#she really just. went over to the bar and swiped the champagne clean off the counter didn't she.

[theinfinitedivides]

Hae Won i hope you're paying for that

[mymedicine]

Love and Other Drugs

or, 5k of new bf harry

moodboard/inspo tag + my masterlist

sum - yacht parties are cool and all, but harry really just wants to spend more time with his girl

warnings - alcohol (have I even written a fic where both mc’s are sober the whole time yet lmao), light sexy stuff (lil bit of ch*king k*nk if you squint), swearing probably, harry being a little shit, fluff to the maxxxxx

notes - good lord, this fic has been the absolute death of me. I stg, murphy’s law is real. anyways, the driving home scene is completely inspired by real life events that once made me swoon, but now I am lonely and so so tired so pls be nice to me thx much love <3

“Hold still!”

Harry whined and craned his neck away from his girlfriend’s hand, but he wasn’t able to go far with his back flush against the car door. “No baby, we’re already late!”

“But you’ve got jam on you!” Y/N cried. She reached her fingers up to rub the reddish marks off of his face, but, once again, he turned his head away like a stubborn child. “And we wouldn’t have been late if you hadn’t spent two hours combing your hair.”

“S not jam, it’s lipstick,” He insisted, deliberately ignoring her second (valid) point.

“Whatever. It’s on your cheek.”

Y/N made one final attempt to clean him up, but this time, he managed to escape the circle of her arms. He ran backwards toward the dock, taunting her playfully as he went, “Come on, baby!”

“Harry!” Given no other choice, she frantically pushed the lock button on the car key and chased after her child—er, boyfriend. She winced as her high heels hit the asphalt, feet aching against the gold sandals already. He’d slowed down a little to give her a break, but she was still panting as she yelled, “You can’t go to a fancy yacht party with lipstick on your face!”

He finally stopped running—thank God, because they were right in front of the ship and the last thing Y/N needed was to embarrass herself (or rather, be embarrassed by her man-child boyfriend) within sight of all the famous people that would surely be onboard already.

“But I like it.” He pouted as she reached him, entwining his fingers with hers before she could use them to try to scrub his face again.

Before she could reply, a familiar Irish accent boomed over the loud purring of the boat’s engine, “Harry! Y/N!”

Y/N really hoped someone was keeping an eye on Niall tonight. It was barely dusk and he already looked a little too buzzed to be leaning over the railing on the top deck. She craned her neck up to look at him, giggling to herself at the flush in his cheeks and the blonde mess on top of his head.

“Welcome abooaaard!” He waved far more aggressively than was necessary.

“Happy birthday, Niall!” Y/N yelled back at him, blocking the bright sun with one hand—a hand she discreetly wrestled out of Harry’s.

Harry, too, looked upward and was squinting into the sky. The sun was just beginning its descent into the horizon, and soon the evening would be hanging behind the silvery moon. In the mean time, the sky was bright and painted with delicate strokes of soft pink and peachy orange.

While Harry waved back at his friend, Y/N took advantage of the distraction—and his exposed cheek.

Without warning, she hurled her hand up to his face and swiped at the pink mark as hard as she could.

“Hey!” Harry whipped his head back to her, mock hurt written all over his face.

Y/N flashed him a cheeky, victorious smile. “Got it!”

September in south Florida was as hot and humid as summer anywhere else. Even out at sea, with the cool ocean wind surging throughout the top deck of the yacht, it was plenty warm enough for the guests to enjoy the outdoors.

“H, can you hold my phone and keys in your pocket?”

Harry was standing awkwardly near the railing of the boat, fiddling absently with the plume of lace and chiffon on his black top. He still had a faint reddish mark on his cheek (she wasn’t sure if it was leftover lipstick or just irritated from her rubbing at it) that Y/N, despite the turmoil that had ensued over it, found very endearing. She always thought he was handsome. She had since the first day they met four months earlier. But tonight, he was positively glowing. He shined in the fabulous black number, his skin further brightened by the setting sun and the utter joy coursing through him (the entire flute of champagne he’d already downed certainly didn’t hurt, either).

He took the phone and keys from her while she admired him, happy to help her but not without a smart remark: “You should’ve worn the dress with the pockets, love,” he chastised her playfully, a smirk dressing his berry lips.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “You said you liked the pink on me!”

Choosing her dress for the night had been an ordeal that rivaled even Harry’s complicated hair routine. She’d originally chosen a black long sleeved one with pockets that was comfortable and appropriate and matched Harry’s own all-black ensemble (which he’d had picked out for weeks). Her boyfriend rejected the black dress, pointing out that she’d be hot it in because “It’s practically summer in Miami, love.” Instead, he chose a silky pink number, midi-length and tight in all the right places with a tastefully low cowl neckline. She’d dressed it up with a few gold bracelets and a single pearl earring in her left ear that, to her satisfaction, matched Harry’s. And yeah—it didn’t have pockets, but Harry liked it and it made her feel sexy and that’s all that mattered.

Harry hummed with a tight lipped grin. “Yeah, you’re right,” His tone was innocent, almost regretful as he looked her up and down. The pink sunset behind her was highlighting her figure just right, wind rushing through her hair, exposed skin supple and tempting. Harry was mesmerized by her.

His hands moved on their own accord to gently hold her by the waist. “Your ass looks really cute in the silk…I reckon the color makes your skin glow a bit, too. And matches your makeup, and looks nice with my earring…” He continued spewing some breathy compliments at her, even after she sort of stopped listening when a waiter holding a tray of delectable looking hors d'oeuvres caught her attention.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Of course, honey,” she replied (mostly) honestly. He was always a mushy little sap for her, but she truly did love the way he appreciated the little things she put effort into. “Thank you for noticing those little details.”

“You’re welcome. Know ya don’ just do it f’me though,” His ring clad fingers drummed against her waist, the metal cold through the thin silky material she wore. “Love that about you.”

Y/N cracked a smile in spite of the nervous shiver washing over her at his words. She couldn’t help but notice it was already the second time he’d said that word since they’d embarked. He was treading dangerously close to the vast, uncharted l-word territory. He’s a little buzzed, she reasoned with herself, despite also knowing it was silly because he’d only had a single champagne. But then again, he was a lightweight—and judging by the way he suddenly dropped her waist to chase down a passing waitress for two more glasses, he wouldn’t be slowing down any time soon. If he told her while he was drunk, would it really count?

He returned to her side, keeping one flute for himself and presenting the other to her. “Thank you, honey,” she said, grasping the stem of it (even though she still had a half full one resting precariously on the railing behind her). It was a fitting nickname for him, she thought. She hadn’t really meant for that to become her little pet name for him, but he loved it just as much as she did. “You’re sweet.”

“You’re sweeter,” her boyfriend hummed happily, “even when you’re checking out that waiter…”

“No! I wasn’t!”

“You kinda were,” He smiled cheekily at her.

“Was not.”

“’S alright, baby. He’s handsome. You’re allowed to have a little look.” But the way he held her protectively by the hip betrayed his words.

“You know I only have eyes for you,” If that wasn’t a hint, she didn’t know what was. “I’m just hungry. He was holding bacon wrapped shrimp, I think.”

“Mmm, me too,” Harry replied, the interaction already forgotten in favor of a savory snack. He tugged on her hand so they could follow that waiter, grumbling as they padded around the crowded deck. “Niall’s a fuckin ass for not serving dinner at an evening party.”

“Oh give him a break! It’s his birthday.” she let him pull her toward the middle where more people were gathered around the bar and admiring the decor—

“Is that an ice scultpure?”

Harry was right. It was a giant clear sculpture of a guitar made entirely out of ice. People were around it, admiring the intricacies and mingling and sipping on expensive looking drinks.

“How long you bet til it melts?”

“Not before Niall accidentally knocks it over,” Y/N laughed and gestured toward the man of the hour, who indeed was stumbling over his feet while trying to maintain a conversation with a group of several strikingly beautiful looking people—models? Probably.

It was obvious that Niall hadn’t planned this for himself. The whole thing was far too elegant and classy. His drunken ramblings were entertaining, sure, but he stood out amidst the black tie formals and live R&B music floating around the large deck of the luxurious vehicle.

Harry chased down the waiter and grabbed shrimp skewers for them both while Y/N continued quietly giggling at Niall’s antics.

Minutes drifted into hours as alcohol, shrimp skewers, and joyful conversation flowed liberally about the deck. Y/N had separated herself from Harry—much to his drunken dismay—to go and mingle with some of the “famous people.” She did it all on her own, confidently striding over and striking up a conversation with anyone worthy of her attention.

“Long time no see, mate.” Mitch’s voice interrupted Harry’s inner thoughts surrounding his girlfriend. He tore his eyes away from her and turned to face his friend, who was standing with his own girlfriend beside him.

“Been busy,” Harry replied.

Sarah’s eyebrows rose as a grin spread across her cheeks. She glanced at Mitch, who wore a matching one.

“You both have been quite busy, yeah?” Sarah cocked her head toward where Y/N was, grin widening along with Harry’s eyes.

Harry hid his smile in his glass, taking a large gulp of the bubbly. “What d’ya mean?” He asked innocently.

“We saw you staring at her, buddy.”

Well, fuck. He can’t exactly deny that. He was indeed watching her as she mingled with a group of people—exceptionally beautiful people. She fit in perfectly with the models, her smile bright and dress shiny, hips swaying tantalizingly to the beat of the drums. She engaged effortlessly in what looked like an exciting conversation with A-listers and held their attention with sweeping hand gestures. Even from across the deck, he swore he could feel her joy. Light just radiated off of her and sent a gentle flutter through his belly and a heat wave through his heart.

Sarah studied him. The way his eyes twinkled and his cheeks flushed with happiness…it was obvious. “You love her.” She deadpanned.

Harry shrugged in response, a knowing smile on his face which he didn’t bother to hide this time.

“You do!” It was Mitch this time, who wrapped an arm around Sarah and looked at her with the same happy smile his friend wore.

“No comment.” A twinge of jealously bit his heart as he watched a handsome brunette lean down to whisper something in his girlfriend’s ear. He frowned instinctively, picturing the man muttering flirtatious compliments or dirty suggestions to her like he should be doing right now.

Sarah continued to watch Harry watch Y/N, unsure if he was even listening anymore. “It’s alright to admit it. Love is a beautiful thing.”

“Don’t listen to her,” said Mitch, “it’s a drug!”

“Hey look!” Harry shouted a distraction, pointing somewhere behind the two of them. He spotted two waiters bringing out an impressive tiered cake swirled with white frosting and topped with those sparkling candles. “It’s time to sing for the birthday boy!”

The boat erupted in a cacophonous rendition of the birthday song as the cake was placed on top of the bar. Night had fallen over the deck, making the sparkly decorations shine blindly bright against the moonlight. Meanwhile, Niall was dancing hysterically among the crowds, even singing along to his own birthday song in a drunken spree. At the final, …to you! he performed a dramatic bow and roared, “Thank you, beautiful people!”

Applause died slowly as Niall began grabbing peoples’ faces to kiss their cheeks in thanks. Y/N looked around for Harry, quite certain that her boyfriend would be perfectly willing to accept a kiss from the birthday boy, especially when he was inebriated. Sure enough, she caught sight of him wrapped up in an embrace with the blonde, a wide smile on his face as Mitch and Sarah laughed hysterically at the interaction.

Harry accepted the cheek kiss, just as his eyes met hers over Niall’s shoulder.

“Y/N!” He screeched and broke the embrace. He started running over to her in an uncoordinated stride, limbs flailing and most definitely spilling alcohol on other peoples’ expensive clothes.

“Y/N!” he slurred, finally reaching her side, “Gimme a kissy!”

She laughed. “You just got kissies from Niall, honey.” “But I want your lipstick on me. Yeh wiped it off.” He frowned deeply, no—melodramatically as his hand cupped his own cheeks where the pink lipstick mark once was.

She called him a little baby but obliged anyways, stamping a firm lip shaped mark on one of his flushed cheeks. He grinned wildly in response and looked at her with that look in his eyes that she absolutely adored. He was looking at her like she was royalty, like she hung the moon and commanded the sea and granted miracles upon mere mortals such as himself.

“Wish I could give you one too…” Harry trailed off, eyes wandering around the room. “Maybe then all those hot models and waiters would leave you alone.”

“Aw, you jealous baby?”

He nodded shamelessly and, with a pouty look, tucked her into his arms. He pressed a series of hard kisses on her cheeks and temples, squeezing the silky pink fabric at her waist. The feeling made her heart squeeze in the most delightful way—chest tight and warm with…with love.

“Wanna go check out the lower deck?”

And Y/N hadn’t known this man too long, but it was long enough to know that he had anything but innocent intentions with his sweet request. She was still only nursing her third glass of bubbly, but Harry’s suggestive stare and wandering hands seemed to ignite the slight heat flowing through her veins into an inferno.

It engulfed them both as Y/N’s back hit the inside of the door to the lower deck bathroom.

Harry’s lips were soft and playful and sexy all at once—just like him. He trailed hot kisses down her cheeks and jaw much like he had earlier, only now there was no audience. No need to hold back. Only hot, sweet skin swathed in pink silk and black chiffon.

“You marked me already, ’s my turn.”

Just when she was feeling a little too sober, Harry’s words drenched her in the heat of desire. This was definitely a bad idea, but it didn’t sound like one when he put it like that.

His fingers slipped from her jaw and followed his lips down to her throat, enticing her with a gentle squeeze—a warning? Or a promise for later? Either way, this bathroom escapade was fucking sliced bread and she was putty in his hands.

He sucked harshly on the supple skin of her neck without warning. A gasp slips out of Y/N’s mouth and Harry’s ringed thumb pressed deeply into the center of her throat in reprimanding. His other fingers gripped the crook of her neck, just enough to make her head spin and keep her body pliant.

Meanwhile, his other hand slithered down the smooth silk to her waist, his hold on her heavy and warm. Harry’s swollen lips retracted from her bruised neck, not before pressing a few gentle pecks to the hickeys to soothe the pain.

Y/N felt dizzy with pleasure and enveloped in love. She couldn’t help but chase his lips for a few more desperate kisses as he pulled away from her neck. She suddenly wished she could admire the marks he’d left, but the glazed, hungry look in his eyes would definitely suffice. The little bathroom felt ten degrees warmer—leaving Harry looking hot and flushed and absolutely irresistible.

“You okay, baby?” Harry whispered in the tiny space between them, words slightly slurred and dipped in bliss.

Y/N nodded aggressively, letting her hands wrap around the back of his neck where his skin was hot and hair curled adorably. “Please kiss me again.”

He did as he was told, of course. His lips moved tenderly with hers and his hands trailed lower, gently caressing her waist and hips. His fingers started a course back up to her ass, this time taking the fabric of her dress with them.

Y/N’s head felt light as a feather, no thoughts besides Harry…Harry’s hands…Harry’s lips…Harry…

She curled her thighs around his hips and he responded effortlessly, hoisting her up by the backs of her thighs and pressing taut between the cold bathroom wall and his own hot chest. The temperature in the room seemed to rise impossibly then, the sounds of breathy moans and gentle sucking kisses seamlessly diffusing into the heat and surrounding them in a delightful symphony.

Y/N was thrilled by the way Harry’s tongue tasted like champagne—as sweet and plushy as always. She decided then that she would never get tired of the feeling of his mouth on hers, of the dizzying joyful feeling his lips gave her every single time.

“Harry…honey…”

“What ’s it pretty girl?”

The pet name in his raspy accent went straight to her core. She let out another shameless whine, squeezing his waist tighter with her legs.

“I need you, Harry…”

“Hm? Need what?”

She groaned—now he wanted to be a tease. After he’d gotten to give her the hickeys like he wanted.

“Harry, please.”

“‘M just messing, pretty girl. I know what you ne—“

Suddenly, a loud crash rang out in the little cabin. Y/N let out a screech and sprang away from Harry, landing awkwardly on her stiletto heels. Wide eyed, she and Harry both looked up toward the source of the sound. Muffled shouts followed, in the midst of a horrible shattering sound, like broken glass, or hail or—

“The ice sculpture!”

They were both wide eyed and panting and a little sweaty, hair tousled and lips swollen red.

“Oh shit,” There were more muffled shouts and some shuffling of feet above them. Even through the ornate ceiling of the bathroom, it was clear there was an ordeal going on up there.

Breathy pants lingered between them, and the room suddenly felt even smaller, even more swelteringly hot and stuffy. Of all things to ruin the heat of the moment…a fucking ice sculpture.

They looked at each other blankly, as if to say what the hell do we do now?

“Let’s head back up while everyone’s distracted.” It was Harry’s alcohol-induced idea, cooked up in his foggy brain.

“There’s no way we can go back to the party like this.” Y/N gestured between them—the sweaty foreheads, messy hair, skin dotted with hickeys, and most prominently, her boyfriend’s obvious arousal.

Harry sighed, glancing down at himself. “Let’s leave then.”

“What, you wanna swim home?”

Harry frowned, “Huh?”

“We’re on a fucking boat, dumbass.”

Harry looked away from her with wide eyes and burning cheeks. Right…Absently, he thought it was funny how she could go from making out with him against the wall of the bathroom, practically begging for more, to mercilessly making fun of him, all within seconds. His thoughts bled into his expression, a happy smile tugging on his lips as he thought about her and her unparalleled sex appeal and her cute laugh and her mock insults and her more and more.

And just like that, he was laughing. His wild laughter seemed to echo in the small bathroom. Despite their hot rendezvous being rudely interrupted, Y/N swore she could smell the happiness in the room—almost as poignant as the champagne on his breath.

Seconds later, she couldn’t help but join him in happy laughter.

Turns out, the fallen ice sculpture was even more of a hazard than they’d initially realized—so much so that the captain of the yacht demanded an early return to shore and a continuation of the party on land. Many patrons were disappointed by the early end to the yacht cruise, not including the birthday boy himself, who Y/N would be surprised if was still walking at this point.

As they sailed back toward the shore, Harry was nursing yet another flute of champagne while Y/N clung to him in the boat’s interior—half because she wanted to cover his erection from any passerbys, and half because she just really wanted to hold him. He’d also managed to produce a slice of cake on a porcelain plate, which he’d presumably snagged when he left her on the couch to find more alcohol.

“You look cute,” she mused at him while he chewed the forkful of cake she’d just slid into his mouth. She was sideways in his lap, bare feet rested on the arm of an expensive looking couch. She vaguely realized that this area of the boat was probably off limits for guests, but fuck it, she thought, no harm no foul.

“Hm?”

“I said, ‘you look cute.’” Y/N repeated. He really did look cute like that, with his face flushed and hair messy and a tinge of lipstick still lingering on his cheek.

“Oh yeah,” he mumbled with frosting still between his teeth, “I heard you the first time.”

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying. I take it back.”

“You can’t take it back!”

She gathered another forkful of cake and brought it up to his lips, “I just did.”

“Fine then,” He said, “I’ll just toss you overboard. Out of sight, out of mind.”

At that, Y/N gasped. She quickly turned her hand away and brought the cake into her own mouth, licking her lips for extra impact.

“Noooo!” He held her by the hip and dragged her even closer to him, as if she were about to get up and actually go overboard and take the cake with her. “I’m sorry baby, you’re cute, too. So cute. Like, so cute that I can’t believe you like me.”

Like? I think I more than like you.

“I can’t believe it, either.”

The words were on the tip of her tongue, dancing around in the tiny space between their lips like electricity. Harry leaned forward and kissed her tenderly, sucking on her bottom lip as if trying to pull them out of her.

Yet again, they were interrupted. This time by a loud horn blare and the captain’s voice over the intercom. “Land, ho!”

“Finally.” Harry sighed in relief, already trying to stand up from the couch, “Can you take me home now, please.”

“We can’t just leave when the party’s still going! What about Niall?” Y/N pressed her hands against his chest to slow him down.

“Niall won’t remember a damn thing.”

She considered his words. He wasn’t wrong; Niall had already knocked over the ice sculpture, after all.

“Take a left here,”

“Here?”

“Ye—wait, no.” Harry slurred, shaking his head from the passenger seat.

But his girlfriend had already turned the wheel to the left, inevitably sending the car in the wrong direction, again.

“Shit, M’ sorry baby.” he said with a drunken giggle.

“Good lord Harry…”

She threw the car into a random driveway, grumbling as she executed a clumsy K-turn.

She could hear the cranky frown in Harry’s voice as he groaned, “You’re a shit driver.”

“Well you’re a shit navigator!” Y/N looked over and gave him a pointed look. But the look only fell on his droopy, half-open eyes. “Where the fuck do I go?”

A beat of silence passed as Harry’s head lolled around. He hummed a bit, imitating the low rumble of the car’s engine. Finally, he murmured, “Keep goin’ straight.”

“Are you sure?”

He didn’t reply, just turned to look at her with that mischievous drunken smile.

“Aw fuck, no. We passed it up.”

“Harry!” She couldn’t help but laugh. Despite her annoyance, his antics were amusing. “Are you sure you actually know where you live?”

“Of course I know where I live!”

Y/N sped into another middle-of-the-road U-turn, and Harry dramatically fell into her lap with a low yell.

“Slow down, you minx! Gonna get us killed!”

“You’re so dramatic, Harry. If you’d just tell me where the fuck you live!”

“Can’t remember.”

She craned her head up to ceiling, letting her own eyes fall shut as she inhaled her frustration.

“Okay, fine. It’s that blue one over there.” He gestured vaguely to the right, but it was too dark to see the colors of the houses anyways.

Y/N let out her deep breath, “Somehow I don’t believe you.”

His growing smirk gave him away. After only a few seconds, his foggy brain would not allow him to contain his giggles.

“Harry!” she whined. He was always kind of silly and clingy, but the excessive alcohol made him an actual baby. He was still laying in her lap over the center console.

“Why are you like this?”

He pouted, feigning hurt. “Maybe I just wanna spend more time with you.”

Y/N’s fingers loosed on the wheel. She slowed the car to a stop against on of the curbs in the quiet neighborhood, poised under the soft light of a street lamp. Her annoyed expression softened and the familiar urge washed over her—the urge to kiss his cheeks and tell him she loved him and squeeze him tight and never let him go. How could one person be so annoying yet so fucking adorable?

She pushed his hair back (not without thinking about how he would’ve scolded her for messing it up at the beginning of the night when he had been sober, but now he was far too drunk to care) and wrapped an arm around his neck. It was definitely an awkward position and Harry couldn’t have been comfortable like that, but he didn’t seem to mind. He held her arm in both hands and snuggled into her lap as she cooed at him. “Aw, baby. You could’ve just told me.”

“But we’ve only been together for a little bit…and I don’t want ya to get sick of me.”

“Could never get sick of you, honey. Not even if I wanted to,” she said earnestly, continuing to stroke her fingers gently through his curls.

“Really?”

Now if that wasn’t a hint…this man was even stupider than she thought. In spite of his endearing idiocy, Y/N still could not resist the urge to just love him.

The idea that he could possibly love her back crossed her mind several times, especially in the past few weeks.

But they’d only been officially for a month and a half…was it too soon? Would she scare him off? Was there some unwritten rule of love to wait until they’d at least seen each others’ homes? Although, if she did tell him now, Harry was so drunk he may not even remember. If it went horrifically wrong, maybe she could forget it happened. (No, she definitely would not ever be able to forget if that happened, but the lie comforted her a little nonetheless). But if it went well, she’d be more confident telling him again when he was sober tomorrow. And at last, she didn’t even think she could hold the words in for another second while he was cuddling into her and kissing her arms like a baby kitten.

“I love you, Harry.”

“You do?!”

Suddenly, he seemed alarmingly sober.

“Ugh, yes. How could I not?”

He looked appalled, really. As if the idea of her loving him was absolutely insane. “Well, I annoy you, I kiss you in public, I drink too much, I spend way too much time on my hair, I’m not as handsome as that waiter…”

“And you’re pretty stupid.” Y/N interrupted with her own addition to the growing list.

“Yeah, you’re right. I am pretty dumb…But,” he paused, flipping over in her lap to look her in the eyes, “I did get one thing right.”

“What’s that?” She asked, fondly stroking his gelled hair with trembling hands.

“Falling in love with you.”

And loving him was that easy, as easy as sipping champagne and eating cake and falling overboard. She loved his flamboyance, his confidence, his kindness. She loved his silly tattoos and his bunny teeth and the little scar under his chin and the faint lipstick stain on his cheek. She loved the way they teased each other like children. She loved the way his mouth felt against hers. She loved the way he adored her. And so, she couldn’t help but smile wide.

“Alright, let’s add you’re super cheesy to that list, too…”

thanks for reading! please reblog if you enjoyed <3

feedback is welcomed, encouraged, and highly appreciated!

[chocolatemillkk]

Party (JS)

I put the final bottle of champagne behind the mini bar and adjust the cocktail bowl slightly to the left. I look around the living room, the grand Christmas tree was still up as it usually was until after New Year’s. The whole place was covered in string lights, outlining the furniture and hanging from the ceiling. This was the famous New Year’s Eve party my parents have been throwing since before I was even born and this year was the last one I’d be attending for a while, I realise sadly. This time next year I would be living in LA, in my first year of university and my parents planned to come down for Christmas and be back here for New Year’s. I wouldn’t come along. I always looked forward to this, guess I’d have to savour it the best I could.

Both my mom and dad were only children which meant growing up they made a lot of friends along the way and each year our parties got a little bit bigger, more and more families coming together for their New Year’s eve party. I always looked forward to two though, the Michaels and the Suggs.

“Are you done daydreaming?” My sister comes up from behind me. “Because there should be appetizers that need rearranging or something according to mom.”

“I’m on it,” I say mock-seriously. My mom really went all out with the food and my sister and I always teased her about it. My sister, Liz, had started uni this year but luckily she was only in London. A lot of our friends her age weren’t though, so we were missing a lot of people this year. But at least Joe would be around, I think. And Zoe.

“Put these near the piano,” my mom hands me a plate as I make my way to the kitchen. “Don’t drop them!” I pretend to struggle under the tray which earns me a stern look. “You should get ready,” my mom reminds me. “There’s only an hour before guests start coming!”

I run up to my room after gently placing the tray where my mom wanted it and put on the dress I had bought for the occasion. It was deep green satin with a plunging neckline and a leg slit that went up to my hips—a shorter skirt lay underneath so I wasn’t flashing the whole party. I usually wasn’t this risky but I figured the occasion called for it. The sleeves are almost bell-like, and I do a twirl before the mirror, excited to see how people liked it.

Who was I kidding, I wanted Joe to see me in it.

It was silly, there was half a year before I was leaving this place, but more than half my life that I’d been crushing on Joe Sugg. Sometimes, I thought he knew how I felt, I thought I was quite obvious as a kid. For a second, I thought maybe the feeling was mutual. But after truth or dare in the seventh grade, I’d tried my hardest to hide whatever feelings I had for him. I wondered if he’d noticed.

