#i have had it for less than like. 2 days? but it is my friend now and i cherish him

[exocaliii]

❦︎ You've Been Walking, You've Been Hiding

(pt. 1) (pt. 2)

| Kang No-eul / Guard 011 x fem!reader |

side! | Se-mi / Played 380 x fem!reader |

Summary: For six years, you've watched your best friend and only companion mourn a child she barely got to know. Now, you're given a chance that might finally rid her of this lifelong guilt.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: mentions of self harm, death, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, occasional use of Y/N even though I try my best to avoid it lol, some jealousy and yearning, very plot heavy guys no porn this time...

A/N: first fic yay!! it's incredibly plot heavy (like seriously look at the word count man I haven't even reached the Mingle game yet😭😭) and tbh i've already written most of pt 2 (which dives far more into the romance part), but please please lmk what you think so far!! :D seriously any comments or messages or whatever are appreciated!! this is the "I wrote this cuz no one else did" fic

—

It’s been nine years since you've met her, and she’s still the most beautiful woman you know.

Her head is tilted back, shallow breaths filling the silence. You don’t make a move until you see tears flow down her cheeks, and by the time she raises an arm to cover her face, you’re already by her side. There are no words or even glances shared as you use the sleeve of your jacket to wipe the tears off her cheek. Though, for a split second as your hand lowers, you swear you see her head tilt in your direction, and maybe you’re hallucinating it (god knows what could happen after two bottles of whatever hard liquor that was) but your eyes meet for a brief second.

It’s a bit too much for you, and you need this night to end. Besides, you had someone to meet. She knows that.

“It’s late, Eul.”

It’s an unspoken suggestion for her to drive you home, but she doesn’t move - just looks over at you with a heated gaze and that’s all it takes. Whatever emotion she was trying to express is unknown to you, but it’s familiar in a way that deeply disturbs you. You’re the last person she should be looking at like that.

“...Alright then,” you whisper, placing your head on her shoulder. She doesn’t react, but she doesn’t move to push you off either. You should leave. You both know this.

God, you’re pathetic.

—

250 million won.

Fucking scammers. Who could even pay that much?

Your meeting with the head of some shady smuggling group based in North Korea went… alright. They were willing to help, but less optimistic than the last. What really went wrong was the price they were charging to help search for No-eul’s baby. Even if you worked your current job for 16 hours a day for an entire year straight, you wouldn’t have enough.

The thought of seeing her hope dwindling once again made you want to pull your hair out.

Perhaps it was this heartache that made you call the number on that card.

—

She’s known about the games for six years.

She signed up to kill people every summer for five years.

Today is the first day she’s genuinely, completely thrown off guard.

When she twists the scope of her rifle, she almost accidentally fires a bullet straight into your face with a twitch of her hand. Even after leaning back and rubbing her face in exasperation at her own mind supposedly playing tricks on her, she leans back into the familiar pad of the rifle to see your face once again. You look the same as the last time she saw you, which was barely two days ago. The strain in your face, the fear that twists your expression into one she recognizes from seven years ago - God, what the fuck did you get yourself into?

She lets out a shaky breath and readjusts her grip, her nerves making her hands quiver just enough that she has to lean back again to roll her head to relieve some of the newfound tension in her neck. When she finally lays her cheek back against the rifle, she’s quick to refocus her attention to another player, one that 012 (or was it 010?) failed to kill. It’s a disgusting ordeal, but she deals with it the only way she knows how to, even as her mind wanders.

Survive this game, Y/N. Do not leave me behind.

—

All you can do is clutch the number on your chest - 037 - after what had just happened. After you watched a woman’s blood splatter onto a young man right next to you. After you watched him flinch and die moments later, right at your feet. It feels like a fever dream when money begins to drop into the piggy bank above the room, and you’re told each 100 million won added was somebody’s life.

That woman and the boy were, combined, only 200 million won to the pile. You want to vomit.

You drown out so much of it, but when you hear talk of money being passed out to the “winners” of the game you all just played, you’re disturbed to find it’s only reached about 75 million. You’re even more disturbed by your immediate desire for more, more money to fill the pig’s empty stomach (and more lives lost, apparently).

When it comes time to vote, you can’t bring yourself to care much about the man who claims he had played these games before. His pleas mean nothing to you, not when you have 250 million won to conjure up in the next month to continue the search for No-eul’s sweet daughter. You hesitate for only a split second before you hit the O, and you force yourself to drown out the fearful cries to your left as well as the howls from the hungry wolves to your right.

A blue patch is placed over your chest, but you do not cheer with the rest of your side.

—

When night comes, sleep refuses to come to you. It feels like a punishment now, especially as you look at the young girl just diagonal to you. 095. She shakes like a baby in her bed, and the red X on her sweater shows you why.

Have you damned this poor girl to death? Maybe even the kind old lady lying across from her?

The sick feeling in your gut prompts you to get up and head over to the side door. Three knocks prompts nothing but silence, but you refuse to give up so easily. With another set of knocks on the door, this time hard enough to make sure the guard on the other side (at least you hoped there was even anyone on the other side) heard you, you spoke up.

“I’m sorry, I don’t feel well, can I please-”

Without you saying another word, the door practically swings open.

Standing across from you is a pink guard with a triangle mask. The rifle at their side draws your attention immediately, and some paranoid part of your mind wonders if they only opened the door so they could shoot you for interrupting their quiet time. However, the guard surprisingly only takes a small step to the side after a strangely tense silence.

“...Thank you…”

You scuttle past them and immediately head to the bathroom. The moment you enter, you rush to the sink, turn on the faucet, and let a stream of icy cold water fall from your cupped hands onto your face. For a second, this helps your heart rate slow.

What brings it back up is the sound of the door opening, and what spikes it is the fact that it’s not a fellow player that walks into the silent bathroom, but the guard. Based on their height alone, you can tell it’s the same one. This is even more frightening somehow.

Did you do something wrong? Should you have just stayed in bed? Why did you pick-

“Why are you here?!” The guard’s raspy voice interrupts your thoughts. Her question (you now realize it’s a woman) was just barely quiet enough to not be considered a yell, but the frantic nature of it still makes you blank out. You’re so afraid that you end up completely missing the familiarity your body feels at the sound of her voice.

“I-I’m sorry ma’am, I just need to wash my face, I’ll-”

You’re interrupted once again by the guard’s movements, but this time, she’s practically ripping down the red hood of her jacket to pull off her mask. She doesn’t even need to take off her face covering by that point, because a single short glance at her eyes, the ones you knew so well, were enough.

“No-eul…,” you choke out, staring as she pulls the face covering down completely to reveal the face you’ve known for nine years. Her hair is sweaty and sticks to her face in a way that you recognize from her summer shifts at the fair.

Seeing her here is only comforting for a short moment though, because the pink of her uniform against the green of yours is still visible in your peripheral as you take in her confused, almost panicked expression. Her eyes scan your face for an answer, not nearly as patient as she typically is, and when you refuse to even make a sound, she takes a small step closer.

“Answer me. You shouldn’t- God.” She runs her gloved fingers through her hair in poorly hidden frustration as she sighs and turns away for a split second. “You shouldn’t be here. Not in a place like this.”

You don’t respond, but she can very much see the frown on your face after that last statement.

“Then what the hell are you doing here?” It doesn’t take much for you to regain your snarkiness, but it clearly throws her off guard.

“It’s just a temporary job, and you know why I need it, so answer me.”

Yes, you know full well why she needs it.

“...I need it too, Eul.” It’s not enough for her. You sigh before accepting your fate. “She needs it.”

For a second, there’s silence. She’s confused, and you watch as the gears turn in her head and she slowly comes to understand the intentions behind your words - understands the blue O plastered on your sweater. Somewhere in the blank expression she’s trying so hard to keep up, you can spot the shame, the guilt, and the sadness washing over her at the realization.

“Don’t look at me like you pity me. This was my choice to make.” I don’t regret it.

When she fails to even acknowledge what you just said, you simply sigh and move over to the wall, sitting down with your legs pulled close to your body. As if it were muscle memory, she joins you a moment later.

