#wow now I’m thinking about all this even more

[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

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[ddongtsan]

You saying your hands are cold - BOYNEXTDOOR

Ot6 x gender neutral.reader

Note: All of this is just my opinion, so if you don't like/agree with it, that's okay, everyone has their own way of thinking.

Warning: Relationship established (all members), fluff.

Sungho

Sungho looks at your hand with a gentle smile, but quickly notices how cold it is.

"Wow, really cold, huh?" He takes your hand gently, pulling it closer to himself.

"I can try to warm it up if you want…"

He rubs the palms of his hands softly, trying to heat your hands with more intensity.

"You know, I’m good at this. I’ll get you nice and warm."

Winks as if it’s a joke, but his touch is firm, and he doesn’t seem eager to let go.

"I think it’s warmed up a bit, but I’ll give you some extra attention, just to make sure."

Riwoo

He looks at you for a second with a sly smile.

"Cold, huh? Hmm…"

Lee takes your hand, placing it against his chest, where the warmth of his body is immediate.

"See? I’m practically a walking heater."

He starts rubbing your hands gently, but he can’t hide his proud grin at being helpful.

"Now, if this isn’t enough, I guess you’ll have to convince me to warm you up another way. I’ll accept payment in hugs, just so you know."

He chuckles, but his touch stays firm, as if he has no intention of letting go anytime soon.

Jaehyun

Myungjae doesn’t answer right away but takes your hand slowly, analyzing every detail as though he’s thinking about something deeper.

"Ah, it’s really cold..." He brings your hand close to his own face, blowing on it playfully with a teasing smile.

"Think that’ll help? Or were you expecting something more dramatic?"

He tilts his head, his eyes gleaming with amusement, but his grip is firm and the warmth of his hands says otherwise.

"Now you’ve got no excuse to pull away. I’m holding onto this until I’m sure it’s warmed up."

Taesan

Dongmin looks at you with an arched eyebrow, a playful smirk on his face.

"Really cold? Let me see."

He grabs your hand, but the way he runs his thumb across your skin makes the simple gesture feel much more intimate.

"You know, this seems like more of an excuse to hold my hand than anything else." He laughs quietly but doesn’t let go.

"Not that I mind, of course. Just let me know when the other hand gets cold too, okay? I won’t complain."

His voice is a little lower, almost suggesting more than he’s saying.

Leehan

At first, Donghyun acts like he didn’t hear you, but then he suddenly grabs your hand between his with a grip that makes you catch your breath for a moment.

"Huh, really cold, huh? You always seem to find a way to get close to me."

He flashes a sideways grin, biting his lip lightly, but the intensity in his eyes says something more.

Rubs your hands slowly, almost on purpose.

"If it doesn’t work, let me know and I’ll find other ways to warm you up."

His voice is deep, but the smile never leaves his face, leaving you completely speechless.

Woonhak

Woonagi barely lets you finish speaking before grabbing your hand with both of his.

"Give it here, I won’t let you stay cold!"

His hands are warm and soft, and he even blows gently on your hand as if that might help.

And his smile is so sincere that it feels warmer than the actual touch.

"See, it's already working, right? It’s getting warmer, huh?"

He keeps holding your hand even when it’s clear the cold is gone.

"I think now you can’t let go, just to make sure."

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Series summary: When Noah was left alone to take care of his daughter about two years ago, he never thought he would find someone else he would trust enough to include in his little family. But things can change.

Series masterlist

"Okay, recap moment," you began, sitting at a table in the café with Rick, Folio, and Grace, the sun beginning to set outside and filling the room with hues of red and orange.

"Ever since Jason came back to town, he’s wanted to win you back," Rick explained again after taking a slow sip from his coffee, his voice tinged with guilt. "And he asked for my help, because apparently I’m his only friend."

"So, the psycho has been trying to get your attention all this time," Folio interjected, "and when Noah left for a couple of days, he thought it was the perfect opportunity to do something that would drive a wedge between you two."

"So, he had you leave him," you pointed to Rick, "in front of Noah’s house after he got drunk, knowing that the next morning, Noah would find him there and think I'd cheated on him."

