Dollavie

reader | 25+ | isfj | french 💛

[stcrgazerlily]

━━━━━━━ VOGUE BEAUTY SECRETS WITH MRS. WAYNE

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bruce wayne x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: fresh off a gala in metropolis, mrs. wayne shares the simple skincare routine behind her signature glow. with a little help from her husband bruce wayne, of course!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none, 1.5k words, dick + damian cameo, super super brief selina cameo? its a comment so idk if it counts?, reader (you) is the ultimate baddie, not edited just proofread

<𝟑: tags at the end :) please tell me if im missing anyone! (some weren't working so please lmk if they still dont so i can fix it). part of the mrs wayne in media series

Your make up is strewn across the bathroom counter, but this is out of shot. Instead, the skin care products are all neatly lined up on Bruce’s side.

You’re dressed in a fluffy white robe with your initials embroidered, hair clipped away from your face. Your make up from the gala is still on and you’re beautiful diamond studs— a present from Bruce, glitter under the bathroom’s lights. 

“Hello!” You smile at the camera. “And welcome to Vogue Beauty Secrets. Today, I’ll be showing you my skincare routine for after galas. We literally got back from the gala..." 

You glance over at Bruce, who is getting rid of his tie in the main bedroom. Luckily, the camera can’t see him. "What, twenty minutes ago?"

"Twenty-three," he corrects.

You laugh. "Twenty-three minutes ago. I wanted to film this while everything was still on because I feel like that's the only way to really show what works for me."

You carefully unclip the earrings, gently setting them down on a tiny golden plate. The camera picks the small metallic sound of the diamonds clicking against the metal. “These are usually the first thing to go because I'm terrified of dropping one down the sink. Bruce says that's what insurance is for, but I think he'd still judge me."

Somewhere off-camera, “I absolutely would.”

You laugh. “He's lurking somewhere off camera, don’t mind him.”

Slow and sure steps approach, Bruce’s is wearing a matching robe to yours and fluffy slippers the hotel provided. He looks absolutely adorable, but not like the camera sees it– the angle is too far off.

You pick up the cleansing balm, a yellow thing with a metallic lid. “This is the Elemis Cleansing Balm and an absolute jewel.” You rub the balm with circular motions all over your face. “And no, this isn’t sponsored.”

“When people always ask what my biggest beauty secret is.." You slightly turn your body in Bruce's direction. He grabs a cotton cloth, previously soaked in warm water. “It's probably hydration. Which is the most boring answer imaginable, but unfortunately it's true.”

Bruce begins removing the make up, with soft and soothing motions. His eyes are soft and focused on the task. Your heart swells, how is it you have such an amazing husband?

"People always think the gala is the exhausting part." Your eyes are still closed as Bruce keeps wiping a stubborn streak of mascara. "It's actually this. You're tired, your feet hurt, and the last thing you want to do is spend another ten minutes in front of the mirror." You smile. "It helps that Bruce loves to help with my skincare.”

He smiles, small and just for you. “If I didn’t you’d probably forget.”

You laugh. “That's not true!” You turn to the camera again. “Show them the cloth.”

Bruce’s massive hand appears in frame, veins noticeable and his golden wedding band shining. The cloth is now dirtied with varying shades of brown and a speck of maroon. 

“As you can see I was wearing loads of make up, and for that reason– where is i–”

Bruce hands you the next product. 

You barely look at him. “I use a second cleanser.” 

You quickly apply it. “Okay, boom! Makeup is off.” You move your head, showing the different angles. “Now comes the fun part.” A small pause. "When I was younger I used to think skincare was something you only did when your skin looked bad."

Bruce hums. "It showed."

You gasp, pretending to be offended. "You're unbelievable."

“You still married me.”

You hum, smirking at the camera. “It’s never too late to get a divorce.”

“Hydration,” Bruce clears his throat, and hands you the SK-II bottle.

“I was actually terrible with skincare,” you say as you press your product-soaked hands onto your cheeks. “As Bruce here snitched.”

“She used a barsoap.” Bruce dryly says. 

You laugh, glancing at him. “You’re getting kicked out of my video.”

“But then who would hand you everything?”

Just as you’re about to reply your phone rings. You quickly rinse your hands in the sink before picking it up. You click the speakerphone and set it on the counter.

“Dick, baby. What's wrong?”

“Can’t I just call to ask how my wonderful mother is doing?”

You suppress a smile. “So nothing is on fire?”

“Not on fire, no. Hypothetically... are all the cars insured?”

Beside you, Bruce pales. “Is someone hurt?”

Dick groans. “Please don’t tell me Bruce is there.”

“Sorry, baby,” You pause, shooting the camera a look. “And yes, all of the cars are insured. After you and Jason crashed the last one we weren’t taking risks.”

“Oh, okay! Thank you mom, love you. Bye!” He hangs up.

You look back at the camera with a fond smile. "Everyone says parenting gets easier when they're older."

Bruce slowly shakes his head. "It just gets louder."

You nod. "He's right. When they’re older they have their own opinions and personalities, and they have the confidence to argue back.” You scrunch your nose. “Eventually they realize I can out-stubborn every single one of them.”

You sigh affectionately. “This is part of the routine as much as the other steps. There’s always some emergency– so even if my phone is off there are certain calls from certain numbers that come through.”

“That being the kids and me.”

You grab the next product before Bruce can beat you to it. He grumbles something, but it lacks any heat.

You show it to the camera. It’s a tiny dark purple bottle, with a black pipette as lid. You squint your eyes, trying to read the description. “This is the Skin Ceuticals Hya–Hyaluronic… Acid Intensifier... Multi-Glyyycan. Wow, what a mouthful. Who even came up with the name?”

"Scientists."

You shake your head. "It’s all marketing." You slowly apply it. “I forgot to mention the names of the other products– wait, can I mention them? Since I’m not doing publicity or anything. Wait, am I going to get sued?"

Bruce shakes his head. “I’ll ask the lawyers tomorrow.”

"See?" You grin at the camera. "I don't even have to think about things like that anymore."

Bruce shrugs. "Occupational hazard."

You shift the camera slightly, so it doesn’t catch you giving Bruce a sweet peck on the cheek. His shoulders slump and you give him another.

A second after you’re back to the camera. “Sorry guys, I can’t resist my husband.”

Your phone rings yet again, the noise interrupting you mid-speech. You immediately pick it up, setting it on speaker again.

“Mother.” Damian’s voice can be heard. “I understood Richard called you?”

You raise a conspiratorial brow at the camera. “Yes, darling.”

“Richard has made yet another poor decision.”

“Ahuh.”

“I simply wished to clarify that I advised against it.” 

“Thanks sweetheart— please go to sleep now, it’s getting late.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Fine,” he grumbles. “Good night, mother.”

“Good night Damian, I love you.”

He hangs up after a second.

You laugh, bright and amused. “I think we’ve gotten a bit sidetracked. But there’s only two more steps to go!”

Bruce’s hand appears on screen again, showing the eye cream. You offer your face, your side profile is the only visible thing aside from Bruce’s gentle fingers applying the cream on your under eyes.

“You know, you’re really good at this.”

He barely smirks. “I’ve had practice.”

"Bruce always does the eye cream." You whisper to the invisible audience.

"You poke yourself."

You roll your eyes. "Once."

He looks at you, stopping his ministrations for a second. 

You sigh. "Twice."

Then the lipbalm, this time it's you who shows it to the camera. “And now my favourite part. The lip balm!” You apply it on your lips. “This one is honestly so good…” you finish rubbing it, “I keep one in each bag. A bit pricey though.”

“I think everyone expects some elaborate forty step routine. There isn’t one, just make sure your skin is clean and healthy. Oh, and really, really important. Don’t forget to drink water. The key for the whole glowy look is to be hydrated.”

“And marry someone who reminds you.” Bruce chimes in.

You smile. “That one definitely helps.” You unclipp your hair away, your hair gently framing your face. “Be kind to your skin. Don’t pick it, it’ll just get red and you’ll get more pimples.” 

“Don’t compare yourself to people on the internet either— I’m literally standing under a studio light.”

Bruce leans into frame just enough to kiss the top of your head. You look up at him, then at the camera again. “Thanks for watching!”

Comment Section:

@snoopycftheday the fact that she looks BETTER after taking her makeup off ?????????

@vogue Thank you for joining us 🤍

@slutforthestarks Bruce's entire personality is 'yes dear'

@metropolismetrosfan she genuinely has the most insane face card i've ever seen

@parasocialalert she has the personality of a wallpaper

@sukunt its sending me that 80% of the video is her flirting with her husband and talking to her kids and the other 20% is actual skincare

@selinakyle Can your husband fight?

@selinakyle Bruce CANNOT handle all that

@officialgothamgazette "there are certain calls from certain numbers that come through" being a mom never clocks out 

@slutforgreenlantern they're both so hot idk if i want to be them or be with them #pleasepleasepleaseletmethird

@boostergoldslefttoe just added everything to my cart... why is the total $672 😭😭😭

@daschundmom "Bruce is lurking somewhere off camera" Bruce proceeds to become half the video.

@user7696the way she instinctively tilted her face up so bruce could put on her eye cream... they've done this a thousand times IM SICK

@truthhurts she's only famous because she married bruce lmao she's not even that pretty

@mrswayneisamilf everyone talks about his green flags but can we discuss HER ?? she's so patient and kind every time one of the kids called she's my role model

@hdjsiosjnx, @cassini-among-the-stars, @zhonglibestie, @jdksjsalaka, @godwishiwasreal @sogayitsalmostscary, @bat2nsignia, @mruizsworld, @just-a-random-girl1, @boundlessgladiatorrook, @nalah-whimsy, @xaxamd, @thestupidgirlakira, @queengirl2345, @whitemelanin, @deerest-darling, @outpostsworld, @gglouise23, @marliyndreams, @siennatk an extra big smooch for @llovelygood she was an absolute lifesaver i cannot stress enough how grateful i am for her!! THANKYEW LOML

[itsdollavie]

[suigenerisisadiva]

Peter Parker As Your Boyfriend <3

!! Peter Parker x Batsis!Reader

CW: comic peter but also morphed with mcu peter, dc x marvel crossover, i use comic pictures and real life images as well just ignore that lmao

note: click the image to view it in full

SMAU m.list + this fic

A/N: I miss my man

[legalmente-loca-blog]

For your three hundred thing! Perv!Sam Winchester with the one bed trope!! (Of course you don't have to if you don't wanna!)

An Entire Plan Just To Have You

Pairing: Pervert!Sam Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: When Sam has feelings for you but lacks the courage to tell you, there is only one thing he can do: come up with a plan to get you two together—and it starts tonight.

Word Count: 1,124

Tags/Warnings: mentioning of panties kink, Sam being his usual methodical self, kinda Dark!Sam

The only reason Dean had stayed behind at a different motel was because Sam had suggested it, claiming he’d already checked and found there weren’t two rooms available—specifically, none with two twin beds in one—so he’d have to find another place, leaving the two remaining rooms for you and him. Dean didn’t ask questions, though he did eye Sam suspiciously. He simply dropped the two of you off at the motel before driving on to the next nearest hotel.

The truth was, Sam hadn’t checked anything. He’d been hatching a plan in his head ever since he learned you’d be joining the hunt. He’d harbored feelings for you for a long time but never had the chance—or the courage—to express them. Instead, he’d settled for watching you from afar, sniffing your underwear (stealing just enough so you wouldn’t suspect a thing), and faking injuries just to make you worry and drop whatever you were doing to tend to him. Yes, Sam knew it was wrong; he knew that if you ever found out about that—or about the times he’d masturbated while fantasizing about taking you passionately and roughly—you wouldn’t even look at him again. So, he quickly devised a plan.

When you arrived at the motel, he asked you to grab his bag as well and wait outside while he went to book the rooms. It wasn’t exactly gentlemanly behavior, but it ensured you wouldn’t overhear the conversation he was about to have with the clerk.