“Truth or Dare,” Olivia asks my sister, Olivia Michaels was our neighbour growing up and the one who introduced my sister and I to the world of beer and rock and roll. My sister and I were good friends with her and her younger brother Felix.

My sister choses dare and Olivia has her eat one of the gross drink concoctions we made earlier. A few rounds later, my sisters asks me.

“Dare,” I say, feeling brave.

“I dare you to kiss either Joe or Felix,” my sister says smugly.

“What? I-“

“It’s a dare!” Zoe laughs and I look at Felix, he was a couple years younger than me-he was a child...and Joe was my huge crush. There was no way I was going to have my first kiss with him like this; with popcorn in my teeth and my lips stained with popsicles.

“Unless you’d like to kiss them both,” my sister teases.

Not wanting any more pressure, I lean over and peck Felix on the lips. I can’t help but sneak a glance at Joe as I go back to my seat and everyone laughs at Felix’s flushing cheeks. But he looks uninterested.

A few rounds later, Felix asks Joe and Joe picks Truth.

“Who would you date from this circle?” Felix asks. My heart plummets into my stomach. Joe looks around, avoiding my eyes and that makes my heart race faster. He had to know how much I would die to date him. To call him anything more than my best friend.

“Liz,” Joe says my sister’s name and I felt sick. Of course he liked her better than me, she was smarter and prettier than me. I was just his best friend.

“Aw you’re cute,” my sister pinches Joe’s cheeks and his sister joins in. I excuse myself but I didn’t think anyone even noticed.

A knock at my door reminds me there was a party about to go down, or already going down, I realise as I hear voices already. “How long are you going to take? Mom wants you downstairs to greet everyone!” Liz calls through the door.

“I’ll be a minute!” I say. I take my new christmas present-an eyeshadow kit my mom had given, and the lipstick my sister gave after I used most of hers, and put on my makeup, feeling like a grown up already. So much was changing and I was buzzing with excitement.

I skip downstairs and greet everyone the way I usually did every year. This year everyone asks about school, I tell them my LA plan and they wish me luck. Over and over. Until Joe walks in with a bottle of something in his hand and I run to him, nearly knocking him down as I throw my arms around him. He smelled like the cologne he reserved for special occasions, and the soap he always used. I could never tire of it, of him.

He was as handsome as ever, a clean white button up tucked into black trousers. He’d cut his hair recently but I sort of liked the way he styled it, the soft layers looked bouncy.

“You look handsome! Where’s Zoe?” I ask.

“Food poisoning,” he hands me the bottle and I take it from him, stepping a bit back so he could see my outfit but he continues on without comment. “Mum’s stayed home with her, the bottle’s from her.”

“Duh, as if you could afford this,” I tease, pretending like my heart wasn’t just stabbed by his nonchalance. He follows me in as I sneak the bottle past my mom and hide it in the kitchen, it was a tradition for us kids to get drunk on our own stash we steal throughout the night.

“Where’s everyone else?” Joe asks. “Your sister?”

I ignore the ache I get in my chest, “Oh doing her rounds probably. Pretending she’s an intellectual because she’s done one semester at uni.”

Joe laughs and I love the sound, especially when he laughs at a joke I make.

“You-“

“Y/N! There you are!” Felix and Olivia pop in, interrupting Joe, and I give them both hugs. Olivia had brought her boyfriend this year so we get introductions and a quick catch-up before Olivia goes to find Liz and I’m left with Felix and Joe. Felix had grown to be surprisingly handsome, in a nerd chic sort of way. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was younger than me, I could have even considered dating him.

“So Y/N you look really amazing tonight,” Felix says.

“Aw thank you,” I say. “You look quite chic tonight too, is that suspenders you’re wearing under your jacket?” I tease Felix until he’s pink in the face before I turn to Joe who looks bored. I loop my arm through his, “Want to get something to eat? I’m craving some shortbread cookies.”

“Yeah. If we’re having our own party later on we don’t want a repeat of ‘09,” Joe jokes. That was the first year we had all snuck a bottle of wine from the party and drank it on an empty stomach. None of us had a good time.

“Don’t remind me,” I shudder before I call behind me. “Felix you coming?”

Joe stiffens beside me but we walk on.

•••

After a dozen devilled eggs and shrimp cocktails, I lose everyone to the crowd and find myself alone near the stairs. I watch the crowd and bask in the togetherness the holidays brought on, I would miss this a lot. I almost didn’t want to go when I was in moments like these, but I knew what I wanted from life and I knew I couldn’t stay in dreary UK for it.

As I look around with the room so full of lights, the corners of my vision suddenly warp and distort into a blurry mass. I blink a few times but it remains. This was so not happening.

I sit myself on the step and close my eyes, placing my head on my knees but as I do that, the nause creeps in. This was getting serious. Perfect.

I go up to my bedroom quickly and close the blinds, shutting the room in darkness. I unzip the side of my dress to give my room to breathe and lay down.

Of course I had to get a migraine the day of new year’s eve. My last party for a while. I groan and turn to the side, blindly groping for any pill bottle, not wanting to risk turning on my phone light.

I lay in the dark, I don’t know how long. Time passed slowly in the dark, the only thing I could hear is the muffled sound of the party downstairs. My phone vibrates a few times but I don’t dare look at it. I wanted to nip this migraine before it could come full force. I couldn’t believe this was how my year was going to end, I think. And without meaning to, the tears leak out from my eyes. Stupid migraines and stupid Joe Sugg! He hadn’t even noticed what I was wearing, he didn’t even care. He fancied Liz more than I and I was still crushing on him like an idiot. I wasted my high school years waiting for him. And now I was going to graduate soon, with no history of a relationship and no...

A soft knock interrupts my pity party. I wait again as the knock sounds, just to make sure I wasn’t hearing it.

“Y/N,” it was Joe.

I swipe at my face, pulling my blanket over my face. “I’m here,” I say. “You can come in.”

I hear the door creak open, the noise from downstairs flooding through before the closed door muffles it again.

“Migraine?” Joe asks. We’d been friends long enough that he knew exactly what was going down. I sense him standing at the edge of my bed, the room still in darkness.

“Yeah,” I inch the blanket off my face. It’s not like he could see my makeup streaks in the dark. “Great timing right?”

“Can I do anything?” Joe asks. God, I scoff, I thought I could just turn my feelings off for him but him just asking that brings them back full force. “Maybe some water...”

“I’ve got water,” I say. I sense him shifting around the room.

“Didn’t you used to have those ice packs?” Joe knows his way around my room, he often came over when we did homework, or in the summer before we would go out with our other friends. He locates where I kept the freeze packs and he cracks them, walking towards my bed and sitting on my sheets. “Here.”

He places one on my neck and I flinch at the cold.

“Sorry,” he mumbles before putting it back on.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, the cold already numbing the throbbing in my neck. “Thanks Joe.”

“It’s nothing,” Joe whispers back. I take the pack from where his hands hold it and hold it myself as I gently turn in bed, the little light streaming in outlines his sitting figure.

“You don’t have to stay here,” I let him know. “Go back to the party.”

“It’s no fun if you’re not there,” Joe says. He slowly inches himself down beside me and the smell of him invades my nose. Oh no.

“Joe your cologne-“ I say and he quickly gets up.

“Oh shit right,” Joe stands and I see the shape of him pace away from the bed. “Uh, I can go home and change-“

“Oh my god,” I let out a laugh and cut it short as my head throbs. “You’ve left so many shirts here when we go swimming in the summer. Just put one on if you want to stay here so bad.”

“I’m just here to avoid everyone asking what my plans after school are,” he jokes. “Are they in the bottom drawer?”

“Yeah,” I respond. “Tell them you’re still figuring it out.”

“Everyone here has kids who are doctors or some shit,” I can hear the Joe changing and I try to keep the inappropriate thoughts at bay. “That’s not an acceptable answer.”

“Who cares what they think though,” I say. Joe joins me back in bed, laying down to stare at the ceiling as I look at his profile, barely illuminated by the light peaking through my blinds.

“Sometimes I do,” he says quietly.

I find his hand and squeeze it. He squeezes back and then turns to me. “So are you going to tell me why you were crying before I came in?”

“I was not crying,” I lie.

“You so were.”

“Was not.”

“Was too,” fingers graze my jaw and I’m busted. “Your face is still wet.”

“Fine,” I sigh. “I was just upset I was missing the party.”

“And?”

“I dunno, it’s my last party for a while!”

“Oh yeah,” Joe quiets down. A moment passes. Then another. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“We still have like 7 months together, don’t cry for me just yet.”

“You’re the one that was crying,” Joe shoots back.

“Shut up!” I joke. “Can’t you let me win? I have a migraine!”

“How is it?” Concern creeps back into his voice.

“The usual, I just have to tone down my senses. It’ll get better.”

Joe’s hand moves up to my face and cups it, my heart fluttering, the blood rushing to my face and joining the dance my migraine was putting on in my head.

His hand creeps up into my hair and suddenly his hand is plucking out the pins from my hair, and putting it on my bedside. Of course he was just being helpful while I was getting all bothered. “Do you want to get into something more comfortable?” He asks. I try to ignore the way I felt with his body hovering over mine in the dark but my mind blanks for a moment. “Y/N?”

“Oh I have every intention to go back to the party later,” I say. “This dress stays on.”

“It’s a great dress,” Joe says.

“It is isn’t it,” I say, noticing how uncomfortable Joe was getting. He actually noticed. Why didn’t he say anything earlier?

“I mean,” he clears his throat. “You looked...beautiful.”

I pause, pure joy rushing through me. Joe noticed me, he said I was beautiful. And oh god, all these things happening in my body were not helping my migraine. But I wasn’t about to tell Joe that.

“Thank you,” I say softly, too afraid to break the moment.

“It’s nothing new though,” he says just as softly. “You always look beautiful.”

I look at him, squint in the dark to try to read his face but it’s hard to. Was he saying this because I was having a shitty time or did he actually mean it?

“Not as beautiful as Liz though,” I deflect, deciding he was just taking pity on me. “She’s the one with the looks in the family.”

There’s a deafening silence around us, I can hear my heart beating in it. He wasn’t denying it, I want to cry.

“She is...beautiful sure, but you’re something different Y/N. You bloody take my breath away every time I see you.”

I want to cry for other reasons now. Was this really happening?

“Sorry,” Joe interprets my silence as rejection and begins sitting up to go. “The dark’s just made me stupid, I said way too much and-

“Joe,” I try to cut through.

“You obviously just, you need to rest and I’m-“

“Joe Sugg,” I say again and grab his hand. “Lay back down you big idiot, your blabbering is making my head pulse.”

“Right,” Joe lays back down but I can hear his quick breathing. I was glad to know he was just as nervous. I still have hold of his hand and I place it around my waist, inching closer to him.

“When?” I have to ask.

“Do you remember when we had our second friendiversary?” He asks. I did. We met when we were both 7 after our parents had set up a play date and we got along so well we knew we would be friends instantly. We’d spit on our hands and shaken them, declaring that day our friend anniversary, and we’d celebrated most years since. “You had your parents drop you off on your way home from your nana’s because it was our friendiversary and we didn’t see each other all summer. And your nana gave you cookies for the ride home, and you saved me the peanut butter ones? I don’t know, when you came in that day I just took a look at you and I had butterflies in my stomach. You were there ever since school let out and I’d missed playing with you for so long. I think I realised I missed you more than just a friend that summer. And when I saw you-“

“I actually remember.” I join. “Because you had just stared at me with your mouth open. And I just put the cookies in your open mouth. I was angry I thought you were looking at me like that because Liz had put gum in my hair a week before and my nana had to cut a lot off.”

“Yeah,” Joe chuckles. “I remember that too.”

“And since then?”

“Yeah,” Joe’s hand curls around my waist.

“What about the seventh grade? Truth or dare?”

“You bloody kissed Felix!” Joe exclaims.

“I...you picked my sister because I kissed Felix? He was like 10!”

“I was stupid.”

“Was? If I was feeling better I would be slapping you right now.”

“Good thing you’re not,” Joe tugs me closer. Our faces are inches apart, and I want to lean over and just kiss him so bad.

“What’s taken you so long,” I whisper, my fingers resting on his face.

“Scared I would ruin our friendship. You’re so much better than me, I thought you would laugh if I told you.”

“You are so ridic-“

“Shh,” Joe shushes me. “Do you hear that?”

I quiet down and listen as the party downstairs begins counting down to New Year’s. Suddenly my hands are clammy, this was it. I was going to kiss Joe Sugg once and for all.

“5...4...3...” Joe whispers between us.

“2...” I get out before Joe closes the space and kisses me, his lips so soft, my head feeling like it would explode. And not just because of the migraine.

“Wow-“ Joe gets out before I go in for a second kiss, the cheering downstairs drowns out as I pull Joe closer to me, closer, finally the love of my life was in my arms.

We’re moving too quickly, a wave of nausea hits me and I pull away.

“Sorry was that too quick?” Joe panics.

“Head,” I say as I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Shit,” I feel him sitting up and hovering over me, probably looking for the ice pack because soon the cold feeling returns to my temples.

“Thank you,” I whisper. He places a kiss on my lips as I stay still, trying to ease my nause. I feel a kiss on my jaw, then my neck. “Do you have to go home?” I ask.

“Nope,” Joe shifts beside me, I feel him get under the blanket, and he pulls me close to him. He lays his hand gently over me and I settle in beside him. What a New Year’s.

•••

“Y/N!” My sister’s voice wakes me and my eyes fly open. She stands in my doorway with her jaw open and I realise she’s staring at the weight on my right side. Joe.

“What?” Joe mumbles, awakened by my sister barging in.

“Oh my god!” My sister squeals. “It’s happening!” She runs out my door. “It’s happening!” She yells out to whoever was awake. And if they weren’t awake, her commotion sure woke them.

“She’s crazy,” I mumble before turning to Joe, the evening rushing to catch me up. He’s still only half asleep. When I call his name, he only groans and pulls me closer to him, hiding his face into my neck. My heart flutters, it felt like we’d always been together like this.

I allow myself the small pleasure of running my hands up into his hair and he groans into my neck, lifting his face up to look at me. Suddenly he starts laughing.

“Way to make a girl feel confident,” I’m suddenly self conscious as I get up.

“You do realise you’re in yesterday’s outfit? Including your makeup?” Joe asks, his voice hoarse.

“Shit!” I run to my mirror and laugh at what I see. “I’ll be back!”

I grab a spare shirt and move to the bathroom where I clean up and brush my teeth. My skin looked awful having slept in makeup but the glow I felt from waking up next to Joe kills any issue I might have had with it.

When I get back to my room he’s already up, the bed is made, and he’s folding his clothes from yesterday.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” I say as I walk to him. Immediately he catches my hand and pulls me in.

“Your head?” He asks.

“Great. Yours?”

“Clear as day. Glad it listened to my heart this one time.”

A smile creeps onto my face as the realisation of what he said settles in but pulls me in and kisses it off.

“Happy new year Joe,” I whisper when we part, pulling him in for a tight hug.

“Happy new year Y/N,” Joe whispers back. “I think it’s going to be the best one yet.”

[mypassionfortrash]

Nothing Serious (Part Nine)

You join Roger in Montreux as Queen prepare to record their next album, and spend time exploring the city... and each other.

Pairing: Roger Taylor x f!reader Warnings: Filth, daddy kink, STRICTLY 18+ Notes: I forgot about this. Sorry. If you like this fic, please reblog it!

💫 CATCH UP HERE! 💫

Tags: @jennyggggrrr​​​; @sarahgurl09​​​; @sunshine112​; @biscuit-barrel​; @sitonmyhot-seatoflove​; @jhoemazzellhoe​; @justgivemethekeys​; @qweenly​; @picturepowderinabottle​

You and Roger sat in the back of the car in stunned silence. You had your nosed pressed up against the glass, admiring the view of Lac Leman. 

Roger admired you admiring the view. 

From the snowy peaks of the alps on the French side, to the cobbled streets and cosy bars in Lausanne, Vevey and Clarens, you were positively enthralled on the journey from Geneva Airport to Montreux. 

You and Roger didn’t even have to make proper, joined up conversation. All he had to do was listen to your awe struck outbursts, pointing out yet another feature he had probably seen many times before on his way to Mountain Studios. Every now and again, he’d give your fingers a supportive squeeze, letting you know that he heard you.

There was something about Montreux alone; above all the other towns you passed on your journey. Something magical. Something that you just couldn’t put your finger on. It made your fears disappear and your worries drift away; home felt like a distant memory. It soothed you with blue skies, and sprawling lake views, and mediterranean-looking buildings with pastel facades and ornate balconies. 

“We’re almost there.”

You turned to Roger, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. “This is more beautiful than you said.”

“We should go exploring later,” he said, brushing his fingers over your thigh. “There’s a lot of nice little bars and restaurants here. We’ll be staying a block away from the studio. Right about… here,” he said nodding towards a block of bright yellow apartments with stacks of generous balconies. To your right, they offered sprawling lake views against a backdrops of snow-tipped mountains. To your left, you had to crane your neck just to spy the top of the densely-populated hillside.

“Oh,” you sighed, admiring the building and all its exquisite views, “it’s stunning.”

“They really are. You can’t beat a bottle of wine and watching the sun set from up there.”

“It’s perfect for it,” you said, getting out of the car and opening the boot, much to your chauffeur’s dismay. “It’s fine, I’ve got this,” you told him, carting your luggage out and on to the pavement.

“She’s got it,” Roger laughed, taking his own suitcases. “Thank you.”

Standing at the door to the building, you and Roger exchanged excited glances and bolstering sighs, before linking your fingers together. Wandering into the lobby, the atmosphere struck you. It looked and smelled like money and excess and opulence, with shiny slate grey flooring and clean white walls. There were no chandeliers or gold trims. It was a modern kind of rich. A sickening, classy kind of rich. That you actually kind of liked. 

A petite, brunette receptionist greeted you both: “Bonjour Monsieur Taylor. Et Madame.”

“Bonjour, Gaudine,” Roger said, wandering over to the desk. “Do you have my key?”

“Oui – voila!” she said, handing Roger the key. “We’ve cleaned the apartment and it’s ready for your stay. We have put champagne in your fridge and done a bit of shopping so that you have everything you need. If you need anything, just call.”

“Merci beaucoup, Gaudine,” Roger smiled, placing his hand at the small of your back and leading you towards the lift.

You pressed the button and the door slid open in a moment of slick convenience. When the pair of you got inside, you slumped against opposite sides of the compartment, swapping wild grins. You could tell from the way Roger’s eyes devoured every detail of your body that he was dreaming up everything he was going to do to you once you got to the flat. 

Roger chewed his lip. His breath laboured. Pinpricks of desire seared from his chest to his cheeks, flushing him a delightful shade of pink. As the lift ascended, so did his need and his lust. And when the door finally pinged open, he grabbed your arm and hauled you down the corridor towards the flat. 

Discarding your bags at the door, you pounced on him, sending his back flying against the wall.

But he was swift to take control, turning around and hiking your thighs up around his waist making you cling to him for dear life. “You didn’t put your knickers back on, did you?” he purred in your ear. 

You were too busy undoing his jeans to answer him; his cock already stood at attention, thick, intimidating and ready to slip into the next available hole.

“You dirty girl.” Slipping his cock through your pink, swollen folds, Roger pushed into you. 

Feverish and urgent, you ground your hips against his grasp as you gasped at being filled so deliciously again. The sharp, snappy rhythm he settled into made you clench around him.

“What are you Kitten?” Roger growled.

In the throes of delirium, you couldn’t find the words to respond to him. You could only bear to focus on his cock, pumping away at you. In deep, wet passes, he bottomed out inside you time and time again. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, and his neck, and his hair to find something to cling on to to steady yourself. But he was all the support you needed with his body pressed tight against you. He was all over you.

His chin nestled into your neck, biting down on your skin, rougher and more ravenously with each thrust. “Touch yourself for me, Kitten,” he growled in your ear. “I want to feel that tight  cunt of yours milking my cock when you come.”

If those words of his were enough to shoot sparks of bliss straight between your legs, then god knows what your fingers coupling with his efforts might do to you, you thought as you mindlessly started to draw circles over your clit. An almighty whine escaped you. So loud that you prayed the walls were thick enough to stop the neighbours hearing. And then another. And another. You had to fight to stifle them on Roger’s neck as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through your aching body as you tried to stay clinging to Roger. Quiet whimpers, of “yes Daddy,” or, “right there, Daddy,” were absorbed by the collar of his shirt. And that only made his movements more purposeful as you writhed uncontrollably.

“Good girl,” he coaxed. “Come for me, Kitten. Come for Daddy.”

You frantically rubbed and rubbed until your cunt milked Roger’s cock for every drop of cum he could fill you with.

Roger had to prop you up until you caught your breath and regained some semblance of control.

“You alright, darling?” he chuckled, kissing your forehead.

“Yes, Daddy–Roger! Sorry,” you sighed, smoothing down your dress and clenching your thighs together.

Roger shook his head with a smirk. “We’ll be having more of than now we’re out here. And I love it when you get all awkward on me, Kitten,” he said, fixing your hair for you. “The bathroom’s  there on your right. Clean yourself up and I’ll show you the rest of the flat.”

“Yeah,” you said dreamily, sauntering through to the bathroom. You locked the door behind you and eyed yourself in the mirror with a jolt of horror. Had you really walked through Geneva airport with your hair sticking up in all directions and your mascara caked underneath your eyes? Or the buttons on your dress all askew and misaligned? And those mysterious stains at the back? You clearly hadn’t done as good a job of cleaning yourself up on the plane as you thought you had. And why didn’t Roger tell you? “Fuck,” you laughed to yourself, dragging out a tuft of tissues and bending over the sink to get a better view of your misplaced makeup.

You swiped the tissues underneath your eyes, smearing the thick black gunk off your face. And then you turned your attention towards the rest of your body. Flying had a habit of drying out your skin and making you feel like the grossest thing on two legs; you could practically feel the slurry of germs that crawled all over your body.

In the corner of the room, by the back window that looked out on to the alpine view, stood a sparkling red bath tub. It called out to you, promising that you could be clean in no time.

“Roger!” you shouted.

You heard shuffling coming from outside the bathroom door. “Yes, Kitten?”

“Can you go through my bags and get me something nice to wear and my wash bag please?”

“Of course, darling.”

“Thanks,” you said, flicking off the lock on the door. Setting about throwing off your dress and your bra, you leaned over the tub and put the tap on, sending water cascading into it. Above the tub, there were columns of black and white shelves, stocked with all the expensive looking lotions and potions anyone could ever need. You saw one interesting looking jar, like something out of a sweet shop, bearing the label, ‘pine and patchouli bath salts.’ That would do. You grabbed the bottle and dumped a capful into the boiling hot water. And then went back to eying up the rest of Roger’s accoutrements.

It turned out he was a big fan of lavender and sage, too; you grabbed the soap and the lotion, not caring if they matched your bath salts. And then the bubble bath. How could you forget that? Throwing a generous splodge into the water, you looked down, like a witch admiring her brew, as the bubbles doubled.

“I see you’ve found my spa stash,” a voice from behind you chuckled.

You turned to find Roger laying out towels and a set of pyjamas on the bench at the bathroom door. 

“Sorry, I  needed something after that flight. I haven’t forgotten what you told me about what Steven Tyler gets up to in that plane.”

“Those salts are fantastic when my shoulders are acting up,” he commented with a nod towards the sweetie bottle.

“Do you want to join me, Daddy?” you asked. You felt emboldened again, running your hands up Roger’s chest, making sure you squeezed his aching shoulders. They were still tense, but surely not out of sexual frustration, you thought to yourself. 

“Could do with a quick dunk,” Roger shrugged. He watched as your fingers unfastened the buttons on his shirt one by one. His voice shook from the contact. “Why don’t I get that lovely bottle of champagne from the fridge?”

“Be quick,” you warned, giving him a pat on his bare chest. “I’m not done with you yet, Daddy.”

Roger moved faster than you had ever seen him go, taking him all of thirty seconds to pluck the bottle of champagne from the fridge and locate a couple of glasses in the kitchen, before he returned to find you already sitting comfortably in the tub, stretching out your legs under a blanket of soft, heady bubbles. 

“Do you want to do the honours, Kitten?” he asked, handing you the bottle.

“Don’t mind if I do, Daddy,” you purred, taking it from his grasp. You watched with your hand wrapped tightly around the neck of the bottle as Roger shuffled out of the rest of his clothes, sporting the beginnings of yet another hard on, and stepped into the tub in front of you. You flicked your eyes to his as you bit your lip, sending a visible shiver through him. That raging confidence you had in the beginning was back with a vengeance and nothing was going to stop you from making your time in Montreux as memorable, and as debauched, as you could. “Ready, Daddy?”

Roger woke up in a pile of white silk sheets. The sheer curtain billowed into the room in smoky swathes in time to the cool lakeside breeze, wafting wisps for freshly brewed coffee into the room. He groaned, propping himself up on his elbows to take in the sight of the empty room. You were nowhere to be seen. The culprit for all of his aches and pains, bestowed upon him the night before, was gone. “Darling?” he groaned, sitting upright and scratching his chest. His head pounded and his vision hadn’t quite acclimatised to seeing daylight. “You there?”

Shuffling came from the balcony, then you peeked into the room. Only half of your body was visible to him, as you leaned against the door frame. 

“Good morning, Daddy.”

Roger’s lips curled into a devilish smirk. The thoughts of everything you got up to on your first night together in Montreux raced through his brain so vividly that his hips got the message straight away. He tilted his head back and eyed you through his lashes as you stepped into the room. “Good morning, Kitten,” he purred.

Perching at the end of the bed, you dragged a hand up Roger’s leg over the sheets. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Sore,” he laughed, giving his shoulder a rub.

You pouted and pondered. “Let me get you a lovely big cup of coffee and I’ll help you work out all those aches and pains,” you said, continuing to massage Roger’s leg.

“That sounds lovely, darling, thank you.”

You wandered back through to the balcony and poured Roger some coffee. So enthralled by your surroundings, the cup almost overflowed. From the way the mid morning sun shimmered over the lake to the snowy peaks of the mountains. This was heaven. And it felt a million miles away from home – and Ibiza. You relished that feeling of giddy optimism as you carried the cup back through to the bedroom to find that Roger was missing.

“Where are you, Roggie?” you called, peering out into the hall.

“Brushing my teeth,” Roger responded through a mouthful of toothpaste. He spat so he could speak more clearly. “And making myself more presentable for you, my love.”

“Don’t be too long,” you grinned, settling down among the covers.

