Drabble Request: Steve hides his sketches because he doesn't want you to know he's drawing you.
- Zombie
Ahhh! Zombie thank you! This was SO much fun to write and went a little differently than I originally thought haha!
Steve Rogers x Nude Model!Reader
Word count- almost 900 oops
Author's Note- thank you @thezombieprostitute !!
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“Why don’t we give our model a break for a little while, yeah?” The art teacher clapped her hands a few times to gather everyones attention and it was like a deep breath went through the room.
You were grateful most of all as you sat up from your reclined position, stretching the knots in your upper back and releasing the tension from your legs.
You really needed to stop convincing yourself laying down was more comfortable than any other position. 20+ minutes stuck in any of them was gonna make your muscles scream.
The art teacher handed you the robe to give yourself some modesty (as if everyone in the room hadn’t been painting you naked) and you tied it around your waist snugly.
A lot of the artists left their stations, either to fill up their water, pee, or get a snack, and you liked to use that time to meander and see what they’d been working on. It was always a little jarring to see yourself painted or drawn from so many different angels. Most people thought it’d be the whole “seeing yourself painted in the nude” that freaked you out, but you got over that really fast.
It was intersting to see yourself from the lens of so many others. What parts of your face or body they chose to capture in detail, the creative liberties they took with form and color, or even if they bothered to draw you at all. There were always a few people who’d work more on the blankets on the stage or wooden floors.
You started your usual rounds, but you were really doing so as a courtesy so you could see his art.
Steve Rogers.
You’d talked to him maybe all of once even though he’d been present at most of your sessions. He was a reserved man and strikingly beautiful. Brilliant blue eyes, blond hair with streaks of warm gold when the sun (or the studio lights) hit it just right, and the tallness and muscles were a definite added bonus. Though he, much like you, wanted to be present but not seen. But only one of you could get away with that at these lessons.
Steve seemed marginally startled as you fully skipped past the person next to him to view his canvas. He snapped shut a small blue notebook and let it drop to the floor by his bag.
“Hi.” You offered a small smile, meeting his gaze.
“Hey,” he replied by also saying your name just as softly before looking at his painting. He sat a little straighter, and you watched his adams apple bob as he swallowed. You followed his move and looked at what he’d made.
“Oh, wow!” It was hard to control your impressed reaction. Time and time again people had drawn and painted you as objectively as possible, but this was the first time you felt that he’d manage to capture something more.
“Is that your main medium?” You asked curiously, gripping your robe tighter around you as you leaned in closer to the painting. It still smelled heavily of oil and turpentine but you’d grown mostly accustomed to the scent.
From Steve’s point of view, you were perfectly horizontal, but he’d decided to focus on your body from the ribs up. Your head was turned away from him, towards the window that was letting in soft light, and your arm was acting as a pillow for your head.
“No, not at all,” Steve dryly laughed, “I’m a whole lot better with pencil.”
He must’ve not liked his own reply because he quickly turned his head and cleared his throat. You weren’t overly skilled with painting yourself, but he was clumsy enough with the tools that it was obvious he was hiding something.
“You must be a Michelangelo with pencils then, holy shit…” You whispered. It mightve been a little egotistical, but you wanted to take his painting home with you. It was like those photos you’d take of yourself during goldenhour, or the mirror selfies youd take after getting a new shirt. The photos that were just for you and no one else.
You wanted to pry further, ask him how he painted you with such clarity and reverence. You wanted to know more about this man who was so different from eccentric older men, middle aged moms, and young college students doing this for extra credit. But you didn’t get the chance to as the art teacher beckoned you back to the center of the room.
And so there you posed off an on for another thirty minutes, this time sitting in a more comfortable chair leaning your upper body against a painted crate.
And Steve was -- for maybe the first time ever -- very glad you weren’t faced towards him. It gave him the ability to slip his sketchbook into his bag without feeling caught.
Sure, it wasn’t weird to draw the model in his art classes… but a better first impression was one where you didn’t see the multiple pages he’d spent trying to perfect the smile lines on your face and the scrunch of your nose when you laughed.
He was almost the opposite of Michalangelo, really.
He saw the angel in the room with him, and was trying desperately to capture its beauty onto a canvas or paper.
McKay tricking Javadi into thinking she consented…. telling her that she wanted it…. “don’t you remember begging for my fingers, baby?”
Victoria’s memories are blurry. Did she? Could she have? She’s so confused, because Cassie was always so nice to her, so kind. But she doesn’t think she asked for it. Actually, she doesn’t even think she said yes.