“Hi,” He greeted, glancing back over his shoulder at you as Dean drove off and you adjusted the bags onto your shoulders. He turned back to the clerk. “I need a room with a double bed.”

He felt no remorse, smiling with satisfaction as he took the room key, though he quickly wiped the smile away and feigned an awkward expression as he walked back to your side.

“What happened?” You asked when you noticed the look on his face.

“There was only one room.”

“Well, I don’t mind sharing a room.” You shrugged.

“No, I mean… There was only one room with a bed for two.”

“Oh…”

He watched your reaction closely. This was a pivotal moment; you might decide to call Dean and go to another motel, shattering his plan—but instead, he just saw you shake your head.

“It’s fine, it doesn’t matter.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, just to keep you from getting suspicious.

“Yes, it’s already paid for and Dean has already left. Let’s just get this over with.”

You headed toward the rooms, and Sam followed with a smile, catching up to walk beside you. You entered the room and dropped your bags on the floor before looking at the bed and placing your hands on your hips. But for Sam, there was still one more step in his plan—one that could cost him everything, yet one he had to take to ensure you didn’t suspect a thing.

“You know… I can use the couch.” You looked at him with a sigh, as if his idea were silly, but he pressed on to ensure you wouldn’t suspect a thing. “Really. It looks comfortable.” He gave a small laugh, acting as though the idea might be uncomfortable for him, but implying he’d do it just to put you at ease.

You clicked your tongue and took off your jacket.

“Nonsense. We’re both adults.”

With that, you headed to the bathroom, closing the door behind you. Sam smiled again as he took off his own jacket. He could already imagine the feel of your soft skin brushing against his under the sheets—perhaps just because he shifted position and you happened to be close by.

By the time you came out, Sam was already in his sleepwear.

“I’ll go to the bathroom, and you can get changed in the meantime.”

You nodded; before he went in, he glanced at you as you bent down to open your bag and pull out your pajamas. He shook his head with amusement and stepped into the bathroom.

When he emerged, you were already in bed, under the covers, with your back turned to him. He approached like a predator stalking its prey, climbing onto the bed—making it creak—and shifting the sheets to slide underneath. He gazed at your shoulder and the strap of the thin shirt you were wearing. He grew bolder, moving his nose closer to deeply inhale the scent of your hair—not so strongly that you’d notice, but enough to let your fragrance fill his senses. He was tempted to let out a groan but held it back. He didn’t think you were asleep yet; your breathing didn’t match that of someone who had already drifted off.

He lay on his side, watching you intently. Even in the darkness, he could make out your silhouette and the way it shifted and moved with your breathing. He made sure you were asleep before proceeding with his plan and moving closer to you, slowly draping an arm over your stomach and subtly pulling you toward him. He slid his other arm beneath your head and buried his face in your hair, finally breathing in your scent just as he had wanted.

You slowly opened your eyes upon waking. Sunlight was already streaming in through the blinds and curtains. You blinked and stretched, feeling well-rested, but you couldn’t move far because something strong was holding you back. Frowning slightly, you took a better look at your surroundings. Your head was resting on Sam’s chest; your arms were wrapped around him, and his were around you. You looked on in confusion. You didn’t know at what point in the night you had ended up like this, but it felt surprisingly right, so you decided not to move—not even when Sam woke up, rubbed his eye, and looked down at you curiously before smiling.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“I see we moved around during the night.” He joked. You laughed softly, still half-asleep.

“It seems so. Though I swear I didn’t expect it.”

“And do you feel okay like this?”

You smiled and nodded.

“I’d be lying if I said no.” You admitted shyly.

He stroked your hair, and you rested your head back against his chest. In truth, none of this had been accidental. His plan from the start was for you to wake up in his arms—as if you felt so comfortable with him that you subconsciously sought out his touch and protection. He had stayed awake for most of the night, shifting you at key moments until you were in your current position. His plan had worked, and you remained completely unaware of it all.

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[s0urw00lf]

𝐏𝐨𝐮𝐭

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!reader

Summary: Sam has started pouting… pouting because of you.  An: I’m back?? Sorry for not uploading in a minute… I lost my motivation.

WC: 1k - Sam Masterlist

It started as something only dean noticed. He had separated you and Sam for a split second so you could get info on the case. The guy was being a real ass so you were sent in to work your magic.

Sam and Dean waited in the car instead of going in with you this time. Dean just happened to look over at his brother to ask something, but he lost his train of thought when he saw the look on his brother's face.

He was… pouting?

Sam Winchester. The known, and feared demon hunter Sam Winchester was pouting. Dean's eyebrows furrowed "Dude. Are you pouting?" He sounded disgusted

Sam looked over at him like a deer caught in headlights "Wha- no" he denied, but the uptick in his voice said otherwise.

Dean couldn't hide his shocked expression "Yeah, whatever-" he waved it off and returned to his original thought but in the back of his mind he confirmed. Sam Winchester definitely pouts.

Sam let out a released breath because he in fact had been pouting. He hated the thought that you had to go and possibly flirt with an asshole just to get information from the guy.

The next time he's caught pouting it's by Bobby. Which is somehow worse than Dean. This time it was because the two of you had a small disagreement about your capabilities.

At least that's how you'd taken it. Sam had been worried about you being sent off to torch bones on the other side of the large and very haunted estate.

He knew you could take care of yourself he'd seen you smite three demons all on your own just to save his ass. But it never stopped the worry.

You gave him a piece of your mind when he volunteered to go find the newfound missing girl that had just been right behind you, instead of you. And then you went anyway.

While they were waiting inside the salted room, Bobby happened to look over at Sam, noticing how quiet he'd been, and scoffed in disbelief at what he saw.

Sam is sitting with his arms folded and pouting like a child.

"Oh come on she's got you poutin' on the job? What's next you kiss the ground she walks on"

"He already does that. You should see him when she falls asleep with her head on his shoulder. Man's whipped" Dean added his (in Sam's opinion) unnecessary commentary.

Sam rolled his eyes because they were being stupid. Winchesters don't pout. Especially not during a job. But Sam was pouting.

He's a grown, 6'4, widely feared hunter and he was pouting.

What the hell is happening to him?

The last time he had been caught was the worst because it had been by you. Dean had gone out to do whatever Dean does in his free time and you and Sam had stayed in your shared motel.

You were lying in Sam's lap, magazine in hand while Sam flipped through channels on the t.v.

You had been so engrossed in the latest celebrity gossip that you rarely had the chance to catch up on that you hadn't acknowledged when Sam had muttered three heavy words.

There was a pang in Sam's chest when seconds of silence passed after he muttered the words. Which it's not like he hadn't said them to you before. He had, hundreds of times.

But usually, every time you would mutter back 'I love you more Sammy' and the words would ease any doubt or pain that he had been feeling.

But you didn't this time. This time you flipped the page and gasped when you saw that Angelina and Brad Pitt had divorced.

So Sam couldn't help when his lips had downturned, or when his eyebrows found company in one another. As his brain wracked itself to see if he had done something- anything to make you angry.

But when you lifted your head up to look at him, preparing to say something to him your face fell. "What's wrong?" Your voice came out soft and quiet.

Sam felt embarrassed, because he knows you love him. Everybody knows, but he couldn't help it. "You didn't-" he pauses, feeling absolutely absurd, he sighed ticking his jaw. "You didn't say I love you back" he muttered.

You blinked at him once. Twice. Three times.

A hint of a smile began growing on your lips, and Sam's heart dropped. Before you could stop it a full smile grew and you let out a delighted laugh, repositioning yourself on his lap.

You're now sitting up and facing him, a shit-eating smile on your face, Sam groaned his head falling back, thudding gently against the headboard "Oh god" he sighs.

"Aw! Oh my goodness, Sam." You grabbed his face dramatically, punctuating each word with kisses "I'm-" kiss "so-" kiss "sorry!"

Sam's face reddens, but he can't deny the sudden feeling of pleasure that coursed through him. He laughs through the kisses, each one in a different spot. One on his cheek, one on his nose, one on his forehead, a sneaky one on his neck, a final one on his lips.

Sam couldn't stop smiling long enough to kiss you back, and you knew that. Your hands moved to his hair as you separated, you gave him the smile that caught him by his heart "I'm sorry baby. I love you too." you said earnestly.

Sam's head cocked to the side, it was his turn to be a little shit "Are you sure? I'm not really convin-" You shot off of his lap, running to your bag "Where are you going?" He calls after you.

You smiled, "Getting my lipstick, gonna show you my lovin' baby" you joked "you look cute when you pout by the way" you said as you sat back down on his lap.

Sam scoffs watching you apply the bright lipstick "I don't pout"

"You absolutely do, but like I said it's cute. Don't worry I won't tell the ghosts"

[bejeweledinterludes]

⧽ CUDDLE PILE WITH SAM & DEAN (AGAIN). ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꕀ

𐃘 part one ! ┆ caution ⸝⸝ heavy hurt / comfort ahead

📨 y’all really blew up the last one so here’s another (absolutely gutwrenching edition). everyone go thank @aseafullofstars for encouraging me to write cuddling two 6 foot grown men <3 thanks k i would be lost without you sir

SO, IT HAPPENED AGAIN. once more, you found yourself sandwiched between sam and dean winchester.

it all started going downhill the moment you took on this hunt. sam and dean had been on the outs with each other again, and you’re not sure why. they weren’t saying much to each other—or saying much at all, period. they seemed to be avoiding talking as much as possible. it didn’t help that the hunt seemed to last forever, and it certainly wasn’t getting any closer to being solved. it seemed like the universe was laughing at you.

dean, as he always seems to do, breaks first.

it was mostly because he’s been realizing that he can’t do anything right. he can’t take care of his brother, and he can’t take care of the people he’s trying to save. he’s not mad at his brother. that’s not why dean’s avoiding him. it’s because he feels like he failed his little brother. no matter how hard he tries to make things right, in any sense, he always fails. always. whether it’s with sam or anything else, he fails. it’s discouraging, and it eats away at what little is left of his psyche. so when one of the potential victims almost dies, the one he swore to protect—it’s over. he’s done, at least for tonight. he’ll get up tomorrow, pretend to be fine, but he knows the truth. he’s a failure of a man.

that’s why he has to get out of bed in the middle of the night, fighting the tears that have been buried deep inside him this whole damn hunt. this whole damn year. he loses the fight almost immediately, and he can’t drown alone. he’ll never live to see tomorrow if he does. so that’s what leads him to your room, connected to his and sam’s own.

you wake, not even having been really asleep, but you blink when you hear the door on the wall open. you weren’t sure who you were expecting through the adjourning door between your room and theirs, but the moment you see dean’s glassy eyes, you fight the urge to get out of bed and meet him halfway. he gets to you eventually after carefully shutting the door, then almost falling into your bed you’ve called home for the past week or so. he doesn’t make a sound, but you feel your shirt getting wet where his face is buried into you. a few sniffles leave him as he wraps his arms tight around your torso, holding on for dear life.

you’re not too sure how long you lay with dean curled up beside you. he’s wearing his jeans to bed again, you notice, and you make a note to scold him nicely for it when he’s not sobbing in your arms. but for now, you hold him tight, like you’re trying to squeeze the sadness out of him. it doesn’t seem to work as well as you want it to, but dean knows. he always does.

sam’s not boding too well, either. he’s been having nightmares again, always ending with him waking up in a cold sweat and no air in his lungs. it’s exhausting. he’s trying to prove to everyone that he’s fine, that he can handle everything, but he’s not. and he can’t. not now. not tonight. he’s long overdue for a breakdown, and it seems like tonight’s going to be the night it all blows up. dean’s gone when sam glances at the bed parallel to his own—and he doesn’t care anymore now. the tears start coming too fast to stop, and there’s only one person he can think of within a 5 square mile radius that can help him not suffocate on his own thoughts.

you.

it’s you.

he gets your door open, not knowing his older brother had opened it once already tonight. sam freezes in place when he realizes who is next to you, hand still on the door handle. you know dean heard sam walk in, judging by the way dean tenses up in your arms. you think he might run—and if the roles were reversed, you realize if sam came to you first, dean would’ve never gotten this far. he would have suffered alone.

but he’s not.

and neither is sam.

while dean lay next to you, sam rounds the other corner of the bed, climbing in carefully, like he’s scared you’ll turn him away. you wouldn’t—never in a million lifetimes would you turn away either of these men. you hold them both now: sam’s arms fill the gaps where dean’s aren’t, their heads resting close to your own, faces buried into you to hide their wet eyes. you kiss each of the tops of their heads, the smell of dean’s hair reminding you of fresh-cut grass, sam’s resembling something like old paper. the only sound in the room is their muffled sobs when they feel the need to let the sound out and the occasional sniff from them.

your shirt is soaked now from the brother’s tears, the fabric sticking to your skin, but you don’t care. you’d jump into a pool fully clothed if you had to for them. and you know that they know that tidbit—it’s why they both came to you.

you hold them close to you until their sobs quiet into just soft sniffs and intakes of breath—and then until their breathing slows down to when you know they’re asleep. it is only then that you allow yourself to succumb to sleep, making sure to keep an arm around each of the brothers as you do. you don’t want them waking up without feeling you there.

maybe you didn’t fix all their problems, and you most certainly didn’t do much talking to them at all—but you know you can’t fix all their problems, all their issues that are cemented into their souls. you also know, however, that dean and sam didn’t go through this alone tonight. they never have to, not with you around. after so many years of suffering, they have you to hold them together now. you can’t heal them. you know that, too.

all you want to do is hold them though it.

so you will until the sun graces the horizon.

