#this one green & blue plaid shirt i folded two days ago and black sweats and i weirdly had a purse but it's like a purse w a long strap

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

A View To A Winchester (Part 17)

Series Page

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.

Section Word Count: 5,800    

Section Content: fluff, flirting, angst, nightmare, PTSD, smut, R-rated language, all the sex

~~~~~

Dean had been merciful to her - or mean, depending on how you look at it - and kept his t-shirt and boxer briefs on when they prepped to share his bed. “Should grab you something in case you don’t want to sleep naked.” He offered. “I won’t talk you out of it, though.” Her heart almost exploded when he dug the red plaid flannel out of his closet. He remembered me mentioning that one. She could tell by the smirk on his face when their fingers glided over each other for the exchange.

She’d tugged off the skirt and kept on her panties. Once the shirt was buttoned over her chest she performed that age old magic trick and extracted her bra from the sleeve. He smiled, dipped into what was obviously his preferred side of the bed, and tapped the mattress. A stretched arm readied to cradle her. She curled in, careful not to hit him with a faceful of her hair which she’d normally have in a ponytail to sleep. I’ll give him this tonight, since he likes it down. He was the big spoon in this particular scenario, the other arm draped around her waist, locking her into position. She sighed. Just the right amount of warmth.

Her heart sped at the closeness. Anticipation built, expecting the inevitable exploration of her skin, curves, folds, wetness. She waited, trying to regulate the stilted breath. That’s when it happened.

Dean snored.

His heavy, steady breathing blew near her ear.  

Hero, yes. Superhero? Eh. Still falls asleep pretty quickly after an orgasm. Poor guy. It certainly took a lot out of him. A smile crept over her lips. God, his face was absolute perfection when he came. If a look can trigger ovulation, that did it.

She closed her eyes and took in the scents of the room along with sounds of Dean slumbering. The underlying spice and mix of whatever pheromone Dean gave off sleeping next to her was heady and made it hard to smell much else. Even his sweat is a turn-on. She focused to pick out the other odors layered beneath. Bourbon, leather, something metallic, and maybe gunpowder?

The desk lamp had been left on, forgotten. Her gaze returned to the tiny pictures on top of the simple oak dresser. She wanted to get a better look at his family in the morning. Wanted to ask why he never mentioned his mom. Nothing recent. Old pictures. Old memories. Old heartaches? Maybe she left a long time ago? Died? The thought made her heart ache for the little boy who looked so happy in his mom’s embrace.

She was on edge from having given him head, expecting Dean to finish what they’d started quite soon after. She was slippery and swollen between her legs. Julie always enjoyed that particular act; especially with Steve, who’d been fairly well-endowed himself. But, not as big or pretty as Dean’s. Never thought I’d call a penis pretty.

Dean adjusted, curled up even tighter against her. His dead weight leaned into her. The sounds of his breathing; the promise of him being inside her; they all made it difficult to drift off to sleep. But she did. Eventually.

Julie shifted the car into Park once she found a good spot in the shopping center lot. Ina had pointed out her own car down the row. Her forlorn expression from the passenger seat stared out the windshield. “He’s such a friendly boy. He’ll run to just about anyone willing to show him a lick of affection.”

“Don’t assume the worst. There could be a good samaritan who’s taking great care of him right now.”

Ina sighed. She was such a tiny, slim little thing, even shorter than Julie’s mom. The compact car seat she occupied appeared massive in comparison. “You’re right. And, it hasn’t even been a day yet since he got out of the yard.”

Julie unbuckled her belt. “Where did you say you live again?”

Ina wrapped a few strands of her long and shiny, raven-colored hair behind an ear. Her mocha brown complexion was flawless, ageless. Julie was curious as to how old she actually was. “Um, just down the road in Fairwind.”

“Nice neighborhood. I couldn’t find anything available when I was looking months ago.”

Ina only nodded.

Julie waited, expecting a dump of information. She’d only met this woman three times, but she’d been a flood of words the other two instances. When there was none, Julie cleared her throat. She had a busy day ahead. And a man she was dying to see later. “Well, how about you grab me some flyers so I can drop them off at a few places?”  

“Yep, I’ve got ‘em in the back seat.” Julie nodded, expecting her to exit, retrieve, and bring them back. All of a sudden, Ina burst into tears. Her narrow shoulders dropped forward and hands covered her face. “My Cocoa Bear.”

God, she was taking it really hard. Julie patted her on the shoulder. “It’s going to be alright, Ina. Come on, I’ll walk you to your car. Sooner we get them posted, the sooner you get him back home.”

She sniffled, stared at Julie, and nodded. “Okay.”

The day was sunny, warm and a tad humid. Julie shut her car door and followed Ina to her spot. A good workout would focus the tension and excitement she was battling within her mind. The night before had been restless. All she’d thought about was Dean, his hands, mouth, and that voice encouraging her to let go and whispering filthy promises before Cas showed up.

The chirp as Ina unlocked the car door melted Dean’s green eyes from Julie’s vision. Ina opened the back door and motioned to the seat. “Got a whole box full. Spent most of the morning at the copy store.” She was still sniffling. “Take as many as you want.”  

Julie smiled and leaned in. A strong whiff of incense hit her nose. The back seat was not the tidiest. She drifted back to being in Dean’s immaculate Baby the night before. She lifted the lid off the folder box and grabbed a handful. The black lab’s smiling, panting face stared back from the papers. “Cocoa certainly has a great mom.” The offhand comment left Julie’s lips as she pulled out of the car and turned back to face Ina.

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.” Ina smiled and grabbed Julie’s wrist. The touch was strong and quite unexpected from the petite woman. A flash of blue filled in the black irises of Ina’s eyes. Julie shook her head. Maybe she was more exhausted than she thought. Her mouth opened at the strange henna colored markings emerging, pushing through Ina’s skin. She felt cold. A stinging. Like bees. “Such a help you’ve been, Julie.” Her eyes flashed electric again. “Hm. You’re going to taste so sweet.”

Julie woke, gasping for air in the low light. The arms wrapped tight around her were huge. Her heart pumped. She heard the snort behind her and slowly recognized the space.

Dean.

He stirred and grunted, pulled her closer. “Hm.” It was not a moan of concern. He sounded content.

What the hell was that shit?

“Jules?” His lips were by her ear now. “Okay?” His deep voice scratched out the question.

She nodded into the pillow, feeling his biceps clench under her neck. “Yeah. I’m good. This-this is nice.” She brushed the hairs along his forearm. “I’m... just going to go use the bathroom.”

He pecked at her neck. His head dropped back. “This is nice.” He affirmed in a far away voice. She slithered out from under his embrace and stood by the side of the bed, inspecting his relaxed face. Closed eyes, slightly parted lips. “Coming back?”

“Of course.” She whispered, frowning at the question. “Go back to sleep, Dean.”

“K.” He nudged his nose into the pillow. The sight made her heart ache. He looked peaceful, younger, cares washed away if only for a short while. She wondered how soft and still his cheeks and lips would feel then, not clenched in heated anticipation or want. He floated into his own dreamland. She wondered as she spotted his eyes tracking something under his lids. But she didn’t dare disturb. Something tells me you deserve all the good dreams, Dean Winchester.

Julie tiptoed out of the room, grabbing her phone off the desk before she left, and headed into the bathroom. She clicked on the overhead light, shut the door and sat on the toilet seat. Cool porcelain against the back of her thighs was reminiscent of Ina’s frigid grasp in her dream. Nightmare? Memory? What the hell was that? A shiver started at her shoulders and trickled down her spine. She sat up straight.

One of the way too long sleeves drooped over Julie’s hand. Bringing the fabric up to her nose, she inhaled the embedded Dean scent under the detergent. The inhales and exhales dragged out slow.

Her eyes took in the functional, clean surroundings of his nicely updated bathroom. Modern, smokey grey subway tiles, lined with a lighter grey grout, had been installed with care on the floor. Her toes dug into the cushioned powder blue rug that ran the length of the walk-in shower and ended in front of the throne. Actually a pretty comfy seat.

There were fancy chrome faucets and sprayers behind clear, pristine glass doors. Those doors were a pain to clean at the old house. I was always lazy about that. Got dull and filmy. But, these? Not a water spot to be spotted. Impressive. A veined grey and white marble shower interior looked sleek and expensive. A pedestal sink and rather large mirror resided next to a repurposed bookcase storing rows of plushy grey and white towels, toiletries and male necessities. She made a mental note of the cologne he wore. The robe on the door hook produced a grin. He’d look like Hugh Hefner in that.

I wonder if he did all these updates. If not, he paid someone a decent amount of cash to renovate and make it really nice. Was it in horrible condition when he moved in or is this a really important space for him? File that question away for later.  

The nosey inventorying of Dean’s bathroom had distracted her. She then realized she should probably pee and dropped her panties and situated for the task. Her hands grabbed the forgotten phone lying nearby on the tile. She rifled through messages. There had been a handful from Cat, who’d been checking up on her daily since finding out about the ordeal.

How you holdin’ up? Let me know if you want me to bring Sal and Pep by to run amok in your backyard.

I’m not sure if this is going to help… found something, I think, related to Dean.

Check in with me soon, K?

I think it’s important for you to have all the details.

Ciao Bella.

Her stomach flipped at the one line she read over and over. I’m not sure if this is going to help… found something, I think, related to Dean.