There’s no way Cassie would do that to her, right?
Her memories must be spotty because of the alcohol - who knew she was such a lightweight, blacking out on just one beer.
(Cassie was the one to hold her beer for her. But she trusted her. Cassie wouldn’t abuse that trust…. would she?)
based off of this amazing beautiful anon’s wonderful brain !
ᴍᴄᴠᴀᴅɪ ꜱʜᴏʀᴛꜰɪᴄ
HEAVY CONTENT WARNINGS APPLY : smut, MDNI / 18+, noncon/dubcon, intox, gaslighting/manipulation as coercion, dumbification — cassie is the actual killer in this. like just a massive creep
victoria has been of legal drinking age for approximately three months and has only gotten drunk once so far. it was on her birthday, of course, with trinity’s insistence that it just wouldn’t be right for her to walk away from that night coherently. she still hasn’t lived down the events that followed her first three rounds and hasn’t been very eager to give anyone more comedy material.
turns out, victoria is easily peer pressured even when said peers are nice people who’d never talk her into anything she didn’t want to do.
the usual crew had met up at the park to do what they always did: discuss that day’s slog of events in disjointed bursts of amusement, frustration, and regret— all over a pack of beers that donnie had dug out of his trunk. victoria meant to turn him down when he tossed one her way, she really did, but the fear of not being included in the future won out.
it was only eight ounces. what could go wrong?
victoria rarely speaks up when she’s invited. as a newbie, she’s sure that she doesn’t have any grounds to complain or vent— who wants to listen to some kid whine about things they all stopped caring about ages ago? so she just sips at the beer she accepted so she could fit in, hating the taste, and nods along to a retelling of a fight that’d broken out in the waiting room that morning.
eventually, she decides to call it quits on her attempt to seem like she belongs and says her ‘goodnight’s and ‘see you tomorrow’s. it feels like a waste to pour out the contents of the can, so victoria figures that she’ll wander around and try to finish at least half of it before she goes home.
she ends up on a bench set apart from the graveled trail that winds around the area, scrolling mindlessly on her phone. the only attention she pays to the beer is her index finger fidgeting with the tab. the soft metallic click of it popping up and down serves to further drown out her surroundings. it’s dumb, the false sense of security she has to be so unaware, but the hospital is right there. dana’s still clocked in. the day shift hangout is barely out of earshot. victoria is confident that nothing’s going to happen.
still, she tenses when someone takes a seat to her left. “thought you would’ve joined the others tonight,” vic would recognize dr. mckay’s voice anywhere, “not feeling very social?” the older woman is still in her scrubs— was probably too tired to change out of them. her hair is loose from the ponytail it’d been in earlier and her bangs are a carefree mess. the sight softens victoria the way it always does; it’s like a kind of vulnerability that cassie trusts vic with.
this is another false sense of security that victoria falls into. turning sideways to face cassie more directly, vic shoves her phone into any random compartment of her backpack where she’s wedged it between her knees without minding where it ends up. it’s not like she’ll need it. if there’s any person who victoria will scramble to appease with her undivided attention, it’s the woman beside her.
“dr. mckay!— sorry, i didn’t see you coming.” victoria hopes that cassie hadn’t been waving at her or anything, “i actually was, um.. with them. i left.” she spares a glance in the general direction of where the group is still likely huddled and feels strangely alienated to have been found sitting by herself. it’s then that she remembers that she’s holding a can of beer. god, cassie must think she’s some irresponsible loser with no friends. as if to smooth this potential assumption over, victoria holds the can up and scrunches her nose with distaste, “do you want this? i don’t know why i took it, but donnie offered, and—“
could she be any more of a fucking train wreck? vic’s expression morphs with comical horror, eyes going wide at her mistake. how could she be such a forgetful idiot? “oh— oh my god, i’m so sorry, i— i don’t know how i forgot, of course you don’t want it, i didn’t mean to-“ cassie finally takes pity on the poor girl and ends her panicked word vomit by reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. victoria’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click, not unlike the popping of an aluminum tab. “hey, don’t worry. i’m not offended. these things slip people’s minds all the time.” her thumb draws reassuring circles into the fabric of vic’s dark purple hoodie. “even when they’re not incapacitated.” she clearly means to lighten the mood but victoria only groans, mortified, posture slumping backward into the hardwood of the bench.
