laughs brokenly

mcu stevetony, nightmares and comfort

for my stony bingo card, square: “aliens”. and we know mcu tony has some issues there.

The ships in the sky are too much danger. Tony’s terrified. They’re—beautiful, in a way, technology so advanced he can’t even start to dream about it. They’re lethal and deadly and extraterrestrial and will kill everyone he loves, and they’re his biggest nightmare.

He knows it’s a nightmare, but that doesn’t make things easier. He can’t wake up. He can’t even close his eyes in the dream.

He watches.

Steve falls first, the laser from the ship cutting through his shield like it’s butter and not vibranium, going straight into Steve’s heart.

Tony can’t move.

Nat’s next, running to Steve; hit with something that makes her disintegrate before she even hits the ground.

Even Thor, overcome with aliens—

Someone’s shaking Tony. He doesn’t protest. Maybe just once, he’ll die in his dream instead of watching everyone else go first. But the shaking doesn’t recede, and then there’s a voice, soft, alive …

Tony sits up.

“—up!” Steve says frantically. “Tony,” he repeats. “You back?”

Tony isn’t sure, but he makes sure to keep his eyes open and reach for Steve even as his heart’s beating wildly, and he feels like he can’t breathe, and—

Steve presses a slow kiss to Tony’s hand—but then he moves away. Tony has all of two seconds to panic before Steve’s back, pressing a glass of water into Tony’s hands. Tony downs it gratefully.

“Nightmares?” Steve asks sympathetically.

Tony just looks at him. He doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

He can’t sleep. It’s not new. And that—that hasn’t even been the worst of them.

Sometimes there aren’t any ships in the sky—but there’s no sky, only an infinite, black vastness, and things moving around him, things he can’t see, and the sounds they make are metallic. Tony’s an engineer, but that metal terrifies him. And other sounds, too: Steve screaming in pain, Rhodey yelling for Tony’s help before his voice dies down, Pepper’s low sob. Silence.

Silence, blackness, and the knowledge that Tony didn’t save them.

Steve touches his cheek and Tony shivers. “Don’t think about them,” Steve tells him.

Tony laughs brokenly. “Easier said than done, Steve.”

Because they might’ve been nightmares. But Tony saw the other world, saw the extraterrestrial ships, knows that when they come, he won’t be ready. Can’t be. And he can’t bear that thought.

Steve pulls him closer, wraps him in his arms. He’s warm around Tony, and this way Tony can feel Steve’s heartbeat, slow, steady. Comforting.

“It’s okay, Tony,” Steve says.

It’s not.

“It’s okay,” Steve repeats. “Trust me, Tony.”

Tony clings to him harder and doesn’t care he’s being pathetic.

“I know—you saw things I never want to see. I know that. But we’re the Avengers,” Steve says in his steady, calm voice. “We’ll handle everything thrown at us.”

“I can’t …” Tony starts to say, and Steve puts a finger to his mouth.

“The Avengers,” Steve says. “We’ll keep each other safe, and the Earth.”

“How?” Tony asks quietly.

“Together,” Steve replies.

This, too, is a lie. But it’s one Tony will believe in, for the night.

Unfinished Business Final


Genre: action, fluff, angst, strong language, +18 content, gang material,

Warnings: Character Death, Blood, Strong language

Last chapter… there will be a long ass authors note at the end… so basically I love you all, don’t hate me<3

Word count:2505

{previous}{the beginning}

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Tee Shirt

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Prompt: Song request: Tee Shirt by Birdy

Tags: angst, fluff, smut

Words: 2397

Note: Please let me know what you think

not my gif but omg look at the way he just thrusts into her and just ignvorea;ngdonv;

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mizuri-chan  asked:

Killugon 31, "Why are you crying?", if you take some prompts? :3 thanks!!

How are you guys not sick of seeing my writing all the time??? This is short but I think it works…

Killua stiffened. “Gon, are you- are you crying?!”

He tried to pull away but Gon only clung to him tighter, gripping the back of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. 

“Gon,” Killua said again. He’d stopped struggling, but his tone was tense. “Why are you crying?”

“…I don’t know,” Gon admitted. He kept his face buried in the folds of Killua’s jacket. He could smell Killua’s soap, even hear his best friend’s fluttered heartbeat under his ear. He never wanted to let go, not now that-

Killua sighed heavily. “Jeez,” he muttered and Gon felt a hand brush against his hair. “This is the first time we see each other since the World Tree, and immediately you start crying all over me.”

Gon laughed brokenly. “’M sorry.”

“Stupid, don’t be sorry! Its…overwhelming. I get it.” Killua pressed his cheek to the top of Gon’s head. “Its fine. Everything is fine.”

Gon heard the words Killua didn’t say: everything is fine, now that we’re together again.

