#roadhouse rules

[harrenhalyuri]

whenever I get into something new which I have a potential interest in writing/drawing for it, the first thing I start researching is the food. It's insane how much food can be a world building tool and how much you can learn through it

That said, I've been thinking about the rogue trader's voidship kitchens lmao

[witchywithwhiskey]

a gift for the bar owner

pairings: dark trucker!ari levinson x female reader, soft!dark bar owner!curtis everett x female reader

summary: for curtis's birthday, ari gives you to him for the night.

warnings: 18+ content (minors do not interact!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, drunk sex, intoxication, rough sex, oral object insertion (f receiving), masturbation (m), cumshot, exhibitionism, sadism/masochism, painplay, rough body play, biting, free use, heavy objectification, heavy degradation, humiliation kink, salirophilia (kink for ruining someone's appearance/dirtying them up), somnophilia, cock warming, dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink (only with ari), pet names (bambi, baby, kiddo), possessive behavior, aftercare, a couple mean hot men—let me know if i missed anything!!!

word count: 7.9k

a/n: ok so i have no excuse for this except i saw a gif of a girl getting wine poured over her face/chest and i wondered who of my characters would do that. and apparently the answer is dive bar owner curtis. so here we are. also please note that this little fic takes place after the chapter of trucker king where curtis and lloyd will be properly introduced so no, you're not supposed to know what exactly reader's tattoo is and yes, i will be revealing that in due time.

trucker king masterlist ● trucker au masterlist

Since Curtis Everett was one of Ari Levinson’s oldest friends—and one of the few people he trusted—your trucker decided that the perfect gift to give his friend for his birthday was you. A whole night where you were nothing more than Curtis’s free use fuck toy. 

The only condition was that Curtis had to follow the same rules Ari had set the last time he’d let his friend use you—no kissing, no permanent marks, and no coming inside you. Curtis had quickly agreed, and the plans were set.

Ari hadn’t asked you whether you wanted to be gifted to Curtis for his birthday, but you still thought it was a great idea. 

After all, Curtis worked so hard running Everett’s Roadhouse, the dive bar just off the highway that was frequented by Ari and plenty of other truckers, and he deserved a night of having his own personal fuck toy to use however he wanted. It was his birthday, and he didn’t have a girl of his own, so you didn’t mind stepping in for the night.

In fact, after the evening you’d spent with Curtis and Ari’s other oldest friend, Lloyd Hansen—when your trucker had given them permission to use you however they wanted in exchange for some favors—you were excited to be Curtis’s birthday gift. You’d liked the big, grumbling bar owner, and you wanted to make his birthday special. 

As part of his gift, Ari had let Curtis pick out what you’d wear. So you strolled into Everett’s Roadhouse on the night of Curtis’s birthday wearing the sweetest little sundress you owned—and nothing else besides the shoes on your feet. 

The dress was a bright white cotton with little flowers dotted all over it, and short enough to swirl around your upper thighs. The sweet little garment was at odds with your surroundings in the dive bar, which were grimy and dirty, lit by dim lightbulbs and flickering neon beer signs. It made you stand out immediately.

As soon as you entered the bar, every man in the establishment turned to look at you, their gazes ranging from drunken interest to greedy hunger. Even with Ari at your side, his posessive hand on your lower back, they couldn’t seem to drag their covetous eyes away from you, like you were an oasis in the desert.  

It took you a moment to understand the attention, but when you did, a delicious tremor of excitement raced down your spine—you were the only woman in the whole building. The bar was closed for Curtis’s private party, and the only people in attendance were his friends, who were all rough-looking men that you presumed were mostly truckers or old friends like Ari. 

You wondered, not for the first time since Ari had told you his plans for his friend’s birthday, what exactly Curtis would do with you. You knew Ari’s rules would save you from anything too unpleasant, but there was so much they didn’t cover. The possibilities of how Curtis might use you made your pussy tingle with anticipation.

Ari’s hand was firm on your lower back as he guided you further into the bar, your wedge sandals sticking slightly to the filthy wooden floors of the roadhouse. The gazes of all the men you walked past slid over your bare skin like oil, the sensation settling heavily between your thighs, where a sensual warmth bloomed. 

That warmth only grew the closer you got to Curtis, who stood half a head taller than any man in the bar. The imposing bear of a man was leaning against the bartop, talking with someone about something, his broad shoulders and thick biceps stretching the limits of his black t-shirt. Curtis’s blue eyes were bright in the dingy lights of the bar, contrasting against his pale skin, dark beard and shorn hair. 

When you finally arrived at the circle of men gathered around Curtis, Ari gave you a shove through the crowd and you stumbled toward the bar owner. It was only when Curtis fumbled to catch you in his arms—the stench of beer thick on his breath—that you realized he was already so drunk, he could barely stand, and that was why he’d been leaning against the bar. 

“Hey there, bambi,” he slurred, his arms loosely circling your waist. His hands slid down to grope your ass, but Curtis must’ve forgotten he was still holding a beer, because you felt it tip. A second later, cold liquid spilled over the plush curves of your ass.

Instinctively, you squealed his name, “Curtis!” The cold beer was running down the valley between your cheeks, making you squirm in his arms. You tried to get away from the spilling liquid, but you ended up pressing closer to Curtis’s massive, burly chest, practically climbing the tall man with your fingers fisting in his t-shirt and your body plastering to his.

Thankfully, Curtis didn’t mind in the least. He managed to right his beer and chuckled, looking down at you fondly, his mouth curled in a devastating smirk even as his eyes were hazy with drink. The alcohol seemed to have softened Curtis’s rough edges, and he appeared almost warm—nothing like the grumbling man you’d met previously.

“Damn, bambi, ya just got here,” he said, loud enough for the men closest to him to hear. “And yer already trying to jump on my dick like some kind of slut, huh?” He chuckled darkly and his friends joined in, making heat creep up your neck and fill your cheeks. 

But you didn’t deny it.

Instead, you recovered yourself quickly, forgetting the beer still plastering your dress to your ass and pressed closer to Curtis. Wrapping your arms around his neck and pushing your tits against his broad chest, you enjoyed the way his eyes dipped lazily down to your low-cut neckline. 

“I’m yours for the night, big man,” you purred, your body warming and responding to being pressed so tight against Curtis’s muscled chest. It wasn’t difficult to let a seductive smile curl your lips. “You can do anything you want with me.” 

A grin spread slowly across Curtis’s face, the expression lecherous on his handsome features as he leered down at you. 

Before he responded, though, his gaze shifted over your shoulder, and he gave a quick nod. You knew without looking the gesture was meant for Ari—an acknowledgement that Curtis remembered your trucker’s rules and understood he couldn’t do anything. But close enough. 

Curtis’s free hand groped your ass hard as he turned to the crowd, taking a swig of his beer before calling out to his friends.

“Didja hear that fellas?” he crowed, his excited energy riling up the throng of men, all of whom seemed to be as drunk or drunker than Curtis. “Ari’s little cock slut said I get to do anything I want with her tonight!” 

A cheer rose up from the crowd, men all around you raising their glasses in the air while they yelled so loud it felt like a physical cloud of excitement. The energy was infectious, an eager grin curving your lips as you looked around at all the truckers and degenerates who were celebrating your objectification as a free use fuck toy.

Out of curiosity, you turned to look for Ari among them. You found your trucker standing still and quiet, watching you, a glass of amber liquid in one hand. His arms were crossed over his broad chest and he wore a devious little smirk on his face that had your body warming with arousal. Even though he wasn’t joining in on the deafening cheer, you knew he was just as excited by the prospect of seeing you used by Curtis as everyone else.

Before Ari could direct you to look back at Curtis, the big man you were plastered against got your attention with his next words, shouted to the crowd.

Curtis had waited until the cheering died down a little to ask, “So what should I do with her first?”  

Obscene suggestions were hurled at you and Curtis, men’s voices blending into a cacophony of depravity. The things the crowd wanted Curtis to do to you ranged so wildly from nearly tame to absolutely vile that it made your head spin. Ari’s rules would prevent the worst of the suggestions, but not everything that Curtis’s friends were calling out, and you wondered with a twisted shiver of excitement what your trucker’s friend would pick to do to you.

“POUR YOUR BEER ON HER!”

Curtis’s whole body turned to the voice that had called out that last suggestion, dragging you along with him since your arms were still looped around his neck, his hand still holding your ass. Curtis pointed at his friend with his beer, some of it sloshing onto the floor with the fervor of the gesture.

“Now that’s an idea,” he shouted to the man in the crowd you couldn’t see. Curtis tipped his beer in his friend’s direction then took a swig. He looked down at where you were still pressed against his chest, your body hanging from where your arms were holding onto him. “Get on your knees, bambi.” His voice was rolling thunder, so deep and dark, it sent tiny, pleasurable zaps of lightning through your nervous system. 

The speed with which you detached yourself from Curtis and dropped to your knees had the men all around you whistling in appreciation. You heard more than a few of them mutter things like, “What a good, well-trained slut,” and “Gotta get me a girl like that.”

You preened and beamed with pride at the praise, finding Ari in the crowd again and hoping your behavior reflected well on him. He’d been the one to train you to follow orders so well, after all.

Your trucker gave you a small nod of recognition that made happiness burst in your chest, and you turned back to Curtis with a happy bounce of your hips. You couldn’t help but notice the low groans that came as a result of the little movement and you smiled wider.

The wooden floor was sticky beneath your bare knees, but you paid it no mind. You suspected—and you’d turn out to be right—that you’d be dirtier and filthier than even the floor of Everett’s Roadhouse before the night was through. The excitement you felt made you bounce again, making your sweet little sundress flutter around your thighs.

Curtis’s eyes watched the hem of your dress hungrily, seemingly distracted by the movement until he shook himself and remembered what he was doing. Raising his beer, Curtis let the crowd cheer for a moment while you waited with anticipation. From your spot on the floor, Curtis looked even bigger and more intimidating, which made something low in your belly quiver with excitement, heat gathering between your thighs as your thoughts skated away.

A growled question from your trucker’s friend brought you back to the moment.

“Ya ready, bambi?” 

Your hands were laying lightly on your thighs, your knees spread on the floor. You were more than ready, and at Curtis’s question, you tossed your head back and pushed your tits out, giving him a challenging smirk as you purred, “Gimme what ya got, big man.”

A half feral grin spread across Curtis’s face, and then he was tipping his bottle toward you, cold beer splashing over your face mere seconds after you shut your eyes. The pungent liquid rolled down your cheeks and slid down your neck, soaking the front of your white dress. 

You could feel the fabric clinging to your skin, the white cotton no doubt becoming see-through as it was soaked in beer. Your nipples puckered and hardened against the flimsy material, putting on a show for Curtis and the crowd of men around you.

The bar owner emptied the bottle over your face and the front of your body, the beer getting in your mouth and nose, rivulets streaming down over your tits and between your spread thighs. It dripped to the floor beneath you, creating a small puddle on the sticky wooden boards. 

All around you, men cheered loudly and lewdly, urging Curtis to degrade you as the filthy slut you were. You grinned at the attention, loving every second of it and knowing that the men were only allowed to witness what Curtis was doing because Ari allowed it. Because Ari had given you to his friend for his birthday, and this was what Curtis had decided to do with you.

When the beer stopped flowing, you fluttered your eyes open, blinking the alcohol from your vision as you stared up into Curtis’s darkened blue eyes. You knew you must look a mess. You’d worn makeup that wouldn’t hold up to such an onslaught, and you had no doubt that your black mascara was streaming down your cheeks and adding to the wreckage of your face. But the way Curtis looked at you made you think he liked it—a lot.

“Edgar, gimme another beer!” Curtis called, keeping his gaze locked on you, his blue eyes dipping down to take in the sight of your beer-stained dress. 

The slip of fabric was sticking to your skin and it had become see-through where it had gotten wet. But it wasn’t drenched yet, and you could tell from the glint in Curtis’s eye that he wouldn’t stop until it bared you entirely. Excitement fizzed through you, and you bounced your hips while you waited impatiently for Curtis’s command to be met.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw one of the bartenders open a new bottle of beer and pass it into Curtis’s big, waiting hand. Neither you nor the bar owner took your eyes off each other, and it made the moment all the more intense. For all that you had an audience to your degradation, in that moment, you were there for Curtis, and only Curtis. You were his, if only temporarily, and he seemed to relish that knowledge just as much as you did.

“Ya thirsty, bambi?” he asked, some of the drunken slurring leeching out of his tone as he grinned lecherously down at you. His gaze broke away from you and he looked around at the men gathered close but not touching you, his eyes sparkling with depravity when he met yours again. “Ya want some more?’

Your heart was racing with excitement, the awareness of having so many men watching you thrumming deliciously beneath your skin; you couldn’t help the way your hips bounced with eagerness as you nodded quickly. “Yes, please,” you said sweetly, biting your lip to stop from grinning too wide up at your trucker’s friend.

Curtis’s eyes darkened with sinful intent and you felt yourself growing wet. But the dampness between your thighs had nothing to do with the beer Curtis had poured on you, and everything to do with the fact that you were so turned on by the way he was treating you. And all the while, you could feel your trucker’s eyes on you, a reminder that you were Ari’s and he’d given you to Curtis as a gift. 

“Stick your tongue out,” Curtis rumbled, a thread of steel in his voice that made you shiver. In that moment, he reminded you of the grumbling man you’d met when Ari first introduced you to his friends, and you realized you’d missed that side of him. “Show all my friends what a good little slut you are.”

If you could’ve followed the order and smiled at the same time, you would’ve. Instead, you had to settle for submitting to Curtis’s command, sticking your tongue out as far as possible and tipping your head back, letting him see down your throat.

It was an invitation for him to give you more, to give you all he had, and the entire bar knew it. The men surrounding you roared their approval while Curtis offered you a pleased little smirk. It was the nicest he’d ever looked and it nearly made you smile, but you held your position.

“That’s it, open wide, slut,” Curtis encouraged in a low, roughened voice, depraved delight sparking in his blue gaze as he degraded you on the floor of his bar.

The look in his eye and the tenor of his tone made you quiver. Your pussy throbbed more insistently with need the longer you stayed on your knees and submitted to the degradation the bar owner offered. But you channeled that desire into opening your mouth wider, sticking your tongue out a little bit further, catching the approving smirk that flickered at the corners of Curtis’s mouth.

The bar owner nodded at you, took a sip of his new beer, and then, with no other preamble, he tipped the brown bottle over your face, showering you in the bitter liquid. 

With your lips open and tongue out, plenty of the beer splashed into your mouth and you swallowed it down as best you could. Despite your best efforts, you choked and gagged a little, tears slipping from your eyes to join the rest of the mess on your face as you endured Curtis’s treatment.

The men in the crowd jeered as you struggled beneath the degrading pour of Curtis’s beer, but he shifted his hand, the cold liquid moving to pour down the front of your body. The stream seemed endless and you could feel the beer soaking into your dress until the entire front of the garment was drenched.

By the time the bottle was empty, you felt half drowned, gulping down air as the beer you’d swallowed sloshed around in your belly. Your head was a little dizzy, and you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the lack of air, but you swayed a little on your knees, glancing down to find that the entire front of your dress was see-through, your tits and puckered nipples on full display for everyone to see.

At the sight of yourself, your pussy throbbed, your inner walls clenching pathetically around nothing as desire blazed through your body. When you looked up at Curtis, you were certain he could see your arousal in every line of your expression, and he smirked, the expression sharp on his handsome face.

“Y’know, bambi, your dress is a little dirty,” Curtis rumbled, as if he hadn’t been the one to sully it in the first place. But you didn’t care about that, you only cared about the anticipation building in your body. You knew Curtis was leading somewhere and you couldn’t wait for him to get there. “I can’t let you walk around my bar like that, dripping beer everywhere.” 

It escaped no one that Curtis’s dive bar was plenty dirty already and a few drops of beer wouldn’t make it much worse, but a cheer rose from the crowd as they caught on to the fact that Curtis was planning something. You bounced slightly on your knees, pouting up at the bar owner and trying to look abashed, biting your lip against a grin. 

“What’re you gonna do about it, big man?” you asked sweetly. 

Curtis gave you a half-feral grin, the expression more snarl than anything else, and it was your only warning. 

Faster than you would’ve thought possible for the big, drunk man, Curtis stooped down and slipped his hands into the neck of your dress, his rough fingers grazing your soft flesh. You let out a quiet little moan that you were certain only Curtis could hear, making him pause for a brief second, his eyes fluttering closed. But then his hands were moving again, yanking on your dress.

In a split second, Curtis ripped your dress right down the center. You gasped loudly as your tits were bared to the crowd of men in the bar, the sound loud in the moment of stunned silence. Your breasts bounced free of their confines, your nipples hardening and revealing to the whole room how much you were enjoying Curtis’s rough treatment.

The cheer that broke out at your nakedness was so loud, it made your ears ring. It also drowned out the sound of rending fabric as Curtis tore the shredded garment from your body, flinging it into the crowd. His eyes were heavy as they trailed down your body, your skin prickling everywhere he looked—your nipples tightening into desperate peaks and your pussy weeping from where it was nestled between your parted thighs.

Curtis’s eyes flared at the sight of the tattoo just above your slit, a reminder of who you belonged to. But you hoped it also reminded Curtis of the first night you’d met him—the night Ari had given you to both Curtis and Lloyd to use how they wanted. Your pussy dripped at the memory, and it seemed Curtis was just as affected, the big man pausing for a moment before he shook himself. 

“That’s better,” Curtis muttered, his gaze lingering on your weeping pussy like he wanted to bury his bearded face against your soft cunt. Instead, he dragged his eyes back up your body, the blue of his irises darkened to the color of the midnight sky as he murmured for your ears only, “Look so fucking pretty, bambi.”

You smiled and ducked your head at the compliment, which meant more to you than the obscene catcalls and lewd cries from the crowd around you. It was a reminder of the friendship that you and Curtis shared. You may have met because he was one of your trucker’s oldest friends, but you hoped Curtis knew you thought of him as your friend too.

“Thank you,” you whispered, looking up at the bar owner from under your lashes. “Are you enjoying your birthday?”

Something resembling a grin curved the edges of Curtis’s mouth, the expression nearly hidden in his beard. His eyes slid away and looked up, and you knew without having to check that he was looking at Ari again. Before you could discern what the glance meant, though, Curtis was chucking you under the chin and saying, “I am, thanks to you, bambi.” 

Your heart gave a happy little flutter, but before you could respond, Curtis was standing up and waving his arms to get the crowd to quiet down. “What d’ya think fellas, is Ari’s little cock slut dirty enough yet?” 

The beer that had already been poured on you was starting to dry into a sticky, tacky layer on your skin, but your pussy dripped at the thought of Curtis wanting to make you even filthier. And it seemed his friends liked the idea as well, because they cheered so loud, it felt like the floor was shaking beneath your knees. 

