♱

and you can 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧, to 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 in 、

[dreamersentity]

༒︎ 𝐜𝐲𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 she/her twenty capricorn sun & gemini moon bilingual jackle´s controversially young gf made of melodies and smoke artist hayley williams’ angel pink lipgloss supernatural fiona apple’s sweetheart burning hot coffee late night drives

༒︎ made specially for you ⟶ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 mdni, explicit content inbox is open & requests are closed wincest blogs dni prone to disappearing every once in a while

© dreamersentity. do not steal, copy, modify, or reupload my writing anywhere.

[dreamersentity]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ♱ 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 with sam winchester. mdni 18+

⊱ ۫ ׅ ♱ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 . . . ⁀➴ ꒰ sam winchester x afab!reader ꒱ . . . soft smut, sexual explicit content, established relationship, a bit of sub!sam, mutual masturbation, mentions of nicknames such as baby, sweetheart, good boy. 1.7k words.

you didn´t mean to get so drunk, head pounding loud with the regret of following dean´s encouragements at the bar earlier, your body finding pleasure in every drink you chased without thinking. sam had stayed behind this time, the toll of earlier’s hunt finally settling heavy on his body. he’d only agreed to let you go after hours of convincing him that you’d be fine, that he could head back without a worry. of course you had lied.

now you were back at the bunker, moving slowly through the quiet halls with your heels dangling from one hand, doing your best not to trip over your own tired steps. the floor was cool beneath your feet and the halls were dim, lit only by the small lamp sam always left on so you could find your way back to him, back home.

sam doesn´t wake when you slip into the room—careful, silent, trying not to wake him with each step you take. your weight dips at the edge of the bed as you grow closer to him, and you can´t help but admire his sleeping figure.

he looked so peaceful like this—that usual furrow of his brow was gone, replaced by something soft, a warm comfort that was only reserved for late nights. your hand unconsciously brushes through his hair, tucking a small strand behind his ear. sam stirs in his sleep, eyelids fluttering at the simple action, though he never fully wakes.

so you start placing small kisses on the side of his face: feather-like, drowned in warmth and love only you could give him. you start with his temple, drifting along his cheekbone before landing on his nose, giggling when it slowly crinkled under your touch. there´s no rush in the way you do this, lips tracing his soft features like gentle touch traces skin.

he eventually wakes up, slow eyes blinking up at you. he doesn´t startle—instead, he melts, the tension in his shoulders smoothly vanishing without much thought. he smiles, a lopsided, sleepy grin as he leans in, placing a small kiss to your cheek, “hi sweetheart, when did you get back?”

oh god. that silent look of his, that shy smile—it gave you enough reason to crawl onto his lap, legs caging his thighs as you straddled him. “not too long ago.” you hummed, smile so innocent it made you look like a saint, though your actions manifested otherwise.

his eyes widen slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t complain. his hands move to your hips, circling your sides with a low hum. you both don’t speak for a while, and you don’t feel the need to—your unspoken words were enough for him to pick up easily. nevertheless, he´d already caught on to your intentions, which made him shake his head with a small chuckle “you´re drunk baby.”

you frown, not very happy with his response. when your hips roll over his crotch slightly, he´s quick to catch you, hands grounding you in place. “sweetheart—” his tone is gentle as he continues, however he stops the moment he sees you pout. his mouth parts like he´s about to say something, yet no words come—just a quiet smile as he lifts a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as if he could smooth your pout away.

“—i just—don´t want to make it seem like i´m taking advantage of you. y´know, specially when you´re like this.” your frown deepens while you shake your head, “m´not that drunk.”

he sighs, finding it so hard to say no to you, especially when alcohol blurred the line between want and need. the sleepy haze in his eyes soften with something deeper at the sight of your drunk state—affection, restraint, heavy with a quiet struggle of wanting you equally the same but refusing to cross the line, cause he´s a gentleman like that.

you, on the other hand, have no intention of backing down, hips lifting up once more in a second attempt before pressing down on his thigh, drawing slow, deliberate circles. his breath hitches as his hands move to try to stop you, though he can´t seem to bring himself when his boxers grow tighter underneath you.