@g0thamgirl @mostlymarvelgirl @kaz-2y5-spn @sophiaesthetic @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina @tinas111 @0ccvltism @lunaleah @saintfaux @kimxwinchester @harlekin705 @megara0224 @ej13928 @defnot-svnshine @fertilise-me @butterphii @halsteadwichester @bettystonewell @jollyhunter @whimsyandfear @iknowyouknowimnottellingthetruth

[ackleskisser-mp4]

helloo ! could you write something about sam having psychic abilities and having visions abt the reader and panicking trying to protect them plsss tysm!

I almost lost you.

Summary: Sam is away on a hunt when he gets one of his visions of you getting hurt. It drives him insane as he does everything he can to get to you as soon as possible. (wc: 3.1K)

Tags/warnings: Early seasons!Sam. No description of reader. female reader. No use of y/n. Hurt/comfort. Descriptions of violence. Anxiety.

A/N: It hurt me so much to write this. Please remember requests are open!

Sam hated his nightmares. He really did. He would wake up sweating, tired, and it would be hard for him to go back to sleep again. But these past few weeks that has been… a bit different. He had noticed that his nightmares were coming true. They were like… visions.

He’s been keeping this on the down low. He’s not sure why he’s having visions, but until he understands why his nightmares were coming true… well, he’s gonna keep that to himself.

And now, he was starting to get headaches. To get visions during the day. As clear as a video he would be watching on TV. And he feels awful. He and Dean have been hunting together. You were always accompanying them to hunt, especially after Sam went to Stanford. You kept Dean company and hunted with him.

However, these past few days, Dean and Sam went on their own. You stayed at Bobby’s place since you were a bit sick and needed to stay in bed for a little while. They didn’t mind, and Bobby insisted anyway. He was always taking care of all of you.

Sam’s headache started, and he needed to grab his head and hiss at the pain. He hates what he’s feeling, and he knows what’s coming. Dean rushes to his side immediately.

“Hey, hey, hey. Sammy, are you alright?” he asks. But Sam is deep into his vision.

You’re tied up to a chair, with a tear-streaked face and screaming out. He doesn’t get to hear your voice, but for the way your lips move, he can be sure you’re yelling out his name. You look desperate and helpless, pulling at your restraints, but there’s nothing, absolutely nothing you can do. Your face goes up to the ceiling as you scream desperately while your whole body contorts, as if something invisible was pulling you.

He comes back with wide and worried eyes, looking up at Dean. “We- we gotta go, Dean, now!”

“Why? Where?” Dean’s worried, confused. What had just happened to his brother?

“Now, Dean!” he yells and yanks him towards the Impala. “To Bobby’s, now!”

He had never seen his brother like this. He’s grabbing his phone as if it were a lifeline, alternating calls between you and Bobby. Neither of you two is picking up, and he’s going insane. Dean is driving and staring, his worry increasing every second that none of you is picking up the phone.

“Drive faster, Dean!” Sam’s frustration is flaring up increasingly. His chest was heavy with worry and all the thoughts that were rushing through his mind. He didn’t get to see exactly what was happening to you. He’s going insane in the small car that can only go so fast.

Dean floors the pedal, accelerating for his growing worry and for his little brother. Who hasn’t even been able to tell him what was wrong or why they were going to check up on you. But for the way Sam was going insane right beside him, he didn’t even dare to say anything. Not even trying to comfort him. It was hopeless to try; he knew his brother was gonna brush off whatever words he said.

Sam is almost shaking with anxiety, checking on police scanners for anything that could lead him to where you were or if anything had happened to you yet. He was still trying to call you, but your lack of response —and Bobby’s too— was enough to bring this 6’4” tall man to the brink of tears. Not shedding anything yet as he tried his best to keep his composure.

The Impala’s engine roared, a low, vibrating growl that usually brought Sam some semblance of comfort. Right now, it just sounded like a countdown.

He was practically vibrating in the passenger seat, his knees pressed against the dashboard because he couldn't sit still. The police scanner on his lap hummed with static, filling the tense silence of the cabin with fragmented dispatches about traffic violations and minor accidents. Nothing about a house in South Dakota. Nothing about you.

"Sammy, you’re gonna put your fist through the glass if you keep squeezing that phone like that," Dean said, his eyes darting from the dark, open highway to his brother’s profile. He eased the Chevy down a gear, pushing her past eighty-five. "Talk to me. Did someone call you? Did you get a bad feeling, or what?"

"Just drive, Dean," Sam choked out, his voice raw. He stared out the window, watching the blurred silhouettes of cornfields rip past in the fading twilight.

Inside his head, the vision was still playing on a loop. The image of you screaming his name—silent but desperate—was burned into the back of his eyelids. Every time he blinked, he saw it. The phantom pain of the headache was still throbbing behind his temples, a dull, sickening reminder that whatever was happening to him wasn't a fluke.

He pressed the call button on his phone for the tenth time. He held it to his ear, listening to the agonizingly slow ring... ring... ring... before it cut to your voicemail greeting.

“Hey, you’ve reached—”

Sam slammed the phone down on the bench seat, a ragged, frustrated breath escaping his chest. "Come on, come on, pick up..."

"That’s it," Dean muttered, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. "I’ve been patient for the last fifty miles, Sam. You look like you’re about to jump out of a moving vehicle. If you don't tell me what’s waiting for us at Bobby’s, I’m pulling over."

"Don't you dare slow down!" Sam snapped, turning on him, his eyes wide and bloodshot. The sudden flare of anger caught Dean off guard. Sam swallowed hard, trying to force his voice back into a normal register, but his chest was heaving. "Just... please. Trust me. We need to get there right now. If we’re too late..." He choked on the words, unable to finish the sentence.

Dean stared at him for a long, heavy second, scanning the sheer terror written across his little brother's face. He recognized that look. It was the same look Sam had when they were kids and something went bump in the night—only this time, Sam was a 6'4" hunter, and the monster wasn't in the closet.

Dean didn't ask another question. He just slammed his boot down on the accelerator.

The Impala surged forward, the speedometer needle creeping toward a hundred. The wind howled against the windshield, drowning out the static of the police scanner. Dean reached down, grabbing a silver flask from the door pocket, and tossed it into Sam’s lap.

"Holy water," Dean said grimly, keeping his eyes glued to the asphalt. "Just in case. Whatever it is, Sammy, we’re going to handle it. She’s gonna be fine. Bobby’s there."

Sam gripped the flask, his knuckles locking. He wanted to believe Dean. He wanted so badly to believe that Bobby’s presence meant safety. But the vision hadn't shown Bobby standing guard. It had shown total, helpless isolation.

He closed his eyes again, leaning his forehead against the cold glass of the passenger window, praying to a heaven he wasn't sure was listening that the old car could go just a little bit faster.

The tires of the Impala shrieked against the asphalt as Dean tore into Bobby’s scrapyard, kicking up a massive cloud of dust and gravel. Before the car even came to a complete halt, Sam was throwing his door open, stumbling out into the humid air and sprinting toward the house.

"Sam, wait!" Dean yelled, killing the engine and grabbing his duffel bag from the backseat, his hand instinctively dropping to the machete tucked under his seat before he bolted after his brother.

The silence hanging over the salvage yard was deafening. No music from Bobby’s radio, no clinking of tools—nothing. He screams your name, trying to call you, but you obviously don’t answer.

The house was in shambles. Books were ripped from the shelves, and Bobby’s favorite ancient lore volumes were scattered across the floor. In the kitchen, a half-empty mug of coffee had been knocked over, the dark liquid still slowly dripping off the edge of the table and pooling on the linoleum.

Dean pushed past Sam, his eyes scanning the room with lethal focus. "Sammy, look."

On the floor near the kitchen doorway, Bobby’s shotgun lay abandoned. Just a few feet away, a thick line of black salt had been violently swept aside, breaking the barrier.

"They were ambushed," Dean muttered, his face hardening as the realization hit. He knows Bobby wouldn’t have left his gun lying around. They were probably attacked. But there was no clue of where you were.

Sam didn't answer. His head was pounding again, a dull, throbbing pressure building behind his eyes as he stared at the center of the living room. The vision from earlier flashed in his mind again—the chair, the desperate screams, your lips forming his name. He gripped Dean by his bicep. “Downstairs,” he muttered, barely. They needed to be silent and careful.

Dean’s eyes snapped from the broken salt line to the grip Sam had on his bicep. The sheer force of his brother's fingers digging into his muscle was enough to tell him everything he needed to know. Sam was completely dialed in, his face pale, his jaw set in a hard, desperate line.

"Downstairs," Sam repeated in a harsh, barely audible whisper. His head felt like it was splitting open, the phantom echo of your screams vibrating right through his skull. In the vision, the background had been dark, the ceiling low and lined with exposed wooden beams. It wasn't the spare bedroom. It was Bobby’s basement. The panic room.

Dean didn't question it this time. The urgency radiating off Sam was a physical force.

Nodding slowly, Dean slipped his hand inside his jacket, drawing his silver-plated pistol. He flipped the safety off with a completely silent, practiced click of his thumb. Sam’s hand dropped to his own waistband, pulling his weapon, his breath coming in shallow, measured draws as he fought back the blinding ache behind his eyes.

They moved like ghosts across the ruined living room, stepping perfectly over the scattered lore books and avoiding the floorboards they both knew creaked.

The door leading down to the basement was tucked away down the hall, standing just an inch ajar. A thin sliver of pitch-black darkness peeked through the gap. Usually, a warm, low light spilled from Bobby’s workshop down there, but right now, it was like looking into a void. The air moving out of the basement felt unnaturally, violently cold—carrying the faint, metallic tang of blood and the heavy, sulfurous stench of a demon.

Dean took the lead, placing his boot against the wood and pushing the door open millimeter by millimeter until it cleared the frame. He caught Sam’s eye, giving him a sharp nod, and began the descent.

The wooden stairs felt endless. With every step downward, the temperature plummeted, turning their breath into thick, white clouds. Sam’s heart was hammering against his ribs so loudly he was terrified the things waiting below would hear it. Just let her be okay, he repeated like a silent mantra, his fingers freezing against the grip of his gun. Please, just let us be on time.

At the bottom of the stairs, the darkness gave way to the flickering, eerie glow of a few melted candles.

Sam’s breath hitched in his throat.

