#. >> sammy ♥��� !

[prentissluvr]

BROWN CARHARTT JACKET SAM SAVE MEEEEE

[hiisheart]

HOW DO YOU NEED TO BE LOVED ?

like lovers watching the sunset .

calm, focused, tender. you need to be loved in the way teenagers kiss in the rain and giggle behind hands. you need to be loved like a child, taken care of, watched over, focused on. you need to feel the warmth of the sun, you need to feel the love rushing through your veins. you need to be reminded that love is worth it, and it’s beautiful to experience. you need to be loved in a way that is refreshing, again and again.

[prentissluvr]

OMG I MISSED THIS NOTIF ASFLJALDJKSJ UHM THANKS FOR THE TAG BESTIE GONNA GO IDK DO UNSPEAKABLE THINGS OR SOME SHIT

Flashback! “My Daddy Shot Your Daddy in The Head.”

[atakeflight]

‘my sole objective, (sammy), is to make you happy. doesn’t matter where we are or what we’re going through, I’ll always put a smile on your face.’ - for sammy, from sean @outwsts

❛ You really know how to make a guy blush in the middle of the street huh? ❜ he had to admit, after his accident, after Ollie and Abigail he never thought he'd be this happy in a relationship. He always seemed to be around those who needed him, but it had never been a mutual exchange, until Sean. Even his comments had made him smile. His hands moving to connect their hands as they walked towards their job. Sammy might still be recovering from his accident, but --- he was relieved to be doing something outside of a hospital, or outside of watching his friends all enjoy their breaks from dance when Sammy didn't even know if he could go back to dance. He was still waiting on his final test results, it just felt so free to smile. To be happy. ❛ Well, it looks like you're succeeding in your plans, and just before work too. A difficult achievement. ❜

[jadeyarts]

Separate from that other anon I for one would personally love to hear your Peri and Harbinger/Foxglove headcanons

OMG YAYYYYY. I HAVE QUITE A FEW ♥ (for my own convenience i'm referring to them by their og series names for reasons)

the events of timmy's secret wish are what first planted the seeds of genuine, fully positive feelings and fondness for poof in foop's mind and heart... maybe even a puppy love crush. he seriously thought "well, dying in poof's arms wouldn't be so bad" and hoped that wouldn't awaken something in him. it did.

in a lot of episodes they often have differently colored eyes - foop has a darker shade of purple. i think poof's noticed, and i think he even likes the look of those darker eyes.

given how foop would cry out for poof to protect or save him, i think that poof grows to be incredibly protective of foop… poof will square up for his square!!!

hes the one telling cashiers that foop asked for no pickles, imho ♥

at some point poof stopped intervening in foop's nefarious schemes so i've kind of interpreted poof as just... not caring anymore. he can't stay mad at foop for long, and he finds himself not even bothered by whatever damages he ends up causing anyways. i think he might even find his antics amusing.

after the events of certifiable super sitter, foop actually feels comfortable with admitting that poof is his best friend-

it'd take a few more years to admit it to poof's face, though, it's too embarrassing for him! he'll gush to chloe constantly, though - she knows he's in love with poof before either of them does.

foop's first boyfriend was actually their mutual friend sammy sweetsparkle in high school, while poof had kind of an on-and-off puppy love situationship with goldie... until he kind of flipped out on her about constantly getting foop's name wrong in the middle of a jealousy induced break-down. foop was actually thrilled to hear that poof let his dark side show over wanting to be with him.

sammy and foop ironically broke up on good terms because sammy's best attempt at understanding the fairy/antifairy situation is that they must be soulmates and he didn't want to stand in the way of true love. he's their second biggest supporter.

technically poof confessed first but his confession was literally just screaming IF I DONT SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE WITH YOU I AM LITERALLY GOING TO BLOW SOMETHING UP!!!! at foop, which was a love confession that would only appeal to foop.

chloe TRIED to plan the "perfect" first date for them but it was horribly awkward and not to their tastes. so instead their first REAL date was poof taking foop to a kelly clarkson concert where they got matching "my life would suck without you" t-shirts.

poof actually buys - WITH HUMAN MONEY, IN A HUMAN DISGUISE - every kelly clarkson album as it releases for foop.

they nearly elope several times but got caught by wanda every time. wanda doesn't really like the fact that poof is with foop but doesn't wanna turn into mama cosma about it so she comes to terms with it. she doesnt want them to just run away and get married when she doesn't think they're ready yet either, though. timmy has to be the one to appeal to foop's desire for attention to convince them to have a big wedding after they graduate. poof doesnt care whether he has a big wedding or just elopes - as long as foop is his. if foop wants a big wedding, that's what they'll have.

whenever people ask how long they've been together they tend to go silent because their first instinct is to say "about 50 years" even though they're only about 22-24, and they've only officially been a couple for about 6 or 7 years. foop's second instinct is also to say "from the very first moment i drew breath" like the dramatic weirdo he is. which isn't even accurate and they both know it.

literally so specific to my own little homebrewed post-canon that you can't even pretend it works with anw:

in my elaborate fanon after AC and AW abandoned foop in season 10, poof begs wanda to find someone who would be willing to take foop in. luckily, wanda knew just the fairies for the job.

after getting adopted foop changes his name to foxglove thimbleplight - poof changed his last name to thimbleplight when they got married so he becomes periwinkle thimbleplight. :3

they still call each other poof and foop - usually in the form of embarrassingly cheesy affectionate nicknames. we're talking "smoopy-poo" level cheesy usage here.

(actually that one still works with anw but the art i drew is clearly my own designs and not the anw designs and it's exceedingly cheesy so)

poof convinced foop to go to the fairy academy with him - initially foop was hesitant because he… wants to… but… antifairies cant become godparents, right??? poof was willing to do literally anything it would take to keep foop by his side though. he initially considers manipulating some poor unsuspecting godparent to quit on their godkid just so he can hijack the ensuing fairy idol for foop to win and take their job… it's devious, and he knows foop would have loved that he did something so malicious just for him, but in the end he just gets into a fight with jorgen and the fairy council about it. he argues that technically foop is legally a fairy now since he was adopted by fairies, so he should be allowed to become a godparent. they end up agreeing.

their relationship was kind of a controversial issue in fairyworld for a few years because of poof's high profile status - while they're not the first fairy and anti-fairy couple, they're the first recorded instance of a fairy coupled with their own counterpart in eons. the media did get bored of them eventually though.

they already wanted to get married after high school but they agreed to postpone the wedding until after they graduated from the fairy academy so they had enough free time to make it as over the top as foop wanted it to be. poof actually proposed to foop AGAIN with a diamond ring after they graduated from the fairy academy, even though they were technically already engaged - with the intent of being as over-the-top dramatic and annoying to the rest of their classmates as possible.