Edgar the bartender already had a beer open and waiting for Curtis when the big man turned to grab one. That time, the bar owner didn’t even need to command you to open your mouth and stick out your tongue—you did that all on your own. Curtis’s smirk was pleased and his blue eyes glimmered with fondness as he tipped the beer over your face, pouring the liquid down your throat and over your body to the cheers of all his friends.

For the better part of the next hour, Curtis took his time defiling you while you sat, naked and on your knees, in the center of his bar, enduring it willingly as the free use toy he’d been given for his birthday. A good amount of the alcohol that didn’t run down over your tits and splash over your pussy went down your throat, and it wasn’t long before your head began to swim. 

Still, your body felt heavy with desire, your nipples tight and desperate to be played with, your cunt pulsing and aching to be filled. It was only because Curtis seemed to be having so much fun, his friends urging him on to make you dirtier and filthier, that you didn’t break down and beg him to fuck you. 

But you couldn’t help the way your body was responding, your mouth falling slack at the teasing slide of liquid over your puckered nipples. If you arched your body just right, and spread your thighs wide enough, you could feel the trickle of beer over you clit, and it made a low moan slip from your mouth as your eyes fluttered closed in pleasure.

Curtis’s dark chuckle from above was your only warning. At that moment, he shoved the neck of his beer bottle into your mouth, pushing your lips wide and making you gag as your eyes flew open in surprise. 

“That needy little mouth is begging to be fucked, bambi,” the bar owner growled, quickly unzipping his fly and wedging the bottom of the beer between the zipper’s teeth so he could hold your head in both hands and fuck you with the glass bottle. “Take it, cock slut, fucking take it,” he grunted obscenely. 

All you could do was choke and struggle, the remainder of the beer sloshing down your throat and joining the rest in your belly. Your fingers fisted in the denim jeans encasing Curtis’s thick thighs, but you didn’t push him away. It felt good to finally have one of your holes used, even if you were being fucked by Curtis’s beer bottle instead of his cock like you’d wanted. 

Your jaw hurt by the time he pulled away, your lips swollen from being wrapped around the wide glass. Your body swayed unsteadily on your knees, arousal dripping down between your thighs and joining the mess of beer on the floor. The cheers of the crowd had faded into a constant rumble, and you smile dazedly when they urged Curtis on. 

Suddenly, a big bear paw of a hand was wrapping around your upper arm and you were being hauled to your feet. Blood rushed to your legs, your head swimming and lolling to the side as you tried to find your footing. But standing seemed impossible—and unimportant as arousal burned through you, making you whimper and whine desperately. You hoped someone would fuck you soon.

Curtis chuckled at your pathetic noises, the husky sound sending shivers down your spine as his lips grazed your ear. “You’re not too drunk to fuck, are ya, bambi?” he asked in a low, growly voice as he pressed his hips against you, his hard bulge digging into your belly. 

When you’d first walked into Everett’s Roadhouse that night and saw the state of the bar owner, you’d thought there was no way he’d be able to fuck you with how drunk he was. But the hour spent pouring so many bottles of beer over your body instead of drinking them had sobered Curtis up enough to get hard. He was stiff and twitching and pressing into you through his jeans and you wanted him to bury his cock in you.

Your dazed smile widened into a giddy grin and you tipped your head back, blinking your eyes a few times to get your vision to focus enough to see Curtis’s face. “It’s your birfday, big man,” you said, your voice more slurring than sultry, a hiccup interrupting you and making you pause. “I’m use to yours.” Your expression scrunched into a confused pout, knowing your words weren’t right, and tried again. “I’m yours to fuck.”

Curtis was laughing as he hauled you over to one of the pool tables off to the side of the bar, and tossed you down on the green felt. You lay limply on your back, staring up at your trucker’s tall friend while he glared at the guys who’d been playing a game on the table. Their grumbling quickly cut off and Curtis returned his attention to you. 

The crowd shifted to gather around the pool table while Curtis pulled out his cock, which was just as massive as the rest of him. The thick length lay against your mound, the girth covering much of the tattoo there, the tip nearly reaching your belly button. Your inner walls clenched in anticipation of taking Curtis inside you—you couldn’t wait.

“Gimme, gimme,” you mumbled, spreading your thighs wide and pushing your pussy up against the stiff, velvet-wrapped steel of Curtis’s cock. It twitched against your mound, precum dripping onto your belly and joining the mess on your skin. 

Curtis chuckled at your antics, rumbling, “Alright, bambi.” The bar owner grabbed your thighs, pushing you wide as he pulled his hips back, lining up the tip of his big cock with your entrance. Without any warning or preparation, Curtis barreled into your cunt, burying his big cock to the hilt with one thrust. 

Instantly, stinging pain and scorching pleasure cut white-hot through the core of you, overwhelming your mind and leaving your body to react however it wanted. Your head was thrown back, and your lips parted to let out a piercing scream that shattered through the noise of the dive bar.

“Fuck yeah, bambi, scream for me,” Curtis groaned, his big hands kneading your thighs, fingers digging into your plush softness hard enough to hurt. He pulled your body into his, managing to grind his cock even deeper into your pussy, wrenching another, surprised shriek from your lips.

You felt like you were being split in half, pain and pleasure ricocheting through your body fast enough to make you dizzy, your drunken mind unable to tell the difference between the two. All you knew was that it was so much, so overwhelming, and your hands reached out above your head, searching for something to cling to as your mind splintered and your body trembled from the sensation of being split open on Curtis’s cock.

Two warm hands wrapped firmly around your wrists, pinning them to the rough felt of the pool table, leaving you powerless to Curtis’s massive cock. He was rocking his hips in tiny little thrusts, the tip of his length battering against your cervix and wringing helpless little whimpers from your lips as your hazy eyes searched above you for the man pinning you down—somehow knowing before your gaze collided with the familiar blue of your trucker’s eyes that it was Ari.

His face was hovering above you, upside down as he leaned over the table to catch your gaze. The edges of Ari’s features were blurred, but you would’ve recognized your trucker even if you were blackout drunk—even if you were so intoxicated you were more unconscious than not. 

Ari’s face was like a star, familiar and steady, and you smiled happily up at him, your heart warming when you noticed the pride in his gaze. 

“You’re doing well, baby,” Ari rumbled, his features sharp and his expression hard. But deep in the blue depths of his eyes, you could see the affection you knew he felt for you. “You’re being such a good fuck toy for daddy’s friend on his birthday.”

You giggled, squirming happily on the pool table, your face upturned to your trucker, your attention completely diverted from Curtis and his cock, even as he still fucked you. You were having fun with the bar owner, but nothing and no one would ever be able to come between you and Ari. You were his, always, and he knew it.

Ari leaned down, and you thought for a moment he was going to kiss you, but you should’ve known better. Ari’s teeth nipped the soft lobe of your ear, making you moan, before he spoke words meant only for you.

“When Curtis is done, I’m gonna fuck your filthy little cunt, kiddo, so don’t pass out,” he rumbled, the twisted promise making your cunt clench around his friend’s cock. “Or do, it doesn’t matter to me.” Ari sank his teeth into the bone at the corner of your jaw, biting you hard enough to make you cry out. “I’m gonna use your holes whether you’re awake or not.”

A helpless moan slipped from your lips, your legs spreading wider instinctively at the thought of your trucker using your cunt to get off while you lay unconscious in his bed. You smiled adoringly up at Ari, blinking your eyes slowly. It took you a moment before your swimming vision could focus on Ari’s face, and when he saw he had your attention, he jerked his chin sharply at his friend, commanding you wordlessly to look back at Curtis.

You did, following your trucker’s order immediately, finding the massive bar owner watching you and Ari with a look on his face you couldn’t quite identify. The only way you could describe it was…openly gluttonous. Curtis looked like he wasn’t merely jealous of what you and Ari had, he looked like he would’ve stolen you away from his friend if there was any chance in the universe you’d look at him the same way.

But there wasn’t, and Curtis’s expression shifted as he resigned himself for having the piece of you that Ari had given him for his birthday. It would have to be enough, because even though his cock was inside you, you were still Ari’s and Ari’s alone. 

Curtis grabbed a beer off the edge of the pool table and chugged half of it. As he set it back down, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and leaned over you, his big hands grabbing your thighs again, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. 

The pain only made your arousal flare hotter and you smiled up at your trucker’s friend, murmuring, “Happy birthday, big man.”

“Thank you, bambi,” he muttered, low enough that you knew it was just for you. Then a smirk spread across Curtis’s face, his eyes lighting with filthy desire. “Now, scream if my dick’s too big for your tight little cunt, ya filthy slut.”

With that, Curtis pulled out until only the tip of his cock remained in your grasping channel, then he slammed inside you. Even with your body having adjusted to the sheer size of him, his hard, brutal thrust pulled a scream from your throat, your back arching up off the table and your wrists pulling against Ari’s hold. 

Curtis laughed loudly as the crowd cheered, the big bar owner setting a ferocious pace as he fucked you hard enough that you knew you were going to be sore for days. But you loved it. You loved the pain and the pleasure and the roaring of the crowd as Curtis fucked you in front of all his friends. 

You loved the way Ari’s hands held your arms pinned above your head, how it bared your tits to Curtis, who bent over your body to finally suck on your aching nipples. You loved the way Curtis’s beard rasped against your skin, making you shiver as your pussy clenched hard around his thick cock.

Your mind floated deliriously through the waves of pleasure and pain crashing over your body. You felt drunk on cock and alcohol, not knowing how much time passed as Curtis fucked you, but it seemed to go on forever. Your body was wound so tight for so long, you reached a point where you didn’t know if you were even going to come, or if you were simply going to hover on the edge for the rest of eternity.

“Look at me, bambi,” Curtis growled, dragging your attention back to his handsome face. 

It was only then that you realized you’d been staring up unseeingly at the ceiling of the bar, the golden and neon lights swimming through your vision as you lay limply beneath your trucker’s friend. 

Curtis’s blue eyes were dark and his mouth was twisted into a desirous snarl, his beard making him look like a feral beast as he pounded into you. 

“You’re gonna come on my cock, d’you hear me?” 

Words escaped you, your tongue simply lolling out over your bottom lip when you opened your mouth to respond. All you could manage was a frantic whine as you bobbed your head in a nod. 

“Good slut,” Curtis grunted, one of his hands falling to your lower belly, his thumb finding your clit between your slippery folds. “Come on my cock, bambi, c’mon, come on my big dick like a good little cock slut.” The rough pad of his thumb rubbed your slick, puffy clit unrelentingly, and suddenly, you were tipping over the edge.

Your mouth fell open wider and your spine arched up off the pool table as you screamed, your release crashing over you, wave after wave of pleasure hurtling you closer and closer to a darkness that wanted to claim you. But you clung to consciousness, your scream turning into a high, keening whine that could’ve been a sign of pain or pleasure. 

Your release seemed to spur on Curtis and he rutted into you, fucking your clenching pussy as he watched pleasure contort your face and body. Then, with a final grunt, Curtis pulled himself free from your body. He jerked his cock in a big fist until he spilled all over your belly, making sure none of his come fell anywhere near your pussy or the tattoo there.

Curtis’s chest heaved, his eyes distant and dazed with pleasure as he wrung every last drop of come from his cock, and you watched him with the satisfied smile of a job well done. 

When the last rope of his come had splattered, warm and sticky, against your belly, Curtis finally sucked in a deep breath and grabbed the beer handed to him from the crowd. He took a deep swig while he tucked his cock away with the other hand. 

“Thanks, Levinson,” Curtis rasped, tipping his bottle to your trucker, who just nodded. Ari’s hands were idly massaging your wrists and you melted onto the rough felt of the pool table, knowing your trucker would take care of you. Curtis turned his blue eyes on you, and he tipped his bottle to you as well. “Always a pleasure, bambi,” he said, a genuine look of appreciation on his face. 

You were about to respond, but then Curtis turned his beer over and he used the alcohol to wash his come from your skin. You squealed loudly when the cold liquid rushed over your heated skin, instinctively bringing up your legs to curl into yourself, making the crowd laugh and jeer. 

When the beer was empty and his spend was cleaned from your skin, Curtis stumbled away into the crowd, the big man being swallowed up by the well-wishers and revelers congratulating him on fucking you good. Since you knew Curtis was done with you, you looked up at Ari, twisting your hands to wrap your fingers around his arms.

“Can we go now, daddy?” you asked softly.

Ari nodded and gathered you up from the pool table, setting you down on the edge while he pulled off the flannel shirt he’d worn over a white t-shirt. He tugged it over your head and helped you get your trembling arms in the sleeves, then ducked down to brush a kiss to your lips. The events of the night were catching up to you, and you were drunk and exhausted, but you sighed into your trucker’s mouth.

“You did good tonight, baby,” Ari murmured against your lips, and your heart felt like it was suffused in the warmest sunlight. Ari’s praise made you feel lighter than air, even as he pulled away.

You smiled up at your trucker as he straightened, staring at Ari like he was your whole world, which he was. His eyes were the softest you’d ever seen them as he stared right back at you, the tiniest smile curling the corners of his mouth. 

Just then, Lloyd materialized out of the crowd and Ari finally looked away from you to exchange a loaded glance with his other oldest friend. Lloyd seemed to be much more sober than Curtis, and he helped your trucker lead you to the bathroom, where Ari cleaned you up a little and let you relieve yourself after all that you’d had to drink that night. 

Then, Lloyd cleared a path through the drunken crowd while you and Ari followed. Between the two men, no one dared to try to touch you, and you sank into Ari’s side, feeling safe with your trucker as you looped your arms loosely around his waist. He smelled familiar and wonderful and you didn’t even try to hold yourself back from burying your face in his chest even as you kept on walking.

Lloyd pushed open the door of Everett’s Roadhouse and you sighed happily when the cool night air brushed against your heated, still slightly sticky cheeks. Gravel crunched beneath the soles of your sandals, and you blinked your eyes in the darkness until they focused enough to see Ari’s big, black truck looming in packed parking lot surrounded by other long-haul rigs.

“Drysdale’s gonna have a lot of business tonight after that show your girl put on,” Lloyd commented, casting his gaze across the expanse between Everett’s Roadhouse and Diesel Dolls, the strip club on the other side of the parking lot. Lloyd snorted and adjusted the front of his pants, and it was only then that you noticed the sizable bulge there. “Including me,” he muttered.

Your hazy thoughts strayed to the strip club, and you couldn’t help but imagine Lloyd getting a lap dance from a beautiful stripper. The tattoo artist sitting back on a plush couch while a gorgeous woman gyrated on his lap, his fingers twitching to grab her and touch her and defile her the way you knew Lloyd liked.

You didn’t even think to picture yourself as the stripper. Instead, in this little fantasy, you were sitting on Ari’s lap, your trucker’s cock buried in your cunt. Maybe he’d even let you get your own lap dance from Lloyd’s stripper, your body pressed between Ari’s and the other woman…

Your body lurched forward and if it wasn’t for Ari’s firm grip on your waist, you would’ve gone sprawling across the parking lot. For the rest of the walk to Ari’s rig, you tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other and not let your mind wander so you wouldn’t end up feeling more sore than you already were. 

When the three of you came to a stop beside the driver’s side door of Ari’s truck, Lloyd let his eyes slide to you before moving quickly to your trucker. 

“I hope you had a similar gift in mind for my birthday, Levinson,” Lloyd said with his usual oily charm, his mouth curling into a smirk beneath his well-groomed mustache. 

“We’ll see,” Ari rumbled, but his tone was good-natured. You couldn’t help the way your body clenched at the salacious, and somewhat victorious smile Lloyd shot your way.

But the events of the night were weighing heavily on your shoulders, exhaustion creeping into your bones, and you didn’t have the brainpower to wonder what Lloyd might do with you if you were gifted to him on his birthday. Even if you knew you’d have just as much fun with Ari’s other friend as you’d had with Curtis.

“Daddy,” you whined softly, burying your face against Ari’s beefy chest. His hand squeezed your hip possessively and he said his goodbyes to Lloyd, then helped you into the truck, making sure he was the only one who could see the way your pussy flashed as you climbed into the cab.

Ari followed you up and locked the door behind him while you crawled into the cot in the back, laying down on top of his soft blankets despite the sticky residue still clinging to most of your body. Ari pulled off his t-shirt and kicked off his pants, then joined you in the narrow bed. 

Your body melted at the familiar comfort of his weight behind you, and you began to relax as sleep tugged at the edges of your awareness. But when Ari’s cock pressed hot and hard against your bare ass, you remembered his promise from inside the bar, how he said he was going to fuck you whether you were awake or not. You moaned softly while he bunched up the flannel shirt you still wore around your waist. 

Your face was already pressing into the soft pillow on Ari’s bed, your eyes closed, but you arched your back and pushed your ass against Ari’s hard length, inviting him to slide inside your slick cunt. You were sore from Curtis’s fucking, but wet again for your trucker. You were always wet for him, your body craving the feeling of his cock filling you up in the perfect way that only he could. 

“Ya gonna stay awake for me while I use your messy cunt, cock whore?” Ari rumbled into the back of your neck. The flat of his tongue swiped up the column of your throat, wringing a soft whine from you as he licked the beer from your skin. It felt so good, sending shivers down your spine and raising goosebumps all over your body. “Or did my friend wear you out?”

All you could manage was an unintelligible mumble, the sound muffled by the pillow crushed beneath your face, as sleep pushed more insistently into the border of your wakefulness. Ari’s deep chuckle rumbled against your spine, making you even wetter for your filthy, perfect trucker.

“Go to sleep, kiddo,” Ari murmured in your ear, his hand sliding over your hip to press against your lower belly, his fingertips grazing the tattoo that was branded into the skin of your mound, just above your pussy. His touch moved your body slightly, arching you enough for the head of his cock to find the slit of your cunt. “Let daddy use your tight little hole while you get some rest.” 

Ari slid inside your pussy slowly, pressing the air from your lungs as he took his time impaling you on his cock. Your aching inner walls clenched around him desperately, pain and pleasure flaring to life and zinging through your exhausted limbs. A rough, greedy grunt rumbled in Ari’s chest, the sound softening into a warm, satisfied groan once he was fully seated inside you.

It hurt a little to be stretched out around Ari’s cock so soon after taking Curtis’s pounding, but when your trucker wrapped his arms around you, holding you cocooned in the cage of his broad chest while he rocked his hips almost gently against your ass, you felt yourself melting into him. Ari’s lips and tongue worked against your neck, licking sticky beer from your skin, his beard deliciously familiar while he set an almost soothing pace as he fucked you.

Despite the soreness between your thighs, and the tiny zings of pleasure thrumming through your body from Ari’s cock rocking into you, your exhaustion was too great and it wasn’t long before you were slipping into the warm comfort of sleep. That night in Ari’s truck, you fell asleep with a blissed out, cock drunk smile on your face, happy as could be to be in your trucker’s arms.

