#dreabbles

[yourlittlegoblin]

{The Gift He Couldn't Ignore} Scaramouche x Reader

The way I giggled like a little shit at 4am when writing this is insane,,, anyways I hope you enjoy :) Fem!Reader but everyone is welcomed to read my posts!

Scaramouche is as sharp as the edge of a blade, his presence cutting through any room like a storm ready to strike. His words are quick and biting, his temper just as volatile. Many in his command know better than to cross him; even the boldest of the Fatui tread carefully around his wrath. A glare from him is enough to freeze the air, and his scorn lingers like a burn.

But you? You're the quiet ray of sunshine that somehow warms even his cold, stormy edges. You’re introverted and soft-spoken, but you have a calm presence that balances out his temper. There’s something about the way you carry yourself — unassuming, yet unwavering in your quiet kindness — that even Scaramouche can't deny.

It doesn’t take long for some of his subordinates to figure it out. When the air grows thick with tension, and Scaramouche's patience wears thin, they make a quick escape — to you. One by one, they appear at your door, frantic and desperate for refuge.

"Please," one of them says, out of breath and clutching their clipboard like it might shield them, "just let me stand here for a bit. He won’t yell at me if I’m with you."

You blink at them, slightly bewildered but not entirely surprised. “He won’t yell at you if you just get your work done.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” another mutters, shifting uncomfortably, “but he’ll find something to yell about anyway! We’re safer here.”

You sigh, but you let them linger, even offering them a cup of tea while you finish up your paperwork.

Eventually, Scaramouche storms in, his piercing gaze scanning the room. The Fatui scattered around you straighten like statues, their fear palpable. But when his eyes land on you, the fire dims, and something softer flickers to life.

You glance up from your papers, raising an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

His sharp tone falters, softening into something that’s almost — almost — sheepish. “No,” he mutters, crossing his arms. He doesn’t acknowledge the others, though his gaze flicks toward them briefly.

The room is still for a beat. Then, with a low grumble, he turns on his heel and leaves. The tension dissolves instantly, and the subordinates slump in relief.

“You see?” one of them whispers, awe in their voice. “He can’t yell at us when you’re here. You’re our only hope.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” another chimes in, “but it works.”

They’re not wrong. Scaramouche may be a force of nature, but around you, his storm quiets — and that’s something they’re willing to bet their lives on.

---------------------------------------------------

Soon after, you find yourself standing outside Scaramouche’s office, gently knocking on the door. His sharp voice calls out, “Enter.”

Pushing the door open, you step inside, offering him a small smile as his gaze lifts from the paperwork scattered across his desk. “Good evening,” you say softly.

He arches an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “What brings you here at this hour? Surely, you don’t intend to lecture me about yelling at my subordinates again.”

You let out a small chuckle, shaking your head. “Not this time.” Walking closer, you reach into your pocket and pull out a small, delicate trinket — a little bird carved from polished wood, its wings spread mid-flight.

“What’s that?” Scaramouche asks, his tone skeptical but laced with curiosity.

“I was wandering through the market earlier,” you begin, holding out the trinket, “and I saw this at one of the stalls. It made me think of you.”

He blinks, his eyes narrowing slightly, though you notice the faintest hint of color brushing his cheeks. “A bird?”

You nod, your voice soft as you explain. “It reminded me of… soaring high. Of reaching for your goals, your ambitions. I thought it might be a nice way to convey my wishes for your endeavors to end in success.”

For a moment, Scaramouche says nothing, his eyes flickering between you and the trinket in your hand. Then, slowly, he reaches out and takes it, his fingers brushing against yours. He examines the bird closely, running his thumb over its smooth surface.

“It’s… fine craftsmanship,” he mutters, though his voice has lost some of its usual sharpness.

You smile, rubbing your eyes as a small yawn escapes you. “I’m glad you like it.”

At the sound of your yawn, Scaramouche’s gaze snaps to you, his expression shifting. The faint shadows under your eyes and the way your posture droops don’t escape his notice.

“You’re tired,” he states, his tone firm but quieter than usual.

“I’m fine,” you say with a slight wave of your hand, though your body betrays you with another yawn.

“Don’t give me that,” he snaps, though there’s no real bite in his words. He sets the trinket carefully on his desk before standing and stepping around to your side. “Wandering the markets, running errands, and now coming to see me? Do you even know when to stop?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the glare he gives you silences whatever excuse you were about to give.

“Go to bed,” he orders, crossing his arms as he towers slightly over you. “Now.”

“Scaramouche, I’m fine—”

“Do I need to carry you there myself?” he interrupts, narrowing his eyes in challenge.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

Scaramouche’s sharp eyes follow your every move as you rub your eyes and yawn once again, prompting an exasperated sigh from him. "You're hopeless," he mutters, setting the bird trinket carefully on the corner of his desk.

Before you can protest, he waves a hand dismissively. "The subordinate quarters are too far, and knowing you, you'll find an excuse not to rest anyway. Sleep here, on the couch."

You blink at him in surprise, glancing over at the modestly cushioned sofa tucked against the wall of his office. "Here? Are you serious?"