For what feels like forever, you two sit in silence and stare at each other. She can’t stop glancing down at the patch on your chest, and you can’t stop glancing at the mask she placed at her side. When she notices this, her expression gets even more shameful, and she lowers her head.

“Eul…” She doesn’t answer you, but you hear the soft exhale she releases when she hears your voice. “Eul, I don’t blame you.”

You reach over in a bold move and take her gloved hands. They’re mostly steady, but you know her too well by now. Even the slightest tremor is enough for you to practically feel the shame washing over her in waves. When you attempt to hold eye contact with her again, she breaks it uncharacteristically fast.

“You should’ve never come here.”

You sigh heavily and as she begins to pull her hands back, you tighten your grip on them and lean forward.

“I want to find her, No-eul. Please let me try.”

She’s damned you, just as she damned her daughter. She’s sure of it.

—

Whilst others around you are quickly gathering into groups, you find yourself lost in the crowd. No one pays you any mind as they shove past you to team up with people they had been interacting with, but what could you do when you’ve really just been ignoring most of the people here?

It’s humiliating when you find yourself inching towards a group of men that side-eye you and turn away before you can even ask to join their group. To be fair, if you were them, you probably wouldn’t want the meek girl in the corner either. It’s life or death, and you can’t blame them for picking the former. All you can do is sigh and turn away, but before you can go far, a hand gently grabs your upper arm and spins you around.

“Hey, you have a team yet?”

380.

She’s a girl you made eye contact with only once, right before your late night trip to the bathroom. From her appearance, you would’ve expected her voice to be a lot more gruff, but it’s soft and gentle and draws you in immediately. In a place like this, it's normal that you find yourself easily drawn to any sense of safety you can find (especially when your usual safe haven is hidden behind a mask that dozens of others are wearing - others that are probably far more willing to shoot you in the head for trying to stick to them).

“No.” An awkward silence fills the space between you two before you remember why she’s even asking such a question in the first place. “Do you want to…”

You don’t get to finish that question - thank god - before she chuckles and shakes her head slightly, answering you by taking you by the hand and dragging you over to her group.

Standing with her back against the wall, an armed guard keeps her eyes trained on your every movement. When 380 takes you by the hand, her grip on her rifle tightens just barely.

—

In a twisted way, you almost found the last game to be fun. The cheers of the spectators, 380’s tight grip on your arm and quiet encouragement after you failed the first round of gonggi, it’s all kindness and attention you never typically receive. You can almost bring yourself to completely ignore the fact that you’re pretty sure you just got yourself thrown in with a group of two drug addicts (you don’t know how they managed to sneak substances into this seemingly sterile environment, but it’s very obvious they succeeded in some capacity).

What wasn’t fun, however, was watching the previous losers get gunned down by people in the same outfit as the woman you were empathizing with just last night. You’re actually 99% sure she was one of them, which makes it that much worse. You pity those who lost, and for a second, as you watch a young boy fall to the ground with blood seeping out from a single hole above his heart, you feel an indescribable hatred towards those putting these people down like dogs.

But then No-eul’s face flashes in your mind and you feel the ghost of her hands on yours, and it all fades away.

“What’s your name?” Your train of thought is interrupted by a soft and familiar voice. You turn to face 380 and are slightly thrown off at the sight of 230, 124, and 125 also waiting expectedly. Albeit with some hesitance, you give them your full name, and 380 nods in acknowledgment.

“I’m Se-mi.” Her choice to leave out her surname isn’t lost on you, but you ignore it for now. After all, you don’t really know this woman, and she doesn’t know you.

“Two beautiful names for two pretty girls.” Maybe you should’ve left out your surname as well. “I’m the legend: Thanos! I’ll revive half the world with my lyrics, so watch out.”

After Thano’s little declaration, you couldn’t really pay attention to the other two (Min-su and Nam-gyu, if your memory serves you well). The short shy boy that had been trailing Se-mi when she asked you to join the team was just as quiet as he was before, but now that you’re really paying attention, you realize that he bears a striking resemblance to someone you knew.

Laughter rings out as you chase him through the yard. Short legs, shorter than yours, don’t take him too far before your open palm collides with his small back, causing him to practically faceplant into the dirt. His muffled cries come out soon after, and even with your sorry attempts to soothe him, your aunt still comes running out, scolding you for playing so roughly with her young son.

It’s the last time you’ll see them, even if you didn’t realize it then.

You break your gaze away as you shift uncomfortably at the sudden memory - 125 is not your cousin, he’s a stranger.

You glance around the room for a bit before deciding you’ve sufficiently distracted yourself. When you draw your focus back towards Se-mi, you see her staring off into the distance as well, having made the wonderful decision to not pay attention to the drug-riddled rambling of the rapper who had become the de-facto leader of the group. As if she can sense your gaze, she breaks her staring contest with the wall across the room to turn her head in your direction.

As your eyes meet again, you don’t look away, and you’re pretty sure she smiles a bit at this.

Smug.

—

When it’s time to vote yet again, you’re just as set on your choice as you were before. The guilt of voting for the games to continue even after seeing 095 cry and beg for her life weighs heavy on your heart, but the money just isn’t quite enough for you to quit yet.

When you drag yourself back over to the side cheering and throwing their fists in the air for the death games to continue, you have to stop for a second and close your eyes.

No-eul’s face is so clear in your mind, and so is every memory you have of her crying over her lost daughter.

It’s easier to stand with these people when you remember what you’re fighting for.

—

Even with the confidence you felt in your choice, your guilt isn’t dispelled and you can barely bring yourself to eat the dinner provided to you. You push around the egg with your spoon, head cradled in your hand as you stare down at the ground; it’s a pitiful scene, and you’re probably scaring off any potential future teammates, but in the moment, you truly couldn’t care less.

“Does it taste that bad?” The voice is teasing, and you immediately know who it is before she even sits down beside you.

“I’m not hungry right now, that’s all.”

“Bullshit,” she says with a laugh, and you finally look up from the speck on the floor just to shoot her a dirty look. She responds with a mischievous one in kind. “You feel bad or something? Starving yourself isn’t gonna change the vote on your chest.”

With a heavy sigh, you shove a spoonful of rice in your mouth just to shut her up, but all you do is earn another laugh from her. It’s a nice sound to hear, but you'd jam your spoon into your neck before admitting something like that to her.

“Where are the other three?”

She raises a brow and slightly leans back, revealing Min-su almost tucked into her side like a shaking child. If you all didn’t share your ages earlier, you would've thought he was only in his late teens with the way he was acting. “Thanos and Nam-gyu are digging into their candy stash again, if you know what I mean.”

A loud unprompted Woo! C’mon Man! from across the room confirms her answer, and you scoff.

“Addicts.” Another laugh from her, and finally, you’ve decided that you’ve had enough with trying to eat when your body damn near wants to reject it. “So, why are you here then?”

“Same as everybody else,” she looks over at you with an expression that says ‘obviously.’ “I’ve got some debt I’m trying to get rid of.”

You’re about to clarify that you actually meant to ask her why she was here, next to you and not why she was participating in a bunch of death games, but you push that thought aside for now. Curiosity takes over as your eyes try to uncover something, anything in her expression.

Piercings, careless attitude, but her eyes are soft when she looks at you and Min-su. She seems smart enough. Beautiful as well. How the hell did someone like her get into enough debt to want to participate in something like this?

“Aren’t you afraid of dying though?” It’s a weirdly deep question that you regret asking as soon as it leaves your mouth, but she only does her signature smirk before answering you.

“There are plenty of things out there that can kill me too. This place isn’t so different.” Except for the fact that you’re now living with the possibility of being shot for failing a kids’ game, but alright, you can accept that answer. When faced with your silence after her answer, Se-mi lifts a hand to gently grab the blue patch on your chest, examining it with apparent interest.

“How about you? Why did you choose to die?”

It’s an incredibly morbid way to put it even though from her tone, you can tell she’s obviously joking. Either way, it makes you grimace and destroys the confident demeanor you tried to hold up to match with hers. What could you say to a question like that? That you signed up to get money for someone else? That you could maybe even have lived a debt-free, semi-peaceful life without this other person, but you would rather die without her?

