#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

[holylulusworld]

Pour me some love (2)

Summary: He always ends up in your roadhouse.

Pairing: Biker!Dean Winchester x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: flirty Dean, shy/low self-esteem, fluff, falling in love, romance

Idea by: @elle14-blog1

Catch up here: Pour me some love (1)

“Dean,” you moan against him. The kiss following Dean’s confession makes your knees go weak. You whimper against his plump pillows while fisting his leather jacket. The last thing you want is for him to break off the kiss.

“I hope you know,” he pants when you finally part, “this means you are my girl now. None of the douches coming to the bar will dare to touch or even speak to you.” Dean cups your face to kiss you again, tongue delving into your mouth to taste you.

Dean shrugs his leather jacket off to put it around your shoulders. You touch the soft leather and sniff at it, inhaling Dean’s scent deeply. “Why are you giving me your jacket?”

“You’ll get your own, but for now, you’ll be wearing mine to keep the douches away from my girl,” Dean pecks your temple. “Everyone will know you’re Dean Winchester’s girl and show you respect.”

You feel your heart flutter when he tells you all the things a woman wants to hear when she falls in love with someone special.

He looks at you with those emerald eyes, and you want to believe in the dream he promises to you. If only there weren’t the nagging voice in the back of your head telling you that Dean will never give you what you need. Love, devotion, and commitment.

“Stop overthinking,” he smirks as you are lost in thoughts. Dean rubs your shoulders and smiles. “I know you’re scared to get hurt. I watched you for a while, you know.”

“If I go on that ride with you, you gotta promise to behave.” You pat his chest. “If you get cocky, there will be no pie for you, Winchester.”

“Oh, there she is,” Dean purrs and leans closer to peck your lips. “My cocky bartender denying me some delicious pie.”

“That’s my other baby,” Dean proudly explains every detail about his beloved classic car. A black Chevrolet Impala. “Please don’t get jealous. You’re my number one, sweetheart.”

“So, you are telling me I must share your attention with another lady,” you tease. “A beautiful one, with the perfect figure, and a sexy one too.”

He flashes you a quick smile before pointing at the radio. “Shotgun picks the music this time, Y/N. Choose whatever you like.”

You giggle at his playful tone. “Is this a special occasion, or do you let everyone in the passenger seat choose the music?”

Dean sounds serious when he says, “You’re the only one, Y/N. Usually, the driver picks the music, and shotgun shuts their cakehole.”

“I thought you liked pie,” you whisper lowly and place your hand on his thigh. “I hope you know I won’t date a cake guy. That’s a rule I won’t break.”

“Pie all the way, sweetheart!” He exclaims and hits the brakes, making you gasp. “Only pie! There’s nothing else but pie in my mind.”

Dean grins when you slap his thigh. “DEAN! You can’t just stop the car in the middle of the road!” You tut. “You’re lucky this is a sleepy town and barely anyone knows the road to the lover’s lane.”

He grins. “So, you know I was trying to get more kisses and some cuddles? Who would’ve thought you knew about the lover’s lane, Y/N?

“Of course, I know about the lover’s lane and that you are up to no good, Mr. Winchester. All sexy and dangerous bikers take their girls for a ride to the lover's lane.”

“Mister? You are calling me mister again?” He covers your hand on his thigh. “I thought we were past this, sweetheart. Did I misinterpret the longing looks you gave me and how you kissed me?

“You kissed me,” you point out.

“Yeah, I kissed my girl first,” he winks at you before starting the engine. “And now I’m going to take her to the lover’s lane to cuddle her.”

“No,” you grin. “You will drive me home and get a slice of homemade pie, Mr. Winchester. I told you; I’m not a woman for a one-night stand.”

He dips his head and smirks. “Sweetheart, I won’t just have you for one night. No other man will get the chance to kiss you. I’ll not let you slip through my fingers. You and your sweet pie…”

[destieltaggedfic]

Hello!!

