and you lose everybody loses

4

Imagine raising your voice at Drew Mcintyre… Good luck

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You know that Right?

Originally posted by kcismyreligion

Pairings: Bellamy / Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Angsty and also Fluff

Request: Long Bellamy x reader request where reader and him are best friends and they both secretly want more. Peace has been established and reader notices bell is tense and not getting sleep so she offers a massage and says something like “you know you can come to me if somethings bothering you. Whenever, however, whatever it is you can come to me.” And so when he has nightmares he goes to her tent and eventually they both admit how they feel. Sorry its specific just need some fluffy fluff.

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You didn’t like the black smudges and shadows that were taking up residence under his eyes. Were worried that they were indicative of a much larger problem than lack of sleep. You were finally at peace, at least for the next few days and surely that should mean that he was finally able to rest. It definitely didn’t look like he was getting any rest though.

“Bell?” you came up beside him “you don’t look so good”

He smiled down at you putting one hand on your shoulder and squeezing. “Don’t worry so much Y/N” he tried to smile too but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“But I do worry” you insisted “Your still not sleeping?”

He didn’t answer but then he didn’t need to, the answer to that question was clear to see on his face and his sudden avoidance of eye contact with you.

“You’re still having nightmares, aren’t you?”

“Sometimes” he confessed still avoiding your eyes.

“Bellamy?”

“Most nights” he amended hand dropping from your shoulder as taking your hand instead he pulled you away from the group of delinquents and over to a quieter part of camp where your conversation couldn’t be overheard by prying ears.

“Bell, please talk to me”

“If I close my eyes…” he stuttered breaking off, unable to look at you. “If I close my eyes Y/N, I’m scared of what I’ll see. If I scream in my sleep what will people think of me?”

Your heart was breaking for him and the pain in his voice. You’d do anything to be able to comfort him but you weren’t sure what exactly there was you could do to help him. “Bell if you can’t sleep, or if you’re worried about sleeping. Come to my tent”

“What?”

“You’re my best friend Blake. You look after me, always have” you smiled crookedly at him. “Let me look after you as well” he was staring at you bemused. “Tonight, come to my tent. You can sleep and if you start to have a nightmare I’ll be there. I’ll wake you up before you can scream or shout out”

“I don’t deserve you”

You laughed at that patting his cheek. “Your right you don’t somehow though you have me anyhow”

“HEY Y/N CAN YOU COME HELP ME?”

You turned at Raven’s voice shouting your name. You’d been helping out in engineering a lot recently, your maths skills finally coming in useful for something other than calculating lightyears between stars and such.

“Alright coming!” you shouted back waving a hand at here to show you’d heard her. You turned back to Bellamy. “Remember ok?”

“Ok”

“Try and smile more Bell” you advised reaching up to plant a soft kiss on his cheek grasping his shoulders for balance. “I’ll see you later”

Bellamy nodded his hand offering you a weak smile in return to your advice. As you ran off towards Raven and whatever mathematical conundrum she’d come up with this time.

 *******

Sighing you pushed stray pieces of hair out of your face, rubbing at your tired eyes. “Raven I’ve got to go. It’s past midnight and I’m exhausted”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll see you in the morning” the mechanic didn’t even really bother to look up at you, still keeping her eyes fastened on her work.

“Wow! No complaints that I’m slacking off or anything?”

She smiled briefly “No I’ll give you this one” finally turning away from her work she looked over at you. “You and Blake, what’s going on there?”

“What? Me and Bellamy?” she nodded. “He’s my best friend”

Raven’s eyebrows rose “you know he likes you though?”