“No.” She whispered. “Shit.” She wanted to remain ignorant. Live in this fantasy space with him for a little longer. Reality was only going to complicate things and make her question everything.

Maybe, though… maybe this is fate intervening.

She groaned.

But, he’s hot and sweet and even makes grumpy sexy. Makes me laugh. Makes me feel safe. What details are going to change all of those inherently authentic things about him?

Maybe it’s something about his family. His mom. Could fit some pieces together.

A low rap on the door shot her head up. “Jules? You okay in there?”

“Y-yeah.” She squeaked out. “Why?”

“Been gone twenty minutes.”

Shit. She frowned, stood, and pulled her panties up. A quick flush and washing of hands followed.

Upon opening the door, a wary smile met her in the dark hallway. Dean leaned into the door frame and inspected her. “Your side of the bed was getting cold.”

She waved her phone, identifying it as the culprit. “Lost track of time.”

“Can’t sleep?” He stepped closer, hesitant. He’s feeling me out. Waiting to see if I’ll hit the panic button. “Do you want me to take you home, sweetheart? Maybe you’ll sleep better. This bed’s not the comfiest.” He sighed. “I miss my memory foam.”

“Do you want me to go home?” she asked.

“God, no.” His still not quite awake features frowned. “I haven’t slept that solid in forever.”

She grinned. “That’s not because of me. That’s because you waited weeks to do what you should have been doing.”

His face lit up at her lightened attitude. “You had a little something to do with it.” He tugged at the hem of his shirt right above Julie’s knees. “Come back to bed, baby.”

Julie swallowed down a moan. Reality can wait until tomorrow. She nodded.

That smile flashed. The one that gave her a front seat to all his pearly whites. He led the way back down the hall. Low light from the open bedroom door split right between his bowlegs. He was a bulk, wholesale package of muscles and strength. She laughed when he spun and flung his body on the bed, making the headboard creak and the mattress bounce. It took some seconds for the motion to subside.

“Are you trying to break it?”

He shrugged and smirked. “Just prepping it for the workout it’s going to get soon.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You really haven’t…”

He shook his head. “No one else’s been in this bed except for me… until now. And, you’ve got me fully believin’ there’s a lot more in store. Italians do do it better. At least this full-blooded Italian sex kitten standing right here in front of me does.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Even with the comical expression on his face, she managed to feel heat rush to her cheeks. “How do you know I’m full…” She shook her head and strolled to the bed, dropping onto the mattress with as much grace as she could muster. A suggestive scoot closer had him do the same. She leaned her head upon an elbow to match his positioning. “You’ve investigated my ancestry, too? What did you do, grab a DNA sample?”

His free hand cupped her jaw. He leaned in and licked her mouth open. “Both parents from Italy. That’s as far as I went. This is as close to banging Sophia Loren in her heyday as I’m gonna get.” Peridot eyes sparkled in the dim light. “Say something in Italian.”

She groaned. “I don’t speak it well. I mean, I’ve listened to my mom and dad speak it a ton growing up. But, it never really stuck up here.” She tapped the side of her forehead. “And, Sophia Loren, really?”

Dean shrugged. “Lots of Sunday afternoons in front of the television growing up. Plus, she was smokin’ hot.” The hand skirted over her neck and shoulder, along the curves and dips of her back to rest on an ass cheek. “Try. For me.” He pushed her body in to meet his, fingers squeezing the globe. “Please.”

She sighed and shut her lids. Electric pulses flowed at the feel of him everywhere they connected. He was tight and rigid. Hot and hard. Her eyes opened, drowning into those beautiful eyes, and then she whispered, “Che cosa vuoi?”

She watched his smile double in size. “What the hell does that mean?” An innocent wonder filled his face, in direct opposition of the clothed erection he rubbed into the slit of her thighs. “And say it again.”

She giggled and moaned at the same time. “It means what do you want? Che cosa vuoi?”

“Che cosa vuoi?” He repeated. The deep throttle in his voice strummed into her core. She bit her lip at how sexy the foreign words, though stilted and choppy, dripped from that luxurious mouth. Dean’s eyes narrowed in focus. A thumb swiped over her bottom lip. “How do you say ‘kiss you’?”

The apples of her cheeks rose. “Ti bacio.”

“Ti bacio.” He repeated that as well, planting a delicate kiss, cradling her jaw. “How about ‘be inside you’?” His brows did a quick double rise.

She moaned, flustered at the request. “I don’t know. Inside is ‘dentro’. I’ll work on my translations for next time.”

Using his bodyweight, Dean collapsed Julie onto her back in a second. Air whooshed out of her lungs. He’d tucked his forearms under her armpits, the crook of his elbows wedging in place. Strong hands emerged alongside and caged her face and forced her back to arch into him.  “Hm.” He licked her mouth. Her jaw dropped open at the way he manipulated and immobilized her head with those meaty fingers. The tongue swirled and dipped in the wetness of her mouth. “Dentro.” He mumbled. His ability to dominate and overpower ignited her skin. Lumberjack thighs parted her comparatively smaller ones. The boxer briefed cock rutted against her damp panties, wiggling into position and only increasing her fluid production.

“Dean…” She whispered.

Lips moved to her neck. His scruff burned like sandpaper against the skin. “Say my name again, sweetheart.” The words poured out hot and impatient.

“Dean.”

Dean groaned. He bit into the flesh along her collar bone. Julie gasped. Then, he sucked and worried at the same spot of skin with pursed lips and the tip of his tongue. All the while sliding his erection into the material along the folds of her pussy. He leaned up and locked eyes with her. Whatever air left in her lungs released at the raw, worn beauty of this man. “Really wanna be inside you, Jules.”

Hands she realized she’d been using to grip onto his back clenched the rippling muscles.

His lips parted, breath even. “Can we? Will you be alright?” He searched her face, she knew, for some hint of hesitance. “If it’s too soon after all of it…”

“Dean…”

His lids closed at hearing his name. “I don’t only mean what's happened recently. I mean, that’s its own bag of crap that no one, especially you, should have ever had to go through.” Eyes opened as he continued to dry hump her in the most amazing way, unhurried yet purposeful. “But, all of it… after Steve…” He sighed, relishing the feel as much as she was. “We could just keep it fun, simple, easy… just like this.”

“Surface level?” Julie questioned, gauging him now.

He smirked. “That’s your guaranteed best experience with me. No muss, no fuss.” In an instant, the carefree gesture washed away. “You want me to be honest with you. There’s a lot, Jules…”

Her lids pressed tight together. “I did say that, didn’t I? Can you be honest with me, then, in this moment, right here and now?”

His arms untangled from his stronghold. She felt the shift of his body, him pull away, leaning into the crook of her side now. Shit, why did I ask him that? “Yes.” The word came out sure, laced with heavy conviction.

Julie took a deep breath and opened her eyes. When his eyes met hers, he didn’t waver, waiting, hovering.

“Any plans on hurting me?” He raised a brow. She shook her head and tried not to laugh. “Besides kinky plans.”

A curl of a smile. “No. Of course not.”

“Are you scared about being honest with me?”

Dean shifted on his elbow, his eyes breaking contact.

That was an answer in and of itself, but Julie tried again. You don’t ask a man like Dean Winchester if he’s scared. “Worried?”

Dean’s finger played with one of her curls. He breathed in, then spoke on the release of air.  “My life was… is, still complicated. Not many people would be able to understand. Or, want to.”

She nodded, took the words time to settle around them. “Why’d you put your life at risk to search for me?”

“Aside from it being in my DNA?” His eyes drifted back and stared at her mouth. “I didn’t want to lose you. I just found you.”

She smiled. A stinging in her eyes threatened to release tears. But she batted them away with quick blinks. “That’s all the honesty I need for tonight, then.” Dean smiled. His eyes were glassy, too, and that made Julie’s heart stop for some seconds. Fingers reached up and stroked his jaw. “Maybe another question.”

Dean’s head dropped in a dramatic fashion. His brows crinkled and his eyes narrowed, accompanied by a hard stare. “One more, sweetheart.” The authoritative tone was back and Julie’s arousal returned.

“Who’s made you feel safe?” She asked, her voice trembling.

His head tilted at the question. A foreign mix of wonder and confusion spread over his face. “What do you mean?”

“Who, in your life, made you feel really safe?” She rephrased.

Dean did that mental rolodex thing she’d come to enjoy witnessing. His eyes darted away and his lips did a slight tuck back into his mouth. Julie’s stomach twisted at how long it took him to find an answer. But, she saw him come up with one. His lips popped back out. The right side of his mouth angled up. When he turned to her he stated, “Baby.”

At first, Julie thought he was calling her another term of endearment. The word finally connected in her brain to the subject matter. “Your car?”

He smiled.

Julie could feel the frown form on her lips. “What about your parents?”

“No, sweetheart.” His smile remained, though it appeared forced. “They tried. I know they did. And, maybe I felt safe before I could really remember what that was... when I was really little.” He shrugged. “Baby’s always been there. Made me feel safe. Made me feel like I had a home. Somewhere I could hide, ride.” Dean collapsed onto the mattress, on his back.

Julie shot up, leaned on an elbow to study his face. The moment was awkward, clumsy now. I’ve fucked it all up.

Dean shook his head and chuckled.

“What?”

“Sweetheart, no one’s ever asked me that before.” His lips tightened. He reached up and grasped the side of her neck. Fingers threaded into her hair, leading her face so he could study her again. “Why would you ask me that?”

Her mouth opened, then closed. “I-”

“Why would you care?” Dean interrupted. No malice in the tone. Only genuine curiosity.

That triggered a response. “Why wouldn’t I? You make me feel safe. I wanted to know a little about the person that made you feel the same way. Figure out how-” she bit her lip and tore away from his eyes.

“What?” He prodded, tilting his head on the mattress to catch her expression under the waves of cascading hair.