He gives you a look, one eyebrow arched in that signature Scaramouche way that screams do not argue with me. "Yes, here. Or do you want me to watch you stumble through the halls half-asleep only to collapse somewhere?"

You hesitate, fidgeting slightly. "I don't want to intrude..."

"You're not. Sit down before I make you." His voice is firm, but there's no harshness in it, only a strange undercurrent of care he’s trying desperately to hide.

With a small sigh, you relent, removing your coat and draping it over your shoulders like a makeshift blanket. The couch is surprisingly comfortable, and as you settle in, you hear him grumble, “I doubt you’ll actually sleep.”

“Watch me,” you murmur softly, already feeling the warmth of the room seep into you. The day’s exhaustion catches up all at once, and before you know it, your eyes grow heavy and drift shut.

Scaramouche leans against his desk, arms crossed, watching as your breathing evens out. “Idiot,” he mutters under his breath, though his gaze softens ever so slightly. He picks up the bird trinket once more, his thumb brushing over its polished wings as he glances between it and your peaceful, sleeping form.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, his office feels a little less cold.

---------------------------------------------------

When you wake up, a comforting warmth envelopes you, much cozier than your thin coat could ever provide. You blink groggily and glance down to see Scaramouche's thick fur coat draped over you, its plush fabric soft against your skin. It carries his unmistakable scent—subtle hints of sharp spice and something faintly sweet, undeniably him.

For a moment, you’re caught between surprise and a quiet flutter in your chest. Carefully sitting up, you adjust the coat, its weight still lingering over your shoulders like a protective embrace.

Your gaze shifts toward Scaramouche, seated at his desk. His usual frown is gone, replaced by a calm, almost contemplative expression. He holds something small in his hands—a few of the trinkets you’ve given him over time. A bead here, a charm there, and even a tiny polished stone you had insisted would bring him good luck during one of his more ambitious missions.

He turns them over one by one, his gloved fingers tracing each object with uncharacteristic gentleness. It’s a rare sight, one that tugs at your heartstrings in a way you can’t quite describe.

You watch in silence, your heart growing warmer with every moment. Despite his sharp words and cold demeanor, this little glimpse of him—his quiet appreciation for the small things you’ve shared—makes all his rough edges seem a little softer.

You pull the coat tighter around yourself, smiling faintly as you silently decide to treasure this fleeting, tender moment for as long as you can.

Then Scaramouche looks up, startled to find your eyes on him. His surprise is brief, but it’s enough to break the tranquil moment. “How long have you been awake?” he asks sharply, though his tone carries a hint of embarrassment.

“I just woke up,” you murmur, still wrapped in his fur coat. Your gaze drifts back to the trinkets scattered on his desk, and without thinking, you say softly, “You kept them.”

He scoffs, turning his head slightly as if to hide the faintest flush creeping up his neck. “Of course, I kept them. What do you take me for? I’m not someone so lowly as to toss away gifts given with sincere thoughts behind them.”

Despite his words, there’s a subtle defensiveness in his tone, almost as if the notion of doing otherwise would be an unthinkable affront. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms with a huff, and adds, “Honestly, you’re such a fool sometimes, thinking I wouldn’t.”

You can’t help but smile at his reaction, though the warmth in your chest only grows. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Don’t get used to it, idiot,” he mutters, looking away but making no move to reclaim his coat from your shoulders.

[cosmic-glow]

Daryl looks you up and down as you walk in, clutching your coat tightly around you, an odd bulge in your stomach.

Daryl: what ya got there?

Y/n: nothing!

A frustrated meow suddenly echoes in the room.

Daryl: ...

You, reluctantly, reveal the cat you carry under your coat.

Daryl: ... Good, found food.

Y/n: No Daryl!!

[jawritter]

Hey Jen, babe! Congrats again! You deserve absolutely every one of those followers. Can you tell me about how Dean would handle a Louisiana summer? You know how it gets down here and that little midwest boy in his twelve layers has to have some tricks, right?

Louisiana Moonlight

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Nudity, Louisiana heat (yes, that’s a warning if you live here, you know), Pouty Dean. 

Word Count: 508

Jens3Kcelebration.      Masterlist

Dean Winchester, hero amongst men, warrior, brave and extraordinary hunter. The man that has slaughtered Gods, demons, even death himself. The man that has spent forty years in hell! The same man that can’t handle a little humidity. Well, a lot of humidity. It was Louisiana after all. Still, you swore to whatever deity was listening that you had never heard a forty something year old man complain so fucking much over a little heat and humidity. You for one, where glad the hunt was over, because sitting in a graveyard waiting for a fucking Ghoul in 105 heat-index with humidity so thick you could slice through the air with a butter knife wasn’t pleasant for anyone, even if it was after the sun had sank behind the trees. Tie that in with the fact that Baby had no AC, and you had one miserable group of hunters. Sam’s lucky ass was hunting a Wendigo in Canada with Eileen. Big, lucky, bastard. You and Dean on the other hand, you had to suffer. 

“Come on Dean,” you said, “It’s like, four in the morning, driving home right now would NOT be a good idea.”

Dean slammed his head back against the seat with a growl, running his hand down his slightly reddened face. Why the hell would anyone want to live or even stay in what he coined as ‘Lucifer’s asshole’ that was Plaquemine, La, he’d never know. 