When he arrived back at the bedroom, he hobbled towards you, clutching his aching hip, and pressing at the small of his back. His hair was mussed and messy, and he wore nothing but a short, silk, tiger print robe. And his circular glasses sat daintily perched on the bridge of his nose. He looked exhausted, but that didn’t stop you from eagerly patting the space beside you and thrusting the cup of coffee into his hands to get started on the fun part of your morning. 

You slunk behind him, wrapping your legs around his body and pressing your chest to his back, dragging the fine layer of material from his body. It slipped down his arms, leaving his top half completely naked under your touch. 

Tension radiated from Roger’s body as he sank another mouthful of rich, black coffee to stifle his nerves. 

Your fingertips pressed against either side of his back, where his shoulders met his neck and he moaned in bliss. “Sore there?” you asked.

“Mmm, I’m really showing my age, aren’t I?” he laughed.

“Lucky for you, I think there’s something about senior citizens I find particularly alluring,” you joked, working at the knots on his shoulders.

“Fat wallets?”

“Well, I mean, it helps. But fat something else,” you replied.

“God you’re filthy.”

“It’s your fault,” you said, rubbing his back extra hard to make him squeal.

Roger’s voice faltered, coming down from the bolt of pain, quickly succeeded by the loosening of one of the pressure points on his back. “Oh, why’s that?” he asked.

“I used to be an angel before I met you. And now? All I care about is private jets, champagne and getting shagged anywhere, anytime. How’s that for a change.”

Roger leaned back against you, pinning you between himself and the headboard as he looked up at you with his big tired doe eyes. “Well, for what it’s worth, I quite like the new you, Kitten.”

“Is that right?” you laughed, tickling your fingernails over his chest. “How’s your back feeling?”

“Much much better. I swear you’ve got magic hands.”

“And what’s on our agenda for today?”

“I was hoping I could show you around,” he smiled. “We’ve got a whole day before everyone else gets here. And we won’t have a moment to ourselves afterwards.” Then his voice descended into a naughty, mischievous whisper: “So I was hoping, if you’ll let me, we could make the most of it and be absolute heathens for the rest of the day.”

You placed a long, drawn out kiss to the top of Roger’s head and squeezed him tightly. “That sounds absolutely perfect. Especially the part about us being heathens. That suits us down to a tee, don’t you think, Daddy?”

“It really does, Kitten.”

“Well, I’m going to go and get myself ready,” you explained, untying the front of Roger’s robe to reveal his cock, resting against his stomach. Hard and fully erect. “And you can take care of that.”

“Can’t you do it for me?” Roger pouted. “That mouth of yours looks awfully tempting.”

“I’ll tell you what,” you began, “why don’t I let you know when you’re allowed to take care of it? See how long you last?”

“Oh you’re cruel,” he sighed, watching you slip off the bed and wander over to the wardrobe.

Searching through your clothes to find the optimal outfit to tease Roger in, you glanced over your shoulder. He was still sitting there, looking down at his cock, wondering whether he’d risk disobeying you. “I wonder what you’re like when you’re all needy,” you pondered.

“And what happens if I get myself off anyway?”

“I don’t think you want to know, Daddy. You’re right – I can be very, very cruel.”

Dressed and ready to face the day, you and Roger stepped out into the August sunshine. Midday wasn’t far around the corner and the sun bathed the promenade in a brilliant orange glow. Arm in arm, the pair of you strolled down towards the shimmering blue lake.

You turned your head as you walked, catching the smug grin plastered on Roger’s features. Moving closer to him, you purred in his ear. “You’re looking awfully pleased with yourself there, Roggie.”

“I’m out in my favourite town with the woman of my dreams. Why wouldn’t I be pleased with myself?” His voice was hushed, but jovial.

“I think you’ve been naughty, Daddy,” you whispered, leading Roger along the promenade towards the marketplace. “We can’t have that, can we?”

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked without so much as a flicker of fear or apprehension.

You chuckled, continuing to walk as your eyes darted from the revellers to the ornate facades on the lakefront buildings, letting the scenery brush against your sense of awareness, but never fully grasping it. Until, between a restaurant and a hotel, a cobbled alleyway caught your eye. You veered off your tranquil course, leading Roger towards the main road and away from the lake. “You’re going to be very sorry you disobeyed me once today’s over,” you cooed. The alleyway seemed to stretch up to the sky, spurring off into labyrinthine offshoots even darker and quieter than the next. Losing your breath about half way up the cobbled hill, you tugged Roger into an offshoot, pressing him against the wall. “You’re going to be so, so sorry, Daddy.”

Roger raised his eyebrows and scowled. “Just you try it, sweetheart.”

Palming at the bulge in Roger’s jeans with one hand, you pushed your sunglasses to the top of your head and looked up at Roger.

He just let it happen. It was all he could do, staring up at the clear blue sky and chuckling to himself. In his mind, he had everything to be pleased about; he had earned himself a free handjob – maybe more if he played his cards right. But that was all he wanted. 

The bustle of the promenade wasn’t far out of earshot and if he allowed you to allow him get too carried away, you risked being found out for the pair of perverts you really were. And he couldn’t let that happen.

But you weren’t going to let him off that easily. Undoing Roger’s jeans, you took his cock out; thick, hard and begging for your attention. Eyeing him up for any sign that he might be enjoying this, you pumped your hand over his length, gathering pace until you could hear each moist pass in your quiet alcove.

Roger sighed, jerking his hips into your grasp when your thumb brushed over the swollen tip. “Fuck,” he hissed, his lower lip clamped between his teeth.

“Enjoying this, Daddy?”

“Oh god, yes, Kitten. Keep going. Be quick.”

An evil flicker bolted through your eyes as you grinned up at him, relishing how worked up he became at nothing at all. “I’m gonna have to use my mouth. I know how much you love that,” you teased, sinking down on to your knees. The cobblestones were uncomfortable at best, but you’d only be in that position for a few minutes. And it’d be worth it, you thought, lapping at the underside of his shaft in lazy, wet strokes, groaning for effect. You felt the muscles in his thighs twinge when you grabbed them to steady yourself. And then his fingers, snaked their way through your hair. He wanted you to take him. To give him what he wanted there and then. But you were in control of this. Moving away from his cock with a pop of your lips and a clear thread of saliva tethering you to him, you got off your knees and wiped your chin.

Roger whined like a wounded animal. “You can’t  leave me like this, Kitten!”

“Oh, but I can, Daddy. You didn’t do as you were told this morning,” you scolded, wandering back down the cobbled alleyway, leaving him scrambling to catch up.

“But,” Roger protested, shoving his engorged member back into his jeans, “it’s so fucking obvious. How am I supposed to hide this?”

“Not my problem,” you shrugged. “Where to next?”

Roger’s mouth hung open for a moment, looking around. “We could take a boat to Chateau de Chillon?”

“Is it nice?” you asked, turning to him and placing your hand over your eyes to shield them from the rays.

“It’s gorgeous,” he blustered, leaning in to your ear. “Lots of places for you to finish sucking my cock without getting caught.”

“Whether or not you get to finish is up to me today, remember?” you scolded. “Now which way to the boats?”

Roger paled at how direct you were. How easily you took control. And how you somehow managed to turn his legs to mush with even the slightest telling off. He looked left and he looked right, and then he pointed to a jetty three blocks away. “It’s this way.”

You grabbed Roger’s arm and set off towards the small jetty of tourist boats, bobbing away in the water.

Roger’s efforts to conceal his raging hard-on didn’t go unnoticed by you. He attempted to walk behind you, hoping your handbag would hide his crotch. Then he tried grasping at the hem on his shirt, tugging it down only for it to ride up again. You could tell he was getting flustered, eager to sit down and finally cover the tent in his jeans by crossing his arms protectively over his front. In fact, when you boarded the shabby boat, you swore he had never looked so relieved.

You and Roger sat in silence on opposite sides, exchanging lustful glances the whole way there. Every so often, your gaze trailed down to his crotch, which he so desperately kept covered beneath his hands. You licked your lips and bit them for effect just so you could see your boyfriend squirm in front of a boat full of tourists.

All in all, the journey only took ten minutes but in Roger’s mind, it felt like an eternity. He didn’t care where, or how you did it, all he needed was release. He mentally kicked himself for disobeying you that morning.

Stepping off the boat and on to the wooden jetty, Roger practically dragged you in the direction of the ticket booth, paying for both of your tickets. 

“Where to first, Daddy?” you asked innocently.

Roger scanned the courtyard for the one entrance he knew he could count on. His eyes lit up when he found it. “I know just the place, Kitten,” he said excitedly, striding on ahead of you.

You snorted at his eagerness as he took two steep stone steps at a time, descending into the dark bowels of the castle into a deserted cellar.

Roger paused, glancing around. “Let’s go this way,” he ordered, jabbing his finger into the darkness ahead of you both.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere quiet so you can finish me off.”

“No chance,” you jibed.

Roger stopped dead and pushed you against the wall. In the darkness you could just about make out his shoulders rising and falling. “Why don’t we play a game then, darling?” he said, running his hand over your throat so tantalisingly it went straight to your core.

“I love games,” you mocked.

“First one to come today gets a punishment,” he purred, hiking up the hem of your dress. “I wonder how long you’ll last. Oh,” he paused, palming at your slit. “No knickers and a short little dress? I think you’re really trying to tease me.”

That submissive streak inside you simmered away under the surface. “I didn’t think I’d need them,” you sighed, spreading your legs for him. “Seeing how hard you get for me just gets me so wet. I’d have soaked right through them.”

Roger chuckled, and kissed your neck, lulling you into a false sense of security.

It made you wonder when the catch would come. You always suspected Roger had a sadistic streak in him, and you always wondered what it’d be like to push the limits of his happy-go-lucky nature. Maybe today was that day? 

But he was so gentle, so careful. Caressing that sweet spot between your legs with feather light touches that earned stifled, breathless moans from you. Never once did his fingers move with any kind of intent, other than to draw you out for as long as possible. And he clearly adored it.

He kept his forehead pressed to yours as he continued to tease you until his fingers were completely coated in your slick. “I think you like this, Kitten,” he whispered.

“I really do, Daddy.”

“Do you want to come?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll let you come if you put that mouth of yours to good use.”

“You’re going to need to try harder,” you sassed.

“I thought you’d say that,” he said in a wicked tone.

Before you could choke out another sassy retort, Roger slipped two fingers inside you, curling them up against that one spot guaranteed to make you squeal his name. Then another finger joined them, stretching you out with squelching wet strokes that cut through the dark, quiet cellar. His fingers fucked you, while his thumb circled your clit in firm motions that ratcheted up the tension in your legs with every single round. “Tell me again how I need to try harder, Kitten?”

You grasped and clawed at his shoulders for stability in the throes of pure ecstasy. “Oh god, not here Daddy!”

Roger chuckled, burying his face against your neck to get better access to all the sensitive skin to drag his teeth over. “That’s what you get for teasing me, Kitten,” he whispered, his breath falling in hot feathery wisps on your skin. “Now, you can finish me here and now, or I can make you come and give you a nice punishment when we get back to the flat tonight.”

“I swear I’ll finish you,” you panted. “Please.”

Roger smirked, removing his fingers from your cunt, leaving them saturated. He pressed them to your lips. “Suck them clean,” he commanded, popping them into your mouth before your brain could register what was going on. “Hopefully this’ll teach you not to get mouthy with me.”

You hummed, wrapping your lips around each finger as he pumped them in and out of your mouth until they were all clean, wishing they were still buried in your dripping snatch. You swore your thighs were a mess by that point. But it didn’t matter. You had to let Roger believe that he was getting exactly what he wanted from you – it was all part of the plan.

You grabbed his hand and started wandering ahead, but Roger stayed firmly rooted to the spot. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“We need to find some privacy, Roger. We can’t  do that right here,” you whispered.

“Can’t we?” Roger smirked, nodding towards a short wall in the dark recesses of the cellar. “Pretty sure that’s private enough.”

You tugged your lower lip between your teeth, feeling your heart pounding against your chest. If it beat any more violently, it might have burst right out. You walked slowly behind the wall and got to your knees for the second time that day as Roger joined you, hastily tugging down his zipper and pulling out his cock.

Roger wasn’t planning on playing nice. Grabbing the back of your hair with one hand, while the other wrapped around the base of his cock, he looked down and smirked. “Now, be a good girl and open that gorgeous mouth of yours.”

Before you knew it, he had bottomed out; the tip pushing at the back of your throat. You gagged and spluttered and fumbled for something to steady yourself. You clung to Roger’s thighs for dear life. The pace he had set for you was utterly blistering. The kind of face fucking that instantly sent mascara cascading down your cheeks, and great, long strings of saliva dripping from your chin and on to your chest. The sounds of you gagging on his cock alone were disgustingly lewd; even concealed behind the tiny wall, if a rogue tourist happened upon the cellar, they’d hear the pair of you and know straight away what you were getting up to.

“Such a good little slut, aren’t you Kitten?” he sighed, thrusting into your mouth with reckless abandon and no consideration for the state of your hair, or your makeup. “I love girls who do as they’re told.”

The words pouring from his mouth were sheer filth and it went straight to your cunt. You  couldn’t resist reaching down to get yourself off.

But then, Roger tugged you off his cock. Right before any kind of pleasure registered in your brain.

“I didn’t say you could come, did I, Kitten?” he scolded.

You were still panting, trying to suck some air into your lungs, relishing the brief reprieve he offered from his onslaught. Your brain was so cloudy that words weren’t on the agenda.

“Let’s play a game, shall we?” he purred with a sadistic edge. “You get to play with that tight   little cunt of yours, and I get to come wherever I like. How does that sound?”

“Sounds reasonable,” you sighed with a delirious smile, your hand returning to your torture, tense cunt. But Roger’s grip on the back of your head pulled your gaze right back up to him.

“There’s one other thing, though, Kitten. Are you listening?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you cooed.

“Wherever I decide to come, you’re not allowed to clean it off until we’ve walked around the entire castle. So you better hope that mouth of yours pleases me, or it’ll be going on that beautiful face of yours.”

You moaned  hearing those words. Was he really serious? 

You didn’t care. You continued to play with yourself, dutifully opening your mouth to take his cock again.

“Can you imagine what everyone would think if they saw you with spunk dripping down your face, darling?” He groaned; he seemed to know the exact things to say to have you teetering on the edge in seconds flat. “Or maybe I could  fuck you. You love feeling it drip down those thighs, don’t you, Kitten?”

Now that was an idea, you thought. Your eyes popped open with enthusiasm as you gave an approving mewl.

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you Kitten?” he taunted, his cock hellbent on making your jaw ache. “Tell me how much you want it.”

Of course you couldn’t manage that. Words were impossible when you were gagged by that thick rod of his stuck down your throat. But that didn’t stop you trying, gurgling a comical, “Fuck me please Daddy,” through the unrelenting mouthful.

“So cute,” he teased. “I didn’t quite catch that, Kitten.”

“Oh my god,” you gurgled again, “please fuck me Daddy.”

Roger laughed, yanking you off his cock. He spoke to you like you were a gorgeous little simpleton – slowly, annunciating every syllable. “English, please, Kitten. Tell me again.”

“Please fuck me,” you whined, your hand working overtime between your thighs. 

Then, panic set in. Roger wasn’t focusing on you anymore. Instead, he was busy looking around as the sound of footsteps grew closer. He quickly tucked himself back into his jeans and offered you a hand up.

Your stomach dropped with disappointment.

You quickly wiped the drool off your chin, and power walked out of the cellar and on to the next exhibit in the castle, red face and both of you so frustrated by each other’s teasing that you might have exploded just from walking and holding hands in awkward silence. “Where to next?” you asked him.

“Maybe we should try the armoury?” he sighed. “Might be a bit less busy.”

Clamouring up several flights of stone and wooden steps, you and Roger were horrified to find that the jewel in the crown of Montreux’s most famed tourist attractions in peak season was completely packed. Small children ran amuck in the armoury, enjoying the view and playing around with the wooden toy canons.

It was a sight that could’ve made you and Roger cry.

“Right! Back on the boat,” Roger ordered, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his dark blue jeans and bolting down the wooden steps towards the courtyard.

You struggled to keep up with him as he walked down the stony path towards the jetty to catch the next boat back to Montreux.

“I can’t fucking believe that,” Roger complained. “I was so fucking ready to …”

“Shag my brains out?” you laughed.

Roger’s features changed from bitter frustration to mild agreement, and even, a small meek smile. “Yeah.”

“Where to next,” you began, draping your arm over his shoulder, “Daddy?”

He flicked his eyes over to you and with a devilish smirk, he made his suggestion. “There’s a really good bar on the promenade. And I don’t think they’d bat an eyelid about people shagging in their toilets.”

You laughed, slapping his chest as the boat set sail. You were so ready to give up on the game you were playing. “Haven’t we had enough near misses today?”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Roger began, stepping on to the boat, “I thought we were doing the whole public sex thing now, because my girlfriend’s just realised she’s a bit of a freak!”

You plonked yourself down beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I am, but sometimes, you  have to make it about the soft stuff, you know?”

Roger raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

“I’m kidding! Where is this bar you were talking about? It better be good!”

“Drinks are on me, Kitten,” he said softly, patting your thigh.

You and Roger burst into the opulent bathroom at Funky Claude’s with the verve and roguish impatience of a pair of horny teenagers. You giggled, casting an eye over the decadent restroom to make sure no one was there, before bundling Roger into a stall.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you laughed, hiking your dress up around your hips and planting your hands firmly against the wall at the back of the cubicle. 

“Me neither,” Roger responded. This was followed by the hasty unzipping of his jeans, for the third and hopefully final time that day. He spat on his fingers and dragged them over your cunt, still sensitive and glistening invitingly from the torture Roger had bestowed upon you at the castle. 

You groaned as Roger eased into you. The way he stretched you tight around his girth and stilled for just a split second made you eagerly clench around him. It didn’t do much. But that was ok. Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head when he finally began to move in tedious passes, every back and forth filled the tiny bathroom stall with slick sounds that would have given the game away, should someone have wandered in while you were mid rut. 

Roger’s hips snapped into you with a jagged, purposeful intent, that made you curse and brace harder against the wall in front of you. He clung to your waist with his chest firmly glued to your back, hunching over you like an animal. “Such a tight  cunt,” he moaned against your neck. “Touch it for me. Touch your cunt for me, Kitten.”

Those words made your entire body shudder with need. “You do it, Daddy,” you whined.

He chuckled and wrapped one hand around your throat. His free hand slipped between your thighs, seeking out the sensitive little nub he had taken so much pleasure in teasing so harshly before.

Your nails clawed at the wall as another wave ripped through your body. You cursed, loud and unchecked as Roger did his best to bring you to the edge as fast as possible.

But then, you heard the gentle swish of the swing doors to the bathroom. You and Roger stopped dead. His hand moved from your neck to your mouth and his lips pressed to your ear again. “Shhh,” he said, moving his cock painfully slow in. And out.

You blinked and looked around, as if somehow it would make your ears work a bit better in an attempt to track the person’s movements in the stall next to yours. You could hear them shuffle their jeans down. And you heard the stream of urine whizzing out of their bladder. And then their zipper. And a flush. And the taps.

All while Roger continued to fuck you so slowly it made you ache.

Nothing could prepare you for when the hand dryer roared to life. He moved at double the pace as when you were alone, pounding you like he was in heat; his fingers doing the same on your clit until your body convulsed and a loud, pleasure dripping moan escaped you, masked by your fellow bathroom goer drying their hands off after taking a piss.

When they finally left, Roger gave three sharp thrusts, punctuated by guttural grunts with his teeth planted in your shoulder. You could feel him dripping out of you as the pair of you stood there in silence, sandwiched together in your post romp comedown.

“Fuck,” you giggled, making his seed ooze down your thighs as you turned to him. “Can you believe we almost got caught?” Your cheeks burned with humiliation. “Do you think they realised?”

Roger shrugged, tucking his cock back into his tight blue jeans. “It was your idea, Kitten,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “And I for one, actually liked it.”

“That’s reassuring,” you quipped, balling up a wad of toilet paper.

Roger leaned back against the cubicle door and watched, mesmerised as you cleaned yourself up in front of him. Even for you, this was a new level of personal space invasion. 

“Staying for drinks?” he asked casually.

You got up and flushed the toilet then turned to him with a wide grin. “Do you think the people out there realised the two of us just blasted in and shagged in their toilets?”

“It probably happens more than you might think,” he shrugged. He turned and unbolted the door, throwing a glance back at you over his shoulder. “You finish titivating yourself and I’ll get them in. They’ve got a great cocktail menu.”

“Will do,” you sighed, following him out of the cubicle and wandering over to the mirror. Mascara was caked around your lashline from Roger’s earlier efforts at putting your mouth to good use and your lipstick was smudged, leaving only your lipliner intact. Not only that but the blistering August sun had made your foundation cling to all those tiny lines on your face that you didn’t want to admit you had. You opened your bag and fished out your make up to try and fix the damage. Your hair would require a bit more effort. Roger loved it messy, but you weren’t sure you’d be able to bear being seen in a fancy place like this with a raging crow’s nest atop your head. And you weren’t even sure you packed a brush. Snapping the emergency hair tie you wore on your wrist, you reckoned that desperate times called for desperate measures, and scooped your hair up into a high ponytail, hoping to god that Roger wouldn’t get the wrong idea and get another boner for you to take care of tonight. Then you swiped on some lipstick, blended out your mascara and your foundation and blotted on some powder to take the shine off. It never ceased to amaze you the wonders that five minutes in a quiet bathroom could do as you puckered up your lips to blot the excess rouge off. You topped it all off with some perfume and you were good to go.

Roger waited patiently at the bar, seductively sucking an olive from a cocktail stick and eyeing the cocktail menu from over the frames of his glasses. His shirt sat askew and his hair stuck up in all directions, but somehow he fitted right in with the opulence of a place like this. You could  tell he was a big deal. Sometimes, it took your breath away and made the butterflies resurface all over again, remembering that he was yours and no one else’s.

His eyes lit up when he saw you wander over to him from across the crowded room. Like two strangers on an awkward first date, unsure of how to approach each other. But pleased they had found themselves in the same place at the same time.

For some reason, putting one foot in front of the other was much more troublesome in this situation. Not from a day of wandering around Montreux, but from sheer nerves. Feeling your chest burn, you noticed all eyes in the room were on you; you ran your fingers through your ponytail, smoothed down your dress, and sucked your teeth to make sure nothing was stuck between them. Your heart thudded, wondering what exactly was wrong with you. Why were these people staring?

“What’s a beautiful girl like you doing in a dump like this?” Roger smirked when you finally reached him.

“Fella done me wrong,” you joked, hoisting yourself up on the stool next to him. You stole an olive from the dish in front of him, and elbowed his side.

Roger scanned the room at the people who stared at you. Not looking at you, he smiled. “You’re a real head turner, darling.”

“That’s probably you…” you paused, thinking of your next move. 

Why not go with it? 

This was the perfect backdrop to the most perfect date you could imagine. Admiring Roger in the glow from the low-hanging lamps over the bar, you asked him your burning question. “Would you like some company for the night?”

Roger turned to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. He slapped his hand on your thigh and said, “Only if you’ll let me buy you a drink, beautiful.” 

He was playing along.

You scooted closer to him, peering over his shoulder to read the menu in his hands, laughing quietly at the names. “I like the sound of a ‘Money,’” you said, pointing to the page.

“I’m loving this ‘Let’s Dance’ one,” Roger replied. “You know, darling, I’m actually friends with Bowie.”

You knew this. You had seen David’s number pop up on Roger’s phone on numerous occasions, and the comments they’d leave on each others’ Instagram posts. But for the sake of going along with your perfect first date, you widened your eyes in shock. Over played, hammy, fake shock. “Really? What’s he like?”

“Oh he’s great. Peculiar guy. Cracking wardrobe.”

“So are you famous or something?” you pressed, beaming at him.

The bartender ducked between you and Roger – he looked like something out of a 1920’s speakeasy, complete with black armband, suspenders and a moustache. “Monsieur Taylor – que désirez-vous?”

Roger stumbled for a moment, with an um and an ah and then, in perfect French he ordered. “Je voudrais un Money, et pour la dame, une Let’s Dance s’il vous plait.”

“D’accord Monsieur.”

Something about Roger speaking French went straight to your legs; or rather, the spot between them. “You haven’t answered my question,” you prodded, looking visibly flustered by Roger’s linguistic prowess, and squeezing your thighs together for good measure.

“You could say that, darling,” he said, shovelling a handful of nuts into his mouth. “I’m the drummer in a rock band.”

“Oh so you’re a rockstar?” you cooed. “Will I have heard of you?”

“I don’t know, darling. Ever heard of Queen? We’re kind of a big deal,” he boasted in a charmingly modest fashion.

“So that’s where I’ve seen you!” you said with wide eyes. “Personally, I’ve always thought they were kind of shit.”

Roger didn’t know how to respond to that. So instead he did that thing he usually did, where he desperately moved his lips as his usually sharp and nimble brain played a game of catchup. It lasted a few awkward seconds where all you wanted to do was to break character and yell ‘kidding’ at him. But eventually, he changed the subject. “What brings you to Montreux, darling?” he asked, resting his head against his hand as he leaned on the bar and gazed adoringly at you.

“Just some bloke, really,” you sighed.

“Really? And here was me thinking I had a chance,” he pouted. “What’s your man like?”

You lowered your eyebrows and flashed him a smile that made him instantly wish he had never even asked that question. “Well,” you hummed, “he’s lovely. I met him on Tinder, and if you ask me, he’s far too old to be on there. But anyway, I let all that slide. Gave him a chance.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because he’s everything I could ever want. Shorter than I thought from his pictures, though. Still tall enough. Handsome. Great dress sense. He’s surprisingly intelligent, considering how beautiful he is. And, here’s the kicker. He has the most devilish, vile sense of humour I’ve ever encountered.”

“He sounds like a catch,” Roger sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“He is. I’ve only been with him a short while and he’s completely changed my life for the better. I’m so much more confident because of him. But anyway, why are you here?” you asked, turning to face him and shuffling in your seat.

“A woman.”

“What’s she like?”

“Well, she’s the polar opposite of my ex wife and the kind of woman I should’ve married. So sensible and carefree at the same time. And she really makes me want to be better, you know? I never felt like I could have a life with my ex wife. But this girl. God, she’s got me thinking about it. I don’t know if I’ve missed the boat with all the settling down business. I hope not. Because she’s all I want.”

“And yet you’re in a fancy bar, buying a strange girl a very overpriced drink?” you asked with a wink.

“I think we’ve met before,” he sighed, closing his eyes ever so slightly.

“I think so too,” you said.

Roger turned his gaze towards the bartender, watching him as he made your drinks. You could barely hear the sounds that came out of his mouth. But his lips sure as hell looked like they were saying something important. 