your name falls from his lips on a shaky breath, shaped more like a plea than a warning. then, without giving you much time to react, sam rolls you over in one smooth motion, trapping you beneath him.

his breathing is still shaky as he swallows, “you´re making this harder than it has to be, y´know that right?”

sam hovered over you now, one arm braced beside your head while the other one pressed gently against your hip like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. the weight of him on top of you wasn’t crushing—just there, warm and solid like an anchor.

his hips dip slightly into yours without meaning to—a reflexive grind—and both of you moan at the contact. a strangled noise escapes him, and for a second, he panics: his body goes still, jaw tightening as if punishing himself for losing control, even it were for a moment. in his mind this was wrong, so undoubtedly wrong, and retreating seemed like a better option than pushing this further.

but you were having none of it; you reach out for him before he had a chance of pulling away, guiding his face towards yours and capturing his lips in a kiss. it´s sweet, gentle, a quiet way to remind him that it was okay, to reassure him that he was safe with you and that you trust him completely.

he melts into your touch like putty in your hands, body finally giving in without any kind of restraint. from this point forward, things start getting heated—the kiss becomes more passionate, tongue inviting itself in his mouth, searching for control. your hand slowly slips down to his boxers, palming his erection through the soft fabric as you make sure to swallow every little sound he makes.

a strand of your dress falls from your shoulder, and sam’s quick to pull it off you—gently of course, steady hands removing it from you as your breast slips out. he doesn’t hesitate in handling you carefully, hand on your lower back as he repositions your body to be closer to his while taking your sensitive bud in his mouth—landing soft, achingly slow swirls of his tongue around it, sucking softly when you whine out his name.

your movements grow sloppier, finally pulling down his boxers swiftly—he´s undeniably thick, flushed at the tip while precum drips down his shaft. you start at the head, dragging his slick all the way down to the base as lube, giving him slow, wet massages that make him moan against your breast, every sound reverberating against your body.

you don´t stop there, you continue stroking him, and when you needed more lube to work with? you´d just bring your hand up to his mouth, and sam wouldn´t even think twice before spitting onto it. you’d smile, call him a “good boy” and seal his lips into another messy kiss before he could even manage to whimper, licking off the excess saliva that coated his bottom lip in the process.

“feels good baby?” he´d nod feverishly, his brain too fogged up to care. you bite down on his lip softly, eliciting a moan from him, “use your big boy words sammy”

“fuck—a-ah, so good baby, k-keep going—” he groans, though it comes out as a muffled sound, “don´t stop—please”

that was enough for you to stroke him faster, his small moans and whimpers acting as encouragement. meanwhile, your thighs cage his left leg, hips gliding up and down in desperate drags, searching for some kind of release. sam takes notice of this, and in what feels like less than a second, his hand disappears down your dress.

he curses under his breath when his fingers meet your exposed pussy instead of your usual panties, and he chuckles against your mouth, though it eventually turns into a moan, “planned this all along, huh? you´re slick a-ah, i´ll give you that.”

before you could even reply with some smartass comment, your words die on your tongue as soon as he slides a finger in between your folds, your clit sucking him up easily. you bite down a moan, and sam presses his forehead against yours to prevent you from throwing your head back, “gotta take care of my drunk girl too.”

his finger curls upwards inside you when your eyes shut down, pressing a kiss to the side of your lips. “don´t act shy now baby.” he hisses at how your walls clench around his finger, and he knows that´s just a sign for him to add another one, “i want you to watch.”

your mind goes blank for a second before your eyes open. a moan bubbles from your throat at the sight—sam´s half-lidded eyes are fixed on you, hair sticking to his forehead while his gaze flickers between your pussy and the way your hands made haste on his dick, the mix of his precum and saliva dripping from your fingers down to your knuckles. he thrusts his fingers in and out of you with practiced ease, and you swear you see stars when he hits that spongy spot inside you.

in between messy strokes of your hands on his cock, and deep thrusts of his fingers against your cunt, you both reach your orgasm, washing over you like a tidal wave. sam´s breath steadies as his mouth still remains on your jaw, landing small, subtle pecks on your side.

his fingers ease up inside you, and releases them out slowly, lapping up your juices without ever losing eye contact. he waits for you to catch your breath before scooping you up in his arms, laying you on his chest with a lazy arm draped over your waist.