The heavy iron door of Bobby’s panic room was wide open. Inside the threshold, the dim candlelight caught the silhouette of a heavy wooden chair. You were there, tied down, your face slick with sweat and tears, your chest heaving as you fought against the thick ropes cutting into your wrists. Bobby was slumped against the reinforced wall beside you, unmoving, a dark trail of blood drying down the side of his face.

Standing right over you, fingers buried tangled in your hair to force your head back, was a man in a sharp, dark suit. As the shadow of the Winchesters fell across the basement floor, the man turned his head toward the stairs. His eyes rolled back, revealing solid, bottomless black.

"Look at that," the demon purred, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "The dynamic duo finally made it. I was worried you boys got lost on the highway."

Your breath is heavy, and you look up at Sam with clenched teeth. “Sam, don’t.” Your voice is breathy, tired. You sound as if you had been putting up with hours of torture. The mere idea makes Sam’s fists clench. “It’s a trap, Sam, please,” you beg barely, and the man pulls your hair harder, making you squeal out of pain.

“Shut up!” he screams at you. “They know what they’re doing.”

Hearing you cry out in pain made something fundamental snap inside Sam’s chest. The sight of your face—pale, exhausted, and streaked with tears—collided violently with the vision that had been torturing him for the last fifty miles. Seeing you hurt in real time was a thousand times worse than the video playing in his head.

Beside him, Dean’s eyes went dead and cold. He raised his gun, aiming it straight between the demon's pitch-black eyes. "Let her go, you son of a bitch."

The demon just laughed, a cruel, grating sound that echoed unpleasantly off the reinforced concrete walls of the panic room. He didn't let go of your hair. Instead, he twisted his fingers tighter, deliberately forcing your chin upward to show off how completely he controlled the situation.

"Or what, Dean?" the demon mocked, tilting his head. "You'll shoot this pretty little meat suit I'm wearing? Go ahead. See how that helps your friend here."

"Sam..." you choked out again, your eyes swimming with fresh tears as you tried to look at him through the pain. "Please... just go. Bobby's..."

"I told you to shut your mouth!" the demon roared. He raised his free hand, and before Dean could even pull the trigger, a violent, invisible shockwave blasted through the doorway.

The telekinetic force hit the Winchesters like a freight train. Dean was thrown backward, his gun clattering across the concrete floor as he slammed hard into the wooden stairs, coughing as the breath was knocked out of him. Sam was lifted right off his feet, pinned ruthlessly against the solid stone wall of the basement. The invisible grip wrapped around his throat and chest, tightening until his ribs creaked under the pressure.

"You Winchester boys really are as predictable as they say," the demon sneered, stepping away from you but keeping his hand outstretched to hold Sam against the wall. "Always running into the fire for the people you love. It’s pathetic, really."

Sam thrashed against the wall, his boots kicking uselessly at the air. He tried to draw a breath, but his airway was completely blocked. His vision started to blur at the edges, the candles in the room dancing in distorted shapes.

Then, the demon turned back to you.

"Now, where were we?" the monster murmured. He raised his hand toward your face, his fingers curling into a claw-like shape.

Suddenly, your body contorted violently in the chair. You let out a strangled, blood-curdling scream, your head snapping back toward the ceiling as if something invisible was violently ripping into your very soul.

It was the exact moment from his nightmare. The exact, helpless agony.

No. No, no, no.

The pressure behind Sam's eyes exploded. The dull headache he had been fighting on the highway turned into a blinding, searing white heat that rushed down his spine and filled his veins with pure, unadulterated fury. The sheer desperation to save you—to stop that scream from tearing out of your throat—triggered something deep, dark, and terrifyingly powerful inside him.

He didn't care what was happening to him. He didn't care why he could feel it. He just needed the demon dead.

Stop it, Sam thought, focusing every ounce of his burning rage entirely on the man in the suit. I said, STOP!

The demon abruptly froze. His telekinetic grip on Sam vanished instantly, and Sam dropped to his knees, gasping for air. But Sam didn't stay down. He forced himself up, his eyes locked onto the monster, his right hand extended, fingers trembling with a strange, heavy force.

The demon's hand dropped away from you. You slumped forward in your restraints, coughing and drawing ragged, desperate breaths, finally free of the invisible torture.

The demon gasped, his head snapping toward Sam with sudden, genuine shock. The bottomless black in his eyes flickered violently, turning back to human white for a fraction of a second before being forced back into darkness. He gripped his own throat, his knees buckling as if an invisible noose was tightening around his neck.

"What... what are you doing?" the demon choked out, his voice turning into a wet, terrified wheeze.

"Sammy?" Dean gasped from the floor by the stairs, pushing himself up, his eyes wide with a mixture of absolute awe and deep, instinctual terror as he looked at his little brother.

But Sam wasn't listening. He didn't see Dean, and he didn't care about the rules anymore. He just saw you—bruised, breathing, and terrified—and the thing that had dared to touch you.

Sam took a heavy step forward, his hand flexing as he squeezed the invisible hold he had on the demon's throat. His voice dropped to a dangerously low, resonant pitch that didn't sound like him at all.

Panicked, the demon looked up at the cloud of black smoke went out of his mouth, making his host fall to the ground unconscious. You were still crying a little, Sam rushed right over you.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re okay, I got you. I’m so sorry, I got you,” he kept repeating, his hands working fast on your restraints, and as soon as your hands are free, they go around his neck to pull him into a hug, crying into his neck. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m right here, baby.”

He holds you tightly while Dean checks out where Bobby was. He was unconscious in another room.

Both Sam and Dean take Bobby into the Impala, and only the older brother drives him to the hospital. Sam stays with you, cleaning up your wounds and holding your hand through it all. You’re not so badly hurt; you didn’t need a hospital. Just Sam.

Even worse is how you just knew this wasn’t the end of that demon. But so did Sam.

[saltcirclesigil]

*⋆✴︎˚｡⋆— Learning intimacy with Sammy!~🪽

Inexperienced Bf HCs!! ⓘ *— [Fluff & Comfort!]

݁.𖠰 ݁↟ ˚.— Sammy wants to know what unconditional love is. Growing up, love always seemed like it was a thinly veiled obligation, something you had to express to someone if you found them important or useful. Sam doesn’t think of you that way. He wants to know what it’s like to have you walking around, pressing kisses to his perfect cheekbones, poking his dimples, caressing his jaw, all because you…well……love him.

݁.𖠰 ݁↟ ˚.— Sammy loves feeling small. It’s his guilty pleasure. It’s still hard to wrap your head around those nights where you two first got comfy: Sam looking at you like he’s guilty of something, dropping to the floor at your bedside, and burying his face in your arms. He doesn’t want to be the bigger person, emotionally and physically. He’s a big scary man to strangers, he doesn’t want to be that guy to you. What if he could be small? Fit into your arms or be carried in your pocket for moral support? Whisper ‘I love you’ into the shell of your ear when you need it most? From the moment he gathered courage to be vulnerable with his comfort person was the moment you two knew being together was going to last a lifetime.

݁.𖠰 ݁↟ ˚.— Sammy asks. Always questioning before doing, just so he can hear you murmur tiredly a sweet little ‘yes.’ He loves your voice…it brings him a calm that nothing else seems to measure up to. He’ll ask about anything and everything, supplementing his play at naïvety with puppy eyes and a ‘please?’ He hasn’t garnered the confidence to ask for things with a cherry on top yet, but you know damn well he wants one.

݁.𖠰 ݁↟ ˚.— Sammy likes listening. Not just to your voice, but to the whole sensation of you…Loving you to your favorite music so when he listens back to your playlists he can feel your hands ghosting over his skin. Voice recordings to listen to before bedtimes when you’re not around: breathing, talking, heart beating, even memories of your laugh make him pink in the cheeks. Don’t get him started on nicknames. Moose, Sammy, love, sweetheart, oh! He could pass away from the name calling alone. He could listen to you like you’re a podcast, and he’s your #1 super fan.

݁.𖠰 ݁↟ ˚.— Sammy is a kisser when he cuddles. His lips have only one goal, and it’s to give every square inch of you his love. He likes to do the kissing more than he does receiving them— It’s normal to catch him gently kissing and nibbling your shoulder, having to pry him off like a teething pup. Yes, he’ll whimper, but being so close with someone he loves is a new and thrilling experience that he can’t get enough of.

Get a kiss from an angel by joining my Taglist~🪽

@saltnburnbaby @cantchooseafav @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @ashbohog @alintalzin @tellybearryyyy @lastwandastan @decembersservice @butterphiiss @suggakookie97 @cccayliexx @hopelessbrain @cas4ngel @tomofhyacinth @soealt @s-kellie-z @marchsfreakshow @strawberries-n-dreams @maidcultt @nekkohaa @ph0ebejeeb1es @theraynecries @lovergirlfinalboss @sentrytuna @angelvvitch @natemack-amazonbox @samiwinchester444 @sb-bitch

[itsdollavie]

[cloudcourtesy]

sam patching up 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫!reader …

YOUR CHEST HEAVES, AND YOUR WHOLE body burns. sam sits between your legs, mumbling something about how he told you not to move.

his hands hover over your torso for a moment, before he rips the thin fabric of your tank top above your large wound. you huff weakly.

“i liked that shirt.”

he looks up at you, and his jaw clenches.

“would you rather me move your arms to take it off?” he asks rhetorically, clearly irritated, and you wince just thinking about how much it would hurt to even lift your arms right now.

you realize you probably offended him by complaining when he’s literally making sure you don’t bleed out, and you immediately try to fix it.

“thank you,” you say in a softer voice, and he looks back down, hands still working. “for helping me.”

he doesn’t respond, and your stomach turns. you speak again, more shaky than last time, “i’m sorry, i wasn’t- i didn’t mean to complain-”

“it’s not that.”

you both pause.

“i’m not mad at you. you just…scared me.” he lets out a soft laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, shaking his head.

“i’ve never seen you look that…out of it. i mean, you could barely walk. that thing cut you deep,” he pats rubbing alcohol onto your cut flesh, and you flinch.

“and i told you not to move.”

you look down at him. “i’m sorry, i was just trying to help.”

“i know. and i know you’re smart, i know you’re good at what you do. but sometimes, you have to listen to me. i know what i’m doing too.”

the room falls silent again, until he looks back up at you and gives you a tiny smile.

“okay?”

you smile back.

“okay.”

© 𝖈loudcourtesy ─── 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲

[insomniumstella]

summary: you have a tradition to swim naked every summer solstice. Sam's being roped into it this year.

word count: 1,015

warnings: mentions of nudity, mentions of alcohol consumption, this is fluff .ᐟ

junie's rambles ✮⋆˙ — happy (very very very late) summer solstice and Rasos 🇱🇹 (or Joninės) for those who celebrate .ᐟ 🌿🌝

“You’re not serious,” Sam exclaimed in a hushed whisper, sweeping his gaze over the silver lake, the sandy shore, the deep stretch of evergreens that encircled the area. 

There was nobody else around. Nobody else was around for miles. A mile. Three quarters of a mile, technically, the distance back to the Whispering Pine Log Cabin Motel. 

“I’m serious,” you said. 

Sam gave you a sceptical look. It wasn’t entirely effective—his cheeks burned as bright as the undoubtedly illegal bonfire you’d yanked him into setting up earlier. 

“You’re not serious.” 

“I’m very serious,” you insisted, your laugh cutting through the late night quiet. “It’s Joninės.”

“Joninės.” 

You laughed again as Sam butchered the pronunciation. 

“Rasos.” 

“Rasos.” 

“Surprisingly better,” you complimented playfully and patted his shoulder. Sam’s breath caught in his throat, but he stayed rather casual about it. The girl he had one big, fat, embarrassing crush on touching him was no big deal. No big deal at all. He’d remain cool if that was the last thing he ever did. “Water becomes alive during summer solstice. One dip and you’ll be pretty forever.” 