Like: “I love you.”

>> NEXT >>

[winchesterbrotherstan]

Supernatural- Provenance (1.19)

b.. a. by.

Pairing: Olive Winchester (OC)

Summary: While working a case, a girl catches Sam’s eye, Dean and Olive butt heads, and Olive goes into attack mode.

Warnings: cursing, screaming, creepy little ghost, slit throats, olive is a monster, the usual

Word Count: 8163

I yawned, dropping my head onto the table of the bar. Dean was flirting with a pretty girl while Sam and I were elbow-deep in research. Sam made a face at Dean before gesturing to him. Dean only held up a hand, laughing at something the girl whispered to him.

“Dean!” I called, annoyed.

He rolled his eyes before coming back to us, dropping a beer in front of Sam.

“Alright, I think we’ve got something.” Sam sighed.

Dean glanced back over his shoulder. “Yeah, me too. I think we need to take a little shore leave, just a little bit.” He grinned. “What do you think, huh? I’m so in the door with this one.”

I rolled my eyes, biting back a snarky comment. Sam sighed.

“So what are we today, Dean? I mean, are we rock stars, are we army rangers?”

Dean’s grin grew, and I rolled my eyes again.

“Reality TV scouts, looking for people with special skills. I mean, hey, it’s not that far off, right?” He leaned toward Sam. “By the way, she’s got a friend. Possibly hook you up. Whatcha think?”

Sam sighed. “No thanks, Dean. I can get my own dates.”

“Yeah, you can but you don’t.” Dean made a face.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sam shot back.

“Hey! Dean’s just being a jackass. Don’t pay him any attention.”

Dean tried to protest, but Sam rolled his eyes. “Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. No prints, no murder weapons, all…”

Dean was distracted, staring back at the girl at the bar. I kicked him under the table and he turned back to me with lips curled, angry.

“Dean! Pay attention.”

“No prints, no murder weapons, all the doors and windows locked from the inside.”

Dean took a sip from his beer with a shrug. “Could just be a garden variety murder. You know, not our department.”

“Dad says different.” I spat, flicking through his journal.

“What do you mean?”

Sam pointed to the map on the page. “Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second one here in 1945, third in 1970.”

“Same MO as the Telescas. Throats slit, doors locked from the inside. So much time happened between the two that nobody checked for a pattern.”

“Except Dad.” Sam sighed. “He kept his eyes peeled for another one.”

“And now we got one.” Dean pouted. “Alright, I’m with ya. It’s worth checking out. Can’t we pick this up first thing though?”

I sighed, and Sam shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Good.” Dean patted Sam’s arm and circled the table to me. “Love you, kid. Even when you’re being a brat.”

I scoffed back at him, and he pulled me into a hug. “I love you.”

“Fuck off.” I spat, pushing him away.

He rolled his eyes and flipped me off as he walked back to the bar. Sam bumped his elbow into my side.

“What’s the deal, bug?”

I sighed and leaned against him with a huff. “Just not in the mood for his shit.”

“The flirting? Aw, bug, are you jealous that you don’t have all of Dean’s attention?”

I rolled my eyes again. “No, you big idiot. I’m just sick of him being a horny fucker all the time. It’s really annoying.”

Sam only snickered.

                                                          ***

I snuggled further into Dean’s side, kicking my shoes off. He was asleep, slumped in the passenger seat with a pair of sunglasses on. He went out last night with two girls and came back to the motel beyond drunk. He had thrown up countless times. I stayed up with him, rubbing his back and wiping the sweat off his forehead. Taking care of a grown man was frustratingly difficult when you only had one arm.

Sam walked around the car, knocking on the hood. I looked at him through slitted eyes. He put a finger up to his mouth before leaning in through the window and slamming the horn. I let out a squeak, and Dean jumped up, spooked. Sam got into the driver’s seat, cackling. Jinx howled, and Sam turned around to pat her head.

“Man, that is so not cool.” Dean grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“God fuck, Sams.” I hissed.

“I just swept the Telescas with EMF. It’s clean. And last night, while you were… well, out…”

I pushed my head further into Dean’s chest. “We checked the history of the house. Nothing strange about the family.”

“Alright, so if it’s not the people and it’s not the house, then maybe it’s the contents. Cursed object or something.” Dean mumbled.

“What?” Sam asked, leaning in.

“No, bubba, house is clean.” I groaned, sitting up.

“Yeah I know, Sam said that.”

“No, I mean it’s empty. No furniture. Nothing.” Sam shook his head.

I blinked, suddenly awake. “What?”

“Where’s all their stuff?” Dean squinted.

                                                         ***

I wiggled my nose, trying to move my glasses back into place as I followed Sam around, hand in his. I squeezed, a signal to wait for Dean as he picked a piece of finger food off a tray. Sam squeezed my hand back. Jinx was asleep in the Impala, and I was hoping it would stay that way. The last thing we needed was somebody with a stick up their ass calling animal control on her. We were out of place. 

This fancy auction house, with women in fancy flowing dresses and men in tuxedos. I kept myself behind Sam. We were in our scratchy canvas jackets, dirty flannels, ripped jeans and scuffed boots. Dean grumbled as he caught up.

“Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for WASPs if you ask me.” He plucked more food off another tray.

A man in a tuxedo popped up behind us, and we spun around. Sam pulled me closer to him as we forced matching polite smiles.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

Dean eyed him and cleared his throat. “I’d like some champagne please.” He spoke in a posh accent.

Sam’s jaw clenched, and I dug my arm into Dean’s side, ignoring the throb that radiated from my bones. “He’s not a waiter.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow, and Sam held his hand out. “I’m Sam Connors.”

The man blinked at him, not taking Sam’s hand. I popped out from behind him and squared my shoulders.

“I’m Olive Connors, and this is our brother Dean.” I nodded to Dean.

“We’re art dealers, with Connors Limited.”

“You are… art dealers.” The man repeated, eyeing us.

I sighed, and Sam squeezed my hand again.

It’s okay, just stay calm.

“That’s right.”

“I’m Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now, this is a private showing, and I don’t remember seeing you on the guest list.” The man cleared his throat, the look of disgust clear on his face.

“We’re there, Chuckles. You just need to take another look.” Dean snapped as he swiped a glass off a passing tray. “Oh, finally.” He sniffed the glass, raised his eyebrows, and walked off.

“Cheers.” Sam forced a smile as I yanked on his arm, trying to follow Dean.

“What is wrong with you?” Sam snarled at Dean.

“Hey.” I tugged his arm. “Relax. He’s just being a prick again.”

The three of us fell silent as we stared at an old painting of a family. Our heads tilted the same way, identical looks on our faces.

“A fine example of American Primitive, wouldn’t you say?”

The three of us turned up to see a very pretty girl about Sam’s age coming down the spiral stairs. Her dress was black and sleek, hugging her body. She gave off classy vibes, and I was immediately entranced. I blinked as her back turned to us. Dean slapped Sam on the back, and Sam ignored him.

“Well, I’d say it’s more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses. But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did.” Sam smiled.

“Guilty.” She smiled back. “And clumsy. I apologize. I’m Sarah Blake.” She held her hand out to him.

He took it, and my heart softened at the twinkle in his eyes. “I’m Sam. This is my little sister Olive, and our…” He sighed as Dean continued to stuff his face with food.

“This is our brother, Dean.” I grinned.

Sarah chuckled. “Dean. Can we get you some more mini-quiche?”

Dean shook his head, in the middle of chewing. I giggled.

“He’s okay, thank you.”

Sarah smiled widely as she turned back to Sam. “So, can I help you with something?”

“Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?”

Sarah grimaced. “The whole thing’s pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things so soon. But Dad’s right, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones.”

“Is it possible to see the provenances?” Sam asked.

Dean and I eyed each other, confused.

What the fuck does that word mean?

“I’m afraid there isn’t any chance of that.” Blake came back up behind us.

“Why not?” I asked, shuffling around to be in front of Dean.

“You’re not on the guest list. And I think it’s time to leave.”

“Well we don’t have to be told twice.” Dean spoke poshly again.

“Apparently you do.” Blake took a step toward us.

I backed up, running into Dean’s front. Sam reached for my hand.

“Okay. It’s all right. We don’t want any trouble. We’ll go.”

Dean rolled his eyes and walked off. Sam and Sarah stared at each other until I grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him along to follow Dean. I glanced over my shoulder to see Sarah staring right at Sam’s ass. I shivered, uncomfortable.

                                                         ***

“Grant Wood?” Dean spoke to Sam as they walked behind me.

“Yeah, Sams.” I called over my shoulder. “The hell was all that?”

“Grandma Moses?”

“Art history course.” Sam smiled. “It’s good for meeting girls.”

Dean shook his head as I unlocked the motel door. Jinx ran in, wagging her tail.

“It’s like I don’t even know you.”

We shuffled into the room and blinked. Retro 70s disco fantasy room. The Do Not Disturb sign was a silver outline of John Travolta. Jinx watched us as we took the scene in, all heads tilted.

“Huh.”

I shrugged and tossed my bag at the feet of the bed furthest from the door. Sam and Dean did the same, still staring at the room.

“Sams, what was… providence?” I stumbled over the word.

“Provenance.” Sam sounded it out. “It’s a certificate of origin, like a biography. Ya know, we can use them to check the history of the pieces, see if any of them have a freaky past.”

I frowned. “Huh.”

“Well, we’re not getting anything out of Chuckles, but Sarah…” Dean made finger guns at Sam.

I giggled, and Sam smirked at Dean. “Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin.”

Dean laughed, and I shook my head.

“No no no, pick-ups are Dean’s thing.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t Dean’s ass she was checking out.” I dropped onto the bed.

Sam narrowed his eyes at me, and Dean grinned. Jinx jumped onto the bed and barked in Sam’s direction.

“In other words, you two want me to use her to get information.” Sam sighed.

I shrugged. “Sometimes you gotta take one for the team.”

Dean grinned wider. “Call her, Sam.”

                                                         ***

I put my glasses on as I left the bathroom and turned the lights off. Dean was sitting on our bed, sharpening his knife. Sam was criss-cross on his own bed, rustling through papers.

“Hey, Sams!” I grinned. “How’d it go?”

He had gone out to drinks with Sarah while Dean and I stayed at the motel, showering and fixing weapons.

“She just handed the providences over to him.” Dean grinned.

“Provenances.” I corrected.

“Provenances?”

“Yeah.” I nodded, turning to Sam. “Okay, so?”

“We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers-”

“And?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows.

“And nothing. That’s it. I left, told her I had to get home to my little sister.”

I giggled, and Dean made a face.

“You didn’t have to con her, or do any… special favors or anything like that?”

“Dean.” I chastised, trying to keep the smile off my face. “Get your mind out of the gutter!”

Dean laughed as Sam rolled his eyes. I dropped on the bed, next to Dean.

“You know, when this whole thing’s over, we could… stick around for a little bit.” He offered.

“Why?” Sam furrowed his eyebrows.

“So you can take her out again.” I shrugged. “Duh.”

“It’s obvious you’re into her, even I can see that.”

“I think I’ve got something here.” Sam ignored us, holding a paper up.

I switched over to sit next to Sam, taking the paper from his hand. “What am I looking at here?”

“Portrait of Isaiah Merchant’s family, painted in 1910.” Dean read off the paper.

“Wasn’t the first murder in 1912?” I tilted my head.

Sam nodded. “First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms. He was murdered in 1912. Same thing in 1945, oh, and 1970.”

“Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it.” Dean read from Dad’s journal.

“So, what do you think? Haunted? Cursed?”

Dean dropped the paper and grabbed his knife. “Either way, it’s toast.”

I grinned. “I’ll get the gloves.”

                                                         ***

Dean lept halfway up the metal gate, easily climbing the rest. He sprinted into the fog, then called back to us.

“Come on!”

Sam dropped onto a knee, helping me get a step up onto the gate. I climbed it faster than he did, anxious to be back on solid ground. I balanced on the top, knuckles white. Although I had gotten used to being down an arm, scaling fences became a lot more difficult. I had to rely mostly on the weight of my body against the fence and the soles of my boots. I took a breath before getting a grip and climbing down the other side. Dean helped me once I was halfway, and Sam jumped off, hitting the ground and rolling back to his feet.

“Stay with Dean.” Sam whispered as he went for the security alarm.

He fidgeted with the wires, and I watched with a smile on my face as he worked.

“Alright, go ahead.” He turned back to Dean.

Dean picked the lock with ease, pushing the door open. I led the way, flashlight low as we looked around. Dean tapped my arm and pointed up the stairs. I grabbed Sam and followed as he sprinted up the same spiral staircase from earlier. Dean went to put his flashlight in his mouth but I took it, handing him a switchblade.

He flicked it open and cut the painting from the frame. Sam helped him roll it up, and I pulled a hair tie off my wrist with my teeth and wrapped it around the painting. Dean tucked it under his arm and patted my shoulder.

Let’s go.

                                                         ***

“Ugly ass thing.” Dean spat as he struck a match. “If you ask me, we’re doing the art world a favor.”

Sam sighed, aiming the flashlight. “Dean, just hurry up.”

Dean dropped the match without a word, and the painting began to curl at the edges. We stood in a huddle, watching it burn.

“Alright. We can head back to the motel, take the night and then pack up and hit the road.” Dean wrapped his arms around himself.

I nodded, smacking at a mosquito. “Let’s go.”

                                                         ***

“Bug?” Sam’s voice was a whisper.

“What’s up, Sams?” I mumbled.

I was wrapped in Dean’s arms, buried under three different blankets.

“Can we share a bed tonight?”

I grunted as I shuffled out of Dean’s grip and rolled onto the floor. Sam sat up and pulled the blankets back.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

I nodded as I curled up in his bed, snuggling into his side. He threw the blankets back over us and sighed.

“You okay?”

He nodded, resting his chin on the top of my head. “I’m just not feeling great.”

“Upset?”

He nodded again, wrapping his arms tight around me. “Yeah.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry, Sams.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got you guys.”

I snorted and pushed my head into his neck. “We’ll find you a girl, Sams. Don’t worry.”

                                                         ***

“We’ve got a problem!” Dean rushed out from the bathroom.

“What happened?” I asked, clipping Jinx’s collar on.

“I can’t find my wallet.”

Sam didn’t look up from his duffel bag. “How is that our problem?”

“Cause I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night.”

Sam’s eyes went wide and his head snapped up. I stumbled backward, dropping onto the bed and struggling to breath.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No.” Dean shook his head.

“Dean! That’s got your prints all over it, your ID!” I ran a hand through my hair.

“Well, my fake ID, but yeah.” Dean nodded.

“We’ve gotta find it before somebody else does. Come on.”

                                                         ***

“How do you lose your wallet, Dean?” Sam hissed.

I rubbed the back of my neck as we rushed around the auction house, eyes scanning every possible surface. Dean threw his hands up and kept looking. I groaned, ready to duck and check under tables.

“Hey guys!”

We turned around to see Sarah with a huge smile on her face. We all smiled back, trying to act cool and collected.

“Sarah! Hey!” Sam’s smile came naturally.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, glancing at Dean and I, who were still looking around.

“Ah, we uh… we’re leaving town, and you know, thought we’d come to say goodbye.” Sam stumbled.

“What are you talking about, Sam? We’re sticking around for at least another day or two.” Dean grinned as he tugged me along.

Sam looked at us, confused. Dean fished his wallet out of his pocket and smiled at Sam. “Oh, Sam. By the way, I’m gonna go ahead and give you that twenty dollars I owe you.” He turned to Sarah with a smile. “I always forget, you know.”

Sam only blinked, and Dean held the cash out with a grin. “There you go.”

Sam snatched it, glaring at Dean.

“Well, I’ll leave you two crazy kids along, I gotta-”

“We should go check on the dog!” I grinned, patting Sam on the back. “See ya!”

I grabbed Dean by the hand and tugged him to follow as we scrambled away, toward the parking lot.

“Are you insane?” I asked, eyes wide.

“He likes her.”

“I know he does, De, but you almost gave us both heart attacks.” I hissed.

“Oh my God!” Sam shouted.

I whipped around, hearing my teeth crackle inside my head. Dean grabbed my wrist and yanked me back his way, shaking his head.

Relax.

“Yeah, and now you’re just going to sell it again?” I heard Sam again.

I blinked, swallowing the blood in my mouth. Dean let out a breath, and Sam hurried into view, grabbing us both by the wrists and tugged us along.

“We’ve gotta go, now.”

He dragged us to the Impala, dodging our questions. Dean slid into the driver’s seat, and Sam shoved me to sit in the middle of the front bench. Jinx yapped as Sam slammed the door shut.

“Sams, what happened?” I asked.

“The painting.” Sam hissed.

“What?” Dean made a face.

“The painting is back.”

I shook my head. “Sammy, that’s not funny.”

Sam glared. “I’m not playing. I saw it.”

Dean let out a breath. “What the hell?”

“I don’t understand, Dean. We burned the damn thing!”

“Yeah, I got that, Captain Obvious!” Dean spat.

“Hey! Both of you relax. We just need to figure out another way to get rid of the thing. Ideas?”

“Okay, alright.” Sam sighed. “Well, um, in almost all the lore about haunted painting, it’s always the painting’s subject that haunts ‘em.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family in the creepy-ass painting. What were their names again?”

                                                         ***

“You said the Isaiah Merchant family, right?” The proprietor asked.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Dean circled the table, a huge smile on his face as he flipped through an old book full of pictures of guns.

The proprietor put down a large book of newspapers clipping down on the table. “I dug up every scrap of local history I could find. So you kids are crime buffs?”

“Kinda.” Dean shrugged. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“Well…” He held up a newspaper article, pointing to a side article.

Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.

“Yes.” Dean piped up. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“The whole family was killed?” I asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“It seems that Isaiah, he slits his kids’ throats, then his wife, and then himself. He was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor.”

I shivered. Dad was a bit crazy, that was true, but there was no way he’d ever kill us.

“Why’d he do it?” Sam asked as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“Let’s look… uh,” He skimmed the page, “People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist. Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter… there were whispers that the wife was going to take the children and leave.” He made a face. “Which of course, you know, in that day and age… so, um, instead, the old man… well, he gave them all a shave.” The man dragged a finger across his throat and made gagging noises.

He kept his eyes on Dean as he laughed, and Dean laughed back, maintaining eye contact. He was flirting. I blinked, holding back a smile. Sam gave Dean a bitchface, and Dean immediately stopped, clearing his throat.

“Does it say what happened to the bodies?” I asked, rubbing Dean’s arm.

“I’m sorry?” The proprietor blinked, looking at me.

“What happened to the bodies?” Dean repeated.

“Just that they were all cremated.” The man shrugged.

I sighed, and Sam groaned. “Is that all?”

“Yeah.” He glanced at Dean, then back to Sam. “Actually, I found a picture of the family. It’s right here… somewhere.” He flicked through the book. “Right, here it is!” He pulled out a paper and showed us.

It was a picture of the painting. I sighed, and Sam asked him for a copy. The guy nodded before turning around and disappearing into the back room.

“Hey.” I smacked Sam’s arm. “Be nice.”

“What?” He squinted.

Dean was looking through the book of guns again, his demeanor sad. His shoulders were dropped and a sad look was on his face.

“Why’d you give him a bitch face?” I whispered.

“Because he was laughing at a dead family.”

I rolled my eyes. “You idiot. He was flirting.”

“With … a guy?”

I rolled my eyes again. “What, I can be bi, but Dean can’t be?”

Sam shook his head. “Olive, that’s not what I’m saying. I just… I’ve never seen him be forward about it.”

I snorted. “That’s cause you haven’t seen him without Dad in a while.”

Sam blinked. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

The guy came back with a copy of the picture and handed it to us with a small smile. “Here you go.”

I smiled back as Sam took it. Dean smiled at the guy as we left the store.

“Come on.” I held my hand out.

Dean took it with a soft smile and held the car door open for me.

                                                         ***

“What the hell?” I squinted, bringing the copy of the photo closer to my face.

“What?” Dean looked over his shoulder as he stood in front of the sink, washing the coffee mugs from earlier.

“The pictures are different.” I rolled from my stomach onto my back and sat up.

Dean snorted. Sam reached out across the beds and took the paper. Jinx whined, popping her head up as Sam stopped petting her.

“Holy shit. Olive’s right.”

Dean shook his head. “No way.”

“I’m telling you, De.”

“The painting at the auction house, the dad is looking down. This copy, the dad’s looking out. The painting changed, Dean.” Sam squinted at the picture.

“Alright, so you think that Daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?” Dean turned the tap off.

“Well, yeah, it seems like it.” Sam sighed.

“But if his bones are already dusted, how are we gonna stop him?” I asked.

“Well, if Isaiah’s position changed, then maybe some other things in the painting changed too. Ya know, it could give us some clues.”

“What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?” Sam began to pet Jinx again.

“Uh…” Dean stammered, staring at Sam with a blank look. “I don’t… know, uh…”

“He’s still waiting on the movie for that one.” I giggled.

“Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting.” Dean threw himself on the bed and crossed his arms behind his head.

I dropped onto my side and snuggled up to him, curling up and placing my cheek on his chest. He wrapped one arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

“This is a good thing.” I mumbled.

“Yeah, cause Sam gets more time to crush on his girlfriend.”

“Dude.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Enough, already.”

“What?” Dean asked.

“What do you mean, what? Ever since we’ve gotten here, you two have been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, alright?” Sam snapped.

“What, you don’t like her?”

Sam rolled his eyes and dropped onto his back, annoyed.

“Alright. You like her, she obviously likes you. You’re both consenting adults…” Dean trailed off.

“What’s the point?” Sam raised his voice. “We’ll just leave. We always leave!”

“He’s not talking about marriage, Sams.”

“You know, I don’t get it.” Sam turned to us. “What do you two care if I hook up?”

Dean sighed, calm as he talked. “Cause then maybe you wouldn’t be so cranky all the time.”

Sam glared, let out a huff, and looked back up to the ceiling.

I bumped my head into Dean’s chin and sat up with a sigh. “Sammy, we’re serious. This isn’t just about hooking up, okay? I mean, we… we think that Sarah could be good for you.”

Sam scratched his head, staying silent. Jinx whined, sensing the tension. I shot Dean a look.

Say something.

“And…” Dean spoke as he sat up, voice soft. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but… I’m sure this about Jessica. Right? Now, we don’t know what it’s like to lose somebody like that, but…”

“Sams, I know you miss her.” I whispered. “But she would want you to be happy.”

Sam said nothing as he listened, tears in his eyes. Dean sighed.

“God forbid have fun once in a while. Wouldn’t she?”

Sam gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, I know she would.” He sighed. “Yeah, you two are right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part.”

“What’s it about?” Dean asked.

Sam said nothing, and Dean huffed.

“Okay.” I laid back down, and Dean followed.

He wrapped his arm around me again and yawned. I closed my eyes as Sam flicked his phone open and cleared his throat.

“Sarah, hey.” Sam spoke, awkwardly. “It’s Sam.”

A pause, and I cracked my eyes open.

“Hey, hi.”

Another pause.

“Good. Good, yeah, um… what about you?”

I watched as he paced around the room.

“Yeah, good, good, really good.”

Dean huffed. “Smooth.”

I thumped my head against Dean’s chest. “Be nice.”

“So, uh, listen… my siblings and I were uh… thinking that maybe we’d like to come back in and look at the painting again, I…”

Dean shook his head again, then turned to me with a smile.

“I think maybe we are interested in buying it.”

My nose wrinkled up.

“Buy it and be haunted? No thanks.” I whispered.

“What!” Sam snapped, and I pushed myself up, eyebrows furrowed.

“Who’d you sell it to?”

I rolled over Dean and got to my feet, digging through the duffel bag. Jinx jumped off the bed and ran toward me, sniffing the bag.

“Hey, no.” I pushed her nose away. “Don’t do that.”

“Sarah, I need an address right now.”

                                                         ***

Dean slammed the brake and put the car in park. He moved slower than Sam, and I scrambled out past him.

“Sam, what’s happening?” Sarah asked as she jumped out of the car in the driveway.

“I told you, you shouldn’t have come.” He ran past her, bolting up the porch steps.

“Hello? Anyone home?” I asked as I pounded on the door.

Dean tried kicking at it, but it didn’t budge.

“You said Evelyn might be in danger. What sort of danger?”

“I can’t knock this sucker down. I’ve gotta pick it.” He groaned.

I sprinted back to the car and dug through the backseat. Jinx tried to lick my face, and I pushed her away again.

“Stop it.” I mumbled as I fished out the pick case.

“Here.” I shoved the case into Dean’s hands and joined Sam at the windows, which were covered in security bars.

“What are you guys, burglars?”

“I wish it was that simple.” I scoffed, hitting the window.

“Look, you really should wait in the car. It’s for your own good.” Sam tried to get her out of the way.

I rushed to Dean’s side as he got the door open.

“The hell I will. Evelyn’s a friend.” Sarah ran in after us.

“Evelyn?” Sam called.

“Evelyn.” I inched into the lounge.

She was sitting on a couch, half turned away from us. The painting moved, the dad’s position changing again. Sarah reached for Evelyn, and Sam tried to get her to stop. Evelyn’s head tipped back, and her slashed throat was exposed. Sarah let out a scream, jumping back into Sam’s arms. He led her out of the room.

                                                         ***

There was a knock on the door, and I shifted. Sam opened the door, and Sarah stormed in past him.

“Hey. You alright?”

“No, actually.” She crossed her arms over his chest. “I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn’s, alone, and that I found her like that.”

Sam let out a huff. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” She growled.

I sat up and yawned. Jinx was on her back next to me, kicking in her sleep.

“I’m about to call them back right now if you don’t tell me what the hell’s going on. Who’s killing these people?”

Sam glanced at Dean, who shrugged.

“What.”

“What?” Sarah looked at me.

“Not who. It’s a what. A what is killing these people.”

She looked at me like I was insane.

“Sarah, you saw that painting move.” Sam spoke softly.

She shook her head, becoming agitated. “No! No, I was… I was seeing things. It’s impossible.”

Dean snorted. “Well, welcome to our world.”

“Sarah. I know this sounds crazy, but…” Sam stumbled.

“We think the painting is haunted.”

She shook her head at me again. “No. You’re joking.”

The three of us sighed, faces dead-panned as she looked at each of us.

“You’re not joking.” She wiped fresh tears out of her eyes. “God, the guys I go out with.”

“Sarah, just think about it.” Sam tried to reason with her, and she took a step back.

“Look. Evelyn, the Telesca’s. They both had the painting, and there were others before that too. Wherever that butt-ugly painting goes, people die.” I shrugged.

“We’re just trying to stop it. And that’s the truth.” Sam sighed.

“Then I guess you’d better show me. I’m coming with you.” She pulled her purse over her shoulder.