^ which is similar to what cosmo and wanda did as teens though details differ. cosmo is literally the only one who seems to realize this and audibly goes "WOW, DEJA VU..." when this all happens.

while wanda had to get used to poof and foop together, cosmo accepted it pretty much immediately. mostly because sometimes they reminded him of himself and wanda. (<- actually canon)

[prentissluvr]

DAISY OH MY GODDDDDD STFUUUUHLKSADJFLAKSD

pillowtalk ☼ s. winchester

summary: a morning spent in sam's arms

pairings: sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x fem! reader

word count: 2.2K

warnings: no use of y/n, not beta'd, fluff, sam's morning voice (yes its a warning), suggestive themes, spicy, implied smut but no actual smut, but for this fic: MINORS DNI

a/n: this was birthed out of god knows where but was inspired by that photo above and I love sammy so much (also this came out a little more smutty than I intended LOL)

bestie mari @prentissluvr i hope you enjoy this as much as i did writing this last night 🤭

please reblog and lmk your thoughts and opinions!! i wanna hear what you guys thought about the fic!

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

The soft rays of sunlight filtered through the room as the sun rose for the incoming day. The light hit your eyes, and you inhaled deeply as you prepared to open your eyes. You could feel the light breeze flowing into the room from the open window of the balcony. You were about to roll over to Sam's side of the bed, thinking it would be empty, but then felt the warmth of his bare chest.

You slowly opened your eyes, blinking a few times before tilting your head up and finding Sam's eyes already on you. You stared into his eyes, seeing the flecks of brown and gold within the green of his gaze. Then your eyes moved from his to the mole near his left eye, the slope of his nose, and to his mouth, a tender smile dancing on his lips as you felt him cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against it.

"Morning." Sam's voice was soft and low, sounding a little hoarse from just waking up.

Oh god, his voice. You thought to yourself as you felt some heat begin to brew in your core. The deep rasp of Sam's voice filled the mostly silent room.

"How long have you been up?" Your own voice had a faint rasp to it.

"Not long."

You mirrored his smile. "Has anyone told you staring is rude Winchester?"

Sam chuckled lowly, making your chest fill with warmth. "Yes, but I can't help but look at my pretty girl in the morning."

You felt yourself flush at the compliment. Even if you and Sam have been together for a while now, you would never get used to hearing Sam saying the sweetest things to you.

Your smile grew wider. "Who knew Sam Winchester was such a sucker for me," You teased before leaning forward to give him a soft kiss on his lips.

You felt Sam's smile widen and pulled back slightly. "I always will be," He murmured against your lips before melting into the kiss.

It soon turned passionate as kisses with Sam always did. You adjusted yourself so you were laying on top of Sam, chest to chest, almost hovering over him as your legs fell beside his hips and so that your neck wasn't being strained from the awkward angle you were in.

Sam's hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, and you felt his tongue swiping at the seam of your lips, but you broke away from him before he could.

You opened your eyes to find Sam's slightly swollen lips in a pout, and the hand that was on your neck was trying to pull you back to his lips. You chuckled at the puppy dog look he was giving you.

"Morning breath," You explained as to why you broke away from the kiss.

Sam frowned. "Don't care." He continued to give his puppy dog look combined with his (adorable) pout.

Despite almost giving in (the look that he gave you nearly worked every time), you rolled your eyes as you pulled away from him and sat up, straddling him. He let his hand fall from your neck as you sat up, his hands finding your naked thighs. You glanced at the digital clock on the nearest nightstand, '6:39 AM'.

You looked back at Sam. "You going to run today?"

He shook his head, his hair moving as it fanned out against the white cotton of the pillow sheets.

You gasped dramatically, your hand shooting to your chest. "Sam Winchester choosing not to go out on his morning run? Alert the press! Samuel Will-"

You were cut off by a sharp yelp escaping your mouth as your world tilted suddenly. You were on your back, with Sam's hands settling beside your head, making the pillow sink and hovering over you with a smirk plastered on his face.

"Were you just about to say my full government name?" Sam questioned, his tone barely concealing the mirth within it.

You nodded, your face taking on a serious expression. "Yes. The world needs to know that you're willingly skipping your daily morning run."

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes at you, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitch. "Well, someone planned this vacation, and I think I can skip a day or two of running."

When you proposed the idea of a vacation, he was very resistant to the idea, not wanting to leave Dean alone to hunt. The three of you were hunting constantly, barely staying at the bunker for a day or two before getting back in the Impala and going to a different state to kill another monster.

As much as you loved Dean, you wanted to spend some time with Sam alone, just the two of you. Sharing a motel room with his brother didn't afford any privacy as well. Besides, by the time you guys finished with a hunt and got back to the bunker, you and Sam were exhausted and had collapsed in bed.

You just wanted a break from hunting and wanted to spend time with your boyfriend without the company of his brother, so you came up with the idea of a vacation. It took a lot of convincing on your part, but Sam's stubbornness almost won out every time you brought up the word vacation.

It took you, Dean, Jody, and even Garth to convince him that a vacation wouldn't hurt. But he'd only go if Dean promised that he wouldn't hunt without a partner, which he easily agreed to (you could have kissed Dean for agreeing to Sam's terms).

You raised an unconvinced eyebrow at him.

Sam's mouth fell open slightly. "You don't believe me?"

"You went running yesterday, the day before, and the day we got here."

Sam opened his mouth to respond before closing it. You grinned at the lack of response from the man above you.

"I'm glad that I can prove you wrong and render you speechless with a single sentence." You cooed, pinching one of Sam's cheeks like a grandmother would greeting her grandchild.

Sam gently slapped your hand away with a slight scowl on his face, making you laugh. Sam was still hovering over you, and his expression soon changed from a scowl to a smirk. You saw his eyes glint with mischief, making you stop laughing.

You knew what that smirk meant. "Samuel, no." You said warningly.

Sam continued to smirk as he went from hovering over you to straddling your hips. Before you knew it, you erupted into giggles, Sam attacking your sides with his hands, poking and tickling you.