“One skinny dip,” he said, shamefully excited, although he’d never admit it, and helpless to the fact you were undressing already. “Why do we have to be naked?” 

“It’s tradition,” you said like it was obvious, and maybe to you, it was, but Sam couldn’t, for the life of him, imagine that he was capable of surviving you and him swimming naked underneath the moonlight together.  

“We braided wreaths. We jumped over the fire. We could stop here.” 

“We could stop.” You crouched down to take a sip of red wine before burying the bottle halfway back into the ground again. “But you promised to celebrate Rasos with me, best friend. Agreed to partake in every tradition I remember from my childhood.” 

Sam didn’t know whether he’d just gotten promoted or demoted with the “best friend” there, but he didn’t dwell on it. Couldn’t, or he’d have driven himself crazy otherwise. “That was before you oh so graciously informed me birthday suits were involved.” 

“We’re born naked, and if we do it right, we die naked, too. Clothes off, dude.” 

“That makes no sense,” he mumbled lamely, trying to get his hands and brain to communicate. 

One was against skinny dipping as a concept, much less with you. The other was eagerly pulling his faded t-shirt up and over his head.

“There we go.” 

“There we not go,” Sam protested, even as his jeans swiftly cosied up to his discarded tee. 

“It’s just us.” Your voice dipped into something more quiet, a soothing note gentler. You unclasped your bra and stepped out of your panties just as his thumbs hooked under the waistband of his boxers. “And… you can stop at underwear. I suppose the water won’t be any less magical if Sam’s Secret is tucked away.” 

“Very funny. I can tell you’re trying not to smile. You knew I’d go along with this ridiculous… nude late night dip thing the moment you suggested it.”

“Nothing gets past you.” 

Silence settled between you. The fire crinkled. Pine needles rustled in the warm summer wind. Sam’s eyes caught yours as he peeled away his boxers, and then you stared at each other like a pair of tipsy, bare fools. 

“Can I be honest? I’m trying pretty hard not to stare,” he blurted out after a stretched minute, struggling to focus on anything except the situation below your neck. 

“Yeah. It’s weirder than I thought it’d be. And I’ve once treated your butt injury.”

Sam sighed, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair. Weird was an understatement. If you couldn’t see his heart attempting to break past his ribcage, he was certain you could hear it. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. 

“Don’t say butt injury. It was a gunshot injury that just so happened to be on my… butt.”

You stole a moment to study him—the slope of his nose, the little mole on his left cheek, the shape of his eyes, ever-warm whenever on you—and stumbled back, the sand cold and wet against your toes. Sam stayed planted in his spot. 

“So,” the corners of your lips quirked up as you drifted closer to the lake, water twining around your ankles at first and then higher the farther you waded, “a butt injury.” 

Instead of defending his very serious gunshot injury, Sam smiled, just the slightest bit, and took a slow step towards you. “Didn’t you once wax off half a lip down south?” 

“How do you know that?”

It was nice seeing you flustered for a change. 

Sam sidled forward some more, and more, and more, until he was edging into the lake, murky green embracing his skin. 

“That’s classified, sorry.” 

Your mouth opened before falling closed again. Sam inched closer. 

“Did you read my journal? You read my journal.” 

“I did not read your journal.” His gaze dipped downwards, and he waded another good bit deeper into the lake to shield his secret from view—yours, his own, the curious mallard’s behind you. “On purpose.” 

A soft groan escaped past your lips. “You don’t accidentally read another person’s journal.” 

“You left it open.” Sam reached for you as the lake enveloped your features, calloused hands curling around your waist and hauling you to the surface. “I swear I didn’t see much.” 

You clutched Sam’s shoulders upon the realisation that you’d glided too far away from the shore in your little endeavour of hiding your embarrassment underwater and your feet wouldn’t graze the bottom anymore. 

“Did you see the part about a crush?”

“A crush?” 

“No crush.” 

Sam’s pulse kicked up. You’d written about a crush in your journal, the uttermost personal thing, a place where every secret you’d kept buried bled onto yellowed paper. 

He should’ve left it alone. 

You were squirming enough to throw off his balance. You refused to look at him, suddenly. Your fingers trembled the slightest bit where they dug into the broad line of his shoulders. 

Despite his head, his heart couldn’t.

“What crush?”

[goreybath]

Ruffled feathers

SUMMARY: Sam warns Dean to not upset you, but he doesn’t listen.

WARNINGS: cussing and pet names.

“Dean, stop.” Sam says, watching Dean try to tickle and pinch you. “Come on, it’s funny watching her face.” Dean says, continuing to messes with you.

You huff, trying not to get upset as you push dean away. “Dean, stop.” You say, pushing dean as he continues to pinch you.

“I’m just playing, sweetheart.” He says, pinching your hip a little too hard, leaving a red mark. “I said, stop!” You yell, causing it to start pouring outside, which caused the power go out.

“Shit.” Dean says, backing up as he stares at the shadow on the wall as lightning strikes. Your wings were obviously ruffled. Little feathers and bigger feathers all mixed up into a mess.

Sam gets up fast, noticing the tears forming in your eyes. “Hey, it’s okay.” Sam whispers, rubbing the spot with his thumb where Dean pinched.

You relaxed instantly into his touch, letting your head fall onto his shoulder with a sigh as the rain slows. Your wings slowly, but surely went back to normal, untangling themselves back into the fluffy feathers they were.

“I told you to stop messing with her.” Sam says, looking over at Dean who was still staring at where the shadow of your wings had been.

“I didn’t think she’d go all angel on me! Cas has never done this!” Dean says, lifting his hands up in defense.

Sam shakes his head, turning back to look at you calmly resting against his chest with your wings back to normal and the lightning gone.

:I saw these pngs and thought they were perfect for this idea

@httpscupidcom @sleepycues @iloveneilperry @velvetlikeburrow @deansch3rrybaby @mythicalcreatorrelic @legalmente-loca-blog @momentomoribitch @tomorrowwnevercame @soleiljeteaime @ariesxmoonn @fratbrochrisgf

[princessoshi]

zoro who likes to stick around reader when she meditates on the quarter deck. he’ll pretend to sleep but the second someone approaches to bother her (luffy, chopper, usopp, brook, sanji) it’s a sharp glare shot their way.

it was the afternoon, warm and clear meaning perfect for you to relax and for zoro to nap. you and zoro did this together quite often. you sat and faced the sun with your eyes closed and legs criss cross with zoro behind you eyes closed, slumped with his swords.

the silence was peaceful, it really was. you two bathing in the sun and each other’s presence until someone interrupted.

᪥

HOUR ONE / 15:00: you had been meditating for an hour minutes now, a record of no interruptions for you. well that was right when the recognizable rhythm of sanji’s dress shoes are heard clicking against the wooden flooring of the sunny.

before the love cook could exclaim "[᪥]-swannn!" he met eyes with zoro who was already up on his feet to take the tea sanji was carrying for you. quick and silent when he placed the teacup and plate on the mat with you and gave sanji a glare that meant leave.

sanji almost did say something before he saw the small smile on your face like you were trying to stifle a giggle. he turned on his feet, returning the glare to zoro and left. he’d see you at dinner anyway. at least he brought your tea, though.

zoro scooted up a little closer.

᪥

HOUR TWO / 16:00: yes brook was odd and his skeleton jokes weren’t all that funny but the two of you did click! you had a beautiful voice that could put anyone to sleep (especially chopper and luffy), and a voice that went perfect with his violin! how could he not come and ask you to sing with him?

a loud “yo-ho-ho” was heard coming up the steps with the sound of violin strings being teased. your eyes didn’t open, and zoros didn’t either this time! all that was said was a mumble from the moss haired man:

"she’s busy. leave."

he didn’t leave but sat right next to zoro, staring at your tattooed back with his violin in hand. he kept his voice down to a quiet volume and leaned over to him.

"i know im not supposed to speak during her meditation time or whatever but don’t you think i could borrow her for a few minutes? no ill intentions i promise its all music related."

zoro’s eye pried open in irritation before setting down his swords and stood up. he picked up the skeleton man and walked right down the stairs to place him right with nami and robin as if to say brook was there problem. he turned around and walked right back to his spot behind you, shutting his eyes again.

another scoot closer as if he was trying to keep you from being bothered without having to open his eyes again.

᪥

HOUR THREE / 17:00: "[᪥]!-" your name was cut off from your captains mouth when chopper loudly shushed him once they were met with your meditating body. you wanted to laugh but kept a straight face, only zoro noticing the change in your breathing pattern.

zoro finally opened his eyes again only to see luffy and chopper on either side of you mimicking the lotus pose with their eyes closed. zoro let out a huff but shut his and didn’t bother. they’d fall asleep eventually.

another quiet scoot closer to your back and a flick to shut up the “shishishishishi”s slipping from luffys mouth.

᪥

HOUR FOUR / 18:00: usopp and nami trailed up the steps to find out where 4/10 of their crew wandered off to just to be see luffys head slumped in your lap, chopper underneath your arm and zoros forehead planted against the left side of your back.

that’s when you finally turned your head, looking up at the two and batted your eyes. your posture didn’t change once, even with the two men and reindeer on you.

"did you two need something?"

the sentence departed from your lips softly as one of your hands moved to gently card through luffys hair.

nami shook her head, turning to look at usopp as if they both forgot what they came to ask you. you patted the empty spot next to you, turning your head towards the evening sun like you said "come sit. or don’t. i don’t mind."

nami ended up slouched against your knee and usopp on your left shoulder.

᪥

you eventually lost track of the hours when the whole crew (except sanji) were dreaming away on the quarter deck with you! you were still meditating peacefully, your skill unmatched as now franky and robin slept against the railing of the sunny and brook in the corner away from you and nami for obvious reasons. the sun was almost set.

your ears once again heard the familiar clicks of sanjis shoes once again. he opened his mouth to call everyone for dinner until his eyes spotted everyone but him on the front of the sunny! not only were covered by luffy, chopper and usopp but that moss-headed idiot too!

being sanji, of course he tried to cuddle up behind you this was a chance of a lifetime! it lasted for a minute before his arms tried to wrap around your waist and zoros arm had the love cook right the corner with brook.

zoros arms wrapped around your waist himself and you finally let out that giggle you’d been stifling for hours. you loved your crew.

a/n from layla!: this started out as a zoro x reader really but then i started to strew away from the point so i hope you enjoyed the strawhat cuddle session..

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!!! Im SOO HAPPY that i've finally built up the courage to ask you for a post!! I love ur writing soo much. Could I get like a tasm!Peter Parker x reader where she somehow convinces peter to let her try on his suit and when it properly fits her she kinda looks super hot in it and Peter is all over her?? Feel free to ignore this if u want! I LOVE UR WRITING BTW. Byyyeee

Love you!! Thanks for requesting <3

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 456 words

Your laughter echoes ominously from inside the bathroom.

"What?" Peter asks.

"Nothing," you say back. "I just don't know if I could fight crime in this thing. The cameltoe is insane."

He snorts. "Yeah, I don't really have that problem with it."

"I guess," you admit, as you open the bathroom door and step out, "we're not really the same size…"

Peter has no witty comebacks to that. He has no words, period.

When you asked to try on his suit, he didn't expect it to fit you. And it doesn't really, some excess fabric puddling around your ankles and hanging off your shoulders, but the places where it is fitted are distracting enough to leave Peter tongue-tied like a twerpy pre-teen.

"Wow," he manages to get out. One syllable, two distinct sounds. A feat.

You're not wearing the mask (a lucky thing, otherwise this might have proven a pretty sexually confusing experiment) so Peter sees every ounce of mischief in your eyes when you tilt your head and smile. "Can I try the web shooters, too?"

"Totally." Peter flicks his wrists, latching onto your hips on either side. When he pulls tight, you have no choice but to stumble towards him, laughing as you fall into his lap. "Another time."

"Why not now?"

"Too much power."

You grin at him, positively impish as your legs shift to straddle him more fully. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Sorry, you've got to go through orientation first."