“Just try and get a few hours of sleep, and when the sun comes up, I’ll drive and you can sleep, we will put this city as far behind us as possible.”

Dean murmured a complaint that wasn’t exactly audible, crossing his arms over his broad chest with a childlike huff, as his eyes scanned the open window, spotting a little lake just shy of the tree line that he’d backed baby into for a few hours of shut, a wide smirk spread across his freckle dusted face. 

Leaning over, Dean slapped your arm with a heavy hand, and you shot him your best bitchface, about to return the favor when you saw the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. 

“I think I just found our way to cool off for a little bit before we leave this shit whole town in our rearview, sweetheart,” he said, ripping his flannel from his body and tossing it in the backseat before kicking the door open and jumping of the car, leaving behind him a trail of clothing on the ground, and bare white ass shining in the Louisiana moonlight, as he ran butt naked for the shining waters that awaited him. 

Y/N laughed, shaking her head as she stripped herself of her own shirt before kicking the passenger door open to join her midwestern hunter in his antics, because it was hot as fuck after all, both the whether and the man that had just dove headfirst into the warm Louisiana waters. 

Maybe this town wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe they’d have to find another hunt down here soon.

Forever Tags:

@spnwoman​​​​

@stoneyggirl2​​​​​

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men​​​

@deanssliceofcherrypie​​​​​​​

@stixnstripesworld​​​​​​

@fullwattpadmusictree​​​​​​​

@meela86

@maggiegirl17​​​​​​​

@nancymcl​​​​​​​

@christycreature​​​​​​​

@whiskey-infused-dreams​​​​​​​

@leigh70​​​​​​​

@supernatural79impala​​​​​​​

@deandreamernp​​​​​​​

@forgetthisbull​​​​​​​

@miraclesoflove​​​​​​​

@slamminmine​​​​​​​

@deanwanddamons​​​​​​​

@rvgrsbrns​​​​​​​

@chevyharvelle​​​​​​​

@i-love-superhero-movies​​​​​​​

@lyss-dw79​​​​​​​

@magssteenkamp​​​​​​​

@lemondropirwin​​​​​​​

@squirrelnotsam​​​​​​​

@hobby27​​​​​​​

@spnbaby-67​​​​​​​  

@mrsjenniferwinchester​​​​​​​

@defenderrosetyler​​​​​​​

@screechingartisancashbailiff​​​​​​​

@thecreatiivecorner​​​​​​​  

@vicmc624​​​​​​​

@busy-bee-angel-misska​​​​​​​

@justanotherwinchester​​​​​​​

@brilovesdeanwinchester​​​​​​​

@idksupernatural​​​​​​

@lyarr24​​​​​​​

@amandamdiehl​​​​​​​

@emoryhemsworth​​​​​​​

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel​​​​​​​

@flamencodiva

@coldmuffinbanditshoe​​​​​​​

@itmejado​​​​​​​

@supernatural3002​​​​​​​

@teresa-67​​​​​​​

@thoughts-and-funnies​​​​​​​

@hearteyes-j2​​​​​​​

@peaches007​​​​​​​

@bobbie3939​​​​​​​

@lunarmoon8​​​​​​​

@vulgar-library​​​​​​​

@writercole​​​​​​​

@fairlyspnfanfic​​​​​​​

@sexyvixen7​​​​​​​

@spngi​​​​​​​

@b3autyfuldisast3r​​​​​​​

@donnaintx​​​​​​​

@maliburenee​​​​​​​

@the-family-business67​​​​​​​

@agirlwithdemonblood​​​​​​​

Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@impalaslytherin​​​​

@perpetualabsurdity​​​​​​​

@msmarvelouswinchester​​​​​​​

@akshi8278​​​​​​​​

@love-jackles​​​​​​​​

@irmcpar​​​​​​​​

@pink-sparkly-witch​​​​​​​​

@siospins2​​​​​​​​

@herstarburststories​​​​​​​​

@mimaria420​​​​​​​​

@deanwinchesterswitch​​​​​​​​

@shawnie74​​​​​​​​

@charred-angelwings​​​​​​​​

@pascal-rascal424​​​​​​​​

@myloversgone​​​​​​​​

@fortheloveof-jackles​​​​​​​​

@eevvvaa​​​​​​​​

@bts-spnlvr12​​​​​​​​

@jxackles​​​​​​​​

@lassie-bird​​​​​​​​

@samsgirl93​​​​​​​​

@slytherinlyn​​​​​​341

@kaz11283​​​​​​​​

@mlovesstories​​​​​​​​​

Dean’s Babes:

@forgetthisbull​

@deanswaywardgirl​

@misfit0118

[peachy-jisung]

[11:15] “Jeno look! it’s a mistletoe!” You squealed with glee as you pointed at the parasitic evergreen plant above your lead. Your best friend chuckled at your cute childlike action, watching you twirl around while admiring everything around you. Roaming around the garden, your eyes caught the fairy lights beside the plant you just stood earlier. You squinted your eyes, stretching your arms and made grabby hands to the small coloured lights as you’re too drunk to even reach it. Your movement somehow made Jeno alarmed, worried that you might get an electric shock if you succeeded touching it. So he walked towards you and pulled your hand back gently, his eyes turned into crescent moon before he whispering softly, “Careful, it’s dangerous if you touch that”.