You may have spent much of the night as a gift for the bar owner your trucker called a friend, and you were glad you could be part of making Curtis’s birthday special, but you would always belong to Ari. And you would always end your nights in his arms, because that was where you wanted to be and where you belonged—with your trucker, Ari Levinson.

trucker king masterlist ● trucker au masterlist

[raaorqtpbpdy]

This Sure as Hell Never Happened on Scooby-Doo

While investigating a fairly routine haunting in a Michigan hotel, Sam and Dean come face to face with a creature unlike any they've faced before. [Takes place around mid season 1 for SPN, and at a non-specific point in the DP timeline]

Written for @crossoverdanuary Week, Day 7: Supernatural | Veil

First off, congrats to Supernatural for finally making the main prompt list after two years of being an honorable mention lol. I had a lot of trouble coming up with an idea for this one for some reason, so it ended up being kind of generic. This is, however, the first time I've ever written the Full Hazmat AU, which was pretty exciting.

AO3 Link

[Warning for minor violence, and references to suicide throughout]

As a general rule, hunters steered clear of Amity Park, although the reason why varied from one to another.

Some believed all the so-called supernatural occurrences there were just a hoax, like Bigfoot, so there was no point wasting valuable time and energy looking into them. Others swore up and down that, hoax or not, there was something about that town that made you see things. Impossible things. Things that made even the most experienced hunters pause. Some simply believed that Amity Park could take care of itself. Outside interference would only cause more problems than it would solve.

Then there were those who believed that Amity Park, that the very town itself, didn't want them there. That hunters were just not welcome.

The town was infamous in the hunter community. Grizzled, plaid-wearing men would talk about it at roadhouses and truck-stop diners. They'd warn other people away, tell them not to even drive through it on their way to somewhere else. There was nothing in that town worth dying for, and they took care of their own. Hunters weren't needed, they weren't wanted, and they'd just do better if they stayed away.

Every once in a while though, Amity Park's unique brand of freaky bled out of that isolated town. And when it did, then it became the hunters' problem. Unfortunately, more often than not, they wouldn't know it until it was too late.

Sam and Dean were investigating a supposedly haunted hotel. Staff and guests they'd spoken to had all reported blinking lights, cold spots, scratching in the walls. The staff seemed content to blame it on the owner's unwillingness to spend money to fix or update anything. The guests, on the other hand, not so much.

Those who stayed overnight reported horrible nightmares about bleeding out from their wrists. Some of them even claimed to have seen things, although they couldn't seem to agree on what they saw. A few saw a woman, covered in blood from slit writs, and crying, who vanished in the blink of an eye. But another claimed to have seen a small figure in a partially melted hazmat suit.

"Could there be more than one?" Sam asked when they'd returned to their own room in the hotel.

It was more expensive than the crappy motels they usually stayed it, but it was more convenient, and it gave them an excuse to wander around if they were actually staying there.

"Maybe, but... I don't know. If someone committed suicide in the hotel, it makes sense that their spirit would linger," Dean said. "I just can't think of any reason why there would be a ghost in a hazmat suit. Can you?"

"If the building used to be some kind of lab or research facility, it's possible," Sam said, "But this hotel was established back in the late thirties, and even if there was a research facility here before the hotel, the hazmat suit he described was much more modern than they would have worn back then."

Dean scoffed as he plopped down on his bed.

"Of course, leave it to my nerd brother to know what hazmat suits looked like in the thirties," Dean mocked. "Seriously though, that second ghost just doesn't make any kind of sense."

"We'll know more once we find info about anyone whose died in this hotel," Sam said. "This place has been in business for almost seventy years, I'm sure we'll have plenty to wade through."

"It could have been that guy was just making up a story," Dean said. "We've got three people claiming they saw a woman who disappeared, but only one mentioned the hazmat suit. Maybe he was messing with us."

"He seemed pretty shaken up about it," Sam said. "I didn't think he was lying."

"I didn't either, but...." Dean shook his head thoughtfully. "Something about that story just doesn't sit right. And you know what else? That redheaded girl who got all defensive when we started acting questions. Something doesn't sit right about her, either. She acted like she was responsible, or trying to protect the person who was. Except we already know this is a haunting. We know there's at least one ghost, so why did she act like that?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "Could be she was trying to hide something else."

"Maybe...."

"Come on," Sam said. "Let's start by combing through local death records at the library."

"You go ahead," Dean told him. "I wanna talk to that girl's parents, see if they know anything. I'm starting to think there might be more to this case than just a standard haunting."

"Fine. We'll meet back here later."

—

"So, what'd you find?" Dean asked when his brother got back to their room.

"Okay, so get this," Sam began. "There have been several deaths in this hotel. A couple of heart attacks, a couple of accidents. One guy fell out his window, which caused the hotel to seal all the windows on the upper floors shut so they couldn't be opened. There have also been three suicides since the hotel's founding.

"A World War 2 vet shot himself in the head in December of 1945, just a few months after the war ended; A girl OD'ed in 1963, leaving a note about how the state of the world had made her unwilling to live in it; and lastly, a woman in 1992 slit her wrists in room 201 after her husband divorced her, blaming her for the murder of their only son."

"Sounds like we've ID'ed our first ghost," Dean noted. "We got a name?"

"Jennifer Bishop," Sam said. "She was accused of murdering her son, but never convicted because they never actually found the body, only a whole lot of blood they identified with DNA testing. She defended her innocence until her death, but the police never actually investigated anyone else for her son's disappearance and presumed death. Once she offed herself, they just closed the case."

"Another gold standard of police incompetence," Dean said. "Did you find out where she was buried?"

"Her family was catholic, but since she committed suicide, they couldn't bury her in their family plot at their church. Instead, she was buried in a public cemetery, Lincoln Memorial Park... but it's in her hometown: Petoskey, Michigan. She was only here for the trial."

"Great, so we gotta drive all night to get to friggin' Petoskey," Dean moaned. "Awesome. This is why hotel ghosts suck. Did you find any leads on hazmat suit?"

"Nothing. What about you?" Sam asked. "Get anything useful interviewing that red-headed girl's parents?"

"Nah," Dean said, shaking his head. "Remember those hellhoundslair dorks?"

Sam nodded.

"That's what they were like," he continued. "Overenthusiastic, but incompetent. She probably realized we were asking about ghosts and was nervous they'd overhear. While I was talking to them she reminded them they'd promised not to hunt any ghosts while their family was on vacation. They didn't seem too happy about that, but they at least stopped insisting they'd help me 'catch that slippery specter', so that was something, I guess.

"I did learn she has a younger brother, though. I didn't get to talk to him, but when I was leaving, I overheard the two kids talking, and he said something like, 'there's not enough of her there to talk to', and 'there's not a whole lot left of her at all," Dean finished. "Not sure what that was all about, but it seemed like they were trying to keep it on the down-low, especially from their parents."

"You think it could be related?" Sam asked.

"As far as I know, the brother never promised not to hunt ghosts," Dean replied with a shrug. "That and a gut feeling are pretty much all I have to base it on, though."

"Well, we know who our suicide is, at least," Sam said. "One of us should go take care of Jennifer Bishop while the other stays here in case she starts causing anymore trouble, or in case the hazmat ghost shows up again, if its even real."

"Why don't you take the salt-and-burn this time," Dean suggested.

Sam froze and looked at his brother, completely shocked. "You... want me to take your car and drive two hundred miles away... by myself?"

"And if you bring her back with so much as a scratch on her, I'll make you wish you were never born," Dean said. "But I feel like there's something at this hotel that I'm missing, and I'm gonna stick around until I figure it out."

"It's really bugging you, huh?" Sam noted. "Alright, well... it's a three hour drive, so I'd better get going."

"Yeah, and don't forget to fill up the tank on your way back."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said as he walked out the door.

They'd already brought some weapons from the trunk into the hotel room, so Dean wouldn't be unarmed if he ran into one of the ghosts.

He did some quick math in his head. The ghost, or ghosts, probably wouldn't show up until it was night. Sam had a six-hour round trip, plus a good hour to dig up old Jennifer, probably longer, since he wouldn't have help. It was early afternoon now. 1:18 pm, a glance at the clock told him, so he could expect Sam back around nine-ish, give or take an hour. Sunset was around seven.

Jennifer would be gone well before nightfall... but that other ghost... if it even existed, they didn't have a single lead on it.

Dean headed down to the lobby.

He'd noticed them yesterday, a group of older ladies with a basket of yarn in the middle of them, chatting up a storm. He and Sam hadn't spoken to them yesterday, but now that Sam was gone, it was time for Dean to dial up a very particular type of charm that Sam would tease him for mercilessly if he ever saw it. He stood nearby, waiting for his moment.

"I swear," one lady said. "I turned up my thermostat four times last night. I had it cranked all the way up to ninety, and I could hear the radiator groaning like anything, but my room was still freezing."

"Did you phone the concierge?" another lady said.

"I tried, but they just apologized and said it's an old hotel," replied the first. "Didn't even offer to send a handyman, or move me to a different room or anything. Anyway, that's why started coming down here during the day. I just can't stand it."

That was his chance. "You too?" he asked her. "Which room are you in?"

"I'm in 201, why?"

Bingo. 201. The same room as their suicide victim.

"Well, it got to a point where I got my tools outta my car and just fixed the darn radiator myself," Dean lied. "I could take a look at yours too, if you'd like."

"Would you?" she asked, sounding beyond relieved. "Oh, thank you so much. It's gotten so bad I can hardly sleep at night, so that would be a real godsend if you would do that. You're such a lamb."

"Oh, it's no problem, ma'am," Dean said, taking an empty seat nearby. "The name's Dean, by the way."

"I'm Millie," the woman said. "And these are my friends, Cathy and Debbie. We're in town for a big doll convention. We're collectors, you know. And Debbie even makes dolls herself out of felt."

"I do, and I've gotten pretty damn good at it, if I say so myself," Debbie said. "I even made a felt baby doll for my granddaughter's birthday a few months back and she was over the moon."

Upon closer inspection, all three of the ladies seemed to be knitting or crocheting very small clothes, presumably for dolls. Hopefully he could redirect the topic of conversation back to ghosts soon, because Dean didn't know Jack about dolls.

"What about you?" asked the third woman, Cathy. "What brings you to Lansing? I assume you don't live here, or you wouldn't be staying at a hotel."

"I'm here on business," he replied, silently thanking god that she'd changed the topic for him.

"What kind of business?" Millie asked. "You said you can fix a radiator, are you some kind of technician, or construction worker?"

"Actually... I'm a private investigator," he lied.

"Oooh, exciting!" Cathy said. "What are you investigating?"

"I'm afraid I can't share the details... but maybe you ladies could help me," he said. "Have any of you seen anything strange while you've been staying here?"

"I saw a man dancing near the park who could clasp his hands behind his back and pull them all the way in front of him," Debbie said. "That was pretty strange. I gave him a dollar."

"I was thinking more like in the hotel," Dean said. "Maybe like... a figure in a hazmat suit?"

Millie gasped, and Dean fixed his gaze on her.

"You have?"

"Well... you see, I have sleep paralysis," she said. "Last night, I had only managed to fall asleep for an hour or two because it was so cold, but then I woke up in the middle of the night because my room suddenly got even colder, but I couldn't move, of course. It takes me a while to be able to move after I wake up.

"And then I saw, like you said, someone wearing a hazmat suit, a black one with white gloves. They were small, like they weren't fully grown, and they were glowing," Millie explained. "Their suit was damaged, partly melted, it looked like. I'd never seen something like that before, but I just figured it had to be a sleep paralysis hallucination, and maybe it partly was, but do you think it could have been real? That someone broke into my room last night?"

"How frightening," Debbie said with a shiver.

"Maybe," Dean said. "Maybe not. I'm not really sure yet." He paused, consideringly. That was two people now who saw the hazmat suit, and this one saw it in the same room where the other ghost had died. "Did it say anything to you? Or do anything that you saw?"

"I couldn't really turn my head, but they seemed like they were looking for something, didn't seem to find it though. Nothing was missing from my room when I finally got up, at least," Millie said. "They didn't say anything, and only looked at me for a moment. Oh! But they might've been muttering something. Not sure what it was, though."

"Thanks, that's a lot of help," Dean said. "If you think of anything else, let me know?"

"Do you think I'm in danger?" Millie asked. "Should I request a room change after all?"

"If that would make you feel safer," Dean said. "I'm not sure it's as cut and dry as a break-in... but maybe you should just stay in one of your friend's rooms for a night."

"You can stay in my room tonight, Millie," Cathy volunteered.

He stayed for a little while, chatting with them. It wasn't something he wanted getting out, but old ladies always loved him for some reason. He even managed to get Cathy's key-lime pie recipe, which the other two swore up and down was absolutely to die for. Who knew when the next time he'd have a kitchen to try it out would be, but he'd make sure to write it down next chance he got, just in case.

It wasn't until he saw that red-haired teenage girl and a short, black-haired boy who was presumably her brother walk through the lobby that he excused himself to follow after them, claiming they were persons of interest in his case.

"If you didn't find anything, how did you even know it was the right room?" the sister was asking when Dean got close enough to hear.

He was trying hard not to be noticed while he tailed them, but as quietly as they were talking, he had to stick closer than he would have liked.

"That was where her presence was the strongest," the brother answered. "I just don't know how I'm supposed to help her when she's not strong enough to speak, and we're leaving tomorrow, so tonight is my last chance."

Could he be a psychic of some kind? Maybe a medium?

He turned around abruptly, and Dean barely had time to make it look like he was examining a shop's window display of... glass baubles and nick-knacks. Oh, yeah, he definitely seemed like the type to be interested in those. Hopefully they wouldn't question it.

"Is he staying at our hotel?" the brother whispered.

"Yeah," the sister confirmed, "and he was asking about cold spots and flickering lights, too. You think he knows something?"

"I think I'd rather stay away from him," replied the brother. "He could be the dangerous type."

After that, it seemed like the kids were deliberately trying to shake him, and it wasn't long before they did, almost as if they'd simply vanished into thin air.

Dean gave up searching and returned to the hotel. He found Millie in the lobby and asked if she'd let him into her room to fix the radiator, even brought the few tools that he'd had in his room to make the story more convincing.

"Even if you don't stay in here tonight, I figure I can at least do the hotel a favor," he said.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," she said. "Don't you go snooping around in my underwear drawer," she teased, and he laughed along with her until she closed the door behind her and headed back downstairs to her knitting.

Any evidence that there had been a suicide in this room had been long since erased. It was cold, just as Millie said it was, but there didn't appear to be any problem with the radiator. One of the tools he'd brought along was an iron crowbar, and he gripped it tightly.

"Jennifer, you in here?" he called out.

The time was 5:06, meaning Sam was probably digging up her grave right now.

He got no response.

"Jennifer?" he called again. "Jennifer Bishop?"

Nothing.... he was pretty sure that kid had been saying she wasn't a very powerful ghost, maybe that was why she hadn't done much. She hadn't actually killed or even hurt anyone beyond a couple of nightmares and a cold room. Maybe she couldn't show herself during the day.

The Winchester brothers had only stopped here because they happened to be so close by when Sam read an article that claimed guests at this hotel had seen apparitions, and experienced horrible nightmares about a woman slitting their wrists. But the nightmares weren't actually killing anybody. Normally, they wouldn't have even bothered, but they were only a few miles away, and nothing else was close by.

Dean opened his mouth to call out one more time, but before he could, there was a flash of light and a distant-sounding screen, and he watched as the ghost of Jennifer Bishop appeared and almost instantaneously disappeared.

One down. One to go.

And wow was this room suddenly sweltering. Millie wasn't kidding about turning her thermostat up to ninety. Dean adjusted it to a much more reasonable 74°F, and left to go tell Millie he'd fixed her radiator.

After she was done thanking him, he headed up to his room and called Sam.

"Dean?" Sam said. "I took care of Jennifer Bishop."

"I know, I saw her burn up," Dean replied. "Nicely done. Anyway, I got some new info about our second ghost."

"Yeah? Let's hear it."

"The lady staying in the room where Jennifer offed herself said she saw a glowing figure in a hazmat suit in her room, thought it was a sleep paralysis thing until I brought it up. She said it seemed like it was looking for something, but it didn't seem to find anything."

"So we have a second witness for our hazmat ghost," Sam said. "And the description lined up?"

"Exactly," Dean confirmed. "I also have a new theory about those siblings, the red-headed girl and her brother. I think the brother might be a psychic, and was looking for a way to help Jennifer pass on peacefully, except she wasn't a strong enough spirit for him to connect with. Not sure how or even if this ties into the hazmat ghost at all."

"Still no clues about who it could be?" Sam asked.

"Nada," Dean said. "I did confirm that there was no lab or any kind of scientific facility at this site before the hotel was built. According to the hotel manager, before it was a hotel, it was a movie theater that went out of business during the great depression and got torn down, and before that, it was live-theater, but I'm pretty sure that was before hazmat suits were even invented. Before that, nothing. Just an empty lot."

"So maybe we're looking for someone who died somewhere else and their spirit was brought to the hotel connected to a cursed object," Sam suggested. "Have you seen anything in the hotel that looks like it might have come from a lab? Or belong to some kind of scientist?"

"If it was something that belonged to them, then it could be anything," Dean pointed out in exasperation. "A chair, or a painting, or a vase? I'm not gonna be able to find it unless I know what it is."

"You'd better start looking into any deaths in the area that might have been related to radioactive materials then," Sam said. "Any kind of death that might have occurred while the deceased was wearing a hazmat suit."

"Yeah, something that would have burned right through it," Dean said. "According to our descriptions, the suit is partially melted."

"You got this Dean?" I still have two and a half hours of driving to go.

"Yeah, I got it," Dean replied.

He did not got it. He got nothing. He stayed at the library until it closed at eight and didn't find a single death that fit the description. He got back to the hotel around the same time Sam did.

"Did you fill the tank?" he asked immediately.

"Yes, Dean, I filled the tank," Sam replied, rolling his eyes. "Did you identify our hazmat?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, I couldn't find squat. It's like this ghost is..."

"A ghost?" Sam finished for him, raising an eyebrow.

Dean scowled. That had been what he was about to say, but he knew it sounded stupid, that's why he'd stopped.

"Yeah."

Sam shook his head as they went back up to their room.

—

The brothers were still puzzling out what to do about their second ghost, Dean cleaning his guns while Sam poured over their dad's journal, when they heard a muffled gasp from above them. Floating there on the ceiling was a figure in a hazmat suit, its faint glow barely visible in the light of the room.

For an instant, none of them moved. Then, acting quickly, Dean grabbed the crowbar that was next to him on the bed and flung it at the figure on the ceiling.

Rather than passing right through, causing the hazmat ghost to dissipate, the crowbar made contact with a clang, hitting it right on the head and knocking it to the floor between the two beds.