he wipes his hand on his shirt, gently lifting your body so he could it take off, toned body exposed to the cool night air. you lay beside him, still breathless as you come down from your high. he shifts towards you, and gives you one long, lingering kiss to your temple. he smiles, his hand never leaving your hip, “want me to run you a bath?”

your head twists to get a better look at him, and the glimmer in your expression gives it all: doe-eyed with flushed cheeks, giving him a small nod, “only if you join me.”

sam laughs, genuinely laughs, low and warm, and offers you a soft, tender smile—only reserved for you, “deal.”

cybella’s thoughts⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ aaa here it iss!!! sorry tumblr wasn’t letting me post it yesterday idk why!! i REALLY like this one omg... also title inspired by fiona apple??? wrote this fic with this song ON REPEAT.

⤷ looking for more ? here’s my masterlist !

[samwspn]

⋆˚꩜｡ s1 sam winchester | foggy days ☁︎ᯓ

༄˖°.ᯓ.ೃ࿔*:･

requests open! check pinned for rules

[doll2kiss]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 .ᐟ

what's going on? ✶ — sam wants to take jess to the prom, the only problem is the fact that her father only allows her to going out if her older sister does it too. gladly for him, he has his brother. sadly for dean, he has to help sammy by trying to impress jessica's older sister.

tags ✶ — supernatural!modern au, inspired by the movie "ten things i hate about you", dean winchester as patrick verona, female reader as kat stratford, jock!dean winchester, fluff, mentions of samjess (and more to add).

ㅤㅤ AUTOR'S NOTE: ITS HERE!! after some weeks trying to decide if it was going to be a long fic i chose to divide it in four parts, they’re going to be uploaded every saturday night. i'm so excited about it, hope you guys loves it as much as i do.

“so, let me get this straight....you want me to date your little crush’s sister so you have a chance to invite her to fucking prom?,” dean snorted, looking directly at sam, who was sitting across the room—waiting for an answer. ”you better be joking.”

however sam’s gaze was still on him, puppy eyes looking at him. dean knew that when sam resorted to him it meant business, but not this kind of job. he expected him  to ask for his car to go on a date with her, a couple of condoms, some sort of advice like that... not to go out with her goddamn sister. 

“dean, please just, only this time..” sam pouted, following his big brother’s steps until he blocked the dorm’s door. “their father is such an asshole sometimes, the last time i went to her house he left me outside and i’d to say goodbye from her yard.”

dean ran his hand across his face, sighing loudly. he loved sammy more than anyone, he really did but his fucking romantic endeavors were going to kill him if he can even reach the age of 27. 

dr. stratford was a notorious man in the neighborhood since they came to live here, some tales said that he slapped a boy on the face when he tried to date his younger daughter, jessica. he once heard a boy say that jess can’t date until her sister does it in between groans.

but the problem itself was her older sister. 

“sammy, you’re asking me to throw my fucking body into a woodchipper,” dean argued back at him, crossing his arms over this led zeppelin t-shirt. “have you seen that girl? or even talked to her? that woman is a fucking menace, she—she made a frat bro cry after kicking him in the balls last month.. and you expect me to go out with her? you're gonna pay me to take out some chick like her?”

“she isn’t that bad..” sam corrected gently, a flicker of desperation glistening on his brown eyes. “well, maybe she is but.. come on dean—you’re the only guy in the campus who isn’t scared of her. i’ll, i’ll do your laundry for the rest of the semester or, or i’ll clean baby inside and out.”

dean paused for a moment, eyes glued on his brother. “using good wax, right?”

“carnauba, two coats each hour,” sam promised, putting a hand over his chest.

he let out a long and tired sigh, staring at the dorm ceiling asking why he has to do it? why him among all the losers in the campus?, why he was cursed by having a fucking lovebird as a little brother?.

“fine, but if she ends up stabbing me on the chest, it’s your fault.”

stanford’s campus quad was buzzing with loud music coming from the speakers across the yard when dean finally found you sitting on the bench, talking with it supposed to look like one of your girl best friends. you were so focused on listening to your friend that you didn't even notice he was standing right in front of both of you.