You set yourself down in his lap. Peter's hands travel from your hips down your legs, meandering, but your bravado slips when you hear a ripping sound.

"Oh, no." You twist your neck to see your backside. You arch toward him a bit in the process, which Peter is not mad about. "I'm sorry—"

"It's fine," he says. "I'll fix it."

You still look guilty. "I didn't think it would tear."

"I tear it all the time. Trust me, this is not the worst tear this thing has seen." Peter touches your jaw, angling you for a kiss. "Anyway, it looks good on you. Worth it."

You soften. "You think?"

You let Peter kiss you a while longer. Your fingers cup his face and curl in the hair at the back of his head. He knew the material of his suit was slippery, obviously, but he never really considered how that might feel for you until he experiences the sensation of you moving smoothly over the material of his jeans. He can feel your body heat through the spandex.

"Are you super sure I can't try the web shooters?" you murmur near his ear after a while.

"Hmm…huh?"

"I just think it would be fun."

"I, uh….yeah. Yeah, whatever you want."

[firelilyfox]

please don't leave me

Pairing: Steve Harrington x female reader

Summary: (S5 spoiler!) After the last fight you are being haunted by the image of Steve hanging on that ledge.

Warnings: hurt/angst. hurt/comfort. finale. near death experience. talking about death. anxiety. crying. no use of y/n.

_____________

The radio station had never been this quiet, just the generators hummed somewhere below.

Someone shifted in a sleeping bag and the rain tapped softly against the windows. Everyone else had managed to fall asleep eventually.

You couldn't.

You waited until the room was filled with slow, even breathing before slipping outside. The ladder to the roof groaned beneath your weight. Cold night air met your face. The stars looked impossibly normal.

As if the world hadn't almost ended a few hours ago. As if Steve hadn't almost…

Your chest tightened. You wrapped your arms around yourself and sat on the edge of the roof. The tears came before you could stop them.

You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to stay quiet. Trying not to wake anyone.

The roof hatch creaked open behind you. "…Knew I'd find you up here."

Steve. Of course.

You didn't turn around. "Go back inside."

His footsteps were careful. Unhurried. "I'm not really taking requests tonight."

"You should be sleeping."

"So should you." He stopped beside you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you felt different now. Not angry. Just… heavy.

Steve sat beside you. Close enough that your shoulders almost touched. "I thought you were mad at me."

You laughed. A small, broken sound. "I am."

He nodded. "…Yeah."

Another silence. Then he heard it. The tiny hitch in your breathing.

Steve turned. Your face was hidden behind your hands. Your shoulders were shaking. "Oh." His voice cracked. "Oh, sweetheart…"

The endearment slipped out before he could think. You broke. Completely. A sob escaped your lips as months of fear poured out all at once and Steve's heart shattered. Without thinking, he reached for you.

One hand settled gently against your back, pressing you against his chest.

"I'm sorry," you whispered between shaky breaths.

He frowned. "What are you apologizing for?"

"I yelled at you."

"You had every right."

"I said…" You swallowed hard. "I said I was tired of watching you throw yourself into danger like you didn't matter."

Steve closed his eyes. He remembered every word. It was the argument before the last mission.

You standing in front of him, furious.

"One day you're not going to come back."

And Steve being his stubborn self, telling you someone had to do it. That he'd be fine.

You laughed bitterly through your tears. "I was so angry." Your voice grew smaller. "So I told myself I wasn't talking to you until this was over."

Steve's stomach dropped.

"But then…" Your breathing faltered. "…you slipped." The words barely came out. "I saw your hand…"

Your own hand curled unconsciously around his shirt. "Steve…"

He'd never heard his name sound like that. Like it hurt.

"I thought…" You couldn't finish. Couldn't make yourself say it. "I thought that was it."

Steve felt something in his chest cave in. He had seen your face. Just for a second. When Jonathan grabbed him, he hadn't understood it then. But he did now.

You turned toward him. Eyes red and cheeks wet. "I've never been that scared." Another tear escaped despite your best efforts. "I couldn't breathe."

Your voice cracked. "I thought I was watching you die."

Steve looked away. Not because he didn't want to look at you. Because he couldn't bear what he was seeing.

"I don't know what I'd do if I lost you." The confession landed softly between you. "I really don't."

Steve's eyes burned, because the thought of you being all alone shattered his heart into a thousand pieces.

"You'd never even know how much I—" You stopped yourself, but it was too late. He'd heard it.

The silence stretched, then Steve moved. He turned toward you completely. Both hands gently finding yours. "I'm so sorry." His voice was barely above a whisper. "So, so sorry."

You shook your head immediately. "No—"

"I am." He squeezed your hands. "I never wanted…" He swallowed. "I never wanted to make you feel that."

You searched his face. "Weren't you scared?"

Steve smiled, just a little. Not because it was funny. Because the answer surprised even him. "I should've been."

"You almost died."

"I know and it should scare the shit out of me."

"You were hanging off a radio tower."

"I remember."

"So why are you acting like—"

"Because…" He stared down at your intertwined hands. "When I slipped…" His voice became distant. "It all happened really fast."

You waited.

"I remember thinking…" A small laugh escaped him. "…'Well, this is gonna hurt.'"

Despite everything, you smiled through your tears.

"Then…" His expression changed and suddenly softened. "I thought about you."

You blinked. "What?"

Steve nodded slowly. "I didn't think about dying, I didn't think about whether we'd win. I didn't think about anything except…" His thumb brushed across your knuckles. "You."

Your breath caught.

"I kept thinking…" His voice wavered. "She's going to blame herself."

You stared at him.

"She's going to think our fight was the last conversation we ever had." Tears welled in his eyes all over again. "She's going to be so mad at me or even hate me."

A tear escaped his eye and he didn't bother wiping it away. "And I hated myself for that."

His laugh broke halfway through. "I was hanging there thinking…" He looked at you with a tenderness that almost hurt. "Don't you dare leave her like this."

The words shattered whatever composure you had left. You threw your arms around him. This time he didn't hesitate. His arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you like he could somehow erase the memory of that ledge.

You buried your face against his neck. "I love you."

The words slipped out before you could stop them. You froze and so did Steve. For exactly one heartbeat. Then his arms somehow tightened even more.

You pulled back immediately. Mortified. "Oh my God, I didn't mean to just—"

"You don't have to take it back."

You looked at him. "I wasn't going to."

Steve smiled through watery eyes. "I love you too."

The words were so simple but so certain. "I think I've loved you for a long time."

Your forehead rested against his. The world below was still broken and the future was still uncertain.

Tomorrow would bring more questions than answers. But for the first time since he'd nearly fallen… Neither of you was carrying the weight alone.

Above you, the stars continued to shine. And Steve silently promised himself something.

He would always fight for the people he loved. But from now on he'd fight just as hard to come home to them.

To you.

________________

Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙

STEVE HARRINGTON MASTERLIST

[itsdollavie]

[athenas-rose]

hii!! i’m not sure if you’ve done this yet but, could i request a angst steve x reader fic where reader is moving away from hawkins and everyone knows except steve?

Where You Go, I Go

Steve Harrington x fem!reader 1k words

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, arguing, moving away, happy ending, fluff,

Steve never imagined he would be the last person to find out you were leaving Hawkins, faced with heartbreak and the pain of losing you, he makes a choice that changes everything

Steve had noticed something was wrong long before he knew why. It started with the little things, the boxes stacked in your hallway when he came over, only for them to disappear the next day. Robin going quiet whenever he walked in on you and her in Family Video, Dustin cutting himself off halfway through saying, “well, when she’s leav—”

He just figured everyone was acting weird. But it wasn’t until he walked into your bedroom on a summer afternoon that his stomach dropped. Half your walls were bare, the Polaroids you had of each other were stripped off your mirror, your bookshelf no longer held books, clothes were folded into an open suitcase on your bed.

“What happened…” Steve muttered, looking around.

You froze in front of your closet, you hadn’t heard him come in. Slowly, you turned around with a sweater still clutched in your hands, your mouth opened, but no words came out.

You knew this moment had finally come and you had to rip off the bandaid. Steve laughed nervously. “Are your parents redecorating or something?”

He was only met with silence, your eyes filled immediately. Steve called your name again but at the look on your face he grew serious instantly. “Why are you crying, baby?” He urged concerningly.

You whispered with a guilt expression. “I’m moving.”

Everything inside Steve stopped, he felt like he had been hit by a moving truck going at a thousand miles per hour. “What?” He asked breathlessly.

“My dad got a job.” You looked down, unable to bear breaking the news face to face.

“When?” Steve asked quieter, though his heart hadn’t stopped pacing.

“Tomorrow.” You had so quietly he almost hadn’t heard it. Then he laughed, Steve actually laughed like you were making some joke.

It was a sharp, disbelieving sound that made you swallow. “Tomorrow?” At your nod, he shook his head. “No.” Another laugh.

“No, you mean next month?” Steve stared at you, his tone slowly rising.

“I’m sorry.” You choked out, this was even harder than you expected.

His voice cracked, eyes shining. “You leave tomorrow?” He ran a rough hand through his hair.

“I wanted to tell you.” You replied, but it wouldn’t make things better, it wouldn’t erase the hurt in his heart.

“When?” Steve wasn’t yelling, but that was somehow worse. When exactly were you planning on telling me?”

“I—”

“Tonight?” He cut you off, you stayed silent. “This morning? Until you left?” Steve looked around the room again, the boxes, Robin's awkwardness, Nancy’s sad smiles, Max hugging you as if it would be the last time. It all made sense now, everyone knew, everyone had known except him.

“Who knows?” Steve asked heartbrokenly, he already knew, just needed to hear it for himself. “Robin?” You nodded. “Nancy?” A nod again. “Dustin?” At every name you nodded painfully.

“So—I’m the only one.” His brown eyes met yours, and you started crying.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” You gasped. “I didn’t know how to say it—I kept trying but…”

“You had weeks.” Steve said devastatingly, and the distance between you felt like you had already moved away.

“I know!” You yelled, squeezing your eyes shut.

Steve’s jaw tightened. “I would’ve driven you.” You blinked at him, taken aback. “I would’ve helped you pack. I would’ve spent every second I could with you.”

A heavy pause. “But instead, I wasted them.” The silence stretched unbearably, his chest heaving. “They all knew, they all looked at me thinking, oh poor Steve, he doesn’t know.”

You shook your head, wiping your face. “They weren’t, they all told me to tell you. But whenever I tired, it felt more real, and I just wanted to pretend a little longer.”

Steve’s face crumbled, for a second he almost reached for you, then his hand dropped back to his side. He nodded, smiling, because smiling was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. “This is it.” He huffed. “I hope wherever you’re going…they know how lucky you are.”

You sobbed even harder, but before you could cross the room to him, he turned toward the door. “Steve!” You cried out, and as it shut behind him, it already felt like goodbye.

Steve made it halfway down your front steps before he stopped. He stood there, one hand gripping the porch railing so tightly his knuckles turned white.

You had rushed outside, not allowing for your final meeting to end like this, not without telling him how much you loved him for the last time.

You stepped onto the porch, your voice small. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” You could see as his shoulders stiffened, another silence filling the air.

Steve turned around, eyes swollen and red, cheeks damp with the evidence of his tears, but there was something different now, like he had made up his mind.

“Fuck it, I’m coming.” He finalized.

You frowned for a moment, wondering if you were imagining things. “What?”

“If you’re leaving Hawkins—” he took a step closer. “I’m leaving too.”

Your eyes widened, blinking up at him. “You can’t just leave everything behind.”

“I can.” He said forcefully.

“What about your job?” Your head was pounding so hardly at the change of events.

“I’ll get another one.” Steve kept his eyes on yours.

“And your friends?” It was already painful to leave everyone behind, you weren’t going to make him leave them too.

“They’ll still be my friends.”

“Your whole life is here, Steve.” You refused to let him leave his home.