You fought and probably failed to contain your blush at those words, instantly shaking your head in denial. “He doesn’t like me as anything other than a friend”

“Y/N you know he watches you when he thinks no one’s looking? The way he protects you and smiles at you, no guy looks at a girl like he looks at you and isn’t in love with them”

“Raven…” you rubbed at the back of your neck. “We’re friends. Nothing more”

She shrugged making even that action look smooth and fluid. “Whatever you say” she turned back to her work “now go away, I still have another hour’s worth of good work in me”

You wanted to argue with her, to press her on why she suddenly thought that Bellamy liked you as anything other than a friend. However, you also knew Raven. Once she was ensconced in her work nothing was getting through to her.

You walked back towards your tent with your mind in a different place to your feet. Sure, you liked Bellamy, he was your best friend and had been since long before you were all sent down to the Earth to die like lab rats. Did you like him as more than a friend though?

You were trying to be honest with yourself right now, at one point in time you had definitely gone through a period of desperate I’m in lust with Bellamy Blake. You noticed everything about him from the shape of his hands down to the hard line of his jaw. You’d imagined what it would be like to kiss him, for him to hold you and protect you. Those thoughts though had been squashed ages ago. After all Bellamy had never shown any signs of thinking about you as anything other than his friend.

You pushed your way into your tent and stopped, frozen in place. He was laid out on your bed, big body sprawled out with his arm thrown up over his head, shirt off and eyes closed. Finally, asleep.

You had told him to come here, told him you’d stop him from having nightmares. A big part of you hadn’t expected him to listen to you though and for him to continue being his usual stubborn self.

Going over to your bed you reached out and pushed a stray strand of hair out of his face, mouth quirking up in a half smile as his nose crinkled up at your touch.

Leaving him to sleep you went to the other side of your not huge tent pulling off your jacket and jumper and kicking off your shoes. You debated for a moment whether or not to sleep next to him, eventually logical won out. You had slept with Bellamy multiple times before and never thought twice about it, it was only because of what Raven had said moments before that was making you uncomfortable. Going over to the bed you crawled over Bellamy and curled yourself up into his side.

You hadn’t thought you would sleep being so pressed up against Bellamy but you clearly must have because you were brought out of slumber by Bellamy starting to writhe around beside you. He was gasping in his sleep, having a nightmare.

Sitting up you reached out taking hold of his shoulder and shaking him gently. “Bell, wake up” he didn’t stir. “Bell!” you tried again louder. “Bellamy, it’s just a nightmare. Come on wake up”

His eyes flew open and he jerked upright beside you breathing hard. You kept you hand on his back rubbing soothing circles on to his shoulder blade. Leaning over you rested your head against his side. “It’s alright. You’re alright”

Bellamy took a deep breath his body shuddering as he turned his head to look at you. “You weren’t here when I went to sleep”

“I stayed late with Raven. Want to tell me what you were dreaming about?”

He looked at you for a long time for such a long time that you didn’t think he was going to answer you. Finally he opened his mouth to speak “You. I was dreaming about you”

“Me? In a nightmare? Well that’s flattering” you were trying to tease him but apparently it wasn’t working because he didn’t even manage to crack the smallest of smiles.

“The grounders, they were attacking and I couldn’t save you” his head dropped forwards breaking eye contact with you. “I can never save you”

“Bell…” you moved your hand to wrap your arm around his shoulders keeping your head resting against his shoulder. “You don’t have to save me, I’m right here”

“I can’t lose you”

“Why would you lose me?”

His heart broken stare looked over at you. “I lose everybody I love. My mum, Octavia… I can’t lose you as well”

“Alright Blake” you finally removed your arm from his shoulders grabbing his face in both hands you forced him to look at you properly. “Listen to me very carefully right now ok. You are not going to lose me. I am not going anywhere and I’m not planning on going anywhere in the future.”

“Promise?”

“I fucking swear it”

He shuddered once more breaking your grip on his face to let his head fall down onto your shoulder. You lifted your hand to play with the long strands of hair around the back of his neck.