She struggled with the words. “Figure out how I can make you feel safe.”

His brows knit together.

“When I left this bed earlier, you asked me if I was coming back.”

That distant, unsure look flooded his face again. “That didn’t mean anything.”

She smiled. And pushed. “I’ll always come back, Dean. If that’s what you want, what will make you feel safe. You deserve that, same as everyone else.”

His green eyes widened.

Her whole body was on fire, staring back at him. It wasn’t arousal or want. She felt exposed, emotions laid out to be either scooped up or tossed away. It had not been in any way how she expected this night to turn. But, now, in the moment, it felt necessary, needed. “I’m sorry.”

Dean’s face hardened. His mouth opened a fraction. That tongue swiped the back of his bottom row of white teeth. “We done with the questions?” The hold on her neck released.

She sat up straight and tucked some hair behind an ear. Confusion flooded her brain. “Yeah.” He hopped off the bed and wandered around the mattress to his dresser. All she could stare at was the back of him, which in any other circumstance would be quite pleasant. But she wanted to garner something, anything from his expression.

A loud sigh left his mouth. “You really are something.” His head shook. The profile presented itself as he bent at the knees to rifle through his record collection. “I don’t get anything out of you for weeks and then you hit me like a ton of bricks with everything in less than a day.” Dean didn’t look over, kept his eyes on the albums. His jaw clenched when he found something, slid out the sleeve from its confines and pulled out a record. A confident twirl of the album between his hands as he rose, the sleeve forgotten on the floor.

The record rested on the turntable. A flip switched. There was crackle and static. The record spun. The speaker waited for the track to play. Dean turned and stared at Julie. He flipped her heart the way he had the album. “I was hoping to make this last. But, you’ve made that impossible now, Jules.” Arms rose over his head. Fingers tugged at the collar and he pulled the t-shirt off in an elegant peel. “I was thinking, maybe, I could hold out for a few songs. But, it’s probably only gonna be one. And, if it’s only gonna be one...” He pointed at the flannel she wore. “Take off my shirt.”

“What?”

His right eyebrow cocked. “You said you were done with questions.”

Her mouth dried up.

Finally, a smile returned. “And, don’t say you’re sorry to me. Not again.” He shook his head. “Not ever.” A stride filled with that Dean confidence made its way to the nightstand. Two fingers pulled open the drawer. He bent down and rummaged. The tap of a foil package hit the table’s surface. A knee closed the drawer.

Julie knew this was coming tonight. Had been hoping, praying even, that nothing else would prevent this from happening. The nerves, the fright, the reality of it had made her hesitate with a pool of muddy, emotional thoughts instead of pure passion and action. Then, when she thought she had fucked it all up, with the words and the estrogen induced interrogation, this complication of a beautiful man had gotten the train back on track. But even scarier, he now seemed to be all aboard with the idea of making this night mean so much more.

“Come over here, baby.” He patted the mattress in front of his standing figure.

Julie gulped and crawled over the mess of sheets and sat on the edge of the bed. Her head tilted up. He grabbed her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “So very pretty.” She thought he must have been commenting on how he looked, perfection in light and shadow. “Take it off.” The command was soft.    

Her hands found the buttons and did not spare any time to strip herself of the shirt.

His smile widened along with his eyes. “Eager, too, huh?”

She smiled.

“Good. I won’t feel so bad when this is over in minutes.” He tore the foil package open and put it back on the table. His fingertips delved into the hair at the top of her head, combed down through to end at the swell of her left breast. He pressed his warm palm right over her heart. “You know how you hear a song and you connect it to a specific memory?”

She nodded.

Dean licked his lips and catalogued every inch of her breasts with a stare that melted her insides. “I have lots of memories with this one song. All good, maybe even great. Someone might even say this song makes me feel safe.”

Julie swallowed.

“Wanna make me feel safe, sweetheart?” He grinned.

“Yes, Dean.” She didn’t hesitate in her response.

“Alright, then.” Dean broke eye contact and walked back to the record player. He cocked his head and smiled at Julie. “We’re gonna work on our night moves, baby.”

Dean could have said they were going to work on their taxes and Julie knew it would sound just as fucking sexy.

He dropped the needle in place and made a beeline toward her. A guitar strummed and filled the room. He dipped down, caught her lips with his open mouth. His arms wrapped her up, laid her down on the bed. Once again, the weight of him pressed against her side. She moaned when he rose up to his knees on the mattress, disconnecting. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, and pulled them down past her hips. She brought her own knees up to assist. His lips mouthed to the lyrics as he removed the last of her clothing. Her lips tugged up at the show.

She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes ***

And points all her own sitting way up high

He tossed the panties to the floor and ran his hands up the length of her body, stopping to massage her breasts and give her nipples a slight twist. He mouthed the next line.

Way up firm and high

Julie giggled. He flopped down on his back, flesh of their arms rubbing, and without pomp or circumstance, pulled off his boxer briefs, singing along this time.

Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy

Out in the back seat of my '60 Chevy

Workin' on mysteries without any clues

He fell silent now. Turned to stare at Julie. He held the open condom wrapper between two fingers and raised his brows again. She nodded. A low growl bubbled up from his throat. Her eyes dipped down to watch him work his cock. She knew it wouldn’t take long. She wanted to speak, say something. Every other time he’d wanted to hear her voice. But this time is different.

And we'd steal away every chance we could

To the backroom, to the alley or the trusty woods

I used her, she used me

But neither one cared

We were gettin' our share

He rolled the condom over his erection. His body rolled between her waiting thighs. The dominance and power was gone from the way he hovered. He kissed her lips, slow and easy. His fingers slipped into her wetness. He moaned into her mouth and lubed up his sheathed erection with her want. Every cell sparked under her skin. The tip of him poking with insistence at her entrance.

Tryin' to lose the awkward teenage blues

Workin' on our night moves

And it was summertime

Sweet summertime summertime

All of the instruments stopped for a second, then resumed their rhythm. Dean searched Julie’s face again. It was all there in those apple green eyes. The request, the need, the want. He wanted to speak, too, she could sense it. But this time is different. He pushed inside her, slow and easy, letting her accept, adjust, and respond to him as Mr. Seger sang.

And oh the wonder

We felt the lightning

And we waited on the thunder

Waited on the thunder

He didn’t ask if she was ready. He didn’t need to. Because this time is different.

He pulled back, eased inside again. His forearms held his body up for part of the sway. But when he tunnelled back, nice and slow at first, the delicious friction of his chest ran along her hard nipples. This wasn’t going to take long. Because this time is different. His pace increased, breath fumed out of his nose, jaw clenched every time he bottomed into her fully.

Dean’s rhythm was quick and steady now, firm and prodding, as the song did the exact opposite and slowed in its reminiscence. Heat rose in her core. He grabbed one of her legs, propped it up to hook onto his hip. His eyes never left hers through any of it. He found that spot deep inside. And worked. Hard. She gasped at how he lit her up from within. Grabbed his shoulders and held on. While he worked.

I awoke last night to the sound of thunder

How far off I sat and wondered

Started humming a song from 1962

She wrapped her calf tight, draped it over the curve of his tight ass muscles. He was using all of himself, drilling into her now. The sound of wood creaking, mattress springs straining. Moans toppled and stacked atop each other.

Ain't it funny how the night moves

When you just don't seem to have as much to lose

Strange how the night moves

With autumn closing in

The music stopped again. Dean stilled, froze. His forehead leaned against hers. “Baby?” He whispered.

“Yes, Dean.”

“You feel so safe.”

He pulled back and she got lost in his eyes. Her heart lodged up into her throat. He nodded with a smile and exhaled, sharp and low, as the guitar started up again. His fingers snuck between their bodies, strummed her clit. And he worked. All of him. With her. This is different.

She studied every movement of his face. The vertical line that formed between his brow, deep in concentration. The little craters that appeared above either side of his top lip, embedding into laugh lines, when he quirked up his mouth. The flare of his nostrils. The look she tried to define in his crystal green eyes boring into her, shining like glass. He brought her to release and rode the wave. His moans enveloped hers. She clenched her walls, tightening around him.

The end of the song was near and so was Dean. His mouth opened, he struggled out a strangled groan, body rigid in her embrace. And he came. Hard. His body shivered. He grinned, kissed her lips, and rolled them both to their sides. Still. Connected. This is different.

The song ended. Quiet for a few moments before the next track began. Dean swiped at her cheek. Julie felt the wetness under the pad of his thumb. She was crying. Oh, no.

Dean smiled. Pulled her in close and held her. He kissed her forehead. She forced away the tears, slowed her breathing. “Tell me those are good tears, sweetheart.” He whispered in her ear.

She nodded along the scruff of his jaw.

Kisses dabbed at her damp cheeks. “Good. Because we just made one hell of an awesome memory.”

She smiled. He kissed the apple of her cheek.

He moaned, pulled out of her, then stood up. Naked and glorious. He rolled off the condom as he spoke and tied it up. “Gotta use the bathroom. Coming back.” He wandered to the doorway, then turned back to look at her with a wide grin. “Always coming back.”

*** Lyrics from Night Moves by Bob Seger