there’s a long stretch of silence that victoria thinks must be the steady decay of cassie’s perception of her. then, with an air of convincing that feels odd given the circumstances, cassie gestures to the can. “why don’t you give that to me, vadi?” victoria practically withers at the nickname. she doesn’t think twice before she hands the beer over, admittedly relieved that she’s being saved from either having to finish it or feeling guilty for wasting it.
but cassie doesn’t move to pour it out. instead, she takes the can in the hand not still resting on victoria’s shoulder and swishes it side to side to gauge how much remains. with a click of her tongue, cassie suddenly slides along the bench and swallows up the rational distance that’d been between them. “don’t like the taste?” it’s a rhetorical question but victoria answers it with a nod anyway. cassie hums, swishes the contents around again as if contemplating something, “that’s fair. i didn’t really love it when i was your age, either.”
victoria can’t concentrate on the oddness of that statement when cassie is so close that their outer thighs are pressed together. cassie tilts her head to get a better view of her mentee’s face and, like she knows exactly what vic is thinking, she smiles. it’s not a smile that victoria recognizes. sure, its the same crooked angle of her mouth, but there’s something almost malicious about it. that’s ridiculous. there’s not a malicious bone in cassie’s body— at least, not toward victoria.
“you’ll get used to it.” cassie says this as if it’s a decision she’s making on the younger girl’s behalf; she brings the can up so that the rim of it is level with vic’s nose. the implications are clear, the instructions comprehensible— but victoria is caught so off guard that she doesn’t move to follow them.
cassie gives her grace on this occasion. her smart girl is usually so eager to take directions and she must be so confused if she’s struggling to do so now. it’s adorable, really, the alarm in her expression.
“go on, vic. you wouldn’t want the group to think you’re deadweight, right?” it’s cruel and targeted right at vic’s insecurities. it works. victoria doesn’t even want to think of the others viewing her as some immature kid who can’t even finish a single beer. “you’ve got to get that tolerance of yours up.” cassie tilts the can and victoria opens her mouth. she can’t match the pace and some of it trails down her chin. cassie grins, teeth flashing white. “messy thing.” she chides, but there’s no bite to it as she wipes at the spill along the column of vic’s throat with the hem of her sleeve.
the can is empty within a minute. the liquid settles uncomfortably in victoria’s stomach, leaving her a little nauseated. the hollow clang of cassie setting it down on her other side stirs her enough that she squirms, hoping to regain some reasonable space, but the hand on her shoulder circles around the back of her neck to pull her in. it’s another unspoken but clear instruction: stay still.
“you did good.” newly available fingers continue to trace the length of victoria’s throat. cassie can probably feel just how fast vic’s heart is thrumming as they ghost over her carotid. “how do you feel?” it’s another rhetorical question. it’s pretty fucking obvious how victoria feels— her posture has slackened and no matter how hard she blinks, she can’t get her vision to focus. there’s a buzzing in her blood that spreads all throughout her body as cassie laughs. the sound is as unfamiliarly mean as her smile.
victoria is grossly aware of the bitter tang on her tongue as she mutters a reply, “tired,” fatigue is creeping in at an alarming speed, “i should-.. uh,” why won’t her thoughts translate into cohesive speech? “i should go home.” and it’s like christmas came two months early with the way cassie brightens. she abruptly stands and pulls vic up with her, quick to catch her when the girl immediately stumbles off balance.
“i’ll take you.” it’s not up for debate but victoria stalls, stupidly makes a grab for her backpack and almost face plants into the bench armrest, has to lean into cassie’s front so she doesn’t collapse back down as her gut swoops. “no, i can do it myself, really—“ cassie snorts at vic’s protests, as unconvinced as can be. “yeah, okay. i’ll leave you alone so you can trip into a ditch or get run over.” she bends over to scoop victoria’s bag onto her own arm (the one not keeping her upright). “don’t be dumb, victoria.”
being called dumb shuts down any more objections she might’ve had. the single word echoes around victoria’s stilted brain the entire walk out of the park and across the crowded hospital lot to cassie’s car. don’t be dumb. was she? it didn’t feel entirely out of the question, all things considered. what smart and able adult gets drunk off of one beer and then tries to claim she can get herself home alive? cassie was right.
but vic knows she’s safe and secure with her. safe enough that she crashes the second she’s in the passengers seat, completely exhausted. she’s only distantly conscious of the occasional turn or red light, beaming headlights flickering in and out through her eyelids. does she have a fever? it would explain how weirdly warm she is, the tightening in her abdomen, the rushing in her ears.
the car has stopped. for how long, victoria isn’t sure— but there’s no forward motion or honking horns to suggest that they’re stuck in traffic. in fact, it’s eerily quiet aside from the droll of the engine and the rustle of fabric.
she doesn’t want to open her eyes but knows that she has to. they’ve arrived at their destination and it’s time to get up, drag herself inside, and find a way to explain her late appearance to her mother. shit— what if her breath still smells like beer?
