meiplays

[meiplays]

Let it burn🔥

Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

“I would let the world burn, I would let it burn for you”

The sky was an angry bruise—black and red bleeding into one another as flames swallowed the horizon. The world was dying, collapsing beneath Dean’s feet like ash in the wind. Fires raged through broken towns, smoke clawed at the sky, and the screams of the lost echoed in his ears—but none of it touched him anymore. Because nothing mattered except one thing: you.

Years had carved themselves into him like scars. The man standing before you now was a shadow of the Dean you once knew—eyes colder, harder, wild with a fury that had driven him to the edge. He’d lost everything that ever mattered, or so he thought, until a whisper of hope cracked through the chaos. You were alive.

He saw you emerge like a ghost born from the smoke and ruin—your clothes torn, your face streaked with dirt and tears, but unmistakably you. Heart pounding, you took a hesitant step forward.

Dean’s gaze snapped to you, the storm in his eyes flickering with disbelief. For a heartbeat, he looked like he might crumble, but then that dark fire blazed anew—wild, hungry, furious.

“You’re here,” he growled, voice thick with emotion and the weight of years lost. “After everything… after hell itself, you’re here.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I never left, Dean. I fought through everything just to get back to you.”

His jaw clenched hard, fingers twitching at your arms as if afraid you might slip through his fingers like smoke. Then, almost violently, he closed the gap, gripping you tight enough to leave bruises.

“I’d let the whole goddamn world burn,” he snarled, voice rough like gravel, “if it meant finding you. If it meant holding on to you.”

Your heart shattered in that moment—this wasn’t the Dean who’d smile softly in the Impala’s passenger seat. This was a man broken and raw, haunted by loss, but fiercely, desperately yours.

Your trembling hand lifted, fingertips brushing his cheek—scarred and rough beneath your touch, but warm and alive. Dean’s eyes squeezed shut, leaning into you like you were the only anchor left in a sinking world.

“I thought you were dead,” he whispered, voice cracking with a desperate pain. “I thought I’d lost you forever. It killed me every day.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “I never stopped fighting. I never stopped needing you.”

Dean’s hands moved down, pulling you flush against him. The heat between you was a wildfire, fierce and consuming. Without warning, his lips crashed onto yours—hard, hungry, demanding—like he was trying to swallow every lost second in one desperate kiss.

You moaned, hands tangling in his hair, matching his fierce urgency with your own hunger. The world outside could burn to ash; in this moment, there was only the two of you—raw, aching, alive.

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours, breaths ragged and mingled. His voice dropped low, fierce with a dark promise.

“I’d let hell rise to burn the whole damn world if it meant keeping you safe. You’re mine. Always.”

Tears spilled freely now, but you smiled through the ache, knowing whatever came next, you weren’t alone.

“Then don’t you ever let me go, Dean. Not ever.”

His lips curled into a rough, bruising smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, you both just stood there in the ruins—two broken souls holding onto each other as the world burned around you. The villain Dean had become was still in him, the fire that made him ruthless and wild—but here, with you, that fire was tempered with something fiercer than pain or anger. It was love. Fierce and unyielding.

He pulled you tighter, hands trailing down your back, tracing the curve of your spine like he needed to memorize every inch.

“I missed you more than I thought possible,” he murmured into your hair, voice rough and thick with want. “Every goddamn day felt like hell without you.”

You tilted your head back, eyes searching his, a spark of heat lighting between you. “Then don’t waste a second more.”

Dean’s mouth captured yours again, slower this time but no less intense. Fingers tangled in your hair, holding you captive with every breath. His hunger was desperate, raw—like a man who’d lost everything but found his reason to fight again.

“I swear, if it’s the last thing I do,” he growled against your lips, “I’ll burn this world down for you.”

And as the firestorm raged outside, you knew one thing: no matter how dark the night, no matter how much the world tried to tear you apart, you belonged to each other. Unbreakable, unstoppable.

...

[meiplays]

Dean Winchester x Reader - Fluff ٭

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆  ~ (So unbelievably cute it might break your heart — ultimate puppy Dean cuddles & kisses) ☆~

Dean’s whole body was practically glued to yours, warm and heavy like the softest, fluffiest puppy who decided you were the best thing ever. His cheek was smooshed right against your jawline, and his arms were locked tight around your ribs like a human bear hug you never wanted to escape.

Then suddenly, he popped his head up with the biggest, goofiest grin ever — like he just remembered the best thing in the world.

“Hey—hey! Did you know I’m kinda obsessed with you?” he asked, voice all soft and playful.

Before you could say anything, Dean launched into a full-on attack of kisses — tiny, wet, scruffy kisses all over your face. Your cheeks, nose, forehead, eyelids, even your chin couldn’t escape his mouth.

Each kiss came with a little “Mmmph” or “Yeah, that’s right,” or “Gotcha again!” like you were his absolute favorite toy.

You giggled so hard your stomach hurt, trying to squirm away but failing because he was too good at cuddling.

“Dean! Stop! You’re gonna wear out my face!” you laughed.

He just laughed back, voice low and happy. “Never. Your face is my favorite place in the world.”

Then he snuggled back down, pressing his nose into your neck and sighing like he was exactly where he belonged. His arms tightened one last time, warm and protective, as he whispered, “I’m yours, and you’re mine. Forever.”

You smiled, heart melting, because Dean Winchester was being the absolute cutest puppy in existence — and you were so, so lucky to be his.

♡

[meiplays]

“Finally”

Negan x Reader | SFW but Spicy Intensity

SFW | Spicy tension | Reader is one of the wives (by choice) | Intense makeout + neck/chest kisses | Hickeys | Possessive Negan energy | ◆

Summary: reader has always been apart of the wives but still refused to wear the dress- as a way of protesting against Negan- but when Negan comes in your room one day to check up on you. He is taken by surprise. ◆

He wasn’t expecting it.

Not from you.

You’d made it very clear when you joined the Sanctuary that you weren’t just another pretty face in a silk dress waiting for Negan’s attention. You didn’t bow. You didn’t fawn. You were sharp-tongued, steel-eyed, a knife in velvet—and you chose to be one of his wives, not because you needed protection, but to spit in the face of the whole damn system and twist it to your advantage.

So when Negan stepped into your room that night, only meaning to check on you, maybe share a drink and trade a few insults…

He stopped cold.

You stood there in the doorway.