"Quick, salt, Sammy!" Dean shouted, rather than gape at the seemingly unconscious 'ghost' on their floor.

He tried to grab the hazmat-wearing figure, and to his surprise, it worked. He dragged it into the armchair in their room while Sam laid a ring of salt around it.

"Do you actually think this'll work, Dean?" Sam asked. "I mean, it doesn't seem like any ghost I've ever seen. Iron is supposed to repel ghosts, not actually hit them. I'm pretty sure this is something else."

"Iron hurt it—"

"Being hit in the head with a crowbar hurt it," Sam pointed out. "Based on that, it could be human for all we know."

"It was on the ceiling, Sam," Dean said flatly, grabbing the iron chains from under the bed and wrapping them around their captive. "And this don't look like Spider-Man to me."

"Well it doesn't look like a ghost, either," Sam insisted.

"So, what, you think this is some kind of Scooby-Doo situation?" Dean asked. "We'll pull off the mask and it turns out it's just some shady real-estate developer who wanted to get the hotel closed down so they could turn it into a theme park? Let's try it then."

Dean grabbed the hood of the hazmat suit and tore it off. 

They both gasped at what they saw.

Whoever it was, he looked young, maybe 13 or 14. His hair was as white as sheet and floated on an imaginary breeze. His face was dark. Lightning-bolt scars criss-crossed it all the way down to the neck until they disappeared under the suit's collar. His skin appeared to be badly burned, flaking off in ashes which vanished before they hit the ground.

He groaned as he started to come back to consciousness, and when he opened his eyes, they were a solid, eerie green, glowing so brightly they almost hurt to look at, even in the well-lit room.

"Still think he's human?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam shook his head, wide-eyed and dumbstruck.

"This sure as hell never happened on Scooby-Doo."

"Ugh," the mysterious boy groaned again, blinking and shaking his head like he was trying to get his bearings. "Did you seriously throw a crowbar at my head?" he demanded after a moment. "What the hell, dude?!"

"What are you?" Sam demanded. "A demon?"

"I'm a ghost, what the hell does it look like?" the boy replied.

"You don't look like any ghost we've ever seen," Dean said.

"Let me guess, you're more used to shades like the other ghost that was floating around this hotel, right?" the kid guessed. "She seems to have left the building though. You two got any idea why?"

"We took care of her," Dean replied. "Sam dug her up and salted and burned her bones. And if you really are a ghost, then we can do the same to you."

"You... you straight up ended her?" he asked. "Just like that? You didn't even give her the chance to move on? Ancients, what the hell!"

"She had the chance to move on when she died, and she didn't take it," Dean said. "Instead she terrorized people, so we showed up to stop her."

"She gave a few people nightmares! Everyone has nightmares sometimes! You didn't have to destroy her!"

"What's it to you, did you know her?" Sam asked. "She a friend of yours?"

"Well... no, but I was trying to?" the boy replied. "She was too weak to capture, and I didn't want to destroy her by trying to fight, so I was trying to learn more about her and help her move on."

"If you're a ghost, why don't you move on?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, what's keeping you around?" Dean echoed the sentiment more harshly.

"The same thing preventing you from salting and burning my bones," came the reply. The so-called ghost did not elaborate.

"And what would that be?" Dean finally asked.

"I guess you could say I'm not dead enough yet."

"So you're not a ghost, then," Sam said.

"I am," said the boy. "I'm not a shade, like that woman you ended. I'm what a ghost is like when we actually have enough power to be a whole person and not just a shadow of our former self. I'm a ghost like you've never encountered before."

"Whatever you are, we're gonna get rid of you," Dean jeered.

"Why?" asked the boy. "I haven't hurt anyone. All I did was try to help another ghost pass peacefully through the veil. Don't you hunters have any sort of moral code?"

"So, what?" Sam asked. "You're proposing we just let you go?"

"Fat chance," Dean scoffed.

"Not exactly," the ghost replied with a smirk. "More like I'm telling you not to feel to guilty when I escape." Then the ghost stood up, iron chains falling right off him. "Iron is more difficult to pass through without destabilizing, but not too much of a challenge for ghosts like me. Sorry, but this will be the last time we see each other."

With that, he pulled his hood back on, obscuring his face once more, so the only thing visible was the glow of his eyes behind the black lenses of his mask. Then he flew right up through the ceiling.

The Winchesters tried to find him. They searched the hotel top to bottom, probably looking half-mad, but he was gone. He'd simply vanished without a trace. And they never did see him again.

[dotthings]

My patience for this is still completely GONE.

Now there’s a JP stan pushing the idea that in the finale, there are special sub-heavens for soulmates, because John and Mary “got a place” together, and this proves that Sam and Dean are shown to be soulmates in the finale because Dean “showed up right next to Sam.”

They can’t even get that awful finale they claim is the best episode ever right. I don’t like the finale but unlike these stans I still actually pay attention to canon even when I dislike an episode.

So, some canon FACTS.

The finale:

Dean shows up at the Roadhouse with Bobby. Not with Sam.

By JP stan rules, Dean and Bobby are soulmates. Dean is also soulmates with everybody else he loves. This is actually a really lovely idea and because JP stans have decided absolutely every self-indulgent headcanon thought that crosses their brains is now canon I am declaring this canon: DEAN IS SOULMATES WITH EVERONE HE LOVES.

Actual canon facts: Cas and Jack REMADE HEAVEN

KNOCKED DOWN ALL THE WALLS

NO MORE MEMOREX ONLY ACTUAL SOULS IN THE SAME BIG SHARED SPACE

And still Dean has to drive and drive and drive to get to Sam and along the way he goes on a side trip adventure. There are no walls and still Dean has to drive on the Axis Mundi to find Sam, and Sam didn’t simply appear next to Dean. But Dean did drop into heaven right where Bobby is.

Oh gosh such soulmates can you handle how soulmates they are uwu!!!!!!!!!

DSOTM:

Dean had to use the road. The Axis Mundi. Same as in the finale to get to Sam. Dean landed in his own heaven. With a memorex memory of teen Sam. Not in heaven with Sam.

Sam and Dean’s favorite memorex moments were NOT SHARED.

They DO NOT SHARE A HEAVEN

Ash uses sigils to jump from heaven to heaven instead of the road.

Ash explains how heaven works and tells Sam and Dean about the concept of soulmates and refers to Winchesterland. The moment is highly ambiguous and a one-time-only barest crumb that could perhaps be used to project a headcanon that Sam and Dean are soulmates but nothing in the episode actually supports it. Nothing in the entire rest of the series supports it including the series finale.

The entire point of DSOTM was showing Sam and Dean as very different people with different needs who do not share a heaven or share favorite memories. Zachariah weaponized it against them to try to divide them. Perhaps it’s not as dire a conflict as the memories Zachariah made sure they came across suggested, but the memories are authentic and Sam expresses his authentic feelings about his memories. They aren’t implanted. They’re Sam’s. And it hurts Dean to see how much Sam wanted and needed to run away.

HOPE THIS HELPS!!!

[gretavanglimmers]

Jake Kiszka & Female Reader

Chapter One: Don't look at me like that...

Summary: As landlady of the Vagabond Blues, you make all the rules. But there's one you just can't seem to keep with the lead guitarist of your house band. He waits for you every night at closing time. Set in the backdrop of the 80s style Roadhouse bar, Jake is a bad influence. But could he be exactly what you need, too?

A/N: Lovely tumblr friends, I'm a long time lurker reader and now here I am, sharing with you my first fic. I sincerely hope that it tickles your pickles. It's had a once over with a fine tooth comb, but please forgive any errors. And if I'm missing a trigger warning please feel free to pop into my inbox and give me a boot up the bum. Other than that, enjoy!

Warnings: Physical violence/Blood/ DomSub dynamics/ Fingering/ Oral Female/ Spitting / Restraint / Penetrative vaginal sex

The smoky haze of another Saturday night hung in the air. Tammy Wynette on the jukebox and the scent of spilled bourbon on your fingers. Broken glass crunched beneath your feet, and Jake was waiting for you on his perch at the end of the bar.

"Not tonight, baby." You sighed, slinging a cloth over your shoulder as you addressed him the same way you did every other patron. "I got this mess to clean up before I can clock off."

He barely lifted his eyes up from the papers rolling between his thumbs. Throwing his cigarette up and catching it between deft lips. He flicked his lighter open on the edge of his hand and held it until the papers startled to sizzle.

"You say that every night, Cookie." He replied, knocking back a single shot of tequila as the bar emptied. "And every night I wind up with a new pair of panties in my glove box."

Trophies. Reminders that he'd had you pressed up against his steering wheel out in the dusty parking lot. You should have known better than to wear any, knowing that he would be fixing to take you home.

"'Aint it enough to sit in my company a while?" You asked, filling his shot glass before he could ask for another. "We barely get to talking while I'm serving drinks and you're up there playin'"

He took a long drag off his cigarette, embers burning to ash as he slammed a five dollar bill on the sticky bar top. Whenever he paid for his drinks, it meant he was trying to get into your good graces. You took the money and slid it into your bra strap, hitting him with a seductive smile that told him it was your little secret.

"That's not a tip, Cookie." He admonished, "You'll get that later."

Of course you would. As much as you enjoyed making him wait, him being there made all the 2am closing rituals more palatable. You would serve beers to drunks and shmucks all night, playing nice and flirting a little while Jake sat on stage with his band trying to be heard over the clamour of bar fights and card games. Sometimes catching his eye between songs and fisticuffs.

"Be a doll and lock up for me." You said, tossing him a set of keys.

Jake had always been a dark horse. Turning up with his guitar one day, the flyer you'd left in town asking for a house band to play at the Vagabond Blues tucked under his arm. He'd played a few riffs on a scuffed up old acoustic, the way his lips pouted and his hips moved when he played sealing your fate. You'd hired him on the spot. Thinking his uncommon way of playing would bring in the girls, but keep the regular old timers happy with their penchant for nostalgic rock.

He didn't say much. Kept himself to himself. Every now and then a little nugget of something funny slipping out, making you notice him in a room full of mini skirts and denim. Chestnut waves of long hair tucked behind his ear, eating up your resolve to keep sex out of your business practices.

"You better give me my five dollars back if you want me to perform extra duties." He teased, sliding off his bar stool into a puddle of Jack Daniels.

You were fairly certain he knew he'd get what he wanted. But you leaned over the bar all the same, winding fingers around the chains at his neck and reeling him in towards your lips. Close enough to kiss, but not quite.

"You'll get that later." You whispered, releasing him before he could get too worked up.

The wicked grin he gave as he crossed the room kept you watching him. His ass in those tight levi's was a spectacle in and of itself, causing you to bite down heavily on your lip as you shook your head in disbelief of how flawlessly pert and round it was.

A beautiful distraction from the saloon door flying open. Your heart sank as it often did when people didn't respect your closing time. Drunk and in search of that elusive last sip. You often wondered what they had to go back to if they never wanted to go home.

"Hey!" You called, waving the white dish rag in your hand high above your head. "We're closing, Benny. You know the rules!"

Jake caught him as he stumbled in. Closely flanked by his dithering girlfriend, who could barely walk in her blood red stiletto heels. Chewing gum as she tried to placate his attempts to reach the bar.

"I'm so sorry, Cookie!" She cried, looking windswept and dishevelled as she fell over the chairs and tables. "I done told him it was closing time!"

"I 'aint having it tonight, Savannah." You tutted, confident that Jake could handle it. "You let Jake put him outside, now."

"Yes Ma'am." She replied, inebriated but not enough to know when it was time to call it a night. "I really am sorry about this."

Jake had him by the scruff of his collar. Placating him softly, telling him he'd had enough. Easing him back towards the door as he tried to break free.

"You go on home now, Benny." You humoured, placing a defensive hand to your hip as you prepared for the inevitable fight.

Punches rolled into the air, each one dodged and caught. Curses and spit flying everywhere as Jake manhandled him to the ground. Glasses smashing as tables were flipped, the sound of girlish screams as Savannah tried to keep her little skirt from riding up as she hitched herself onto Jake's back.

"What the hell, Savannah? Get the fuck off of me!" He shrugged, with very little effort, as she fell back into an abandoned deck of playing cards.

You whipped your dish rag on the back of a bar stool and flipped open the bar flap. Striding across the floor through a menagerie of spilled drinks and broken glass. Hardened to the way people loved to brawl after a few too many drinks, this was an inconvenience more than anything else.

"Get him the fuck out." You lashed, grabbing the poor girl by the straps of her little halter neck top and helping her to her feet. "And if you can't keep your man on a tight leash, I don't wanna see either of you in here again until you can. You hear me, Savannah?!"

Benny didn't like that. His fist reeling upwards as Jake lifted him from the ground. Both hands aggressively on the ripped shirt of your offending regular, unable to stop it connecting with his jaw. A simmering bubble of anger about to spill over the edges of your calm demeanour.

"Damn it, Benny!" Jake cried, reeling back before striking a dull kick to his stomach in a pair of boots you knew would leave a mark. "You want a drink so bad?"

You watched as Jake spat blood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Something visceral and instinctual in the way you settled back onto the edge of the foray. Savannah lingered in the open doorway, the way you looked at her enough to keep her there.

"Have a fucking drink, my friend." Jake said amusingly, using the edge of his boot to turn Benny's head towards the whiskey saturated floor board.

Jake looked over to where you were standing. Arms crossed and a pout that spoke a thousand words you wouldn't say until the door was bolted shut.

"Alright, that's enough." He moaned, picking Benny up off the floor, every ounce of fight in him gone. "If I let you go, you're not going to swing for me again are you?"

Benny shook his head, defeated. Staggering into the doorway where his equally unsteady girlfriend caught him. The two of them descending into the early hours rain, their voices pitched and argumentative.

Jake picked up the keys from the floor, taking the liberty of locking everything up precisely how you'd asked him to. You could see the blood dripping from his lip, a look of consternation as he kept his eyes on you. He shoved the last bolt across, like he was pissed off at the interruption. Staring at you as you waited for him to be done.

"Don't look at me like that." You warned, taking a step back as he approached.

"You know I'm dead inside until you touch me, don't you?" He replied poetically, backing you up against the locked door. "There's only you who can get my blood pumping again, Cookie. You know that."

His blood was all you could taste as he caged your body between his and the door behind you. Pressing you into a kiss that was warm and metallic. His tongue probing yours in desperate search for a release that had been building all night.

As if you ever had the strength to deny him. Or yourself. Telling yourself pretty stories about driving yourself home without letting him have so much as a taste of the lace between your thighs. Such fiction always made you feel better about your intentions, until they fell by the wayside.

"We can't keep doing this, Jake." You said, like you always did, an echo of something you knew would never manifest. "It's bad for business."

Where he'd cut his lip, you could see the blood pooling. He sucked on it as he towered over you. Rubbing the remains of his kiss across your lips with the pad of his thumb.

"You tell yourself that." He murmured against the shell of your ear. "Tell yourself you don't want this. Your wet little pussy tells me a different story."

She betrayed you, the thing between your legs. You couldn't silence her purring, even if you'd tried. Your head was a revolving door of wanting him and trying so hard to convince yourself that you didn't. Your heart ached for him, even when he was sat on that little stool with his guitar perched on his knee, playing the blues for a crowd that barely listened. But that was yours to keep. That didn't belong to him. The throb was all his, though. He'd claimed that the first night he'd waited for you after closing. You couldn't hide it. He knew the way he made you gush from his touch. You had no control over your actions when he awakened that part of you.

"You're bad." You whispered, clenching your eyes shut tight, letting him open the buttons of your daisy dukes. "So, so fucking bad for me."

You could feel the clammy touch of his palm against your stomach. Opening your eyes the moment he slipped it down behind the waist band of your panties. Rounding over your mound where his fingers hooked delicately into the waiting wetness of your slit. Making you moan into his open mouth.

"There she is, my sweet Cookie." He crooned, taking your earlobe between his teeth, tentatively sucking. "They named you well when they called you that."

It was just a silly little childhood nickname. When your real name had been too hard to pronounce, your little brother had resorted to calling you Cookie. And it had stuck, nothing more than a curse to you now as he desecrated it. Took all the innocence out of it and made it filthy.

"Shut up!" You growled, wrapping your hands around his wrist. "Just shut the fuck up for once, Jake..."

His air of mysterious quiet didn't extend to these moments. He liked to talk. A revelation which had come to you unbound the first time he'd ever talked you through it. Giving you a running commentary on his every move, letting you know precisely how hard you got him. Keeping you hanging off every sensual word.

But sometimes, just sometimes... you needed him to push through all the nagging doubts. To make you forget that you were breaking your one and only rule. That you'd made it part of Vagabond Blues lore. No fucking the other employees.

You clutched him tight, forcing lazy circles around your hard clit. Biting down on your lip, panting heavily as his fingertip brushed over the hood. His eyes were locked on yours. Silently speaking to you as he rolled over the peak of your throbbing bud. He couldn't shut up, even if there were no words coming out of his mouth, his gaze conveyed his pleasure.

"Not here...not here..." You simmered, knowing you were moments from casting off the panties you knew he would keep as a souvenir.

He held you against the door, his hand applying enough pressure to keep you locked where you stood. Fingers stilled on your clit, like he was gently punishing you for trying to stop his flow.

"Nobody else is coming through that door." He asserted, his mouth lingering at yours, eyes shifting from your begging stare down to your parted lips. "And if they tried to, I'd take on any man who came between me and this..."

Your eyes rolled back as he slid a single digit into your entrance. Curling up inside you just enough that his tip could reach the sweet spot that made you fold into a thousand pleading little pieces.

"Guitar fingers..." You hummed.

He liked it when you stroked his prowess as a guitarist. It made him roll his hips into you, his painfully hard cock pressed into your stomach. His arousal piqued, and you truly believed that nobody could tear down that door without having to get through his dominance first.

"Gonna play you like a Gibson." He giggled softly, pulling down your shorts, taking the panties with them as you stepped out. "Make you sing for me, Cookie."

He brought big, strong hands down the curve of your spine and rounded them off around your ass. He lifted you up, forcing your thighs to wrap around him. Your saturated core dampening his shirt as he carried you over to the little box stage at the side of the bar. Laying you down with careful intention, your legs hanging off the edge for him to manipulate.

"No, not like a Gibson." You said, inching up your t-shirt until it sat around your collar bone, tits spilling out. "Play me like your Harmonica..."

You caught sight of his jaw clenching. His throat flexed as he swallowed, considering your demand as he slipped off his shirt. Unbuckling his belt so that it fell to either side of his waist, just enough to free his buttons and zipper. You could see the tip of his penis sitting snuggly behind the waist band of his boxer shorts.

He stood back. Folded his arms around his chest and gazed at you with intensifying heat.

"You want me to tongue block on your pussy?" He raised an eyebrow, resting his line of sight on the bloom of your centre as you hooked your toes over the edge of the stage.

