#like melissa putting it on while harley's passed out in the back of melissa's car

[glitterglxss]

@x-harley-girl-x

Shock Treatment, 1981, dir. Jim Sharman

[sleepywinchester]

Mysterious Hazelnut | Pt. III

Summary: Coffee have always been key to lighten up your mood in cloudy days. Specially when its made by your favorite barista.

Author: @sleepywinchester prev. deanwincehster-af | Mobile Masterlist |

Pairings: Barista!Sam x Plus Size!Reader

Words: 2.4k

Beta: @waywardlullabies [thank u, xoxo]

Warnings: FLUFF.

A/N: Hope you guys like. Feedback is always appreciated it! <3

Previous Parts:  01, 02,

THANKS FOR READING AND ENJOY♥

“Are you nervous?” Melissa watched you get ready for the date.

You nodded with a nervous smile, “Kind of… I’m more excited than nervous to be honest.”

“I bet you are, you’re going out with your hot barista crush,” she teased. “And for what you’ve told me, the dude is totally into you.”

A subtle smirk grew on your lips She was right, Sam did seem really into you. With time, Melissa has become more than your roommate, she’s become your best friend and sister. Having your back since day one as you also did for her. It didn’t matter the time or situation, you would always be for each other. Melissa personally helped you put together a nice, fashionably and slightly flirty outfit for tonight.

This would be your first date in a very long time and you were really excited for it. Even though you didn’t said it much, you were lucky she was a model and had an amazing fashion taste. Melissa nodded in agreement and proud of her choices as you turned and showed the outfit.

“Damn gurl,” Melissa’s shouted, “I already can hear his jaw dropping.”

You laughed at her humours words, “That’s the plan, ain’t it?”

Melissa chuckled, “That’s my girl.”

Your heart skipped a beat when the building’s bell sound filled the room.

“It’s him,” you breathed out.

Melissa smirked as she stood up from your bed. “I’ll let your date in.”

When she walked out, you quickly took a last glance of your reflection in the full length mirror. Going out with random dudes wasn’t your thing. Melissa tried to make you go on blind dates with prospects that she personally picked once, it didn’t turned everywhere. Dates always made you nervous and sometimes uncomfortable.

But knowing you were going out with Sam didn’t woke up an anxious or nervous feeling in you, in fact, it did the complete opposite, for the first time you were truly excited to go out on a date.. The simple thought of this date was more of a joyful and adventurous feeling. You heard Melissa shout out ‘Come in!’ at the machine before unlocking the downstairs door.

He was going to be standing in your door any minute now. In a quick rush you took your black coat and purse, heading out to the living room afterwards. In that moment, Melissa opened the front door, revealing a very dashing yet casual looking Sam. He’s wearing his usual color palette; black, but oh did he looked handsome as ever.

Both eyes locked into each other but his were widen and lost on you. Nobody has ever looked you that way, it made your cheeks burn red and your spine shiver. Being looked like that from his hazel eyes was something you could get used to. ‘Wow,’ Sam said. You hadn’t heard him but you sure did read his lips. Your lips formed a wide and warm smile walking towards him, your heart rate increasing with every step that you took.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice filled the apartment.

You smiled and approached him, “Hey.”

“Ready to go?” He pointed the hallway with his thumb.

“She’s ready,” Melissa spoke, still holding the door way. Your eyes widen at her sudden yet truthful words. She chuckled tilting her head towards Sam with a teasing smirk.

“Sam - Melissa. She’s my roommate-”

“-and best friend,” Melissa shook Sam’s hand, showing off her protectively tone. “Which means I know people. And that I’ll kill you, of course.”

Sam let out a nervous laugh, “Got it. She’s safe with me though. We’ll be back by ten.”

“Ah, don’t sweat it, I’m not that kind of parent,” your roommate leaned against the door. Sam’s shoulders relaxed at Melissa’s shift of tone. “But I do know some people so, don’t fuck this up.”

“Okay,” you spoke nervously, “and we’re leaving.”