“It’s… yeah, it’s debt money for me too.” The lie leaves your mouth easily, but Se-mi doesn’t look convinced at all. Her doubtful gaze burns holes into the side of your face, and you’re beginning to desperately search for something to take her attention off you. Your reprieve comes in the form of the slight movement you spot behind her.

You don’t actually know this woman, and for now, you don’t intend to.

“Min-su, how about you?” Her intense gaze finally breaks, and she shifts to look at Min-su as well.

“Huh?”

“Why are you here?” You force your voice to be softer this time, less urgent to match with his jumpy nature. He’s calmer now, but there’s still shame evident in his expression even though he hasn’t even told you two anything yet.

“I… I just had some student loans, that’s all.” Se-mi makes the same face she made at you towards him and he winces, obviously unwilling to spill his secrets. You almost feel bad for the guy, especially with the way Se-mi is beginning to pester him a bit now. Seems like two unnecessarily vague answers were pushing her buttons a bit, and the idea that you’ve managed to irk this carefree woman is kind of satisfying.

After a while of listening to their back and forth (which mainly consisted of Min-su asking Se-mi how she’s so calm in ten different ways), out of pure boredom, you decide to test the waters one last time.

“It’s not really debt money for me.”

This catches their attention straight away, and Se-mi looks far more interested in this answer than your previous one. You drop your eyes back to the ground in preparation for your admission.

“Then what’s it for?”

“I’m planning on giving all the money I win to someone else. They’ll use it for their own... personal reasons.” Not exactly the full truth, but it’s part of it and you think she deserves at least that after recruiting you to her team.

For a second, you expect laughter to break out right in your face. You prepare to answer questions about why you would risk your life for someone else’s goal, but it never comes. Instead, when you look back up, all you see are two pairs of understanding eyes, not a hint of mockery in their gaze.

If anything, Se-mi almost looks proud of your answer.

“Actually… I joined the game to try and help my mom out a bit, that’s all. I wasn’t able to get a good job after school, so I want to make up for it.” Min-su’s words sound like those of a young boy still trying to understand the world around him. “I’m all she’s got left now.”

What was someone like him doing in an evil place like this?

“Man, you two are making me feel kinda bad,” Se-mi says, chuckling to herself before leaning back a bit to look at you square in the face.

She doesn’t doubt Min-su’s story, and even though she doubted yours for a split second, she sees nothing but genuine honesty and a hint of embarrassment in your eyes. This revelation fills her with relief, and for the first time, she spares you both a genuine smile.

“I figured you two were nice, generous people when we teamed up.” The newfound but genuine friendliness she exudes surprises you, but it’s a welcome change. “I’m glad I might just be right, and I’m hanging out with some good people for once.”

“Well, I hope I could say the same about you.”

She throws her head back in laughter at this, and you begin to think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to know these people after all.

—

“Can I use the bathroom please?”

This time, you don’t bother to knock, and as expected, your voice is all she needs to open the door and step aside. It was actually surprisingly quick this time too, as if she had been waiting on the other side already.

The air is tense, a feeling you never really associated with No-eul, but it’s late and the earlier conversation you had with your two new friends didn’t do much to dispel your undying anxiety about tomorrow. You can feel her gaze on you even from behind that mask, but you pay her no mind as you rush your wet hands across your reddened face and hair. The cooling effect is instant, and now, you finally feel ready to face her.

“Take off the mask, please.” Your voice is more exasperated than you intended it to be, but you can’t cover up the fatigue you’ve been feeling since the start of the games. It’s probably more of an emotional exhaustion thing, but you don’t want to think about all that right now.

As she’s going through the process of removing the layers covering her face from you, you begin heading over to the far end of the bathroom, eventually dropping to the floor with a heavy sigh. She’s staring at you expectedly.

“The gloves too.”

She doesn’t protest or even sigh, simply pulling them off her hands before shoving them into the pockets of her pink tracksuit. She takes this opportunity to run her fingers through her hair, bangs previously stuck to her face being pushed back out of the way. In that process, she reveals a red, clearly fresh cut on the side of her face. You practically jump up from the floor and stomp right back over to her.

“What the fuck happened?”

“Don’t worry, it was just a tussle with some of the other guards.” Your hands gingerly cup her face as you tilt it to examine the wound. She can feel her skin tingle where your fingertips gingerly graze it. “I handled it.”

You sigh heavily at her dismissal of the open wound on her face and walk around her to grab some paper towels, turning on the faucet to let cold water flow onto them.

“Fuck, No-eul, you’re not even participating in the games and you’re still finding ways to get injured.” Your hands are still shaking a bit when you come back over to her, gently dabbing the dried blood off her cheek. Her gaze is heavy on you, but you can’t bring yourself to look her in the eye right now. Not when you can practically feel her eyes all over your face, your body, every part of you.

As she stands there, No-eul’s mind begins to wander. How can you stand here, right in front of her after everything? Sometimes she genuinely believes you’re an angel sent from heaven to give her reprieve from the pain in her life; a gentle soul, who, even now, overlooks her greatest faults.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes out, gently taking your trembling hand in hers and pulling it away from her face. There’s an uncharacteristic softness in her expression, but you’ve seen it enough times to understand what it really conveys: guilt.

“You don’t have to apologize for something like this,” you say, clearing your throat as you turn to throw the paper towel away. “If you say everything’s fine, I’ll believe you.” Like always.

It's silent for a moment - almost peaceful - before her face twists as if she's just recalled an unpleasant memory.

“Who was that girl you were with? 380.” You scoff at her sudden question and turn around with pure confusion on your face.

“What?”

“She brought you over to those drug heads earlier. It’s not safe to hang around people like that, especially not in a place like this.” You bite back a response that said, well, you're currently with one of the guards that were gunning down people earlier, so how does that work?

“God, No-eul, it’s just a shitty temporary team-up kind of thing,” you laugh slightly at your own words, making sure to leave out your already growing attachment to two people in your little group. “What, did you expect me to try to do this all on my own?”

Her growing agitation is evident as her jaw visibly clenches and she turns away a bit, resting her hands on the back of the rifle slung around her shoulder. “I’m saying you should choose better, they’re the type of people who would drop you in a split second if it meant they could survive another day.”

“You think I don’t know that? Two of them are constantly high out of their minds and the other two-” You interrupt yourself with a sigh, shutting your eyes as your head droops; unfortunately, you can’t actually think of any reason you could have to distrust the unexpectedly kind girl and the shy boy you’ve grown acquainted with.

If they turned their backs on you, you would be lying if you said it wouldn’t phase you in the slightest.

No-eul begins feeling guilty again when she watches your shoulders drop and your eyes dim at the realization of the shitty situation you’ve found yourself in. Even so, her eyes don’t miss the unchanging patch on your sweater: a blue rectangle, neatly stitched with an O in the center. She bites her lip and curses under her breath. Always playing the hero, even at the expense of yourself.

She slowly walks back over to you, lifting up a single hand to trace the patch that signified your choice to give your life for hers.

“The issue isn’t the money,” the broker exclaims, his voice a mix of pity and exasperation at her persistence. “We’ve searched, we’ve been searching for years now, but a one-year old alone… especially after her mother deserted…?” Her expression hardens and he winces at the unintentional cruelty in his statement. “It’s almost impossible by now, No-eul.”

Her anger is barely contained when she feels a gentle hand on her shoulder, and a newfound calmness washes over her in waves.

“We understand the circumstances, sir, but please, please keep searching.” His expression softens slightly at the kind, weary smile on yours. “We’ll handle the expenses, all we ask is that you believe in this search too.”

She almost wants to cry at the sound of your sweet voice.

“We still have hope.”

“Get out of your head, No-eul.”

She’s startled back to reality when she feels gentle hands caress the scars on her wrists. Instinctively, she goes to pull away, but you step forward at the same time and press your body against hers, keeping a firm yet gentle grip on her wrists, fingertips still tracing the marks of the pain she’s held onto for seven years.

“Please don’t forget, this was my choice.” Your voice is muffled against the crook of her neck, but it’s just as gentle as she remembers it to be. “I still have hope.”