~~~~~

Part 18

Series Page

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester smut #dean x ofc #spn fanfic #spnfanficpond #spn fanfic series #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fluff

[outroshooky]

a morning’s vignette (five o’clock) | kth

⇢ genre: oneshot (artist!au) (fluff, a touch of angst)

⇢ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

⇢ word count: 2.2k

⇢ a/n: written for the one and only @lolnxcole. love you, tapioca dearest!!

It’s 5:13am, and Kim Taehyung finds himself sitting cross-legged outside his neighbor’s house, the scattered dew from the grass staining his jeans as he hunches over a moleskine journal and sketches furiously.

It’s early, too early for the rest of society to awaken on this lovely Monday morning, but deep in the heart of summer, and thus the world is illuminated in hues of scarlet and tangerine, the sky streaked with merigold and cider and coral in a celestial masterpiece worthy of the likes of Monet. He notes how the glow frames the houses around him, the fences and trees and stirrings of this residential block, and no matter where he looks, it takes his breath away. It reminds him of Rembrandt, he thinks; the supernal mastery of light and shadow will never cease to stun him.

As much as color defines how he sees the world around him, he misses how subtly it influences others’ perception of him. His tawny bangs are tucked neatly under a backwards snapback, splatters of vermillion dart their way up his forearms to meet chartreuse and periwinkle, inky lines curl around the toes of his worn canvas low-tops. His oversized shirt is soft white cotton, but it might as well be a canvas all unto its own. There’s a mauve stain in the faint shape of Australia on the left sleeve, mahogany and medallion like archipelagos and atolls, and Taehyung smiles at the memory of the continent’s formation.

The velvet tones of Chet Baker pour in through his tangled earbuds, the sound a little tinny in one ear. The damn cord got stretched, thanks to Jeongguk- ironically, on the same day they’d bought the new paints that are so carefully balanced on an upside-down milk crate in front of him now. He’s lost in his work, in perfectly capturing the hints of mulberry in the peach expanse- so lost, in fact, that he jolts, accidentally smearing sangria across the opposite page when you clear your throat loudly.

He topples backward in surprise, falling on his elbows, and the first thing Taehyung sees is a pair of neon sneakers, one of which is tapping the dirt impatiently. His gaze travels up your calves to your torso, noting pitch leggings, an oversized sable sweatshirt, and a palpable amount of self-restraint you exercise to control the bright salmon that flushes your cheeks. It reminds him of the scattered pink stipples that dust his knuckles, and he has to bite back a signature Taehyung™ smile at this.

“Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck are you doing on my lawn at five in the morning?”

He takes out an earbud and gazes up at you, carefully dabbing at the misstroke with a shred of paper towel and the ease of a practiced professional. “Who are you, and why are you awake at five in the morning?”

You cross your arms, your tongue pressed into your cheek at the surprisingly dulcet baritone emanating from the stranger. “Sorry, but you’re the one technically trespassing, buddy. Answer the question.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Your crabapple trees looked nice with the sunrise behind them. I’m an artist. It’s self explanatory.”