Fresh tears welled up in his eyes at the thought. He’d missed Killua so much, had waited so long to hold him like he was now, that it had felt like he’d been missing a limb.

(and he was talking from experience, when he said that)

Gon sniffed loudly and Killua let out a groan.

“What the hell am I going to do with you, you big crybaby?” he teased.

“Stay with me,” Gon answered immediately.

There was a beat of silence. Then-

“Dumb-ass,” came the affectionate tone of Killua’s musical voice. “That was the plan all along.”

I love you, a Hakyona fic

The first time she says it, he doesn’t believe his ears. Or rather, he smiles, pats her head and walks off. He keeps his arms plastered to his sides because they are dangerous things that can annihilate his will by doing something like hug her or… hug her.

The second time she says it, he wants to get upset, but can’t, because here she is with flushed cheeks and a determined glint in her eye. He almost buys it. A laugh brokenly spills out of his mouth and he returns the sentiment alongside a warning to refrain from saying it to him too much. The frown etched her on her face after confuses him to no end – and also fortitudes the beginning of hope around his heart.

The third time she says it, he does get upset and they are shouting at each other. Yona has tears running down her cheeks and her lips are curled into ugly words that slice deep into his insecurities and fears. Suwon’s name appears and he snarls at the mention the current king. She replies in lieu with accusations of his irrationality and obstinacy, landing blow after blow to the foundation of his hatred against the man he once called friend. He can no longer stand to look at her, and his gaze is instead flying everywhere, searching for somewhere safe, somewhere he cannot catch the desperation and pity and something else that shouldn’t be there in her eyes. An especially harsh statement leaves her mouth and his vision flashes to hers, then falters, then crumbles. Soon, he is crouched down on the ground, hands trembling and hiding his face, his entire being trembling from rage, and confusion, and sadness, and grief.

The fourth time she says it, she has her arms around him. She whispers it gently in his ear. She coaxes a reply from him this time. He looks up and she smiles. She says brokenly,

I forgive him. Do you?

Everything within him screams no. But the hardness outlining the corners of her eyes are a testament that what she has been through far outweighs what he can ever hope to understand. And the sin that Suwon bears should not be a burden for him to carry any more than it is hers. So with a finality that returns a weight on his shoulders to the heavens, he nods his head and clutches at the princess and grieves.

The fifth time she says it, Hak isn’t counting anymore.

I love you. I’m so proud of you. I love you.

Say Goodbye - Part Three


Willa got out of bed before Chris awoke and headed for her own room and got into the shower. She rested her head against the marble wall as the hot water coursed over her, relieving some of the stiffness and washing Chris’s scent off of her skin. It was not so easily eradicated from her mind though. She wasn’t foolish enough to confuse a one-night stand in an expensive hotel room with the day to day minutiae of a marriage, but she didn’t want to go back to her marriage. She and Chris may have been the ones snowed in, but it had been a tropical paradise compared to the frigid wasteland her life had become back home. She was going to have to make a choice soon. Not between Jonathan and Chris, but between her marriage and having a child. She rubbed her thumb against her finger but stopped when she realized her wedding ring wasn’t there. Going home without it would make that decision for her, but she wasn’t that much of a coward. She’d have to remember to get it from the living room before she left, along with her shirt and wherever else the rest of her clothes had ended up.

Chris opened his eyes as Willa shut his bedroom door behind her. He’d been debating making love to her one more time under the pretense that the night wasn’t over until they got out of bed, but this was better. He didn’t regret what they had done, but it needed to stop now before it caused actual problems. He rolled out of bed and made his way into the shower, adjusting the settings and temperature before he stood under the rainfall. He didn’t even try not to think about Willa in the shower at the other end of the suite. She would be soapy and slippery and there would be bubbles clinging to her breasts and the curve of her ass. He couldn’t bring himself to jack off though. Every time he touched himself, he thought of her alone, not just in the other shower, but alone in her life. Not once had she mentioned a friend in the hours they had spent together. A husband, employees of both her and her husband’s businesses, even siblings, but not a single friend.

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‘Jealousy,’ Imagine #9: You See Him Talking to Another Girl and Get Jealous

~{requested by anon/edlikescoldcoffee, I changed it a bit but I hope you still like it, thanks for requesting x}~
Happy reading and happy Ed’s birthday!


You were on a trip to go get some strawberries from the store, which you’d taken a craving to during the early weeks of your pregnancy, and had soon run out of. Your emotions weren’t exactly in check by any means either, and you could tell he was treading lightly, silent aside from little compliments and comforts.

Once you’d gotten to the store, and he’d run around to the passenger side of the car to help you out, a girl waved from a car, as she was putting the bags of groceries in her car’s backseat.