With those simple words, she feels the dream she’s held onto for years glow just a bit brighter. Closing her eyes, she leans head to rest atop yours, gently removing her arms from your grip to wrap them firmly around your body. You don’t hesitate to reciprocate her hold.

“Me too.” Your grip on her tightens just barely. “I still have hope too.”

—

A/N: WOW SORRY PLOT DUMP ALERT!! I love some good set-up but I hope the yearning was enough to make up for the lack of obvious romance like smut..

Never posted on Tumblr before too so I have no clue if I did this right (like formatting)! again, any thoughts on the fic are appreciated and ill probably (hopefully) finish part 2 soon! that part will prob be better cuz the relationship between all characters are all set up now. might cross post on ao3/wattpad but haven't decide yet

[zepskies]

Omg really? Wow, thank you so much. That's honestly amazing to me, considering this was one of the hardest for me to write in Smoke Eater. 💞

(But after reading your wonderful review, thank you for making me cry. 🥹💗💗)

First of all, please don't apologize for the heartfelt thoughts you want to share with me. No matter how long or short, I love hearing what you think about my writing, and this is genuinely one of the best reviews I've ever received, because I can tell it came from the heart.

What's crazy is my mom and I also used to watch Chicago Fire together when she was trying to recover from surgery (where she had terrible complications and wasn't well for a long time). It became her comfort show, and I was happy to introduce it to her/have that bonding time where it kept her from thinking about her pain. But I'm so glad you thought to come here to perk yourself up after a rewatch.

honestly I have so many thoughts for each wonderful chapter but I would feel super guilty for spamming :’) this chapter in particular though, hits me harder than anything i’ve ever read before — not in a bad way!🤍

lol girl that's the best kind of spamming. I'd never be upset with that! 😂 Oh good, I'm glad it doesn't hit in a bad way. I was concerned about that for readers when I was first posting this part of the story. 💙

my mom had epilepsy, and I was her caretaker pretty much my entire life. I connect so much with this story because it, feels like i’m reading a mirror, if that makes any sense at all. with all the doctors and the worrying, it’s written so authentically, which is understandable after reading your author’s note. i’m so sorry you’ve experienced such difficult hardships and losses yourself honey, I offer my sincere condolences. and i’m sending you the biggest hugs 🫂🤍🤍

I'm sending you the biggest hugs right back, friend. I'm so sorry about what your mom went through, and what you went through too. Being a caretaker is not easy. I've seen it enough in my family that that's what I drew from in order to write this, so I'm glad it felt authentic to your experience. 🫂💞

now these lines/parts specifically had me crying like a baby lol. december of 2021, my mom had to have surgery at the start of the month. her recovery was going a little slow, but well. however she passed away overnight, 2 days after christmas, completely unexpected. the day before she had been doing so well too— she had more energy and was more mobile without needing as much assistance. came to find out later that’s something nurses call a surge? :/ either way, those moments in particular really tugged at my heartstrings ❤️‍🩹

I'm so sorry for your loss, my friend. It is blind sighting when it comes so unexpected like that. I haven't shared this publicly, but something similar happened with my grandfather this past December. His health declined suddenly, to the point we had to take him to the hospital. After seeming to get better after a few days, he went downhill even harder, and he passed away in mid-December. It's not the same thing as your situation, but I understand the feeling of "why did this happen like this?" But now he's at peace with my grandma. And your mom is free from her pain and discomfort too. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

this line too. I felt this way for so long after my mom died. I didn’t get the final cause for a while since she passed at home and not at a hospital, and to this day I wish I could go back. wish I could’ve done something different. but SUDEP (or, sudden unexpected death in epilepsy) is completely unpreventable so far. I just find it so cruel that this illness I spent my whole life helping her with, ended up taking her anyway and nothing I did mattered in the end. so reading that line, how she broke down, and everything she had been holding in, it really made my heart ache but I also felt less alone in a way.

And I'm sure you did everything you possibly could, just like the reader in this story. 💞 I didn't know about SUDEP, but I have a family member who takes medication for his epilepsy, so I'm going to be reading up on that. I'm so glad that this simple line made you feel less alone in any small way -- I also thought when I was writing that it not only fit what the character was going through, but that other people who've been caretakers for a family member like this would be able to identify with this feeling as well.

everything that followed, it’s like reading a reflection. I shutdown and just went through the motions afterwards too, but ohhh how nice it would’ve been to have a dean ❤️ his support, how he takes care of her, it’s so heartwarming. and it’s really comforting to read. <3

It's that awful "autopilot" thing that somehow allows us to get through the aftermath, in a way, right? If only we could all have a Dean to support us in those moments. Somehow, reading hurt/comfort fics help me feel better too though. 💓💓

a lot of my family distanced themselves afterwards which, it is what it is. that being said, the sentiment in this story of family isn’t always blood resonates with me a lot. my support system is really small, but they chose to be there for me unlike my blood relatives so, that theme in this story means so much — the way dean’s chosen family shows up for her as well, it’s so sweet. 💖

Ugh really? I'm sorry to hear that. 💙💙 But thank you for pointing that out -- that is the overarching theme of this story, a la SPN style. 🥹 Your chosen family can be just as powerful, if not more, than your blood family. And in this story, Dean's family is basically "adopting" the reader/you into it. 💕

I guess the gist of what i’m trying to say, is I wholeheartedly adore this series and it truly means so much to me 🤍 I appreciate your work so much, and I love the unique feeling each piece of your writing brings 💗💗 I know I may sound like a broken record but truly I don’t think I can ever put into words how much I love your blog. you are an absolute sweetheart, truly a light peeking out between cloudy skies 💞

Wow, I really did tear up of happiness. Thank you. 🥹🥹 I appreciate you right back for reading this story and connecting with it like you did. And I'm so glad that you enjoy my blog!! I've only been here on Tumblr for about 2 years actively, but connecting with people like you is what's keeping me here, and honestly gives me energy to write and express myself when I'm going through hard times.

This chapter specifically was very difficult for me to write for multiple reasons, as you saw in my AN, but again it makes me all the more grateful that this is the chapter you connect with the most. I'm very sorry for your loss though. I'm really touched that this story can give you some small comfort. 💞

(And no it's not too much. Thank YOU for taking the time to share this with me.)

Smoke Eater - Part 11

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.

Part 11: “Heart of the Home”

You sat very still.

Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.

You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.

But your life had never been quite that easy.

“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.

He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.

The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.

George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.

“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”

George thanked him.

And you sat very still. 

A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.

His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.

“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”

You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.

Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.

Your fault.

When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.

“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.

“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”

George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.

“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”

“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”

George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.

You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.

“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.

“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.

He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”

“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”

“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.

“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.

You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”

“Is there something going on?” he pressed.

You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.

“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.

You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.

Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”

You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.

You could no longer be still.

Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.

Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.

He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.

“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.

“Normally?” you echoed.

“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”

“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.

George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”

“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”

At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.

Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”

“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.

Benton met the other man’s gaze.

“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”

Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.

Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.

“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.” 

You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”

“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.

“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.

Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”

And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.

He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”

“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”

Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.

Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.

“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.

“Come ‘ere a sec.”

Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.

“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.

George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.

“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”

Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.

Dean’s lips quirked.

“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”

Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”

George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.

She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.

“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”

Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.

“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”

He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.

Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.

Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.

Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.

“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”

“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”

“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”

“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”

“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”

Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”

“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.

“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.

Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.

So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.

Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.

However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.

While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.

“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.

“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.

“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.

It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.

On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast. 

“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.

However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.

“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”

She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.

“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”

You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.

“Nothing.”

Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”

“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.

“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.

Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.

“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.

“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”

Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.

“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”

“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”

By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”

“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”

You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.

Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.

All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.

She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.

But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.

By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.

Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.

He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.

“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”

Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.

“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.

“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.

“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”

That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.

Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.

George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.

“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.

“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.

“Just some water,” the older man replied.

“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”

“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.

“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.

When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.

“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”

Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.

“Tell me,” he said.

“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”

Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.

That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.

But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…

He realized that he only had one answer.

“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.

George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”

And that night, an agreement was made. 

In the morning, your grandfather was gone.

Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.

In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.

This was your failsafe. Your version of ��autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.

But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry. 

He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.

So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.

And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.

“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.

He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.

Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”

You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.

“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”

Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”

You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.

“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.

“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”

Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”

You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.

“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.

Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.

Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.

“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.

You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.

“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”

“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part. 

“I’m not leaving you with this.”

Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.

For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes. 

He’s not leaving you. 

Not like everyone else in your life.

You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.

When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.

It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.

“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”

Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.

“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart. 

“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”

You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.

Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.

Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.

He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.

Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he couldn’t leave you. 

I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”

A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.

“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”

You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.

Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”

With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.

“That matters to me,” he told you.

You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”

Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.

“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”

You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand. 

“For what?” he asked.

“For staying.”

AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.

But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.

Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙

Next Time:

The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...

You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.” 

Dean smiled.

“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”

You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.

Keep Reading: PART 12

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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[scorpioriesling]

An Enticing Offer

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Lucien x reader

Warning(s): 18+, mdni, nsfw

Summary: Your roomate was a lot of things; kindhearted, hard-working, handsome... but, he was other things too. Messy. Maybe a little irresponsible. But, most of all -- deliciously, enticing.

SR’s Note: Oye... everytime I write smut, I feel nyyyyassty, LOL. Anywho, many thanks for @hardcoremarvelfan for the request -- I present to you, absolute Lucien filth using prompts #2, #12, #23, #71, and #74 from my promt request list. (; Enjoy.

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

The late afternoon sun streamed through the wide kitchen windows in your apartment, the golden glow illuminating the otherwise darkened space. Heaving the brown paper bag onto the small kitchen table, you sighed. Sure, an apartment that overlooked the Sidra was quite a luxury in your eyes -- but for the amount you paid each month to rent this place (well, paid half of), you'd sometimes wished they'd included curtains.

Add that to next week's grocery list. You kept forgetting to pick some up when you went to the market.

You began removing the miscellaneous items from the bag -- fresh vegetables, canned goods, that disgusting cereal your roomate requested -- and putting them away. When the mid-shelf in your pantry was full, you groaned in frustration; the top shelf was too high to reach, and your very tall, very able roomate would not be home until tomorrow.

Groceries on the table it is. And... maybe, a stepstool, added to next week's grocery run.

You were fortunate enough to secure a place like this, not to mention the roomate that came with it -- you'd met a few years ago and became fast friends, and living together seemed like a wise choice when you'd both finally abandoned your childhood homes.

A good choice indeed; having Lucien around brought you comfort, as you never liked being alone anyways. Not to mention, he was kind hearted, funny, and quite easy on the eyes. You tried to ignore the stir inside when he'd so casually walk around without a shirt on, or emerge from the bathroom in only a towel...

It was his place too, rather.

You groaned in frustration when you spotted the dirty pans on the stove, inspecting the residue on one as you picked it up.

If your roomate was one thing, it was messy.

"Lucien," you grumbled aloud. Tossing the pans into the dishwasher, you shoved it closed and turned on the wash cycle. How hard was that?

This happened quite often; Lucien, not cleaning up after himself. And you, trailing after him with a broom and dustpan.

You paused, listening for another soft sound over the rumble of the dishwasher. Straining your ears, you couldn't quite make it out -- the muffled, mubling sound over the running water.

Brows furrowing in confusion, a flicker of fear coursed through you. Sure, when Lucien was here, you'd never felt afraid in your apartment; but, since he'd left on a particularly gruelling mission only a few days ago, you couldn't help the irrational paranoia that made an appearance every so often.

Taking a timid step toward the hallway, you heard it again -- louder, this time. A soft, breathless sound amid the falling water. Your breath caught in your throat; someone was surely inside your home.

You walked faster, soft steps toward the bathroom door; sure enough. The water was running, and someone was inside.

Had he gotten home early?

"L-Lucien?" You squeaked. Your voice came out less confident than you'd hoped, and your hand shook as you reached for the doorhandle.

"Y/N... oh Gods, yes..."

Your outstretched palm halted. The voice was surely his, but what in the Hell was he doing in there?

"I'm... I'm coming in."

Your voice was barely above a whisper as you grabbed the doorhandle, twisting and shoving inside the small bathing room. Steam blasted against your face, and you coughed once as you waved it away.

The mumblings stopped.

And the shower curtain flew open.

The two of you shared a shout of shock as your eyes met, his face framed by his long, yet soaking, red hair. You both stared at one another in silent surprise for a beat, before both speaking at once.

"What the Hell are you doing here?"

"Why didn't you knock?"

The moment of clarity hits you, and Lucien wipes a hand over his dewy face.

"Y/N... by the Cauldron, why would you come in when I'm literally showering?" Your brows narrow, and you cross your arms over your chest. You don't miss him pulling the shower curtain in front of his body to cover himself -- but it's too late.

Your cheeks pinken.

"I... I didn't know, you were home, yet." You stammer, your cheeks deepening in color. "I heard someone in here, and you were still gone and-"

"And, what, you thought a stranger was using our shower?" Lucien chuckles. You feel your face heating even more, slight irritation bubbling beneath the surface as your friend seems to find this situation amusing.

"Well, I-"

He continues to laugh, raking a hand through his wet hair. Small droplets of water cascade over his shoulders, running down and over the exposed area of his pectoral muscles.

You huff. "If I must be perfectly clear," You glare. "I heard something going on in here other than just the shower." His eyebrows raise in an amused stare as his eyes scan over your face. Your very embarassed, face.

"Uh huh, and what do you think you heard?"

You huff, trying to look anywhere but him as his gaze intensifies.

"I-I thought you weren't even supposed to be home yet," you stammer, attempting to change the topic.

"Got back early," he deadpans. "I just can't believe you really thought it was anyone but me in here." He shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

"I suppose it's because of all the moaning and ... and, and words coming from inside this room." You try to remain confident, but falter as you notice his gaze lowering to your chest. Bad day to opt for a tank top.

"There's nothing wrong with relieving stress -- why is that so unbelieveable?" He quirks a brow.

You feel the familiar swirl inside your abdomen.

You swallow hard. "I guess... it was quite unbelieveable to think you'd be the one in here, saying, and... doing those things." He chuckles, and you catch sight of his erection pushing against the shower curtain. You quickly look away.

"More likely a stanger, than me, hm?" He tuts.

You gulp. "I suppose so."

Its quiet for an awkward moment, you trying not to stare at your half-covered gorgeous roomate as his eyes trail you up and down; so agonizingly slow.

"Y/N... you don't have to pretend to not stare." He chuckles. "In fact, you could join me-"

Your mouth opens in shock. "Lucien Vanserra! You're not seriously suggesting that--"

"Oh, I am." He grins, like a feline about to pounce on a little mouse. You shake your head in disbelief, the swirling in your stomach a full on tornado at this point.

You scoff, folding your arms over your chest once more. "What, you need me to help you?" You ask. He shrugs, moving to close the shower curtain. Taking a timid step forward, you begin to shrug off your shorts before thinking too long about it.

"Only if you're willing," he muses, his voice once again muffled by the cloth.

"What an enticing offer," you quip, glancing to the mirror at your reflection.

Your cheeks burn, the sensation in your abdomen becoming near unbearable. Were you really about to fuck your roomate? So many nights you'd spent together, doing seemingly harmless things; watching movies, reading together, preparing dinner.

Many of those nights, you went to bed with your hand between your thighs.

Pulling back the shower curtain lightly, you let out a nervous laugh as he came into full view. His back was to you, which made it easier to slip in behind him.

He turned, his eyes immediately wavering from your face to trace over every curve you had to offer. His bottom lip drew lightly between his teeth.

"Seems like you could use my help," you chatter, nerves propelling your mouth to move. "If you clean yourself as well as you clean your dishes-"

His hand gripped your waist, the other grabbing the back of your neck as he pulled you to him. His mouth crashed into yours, his lips moving and gliding along yours alike as he devoured your kiss. Your hands found his shoulders, gripping and tracing along the toned muscle there. It was only after his tongue had slipped in that you let out a soft moan, and he pulled back from you.

"Y/N... I-" His words were cut off as you reached between you two, gripping his hardened length that had been pushing against your stomach. His breath caught, and his eyes stared for only a moment where your hand held him before looking directly down into your eyes.