“I love you, you know that right Y/N”

“I know. I love you too”

“No” he pulled back finally a smile quirking the side of his mouth. “I really love you”

“I know. I really love you too”

He shook his head, apparently frustrated at you for some reason. Then without warning he leant forward and took your mouth with his own. You remained paralysed for a moment before finding your body melting into Bellamy’s.

He pulled back still with that half smile on his face. “I love you, you know that right?”

You laughed at that this time. Nodding your head to his question. “I know. I love you too”

He wrapped you in his arms once more laying back down on the bed and pulling you with him. You snuggled yourself into Bellamy’s side laying with your head on his chest as his hand ran up and down your back.

Note to self: do not cry, scream, fight, show your deepest emotions/weaknesses in front of anyone ever, ever, ever again.

George Harrison and John Lennon having a look at the cover of the “Twist and Shout” EP.

Photo: The Beatles Book

“We had four hits in 1963. Records were going gold before they had even been released - all kinds of things were happening.

The third single ‘From Me To You’ was really important, because that put all the stamp on it. We’d had the first one, ‘Love Me Do’, which did well. Then they let us back in the studio and we did ‘Please Please Me’, then we had the album, and then ‘From Me To You’, the success of which assured us some fame.” - George Harrison, The Beatles Anthology

* * *

“We were hanging in there by the skin of our teeth, with no money or anything, and just got a bit of luck with George Martin. And we might have believed the crap, too - if it wasn’t for the inner determination that we always had, that I always felt; a kind of assurance within that something was going to happen.

But that’s the thing, as anybody knows who’s had the experience of being down and being downtrodden (which we have, as working-class Liverpool lads), then making it big and seeing everybody brown-nosing you: everybody loves a winner, but when you lose, you lose alone.” - George Harrison, The Beatles Anthology

Bruises

Anonymous asked: Hello! I have a request idea: a peter Parker x reader au set in the future and to the train song Bruises? x

Here you are, anon! I do now own Peter Parker. He belongs to Marvel. I also do not own “Bruises”. That belongs to Train. 

You can listen here

Warnings: Nothing that I can think of. Future AU

Pairings: Peter Parker x reader(possibly reads as a fem!, but it wasn’t intentional)

Originally posted by fuckyeahtonystark

Peter sighed as he put his phone back in his pocket. He wondered how life had managed to get him down. How had he, Spiderman, lost the woman he loved all those months ago? How had he gotten so much older? And he felt older than he actually was. He was so lost in thought, he didn’t notice the person heading right toward him. He bumped into them. “Oh, I’m sorry!” he cried, but stopped when he saw a familiar pair of (e/c) eyes.

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anonymous asked:

HC with Allura where during a meeting for a possible alliance her S/O noticed that someone was about to assassinate her, so they took the hit of a poison dart (highly lethal to Alteans) for her with no known antidote (painfully survivable for humans, but no one knows that). The pods aren't working, so how's she handling with her S/O unknowingly recovering for days thinking that they're slowly dying. Bonus points if you add the rest of the crew platonically for both her and their 'dying' friend.

I added Coran in, since I have such an aesthetic in my head for him if he was faced with this situation. Enjoy!

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wellscrewthis  asked:

A one shot: robert has a dream about dadsona cheating and he becomes paranoid was it really a dream?! Or was it a vision into the future! Dadsona notices that Rob is off and confronts him! Thank you!

//ooh what a fun prompt, thank you!//

//this could have been a lot longer and more complex, but i’m just working on spurring my creativity right now haha. hope you all enjoy!//

((i tried writing in an all-knowing 2nd person narrator kind of thing? feedback is appreciated))

Robert wakes up in a cold sweat. He gasps for air, clutching his blanket. The full moon shines through his sliding glass door, and he looks into it for comfort. What the hell? He had just woken up from a horrible dream; he came home to his door wide open, and inside he found you snuggled up on his couch with… another man. A man who he’d never even seen before. He was enraged, and something evil took over him. He started to swing at you, but you dissipated and he was left with nothing. That’s the last thing he remembers before waking up.