“shh, that’s it..” cassie’s voice sounds a million miles away but victoria can feel her presence hovering over her and pictures it in her mind. cassie must be trying to rouse her so she can finally get herself home. she must be annoyed. victoria stirs, shifts to sit up— why is she laying down?— but her limbs are so heavy and the movement gives her vertigo.
“are you waking up, baby?” a hand, cassie’s hand, is pressed into her cheek. her palm is soft and warm and everything is too warm. again, victoria tries to rise but it’s like she’s floating in a pool of molasses. she remembers that she has eyes and that they’re still closed. they sting when she opens them even though the only source of light is coming in through the windows and cassie’s body acts as a shield.
victoria is laid out across the back row of cassie’s car and she can’t recall how she got there. maybe cassie moved her so she’d be more comfortable for the drive? but that doesn’t make sense— it’d be a lot of effort when cassie could’ve just reclined vic’s seat. it was only a ten minute commute.
she’s laying down in the back of her mentor’s car and said mentor is looming over her. the leather of the seats dips where cassie’s knees are positioned on either side of vic’s thighs— she’s straddling her lap. her hand is cradling her cheek which is flushed from the beer that cassie had urged her to finish.
what the fuck is happening?
confusion must be written all over victoria’s face (and is) because cassie smiles down at her. it isn’t reassuring. victoria doesn’t know why, but suddenly, any sense of security she’d felt was gone. “what’s the matter, vadi?” the nickname doesn’t make her melt, “you were being so good.” there’s a tone of disappointment in it that’s completely fake and completely mocking.
“..dr. mckay?” vic’s voice is so shaky that she might be on the verge of tears. is she? it’s so hard to tell in the cramped space. the smell of an apple cinnamon air freshener mixes with the antiseptic that clings to both of their clothes after twelve hours in the emergency department, intense and inescapable. the combination makes her head hurt. “what’re you doing?” their position isn’t even remotely appropriate, nor is the way cassie is looking at her.
but surely something isn’t clicking. there’s got to be some important context that victoria is missing. she already knows there’s a gap in her memory— the time in which she’d been moved out of the passengers seat and cassie had pulled over— this gap must account for the bizarreness of the situation. cassie would never do anything to hurt victoria. maybe she’s sick and cassie’s making sure she’s alright to drop off, or maybe she just wanted to give vic some time to level out. that’d be smart. victoria can already hear her mother’s shroud criticisms about drinking on a weekday and staying out past 9PM. the more sober she is for that inevitable argument, the better.
“what do you mean?” comes cassie’s falsely bewildered response. it’s then that victoria locates cassie’s other hand through the thick padding of scrubs and hoodies— it’s placed on her hip, grip loose, fingers splayed possessively. “oh,” as if vic’s inebriated state has just dawned on her, “do you not remember?” warmth turns into blistering heat as cassie leans in so that her next words fan out across victoria’s lips. “you really are a lightweight.. one beer and you’re lost to the world.”
forget discomfort. victoria is flooded with fear as the hand on her hip slides a few inches to the right to cup her clothed center. her terror aids her the adrenaline to writhe, but only weakly. she’s easily subdued as cassie rests all her weight on vic’s thighs. “hey, it’s okay,” she hushes, “it’s me. you can trust me, vic.”
victoria has never in her entire life felt so conflicted. she’s scared, she’s weak, and she doesn’t know how this is happening. she can’t understand cassie’s actions or relate them to any of their past encounters. but it’s also cassie. the same person that vic babysits for, the same woman who she jokes around with when a shift is taking its toll, the very same cassie who has been in victoria’s corner from the very start. it’s impossible to count the number of instances that the senior resident defended her, advocated for her, comforted her.
so.. why? why are her lips pressing to victoria’s jaw, “wait,“ why is her hand undoing the knot of her drawstring, “c-cassie, wait—“ and why doesn’t she stop when victoria’s eyes gloss over and a choked whimper catches in her throat? “i don’t want this,” why won’t she fucking stop?