You chuckled nervously under your breath, walking by her and outside of the apartment. Sam and you walked in silence down the hall until your roommate shouted something.

“Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!”

It was inevitable for your cheeks to warm up and turn red. Sam laughed a little bit yet did not say a word. You turned to see Melissa over your shoulder, she’s holding her cellphone and most likely to be taking a picture of you and Sam walking away. You gave her a half smile and kept walking downstairs.

“She’s really… direct,” Sam spoke in the elevator. His tone wasn’t a judgemental one, it was more of observant and like he was trying to make conversation.

You looked up to meet his hazel eyes, “She’s something alright.” A soft chuckle escaped your insides, “Melissa is like my older sister, she wants to protect me from the world and sometimes is a little bit too overprotective, but she means well.”

Sam flashed a grin, his dimples showing, “You just defined my brother.”

“Didn’t know you had one,” you said. “Does he works at the coffee shop?”

“Yeah,” Sam said at the same time the elevator doors opened and both of you began to walk through the lobby. “His name is Dean. He’s a few years older than me,” He opened the front door of the building for you.

“The family business,” you smiled. Sam smiled and nodded in agreement.

Walking by his side towards the parking lot you noticed a nice looking black Harley parked. Your eyes went to Sam’s hands at the sound of keys shuffling. Until know you thought Sam Winchester owned a car like a normal person but it was that moment when you discovered he wasn’t someone normal. He drove a motorcycle instead.

“You have a bike?” you stood there and watched Sam walk towards the motorcycle.

Sam looked at you over his shoulder with a grin, “Yeah. Is that a deal breaker?”

You began to walk towards him, your lips slightly parted as you watched him get on his bike. The man just got hotter with a simple hop on a bike. Sam grabbed the helmet and gazed at you. His look was soft and sexy at the same time; like salt and sweet.

“More of a confirmation. It’s a fucking turn on,” you reached him and grabbed the helmet off his hands.

Sam let out a chuckle as you hopped on his back. “Ever been on a motorcycle before?”

“Once or twice,” you replied while putting on the helmet.

Sam’s smirk reflected on the bike’s mirror.

He leaned backwards a little, saying with a deep tone, “You look beautiful, by the way.”

After the helmet was on and you wrapped your arms around him. Your hands were a little too high on his chest. Sam hold your hands and slowly pulled them down to his waist without saying a word. Within a second you were aware of how toned Sam Winchester was under his clothes.

“Ready?” Sam asked.

You smirked, holding onto him, “Ready.”

- - - - -

The ride to dinner was smooth and very pleasant. You’ve always loved motorcycles rides. Sam had everything planned out for tonight’s date: taking you to have dinner to a nice and local Italian restaurant first. You didn’t care it was small, it was intimate and the food was delicious. He soon told you it was one of his favorite places to go.

Sam himself was a heavenly sight. You were torn between all his sex appeals. If anyone would ask you at this moment what you found attractive on Sam Winchester you would response ‘everything’ in a blink of an eye. It was the way he put his hair halfway up in a bun, it was something trendy but damn did it looked good on him.

Another attractive fact about the six foot four man was how he rolled his sleeves. It was another normal thing, but it showed off his toned arms and it made your knees go weak as a side effect. Before tonight you have never seen Sam without long sleeves, ink peeked down his forearm and woke up the curious cat in you.

Even though Sam Winchester was a total piece of eye candy, he was more than just someone nice to look at. The two of you talked about family, work, college and what’s going on in the world over dinner. The entire conversation showed up one of your favorites characteristics about Sam; he was a caring man. He cared his family and friends, and even the people around him. It showed that if this first date went any further, Sam would care about you as well.

“Where are we going?” you asked confused, as he passed your street.

“One last stop,” Sam said and kept driving.

You found this change of course interesting. Instead of being frightened or suspicious, you were curious and into this kind of stuff. You’d love surprises. Sam didn’t drove off town though, you knew where you were, his coffee shop. Sam opened the front door and both of you strolled into the dark and empty space.

“I can’t see shit,” you mumbled in the dark.