“What? No! Sarah, no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous, and I… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Sarah snorted. “I’m sorry, how old’s your sister?”

I rolled my eyes as I moved to sit next to Dean at the table. “I’m fifteen.”

“Look, you guys are probably crazy. But if you’re right about this?” She sighed. “Me and my Dad sold that painting that might’ve got these people killed. Look, I’m not saying I’m not scared, because I am scared as hell, but… I’m not gonna run and hide either.” She took two long strides to the door and turned back to us, arms crossed over her chest. “So. Are we going or what?” She walked out.

“Sam?” Dean got his attention.

Sam looked up at us, eyes wide.

“Marry that girl.”

                                                         ***

“Uh, isn’t this a crime scene?” Sarah asked, looking around as Dean picked the lock.

“You’ve already lied to the cops once.” I shrugged. “What’s another infraction?”

Dean pushed the door open and stepped inside. I followed, and Sam and Sarah came in last, looking nervous.

“Aren’t you worried that it’s… gonna kill us?” She asked as Sam lifted it off the wall.

“Nah, it seems to do its thing at night. I think we’re okay in the daylight.”

I pulled the picture out of my back pocket and unfolded it, trying to flatten it out over my thigh. I compared it to the picture and my lips curled up.

“Yeesh. Sams, check it out. The razor. Closed in this, open in that.” I pointed to the razor blade in Isaiah’s hand.

“What are you guys looking for?” Sarah asked.

“If the spirit’s changing aspects of the painting then it’s doing so for a reason.” Dean explained.

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at this.” Sam pointed at something. “The painting in the painting.”

I huffed and looked around. Dean picked up a glass ashtray and held it up to the painting. I squinted.

“What is it?”

“Merchant.” He read.

                                                         ***

Jinx pulled hard on her leash, and Sam pulled back. She sniffed one headstone before jumping around to another.

“This is the third boneyard we’ve checked.” Dean groaned. “I think this ghost is jerking us around.”

“So this is what you guys do for a living?” Sarah asked.

“Not exactly.” Sam shrugged. “We don’t get paid.”

“Well, Mazel tov.” She sighed.

“Hey.” I hit Dean’s arm as I spotted the mausoleum. “Over there.”

I hurried over, leaving the others to catch up. I tugged on the lock, but it was solid. Dean moved me aside and slammed a knife handle into it, breaking it open. He stepped in first, and I followed. There was a bunch of name plates, and four urns in small glass boxes. I flinched as I noticed the dolls set up next to each urn.

“Okay. That right there? The creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Sarah shuffled.

“It was a… tradition at the time. Whenever a child died, sometimes they’d preserve the kid’s favorite toy in a glass case, put it next to the headstone or crypt.”

Jinx began to bark. A breeze blew in, and I shuddered as the cobwebs fluttered around us. Dean wrapped an arm around me.

“Notice anything strange here?”

Sarah giggled. “Uh, where do I start?”

Sam laughed, and I rolled my eyes at him.

“No, that’s not what he means. Look at the urns.”

“Yeah.” Sam noticed. “Only four.”

“Mom and three kids.”

“Father dearest isn’t here.” I sighed.

“So where is he?”

                                                         ***

I yawned, then giggled as Jinx did the same. Sarah and Sam were sitting on a short wall next to the office buildings. I was sitting on the ground next to them.

“So what exactly is your brother doing in there?”

“Searching county death certificates trying to find out what happened to Isaiah’s body.” Sam fiddled with his fingers.

“How’d he even get in the door?” She chuckled.

“Lying and subterfuge mostly.”

I snorted. “Dean’s really charming, actually. Especially when he wants to be. He can get himself wherever he needs to be.”

She nodded, turning back to Sam.

“You have a, uh… you have a right… no, uh, you know what…” Sam smiled at her. “Do you mind if I get it?”

“No.” She smiled.

He brushed it off and held it out on his finger. “Okay. Got it. Make a wish.”

Sarah laughed and then blew it away.

“Sam, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m gonna… take Jinx for a walk.” I rushed to my feet and pulled Jinx along.

We circled the block. Jinx wanted to sniff everything, but there was nobody around, and being alone freaked me out. I hadn’t been alone for more than a few hours, come to think of it. I grew up stuck to Sam and Dean. When Dean started going on hunts, Sam stayed with me. When Sam moved away, Dad and Dean would go on hunts, and I would stay with Bobby or Pastor Jim.

I circled back around to the front of the building, where Sam was in the middle of a heart-felt sentence, and Dean was standing with his hands in his pockets.

“Are we interrupting something?” Dean asked.

“No.”

“Not at all.”

Sam and Sarah spoke at the same time.

“Huh.”

“Oookay.” I let out a breath and shuffled back to Dean.

He bumped my arm as Sam asked what he had found out.

“Paydirt.”

“Oh, do share.” I grinned up at him.

“Apparently the surviving relatives of the Merchant family were so ashamed of Isaiah that they didn’t want him interred with the rest of the family. So, they handed him over to the county. County gave him a pauper’s funeral. Economy style.” Dean clicked his tongue. “He wasn’t created. He was buried in a pine box.”

“So there are bones to burn.”

“There are bones to burn.” Dean nodded.

“Please tell me you know where.”

                                                         ***

I flung dirt over my shoulder with a huff. It was hot, and I was sweaty and gross. I could’ve sat out on digging, Dean and Sam understood that doing that with a single arm was difficult, but I didn’t want to engage in small talk with Sarah. Dean took a second, and Sam crawled out of the grave, standing next to Sarah.

“You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this.” She noted.

“Well, uh, this isn’t exactly the first grave we’ve dug.” He chuckled. “Still think I’m a catch?”

She laughed, and Dean tapped his shovel against something hard.

“Think we’ve got something.”

“Wanna crack it open?” I asked Dean.

“Nah. Jump.” He tossed his shovel up to Sam.

I did the same, and Dean held his hands out to me, holding onto my forearm and elbow. I giggled as he smiled.

“Ready?”

“Are they… laughing?”

“She grew up in this life. We all did.” Sam sighed. “Olive tends to find joy in the very little things.

“Alright, come on.” Dean gave my arm a squeeze.

I anchored my feet down before hopping. The heels of my boots cracked through the wood. Dean gripped me by the middle and held me back up. Sam reached down and helped me out. I shook the dirt off my boots as Dean got himself back on solid ground.

I rustled through the bag and yanked out the rock salt. Sam poured the kerosene all over the coffin, and I dumped the container of salt in. Dean struck a match and watched it burn for a second.

“You’ve been a real pain in the ass, Isaiah.”

“Good riddance, bitch.” I grinned as Dean tossed the match down.

The coffin went up in flames.

                                                         ***

“Keep the motor running.” Sam instructed as we rolled up.

“I thought the painting was harmless now.” Sarah tilted her head as Sam got out of the car.

“Better safe than sorry. We’re gonna bury the sucker.” Sam shut the door.

“I’m going with you.”

“You sure?” Sam was taken aback.

“Hey! Hey, hey!” Dean called Sam. “Olive and I will stay here.”

“Go make your move!” I grinned, punching his arm.

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Sam! We’re serious!”

Sam flipped us off behind his back at he and Sarah jogged up the stairs. Dean flicked the station and turned the radio up. I giggled as a love song blared. Sam turned around and glared. Dean shrugged, and Sam pulled a finger across his throat. Dean sighed and turned the radio off. I threw my head back against the seat as Sam and Sarah disappeared inside the house. Dean sighed.

“He’s never gonna get laid.”

I rolled my eyes. “We can’t force him to go on a date if he doesn’t want to.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but a child’s loud laughter cut him off. We sat up straight to see the front door slam shut. We turned to each other for a second, and then busted out of the car, bolting up to the door. Dean pushed at the door, and I shoved it with my shoulder. Something on the other side, hopefully Sam, was trying to pull it open.

“Dean! Olive! Is that you?”

“Sams!”

“Sammy, you alright?”

Sam didn’t answer, but Dean’s phone rang. He flicked it open and put it on speaker.

“Tell me you slammed the front door.” He shoved the phone into my hand and began to work on the lock.

“No, it wasn’t me. I think it was the little girl.”

“Girl?” Dean echoed. “What girl?”

“Oh fuck, the girl in the painting!”

“Yeah! She’s not in it anymore. I think it might’ve been her all along.”

“Wasn’t the dad looking down at her?” Dean glanced at me. “Maybe he was trying to warn us.”

“Hey hey hey! Let’s recap later. Just get us out of here.” Sam pleaded.

“Well I’m trying to pick the lock, but the door won’t budge.”

“Well then knock it down.”

“Okay, Sams, let us just grab the battering ram.” I spat.

“Guys, the damn thing is coming.”

“You’re just gonna have to hold it off until we figure something out. Get salt and iron.” Dean instructed.

I slammed my shoulder against the door, and nothing happened. I shook my head as I took a breath. Dean paid no attention, again trying to take the door down. My teeth shifted inside my mouth, my jaw splintered, and blood came down in streams.

“Uh, guys, gimme a sec, don’t go anywhere.”

Dean walked around the porch, looking for a way in. There was a shout over the phone, and I clenched my fists, head spinning.

“Sammy, you okay?”

“Yeah, for now.”

“How are we gonna waste her?” I whispered.

“I don’t know. She was already cremated, there’s nothing left to burn.”

“Then how’s she still around?” Dean hit the door again.

“There must be something else.”

I opened my eyes and let out a breath. I could feel fangs in my mouth, digging into my bottom lip.

“Guys! Sarah said the doll might have the kid’s real hair. Human remains, same as bones.”

“The Mausoleum!”

“Dean, you’ve gotta go.” I shut the phone and shoved it into his hand.

He blinked, stumbling backward. I breathed heavily.

“What-”

“I’m in control right now. Go burn the doll.”

“What are you gonna do?”

I ran my tongue over my teeth and squared my shoulders. “Get in there and get Sammy safe.”

“Olive, you can’t-”

“I can take a ghost better than Sam can right now.” I huffed. “Dean. Go.”

He stared at me for a second before turning and dashing back to the car. The engine roared, and he peeled out of there in record time. I struggled with the sling before managing to fling it off onto the ground.

“Hang on, Sams. I’m coming.”

I sprinted down the porch and to the windows. I had to jump to get a good grip on the security bars. I slipped my legs in through them, anchoring my feet on the glass. I kicked as hard as I could, and the glass shattered. The alarm began to go off, and I flinched. It was worse than it would’ve been normally.

I tucked my legs back under my body and tugged at the bars with my full weight and strength. They broke at the connections, and I slammed my shoulder into them. They fell into the house, and I scrambled as I hit the floor, skimming across a layer of broken glass.

“Sammy!” I called.

“Sam!” Sarah shrieked from another room.

I followed the noise. A wardrobe was pinning Sam to the ground, and the little bitch of a ghost was staring Sarah down, razor in hand. Sam strained under the wood, trying to get it off. The girl raised her hand, and Sarah was thrown up into the air like a rag doll.

“Hey, kid!” I spat.

The ghost’s head turned to me unnaturally fast, and a rage filled her dead eyes. Sarah took the opportunity to scramble to Sam, helping him push the wardrobe off. The girl ran at me, blade up high.

“Olive!”

I took a swing at her, feeling metal slice against my forearm. Sam knocked me to the ground, away from the ghost. She stumbled backwards, burning up. Her figure reappeared in the painting. I hissed as Sam’s hand clamped down on my skin. His phone rang, and Sarah fished it out of his pocket for him.

“Sam, you good? Did Olive-”

“Right here, De.” I snarled, teeth bared as I tried to squirm away.

Sam grabbed me and held me down in his lap and yanked his flannel off, tying the sleeve around my arm. I blinked, coughing on my blood as my teeth began to go back to normal, bones cracking.

Sarah stared, and Sam sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall. I pushed off of the ground and onto my feet, heading right for the painting.

“Olive?”

I took it down and flicked out a switchblade. I spat the rest of the blood in my mouth onto the little girl’s face, then drove the blade right into her face.

“Rot in hell.”

                                                         ***

“This was archived in the county records.” Dean smacked my head with a paper.

“What is it?” I asked, snatching the papers away as he stood next to me.

Sarah and Sam turned their attention from the painting, which was being crated up, to us.

“The Merchant’s adopted daughter, Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption?”

I flicked the papers open and read off the paper with a snort. “Her real family was murdered in their sleep.”

“Think she killed them?” Sarah asked.

I shrugged, and Dean nodded.

“Who would suspect a sweet little girl? She kills Isaiah and his family. Old man takes the blame.”

“You’re right, his spirit must’ve been trying to warn people ever since.”

“Where’s this one go?” A worker asked as he patted the crate.

“Take it out back and burn it.” Sarah didn’t skip a beat.

We blinked at her, taken aback.

“I’m serious, guys. Thanks.” She nodded at them and they shrugged at each other before lifting the crate and stumbling away.

“So why’d the girl do it?” Sarah turned back to us and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Killing others? Killing herself?” Sam tilted his head and shrugged. “Some people are just born tortured. So when they die, their spirits are just as dark.”

“Maybe.” Dean huffed. “I don’t really care. It’s over, our time to move on.”

“Oh…” Sarah’s shoulders fell. “I guess this means you’re leaving.”

Dean and I glanced between Sarah and Sam. Sam blinked at us, then cleared his throat. Realization dawned on me as I grabbed Dean by the hand and smiled.

“See you around, Sarah!”

“Oh. Yeah, we’ll go wait in the car. Bye, Sarah.” Dean grinned, wrapping an arm over my shoulder and leading us out of the door.

She said nothing, and Dean rolled his eyes. I snorted.

“Not like I got sliced and almost dislocated my shoulder, but it’s fine.”

“And I’m the one that burned the doll, destroyed the spirit, but don’t thank me or anything.” Dean grumbled under his breath.

I shook my head. “Some guys just get all the glory, don’t they?”

Dean laughed as we leaned against the car. I stifled a yawn as Sarah let Sam out of the house, closing the door behind him. I sighed as Sam stood on the porch, hands in his pockets.

“Alright, come on.” Dean pushed me into the car. “Guess he didn’t wanna make his move.”

“Wait, wait.” I smacked his hand away and watched.

Sam knocked on Sarah’s door. She opened it, and he stepped in and kissed her. I smiled and slid into the car. Dean grinned.

“That’s my boy.”

“Go Sams.” I giggled as they continued to kiss in the doorway. “Think he’ll ask to stay?” I leaned against Dean’s shoulder.

He shook his head. “No. He won’t.”

Previous Ep: Something Wicked (1.18)

Next Ep: Dead Man’s Blood (1.20)

[hungryflowers]

Let Me Fall In Love With You

RadioHusk Week Prompt Day 6: Why Are you Like This

Chapter 6: Not There, But Getting There

He moved on. Alastor bitterly mouthed to himself. Despair bit at his heart like a feral beast with icy fangs. He could feel the maw rip a hole through his chest, plunging the knives into the blackening meat over and over again. There were tiers to despair, he found out. The first one was the smoldering, unquenched fire stirring up in his bones; any movements he made, sounds he heard, voices that spoke stoked the flames until the reached into the second tier. The scorching was when the fires came out. Rage unfamiliar, intense, violent rushed out of him. It was fuel from his smoldering, the fires warring out of control, heat slithering into his mind as it ruled his every thought. It became a parasite that made him act upon irrationality. In this fit he would scream, mostly at himself, throw things, rip up and down his home upheaving many things along the way. After it was over the final tier came; snuffing. 

It came when he was tired, apathetic, emotionless to the damage he had caused. To everything; from his home to the frailty of the relationship he wanted to have. He’d lay in his bed, on the floor, he’d sit by the fireplace for an hour or so just to leer at the flames until his eyes hurt. He would go hours without the sustenance of a meal one minute, then go and binge to feel something the next. It was like this for him now; the feelings of fullness in his belly but not in his empty shell he excused for a beating heart. He wondered why his heart even kept up beating if he wasn’t well, and in truth, very dead.

His eyes sprang with droplets of what tasted like salt from his eyes on every other occasion. He’d grown accustomed to their taste and feel, so he let them fall from his eyes in silent weeps. The frontal sadness making his shake like the brittle leaves in a winter wind. The things barely clinging to life on the tree. 

When he was done feeling sorry... for anything, he’d go out on the town to his Parlor. The lively jazz and swinging atmosphere could do the trick in helping out his mood. He’d be out there all night, listening to the music, watching the girls sing and dance past him, spare a glance to a gentleman or two who wanted to hear him sing again. The radio demon became more a spectator than an owner at his club. There were no new talents he went to introduce, no drink specials, no fun dance and song numbers tonight. The liveliness sailed clean out of him. He let the club pass him by every single night. For a month straight. He did do something when he went however. He forgets his resentment toward himself on how he treated Husk. 

The feeling was to remain temporary. Each time he went home, the despair coiled inside of him again. This cycle was never going to end. 

Alastor decided to shake up his usual pity party by going further into the city. The places where he felt like he needed to spend his time were going to be much different than what he’d prefer. Not to say he had never been to some of these places before, he didn’t frequent them like the grander majority of the others. Huge grin plastered on his face, posture highly exaggerated, a simple tune playing on his lips, Alastor went inside to a cleanly looking chateaux building known merely as Champagne. The flashing white neons brought in a luxurious, risqué feel to the place. One would most likely mistake it for a brothel on the outside. 

Clear to form on the inside, the establishment was more like an extravagant lounge area with unnecessarily long lounging couches, purplish pink tile floors and tactful decorations by the walls. Every inch of the lounge was aesthetic and pleasing to the eyes, as well as varying other senses. Alastor didn’t much care for women who’s eyes were on him the second he entered the double doors. They greeted him with a superficial retail smile and a little coy giggle, a few of them tried at getting handsy yet never touched him. Other females kept their distance, but never stopped scoping out the chance to get near him.

With a flick of his wrist Alastor gestured to one of the many girls at the bar. Heels clacked on the tiles as she bent over suggestively to take his order. She was a bit tall, though the heels could keep up the illusion. Siren like yellow eyes shimmered in the neons of the lounge, her skin appeared a slight grey, or an off white and she was covered in sleek, silkened fur. Well trimmed nails tapped on an electric device before she gestured to listen, short ears swiveling to Alastor’s attention. 

Alastor kept it simple with his drink, just an Ol’ Fashioned and she was sent on her way to fetch it. Though not before grazing her nails along his down facing palm. 

The joint didn’t look too busy tonight, in spite of it being in a high traffic part of the city. Intriguing thought to not have that many sinners out tonight. This side was a prowler’s paradise. He paid for his drink, tipping his hat to the server then headed out for the night, nothing sparking his interest in the club.

Alastor went for a walk. He didn’t have a clear destination in mind for sometime. The streets appeared a bit desolate on this night, giving a visual light of how he was feeling on the inside. Save a few smaller imps causing mischiefs wherever they went nothing struck to him. His mind mumbled on how he would never get the opportunity to see Husk again, nor find out if there was anything he could do to fix the wrong. There wasn’t a use on lamenting on it now. Husk found no love in him. There was no love to be found in this beast, Alastor scoffed bitterly. His ears drooped more, perforated smile wobbling, seeming to wilt at the corners. Those same salty drops stung at the corner of his eyes. 

That cycle of misery began anew as he went as far away to make sure no others were able to see him like this. 

The park gate was open as he went through to find a more quiet area. The skies bled deeper shades of red as he went further into the woods. The shades merged with Alastor’s jacket as the shadows twisted off in the distance. His eyes went to the shadowy shaded shelter of a mighty oak; leaves not yet shed, splotches of red and oranges decorated the trunks and branches. A soft gust pulled some of the leaves causing them to rustle in a whisper. The roots appeared to be coming out of the ground, some intertwining with each other, the more few peeking out to look like a sleeping place. 

In its shadow, Alastor looked so small. Helpless, even defenseless. The salty drops rained down his cheeks before Alastor collapsed on the trunk, ears falling back totally, eyes squeezed shut in the phantom throngs on pain. His face began to hurt as he sniveled and snarled. He had never done this before. Since his eternity in Hell, nothing has ever brought him to this pain. He was invincible. A telling of power and strength. He comes from an era that projects his strength; the force and will of a man. He never saw any men around him have this feeling before. Not even his own father told him about this kind of dread, shame and misery. There’s nothing he can make of this ultimate sadness. 

He lets his feelings flow. Unchecked and unfiltered, and now it starts to make him feel different. It isn’t a bad feeling, but it doesn’t make him feel good. More tears fall, a sigh comes unevenly. The breeze caresses his stinging cheeks- no... not a breeze. He withdraws immediately to feel the feathery tell of a tail brushing against his face. He opens his eyes to peer at the flickering red plumage at the end of the sooty tail. 

“So the Radio Demon cries?” The weathered tone sounds too familiar. It’s exactly who he expects. 

Alastor looks up to see Husk, perched quietly on the top of one of the branches close to Alastor. He seems to smile at him, marigold eyes closing slow and soft as his tail swipes along the deer demon’s face, wiping away the stray tears. 

“H-Husk...,” He sounds so exhausted, in pain even, “How... H-How did you... I-I thought I was-”

“Alone?” Husk inquired, ears tilting to the sniffling of the young man. His pupils widened when Alastor nodded before slumping against the tree. Both accumulated silence, the quiet giving Alastor time to right himself while he thought of the next thing to say. Husk managed to sit up to stretch, the angle of his body creaking and crackling in discomfort. A minor shake later and Husk was climbing downwards to sit next to the deer demon. 

“So this is what a month without me reduced you to?”, Husk says pitifully, “Jesus you look like shit.” The male laughed when Alastor turned to look at him. 

“I...I normally am not like this.” He whispers, static coming and going.

“What? Sobbing like an orphan? Yeah, crying’s really hard to do around here.” Husk’s paw went to Alastor’s face, scrubbing some trails. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I never would have done that if I knew it was bound to make things worse. I can’t wrong you for hating me, for fearing me. For... despising me. I’m an overlord. I’m one of powers of occult magics and elite status, I’m just not used to being told ‘no’, or having to force myself to get a hard look at...well, myself,” The radio demon brushed back his hair, gloves a bit damp from drying his tears, “I realize now that everything I was trying just wasn’t making you happy. And if that’s something you want more of, I’ll step aside. This won’t continue, I’ll move on, if it’s just for your sanity.” 

Husk kept quiet the whole of Alastor’s apology. He felt like he shouldn’t accept it, but something about him just made his heart give. Who knew a month of stewing in your own failure did the trick in making him realize he’d been in the wrong. Husk wanted to keep brushing the tears from Alastor’s eyes, he wanted to shove himself into him and give the biggest hug that would do the best in calming him down. He wanted a lot of things, but this was just fine for him. 

Alastor. The infamous Radio Demon let his walls down, apologized openly to him. Between them now was not a barrier of mistrust and disguised discomfort. At this moment, Husk could, was feeling sorry for him. 

“I-I-I just want to make this, us better. If you’ll allow me.” The deer demon lifted his left hand, holding it close enough for Husk to keep his eye on, but never to touch. 

The old male looked at Alastor’s hand and then his face. His smile was warbled and trembling. His frame looked as if it were to fall apart, crumble if a single gust of wind were to blow. He was a mess, way too vulnerable for any other Sinner to see him like this. Husk’s full moon wide eyes rippled in the night; the only light that looked natural in all of the bloody red. 

Husk’s own claw extended. Alastor watched it, unsure. He probably felt that he was going to knock it away and storm away. He had it in his head that he was beyond forgiveness at this point. This his words were just theatre and there was nothing genuine in the tangent to be shown. The thoughts vanished the moment Husk’s supple paw closes over Alastor’s willow-like fingers. 

“I’m glad that you don’t want to keep things the way they used to be. The thought being body-slammed every time I tell ya to fuck off is grating. Al, I don’t want you to go anywhere feeling how you feel now. So that just means you’re stuck with me until you get your shit together.” The cat chuckled as he pulled him in for a wide hug. His wings opened, leaning down to caress over the other man’s body.

“Wait...what?” Alastor’s response was watery and shaky at best. His body shook as fresh tears streamed down his cheeks. 

“You heard me,” Husk could feel the free fall of his own tears as he pulled Alastor in more, “We’re in this for the long haul, so you better get used to it.” He laughed as his cheek fur brushed into Alastor’s cheekbones. There was a little rumble coming from Alastor as the deer demon chuckled with him. 

“Should I ever be so lucky? Why are you like this?” The tears died down as the young man leant in further, body going lax in Husk’s assured grip.

“Like what? Funny and blunt as fuck? Years of turning my nose up at everyone and failing to care makes it that much easier.” He pulled back a slight, cheek still nestled into Alastor’s. 

“I want to start over. I owe you all of that.” Alastor pulled back to look Husk in the face.

“Don’t want that. No reason to go back to where we were. Let’s just take off from where we are.” Husk softened a touch as he pressed his forehead to Alastor’s. He sighed in contentment, his paw still holding Alastor’s as he pressed to his chest. 

“I...love you.” Alastor stated shyly. 

“Not... quite there in terms of affirmations yet. Let’s just be like this for a while longer.” Husk pulled away, eyes lulling dreamily as he nuzzled Alastor again. 

“Okay...”, The younger gent sighed softly, “Do you want to come back home with me? I’ll make you a fresh meal. With just my hands. I promise I won’t do anything.” He pulled his knees out from underneath as he tried to stand. His smile brightened when Husk nodded, his posture welcoming to the idea.

“I can eat. I’d like that a lot.” It was a simple response with a special feeling tied deep within. The gesture, the words. They had all been fine for Alastor during this time. Now he felt as if he didn’t want to move too fast in the hopes of keeping this safe. And keeping Husk happy. He’d have to relearn this type of love. Now’s a better than ever and Husk looked to be patient. 

After all, anything worth having is definitely worth fighting for. And Alastor was willing to go to war to protect it. If that’s what it all meant. 

[thorman-barnes]

2 for Carol (from the prompt list)

2. “I’ll just sleep on the floor”

MOB AU

"This is such a crappy motel," you commented and moved to the side as Steve walked into yours and Carol's motel room and left your bags on the little table at the center of the room. "What's the point of having money if we have to stay at a place like this for the night?"

"We won't be found out," Steve commented as Carol sat at the edge of the bed to kick off her shoes. "Remember, we're in the enemy's territory, gotta stay out of the spotlight."

"If we want to take them down, they can't see us coming," Carol finished for him as he bid his goodnights and closed the door behind him - most likely heading for the run down bar across the street that you heard the other men talking about going to for a few drinks.

You sighed and sat beside Carol and kicked off the heels you had on, "You aren't going with them?"

Carol shook her head, "Cheap booze isn't my kind of thing," she chuckled and laid her head on your shoulder. She was most likely thinking about tomorrow, you realized.