“evening ladies,” his voice drawled, cutting right through the loud background noise. “am i interrupting something?”

“actually, yes you’re. you’re in the way,” you responded, shooting him a glance that usually scared away some guys. “this isn’t any of your business, big guy. don’t you have a pool to hall or someone’s tires to slash?”

dean smirked halfway through your response, completely unfazed. “you know, i actually take the weekends off from stealing shit—”

“yeah, it looks like the part,” you laughed sarcastically.

dean chuckled trying to hide the fact that his guard was disappearing after that comment. damn that iit was complicated flirting with you, i mean, he's fucking dean winchester!  it shouldn't be that hard.

“come on, girly..” dean said, falling a step near you completely ignoring that your best friend was trying to drag you away from there, yet it was impossible. “just one drink, there’s a bar downtown that only plays good music and not that feminist rage genre that you listen to.”

“have you ever been told that you're too persistent?”

“i like to think i’m quite adorable,” he added.

you huffed, picking up your pace as you held your best friend’s hand to get away. "i don't date guys who think brooding is a personality trait.”

dean didn't even get a word in before you and your friend grabbed your things and left him speechless. he mentally started cursing sam out—how the hell was he going to get near you when you were harder to penetrate than an abandoned house? damn it, that brat owes him his life if he even manages to get near you.

once you were far from campus, you stood still for a few seconds, trying to process everything that had happened: what was someone like dean winchester doing coming to talk to you? because in all the years you'd been studying at stanford, you'd probably only seen him twice in the hallway.

so again, what the hell was he doing talking to you?

you reached for the door of your car only to stop dead in your tracks when you notice some idiot left a bumper on one side of it. “unbelievable,” you muttered, digging your keys out of your bag. 

“you're gonna scrape the paint right off that thing. let me help." 

it was dean, again. you sighed, looking angrily at him.

“excuse you? i’m perfectly capable of do it,” you bristled, gripping your keys tighter. 

“yeah, i can see that.. c’mon sweetheart.”

he plucked the keys right off your hand before you can say another thing or physically stop him. before you could scream at him, dean slid into the driver's seat, adjusting the seat back to accommodate his long legs, entirely messing up your carefully calibrated mirrors. he turned the key, and instead of a gentle idle, he gave the gas pedal a sharp and unnecessary rev that made the old engine scream. 

“you’re gonna wreck it,” you shouted.

“it’s already wrecked, sweetheart. just listen to how it sounds.”

with a light impact against the door was nearly enough to make  that bump in the door disappear completely, smiling broadly as he watches how your angry expression changes for a few seconds.

he stepped out, leaving the door open and the engine running. he didn't say an 'I told you so'. he didn't even gloat, just simply stood there, dangling your keys from his index finger. 

you snatched them back. "don’t ever touch my car again, dumbass.”

dean didn't move away. the distance between you and him was suddenly entirely too small. he looked down at you, cocky smirk fading into a little smile on his crooked teeth. 

for a split second you were debating whether to punch him or spit in his face, but before you could do anything, he took a step back and adjusted his jacket before saying goodbye at you in such a sarcastic tone that, again, you thought you should punch him to wipe that silly grin off his face.

“see you around then, girly.”

he turned and walked away, his boots scuffing against the pavement. 

when he was far away from you and could no longer hear your curses under your breath echoing in the parking lot, he picked up his phone and dialed his brother's number.

“sammy,” he cooed. “i hope you're ready to buy that expensive car wax ‘cause i'm going to get jess's sister to date me, no matter what.”

[dreamersentity]

why is thinking of a title much harder than writing the damn fic?! how do y’all come up with such unique titles omgg

[dreamersentity]

just finished writing my sam fic!!! life is worth living!!! will probs post it tomorrow!!

[dollislvt]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. oh to be held tightly by him. my dream.

[dreamersentity]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ♱ soldier boy likes you loud and fucked stupid. mdni, 18+

soldier boy who likes having a hand around your neck while you fuck so he can notice when your pulse quickens. he never holds back however, cock buried deep in your cunt while his thick fingers wrap around your neck even tighter. he just smirks—that shit eating grin of his, all self-assurance and quiet arrogance—and when your pulse eventually spikes under him, that’s just a sign for him to go faster, deeper into your needy hole. his hands are quick to lift your legs off the counter on onto his shoulders, cock still buried inside of you, making the angle get better with each thrust, “like that pretty girl? like being fucked stupid like this?”