Wearing one of those dresses—black, short, scandalous. Hugging every inch of your curves like it belonged to you.

Like you owned it.

And goddamn if it didn’t make his jaw clench.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, stepping in and closing the door behind him like a man possessed.

You raised a brow, arms folded, legs crossed as you leaned on the dresser, calm as hell. “Don’t start thinking I’ve joined the club. This isn’t for them. It’s for you.”

His eyes flicked down your body, heat rolling off him like wildfire. “Well, sweetheart, mission—fucking—accomplished.”

He crossed the room in two strides, crowding you up against the wall. His fingers curled into your waist, not roughly, but with this unbearable tension, like he was starving.

“You have any idea what you’re doing to me right now?” he growled, voice low and gritty, brushing his nose along your neck.

Your breath caught when he kissed just beneath your ear—slow, deep, hungry. Then another down the side of your neck. And another. His stubble scraped your skin, his hands sliding down your hips, gripping you like you might disappear.

“Say the word,” he murmured against your throat. “And I’ll stop. But goddamn, baby, you look like sin.”

You didn’t say a word. You just fisted his shirt and pulled him in.

His lips met yours—hot, desperate, claiming. Tongues tangling, teeth nipping, his hands roaming over that damn dress like he wanted to burn the memory into his palms. He kissed you like he was drowning and you were air.

This wasn’t about control.

It wasn’t about the harem.

It was about you.

And for once, Negan wasn’t the one with the power.

You were.

And he loved it.

...

Your back hit the edge of the dresser with a soft thud, a breathless gasp leaving your lips before Negan’s mouth was back on yours—hot, relentless, like he’d snapped.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he groaned, voice gravel-thick and low as he pressed into you, caging you in with his hips. “You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me right now.”

You tried to answer, but his lips claimed yours again—teeth grazing, tongue deepening the kiss until your knees weakened. His hands were everywhere—palms dragging over your waist, then your thighs, then up to your ribs like he needed to touch you to breathe.

Then his mouth trailed lower.

Your head fell back as his lips found your jaw, then your throat—open-mouthed kisses turning to suckling bites that made you gasp.

“Right here,” he muttered, voice muffled against your skin. He sucked a bruise just below your jaw, groaning like he needed to leave proof. “No one else gets this view but me. No one else gets to see you lookin’ this fuckin’ wrecked from kisses.”

You let out a shaky laugh, hands threading through his hair as his mouth moved lower, tracing the neckline of that black dress—his stubble scraping, his lips dragging heat over the swell of your breasts. He didn’t push the dress down—he didn’t need to. He worshipped above the fabric, slow, sinful kisses pressed into every inch he could reach, dotting you in blooming hickeys like a trail.

“Gonna mark you up so every single person in that goddamn hall knows,” he growled softly, teeth grazing again. “You’re mine. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

You only whimpered in reply—body arching, heat curling through you in waves. Ionly by some miracle. Because his hands stayed decent, his words barely did, and his mouth?

His mouth was everywhere.

And you let him have you like that—against the dresser, gasping and writhing under kisses so deep they made your soul ache. Letting him brand you with want. With need. With love he didn’t say out loud, but you felt in every inch of his touch.

Because tonight…

That dress was just the beginning.

[meiplays]

Sweet Distractions

Pairing: Gabriel (Richard Speight Jr) x Reader

Rating: SFW / Fluff overload

Summary: You're finally alone after a long day researching with Sam and Dean. The second Gabriel gets you to himself, he’s all over you with snuggles and sweets.

The bunker was quiet—which was rare.

Sam had finally gone to bed, and Dean had mumbled something about running out for a burger and pie. That left you alone in the war room, hunched over books and notes about the latest hunt: a cursed object case in Iowa, classic misdirection, zero fun.

Your eyes were starting to blur from staring at faded Latin for hours.

You didn’t even hear him appear.

One second, you're stretching your arms with a sigh—and the next, a blur of golden light flashes in your peripheral vision followed by—

"BOOM! Incoming archangel snuggle missile!"

A familiar weight slammed into your side, arms wrapped tightly around you before you could yelp. You fell back into the chair with a dramatic grunt, giggling even as Gabriel buried his face into your neck like a needy golden retriever who’d been left alone for five minutes too long.

"Gabriel!" you laughed, squirming. "You're gonna knock the table over!"

He nuzzled into you, dramatically inhaling your scent like it powered his grace. "Mmm. Finally. My sugarplum has time for cuddles. I thought I was gonna die from affection starvation."

You snorted. "You're literally immortal."

"Not from emotional neglect, I’m not," he pouted into your shoulder. "Those nerdy Winchesters hogged you all day. It's cruel and unusual."

You turned a bit, finally able to loop your arms around him. His vessel was warm, always a little extra toasty like sunshine trapped in a body. "We were working on the case. You know—saving lives?"

He groaned melodramatically. "Ugh, humans and your responsibility. Come on, babe, I need serotonin. You. Me. Kitchen. Chocolate. Let’s make something sweet and forget about cursed cornfield crap."

You blinked. "Desserts?"

He pulled back just enough to beam at you, golden eyes twinkling. "I stocked your cabinets. I may or may not have hidden a stash of marshmallows, brownie mix, and butterscotch chips in your pantry."

You stared. "You were that bored?"

"Desperate times." He snapped his fingers—and the lights dimmed slightly like you were about to enter a Food Network special. "Come on, sugar bean. Operation: Spoon and Smooches is a go."

Ten minutes later, you were laughing breathlessly in the kitchen, apron wrapped haphazardly around your waist (courtesy of a Gabriel snap). He wore one too—golden with little cupcakes on it and your name embroidered in cursive across the chest. Of course he did.

Gabriel was doing the absolute most. He stirred with dramatic flair, flicked flour at you any chance he got, and insisted on taste-testing the chocolate batter with a finger right off the spoon—then poked it in your mouth like he was the snack.

"Say ahhhh," he grinned, finger coated in gooey brownie mix.

You raised an eyebrow but leaned in anyway, tongue brushing over the chocolate—and the pad of his finger. His eyes flared gold for a split second.

"Delicious," you hummed, smug.

His smirk turned into a smolder. "Careful, sweetheart. I might ditch the brownies and eat you instead."

You flushed. "Gabe!"

"I'm kidding!" he said quickly, though clearly not sorry at all. "…Mostly."