Rick lowered his eyes, unable to meet your gaze. "Yeah... that was exactly what he was hoping for. He knew Noah would be hurt, and he knew that would push him away from you."

"Noah didn’t want to listen to what you had to say because he thought what happened with Hannah was about to happen again. And now, he feels awful because he thinks it's his fault—like he can’t keep someone who loves him around," Folio continued.

"And you feel guilty because if you had realized Jason’s intentions sooner, maybe you could have stopped this from happening," Rick added, concluding the chain of events.

"Wow," Grace remarked. "I still have so many questions."

"Yeah, me too," Rick agreed. "Like, why are you even still here? You had nothing to do with any of this."

"Hey! I work here too, okay?" Grace shot back. "I have every right to stay as long as I want."

“So,” you turned to Folio, disregarding the bickering between the punk guy and your friend, or whoever Grace was to you, “what do you think I should do?”

"Go to him," Folio urged. "Talk things through. Please. I can’t keep watching him like this. I don’t think he’s showered in two weeks."

Grace wrinkled her nose.

"I'm sorry," Rick apologized. "If I hadn’t helped Jason, maybe none of this would have happened."

"Well, that’s how things played out," you replied. "And there’s no turning back."

"But things can still be fixed if you both put aside your fears and have a real conversation," Grace encouraged.

Folio leaned back in his chair, his gaze softening. "Exactly. It might not be easy, but if you want to fix things, this is where it starts."

"I’m not sure he wants to talk to me," you said, your voice uncertain as you stared down at the table, trying to sort through your swirling thoughts.

Grace looked at you, her expression a mix of frustration and concern. "Oh, please!" she exclaimed, leaning forward onto the table. "We know he loves you, and you love him. And it’s so obvious you both are suffering now! If you go to him and tell him everything was part of Jason’s plan, and that his weird friend here explained how things really went down, he’ll listen. I promise you!"

Rick shook his head, smirking but with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Hey, weird friend to who, Barbie with black hair?"

Grace just rolled her eyes.

Folio sighed, but his voice grew more serious. "Look, trust me. Go to him, tomorrow. It’s been two weeks, and he’s starting to realize he let you go just because he was too scared. You can’t just sit around waiting for him to make the first move because he won't. He's in a depressive mood right now."

A silence fell for a moment as you thought about their words. Folio's eyes were sincere, and for a brief second, it felt like there was still a chance to fix things. You took a deep breath, the weight of the decision settling over you.

Finally, you nodded. "Okay," you said softly, "I’ll do it."

After Grace and Folio left, you and Rick stood outside the café, the cool evening air pressing against you as the sunset faded into the night. The streets were quieter now, the hum of the city barely reaching you.

Rick shifted uncomfortably, his hands in his pockets as he avoided your gaze. "I… I’m sorry," he said finally, his voice low. "I know you probably hate me right now for helping Jason, for being his friend. I know what I did was wrong. But he was the only friend I ever had, you know? And I just... I always did what he asked, because I didn’t want to lose him. I thought if I kept helping him, I’d prove I was a good friend. But looking at it now, I see I was just blinded by that need to belong. I'm so fucking stupid."

You were silent for a moment, taking in what he said. It didn’t make you angry. Instead, a sense of understanding washed over you. You shook your head gently. "I’m not mad at you, Rick," you said softly. "I don’t think you’re a bad person. You just... you need better friends. Friends who aren’t going to pull you into things like this. Friends who won’t take advantage of your loyalty."

Rick’s shoulders slumped as if a weight had been lifted, but there was still a trace of guilt on his face. "I don’t deserve your forgiveness," he muttered.

"You don’t have to deserve it," you replied with a small smile. "People make mistakes. What matters is what we do after." You paused for a moment, thinking carefully about the next words you wanted to say. "You can come see me, us, at the café anytime. If you ever need to talk, or just... hang out. I'm sure Noah would like you too, you know? You punched Jason, after all."

He looked up at you, his eyes slightly wide, as if your words were a relief he hadn’t expected. "Thanks. Really. I know I messed up, but I’m done following Jason. I’ve made my choice."