You pouted in response, telling him to give you a 100 valid reasons on why you shouldn’t touch such a fascinating thing, plus! it’s from fairies! why are you not allowed to touch a thing from fairies? aren’t they supposed to make everything look beautiful and pleasing? Hearing your questions, Jeno started explaining everything. He explained that these are lights, that it’s powered by electric something (honestly, you’re too drunk to even understand a thing) and you will have a high chance of going to the hospital if you ever touch it and definitely it’s not a gift from fairies but then again, he’s talking to a drunk person. Sighing, the black-haired boy closed his eyes, took a deep breath and composed his self. He then proceeded to reason that “The fairies will get mad because you didn’t asked for their permission”.

Nodding at his explanation, your attention was now once again back at the mistletoe and something popped up to your mind. You turned your head to his direction and called his name, making him get back to his senses and stopped staring at you. He hummed in response to which you replied, “Don’t people kiss when they are under the mistletoe?”. Jeno was taken aback by your question, despite the stuttering, he managed to think of a ‘proper’ answer “Well apparently yes-”

As if you are waiting for the ‘yes’ part, you grab his collar and pulled him to a kiss. His small eyes widened like never before, hands opened with his fingers stretched to it’s limit, his body froze. A few seconds passed, you noticed Jeno didn’t kissed you back so you pulled away and pouted again. Seeing your reaction made him regain composure, holding your chin. Jeno brought your faces closer again before connecting his soft pink lips to yours. You both smiled into the kiss, enjoying the feeling in each others arms.

Little did you know that someone was standing at the entrance of the garden, pained. Not only did Jaemin was hurt because his crush is kissing someone that is not him but also because that someone knew how much he likes you, he knew how Jaemin spent years gathering the courage to confess to you only for it to be ruined by Jeno, himself. Jaemin don’t want to stay there, he want to run and scream the pain but he can’t just seem to look away.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

For @dumbubblegum. And her death migraine

“My love, I do not think that piece goes there.”

Thor looked down at the chaos on the living room floor. An explosion of particle board and screws and useless little plastic pieces. And tried not to laugh. You had many gifts, but working with your hands was not one.

“Where else would it go?” you asked, “This is part A.” You hold the instructions out to him and he takes them. Gently flipping the page over.

“Sweetheart, try it this way,” he suggested, smiling.

“For fuck’s sake,” you groan, blinking back frustrated tears. 

Thor tutted and gently plucked the board out of your hands before you got angry enough to throw it, “How about you go order us some dinner. And I’ll do this,” he hummed, “I really don’t think the neighbor’s children should learn any more curse words.”

[wallyanddick]

Random Conversations that happen at school

1. I need holy water and ya’ll need Jesus.

2. You spawned real TITS!

3. Wtf did i just hear? Why are you talking about fucking Minecraft Youtubers.

[the-writing-mill]

Mid-December update/coming back

All right, I kind of abandoned this blog for like... a month? Whoops. But! I did not abandon writing!

So here’s the entirety of Whumptober, which I finished but never got around to posting on Tumblr, even though I posted everything on AO3 (PLEASE read any notes I put before something on each chapter, some of these are far less mild than others):

https://www.archiveofourown.org/series/1502099

Here’s all of the BNHA ones (shaky hands, explosion, hiding, unconscious, adrenaline, tear-stained, winded, abandoned, ransom, and recovery): 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20848799/chapters/49559660

Two of these are also part of Bad Luck is Not My Quirk, I swear!, so if you want more content in that universe, please check this out

The Star Wars ones (touch starved, human shield, gunpoint, isolation, shackled, nightmare, “don’t move”, scars, pinned down, “stay with me”, muffled scream, laced drink, “stay quiet”, lost, secret injury, humiliation, and bound)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20879057/chapters/49628114

Three of these are also Integration side-shots, which were also posted to that fic

I also wrote some fanfic for phone games that I play. Because the Chinese games are just absolutely bonkers with their story lines/premises, imo

So the two Love Nikki fics were for Stab Wound and Numb

And then I also wrote two for Helix Waltz: Trembling and Beaten

So... yeah. After Whumptober I did SWrarepairs, my assignment plus one treat (both will be posted/linked on here soon). I’ve done outline work on BLINMQIS and Feral Librarian. I’ve also made the (unfortunate, from a certain point of view) decision to do Subobi week (see subobi.tumblr.com for details on that) and Star Wars Big Bang! After I finish writing Subobi, work a bit on my Big Bang fic, and redo parts of outlines, I’ll be back to working primarily on BLINMQIS and Feral Librarian, so those should update... who knows when? Certainly not me!

[lilietherly]

[MiniFic! Victorianlock]

(Hoy estuve a punto de no escribir... solo espero que haberme obligado a hacerlo no haya creado un fiasco...)