“Normal artists don’t sit on my lawn and draw my crabapple trees.”

“They don’t?” He carefully sets his sketchbook on the crate, stands, and extends his hand. “Kim Taehyung. Foreign exchange student, fine arts. it’s a pleasure.”

You raise an eyebrow apprehensively and take his hand. “Pleasure.” He shakes firmly. “I was running, by the way. I run before work.”

He laughs, and something in your chest leaps in response. “So you run this early in the morning, but you don’t see how beautiful the sunrise is every day?” One of your shoulders rises and falls.

“I don’t draw.” Your statement is firm and concise.

Taehyung’s brows furrow at this like it’s something he’s never heard before, and he rolls a filbert brush between his fingers like a patron’s cigarette. “That doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate art.”

“It’s nice, I guess.” You check your watch and whirl in place, suddenly impatient. “I’m late.” You’re halfway down the gravel driveway before you notice him still standing, wide-eyed, in the middle of your front lawn.

“You have an hour.”

There are three elements to one of Taehyung’s most simple pleasures in life. Firstly, he prefers cappuccinos to Americanos, and he insists on having a cappuccino every other day at four-fifteen in the afternoon- to him, the perfect time for a midday pick-me-up. Secondly, he must be sitting at the back left corner table inside of Helen’s, the café frequented by artisans and businessmen alike at all hours of the day. Third, he must have his sketchbook with him, plus or minus his watercolor set. These three elements, when combined, give rise to a pastime he loves perhaps nearly as much as sunrises and paints and low-fi hip-hop Spotify playlists.

People-watching.

The thought of you had preoccupied his mind for hours, and graphite marked his fingers like ash as he selected a woodless 2B and outlined the sole of your shoes. If it’s one thing Taehyung is known for, it’s his portrayals of life in all of its simplicity, and perhaps that’s why he always preferred Bruegel the Elder to Bruegel the Younger. He sits in this shop for hours, plaid sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and sketches.

He draws sweaty, overworked waitresses and new mothers with infants and the youthful innocence of children, palms pressed flush to the glass of the pastry display. He draws the table and his battered book and the slender hands that grip the pencil unceasingly. He draws succulent lemon tarts and glistening cinnamon rolls and the emptied sugar packets scattered across the plate in front of him. But today, he does not draw his waitresses and hands and cinnamon rolls. Today, he muses, is different.

Today, his mind refuses to budge from neon sneakers and feminine curves and the quirk of your eyebrow. No matter what he tries to put on paper, your features emerge from the tip of his pencil, and after a while he gives in and covers an entire page, front and back, in you.

Taehyung has the mind of an artist, and the little details are his specialty. He observes with immaculate precision the curve of your lip and the angles of your shoulders; he captures your posture and immortalizes it in 4H, in HB, in the soft paper-on-paper brushing of his tortillion. Never has he been so fixated on developing dozens of mental snapshots into black-and-white Polaroids, marked by pens and pencils and neutral tone paper. He scrawls line after line, embedding you into forever by his own pure talent, and he is nearly breathless by the time the bell atop the door jingles, and he realizes it’s closing time.

He has filled four new pages.

Today, he muses, is different.

It becomes a rhythm.

By 5:09am, Taehyung finds himself standing on the sidewalk in front of his host family’s ranch. He looks up and down the street, selects a colonial or gambrel or maybe the new construction under, well, construction, sits on the curb, and opens his sketchbook.

He sees you every morning, of course. You see him, and when he looks up to follow your usual morning route, you stifle the thought that the increased beat of your heart has nothing to do with your strenuous exercise, and instead focus doubly harder on the quickened rhythm of your sneakers slapping the concrete.

It is a day like any other when you pause in front of him, taking an abrupt left instead of continuing straight, and he’s looking up at you with his boxy smile before you have time to catch your breath.

You shift, suddenly uncomfortable, and rock back on your heels. “You can draw, by the way.” Fuck. “On my lawn, I mean. You can draw on my lawn. You have an hour.”

His eyes are deep and all-encompassing, and you swear you can see countless galaxies swirl when his grin grows ever wider. It pangs somewhere deep inside, brings memories of children’s fingers and apple red and denim blue-

You turn on one heel and begin to run.

The rhythm shifts, but not unpleasantly.

He’s surprised at how well he can adapt to the minor adjustment, and he comes to welcome it.

By 5:09am, Taehyung finds himself standing on sweet dewy grass instead of hard concrete. He looks up and down, selects a bush or tree or angle of the roof, folds his legs under himself, and opens his sketchbook.

He’s gone by the time you get back, of course. An hour and thirteen minutes on the dot and you are standing on your front stoop with nothing but curling blades of green to memorialize his presence by. There’s an odd pang in your chest now- one that you hadn’t anticipated, one that drowns out the staccato drumbeat, and the harder you push yourself, the harder it is to focus on keeping tempo.

Some days, you stop for a breath, rubbing sleep out of your eyes as he rubs and smears carbon across the page. On these days, you may exchange a word, a sentence, as much as you can bear before you turn and run like you have every day since you first bought this house eight months ago. You’re no longer sure if you’re running to somewhere, or running from someone.

It is a day like any other when you take a sharp right and a left, and he doesn’t hear you when you approach him from behind. Louis Armstrong leaks into the filmy morning air, and the music is so fittingly Taehyung that you hesitate, and the meter of your heart skips a beat when you look over his shoulder at his sketchbook.

Familiar faces sing to you from two-tone paper, faces from the grocery store and the coffee shop and the laundromat. The pimpled cashier slouches, swiping a bag of potato chips with one hand on the pinpad. A toddler’s pigtails bounce as she skips, strawberry lollipop in hand, around the counter. The surly, suited executive nudges a coin into the pewter machine, frowning when his wash refuses to cycle. A woman runs, arms and legs like pistons as sweat drips into her eyes, and her sneakers are accentuated with dabs of tiger orange and canary gold.

Ruby and burgundy pop alongside boysenberry and heather; apricot blazes the sky, peeking over the eave of the roof. Juniper leaves and amber bark scratch their empyrean, and lace is speckled by sepia where dirt stains the siding. Alabaster is the shine on your front window, and hazelwood is your fence where parchment has chipped away.

Your breath is exhaled in a shocked rush of air, and he misses it over the muted tones of brass and piano.

“You know, I lied to you before, Taehyung.”

Your hands twist in front of you as he whips around and nearly falls backward, yanking his earbuds out, eyes dilated with surprise and apprehension.

“I used to draw every day of my life.” You are quiet but audible, and you watch the surprise and apprehension drain as wonder, curiosity, and finally, tenderness cascade like waves across his face. “I drew and drew and that’s all I did as a child is draw. I wanted to become an artist. One of the best, in fact. I wanted them to remember me like one speaks of Da Vinci or Vermeer or Masaccio.” Your laugh is empty of joy. “It’s funny how I thought one could ever reach that high.”

“Who says you can’t?” You are fixated on the way he murmurs, how the honeyed baritone instantly grabs your attention, and you nearly falter.

“My parents.” Your nails dig into your skin, and you wince at the memory harder than the pain itself. “They wanted me to become an accountant. Do I look like an accountant to you? No.” The shudder of your next inhale is unintentional. “They threw out my pencils. They burned my sketchbooks. They told me to focus on the future and not on the ambitions of a child, and the day after I graduated college, I ran.”

The last of your walls falls away, and the last of the tension drains from your shoulders as you stand before him, sweaty, defeated, wholly unmasked. “I’m still running.”

When Taehyung stands and your name falls from his lips, the empathy in his voice hits like a punch, and when his arms come to wrap around you, you let him hold you together, because for your own sake, you can’t anymore.