You nodded. "I’m glad to hear that."

Rick smiled, though it was a little uncertain at first. "I’ll come by sometime."

As you both turned to leave, you gave Rick one last look. "Thanks again, Rick. Take care."

And with that, you parted ways, but not with the same weight on your shoulders you had carried earlier. Things could get better—for both of you.

Noah sat on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, trying his best to smile as he tickled Luna, her giggles filling the air. It was a soft sound, the kind of laughter that once brought him a sense of peace, but now it felt like a distant memory.

He tried to focus on her, on her innocent joy, but the weight of everything pressing on him still felt unbearable. He could hardly summon the energy to keep up with her playful energy.

"Daddy! Knights don’t tickle princesses!” she said, holding up a finger as if to emphasize her point as she laughed.

"Oh really? So why am I doing that now?"

"Because you are a bad knight, daddy!"

Noah let go and finally dropped his hands to his sides, letting the kid breathe.

Luna, her tiny hands gripping his arm as she attempted to climb onto his lap, paused for a moment and looked at him with her big, innocent eyes. She tilted her head to one side, sensing that something was off. "Daddy," she said in her small, soft voice, "will Y/N come today?"

The question hit Noah like a punch to the stomach. He froze for a second, trying to think, his chest tightening as his mind raced for an answer. How could he explain this to her? How could he possibly tell his three-year-old daughter that the woman who had been a constant presence in their lives, the woman he had loved, was gone and might never return?

He forced a smile as he moved some strands of hair from her little chubby face, but it felt hollow. "No, sweetie," he said softly, trying to keep the sadness from his voice. "Y/N won't be coming here for a while."

Luna’s face fell for a moment, and Noah’s heart twisted at the sight. She didn’t understand, not fully. But she could already feel the absence. She blinked and then asked, her voice so innocent and hopeful, "Oh, is she on vacation?"

Noah nodded slowly, trying to hold it together. He swallowed hard, not knowing what else to say. "Yeah," he replied quietly. "She’s on vacation."

Luna seemed to accept that answer, her small face brightening again, and Noah couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. Was he lying to her? He didn’t know. But he couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet. Not when he was still trying to figure it all out himself.

“Oh,” Luna said, her voice soft and wistful. “I wish I could go with her. I want to see the mountains with Y/N.”

Noah’s heart broke a little more as she spoke, the simple, innocent wish from his daughter ringing in his ears.

He looked down at her, her eyes filled with that pure, untainted hope, and he could feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. He wished things were different, wished he could turn back time and make the mess he had created disappear. But all he could do now was nod, his voice filled with emotion as he replied, “Yeah… me too.”

His gaze fell on the beaded bracelet on his wrist, the bracelet Luna had made with you. She seemed so happy when she gave it to him, saying that you and she had one similar too that Noah couldn't say no. He wondered where you put yours. If it was lying forgotten at the bottom of a trash can or if he was on your wrist too and if you were thinking about him like he was thinking about you looking at it.

The pink was an extreme contrast to his tattoos in a way that made him smile and made his skin burn at the same time.

Luna didn’t seem to sense the weight of his words. Instead, she smiled brightly, her small hands gripping his shirt as she pulled herself closer to him. “Maybe when Y/N comes back, we can all go to the mountains together, Daddy. And see bears.”

Noah’s throat tightened, and he could barely choke out a laugh. "Maybe," he said quietly, his voice breaking just a little. “Maybe we can.”

That late evening, you were at home, the wind outside picking up, howling against the windows.

But then, through the noise, you heard something else—faint, almost drowned out by the gusts of wind. It was a soft whimpering sound. You froze, wondering if you’d imagined it. Another sound followed, louder this time, and it was unmistakable.

You quickly made your way to the door, heart racing. Was someone out there? You opened the door cautiously. The wind whipped around you, but you could make out something small huddling near the porch steps.

A tiny, scruffy ball of fur, sat there looking up at you. You bent down, your breath catching in your throat. A small puppy—probably only a few months old—was staring up at you with big, wide eyes, the color of dark amber. The fur on its body was matted and dirty, but you could tell that, despite its appearance, it wasn’t in horrible condition. It was skinny, too, ribs showing a bit too much through its dirty fur but it didn’t seem too malnourished.