“fuckkingg hell, what a sight” he grumbled as his cock nudged that sweet spot deep inside of you, pace never wavering, enjoying your frantic gasps as you choked for air. “like when i choke you like this huh? fucking filthy”

soldier boy who, when you’re close to passing out, air barely entering your lungs anymore, he brings a hand to your cheek—not caressing nor gently, and definitely not in a comforting manner. he taps it twice, forcing you to turn to look at him. “a-ah, don’t even think about passing out on me doll”, he hums mockingly against your ear, voice deep and rough like gravel, “i’ll have you choking on something else after this”

soldier boy who pushes you against the wall when you’re being loud. he bathes in that shit—likes you loud and needy, whimpering about how it’s too much, drooling on his fingers as he takes you from behind. it’s no surprise honestly, he just loves when he can hear how good he makes you feel, and he sure as hell enjoys knowing that the entire vought building knows the same.

“you wanna be fucking loud huh? want everyone to know how much of a mess you are taking this cock?” he grunts, lips curled into a smirk as he comes closer, “it’s no use to act so shy now, let them hear how good i make this pussy feel”

soldier boy who doesn’t give two shits about fucking in a public display. he’ll dismiss it gruffly, tone suddenly a pitch lower than usual “you think i care about an audience?” with his hand loosely travelling down your thigh, playing with the hem of that skimpy skirt you were wearing that made him wanna grab you and take you right then and there. a dark chuckle slips past him as his other hand traces the curve of your jawline. “if i wanna fuck my girl? I'll do it right fucking here.”

soldier boy who loves it when you start whining, asking him to slow down, whimpering and begging him to stop—cause he gets too rough sometimes. when he does eventually slow down and lean closer to you, your body relaxes instantly, and you´re dumb enough to think that he actually heard you. but the moment your lips part to speak up, he immediately speeds up, smile so smug and proud of himself when he sees your teary eyes widen. yeah he’s a menace like that.

soldier boy who believes that using a condom is a waste of plastic. why use it when he can feel your overstimulated walls spasm around his length, making you feel every inch? it’s not like he didn´t look forward to having any children either, so why not better than to breed you instead? watch thick ropes of cum leave your insides, it’s just a sight that undoes him completely.

cybella’s thoughts⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ lawd save me. i’m back and as needy as ever. i haven´t even finished s5, yikes.

⤷ looking for more ? here’s my masterlist !

[slashedgutz]

soldier girl who loooooves to stretch out her girl..

ᯓ★ note; very loose extension of this after hours thought..

you’ve never been fucked like this before. and you’ve definitely never been fucked like this– by a woman. 

pinned to the bed by your thighs, slightly trembling as soldier girl inspects your wet cunt with fingers so rough and careless as they poke and prod you, that you can’t help but to shudder when she scrapes a nail against your walls. 

“huh, you never been stretched out, doll?” she asks, her breath hot against your swollen folds. the smell of weed lingers in the air, making you all hazy and warm. 

“just my fingers,” you reply shyly– only to then wince when she brings her hand down sharply on your drooling cunt. 

“think you’re forgettin’ somethin’ at the end of that.” her nails tap against the inside of your thigh, gently ghosting bite marks that she’s left there. she squeezes your flesh roughly. “who’re you talkin’ to, doll?”

“you, mom, ‘m talking to you.”

“yeah, that’s right.” and with that, she pushes one finger into you, whilst her other hand holds you down firmly as you begin to writhe. you’ve never had this sort of attention– and never for your cunt– and just the feeling of a single finger alone is making you clench tightly. “hey, just gotta relax f’your mom, okay? gonna stretch you out before i do anythin’..”

and all you can do, as she adds a second and a third finger, sharpened nails scraping your walls, is whine and squirm; feel so uncomfortable by this sudden intrusion, and yet, grow more wet and needy as she starts to fingerfuck you. 