You thrashed around in the bed, kicking your feet, trying to get away from Sam, but it was fruitless.

Sam's melodic laughter joined yours as it filled the room. You were yelling at him to stop, but he continued to tickle you. It was almost impossible to get Sam's large frame off of you; he was just a wall of muscle, and he had the advantage.

"S-Sam! Pl-please st-opp!" You could barely get the words out. Tears lined your vision as you tried to squirm away from Sam's relentless hands.

"What are the magic words?" Sam asked. You could hear the amusement coating his words. The son of a bitch you called your boyfriend was enjoying this a little too much.

"I-I do-n't k-know! P-please?!" You all but shrieked.

Sam's hands finally pulled away from your body, and you felt like you could finally breathe. You took in gulps of air as you tried to catch your breath. Your sides hurt from the sudden tickle attack.

"The magic word was actually angel blade. But I wanted to be nice." You scowled up at the smug look on your boyfriend's face.

"I wish I had packed one so I could use it on you."

Sam let out a laugh at your words that shook his entire body. His bare chest was shaking with laughter. You couldn't help but grin at one of your favorite sounds that came from him.

At this point, the sun rose further up in the sky and filled the room with its golden light, highlighting Sam's features and giving him an ethereal glow.

He's so beautiful. Your smile turned softer as you watched him laugh. As you admired him, you noticed that he looked younger when he laughed, his head thrown back and the corner of his eyes crinkled with joy.

When he had calmed down, the broad smile on his face never faltered, and the tenseness that he always seemed to hold fell off his shoulders as he looked at you with his hazel eyes. Sam looked visibly lighter when he was relaxed, and he didn't have to look over his shoulder to see if there was any danger.

You tried to shift up the bed so your back was resting on the headboard. Sam lifted himself to allow you to move, and once you were settled, he shuffled forward to straddle you again.

It would look comical to anyone who saw the two of you in this position. Sam was practically twice your size as he straddled your smaller frame. But this was normal for the two of you. Your hands moved from the bed to rest on Sam's hips, your thumbs swiping against his hipbones that weren't covered by the boxers that he was wearing.

"So, no run today?" You asked again.

Sam nodded. "No run today. But..." He trailed off, leaning closer to you and resting his forehead on yours.

"But?" You asked him, your eyes half-lidded as your lips brushed against his.

"I know another way to get my cardio in." You felt Sam's lips stretch into a smirk.

You hummed in response. "Oh really? How so?"

Sam kissed you hard in response, not wasting a second before his tongue swiped at the seam of your lips and dived into your mouth. A low whine escaped you as Sam's tongue swiped against yours. Your hands wandered from his hips and up his bare chest, feeling his muscles clench as your hands roamed his torso.

Sam grunted against your lips as your hands made their way to his pecs and teased his nipples with your thumbs.

He broke the kiss. "You're playing with fire." Sam grumbled as he trailed his kisses down your jaw. You chuckled in response and took the chance to flip your positions. You moved your hands up his shoulders, lifted your hips up, and turned quickly.

Sam let a quiet 'oof' escape his lips from the abrupt move, the springs of the bed creaking a little, but before he could say anything, you straddled him and smashed your lips against his. You felt his hands land on your waist before they slid down to your ass and squeezed it. It made you grind against the bulge that was growing in his boxers.

Your hands moved from his shoulders to the nape of his neck and tugged at the short hairs at the back of it, making him growl against your lips and nip at your bottom lip. His kisses trailed across your jaw and down your neck, his scruff scratching at your skin slightly.

Quiet moans left your mouth as Sam sucked and nipped at your neck, and his hands moved to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up. He pulled away slightly to pull your (his) shirt off of you, leaving you in only your underwear. Sam's gaze felt like it was burning you as he stared at your bare torso, focusing on your heaving chest. His gaze traveled up to your spit-slicked swollen lips before meeting your eyes.

Sam's calloused hands moved to settle on your sides, his thumbs just resting on the underside of your breasts. His eyes were filled with love and desire. Sam leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours.

"I love you." He whispered.

You smiled at his words. "I know."

Sam pulled back slightly and groaned at your words. "You seriously didn't just quote Han Solo at me."

You laughed at Sam's reaction. "I did." You grinned cheekily at him.

Sam shook his head at you. "You're ridiculous."

"Yet you love me anyways."

"Yeah, I do."

You leaned closer to him. "Happy Anniversary."

Sam's eyes went so wide you'd think they fell out. You could see the panic run through him.

"It's fine, Sam." You chuckled at his bug-eyed look.

"I forgot our anniversary." Guilt filled his features.

You brushed a lock of hair out of Sam's face, your hand resting on his cheek. "Sam, honey. It's fine. I had a feeling you'd forget, so that's why I wanted to plan this trip."

"But-" You shushed him.

"We had a lot of stuff on our plate with hunting, and honestly, all I wanted for you to do is relax."

Sam still didn't look convinced; his lips pulled into a thin line.

"Sammy, it's fine. You don't have to worry about a gift or anything. Your gift to me can be you finally not worrying about research or killing monsters, okay?" You reassured him with a gentle smile.

You knew that he'd beat himself over not remembering or getting you a gift. Sam pressed his lips together before nodding.

"Fine. I'll make it up to you in a different way then."

Your head tilted to one side as your small smile turned into a curious one. "How?"

Sam flipped the two of you over. Your bare back hit the mattress again with Sam hovering over you, wearing a devilish smirk.

"By keeping you in this bed and making sure you're not able to walk when I'm done with you."

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

Being Sick but Dean Winchester’s your BF Headcanons ✨

✨ Dean Winchester x Reader ✨

Minors! Go away! Don’t interact! I don’t have a witty joke but I still don’t want you here! ¡Adios!

A/N: okay now that they’re gone… I’m sick! Some sort of nasty cold shit. Also I have the fucking la la land piano riff stuck in my head. So, more headcanons!!! (As opposed to a “proper” fic. For Dean ofc. It’s okay, it’ll come eventually)

Icons by me, all notes-especially commentary- are extremely appreciated!!

Content Warnings: if you’ve read the others it’s along the same vein, cute but still spicy enough to warrant that 18+ rating. Reader’s GN but AFAB.

Enjoy!

( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

-okay so first of all, being sick sucks. Whether it’s a runny nose, a headache, throat pain (get your mind out of the gutter), stomach aches, whatever- it fucking sucks.