“yes, you do.” it’s a decision that isn’t cassie’s to make but she’s making it anyway. “you asked for me, baby, don’t you remember?” a heavy shudder wracks victoria’s already strained muscles as fingers push past the waistband of her cotton underwear, “you were begging so pretty before.. and look,” cassie withdraws her hand and holds it up so that, dark as it is wherever they’re parked, there’s no mistaking the sheen of slick smeared across her palm, “you’re a fucking mess for it.”
it’s the blatant degradation that breaks victoria. tears start to trickle down her face and there’s no swallowing the sobs that pour out of her. vic wonders if she’s losing her fucking mind. why is cassie doing this? and she can’t be telling the truth. how could victoria have asked for this when she’d been unconscious— but even that fact blurs out of certainty when she fails to recall ever falling asleep. she doesn’t even know what’d be worse; a mental breakdown to explain her lapse in memory, or cassie lying to convince her that this is the case.
to cassie’s credit, she’s quick to console victoria’s cries. “oh, i’m sorry, vic..” and it’s almost believable as she wipes at the salty tracks on her cheeks, “that was so mean of me, wasn’t it? shh, i know,” the sincerity bleeds away as slick covered fingers return to victoria’s pussy and pet over her clit, “i’m so mean.. but i’ll make it better. i’ll give you what you want.”
this isn’t what victoria wants. it’s not. it isn’t. but heat rushes between her legs to meet cassie’s touch, and there’s an itching pulse in her veins, and cassie’s murmurs are so sweet— sick and syrupy, the kind of sugar that rots anything it can get a hold of. there’s no security to it as victoria struggles to breathe past the ache in her chest. there’s no certainty of what she does and doesn’t want as a thumb draws circles over her sensitive flesh.
“breathe, just breathe.. there you go.. see? doesn’t that feel so good?” and it does. it feels better than anything victoria’s ever done to herself, because of course she’s a virgin— was— is? in any case, she won’t be once cassie’s through with her. cassie’s ring and index press at her entrance and pull a shaky moan out of her. “your tolerance needs work in all sorts of ways, huh?” cassie teases as she pushes them in and is met with resistance. the stretch burns. everything burns. but the discomfort eases as cassie begins to move inside her— gentle as to not overwhelm the sensitive girl, whose still sniffling through her whines. cassie thinks that she’s never seen anything so fucking perfect.
“don’t worry.” cassie reassures, picking up the pace and curling her fingers, “we’ll take care of that. you’re gonna’ be so good for me, vic.” victoria is starting to realize that the likelihood of her making her own decisions anytime soon are slim to none, but she doesn’t consider this for too long. it’s impossible to focus on anything besides the way cassie’s thrusting into her at an angle that makes her ears ring.
“are you gonna’ cum? yeah?” cassie coos, sickly sweet, her thumb rubbing more firmly into vic’s clit. she’ll make victoria beg for it next time, but for now, cassie’ll go easy. victoria’s hips twitch as the pressure in her abdomen builds, and builds, and builds. any remnants of resistance dissolves entirely. “that’s it.. i know, baby,” lips that glisten with saliva move against her forehead, “it’s so much, but you’re doing so good, squeezing my fingers so nice.. come on, vic, you can cum.”
with a small cry, victoria does. every inch of her vibrates with the force of it until she’s sure that she’ll pass out. black spots pop into her vision and dance around as she goes completely limp. a mixture of tears and spit coat her cheeks and chin— she must’ve been drooling. maybe she still is. her mind is a garbled haze and when she attempts to speak (she doesn’t know what she’s trying to say), it’s all unintelligible nonsense.
the come down is as fast and as unforgiving as falling off the ledge of a mountain. when her tears begin to flow afresh, victoria doesn’t even have the energy or wherewithal to do more than whimper.
cassie’s right there to pick up the pieces, though, just like always. “fussy little thing, hm? shh, don’t cry. you’re okay. i’ve got you, vic, you’re safe.” it is absolutely a false sense of security as she cradles vic to her chest and mumbles softly to soothe her, but victoria is helpless not to give in. helpless not to bury her messy face into the front of cassie’s carhartt jacket. “let’s get you home and all cleaned up, hm? and then you can get some good sleep.” arms wrap around her and hold her close, “my poor little girl’s going to be so sore and achey tomorrow..” she says it with a reverence that gives away her smugness. “but i’ll take such good care of you, vic. in a few weeks, two fingers will be nothing.”
honestly? victoria can’t even remember why she’s so upset or why there’s a part of her that wants to turn down cassie’s kindness. it’s not like cassie has ever or would ever do anything to hurt her. so vic nods and closes her stinging eyes, trusting that she’s safe as can be. everything is going to be okay. cassie’ll keep her nice and secure.