She called his name in a high pitched, yet excited voice, starting to walk towards him as you stood near the car. Ed kissed you on the hand as he let it go, saying “I’ll be right back, will you be okay?” which you could only nod to, already feeling the rise of anger coming up against your will as you snapped a ‘sure, Ed,’ it coming out harsher than you expected.

He gave a worried look at your irritated expression as he walked to her, accepting her hug awkwardly. You felt yourself getting more and more frustrated, nearly to the point of crying with how sore your feet were already, the hard pavement not helping your case. They were talking and laughing, a bit too friendly in your already-tense opinion, and she was touching his shoulder in a way that you’d reserved for yourself.

At last, he finally walked back to you after dismissing her with a nod in your direction, embarrassing you though you were nearly sure he didn’t mean it in a humiliating way, the hormones making you absolutely miserable as tears threatened to spill down your cheeks as he approached, waving at her car as it drove away.

He walked to you, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear with an offhanded ‘she was from Thomas Mills, she was in my senior class’. It was then that he noticed your distraught expression, as you shifted from one foot to the other as his mouth opened in dismay. “Hey, hey, what’s this about? Just tired, baby?”

You sighed, feeling your body visibly relax as his gentle hands kneaded your arms, the heat rising to your face as her car disappeared.

“It’s stupid,” you said, looking down, knowing exactly how he was going to react, though not being able to stop yourself.

“It’s not stupid if it’s making you upset, let me know so I can try and make it better, I can’t if you don’t,” he said plaintively, a quiet little ‘look at me’ tacked to the end, waiting until your teary eyes met his, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “What’s wrong?” He asked again, “What’re you on about, hm?”

You laughed a bit brokenly, catching his concern, looking back over his shoulder, at which his face softened as he immediately drew you into a hug.

“You’re so silly,” he mumbled, heart aching with worry, “I love you, you know that. I know you probably don’t feel good right now, I’ll go get you your strawberries and then we can get home and I can run you a bath.”

Your mouth quirked into a smile that matched his, as he flushed red, adding “Okay, I’ll run us a bath, yeah?” You hugged him again, him stumbling back a bit to catch you by surprise, so happy with how well he knew you.

“I’m so sorry,” you laughed apologetically for your high strung emotions, and he laughed again, helping you to sit back in the car so he could run in the store, “Don’t be, don’t be. I love you for better or for worse, remember? Even when you’re a raging hormonal—”

You hit at his shoulder playfully, a touch he didn’t flinch at like he had with her. “Watch it, now, don’t make me mad, Sheeran.”

“Yes of course,” he said teasingly, the joking air still there as he helped you to sit down and lean the chair back comfortably, his hand fluttering over your baby bump as he kissed you, muttering, “but I really do love you, you know, I mean it.”

You smiles into the kiss as it ended, him giving your knee a squeeze as he righted himself, straightening his back from where he’d been bent over to your level. “Stop being cheesy and get me my damn strawberries,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him, earning a laugh and a ‘yes, love,’ from him as he turned on his heel immediantly to go.


anonymous asked:

6 and 16 for exr?:)

exR | fights, angst, 430~ words | prompt: gentle peck

“Stay,” Grantaire says. Pleads.

“No,” says Enjolras, yanking his red jacket on. “That would – I’d have –” His sleeves stick, just like his words in his throat, and Enjolras pauses to take a deep breath. His jacket slips on the rest of the way. “I’m angry at you, Grantaire.”

“I know,” says Grantaire, his voice small. He looks miserable, defeated, guilty and that’s exactly why Enjolras can’t bear to look at him for longer than seconds at a time. He’ll crack and forgive Grantaire, and he can’t do that, not yet, because he’s right. Giving in would be like admitting he’s wrong. And if Enjolras is wrong, then what the hell are they fighting for?

Enjolras grabs his stuff, weaving all over the flat – his papers from the table, his phone from where it’s slipped down one of the armchair cushions, his bag from Grantaire’s bedroom. “You get it, I know you do. I have to – I have to be angry, Grantaire. I have to. I need to just be – alone with myself and my anger, I need to be able to stew in it for a bit.” He sounds ridiculous, he knows he does, and he could likely be more eloquent with it but words are card to come by right now.

“Will you come back?”

 Enjolras stops in his tracks on his way back from Grantaire’s room. Grantaire’s still standing on the other side of the coffee table, his arms around himself. The question floors him. “What? Of course I am – what the hell, Grantaire.” He stares at Grantaire, who fidgets and looks as if there was no ‘of course’ in his mind.

Flinging the strap of his bag over one shoulder and ignoring the way it bounces on his hip, Enjolras flounders over to Grantaire. He wants to shake him; he thinks Enjolras is letting him go that easily? He honestly believes that Enjolras could do that? “Yes, god, yes I’m coming back. I’m angry, I need time, it wasn’t –” Enjolras raises his hands to the ceiling and snarls at it. “Aaarrrrgh!”

