⊱ ۫ ׅ ♱ ⋆ ｡ ࿐ sleeping next to 𝐒𝐀𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 during summer nights.
SAM WINCHESTER who´s become your personal human heater, makes winter nights feel different now—warmer, softer, no longer fighting the cold under thin motel sheets; instead, it´s now replaced by the warmth of his body against yours. of course, sam has never minded the closeness, if anything, he adores it: loves the way you fold into him, melt under his hands, weighing over him with an arm around his middle and legs intertwined.
it´s a sweet yet simple routine he´s grown used to, the quiet comfort he´d spent so long searching for, somehow manifested in cozy cuddles and body warmth. but during the summer? let´s just say that it becomes a bit unbearable.
one night, you’re lying on your back, halfway through your second dream when you feel a heavy weight settle on your side—grounding rather than crushing, but still there. you ignore it at first, not thinking much of it.
but after a few minutes, that weight turns into a slow, creeping warmth that envelops you until your whole body feels like it´s overheating. you force your eyes open, blinking through the haze, and there he is, the culprit: his hair is all over the place, splayed on your pillow while his arm cages your torso, his head nestled into the crook of your neck. you make an attempt of mumbling out his name, voice low and still laced with sleep.
nothing happens.
you clear your throat once more, and you find your hands threading through his hair absentmindedly, “sammy, you´re cooking me alive, move.” though your words come out without any real force behind them.
still, he doesn’t move, and all you get in return is a small, protesting sound to the side of your neck. you try to ease yourself out of his hold, rolling onto your side, but the second you move, he’s next to you again, chest pressed up against your back while his head finds its usual spot on your neck, his 6’4 frame shadowing over you in an instant.
you sigh and scoot farther from him, but it´s useless—he reels you back in, trapping you under his embrace again. when he finally wakes, rubbing his eyes as he slowly adjusts to the darkness, he just stares at you for a hot minute before mumbling, “you run cold.” and then has the audacity to press his forehead to your shoulder like that explains everything, leaving no space between you while you´re seconds away from evaporating into thin air.
and what´s worse is that he believes in it, he thinks it´s sweet reasoning.
“cold? sam i´m literally sweating through the sheets.” you groaned in exasperation, looking down at him with every intention of giving him an earful, but the second your eyes land on him, your voice falters.
he just gives you that look—puppy eyes, bottom lip jutted out in a pout and all. you quickly avert your gaze from him, refusing to fall for his antics because he knew exactly how to get his way, “don’t give me that look, you’ll make me feel bad.”
he smiles, head tilted to the side, “is it working?”
“unfortunately.”
cybella’s thoughts⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ small small fluff blurb i wrote yesterday when i was dying bc of the freaking heat oh my lord save me from this heat wave please!!!
tagging my sweetest lola <33 @samwspn ty for helping me choose my sammy pics for this!!
nsfw tw. 𝒇𝒕 𝜗ৎ — Dean & Sam Winchester and Castiel Novak. English isn’t my first language, so I use grammar checkers to translate. Sorry in advance if anything sounds weird.
CASTIEL ✸ COWGIRL
At first, I thought that the favorite position of our favorite angel would be missionary. However, the inexperienced Castiel would adore you taking control and teaching him the perfect rhythm while you ride his lap.
I imagine he would place his hands on your back, not to guide you, but to reverently trace your skin in time with the sway of his hips. His fingers would timidly tangle in your hair as he leaned in to kiss you. For him, seeing your face twisting in pleasure is the most beautiful abstract work of art in the world. He wants to understand every one of your reactions—how a simple touch can make you cry out in ecstasy and how pleasure affects you just as intensely as it does him, a completely new sensation.
“You look so beautiful,” he murmurs, before giving a gentle squeeze to the soft skin of your hips. “The way your body moves… it’s a very new sensation for me. Please, don’t stop.”
DEAN ✸ DOGGYSTYLE
Unlike our beautiful Cass, Dean Winchester is an absolute fanatic of the filthiest side of things. His main obsession? fucking you on all fours until your legs shake.