Eventually, the two of you were curled on the bunker’s couch with a plate of messy, still-warm brownies between you. Gabriel had his arms around your waist, head tucked against your shoulder, as you fed each other gooey chunks and occasionally got frosting on each other’s noses.

"Better than cursed Latin?" he murmured, his voice low and affectionate against your skin.

You smiled and leaned your head against his. "Way better."

"Good," he murmured. "Because next time they try to steal you all day, I’m teleporting you to Paris. Screw the ghosts."

You laughed softly, tilting your head to kiss his temple. "Deal."

[meiplays]

I NEED MORE GABRIEL PLS

Okay so I was thinking about maybe Winchester reader who’s on a hunt with one of the boys and Gabriel misses reader so he appears to visit while whichever one of the Winchesters that went with her on the hunt is just like our getting food while reader does research. Definitely established relationship. I can’t wait to read it! I love your writing 🫶🏼🥰

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ sugar between cracks,

summary. you're doomed to research duty. luckily, gabriel is just a snap of fingers' away from you.

pairing. gabriel x winchester!reader genre. fluff ; established relationship

wordcount. 595

notes / warnings. gabriel being cheeky, reader being a sucker for him eheh // thank you for requesting bubs 🩷🩷

The motel room smells like old carpet and burnt coffee. You’re curled up on the bed, laptop perched on your thighs, the screen glowing with grainy photos of claw marks and crime scenes. Sam's off grabbing food, probably arguing with the drive-thru speaker while you’re left to sift through another cursed case that’s already starting to feel like a bust.

Your eyes ache. Your back aches. Your brain is screaming for something not soaked in blood and folklore.

Then, there's that flutter.

Not of wings — that would be too cliché for him. It’s more like a breeze curling under the doorframe, a golden warmth that prickles across your skin, and the faintest scent of honey and ozone.

You don’t even have to look up.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you say, voice already softer than it was the entire day.

Gabriel’s grin stretches slow and smug, materializing at the edge of the bed like he’s stepped out of your favorite daydream. Which, let’s be honest, he kind of did.

“Technically, I’m never supposed to be anywhere,” he says, tilting his head. “But here I am. Your very own cosmic break from murder and mayhem.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile’s already tugging at your lips.

“You could’ve waited ‘til Dean left too. He’s picking up burgers for five minutes.”

Gabriel shrugs, eyes twinkling. “Too long. I missed you.”

He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the universe. Like the chaos of Heaven and Hell and whatever’s burning in between means nothing next to missing you.

Your laptop’s still open, but your focus is already gone. Gabriel flops down beside you, stretching like a cat, and you can feel the buzz of his grace like static against your skin. He smells like cinnamon and sugar and the faintest hint of danger. Like mischief baked into something sweet.

He traces his fingers lightly over your wrist. “You’ve got a whole motel room and you’re sitting here with this clunky little murder machine?”

“It’s called research,” you murmur, already leaning into him. “Somebody’s gotta make sure the thing we’re hunting doesn’t eat Sam alive.”

Gabriel hums, unimpressed, and his hand slides up your arm, palm warm and slow. “And what about me? What if I’m starving?”

You glance at him, smirking. “Didn’t you just crash a bakery in Belgium yesterday?”

“I meant emotionally, sweetheart.” He presses a soft, feather-light kiss to your shoulder. “I haven’t gotten a single sarcastic insult from you in days. Do you know how deprived I am?”

You laugh under your breath, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist like you’re the anchor that keeps him grounded.

“I hate how good you smell,” you mutter into his neck.

Gabriel grins against your skin. “I know. It’s tragic for you.”

There’s a rustle outside. A car door slamming. You both freeze.

“It's them?” you whisper.

Gabriel sighs, melodramatic as ever. “And just when things were getting fun.”

You shove him lightly, already climbing off his lap. “Go. Before he sees you.”

He leans in for one last kiss, sweet and deep and dangerous.

“I’ll be back,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “And next time? No research.”

He disappears with a crackle of air and sugar, just as the motel door swings open and Sam walks in with two paper bags.

“Did you turn up anything useful?” he asks, dropping food on the table.

You close your laptop, cheeks flushed.

“Maybe,” you say, smiling to yourself. “Still piecing it together.”

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[meiplays]

Ain’t My First Rodeo, Darlin’

Word Count: ~950

Rating: SFW, spicy, slowburn Western

The sun had dipped low behind the hills, painting the sky in shades of whiskey and blood. The doors of the saloon creaked open as a shadow stepped through the dust, boots hitting the floor with a heavy, confident rhythm. You didn’t need to look up from behind the bar to know who it was.

Negan.

He tipped his hat toward you, cocky grin already in place, a toothpick dangling lazily from his lips. “Evenin’, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice deep and honey-thick, with a touch of trouble.

“Negan,” you replied, feigning indifference while your pulse jumped like a jackrabbit. “Back so soon? Didn’t peg you for the clingy type.”

He leaned against the counter, arms folded, leather gloves tucked into his belt. “Ain’t clingy, darlin’. Just know what I like. And I like you pourin’ my whiskey.”

Your hands paused over the bottle. “Smooth talk don’t work on me.”

He chuckled low in his chest. “Good thing I ain’t tryin’ to be smooth. I’m just honest.”

You rolled your eyes and poured him a glass. “That’ll be a dollar.”

He slid a gold coin across the bar, fingers brushing yours a little too long. “Keep the change. Buy yourself something pretty—though I reckon you don’t need help lookin’ like that.”

You swallowed hard, heat rising up your neck despite your best efforts.

The saloon buzzed with music and conversation, but the air between you two held its own kind of charge—something thick, something hot, something dangerous.

“You know,” he said, swirling his drink, “ain’t much keeps me coming back to a place like this. Dust, heat, rowdy drunks…”

“But?”

He grinned, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip. “But then there’s you. Walkin’ around here in that little apron, thinkin’ you’re just servin’ drinks. When really, sugar… you’re temptin’ a man straight into hell.”

You raised a brow. “You always this dramatic, cowboy?”

His eyes darkened just a shade. “Only when I’m workin’ on somethin’ worth the burn.”

You turned away to hide your smile and grabbed a towel to wipe the bar, but Negan wasn’t done. He leaned in, so close you could smell the smoke and spice on him.

“I ain’t touched you, not really,” he murmured, voice low and rough in your ear. “But I think about it. Bet you do too.”

Your breath hitched. The towel stilled in your hand.