Do you have any fics where Dean and Cas act like a couple but in reality they are not together yet?

You mean all the fic? ... and the show?

We're Not Married - perpetual_motion   Ao3

Nonspecific timeframe.  Dean is getting frustrated after a fight with Cas because Mary thinks they are married and Sam thinks they are only engaged. 

Word Count: 1k                                 No Sex 

Dean Winchester's Secret (Angel) Boyfriend - reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent   Ao3

Canonverse AU.  Dean has a mysterious new hunting partner that everyone in the Roadhouse hears a lot about but has never met.  At least until Castiel comes in needing help rescuing a missing Dean.

Word Count: 11k                              No Sex

Sam's views on the excessive exchange of saliva – Storybelle   Ao3

Set S9.  Ever since Cas became human, Sam has had to put up with Dean and Cas sharing food, drinks and even more of their personal space than previously.

Word Count: 8k                                 No Sex

A Simple Misunderstanding -thatwriterlady   Ao3

Nonspecific timeframe.  After a close call, Dean takes Cas to get his anti-demon possession tattoo, the artist mistakes them for a couple, but neither of them correct him.

Word Count: 2k                                 No Sex

Just Dudes Being Dudes - Ann_Drist   Ao3

Set S9ish.  After Cas has fallen, Dean takes great delight in teaching Cas the good things in life, no matter what it looks like to Sam.  But its when Cas gets his grace back and wants to go back to watching over Dean’s sleep that Dean instigates some rules, no actual watching and if he’s going to do it at least get into bed.

Word Count: 9k                                 Non-Graphic Sex

[abarbaricyalp]

WIP

Rules: List your WIPs and tag 5 ppl, and we’ll send each other asks for a snippet

Thanks for the tag @jemgirl86 My head is kind of all over the place right now as far as writing goes, but these ones are in my tumblr drafts so at least a few words get added to them day by day

Creature Feature

Shared Offices

Procedural drama actors

Mutual Friend/Feud

AJ and the Winter Soldier

Roadhouse

Fragile Lives Ch8

No pressure tagging @firstelevens @funsized-loser @cobrafantasies @bisamwilson @livingincolorsagain (Pretty sure I just failed miserably at not double tagging, but I tried with my terrible short term memory)

[whatwouldeddiedo]

god but sam should have retired to hell and ruled with rowena that's a fucking power couple and the sex would have been fire i just fucking know it.

dean and cas can rebuild heaven and they can all hang out on weekends or something at heaven's roadhouse because cas and dean would definitely let sam and rowena pop in for a visit.

[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

[sayit3x]

Mrs. Bea Juice's Journal - #4

When Betelgeuse died, I was there, still holding his hand. I didn’t think he actually saw me before I disappeared, his guide forcing me from my son’s presence. Things were less bureaucratic back then, but rules are rules, and there was still a strict process to be followed. Betel’s guide would be the one to escort him to the Neitherworld and answer his questions. He would get an experienced ghost assigned to support him, and receive a tome, bound in leather, with instructions on navigating his new afterlife.

Even after Betelgeuse crossed over, I didn't seek him out right away. I reasoned he needed some time to come to terms with his death and get his ghostly feet under him. He didn't know I'd been with him, watching him grow up and struggle alone, as best he could, since my death. I figured adjusting to the afterlife in the Neitherworld would be enough of a challenge. I didn't want to overwhelm him with the knowledge that his mother had witnessed nearly every one of his depravities as a desperate man in the middle ages. Today, they might call it “helicopter parenting,” but back then I was just a mother on my own in the afterlife, worried about my first born son. 

