An ongoing personal collection of fictional men who have permanently altered my brain chemistry.
DEPARTMENT NOTICEš
Welcome to the Archive Directory.
This collection is organized into individual case files documenting fictional men deemed worthy of preservation. Each dossier contains supporting documentation including but not limited to: photographic evidence, observations, behavioral analyses, and playlists. Our Archive Special Collections, collected Incident Reports, and Literary Preservation lounges are also free for you to browse and bask in at your leisure.
Please do enjoy your visit.
Signed,
The Curator
ā¤ Department Director of Yearning
Case Files šļø
š Case File 001
Charlie Barber
Status: Active Investigation
View Dossier ->
š Case File 002
Clyde Logan
Status: Open Investigation
View Dossier ->
š Case File 003
Adam Sackler
Status: Heavily Annotated Dossier
View Dossier ->
š Case File 004
Sam Winchester
Status: Ongoing Search
View Dossier ->
š Case File 005
Dean Winchester
Status: Under Observation
View Dossier ->
š Case File 006
Kylo Ren
Status: Proceed With Extreme Caution
View Dossier ->
š Case File 007
Ben Solo
Status: Unknown
View Dossier ->
Special Collections šø
Browse collections of photographic evidence organized by recurring patterns:
Exhibit 001 ā Facial Hair
Exhibit 002 ā Hands & Arms
Exhibit 003 ā The Henley Phenomenon
Exhibit 004 ā Size Difference
Exhibit 005 ā Actor Appreciation
Incident Reports āš¼
Access documented moments of of irreversible emotional damage, as organized by The Office of Administration.
Browse Reports -> RESTRICTED ACCESS TO STAFF ONLY - OFFICE CURRENTLY UNDER RENOVATION
Literary Preservation š
View a curated catalog of transformative works recommended by The Curator.
Access Catalog -> Volume I. Volume II. Volume III.
Acquisitions & Requests āļø
Petition to add your favorite gentleman to the Archive collective.
Submit Request ->
Department Statistics š
Case Files: 07
Emotional Damage: 100%
Last Updated: August 2026
Renounced the mantle of Kylo Ren to return to the Light. Most recent status unclear. Our search continues.
> THREAT LEVEL
Benevolent ā No longer an active hostile threat.
> KNOWN FOR
Quiet reformation, profound devotion, and protective nature.
š LAST KNOWN LOCATION
Broken cross guard saber of former Kylo Ren found in the depths of the ocean at Kef Bir, tracked to Exegol; most up-to-date location unknown, most likely in exile within the Unknown Regions.
š Observations
Supporting Documentation š
> FANFICTION
Please visit the Office of Literary Preservation to view collection.
> HEADCANONS & RELATIONSHIP DYNAMICS
After escaping the command of the First Order, you settle on a quiet, sparsely populated world on the galactic rim; a planet with rolling hills, dense forests, and a misty coastline. Your home is a modest, isolated cabin filled with books, datapads, and historical artifacts.
Ben embraces a quiet, manual lifestyle. He spends his days maintaining your homestead, clearing land, and learning to live without a weapon in his hand. The tense, rigid posture of Kylo Ren softens into a relaxed, grounded presence.
A corner of your home is dedicated to a private archive. Together, you organize and preserve ancient texts, ensuring galactic history is kept safe without ever letting the wider galaxy know where you are.
One morning, you were hard at work. The sun filtered softly through the sheer drapes that swished gently by the open window, catching the dust motes dancing around the workbench where you sat on a cushioned stool, hunched over a tome, attempting to translate.
Ben entered from the kitchen, the heavy thud of his boots softened by the rugs on the floor. He carried two warm mugs of caf, the steam rising between them, and paused at the threshold to watch you. Your hair was slightly messy, your brow furrowed; unaware of your husband admiring you from the doorway. He stepped up behind you, setting the mugs down so he could slide his large hands onto your shoulders, applying a gentle, rhythmic pressure that immediately made your tense muscles relax.