Holmes llevaba casi dos horas intentando concentrarse en su experimento, no es que hiciera mucho ruido tanto afuera como adentro o que su mente no estuviera dispuesta a obedecerle. Era más bien que todo él no deseaba prestar mucha atención al tema. Claro que era muy importante, mucho en realidad, como tantos otros. Sin embargo, también como esos otros; estaba siendo retrasado por algo -que no debería ser- más importante. Intentó, como muchas veces antes, no prestarle mayor atención de la debida.

Cierto conocimiento quería intentar salir de sus pensamientos nuevamente, abriéndose paso entre sus ideas e intentando llegar a golpes y empujones al área donde se alojaba si imaginación. Quería convertirse en una hipótesis, hacer que se preguntara ¿qué pasaría...?

¡Pero maldito fuera si llegara a ser tan débil y permitírselo! No otra vez...

Sherlock Homes ya había sucumbido bastante con la sola creación de esa posibilidad, muy tonto sería rendir su siempre firme, impenetrable y compleja mente a esa clase de pernisiosas ideas... de nuevo.

Y sin embargo ahí estaba. Peleando con todo y más de lo que debería bastar, luchando como si se aferrara a la vida. Intentando una y cien veces regresar su atención a los químicos frente a él. Ya muy tarde fue cuando supo que había perdido la batalla. Era solo una imagen, se dijo, intentando en vano convencerse, no debería lastimar, pero sabía también que se traba solo del principio.

Y tenía razón.

Porque su lluvia avanzó rápidamente a truenos y relámpagos que golpearon con feroces ráfagas de viento y hielo su delicado equilibrio. Pronto se descubrió temblando.

¿Qué era un hombre sino una mezcla de instintos, impulsos y deseos con solo un extra de conocimientos? Un humano, y apenas podía aceptar ese hecho sin poder desmoronarse. Era un humano y poco podría hacer para cambiarlo, por más que intentara sobrepasar ese hecho, el que una sola idea producto de su hiperactiva imaginación le creará tal caos, lo dejaba en el mismo peldaño que el resto del mundo.

Y, no obstante, así como podía pensar con tanta facilidad los más oscuros y aterradores escenarios, su mente tenía la increíble capacidad de regresar a su centro cuendo, como en este momento, un par de gentiles brazos alcanzaban sus hombros, cerrándose a su alrededor, reconfortandolo en niveles que nunca sería capaz de nombrar o siquiera comprender.

Calmando la tormenta. Silenciando los truenos.

—¿Está todo bien? Te detubiste de repente. —Holmes inhaló en silencio, intentando ocultar su nerviosismo, el aire cargado con el aroma de su querido doctor pronto comenzó a tranquilizarlo.

Negó, agradeciendo que Watson no podía ver su rostro.

—No es nada, solo estaba pensando —lo notó asentir y sin más sus brazos comenzaron a soltarlo. Se lo impidió, girandose para abrazar su cintura, pegándose cuanto fuera posible a su pecho.

Comprendiendo rápidamente, Watson no se alejó, tampoco se burló o intentó acomodarse.

Ante una fuente de luz y calor como esa, sus atormentados pensamientos nada podían hacer.

Sonrió.

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

“He’s got…what? Chicken something?” Cas looks at Chuck, bewildered. He’s been alive for millennia, but he’s only been on earth for the past six years, and since he lost his grace he’s spent most of his time in a self-medicated haze, trying to forget.

“Chicken pox,” says Chuck. “Who knows how he was exposed. And he must not have had them as a kid. Spots all over the body, very itchy and uncomfortable. Fever. Achey.”

“Is it serious?”

Chuck looks away. “Before the croatoan virus…no. But Cas, we don’t have any more medicine. There’s nothing at all we can do. If his fever gets out of control…”

Without speaking Cas turns towards Dean’s cabin. There’s nothing to think about. He’ll take care of Dean. If only I had my grace, he thinks, and pain stabs deeper than he’s felt in years. He pushes it aside.

The cabin is dark; someone covered the windows with heavy blankets to keep the sunlight out. They unfortunately keep the air out as well, and the cabin feels close and oppressive. In the slats of light that sneak in around the edges of the blankets Cas can see Dean’s still form on the bed in the corner of the cabin’s one room.

Slowly he aproaches the bed. Dean is asleep, but his breathing is labored. His skin is pale, other than his cheeks, which are flushed with fever. His face, neck, and arms–and presumably the rest of his skin–are liberally spotted with red scabs. Cas winces when Dean suddenly spasms and begins scratching his chest even as he sleeps on.

Cas dips a cloth into the basin of water beside the bed, wrings it out, watches as water splashes back into the basin. Gently he runs the cloth over Dean’s forehead, feels heat radiating from Dean’s skin. Dean moans and turns towards Cas’s hand but does not wake.

“Cas?”

Dean’s voice, weakened by fever and lack of use, jolts Cas awake. He’d pulled a chair beside Dean’s bed, meaning to watch over him, but apparently he’d fallen asleep.

“I’m here,” Cas says, reaching out to find Dean’s hand among the twists of sheets and blankets.

“Shouldn’t be,” Dean mumbles. “Could get sick.”

Cas takes Dean’s hand in his own. “I don’t care,” he says. “Chuck made it sound like if you had this as a kid you don’t catch it again, right? I’ll just have to hope Jimmy had these chicken pox when he was a child. Either way, Dean,” he squeezes Dean’s hand gently. “I’d rather be sick and here with you than healthy anywhere else.”