After a few months, I decided it was time to find my Betelgeuse. Nat, Donny, and I had found each other by then and lived together in a little house, again on the outskirts of the main city. Donny was adjusting nicely to being a ghost and I was delighted to see how much he’d grown, still his brother’s twin, still Betel’s complete opposite. Donny was talking about finding a place of his own, and Nat and I hoped that, now dead, Donny’s naive good nature wouldn’t get him into any more trouble. Nat and Donny offered to come with me to find Betelgeuse, but I convinced them it was best if I went alone. They didn't yet know how much he'd had to change, how unrecognizable he'd become. Betel was always closer to me than his father, anyway, and that bond only deepened after Nat and Donny left. If we were going to reconnect as a family, I had to be the first one he saw.

I started asking around after my oldest son. Betelgeuse hadn’t yet built up the reputation he has today, so his name meant nothing to the average dead passerby. I eventually went to what we now call “The Waiting Room,” which back then looked more like a humble guild hall, and asked where I could find him. They told me how to get to his home, and I went, arriving at a barely standing shack which would evolve over the centuries into his “Roadhouse,” as he likes to call it. 

I knocked loudly, and waited. I heard the telltale signs of a hangover in my son's grumbling voice as he yelled from inside, stumbling through the house. It was afternoon, so he winced at the light streaming into his eyes as he opened the door. But as he blinked them open again and saw me, he stilled. His mouth fell open and he just stood there, stunned into silence. A woman's voice in the house broke the quiet tension between us, asking if he was coming back to bed. He looked at the ground immediately, so he didn't the smirk briefly cross my face. He rushed inside and hustled the woman out as quickly as she could dress. He wordlessly invited me in and I sat on one of his few pieces of furniture, a rickety wooden bench. He wouldn't look at me, even after I patted the space next to me and he sat uncomfortably. Finally, he spoke in our native Italian, as it would be quite some time before either of us learned English.

“Ma, I…” his voice trailed off as he shifted anxiously.

I could only imagine how hard this was for him, but I wouldn't let his overwhelmed awkwardness stop me. I reached out and put my hand on his cheek, slowly lifting his head until his gaze met mine. He looked so unsure, so vulnerable, as if he believed I was about to reject everything he was.

“Betel,” I began softly, “I’m proud of you.”

He flinched as if I’d just struck him, and swallowed around a tight throat, shuddering as he whispered, “You… don’t know what I’ve done, Ma…”

“Yes, I do,” I said knowingly, keeping my voice as gentle as I could. 

His eyes widened until his face twisted with shame. “When I was… after Delores… I thought I felt…” he choked out.

I nodded silently and smiled, telling him with my eyes that I’d been the one massaging his hand as he died.

“How long…?” he whispered.

“Always, until the very end.”

He tried to pull away from me then, his eyes glistening with impending tears as he shrouded himself in disgrace. I could see he was painfully tallying in his mind all the unsavory things I’d seen him do in the 20 years since my death. I put both my hands on his face, gently forcing him to meet my gaze. 

“Ma–” he whimpered before I interrupted him.

“Betel, be quiet and listen,” I said firmly.

“...yes, ma’am…” he whispered.

I made my tone gentle again. “Did you do things most would consider objectionable? Yes, many times.”

He whimpered softly and shut his eyes tight, trying to tilt his head towards the floor, but I wouldn’t let him get away. I pulled his head sharply to me and his eyes snapped open. 

“But so has your mother.” 

His eyes widened then, and I could see him playing that bloody winter night, where I mercilessly killed, dismembered, and buried two intruders, back in his mind.

I continued, “You’ve endured so much. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

Tears quietly raced down his cheeks then as his lower lip trembled. 

“I love you, Betelgeuse, and nothing you’ve done changes that.”

He came undone before my eyes, sobbing uncontrollably as I pulled him into my arms and kissed his head. It took a long time for him to calm down, but eventually his tears dried and he pulled away from my embrace. We talked for hours after that, and resolved that he would visit us. I finally had my Betel back.

This journal dovetails into a fanfiction epic that I'm posting chapter by chapter every week here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63522586/chapters/162777649

[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.

[0ccvltism]

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.

[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.

[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 <333

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

[mariswxts]

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.”

[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