They're going to distract the enemy and sweep everything they have right from under them. Carol was leading them, she was the brains of it all and it terrified you. She was showing up to their hide outs and taking everything she could get her hands on and who knows what kind of security they have around their hideouts. The last time they did something like this Carol almost lost her life when the plan went South and an all out war began.

"I have some champagne I swiped from Bucky's home right before we headed out here," you told her and giggled remembering how just a month ago Bucky's wife (who you despised) was telling you how that champagne came from some other country you couldn't remember and that she was saving it for a special occasion. You never liked her so you didn't have a problem swiping it from her home and you doubted Bucky would care, he didn't like it champagne anyway, "We can take a bubble bath - but we should really clean the tub first - or watch a movie."

Carol laughed at the champagne part but she was exhausted from the drive and was dreading tomorrow, "As amazing as that sounds, I think we should really get some slee-"

Noticing the bed was too small, you stood up, "You can take the bed, you need more rest than I do, I'll just sleep on the floor."

Carol shook her head and pulled your hand, pulling you onto her lap. "You're pregnant, you cannot just sleep on the floor. Plus, there's stains all over the damn floor."

You shrugged and rubbed your belly, your fingers bumping onto hers, "You need the rest more than I do, I can sleep all day tomor-"

"We both know you don't sleep when I'm out doing business," she commented and pushed your hand away as her hand slipped under your shirt to rub your bare growing tummy. "We'll steal some blankets and pillows from Steve and Natasha's room and set camp on the floor, make it as comfortable as possible," she stated and kissed your cheek mumbling an 'I love you' into your cheek as she peppered kisses all of your cheek and neck and shoulder

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Black Boys Bloom Thorns First Chapter 15

"Ain't see this side of me Fluent in the sheets Can you read in between me? I ain't a stranger to the foreplay So we can skip the wordplay

Leave the lights on Leave the, leave the lights on Leave 'em lights on…"

H.E.R. – "Lights On"

The Blue Rose was a nondescript tan industrial building set inside a cul de sac. The only signage outside were the numbers of the address lit in neon blue colors. N'Jobu sat in his car to gather himself. What did he really plan to do? Drag her outside and berate her for working in a place like that? Stand in front of a stripper pole and yell at her for shaming herself in public? The blood in his veins surged through his hands as he gripped his steering wheel. How did he not know she worked in a place like this? He had assumed it was an all-night diner.

He saw several boisterous men walking in, and when he saw the dark mahogany double doors open, he could hear the loud thump of bass music, and various catcalls and whistles. When the doors closed again, he heard nothing. He closed his eyes. She was a grown woman. This was just a job. She was just earning money to support herself—

The thought of her naked and writhing on a stage propelled him out of his car, his hands balled into agitated fists. He entered the building and found a young fair-skinned Black woman behind an elaborate register. She was wearing a baseball top that was entirely too small for her large bosomed frame and the shortest shorts that displayed all her assets. She was re-supplying paper to her credit card machine. When she glanced back up, she took a long hard look at his clothes and his face before releasing a seductive grin.

"Hello there," she said.

N'Jobu handed her a black credit card and she swiped it. A separate set of doors led to the main room, and when he walked through, the smell of desperate horny men assailed his nostrils. Flashing laser lights, deafening music, and monetary notes were thrown on three separate stages. The two stages on the side were small and flanked by a larger one with a shining silver pole that ran through the ceiling. N'Jobu posted himself up at one of the three bars in the establishment, his eyes watching the stage as three women pranced out into position and began a new set.

Big tits, big asses, and thick thighs were the preference of this space, and the multi-ethnic male audience was appreciative and generous with their cash. The women were good-looking, athletic and limber. Also, completely nude. Glancing around N'Jobu already noticed a tent city with some of the men having intimate lap dances. He already felt a tension in his neck. Bast forbid he should see his woman grinding on some undeserving cock. He needed a drink.

Ordering a scotch on the rocks, N'Jobu leaned in towards the shapely rainbow-haired bartender to pay for his drink. She took one look at N'Jobu, then his credit card, and saw dollar signs.

"You look like a man who needs his own V.I.P. space," Rainbow girl said.

"Is that right?"

She nodded her head towards a space behind him. He looked in the direction she wanted him to see.

"Up there are private sections. I can set you up with bottle service. Exclusive. Private server…very private."

He caught her drift. He didn't even bother to ask her how much, just waved at his card.

"Set me up, I'll run a tab," he said.

Her eyes traced the outline of his expensive designer shirt. She saw his watch and the tasteful white gold chain around his neck. Rainbow grabbed another woman walking behind her with a tray of empty shot glasses.

"Misty, take this customer to booth twenty and set him up."

Misty, a Black and Vietnamese beauty, scanned N'Jobu with her dark eyes and her face lit up. Rainbow handed N'Jobu his scotch and Misty took him by his hand and led him to the steps that propped him up above the rest of the patrons. A man dressed in a decent suit and worked security for the V.I.P. section bent down to hear Misty talk. The suit unlinked a blue velvet rope allowing N'Jobu to walk up to his private perch.

The set up was decent; some Moroccan style couches and two black velvet chairs that sat close to a glass railing to see the action below. N'Jobu stood looking down at the main stage, his eyes darting to and fro for any sign of Califia among the women giving lap dances in the audience. The Blue Rose was huge and a bit chaotic.

"I'll be your personal server Mr., …?"

He didn't give her his name, just walked over to her and looked down at her face.

"Just bring me a bottle of champagne. Top shelf."

"Would you like any food, we have an excellent—"

N'Jobu shook his head. His mind was speeding ahead to what he would say when he saw Califia, or even what he would do. He needed privacy.

"Just bring me the champagne, for now, Misty," he said, enunciating her name so that his accent had the desired effect. She was swooning.

"Be right back," she said, adding extra swerves to her walk going down the steps.

He went back to standing near the railing. The dancer on the stage was being switched out again, the voice of an MC introduced the next performer. N'Jobu held his breath until he saw a slender Latina with ginormous knockers shimmy her way onstage to a fast trap beat.

"Shit," N'Jobu whispered to himself.

Scanning the room, he saw female servers catering to male customers and a few scattered handfuls of women patrons. The main dancer on stage held the pole with her hands and shook her naked ass so hard he thought it would snap off and fall to the ground. Laser lights and theatrical smoke, reeking of the dry ice that created it, wafted throughout the space, and a certain server caught his eye from afar. It was the two braids in her hair. He watched the server hand out drinks, take a few orders and then move past the main stage towards a bar in the back that was out of his field of vision.

Califia.

He felt his body relax. She only presented food and drinks. She wasn't on the pole. A part of him, the lascivious part of himself was a bit disappointed. Did he really think he was going to stand there in an elevated private section and watch her gyrate while sliding up and down a pole with her legs open with an audience? Did he really want to see that?

Sitting in his car earlier he envisioned all kinds of scenarios, men running up to the stage and throwing money on her, dudebros making filthy monetary notes full of damp sweat rain down on her breasts and ass. Drunk guys trying to press their faces into her chest to be motorboated, their dirty hands rubbing their sad crotches and then rubbing some part of her.

Misty returned with a fancy bottle inside a bucket of ice, and a single champagne flute held out to him. She placed the bucket on a table and pulled open the cork that had been popped before she came up the stairs. She poured his glass to the top. He drank until the flute was half empty.

"Will you need anything else?" Misty licked her lips and ran her fingertips across her nipples. Her hustle was not subtle. She may just be a server, but she was willing to give N'Jobu whatever he desired. A lap dance or even more. Had this been weeks in the past, N'Jobu may just as well sat on one of the couches, spread his legs and let this beauty climb on him, but he had something more valuable downstairs. And he wanted her in his presence. Immediately.

He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his wallet and lifted out a fifty-dollar bill.

"There's a server downstairs with two braids and freckles near the stage. Send her up here to me, please."

Misty's face didn't fail to hide her disappointment.

"The girls downstairs have their sections that they are assigned…"

"I want her. Now."

Misty took the fifty and shuffled downstairs.

N'Jobu went to lord over the crowd and watch for his woman. She was making her rounds with a large tray of drinks that she balanced in one hand while fending off overzealous hands with the other.

The high heels she wore made her legs look longer and even sexier, and her uniform, the same as all the women servers and bartenders in the spot, was a tighter baseball top and short shorts that allowed lesser men to see nearly all of her curvy behind. He watched her bend over near the stage to listen to a man, and even from that distance, he could tell the other men watching her were salivating at the view she displayed. How many of them in that moment were fantasizing about getting up behind her, holding her waist and thrusting forward into that round piece of heaven?

He saw Misty approach her. He waited.

###

Califia was making bank tonight. Her push up bra was stuffed with fives, tens and a few twenties. She was going to have to run to the staff room soon to place her collected tips into her backpack located inside her personal locker so she could make room for more. She guestimated that she already had around two-hundred dollars, and her shift was still early. She would be working until six in the morning.

Making her way towards a few tables close to the stage, Califia saw Misty, a club favorite, come bounding up to her.

"Li Li, there's a guy up in twenty who wants you to be the server."

Califia glanced at Misty's pouting lips.

"I'm cleaning up here. Get someone else," Califia said, writing down two separate orders for two different tables.

She purposely had her hip thrust out, trying to finesse hard-up men with eye candy. The men she was taking orders from were definitely into big legs, so she wanted to make sure they could see her extra cocoa-buttered thighs. The club DJ was playing a hard banger of a classic Big Freedia bounce re-mix, so Califia added a few subtle body rolls as she took drink and food orders much to the delight of the men and two women in her section.

Misty rolled her eyes at Califia, but she seemed a little happy with the response she received.

"I'll let him know," Misty said flouncing away.

Califia looked up towards V.I.P., but the distance, bright lights, and smoky atmosphere made it impossible to see the person above them. Clearly, they had the paper to be up there, but Califia just wanted to take orders and serve drinks. V.I.P. work got a little handsy and often illicit. God bless the working girls that went that route, but she was good for the evening.

Califia made sure to give special attention to the two women patrons in her section. She checked in with them often, making sure they had plenty of water and the free salted snacks on each table.

"Let me know if you need anything," was her refrain for them. She did it not because she wanted tips from them, but to make them comfortable in the den of snakes men could turn into in a spot like that. Califia could handle herself with disrespectful clientele, but she had witnessed too many times the sharp turn a night could take with drunk touchy-feely males who could quickly forget a woman sitting in the audience wasn't a worker for the club.

"Come give me a dance, Ma," a guy called to her when she swept past with her empty tray on her way back to the bar.

Califia smiled sweetly, blew him a kiss, but kept it moving.

###

When Misty sauntered back up the stairs, she had a mischievous smile on her face.

"She doesn't want to come up here. Like I told you, all of our ladies have sections they are assigned to. And right now, Li Li is very content where she is."

N'Jobu glanced back down towards the main floor. He saw a man reach out and slap Califia's ass while she was carrying a full tray of beer bottles. He swallowed hard and turned his eyes back towards Misty.

"I can take care of you," Misty said.

N'Jobu took slow deliberate strides over to Misty. He towered over her but brought his lips to her ear.

"Go back down there and tell her this, …inyanga."

"Inyanga?" Misty asked, her face scrunched up in confusion.

"Tell her to come up here again, but if she refuses, get close to her and whisper in her ear, inyanga."

N'Jobu held up another fifty.

Misty stared at him.

"Inyanga?" she said again.

"Perfect," he said. He handed her the fifty and returned to the glass railing. His patience was waning. He didn't want to go down there and cause a scene, but if Califia didn't get her ass up there within the next ten minutes he was liable to go ballistic and bellow her name from the balcony.

###

"What?" Califia asked when Misty crowded her space again.

"That guy in twenty still wants you up there."

"Forget it," Califia said, tucking a wad of bills down into her bra.

Misty stepped closer to her, put her hands onto Califia's arms, and whispered in her ear.

"He told me if you refused to come up again, he wanted me to tell you this…inyanga."

"What? Speak louder, I can't hear you."

"He said if you refused to come to him that I was to tell you this word…inyanga."

Califia eased back from Misty and took a step forward towards the balcony. She still couldn't see the shadowy figure perched up there because of the bright lights and the smoke.

"I'll take your spot," Misty said pulling the empty serving tray from Califia's hand.

Already on autopilot, Califia's legs carried her to the rear of the club, but her eyes were focused up, and eventually, she was able to make out his form and features. She stopped below him. Standing there, eyes raised up to him, the cacophony of action around her became white noise.

Staring down at her, his hands caressing the balcony railing, N'Jobu looked like some ancient haughty Cesar watching a riotous colosseum of bawdy women and lecherous men. How long had he been up there, watching her work? She tried to temper her breathing, but his face in the red glow of the V.I.P. lights had her guessing what he was thinking and feeling. From where she stood, she could clearly see the arch in his eyebrow, the tension in his eyes, and the way his lips poked forward, he was giving her the same stare he had right before he dragged her out of his car and spanked her in the back seat of his BMW. He was giving off molten lava levels of heat. And it was directed at her. She felt her legs quake like she was sinking into quicksand. She waited there like a very bad girl deserving of punishment. The thought made her mouth water.

"N'Jobu," she whispered to herself. His name felt hot and heavy in her mouth, a solid restless thing that needed a release. The moment he saw her lips move with his name, he beckoned with one hand for her to come up.

###

He was drinking champagne when she reached him. Standing near the top of the stairs, Califia watched N'Jobu turn to look at her as he leaned against the balcony.

"Li Li," he said, a smirk dancing on his lips.

She held out her hands.

"What are you doing here?"

"Why are you so far away from me?"

She sauntered in, self-conscious of what she was wearing as his eyes swept across her work uniform.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"You forgot to take the pie I made for you from my car. I was heading home and thought I'd drop it off. Bakari gave me the name of where you were. So here I am."

She glanced around the V.I.P. room.

"So, where's the pie?"

"Come here."

Califia hesitated then took some tentative steps until she was four feet from him.

"You want a drink? It's their best," he said handing his glass to her. She took it, the only time she ever had the opportunity to taste the best bottle her job had to offer. The champagne went down extra bubbly and extra dry. It was quite excellent. She held the glass out for more and N'Jobu walked over to a table and pulled the bottle out of the ice. He replenished the glass and watched her drink her fill. She offered the rest to him and he finished it, placing the glass on the table.

"Does it upset you that I work here in a place like this?"

"A little. If we weren't together, I probably wouldn't care, but it does irk me a bit if there are people here who touch you or look at you. It is your body, but…"

"But what?"

He shrugged.

"No, I want to hear what you have to say. It's my body, but…?"

"All I see in front of me is mine. Just mine. I don't want these cretins touching my treasure. That's all. And you look so damn hot right now, girl."

She pivoted around nice and slow for him then sashayed close to him so that her chest touched his. She played with the collar of his shirt.

"I've been working here for two years. I know how to handle myself. You don't have to worry, and you don't have to check up on me."

"I wasn't checking up, I just wanted to make sure you had your pie. I'm just surprised that this isn't a restaurant."

"Did you think I was dancing on the pole?"

N'Jobu's eyes looked away from her and he pressed his lips together tight searching for an answer.

"You thought you would see me down there on stage doing the do, huh? Admit it!"

N'Jobu tried to play it off, but she pushed her hand into his chest to make him confess the truth.

"Are you disappointed that you didn't catch me in the act?" she asked staring into his face as he tried to avoid direct eye contact. He was embarrassed. She thought he was so adorable when he was embarrassed. He couldn't even look at her when he was in that state.

"Do you want me to go down there and climb on the stage to fulfill your fantasy, sir?" she joked with him, pretending to walk towards the stairs, "I could get Misty up here because God knows she loves to give lap dances."

N'Jobu walked over to her and pulled her hand into his.

"How about you give me a lap dance, Li Li?"

Califia held his gaze, and then she heard the intro beat to a neo-soul jam, heralding the coming of Califia's favorite performer, Medusa.

"Come watch Medusa with me first," she said, pulling N'Jobu back over to the railing, pushing the velvet chairs together.

A woman with long thick honey-brown braids and dark olive skin took the stage, leaping onto the pole by her legs and spinning, her hair spiraling out of control as gravity whipped it around her turns.

Califia watched N'Jobu watch Medusa do her thing as men in the audience began tossing money and catcalling their appreciation for the level of skill Medusa brought.

The woman climbed her way to the ceiling, flipped upside down, released her hands and just allowed herself to slide down all the way to the bottom without hitting the floor with just her thighs. N'Jobu's eyes squinted hard.

"Wow," he said.

"I know," Califia answered.

Medusa pranced around the stage, her movement accentuating and punctuating the lyrics to the song she danced to.

"Not that I would want it, but you would probably be badass down there," N'Jobu said.

"Nah, that's a whole different skill set, baby," Califia said, patting his thigh.

The music switched up and Medusa elevated her game, causing Califia to jump up and clap.

"Get it, Medusa!" Califia yelled.

Medusa grabbed her own braids and swung her body around, dropping into the splits where they could all admire her abundant ass cheeks as they jiggled in time to the beat.

"I see you all still do that twerking thing," N'Jobu said.

"You think she's hot?" Califia asked.

"Yes. She's beautiful," he said looking up at Califia. He stayed seated and watched her gyrate in her shorts, her decadent thighs having the same effect on him as the patrons that sat downstairs. She raised her arms above her head and shook them with the music, and she felt his intense focus on her face without looking at him. When she did allow herself to look at him again, his eyes drifted to her neck and the cleavage she displayed that had money spilling from it.

"Califia," he said, his voice going low, constrained by what she guessed was his need to touch her.

Califia kept winding her body, her butt flexing and bouncing a bit as she moved in her heels. He tapped her arm.

"Califia," he said again.

She turned to look at him and noticed a change in his demeanor. That heat was back in his eyes.

"I want you to give me a lap dance," he said, patting his thigh.

Her head tilted.

"Well sir, we have rules," she said, running her fingers over her two braids and straightening them on her shoulders.

"I will abide by all of them," he said.

She gave him a long contemplative look then became all business.

"Give me a minute," she said and rushed downstairs.

###

Califia met Misty at the entrance bar.

"So," Misty said, looking Califia up and down, "how is that guy in twenty treating you? He's fucking hot."

Califia reached for four shots of the most expensive tequila the club had and placed them on a tray.

"That guy happens to be my boyfriend."

"No shit?"

"Yep."

"The guy with the black American Express card, Rolex, Hugo Boss fits and come-hither eyes?"

"That's my man."

Misty looked her up and down again.

"He seems a little refined for what I'd expect you to catch."

Califia knew Misty could get a little greasy when she was jealous, which was rare. It made Califia wonder how hard she tried to persuade N'Jobu to keep her as his server.

"How long have you two been together?"

"A year," Califia lied.

"Okay, girl. Still waters run deep, I guess. Wouldn't think you could pull someone like that."

Califia picked up her drinks.

"Darla knows this already, but he doesn't want anyone else coming up there. So pass the word along, would you?" Califia said, walking away with the tray and swiveling her hips. When she faced the security guard she nudged him with her elbow.

"The gentleman upstairs doesn't want to be bothered. Please make sure no one comes up unless he requests them personally. Especially Misty."

###

Califia and N'Jobu tossed back both shots of the tequila she brought up. She made him sit on one of the couches furthest away from the railing where they couldn't be seen. Above the couch were adjustable lights in various colors to set any type of mood. Califia chose a soft white light that allowed him to see, but not harsh enough to kill the mood.

Standing before him she held her hands on her hips.

"Rule number one. No touching."

"Got it," he said.

"Rule number two. No means no. Rule number three, I can stop at any time I choose, and if you make me feel uncomfortable, I will call Rusty, the security guard at the bottom of the stairs."

"Anything else?"

"Have fun."

Califia felt the tequila coursing through her as it chased the champagne she had earlier. She could feel the spreading warmth move from her throat and ease down into her chest. N'Jobu watched her face, his legs slightly parted with his hands resting on the sides of his hips.

The boom bap of the music down below was piped into their V.I.P. area with small but powerful JBL speakers above them. She didn't like the song that was playing, and once Medusa left the stage, the DJ returned to bargain basement beats.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, trying to read her facial expression.

"This song sucks…," she said, wishing she could have an on/off switch to shut down the music.

"I don't care about the music," he said.

She was ready to answer him when a slower seductive instrumental piped in.

"That'll work," she said as the tequila-infused her with liquid courage.

She bent down and kissed him softly on his lips then eased back.

Lord, please don't let this come off corny, she thought as she slid her hands down her waist and onto her knees. She spread her legs and dropped down to the floor. She kept her eyes on him until she spun around in her heels so that she was facing opposite him and eased herself back up so that her ass was near his face. She dropped down onto his lap and heard a slight groan escape him as his hands reached out to hold her waist. She already knew he wanted to lift her up and down.

"I said no touching."

She slapped his hands away as she did slow gyrations on his thighs then lowered her hands to grab her ankles, her legs in an upside-down V formation. She flexed the muscles in her ass causing small spasms of movement in each cheek.

N'Jobu said something in his own language as her fingers did a slow glide back up her legs. She angled her torso so that she could look back at him. She dropped back onto his thighs and inched her way further back on his lap until she could feel herself sitting on his dick.

She rested her hands on his knees, leaned forward and bounced, feeling his semi-erection grow under her. He thrust his hips a bit and she gripped his knees tighter to keep herself steady. The silky thin material of her short shorts was really a poor barrier, and she could feel him stiffening more beneath her wiggling. The tiny black G-string she wore tugged on her labia, the friction causing a pleasurable tingling sensation. She found herself exhaling through her mouth. She wanted to see his face.

Turning her body around, she rolled her hips on his lap, feeling her clit rub against his bulge. She exhaled harder, finding herself losing a bit of focus on the task at hand as she made small circles with her hips. She reached up and pushed her breasts together, her tight shirt forcing her tits to spill from her push up bra. Her nipples perked up, and she tweaked them through the shirt and bra with her fingers. N'Jobu's eyes darted between her face, chest, and waist. Her shorts were sticking to the shape of her vulva and she saw his eyes narrow as he noticed the evidence of her arousal.

"Califia," he whispered, still thrusting his constricted erection between her thighs, "let me see your pussy."

Her eyes closed involuntarily at the sound of his request. She was supposed to be running this lap dance. Not him. When she re-opened her eyes, she saw him staring at her mound, his lips parted, and his face constricted in a way that could be read as both pleasure and pain. He stopped thrusting into her, eyes still on her lower half.

"Ahhh, please…let me see your pussy."

She took her right hand and patted her vulva.

"You want to see it, baby?"

"Yesssss, please," he murmured.

She took her time reaching down between them to slide the material of her shorts to the side with one hand. Her other hand plucked at the G-string and they both saw a shiny thread of her arousal sticking to the panties. She tugged on it so that the thin black material spread open the right side of her inner lips and he could see her opening.

"Califia, shit," he groaned, his index and middle finger reaching over and scissoring her clit. He stared at the small trimmed thatch of her reddish pubic hairs on her mound and the freshly waxed smoothness of her vulva. She felt the flow of blood causing her to engorge, making her pussy a succulent oasis for the perfect dick.

"There are rules. No touching," she said brushing away his fingers, but patting her clit herself. N'Jobu's lips were pressed together in a tight line, his eyes steady on her hand slapping her own skin.

"Look at your fat pussy, baby," he said, his fingers on both hands twitching, trying to hold back from fingering her. His eyes raised to gaze at her again. His face looked twisted in anguish, and it turned her on. She unfastened his pants and he helped her slide his slacks and silk boxers down. She slid her fingers around his fat cock and placed it between her legs so that her slickened labia spread right below the head. She shifted her weight and began rubbing her pussy on his dick. They both could hear the sound of it slipping and sliding on him. N'Jobu's hands made another pitiful attempt to touch her, this time groping for her ass, but she slapped them away again and reached for his white gold neck chain necklace, twisting it in her hand so that she was actually choking him with it.

"I said no touching! Can't you follow the rules, sir?"

His eyes widened a bit with surprise, but she felt his cock pulse underneath her. She held onto the twisted chain and kept grinding on him, a slow tickling building up in her clit. She looked down at her labia pressed onto him. A thin drizzle of pre-cum spilled from his tip and she watched it roll down and coat her lower lips. She gasped and released his chain.

"Bay-bee…," she moaned out to him.

"Go ahead, girl. Give me that pussy."

"Uh, huh, uh, huh,…hmmmm…," was all she got out.

"That's your dick…that's your dick…that's all yours," he uttered, encouraging her to keep grinding on him.

"Huh, Jobu…," she said. She felt her voice straining, the wet evidence of her desire flowing out, making his dick shiny.

"Open up your pussy, let me see it," he said.

Califia reached down, lifted up from his dick and spread open her labia, her slippery fingers barely able to keep her folds spread apart. She saw his mouth drop open again while a deeply felt groan tumbled from his lips.

"You're coming home with me tonight," he said, still staring at her pussy.

"Bay-bee…," she whimpered.

"Look at me…I said look at me, Califia."

She kept her pussy spread open for him but allowed her eyes to rest on his face. The intensity she saw there brought her anxious desire for him to the surface. She closed her eyes seeking a little shelter from his gorgeous face, just enough of a break to let her gather her wits and keep from being overwhelmed by his forceful energy.

"Tell me you want me inside you tonight," he said.

She needed to rub herself against him, needed that fat dick to be buried in her balls deep. She couldn't take any more waiting.

"I want you inside me," she blurted out, "I need to be in your bed. I need you to be in my pussy, Jobu."

She spread her thighs so that her pussy splayed open wider.

"Shit," he said, his eyes wrenched back to her opening, "I'm going to be in there deep, baby."

Califia yelped and dropped back on him with her clit on his dick, rocking him with a frantic energy.

"You want me in there deep?" he asked.

"Yes!" she snapped, her body lurched forward as she held onto his shoulders. He enclosed his fingers around her waist to balance her.

"You'll take all this dick?"

"Yes, baby."

"All of it?"

"Bay-bee—"

"All this dick. Right?!"

"Yes—"

"Say it then! All of it!"

"I'll take all of it! All your dick…all your dick…all of it…Oh…God….Jobu…Jobu…Jobu…"

Califia's head fell forward onto his shoulder and she was cumming,…hard…all over his dick. She trembled in his lap as the spasms in her core rocked her into a state of bliss, her skin thrumming with the feverish release of her orgasm. She felt her toes bunch up as her thighs squeezed his hips.

She felt N'Jobu pull her close to him and she felt the warm breath of his mouth blowing in her ear. He was talking to her in his language again, the soft dulcet tones bringing her back to her senses. She felt his fingers pulling her G-string and shorts back into place despite the stickiness she felt still dripping out of her.

"Go get your things. We're leaving," he said.

"But I have to finish my shift—"

"Fuck that shift," he said, pulling her off of him and fixing his own clothes, "Go. Hurry up. I'll meet you down by the bar near the exit. I need to close out my tab."