The pained look on Dean’s face relaxes ever so slightly.

“And Dean,” Cas says, drawing Dean’s eyes to his own. “I’m staying for good this time. I’m done dancing around…all of this. Alright?” Dean’s eyes widen, but he nods, and the corners of his mouth twitch. “Chuck told me you’ve been sick for four days. Four days, Dean. If I’d been here I could have been taking care of you from the beginning.”

He gets up, runs his fingers through his hair, trying to find the words. “For so long it’s been you and me. We fight together, we eat together, we pass each other in the camp, and sometimes you drag me behind a building and kiss me until I can’t see straight. Or, if I’m lucky, you spend the night in my cabin. For a few hours…” He stops his nervous pacing to look into Dean’s fever-bright eyes. “For a few hours I remember what it’s like to fly.”

“Cas–” Dean starts, but Cas interrupts.

“But you’re always gone when I wake up, and I come crashing back to earth.”

Dean closes his eyes.

“I just…Every day is the end of the world around here, Dean. I just want to truly live before the world ends. Don’t you?”

“I love you,” Dean says simply.

“I know,” says Cas, and he can’t stop the grin spreading across his face.

“Wait,” says Dean, attempting to sit up then thinking better of it. “Did you just Han Solo me?”

“Maybe,” says Cas, sitting on the edge of the bed. He plants a small kiss on Dean’s forehead, careful to avoid the dusting of chicken pox. “So…I can stay?”

Dean rolls onto his side, rests his cheek on Cas’s thigh. “You should have moved in a long time ago, Cas,” he says. “I don’t know how long it’ll be, but you can stay ‘til the end of the world.”

Inktober with the Bunker || Day 11: Endverse (ep 5x04)

[ultra-violet-heart]

Any rec for giyushino author on tumblr?

There was one before but I wouldn't recommend them now. Try reading works from @ryesstlstuff and @dreabbles, both of them have great GiyuShino works in AO3! (Some of them are R-18 though, mind you)

[cosmic-glow]

Can i ask a story with Kakashi Hatake accidentally talking to the reader who likes her but doesn't know how talk with her? like drunk confession

Notes: YES! I don't know why I like writing about drunk characters so much... maybe that's a little worrying... But this turned out so cute and honeyed, I really hope you like it, good reading!

"A Good Reason to be Drunk" - Oneshot.

Warnings: Kakashi x fem!reader; mentions of alcohol and drunkenness (obviously); small plot at the end; SFW; Kakashi in love💕

There was no shortage of warnings about how difficult the journey of becoming a jonin is, and indeed it is, but you were aware of this when you decided to become one. What you weren't aware of was that the person who would train you until you had experience was a big slacker who would leave all the work to you.

You heard a lot about Kakashi, the ninja who copies, while you was studying and training to become a jonin. But what you were never told was that he was late for every appointment, procrastinated on mission paperwork, slept whenever he could and left all the hard work to his teammate. You couldn't deny that he was indeed very skilled during fights, but his behavior didn't make up for it.

And here you were, sitting on a sofa in a bar, drinking sake with your already drunk colleague beside you, leaning on your shoulder and smiling idly. Kakashi irritated you very easily and sometimes you didn't even know why.

But at the same time, he had already saved you so many times during fights, intervening when you believed that all was lost, he taught you so many things that weren't in the books, he compensated you for the hokage's scoldings, taking the blame for any mistake in the mission ... In the end you were a good pair, it was just his lazy side that got on your nerves sometimes. Actually, come to think of it, it was even an honor to train with a ninja like him, you just didn't want to admit it.

After all, in addition to the reputation of being a very skilled ninja, he also had the reputation of being a "stealer of hearts", there weren't a few women who said they were in love with him, maybe you were just wanting to focus on some of his defects so as not to let yourself be carried away by the charm too. But it was hard when he was so close to you, laughing with cheeks flushed from alcohol, looking at you with those eyes as black as night. The strain on your nerves at the thought that maybe if you looked too hard he would use his sharingan on you, having you under control to do whatever he wanted.

- I have a headache these days... Can you help me?

- How can I help you? - you asked as a question and not an offer of help.

- There's this girl that I like... But I think she hates me - he sank deeper beside you, sad - How can I make her like me?

You hesitated, not knowing how to proceed, were you imagining or was Kakashi asking you for love advice? He must have been very drunk.

- I don't know, ask her out - you tried to get away from him a little, the heat of the drink starting to take effect.

- I already did that - he settled down on the sofa, stopping leaning on you, resting his head on his hand, his elbow on his knee, the white hair falling over his face, he looked at you between the strands - I don't think it worked.

- So I don't know, ask her directly if you did something, maybe she'll tell you - you got impatient.

- No, y/n is too stubborn to admit anything! - he frowned, irritated by the suggestion and shaking his head to dismiss the idea.

You stopped whatever you were doing, now just staring at him with wide eyes in shock. No, you're drunk too, not as drunk as he is, but the drinking must be making you hear things, make things up, there was no way Kakashi was in love with you.

- Who? - your voice threatened to break, still surprised by the revelation.