“No.” He looked at you so certainly that it stole the words from your mouth. “My life is wherever you are.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “Steve.”

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but I’m not going to let you go easily.” His voice cracked.

A smile escaped you despite yourself. “You don’t even know where I’m going, what if I move again?”

“I don’t care, I’ll move again.” Then before you could come up with another excuse, he closed the distance between you. He kissed you more passionately than he ever has, but it wasn’t a goodbye kiss, it was never going to be.

“I don’t care if it’s Illinois, California, or New York, or if I have to live in a car for a month until I can find my own place.” He swallowed hard. “I just don’t want to stay anywhere without you.”

You laughed through your tears, the sound shaky and uneven. “I love you so much.” You threw your arms around him so suddenly he stumbled a step back, wrapping his arms around you just as equally tight.

“I’m not letting you go.” He repeated, but it was more reassurance for himself.

“You might regret it.” You whispered, and Steve pulled back enough to look you straight in the eyes.

“The only thing I’d regret is watching you drive away while I stayed here pretending I could live without you.” He said so honestly it broke you all over again, you realized that leaving Steve behind was leaving your soul behind.

Tomorrow didn’t feel quite so terrifying, because whatever road you took next, you wouldn’t be driving it alone.

[firelilyfox]

coworkers, ahoy!

Pairing: Steve Harrington x female reader

Summary: When a creepy guy approaches his new coworker Steve steps in to protect you.

Warnings: yearning. tension. protective Steve. damsel in distress. no use of y/n.

___________

Steve had exactly three thoughts when Robin introduced the new Scoops employee.

First: She's pretty.

Second: Really pretty.

And third: Oh no. I`m so fucked.

Because now he had to somehow survive entire shifts standing next to you without embarrassing himself. It wasn't going well.

"Steve?"

"Hm?"

"You handed that kid three spoons."

Steve looked down. The child was indeed holding three spoons. The kid looked delighted. Robin looked exhausted. You were trying very hard not to laugh.

"Right," Steve muttered. "One spoon. Usually."

Your smile appeared. And just like that, his day got significantly worse. Or better. Honestly, Steve couldn't tell anymore.

The first week was easy. You learned the menu and how to work the register. You learned that Robin talked approximately six hundred words per minute. And you that Steve got adorably flustered whenever you complimented him.

"Thanks for helping me with the machine."

"No problem."

"You explain things really well."

Steve nearly dropped a scoop of vanilla. Robin noticed. She spent the next ten minutes grinning like a maniac.

The creepy guy showed up on your fourth shift. Steve noticed him before you did. Mid-forties. Always staring. Something about him made Steve's skin crawl.

The guy ordered a sundae and then spent ten minutes leaning on the counter trying to talk to you.

At first Steve ignored it. People were weird. The mall was full of weird people, right?

Then he noticed the look on your face. The smile you were forcing. The way your shoulders had tightened. The way your eyes kept flickering toward Steve.

Like you weren't sure what to do. Something immediately twisted in his chest.

"Hey." Steve appeared beside you.

The guy looked annoyed but Steve just smiled. The fake customer-service smile. The one Robin called his "serial killer smile." "Can I help you with something?"

The man frowned. "I was talking to her."

"Yeah." Steve nodded. "I noticed." The smile never left his face. "You've been here for about fifteen minutes."

The guy shifted uncomfortably. You looked relieved. Steve felt a tiny surge of satisfaction.

"Think it's time to enjoy your ice cream."

The man stared. Steve stared back. A beat passed and finally the man grabbed his sundae and walked away.

The second he was gone, Steve turned toward you. "You okay?"

You let out a breath. "Yeah." Then you hesitated. "Thank you for that. I was getting a little scared."

Something in your expression made Steve's stomach flip. "It's nothing, really. He was creeping me out too."

"It wasn't nothing." Your voice was soft. "Scoops Hero strikes again."

Steve groaned. "Please don't call me that."

You laughed. And before he could react you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. For one second Steve forgot how reality worked.

Warm. That was his first coherent thought. His second thought was that you smelled nice. His third thought was that he was absolutely going to die.

"Thank you," you said quietly.

Steve's arms hovered awkwardly in the air for a moment before settling around you. "No problem." His voice came out embarrassingly hoarse.

You pulled away still smiling. Steve watched you walk back to the register, then immediately smacked his forehead against a freezer door to cool his thoughts down again.

Robin cackled so loudly a customer turned around.

After that, things changed. You started sharing shifts more often. Talking more. Laughing more. You learned Steve secretly loved bad movies. Steve learned you sang along to every song on the radio.

You learned he always gave nervous customers extra napkins and Steve learned your favorite ice cream flavor. After some time you learned he pretended not to care about people and unfortunately for him, Steve learned that was impossible for you to believe.

Somewhere along the way, becoming friends stopped feeling like enough but neither of you mentioned it.

One evening the mall was unusually quiet. Robin had gone on break. The food court was half-empty. You were wiping down tables while Steve organized cones behind the counter.

The bell above the entrance chimed. Steve glanced up and immediately felt his stomach drop.

The guy again.

Steve straightened. Across the room, you clearly recognized him too and your shoulders tensed.

The man approached, said something to you but Steve couldn't hear it. He saw your polite smile. Saw you try to move past him. Saw the man step closer.

Too close.

His hand reached toward your arm and everything inside Steve went cold. He was moving before he even realized it.

Three long strides then he was there between you and him. One hand lightly against your back to guide you behind him. Protecting you without even thinking about it.

"Hey." Steve's voice was calm. Dangerously calm.

The man's smile faltered. "I was just talking—"

"Cool." Steve nodded. "Now you're talking to me."

You could feel the tension radiating from him and feel how solidly he had placed himself between you and the customer. Like a human shield.

The man frowned. "I wanted to order."

"Great." Steve smiled that same terrifying customer-service smile. "What can I get you?"

Eventually the man took his order and left. Steve waited until he disappeared completely. Then another minute just to be sure.

Only then did he turn around. You were looking at him wide-eyed. "Steve."

"What?"

Your smile was small so soft and fond. "You know you were glaring at him the whole time, right?"

"I wasn't."

"You absolutely were."

"I was providing customer service."

You laughed. Steve's heart immediately betrayed him. Again. Then your fingers brushed his wrist just for a second.

"Thank you." The words came out quiet.

Steve looked down at your hand then back at you and something warm settled in his chest. The same feeling he always got around you. The one he hadn't figured out how to stop. Or hide. Or survive.

"You don't have to thank me."

"Yes, I do." Your smile softened. "I always feel safer when you're here."

Steve forgot every response he'd ever learned. Because you were looking at him like he mattered. Like he was someone worth relying on. And maybe that should have made him feel brave.

Instead it made him fall a little harder. Because all Steve could think was: I'd stand in front of every creepy guy in Indiana if it meant seeing you smile at me like that.

And judging by the way you were looking at him ... maybe he wasn't the only one falling.

Something was wrong with Steve after that night. You knew it. Robin knew it. Probably half the mall knew it.

The only person who seemed unaware of it was Steve himself. For two weeks he'd been acting strange. Not bad strange. Just… Steve strange.

Which was somehow worse. Lately he'd walk over, look like he wanted to say something and then immediately leave.

It was driving you insane.

"Okay." Robin appeared beside you. "Are we finally talking about it?"

You sighed. "Talking about what?"

"The giant lovesick sailor standing over there."

You nearly dropped a stack of cups. Across Scoops, Steve was reorganizing napkins. For the third time. There were already enough napkins to survive the apocalypse.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Robin laughed so hard she had to grab the counter. "Sure."

Three days later, things somehow got worse because Steve kept looking at you. Then looking away. Then looking at you again. Like a very confused golden retriever.

You finally cornered him during closing. The mall was mostly empty. Robin had already left and Steve was wiping down the counter with the concentration of a man defusing a bomb.

"Steve."

"Hm?"

"You've been weird."

"No I haven't."

"Steve."

"I haven't."

"Steve."

He sighed. Still refusing to look at you.

"You just spent thirty seconds arguing with a mop."

"It started it."

You stared. Steve stared back. Then immediately regretted making eye contact because you were close. Very close. And very pretty. Ridiculously pretty.

You crossed your arms. "Tell me what's going on."

"Nothing."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm really not."

You took a step closer. "Steve." Another step. "Seriously." Another. Until there was barely any space left between you.

"You've been staring at me. You've been avoiding me. You keep starting sentences and then stopping." You poked your finger against his chest. "And every time I ask what's wrong you look like you're about to throw yourself into traffic."

Steve dragged a hand down his face. This was a disaster.

You sighed a little bit sad. "Did I do something?"

His head snapped up. "What?"

"Did I upset you?"

"No!" The answer came so fast it almost echoed.

The silence stretched. "Then what is it?"

Steve opened his mouth but nothing came out. Closed it again. Tried once more. Nothing.

"Oh for fucks sake why is this so hard?" Steve blurted out and left you with a surprised look on your face.

Steve looked horrified. You looked exasperated. Neither of you noticed how close you'd gotten. How his hands flexed nervously at his sides and Steve thanked the universe that you couldn't read his mind in this moment. Because it nearly killed him to not touch you.

"Okay." He swallowed. "Okay." Another swallow. "You know that creepy guy the other day?"

You immediately tensed.

Steve noticed. "I know." His voice softened. "I know."

"So…"

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. Then looked everywhere except at you. His soul briefly left his body.

"So I didn't want—" His voice caught. "I didn't want you to think I was…" The words seemed difficult.

"I don't know." He laughed nervously. "Like him."

You frowned, now fully confused. "What do you mean?"

"I know that guy freaked you out and the last thing I wanted was for you to think I was pressuring you or making you uncomfortable or—"

"Steve."

"—or like I expected something because I helped you and—"

"Steve."

"—and then I kept trying to figure out how to say it normally but every version sounded stupid—"

You grabbed his hand and he immediately stopped rambling. Instead he looked at you with wide eyes and a soft layer of pink covered his cheeks.

"What war you saying... exactly?"

He sighed, but moved his thumb over the back of your hand like a reflex. It felt so ... familiar like he did it a thousand times and somehow it was as intimate as a first kiss.

"What I`m trying to say is ... I want to ask you to go out with me. On a date. But I was not sure when would be the right moment to do so, you know, after everything that has happened?"

He let go of you hand and you could feel his fingers wandering up your arm, towards your shoulder. You couldn't resist and leaned into his touch. Finally his hand settled on the side of your neck, his dark eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or fear. He found none.

"You could never make me feel the way he did."

Something in his expression cracked. He looked so relieved, that you melted a little more into his frame.

A smile tugged at your lips. "And for the record?"

"Hm?"

"I've been waiting for you to ask."

Steve stared.

"Steve. Did you hear me?"

"No, I did."

"Then why do you look like that?"

"Because." He laughed once like he couldn't believe it. "You've been waiting?"

Your smile widened. "You're not exactly subtle."

"Robin told you?"

"Robin told everyone."

Steve groaned and you laughed. Then his thumb gently brushed your jaw and your laughter died in your throat. Instead a little breathless sound escaped your lips.

"So…"

You tilted your head. "So?"

"Would you maybe…" He took a breath. Gathered what little dignity he had left. "Would you maybe want to go out with me sometime?"

The smile you gave him could have powered every light in Starcourt Mall. "I'd love to."

Steve's answering grin was so bright it almost hurt to look at. And for the first time in weeks, he finally stopped overthinking. Mostly because you were still so close to him, he could feel your soft frame against his body.

And neither of you seemed interested in getting more distance.

________________

Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated

Steve Harrington Masterlist

[bejeweledinterludes]

⧽ CUDDLE PILE WITH SAM & DEAN WINCHESTER. ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꕀ

cuddle pile ❪ n. ❫ — 〔 /ˈkəd(ə)l pīl/ 〕 𝟏. refers to the grouping of three (3) or more persons close together in a ‘pile-like’ formation in a caring manner, usually for sleep.

“the cuddle pile gives sam and dean the physical touch they’ve been missing.”