You heard Sam chuckle a couple steps away,  “Fixing that in, one, two-”

It was that moment when fairy lights glowed on the walls. You’ve seen them on in the mornings but they looked more beautiful in the middle of the night. They showed details of the coffee shop you’ve never seen before. Like the initials carved in a corner of a wall, S.W and D.W.

“Want some coffee?” Sam stood behind the counter.

You turned to meet his eyes under the lights, with a smile you replied ‘yes’ and reached his side.

“Two Mysterious Hazelnuts?” Sam smirked as he got the supplies.

You returned the flirty smirk, “Yes.”

Sam winked at you and got to work in the coffees. Watching him while he did your coffee was something you enjoyed. He seemed focused and calm. It didn’t passed much time when Sam was done and both of you were sitting on one of the tables.

“I have a question,” you spoke after having a sip of the delicious coffee.

He squinted, “Shoot.”

“What’s your tattoo?” your eyes went down to his forearm.

Sam put his cup of coffee on the table, resting his arm above the table as well and raising his sleeve even higher. Underneath the fabric and over his skin rested a black and white portrait of a woman. He caressed his forearm softly, his eyes on the portrait.

“She’s my mom…” Sam’s voice deepen, “She died when I was a baby.”

You breathed in deeply, “I’m so sorry.”

Sam smiled softly still staring at his mother’s portrait before slowly looking up into your eyes.

“It’s okay,” Sam said but his voice didn’t sound okay. “It was a long time ago… I turned out alright.”

Without hesitation you hold Sam’s hand, “I bet wherever she is, she’s proud of the man you’ve become.”

A glimpse of spark lit up in his eyes, “Thank you.”

“What was her name?” you asked, your hand still holding his.

“Her name was Mary,” Sam replied, playing with your hands and looking you in the eye.

You sighed with a smile, “That’s a beautiful name.”

“You’re a beautiful girl,” he said softly.

Sam’s hand caressed all it’s way through your arm, shoulder and neck. His face was so close you could taste the hazelnut coming out of his breath. He stared into your eyes before kissing your in the lips, slowly and with tenderness.

“Who the- Sammy?!” a brand and gruffer voice spoke as he turned on the lights.

You and Sam pulled away from each other roughly and glanced at the man standing by the light switch in the wall. This man was tall but not as tall as Sam. He had short dirty blonde hair and a very noticeable scruff.

“Dean,” Sam groaned under his breath as he stood up from his seat. You followed his lead and stood up as well. “Y/N, this is my brother Dean.”

“You’re Y/N?” Dean arched an eyebrow, “Shit. Nice to meet you!” He reached you for a handshake, giving you a warm smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Yeah?” you switched your look from Dean towards Sam, “Hope is good stuff.”

“All good stuff, believe me,” Dean winked.

Sam cleared his mouth and glared at his older brother. You hold the urges to chuckle at this brotherly moment that reminded your best friend.

Dean nodded glancing at both of you, “Well… I’ll keep going and leave you kids to it… Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

With Sam’s older brother gone, the both of you were alone once again.

“See? He’s the male version of your best friend,” Sam joked.

“Seems so,” you grinned. “Um - I have to get back… It’s late and I have a test tomorrow morning…”

“Sure, I’ll take you home,” Sam said.

Instead of driving back home on the motorcycle, Sam and you walked the three blocks to your building. The walk was fast giving the fact of how close you live from his coffee shop.

“I had fun,” you said standing in front of your apartment’s door.

“Me too,” he replied with a smile, “I’m sorry for my brother sudden-”

“Is fine really,” you smiled back, “he seems like a good guy.”

Sam nodded stopping “He is… Um - Would you like to go out again?”

Your smile grew wider, “Sure. I’d love that.”

“It’s a date,” Sam said.

Both of you stayed in silence and just stared at each other. Sam’s eyes began to go down to your lips and so did your glance. He took a step closer and you took another one.

“I really want to kiss you again,” Sam whispered.

You sighed, “What are you waiting for?”