He loves having a perfect view of your arched back and that round, firm ass, along with the obscene sound of their bodies slamming together hard. With one hand, he presses your face into the pillow, while with the other he grips your hips and drives them back to the brutal rhythm of his thrusts. Sometimes he even spreads your ass cheeks just for the sheer thrill of watching his cock slide in and out of your wet, swollen pussy. The wet, almost dirty sound of his balls slapping against your clit pulls screams from you that sound like pure music to him.
“Come on, baby. You can take it,” he says with a dark chuckle. His hand wraps around your throat, lifting your torso until your back is pressed flush against his chest. “That fucking perfect pussy of yours… I’m gonna fill it until it overflows.”
SAM ✸ SPOONING
I feel like Sammy Winchester would be the most likely of the three to have a somewhat less conventional favorite position. And I’m sure that, although he’s the softest and tenderest of the brothers, that doesn’t make him soft in bed at all. If Supernatural has shown us anything, it’s that Sam is incredibly passionate.
Just imagine it: his body pressed tight against your back, his hot breath on your neck as he covers it with hickeys and bites, a strong arm wrapped around your hips so you can’t pull away even an inch, and as the finishing touch, his cock buried to the hilt inside your pussy from a spectacular, completely new angle, fucking you with such force that the bed creaks with every thrust.
He’s not the most talkative in bed, unlike Dean (that man never shuts up and I could definitely confirm it), but he’d let out low, husky moans in your ear along with whispered praises: “Fuck, you’re the best… Your pussy always takes me so well, so hot and tight.”
summary: sam's working, you're comfortable. so what if dean takes a little nap on you ?
pairing: dean x reader (gn) ft. sam | genre: fluff !! | word count: 2.2k
warnings: cute sleepy dean and a ton of cat comparisons, some lore-accurate sam research-isms :]
notes: okay so i wrote this one MONTHS ago but i never posted it because i hated it lowkey </3 but i got a second opinion and i wanted to post a lil somethin for you while i'm writing exams, so here you go :]
taglist
It’s cold enough in the Impala that you can almost see your breath. Your fingers have been freezing for the last twenty minutes, even with your gloves on. You’ve tucked your feet up under you in the backseat of the car, but it’s not doing enough to fix the chill that’s living in your shoes. You don’t even have to touch your face to know that your cheeks and nose are freezing, probably already going a little numb from the cold.
Dean, on the other hand, looks perfectly fine. His cheeks are flushed a light pink, but other than that, he looks like the cold can’t touch him in the slightest. It’s infuriating, actually, but it’s to be expected. Dean ‘I run hot’ Winchester was not lying. His leather jacket is wrapped around your shoulders, leaving him in just a flannel and t-shirt, and he’s even got the sleeves on the flannel rolled half-way up his forearms.
He catches you glaring at him in the rearview mirror, sending you an exaggerated wink that has you rolling your eyes.
“What?” he drawls, twisting around in his seat to look at you.
“Can’t believe you’re not cold,” you mutter under your breath.
He smirks. “I already told you, sweetheart, I run-.”
“You run hot, yeah. I know,” you finish for him.
Dean’s hand comes over the seat, squeezing your thigh gently.
“Hey, we’ll be fine. Sam’ll be comin’ back soon.”
You raise an eyebrow. “And you know this how, exactly?”
He winces, knowing you caught his bluff.
“Wish we could’ve gone in all three of us, ‘s all,” you add, turning your attention back to your book.
“Me too, sweetheart. Me too. Can’t let lore boy have all the fun, can we?”
That wrangles a tiny smile out of you, and Dean grins like he’s just won the lottery. You avert your eyes back to reading the cramped lines of text and scrawled notes in the margins of John’s hunting journal. Sam’s a lucky bastard, you think as you read. The library seems to be the only warm place open in the whole town today, meaning every single person was in it. They’d only had capacity for one more, so the three of you mutually agreed that Sam would be the most efficient.
You’re regretting it now, the icy air biting at your exposed skin. You tuck Dean’s jacket tighter around you and shiver, goosebumps crawling up your arm. You start rubbing your hand up and down on your arm, and if you concentrate hard enough, you can almost convince yourself it’s working. Apparently, the rustle of fabric is frustrating Dean, because he opens his car door and steps out.
“Where are you going?” you shout after him, the door slamming shut before he turns and opens yours.
“Here,” he says cheekily.
“Close the door, Dean. ‘S freezing.”