His thumb strokes your cheek, wiping the tears away, the tears that you hadn’t realized were falling freely. When his finger taps your nose, you open your eyes, and are met by stars and novae and nebulae in deep obsidian. The gesture is so wholly and utterly Taehyung, and the click of the metronome ticks a few beats faster when he tilts his head and cups your face in his sangria and juniper and alabaster-dusted hands.

“I see the sunrise every morning,” you whisper as he brushes moisture from your skin. “but I can’t bring myself to appreciate it.”

He hushes you gently, softly. “Let me show you how.”

And he presses his lips to yours.

#bts #bangtan #bangtan boys #kim taehyung #taehyung #bts v #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung x female reader #bts x reader #bts x female reader #bts x you #artist!au #au #oneshot #bts oneshot #kpop angst #kpop fanfiction #kpop fluff #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #my writing #writers on tumblr #writers #writtenthanerased #writing #lolnxcole #i spent about ten minutes trying to come up with a title

[mysteriouslydarktale-blog]

Suede (Part 1 of 2)

Suede (Part 1 of 2)

Short Story by V-Nasty

1971

 Langston Roberts had received his 10th invitation to the Winter Formal.

 The pink note was folded meticulously on his desk and he eyed it warily as he sank into his seat. He looked around the classroom and rolled his eyes when he spotted Stella Peterson's all-pink notebook sprawled clumsily across her lap. She was pretending not to pay any attention but held a smile as she stared ahead at the blackboard. There were about 15 other students in the class, the history teacher was not yet present.

  Langston lifted the note and began to read it.

 "Winter formal with me?"

 Stella was, undoubtedly, one of the most popular girls at Mclean High School. She was conventionally attractive with very long blonde hair, fair skin and large green eyes. Her father, Richard Peterson, was a member of the House of Representatives and her mother, Hannah Peterson, was a boutique owner and catalogue model

 Langston, however, didn't really care for her.

 He stuffed the little pink note in his bag, deciding to wait before giving her a definite answer. All the girls who asked him to the dance were pretty but since Stella was the most popular one, he considered accepting her proposal. He wasn't necessarily fond of her but she was a member of their exclusive clique. Virtually everyone who attended Mclean High School was extraordinarily wealthy or well-off. It was the second home to Buckhead, Atlanta's most elite group of teenagers.  

 Stella glanced over her shoulder and was slightly put off when she noticed the pink note was gone. Langston caught her eye and shrugged casually, giving her a small smile. Apparently this pleased her because she responded with an even bigger smile as he resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. He didn't understand the fuss girls made about him.

 A freshman girl once told him that he kind of resembled Ricky Nelson. He shrugged it off though, it was barely a compliment.

 The class was active with conversation when Mrs. Harrington inconspicuously walked in.

 No one noticed the student waiting at the door.

 "Morning class," Mrs. Harrington announced loudly, setting down her tote and gradebook on her desk. "Sorry, I'm late. I was showing a new student around." She extended her hand towards the girl at the door.

 The girl stepped forward and everyone grew silent.

 She was tall, roughly 5'7 and slim but…very curvaceous. She wore a white turtle-neck, a suede jacket, a suede skirt and long black knee-high boots. She styled her hair in an afro – a large, brown afro.

 Her most enticing feature, however, were her amber eyes.

 The class was very silent. She wasn't the first black person the class has ever seen but she was one of the first and only black people to ever attend McClean High during that time. The only other black student attended Mclean in 1968. He was the son of a politician or something….it took some time for everyone to adjust.  

 "Stand in front of the class sweetie," Mrs. Harrington encouraged. "Tell everyone about yourself."

 Langston watched her intently; he was overtly fascinated. He had to admit, she was very pretty. To be honest, he's never had any black friends or was close to any black people except for his house keeper, Glenda.

 Jamelia walked in front of the class and when she opened her mouth to speak, her words were barely audible.

 Jamelia's voice was high, soft, and docile. Langston noticed that although she looked like a vixen, there was something profoundly innocent about her face.

 "Hi everyone, my name is Jamelia. I moved to McClean about two weeks ago from Los Angeles." Her eyes weren't trained on anyone in particular. "Um…I just turned 17 and I… love fashion."

 The class was still extremely quiet.

 "Sweetie, tell them about who you’re related to." Mrs. Harrington grinned.

 Jamelia looked mildly embarrassed as she continued on, "Oh um…my mom is Katherine Anderson. She's a member of the Marvelettes. My dad is Steven Anderson; he's an author and…he occasionally writes for the Los Angeles Times…"

 The class was still uncharacteristically silent.

 Mrs. Harrington looked mildly put off by their lack of enthusiasm. "Jamelia sweetie, why don't you take a seat – right there – to the left of Mr. Roberts."

 Jamelia looked slightly confused until Mrs. Harrington said, "The blond with the blue shirt."

 Langston felt vaguely excited that Jamelia was making her way towards him. She was like a teenage version of Denise Nicolas. Her heels clicked softly against the ceramic tiling as she made her way towards the center of the classroom. Langston inhaled a whiff of her perfume as she eased into her seat. Vanilla and lavender.

 When goosebumps started to erupted on his arms, he knew she was going to be a problem.

 Jamelia briefly caught his eye.

 He smiled.

 She didn’t smile back.

______________________________________________________________________

 Langston Roberts was nominated for Winter Formal King and had approximately 3 weeks to decide who to bring to the dance as his date. The pressure was extremely intense.

 Later that week, he had received his 15th proposal and had yet to give an answer to anyone. He was barely attracted to anyone that asked him out. He just wasn't enticed by the sea of superficial and shallow girls that attended Mclean High. Everyone was starting to look the same. Straight, shiny hair, corduroy skirts, and sparkly lip gloss. It was appealing at some distant point but now it was mundane and predictable.

 Langston was only interested in one girl but that one girl was not interested in him. This was a first because he was used to getting a lot of female attention. Jamelia, however, barely batted an eye at him since her arrival.

 He realized one day that he was very attracted to her.

 She strutted into class wearing a white, off-the-shoulder top with the bluest bell-bottom jeans and a pair of brown espadrilles. He almost melted when the scent of vanilla and lavender hit his nose. He was allured by her exposed neck and collarbones. Her skin was a caramel color; perfect and unblemished.

 She sat down and accidently pushed a pencil off her desk. As if in slow motion, it rolled towards him. He grasped it from the floor and handed it back to her. She hesitated before grabbing it but offered a small smile.

 A lump began to form in his throat.

 Woah, she was a dream.

 His body reacted unreasonably in her presence. He wanted to touch her. He craved her scent and longed to wrap a curl around his finger. Never in his life did he have a crush so strong and it's barely been two weeks. He wanted to speak to her but she seemed less than interested - and almost afraid - to start any conversation.  

 Langston knew he had to try. He knew he wanted to ask Jamelia to the Winter Formal.

______________________________________________________________________

 Tiny buds of sweat began to form on Langston's forehead as he approached Jamelia. She was salvaging books from her locker and looked a little apprehensive as she fumbled through the items inside. The hall was virtually empty minus the janitor, who was whistling jovially to some Marvin Gaye tune.

 Jamelia jumped slightly when she heard Langston's footsteps near towards her. She eyed him suspiciously until he completely obscured her view.

 "…Hey," he said, scratching the back of this head awkwardly. "How are you?"

 She hesitated a little. "Groovy."  

 "Cool, cool," he started again. For the first time in his life, Langston was so flustered by a girl, he couldn't think of anything intelligible to say. "C-class is late for you."

 "Huh?"

 "I-I mean, you're late for class," he said, a little more aggressively than he intended to. "Um…I'm sorry – I just saw you in the hall and wanted to see if you were okay."

 Jamelia's lips quivered a bit, she was unsure of how to respond. "Yeah, I actually can't find my Home Economics book," her eyes softened as she looked at him and back at her locker. "You're late too."