He'd never looked more rockstar. Shirtless with his jeans wide open, his hair shrouding the darkness of his wild expression as he tilted his head forward. Softly predatory. In anticipation of getting a taste, he wound a tight fist around the chains that hung around his neck, licking a stripe across the split in his lip.

"Do something," You begged. "Anything, before I come to my fucking senses."

He wouldn't let you. He stood over you, pulling down your thighs until your legs were resting in the crooks of his arms.

"This is mine. Say it..." He growled, spitting onto your slit and letting it drip.

You almost couldn't formulate a coherent sentence. "Yours."

He nodded, railing a hand up to cover your left breast. "And these?"

"Yours." You echoed, "All of it, yours."

You'd heard the expression before. Be careful what you wish for. Begging him to do anything might have been too wild a request. He squeezed tightly, letting your hard nipple feel the friction of his closed fist. You were never coming to your senses, never...

Above your head were the stationary instruments of the Vagabond Blues Band. A set of guitars leaning against stands, an acoustic drum set at the back and a menagerie of amps and wires. Jake had an almost demonic glaze over his face as he leaned forward, letting your cunt press against the fabric between your flesh and his.

"Ever since I met you, Cookie, you've made it hard for me to want anything else." He said, gently placing your arms up as he clamped his mouth around your aching nipple. "I know it's wrong, I know it's against the fucking rules. But you got me all kinds of fucked up..."

You didn't realise what he was doing at first. Distracted by his beautiful mouth sucking on your breasts. Watching his tongue make circles around the gooseflesh of your areolas. Biting into the curve of them, leaving his mark as you laid beneath him savagely moaning, unaware that his amp cable was being twisted around your wrists. It was only when you tried to break free that you had to struggle.

"I got you all kinds of fucked up, so now you're keeping me prisoner is that it?" You tried to wriggle free, but the sleek black cords were pulled tight.

"You want me to set you free?" He smirked, pulling down his boxers, letting his raging hard cock fall out from behind it. "Just say the word, sweet Cookie, and I'll set you free."

He pushed his jeans down just enough to move his tip closer. With your knees parted and on full display for him, he wrapped a cautious hand around his base and began slapping your wetness against the inside of your thighs as he tapped your slit with his cock.

"It's wrong to want you the way I do." You confessed, your voice on the verge of wilting.

He continued tapping away at your clit. "Yeah, it's wrong. But doesn't it feel fucking good?"

You could only nod. Words evaded you. Breathing heavier and heavier, your chest heaving with your arms restrained above you as he drummed away on your pussy with his violent cock.

"Seems I got the wrong instrument." He snickered, "You wanted the Harmonica, right?"

You let out the most simpering whimper. A sound which made him smile in utter abandonment of his brooding.

"Oh, that's my girl." He beamed, trailing a palm down the centre of your body. "Fucking music to my ears."

He sank to his knees. Holding your thighs apart, knowing the grim state of the floor after a Saturday night you knew it was a real sacrifice on his part. Grateful for his dedication, you let him rest your legs over his shoulders as he buried his face into your aching, wet and impossibly hot pussy.

You began sobbing. Begging. Crying out deliriously. Trying so hard to be good and not unravel right there on the flat of his tongue as he licked deliberate stripes up the length of your dripping slit. Driving you to the edges of what was tolerable as he slurped and swallowed your wetness. Like he'd done with your nipple already, he clamped his mouth around your throbbing clit and started rolling his tongue against it. Pulling it into his mouth with gentle suction, humming his own feral moans against it as he jerked himself off.

You could feel the vibration, the movement of his body as he reeled his fist up and down his shaft. Pulling the flesh back and forth, squeezing as he rounded off at the tip. You knew his style, his melody. And the more you pictured it the more you ached for penetration.

"Fuck me, Jake..." You cried, fighting against your restraints to rag his head back, to take a fist of his hair so that you could see your juice glisten on his mouth. "I need it, baby...please!"

The blood was rushing in your ears. Your own heart beat thrumming wildly over the din of your own voice rising. Breathless and helpless, your wrists bound and your thighs rubbing eagerly against his ears it felt like he was deliberately keeping it from you.

"Don't make me cum in your mouth, Jake." You simpered, "I want you inside me. I'm your fucking boss, Jake...listen to me!"

Down through the valley of your heaving breasts and laboured breath, his eyes flitted upwards. Resting his chin on your mound, covered in a sheen of your mess, he pulled his tongue out of your cunt and looked up at you.

"You 'aint my boss when we do this." He switched, rising from his knees to appraise you. "You can be my boss while ever I'm getting paid to play. But soon as that door closes, you're my girl."

He loosened the cables. Stretching over you, setting you free. Immediately you sat up, resting on your palms as you watched him step back.

"Where are you going?" You asked, feeling a sudden rush of vulnerability as he hitched up his jeans and walked across the room towards the door.

Heat flushed to your cheeks. You felt humiliated. If he left you there like that, there was going to be no way back. You could already feel it rising in your chest. The pain and the breaking of your heart that you hadn't known would come.

Your shorts and panties were right where he left them, in a heap by the door where he'd make you take them off. You watched him reach into the pile of denim and pull out your black lace thong.

"Spoils of war." He replied, shoving them into his back pocket. "You look so beautiful like that, by the way."

You were sitting on the edge of the stage, your hair messed up and your cheeks all rosy. Still feeling the throb of where his mouth had been. You let your t-shirt fall, pulling it down in an act of rising shame at what you'd done.

"Beautiful enough that you're going to leave me here like this?" You wondered.

His brow knitted together in confusion. "Leave?"

You shrugged. "You're leaving, 'aint ya? Pissed you off with my I'm your fucking boss bullshit?"

He feigned offence, placing a hand at his heart as if you'd placed a dagger right there in the centre of his chest. You couldn't help but smile bashfully, looking down at your bare thighs as he strode back towards you.

He chucked your chin with the back of his hand. Making you look back up, unable to stop yourself from meeting his impenetrable gaze.

"Why you worried, woman?" He asked, "Nothing I done ever worried you before."

"No but..." You huffed, trying to reclaim your balance. "Then you said I was your girl when we do this."

You had to be strong all the time. The Vagabond Blues couldn't be run by anyone with a weak stomach or a fear of getting hurt. You had to be ten steps ahead at all times, predicting the moods and behaviours of every single soul under that roof. It was a lonely place to be.

"I'm not leaving." He answered softly, kissing you with his broken lip. "I didn't fuck my girl, yet."

You let him sink his teeth into your jawline, letting out a deep sigh as he pushed your legs apart. Quick, shallow breaths exhaled as he pushed his jeans back down. Trying in vain to keep yourself calm. But it was no to avail, you could feel the room begin to spin as Jake pushed his tip against your grieving clit.

"I can't be..." You whispered, tethered to him as he slipped inside slowly. "You know I can't be your girl."

You felt the soft brush of his hair against your cheek as he shook his head.

"No, Jake. Look at me, I want you to see me." You breathed, making him fuck in slow, hard thrusts that made your tits bounce against his chest. "I'm not who you think I am. I'm not somebody you can just claim."

"I know." He moaned, clinging to your body like it pained him. "You gave yourself to me, remember?"

"I mean it, Jake." You said firmly. "I can't have authority around here if people know about us."

He placed his hand over your mouth. You tasted the salt of his sweat on your lips. You could have said it a thousand times over and the outcome would always remain the same. He would wait for you at the end of the night, and you would go to him.

"Can't you feel that?" He said, low and gravelly as he peered down to watch your pussy swallow him whole. "Can't you feel how good my cock stretches inside you? Just let it go, Cookie."

Pussy lips like ribbons against his shaft, he pulled his hand away so that you could take a look for yourself. Like poetry in motion he was, fucking you so deliciously slow and hard. Sliding in with gentle force before slamming his body against yours to the hilt. Edging you closer and closer to that sweet finish.

"That's it, beautiful." He encouraged, his breath hitting your tongue so warm and familiar as you writhed against him on the edge of the stage. "Cum on my cock, let me feel that juice drip on me. Just let it all go, you can do it."

When it washed over you it was like being reborn. You wailed into the rafters, letting it echo into the eerie silence of the empty bar. Jake shuddered when you calmed, feeling a little wetter than you had been a moment ago.

"I can't do it, Jake...I can't!"

You'd never let him see you cry before. And for some unfathomable reason, he felt it necessary to kiss the tears which spilled from your lashes.

"Yes you can." He replied, "You already are."

.

.

.

Chapter Two: Look what you made me do... *Coming Soon

@takenbythemadness @writingcold @velveteencatch @scoreofinfantryvines @edgingthedarkness @lyndz2names @jakesmustache @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @thewritingbeforesunrise @itsafullmoon @shutupdevvie

[angelinthefire]

So my latest idea for deancas in the winchesters tv show (a tv show that I have not watched [... yet???]) is roughly something like this:

ok, Dean and Jack and Bobby get back to Heaven, and Dean goes into the Roadhouse this time. It's a little party. You can tell that Dean is still melancholy. And then he sees Cas again. Cas is kind of nervous. But Dean just melts when he sees him, and also manages to look somehow sadder. And he hugs him tight for a long time. And Cas relaxes too. But they're still in the Roadhouse surrounded by people, so they don't talk, and Dean gets pulled back into the celebrations.

But later, it's night, and Dean steps out back of the Roadhouse, into the field. Cas is there, looking up at the sky, hands in his pockets. Dean comes and stands next to him.

Their conversation starts out much the same way as in Full of Grace, with Dean being like:

"I missed you."

"I missed you too. Though I was hoping you'd take longer to get here."

Dean scoffs and shakes his head. "I tried, y'know. To be the guy you gave that speech to."

Cas turns to face him fully. "You are that guy."

"Cas..." Dean's gaze seaches Cas' face as he searches for what to say.

Then:

Dean focuses and asks softly, "What do you want?"

"Dean?"

"Tell me. You said the one thing you want is something you can't have. So tell me."

Cas fumbles for the right words for a beat, just the thought of what he wants alone starting to make him emotional. Finally he says with a sad smile, "To have a life with you."

And the irony is not lost on Dean. He takes a breath that's thick with tears, clearly thinking about might-have-beens. His gaze drops from Cas' eyes to his mouth, and he says with a soft desperation, "Then let's get out of here. Let's live."

Cas balks. "I can't."

"Since when do you care about rules?"

Cas just looks at him imploringly.

But Dean is already getting worked up at the idea. "Come on, what's one more time? It'll be just 30, 40 years, that's nothing." He grips Cas's arm. "But we can... you can have anything." His eyes are bright with a hungry kind of hope. "I want... I wanna give you anything."

And Cas is clearly getting reeled in. He's staring at Dean like he wants to kiss him.

"He doesn't mean it, you know."

Cas and Dean turn towards the new voice.

"Jack?" Cas says.

"He's telling you what you want to hear, so you'll do what he wants," Jack says with a kindness tipping towards pity.

"What the hell?" Dean says.

Jack turns to him, matter of factly, "Am I wrong?"

"Of course you're fucking wrong. The hell is wrong with you?"

Jack shakes his head sadly. "What's wrong with you? You have heaven, Dean." He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "There is something wrong with you, isn't there?" he says like he's seeing it for the first time.

Dean hardens. "Then kick me outta heaven. Go on!"

"... where's Jack?" says Cas, who hasn't stopped staring at Jack the whole time.

Jack turns to him, confused.

So Cas repeats himself, firmly but slowly, "Where is Jack?"

A horrified look comes over Dean's face.

Not-Jack smiles. "He's with me. Don't worry, he's safe." It's not reassuring.

And anyways, the upshot of the following dialogue would be that Chuck didn't win. Chuck has to live out his miserable existence on earth. But God did win. Because Chuck was just a guy that God was possessing. But the way God possesses someone, they start to lose sense of themselves, and parts of their personality start to find expression in God. Chuck was petty and squirrely. Jack will be a different kind of God. But the whole thing is unsettling and chilling.

I'm not sure how I would have things escalate, but they do. Of course Cas wants God to leave Jack alone, maybe he even offers himself as a vessel but God refuses. Idk, more stuff is said, it ends with God giving them a clear and definite threat about not screwing shit up anymore.

Then he disappears.

Dean and Cas are both striken. They talk. "What do we do?" - "What can we do?" etc. etc. I haven't thought about this part in depth, but some sort of plan is made.

Dean caps off the conversation with "We've got work to do"

They head towards the impala. Then,

"Dean?"

Dean turns towards Cas.

"Did you mean it?"

Dean doesn't answer at first.

"It's okay if you didn't," Cas says. And he's sincere. He's got bigger things to be upset about now, after all. "I'd understand."

Dean gets a hard look. He moves towards Cas, grabs him by the lapels, and pulls him close, and when they're close enough to kiss, Dean says,

"We're gonna kill god. And then I'm gonna show you how much I meant it."

End scene. And then I guess Dean and Cas just pop up in the background of the main plot here and there as they chase god through the multi-verse

[crack-in-the-chassis]

CRACK IN THE CHASSIS is looking for artists, authors, animators, pastry chefs, puppeteers, etc. to create works for a non-traditional bang/reverse bang. The fandom is SPN. The theme is CRACK. The medium is WHATEVER YOU WANT.

Check out the INTRO POST for further information. Rough drafts due July 5, Claims July 13.

SIGN UP HERE

Follow @crack-in-the-chassis for updates.

FAQ | Schedule | Rules

VIdeo ID under readmore:

The video opens with a color-correction screen like broadcast TV, overlaid with the "Crack in the Chassis" logo and "EMERGENCY BROADCAST." Staticky voiceover states, "We interrupt your programming for important news."

Audio changes to rock music, and screen changes to an animated video of the Impala driving through a forested, mountainous landscape on a winding road. There is a news-style text overlay that reads: "BREAKING NEWS. Dean Winchester escaping Heaven. Again."

The banner wipes and is replaced with another banner marked LIVE stating: "DEAN WINCHESTER, FORMERLY ALIVE, ATTEMPTS ANOTHER ESCAPE FROM HEAVEN. If Successful, it will mark his 49th escape." At the bottom of the banner, the text crawl states: "Concerned humans wonder if this is a sign that there is something wrong with the new Heaven and if they should be doing the same. Jack Kline, curent God, assures people that "everything will be a-ok" and not to "worry about it." A source close to Winchester expressed that this is enrichment for him. Overall, Winchester has tried to leave Heaven a total of 69 time. Nice."

The animated Impala pulls up behind the Roadhouse. The video cuts to a "Signal Lost" screen and then devolves into static.

[wrenteen75]

CHAOS DREAMING!

SYNOPSIS: aurora henson cannot stand economics. . . the summer before her junior year only highlights this when she crosses paths with a seemingly rebellious group of boys from welton academy, mixed about at a fine arts camp they’ve been shipped off to. little does she know, they’re fighting to rewrite their lives, too—which inspires her to live a little on the edge before she goes back to her all-girls boarding school next fall 𝟅𝟈

author’s note! you can find part five here! charlie & aurora my beloved angels :( ugh. i love this fic. i love them. also, knox being an uno god? (or serial uno cheater) ohhhh yessss...

PART SIX — NIGHT FEVER

ENTER THE DEAD POETS. . .

'Roadhouse Blues' by The Doors blared through their shared bunk, Charlie sliding around on the hardwood floor.

His white socks hung on for dear life, dirt from the floor sticking to the once-pristine fabric. He hollered, spinning around like an idiot as he sung, "Let it roll, baby, roll."

"Do you have to be this insufferable?" Groaned Cameron, who held his pillow over his face. It was late, about 12 AM. How the group hadn't gotten any noise complaints was beyond them.

Neil laughed, his shoulder brushing against Todd's as the two quietly read the same book next to each other. Knox, Meeks, and Pitts were in an intense game of UNO, Meeks shouting as Knox smirked proudly.

"Are you insane?" The ginger fumed. "Those aren't the rules we agreed on, idiot."

"Someone's a sore loser," added Knox. "Up for another round, or are you gonna sit there and whine?"

Meeks rolled his eyes, Pitts smiling to himself as he grabbed the cards off the table to reshuffle them.

The song on the radio changed drastically, Charlie messing around with the volume dial. "Oh, yes," he hollered. "Night Fever. If you weren't fans of the Bee Gees before, you will be before we head back to Welton."

"Dude," muttered Pitts. "How loud do you need that?"

"Loud," answered Charlie, singing horribly. Everyone laughed except for Cameron, who turned over on his side to face the wall.

Charlie went to go back to dancing but was abruptly stopped as a familiar blonde-headed girl entered the bunk.

He fell backwards. A thunk followed, landing back-first onto the flooring. Meeks giggled, reaching for the volume dial. "Sorry about that, Rora. He wasn't expecting visitors."

The boys waved, eyeing the girl briefly before returning to their tasks. Neil gave Todd a warm glance before hopping out of his bed, giving Charlie a hand off the floor. He parted his lips. "What's up, Aurora?"

"Nothing," she stifled a laugh. "Was on a night walk around the campgrounds and heard music. Figured it was you all."

"Well, you were right," Neil replied. "Charlie's doing, by the way."

"Figured," she said. Her eyes fluttered towards the dark-haired boy, a dark red flushing to the surface of his cheeks.

He nervously smiled. "Hi, Aurora." His voice was barely audible.

"Charlie," she acknowledged. "You've got good taste."

He quickly turned away, her compliment too much for him to handle. Before she could apologize for it, Neil cut her off, a grin plastered on his face. "Oh, I'm glad you stopped by! The boys and I are attending a party next weekend. Are you in?"

"Is it off the campgrounds?" She furrowed a brow.

Neil nodded. "Yes, but it isn't far! We won't stay long."

Aurora thought about the boy's proposal. It was clear she was worried about being reprimanded by the camp counselors, but the longer his proposal lingered, the more inclined she felt to accept.

She was here to relish in the passion of art and writing, but she was here to rebel, too.

With that, she smirked. "I'll go. Where will we meet?"

"Oak tree? Is that okay with everyone?" Neil asked, almost everyone muttering a form of agreement. Even Cameron, who had resorted to pretending to sleep. The only boy who hadn't was Charlie, who sat in his bed silently. Aurora cocked her head at the boy's silence, wondering if her compliment earlier had embarrassed him.

"Well," muttered Aurora as she cleared her throat. "I'll see you all then. What time should we meet?"

"9 PM, don't be late," said Neil.

Aurora nodded. She eyed Charlie once more before silently spinning on her heels, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jean shorts.

She exited their bunk, a feeling of guilt burrowing itself deep inside of her. She hadn't meant to upset Charlie. She hoped that, at the party next weekend, he wouldn't be so silent around her.

Unbeknowst to to each other, they shared the same feelings. The same anxieties, the same nervousness, the same admiration.

She wouldn't break first. Neither would he.