-but it sucks a little less when you have Dean Winchester taking care of you

-this man knows how to take care of any common virus or cold. Years of taking care of his little brother meant that he could never be sick and that if he was it had to go fast, because he believed he always needed to be able to take care of Sammy first and foremost.

-once he sees you sniffling he’ll bench you from whatever job you guys are working. Immediately. No ifs, ors, ands, buts or coconuts about it.

-once the job is over he’ll come home. If you’re up and moving he’ll sling you over his shoulder or pick you up bridal style, and throw you (in a loving way) down on the couch or bed, depending on where you want to lay.

-he’ll snuggle you a little, and then take a quick shower so as not to get whatever it is you have. He’ll give you whatever blankets and drinks you want, and then head off to the kitchen

-his go-to is to make a vat of chicken noodle soup, extra lemony for vitamin c. He’ll usually either add some chilis to the soup or put some in a salad for you to help clean your system out. And it will always be better than fine dining.

-of course he cooks shirtless, and he’ll come back into the room with a big bowl of soup and your salad ready, cookies still in the oven. He’ll be wearing sweatpants and a ‘kiss the cook’ apron with nothing under it. And if you weren’t sick, you’d definitely do what the apron asked.

-he’ll help you sit up so you can eat it, putting a pillow on your lap so that the bowl doesn’t burn you and wiping your hair out of your face. If your hot he brings a bandana that he dunked in ice water and ties it around your head, if your cold he brings more blankets

-he hates that he can’t touch you or hug you when your miserable like this, but he does his best.

-while you’re eating he’ll talk about the hunt, keeping it as light and funny as possible- probably whatever he and Sam bickered about, the sights he saw, the food, etc

-and he’ll put on whatever you’d like him to. Preferably Gilmore Girls, but he ain’t gonna influence you

-when you’re done he’ll take the empty bowls to the kitchen, leaving them in the sink for Sammy to do them when he gets back to the bunker.

-he’ll grab the cookies, and bring a little plate of them over, and then sit on the sofa in the Dean cave so that your calves are draped over his thighs. If you’re in bed he’ll just lay on the opposite side, occasionally stroking your back comfortingly

-he checks your temperature from time to time, and always adapts according to your sickness. If it’s stomach bug he’s got a trash can beside the bed/couch and is ready to hold your hair. If it’s strep throat he’s gone honey. If it’s literally anything he’s probably got some kind of temporary remedy

-now (you know what time it is 🌶️)

-if you get a little hot n bothered while your sick

-and no I don’t mean hot from the fever

-but like the other kind

-and he can tell

-well, there’s a home remedy for that too 😏

-and you’ll warn him against it, not wanting to get him sick, but he’ll shush you, kissing your belly and pulling your sleep shorts and underwear down in one go

-he’ll kiss all up your legs, making you wish so, so much that you could make out with him

-but he won’t tease. Not when his sweetheart isn’t feeling well.

-so he’ll get as close to your dripping heat as he can, not making you move at all, because he knows you’re comfy on your little bed of pillows and his blankets

-and then he’ll nudge his nose against your clit, the only teasing he’ll do before diving in

-he’s gentle though. Not dissimilar to how he is in the mornings (Shameless plug, sorry not sorry haha)

-he’ll go nice and slow, adding his fingers as he goes, one at a time

-he uses one to gather your wetness and spread it over your poor bud

-and then adds another to scissor into your heat, massaging your spongey walls

-and by the third finger slowly yet deliberately filling you up, along with his mouth on your clit, he’ll have you coming, feeling so much better in one regard

-he’ll lap it all up, careful not to overstimulate you before pressing a sweet kiss to your belly, just as he did before he went down

-he’ll then get up and draw you a bath, helping you pee and then get into the tub

-he’ll dry your hair and then help you into a fresher set of pjs, and lay with you until you fall asleep, then turn off the tv and any lights before getting back in bed.

-and even though he has to sleep a little away from you he can’t help but hold you hand while you sleep, even if it means risking getting sick too

-and if you wake up in the middle of the night, he will too, ready to do whatever you need him to

-he loves you, and it’s he loves knowing that you love him too and would also take care of him if he were in your shoes

-so yeah

-sweet cutie pie caretaker ass with the greener-than-pines eyes gah

-I rest my case

If you have any ideas for headcanons and/or fics my ask box is always open!!

Xx!

[prentissluvr]

nobody talks about this look and it is so colossally important to me

[grimmixxart]

:[BATIM] Tamed Demon: 𓆩♡𓆪

Maybe my last halloween drawing??

My BATIM ocs! Bonnie and Sammy~ Nun and Demon costumes, I missed them~ Was nice drawing them again heh UwU Art, Bonnie and Sammy by me <3 Please dont use, steal or whatever my oc/sona thank you ♥

- - - Reblogs > likes  ❤️ :Support me on Ko-fi:>Ko-fi

[prentissluvr]

BROOOOO DONT SAY THATTTTT (i’ve been thinking about this do not stop)

YOU CAN’T JUST FUCKIGN GIVE US SWEATER VEST SAM AND THEN YANK HIM AWAY. BRING HIM BACK RN 🙏

[atakeflight]

request muses 002

[marginofthought]

Sam who likes being fucked raw by Dean. Sam begging Dean to breed him when they have sex for the last time because Dean has just one day left to live before he goes to Hell 💔 And when he comes back, Sam is at four months pregnant.

Ugh, yes please. 

They only do it raw on special occasions, both not really wanting to risk getting Sam pregnant and knowing that male birth control doesn’t work too well. But Sam loves it, looks forward to every birthday and christmas and other time he can convince him to forgo the condom.

This isn’t a good occasion but it’s still an occasion and so Sam begs and begs until Dean relents and throws the condom back into his duffel. 

Sam is on his hands and knees, his back arched as Dean pounds into him, deep, oh so deep. Sam loves it, moans for it, asks Dean oh so sweetly to please breed him. He’d be all “please fill me up big brother, get me sloppy” and “give me something to remember you by”. 

And well, Dean can’t resist that, can he? He fucks deep and rough into Sam, making sure to push in as deep as he can in order to make Sam feel it even days later. 

He grunts and groans as he comes deep inside his little brother, going “milking me so good, Sammy. Gonna give you every last drop.” 