“Think about what?” you asked, eyes narrowing.

He smirked, slow and sinful. “Touchin’ that soft skin. Feelin’ your breath catch just like that. Gettin’ my hands on your waist and pullin’ you in till there’s nothin’ between us but heat and a prayer.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

But you didn’t let him win.

You turned, met his gaze, and smiled sweetly. “That so?”

“Oh, it’s so, baby.” He took a slow sip, never breaking eye contact. “But I ain’t in a rush. A good woman’s like whiskey. Best when you savor it.”

A silence fell between you—tense, heavy, pulsing. You were hyperaware of his presence, the way his chest rose and fell, the flick of his eyes to your lips.

The music faded in your ears.

“Careful,” you warned, voice tight. “Keep talkin’ like that and I might start expectin’ somethin’.”

Negan leaned back with a chuckle. “Sweetheart, you can expect everything. Just say the word.”

You stared at him, then reached out—real slow—and plucked the toothpick from his mouth. He froze, eyes flicking down to your fingers.

You twirled it between yours and tucked it behind your ear, your voice just a whisper now.

“Next time, cowboy… try leadin’ with your actions.”

And with that, you sauntered away, hips swaying, leaving him at the bar with a wicked grin on his face and a fire in his blood.

The saloon lights glowed dim behind you, warm laughter and off-key piano notes echoing into the night. You stepped out into the warm hush of evening, the scent of leather, dust, and horses thick in the air.

And then… boots crunched behind you.

You didn’t turn. Didn’t need to.

“Followin’ me, cowboy?” you asked, slow and smug.

Negan’s voice came rough behind you, a low rasp, laced with heat. “Told you. I go after what I want.”

You spun on your heel to face him, arms crossed, but he was already close—too close—and his shadow fell over yours like a storm about to break.

His eyes dropped to your mouth.

“I meant what I said in there,” he murmured, tipping his hat back. “You’ve been in my head since the first damn drink you poured me.”

“Big talk for a man who hasn’t even touched me yet,” you challenged.

That did it.

His hands shot out, strong and warm, one curling around your waist, the other rising to cradle the side of your neck. His thumb stroked your jaw like he was memorizing it, his eyes dark with something fierce and hungry.

You should’ve pulled away. Should’ve teased him longer.

But then he leaned in—so slow you felt every breath, every heartbeat between you—and kissed you like a man starving.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was needy. Demanding. His lips claimed yours, hot and insistent, parting your mouth with a low groan as if he’d been holding back for far too long. Your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, his chest hard and hot against yours beneath the layers of dust and sweat.

He backed you up—slow but firm—until your back hit the side of the stable wall. His hands pinned you there, palms splayed against the rough wood on either side of your head.

His mouth broke from yours only to kiss down your jaw, then lower—lower—to your neck.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this,” he whispered against your skin, voice rough and sinful. “That pretty throat… all those times you turned away from me behind that bar. Teasin’ me without even tryin’.”

His lips brushed your pulse, then sealed over it, sucking just hard enough to steal your breath.

You gasped, fingers tangled in his collar, nails digging into the leather of his coat.

“Negan—”

“Shh, baby. Lemme taste you just a little.”

He dipped lower, tongue dragging along the curve of your neck, then up beneath your ear. Your knees went weak, and he chuckled darkly, catching you with an arm around your waist.

“Damn,” he breathed. “You smell like vanilla and sin.”

You whimpered—actually whimpered—as his mouth claimed yours again, deeper this time. Hotter. Your back arched into him as his hand cupped the small of your back, pulling you tight against the unmistakable shape pressing into your hip.

Your fingers curled around his hat, lifting it off and tossing it to the hay behind you.

“I wanna savor my every moment with you, worship you.” He groaned as he locked eyes with you, the pleading brown orbs.

“Then why don’t you?” you whispered, breathless, eyes locked to his.

He groaned—deep and guttural—and kissed you again like you were oxygen. His hands slipped lower, fingers skating over your hips, grabbing the fabric of your skirt like he was fighting himself not to go further.

“‘Cause I told you,” he panted between kisses, “I savor the good stuff. And you, sweetheart… you’re the best damn thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

He kissed you harder then—messy, open-mouthed, biting your bottom lip before soothing it with a tongue. You moaned into it, hips grinding instinctively against his thigh.

You were dizzy.

Drunk on him.

He finally broke the kiss, foreheads pressed together, his breath ragged.

“If I don’t stop,-” he growled, voice rough with restraint- but his eyes said everything.

You blinked up at him, lips swollen, heart racing like wildfire.

You got the hint.

“Then maybe,” you whispered, voice husky, “you should come back after midnight. When I want to be ruined.”

His smirk returned—slow, devilish.

“Oh, darlin’...” he murmured, brushing a kiss over your throat one last time, “…I’ll come back. And I’ll bring the rope.”

END

[meiplays]

“Not My Dean”

Dean Winchester x Reader | Established Relationship | Shapeshifter Plot | Spicy but SFW | ~900 words

Dean’s thumb brushed grease from the corner of your lips. “Messy eater,” he teased, then popped the last bite of his burger into his mouth.

You stole one of his fries. “Yours taste better.”

He leaned back in the booth, gave you a half-lidded look. “That’s ‘cause I got good taste, sweetheart.”

You snorted, cheeks warm. Even after months of being together, Dean still made your stomach flip like it was day one.

“I gotta hit the head,” he said, sliding out of the booth. “Don’t go runnin’ off with some pretty boy.”

You smirked. “Only if he brings me pie.”

He winked and walked off.

But when he came back… it wasn’t him.

He sat next to you, not across. Close. Too close. The scent was off. The weight in his stare was wrong. The way he leaned in to drag his fingers down your thigh wasn’t Dean—it was a performance. A mockery.

“Miss me, babe?” he whispered against your jaw.

You turned, slowly, forcing your breathing to stay even. “You never call me that.”

The smile stayed—but his eyes flickered silver.

Cold dread hit you like ice water.

“You’re not him,” you whispered.

The thing grinned wider. “He really doesn’t deserve you. So easy to love. So soft. So… touchable.”

You shoved away from the booth with your silver knife already in hand, heart pounding. “Get out of his skin before I carve you out of it.”

The shifter tilted his head, amused. “He ever touch you like this in public?” His voice dropped. “Does he even know how badly you want to be pinned to a wall?”

You didn’t wait for another word—you ran.