He shuts the door with a little too much force, shaking his hand to get the tingles out of it. Dean slides down the bench until he’s mostly pressed against your side, head snaking over your shoulder to peek at your journal.
“Whatcha readin’ ‘bout?” he says in a sing-song voice.
You shoot him a glare, and he grins. “Your dad’s journal.”
“Yeah, I know that. I asked what you’re readin' about.”
You make a non-committal motion with your hand. “Dunno. Anything I can find that makes any damn sense?”
Dean hums, sliding closer. “Whatcha lookin’ at right now?”
You sigh, flipping a page back and pointing to a crudely drawn picture of a wraith. “That. Think it might be one of these.”
He frowns, taking the journal from you and examining it. You squawk indigently, but his eyes have focused on the page you were reading. His tongue pokes between his teeth just a little, and you can’t help but think it’s cute. Kind of like the tongues on cats when they finish drinking water or when you scratch them in that perfect spot behind the ears.
“So, what’s the verdict? Wraith?” you ask.
“What?”
“Wraith. Yes or no?”
“Yeah, probably.”
You raise an eyebrow again, thoroughly unimpressed. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t really care?”
Dean shrugs, kissing your forehead before sliding away from you and laying down on the seat, sprawling himself across the bench.
“Sammy’s searchin’. We don’t gotta do anythin’," he says, exaggerated as he stretches.
You tuck up into the corner, back jammed between the seat and the door. It’s not perfectly comfortable, and the metal is cold on your back, but you know Dean isn’t set on leaving you here. Not when he’s got that childish twinkle in his eyes that says he’s either about to do something extremely stupid, or extremely endearing.
“Dean,” you warn. “We’re working.”
“I know.” He rolls dramatically onto his back, staring at the roof of the car and stretching his arms up to touch it. “I don’t really care.”
You shrug your shoulders helplessly. “Why not?”
He twists his head around, craning his neck uncomfortably to stare at you. “’Cause I don’t want to.”
You swat at his head, and he ducks away from your attacks.
“Be nice to me," he whines.
“I am nice to you. You’re distracting me,” you complain.
He seems to realize that he has been and sits up properly on the opposite end of the bench as you. He hands the journal back to you, watching you get comfy in the space he’s vacated. Dean’s basically radiating warmth, and given that he’s so close to you, you’re already starting to warm up yourself. The beginnings of a smile work their way across Dean’s face, and you note the way it softens as it grows. Maybe his goal was just to warm you up after all.
You stretch your legs out on the bench, poking Dean with your shoe covered feet and pushing him even further into the corner. It’s a mostly unconscious maneuver, but now that you’re aware you’re doing it, it’s a little bit fun.
“Aw, c’mon, why’re you doin’ that?” Dean whines, swatting your feet away for the hundredth time.
“You were bugging me. I’m bugging you.”
He scowls, launching himself forward onto you not unlike the cat you’ve compared him to before. The air gets punched out of your lungs, and you laugh weakly as he shimmies himself around.
“What’s this about?” you tease, kissing the tip of his nose.
“You’re bein’ annoying,” he grumbles.
You run a hand through his hair, and he melts into you like butter in a hot pan. Completely boneless, like gravity decided to pull him against you and lay him out like a shag carpet.
“Am I?” you say softly, lowering your voice for his sake.
You’re calling his bluff before he even has a chance to push it too far. He gets like this when he’s tired; a little bit more annoying, a little bit whinier, a hell of a lot clingier. If he doesn’t have anyone to tell him off (Sam), he’ll drape himself over you wherever you are. Coincidentally, a lot like the cats he’s unfortunately allergic to.
“Mhm.”
He’s already drifting a little, his warmth soaking into you. You shuffle down the seat so you’re lying flat on your back. Dean has to fold a little bit to fit, those stupid long legs of his half-hanging off the seat, but he’s comfortable enough. You take off his leather jacket, balling it up and putting it under your head like a pillow.
“When’s Sam coming back?” you murmur.
Dean shrugs, grumbling something about how he could be years, I dunno. You chuckle, hoping Sam comes back in time to see his brother completely soft and pliable under your touch. Dean’s pride would never recover, but it would be funny.
You prop the journal up on Dean’s back, adjusting constantly to make sure his deepening breathing doesn’t disrupt your research. The minutes bleed together as you read, and you barely notice the snow starting to come down on the town outside the frosted car windows. With Dean laying on you, you barely even notice the chill.