- What? - he asked looking for a glass that was still full.

- The girl you're in love with, who is it? - he turned his head to you.

- I can't tell - he said, with the most serious look a drunken man can muster.

And just now, unfortunately, what was left of sobriety in him decided to show up, you would have to manipulate him into giving you the answer without realizing it.

- But how can I help you like this? Tell me at least a little about her.

Kakashi took a deep breath and leaned back on the sofa, he had found a glass that was half full, he was staring at the ceiling but seemed to see through it, far beyond what you could see.

- She is beautiful, very beautiful... She makes me laugh with her stressed way, she always gets angry so easily - he laughs - She likes to look at the stars and listen to music... Her laugh is contagious... And I see myself more and more in love with her... - he was silent for a long time, you even thought he had finished talking -... I need to tell her, I can't even sleep wellI, lose the time and I'm late every day, and she always fights with me because of that - he laughs softly.

Kakashi was so peaceful as he described you, he had a passionate look on his face, fascinated by his beloved, as if just remembering her brought him peace. But at the same time, you could feel his heart sink when he spoke because he thought his beloved despised him, because he was afraid of rejection, because he loved too much.

- I don't want her to hate me... I love her so much - tears started to well up in his eyes - I just wanted her to know that, but I can't even tell her - the tears fell amid sobs, his eyes got low.

You felt helpless not knowing exactly what you should do or say, so you decided to focus first on his problem with being drunk - as if you weren't. Assuming the role of responsible for the situation you got up, took the cup from his hand while he was crying, tried to wipe his tears and got him up saying "it's going to be okay, Kakashi" because it was the best your head could think of and took him outside from the bar after paying for the round.

Now you had a drunk and crying Kakashi on your shoulder being carried all the way home. It was better not to complain, as you could only end up making the situation worse, besides, you thought that part of it was kind of your fault, like, it was you who decided to be rude on purpose to the guy who was in love with you (even though before you didn't know that). Before you could think about it, you entered Kakashi's apartment and put him to bed, which didn't take much effort since he was practically asleep on his feet.

- I love you, y/n - he whispered with his eyes closed, you don't know if it's for you or some vision of his dream.

- And I don't really hate you Kakashi, it's just easier than admitting that I like you too - you spoke low so as not to wake him up, arranging the blanket, not bothering to say it since he wouldn't remember.

Kakashi opened his eyes slowly, a smile forming on his face, looking directly at you with a twinkle in his eyes like a shooting star in the night.

- I knew there was an explanation for all this anger - he said, his voice without any hint of drunkenness anymore - And I also knew that you would never admit it.

It took you a moment to process his speech, Hatake could see the gears turning inside your head as you was transfixed staring at him. When your gaze lit up, understanding what he had done, he started to chuckle at your expression.

- Were you pretending this whole time?!! - you took a step back, crossing your arms, indignation written on your face.

- Yes and no - he sat on the bed, still with the smile on his face - I did pretend to be drunk to get to know if you felt something for me, something besides anger, of course. But I didn't lie when I said I was in love with you, when I said that I stay up all night thinking about how to confess to you.

A silence hovered between you, he had already finished and now he was waiting for your answer, you on the other hand didn't know where to start, all you wanted to say getting stuck in your throat, needing a moment to organize everything.

- You took advantage of my kindness - you don't know why your mind chose to start with that one.

- For a good cause.

- Tricked me.

- Because you're stubborn and would never give me an answer, just like you're not giving now.

- And what answer are you waiting for?!

- That you tell me if you accept to be my girlfriend or not! - he said as if it were obvious.

The silence from before returned, you staring at each other again, your cheeks more flushed this time and his also slightly flushed. Even though he tried to keep a calm, carefree look on his face, Kakashi was internally begging for your answer to be yes, so that he could show the love he's had for you for so long, so that he could touch you the way he wanted, so that he could kiss you. You wanted to let Kakashi love you, you wanted to tell him that you loved him too, and you couldn't understand why you felt that this was a sign of frankness. But with a deep sigh, trying to silence this insistent thought, you looked at him and smiled.

- Of course I do, you idiot!

His smile widened, his cheeks now as flushed as your own with pure happiness.

- I guess I'm the luckiest man in this village now.

He gets up to hug you and can finally kiss his beloved, wrapping his arms around you. Kakashi wouldn't allow there to be a single day when you didn't feel loved after that.

Sorry for any typos;

Masterlist;

Buy me a coffee?

[jawritter]

Congratulations Lady - so happy for you!! So, tell me about this sequence - why is Jensen nervous, is he himself or one of his characters, and why does her playing with his hair calm/soothe him? Is she a witch using her power, is it a veiled threat by someone blackmailing him, or is it a lover or friend who’s presence calms him? What happens after the interview is done with the woman? Can’t wait to see what you do with it!

So Much For My Happy Ending

Warnings: Kinda like the French Mistake, but with a twist? SPN level disappointment I guess? Other than that nothing really. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 439

Jens3kcelebration   Masterlist      

"It's alright handsome," she cooed as she ran her fingers through his short locks. "Just look straight at that camera there, and let's take a few more pictures for the thumbnail, and we will be all done okay?"