 He was also in love with her voice. She was so soft-spoken

 It took Langston several attempts before he was able to approach her. Today, she was wearing a white, satin blouse under a red cashmere vest. Her plaid, pleated skirt was red and yellow and her knee-high socks were slightly sheer. Langston closed his eyes briefly and inhaled. Her signature scent was as enticing as ever.

 "Yeah," he swallowed. "I actually wanted to ask you something…"

 She waited and when there was no immediate response: "Yes?"

 "Uh, I have my Home Economics textbook," he stumbled and scratched his head again. "Would you like to share with me?"

 "Was that your question?"

 "Of course."

 She looked around and back. "…sure Langston, that's real nice of you." Her amber eyes twinkled slightly as she offered him a genuine smile. "We should probably get to class now, huh?"

 He was so fixated by her smile that he forgot to respond.

 She started to walk past him and he watched as her large, brown afro bobbed up and down. Snapping out of his reverie, he ran to catch up with her - unaware of two suspicious green eyes watching the scene from behind.

 Stella Peterson grimaced in mild horror as she watched the pair walk off to class together. She overheard most of the conversation and was appalled that Langston might actually like Jamelia. Why would he like Jamelia, when he was supposed to like her?

 Stella was extremely well-known at Mclean High. She was the object of admiration for both sexes and was recently named Mclean High's Bunny of the Year, a prestigious honor indeed. Underclassman never won Winter Formal Queen and since she was a senior, she was determined to win.

 And she was certain that Langston was going to be Winter Formal King.

 She wasn't going to let anyone get in her way of her perfect night with her perfect date, especially not some random black girl. There was no competition and she was going to make sure of it.

______________________________________________________________________

 "Why is he walking in with her?"  

 "Who does she think she is with that outfit?"

 "She's pretty for a black girl, I guess."

 "Langston looks so good in those jeans."

 Jamelia and Langston were both 10 minutes late to class and were confronted with a sea of murmurs and stares upon their arrival. Langston ignored them and made his way to his regular seat and motioned Jamelia to sit by him. She made her way swiftly with her head slightly bowed down.

 "Nice of you to join us," Mrs. Eskers said in a monotonous tone. "As I was saying, the midterm project is due in 3 weeks. Everyone must choose one person to write a speech about and bring in a homemade gift. This will help with self-esteem in both yourself and the other person. Make sure the speech is heartfelt and the homemade gift is made thoughtfully. Blah blah blah…back to the regular lecture."

 She turned her face to the blackboard and starting writing the steps to making homemade molasses cookies.

 Langston pulled out his textbook and sprawled it across the desk between himself and Jamelia. He looked at her briefly and whispered. "I think I'm going to do a speech about you," he watched as her eyebrows furrowed deep into her forehead.

 "Me? Why?"

 "…because um…I don't think anyone else chose you. So I think I wanna do one about you… plus…I love the Marvelettes."

 "Oh okay, I can dig it…I'm choosing Velma because I've never seen hair that red before in my life," she whispered back and they both started to laugh. "Its far out."

 "Yeah…like you."

 "What was that?"

 "I said, yeah that's true," Langston recovered quickly. "Hey…I wanted to ask you something - "

 "- An actual question this time?"

 He smiled. "Yeah…um…do you have a date for the Win…"

 He was stopped abruptly by Mrs. Eckers, who slammed a ruler across their jointed desk.

 "Miss Anderson, Mr. Roberts – was there something interesting that you would like to share with the class?"

 Langston shook his head.

 "Mr. Roberts!" she screeched. "Please use your voice."

 "No ma'am. Nothing interesting at all."

 "Langston, don't lie to me. Please stand in your seat and tell the class what you and Miss. Anderson were discussing. If not, you will both receive detention."

 Langston stared up at Ms. Eskers and back at Jamelia, who was also looking at Ms. Eskers. He was under the scrutiny of the entire class but his attention was on the girl before him. Her amber eyes were transfixed on the teacher, her lips puffy and pink, her hair large and majestic.

 Bewitched is the only word that could describe his infatuation for her.

 He tore his gaze away, stood up in his seat and inhaled. Mrs. Eskers took a step back, her ruler in hand.

 He stared ingenuously at the teacher. "I was in the middle of asking Jamelia if she had a date to the Winter Formal," He looked at Jamelia. "If not, I wanted to take you."

 The class went completely silent. It took Jamelia roughly 3 minutes to reply and to Langston, those 3 minutes felt like 3 hours. She didn't respond right away and she could feel the glares of every girl in the class burning a hole through her temple. She then eyed at Mrs. Eskers, who also looked like she was waiting for an answer.

 "I don't have a date for winter formal…," she said slowly, choosing her words carefully. "…But, I don't think I'll be going anyway."

 "Oh…cool," were the only two words that left Langston's mouth.

 But oddly enough, he wasn't discouraged.

 He gave her a small smile which she weakly returned. Mrs. Eskers huffed impatiently as she made her way back to the blackboard. There were a few students who were still staring at the pair.

 No. Langston Roberts was not discouraged – he was more determined than ever to get closer to her.

#short story #love #love quotes #self love #self esteem #poetry #poem #vintage #70s

[writerspink]

K-12 Words

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1.1

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1.2

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3.2

being instead ache exactly hard speed buy age late artistic close affordable fraction eyes appetite complain sleep seem eat below remove rusty grow glum stormy trust enormous scale open add grab upset weed denied expensive story terrified lead jumped died basket side bear bend list tomb while batch grateful father gleaming dress light sprinkle amount exclaim result yank leave cheat whimper angle outside remain heap champion surprise dodge moment fancy squeeze pretend village shriek city thunder rapid iron striped don’t attitude bell hat tug isn’t applause children honest cross spring freezing listen wind rock space covered fast several hold himself toward five step morning passed vowel true hundred against pattern numeral table north expert slowly money map farm pulled draw voice seen cold cried plan notice south sing war ground fall king town I’ll unit figure certain field travel wood fire upon

4.1

pattern cave hope mile group travel blush killed seed bottom hide important let ticket timid pounds restart silent cranky keep real bright quite curved repeat trip without dart consonant mountains quiet apologize roar grip groan bolt food injury century exhausted cabin atmosphere floor it’s scold transportation delighted giant hill something build fog method rough left everyone obey deserve speak therefore soon french switch until pushed state knob hobby between surround collect fire I’ll arrive road happened certain top order astronomy inches club catch farm nibble color yourself received connect told gaze check wear English half ten fly gave box finally wait correct oh quickly person became shown minutes strong verb stars front feel fact street decided contain course surface produce building ocean class note nothing rest carefully scientists inside wheels stay green known island week less machine base ago stood

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round award crowd slowly yet products, goods, services vowel himself strange whose draw team hold feel flood sent save stood yard notice warn enemy deep please flap coast music wrote safe blast behind island lizard figure famous garden correct whisper listen joined clear share net thus calf maybe cried piece fold seen england decided bank fell pair control clean telescope trouble glass float morning horse produce course hunting rest step statement contain shouted filled zigzag accident cents instrument fly single express visit desert seeds chew dome experiment break gravity against branch size low plane system ran boat game force brought understand warm common bring explain dry though language shape thousands yes equation government heat full hot check object am rule among noun power cannot able six dark ball material special heavy fine circle include built

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mark wealthy row feeling across attention ran map students inside design art mouth ring skill hot during shelter full till log (book) blossom discard bring quickly scientists party town covered wise early cram grain harm goal pause inform heal clue fame freeze badge pimple dim missionary diet dumb rod march agree stick government bulb mall ban greed skiing poison stove image grew fact material dangerous flow gap ago stack explain didn’t strong voice true drawing surface gift corner cloud since king dawn pulled dozen friends greedy burning upon knew insect decimal nervous pay foot weak smooth aware steady serve lost nonetheless beach front atlas questions less cost slight motor banner wire area carefully separate equation local minutes fast table plan fine waves fair sing dive suppose boat thousands shape among toward gas factory birds wait understand sure ship report captain human game history reflect special brave bounce though else can’t matter square syllables perhaps bill felt suddenly test direction center farmers ready anything divided general energy subject Europe moon region return believe dance members picked simple cells paint mind love cause rain exercise eggs train blue wish drop developed window difference distance heart site sum summer wall forest probably