Grantaire looks terrified.

“Shit.” Enjolras laughs, brokenly, and fists his hands in Grantaire’s shirt, jerking him forwards. “Yes. Yes, I’m coming back. I love you. I just – I just need to go be angry and wallow and then I’ll get over it. And I’ll come back. Okay?”

“Okay,” says Grantaire in almost a whisper, relief making his face sag.

And because Enjolras really does love him, and because Enjolras really is absolutely fucking furious, he leans forward, and presses the tiniest of soft kisses to Grantaire’s trembling lips. And then he storms out.

When the Moon, Christmas Countdown Check-In (11 Dec)

Apparently, there’s one good thing about losing internet access for a week: you run out of excuses (both bad and good ones) not to write toward your deadline! :P This teaser goes out with belated birthday wishes for my very dear friend @ghtlovesthg​.   If you’re not reading her delicious new AU Cinders, get cracking now!

Weekly Word Count: 6603 (currently on p. 116) 

“Shh, sweet boy,” I croon, and inch up his body to tuck his face into the curve of my neck. “Don’t you know how precious you are?”

“Not to you,” he rasps without hesitation. “Every time you give me a gift, or show me a new kind of affection, it’s even harder to believe than before.”

“I brought you a basket of pretty pinecones,” I recall suddenly. “I forgot to give them to you before supper. Would you rather have them than…this?” I wonder softly, combing my fingertips gently against his scalp. “Because that would be okay –”

“Oh Katniss, when will you understand how very precious you are?” he groans, lifting his face to meet my eyes; his own wide and hot and red with tears. “I found your pinecones while I was cleaning up and it was every bit as thrilling as catching you at the chopping block on New Year’s Eve, or finding the shoe and stocking full of treats outside my bedroom door on New Year’s morn. I even told myself those presents weren’t for me so I wouldn’t get my hopes up.

“A basket of pretty pinecones would have been so much more than enough,” he goes on, “and then you shower me with songs and tales and kissesso many kisses,” he says hoarsely. “You overwhelm me with gifts and affection, both precious beyond measure, and I weep because it’s wonderful and impossible, because I love it and…and I don’t want to lose it,” he concludes, his voice so small and vulnerable that it spurs a prickle of tears in my own eyes. “You make me – make everything – feel so incredibly good, and I cry because I never thought I would have that, or…or even feel that.”

I take his face in my hands and cover every last inch of it with lingering, deliberate kisses. “I hate your sweetheart,” I whisper, kissing the salty corners of his eyes, “if loving her has brought you to this.”

He laughs brokenly in reply. “Oh Katniss, she’s done anything but hurt me,” he says. “She’s a fierce thorned bud that I water with gifts and nourish with the light of my love, and every now and again I get a breath of her petals and am overcome, both by the bliss of the moment and the hope of what more might one day be.”

Still the prince loves his proud rose, I think sadly. But she never knew the pleasure of being tamed, no matter what the fox said, nor would the prince ever truly enjoy the reward of his patience. Not like lush warm fur beneath his hands or a damp snout nosing his ear or a velvet tongue-stroke on his nose.

“You’ll get your rose-bride, little prince,” I promise him, even though it breaks my heart. “But in the meantime, could you be content to play with a tamed fox?”

“I could be content for the rest of my days with a tamed fox,” he whispers, and I cover his mouth with mine before he can add anything to detract from or contradict this golden sliver of hope.

I will make the rest of your days so wonderful, little prince, my still lips promise as they melt against his. I will bring you jewel-bright apples from our tree for your breakfast, ripe wheat from the fields for your luncheoning-bread, and stolen chickens from the farms for the fine fireside supper we shall share. We shall romp and laugh in snowdrifts and cattails and wildflowers alike and I shall perch on your heart and lick your face with joy whenever I triumph over you at our games. We shall be playfellows until you grow lonesome for younglings and then I shall shed my foxskin and become your mate, filling your cold bed with my warmth and love and your house with our merry golden kits.

“Oh, vixen mine,” he whispers against my mouth. “Surely you would rather have a boy-fox to hunt and chase and gambol with you in the woods.”

“On the contrary,” I reply, leaning back to give his nose a tender chiding nip. “I want a goose-boy: a foolish, lonely gander who will tend our nest while I hunt and serve me cozy baked sweets upon my return and wrap me in his golden wings.”

“I can do that,” he promises softly, “all of that,” and curls me snugly to him as proof, tugging us both deeper into the downy hollow of our nest.


HER SHARINGAN was all the Uzumaki could see as she swooshed past him, avoiding him altogether. She would not talk, that was easy to see. Naruto took a heavy breath, shaking his head and slamming his fist against the closest wall he could find.

