m usually relegated to outside chores.”

“Uh-” Julie started.

“We were getting ready to take a look around,” Stacey interjected. “Jules, why don’t we get the full narrated tour with Dean, here?”

Julie could feel her cheeks blushing.

“Oh, that’s…” He laughed, protesting with a shake of his head, “that’s okay. I’ll leave you ladies to your night. I was only dropping off this cake.” He pointed to the box Julie was still holding. “Still pretty damn tasty after a week.” He grinned at her. “I snuck another slice before bringing it back.” He rubbed a hand on his thigh. “It was nice meeting all of you.”

The three nodded again in unison. As Dean turned their gazes all dropped to stare at his ass. Julie stifled a giggle and pushed the box into Stacey’s hands. She met Dean at the door. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

He bent close to her ear and whispered, “You’ll have to let me know if I passed the test later,” waited a beat, straightened his posture, then ended with, “Jules.”

The light spilling in through the front door glass lit up his eyes a crystal green. “You’ve already passed mine.” She whispered back.

“Good.” He grinned.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” she asked.

His tongue peeked out only a sliver between his lips, revving up the grin even more. “Guess that depends on you.”

“Come over around 8:00.”

He tilted his head. “Is that a request or an order?”

She ignored the question. “Make sure you eat dinner ahead of time. Cause I’m not making any.”

Surprise mixed with amusement on his face. He glanced into the living room. The ladies were seated now, talking amongst themselves, but still staring at the pair. His gaze heated her back up when it returned. “Want me fueled up for any tasks in particular?” Julie shrugged in response. “Hm. Any other commands?”

“Just don’t disappear tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

She sighed. “Don’t call me Ma’am.”

His eyes narrowed. “Kind of sexy when you’re bossy.”

She laughed, blushing again.

“And when you’re blushing.” He opened the door for himself, waved a hand to the women and then mouthed “See you tomorrow night” to Julie.

As soon as the door shut, Stacey called out, “I take back everything I said earlier.”

Karen added, “If you get kidnapped, give him my address so he can swing by and grab me, too.”

Julie giggled, walking over to the group. “Seriously, what did you think?”

Stacey’s eyes bugged out. “Oh my god! He’s gorgeous and knows how to use it. That’s dangerous on a ton of levels. But I don’t think he’s a crazy psycho.” Stacey fanned herself. “My husband’s in for it when I get home.”

Karen nodded. “Oh, he’s totally trouble and you’re in for an amazing ride. But, in this case, it’s not the destination but the journey. The journey all over that fine man, of which explicit details will be mandatory. Plus, he didn’t go for the bait to inspect your house. I think an under the radar creep would have been all for that.” She pointed at Julie. “But, we still get a tour as your oldies and besties.”

“Of course.” Julie turned to Cat. “What about you?”

Cat shrugged. “He seems alright. I still think he’s got stuff to hide, though. I’m going to do some serious digging.”

Julie frowned.

“Just looking out for you,” Cat added. “But he did have a really nice ass.”

Part 8

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