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include cage language base red brain building feast better built demolish excess leap tower ocean plains cold claw information scholar climbed woman worry strand heavy herd common ground damp pack choose president least increase half english invent class measure dash tremble object become doubt became bare wheels continued shiver engine core couple business stars week peak numeral brought nothing touch reached uncle symbols however rumor evening inasmuch (as) force curious heat career system valley dust flock spray robber practice lonely remember luxury warm heard calm rock frighten leader difficulty best gum cheer key support universe stream bit usually fish parade balance money note cliff stand proof you’re pale machine complete cool shown street today shy easy several search unit war power caught settle itself fuel mention fresh planet plane straight period person able direct space wood seal field circle lady board besides hours passed known whole similar underline main winter wide written length reason kept interest arms brother race present beautiful store job edge past sign record finished discovered wild happy beside gone sky grass million west lay weather root instruments meet third months paragraph raised represent soft whether clothes flowers shall teacher held describe drive appreciate structure visible artificial

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afraid absorb british seat fear stretched furniture sight oxygen coward rope clever yellow albeit confess passage france fan cattle spot explore rather active death effect mine create wash printed process origin rose swift woe planets doze gasp chief perform triumph value substances tone score predict property movement harsh tube settled defend reverse ancient blood sharp border fierce plunge consider terms vision intend total schedule attract average intelligent corn dead southern glide supply convince send continent brief mural symbol crew chance suffix habit insects entered nursery especially spread drift major fig diagram guess wit sugar predator science necessary moisture park ordeal nectar fortunate flutter gun forward globe misery molecules arctic won’t actually addition washington cling rare lie steel pastime soldiers chill accordingly capital prevent solution greek sensitive electric agreed thin provide indicate northern volunteer sell tied triangle action opposite shoulder imitate steer wander except match cross speak solve appear metal son either ice sleep village factors result jumped snow ride care floor hill pushed baby buy century outside everything tall already instead phrase soil bed copy free hope spring case laughed nation quite type themselves temperature bright lead everyone method section lake iron within dictionary bargain loyal resource struggle vary capture exclaim gloomy insist restless shallow shatter talent atmosphere brilliant endure glance precious unite certain clasp depart journey observe superb treasure wisdom

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prepared journey trade delicate arrived track cotton hoe furnish exciting view grasp level branches privilege limit wrong enable ability various moreover spoil starve dollars digest advice sense accuse pretty wasn’t industry adopt loyal suggested blow treasure cook adjective doesn’t wings tools crops loud smell frail wisdom fit expect ahead lifted deed device weight gradual respect interesting arrange particular compound examine cable climate division individual talent fatal entire advantage opponent wouldn’t elements column custom enjoy grace theory suitable wife shoes determine allow marsh workers difficult repeated thrill position born distant revive magnificent shop sir army struggled deal plural rich rhythm rely poem company string locate church mystify elegant led actual responsible japanese huge fun meat observe swim office chart avoid factories block called experience win crumple brilliant located pole bought conditions sister details primary survey truck recall disease radio rate scatter decay signal approach launch hair age amount scale pounds although per broken moment tiny possible gold milk quiet natural lot stone act build middle speed count consonant someone sail rolled bear wonder smiled angle fraction Africa killed melody bottom trip hole poor let’s fight surprise French died beat exactly remain fingers clever coast explore imitate pierce rare symbol triumph ancient cling disturb expose perform remote timid bashful brief compete consider delightful honor reflex remark brink chill conquer fortunate fury intend pattern vibrant wit

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capture remark western outcome risk current bold compare resident ambition arrest furthermore desire confuse accurate disclose considerable contribute calculate baggage literacy noble era benefit orchard shabby content precious manufacture dusk afford assist demonstrate instant concentrate sturdy severe blend vacant weary carefree host limb pointless prepare inspire shallow chamber vast ease attentive source frantic lack recent distress basic permit threat analyze distract meadow mistrust jagged prefer sole envy hail reduce arena tour annual apparent recognize captivity burrow proceed develop humble resist peculiar response communicate circular variety frequent reveal essential disaster plead mature appropriate attractive request congratulate address destructive fragile modest attempt tradition ancestor focus flexible conclude venture impact generosity routine tragic crafty furious blossom concern ascend awkward master queasy release portion plentiful alert heroic extraordinary frontier descend invisible coax entrance capable peer terror mock outstanding valiant typical competition hardship entertain eager limp survive tidy antonym duplicate abolish approach approve glory magnificent meek prompt revive watchful wreckage audible consume glide origin prevent punctuate representative scorn stout woe arch authentic clarify declare grant grave opponent valid yearn admirable automatic devotion distant dreary exhaust kindle predict separation stunt

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evade debate dedicate budge available miniature petrify pasture banquet pedestrian solitary decline reassure nonchalant exhibit realistic exert abuse dictate minor monarch concept character strategy soar beverage tropical withdraw challenge kin navigate purchase reliable mischief solo combine vivid aroma spurt illuminate narrator retain excavate avalanche preserve suspend accomplish exasperate obsolete occasion myth reign sparse gorge intense revert antagonist talon aggressive alternate retire cautiously blizzard require endanger luxurious senseless portable sever compensate companion visual immense slither guardian compassion escalate detect protagonist oasis altitude assume seldom courteous absurd edible identical pardon approximate taunt achievement homonym hearty convert wilderness industrious sluggish thrifty deprive independent bland confident anxious astound numerous resemble route access jubilation saunter hazy impressive document moral crave gigantic bungle prefix summit overthrow perish visible translate comply intercept feeble exult compose negative suffocate frigid synonym appeal dominate deplete abundant economy desperate diligent commend boycott jovial onset burden fixture objective siege barrier conceive formal inquire penalize picturesque predator privilege slumber advantage ambition defiant fearsome imply merit negotiate purify revoke wretched absorb amateur channel elegant grace inspect lame tiresome tranquil boast eloquent glisten ideal infectious invest locate ripple sufficient uproar

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apprehensive dialogue prejudice marvel eligible accommodate arrogant distinct knack deposit liberate cumulative consequence strive salvage chronological unique vow concise influence lure poverty priority legislation significant conserve verdict leisure erupt beacon stationary generate provoke efficient campaign paraphrase swarm adhere eerie mere mimic deteriorate literal preliminary solar soothe expanse ignite verge recount apparel terrain ample quest composure majority collide prominent duration pursue innovation omniscient resolute unruly optimist restrain agony convenient constant prosper elaborate genre retrieve exploit continuous dissolve dwell persecute abandon meager elude rural retaliate primitive remote blunder propel vital designate cultivate loathe consent drastic fuse maximum negotiate barren transform conspicuous possess allegiance beneficial former factor deluge vibrant intimidate idiom dense awe rigorous manipulate transport discretion hostile clarity arid parody boisterous capacity massive prosecute declare stifle remorse refuge predicament treacherous inevitable ingenious plummet adapt monotonous accumulate reinforce extract reluctant vacate hazardous inept diminish domestic linger context excel cancel distribute document fragile myth reject scuffle solitary temporary veteran assault convert dispute impressive justify misleading numerous productive shrewd strategy villain bluff cautious consist despise haven miniature monarch obstacle postpone straggle vivid aggressive associate deceive emigrate flexible glamour hazy luxurious mishap overwhelm span blemish blunt capable conclude detect fatigue festive hospitality nomad supreme

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exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

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stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

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feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

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install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

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warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

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