How could Sasuke do such a thing to Sakura? He knows how much she loves him!

All Naruto could think about was slamming his knuckles against his best-friend’s face. His vision was practically tinting in red, and he was ready to hurt something. That someone being Sasuke. Taking a heavy breath, Naruto decided that he needed to find Sarada before she did something stupid.

But still, it absolutely was a shock to hear Sarada say that she wanted nothing to do with Sakura now. … That Sarada did not want to save Sakura because of the fact she was not her mother. It was something that made his blood boil. After all, family did not always mean blood…

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Steve Rogers- Abyss

(Ooh what have I done..)

“I know this is a really inappropriate time to say this, but-”

Steve’s grip tightens on your arm, but you can barely feel it as you dangle thousands of feet above an abyss that you know is filled with pointy rocks.

“Steve,” You gasp out, vision blurring as you blink away the tears to see Steve face clearly. His expression is terrified, but he’s smiling nonetheless. “just-just let.. let me go.”

He shakes his head, straining to pull you up farther but he stops and hangs his head in defeat.

“Like I said. I know this is a really inappropriate time to say this, but I-”

A freezing blast of wind makes him stop and exhale sharply, his breath coming out in white fog. Then a sickening grinding of metal makes both of you look towards the ceiling. The beam that had been damaged in the fight is slowly tearing off the building, making the ceiling cave in on itself.

“Today’s a really bad day,” Steve huffs out, eyes finding yours and you barely have a chance to blink before he grunts and throws you up and onto the floor.

Relief of being on solid ground floods through your veins so fast you get lightheaded. “Steve-”

“We have to go,” He’s then taking your arms and pulling you towards the exit, barely jumping out of the way of a beam slamming into the ground. “Natasha said she’d wait ten minuets until taking off. It’s been six minutes.”

You nod, hobbling to catch up with Steve as he rushes to the exit. But then a piece of the ceiling slices though the air, aiming right toward you and- and Steve’s there, pushing you out of the way.

“Steve!” You scream hoarsely, scrambling to your feet and nearly gag when you see blood spilling onto the white tiles. “Steve!”

A choking sound comes from behind the sheet of metal, and you stumble around it and nearly fall to your knees. Steve lays there, a large gash in his side already covered in red.

“(Y-Y/n)..” He coughs, bloodied hand reaching forward blinding. You run to his side, your throat closing as you drop to the floor and press your hands to his wound in hopes of trying to stop the bleeding. “I-I know this is a really inappropriate tim-me to s-say this but.. I love you.”

You laugh brokenly, head hanging as he takes your hands in his and smiles loosely. “I love you too-”

The shrieking of metal grinding makes you jump, along with the ground violently shaking and cracking.

“You have.. have to get out,” Steve murmurs breathlessly, lightly pushing on your hands. But you don’t move and grab them firmly.

“I can’t,” You say, trying to ignore the way the building seems to slide off the cliff and begins its decent to the abyss of pointy rocks. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

A small, sad smile pulls at his lips. “C-Come here..”

You sniffle, laying on the side of him which doesn’t have any blood and rest your head on his shoulder as the building continues to rip itself apart.

“I couldn’t think of any better way to go,”

They’re numb. Can’t feel a thing as Natasha starts the jets engine and flies them away from the decomposing labs.

“They’re okay,” Tony says suddenly, but no one looks at him as he forces a smile. “I mean, he’s Captain America and she’s (Super hero name). Captain Steve Rogers and (Y/n) freaking (L/n). They’re fine, guys. I’m telling you.”

“Oh my god,”

Natasha shines the jets light on the building, using the beam to follow two objects falling through the air until they disappear once they’ve hit the heavy fog hanging above the abyss.

“Are those-”

“No,” Tony covers his face, feeling hot tears already making their way down his face.

“It’s them,” Clint says monotonously, keeping his features unreadable as he turns away from the window. “It’s them.”

[Requests are Open]

anonymous asked:

playing soccer in the garden with niall :)

Niall was seven when he was first introduced to the household garden. He was short, smaller than you, and held a football underneath his arm. The flush in his cheeks was still there (Maura had pinched and cooed and he had shook her off and tried to glare), but he was a different person; he wasn’t broad shoulders or a deep, enchanting voice. He was a boy with a passion. He was a boy who learned to play soccer before he was the boy who picked up his grandfather’s guitar. 

The children had been left outside to play while the parents idly watched on from the sprawling windows of the kitchen. At first, he wouldn’t share the ball with you, and you thought of running into the house and screaming with tears in your eyes. When he began showing off his juggling skills (which were more of him tossing his foot out into mid-air and dazedly catching the ball upon his toes), you stuck your leg out for him to get caught on. With a wicked gleam in your eyes, you watched him fall into a heap with dirt shuffling into his mouth. 