“yeah– doin’ so well f’me, doll– aren’t you? bein’ my good girl an’ all?” 

you rut your hips forward, grasp onto the sheets below, as you feel your orgasm build. she fucks you like a pro– making you all hot and bothered before you’ve even gotten to the main event. your sweat-slicked body aches, and breathy sounds spill from your mouth as she begins to circle and tease your clit. 

“‘s feeling so good–” you whimper, bucking your hips with more intensity. “mom, i need you– please– mommy–”

“oh, you say somethin’?” she pauses briefly, smirking up at you before going back to basically shoving her whole fist into your gaping cunt. meanwhile, you whine and cry for her– your needy noises getting lost in the obscenely vulgar sounds that your hole makes– and tug on her hair for more.

and when she finally does fuck you? well.

she’s not the type to waste her time. immediately, she bottoms out inside of you, burying herself to the hilt with that fat strap. she stills for just a minute or so, allowing you to get used to the fullness of her; and then she’s back to stretching out your hole, in just the way you need!

every time she slams back into you, the plastic tip of the toy kisses your cervix, and the ridged sides are hugged by your warm walls like you don’t want her to go. “you feelin’ god f’me, doll? feelin’ all good for your mommy?” she coos at you, again and again. you nod absent-mindedly, only able to focus on how full you feel, writhing under her sheer brutality because your poor body cannot take it.

but both of her rough hands grip firmly onto your ass, holding you in place as she fucks you so hard that her huge strap begins to bump up and poke at your lower abdomen. when the both of you catch sight of this, she just pushes down on your stomach, fucking into you harder. “gotta let mom use what belongs to her; takin’ like the good girl i know you are.”

[deanwinchestersgirl8734]

[seasononesam]

Did you get anything? Besides her number?

[dreamersentity]

would it be wrong to say (as a dean girl, but not so sure anymore) that i’m starting to like sam more?? oh god i feel so bad for betraying dean like this but omg, how come i’ve never really noticed sam until now??

like like have u seen him??? and not just that, it´s his personality and his arcs!! i find them much more enjoyable than dean´s (sorry not sorry). i already knew that this day would come ever since i watched s6 oh lawd, only god knows how much i enjoy soulless sam!!!

[reynarri]

who me? oh I'm just thinking about dean winchester being touch starved . . .

💻 : touch starved! dean soft x reader

masterlist

touch starved! dean who always leaves his hand lingering on whatever object he hands just to feel your hand touch his for a little longer.

touch starved! dean is the kind of person that will stare at your hands until sam nudges him to focus on what someone is saying about a case.

touch starved! dean that loves it when you help him with his injuries just because he feels your warmth on his skin.

touch starved! dean that leans into you whenever you fix his hair or hug him after not seeing him for so long.

touch starved! dean who wants to rests his hand on your thigh so bad that he twitches while driving in the impala with sam in the back sleeping.

touch starved! dean who needs more than both your skin brushing against each other

touch starved! dean who poured everything into the kiss you shared with his hand on the back of your neck, one on your waist, his body against yours, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

touch starved! dean who feels at peace every time you're sleeping next to him and your limbs being tangled together.

© reynarri '26 — do not copy, plagiarize, or feed my work to ai

[dreamersentity]

cybella omg this new theme is so pretty!!! i love the neutral color and pics, it matches so well together omg <333

ohmygosh mika you’re the sweetest ty !! 🤍 this is such a compliment from u, ur themes always eat!! specially the spn theme i absolutely adore it!!!

[pittsick]

ִ ࣪ ⋆ 𝐑𝐘𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 gravity is lighter with you.

fluff & slice-of-life blurb <333 gn!reader. pre-hail mary. established relationship. domestic romance. sleepy cuddling&soft kissing. gentle humor. warm intimacy.

reblog is a creator’s best-friend, thank you!!

Ryland is half asleep beside you on the couch with his glasses crooked on his face and one sock missing (he threw it away earlier, saying that one foot needed to breathe). You smile down at him from where his head rests against your chest. “You know,” you murmur, threading your fingers through his messy hair, “normal people usually sleep in beds.”

Ryland lets out a sleepy noise that might be a laugh. “Counterpoint,” he says without opening his eyes, voice rough with exhaustion, “beds don’t have you on them right now.”

“That’s the smoothest thing you’ve ever said.”