She stared at him. They were finally going to do this.

"Call your grandmother and tell her you're not coming home," he said.

Califia saw the heat growing in his eyes again. She was still giddy from her orgasm.

"Don't even bother changing, just get your stuff," he said.

She ran down the stairs. All she could think about was his bed and him on top of her. At last.

###

N'Jobu paid for his time and drinks in V.I.P. Rainbow girl and Misty watched him as he waited for Califia. Misty, in particular, was giving him stares that made him feel like she was upset about something. Their manager, Darla, was not happy when N'Jobu announced in a brisk tone that they needed to find someone else to replace Califia for good.

When Califia walked back from getting her backpack and helmet, N'Jobu interlaced his fingers with hers and guided her out of the club.

"My bike is in the employee parking—"

"We'll come back for it tomorrow," he said shoving open the front double doors of the club.

Outside, the staccato click-clack of her heels echoed in his ears. When they reached his car, he opened the passenger side for her and couldn't keep his eyes off her backside when she climbed in.

He wanted to spank her.

The compulsion rose up in him so fast he had to catch his breath. But he had to get her home first, get her naked, make her understand that he wasn't playing about getting deep inside of her. His dick was a solid mass of neediness. She had him wound up tight, and now that he saw her pussy, and what awaited his cock, he had to fight an inner battle not to fuck her in the backseat right there in the parking lot. He prayed that the fresh box of ultra-thin condoms he had waiting at home could withstand the intense thrusts he had planned for her. He had to close his eyes for a moment when he opened his driver's side door. He hadn't felt this type of anticipation in a long ass time. It was making him feel punch drunk.

Watching her face when she orgasmed gave him such a rush. Even though he loved to hear his women talk back to him when he shared pleasure with them, Califia made his dick even harder with just the sounds and facial expressions she made. Those soft but desperate pants…the way her voice went "Oh!" when his dick rubbed her delicate folds just right, spreading his wetness all over her juicy clit. When he was on the edge, his lips parting as he watched her chase her orgasm, she seemed to pick up on his heightened pleasure, creating a feedback loop that spun him into his tortuous goal of not cumming until they were between his sheets. His balls had become so heavy that he thought he was going to lose it when thankfully, she let go first. He felt that Califia-induced tunnel vision closing in on him.

He started up the car and led them out of the cul-de-sac and away from the club. The first red light he came to, he looked over at her and knew he was in trouble. She had taken off her push up bra, and he could see her hard nipples poking through her top. And those fucking thighs of hers. He reached over and tugged on her shorts.

"Pull those down. To your ankles," he said.

Her eyes drifted across his face. The hard-line look in his eyes let her know he wanted it done right away. She pulled them down, letting her shorts and G-string sit atop her heels. He reached over with his right hand giving her mound a gentle tap.

"Open your legs," he said.

"Hmphh,…baby," she sighed, spreading her thighs a little bit. He tapped her there again a little harder with two fingers. She let her head fall back onto the headrest, but she kept her fervent eyes on him while twisting her lips.

"Show me your pussy again," he demanded, "use both of your hands."

Califia gently peeled back her inner lips and opened her center up to him. He checked the traffic light again. It was still red. He wet his ring and index finger with his mouth, then reached over and teased her opening. When her strained whimpering got the best of him, he inserted his fingers inside of her, just to the first knuckle.

"Jobu," she gasped. He pressed in more, all the way in, curling his fingers a bit. He started to tap along her wall.

The light turned green and he kept his fingers inside of her, giving slow rhythmic thrusts as he drove.

"I'm getting this pussy ready," he said, "don't move."

Driving closer to his apartment, he made his digits work a little faster. She dropped her fingers from her opening when they reached another red light.

"No, …put them back. Keep your pussy open for me, just like that…yes…wider…you're so wet for me…open it wider…yesssss… look at that pretty pussy…"

Her whimpering devolved into raw tremulous pants. Her eyes were still on him but at half-mast. He pulled his fingers out and yanked her top up so he could see her breasts.

"Fuck…," he said, squeezing her left breast and fussing with her nipple, "keep that pussy open."

She did. He played with her tits, then stuck three fingers inside of her. She kept her eyes on him.

"I like how you hold that pussy open for me," he said stroking her insides. She squirmed in the seat.

They came to another red light and he pulled his fingers out.

"Play with your tits for me."

Califia cradled and kneaded her breasts with such sensual touches that he found himself mumbling curse words in Wakandan. He told her how nice and ripe her breasts were, how he couldn't wait to suck on them after he fucked the shit out of her. She had no idea what he was saying, but he sensed the tone in which he spoke to her was getting his message across. Crude thoughts consumed his mind and he couldn't help it. He felt intoxicated watching her while also watching for the light to change.

Her thumbs and index fingers massaged her nipples, plucking them at intervals that made him forget to check the light. His escalating desire was making him impatient. He slipped his fingers back inside of her, hooking them so that he could tease her clit with the rest of his hand. He drove on while still giving her thrusts with his fingers. His dick jumping in his pants was almost unbearable.

"Jobu," she whined, and he couldn't look at her, his eyes fixed on the road, trying to make it safely to his apartment without crashing because of her distracting wet pussy. He spoke to her again in Wakandan, his tongue hitting the roof of his mouth brushing near his incisors as his words now incorporated the traditional clicks of his language. It was when he was telling her how she was making him feel and his tongue made a loud "clop" sound that she lost it.

He felt a tightening on his fingers and heard a long drawn out moan stagger from her mouth in waves.

"Yes, baby," he shouted at her as he felt her thighs slam shut around his fingers, "cum on my hand!"

He pulled up to the security gate of his apartment and put his car in park awkwardly with his left hand. Turning his head, he stared down at his fingers between her legs and then dragged his eyes up to her face. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she had her hands cupping her breasts like a divine offering. He wanted to reach into his pants and pull out his erection so he could decorate her tits with his semen, but his bed was mere seconds away in his mind.

He gently removed his fingers from inside of her, and her eyes parted open slightly, barely registering his face. He stuck his fingers in his mouth to taste her.

"Fuck," he said, licking his fingers with deliberate care as she watched him with sated eyes.

He found his parking spot and watched her slowly pull up her G-string and shorts. Hopping out of the driver's side, he wasted no time grabbing her backpack from the backseat and helping her out on wobbly legs. He clasped her hand and walked her up the stairs and into his home.

###

She felt like she was floating.

The minute they were inside the apartment, N'Jobu tossed her backpack on the couch and began kissing her without turning any lights on. She matched his intensity as he backed her towards his bedroom. When he had her in front of his open bedroom door he released her lips but kept his face near hers. She could feel heat radiating from his body. Draping her hands around his neck, she waited for him to say something.

"Is everything okay?" she finally asked when a minute seemed to pass and he didn't move or say anything. Was he changing his mind? His enthusiasm seemed to taper off.

"N'Jobu?"

She touched his face, unable to see him well in the dark hallway. He reached behind her and turned on his bedroom lights. His face illuminated, she realized she was mistaken about his excitement tapering off. She could see a yearning in his eyes, and his lips made her ache to kiss him again.

"I want to take my time with you," he finally said, touching one of her braids.

"Okay," she answered, giving him a shy smile.

He stared at her a bit longer, like he was trying to figure out the words he wanted to say. In the car, his voice rumbled foreign words that coaxed her into a state of uninhibited physical abandon. Sitting in a car with her legs spread open, the old torments of worrying that she would take forever to relax and climax was gone. She tumbled so fast into her orgasm that she almost forgot where she was when he helped her out of his car.

Trusting her instincts, Califia stepped into his bedroom backward, slowly unbuttoning her top. The track lights in his bedroom were ultra-bright. N'Jobu reached over and tried to lower the intensity of the lighting.

"Keep them all the way up. I want to see all of you," she said, kicking off her heels and sliding her shorts and panties off.

She stepped away from her clothes and kept easing back until her calves hit the bed. It was a lot lower than she expected. Glancing around she saw that all his furniture was dark chestnut, and he had a wing-backed chair propped near his mirrored sliding closet doors.

Looking back at him, she watched him unbutton his shirt, taking it off along with a black t-shirt and tossing them onto the chair. As he slipped off his shoes and socks, Califia crawled onto his bed, resting on her knees with her thighs spread wide. She skimmed her fingers around her breasts, cupping them in her hands and holding them up for him. His eyes were glued to her nipples as he slipped out of his pants and underwear.

Her eyes drifted down to look at his cock.

Jesus.

He was still semi-erect, but if he had more to fill out…

She felt a fiery electric spark race up her spine. He was the most beautiful naked man she had ever seen. Every ratio on his body was in proportion for complete perfection, and she couldn't get over the even rich color of skin. His white-gold necklace glowed against his ebony skin. Her eyes raked up and down his body and she was especially intrigued by the deep V lines that ran from his waist to his groin.

Plucking her nipples again, she rested her thighs back on her haunches. His eyes never left her breasts and she saw his dick grow to full hardness without him touching it, the weight of it making it bob up and down. A small gasp left her mouth and her fingers found their way between her legs as she played with her prominent slick folds. His eyes caught that movement as she teased her opening. She was learning all the things that got him off, and opening up her pussy lips and displaying them was a big turn on for him, so she tormented him a bit by opening and closing her folds while bouncing a bit on his bed, letting her pussy touch the expensive duvet. It worked. He grabbed his dick in one hand and slapped the weight of it in the other.

"Ooh..shit…" she whispered and fell all the way back on the bed, stunned by the loud thwack sound his dick made as he struck his palm several times with it. She bent her knees and spread her legs, working her fingers in small circles around her clit as she watched him approach her.

N'Jobu stroked his dick and kept his eyes fixed on her eyes. Califia sunk her fingers back inside herself, already super-charged by the sight of his cock and that fat sack of his. Her nose was crinkled and she felt her eyes squeeze shut as she smooshed her lips together. She craved another orgasm.

She felt her thighs being hooked and dragged to the edge of the bed. Eyes snapping open, she found N'Jobu down on his knees by the side of the bed with his face between her legs. Her thighs were hanging over his muscular arms.

"Lay back," he said in a soft voice.

"But I want to watch you," she whispered back.

He stared in her eyes for a few seconds.

"Then watch," he said, placing his entire mouth over her pussy.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh."

N'Jobu sucked pussy liked he sucked on her tits; Gentle. Probing. And oh, so slow.

The hair on his goatee gave a delicious tickle to her private parts, and he flattened his wide tongue to roll over her folds. His tongue explored each side of her labia, and when he feasted on her clit with delicate licks and circular sucking motions, she felt like she wanted to cry because he was gazing at her with such adoration as he did it. Every now and then his eyes would close and he would use his mouth to hum and vibrate her pussy. Lapping up her juices, he dipped his tongue in and out, still holding her thighs apart.

"Hunnhhhhhh," came out of her mouth, and he slowed down to an even more excruciating snail-like pace. All she could think was, This nigga is tryna kill me before I even get the dick.

His fingers slid up her waist and ribcage, gripping her breasts in each hand, squeezing, shaking, and claiming their fullness. Once he toyed with her nipples, an inner connection was made and a strong sexual current shot down to her clit. She began to moan and he lifted his head to stare at her pussy.

"Damn…Califia…girl….look at your pussy twitching…."

She lifted herself higher on her elbows and looked down at his glistening lips, goatee, and cheeks as his eyes were riveted to her clit. She could see herself jumping down there. He was mesmerized, allowing his tongue to dip and lick inside her juicy wet opening, then watch the reaction of her clit as it continued to quiver on its own. He took his thumb and pressed down on her clit with light pressure, then gave a slow delicate swirl to it with his tongue.

"Bay-bee," she said, wanting to cum all in his mouth at that point.

"Califia, I need to cum, real quick. I just…I have to… I can't…ah…shit…"

N'Jobu released her thighs and she saw his right hand grab his dick and stroke it.

Wait. Wait. Wait.

Was he about to bust one while he hadn't finished her off?

Legs splayed open, and her pussy on the verge of imploding from his mouth, she watched him stare at her pussy while he long stroked himself. He placed his fingers under the fat head and tugged hard.

"Your pussy is still twitching, girl. Goddammit….goddammit…your pussy—"

He gritted his teeth as he aimed his dick towards the hem of the duvet and released a stream of semen along with a painful groan that excited her even more. After draining his dick, N'Jobu looked at the puddle of cum he left on the bottom of the bed cover.

"Fuck," he said, his breathing unsteady, his fingers releasing his cock.

Before she could bitch to him, he was back on her pussy with a vengeance, and this time she fell all the way on her back, letting him have his way. Staring at the ceiling all she could hear was the smacking of his lush lips, the sublime gushy sounds escaping between her thighs with each lap of his tongue. She reached down and stroked his head with her fingers. He nipped, sucked, and swallowed everything that she gave him, and when he started humming and making her skin vibrate at her core once more, she gratefully came undone, her hips and legs bucking with unrestrained ardor. He had to hold her thighs apart to keep her from smothering him.

Looking down at him, he had a smile on his face as he studied her reaction.

"Oh my God…Jobu…baby…what the fuck?!"

Her body jerked a bit, and she closed her eyes, drawing in deep breaths to control her trembling. N'Jobu crawled up alongside her and kissed her. She sucked her own taste from his mouth and loved every moment of it as he fingered her right breast.

Drawing her in closer, he draped his arm over her stomach and kissed her cheek.

"You taste so fucking good," he said.

She beamed as she felt her body sink into a languorous state. She was so happy that she didn't have to leave his bed right away. She had texted Soliel at the club that she wouldn't be coming to spend the night with her, so there was no need to tell her grandmother anything. She wasn't expected anywhere until Saturday evening.

She stretched her body like a well-fed cat and threw her arm across N'Jobu's, looking him in his eyes.

"You made me feel so good. Three orgasms…"

She stretched again, a small yawn escaping her lips.

"Tired?" he asked.

"It's been a long day."

"It has," he said, kissing her cheek again, "you want to take a shower?"

The fingers on his left hand were still stroking and plying her breasts with light caresses, and she felt hypnotized by the motion. He would circle a nipple, then squeeze her breasts so that her large areolas would peek out from his hand. He bent his head to suck and bite at them as he was talking to her.

"I can give you a long clean t-shirt, and I have a lot of different body washes you can choose from…"

She tried to concentrate on his words but his handling of her breasts had her revving up again.

"Damn, you suck titties so good, boy…" she said, arching her back as his nipple play had her opening her legs again.

She reached up and pulled his hand back down between her legs, then reached for his dick. It had gone slightly soft. Slightly.

"So, a shower?" he said.

"I want you in me," she said showing no restraint as she worked his cock.

His eyes bulged when she squeezed his balls.

"Didn't you promise me you would go deep inside me?"

She massaged his cock until it was standing at attention. He grabbed it away from her and dragged it up and down and around her opening. When he pressed it against her center, she looked down at it nervously. It was so big. She watched him tease circles in her folds. He didn't think he wasn't going to use a condom, did he? She tensed a bit when she thought he was going to shove himself inside her unprotected and placed her hand on his hand to stop him from trying.

He kissed her again and rolled over towards a pillow. He reached under and pulled out a condom. She felt her body go slack with relief. He tore open the packet and rolled the condom onto himself. It was clear and fit his huge dick like a thin layer of skin. It was a brand she was unfamiliar with. Of course, he had a dick size that was new to her too.

N'Jobu pulled her closer and kissed her, and she eased into his full lips. In all honesty, they could kiss all night and she would be enthralled with him, but his dick was jutting out and striking her belly. He brushed a finger over her breasts again then whispered in her ear.

"Are you ready for me?"

"Yes."

He stroked her clit again, then dipped his fingers lower.

"So wet," he muttered.

He positioned himself between her legs, and she rested her thighs in her own hands, lifting them up a bit, presenting herself to him. She saw his face quake when she did that. There was something about serving herself up to him that just sent him over the edge. He reached over and grabbed a pillow for her lifting her up a bit and placing it under her back for comfort.

He looked down into her eyes, and she felt a swelling in her heart. He kept his eyes on her, then looked down for a second as he lined up his cock. She felt him press the head of his dick inside her, and then his eyes were back on her.

He pushed in slowly, watching the expression on her face. She shifted her hips as he eased in more. He was a third of the way in when the sensation of being too full too fast overtook her and she tensed.

"Am I hurting you?" The concern in his voice made her more comfortable.

"Give me a second to get used to it," she gritted through her teeth. He pulled back a little.

"No, don't pull out…just…take it slow…I'll be okay," she said.

The sensation felt so good, and so overwhelming at the same time. There was no dick like new dick, and N'Jobu was packing the good stuff. She wiggled on him a bit, and he exhaled hard, still gazing at her face.

"You're so juicy… pussy gripping me tight…," he said. She watched a sheen of perspiration accumulate on his brow.

He gave her small shallow thrusts and she got used to the shocking fullness. She spread her legs wider, removing her hands from her thighs and resting them on the planes of his chest. He looked down at his dick going inside of her.

"You okay?" he asked, staring into her eyes again.

"Go deeper," she said.

His eyes reacted to her words and he shifted his hips and thrust in further, making her lips press together then open suddenly.

"Oh…shit…," she said wrapping her arms around his neck, gently scraping her nails on his nape.

They both could hear his dick going inside of her. He pulled out a few inches, then slid back in a little further than he was before. He was stretching her out and it felt incredible. She laid back to watch him. His eyes fixed on hers, but they took on an intimate unguarded look. She could tell he was turned on by her and probably wanted to do more but also wanted to make her comfortable with his restraint.

She couldn't take it anymore.

"Fuck me."

N'Jobu lifted up his knees throwing her legs over his arms and plunged his cock as deep as he could get. She tried to watch his dick going in and out of her, but at that point, she needed to be fucked well by him, and just clung to his neck. His hips slamming into her were unwavering as he stroked deep inside her tight walls. She could feel her juices spilling against his thighs thanks to all those orgasms he gave her earlier. She couldn't hold onto him any longer and just fell back on the bed. He shifted again and pressed himself on top of her, his mouth searing the side of her neck as he sucked on it while slamming his cock into her. She felt his mouth angle up her face until he was rasping into her ear, "I'm balls deep, girl…shit…you're taking all this dick…fuck."

She wrapped her legs around his waist and held tight to his back.

He was hers.

She laid back and pondered every sensation he gave her, his lips right at her ear as he whispered things to her and only her.

"Jobu, you feel so good in my pussy."

"This pussy is all mine, right?'

"Yes," she moaned, "you're in so deep baby…so deep…"

"I should've been fucking you a long time ago," he said, pulling out slowly. He swiveled his hips and slid back in even slower. She wanted him fast and hard and began bucking her hips.

"Harder, baby…," she said, wanting his balls to slap against her ass.

"Harder?"

"Yes…harder…and faster… I want you to cum."

He stopped moving and lifted up to stare down at her.

"Is that what you want?" He said pulling his dick all the way out and slamming it back into her fast. Her eyes snapped shut. She took a deep shaky breath and opened them again.

"Fuck me," she whimpered, her eyes watery, her legs becoming tired and heavy. He lifted her legs up and threw them over his shoulder and drove his cock in until he bottomed out.

"You asked for this…is this what you wanted?"

His thighs were so strong pressed into her and she was so deliriously happy that they could be loud, nasty, and alone.

"I want it, baby. Give it," she answered.

N'Jobu's face was like a man possessed. He fucked her with abandon and precise dickmanship. She thought of the time when Serah told her about the way he fucked, and that bitch wasn't lying at all. She just let him go, and he was hitting angles and spots in her pussy that she didn't know she had. She was going to be sore later, that was a given because his dick was relentless. And she was taking it. His bed rattled and she allowed her fingers to graze across his taut nipples. His deep penetration worked her back out, and she relished every pull on her muscles that he dragged out of her.

"Damn this pussy is so good," he said.

"It's all yours," she said, reaching up and twisting his gold chain.

"Say that again," he urged, his voice straining.

She pulled and twisted his chain, choking him a bit.

"This pussy is all yours. Take it. Take it all baby," she said, squeezing her thighs tight.

"Ah fuck…." His lips parted and he was exhaling through his mouth now. She wiggled her ass and internally, she squeezed her walls now that she was fully comfortable with his dick.

"I feel you," he said, closing his eyes above her. She still pulled on his chain.

"You want to cum?" she asked him, her own voice sounded like it was going to crack. She released his necklace.

"Fuck my dick," he said, spreading her legs out further and pressing them down into the mattress. He reached up and squeezed her tits, then reached down to grip her waist. He was losing it. She wiggled on him, matching his thrusts and tightening her pussy on his dick, the friction between them a molten wet mess. He looked down at where they were joined.

"Damn, you're creaming everywhere!"

Lifting her head, she looked down and saw that it was true.

"You made me do that," she said.

"That's my fault?"

"Yes."

He gave her the biggest smile and then his face contorted when she gyrated and clenched his dick at the same time.

"This… good…pussy…fuck...I'm cumming!"

They both looked down at his surging cock and watched as it pumped semen into the condom.

"That's it, baby, give it to me," she said, taking her fingers and widening her labia for him.

"You're so good, girl…I'm filling this shit up-"

His voice broke and then he was speaking Wakandan to her until his hips jerked.

He squeezed her left breast hard, then collapsed in a satisfied heap on top of her. She held him tight and kissed his forehead. When his breathing returned to normal she heard him say, "You better call whoever you need to. You aren't leaving here for the next two days."

Chapter 16 HERE.

###

[justsomebucky]

Finding Closure (Part 5)

Summary: AU. Reader left behind a hometown full of misery to make a new home in Brooklyn. A death in the family forces her to briefly return to the place that has haunted her dreams and memories for three years. Will she finally be able to move on, or will a figure from the past change everything?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 3,082

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of bad home life, family issues, revisiting childhood home, excessive Bucky adorableness, drinking, dumb decisions on both sides, did I mention angst?

A/N: I just needed to post this. Part five of my entry for @tatortot2701‘s AU challenge. I legit cried writing this; it feels really personal to me. Alcoholic fathers…

Dear Bucky - Is it really over?

Part:  1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

For the first time ever, even after all those years of wanting cable TV or your own phone or anything your friends had, you were glad that your father didn’t own much.

The biggest and most important things were already gone, like the appliances, electronics, and a bulk of the furniture. He had gotten rid of the bed he’d shared with your mother ages ago, choosing instead to sleep on the couch for easier access after he stumbled back from the bar.

All that really remained upstairs was the furniture in your bedroom and some end tables here and there.

You never meant to spend the night there; it was a completely unsettling experience. When you woke up, you became immediately confused. Then you remembered: your father was dead. You’d fallen asleep reading Bucky’s letter. That’s the only reason why you’d gone back there last night.

Poor Darcy was probably in a panic, since your phone battery had died during the night and you never really bothered to tell her where you were.

Between the letter and the events of yesterday, you kind of just cried yourself to sleep, waking up with puffy eyes and a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. To distract yourself, you immediately stripped the covers off your old bed, throwing the mattress against the side wall so that you could take the frame apart.

You were so into cleaning up the top floor of the house that you didn’t hear someone pounding on the door.  You didn’t hear that same someone enter the house (which you stupidly left unlocked), and you definitely didn’t hear them come up the stairs.

“Y/N!”

Bucky’s voice startled your otherwise peaceful progress. You shot backwards, falling onto your backside on the floor. “Ouch!”

“Sorry,” he said, trying to bite back his laughter, appearing in the doorway. He walked over to you and held out a hand, which you accepted after a slight hesitation.

Once you were hauled back on your feet, you glared at him. “Why did you feel the need to sneak up on me?”

“Hey, you’re the one who didn’t answer your door,” he retorted, finally stopping to look around him. Bucky’s eyes softened almost immediately at the sight of your room being cleaned out. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

You knew he meant the house sale, but you couldn’t help but think back to his letter.

“Yep.” Your eyes flickered back to the box that was now on the floor near the window. The box, and the photo of your parents, were the only two things you were taking back to Brooklyn. “I’m almost done.”

“I figured.”

You watched awkwardly as Bucky went over to the box, plucking out the stack of photos. Should you tell him you finally read it?

Did it matter at this point?

You did a quick analysis in your head, something you were awfully good at. What was the likelihood of regret if you didn’t bring it up now? The probability was colossal.

“Hey, Buck?”

“Hmm?” Bucky didn’t even look up at you as he shuffled through the stack of photos, stopping every so often to smile or study a picture more closely.

“Did you mean what you said? In your letter?”

That got his attention. His blue eyes snapped up to look at you, his smile fading. “Of course I did.”

Instead of replying, you nodded your head.

“So you read it?”

You nodded again.

Bucky set the photos back in the box, his eyes never leaving yours as he stood up and moved closer. He waited for you to find your voice again.

“I was dumb,” you admitted, shrugging a little. “And even now, I’m being dumb. It feels like forever ago, Bucky, until we’re together in the same room. Then it feels like no time has passed at all.”

He shook his head. “What do you mean? It feels like you’re a totally different person to me.”

“I’m just older. I’d love to say I’m wiser, but that isn’t the case.”

“No, you’re different.”

“I’m the same person, I promise.”

“No,” he insisted, the corner of his mouth lifting up. “You’re braver. You don’t…you don’t need anybody anymore.”

Your body tensed up, and you knew you had to be frowning at him. Why was this starting to feel like a proper breakup, the one you should have had with him years ago?

“Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat.  “The reason I stopped by is because Darcy apparently cannot get a hold of you and she has no clue where the house is. She asked me to, and I’m quoting her on this, ‘make sure Y/N isn’t dead in a ditch somewhere.’”

You laughed, picturing Darcy panicking. “Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have left her alone last night.”

“Not alone. She left with Ian, if it makes you feel any better.”

“It kind of does. She gets bored.”

“Why did you leave?” Bucky’s eyes searched yours. “I thought we were having a nice time, being civil unlike most exes?”

“I was having a nice time,” you agreed. “But then you had to go and start singing our song, and- and holding me like that, and-“

“Whoa,” he laughed, holding his palms up. “I was just dancing for old times’ sake. I wasn’t trying provoke any feelings. I definitely wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable. You just...you ran again.”

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, his explanation hurt your feelings. “I know...like I said, I panicked. I wasn’t trying to suggest you would. I- I wasn’t trying to say you’d ever want me or anything.”

His arms fell to his sides. “What?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head, gesturing for him to follow you as you walked out of the room. “The big fridge was taken for donation already, but I found a mini-fridge in the garage, so I stored the champagne Sam gave me there. Let’s go toast to the end of this shitty era.”

Without waiting for him to reply, you took off down the stairs and through the side door, grabbing the bottle. It was still nice and cold, so you popped the cork and moved the bottle away from your body so you didn’t get any champagne on you as it spilled over.