Sam would push a pillow or two under his hips when Dean finally pulls out and he’d refuse to be cleaned up and slur ���nah, gotta keep it”

Whether it’s the other two times Dean comes real deep inside his brother that night or whether Sam had been kinda sloppy with his birth control in the past few weeks…the end result is the same.

And when Bobby says he hasn’t really seen Sam around while Dean was in hell, it’s not because of Ruby but because he didn’t know how to explain the baby bump he is sporting ���

[diminuel]

Little birthday boy doodle :D

Happy birthday, Sammy! ♥

[prentissluvr]

THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS BROOOOO

that sassy walk tho inspired by this post by @prentissluvr

[luveline]

maybe for zombie Steve au, there’s some sort of emergency at the college so there’s like a lockdown ish but Steve & reader get split up & then have an emotional reunion? 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

thank you so much for your request! I took a smide of inspo from scenes of twd (specifically when the prison fence gets it shit rocked) steve zombie!au ♥︎ fem!reader 5k words

"And you…" You pause, tongue sticking out as you struggle to tuck your shirt into your jeans. "You smoked?" 

Steve laughs where he's shrugging into his own jeans. You're both very late. 

"Everyone smoked junior year." 

"I didn't." 

"No, of course you didn't," he says, laughing more. It's a nice sound to hear so early in the morning. You can almost pretend you're well-rested. 

"I didn't," you say emphatically, leaning against the wall by the door to slip on your sneakers. 

It doesn't matter if you're telling the truth, Steve clearly doesn't believe you. He mirrors your actions and puts on his own pair of sneakers. They were white, once upon a time, but now they're a gritty grey. You stand tall in unison and pull open the door.

"Wait," Steve says. 

He brushes your hair out of your face, looking over each of your features casually before his fingers dip down to your belt. You startle on instinct, though he's only fixing the mess you'd made of your tucked shirt. His fingers push under your belt methodically, efficiently. In less than a minute he's done. 

Neither of you bother with a jacket. Steve pockets the keys and the door locks behind you, the two of you half jogging out of Little Hawkins to the front of the building. 

"I'll be at the north fence all day, okay, so if you need me, come and find me. You're–" 

"In the pantry where I always am," you say, "and I'll be fine, so you don't let anything bite you and I'll see you at dinner." 

"Wait, wait, wait," Steve says, catching your wrist before you can part ways. 

He pulls you in by the arm until he can grab your shoulders. He does altogether too much looking, eyes raking over your face, your neck. He meets your eyes, cups your cheek in both hands. 

"I love you," he says quickly, "I love you," —he kisses you wonky, lips way too close to your nose, "I love you. See you at dinner." 

He's sick in the head. He doesn't give you any time to answer or bestow the heaping of affection he deserves, simply splits and power walks away from you.

You sigh, wringing your hands together. "Steve! I– I love you too!" 

He turns around, his smile ridiculously big, and waves at you. You wave back. 

He races out of view. You try not to make eye contact with the people milling around outside of the dorm building and pick up the pace, running down the street to the cafeteria building. 

The town hall is alive in the mornings, and class is in session, more kids than you'd ever expected to see again in your lifetime all bundled up in one room. You think it's nice, the way they teach them here. They don't bother with algebra or arithmetic, though Sammy the 'teacher' offers tutoring to anybody who wants it, they just draw and play and talk about emotional wellbeing. Sometimes there are survival classes, but they don't really talk about geeks. They show the kids what wild flora is edible, or how to wrap a cut. You think it's probably more for routine than actual teaching. 

"Hi, Sammy," you say. 

She smiles, and you're horrified as she says, "Hi, baby. Class, say good morning." 

All the kids say good morning to you. You flush with heat from top to bottom. Their cute little faces beaming up at you is an instant disarming. 

"Hi, kids," you say, waving. 

Hands holding crayons and pencils wave back at you. 

You make your way into the kitchen, which is a huge industrial affair connected to an otherwise small cafeteria. Maybelle and Pauline are already inside cleaning up the leftover breakfast and preparing for community dinner. 

Breakfast is specifically for the people inside the community who can't manage to make it themselves, the disabled, the injured, the elderly, but dinner is for everybody. 

"Sorry I'm late," you say. 

"Hun, we don't care," Maybelle says. 

"Did you want breakfast?" Pauline asks. "I'm gonna wrap this up otherwise. Somebody's gonna eat it."  

It sounds like a threat. You take some of the breakfast they've set aside, which isn't a breakfast food at all, just boxed mac and cheese that tastes slightly stale. You barely notice it anymore, though the texture gives you the heebies. 

You move into the pantry and check everything still there, the easiest and most useless part of your job. Then, Maybelle and Pauline try to put together a meal that's both cost effective (the cost being the energy expended to retrieve the food, and the likelihood that this food will be seen again) and not disgusting. Oftentimes they have to make a bunch of different stuff that doesn't go together, but it's better than nothing. You like this a whole lot more than if they just gave everybody a can a day and said there's your lot. 

You mark down the things they've taken. You mark down things you might need in Hopper's next supply rub. It's a super cushy job, the kind that isn't strictly necessary, but there are a lot of people in the community and the majority are willing to do what needs to be done. They ran out of jobs quickly, and you're sure Hopper had felt a little sorry for you, so here you are. You're not like Steve. You're not a survivor. You're lucky. 

You sit down after a while, no use pretending you have anything left to do, left side pressed to the side of the industrial oven. 

"You know, we used to live in Mississippi?" Pauline asks you. 

"What?" you ask. 

"Mm-hm, we were only in Michigan for vacation, if you can believe it. We had a good time." 

"Before, the uh, the apocalypse," Maybelle says with a tittering laugh. "We were hiking in the Porcupine Mountains when some dude tried to bite me. We thought he had rabies." 

The room smells like jarred pasta bake, a rich, garlic-thick smell that threatens to make your eyes droop. In the cafeteria, through the open shutters, you can hear the kids singing. Sammy hates nursery rhymes, so they learn the words of old songs by Louis Armstrong. Today, they're a discordant, too fast chorus of What a Wonderful World. It's a racket.  

But no matter how loud the kids sings, they can't cover the reverberations of a gunshot. 

A hush falls in the kitchen.

You stand up. You aren't panicked, exactly. More like you've stepped into a heavy overcoat, trepidation a weight that settles like a second skin. You move to stand by the sink with Maybelle. She pushes it open, and the three of you stare outside. 