IN YOUR ENTIRE TIME KNOWING THE WINCHESTER BROTHERS, you’ve found yourself in a cuddle pile with them two times.

they’ve been drastically different situations, and yet, not very different in terms of the ‘pile’ itself: you sandwiched between both sam and dean, their heads resting on you, their arms slung over some part of you. they’re both breathing deep, both relaxed as much as they could be. they’re still wound so tight somewhere you can’t reach, somewhere no one can seem to penetrate—but yet, they let their guard down around you. and you hold that fact close in your heart.

⁰¹ AFTER A NIGHTMARE.

the first time, it’s from a place of sheer desperate need. dean comes into your room first, his chest heaving from another nightmare of the pit. he’s shaking when he approaches your bedside, like a leaf in the wind. you look up at him not with pity, but with every intention to just help him. to hold him. and that’s what makes him cave like a house of cards.

you don’t ask questions. you just hold him under your blankets, like you want to shield him from everything in the world. he’s grateful you don’t say anything. you’ve always been able to figure out exactly what dean needs, without him telling you a thing. it’s made him seek you out—because half the time, he doesn’t know what he needs.

dean ends up buried in your chest, holding onto you for dear life as he fights to keep from drowning. his breathing is just starting to even out against you when you hear a creak of the floorboard and see sam standing in your door. he, like dean, is also shaking. or a brief second, you wonder if they had the same nightmare. is that even a thing? but you sit up a little more, dean still in your arms. he’s tensed up completely again—and after seeing who’s there, every cell in his body is telling him to run. sam can’t see him like this: his big brother, curled up into you like a scared little kid. but he is.

sam ends up on the other side of you, not saying anything, either. it’s quiet, the only sounds the fan and dean and sam’s uneven breathing. dean’s arm is wrapped high on your torso, close to your diaphragm, his head on your shoulder. sam’s arm is wrapped more by your hips, his head resting on the side of your chest. your own arms are wrapped each of the brothers’ shoulders.

technically, sam and dean are facing each other as they lay on either side of you, but they’re not looking at each other—probably as to not psych themselves out. they’re aware of the other’s presence, but don’t necessarily acknowledge it. after all, they’re both seeking comfort from you, not each other. you can’t see much of them through their tufts of hair, but you don’t need to. you can feel them both relaxing into your body, their once unbelievably tense shoulders now just a tad tense. you’re sure something inside both of them will never let them fully relax, but you take this moment. you take this win.

⁰² AFTER A DAY OF SWIMMING.

it’s a sunny day at bobby’s—and for once, you and the boys have a day to yourselves. no case, no leads to chase down, no research to do. sam suggests going to the lake nearby bobby’s house, and you all agree. soon enough, you’re on the road in baby, cooler sitting next to you in the backseat.

dean, of course, cannonballs into the lake. you and sam are walking side by side on the dock, chairs that bobby digged out for you in hand—and a whoosh of air flows past you both as dean jumps in, the splash starting a ripple spreading through the entire lake. his head pops up after a few beats, grinning wide. you shake your head as dean goads you to come join him, but you hold off for now.

sam’s next to go in the water—well, dean may have triple dog dared him to—and you pretend to be annoyed that he splashed you upon jumping in. you think at this moment, they kind of remind you of dogs. their hair’s wet, and you can almost imagine a pair of floppy ears on sam.

you find the frisbee one of you packed, wiggle it at the boys wading in the water. you promise whoever gets the frisbee the most times gets first pick on the lunch you all brought. it’s not much of a prize at all—but sam and dean take it seriously. you’re not sure who wins, anyway. sam and dean push at each other every time you threw it, splashing at the other to deter them. they’re laughing—and you haven’t heard that sound in a while. a long while.

after the lunch is eaten and the sun is dipping into the horizon, you decide to head back. droplets make their way down, soaking into the soft fabric of your shirt as you sit in the backseat once more, looking at the sunburned necks of the winchester brothers. it’s silent, but not uncomfortable. it’s probably the most comfortable you’ve been in a while, you think.

after you showered, you realize your day the sun has taken most of your energy away. you lay down on the bed bobby brought into the living room for you, sighing once your head hits the pillow.

sam’s not sure why he lays down next to you after his own shower. his entire face hurts from the sunburn, and his back isn’t doing so hot, either. it’s cold in the room, but he doesn’t reach for the bigger blanket, just the sheet that’s covering you. he doesn’t reach for you or anything—he doesn’t know if he’s allowed—but you seem to find him in your sleep, regardless.

dean, still wincing from the shower’s stream hitting his own sunburned skin, also finds himself laying on the opposite side of you, the cold pillow a contrast to the red on his face, giving his freckles a chance in the spotlight again. you and sam are both asleep already—and dean falls under quickly too, his head resting close to the crook of your shoulder. sam’s slumped on your other side haphazardly—but still touching you. you’re all dead to the world as you lay there.

it’s strange, how these boys are just that: boys. even though they are well above 6 feet and could hunt and kill anyone and anything, they’re still boys. they’re still full of energy, like when they were young—although, it may be a little depleted now. but they had a good day today.

a good day in the sun.

📨 many a time have i discussed this concept with @aseafullofstars… now it has come to life. also still wishing we got a beach episode. guys let them play frisbee.

@g0thamgirl @mostlymarvelgirl @kaz-2y5-spn @sophiaesthetic @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina @tinas111 @0ccvltism @lunaleah @saintfaux @kimxwinchester @harlekin705 @megara0224 @ej13928 @defnot-svnshine @fertilise-me @butterphii @halsteadwichester @bettystonewell @jollyhunter @whimsyandfear @iknowyouknowimnottellingthetruth

[qtxoxox]

Spider

summary: when you move into your new house you reach out to your neighbour Steve to help you, not expecting him to be so attractive

cw: pure fluff, set after s5

a/n: some stevie fluff for you guys while i write more corrupt stuff <3

w/c: 1.4k

You were new to Hawkins. It seemed pretty normal from the surface; safe and friendly.

You moved here alone, it's not long from where you used to live but It was close enough to your work to be accessible but far enough away that when you came home you could detach yourself from it.

The house you ended up at was nice, in Forest Hills. You hoped to be here for the long term so actually getting a nice place was a priority.

It was a quiet neighbourhood, only a few other houses scattered along the road. the houses went in twos meaning there was one close next door.

You and your friends had just finished moving all the boxes into the empty house, unpacking them slightly, and after a long tearful goodbye (they all lived like an hour away) you found yourself alone, surrounded by half unpacked boxes.

It was a weird feeling, a bit of anxiety sure but also a sense of relief and excitement for what's to come.

You began to slowly put away your belongings into cabinets, there wasn't much- you wanted a fresh start and that included shit like new kitchen appliances but unfortunately that doesn't happen overnight.

So for now you had to make do with a few mismatched items from your past place until you eventually replaced it all.

After all the downstairs boxes were unpacked, house still pretty empty, you felt a very strong wave of independence and pride.

That was until you went to continue the upstairs.

You made your way around the corner out the living room, not paying too much attention, but stopped the minute you approached the stairs.

A big fat spider was resting intimidatingly half way up the stairs.

You froze in fear. Genuinely what were you meant to do now. You were all alone, unarmed, no protection.

It had been a good minute of you just staring at the spider trying to build up some non existent courage to do something.

You finally step away and do the only thing you know what to do (minus panic) grab a glass and attempt to remove the spider.

Your shaking hands get the only glass you have back out the cabinet and slowly creep back to the stairs.

You take a deep breath and move the glass close to the spider. Heart racing, hands shaking you get so close before it moves.

Just a small twitch of one leg but it was enough to make you let out a small scream and drop the glass backing away quickly.

The glass breaks quickly, shattering by your feet.

"brilliant now I have no glass and still have a predator guarding the upstairs"

Looking around you genuinely have no idea what to do now.

Maybe you could.. see if someone else can help you.

Well no because you're alone.

Unless.. you ask a neighbour?

Before you think about it anymore you found yourself on the front drive of your house looking around at the other houses to see who's home.

It was early afternoon on a summer weekday meaning most people were probably still at work. There was no cars outside or any moment in any house, except one.

A nice bmw sat on the drive of the house right next door and there was obvious movement from the front window.

"okay just ask worst they'll say is no??"

Before you could back down you were at the door of this house, taking a deep breath knocking shakily.

The door opened almost immediately, revealing an attractive tall man, your age, wearing only sweatpants and holding a beer bottle.

"Hello?"

You opened your mouth hoping some words would just come out but your head was spinning.

"Hey- uh- so I- I just moved in- Today! and-"

His body language relaxed a little as he listened to your frantic words, becoming interested in where this was going.

"So- oh my god- this is so embarrassing but- there's this.. spider on my stairs and- I'm alone and- I need to get up there-"

"You want me to get rid of a spider?"

"Please"

"'course, give me a second"

He disappears out of view and leaves you alone in-front of his door briefly.

'That would have been so much easier if he wasn't so hot-'

"Hey.."

Your eyes look up and he's back in-front of you- now with a shirt on much to your dismay.

"oh hey" you reply trying your best to sound casual.

"sorry about my outfit just now- Wasn't expecting to see anyone"

"oh don't worry it's fine"

You had began to walk around the road and to your house.

"I'm Steve by the way"

You tell him your name in reply and exchange a bit more small talk before your in the house.

"So it's just down here- oh watch that" You point to the small pile of glass that you had pushed to the corner but not picked up yet.

"oh yeah I see him- you got a glass?"

"well- yeah down there" You point to the floor.

"Ah I see.."

"I have a mug?"

"what no more glasses?"

"I've just moved in- I wasn't exactly expecting I'd need much for tonight"

"Well this is why you've always got to be prepared- Where's that mug then?"

You go to the kitchen and retrieve your now only other drink wear and hand it to Steve.

"Don't break this- I have nothing else"

"You are planning on like.. buying some possessions eventually?"

"Well yeah-"

You stand far back as he leans over the stairs and in one quick movement, closes the mug over the spider trapping it on the stairs.

"oh god your so brave"

"ah this is nothing- you got like some card or something?"

"oh yeah"

You run back to the kitchen where a couple 'new home' cards are standing. You grab the biggest one and return to Steve.

He takes the card and carefully slides it under the mug, not letting the spider escape.

"there it's trapped, you're safe now. I'll take it outside"

He turns to you to see you backing away slowly knowing the spider is currently in his hands.

"Don't worry it's not going to get you"

"I know but"

"You real scared then?"

"Nah- not scared—"

As he passes you he puts the mug close to your face causing you to squeal and back away quickly.

He just laughs at your actions and you roll your eyes pushing him to the door.

He goes right to the end of the drive before removing the card from the bottom of the mug and letting the spider out.

You watch from the safety of your doorway as Steve turns around and heads back to you. He stops in-front of the door and gives back the mug and card.

"Thank you so much- genuinely"

"No worries, If you ever need anything"

"Thank you-"

There was a brief moment of silence where you just looked at each-other.

"I'd uh offer you a drink or something to say thanks but, you know I don't have anything" You say with a slight laugh.

"That's okay..." he pauses for a moment, like he's internally debating if what he's about to say is appropriate.

"You know we could.. always go to mine and you could offer me a drink there?"

"Oh..?"

"You know because I've got loads of stuff" He adds quickly, making you smile.

You look back into your house quickly, and the now non guarded stairs, before looking back to Steve.

"Okay Yeah sure- I can't be long though I do want to get everything unpacked before tonight"

"Oh well in that case, why don't we do that now, then when we go back to mine you have no time limit"

"That's a good idea Steve"

You step away from the door, letting him back into your house and watch as he immediately picks up the box labelled 'bedroom' and head for the stairs.

"we gotta clean that" He nods to the glass on the floor before taking himself upstairs.

You simply watch from the middle of the hallway, where the last box is sitting thinking to yourself that this is definitely not going to be as bad as you may have thought (and that you need to phone your friends asap)