"You're squinting," he murmurs, his deep baritone rumbling right against your ear. He leaned down, burying his face into the side of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "Take a break, Little One. The galaxyās secrets can wait until you've had something to drink."
You leaned back into his solid chest, a soft laugh escaping you as his arms wrapped fully around your torso, pulling you tightly against him. "I'm almost through this passage," you protested weakly, though you were already letting go of your stylus.
"No," Ben rumbled affectionately, kissing the spot just beneath your jaw before resting his chin on your shoulder. "The archivist is officially off duty."
Ben's intense nature transitions entirely into absolute devotion to you. He is fiercely protective, quick to send a cold glare towards anyone who stared at you a second too long, or to wrap an arm around your shoulders to hold you close when in a crowded area. He's gentle with you always; his face melting into softness and admiration any time he looks at you. While more inclined to love you privately, he is not shy to touch you or kiss you in public, if not just to bring a flush to your cheeks.
His nicknames for you: Sweetheart is his favorite, but he also likes Darling and My Girl (and of course he still uses Little One against you to get what he wants, or to simply fluster you).
Just like Kylo's Dossier, I plan to possibly add "addendums" for other relationship dynamics
I hope requests are open and Iām not being annoying š
Iām watching spn se14 and something about seeing Sam so scruffy and tired and exhausted is doing things to me. not to mention that beard oh lordā¦. I just wanna fuck him to sleep cuz god knows that man wonāt sleep voluntarily
can you write something about it??? like gf reader using her feminine wiles on him to get him to bed cuz itās been ātoo longā iykwim š
You'd said it two hours ago, and still he has your voice ringing in his head, telling him where he should be. He looks back down at the words on the page, now nothing more that a scribble of ink, letters twisting into each other, no discernable shapes.
He rubs his eyes, telling himself just ten more minutes- the same ten more minutes he's been giving himself all evening. The same ten more minutes you'd groaned about last time you'd tried to convince him to sleep.
His forehead hits the pages, a low groan spilling out of him. He should probably follow you to bed, he knows that, he's too old for the all nighters that plagued his youth. He'll just give himself a minute, it feels good to have his head down- one more minute and then he'll stand up- just a minute-
-
"Sammy-"
He looks up, startled, wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth. He blinks hard with a crick in his neck- no way of knowing how long he's been out.
You're stood in his shirt and boxers, trying to hold back a laugh at his disgruntled state, "-you're snoring."
"I'm- I'm just breathing heavy-"
"You're sleeping."
"I'm resting my eyes."
You smile at him, running your hand over his shoulder, "I'm not gonna say it again- come to bed."
"I will, I promise I will-" he glances back down at the page, "-I'll just be five minutes."
You roll your eyes, "Don't five minutes me- come now or you're not allowed at all."
He smirks at you, "Oh I'm not allowed?"
You shake your head, holding back a smile.
"Not allowed?" He reaches out to your waist pulling you closer.
You sink down across his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He rests his forehead on your chest, no pretense about how exhausted he really is.
You kiss the top of his head, "Been so lonely trying to sleep all by myself."
He looks up at you, a small smile at your tone. He knows you're only teasing, but he still plays into it, "Yeah? That big bed just too comfortable without me taking up all the space?"
You chew your cheek, "Well how am I supposed to sleep without a goodnight kiss-"
He gives a weak smile, leaning forward to press a light kiss against your lips, then pulls back, eyes dancing between your own.
"And without a goodnight makeout-"
He chuckles slightly, looking back down at his book, torn, "Baby-"
"And without a goodnight eating my pussy for the next hour while I cum all over your face-"
He looks back up at you with wide eyes, "Yeah?"
You grin, standing up, "Only if you come with me right now."
He stands so fast the table clatters against his thighs.