Eventually, as the afternoon starts to bleed away into evening, the words on the pages you’re reading aren’t sticking in your brain anymore. They’re blurring together in new ways, merging so badly you could make your own language out of them. You close the journal, marking your page, and set it on the ground.
Hands freed, you rest them in Dean’s hair. You start moving them in slow circles, brushing through the dusty brown strands of his hair and gently massaging his scalp. He hums, the sound like rough gravel, melting infinitely deeper into your embrace. It’s almost pathetic if it weren’t so damn adorable; his big bad hunter façade completely leaves his body when you lay your hands on him.
In another life, you’re cozied up on your couch, in your very safe house, very unaware of the supernatural things outside your door. You’ve got Dean with you, but instead of lying chest down across your body, he’s curled up beside you. Maybe you’ve convinced him a cat is required, despite his frequent complaints, and maybe that cat is curled up in your lap right now. Your hand rubbing it on the head between the ears, its little paws tucked around you, purring softly.
That sounds too real. Something’s not right about this picture. You freeze, half-awake, distinguishing your daydreams from reality. No cat, no house. Dean’s here, and so is the purring.
When it finally clicks, your mouth opens slightly, an amused ‘o’ on your lips. The sound is coming from Dean. He’s sort of snoring; not a proper one, but not something you can confidently say is just an inhale. It’s kind of soft, actually, the way he’s letting himself dissolve into the warmth of the car. It melts something in your soul to know that he trusts you enough to let his guard down, even when he’s working a hunt. At this point, he’s too far gone to even care who comes in and sees him.
Which is great, because Sam’s back. He slides into the passenger seat, freezing for a second and looking around when he doesn’t see you or Dean. Craning his neck and twisting his upper body, his gaze lands on you in the backseat, Dean spread out across you.
“Aren’t you two cozy,” he deadpans.
“I’m being suffocated,” you tease.
“I’m sure. He doesn’t have a good concept of personal space.”
“I heard that,” Dean grumbles.
Sam stifles a laugh in the sleeve of his jacket. “You wanna head back to the motel then?”
Dean mutters something about how he’s getting up soon, but when he doesn’t move a muscle, you answer for him.
“Yeah, Sam. Might as well. ‘S warmer in there anyways.”
Sam hums in agreement. “Thought so.”
He slides into the driver’s seat before turning to you once again. “You find anything?”
You nod, pointing to the general location of John’s journal on the floor of the car. “I have some ideas. You?”
He nods excitedly. “So, get this. Turns out we are dealing with a wraith.”
You smile to yourself, having already made that conclusion, and gesture for him to continue.
“Apparently, one of the hospital patients said she remembers seeing a specific doctor come in to see her earlier in the week. Then, three days later, she says the same exact doctor came to see her again, acting like it was the first time. After that? Chance brush of a hand when she drops something, creepy face in the mirror, then everything goes all Girl, Interrupted.”
“Nice work, Sam,” you say, at the exact same time Dean says, “You talk too much.”
Sam and you exchange a look, bursting into laughter that makes Dean groan. You apologize with a light kiss to Dean’s lips, and he settled down again as Sam pulls the car out of the lot and back toward the motel. Dean’s knocked out by the time you get there, the steady hum of the road under the Impala’s tires making a perfect white noise for him. He’s not happy about being woken when you pull into the parking lot, making a show of groaning and complaining as he stretches.
“What, did we ruin your catnap?” you tease as you pull him out of the car.
“I was not havin' a catnap,” he complains.
“You absolutely were,” you reply.
“Was not.”
“Were too.”
“Was not.”
“Dude, you totally were. You were snoring when I came back in,” Sam chimes in after unlocking the door.
“I don’t snore, Sammy. Don’t spread lies about me.”
“Yes, you do. You talk in your sleep sometimes, too,” you finish defiantly.
You and Dean follow Sam into the motel room, arguing the whole way to bed about whether or not he snores, and whether the things he talks about in his sleep are “sexy and awesome”. You and Dean collapse on one bed, Sam takes the other, and when everyone’s settled again, it doesn’t take long to fall asleep. The motel room isn’t cold, and you have the deep breathing of both brothers to listen to and help lull you to sleep.
dean winchester and the dilemma of the average man, ft. angel! reader
The bunker’s air was always still, tasting faintly of old paper and dust. You had felt the distinct, familiar pulse of Dean’s soul from three rooms away, a vibrant, complicated hum that was easy to track. You didn’t think to knock. Such formalities were for humans.