Trees rustle in the wind. The kids descend into giggles as Matthew, one of the rare teenagers who deigns to join in, busts out a Louis Armstrong impression, his voice deep and bending. The oven hums. 

The second gunshot sounds. After that, you can't count them. 

Maybelle slams the window closed and twists the handle down to lock it. 

Your heart beats. None of you know what to say. Your pulse bumps, and bumps, and bumps. 

"Lock the doors," Maybelle says. "Lock the windows. Just in case." 

Gunfire comes fast and ferocious as a sudden downpour, popping in the near distance. Your footsteps clip over the linoleum floor, firm rubber soles like an elastic band as you bound into the cafeteria and meet Sammy's eyes. 

The kids are perturbingly quiet. 

"I'm gonna lock the doors," you say tentatively. 

Dread fills her face. "Okay. Alright." 

You fizz around the room, locking the front and side entrances one after another. You're thinking so many things at once that you can't seem to focus on any, and instead your attention is drawn to the inconsequential. How cold the metal on the door's emergency push bars are. The colouring books on the floor. 

You're standing in front of the last door with shaking hands as it gets thrown open. You gasp and scrabble backwards, hands in front of your chest to protect yourself. 

It's Joyce. Breathless, red in the face Joyce. 

"Lock the kids in the kitchen," she says. "The north fence has a leak. They're getting in." 

—

Steve is not having the good day he thought he'd be getting. 

You'd been exceptionally pretty this morning, tired eyed and disorientated but adorable through and through. You and Steve have fallen into a routine, and you talk so much it's a surprise your throats aren't sore. There's so much to say and never enough time to say it; you've taken to trading stories in the morning while you get dressed. Today was Steve's turn. He'd told you all about his birthday party during junior year, how his dad had almost killed him because somebody left a hole in the wall, and how he still can't eat Dunkin' Donuts without feeling queasy. You'd asked him when the last time he actually got to eat a donut was, and it hadn't been sad, like you might expect. 

He'd said, "I don't need any extra sweetness, are you kidding? Got all my sugar right here." 

You'd laughed at him (not with him) and nearly choked on toothpaste. 

That's a perfect morning for Steve. That's as good as they get. It might be silly, but he'd felt damn good, and foolishly tricked himself into thinking the rest of the day might be similarly great. 

"You're a fool, Harrington," he mutters to himself. 

"What was that?" 

Steve looks up. Jonathan and Christopher are staring at him. 

"He's going crazy," Christopher says. "Best take him out to the back shed." 

"Funny." Steve kicks the dirt in front of him. "So bored I'm talking to myself," he admits. 

"It could be worse," Jonathan says. "We could be on latrine duty." 

Steve would rather not think about latrine duty. God bless the communal bathroom in Little Hawkins. 

The day is breezy but surprisingly warm, not a cloud in the sky. The sun bears down and heats Steve's skin in waves. He likely should've stopped for his jacket this morning, but he'd been super late. He doesn't want a citation. Another citation. 

This is the slowest day they've ever seen on fence duty. Usually the general hubbub of the community catches the attention of a handful of geeks, and fence duty stabs them through the brain with lethally modified crowbars. It's gross, but it's necessary. It keeps you safe. Yet today they haven't seen a single undead. 

"Maybe they're dying," Christopher says. 

"They're already dead," Jonathan says. 

"How do you know? You felt for a pulse?" 

"They decompose," Jonathan says, laughing softly. "They're corpses." 

"I'm just saying." Christopher shrugs. 

Steve ignores them both without malice, staring through the section of chain link fence he's standing in front of and out into the streets. The north side of The College faces the surrounding town. From here, he can see a pharmacist's building, a sandwich shop, and a small veterinary clinic. Shells of cars long dismantled line the road. Natural works to reclaim them slowly, tires threaded with long grass. A few days ago, a deer ran straight up to the fence and stared at him. He promised you he'd come and find you next time, even though you hadn't really minded. He wants you to see it. There's more out there than just geeks and bad people. 

He shivers and fiddles with the holster on his hip, checking for the tenth time in as many minutes that the gun held within has the safety mechanism on. He really doesn't wanna shoot himself in the foot. That would majorly suck, though, he thinks, you'd look after him. That might make it worth it. 

Not that he'd shoot himself in the foot for your attention, that would be totally backwards. But he thinks you'd look cute as a nurse, with the little hat— 

"Do you hear that?" Jonathan asks. 

Steve pulls away from his questionable thoughts and turns to see his kind of friend. Jonathan stands with his nose to the fence, straight brown hair curling at the bottom of his neck. He needs a trim, but who is Steve to judge? 

"Hear what?" Steve asks. 

Though you can see the town through the gaps, the fences are blanketed by trees. Old trees with thick trunks, the kind that protesters would chain themselves to if the government ever suggested cutting them down. The ground around them is more dirt than grass, like the packed earth under the fence and Steve's shoes.

He assumes Jonathan's talking about the creaking of a thousand branches in the wind. Brown and orange leaves fall in droves, crinkly and scratchy as they litter the floor. 

"I can't hear anything," Steve says. 

"It sounds like a car engine," Jonathan says. 

Steve cannot agree. Now that the world is silent, car engines sound like jet planes. They shake the ground. There are no vibrations to be felt, but… there is something. 

"I'm gonna walk the perimeter," Steve says. A creeping unease takes shape over his shoulders like the winding suffocation of a python. He can feel the pressure of it against his throat. 

It's nothing, he thinks to himself. 

Sections of street flash between the trees. Tree, empty street. Tree, empty street. Each tree blocks the sun, and goosebumps erupt over his skin, the hairs on his arms standing up with each footstep into the dimness. Steve pulls his crowbar close to his chest. 

I'm paranoid, he promises himself, even as the strange sound Jonathan had heard begins to rise. He knows what it is, he knows, but he doesn't want to know. The wet suck of meat being pulled off the bone, and the dry rattle of lungs that won't fill. He lets the sun kiss his cold face for a moment, and then he stops behind the cover of a huge sycamore tree and leans, carefully, slowly, to the left. 

The sun hasn't warmed the sparse grass. Each blade is frosted into spikes. The leaf litter has turned to mulch, disturbed and churned by the body splayed open atop it. Blood emulsifies the dirt, a black mud that covers the hands, arms, knees, and mouths of a sizable herd. 

Steve flinches backward, covers his nose to shield himself from the stink, and swiftly presses stiff fingers over his mouth to stop himself chucking up. 