It was just a dream, Robert thinks to himself. MC would never. He lays back down and pulls his blanket up close to him. But… I don’t dream often. A malicious thought pops up in Robert’s dazed mind. What if it was… a vision? I mean, I used to be known to be a psychic. His head starts to hurt, so he shuts his eyes and tries to force himself to sleep. It’s probably nothing. You’re a stupid old man.


Ding dong!

Robert waits outside your door. You invited Robert over this morning, and Robert has been dreading coming over since then. He can’t get that stupid dream off his mind. The sun beams brightly down on him, making him squint. Just seeing MC with somebody else…

“Hey, Robert!” you grins at Robert as he swings the door open. You throw up finger guns and and wink. Robert pushes his paranoia back down into his gut. This kid is too adorable to be skeptical of. 

“Sup, dork.” Robert says nonchalantly, putting an arm around your shoulders as you walk inside. Robert hates it, but he immediately notices that something is different. He can’t quite put his finger on it… but-

“Want a coke?” you ask, your head in the fridge. 

“Why not.” As you approach Robert, coke in hand, a chill shoots down Robert’s spine. That isn’t MC’s shirt. Oh, fuck. Robert shakes the thought, but it totally still bugs him. Who’s fucking shirt is that? Why is he wearing it? He glares at the shirt without thinking. You look down at your shirt, then back at Robert. 

“Huh? Something wrong?” you ask innocently, tossing the coke.

“Wh-what? What? No. Something wrong with you?” Robert defends himself.

“Uhhh…?”

“Forget it, kid.” You drink your cokes in silence as Robert continues to think about which other man’s shirt you are wearing. 


“Hey, I think I’m gonna go to sleep. We’ve been on this couch for hours.” you suggest. Robert’s arms are tightly wrapped around you; you two have been snuggling all evening.

A switch flips inside Robert. He’s cheating on me. Why does he want to leave me right now? He usually invites me to sleep with him, and even though I decline every time because I don’t know if we’re ready for that yet, why did he not urge me this time? It’s because he’s seeing another man, isn’t it? 

“Alright, buddy. I’m gonna head home, then.”

What? You think. You want Robert to stay, but respect the man’s space. But… we were having a nice night? Or… does he not like me anymore?

“Oh… okay.” You say, disappointed. You two awkwardly hug and part ways. Something about how the day went was unsettling. When Robert gets home, he sits down and puts his head in his hands. He can’t erase the vision of his precious MC wearing another man’s shirt. And right in front of him, too!

You lay in bed, facedown in your pillow. What did I do wrong? you cry to yourself. I thought Robert liked me

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sigma-castell  asked:

hey i was just wondering, seeing as you've done a chosen one! ron fic and plenty of harry AUs, have you thought about doing a chosen one hermione?

When Hermione Jean Granger was one year old her parents died in a car crash. She knew all about it because she asked a lot of questions and her aunt and uncle believed in answering them.

Why is the sky blue, auntie? Why are b’s and d’s like in the mirror? Where do songs come from? Why did Jenny Hopkins call me a–?

Her father had accelerated into a green light, like you were supposed to. (By the time she was eight, Hermione had the driver’s rulebook memorized). A truck driver, going the opposite way, hadn’t stopped at a red.

Hermione had been strapped in a car seat in the back, her aunt and uncle told her. She hadn’t been hurt at all except for the scar that stood out, jagged, on her forehead.

As Hermione grew up into a gangly, bushy-haired, buck-toothed wonder, she thought she could remember it– a glaring green light, a rush of cold air.

Hermione’s Aunt Meg worked in a hardware store and wrote poetry on her smoking breaks. Her Uncle Harold taught classical languages at a local university. When she was small, Hermione would sit with him at the kitchen table and solemnly scribble in crayon on his graded papers.