“I’m very charming when I’m sleepy.”

“You’re drooling on my shirt.” You voice back at him, tone amused and eyes sparkling at the slight damp patch on your shirt that he did create by being half-asleep. “I think we can call this intimacy.” You laugh quietly at the words leaving his mouth, careful not to jostle him too much.

The TV has long since stopped playing whatever documentary he insisted the two of you watch earlier, the screen now dark except for the reflection of the lamp beside the couch. Ryland had made it about fifteen minutes before he started drifting, his commentary getting slower and slower until eventually he’d just leaned against you and stopped talking altogether.

Now he’s warm and heavy against your side, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist like even asleep he wants to make sure you’re still there. You tilt your head down to kiss his forehead gently. His skin is warm beneath your lips, curls soft against your fingers. He immediately stirs at your touch. “There it is,” he mumbles, half-asleep voice soft. “There what is?”

“The nightly forehead kiss.” He cracks one eye open just enough to look at you lazily. “Thought you wouldn’t give it to me tonight.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love me anyway.” Unfortunately for your dignity, he says it with complete confidence (and he’s right about it too). You sigh dramatically. “Yeah, I do.”

His expression softens instantly, that sleepy little smile appearing on his face that always makes your chest ache. Ryland has never been particularly good at hiding his emotions; everything he feels tends to show right across his face. Right now he looks so unbearably fond that you can’t help leaning down again.

This next kiss lands properly against his mouth; all sleepy and soft and exactly how he is used to. Your kisses are always so gentle and warm like the sun in summer.

Ryland hums into it immediately, one hand lifting to cup your jaw as he kisses you back with lazy affection. There’s nothing rushed about it, nothing heated, just soft mouths and lingering touches and the comfortable familiarity of someone you could kiss a thousand times and still crave.

His thumb brushes across your cheek. “You taste like tea,” he whispers against your lips.

“Is it supposed to be romantic, now?” You almost laugh at him, but not in mockery, no. In awe at how his brain works. “It is romantic.” Another kiss and he adds. “Like I’m dating someone from a bookstore commercial.”

You snort into his mouth. “That’s such a weirdly specific compliment.”

“I’m a weirdly specific person, didn’t you know?”

“That’s true.”

Ryland smiles again, eyes still closed, and pulls you a little closer. His hair sticks up in every direction from your fingers messing with it earlier, and there are faint shadows under his eyes from too many late nights grading papers and getting distracted by research articles at two in the morning.

You hate how hard he works sometimes and not because he doesn’t love it. Ryland genuinely lights up when he talks about science, about his students, about discoveries and possibilities and all the things humanity still doesn’t know. But he forgets himself in it too easily; he forgets to sleep, forgets to eat proper meals and forgets to rest unless someone reminds him. Usually, that someone is you.

“You’re exhausted,” you murmur softly. “Mm... Little bit.” He replies to you. “A little bit?” You raise an eyebrow. “Ryland, you fell asleep watching a documentary. You love those so much, usually.”

“In my defense, I had already seen this one before.” You laugh quietly again, and he grins at the sound before burying his face against your shoulder. For a moment neither of you speaks. Ryland’s breathing slows against you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes against your side underneath your sweatshirt. You can feel sleep pulling at him again.

“You should come to bed,” you whisper eventually. “No.” He shakes his head at your words. “You literally are asleep.” You add to him, voice low.

“Nope.”

“You’re impossible to negotiate with.”

“I’m comfortable.” He squeezes you gently. “And if we move, the moment’s over.” Your expression softens instantly at that.

Sometimes Ryland says things that sound joking at first, but underneath them is startling sincerity. He loves moments, small ones especially. The all quiet ones. He notices them like treasures other people would walk right past. You brush your fingers along the back of his neck. “The moment won’t disappear just because we move to the bed.”

“You can’t prove that scientifically.”

“You’re a scientist, you prove it.” You express this to him to which he replies: “Too sleepy.” You shake your head and rolls your eyes fondly before shifting slightly beneath him. “C’mere.” Ryland opens his eyes blearily as you guide him upright just enough to stand. He immediately sways toward you like a plant trying to find sunlight. “You’re adorable right now,” you tell him.