You laugh, turning around- he's only a second behind you, finally ready for bed.
summary: your obsession with sam's hands is eating you alive, and it gets worse when he decides to tease you about it.
cw: less than 1k words, gn!reader, perverted!reader, implied smut (part two with smut here), hands and fingers kink. cross posted on ao3
a/n: just because i've got a thing for sam's hands (who doesn't?) wrote this in one sitting before bed and proofread once so forgive me for any mistakes.
to say that you had a thing for sam would be an understatement. actually, it was closer to a growing obsession, a dirty secret. no matter your innumerable attempts at finding a distraction, a new thing to obsess over, your mind always drifted back to sam, to his hands.
it started very innocently. you were slumped in the backseat of the impala, eyes locked on the road ahead, until you heard the ruffling of clothing against the leathered bench. sam was fast asleep, a book still sitting in his hands. your eyes wandered over his peaceful figure before landing on his arms, then his hands. his thin, elongated fingers almost made you blush as your perverted brain pictured them on your body, in between your lips.
after this event, something in your brain switched. you couldn't help but quickly glance at his hands each time he passed something to you, or when he sat next to you in a local library, too focused on his research to notice your wandering eyes.
your ever-growing feelings for sam were getting harder to handle now that the sexual aspect of your friend became the main subject of your daydreaming sessions. but nothing could've prepared you for what was about to come next.
the current weather is unbearable, to the point where you physically cannot digest anything that's not either slightly refreshing, or entirely frozen. the three of you were desperate enough to interrupt your ride back to the motel as you searched for the nearest grocery store or gas station. once you were lucky enough to find one, dean hurried in, bringing back popsicles, ice cold beers, and a bunch of citrus fruits that sam had requested.
sam fishes an orange out of the grocery bag before sitting next to you on the edge of the curb, the both of you needing a break from a very tired and complaining dean. your eyes follow sam's every movement, widening as his hands start to work the fruit, flexing as he removes the peel.
your gaze lock on his long fingers, pushing between the wedges to split the fruit open, juice leaking out immediately. the translucent liquid coats his fingers while a few drops run down his palm, then past his wrist.
he manages to catch a few with his tongue, flat against the skin as he runs it up his arm. his lips trap some of the juice that started pooling in his palm with an obscene slurping sound, resonating directly to your core.
you can't help but wonder if he'd do the same to you. would his tongue trail up your inner thigh in hope to get a taste of you? would he catch your juices before it spills? or would he be too caught in the act of pleasuring you, not stopping until you can't babble his name no more?
this is a point of no return, and you find yourself squeezing your thighs together desperately, deeply ashamed and eaten alive by your sudden arousal. you wish that you could blame sam, but you know damn well that you asked for it.
a soft call of your name brings you back to the real world, and you quickly realize that it came from sam, who's looking at you with fairly parted lips. "are you okay?"
you blink twice, letting you eyes readjust before meeting his. you don't get the chance to reply as the coldness of your fingers shifts your attention back to the melting popsicle in your hand. the juice glazes your skin, its sugary composition leaving an uncomfortable, sticky layer on your fingers. "uh, yeah. i think i should go get some napkins or something, you want some?"
sam only flashes you a toothy smile of his as you stand, still facing him, before replying, "no need."
he slowly brings his fingers to his mouth, starting with his thumb as he wraps his lips around it, forming a small pout when he sucks on the rough pad with a soft hum. once he's satisfied enough, he sticks his tongue out to drag it along his middle finger, all while sneaking quick glances at you.
you can't tell if he's doing it on purpose, if you're imagining it, or if the whole act is just inherently sensual.
whatever it is, it's working.
you make you way towards the car, stumbling on your feet in the process. you hurriedly grab a few napkins in order to clean your hands, and your mind races. unsure if you'd rather act on it, or bury this frustration of yours as deep as possible.
as you finally gain your composure back, sam is already looking at you. there's something in his eyes that you can't read, a dangerous spark you'd prefer not to acknowledge. when you finally sit, he extends his still sticky hand towards you, offering a slice. "want some?"
it takes you a few seconds to understand the gesture, still shaken up by your overworking mind. you raise a shaky hand to accept the slice, and sam takes advantage of the small gap between your parted lips to place the small piece in your mouth.