You found Dean in an abandoned storm drain. Shirt bloodied. Hands tied. Eyes burning with fury.

“Y/N,” he rasped the second he saw you. “He didn’t—he didn’t touch you, did he?”

You dropped to your knees and started sawing through the ropes. “Not like you. Not the way you do.”

“Tell me what he did.”

“Dean—”

“Tell me,” he growled. Voice low. Dangerous. Barely holding it together.

“He sat too close. Put his hand on my thigh. Called me ‘babe.’ Said things in your voice that I knew weren’t you.”

Dean’s jaw locked. “That sick bastard.”

“He said you didn’t deserve me.”

The rope snapped and Dean lunged forward, grabbing your wrist—not to hurt, just to anchor himself.

His voice was a warning growl. “You’re mine. You hear me? That thing doesn’t get to wear my face and touch what’s mine.”

Your breath hitched.

He stood slowly, towering, furious. “I’m gonna tear him apart. With my bare hands.”

“Dean—”

He turned to you, suddenly quieter. Eyes still blazing. “You’re not just some girl to me, Y/N. You’re mine. My girl. My heart. My damn home.”

You stepped into him, both hands on his chest. “I knew it wasn’t you the second he looked at me.”

Dean blinked, like that truth settled something in him.

“How?”

“Because you never look at me like I’m a thing. You look at me like I’m everything.”

He exhaled hard, resting his forehead against yours. “No one touches you. No one talks to you like that. Ever.”

“I only want your hands on me, Dean.”

That broke something in him. A sound between a groan and a vow.

His hands cupped your face, thumb rough along your cheek. “Say it again.”

“I only want you.”

His mouth hovered over yours. “You have me. Every damn inch.”

Then, softer: “After I kill that thing, I’m not letting you out of my sight tonight.”

“Good.”

“Gonna put you in one of those motel beds, make you forget anyone else even tried.”

You flushed but didn’t pull away. “What’re you gonna do first?”

Dean’s voice dropped an octave. “Start with holding you. Pressing every part of me into you until you remember how it feels to be safe. Mine. And no one else’s.”

You shivered against him.

Then Dean’s expression hardened again.

“But first—I make him pay.”

You nodded. “I’m with you.”

His eyes flashed. “Damn right you are.”

Then she reached out and kissed him, Dean smiled against her lips, Dean turned around and saw Sam standing there with his eyebrows raised.

“what? I can't kiss my girl” you smiled.

“dude- you were eating her face off.” Sam laughed

[meiplays]

Just One Kiss

*post was inspired by another tumblr photos, photos belong to rightful owner*

You turned away for one second—literally just to grab your coffee—and when you looked back, Sam Winchester was pouting. Full-on, bottom-lip-jutted, tragic-eyed, kicked-puppy pouting.

“Really?” you laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Is this because I didn’t kiss you goodbye just now?”

He said nothing. Just stood there by the Impala, arms crossed, looking like someone told him they were out of pie and puppies. That ridiculous expression—half sulk, half silent protest—only made him look even bigger somehow, like an oversized teddy bear in a grumpy mood.

You took a slow step back toward him, smirking. “Sam, we’re going to the same place. I’ll see you in literally five minutes.”

Still nothing. Just a deeper pout.

“Oh, my god,” you giggled, reaching up to gently tug his collar and pull him down to your level. “You’re so dramatic.”

He leaned into your touch instantly, the fake attitude melting away as soon as your lips brushed his cheek.

Then another quick kiss, right on the lips, just to be sure.

He grinned. “That’s all I wanted.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart melted anyway. “Big baby.”

He wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your head. “Your big baby.”

And just like that, you knew you'd be late—but very, very happy about it.

[meiplays]

"Grace in a Wish" – Castiel x You (Birthday Drabble)

a/n: it's my birthday today! 💞🎀

You hadn’t expected much for your birthday—not in a world full of monsters and chaos. But when you walked into your room and found it filled with soft golden lights, a small cake on the nightstand, and Castiel standing there awkwardly holding a single flower, your heart skipped.

“I… wasn’t sure what people do on birthdays,” he said gently, eyes earnest and unsure. “But I know you like flowers. And sweet things. And quiet.”

You stepped closer, touched. “Cas… this is perfect.”

He shifted, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor before returning to yours. “You bring light into dark places. I wanted today to feel like that for you.”

Your breath caught at the raw honesty in his voice. No one else could say something so simple and make it feel like poetry.

“I didn’t even make a wish yet,” you murmured, stepping into his space.

Castiel tilted his head, studying you. “Then make one."

You didn’t need to close your eyes—you knew exactly what you wanted. Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his, soft and slow. He stilled for a moment, then melted into it, his hand rising gently to rest at your cheek.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and smiling, he blinked. “Did it come true?”

You nodded. “Yeah, Cas. It really did.”

𝜗𝜚

[meiplays]

I wanna smooch cas

[meiplays]

I am stupid, ok so I keep seeing the band Ghost on my feed and I had no idea this was like masks and prosthetics, so I thought it was a band of like old gnarly 75 year old guys hiding their old with makeup

Turns out it's one good looking guy in his forties who just likes to cover his face LMAO that's the funniest thing ever

[meiplays]

Dean Winchester x Reader ~ Fluff

You eye the burger Dean sets on the table like it personally insulted your family. “What in the unholy hell is that?”

Dean plops down across from you, grinning like he just won the lottery. “It’s called an Elvis burger, sweetheart.”

You squint. “Peanut butter. Bacon. Bananas. On a burger?”

“Damn right,” he says proudly. “The King knew what he was doing.”

You fold your arms, trying to hide your laughter. “Dean, that looks like someone dared a toddler to make lunch.”

“Hey,” he points a finger at you. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

He takes a giant bite, and for a second, he freezes—eyebrows raised, eyes wide, like the flavors are physically fist-fighting in his mouth.

You lean forward, smirking. “So? What’s it like kissing death with peanut butter on its lips?”

Dean slowly chews and swallows, then says in a dramatic whisper, “I think I just had a religious experience.”

You snort. “No way. You look like your soul left your body.”

“I’m serious,” he says, licking peanut butter off his thumb like it’s gourmet. “This thing’s incredible. Like breakfast and lunch got freaky in the kitchen and gave birth to the perfect burger baby.”

You burst out laughing, nearly spilling your drink. “Dean Winchester, did you just say burger baby with a straight face?”