[kayleighwinchester]

So, I've really been debating how I want to post my fics, if I wanted to start posting them at all. Kayleigh's been my brain-child for 12 years now - since I was 14! - and the idea of putting her out there is much scarier to me as an adult than it was as a high-schooler. Much love to @zepskies for encouraging me to post some of the less episode-centric bits as one-shots; I don't think anything would ever end up posted otherwise! (And a big shout out to the Pond for the prompts that finally got me to write something substantial again!)

This is the first of (hopefully) many smaller snippets. I'm hoping to get more of the important bits posted soon, and those will have a lot more context for what you see in these! So, here we go: ya'll's first glimpse into my favorite dumpster-fire of a ship! These will be tagged by season.

Dean’s got a stupid grin on his face a mile wide as the familiar chords began to play over the Impala’s speakers - it’s blatantly clear exactly how hard he’s trying not to look at Kayleigh’s face as Night Moves begins to play - and, more importantly, as he leans over to turn the volume dial higher, higher, higher still. Kayleigh leans forward from the backseat, arms crossing over the back of the front seat, her chin against the vinyl beside Sam’s head. “Is it still murder if I give him a heads up?” She stage-whispers to the younger Winchester brother, her own eyes cutting to Dean as she speaks. His grin only widens, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

“That’s called a threat, Kay.” Sam informs her, hardly glancing up from his book, but there’s a grin beginning to tug at his lips, too - he glances briefly to Kayleigh, and then to Dean, as Kayleigh hisses out a soft, playfully disappointed ‘damn’. 

“Oh, come on, Leigh, you know you love this song.” Dean taunts, leaning over just slightly to be that little bit closer to her, their heads nearly touching - his eyes remain on the road, but flit to hers now and again. He has to speak up a bit to be heard over the radio, but even so, Sam’s snort of amusement is still audible as the younger of the three shifts to lean against the door, putting a bit of space between himself and the elder two. Even after just over a decade of watching their on-again-off-again romance, it felt just a little like intruding on something private, something secret; but maybe that was just that residual instinct - that unspoken rule from high school to keep things under John Winchester’s radar.

“Do I?” Kayleigh asks sarcastically, but she can’t pretend to be annoyed long - she turns her head just slightly to let her lips press briefly to Dean’s cheek. He scoffs, but that grin stays plastered onto his face like it was painted there, even as his face starts to go faintly red.

“Yeah! You know every word.” He reminds her, finally laying his arm across the back of the seat in front of her. 

“Yeah. Kind’a like I know half the shit that’s gonna come flyin’ outt’a your mouth, Winchester. ‘S called Stockholm Syndrome, or somethin’ like that.” She comments dryly, but she can’t help the grin that’s beginning to curl onto her own lips. 

“Gee, thanks, Sweetheart.” Dean snorts out as Sam begins to laugh. “Really feelin’ the love there. Really.” He rolls his eyes as Kayleigh shifts to sit more directly behind him, her arms draping lazily over his shoulders and her chin resting on his arm. He can’t keep the grin off of his face for long, however, as Kayleigh begins quietly humming along under her breath. Absently, he reaches up, fingers playing with the end of her ponytail, twisting the curls between his fingers, other hand on the wheel. “‘Sides, murder’s not on the agenda for today.” 

“It’s never supposed to be on the agenda, Dean,” Sam reminds him dryly, hardly glancing up from his book - if he could press himself any further against the door, any further away from them, Kayleigh’s sure he would. “‘S on mine,” She offers cheerfully, “just not ‘til tomorrow. We’re gettin’ to the Roadhouse tomorrow, right?” 

Sam's grin widens as Dean groans quietly, hand leaving Kayleigh's hair to scrub over his face.

[workingforitallthetime]

i recently watched roadhouse (the jake gyllenhaal version) and it is very silly and very enjoyable, and i would like an au.

seamus’s grandfather dies and leaves him a bar in the florida keys. seamus immediately receives a massive offer to purchase the bar from a powerful local businessman, but he’s somehow reluctant to let the place go. he and gavin make a trip to the keys to check the place out.

they’re not as close as they used to be; they’re both at a crossroads in their respective lives; etc. they go fishing. the water is impossibly blue. something about seeing seamus in his element, here at the end of the world, florida but not really the florida that used to be theirs together, stirs something for gavin. “i think you should make a go of it,” he tells seamus, and seamus says “i will if you’ll help,” which is kind of what gavin was hoping he’d say.

the bar’s a disaster. accounts in disarray, hassles from the health department, a rough crowd that keeps getting out of hand. seamus gets increasing offers from the guy who’s pressuring him to sell. but now this is his and gavin’s place, and every morning they sit in the sun and have coffee on the deck of the dilapidated houseboat they’ve rented. seamus feels like he’s starting to find himself and maybe starting to find gavin too, and he’s not selling this bar.

gavin’s the one who takes the drastic step of offering a princely salary to a morally dubious former mma fighter to come be their bouncer. they’re about to lose their insurance if they can’t curb the violence at the bar. ryan leonard is vehemently not interested but after some sparkling banter with gavin he decides he’s in.

as leno settles into life in the keys and starts kicking ass at the bar, he encounters gabe (a doctor at the local hospital where leno keeps showing up with the wounded in the aftermath of bar fights). he takes gabe to dinner. they flirt. there’s sparks.

leno also encounters will, who leno thinks has some innocuous job in tourism. unbeknownst to leno, will is the son of the local business magnate who has his eye on the bar and is behind the campaign of violence that’s pressuring seamus to sell to him. if leno was aware of this he would not have started fucking will, but too late now.

leno beats up a series of thugs sent by will’s father to cause chaos at the bar. their identities are not important but they are all played by random nhl people whose behavior i loathe (trouba, mackinnon, marchand, wilson, etc.) one of them gets eaten by a crocodile. maybe they all do, because this is my story and i can have jacob trouba eaten by a crocodile as a treat.

also the tkachuks are involved but in a fun way. like, leno breaks up a fight but it’s matthew and brady fighting each other and somehow they all end up pals.

in the movie there’s one “villain” who’s the trump card of violence that the business magnate brings to town bc he’s supposed to be the only person who can take out leno. i put villain in quotes bc this character is played by conor mcgregor, and he’s a lot of fun and you are kind of rooting for him even as he and leno are fighting each other to the death. in my story this character is played by matt rempe.

there’s a climactic scene on the water with a boat chase and an exploding yacht and gabe is taken hostage by the evil interests. when leno comes to save gabe, will greets him on the deck of the yacht and that’s the big reveal that he’s the son of the evil business owner.

idk how that love triangle resolves, but the rule is that snakes don’t get happy endings, so the happy ending is leno exploding the yacht and leaving a chest of the bad guy’s money at the bar for gavin and seamus and the two of them kiss and live happily ever after. in the final scene the bar is repaired and thriving and they’re both working there wearing t-shirts that say roadhouse on the back.

[fallingrealms16]

Destiel Fic Recs Part 3 !!!

(人 •͈ᴗ•͈)

yes a part 3? omg i just love these ficsss

Salio (to the end) by BekasStrife

96K Words // Chapters: 31/31 // 22K Hits // COMPLETED

//MATURE//

Salio (Latin): To leap, to jump forward. Right after losing Sam to the cage, Dean finds both Bobby and Castiel standing beside him at the cemetery: unharmed. Alive. Both human. As they fight to move on, Dean struggles to fulfill his promise to his brother, while Castiel adapts to what being human means, in all the ways that matter. Will choosing each other be enough? What to do when Chuck comes for them, spurned by vengeance?

2. Love As An Act of Merciful Conquest by dean35111

15K Words // Chapters: 17/? // 4K Hits // UNCOMPLETED

//TEEN AND UP//

In the summer of 2001 Sam leaves Dean his gun and the simple instruction to shoot first. For the first time, Dean is completely alone. The angels pick up on the distress signals of Michael's vessel and send Castiel to protect him in order to ensure the vessel's safety for their upcoming war. But Dean Winchester needs more than someone to protect him. He needs someone to save him and it's Castiel's duty to learn how.

3. People are monsters by Nachsie

7K Words // Chapters: 1/1 // 8K Hits // COMPLETED

//NOT RATED//

Castiel is the only prince in the long line of werewolves, soon to inherit all of his father’s rule. He until then occupies his time as a very known and respectable cop who just so happens to hate the owner of the roadhouse bar. Dean winchester is a human man who cares too much about money and doesn’t cut off his patrons till their card declines. Castiel hates him. Especially since Castiel has to come clean up their mess, and deal with the drunks every night. After one drunken mistake, Castiel accidentally ends up mated to Dean, which is suppose to be IMPOSSIBLE! But if that wasn’t also a problem. Castiel is ALREADY engaged to a female chosen at birth to be his mate. He needs to clean up his mess ASAP. However, the only way he seemed to come up with is...to kill Dean... Easier said than done, when all of Castiel’s plots to murder Dean keep end up with their clothes on the floor.

4. Inmate 241 by Sinwriter

30K Words // Chapters: 21/? // 4K Hits // UNCOMPLETED

//MATURE//

Angry and a bit sad. Blue eyes and slowing steps behind. Family on the outside. Sorry to say we will call you insane. When you tell us about the demons behind your walls.

5. Trope Springs Eternal by VioletHaze

41K Words // Chapters: 8/8 // 34K Hits // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

Dean's in love with Cas. Cas is in love with Dean. That much is obvious to everyone who sees them. But instead of acting on it, these two idiots seem bound and determined to score gold medals in the pining olympics. The staring, the longing, the unresolved sexual tension that's strong enough to combust and engulf the planet…is there anything that can push them out of their safe, cowardly positions? Leaving them to their own devices hasn't worked so maybe it's time to pull out the big guns.

[moira-mains-go-to-hell]

Overwatch Women Relationship/ General Headcannons:

These are very specific, but I find them cute.

This is super long, because it’s All. Of. Them. I was going to break them up, but then I forgot, and rolled with it.

No warnings, all sfw.

Ashe

Is very much allergic to pollen.

With that being said she has the loudest damn sneeze

Cannot cook to save her life but makes really good concoctions of stoner type food. That and she is a dip girl. Every woman from the south knows one good dip they can make and it’s been imbued in us since birth. No one else at the party has the same dip either, wonderful how it works really

Widow

Has vintage luggage she uses for long term missions

Sleeps on her back with her arms folded like she is dead just to freak you out.

Hates pressure cookers

D.va

Is really good at Pilates (she took it up instead of physical therapy after her injuries in the cinematic)

Can fold gum wrapper swans

Disassembles her blaster when she is bored just to put it back together again (she times it and keeps the times in a golf notepad)

Junker Queen

Really good at electrical engineering but has only seen YouTube lectures about it on a shitty rebuilt mac

Listens to nickelback unironically

Prefers fruity drinks, but that’s the closest you will get her to eating a god damn fruit

Kiriko

Can and will sit you down to explain the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy

Is a Jojo’s fan. Thinks it’s under appreciated.

Cannot tell you the difference between jams, jellies and preserves.

Moira

Hates chain steakhouses (outback, Texas Roadhouse, ect) Loathes the atmosphere.

Has favorite poisonous plants

Is better than you at Mario kart

Mercy

Is not good at social cues to the point she will put on the complete wrong music for a situation (think Disco Inferno while she is trying to Rez a burn victim levels of bad taste)

“Does not like coffee” but if you make it she will drink from yours

Spins her blaster when she puts it back in its holster

Pharah

Likes shows like “How I Met Your Mother” and “Rules of Engagement”

Wakes you up in the middle of the night to go with her to the dingiest convenience store to acquire the best sandwich of your life

Hates coleslaw

Brigitte

Doesn’t count her reps, only times them with specific tools (a song, a show, a podcast)

Has helped her father defy the Geneva Conventions

Thinks The Grand Canyon is made up (Torb told her as a joke when she was little and has believed it since)

Zarya

Has been to the secret Russian lab where they keep stem cells of every known disease to exist. (It’s a real thing, I think don’t quote me-)

Brings back small rocks from places she goes

Doesn’t like birds

Mei

Snow ball has a built in dance party mode specifically for when she is sad.

Doesn’t like using Amazon

Knows all of “Yakko’s World” and sings it to herself

Tracer

Tries to tip well but doesn’t know the math so she leaves way more than is needed

Has tried to convince Winston to give her a laser beam inside of the accelerator

Wears Velcro for convenience

Ana

When she is able to settle down and stop being on the move, she catches up with reality shows and calls you to tell you about them

Puts little stickers on her little healing vials to make them look friendlier… not that anyone is gonna notice

Doesn’t like to eat breakfast. Just has tea in the morning.

Symettra

Has special pads on her visor because she doesn’t like the way it sits on her face

There is a disco mode in her turrets that she will never tell a soul about

She commits to bits to get you out of trouble without even knowing the full scope of the situation.

Sombra

Sweater thief, but in the worst possible times. If she forgets hers on a mission, she takes yours and dips

Likes those little strawberry grandma candies

As good of a hacker she is, she is absolutely terrible at 1v1 combat games. Mortal Kombat, Smash, Jump Force, you name it. She isn’t winning.

Sojourn

Phone is set to military hours. You never ask her for the time

Does not nap

Makes jokes about her legs. When you compliment her she knocks on the metal and goes “Quads of steel”. She thinks it’s the funniest bit in the world

*bonus* she may be rough around the edges but she is the loudest laugher at a comedy show

[father-salmon]

writing patterns!!

tagged by @honestlydarkprincess thank you, my bean!!

rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

(none of these are buddie so there's your disclaimer lmao)

1. God is a Bit of a Freak - Rated E, Meg Masters/Castiel/Dean Winchester

Honestly, if you ask Meg what she gets up to on a general Saturday evening, the answer isn’t what you’d expect. Yes, she’s single, nearly 30, and has… a semi-normal amount of friends. You’d think she’d be with them or on a date or something.

2. What Happens in Oz... - Rated E, Charlie Bradbury/Dorothy Baum

The way Oz works is that it’s every person for themselves. Charlie is learning this very quickly and sooner than she’d like. The body of someone she and Dorothy once considered an ally is now dead on the floor, courtesy of the latter. Blood seeps out on the tufted carpet of Oz’s version of the Men of Letters bunker. What once was the Bravest Cowardly Lion’s fur is now a stained and stepped-over relic of the past. Charlie suppresses the urge to gag. She glances at Dorothy, whose face is hardened with the stink of betrayal that hangs in the room. The air runs thick with it.

3. Holy Ground - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Cas - One Week Before the Wedding 

Coming back to a place you’d long ago given up on, feels a bit… bittersweet. Everything is nearly exactly as it was 15 years ago; the convenience shop on the corner, the church in the center, the Roadhouse. The only thing that has really changed is the people. It’s more or less the same crowd, only with more wrinkles and bigger bellies. The stores are more weather-worn, too – the paint faded on the signs and windows by the same sun that has chapped skin and dulled lined-dried clothes until the whole town seems washed out and pale.

4. enthusiastic consent - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Dean has a shadow. 

Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Everyone has a shadow. 

Dean has two though, he’s sure of it. He’s been sure of it since last week when the debilitating feeling of being watched was too much to bear and now he believes it. Because he’s seen the goddamn stalker ! Albeit, handsome stalker but stalker nonetheless.

5. Bedroom Hymns - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester

The Impulse Purchase - 2014

Dean didn’t even think twice about clicking the order button on a value pack of men’s panties. If anyone were to look through his search history, he would vehemently deny it but that’s the perk of having his own computer. 6. close encounter of the fourth kind - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Others

To say Dean was abducted is the understatement of the century. 

His ass was literally taken out of his comfy memory foam mattress, shoved into a sac, and brought to… wherever the fuck this is: this Area 51 looking room, that’s for damn sure. 7. The Red Means I Love You - Rated E, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak

An oak tree marks Claire’s first grave. She found it on a whim, adrenaline rushing through her veins trying to find an appropriate burial spot among the woods just behind campus. She dug feverishly until she couldn’t see the ground above her, paranoia growing higher by the minute. It was only when she scrambled back up and dropped the extremely disfigured body of her mother into the ground and covered it up did she feel the relief. That was the only thing she didn’t prepare for. 

8. Butcher's Cut - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Does Dean Winchester have a clue about what he’s doing?

No.

Is that stopping him?

Also no. 

But opening a butcher/sandwich shop in town with his best friend — neither of them having any experience of running a business — may be one of the more stupid ideas he’s ever had. Not that he’s had any good ones but, here he is. 9. baby, it's cold outside - Rated T, Castiel/Dean Winchester

THUMP! 

“Ow—son of a bitch! ”

Castiel whips his head up from where it’s buried in his book to find the source of the sound. 10. nobody cares this is the day i was born - Rated G, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Two days. That’s all he gets. Two days before his birthday, Lisa shoves a birthday card at his chest and tells him she’s breaking up with him and he’s left there with a crumpled gift and a broken heart. Two days. He’s fine. He can cope. Except it’s his birthday in two days and he had planned to spend it with Lisa and now? Well, he’s blown off every other attempt his friends have made to spend his birthday with him, so it’s definitely too late to ask if he can join in on plans they probably made without him. 

--- no pressure tag list!! @underwater-ninja-13 @bigfootsmom @loserdiaz @giddyupbuck @gaylicense @spotsandsocks @devirnis @monsterrae1 @yelenasbuddie @buckaroosheart @snarkythewoecrow @dicklessthewonderclown @bleuzombie @malicmalic @cactusdragon517 @deancodedcastielenby @songliili

[artyandink]

𝖕𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖑𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖕 | 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖓 𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 | 1

Summary: “She’s like you’ve been pistolwhipped.” He bit his lip angrily. “Hits you right in the head and makes it spin. I used to hate it. But now? I’ve turned out like every other guy; had one hit of her and… I’m addicted. So yeah, pretty much.”

MASTERLIST

A/N - Second book of the series! Feedback is much appreciated and it’s my fuel, so don’t hesitate to give any constructive criticism and/or feedback!

BAD DAY AT BLACK ROCK

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : CYNICAL - EMEI

“Thanks for helping rebuild the roadhouse, sweetie.” Ellen smiled, taking my hand, and I glanced at the tribute to Ash in the centre of the largest wall there. “You’re a real help.”

“No problem.” I replied with a grin. “It’s the least I could do after you agreed to give me a job, especially when...” 

“Remind me to kill him when I next see him.” 

“I’ll do it myself, don’t you worry.” 

“Beer for the gentleman over there.” Jo nodded towards the other end of the bar, and I took the task up, quickly uncapping a beer and sliding it down the table. “So, you broke it off with James?” 

“Sadly.” 

“He was good for you, though. Real salt of the earth.” 

“Nowadays you don’t get salt of the earth, do you?” I chuckled, then went to the next patron. “What can I get you?” 

“Whiskey, sweetheart.” The man smirked. “Neat.” 

“Coming right up.” I poured a glass of whiskey, passing it to him. 