You turned the handle and walked in.
Dean was halfway through a shirt change, a black Henley bunched around his shoulders, his torso bare and flushed from the heat of… whatever activity he’d been engaged in. He froze, his eyes wide as they met yours. “Hey! A little warning next time, would ya? I’m indecent here!”
But you didn’t answer. You couldn't.
The room, the half-packed duffel bag, the pile of dirty laundry—they all faded into insignificance. Your focus narrowed to Dean’s eyes. They were the color of whiskey in sunlight, a familiar, beautiful shade you'd cataloged as soon as you laid eyes on him. Then, your gaze began its slow, meticulous descent.
Your eyes traced the strong column of his throat, where a faint, attractive blush was starting to creep up from his chest. You followed the sharp line of his collarbone, down to the broad, freckled expanse of his chest. You noted the soft dusting of hair, the way his breath was becoming shallow, the faint sheen of sweat.
You continued your examination. Your eyes moved down his stomach, mapping the defined lines of his abdomen, the way the muscles tightened under your silent appraisal. You lingered on the elegant, muscular V that dipped below the waistband of his black boxers, the one that pointed like an arrow to the very heart of the matter.
And there, you paused. For three full seconds, your gaze rested on the undeniable, impressive package that was outlined under the black, thin, cloth. It was a purely objective observation, a collection of data to be processed.
Then, just as suddenly, your gaze snapped back up to his face.
Dean’s face was now a remarkable shade of crimson. It was the color of a ripe, sun-warmed tomato. His jaw was slack, his eyes still wide. He wasn't moving. He wasn’t even trying to cover himself. He just stood there, his soul flickering with a chaotic mix of mortification, confusion, and something else, something hotter that made his blush intensify.
“You are better equipped than the average man.” you stated, your voice a factual, calm monotone. The words were clinical, but there was an underlying warmth to your tone, a hint of.. cheerful acknowledgment. You were just stating a fact, after all.
With that, you turned, walked to the door, and closed it softly behind you.
You had taken exactly four steps down the hall when the door flew open again.
“Hey- HEY WAIT! HEY! WHAT DOES THAT MEAN???”
Dean’s voice was a frantic, strangled shout. You heard a series of thumps and a strangled curse as he apparently tripped over his own feet. You glanced back over your shoulder to see him hopping on one leg, his jeans halfway up his thighs, his face now a shade of scarlet that matched the bunker’s old brick. He was frantically trying to pull the zipper up, stumbling into the wall with a loud bang.
Sam, a book in his hand, rounded the corner from the library. He stopped dead, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as he watched his brother, pants half-on and face on fire, screaming down the hall after you.
“Dean… what are you doing?” Sam asked, his voice a perfect blend of exasperation and utter disbelief.
Dean, now having stopped and wrestling with the zipper, didn’t even acknowledge his brother. He just pointed a shaking finger at your back. “YOU! GET BACK HERE! WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!”
summary : you and dean are just as grumpy when it comes to waking up early.
warnings : just a fluffy blurb!
wc : 480.
notes : guys i’m taking requests for dean too from now on btw!! if you have any ideas pls lmk, i really wanna write more abt him but i just feel like i don’t really have original ideas, so help a girl out!!!
You firmly believed that there wasn’t a more excruciating sound in this world than the buzz of an alarm clock during an idyllic morning — such as that one.
A ray of sunshine attacked your tired eyes as soon as they fluttered open at the irritating ring. You rebelled against the brightness immediately, burying your face back into Dean’s shoulder.
“Oh, Jesus Christ…” a low grunt vibrated in his chest underneath you.
The digits on the clock announced it was 7 a.m. Yesterday, you and Dean had promised Sam it would be the last time you two turned up late to an investigation. Poor guy had been up on his feet doing research practically since sunrise, letting you night owls get your beauty sleep. Nights were getting shorter, and mornings had been growing colder since winter came around, and you both couldn’t help but let yourselves turn a bit lazy.