Niall stuck his tongue out at the ground and tried to wash away the taste with his fingers shoved down his throat. He winced when you picked the ball up with your hands and admired it, turning it at all its full angles. 

“That’s not how you use it, arsehole,” he spat. You tilted your head to the side as he brushed his trousers off and stood at his full (and slight) height. “You’re supposed to kick it! Everyone knows that!” 

That was his first mistake; he made it when he was seven. He went home early with a split lip and a ruined football. Your mother’s clay plant pot had been destroyed and was left in pieces. 

Niall was at the front door the next day, a scab having formed on his mouth and Maura standing behind him with her hands firmly on her hips. He held a new vase towards you. When prompted to speak, he bowed his head and admitted that it had all been his fault. 

After that, he was allowed in the garden every spring and summer day. Smiles and laughter filled the void of dried blood and crushed flowers. 


Your first kiss had been in the garden; it hadn’t been with Niall. You went to school the next day, thirteen and pimply, voice squeaky with delight. A group of your friends had gathered around, binders pressed into their chests like they were trying to hold back the thundering of their hearts. 

Standing by, Niall snickered when you closed your eyes and sighed longingly. With one of your eyes opened and your attention fully rested on him, he shrugged his shoulders and slammed his locker shut. 

"Josh Acker is shite,” he murmured, arms pulled in tight. “I bet he kisses like shite, too." 

You ignored the jab and turned to your best friend. She placed her hand on your arm, squealed much like you had earlier, and squeezed your skin. “Was it by the daisies?” 

That was Niall’s second mistake; standing around for the conversation to take place while he was merely thirteen. Freshly picked daisies were on your front porch the next morning. Niall was the only culprit in mind. 

When he walked past you in the doorway to get to the garden a few days later, mumbling something underneath his breath about teaching you how to chip, you grazed your fingers over his right shoulder and said thank you. Face flushing, Niall didn’t reply, but he didn’t deny anything either. 


At age sixteen, you had your first real heartbreak. Niall was there to pick up the pieces on a dark and desolate night when you had your legs tucked to your chest and your forehead resting upon the tops of your knees. The garden didn’t need to provide much light, for you had the moon and Niall’s shining eyes gazing at the side of your face. 

He hadn’t known what to do. He simply listened and curled his arm around your shoulders when he felt like you needed the support to stay upright. 

For a sixteen, nearly seventeen year old boy, the only thing he could think to say was sentiment hidden underneath a pile of underwhelming humor. “Would it make you feel better if I let you kick tha ball at me face?” 

Laughing brokenly, you choked back on a particularly wet sob and rubbed your shirt sleeve against your nose. “No,” you whispered in reply, turning your head so you could hide your face in his shoulder (one that he was growing into; sprouting out of). “I don’t think that would make me feel better at all.” 

Gazing into the distance, Niall’s eyes flickered over the spot where you had once broken the flower pot. He wondered where all those pieces had gone once they were picked up. Were they glued back together? Perhaps they were swept under the rug. 

Niall didn’t want any part of a broken you to be hidden underneath a concealing object. He wanted to glue you back together. He wanted to take the sap from the trees in the garden and use it to smooth out your edges; put you back into place. 

"Alrigh’,” he had said a moment later. He turned his head sideways so his jaw was pressed to the underside of your cheek and his eyelashes were fanning against your warm skin. “I’ll just hold you for a little while then, yeah? Won’t open my dumb mouth." 

With a murmured ‘yeah’ underneath your breath, you let him curl his arm tighter around you and block out the cold from the rest of the world. 

That was Niall’s third mistake; he was sixteen. He should have told you he loved you right then and there. 


Nineteen years later and with a garden of his own, Niall wasn’t paying enough attention to the outside grass. His hands were on your shoulders as he stood behind you, conversing with the next door neighbors who had a young son, and he was kissing the back of your head when the back door slammed open. 

Dad,” your son wailed, pushing forward until his head was resting against his hip and he had his tiny arms wrapped around his waist, keeping him anchored. “He kicked the football at my face.” 

Niall shared a look with you over the top of your son’s head. A moment later, Niall was crouching down onto his haunches and ruffling the blond hair he shared with his child. 

"What happened?” he asked in a hushed whisper. The parents of the other boy sought out to make things right. 

“I don’t know.” Your son’s lip wobbled. You pressed a comforting hand to his back. “I might have said something dumb because I thought he was pretty." 

Niall knew the feeling. 

(That wasn’t a mistake. That was a lifetime with you.) 


Dean x Reader

Message: If you’re still doing request will you do one with demon!Dean and angel!reader as a couple? Maybe her and Cas meet with him and Crowley for the first time after he turns, Heaven vs Hell kind of thing. Thank you!