his hand hovers near your face, waiting for you to bite on the slice, or swallow it whole. when you do so, his fingers land on your bottom lip, tracing it carefully. you open your mouth, almost unconsciously, and you see it again, that small smile on his lips. it even twitches when you slowly suck on his finger, a strange rush of pleasure traveling though your body, making your eyelids close.
sam presses his digit against your tongue. it's warm, and a shaky breath escapes him as a broken whimper reaches his ears. his awareness of the public setting you're currently in makes him withdraw from between your lips after long seconds. your eyes flutter open, and realization hits. he already misses the feeling of your tongue working around his skin, tasting him with a neediness he's never witnessed before.
sam catches the reddish pink tone of your cheeks, and he brings his tacky hand to the crown of your hair, petting you gently. "is this what you wanted all along?"
you nod once, a hint of shame lingering in your heart. the shy gesture makes his chest burn with need, like he has to give you everything you've ever wanted right at this moment.
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė sam loves to buy you gifts each time you stop at a gas station. it can go from a funny looking plush, to your favorite snacks, or a book he thought you'd enjoy reading.
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė his jacket collection started growing as you got together, some of them are gifts, and others are duplicates. he purposely bought some of them twice, just so that each time you steal one from him, he'll match with you by wearing the other one.
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė sam absolutely adores pet names, especially coming from you. he loves to call you baby or honey, but your name will always be his favorite word. hearing you call him by those same names always make the cutest smile appear on his lips.
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė words of affirmations and physical touch are his favorite love languages. he can sit you down and tell you how much you mean to him, how much of an impact you have on him, and he'll do it for hours if he has to. even when he trips over his tongue, he always manages to tell you every single one of his thoughts and feelings when he's around you.
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė whenever you're close to him, his hands will be on you. he doesn't always mean it in a possessive, or even sexual way, sam just enjoys the softness of your skin. he's also a huge waist grabber, his grip will always be on you waist each time you lean in to kiss him.
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė sam is soft spoken in nature, but he his even more when he's conversing with you. even when he's angry, he never raises his voice at you, he just physically can't. instead he'll keep the same, soft tone you love so deeply.
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė he puts sticky notes all around your room and on your belongings. if he's awake before you and knows he won't be here when you wake up, he'll leave notes in your bedside table, on your laptop, and even in your purse. his love notes became so frequent, you had enough to fill a jar up to the rim, and not even one duplicate can be found, each one of his notes are unique, proof of his ever-growing feelings.
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė even if sam is significantly taller than most people, there's times where he wishes he could be smaller, for once. when you cuddle, he'll often ask if you'd be okay with letting him on top of you, which you always accept. sam would then carefully ly his whole weight on you, settle his head on you chest, and put his caring arms around your waist, sighing loudly in contentment.
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė sam cherishes each one of the moments he's lucky enough to share with you. if he ever finds himself enjoying something while you're away, he'll bring it up to whoever's around him, grinning as he explains how everything is suddenly better when you're here.
As Supreme Leader of the First Order and a master of the Dark Side, he possesses immense telekinetic power, mind-probing abilities, and unstable combat aggression.
> THREAT LEVEL
Unstable, volatile, and deeply isolated. Proceed with extreme caution.
> KNOWN FOR
Commanding the First Order, freezing blaster bolts mid-air, destroying his own command consoles in fits of rage, and wielding a crackling cross-guard red lightsaber.
š LAST KNOWN LOCATION
Exegol
š Observations
Supporting Documentation š
> FANFICTION
Please visit the Office of Literary Preservation to view collection.
> HEADCANONS & RELATIONSHIP DYNAMICS
You'd be a quiet, sharp-minded historian/data analyst assigned to the Supreme Leaderās private archives. With no special powers or combat training, you are somewhat a unique find in a world dominated by soldiers, Sith lore, and weaponized aggression.
You grew up entirely removed from the physical violence of war, spending your life in pristine universities mastering ancient galactic history, dead languages, and high-level data encryption. You never joined the military academy or bought into the loud, fanatical propaganda of the First Order; you simply cared about preserving history before it was destroyed by galactic conflict.