Aunt Meg took her to libraries and museums on the weekends, like they were county fairs or circuses, the same way she would have had her little sister and brother-in-law not died in a car accident and left Hermione on her doorstep (figuratively). In every life, Aunt Meg had bought Hermione her first book.

They had lived in a big city when they first got Hermione, but they had moved before her second birthday. Hermione grew up in a sleepy suburbs, a short bike from open fields. Aunt Meg showed her how to change the tires on her bright purple bicycle, and Uncle Harold bought her a little bell for the handle.

When her aunt and uncle fought, which they did– about dishes, or what to do about That One Rude Neighbor, or the proper classification of Herodotus, or why they had moved out here (they both remembered a charismatic recruiter from Harold’s university, but not much more than that)– Hermione would pick up her latest book and wander over to Mrs. Figg’s.

Mrs. Figg had three cats and gave Hermione candies she could never find in the store. “These ones are good for your teeth,” Mrs. Figg promised, when Hermione asked, her small face wrinkled with concern.

“My parents were dentists,” Hermione explained.

“Well,” said Mrs. Figg. “I suppose someone has to be.”

Sometimes Mrs. Figg’s portraits seemed to move, which Hermione’s aunt and uncle never believed when she told them. They worried about Mrs. Figg some, actually, because there were often loud bangs from her home and yard, as though someone had dropped something heavy (or displaced a human-sized portion of air instantaneously).

When Harry James Potter was one year old, his mother was killed during an Order mission against You-Know-Who.

Peter Pettigrew had been captured by the Death Eaters days before, though his friends thought he was dead. Sirius and Lily had gone ahead with the mission anyway, even though they had planned to have Peter with them. Sirius had been adamant– he believed in their capability, in their cause, and in not letting Peter’s last efforts go to waste just because there was no one else to step in for him.

It was Lily’s last mission, but it was also one of the last of the war. In the few days it took Sirius to stumble his way back home through backwoods gloom and raging grief, the war ended. Voldemort vanished. All around the wizarding world people began to whisper about Hermione Granger, the Girl Who Lived.

Maybe in wartime they wouldn’t have pinned so much guilt on Sirius. Maybe in wartime it would have been worse– a traitor’s execution. But they were limping into peace now and the Ministry was looking for scapegoats. Peter was gone, and Lily was dead. Maybe if Remus and James hadn’t been out of contact, hunting down sources, it would have gone different. Maybe if his last name wasn’t Black. But Sirius went to Azkaban without a trial, and Amelia Bones watched Harry until James got home.

There had been nothing left of Peter to bury but a finger. They’d cremated Lily so James could bury the ashes. He and Remus went out to the Potter family plot in Godric’s Hollow after the first snow of that winter and buried her in frozen earth. Harry fussed in a sling around Remus’s chest. James had written to Petunia, but she didn’t come, just sent a bouquet of white flowers that the poor Muggle florist had awful trouble finding the proper place to deliver.

James got involved with the local children’s Quidditch leagues, after. He taught tykes to fall safely off brooms and chase each other through the skies and whack at soft foam Bludgers with light plastic bats. It took him a full six months to get Remus to take a bedroom, instead of just crashing on the couch. Remus wafted from odd job to odd job, even dipping into the Muggle world when too many had wizards had turned him and his scars away.

Harry grew up knowing what his parents looked like– the grey gathering in his father’s hair, and the way his mother smiled down wide and wild from mantles and frames. He had a bedroom all his own, with a soft green rug and a big bed he slowly grew into. His hair never lay flat, just like his father’s, and he fluffed it up on days it dared to look vaguely tame. His father taught him how to fly, and he tried to learn how to smile–wide, wild–from how his mother did in photographs.

“Hey,” said Remus once, watching Harry scribble colored pencil outside the lines while James attempted spaghetti in the kitchen. “I’m sorry.”