“Dean. It’s seven,” you groaned, accompanying the alarm, yet still not moving a muscle. “We promised Sam–“
“Sweetheart, please just smash that piece of trash,” his whine rumbled over your head, fed up with the noise. You felt him affectionately squeeze the soft back of your thigh between the grumpy hums that slipped past his lips. Clingy as he always was during such an hour.
Too sleepy to question the order you actually approved of, you leaned over to the nightstand. Dean’s hand crept up your waist and clutched at the curve, keeping you from falling off the bed as you reached out your arm. The chilly air of the motel room grazed your skin in places where the covers slipped off as you finally hit the device, turning it off.
“Oh, thank God,” he muttered in a hoarse tone followed by a pleased hum. “Now get back here.”
You felt Dean’s palm rubbing circles on your back, warming you up, making sure you’d crawl right back into his arms. With a deep sigh, you dropped back on the mattress.
You snuggled back into his hold. Your legs intertwined in a familiar way, his arms wrapped around your frame with a crushingly affectionate force. “‘S too damn cold...” you heard him mumble grumpily.
“Mhm. Let’s just…five more minutes,” you groaned and felt him tug you closer right away, burying his face in the softness of your hair.
“You read my mind baby.”
A nice shiver crossed your skin as his nose gently nudged the ticklish spot below your ear. He held onto you like he was afraid you would evaporate into thin air and deprive him of the softness of your body, the nice smell of your skin, the love of your touch.
Your eyelids fluttered shut immediately. How could they not when his body was like a damn heater? When his deep, steady breaths soothed your body and mind? There was no way in hell you’d deny yourself that.
“you're fighting sleep.” dean says softly. he's lying on his side, elbow pressed into the mattress, head propped up in his hand as he looks down at you. you're latched onto him like a koala on a tree, and he's been watching you for over an hour now. the way your eyes flicker open every few minutes as if you're checking to see if you've fallen asleep yet.
“‘s not on purpose..” your grumble, leaning forward to press your forehead against his chest. “i'm too exhausted to sleep.” you tell him, and dean pulls you closer. you welcome the warmth with a contented sigh that gets mixed in with a frustrated whine.
dean grins as a idea forms in his head. “want me to sing you a lullaby?”
you snort at the question, “please don't.”
he takes personal offense to your reply, but simply laughs along with you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
silence falls over the room again as you attempt to drift off for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, but when you shift slightly—uncomfortably—dean starts to hum quietly.
when the sound reaches your ears you pry your eyes open, as if doing so automatically means that you're able to listen more intently.
“...are you humming metallica?” you ask after a moment, cocking your head back to stare up at dean, who only nods as he continues to hum the entire intro to ‘enter sandman.’
“is it working?” he asks halfway through, and you snort out another laugh, shoulders shaking as you continue to laugh about how ridiculous the gesture is. it's also very sweet though, and you lean into dean's chest again as he attempts to lull you to sleep with the less than smooth sounds of heavy metal.
by the time he's finished the song, you're still awake and still laughing. something soft and lovely blooms in his chest at the sound of your laughter, and dean can't help but take you in. the lines by his eyes crease even further as he smiles down at you.
concern about the fact that you'd been having a hard time falling asleep still lingers at the forefront of his mind, but he's happy to see that you're not upset about it anymore.
“that was incredible.” you tell him, after you've calmed down enough to speak.
“thank you. i'm here all night.” he grins, pulling you along with him as he rolls over onto his back. your head falls comfortably on his chest, and he pulls you closer as he settles into his pillow. he's got a plethora of songs he could use to help you fall asleep, and you knew that you just had to say the word for him to turn into your personal juke box for the night, but surprisingly—you feel the beginnings of sleep start to actually creep up on you.
“thank you for that.” you mumble, eyes already drifting closed. “as ridiculous as it was..” you start, letting out a soft yawn, “i think it actually worked.”
“good.” dean remarks quietly, hand sliding up and down your arm in a soothing motion. “sleep well, sweetheart.” he says, letting his eyes fall shut.
“you too, de.” you whisper. sleep finally greeting you a few minutes later.
p.s — this was too funny to me, but so so sweet as well🥹goodnight to those of you going to bed & good morning to those just waking up!! hoping you all have/had sweet dreams!! xx