There was a slight problem – there were no more glasses in the house. You’d donated them all to the local city mission.

You shrugged to yourself, taking a swig from the bottle before holding it out to Bucky expectantly.

He just sort of standing there, staring at you as if you’d grown two heads. “What the hell is this, Y/N?”

“What is what?” If he wasn’t gonna have any, you would just take another sip. “It’s champagne.”

“You’re here facing all this shit with your father head-on like it’s nothing, but then when it comes to me you run every time.”

“What do you want me to do, Buck?” You held out the bottle again. “Swoon?”

Bucky’s eyes grew stormy and he grabbed the champagne from your hands, taking a generous swig. “No, I’d like to know what’s going on in that head of yours, though.”

What was going on?

“You shouldn’t have danced with me, Bucky,” you muttered, reaching for the champagne bottle. “You took it too far for someone who’s hell-bent on letting go.”

He pulled it out of your reach, drinking some more. “Why was it too far? D’you have somebody in New York?”

“What does that matter?”

“It matters! Who would let their significant other come to their father’s funeral alone?” He finally relented, offering you the bottle again. “That’s shitty.”

“I’m single, thank you very much. I’ve been very focused on school and then work.”

When Bucky didn’t say anything, you took that as a sign to continue.

“What, no snappy comeback? No, ‘I figured you were alone because you brought your roommate?’  You’re losing your touch, Bucky. I figured that you’d at least bring up the fact that I probably can’t find someone because I’m so hard to love.” Your voice caught on the last word and you turned from him, covering your mouth with your free hand.

“Y/N, come on,” Bucky said softly. You heard his boots shuffle closer to you, but you needed a minute. “Don’t be like this, not now.”

You stared out the dirty garage window, at the murky sunlight crawling across the floor, at anything that would help take your mind off how you were feeling.

Suddenly he was right beside you, taking the bottle from your hands and setting it down on the garage floor.

You didn’t hesitate this time as you turned and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder as you finally let yourself cry over this whole shitty situation.

“Shhh,” he murmured, stroking your hair gently. “You’re not unlovable, trust me. That asshole father of yours hadn’t been of sound mind since your mom died, Doll. He wasn’t sober enough to be. You can’t let him dictate how you feel about yourself.”

Honestly, it felt so damn good to be wrapped up in someone’s arms, to be held by someone who used to genuinely love you, even if he didn’t anymore. You hated to move and lose the warmth and comfort, but you did so anyway, letting go of him and taking a step back as you swiped at your eyes.

“I’m sorry for losing it,” you told him, trying to brush it off. “Clearly I should look into therapy.”

His gaze was even. “You can lose it whenever you want to. I’m here.”

“But you aren’t here with me, Bucky. You aren’t around, but he’s always there in my head. That’s why I can’t be in this town.”

For the first time ever, he seemed to get it, nodding thoughtfully as his blue eyes stared at yours.

The damage a parent like that can do to you, well, there’s not really much recourse besides living with it, is there?

“Your letter was beautiful.” You figured there was no time like right this second to bring it up again. After all, one more sleep and you’d be back in Brooklyn…one more night of heart-wrenching torture to go. “I never knew how much you cared, to be honest. I guess…I couldn’t see past my own problems.”

Bucky gave you a sheepish smile. “I was pretty good with words for a guy with no college education.”

“See, don’t do that then. Don’t put yourself down like you’re not good enough for anyone just because you didn’t go to college. You have a successful business, Bucky, you’re doing so well for yourself. How many people with degrees can say the same these days?”

“We both have some issues that still haunt us I guess.” He let out a hollow laugh, his smile falling from his mouth as he looked down at the cement floor.

“I didn’t go to Brooklyn to get away from you. I didn’t run, I…I’m not running.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t buy the garage to chain you here.”

“Do you think maybe if we were in the same place…?”

You couldn’t help the hopeful look you knew you were giving him right then as your voice trailed off. You wanted to know. This question had been burning a hole inside your heart for the last three years. It was time for him to either extinguish it for good or burn with you.

“Seems unlikely though, doesn’t it?”

“It’s just a hypothetical.”

Bucky held your gaze for a beat, then shook his head. “I think…hypothetical scenarios are best left to the imagination.”

Ah, there it was.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting; three years might have well been an entire lifetime. He was a changed man, a responsible adult. He had better things to do than worry about losing his heart to someone like you again.

You could practically feel your own heart growing colder at his words.

Instead of crying, instead of throwing the champagne bottle against the wall to watch the glass shatter into a thousand pieces like your sanity, you forced a smile to your face. “You’re probably right. I have to get back to work, but it was good seeing you again. If you could let Darcy know I’m almost finished here?”

He looked almost surprised at your reaction. “Sure. Take care of yourself, Y/N.”

“You too.”

Bucky reached up and cupped your cheek gently, his thumb running across your skin once, before he let go of you. His eyes roamed your face for a second, then the garage, before he turned and walked out the door, hands in his pockets, as if it was the most casual thing ever to break your heart all over again.

“That’s it?” Darcy eyed you carefully as you pushed your way into the hotel room, the Bucky box tucked under your arm. “That’s all you’re taking back with you?”

“Everything else is set for donation,” you confirmed, setting the box down on the armchair in the corner. “Sam has the keys, and I left instructions with him for tomorrow. He promised to have what little is left picked up for me so I could leave.”

“Sam is a cool dude, but Y/N, what about everything else?”

You whirled around. “What else is there? The funeral’s over, I took care of the legal crap, the house is as good as gone from my life forever…I can go back to Brooklyn without anything trying to hold me back in this hellhole.”

“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about. I’m going to shower and go to sleep. That way, tomorrow will get here quicker, and we can-“

“What about Bucky?” she interrupted, putting her hands on her hips. “What about the unfinished business between you two?”

“That’s just it, Darce. It is finished. He came over to the house because you called the garage – thanks for that by the way, we’re really going to have to invest in car chargers so that if my phone dies again I won’t be radio silent. Anyways, he came over and we talked, and I brought up the letter. I asked him if there was ever a chance for us and he basically shot me down.”

“Whoa, slow down champ.” Darcy pulled you to sit on the edge of the bed, turning toward you. “You can’t just do a tweet’s worth of a summary, I need more explanation than that!”

“He basically said even if we were in the same place we wouldn’t be together.”

“What do you mean by ‘basically,’ Y/N?”

“He put an end to any hope I had.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, no, but...”

“So was it more of a ‘we weren’t meant to be last time, but we can still totally bang on the kitchen floor one last time?”

You made a face at her. “No!”

“All right, I was just checking, geez.” Darcy tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder. She seemed to be mulling it over. “Maybe you misinterpreted. That doesn’t seem right to me.”

“Really? My life doesn’t seem right to you? What was your first clue?” You let out a sharp laugh. “My alcoholic father? My failed relationship? Was it me agreeing to be the roommate of someone with an ad like yours?”

“You know what I mean, smartass! This doesn’t feel like this is the end.”

“I don’t know what kind of definition you had in your head for the word ‘end,’ but that’s exactly what this is. Over, finished, complete, dunzo. In other words, the end.”

Darcy shook her head. “Something doesn’t feel right about it. It’s not the closure you needed.”

“Closure?”

“Yeah, like…you got the closure with your dad and the house, as best you could since he couldn’t physically apologize to you for being such a piece of shit. But this other thing…”

“I did okay without Bucky, didn’t I? We talked, we reminisced, and we parted ways again. I’ll be okay.”

“You still love him, Y/N. Anyone that was in the room with the two of you could see it plain as day on your face. And Bucky looked the same way, which is why I don’t get his response to you.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. It’s probably just nostalgia at this point.”

“Nostalgia wouldn’t leave my best friend feeling like this.”

You sighed, standing up again to go toward your suitcase and grab some pajamas for after your shower. “That’s the funny thing about endings, Darce. You don’t always get the one you want.”

After a restless night’s sleep, you were up bright and early to pack and head back to the airport.  You had to reassure Darcy that you were doing just fine at least seven times already, but she still didn’t look convinced.

Either way, you were well on your way home.

Home…what a funny word that was.

Home used to mean that town, in that house with your father. Then it shifted through your high school years to mean anywhere Bucky was.

Now, it was your cramped apartment in Brooklyn that you shared with Darcy. Who knows where home would be in the coming years, but at least you were sure that wherever it was, you’d do your best to make yourself happy.

Everything you’d brought with you from your trip was tucked in a new box in the back of your closet, though you couldn’t seem to find the picture of you and Bucky on the library stairs. Your heart sank the moment you realized it was missing. You must have thrown it away in your hurry to clean out your room.

It was probably for the best.

Life slowly went back to normal. Work was the same, and your apartment was the same, and your nights alone while Darcy was traveling for her photography were the same, too. Netflix and sit alone and wait to die was more like it.

And what was closure, anyway? What kind of shitty word meant both the act of and sense of a conclusion? Closure was a total illusion like time and control. It’s a concept that’s beyond you, and you’re just kidding yourself if you think you’ve found the answers.

No, you had to put a smile on your face and move on with your life one day at a time.

That was the true meaning of closure.

Part:  1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

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[queen-of-deans-booty]

Provenance- Part 1

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,337

Warnings: Typical Supernatural violence, angst, language, minor character death, blood, you know the usual

Summary: You finally land in New York again but this time, Sam is the one who gets the girl. Wait, does he?

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Please, if you want to be tagged for this series, let me know and I’ll add you! If you want to be tagged for my other fics, I’ll add you! I want to hear what you guys think about this. If you want something requested, send it in!

Feedback is always appreciated

Tags at the bottom

You loved Sam like he was your own brother. He was your brother and the thing you loved most about him was how sweet and kind he could be. He always looked out for other’s feelings especially when it came to the women he dated.

However, after Jessica died, he shut himself off from the dating world. Half of you didn’t blame him but the other half wanted him to start the healing process by moving on with his life. He couldn’t be sad forever.

But you didn’t know how it felt to have the person you loved intimately, die right in front of your eyes. You didn’t know what you would do if Dean ever died. You didn’t think you would be able to live but you tried not to think about that right now.

Because right now, all you could think about is Dean’s lips on your neck.

“Dean, you know I know how to throw a dart.” You giggled, Dean nuzzling your neck.

“Fine, I’ll just stop.” Dean pulled away but you whined, bringing him back.

“I didn’t say stop doing that.” You giggled as he kissed you, pulling your hips in close to his. You wished you were alone with him right now but duty called. His lips were making you forget about all about the other people in the bar. His lips were making you feel things that sent pleasure straight to your core. His lips were making you feel like you’re on Cloud 9. You wouldn’t have even heard Sam calling for you guys if it wasn’t for Dean grunting out in displeasure.

After the third call from Sam, Dean pulled away from you and smirked. You were breathless, just like after all his kisses.

“We’ll continue this later, sweetheart,” He kissed you once more before pulling away, walking over to Sam. “You’re a buzzkill.”

“Trust me, I did everyone here a favor.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“You know, I see some eligible bachelorettes around here. What do you say? Want me to hook one up for you?” Dean grinned.

“No thanks, I can get my own dates.”

“Yeah, but you don’t.” You said, joining the guys.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam looked at you.

“Nothing, what do you got?” Dean cut in, tired of this conversation.

“Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Their throats were slit and there were no prints or no murder weapons…” Sam droned on and on and you couldn’t focus when Dean was sliding his hand up your thigh to where you wanted him most.

“Dean!” You looked at Sam and blushed. It was like he knew what Dean was doing to you. “Anyways, no prints and no murder weapons, plus, all the doors and windows were locked from the inside.”

“This could just be something that we don’t deal with. Have you thought of that?” Dean asked, sipping his beer, his hand not moving from you.

“No, dad says different. He noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one is in 1912, second one in 1945, and the third in 1970. They all have the same M.O. as the Telescas; their throats were slit and doors were locked from the inside. Now, so much time had passed between murders that nobody checked the pattern, except Dad. He kept his eyes peeled for another one.”

“And now we got one. Alright, I'm with you. It's worth checking out. We can pick this up until first thing, though right?” Dean asked. Sam nodded and Dean smirked.

“Good, let’s go, sweetheart.” You giggled and got up, following Dean outside. He led you to the car and pushed you up against it, kissing your neck.

“Dean, you couldn’t wait until we got to the motel?” You moaned out.

“I can do the job just fine without a bed.” He nibbled at your neck and opened the door, letting you go in first. You’ve had sex in this car before but this time was different. You were out in public where everyone could see you and somehow, that turned you on even more. That made the sex that much better.

The next morning, you were cuddled up to Dean, sleeping in the front seat of the car. You both were dressed because you didn’t want people looking in and seeing you naked. You and Dean had a couple of rounds so you were out of it, sleeping peacefully. Dean was sleeping, content with you in his arms.

Sam, on the other hand, woke up early and found you and Dean in the car. He let you two sleep and went to get started on the case since he didn’t need you two. But what he found, he needed to talk to you and Dean about it. Sam walked to the car and chuckled, watching the two of you sleep. The windows were rolled down and he smirked, getting an idea.

He walked over to the driver’s side and reached in, honking the horn. Dean jumped a mile and groaned, hitting his head on the roof.

“Dude, not cool.” Dean slouched again, looking at his brother. You were still asleep, not hearing the horn at all. You were a heavy sleeper and it took a lot to wake you up.

“How is she still sleeping? That horn is loud.” Sam got behind the wheel and looked at his brother. Three people could fit in the front seat with barely enough room but with you practically in Dean’s lap, Sam had more than enough room for himself.

“I just swept the Telescas with EMF. It's clean and last night, while you were... well... out...”

“Good times.” Dean smirked.

“I checked the history of the house. Nothing strange about the Telescas.” Sam sighed.

“Alright, so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents. Cursed object or something.” Dean suggested.

“The house is clean.” Sam repeated himself.

“Yeah, I know, you said that. Sweetheart, wake up.” You muttered when you felt a pair of familiar lips against your temple. Small rubs were being placed on your lower back and you groaned, opening your eyes. You looked up at Dean and smiled at him. You remembered where you were and what you did last night.

“Dean, did you learn new moves?” You smirked at the memory.

“Guys, I’m right here.” Sam said in disgust. He didn’t need to hear about his brother’s sex life. You looked over at Sam and blushed heavily.

“Sorry, Sam.” You leaned your head on Dean’s chest and yawned.

“Sam was just telling us about the case and I have a lot more that I’ll show you later.” You chuckled when Sam rolled his eyes.

“Dean, what I’m trying to say is that the house is empty as in there is no furniture or anything.”

“Where are all their stuff?” Dean asked.

“Some auction house upstate.”

“Good, let Y/N and I take a shower and we’ll meet you out here in 20.” Dean opened the door and let you get out first.

“Make that 30.” You smirked, grabbing Dean’s hand. He smirked and walked with you into the motel room, going to the shower immediately. Not all intimate moments between you and Dean were always about sex. You loved sex with him but you loved where you took care of each other sensually.

Just like in the shower, you washed him and he washed you. It was very intimate and close. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here. But you had a case to do and you needed to get out. So, when the water turned cold, you and Dean got out, dressing quickly.

Sam was in the passenger’s seat when you walked out to the car. You got in the back and Dean got behind the wheel. You were on the road not much later than that.

The auction house was some next class shit. There were rows and rows of expensive cars in the parking lot but Dean’s car was the most beautiful one of all. You never liked the fancy life. You never liked fancy people because they were always stuck up and thought of themselves as better than anyone else just because they had money.

“Damn, this is serious shit.” You got out of the car and walked inside. Everyone was wearing formal dresses and expensive suits but not you and the Winchesters. You were always in plaid, jeans, and boots. That rarely ever changed but that is what you were comfortable in.

Waiters passed by you with trays of food and Dean did not hesitate to take what they had to offer. He chewed happily and you looked around the place.

“I never understood the point of these high-class auction houses. Looks more like a garage sale for a bunch of people with sticks up their asses.” You commented quietly.

“Can I help you?” You turned around to see an older gentleman, looking and judging the three of you.

“I'd like some champagne please.” Dean said in a posh voice, imitating the people here.

“Dean, he’s not a waiter.” You giggled softly. The man didn’t seem amused but you were.

“I'm Sam Connors.” Sam held out his hand but the man didn’t shake it. It was like he was afraid of touching you and getting “poor people germs”. Sam lowered his hand when he realized he was getting nowhere.

“That's my brother Dean and his girlfriend, Y/N. We're art dealers, with Connors Limited.” The man’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

“You’re art dealers?” He asked slowly.

“That’s right.” Sam chuckled uncomfortably.

“I'm Daniel Blake and this is my auction house. Now, this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list.” He didn’t care if you were really big art dealers. He would help you if you were more dressed like them.

“We're there chuckles, you just need to take another look.” Dean said in a normal voice. Just then, a waiter walked by with drinks and Dean swiped one with a smile. He looked at Daniel, sniffed the glass and walked off with his chin pointed up. You laughed a little and followed him. You didn’t want to embarrass Sam but you were.

“Dean, seriously?” Sam said after catching up. You looked around, inspecting the items when your eyes landed on a horrible painting of a family. Dread chilled down your spine and you knew this was a bad painting for whatever reason.

“Guys, look at this painting. I don’t like it at all.” You whispered.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, coming by your side.

“I don’t know but I think this painting is evil.” You looked at Sam to see him looking at it with confusion.

“Why do you think that?” He asked.

“I just do. Call it woman’s intuition.” You shrugged. You’ve had this feeling before and it was when you were very close to things of the supernatural. It was like you were drawn to them.

“A fine example of American Primitive wouldn't you say?” You and the boys turned your head when you heard a woman speak. You watched as a very sleek, classy, extremely good looking woman in a black dress make her way down the spiral stairs. You looked over at Dean to see him looking at Sam. Sam was staring at her like she was the only woman in the room.

Maybe this woman would be the reason Sam gets out there and starts dating again. You nudged Dean and smirked, knowing he knew what you knew.

“Well I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses. But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did.” Sam said with a small smile.

“Guilty and clumsy. I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake.” She smiled and held out her hand. He shook it and stared down at her. She was the perfect height for Sam too; not too tall but not too short.

“I'm Sam. This is my brother, Dean and Y/N is his girlfriend.” You smiled and waved at her to which she returned. Dean lost interest when food started passing him by and he was eating, sampling everything. There is nothing better than free food but you knew when it was appropriate to do so.

“Dean, can we get you some more mini-quiche?” Sarah asked.

“I’m good, thanks.” Dean said with his mouth full.

“So, can I help you with something?” Sarah asked Sam.

“Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?”

“The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, about selling your things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones.”

“Is it possible to see the provenances?” You asked her.

“I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that.” You looked behind you to see Daniel. You resisted rolling your eyes. Why couldn’t he leave you alone?

“Why not?” You asked.

“You're not on the guest list and I think it's time to leave.” He did not look amused and he wanted you out badly.

“Well, we don't have to be told twice.” Dean said in his posh voice again. You bit back a smile and looked at Sam.

“Apparently, you do.” Daniel said, narrowing his eyes.

“Right, well, it’s nice to meet you Sarah, but I think we should go now.” You looked at Sam before taking Dean’s hand and leading him out of the building. Sam was by your side moments later.

“Well, I think we need to find a motel pretty close to here. I have a feeling we will be spending most of our time upstate.” You said, getting in the Impala. You found a relatively cheap motel for upstate New York. You were just happy they were a little nicer than most motel rooms you’ve stayed in over the years.

Masterlist // Series Rewrite Masterlist // Buy me a Coffee?

Series Rewrite tags:

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Other tags:

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[modelingmariella]

Week From Hell Day 2: Why Is There Joy In This Poison

Something was touching her neck. Repeatedly and rapidly. At first she tried to shrug it off but it wouldn't stop. Eventually she opened her eyes and regretted it. Her head exploded in pain, vision blurred, someone felt the need to kiss her awake.

“Who the hell are you?” She groaned.

“How did you forget who I am? We spent the whole night together.”

“I was drunk and now I am hungover and in no mood.”

“No need to tell me about being hungover.”

Was he even cute? She had no idea and she didn’t even care. She rolled back over and buried her face in the pillow. “You need to leave.”

“What?”

“Leave! I’m going to go barf my brains out and you need to be gone.” She stumbled out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. Her lover for the night collected his things and presumably left. She could hear the door open and close.

This was only day two of what would be hell on earth. She had to talk to her dad and Eva after blowing them off all night. But that would be later. Much later…

***

The ringing was torture. Just waiting for Eva to respond made the knot in her stomach worse and worse until she almost hung up.

“Mari what the hell! Where have you been?”

“Don’t yell I just got the headache to pass.”

“What happened?!”

“I got drunk… like really drunk…”

“Why?”

“I don’t know~”

Like a slap in the face everything came flooding back. Her step family being monsters and her father choosing them for life. It was childish to think that way but damn it she couldn't see it any other way. “That bitch is pregnant!”

“Nora?”

“No not that pig. The other one.”

“Caresa? Wasn't your dad going to divorce her?”

“Yes! And now she is pregnant!” Maybe it was the hangover, or maybe it was just her saying it out loud. Mari found herself back in the bathroom. Her phone still on in the other room. Talking with her dad would have to wait.

***

It was sometime in the afternoon and she still looked like she just rolled out of bed. Her breakfast was coffee and a light sandwich she hoped to hold down.

So many voicemails and zero patience to go through them. She already talked to Eva and couldn’t stomach hearing her dad’s panicked voice. She was so focused on deleting the missed messages she almost swiped the ignore call when her dad called.

“Hey,” Was all she had to say when she turned the call speaker phone.

“Mariella are you alright?” He sounded heartbreakingly worried. She wanted to cry for acting like she had, but she held it in.

“I’m fine.”

“You sound terrible.”

“Well that happens when you down a lot of vodka dad.”

“Do you even remember last night?”

“No I don't,  and I don't care to remember yesterday at all. That's why I got drunk.” Mariella was in the process of making coffee. Her father remained silent. promptly decorated the coffee how she saw fit and began eating the sandwich. It was the worst silence of her life.

“Do you hate me?”

“No Mariella, I could never hate you. I just want us all to sit down~”

“No! I will do no such thing.”

“You can't carry this~” He didn't get to finish his sentence she hung up and turned her phone off. How dare he insist such a terrible idea?

Some hours had passed and Mari had finally finished talking to Miko about all the events she missed. He was more than understanding and very worried for both parties. He had to head to London and attend the events Mari would be missing. Her stomach had settled and now she was starving and delivery was her best option.

Moments after completing the order an unknown number popped up and if she hadn't realized it was an Italian phone number she wouldn't have answered.

“Who the hell is this?”

“Is this how you greet people all the time?”  Caresa asked appalled anyone dared to speak to her that way.

“The hell do you want?”

“Your father wants you to come to dinner with us.”

“I wouldn't say this to my dad but I’m saying it to you so someone understands: Fuck no. I am not going. And you can go fuck yourself.”

“Can you just clean up your mouth for once?”

“Can you not be a manipulative bitch?”

“I don’t have to take this I am pregnant!”

“Cause you’re a hoe!” She hung up and shut her phone off only to throw it across the room. Hopefully that kitten shaped case would do it’s job.

***

A half an hour of silence passed. It was glorious and helpful for her dull headache. And then a knock happened. There could be nothing good on the other side of that door.

“Dad why are you here?”

“You and I need to talk and I am not leaving until we do.” He seemed even disappointed by her disheveled appearance. She was still in her pajamas, no makeup and her hair wasn’t done, she rarely let anyone see her like this. She was too high maintenance…

With an eyeroll she let her dad inside and sat in the living room with the last of her coffee. “I will not sit there and talk to them over dinner.”

“Yes Mari you will.”

“Scusa?”

“Don’t start Mari~”

“Don’t start? Are you serious?”

“You freaked out, got drunk, and shut everyone out. Refused to tell me where you were! And when we finally get ahold of you, you babbled on nonsense and told us to fuck off! And this isn't the first time you’ve done this!”

Mari was beyond shocked. Her face hot with anger she was practically seeing red.“Those two whom you love so much make me like this!”

Her dad shook his head, “They didn't force you to drink. I wanted to talk to you earlier, but you stormed off. Yes Caresa is pregnant we can’t change that. We need to find some common ground for Gabi and our other child. So come to dinner with us. For me.” he seemed so defeated. There was nothing more to be said.

“Ugh! Where and when?”

***

“Look who showed up?”

“I’m not here for you Nora. I’m here because of my dad.”

“Oh really because last night you didn’t give a shit about him.”

Mari glared at the younger woman. She could easily jump the table and stab her with a fork. Instead she turned around and started walking away.

“Drama queen.”

“Say one more thing~”

Caresa stood up blocking Mari’s view of Nora. “I will put your ass in jail don't think I won't.”

“Oh I’m so scared.” She turned at looked at her dad who was trying to get his wife seated. “Can I leave now?”

“No Mari we haven't solved anything.”

“She’s not sane!” Nora huffed.

“And you're a pig.” Mari sat down as Gabi reached for her. She was the good thing about this dreaded dinner. “I’m missing work for this. Do you understand that? I missed a huge paycheck and new opportunities because I’m firced to play nice with you.”

Gabi buried her head in Mari’s chest while Mari ranted.

“I want my daughter back. Give her to me.” Caresa snapped, but she fussed the moment her dad tried to lift her from Mari’s arms. From that moment on the tension was thicker than oil.

“Giovanni I’ve had it~”

“No! Listen to me all three of you! We are reaching some common ground. We can't do that if you all keep bickering!”

Of course their poor server came over with their food in the midst of an argument. She kept a smile and cool demeanor as she sorted out their orders and offered refills on their drinks.

“She’s ridiculous!” Nora wasn’t done so Mari fought back.

“She’s also a bitch.”

“Clean up your language in front of Gabi!” Mari put her sister in the high chair and moved it next to her. She let them argue it out while she ate her food. This was absolutely pointless, but her dad seemed determined to get somewhere. Mari continued to watch the kickoff show for WWE’s Roadblock until it was time for the main show to start.

Renee mentioned that the tag team match with New Day and Cesaro was up first. Music to her ears. She couldn't keep the smile off her face. If only he was here…

“And you call me desperate.” Nora scoffed but Mari was in her happy place. She ignored the two problems at the table and went about the dinner like it was nothing. From the start the match was crazy. There would be no clear winner until the very end.

After a crazy match a quick finish called for a change of champions. She didn’t care how loud her squeal was or if anyone stared as she got up practically dancing over the win. But Caresa cared.  

“You are making us look like fools!”

Mari promptly walked over to the bar and ordered herself a bottle of champagne for the table.

“So with that settled, I’m toasting to me, my future marriage to Cesaro, and better things in the next year. And maybe I can drown these terrible memories by the time I finish this bottle.” At this point she had given up. There was no fixing things. And if they insisted on bringing her down she wouldn't go without a bang.

***