Warning: none

Requested by: gone-lost-forgotten


AN: I hope this was what you had in mind. I really enjoyed this prompt/request. 


“You promise everything will be okay?”

“(Y/N), I’ll be fine. You and Cas, you go try to get yourselves home - crack the egg from the inside out, and we’ll rendezvous back at the bunker when Metatron is a special edition angel flashlight, okay?”

“But what if something goes wrong? What if the First Blade doesn’t work? Dean, I’m scared for you.” You wrung your hands.

“Hey, I thought angels were big on faith?” He joked lightly and placed a kiss on your head, “I’m not much for soppy romances, but I love you.”

It sounded like his goodbye. Which, in a way, it was. Either Metatron would kill him, or he would kill Metatron and the Mark would metaphorically destroy him: change him into something that wasn’t even Dean, and for that you were scared. You would lose the man you loved tonight one way or another.


That was eight weeks ago. You and Cas had turned Metatron’s flock against him, had “cracked the egg from the inside out,” as Dean had said. 

Moments after the success, though, you had collapsed on the floor breathless. Sam’s sobbing filling every crevice of your mind. Every thought and feeling, everywhere your mind went trying to escape the misery, Sam Winchester was there crying, mourning over the death of his big brother.

It was like his pain and your pain were mixed. You took on his pain involuntarily, and it melded with yours, ripping your insides to shreds as the minutes grew long and the days became numb tally marks on your heart.

Right after it happened, you cut ties with humanity. You never came to Sammy when he prayed, even if it hurt you both. Yes, it was selfish and yes it was stupid but you’ve always been so protected and you’ve never had to experience a great loss such as this. And what a great loss it was. 

Castiel went around without you, he was heartbroken as well; with his best friend being killed at the hand of one of your kind, and all. If Metatron could even be considered that. He was an abomination.

Cas had never failed you; he would check up on you, tend to your needs unnecessarily. Cas was the closest of your brothers, and the angel closest to understanding how you felt. As eight weeks rolled into nine weeks, you became a bit better, there was less hurting and more numbness.

You were speaking to one of the lower-class angels when he appeared beside you. “(Y/N), come with me, we have an appointment,” 

You excused yourself and followed Cas down the white corridor, “Hello to you too, Castiel. It’s been days, what escapades have you experienced this time?”

Cas looked at you, “(Y/N), this is very important, we don’t have much time. He wants to meet in a few minutes.”

“Who’s he?”

“Crowley,” He looked away, ashamed. “We need information from him and he needs information from us.”

“Why do I have to go?”

“Sister, you are my right-hand. You must, when dealing with these matters. Crowley will most likely have his second in command as well.”

“Where are we mee - ” Cas grabbed your hand and you were whisked away in a flash of white.


You looked around at your surroundings. Trees, dirt, grass, rain, that smell. You were on earth, the last place you ever wanted to be.

“The Crossroads,” Cas answered after a long moment. 

You started to panic. “Cas, I can’t be here, I swore I would never come back. Please take me home, Castiel.” Your eyes grew wide and Cas put a hand on your back soothingly.

“(Y/N), you had to come, you had to see for yourself.”

“See wha - ”

For the second time, you were cut off. This time by a sickeningly charming voice, “As retired King of the Crossroads, I thought it only appropriate that we meet here.” 

Cas turned around and stiffened, making you turn around slowly. You saw Crowley, the bastard, and you saw him.

Your eyes never left him as you spoke to Cas. “Is this an illusion?”

“No, girl. This is not an illusion. Castiel did you really not tell her?” 

You ignored them both and looked into those eyes. “Dean?” You took a few fragile steps forward. “Is this - are you actually you? Are you really alive?”

Dean flashed you a smirk and blinked, his once green eyes dissolving into black ink. You gasped and stumbled backwards into Castiel.

“Yeah, (Y/N), it’s me. Been a hellish few months now, hasn’t it?” He laughed at the dumb pun.

A rough dryness coated your eyes since you were incapable of crying, “Cas, you knew? You knew and you didn’t tell me?” 

"You - you wouldn’t have handled it well. You’re still not handling it like I would’ve hoped. I’m sorry (Y/N) but you had to know he wasn’t dead. The angels, the others told me it was time.” He gripped your elbows to keep you from falling.

“He is, dead, Cas. He’s as good as dead while going along with that scum of the universe.”

"Aw, babe, and here I thought you were going to fall into my arms and we were going to live happily ever after just like you dreamed about!” Dean chuckled. 

“C’mon, (Y/N), let’s go, this is all my fault. I should never have done - I’m so sorry.” Cas reached down for your hand to zap you back to the warehouse and you stole one more longing look at your precious Dean. If only you could take his place …

“Oh, not so fast, Castiel,” Crowley spoke, “now, I’m not too good with intuition and all but my gut is telling me that Little Miss over there has a proposition." 