As the First Order secretly rebuilt its forces in the Unknown Regions, agents quietly recruited top-tier civilian specialists from sympathetic Core World universities. Your rare ability to translate ancient languages made you a prime target.
You were offered an immense, unrestricted budget and access to a massive, classified collection of historical data. As a devout researcher, the chance to study vaults of forbidden galactic history was impossible to turn down.
You only realized the true, terrifying scale of the military regime once you were transported to Star Destroyer. By then, you were too valuable to let leave, and you knew too many secrets to ever step away.
While the entire crew and military staff live in absolute terror of Kylo Renās volatile temper, you remain completely calm, focusing strictly on your work and treating him with professional respect rather than fear.
You first meet him late one night, unexpectedly. You're reviewing old texts from Mandalore, when Kylo Ren storms into your archive department, fueled by rage and looking for demanding specific, forgotten Sith lore or blueprints regarding Darth Vader.
Instead of cowering or backing away when he destroys a nearby terminal in frustration, you calmly step around the smoke, pull up the exact encrypted file he needs, and slide the datapad across the desk to him.
Intrigued and deeply unsettled by your lack of fear, Kylo uses the Force to read your mind, expecting to find hidden terrorābut he finds only focus, a deep appreciation for history, and a strange, grounding quiet that immediately calms his chaotic mind.
Under the guise of needing continuous research on ancient artifacts, Kylo begins demanding your presence, isolating you in the archives for hours each night.
Your relationship starts without words. He will sit across from you, brooding and staring into space (at least only when you were looking) using your calm, organized environment to escape the constant pressure of the First Order, and the haunting voice of Snoke still in the back of his mind.
One night, while you are quietly translating an old text, he reaches up and removes his helmet with a heavy hiss, exposing his scarred, vulnerable face to you for the first time as a silent sign of trust. When your eyes meet for the first time, yours do not waiver from his gaze. "You didn't flinch," he'd observe. "Should I, Supreme Leader?"
He'd come to stand and cross over into your personal space, his large frame casting a long shadow over you at your desk, his jaw tense: "Most turn away. Or they look at the scar and see a monster. What do you see?"
With only a small pause, you respond, standing to face him head on: "I see a man carrying the weight of an entire galaxy on his shoulders...someone who needs a moment of quiet."
And when you gently bring a hand up to his scar, he instantly flinches, a sharp gasp catching in his throat. His hand flies up, his large, gloved fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist. He doesn't pull your hand away, but his grip is trembling. "Don't."
You don't pull back, keeping your gaze completely steady against his intense stare. "It's healing. But it still looks like it hurts."
His eyes search yours, desperately looking for pity, deceit, or terror, but finding none. Slowly, his tight grip on your wrist relaxes, his fingers sliding down to trace the back of your hand as you cup his cheek. "The pain keeps me focused. It reminds me of what must be destroyed."
"It just looks exhausting to carry." You still your hand against his face and stay close, never breaking eye contact, waiting for him to be the one to step away.
He lets out a low, ragged breath, leaning his face into your palm for a brief, heavy second, completely disarmed, but then he steps back, his face returning to nonchalance as he turns, returning to his seat. "No one else touches me without a weapon in their hand. Remember that. Keep translating."
Yet things shift after that night. When he is away on dangerous missions across the galaxy, you begin to experience quiet, unintentional Force-bonds where he reaches out across space just to see you sitting at your desk. Once you couldāve sworn his gloved fingers brushed your cheek, but when you turned, he was gone.
He becomes fiercely possessive of you. If General Hux or some other high-ranking officer raises their voice at you, Kyloās lightsaber is instantly ignited, making it terrifyingly clear that you are completely off-limits to everyone but him.
You even learn his real name: Ben.
During a heavy shift in his internal conflict, he traps you between himself and the wall of the archive room, breathing heavily. He tells you that you are his only anchor to sanity, demanding that you stand with him as he takes control of the galaxy.
You keep your voice soft, controlled. "I can't do that, Ben."