“That’s humiliating, I’ll let you know.”

Still half asleep, he follows you down the hallway with one hand hooked loosely around yours. The bedroom is dim and cool compared to the warm living room, sheets tangled from this morning when the two of you left in a rush. The second Ryland collapses onto the mattress, he groans dramatically into the pillow. “Oh, this is nice.”

“Look at that,” you say while climbing in beside him. “The bed wins, uh?”

“Don’t get cocky, we both know you were right.”

He immediately reaches for you the moment you settle down, wrapping himself around you with sleepy determination. One arm drapes across your waist while his face tucks against your neck, curls tickling your skin. You run your fingers slowly through his hair again, earning a content little sigh from him. “There you are,” he murmurs.

“I was literally here the whole time.”

“Yeah, but now you’re properly here. Like… In bed with me. I think you’re right, the bed does win.” Your chest tightens painfully with affection. You tilt your head enough to press one more lingering kiss against his temple. Ryland smiles against your skin, eyes finally falling shut completely.

“I love you,” he says quietly, words already blurred by sleep. You hold him a little closer beneath the blankets before replying softly. “I love you too.”

Within minutes, he’s asleep in your arms, still clinging to you like he plans on staying there all night.

taglist ﹏ @ravensreadingrecs @tealee @dreamersentity @amourflores @filthgf @antlerlove @mimisitaugu @dreamcastgirl99 @whitemelanin @userhotd @beaufire @s4yuriii @puppyinlace @prismozo @r-oxy1 @kill3ill @beausling @starr-jazz @ohtiramisuu @blasianbarbiedoll @cakeofhorrors @buckysrighttit @digitalhoe @kryptidfiles @cup1dssorrow ( to be added )

[dreamersentity]

literally opened tumblr to continue writing my sammy fic, got distracted and changed my theme smh

[bleachedduck]

✸ 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗥 𝗔𝗨 : 𝖢𝖠𝖱𝖬𝖸!𝖣𝖤𝖠𝖭 𝖶𝖨𝖭𝖢𝖧𝖤𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱 x 𝖲𝖸𝖣!𝖱𝖤𝖠𝖣𝖤𝖱.

" 乇very second counts, ɪ don't wanna talk to you anymore.

Ƭell you how I felt, sugar coated melting in your мoυтн. Know you'd make fun of me. "

❝ 𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖬𝖨𝖲𝖤: After taking charge of The Original Beef of Chicagoland, now The Beef—because what a tediously long name, long enough to tighten the knot in his throat before he can even finish saying it out loud—, his late younger brother's will, Dean finds an absolute mess as soon as he walks inside to which he cannot smile tenderly to. Nothing is romantic or good enough anymore when he's spent these last four years away from home working at the best restaurant in New York.

His reputation proceeds him, he knows he's good, but that's not enough for him to magically teach his new skills to the people in The Beef his brother has left behind. Everything feels unknown to him now.

It takes him nearly half a year to put order to this place, to make it feel like a workplace and not the bodily remains of Sammy, but he finally got it.

And then you walk through the door, stars in your eyes and that kind of hope he'd kill to feel again, asking him for a chance to prove yourself to him. He says yes.

Your recommendations are impeccable, everyone has something impressively warm to say about you, and there's not a single thing to cross out of your long list of abilities. Except for when there is, and it's never fair, Dean knows that. He feels envy's heinous sneer tugging downwards at the corners of his own mouth whenever you beat him to something he should've come up with— more acid for the sauté asparagus, or extra butter for the purée, or some other absolutely petty shit like that. But, at the end of the day, when he looks over his shoulder and you're still there arranging recipes and silverware at midnight, he can't help but feel a little mushy on the inside.

He kind of sees you as a Saint reaching her hand reaching down to bring a sinking ship to the surface. He's gonna end up drowning you with him if he holds on too tight. ❞

“ As I'm ɠetting older. ꘘull of reɠrets. ”

CW: (it will be specified whether each part does or does not have +18 content, and it will be tagged accordingly ((mdni)) ) — mental health topics like: ptsd, ocd, depression, severe anxiety, panic attacks, anger issues, + (it will be tagged). dean's chronic manchild behaviour. fighting. stress, etc. (to be added)

COMING SOON !