"Please..." he breathed out, his pupils blown wide with desire. You moved your hand up and down, how you'd fantasized doing many times before. You could feel him hardening more in your hand, and he reached one of his hands up to play with your nipple. You gasped, and he leaned back against the shower wall as you sped up your minstrations.

"I... I... oh Gods, Y/N," he breathed out. His other hand reached behind you, his fingers pressing into the curve of your ass where it met your thigh. You smirked, looking up at him in this state.

"You, what, pretty boy?" His eyes opened as he looked to you, doe-eyed and putting on a show. "Can't even finish a sentence as I jerk you off, hmm?"

His brows furrow, his teasing from earlier seeming to finally catch up with him. His one hand leaves your butt, gripping your wrist that pumps him; the other one clasps your throat.

"Don't act so innocent," he growls, and you clench your thighs, his tone sending a wave of heat straight to your clit.

"Get on your knees."

You make quick work of lowering yourself onto the shower floor, the warmed tile pressing against your knees as you sit back on them. His hand grabs your hair in a makeshift ponytail, forcing you to look up at him. His free hand yanks on his erection -- a sight worth salivating over.

"Open that fuckin' mouth."

Happy to oblige, you open, laying your tongue out flat for him to see. He groans, his fist pumping his dick faster.

You lean forward, your tongue meeting the bottom of his length as he removes his hand. You replace it with your own near the base, holding him steady as you lick a fat stripe along his cock. Continuing your teasing, you trace your tongue along the vein running from the base to his tip; all the while lightly circling your hand at the bottom.

"Mmmm... 'love the way you taste," You groan, and gasp when he grabs your head with both hands.

"Don't... stop, the teasing," he pants, pushing your ehad closer to his throbbing dick. You take one breath before shoving it in your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat.

"Fuck," he grunts, as you start moving forward and back along his angry length. You hollow your cheeks, sucking him hard as his hips start thrusting against you.

"Mhm... fuck, Y/N, taking it so good," he groans, his grip on your hair tightening. You move quicker, his hips fucking his cock into your mouth harder and harder -- so hard you gag. He throws his head back with an unrestrained moan, and you gaze up at him through your tear-filled eyes. The sight of him, so vulnerable and needy like this...

You reach your free hand between your legs, your fingers finding the buzzing bundle of nerves near your core. He looks down at you once more, his length twitching inside your mouth.

"Yes... yes, play with that pussy," he gasps, his eyes squeezing shut as he tries to prolong his orgasm. "Fuck... oh, fuck-"

He yanks your hair, pulling your mouth flush against his pelvis as he releases, hot spurts of cum coating the back of your throat. You cough as he gasps, yanking his dick out of your mouth before leaning down to grab your jaw hard.

"Swallow all of it."

You do, gulping before gasping for air. He leans back against the shower wall, smirking at you as he offers a hand to help you up. You reach up, positioning the showerhead so the water hits you directly.

Bathing in the warmth for a few minutes, your breath quickens as your roomate reaches for you, his deft fingers tracing along the curve of your waist before one reaches your throbbing core. Your breath hitches, and you grab onto his shoulders as he looks to you with pure lust in his eyes.

"Lucien..." you say breathlessly. "You... you already came-"

"Mhm," he says, his tone low as he presses a kiss just below your ear. "But you didn't."

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

[bueckersstuff]

REMEMBER

Click here for chapter: 1 & 2

Chapter 3: Forgotten Faces, Remembered Pain

Paige's POV

I grew up here in Minnesota, living what seemed like a perfect life until I left for college in Connecticut three years ago. Good family, solid school, a career I was proud of, the best friends anyone could ask for. I had everything I could have dreamed of. Or at least, I thought I did. But then, a certain someone walked back into my life, and now I realized—time doesn’t heal anything. You just get used to carrying the weight of what hurts for a lot longer than you should.

It all started when I was twelve, discovering my love for basketball. My dad used to bring me to this basketball court just down the street to practice, sometimes for hours. We’d always end up at the local convenience store, grabbing snacks—he’d stock up on chips while I picked out ice cream. I still remember that day. I grabbed my usual chocolate ice cream, lined up to pay, and that’s when I heard it.

"No! What you gave me is a dollar short! I can count!" A girl’s voice, sharp with frustration, cutting through the air. I turned, half expecting some kind of mistake, but she was standing there, arguing with the cashier, insisting on the right change.

I couldn’t help it—my eyes met hers, and she shoved the receipt into my face, her little face demanding validation.

"You know math? Tell me I’m right, and she’s wrong."

I had to laugh. I looked at the cashier, then back at her. "Yeah, you’re right." Though I was laughing, I actually glanced at the receipt and she was, indeed, right.

She flashed that cocky grin of hers, so smug. "See? Told you I’m right."

That was just the beginning.

She started following me around, asking questions, poking into my life, telling me she had no friends, she was bored all the time. I didn’t even know why I let her in, but I did. So, I told her, "If you want to waste time, you can come watch me practice. You live around here, right?" She had mentioned earlier that she lives nearby.

"Yeah, that works," she replied, smirking. "I can waste time and practice my math by counting your scores. That is, if you can score."

That was her way of challenging me.

Five years. Five years we spent inseparable, like we couldn’t exist without each other. And then, the world broke apart.

One day, she came to practice with bloodshot eyes, her face red and blotchy from crying. Before I could even ask, she blurted out, her voice cracking:

"I’m leaving Minnesota. Mom says it’s for work, and we’ll be back sooner than I think."

She started sobbing uncontrollably. "I don’t want to leave. I can’t leave you here alone."

I was speechless. My world was spinning, and I didn’t know how to respond. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

"If that’s what the adults want, there’s nothing we can do about it, right?" I muttered, trying to ease the tension. "We can still talk on video calls, and you’ll be back before you know it."

But what about what I wanted?

"No!" she screamed. "If I leave, you’ll forget about me. You’ll find new friends!"

I could hear the panic in her voice, and it drove a sharp pain into my chest. "I won’t. I promise. It’s just us two, forever and ever."

And then she was gone.

For two years, we kept in touch, but as soon as I moved to Connecticut for college, things started to unravel. The calls grew less frequent, the arguments more intense. Silence followed, suffocating silence. No texts, no calls. Just emptiness.

I thought she was living her best life—at least, that’s what her social media told me. She seemed happy, thriving. But where did that leave me? Did "forever and ever" mean nothing? Was I just another part of her past, fading away?

I moved on, or so I told myself. I threw myself into my studies, my career. But still, there were nights when I found myself searching for her name, staring at her photos, wondering what had happened. Longing. Disappointment. Anger. Then confusion. Why was I still so obsessed? She left me all alone, even when I needed her the most. When I suffered an injury while playing my sport, I thought she’d be there for me, but I was wrong. I admit, I reached out to her, sending messages here and there—but maybe that was just my vulnerability talking. In the end, it didn’t matter. The lowest point of my life wasn’t even worth her time.

And then, there she was. Standing in front of me. But she was... different. Not in a good way. Something about her seemed so out of place. Her whole aura had changed. What happened to her?

It’s been a week since that first encounter, and I’m running errands for Drew. I roll my eyes—he’s got the audacity to ask me to get ice cream for him. As I’m perusing the different flavors, out of the corner of my eye, I see him.

Steve.

The shock is immediate, but the look on his face is worse. He’s more stunned than I am. But why is that? Am I not supposed to see him anymore?

"Paige? Long time no see! What are you doing here? I thought you were in Connecticut?"

My heart skips a beat. He keeps tabs on me?

"I’m on a break. Gonna head back tomorrow though, classes start soon. It’s good to see you again, Steve." I try to sound calm, but it’s hard when my mind is still reeling. "How’s Emma?"

His face contorts, and I see a flicker of pain—something I haven’t seen before, and it sends a sharp pang through me.

"Emma’s gone. Just three months ago."

The words crash into me like a wrecking ball. What? Emma’s dead?

I don’t know what to say. My mouth goes dry. "Oh my god. I’m so sorry. How are you holding up?"

"We’re fine now, I guess. But the last three months have been hell. Losing Emma... and then having my daughter almost..." He trails off, his voice cracking. "I’m just thankful my daughter got lucky."