You opened your eyes, had he read your mind or something?

Cas looked at you, on edge. He needed you to go back to the warehouse. 

"I do.” Your voice surprised you, it was strong. “I want to take his place.”

“(Y/N), no, don’t do tha - ” You silenced Cas with a wave of your hand. And kept him in place with a sigil you drew in the air, having learned a few tricks during Metatron’s advance. 

“Crowley, is it possible? Can I take his place?” You stepped towards Dean and ran your knuckles along his cheek. 

“I know that you’re still in there. I know some part of you is still my Dean. I will get you out of this.” You whispered to him, clenching his jacket. You didn’t dare make a move to hug him, in fear of the demon. His jaw tensed and he stepped back, smirking cruelly.

"Well,” Crowly began, disturbed by the intimacy of the moment. “The Mark of Cain is what brought this on. So, you would have to transfer the Mark to yourself and then come join me in my home as one of mine and we’ll play ponies together and your little pumpkin will be on his merry human way.”

“But, I’m an angel . . ? I don’t think the Mark can - ”

“Oh, it can’t. If you read here, ” A contract appeared in his hand and he pointed to a line of text, “you will have to sign over your Grace and become human so that such I can take your soul, savvy?”

You watched as Cas thrashed against the invisible chains and screamed silently into a void of nothing. Even Dean looked uneasy, knowing that an angel signing over her Grace was not good.

“And Dean will be free, human again. No funny business?” Your eyes trained on Dean’s face.

“Squirrel here will be a human again with real emotions and feelings and the need to pee or whatever the hell humans do for fun, and hell gets an angel,” He chuckled and held out the pen for you to take, which you did. “The irony of it.”

“(Y/N) this might not be the best idea … Angels should stay angels, if I’m not mistaken.” Dean. Even with the slightest of emotions, he was subconsciously protecting you.

"Yes, Dean. I know. But this isn’t your decision.” You signed the contract. “Don’t we kiss or something now?” You cringed as you looked to Crowley which made him laugh.

“No, poppet, actually you will be kissing him, today. Fun little bit, right?” He pointed to Dean, who looked disgusted.

You stepped so you were in front of Dean again, your hands cupped his face. “You know, I did used to dream about being with you. I used to dream about this being behind us in the rear-view mirror of the Impala.” You laughed brokenly, “I thought about giving up my Grace to be with you long ago. I thought, maybe we could have a life together - a family. I was naive, I know that now. Because there are no happy endings in either of our lives.”

You searched Dean’s face, even without his natural eyes you could tell there was emotion starting to flood back into his body. And he was slowly starting to understand what you were doing, but not enough to stop you.

“I love you so much, Dean. And if you were really you right now, I know you wouldn’t want me to do this, and I hope one day, you can forgive me." 

"Any day now, John Green, this isn’t The Fault in Our Stars.” Crowley commented.

You took a shallow breath and reached around to hold the back of Dean’s neck like you used to, cradling his face with your other hand. “I do love you, Dean.” You closed your eyes and placed your lips over his.

Three things happened in that moment.

One: Dean instantly melted into you, one hand going to your waist and the other going to your back to steady you and pull you closer, capturing you in his arms like he would have months ago.

Two: Cas’s shouts of regret filled your ears as the sigil evaporated. “It’s all my fault.”

Three: A single tear cascaded down your cheek.

These three things meant that Dean was human, and so were you.

“Oh, (Y/N), baby. What have you done?” You looked up into Dean’s eyes to see that they were once again their sparking emerald. They were brimming with tears. His thumb ran over your soaked cheekbones. 

You smiled tiredly, already feeling the weakness and fragility that came with being a human. 

“Do it now, Crowley.” You threw a scowl in his direction, tasting blood in your mouth. 

With a wave of his hand you were by his side in shackles, black smoke slipping through your lips. Your eyes shut as the Mark etched itself into your skin, burning the flesh.

“Now, love, let’s see those pretty black eyes of yours.”

You looked up slowly and saw Castiel supporting Dean with his right arm. “This is my fault, I should’ve waited longer - “

You smiled and Cas grew silent. “It isn’t your fault, you were protecting me from myself as long as you could. I would have found out anyway and we would still be here. I would make the same choice to free him. I apologize to you, Castiel. Also, I thank you for being my brother and companion these past weeks.”

“I - I’ll get you out, (Y/N) I promise. Don’t give up. Sammy and I, we’ll find you, okay?” Dean panicked, his voice thick with tears.

You shook your head, “Don’t, baby. I’ll be alright. Promise me you’ll be safe? Don’t go looking for trouble.”

“I love you so much, (Y/N), I’m so sorry.”

“I love you, Dean.” Then you were gone in a puff of red smoke, damned to Hell.

Another angel has fallen.