It was that moment when Sam’s lips crashed into yours again. This second time around his tenderness shifted into desire and passion. You lost track of time and kissed him in front of your place for awhile until you broke the kiss.

“I’ll see you around,” you panted, still close to him.

“Are you passing through the coffee shop before class?” Sam panted as well. You nodded in response. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he kissed you one more time. “Good night.”

You stepped back, staring at him and said goodnight back before strolling into your apartment.

Let me know what you think?

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[newstfionline]

From Africa to tea with the Queen

By Melissa Twigg, BBC, 19 July 2018

Eighty-year-old women are supposed to stay at home. The neatly dressed grandmother of our collective imagination derives her pleasure from indoor pursuits--cooking, reading, knitting. One thing octogenarian women aren’t supposed to do is embark on a solo five-month journey through Africa, driving from Cape Town to Cairo in a battered Toyota Conquest.

Julia Albu never set out to be exceptional. Her daily routine slotted neatly into what the world expects from an older woman living in a leafy village near Cape Town. Every morning she would listen to the radio, and one day the discussion turned to then-President Jacob Zuma and his extravagant taste in cars.

“I was incensed,” Albu said. “I phoned in immediately to say I was going to be 80, and my car, Tracy, was a 20-year-old Toyota and she ran beautifully. We could happily drive to London together, so why Zuma needed all these new cars was beyond me.”

Buoyed by the enthusiastic response she received, Albu pledged on air to drive to Buckingham Palace to have tea with the Queen--and before long, the seeds of what had begun as a joke started germinating.

“My partner had recently died, you see,” Albu said. “It was an exhausting process, and after all that I thought, ‘My goodness, there really isn’t much of life left’. I feel like I’m 36 from the shoulders up and 146 from the shoulders down, and I wanted the younger me to win for once.”

Six months later, on the dawn of her 80th birthday, Albu’s youthful half triumphed. With Tracy’s grey, squat exterior emblazoned with the rainbow-coloured stickers of her sponsors, Albu set off on a frosty morning from her house in Jakkalsfontein, hurtling up a gum tree-lined road pointing north.

“I was raring to go,” she said. “I had been inoculated against every known virus, although the doctor said he didn’t think I’d need any STD precautions, which was insulting. And Tracy was looking beautiful, upholstered from the seats to the sun visors in pink florals.”

A cavalcade of Harley Davidsons bid her farewell outside Johannesburg, but other than that, South Africa passed in a blur of Karoo pepper trees and cold winter nights. And so it was left to Botswana to give Albu her first taste of African adventure.

“We were pottering along the road when an elephant nearly came to blows with poor Tracy. And the potholes, oh they were too awful. But it all felt magical, from the heat drifting through my windows to the baobab trees. I knew I was going to be alright because everyone I met was so kind. They called me ‘Gogo’, which means grandmother.”

In those early weeks, Albu often slept in a tent on the side of the road. But while her spirit was indomitable, her body was not, and sleeping on the ground soon took its toll. Her family rallied around to help--one daughter eventually drove with her to Zimbabwe, while her son accompanied her through Malawi.

But interspersed with moments of hardship was Albu’s utter exhilaration at seeing the continent she was born in finally blossoming into focus. Her eyes lit up when she talked about the majesty of Lake Malawi or Zimbabwe’s Victoria Falls, but also when she described the details of life on the road. There was the man selling wicker furniture under a dusty Malawian tree, and the Zambian schoolgirls who read to her. She talked about vendors frying mice, truck drivers sharing food with her, and ripe tomatoes she plucked off the vine.

“I never felt lonely, even when I was alone,” she said. “I loved the times my children visited, and the intimate moments I spent with each of them. But you must remember Tracy is also an older lady just like me, and this was something we were doing together.”

Albu’s age was clearly a mixed blessing. African border posts can be notoriously difficult to negotiate, but she breezed through most of them. The truck drivers she had been sharing the road with began to recognise her and ushered her to the front of the queue.

“The belief in the wisdom of your elders is ingrained in a lot of African cultures--though often they just found me hilarious,” she said. “One Ugandan customs official asked why I was driving to London. ‘To have tea with the Queen’ I replied. His eyes were like marbles, and my passport was stamped in a jiffy.”