My stomach drops. "What do you mean?"

"I came here with my daughter. You haven’t seen her yet?" he asks, and the words send a shiver through me.

Oh, I've seen her, but then she disappears again for the rest of the week.

"But maybe even if you did, she won’t remember you," he adds, his voice tinged with sadness.

I freeze. What?

"She’s suffering from a temporary memory loss from the accident, Paige."

She forgot me? She forgot about us?

The ice cream Steve is holding shakes slightly in his hands, and I suddenly realize I’m staring at it. "Is that for her? That’s her favorite."

"Yeah. I’m hoping it’ll help her remember, you know?" Steve’s voice breaks, and it feels like the weight of everything is pressing in on me.

I don’t know why I say it, but it spills out before I can stop myself.

"I want to help. Make her remember."

I must be crazy.

He looks at me, surprised but grateful. "You would? That means a lot to me, Paige."

He pauses for a moment, his eyes a little distant, before continuing. "I’ve been thinking about it for a while now—about sending her back to school. The doctors think getting back into a routine could help her. They said it might spark something, help her remember what she loved." He exhales, his voice wavering slightly. "I’ve been struggling with whether or not it's the right time, but... I think it might be the only way."

I barely hear him as my mind races. "She can attend to mine. Transfer her. She can join the swimming team. She still swims, right?"

Or maybe I'm just out of my fucking mind.

"Yes!" Steve’s face lights up. "That’s actually a great idea. I’ll start processing her papers next week."

She needs to remember. Because when she finally looks me in the eye and says sorry, it won’t be some empty apology. It’ll be real.

She’ll remember me. She has to.

Chapter 4 setting's gonna be at Uconn. More interactions and stuff!! <3

Taglist: @authentic-girl03 @unadulteratedcyclepaper @0phantom0 @sjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj

[ladyhoneydee]

Fic Recs - Expanding Hyrule Bingo!

If you're looking for some hot fresh recs that you may not have seen before, boy do I have the post for you!

For the last few days, I have been compiling answers for the @expanding-hyrule TBR Bingo Community Challenge! If this is the first time you're hearing of it, EH is a LoZ fandom project that intends to popularize a tag and create an archive for Original Legends, or LoZ fics, art, etc that create their own version of Hyrule, characters therein, and plot different from the canon games. The Bingo Challenge is a project to get people viewing and talking about more of these stories!

Of course, as a chronic overachiever when it comes to fandom, I got blackout on my bingo card. And because several of the works I counted aren't yet in the Expanding Hyrule Fic Archive, I felt this would be the perfect way to get the word out about even more cool works!

If it has a * asterisk, I had already read or been reading it prior to the announcement of the challenge. If two ** asterisks, I had already read or been reading it prior to discovering EH!

A1 - Recommended by a friend: Cycle of the Stars by @daeyumi

A2 - A genre I don't normally read: The Ritual of Lomei Labyrinth by @pocketseizure **

A3 - Caught up on a work: The Legend of Three by @fablesfables **

A4 - An incomplete project: Mark of a Hero by @amelias-zelda-calamity-quintet **

A5 - I made an Original Legends work: Too Old to Keep by @ladyhoneydee (me) **

B1 - Updated this year: Uneasy Lies the Chosen of Farore by @drsteggy **

B2 - Less than 5000 hits or 500 notes: Hero of the Dunes by @webhead3345 **

B3 - Picked because of the synopsis: Vessels by @ro-blaze **

B4 - A comic: Chained Truths by @mirensiart

B5 - Subscribed to an ongoing work: All That Hurts Us by @karama9 **

C1 - A familiar creator: A Link to the Stars by @abbyz-elda **

C2 - An Original Legends work not in the archives: The inconsistencies of fate by @stinkyguar

C3 - Show Us Your EH TBR: The Hunt by andrhars **, A Link to the Stars: Constellations *, Divine Gemstones by @divine-gemstones, all updates for ULtCoF, THotD, ALttS, AVftD, and CotS since Jan 2

C4 - By a mutual or someone I'd like to be a mutual: The Princess's Heart by @loz-untold-myths **

C5 - Multiple POVs: The Legend of Zelda: A Crossing of Stars by @ixtaek **

D1 - A new favorite: A Voice From the Desert by @avoicefromthedesert *

D2 - A reread: The Conviction to Save by @advocaado **

D3 - A fic: The Promise by @zeldaelmo ** (rated E)

D4 - A genre I love: In the Blood by @zeldaseyebrows ** (rated E)

D5 - Picked because of the title: Linkubus by RoughInTheDiamond * (rated M)

E1 - A compete project: Cherished by @sparklyhyperbole **

E2 - Last updated more than a year ago: Path of the Infinite by @shadow-djinni ** (rated M)

E3 - A new creator: Depth of Darkness by VeeLilu **

E4 - Less than 1000 hits or 100 notes: On My Honor by @pelicanpig **

E5 - Left a review in EH's Story Spotlights: The King's Lament by @transmascgerudo ** (rated E)

If you pick up any of these, I hope you enjoy! They all come with my blessing <3

[rook-laidir]

Random Rook Banter 2: Electric Boogaloo

These are all made up by me!

Part 1

Harding: You seriously expect me to believe that you just so happened to have the exact cards you needed for every hand?

Rook: You’re really not letting this go, huh?

Harding: If I can prove you cheated, you have to give me my gold back.

Rook: How do you plan on doing that?

Harding: Neve’s on it.

Rook: …Shit.

~~~

Rook: Ok, let’s say I did cheat. How much would I owe you?

Harding: Forty gold.

Rook: Forty gold?!

Harding: I talked to some of Neve’s friends. They said to add a fee for the inconvenience of getting cheated.

Rook: You went to the *Threads* about this?

Harding: Neve said if I want to get back at a scammer, I need to go to the experts.

Rook: I’m not a scammer!

~~~

Rook: Ok, Harding, here you go. 40 gold, fair and square.

Harding: My fee’s gone up.

Rook: Seriously?

Harding: Lucanis’s contract negotiator is really good.

~~~

Rook: So the Dalish, are other elves allowed to just join?

Davrin: Don’t tell me you’re thinking about spending your days living in the woods and herding halla.

Rook: Gods, no. I just knew someone who would’ve liked it a lot, I think.

Davrin: Most clans are pretty accepting of city elves who wanted to go back to the old ways. Not sure what the stance is now that our gods are trying to kill everything in sight.

Rook: Right, almost forgot about that.

~~~

Davrin: So why didn’t your friend go to any nearby clans? There are clans in Rivain, right?

Rook: Only a handful. And nowhere near where I grew up. My mother and I were along the coast, so there wasn’t really a forest to wander around in. She always wanted to visit one, though. Learn more about our heritage and all that.

Davrin: Not much of a heritage left nowadays.

Rook: Before or after our gods turned out to be the worst?

Davrin: I’ll let you know when I decide.

~~~

Rook: You know, just once I’d like to come to Dock Town without there being a corpse involved. Or at least a limit. Can we limit it to three corpses maximum next time?

Neve: You said you wanted the full tour.

Rook: I meant more along the lines of fried fish and stray cats and less blood magic and ritual sacrifice.

Neve: (laughs) Next time, I’ll make sure there are as few demons and blood magic as possible. Maybe we could actually enjoy The Cobbled Swan for a change.

Rook: It’s a date, Neve Gallus.

~~~

Neve: Rook, Dock Town’s my problem. You don’t have to keep coming here.

Rook: You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Gallus.

Neve: I meant with the slavery. The odds of you getting recognized are low, but…It can’t be easy coming back here after everything. I can keep you updated if you prefer.

Rook: There are people here exactly like me who are in chains because of their ears or their status or because they can’t use magic. I got out because I got lucky. I can’t leave them behind.