There must be fifty or more geeks huddled there, fighting for scraps of ligament, falling over chunks of inedible veel.

Steve wants to retreat quietly. His hands have other ideas. 

He drops the crowbar, fumbling for it with every centimetre it falls, and ends up knocking it a couple feet away with a horrified gasp. 

The fences are hammered into the ground so they can't be moved, but there aren't many fence posts between sections. Flimsy chain link is all that separates Steve and the herd. 

They look up. They start to move. 

Hands reach for him, hands force themselves through the holes of the fence, skin peeling back over muscle like the delicate rind of a pear. He watches in horror as the herd congregates, as the herd leans its collective weight against what's basically chicken wire, as dessicated flesh shaves off of their dead bodies, as the fence begins to bend. 

The geeks use each other like ladder, pulling and climbing, heaped like jenga tiles until a gnarled hand closes over the top of the fence. 

He wants to run. He needs to stay. He needs to separate them, he needs to thin the weight. He scrambles to take up his crowbar again, taking a step forward, but the tattle tale sound of metal scratching against metal squeals in his ear, and he leaps backward as the fence tips forward.

He should scream. 

He trips as he grabs the crowbar, palm aching as it smashes into the ground. He barely touches the floor, pushing himself back up and using his momentum to sprint toward the rendezvous point. 

"Jonathan!" he shouts, his voice strained. "They're over the fence. Section twenty one is coming down!" The fence has already come down, but Steve isn't thinking straight. 

Jonathan barely looks at Steve. He only needs one glance before he's looking past him. Steve looks back, too, and then he keeps on sprinting.

Jonathan unholsters his gun. Christopher does the same. 

Behind Steve, across the stretch of the college campus, a wave of geeks snap their gored maws. Steve runs harder than he's ever ran before, faster than he's ever moved, even faster than that night in the woods with you, scroungers on your tail, laughing and cussing, their flashlights shining at your heels like the beam of a prison guardhouse. 

Steve vaults himself over an overgrown hedge and right into the centre of the campus. There aren't many people out, but any at all is too many. 

"Get inside!" he shouts without explanation, shoes sliding over stone as he leaps for the civil defence siren nestled against the gym building. "Get inside! There are geeks inside the fence!" 

Jeremy and Dustin had jerry-rigged the broken siren months ago for situations like this to only play for two seconds. Not long enough to attract anything that isn't already here. Steve slams his hand into the button and stares up at it in a petrified awe as the siren begins to cry, one long and wailing wave of sound that careers over the community. 

It might be his imagination, but he thinks that the silence after it stops is imbued with impending doom. One empty, fragile moment, before the shouting begins, and the following pop of gunfire is impossible to ignore. 

He thinks of you in the kitchen across the quad. He thinks of running to you, of hiding you somewhere nobody will ever get to you. 

He runs back the way he came. 

—

All these little faces in disarray. You huddle amongst the youngest ones and try your best to keep them quiet, whispering a story as the sound of gunshots cracking over asphalt rivets the quiet. 

"Me and Steve, we saw all kinds of fish. We saw carp, and salmon, and koi fish in the lake. They looked like huge, gorgeous goldfish, they had–" everyone jumps as something close by takes a hit, a fence perhaps, split apart— "these huge black eyes and these popping mouths. You know how fish pop their lips together?" 

You look around the circle and beg one of them to answer. If Sammy weren't such a wicked shot she would've stayed and handled this a hell of a lot better than you are.

"I know," says one of the youngest girls. She can't be six years olds. 

"Yeah? How do they do it?" 

She starts to pop her lips. You grin despite your welling panic and nod encouragingly. You'd clap if your hands weren't full of smaller hands. 

"Yeah, like that! They were swimming so close to us, I could see their gills." 

Your story isn't true, but it is distracting. You hold their attention for as long as you can. Pauline stands in the doorway, eyes flitting between the three entrances to the cafeteria, and Maybelle haunts the sink, hiding just behind the other overhead spray to try and find out what's going on. The storm siren hasn't sounded again, and Hopper hasn't come around to tell you it's safe. 

It might never be safe again.

You swallow down the urge to scream and squeeze the tiny fingers curled over your palm. They belong to a little boy, white and brown-haired with pretty hooded eyes. He looks like Steve. 

You could've sworn, just before the siren, that you'd heard him yelling, but you'd raced to the sink and looked out and hadn't seen him. 

You can't help thinking about it. About everything — he could die. He could already be dead. Joyce swore she hadn't seen him, and had only managed to speak to Christopher, who'd split off to alert the older group. She said Jonthan was holding off a group of geeks. She couldn't stay, determined to go help him. 

So if Christopher was looking for Hopper, and Jonathan was by himself at the north fence, where was Steve? Where exactly was the leak? 

You lean forward toward the kids and whisper, "Does anyone else have a story? From a vacation?" 

"We went to Niagara Falls, once," Becky says. 

"You did? What was it like, huh? Was the waterfall really loud?" 

Becky starts to tell her story. You try to listen. You can't think of anything at all besides Steve, though your priority is keeping everybody here safe, your brain won't stop. You can't shake the feeling that you'll lose him, and it's a bright red branding behind your eyes. You're gonna lose him.

This can't be happening. 

It's been a month since Connor, an ex-member of The College with delusions of grandeur, dragged you underdressed and freezing through miles of forest with your wrists bound, wondering if you'd ever see Steve again. A month of nightmares and hot flashes and reaching out for Steve in the dark. 

You'd thought, if you died, if Connor killed you, that it would ruin Steve's life. He'd waste it looking for you. You'd thought that was the worst feeling in the world, knowing you'd leave him behind.

You hadn't understood what this part felt like. How Steve must've felt, wondering if you were dead. How he must've argued with himself as you do now. 

Steve hadn't hesitated. Robin mentioned it once, casual but earnest. Steve tore the place apart looking for you. He assembled a search party and went looking for you on a hunch. Steve says he's lucky they chose the right direction. You know it's more than that. You know you're the lucky one. 

He knew you were in danger, and he came to get you. 

"Maybelle," you say, standing up. "I'm gonna need a knife." 

— 

Steve isn't sure what the fuck they're doing. Hopper shouts instructions but they're confusing and nobody knows what's happening. Geek gore drips down his arm and he prays he doesn't have any broken skin as he ploughs the sharp of the crowbar deep into a grey mottled eye socket. 