“Hell yeah I did. And I’d name it after you.”

“Oh my God,” you wheeze, wiping tears from your eyes. “You’re in a committed relationship with that sandwich now. I hope you’re happy together.”

He leans in, peanut butter still on his lip. “C’mon, babe, one bite. For science.”

You recoil dramatically. “Absolutely not. If I wanted regret, I’d go through your browser history.”

Dean laughs, grabbing a napkin to wipe his face. “Suit yourself. But if I start having visions, don’t say I didn’t offer to share enlightenment.”

You roll your eyes and steal one of his fries. “You’re lucky I love you, even when you’re dating a banana burger.”

Dean winks. “Good. ‘Cause this banana burger’s gettin’ dessert later.”

You nearly choke on the fry. “DEAN!”

[meiplays]

Weight of It

Pairing: Mark Meachum x Reader

Summary: You were just supposed to be watching him work out. But Mark’s arms—veins flexing, sweat dripping, muscles rolling—make it impossible to focus. When he tells you to sit on his back during push-ups, the tension goes from playful to dangerous in seconds.

Warnings: SFW, but loaded with thick spicy tension. Muscle thirst (arms, back, veins, sweat). Reader sits on Mark’s back. Accidental grinding/riding during push-ups. Flirting. Eye contact that could cause fainting. Mutual desire that simmers just under the surface.

The cabin was quiet—except for the sound of Mark Meachum pulling gravity down with him.

You sat on a low bench, pretending you weren’t watching. But really? You hadn’t turned a page of your book in ten minutes.

He was up on the pull-up bar, gripping the thick beam like it owed him something. Veins ran down his forearms, arms thick and glistening, the tank top stretched tight over his chest and shoulders. The light overhead caught the shine of sweat on his skin and the small patch of armpit hair visible every time his arms fully extended.

He grunted softly, chest lifting, biceps twitching. His jaw clenched, curls damp against his forehead. You bit the inside of your cheek, locking your thighs a little tighter together.

Then he dropped. Feet hitting the floor. Tank clinging to every line of muscle. His eyes locked on yours—smug, unreadable, and hot enough to burn.

“You’re staring.”

You didn’t even flinch. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

He rolled his shoulders, that cocky smirk tugging at his lips. “C’mere.”

“…What for?”

“Sit on my back.”

You blinked. “You’re kidding.”

He dropped into plank without another word. “Don���t make me ask twice.”

You hesitated—but only for a second. Then you were moving. You straddled his waist carefully, lowering your weight onto his back. Your hands braced on his shoulders for balance, your thighs wrapping around him instinctively. His body was burning—solid muscle under you, every breath tight and focused.

“Ready?” he asked, like he wasn’t already smug as hell.

“You sure you can handle me?”

“Oh, I want to.”

And then he started.

Push-up.

Another.

And another.

Each one slower than the last, his back rolling beneath you in long, smooth motion. Your hips rocked with every dip, your thighs tightening with the shift of muscle beneath them. You tried not to move too much.

Tried.

But your balance slipped just a bit—and your hips pressed forward. Against the ridge of his back. Right over the base of his spine. And then you did it again. Maybe a little more purposefully.

His exhale broke.

“Damn,” he muttered, voice tighter now. “You grinding on me already?”

You froze.

But his voice was warm now—low, teasing, laced with a thread of something heavier. “Don’t stop.”

You didn’t. Not really. Maybe just… kept adjusting your seat. A little more weight. A little more friction.

“You’re not even struggling,” you mumbled, breath catching.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying it.” His hands flexed against the mat. “You’re warm. Squirmy. Distracting as hell.”

“Guess I’m doing my job.”

Another slow, solid push-up. Your fingers gripped his shoulders harder. The movement dragged - across his back, and you were definitely riding the motion now.

“You keep moving like that,” he said, voice low and strained, “and I might have to flip us over.”

You smirked down at him, breathless. “You’d lose your momentum.”

He dropped to his elbows—hovering just slightly above the ground—and looked back over his shoulder at you, eyes smoldering.

“Who says I need momentum to ruin you?”

Your breath hitched. Thighs clenched tighter.

Neither of you moved for a second. Just breathing. Just heat. Just sweat and eye contact and all the words you weren’t saying but were definitely feeling.

Then he grinned again—sharp, slow.

“Push up,” you whispered.

And he did.

...

[meiplays]

Penthouse Nights

Pairing: Ben (Jensen Ackles) x Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: Emotional/verbal abuse (non-graphic), anxiety, feeling unsafe/followed, daddy issues, age gap, protective!Ben, secret relationship, safe but spicy vibes, comforting beard kisses, very soft hurt/comfort

Summary: After another fight with your father, you go for a walk to clear your head—but when the shadows grow louder behind you, there’s only one man you want: Ben, your dad’s best friend. He doesn’t hesitate.

Your voice cracked somewhere in the middle of the sentence, and that was the last straw.

Your father didn’t raise his hand—he never did. But his words were weapons. And tonight, he was aiming to kill.

“You don’t think, do you? You just wander through life like a damn child. Useless. Always screwing things up—”

“I said I was sorry,” you whispered, but it wasn’t enough. It never was.

His face twisted, tired and angry, and he muttered something under his breath before turning away. Dismissed. You weren’t worth another second.

You blinked the sting out of your eyes and quietly grabbed your hoodie off the coat rack.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“Out,” you mumbled, not looking back.

You didn’t slam the door.

You never did. It was like you were afraid even the house would yell at you.

The summer night air hit your cheeks, warm and humid, but not enough to settle your shaking hands. You didn’t know where you were going, just that you needed to walk. Fast. Away.

Your mind buzzed. Maybe you were too sensitive. Maybe he was right. Maybe—

Your steps slowed.

You weren’t alone.

You didn’t hear footsteps. Not exactly. Just the weight of someone behind you. A presence.

You crossed to the other side of the street. A few seconds passed, and so did it.

Your breathing quickened.

You glanced behind you.

Someone was there. Hood up, walking slower, but not turning away. Not passing.

Not a coincidence.

You stepped off the sidewalk and slipped between two parked cars, ducking into a dim alley beside a closed café. You crouched low, heart thudding in your throat.

You pulled out your phone, fingers trembling.

Ben.

You didn’t even think.

The line clicked after barely one ring.

“Sweetheart?”

Your voice cracked. “I think someone’s following me.”