“Wait.” Jo smirked, turning me around. “Is that the corset you used to wear when your parents weren’t around? Y’know, when we’d have nights where we were just managing the roadhouse by ourselves?” The corset she was talking about was black and had hints of lace, while I wore an oversized plaid shirt over it with Jo’s abandoned and faded shorts, cause it always had looked better on me (with mutual agreement. In Jo’s words, ‘I had more legs to show off.’, but all girls are gorgeous in their own right. Jo has a more feminine body than mine.). I’d rolled up the sleeves of the plaid halfway up to my elbows for more practicality, of course, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to work.

“Ivonne Hazel Rainer, you wore things like that while I was gone?” Ellen snapped in her mother tone.

“It was for kicks!” I laughed, putting my hands up in mock surrender. “But I found it and I was like ‘why the hell not’.” 

“I still haven’t forgotten the time you came home with golden hair.” 

“I never will, either, trust me.” Ellen went to serve more patrons, but then Jo gave me a look. “What?” 

“Don’t think I don’t recognise that plaid.” She sighed. “That’s Dean’s.” 

“I didn’t notice.” 

“It reeks of his cologne.” 

“How do you know what it smells like?” 

“Because he’s literally the only one who wears it?” 

“Touché.” I sighed, then cracked open a beer for myself. “He hasn’t contacted me in two months.” 

“You sit back. I’m gonna kill him.”

”Dude.” Sam groaned, lying on the bed. “Bela stole that rabbit’s foot from  us. We need to get it back before I die.” 

“I’m working on it.” Dean snapped from his perch at the table. “But if she doesn’t want to be found, she’ll be damn hard to find.” 

“Then do you know anyone who could?” Dean but his lip, frowning. “Earth to Dean?” 

“Maybe…” He sighed, “definitely… Ivonne Rainer.” 

“Then call her.” 

“We haven’t spoken in two months, and we didn’t exactly end on good terms!” 

“Screw good terms, just do it.” Sam took out his phone, holding it out to Dean without managing to hurt himself. “Call her.”

”She’s not gonna pick up. And we can’t track her, cause the rules with Bela apply to her too.” 

“Call the roadhouse, then. They rebuilt it, and Ellen and Jo might be able to tell where she is.” 

“Ellen probably wants to kill me.” 

“So thank your lucky stars if Jo picks up.” Dean reluctantly took the phone, calling the Roadhouse.

The phone rang, and Jo picked it up while I chatted to a man who had apparently come from Britain. 

What can I say? I’m a sucker for a British accent. 

“So, are you free after your shift, darling?” He asked, white teeth glinting. 

“I could be.” I smirked, leaning forward on the counter. 

“How about I get your number, for starters?” He slid a napkin forward, and I took out a pen just as Jo cleared her throat. “Yeah?” 

“Code Red.” She whispered, and I nodded, turning to the guy with a smile. 

“Rain check on that number?” 

“‘Course, sweetheart.” 

I went over to the phone, winking to Jo as I took it. “Harvelle’s Roadhouse; this is Ivy speaking.” I heard a pause from the other end, so I frowned. “Hey, buddy, I’ve got customers waiting, so speak up before I hang up.” 

There was a sharp intake of breath. ‘Beanie.’

I’ll be damned if I didn’t recognise that voice. 

“Son of a…” I breathed, my hand tightening on the telephone. Remind me to kill Jo, please. “Dean.” 

‘Hey.’ 

“Don’t ‘hey’ me. What do you want?” 

‘Help.’ 

“Yeah, help with what?” 

‘We need to track down a girl named Bela. There’s a cursed rabbits foot that she stole from us, and Sam could die in a week. We need to get it back.’ 

“And you need me to help?” 

‘You’re the best tracker I know.’ 

“Sweet words, Dean. Use ‘em on someone else.” 

‘Please. I don’t care what I have to do to make it up, but help Sammy.’ 

I gritted my teeth, closing my eyes, and I could feel an anticipating silence on the other side. “Call Bobby, get whatever you can on her. I’m coming.” I put down my phone, then turned to the British guy. “Sorry, man, but you’re gonna have to catch me another day. Family troubles.” I held my hand out to Jo, who chucked me the keys to my Mustang. “And you’re in for a hell of a telling off when I come back.” I picked up my wallet, stored my gun in my waistband, put on gloves, saluted to Ash’s portrait and left, getting into my car and flooring it.

Hours later, I pulled up at the motel, getting out of the car and walking up to the room door that Dean had texted, and I knocked sharply. I heard clattering, and a couple of loud curses, then Sam opened the door, a grin appearing on his face when he saw me. 

“Ivy!” He laughed, pulling me into rather a clumsy hug. “Thank god you’re here.” 

“Thank god I’m here, yeah.” I walked in, throwing my satchel down. “This rabbit’s foot better be worth it, cause I just missed a hot date with a British guy-“ I came face to face with Dean, who was stood up and looking at me like he’d seen a ghost. 

“Ivy.” He nodded slightly. He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on the red plaid I was wearing with a look in his eyes that I couldn’t place. Then they moved to the corset, then my shorts, and he bit his lip. I fought back a blush, instead staring straight into his eyes with what I hoped was indifference.

“Dean.” I smiled a bit, then got straight to business, taking out a map. “Ok, so, Bela Talbot, born in 1979, shocker, and she’s everyone’s favourite black magic arms dealer. She takes valuable or dangerous items, like cursed objects and the works, selling them to the highest bidder. And the things she sells? Well, they rack up millions. I’ve tracked her scent to this apartment in Queens, but she’ll be booking it tomorrow evening. Best to hit her fast.” 

“How did you figure all this out?” Sam asked, peering at my map. 

“I know how she thinks. Bela and I have been frenemies since we first met on one of my hunts eight years ago. One’s out to destroy the bad and the other to sell it; it’s bound to cause rifts. Now I’m gonna go confront her, get the rabbit’s foot and get back to my job.” 

“And the hot date.” Dean scoffed. 

“And that.”

”With the British guy?” Sam chuckled. 

“What can I say? Girls are suckers for a British accent. As long as it’s not a chav accent, no, I don’t like those.”

Dean and I were walking towards the car after fixing Sam up so he wouldn’t break anything or hurt himself, but I could feel the tension like it burned my skin, especially as we got in the car. 

It actually started to feel claustrophobic after a few hours.

“Ivy, I just wanna-“ 

“This isn’t for you.” I cut in, staring straight ahead. “I’m doing this so Sam won’t die.” 

“And yeah, I’m thankful for that.” 

“Let’s leave it there, then.” 

“Ok.” His hands were gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were turning white, and he looked like he was actively trying to keep his eyes off of me. “How have you been?” 

“As good as I can be.” 

“That’s fair.” 

“Ok.” 

“Can we at least try to talk normally while this is happening?”

”No.” 

“You don’t wanna fix this?” 

“Let’s just get the rabbit’s foot and then do the mushy discussion.” He tried to speak, but I held up a finger as we pulled up. “Capiche?” 

“Fine.” We got out of the car, taking out our guns as we broke into Bela’s room. Dean stuck a post-it note on the wall, and I gave him a look before dragging him back just as Bela came our way, holding a gun. Then she saw the post it note and turned around, spotting Dean. “You left without your tip.” She smirked, drawing her gun with a look I knew all too well. Then I tapped her shoulder with my gun, and she whipped around, gun now trained on me while mine was on her.

“Hi, Bela.” I waved, flicking my safety off. “Long time, no see.” 

“Ivy.” She smiled. “How long’s it been?” 

“One year, give or take.” 

“Long year, especially with your quick trip to tell.” 

“We’re not here to talk about that.” I snapped. “You’re gonna give it back.” 

“Sweetie. No I'm not.”

“It’s cursed, Bela. Lose it and you could die.” 

“You'd be surprised what some people would pay for something like that.” 

“Really?” Dean scoffed. 

“There's a lucrative market out there. A lot of money to be made.” Bela laughed. “You hunters with all those amulets and talismans you use to stop those big bad monsters. Any one of them could put your children's children through college.” 

“So you know the truth, about what's really going on out there, and this is what you decide to do with it? You become a thief?” 

“I procure valuable items for a select clientele.” 

“Yeah. A thief.” 

“No.” She smirked. “A great thief.”

”Bela, Dean’s brother touched the foot.” I reasoned. “And you know how it works.” 

“Take it, then.” Wait for it. “For 1.5 million.” 

“Sure, let me just call my banker.” I scoffed, then held up the rabbit’s foot in a gloved hand. “Or this. You know about my sticky fingers, Bela, you’re used to this by now.” Then I took the gun out of her hand, emptying the clip before running out, Dean following and taking the rabbit’s foot from me. I glared at him, sighing. “You do know that you have to keep that on you at all times, right?” 

“Yep.” He nodded, storing it in his jacket pocket and zipping it up. “I’m aware.” 

“If you lose it, I’m booking, it cause I don’t wanna deal with this.” I gestured to all of him, and he bristled. 

“You just gestured to all of me.” 

“That’s what I mean.” We got in the car, and he started it, driving back to the motel. 

“Where’d the tattoos come from?” 

“One I got seemingly in hell, the other I got about a month ago at a tattoo parlour.” The second was just above my waistband. It looked like this: 

𝖛𝖎𝖙𝖆 / 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖘

“That’s life or death in Latin, right?” 

“You bet.” We stayed in silence for a while, until he spoke up again. 

“Good work with Bela back there.” 

“Thanks.” I found the courage to look at him, and smiled a bit. “You too.” Then I got a call, so I picked it up. “Talk to me.” 

‘Give it back.’ Bela demanded from the other end. 

“Sure, just hand over 1.5 million and we’ll call it quits.” 

‘I hate you.’ 

“Same here.” I grinned. “C’mon, you knew that the Winchesters had me in their arsenal. Why mess with them when you knew I was coming in?” 

‘I wasn’t expecting them to call you of all people.’ 

“Then you didn’t think outside the box. Sorry, Bela, but you know the rules. Finders, keepers, snoozers, losers.” I cut the call, then Dean spotted another tattoo. On my neck. It was the date I went to hell in Roman numerals, but it was mostly hidden by my hair.

“You have a hell of a lot of tattoos.” 

“Yeah? Well, hell does that to you. You’ll see what I mean when you get there.” 

“Don’t be like that.” 

“You know what? I will.” 

We reached the motel, but saw two hunters in there who had tied up Sam. I took my gun back out, and we went up to the door, hearing the last words of the guy. 

“That guy’s named Kubrick. Certified psycho.” I whispered, and Dean took out his gun too.

“It's God, Creedy.” Kubrick smirked, pointing a gun at Sam. “He led us here for one reason. To do His work. This... is destiny.” 

“Nope.” Dean shrugged, both of us entering and cocking our guns. “No destiny. Just a rabbit’s foot.” 

“Put the gun down, you two, or you're gonna be scraping brain off the wall.” 

“Oh, this thing?” Dean smirked. 

“Yeah, that thing.” 

Dean started to put his gun down and so did I, hoping that he had a good plan. “Okay. But you see, there's something about me that you don't know.” He picked up the pen next to his gun. 

“What’s that?” 

“It’s my lucky day.” He threw the pen, and it lodged perfectly into the barrel. The heck?! He laughed loudly, turning to me. “Oh my God, did you see that shot?!” 

“Yeah, I did!” I snapped back, my eyes glowing blue as I swept my hands to the side, taking the gun out of Kubrick’s hands. Creedy launched a punch at Dean, but he sidestepped and Creedy stumbled straight into me, and I took his head, slamming it straight into the wall, knocking him out. Dean picked up the remote, throwing it towards Kubrick and hitting him right in the gap between his eyes, knocking him out immediately. He turned to Sam with a childish grin, amazed by himself. 

“I’m Batman.” He chuckled. 

“Yeah. You're Batman.” Sam grimaced. I took out my knife, cutting him loose and checking him for serious injuries. 

“Ok, Batman,” I sighed, “we need to burn this rabbit’s foot.” 

“All right. Bone ash, cayenne pepper, that should do it.” I thought aloud, then held my hand out for the rabbit’s foot. 

“Hold on a sec.” Dean bit his lip, scratching some lottery tickets as fast as he could. 

Sam groaned. “Dean, you-“ 

“Hey, back off, Jinx. I'm bringing home the bacon.” He then stored the tickets in his jacket, and took out the rabbit’s foot. “All right, say goodbye, ‘wascawy wabbit’.” 

Then a gun cocked. 

“You have to be kidding me.” I sighed, looking up to see Bela holding a gun. 

“I think you'll find that belongs to me. Or, you know, whatever.” She smirked. “Put the foot down, honey.” 

“No. You're not going to shoot anybody.” Dean chuckled. “See, I happen to be able to read people. OK, you're a thief, fine, but you're not—“ Bela shot Sam’s shoulder, and he went down. “Son of a-“ 

“Yeah, you can read people.” I hissed, secretly taking the foot from Dean. 

“Back off, tiger. Back off. You make one more move and I'll pull the trigger.” She pointed it at Sam. “You’ve got the luck, Dean. You, I can’t hit. Him? I can’t miss.” 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Dean gasped. “You don't just go around shooting people like that!” 

“Relax. It's a shoulder hit, I can aim. Besides, who here hasn't shot a few people? Put the rabbit's foot on the ground now.” 

“Hey, Bela?” I called out with a grin. 

“What?” 

“Think fast.” I threw the foot at her, and she caught it, the luck transferring to her. Her eyes widened as she turned her gaze on me, and I winked. 

“Damn.” She cursed, and I laughed. 

“So, whaddya say we burn this thing and make sure that all three of you live, hm?” She reluctantly dropped the foot in the fire, rolling her eyes. 

“Thanks very much. I'm out one and a half million, and on the bad side of a very powerful, fairly psychotic buyer.” 

“Wow, I actually don’t feel bad about that. Sam?” Dean smirked. 

“Nope. Not even a little.” Sam agreed. 

“Maybe next time I'll hang you out to dry.” She hummed, leaning on the gravestone next to Dean. 

“Oh, don’t go away angry.” Dean pouted, then straightened his face. “Just go away.” 

“See you another time.” She smirked, then walked off. 

“You guys good?” I asked, checking the foot was ashes before extinguishing the fire. 

“We’ll live.” Sam smiled. “Thanks, Ivy.” 

“Yeah, we owe you one.” Dean nodded. 

“Don’t mention it.” I grinned. 

“I guess we're back to normal now, huh? No good luck, no bad luck. Oh! I forgot we're up $46000. I almost forgot about the... scratch tickets.” Dean checked his jacket, which had no scratch tickets. 

“Bela did a number.” I laughed. “Anyway, I have to get going. Tyler the Englishman awaits.” 

“Or… you could stay.” Sam suggested, stepping forward. “C’mon, we’d be toast without you. Charred bread. The hot date can wait.” 

“Sam-“ 

“Please?” He flashed his puppy eyes, making me frown and close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. 

“Ok, fine.”

[gretavanglimmers]

Jake Kiszka & Female Reader

Chapter Two: Look what you made me do...

Summary: As landlady of the Vagabond Blues, you make all the rules. But there's one you just can't seem to keep with the lead guitarist of your house band. He waits for you every night at closing time. Set in the backdrop of the 80s style Roadhouse bar, Jake is a bad influence. But could he be exactly what you need, too?

Warnings: Alcohol and smoking. Pissed off Jake. Oral male. Dirty talk. Full sex. Violent fucking. Throat grabbing. Bar fighting.

Smoke hung in the air as you extinguished your cigarette. Gentle plumes of white rising up from the ash tray on your desk, the urge to light up another taking hold immediately.

You wanted the numbers to make sense. You wanted the profits to balance. Nervously tapping the edge of your pen against the books, none of the intake matched what should have been coming in. You stared at the pages incredulously, waiting for any of it to start tallying.

A gentle knock on your door gave a welcome reprieve. You threw your pen down, sighing in exasperation and leaned back into your chair. The swamp of papers on your desk blurring into your periphery as your door opened a crack.

"Fuck me or marry me, Josh. I don't have time for anything else." You said, noting the head of curls peering in.

He was Jake's twin brother. Singer of the band. A merry breath of fresh air when compared to his counterpart and somebody you suspected knew about what had been going on after hours. But he'd never dare say, and you'd never take the time to drag it out of him.

"Well, if those are my only two options I guess I'll have to make an honest woman out of you." He replied, slipping in and slumping into the red leather couch opposite. "You wanted to see me?"

You threw him the papers and waited for him to peruse over them. His brow furrowed in concentration, waiting for him to notice the anomaly. Taking the time to roll up another smoke.

"What am I looking at?" He asked, turning the pages over like you'd handed him a bedtime story.

"Fucking underhanded thievery." You replied, exhaling through your nose. "Look at those numbers and tell me I'm not getting fucked."

His lip curled in a smirk that wasn't unlike Jake. But with Josh, there was never any underlying agenda. You liked that about Josh. What you saw with him is precisely what you got.

"You think it's one of the bar staff?" He queried, flipping the pages up and down, "Looks like they're skimming off the top."

"They'll skim my knuckles if I catch them doing it." You hissed, taking a savagely long drag. "I've decided to haul everyone in and see if the snakes reveal themselves."

He raised an eyebrow. "What does this have to do with me?"

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the piles of paper in front of you. Sleeves rolled up and a devilish grin forming on your lips.

"You're in my corner, aren't you? They're scared of me but they'll listen to you."

You knew you had to rule with an iron fist. Any hint of weakness and the chain of command would break. Josh had always been good at fairing any weathers the Vagabond Blues stormed up. His cheery disposition was without confrontation or malice. You needed him.

"I don't know what sort of power you think I have here, Cookie." He shook his head, slipping the papers back onto the edge of the desk. "But it 'aint enough to charm the snakes."

"You underestimate yourself." You assured him, "What other choice do I have? I can't ask Jake."

Josh huffed and extended his arms out on the back of the couch. He knew as well as you did that Jake would lead with his instincts rather than calculating them first.

"You've got your hands full here, boss." He sighed, "Why don't you let me and Sammy take care of it for you?"

You hadn't thought to involve Sammy. He was barely old enough to play there, let alone drink. But he was their little brother and Jake had vouched for his ability to play the bass and keys. You'd been impressed, allowed his youth to be overlooked.

"What's your plan here, Kiszka? Get the scumbags to admit they've been stiffing me and then get little Sammy to show them the door?" You laughed, referring to his age rather than the fact he towered over both of his older brothers.

"You got a better idea? Jake runs around like your personal henchman, they wont expect it from the boy." He suggested, "And besides, the money you'll be saving can be our Christmas bonus."

You rolled your eyes. "Better make sure Danny's working tonight, too. You're going to need all the help you can get."

Danny had always had an air of calm. But in the face of adversity, you'd seen him bring men twice his size crashing down the earth. He was the Vagabond Blues band's drummer, although somewhat unofficially he'd become a little more than that lately. It felt like you were recruiting musicians in covert security positions. In lieu of being able to afford to hire actual security.