His jaw tightens, a flash of hurt and anger flickering across his face at the sound of his true name. "Don't call me that. And you don't mean that. Look around you! The First Order is ours. I can crush Hux. I can wipe out the Resistance. I can give you anything you want, but I need you standing next to that throne. With me.ā
You slowly reach up, placing your palms flat against his solid chest, feeling the frantic, rapid thud of his heartbeat. "I don't want a throne. And I don't want to rule a galaxy that is built on ash and fear. If I step up there with you, I become just another cage for you. I won't do it."
He leans down closer, his forehead almost touching yours, his voice dropping to a desperate, cracked whisper. "You would leave me? ā¦You once told me I looked exhausted. You touched my scar. You know what they will do to me if I am weak. If you don't stand with me, I have nothing left but the dark."
You slide your hands up from his chest, gently cupping the sides of his face, forcing him to look directly into your eyes. "I am not leaving you. Iā¦I am asking you to leave this. I don't want to rule the galaxy, Ben... I want to live a life of peace. And I want to live it with you. But you have to choose to walk away from the throne to get it."
He freezes, completely paralyzed by the word 'peace'. His gloved hands slowly drop from the wall, his large frame suddenly trembling as the reality of your offer fights against the dark side's grip. "Peace... there is no peace for someone like me."
"There is. Right here. If you let it."
It isn't until after his next mission, one where he is forced to commit an atrocity, that he storms into your archive room, trembling with a mix of rage and immense guilt. Falling to his knees before you, you reach for him, removing his helmet to cradle his face in your hands, seeing his eyes well with tears. You whisper to him that he doesn't have to be a monster to be strong, and that choosing to walk away isn't cowardice; it is the ultimate act of defiance.
Hearing you offer unconditional safety, the Supreme Leader persona completely cracks. He drops his head onto your shoulder, his large frame shaking as he finally admits aloud for the first time: "I can't do this anymore."
Using your clearance, you quietly manipulate First Order data streams. You erase flight logs, forge clearance codes for a non-military transport ship, and scrub any record of your own civilian identity.
On a chaotic night when the fleet is preparing for deployment, you and Ben slip down to a dark hangar bay. He leaves his heavy black cape and his crackling red lightsaber sitting on your archive deskāa final, silent message to the First Order that Kylo Ren is dead.
You escape to a lush, quiet planet on the outer rim of the galaxy, completely detached from the galactic war.
He grows out his facial hair, trades his dark armor for soft, civilian linens, and works with his handsābuilding, farming, and fixing things.
Every single morning, he wakes up, looks at you sleeping beside him, and kisses your forehead. He constantly reminds you that while the Force connects the galaxy, you are the anchor that saved his soul.
His nicknames for you as Kylo: he would be strictly formal at first, using your title of Archivist in place of your real name. Slowly, your name becomes more used as you build trust, gradually adding names like Little Scholar if he wanted to tease you (or Little One when he noted how your eyes dilated at its use).
His nicknames for you as Ben: Sweetheart is his favorite, but he also likes Darling and My Girl (and of course he uses Little One against you to get what he wants, or to simply fluster you).
This is one version of a Kylo x You dynamic that I've always loved, but I may do some "addendums" for other ideas!
oh hi thereā¦just want toā¦riding dean winchesterās absā¦are you feeling me? pretty pretty please even a small drabbleš„¹š„¹
riding bf!deanās abs
ā¢ćą¾šš„ą±æ āyeah, thatās it baby. juuuustt like that.ā deanās words are completely inaudible to you when youāre humping pathetically against his toned and solid stomach, leaving glistening trails of arousal all over his abs.
the concept of riding your boyfriendās abs had never crossed your mind once. shocking, i know. but seeing him laid out on the couch shirtless looking like that? the sudden waterfall between your legs was an understatement.