It shucks out, the geek's body collapsing in a heap at his feet. Tens more stagger forward.

"Everyone should be inside, but that doesn't mean everyone is inside!" Hopper shouts, his booming voice echoing over the din of shots and slick stabbing. "We need to contain them. Joyce, Jonathan, I need you back here. Bernier, Taylor, McCoy, push for the fence! We need to get it back up and standing before this gets worse. Harrington!" 

Steve pierces the skull of an approaching geek like an eggshell, springing back before a second can tear a chunk out of him. "What?" he yells. 

"You should circle back to the quad, make sure there aren't any stragglers."

"Joyce already secured–" 

"It's up to you, kid." 

Steve appreciates what Hopper's doing. Everyone knows you and Steve are unhealthily dependent on one another right now considering the circumstances, and he'll admit that his heart wants literally nothing more than to be where you are. He thinks of you locked up in the kitchen with all this happening outside and hates it, but as long as you stay where you are, that's as safe as you can be. 

He doesn't bother saying yes or no, throwing himself back into the throng. 

It's the ultimate workout. Sweat stings his eyes, his brain pounds behind them. He has to stay vigilant and he has to be fast. He cuts down geeks with a practised agility, Bernier on one side, Taylor the other. They force their way to the fence, and soon there's a small army of survivors behind them, bullets burning his eardrum to the right. 

When the fence is finally in view again, they buckle down. 

It's a huge struggle. Hopper and Livingstone front a team of five of the older guys with a replacement fence on their literal shoulders. The woods are teaming with geeks who must have heard the gunfire and the siren. They cut down the old fence behind Steve and the youngers. The new one gets thrown up just as Steve spears a geek through the ear, hammers whacking into frozen earth with a sound like a car crash.

"Harrington, inside the perimeter!" 

Steve eyes an imminent geek but does as Hopper commands, weaselling through the single gap they've left behind. They finish the inner hammering and Hopper and Livingstone set about chaining the sections back together. 

Steve backs away from the fence and tries to catch his breath. He leans back and brushes the hair out of his eyes, chest heaving, eyes shuttering closed in relied. They survived it. They did exactly what they were supposed to do in this situation and the plan worked. 

Somebody takes the crowbar from his hand and he lets them, scrubbing both hands through his hair, scalp cool with sweat as a gale of wind blows. He looks up, and the sky has darkened, that rare morning sunshine nowhere to be seen. 

He opens his eyes. Christopher is sitting a ways away looking queasy. Joyce is hugging the life out of Jonathan, kissing his cheek, hand in his hair. Bernier and Taylor are stabbing the new wave of geeks. Steve isn't worried, there aren't a quarter as many as there had been. 

The smell is barbaric. 

"Don't relax too quickly, kid," Hopper says, "we still gotta round up the bodies." 

Steve laughs morosely, secretly pleased when Hopper pats him on the shoulder. His back fucking hurts and he stinks of gore and zombie gunk. Dead material somehow slimy and dry as bark at once, Steve wants a shower, and a hug from you, in that specific order. 

"You okay?" Jonathan asks him, squinting. There's blood splattered against his forehead. 

"They had to do this today?" Steve asks. "This is my favourite shirt. I'm never gonna get the guts out–" 

A scream splits the air. 

"The quad," Hopper announces. "Taylor, Bernier, keep going. Everyone else, with me." 

His blood ice in his veins, Steve runs with the rest of the group. He realises he's left his crowbar with Taylor and grimaces, pulling the gun from his holster and knocking off the safety mechanism. Steve isn't good with a gun. He only ever used one right at the start, when he hadn't known that sound to a geek is like a porch light to moths. That, and he'd run out of ammo. 

"Oh, goddammit." 

There's a crowd of geeks they must've missed around the side of the town hall. Hopper immediately starts yelling at a young teenager screaming in front of the gym to get back inside. 

Steve's okay, his heart's fine, and then he sees you. You're wrist deep in brains, surrounded by bodies and coated in a black spray of blood. It's in your hair, your eyebrows, all over your cheek and your shoulder. 

He nearly wrenches Livingstone off of his feet as he bursts forward to help you, gun raised and poised. He shoots and drives forward. One geek, two. Three, five, he loses count. He gets so close he can hear your panting breath, not panicked but struggling to keep going. 

"Fucker," he says, one geek left between you and safety. 

You scramble to the side. Steve shoots it point black in the back of the head. It falls down slow, and then it thunks against your shoes. 

You reach for him on automatic as you pull your feet from under him, treading over the soft of the geeks shoulders and into Steve's waiting arms. He holds the gun away from you to click on the safety, shoving it back into his borrowed holster. 

"You're okay?" you ask loudly. 

"I'm fine, what are you doing out here? You should've stayed inside the pantry." 

"Says who?" you ask, squeezing him so tightly he feels his skin bruising in the shapes of your arms. 

"Says everyone!" he shouts, squeezing you back just as hard. 

You catch your breath together. His hands rove over your back, checking and rechecking that you're real and you're not hurt. He pushes you away from him to check your front properly, hand on your face, your arms. 

"I'm fine," you say, "I'm perfect." 

"You have more blood on you than the rest of us put together." 

You hum unhappily. "I think I got a fresh one in the artery. It sprayed like a fountain, it was–" You sigh, stroking a loose curl of dirtied hair from his eyes. "It was disgusting." 

He wants to kiss you, but he's normal, and you're both plastered in blood. He's less normal as he wraps his forearm behind your head and forces your face into his neck, groaning in an exhaustive relief. Your warm breath against his skin is everything he could ever ask for. 

"Stay inside, next time," he murmurs. 

"Not a chance." 

"Think I can give him a citation?" Steve hears Hopper ask. 

Joyce gasps through a laugh. "They're cute!" 

"This is a public space." 

Steve huffs a laugh against your ear. "Holy shit, you scared the fuck out of me." 

"I had to know you were okay." 

His hand slides down your shoulders, searching for something he can't explain. "I'm okay. We're okay, honey. You can relax."

The last of your resistance ebbs away. You melt into his arms, and Steve pretends for your sake that he can't feel you shaking like a leaf. You just tore your way through a herd to make sure he was okay: you're the bravest girl he's ever met.

[pistachiozombie]

Insanely stoked to do a Supernatural comm1ssion and draw my favorite nerd Sammy and @eunoiaastralwings's oc ♥