Nobody fucked with the band. Without the music, the bar was just a sink hole for drinkers and debauched waifs and strays. People who had nothing better to spend their dime on. The music was what kept them from remembering that sobering truth.

"You worry too much, Cookie." Josh said, pulling the cigarette out from your lips as he stood to leave, stealing a drag before he walked out. "You're a mighty woman, but you're still only one person. You should think about letting the reigns out a little with all this."

You shook your head as he tried to return the cigarette.

"Is that an offer, Joshua?" You asked, intrigued.

He'd been growing out his facial hair lately. Trying something new. It suited him, took him further away from looking like his twin. Not that you'd ever considered that they ever looked quite as identical as they could. There was something about him that would never reflect in the other. And it was why you were having this conversation with Josh, and not Jake.

"I could help you, if it was what you really wanted." He shrugged, taking the cigarette down to the butt before stubbing it out in your now over flowing ash tray. "Legit, of course. I'd want to sign contracts and such."

You lent him a knowing grin. "I'll think about it."

You didn't want to be there at the end of the night. This one wasn't going to be the usual. You anticipated some violent fall out and had been on tenterhooks all night. The regulars poured in early, followed by the rag tag revellers that sought out something a little harder than their usual Saturday affairs. The Vagabond Blues could provide that. It had always been a place for outsiders. Something you'd initially taken on the chin, but not when it effected your profits.

Jake was doing his thing. Like a caged animal unleashed, he was pissed off. You could see it in the way his eyes kept searching you out over at the bar, his lips set in a thin line and his nostrils flared. Pissed because he knew he wasn't going to get his way with you tonight. No doubt he knew what was coming.

But the intervention took precedence. You'd called it a "staff meeting" but it wasn't. It was a finger pointing accusation fuelled witch hunt for the profiteering cunt who had been stealing from you. And you were on a knifes edge about it. Jake being pissed at you was the least of your worries.

"Benny and Savannah are outside."

Lutz was the newest barman you'd hired. Didn't know enough of the ropes to know how to stiff them, yet. He was leaning over the bar, empty glasses in his hand, waiting for your response.

"You tell them no fuckery tonight." You replied, shooting your most stern face over towards the saloon door where they waited. "One step out of line at it's a permanent ban."

Lutz nodded and went to give them the good news. Even though you knew, sooner or later, they'd fall foul of breaking the rules again. They always did.

You couldn't help but swing your suspicions around. Watching everyone's movements like a hawk. Lutz was on the periphery, but not completely out of question. Bonnie was someone you'd be damned to accuse, on account of the fact you'd given her the job as a kindness to her sister who had begged you to help give the poor girl some stability before she went completely off the rails. Jerry was your prime suspect. He'd worked the bar the longest. Practically created the ropes, knew the inventory like the back of his hand. But he was older, why do it now? It didn't make no sense. He'd worked there even before you'd taken it over.

It felt like you couldn't fucking take it anymore. Retreating back to your office, slamming the door shut behind you to muffle out the chaos and pulling out a bottle of rum from your desk drawer as you sank into the old couch and kicked off your boots.

You didn't want to think about the damn place. It was already too late to try and pull the knife out of your back. All you wanted to do was sink into an oblivion where nothing and nobody was your responsibility. Least of all drunks and vagabonds.

You knew it wasn't Josh at the door when the knock came far more aggressively than he would've tapped. You rolled your eyes and sighed heavily into the darkness. You just needed a moment to breathe.

"Not right now!" You called, hoping they'd take the hint.

You hadn't noticed the distinct lack of guitar behind the closed door. So when it opened you were surprised to find your lover standing there. You checked the time on the wall clock in the light from the hall outside, certain there was still a few hours of playing time left.

"I said, not right now." You repeated, leaning your head back to try and stave off the headache that was brewing.

Jake closed the door and plunged the room back into relative darkness. The neon light from the sign outside shining in through the broken blinds on the window.

"If not now, then when?" He demanded, leaning on the edge of your desk with his arms folded.

"I aint your girl right now, Jake." You reminded him. "You're clocked in on playing time, I'm your fucking boss until midnight. Get back out there."

He didn't budge. "The fuck you are. Talking about letting Josh help you out. Letting him take care of shit with Sam and Danny. Like I didn't throw those drunken fools out last weekend."

He had no intention of leaving the room without having this conversation. Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. What was already turning into a tumultuous night seemed to be leaning straight into being one of the worst nights of your life.

"I really don't need this right now, Jake." You huffed, taking a swig straight from the bottle. "I got enough shit from every other fucking employee, I don't need it from you."

You'd never seen him pissed off before. Mildly vexed, perhaps. But not like this. You could see the whites of his eyes and the way his breathing was short. He would back you into a corner, regardless of what you said.

"This isn't about anyone else." He said bluntly, " This is about you and me. And the fact you wont let me fucking help you, even though you know... don't you?"

You rolled your eyes. "Know, what?"

You'd kicked the hornets nest, now. He stood up and curled his fists until his knuckles were white. His mouth trembling on words he knew he couldn't take back if he let them spill out.

"You're a fucking bitch, Cookie." He snorted, "If you can't see what's under your fucking nose. As if I'd wait for you every damn night just for a casual fuck. It aint about that. I want to see you home safe."

He softened a little. Like admitting it had taken all his strength. And even though you just wanted to be alone, you could feel him reeling you in like he always did. In ways you couldn't see, or smell, or taste. That were completely invisible other than you felt it and always let it take you.

"You know what I need right now, Jake?" You relented, patting the side of the couch next to you. "I need to forget that I run this fucking shit show. I need to forget that it fucking exists. I need to sit here and drink this rum and pretend there's nothing outside this god damn room."

Whatever magnetic force had brought you together in the first place drew him towards you. He was covered in sweat, his shirt saturated and his neck had a glistening sheen as he passed the light of the window.

"There's no happy ending for me, Jake." You whispered in the dark as he sank into the space beside you. "When are you gonna start getting it?"

His jaw was clenched. Half of his face shrouded as he regarded you. You were laid back, bottle in hand. On the verge of crying, but you could never seem to let the tears fall.

"You're full of shit, Cookie." He placed a well meaning hand on your knee. "You're not broken, you don't need fucking saving. Least of all by my fucking brother."

He would've taken anyone else over Josh being the one to step in and save the day. You could see the way it boiled his blood. The way he wanted to be the one to come to your aid.

"You know damn well it's got absolutely nothing to do with me." You explained, slamming the bottle down on the floor and rising to meet his gaze. "Josh doesn't give a fuck about me. He wants a contract, all legit. He's not doing it as a favour. He's gonna take care of the books for me and make sure nothing else goes missing. It's not a security detail, he's not taking people out by the scuff of their necks like you do."

"No, that's what Danny's for." He was adamant, reducing you to a cold and hard silence that you couldn't argue with.

"Why does it matter to you, Jake?" You questioned, "You're paid to play the blues. So play the fucking blues."

You leaned back down and retrieved your bottle. He didn't move. Sat there eyeing you as you tried not to spill the rum down your cleavage.

"Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are when you're like this?"

You almost choked on it. Coughing on it and sitting back up just to clear your airway of what he'd said.

"You want in on the action? It's out there, not in here."

You could've talked at a brick wall and gotten more sense out of it. He could hear you, but he wasn't listening. And a part of you didn't want him to, anyway. The part of you that needed something to take the edge off where the rum simply wasn't doing the job.

"I beg to differ." He whispered, "Look what you made me do..."

He held your gaze as he took the bottle out of your hand. You swallowed hard. He shuffled closer. Placing your palm against the twitching bulge beneath his jeans.

"You feel that? It's all for you, Cookie. It's always for you."

You weren't sure if you preferred it when he was pissed off. When you could be angry with him and not have to pretend that you weren't falling for him.

"Oh, so now you're not even waiting until closing time?" You wondered, letting it happen regardless.

You could have fought it. But your mood was so low that you didn't want the stinkin' bar anymore. Let it run into the ground. Jake was offering you a way out. Let them knock on the door and see what he does to you after hours.

"Are you going to argue with me about it?" He asked, raising a speculative eyebrow.

"I should." You replied breathily, letting the space between the two of you inch closer. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are barging in here and barking orders at me. Questioning my authority."

His mouth stilled close to yours. Teasing breath from each other, wondering who would be the first to allow their tongue to betray them. Your hand was deftly squeezing his bulge, making him hum onto your lips.

"I just....oh, fuck. I just want to..." He stuttered, letting you keep him close as you slipped his zipper down. "Damn it, Cookie... I just want to keep you safe is all..."

"Mmm'hmmm." You murmured, pulling him out fully hard and pulsating. "I'm a big girl, Jake. I got it covered."

He shoved himself into your palm. Thrusting without mercy or apology, letting you grip him so tight he gasped. And he felt so damn good. There was a rush of moisture to your core, a visceral need to have him as your subordinate.

"You gonna let me have my way?" You asked, snaking your body down until your knees were pressed against the edge of the couch with his thighs on either side of you.

"Looks like you already are." He allowed, freeing himself completely as he watched you in the neon light from outside. "Take what you need, Cookie."

He understood.

As you licked circles around his tip, he gathered up your hair into his fist. You could taste the salt of his pre-cum already, in steady droplets that formed as you swept your tongue across his little slit of an opening. Once he had you in his grasp, you sank his end into your mouth and began sucking on it like a lollypop. Letting his head ride against the wave of your tongue. Listening to him breathe so much deeper, huffing out groans that were getting louder and louder.

"Your mouth feels so fucking good." He told you, in strangled words that came out more like he was struggling for breath. "What the fuck has gotten into you tonight?"

You were done talking about it, thinking about it. Whatever was happening out there wasn't important. The way his cock felt was your focus. The way he stared down at you, the way his jaw was slack. The way his stomach moved up and down as he fought for breath.

"You, Jake."

For a moment he was incredulous. In disbelief that you'd allowed such a sentiment to escape. So were you, holding his cock in your hand as you waited for him to say something that would absolve you of the emotional little slip.

"You wanna slow it down a little bit?" He asked, the corner of his mouth turning upward. "Light a candle or something?"

He was playing with you. Softly, but in a way that made you giggle involuntarily. You fucking hated it, whenever he drew from you things which you weren't prepared to give.

"Why don't you do what you do best and talk me through it, huh?"

You busied yourself with sucking him off. Sinking him back into the depths of your mouth. Rolling your tongue over his head, swirling up and down his shaft. Jerking him off as you swallowed, lifting the underside up so that you could paint a stripe from tip to the curve of his balls.

"You're suckin' that so good I can't...fuck... got me all speechless here, Cookie."

"Distract me." You suggested, his cock resting in the pouch of your cheek as you spoke.

He choked out a deep breath. Tightening the grip on your hair as your head bobbed up and down.

"Ok...ok.... I want you to imagine me bending you over the pool table. I'll get down and eat your ass, stick my tongue right into your little pussy hole... Slap my cock against it and slip into it deep and slow. Just how you like it. Fuck with your nipples a little bit, tug on them while you get fucked. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

You hummed your approval against his balls. Sucking them into your mouth, letting your tongue slide all over them, your hand keeping him hard and solid. You could picture it in your mind. The empty bar, just you and him like it always was. You were fucking saturated.

"Fill you up with my cum and fuck it back into you. Watch it spill out of your tight little cunt. Oh god, Cookie...I can't hold on."

You spread your knees apart. Fighting to free yourself. Your spit was dripping down his big, thick shaft. You watched it pool with his pre-cum as you practically clawed at your panties. He ate you up as you straddled him on the couch, looking up at you like you were a fucking unicorn.

Nobody had ever looked at you like you were a mythical creature before. Like you were this beautiful, unattainable thing he wanted nothing more than to possess even if it was just for a fleeting moment. He just wanted to own your essence.

Would it be so bad if you let him?

"Sssshhhh..." He placed a finger to your lips, poised to let him penetrate. "You hear that?"

All you could hear was the pounding of your own heart. Adrenaline coursing through your veins, throbbing from your head right down to the tip of your hard clit.

"I don't hear anything." You replied dismissively, gripping his base as you lined him up.

He grabbed your hips. "Yeah, exactly."

The silence was deafening as you impaled yourself on him. Bouncing hard, feeling him stretch you mercilessly as you fought for release.

The music had stopped.

"Cum in me, Jake." You demanded, feeling the tide of climax reach for shore. "Cum so fucking hard in me, baby."

What other choice did he have? You were an animal. Determined to fuck him with all the pent up frustration that was threatening to strangle you otherwise. Taking fists of his hair and pulling his head back, kissing him with your tongue so deep into his mouth you could taste what he had for breakfast.

When he couldn't take it any more, he wrapped a cautious hand around your neck and held you steady. Thrusting upwards, violent and so hard you almost lost balance.

"You want me to cum in this pretty little pussy?"

You nodded vacantly.

"Yeah, you do." He whispered viciously, taking away every thread of stress and anxiety that weaved through your nervous system. "You better wear those panties after, want you walking around the place filled with it."

The music had stopped. Above the white noise of your heavy breathing and the blood rushing to your head, you couldn't hear much else. Jake pounded into you until it felt like your mortal coil might spin right off and leave you dead for the sake of a mind blowing orgasm.

You could feel it when he came. The heat and the wetness. And the way he lingered with his tongue at your mouth until you were brutally finished. Sweat drenched and satisfied as he fell back into the couch and let you go.

"Did you realise the music had stopped?" You asked, hastily pulling up your underwear as you climbed off.

Jake ran a palm down the length of his face. "Yeah? The fuck did you think I was going to do, though?"

When the music stopped it only meant one thing. Carnage. And even though he was reluctant, Jake rapidly dressed and followed you out of the office and back into the bar.

You were still trying to straighten yourself out as you walked into the middle of a brawl. Not just a two man show of ego, either. You could already see the blood on the floor, mingled with beer and whiskey. Your muscles felt weightless as you tried to intervene, your body entirely ruined by what you'd just done.

"Break it up!" You screamed, yanking on collars and hair, never quite sure who you were reaching for.

Your previous calm dissipated into fear as you realised you were out of your depth. Crying out for him in the middle of it all. Feeling yourself being jostled and pulled in all directions, slipping on blood and fists flying.

All of a sudden the air shifted from your lungs. You felt yourself being pulled back, everything moving too quickly for your to properly respond. Chairs and tables were being used as weapons. All of it ruined. Everything you'd worked your ass to the bone for.

"Cookie, what the fuck were you thinking?!"

Jake was holding you back. The heat of his body still smelled like the sex you'd just had as he held you close.

"You gotta make them stop, Jake! I can't!" You begged, knowing there and then that you were at the end of the line.

He left you there on the side lines. Distraught and helpless. You watched him disappear into the fray. Terrified, perhaps, for the first time in your life for someone else's safety. You'd never cared much about the fights that had happened there before. It felt like not much really mattered as long as he walked out of it in one piece.

"Just fucking stop!!!" You yelled, certain no one could hear.

All you could do was stand there. And watch. And hope. You could see Danny pummel someone to the ground. Young Sammy was covered in cuts and bruises forming already. You could see the regular fist swingers in there, no doubt nothing to do with the initial cause but they sure did love to pack a punch regardless. Josh was in there too, fighting for breath as he fought off swing after swing.

Where was Jake? You couldn't see him anymore.

.

.

.

Chapter Three: Look at me, Don't look at him... *Coming Soon

@takenbythemadness @writingcold @velveteencatch @scoreofinfantryvines @edgingthedarkness @lyndz2names @jakesmustache @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @thewritingbeforesunrise @itsafullmoon @klarxtr @myownparadise96 @lipstickitty

[deancaspinefest]

r/Relationships

Author: prosopopeya & marbleflan | Artist: Alexiescherryslurpy Posting on Saturday March 18

I swear I'm a straight dude, kind of a ladies' man if I'm honest. I'm the love 'em and leave 'em type–maybe that's why I never bothered to get my ex gf (37F)'s last name… or her marital status. We were in the middle of a horizontal tango session, if you know what I mean, when her husband (37M, straight??) walks in. I've never looked twice at a man, but he's the most beautiful person I've ever seen, male or female. Even though he met me when I was getting naked with his wife, he never held it against me. They got divorced and somehow he became my best friend. He even let me move in with him when my pipes burst (not a euphemism) and I had nowhere to go. I think I might be in love with him. Is it possible to be straight all your life but gay for just one guy? Sometimes I think he might be into me as well, but then I think it's just 'cause he's kind of a weird dude. When I look at him, it feels like a hurricane inside me, like I'll burst if I don't kiss him. TLDR: Wondering if asking the guy (whose marriage I ruined) out is a good idea.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

"Where did you guys meet again?" "Oh, um. Through work." It's technically not not true... if you follow six degrees of separation rules. "I think you'd like him. He's funny-- Not like, conventionally funny, I guess, but he's got his own kind of sense of humor that kind of catches you off guard." His phone buzzes again, loud against the counter, and Sam cuts his eyes over to look at it. Dean slides it off the counter to slip it into his pocket. "He's going through a divorce," he blurts, which makes Sam raise an eyebrow. "And he's just-- It's an adjustment, you know? He just really needs a friend right now." More true than his previous partial truth; in fact, that statement is objectively a true one, and it's Dean who's having trouble (apparently?) with parts of it. "Do you need to answer him then?" Sam asks, his tone softening, and Dean imperceptibly relaxes. "Oh, no, he's just elbow-deep into Dr. Sexy after I told him to check it out." Sam rolls his eyes again, laughing this time though, and he goes back to his nachos. "Are you sure being friends with you is the right move, if that's what you get him into?" "Come on, it's perfect breakup watching." "It's the TV equivalent of eating a pint of ice cream so I guess you're not wrong. So, are you helping him rebound?" Dean swallows his beer the wrong way and chokes. "What?" "You've been hanging out a lot." They've been out a handful of times at the Roadhouse, and Dean thinks that shouldn't count as a lot. "Not really sure that's where he's at," Dean says, mostly to the nachos. "Anyway, he wouldn't need my help." "No?" Sam prompts, sounding amused. "No way. He's got this approachable sorta hotness, you know, like he doesn't even realize it, and he dresses like a lump so it catches you by surprise." "Are you sure you're not dating him?" Dean's eyes snap up to find Sam smiling, the joke written all over his face, the picture of disbelief that his macho brother could possibly do something like that. "What?" "'Cas is so funny and hot,'" he teases, shaking out his hair. Sometimes, Dean thinks clearest through the panic, and this feels like one of those times when he throws a chip at Sam. "A good wingman knows how to sell," he says, and watches Sam laugh that one off too, leaning back down to eat his food. Dean's phone buzzes in his pocket. He pokes around at his nachos some more, but suddenly nacho night doesn't seem as appetizing as it did before.

 [continue reading on Ao3 on Saturday March 18]