“For your ugly mug?” James asked idly, poking at a bubbling pot of red sauce. It burbled at him. “For telling Harry about that thing with the Kneazle? Kid’s never gonna respect me now, you know.” James flicked his wand at the flame and it flickered, dimming. “Sorry about what, Remus?” Harry put the end of his pencil in his mouth thoughtfully, gnawing at it.

“It was always you and Lily,” said Remus. “Or… before, before whatever it is happened to him, I don’t know how…” Remus took a small pause. “It was always you and Sirius. Potter and Black, hell in hats.”

James had put down his wand. The pot had splattered his sleeve with specks of red and his hair was flopping forward into his eyes. At the table, Harry’s hair was falling into his own green eyes and Remus missed Lily so much he couldn’t breathe sometimes. “Moony, don’t be a dumbass,” James said.

“I’m sorry you got stuck with me,” Remus finished, stubborn. “If someone was going to stay, it shouldn’t have been me.”

“I didn’t get stuck with–” James scrubbed his hands up through his hair, which made it worse rather than better. “You’re not– I miss Lily. I miss Peter. I miss Sirius, even. We lost them, both of us, but both of us are still here.”

“Small blessings,” said Remus sourly.

Giant blessings, what the hell, Remus. We didn’t lose everybody. I didn’t lose you,” James said and Remus dropped his chin. James said, “Lily was Lily, and she– and Sirius was– but we were a family. The Marauders. This was never about any one of us, you’ve got to know that.”

James shook his head and Harry asked, “Fire?”

James leapt for the smoking sauce while Remus gathered himself quietly. When they had sat down to eat and Harry had started to cheerfully splatter tomato all over the cleared table, Remus said quietly, “I can’t imagine being the only one of us left. I don’t know if I could have survived that.”

Harry grew up in Godric’s Hollow, in a house strewn with scuffed brooms and dented Quaffles. James taught him to tie his shoes, to fly, and to have candy for dinner sometimes. Harry sat on the grass outside the pitch for every game his father coached or refereed, cheering on both teams before he figured out you were supposed to be partisan.

Harry grew up watching Remus come home to the house in a rotating cast of uniforms, roles, and schedules– archivist, waiter, Knight Bus technician, tutor, gas station attendant. But it was always Remus underneath the dirt or melted ice cream or ink or cellar dust– his scars, his soft smile, the long arms that would lift Harry up and ask him about what he had learned that day.

When Ron Weasley was one year old, his little sister Ginny was born, robbing him of even the distinction of being the youngest. He tried not to be bitter about it, but Ron, even as a toddler, had never been very good at not wanting to be more than he was. (Any of them would have done well in Slytherin).

But Ginny was small and red-headed and loud, and Ron got used to being not the best, not the wittiest, not the bravest, not the strongest, not the youngest. He pulled up weeds in the garden (and sometimes (often) accidentally vegetables) while Ginny learned how to crawl, then to walk, then to run.

When he had nightmares, Ginny let him sleep in her downstairs room, far away from the creaks and groans of the ghoul in the attic. The ghoul didn’t scare him in daylight, but he had bad dreams.

When Hermione was one year old her parents died. She was clutching the bars of her crib, staring out, when they died. They thought it was a robbery. They were dentists. They were asleep at 11:39 p.m. on Halloween night. When they heard the window glass break and the front door blast open, they both ran for their daughter’s room in their pajamas.

Voldemort, working off a prophecy overhead by Severus Snape, discovered her before Albus Dumbledore could track the Chosen One down. The Order was looking. The Aurors Dumbledore trusted enough to tell were looking, too, but Tom Riddle got there first.  

When Hermione was one year old, her mother stood in front of her crib in a ratty too-big t-shirt of a band she had liked very much in university. When Hermione was one year old, her mother stood in front of her, crying, standing over a dead man in polka-dot PJs, and said, “Not her. Whatever you want, take it, but don’t hurt my daughter.”