"Okay," Dean said, swallowing thickly as his nerves started to crawl back up his spine the instant her hand was away from his hair, a thin layer of sweet was starting to form under his shirt, making him feel even more uncomfortable than what he already was.  

Still he smiled all the same, because she'd promised him once this interview was over, that he could go home with her, where he didn't have to suffer anymore. Somewhere he didn't have to die a bloody, gruesome death. Somewhere he'd be loved and appreciated. Somewhere the pain would go away. That's what would make it worth it all. So what if he had to go by another name. So what if she thought it was her boyfriend Jensen. Would it really be so bad? To live the life of a celebrity? To be rich and want for nothing, have a beautiful woman to keep close at night when the demons came? 

"Okay, that's it," she said cheerfully,  closing the camera lense and smiling softly after him as she moved to sit in his lap, her fingers running back through his hair, sending the panicking feeling to flight once more. "So, what do you want to do now?"

Dean smiled softly at her, looking deep into her eyes as he brought his lips down to hers, kissing her deeply, revealing in the flood of emotions that swept over his tarnished and scarred soul.

"DEAN!" Sam's voice echoed from somewhere very far away, and he held on to her tighter, determined not to let her go. Not to let this feeling go. 

"DEAN!"

Her fingers gripped him tighter, digging little hard moons into his forearm and shoulder ad his tongue swept over here, almost as if she could hear the voice growing louder too, and was determined to keep him here with her. 

"DEAN!" Sam's voice screamed once more, and it was if someone had pulled him from out from under water, and he sucked in oxygen desperately as the old, dingy barn once again came into view, and the warm bright studio he was in a moment ago was long gone, and so was Y/N. There was no one there but himself and Sammy, along with a dead Djinn and a hanging bag of his blood. 

Apparently even in another word Dean still can't get his happy ending. He still can't have her.

Forever Tags:

@spnwoman​​​​​

@stoneyggirl2​​​​​​

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men​​​​

@deanssliceofcherrypie​​​​​​​​

@stixnstripesworld​​​​​​​

@fullwattpadmusictree​​​​​​​​

@meela86

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@mrsjenniferwinchester​​​​​​​​

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@screechingartisancashbailiff​​​​​​​​

@thecreatiivecorner​​​​​​​​  

@vicmc624​​​​​​​​

@busy-bee-angel-misska​​​​​​​​

@justanotherwinchester​​​​​​​​

@brilovesdeanwinchester​​​​​​​​

@idksupernatural​​​​​​​

@lyarr24​​​​​​​​

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@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel​​​​​​​​

@flamencodiva​

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@itmejado​​​​​​​​

@supernatural3002​​​​​​​​

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@lunarmoon8​​​​​​​​

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@maliburenee​​​​​​​​

@the-family-business67​​​​​​​​

@agirlwithdemonblood​​​​​​​​

Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@impalaslytherin​​​​​

@perpetualabsurdity​​​​​​​​

@msmarvelouswinchester​​​​​​​​

@akshi8278​​​​​​​​​

@love-jackles​​​​​​​​​

@irmcpar​​​​​​​​​

@pink-sparkly-witch​​​​​​​​​

@siospins2​​​​​​​​​

@herstarburststories​​​​​​​​​

@mimaria420​​​​​​​​​

@deanwinchesterswitch​​​​​​​​​

@shawnie74​​​​​​​​​

@charred-angelwings​​​​​​​​​

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@myloversgone​​​​​​​​​

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@jxackles​​​​​​​​​

@lassie-bird​​​​​​​​​

@samsgirl93​​​​​​​​​

@slytherinlyn​​​​​​341

@kaz11283​​​​​​​​​

@mlovesstories

[ao3feed-assassin-class]

I Marvel at the Sight of You

i marvel at the sight of you by dreabbles

Hayami, Chiba, and mornings when all that needs to be done is to be tangled in each other.

Words: 2100, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of good morning, my love

Fandoms: Assassination Classroom

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Chiba Ryuunosuke, Hayami Rinka

Relationships: Chiba Ryuunosuke/Hayami Rinka, Chiba Ryuunosuke & Hayami Rinka

Additional Tags: Fluff, Morning Kisses

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24338041

[giyuzine]

🌊 CONTRIBUTOR SPOTLIGHT 🌊   

Writer #3: @dreabbles   

Get to know Drea through the following photos!

[revwinchester]

This was super fun to write for! Lots of dreabbles above, friends, and I'm excited to read them

Cards Against Christmas ML

(Thank you to @seenashwrite for the totally freaking bitchin’ banner)

Here is the master list for this incredibly fun and creative challenge. Thank you to everyone that participated!!

Keep reading

[ao3feed-assassin-class]

Kiss Me Once, Then Kiss Me Twice, Then Kiss Me Once Again

kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again by dreabbles

Morning kisses, awkward kisses, stolen kisses, and butterfly kisses.

Words: 2220, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of good morning, my love

Fandoms: Assassination Classroom

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Chiba Ryuunosuke, Hayami Rinka

Relationships: Chiba Ryuunosuke/Hayami Rinka, Chiba Ryuunosuke & Hayami Rinka

Additional Tags: Fluff

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24365572