( i finally wrote smut !! who’s proud of me !! take it easy on me , this is my first time not chickening out and actually writing filth so maybe it sucks i don’t know — but if you doooo like it pretty please say encouraging stuff so i don’t crawl back into my freak perv cage !! also is it obvious i’ve only ever been drunk once ? DONT ANSWER THAT— )
Imagine Park the shark but as a Danforth member. Like he changed his last name to work his dream job and to avoid suspicion, but he's still active in the family traditions and reunions.
Then he starts dating(or obsessing over) Dennis.✋✋
And he feels conflicted on telling Dennis the truth or keeping it as a secret before its too late.
Brendon has his bags packed and ready to go, just in time. Dennis who was asleep next to him had insisted on coming along. Hed insisted he went hunting with his family too when he was younger. And expressed that he wanted to get to know his family.
He said no, he was supposed to head to the airport the next morning. Yes, he'd known when the hunt would be for months beforehand, he just didn't know if he was going to go.
Dennis certainly didn't want to go, or rather he would have wanted to throw up if he knew what they'd be hunting. He hardly ever even ate meat without some amount of guilt, said he'd been wanted to faze it out of his diet for ages, and only continued to eat it because how densely nutritious it was. Any vegan or vegetarian options with similar nutritious properties were double the price and he was struggling to afford food altogether.
Dennis didn't need to know people hunted people. Or that people ate people.
Dennis was disgusted and icked out by many many things, though he was never the kind of person to throw up he always felt like he was going to. Brendon didn't know how he could stomach it enough to be a doctor. But he did.
Brendon himself could stomach a lot. he recalled his residency and internships where his fellow students throw up or faint or just be paralyzed at the sight of body being operated on. He had a hard time understanding the reason. he'd already seen bodies mangled and injured. hadn't they?
sure, he was a little confused, maybe taken aback, and did freeze the first time but by then he was used to it. He knew the hunt was practically essentially exclusive to his family and a few others, but he had a hard time believing none of his to be coworkers had never seen a dislocated limb or two. The idea was ridiculous.
But the longer he spent away from family the more he realized he was the odd one out. He was insensitive.
Dennis, he was sensitive. Not just by Danforth standards, but just by normal people standards.
he didn't want to leave Dennis on his own for a week, be there was no fucking way he'd bring the younger man along. He would not last one day. quite frankly he'd be begging to go home before they even landed if he had even half an idea of what the hunt was to entail.
Dennis would never look at him the same if he knew, and he couldn't let that happen. he couldn't let Dennis go, he would rather kill the pair of them than to live a life without the sweet boy.
Sam catching Dean with his dick in babies exhaust pipe
yessss car fucker!Dean Fucking Winchester
they get a house in a semi-abandoned subdivision and Dean loves that it has a garage for all the normal reasons (safe, less noticeable than that big-ass black car parked in front of an empty house, keeps Baby nice and clean) but he also loves it because he has her all to himself in a way he usually just doesn't with the way they live
he's definitely going at it HARD when Sam finds him on his knees behind the car, all animal grunts and desperate humping while the edge of the pipe cuts into him
they make full-full eye contact and Sam turns right back around (Dean finishes because he's gotta take advantage of the garage while he has it and Sam already saw so there's nothing he can do to get around it). Sam can't help but hover at the door into the house for a minute, listening to the sounds out of Dean's mouth and the creaking of the car
they don't talk about it directly, but Sam starts to run his mouth A LOT about how Dean loves cars and how Dean is so attentive to Baby and he has such a special connection to her and he's really put his all into her and Dean can't say shit
I wanna do something fun on my weekend! I wanna write, I wanna play! So, if anyone feels inclined, send me a prompt with your favorite CE Character, and I’ll drabble!
It’s been a hot minute since I’ve done anything like this, so I thought why not!? Requests will be open from now until Saturday night, and I’ll fill requests from tonight until Sunday night! Requests must be for characters and not the man himself.
Requests can be fluffy, funny, smutty, or filthy. I of course can refuse to write if something makes me uncomfortable.
i’m a humble lurker in this lands, and I kinda wanna contribute? It’s been years since writing anything fanfic related, and I could use a little push. So. please do send me your asks and prompts!!!! i’ll get to it as soon as I can, but don’t grow desperate if it takes a little, i’m a slow worker :/