Not even a day after she had been turned orphan every adult in the wizarding world knew Hermione Granger’s name. They whispered it, they shouted, they raised their glasses to the Girl Who Lived. When Albus Dumbledore himself came to give her her Hogwarts letter ten years later, every child in the wizarding world knew about Hermione and her lightning scar. Only the curious–historians, hobbyists–knew her parents’ names.

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2

“(Y/n), no!” Dean roared slamming open the door of your bedroom with his foot.

His eyes widened as he came face to face with the sight of you being pinned on the ceiling. This was hauntingly familiar and he felt his heart hammer in his chest; the fear rising in his chest. He couldn’t lose another one. Not you. Above everybody he couldn’t lose you too. Not this way. You didn’t deserve it. You were not a hunter, never had heard about the supernatural before you met Dean. He had tried so hard to keep you out of his life then. To keep you away from him, because he knew that he would be your destruction.

He was Dean Winchester. He was bound to lose everybody he cared for one way or another.

But you, oh you, you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve to die in this way.

Dean didn’t want you to die. Not before your wedding. He wanted you to get to live that day. That and many more. With him.

Because he knew that he couldn’t live without you. Not after he met you. He knew it from the beginning. Just like he knew that if something happened to you because of him he would be torn apart. You were the light in his darkness. The only bit of normalcy he got in his life. You offered him the comfort he needed after difficult hunts. A shoulder to lean on when The Mark was too much to bear. 

He had made a promise after all.

When he had proposed to you. He had promised that once he got rid of The Mark, he hoped it would be soon, he was going to quit. He was going to quit hunting and come to live with you. Start a family.

He had made so many plans in his mins about the two of you that made his heart ache all the more as he now saw you being pinned to the ceiling.

“No, (Y/n) no!” he screamed, eyes wide in panic. He did everything in his will to get you out of there. Everything he could.

His heart was beating wildly in his chest even when he felt your body fall down in his arms. Your also beating heart bringing a somewhat smile of relief on his lips. He gathered you in his arms, holding you as tight as possible close to him.

“It’s ok, Dean. I’m ok” he heard you breath out, your voice slightly shaking.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and buried your face in his broad chest, breathing in his scent that you hoped would calm you down just like it always did. You wrapped your arms around him and held his jacket tightly into your fists, your body slightly shaking from the experience. You shut your eyes tightly and took in a few deep breaths that luckily managed to make you calm down.

You managed to smile just slightly at the feeling of comfort that was brought to you by Dean’s close presence.

A frown set on your face thought when you felt Dean hug even more tightly. Balling his hands in fists and clenching the material of your shirt in them. He tried more and more to hug you tighter and your frown deepened when you felt his body shake.

You thought it was your imagination until you decided to pull away. Your eyes widened at the sight of Dean’s tear-stained face. Sobs shaking his whole body despite the fact that he was trying to hold it in.

“Oh no, no Dean. No” you whispered cupping his cheek with your one hand, brushing a few tears off. In vain, though, as more tears would roll down.

“No, hey. Look at me. Look at me, Dean” you whispered and he dared look up at you “I’m alright, see? I’m fine. Nothing happened. I’m fine”

“I-I almost- I almost lost you (Y/n). If I hadn’t come in in time you- you would be dead, damn it” he gritted his teeth.

“Yes, but I’m not. I’m not dead Dean. I’m here, with you. Because you came in time. You saved me Dean. I’m alive because of you. Please, Dean, please-” you voice broke, tears threatening to spill from your eyes too “Please don’t, please Dean. I’m fine. I’m alive and here. With you. Please baby, don’t do this to me”

“I just- damn it” he ran a hand down his face “I can’t bear loosing you, (Y/n). I can’t.” he pursed his lips that were trembling.

“And you won’t. You won’t lose me, Dean.” you smiled and crashed into his arms, burring your face in his chest once again.

[Request by Anon]

A/N: Finally some Dean. I realized there have been so many Castiel requests lately, which I absolutely love, but come on request some more Dean or even Sammy!