Silence. Then rustling. Keys. The sound of a door slamming shut.

“Where are you?” he asked, instantly calm, in control. “Send me your location. Don’t move.”

You shared it, voice thin. “I’m behind that coffee shop off Jefferson. I cut through—”

“I know where. Stay where there’s light. I’m five minutes away. Stay on the phone with me, yeah?”

You could already hear the low hum of his engine revving.

Your chest ached with relief. “Okay.”

“You hurt?” he asked, voice thick now, barely restrained.

“No. Just… scared.”

“Not for long.”

Ben’s truck turned the corner fast, headlights sweeping over the alley, and you stood the second you saw him.

The moment the door opened, you were in his arms.

You didn’t even have to ask.

He pulled you into his chest, shutting the passenger side door with one firm hand, holding you like the world had tried to take you and he wasn’t having it.

You buried your face in his neck, your tears silent but steady now. His beard scraped against your forehead as he pressed kiss after kiss there.

“You’re okay. I got you,” he murmured. “No one’s gonna touch you. Ever. I promise.”

Ben didn’t ask questions you didn’t want to answer.

Not about your dad.

Not about the fight.

Not even about the shadow behind you that had made you freeze up in fear. He only asked once: “You sure you weren’t followed?”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

He just clenched the steering wheel and muttered, “Good.”

You didn’t expect him to drive to his penthouse.

But when he opened the garage and pulled in, quiet and focused, you didn’t question it. You didn’t want to go home either.

Ben helped you out of the truck with one big, calloused hand wrapped around yours.

The moment the elevator doors shut, you exhaled for the first time.

No yelling.

No shadows.

Just him.

His place smelled like cedar and something warm—bourbon and aftershave and comfort. Familiar. Safe.

“Go grab a blanket, sweetheart. You’re shaking,” he said, already rummaging in the kitchen for something. “You want tea?”

You nodded, curling up on his couch.

By the time he joined you, you were wrapped up like a burrito, still tucked into the hoodie you’d left in his room last week.

Ben placed a mug on the table and sat beside you.

His eyes scanned your face, like he was memorizing every trace of fear so he could personally destroy it.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he murmured, voice low and raw. “You don’t deserve it. Not from him. Not from anyone.”

You looked down, blinking hard. “I’m just tired.”

Ben leaned forward, brushing a thumb along your damp cheek, his knuckles grazing your jaw. His voice softened. “You don’t have to explain. You don’t have to be strong here. Not with me.”

The tears came quietly, slipping down your cheeks.

Ben pulled you into his lap before you could blink.

Strong arms cradled you, his big hand rubbing slow circles up your spine as he kissed your temple. “You’re safe now. You hear me?”

You curled tighter into him, pressing your face into his neck.

“Your beard scratches,” you whispered, trying to joke, voice breaking.

He chuckled softly and kissed your cheek. “You like it.”

You didn’t deny it.

His beard brushed across your skin again as he kissed the trail of your tears. Then lower—your jaw. Your throat. Gentle, slow. Not asking for anything. Just grounding you.

He whispered against your neck, “You deserve more than silence after a fight. You deserve soft. You deserve arms around you and someone to remind you that you’re not hard to love.”

Your lip quivered. “You think I’m easy to love?”

Ben leaned back enough to look you in the eye.

“I think I’ve been in love with you since the second you told me you liked my stupid records and called me on my bullshit without flinching.”

You smiled weakly. “That was a long time ago.”

“And I haven’t stopped since.”

He pulled you close again, the weight of his body grounding yours, solid and warm and real.

“Stay here tonight,” he murmured into your hair. “Don’t go back there. Just let me hold you for once.”

“I don’t want to be a burden—”

“Stop.” His voice was firm, but his grip stayed gentle. “You’re not a burden. You’re the best damn thing in my life, and I’m not letting you walk out that door feeling like you don’t matter.”

Your breath hitched. You pressed a kiss to the side of his throat, right where his pulse thudded steady and strong.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll stay.”

Ben exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for hours.

He stood with you in his arms, effortless, and carried you to the master bedroom.

You curled into his sheets, wrapped in his hoodie and scent, and he climbed in behind you, wrapping both arms around your waist like a shield.

He kissed your shoulder once. Then again.

“You’re not alone,” he whispered.

And with his beard scraping your skin, his arms holding you tight, and his voice in your ear—you finally believed it.

─────────ೋღ 🌺 ღೋ─────────

Idea was inspired by @dazednstars141 - I wrote some of their idea & twisted the summary abit in different context ♡~

♡⑅*˖•. ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .•˖*⑅♡

[meiplays]

Backseat Reverie

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Genre: Romantic Fluff / Spicy SFW

Warnings: Heavy makeout session, suggestive tension, soft rock vibes, nature descriptions, Dean being a smooth flirt

Word Count: ~850

The Impala roared down the open road, her black paint gleaming under the golden hour sun. Trees blurred into a green haze on either side of the highway, and the wind tangled your hair as it whipped in through the open window. You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes closed, a smile tugging at your lips.

Led Zeppelin played low from the cassette deck—“Ramble On”—and Dean was humming along, one hand lazily on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh.

God, he looked good like this. Sunglasses perched on his nose, jaw flexing as he bit into a smirk every time he glanced over at you. The sunlight caught the gold flecks in his eyes, making them damn near glow.

“You look like a shampoo commercial over there,” he teased, glancing at the way your hair danced in the wind.

You grinned. “You jealous?”

“I am kinda mad my hair doesn’t do that,” he said, mock offended. “But nah, I’m jealous of the breeze. Gets to kiss you all it wants.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks flushed anyway. “You’re so smooth, Winchester.”

He turned onto a dirt road then, the tires crunching gravel until he pulled off into a quiet clearing surrounded by trees. Birds chirped somewhere nearby, and the smell of pine and wildflowers filled the air.

Dean threw the car in park and looked over at you with that look—the one that said he was trouble wrapped in flannel and charm.

“Come on,” he said, slipping his arm around your shoulder, voice low and warm. “Backseat’s got better legroom.”

You laughed but let him guide you anyway, climbing over the seats until you landed in the back with a bounce. Dean followed close behind, shutting the door behind him and boxing you in with his body.

It started soft—his hand brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, lips hovering just inches from yours.

“You sure you’re not just in love with Baby?” you whispered, teasing.

He grinned. “Don’t make me choose.”

Then he kissed you.