Neve: If we survive this, I’ll have a talk with Ashur. The Shadow Dragons could really use someone like you.

~~~

Emmrich: Rook, I had no idea you were so interested in ancient Nevarran burial rites!

Rook: Beg pardon?

Emmrich: Back at Blackthorne Manor, I noticed you slipping a first edition copy of Nevarran Burials and Customs into your pack. Had I known you had an interest, I would’ve gladly lent you my copy.

Rook: Oh, right, yeah, real interesting read.

Emmrich: In the future, I would recommend against touching any tomes without proper preparation. Most Nevarran books that ancient have various anti-thieving wards.

Rook: Wait, really?

Emmrich: Certainly. Books on burial rites can often make the owner see horrific visions, should the book be acquired by less than legal means.

Rook: Good to know. Hey, not related, but there’s a merchant in the Hall who might have some questions about that.

Emmrich: Oh dear…

[just-hyde]

AI is theft.

Character.Ai still uses **stolen** data. Support real artists and writers. RP with real people.

IAMREALpleasegimmeahotchocotugmeinandgimmeasinglegoodreasontoliiiveeeeaaaaAAAAAAA

*Breakdown joins the chat*

An anon? How courageous of you. /lh

Actually right now you did what many chatbot users do— hide behind Persona just in case people don't accept your writing/rp style. But it's easier to play safe, I give you that. Your mental health should be your first priority no matter what people say

I do my art, write snippets of text, develop OCs and RP with people, but still make chatbots on different platforms

Why?

For shits and giggles

But no, friends, seriously

We already live with that and apparently are gonna continue to, unless the authorities decide to step in

For me cai was a tool to improve my vocabulary since 1) not so many native speakers were willing/had time to help, 2) even if they did, we had jobs and damn timezones which made our coordination harder, 3) I found out that ppl were simply too shy to play

Recently I've learned the term "Cringe culture" which is cringe itself and hella annoying at that— some writers are fucking scared to post, to be met with toxicity instead of actually useful critique

Anywho, the topic is controversial af.

On one hand, it did writers dirty. Well, fuck. On the other hand, your T9 was also trained on something and I deem LLM no much smarter than a huge T9 [a predictive text technology which almost every keyboard for phones and tablets has]

The problem I see is that the ai developers didn't ask for any data

How much easier everything would go if they had manners and/or paid for some materials? I usually don't mind lending a pen if someone asks, but can bite one's hand off if they grab it

As you might've noticed, I wanna use this ask to bring up some other interesting topics

My man, I've heard enough of "Why trying if ai renders better than me/uses better words"

Anxiety.

That's what makes me sad

If we ever manage to change that, to make people realise that human-made art is a freaking precious treasure with hours of effort spent on it, maybe earth heals and unicorns return

You buy funny one-nickel-worth stuff from Aliexpress, no? That's AI. As well as a half-gnawled pencil one finds in their old school backpack to write down an anecdote they've just heard

It's easy to focus on the bad side

If fish is ill in a dirty tank, are you gonna add more sand? Pfftt. I assume you gonna change filters, scrub that bastard clean and add more lil fishies to make others feel less lonely, instead of rumbling that you shouldn't have gotten any new weeds for the the bowl in the first place, because, who would've guessed, fish eat that. And poop. —a process natural as breathing

My suggestion is that we try to create a safe space which would encourage writing outside of roleplay, make young artists feel safe regardless of their level of skill

Or maybe I'm too far from the Internet in general and don't understand why writing example messages for a silly toy is suddenly a bad thing when it encourages kids to try themselves in text RPGs without any risk of being judged for that

An interesting topic you gave me, really, I've spent some time contemplating about it

Feel free to suggest things that we, as a community, can do right here and right now, because, gods know, I'm personally unable to atta-ta a corporation for "using language we all speak", especially when chatbots have some features which would be a damn shame not to use in language learning since it's so engaging and teaches kids new words in a forgiving game-like way

Though I hope there will be some law regulating ai and the use of ai-made products soon. Let's give it some time

[braidedhades]

just found out that non-aromantics actually have feelings towards the people they decide to have a crush on. Apparently it’s not like, “hmmm should I consider this person for dating? what are the pros and cons here?” Or like, “I want to be really close friends with that person” But it’s like an actual emotional response or something? An emotion that is different from the “I wanna be really close friends” emotion??

also I just figured out that I’m aromantic

[angelmush]

your post (july 9th) abt being happy and content with your life made me so fucking happy wow

oh that's incredibly sweet!! i meant every word, i'm in a very happy place in my life at the moment. i still get horribly anxious about things sometimes but my baseline is consistently in the range of neutral to good, which is a foreign but welcome feeling :))

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent-ish things ~

[i-could-be-so-much-more]

It frustrates me to no end that everyone I talk to someone new my brain catastrophises to the point where even though I know logically it’s fine, and normal, and fun, I end up making it a bigger deal in my head that I know it is…I think myself into spirals that the logical part of my brain knows are ridiculous and dramatic and improbable, which stress me out more than is entirely necessary…it’s so tiring to exist and participate in the social world sometimes

[rinielelrandir]

If you follow me and in any way, shape, or form think the Israeli civilians killed and kidnapped on 07Oct (including children! including old people! including goddamn peace activists working for Palestinian liberation longer than some of us have been alive!) *deserved* what happened by virtue of being Israeli? Do me a favor and unfollow me. This is me showing you the door, please see yourself out, I do not want to have a conversation with you about this. (See tags for caveat.) Because killing of non-combatants is never okay.

It literally does not matter which "side" you are on here. To be clear, I do not agree with being on any "side", this isn't a fucking sports match. These are real people being straight up murdered. Palestinian and Israeli. Both for having the misfortune to be born the wrong country or the wrong religion. That will always be wrong. Hamas is wrong. The Israeli government is wrong. Because killing civilians is always wrong. That's it. That's the takeaway. You don't get to say "Palestinians have a right to self-defense" as a justification for 07Oct. Self-defense does not extend to civilian targets. To non-combatants. To CHILDREN.

And to be quite clear, I will not accept "Israel has a right to self-defense" as a justification for the killing of Palestinian civilians but I'm largely not seeing that from Jewish leftists, including Israelis and including Zionists. I'm largely seeing them call for a ceasefire and for peace and condemn the Israeli government and its actions.

But I *am* seeing fellow western leftists, particularly non-Jews, defend Hamas and the 07Oct attacks in their desire to stand with Palestine. You have to stop doing that. Hamas are not the good guys, you can read their damn charter documents online. You can read analyses of them by experts - Hamas is a religious extremist group intent on imposing jihadist control over the entire region and eliminating all Jews. It's not something they've been secretive about. They routinely kidnap, torture, and kill PALESTINIAN peace activists who they learn have met with Israeli peace activists or in any way worked towards a 2 state solution. They use global aid donated to Gaza for themselves while letting their citizens suffer. Their most prominent leaders don't even live within Gaza, aren't even at severe risk. These are all things you can verify easily and readily just by doing some basic research anywhere that isn't Twitter, tumblr, or Al Jazerra.

So if you want to justify killing civilians? If you want to support a terrorist organization? If you are going to unilaterally condemn all Israelis for the crime of being citizens of a country whose government you disagree with? Please see yourself out. And when you do, please keep in mind that I am a nonzionist telling you to kindly consider availing yourself of the sea. I do not support Israel and I work with actual Palestinian liberation organizations when I can. I've been doing so for the better part of the past 5 years. I attend a synagogue that is actively involved in Palestinian liberation as well as the first nonzionist havurah in the US. I'm not exactly new to this.

But I am also a Jew. I do not support Israel, the government of the nation state, largely because I do not support the concept of nation states as a whole. I find the system inherently violent. But I *do* support, Israel, the people. I am a Jew by Choice. I have chosen to throw my lot in with Israel and her people. They are MY people. If you gleefully call for my people to be slaughtered, I want nothing to do with you.

[forgotten-daydreamer]

Took twice the max dose of melatonin before the final revision for tomorrow’s exam, I’m shitting my pants and I genuinely don’t know anything as thoroughly as I should but if I sleep less than 4 hrs before it I just know I’m gonna do even worse somehow

[steviescrystals]

there is no feeling worse in the world than missing your grandma :/

[maburito]

Man....I hate having a job.

[eudico-my-beloved]

middle of a match my pc started lagging like crazy and added with my shaking hand it made it really difficult to move because the mouse kept going to a different tab and it got to a point where this heavy asked me if i was a bot 🥲