Nonetheless, I sensed Albu’s profound frustration at being physically unable explore the nooks and crannies of the continent unfolding around her. “Oh to be 40 years younger,” she said. “The mountains I would have climbed; the lakes I would have swum in.”

Instead, Albu quenched her boundless thirst for Africa through its people. Her travel diary is filled with page upon page of names, numbers and business cards, including the addresses of hundreds of teachers she sent schoolbooks to through a charity she is affiliated with.

In Tanzania, she stumbled upon a small village and began talking to one of the elders, named William. They spent hours together that day and the next, sitting on a bench while putting the world to rights. Months later, a letter from him plopped through her door in Cape Town. “Your radiant and full-of-life personality is amazing,” he wrote. “Your willingness to share the good moments of others taught me what life can mean. I, in my own way, promise to give you company.”

During the trip, Albu learned to shake off age with a flick of her hair. In Tanzania, at a honeymooner resort, she peeled off her dress for a midnight swim. In Ethiopia, she camped with eager 20-somethings in the Danakil Depression, a neon-hued moonscape of lava and salt plains that is often described as the ‘gateway to hell’.

Her enthusiasm for Ethiopia is particularly infectious--for the dramatic landscapes and for the profound spirituality that imbues the place. Sudan, too, she describes with a sense of awe that I suspect is reserved for an Africa with which she no longer feels familiar.

“I think I got my moment of purest joy when I was driving alone through the Sudanese desert on the long road to Khartoum,” she said. “My tape of hymns was playing at full blast and I was singing ‘Jerusalem’, thinking about England’s green and pleasant land while a shepherd shuffled through the sand in the distance.”

Albu’s African odyssey ended in Egypt, the country where her luck in namedropping the Queen finally ran out. Held at border control for several days while Tracy was fitted with Arabic number plates, her only option was to sleep in a cafe. “I’m not sure if you’ve ever spent the night alone in a room with seven Egyptian men, but it certainly was an experience,” she said. “They were kind though, and if they were surprised I was a woman on my own, they didn’t show it.”

Up through Egypt she went, stopping off in Aswan and The Valley of the Kings and finishing in the polluted streets of Cairo. On her last day, she parked on the banks of the Nile to collect some murky river water, which was destined to sit on her mantelpiece next to bottles filled up at the source of the White Nile in Tanzania and the Blue Nile in Ethiopia.

From Cairo, Albu flew back to Cape Town, watching the continent unfold below her and pitying her fellow passengers for their sky-high perspective. After recuperating in Jakkalsfontein for a few months, Albu boarded a plane to Europe and was reunited with Tracy--who had languished for weeks in a container in Greece after crossing the Mediterranean by ferry. From Greece, she drove through Albania, Montenegro, Croatia, Slovenia, Austria, Germany and Holland, and arrived in London for the summer season.

“Oh, I was dying to have tea with the Queen--particularly after telling the world and his wife that I was going to,” Albu says. “But it was the week of Royal Ascot and apparently she was otherwise engaged. The English are a strange breed--I’m not sure they appreciated quite how long my journey to Buckingham Palace was.”

Although astoundingly, London was not the final stop in Albu’s odyssey. Last week, she crossed the Channel again and is currently heading for the heel of Italy, from where she will sail for Tunisia and begin her drive to Cape Town--crossing Africa overland for the second time in as many years.

“Well, why not? What do you want me to do, sit on this sofa and wait to die?” she asks, with a laugh. “There is a freedom that comes with old age that so many people don’t realise. I didn’t know it before my adventure, but at my age you’re actually freer than you’ve ever been--you lose a husband and the children are grown, and you worry less about the consequences of everything.”

We have a tendency to treat older people with kid gloves, but excitement and adventure are not prerogatives of the young. And if the inhabitants of Buckingham Palace one day read about Albu’s story and send an embossed invitation down to South Africa, she and Queen will undoubtedly have a lot to say on the subject.