Slow at first, lips sliding against yours in that perfect Dean Winchester way—confident, hungry, but still somehow tender. His hand cupped your jaw while the other gripped your waist, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap, knees on either side of him.

The windows fogged up fast. The rock music still hummed faintly in the background, blending with the sound of your breath catching when his mouth trailed from your lips to your neck.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered against your skin.

You laughed breathlessly, tugging on the collar of his flannel. “That’s rich coming from you.”

His hands roamed your back, fingertips slipping under your shirt just enough to raise goosebumps. Your mouths met again, deeper this time, messier—like the two of you had all the time in the world and no plans of stopping.

Nature wrapped around you, quiet and peaceful, like even the world had paused to give you a moment.

And in the backseat of that old car, with the man who made your heart race and the sky slowly dimming above the windshield, everything felt perfect.

[meiplays]

Summer Heat🌴

Pairings: Negan x Fem!Reader

Written for @detachedminxsfics & @bring-forth-his-sac & @prettyinpeaches

Word Count: ~900

Rating: SFW (but spicy)

Summary:

A hot summer day, a backyard pool, and Negan in black swim shorts that sit way too low for your sanity. You thought the water would cool you off—but being around him might just make you combust.

Warnings: Suggestive tension, flirtatious teasing, strong language, Negan being shameless, reader thirsting (rightfully), slow-burn vibes.

~🎀🥥🍍🌺~

The summer heat was relentless, the kind that clung to your skin and made everything feel like it moved in slow motion. You’d thought the backyard pool would help, cool you off, give you some peace.

That peace died the moment he stepped outside.

Negan—sun-kissed, smirking, and wearing those damn black swim shorts that rode low on his hips like they were custom-made to destroy your self-control.

You were lounging on a towel, pretending to read, but your sunglasses betrayed you—your gaze hadn’t left him once. He sauntered toward the edge of the pool like he had no idea what he was doing. But he knew. Oh, he knew exactly the effect he had on you.

“Water warm?” he called, peering down at the glistening surface, voice thick and teasing.

“Cool,” you replied, proud your voice didn’t crack. “Refreshing.”

Negan raised a brow, one hand raking back his salt-and-pepper hair. “Hmm. Might need that. Gettin’ kinda hot over here.” His eyes flicked to you, then down to your legs stretched out in the sun. “Though maybe that’s not the heat.”

You rolled your eyes, though your body reacted before your brain could catch up—stomach flipping, skin tingling, thighs pressing just a little tighter. “Are you flirting with me, or is heatstroke setting in?”

He grinned and knelt by the pool’s edge, forearms braced on his knees. “You tell me, sweetheart. ‘Cause the way you’re watchin’ me like I’m your favorite snack? I’m thinkin’ you’re the one in danger.”

You sat up, heart pounding in your chest. “Danger of what?”

Negan leaned closer, lips inches from yours. His voice dropped, low and rough. “Doin’ something real stupid. Like draggin’ me under just to see how much trouble we can get into in four feet of water.”

Your breath caught. He had to be joking—but the way his eyes darkened, how his knuckles brushed your thigh before he stood, told you otherwise.

Then he jumped in—a perfect, show-offy cannonball that soaked you from head to toe.

You shrieked, laughing as you wiped your face. “Asshole!”

Negan popped up from the water, slick hair pushed back, those damn black shorts clinging tighter now. “What was that?” he shouted, grinning like a wolf.

You didn’t hesitate—you jumped in after him, tackling him with a splash. He caught you easily, arms strong and warm under the cool water.

And just like that, the laughter faded into something thicker. The silence stretched as you clung to him, hands resting on his shoulders, noses almost touching.

His voice was a murmur now, like the breeze. “Told you this was dangerous.”

You swallowed. “I can handle danger.”

His grin twitched, eyes tracing your mouth like a promise. “I bet you can.”

His fingers drifted under the water, slow and innocent—but everything about his touch burned. He slid a hand to your lower back, pressing you flush against him. You could feel the heat of him even underwater.

Your hand curled in his wet hair. “Negan…”

He kissed your cheek, just barely. Then the corner of your jaw. His voice vibrated against your skin. “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Instead, you whispered, “What if I want more?”

His chest rumbled with a low laugh, satisfied and wicked. “Then come get it, baby.”

Negan cracked open a beer with a lazy flick of his wrist, the hiss of carbonation blending with the soft crackle of the fire pit. He sat back in the patio chair, one leg stretched out, the other bent, bottle resting on his knee. The firelight danced over his bare chest, his swim shorts still clinging low after the earlier swim, making it very hard to look anywhere else.

“You starin’ again,” he drawled, not even looking at you. Just sipped his beer, smirking at the flames.

You popped a marshmallow into your mouth and shrugged. “Can you blame me?”

That earned a deep, satisfied chuckle. “Can’t say I don’t like it.”

He reached into the snack tray and pinched a graham cracker, holding it up in offering. “C’mon. Let’s be sinners together. You toast, I build.”

You laughed, grabbing a marshmallow stick. “S’mores and sin, huh?”

Negan leaned closer, his voice low. “Sweetheart, with you sittin’ there all warm and glowy under the stars? That’s exactly what this night’s made for.”

And damn if your heart didn’t melt faster than the marshmallow.

MOODBOARD

~BEACH JEFFREY IS THE BEST 🥥🍍🌺🌴~

♡

[meiplays]

Joining the tag @pieandflannel

𝓐𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓬, 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻, 𝓬𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻, 𝓶𝓸𝓿𝓲𝓮, 𝓵𝔂𝓻𝓲𝓬, 𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓽𝔂

𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓴, 𝓖𝓪𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓵/𝓬𝓪𝓼, 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓽-𝓹𝓲𝓷𝓴, 𝓱𝓽𝓽𝔂𝓭, 𝓰𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓽, 𝓳𝓭𝓶

*this is not at all aesthetically pleasing*

@plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @easytiger-xo @randalbf @bring-forth-his-sac @immodestly-marina okay it's yalls turn to do it now! ✧(｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ *only if you want to!*

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ my core aesthetic

type into pinterest: aesthetic, character, color, movie, lyric, celebrity

thank you @stargazedwinchester for being such a sweetheart and including me! 💞

i’d like to tag… @deansposessive @littlejoels @jensenacklesballsack @bruisedfig @deansbeer @honeyyxxbee @heartrendercastiel & anyone else that wanna join! 🥺