āmmāuh, dean!ā you gasp, eyes squeezing shut to just feel the moment. feel the way your hole clenches around nothing. feel the way your clit bumps over the defined ridges of his skin.
dean just groans, hands struggling to find where they wanna grab you. your waist, hips, tits, before finally settling on your ass, giving it a sharp smack. you cry out, the slap sending a wave of shock throughout your body, traveling to your core which was soaking his flexing abs to the bone more than before now.
ādeanāā you whine his name incoherently, head falling down to hide your flushed face in his chest. he chuckles, squeezing your ass tight. āyou close baby?ā he asks in a low tone, lips finding yours.
you moan into the sloppy kiss, hips rutting over his stomach harder to chase that high. when he pulls back, itās only to tut at you, kneading your already reddened backside. ājesus look at you. already āboutta cum from this ān i havenāt even fucked you properly yet, doll.ā his fingers find your swollen, neglected clit, giving it the attention she needsāsweet, delicate rubs and little presses here and there while your hips continue dragging up and down on him.
you let out a broken sob at the overstimulation and his words, thighs shaking around his waist and pussy dripping so wet it should be a crime. the only right thing to do in this situation, should be to punish you for being able to cum faster on his abs than his cock. itās honestly disrespectful, dean thinks. he fucks you stupidly good every single fuckinā night. takes his time with you, makes sure you feel every inch of him inside your warm little cuntāand this is how you repay him? cumming quicker somewhere else not his dick?
so not right. but thatās okay. heās being nice right nowābut later, heāll make sure you learn your lesson. ācāmon sweetheartāwanā my cock in here next donātcha?ā he says more impatiently, giving your pussy a few quick smacks. you moan out loud, nodding dumbly. youāre so close. dean hums low, slapping your ass before his thumb probed at your tight rim, āyeahhh you do. now fuckinā hurry up or iāll stick my cock right here instead, huh?ā
soft bf!dean who yearns for sweet romance and innocent intimacy āā¹
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė dean never realized how much he craved sweet intimacy until you spent a whole night laying by his side on the hard matress of a motel bed, bodies facing each other as you whispered heartfelt confessions against the warmth of his skin.
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė dean always holds your hand while driving, occasionally placing soft kisses on your knuckles as he listens to the soothing sound of your voice.
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė whenever he came back to you after a stressful hunt, he often found himself toying with your favorite ring as you held his hand, waiting for him to tell about his day. now, whenever he's away and his mind wanders to you, his fingers wrap around your ring, that is now dangling off his necklace, smiling as if you were with him.
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė dean fights sleep just to spend more time with you. even when he's clearly sleepy, he'll find a way to keep you near him. he doesn't mind laying in uncomfortable positions, he'd even ignore the numbness of his arm if that means you will stay awake with him just for a few more minutes.
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė dean keeps his hands on you at all times. he loves to caress your cheeks when you look up at him, or even squish them together until your lips form an exaggerated pout, kissing them delicately before fully melting into you.
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė if he happens to wake up before you, he will stay there in complete silence, watching your relaxed features as he slowly threads his fingers through your hair. after a few minutes, he'd lean in carefully before peppering soft kisses all over your face to wake you up.
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė dean keeps polaroids of you in his car. one of them is a picture of you he'd taken after you forcefully woke him up at 5 a.m to watch the sunrise. it shows you, sitting on the hood of his car with the cutest smile on your face, his jacket wrapped around you.
the second one is a picture of you both at a halloween party that sam took while you were kissing, clearly amused by your sudden display of affection. despite the amount of alcohol you both drank that night, dean was fast enough to cover your faces with his ridiculously big cowboy hat.
he loves those pictures more than anything, and stares at them everytime he misses you.
ā¹ ą£Ŗ Ė dean usually doesn't care much about classic litterature but slowy starts to find an interest in it after he hears you talk about your favorite books. one time, after a hunt, he came back to you with a bag full of books, ones that you have previously mentionned as 'on your tbr'.
you'd sometimes quietly laugh at him as he calls your books boring, before reminding him how he willingly spent an entire evening with his head on your lap, listening to you read out loud as you played with his hair.
The Curator, Et Al., 2026 @thelongingdepartment - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