You crouched down, reaching out cautiously, speaking in a soft voice, “Hey there, little one… where did you come from?” The puppy didn’t flinch, but tilted its head at you, studying you curiously, its little tail flicking.

“Do you have a home?” you asked again, more gently this time, hoping it could understand. It just stared at you, unblinking, before it started to shuffle forward, its paws making soft noises on the porch.

“Well, I guess you don’t have a place to go, do you?” you sighed, your heart already melting at the sight of the poor thing. The puppy continued its advance, slowly squeezing between your legs and making its way into the house. You blinked, surprised, but then a soft laugh escaped you.

“Okay, I guess you've already decided where you're going to stay,” you said with a smile, closing the door behind you. You watched the little creature wander inside.

You paused for a moment, your mind spinning with what to do next. You glanced around the small space, eyes landing on the kitchen. Your fridge. Maybe there was something you could feed it.

Opening the fridge, you found some leftover chicken, cooked and ready to go. Without hesitation, you grabbed it, placing it down on a plate for the pup. You watched as the little dog immediately pounced on the food, devouring it in a matter of seconds, the sound of its chewing filling in the silence of the house.

As the dog finished, you crouched down beside it, rubbing its back, and you finally understood the puppy was a male. “What now, little one? You just going to stay here with me?” you asked, your voice soft.

The dog responded with a loud, excited bark, his tail wagging furiously as he jumped up in front of you, as if to say “Yes, please!”

You chuckled lightly. “Guess that’s a yes,” you smiled, patting the puppy’s head.

“Alright then, you can stay with me for now.”

Without thinking twice, you picked the little thing up, holding him carefully in your arms as you carried him toward the bathroom.

You turned on the tap, filling the bathtub with warm water, and carefully set the puppy down.

You took your time, softly scrubbing the dirt out of his brown and black fur.

Just as you were finishing up, the puppy suddenly shook his body, spraying water everywhere. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, the tiny creature soaking your clothes and the bathroom floor, but you didn’t mind. The laugh felt good, like a release, like a bit of normalcy in the chaos that had surrounded you lately.

“You really know how to make a mess, huh?” you said, wiping your face with the back of your hand as the dog looked up at you, his fur dripping wet and his expression utterly adorable.

After a few more moments, you helped the puppy out of the tub and wrapped it in a towel, rubbing it gently to dry it off. He seemed to enjoy the attention, snuggling into the towel as if it had finally found a safe place. You sat on the floor with him for some moments.

Then, you looked down at the tiny creature, now dry and warm, curled up on the towel beside you, his little eyes closing in contentment. “You're a good boy,” you said softly, smiling as the puppy let out a quiet yawn.

That night, he whined until you picked him up and let him sleep in the bed with you, his body pressed close to yours, keeping you almost as warm as Noah's had.

The next morning, before going to the café, you left enough food and water around for the dog before heading out, promising to think of a suitable name for him.

When you were at work, it had started raining, and when you stepped out of the coffee shop during the afternoon, it hadn't stopped yet.

The cold rain immediately soaked through your clothes as you reached your car.

The city streets were slick with water, and the dull hum of distant thunder echoed in the sky, but you barely noticed. Your mind was consumed with the need to reach Noah. You had to. You had already waited too much.

You got in, slammed the door, and turned the key. Nothing. You tried again. And again. The engine sputtered but refused to start, the engine light flashing mockingly at you in the dark interior. Your heart sank. You cursed under your breath and tried once more, but the car just refused to cooperate. It was as if the universe itself had decided that this was not the night for you to see Noah, that fate was conspiring against you, and all the progress you'd just made would come crashing down.

"This is ridiculous," you muttered, staring helplessly at the wheel. Frustration surged inside you, and you felt a lump rise in your throat. The rain was pouring harder now, and everything felt like it was falling apart.

But then, in that moment of frustration, something shifted inside you. You wiped your damp face with the back of your hand and exhaled, steadying yourself. This wasn’t the end, not yet. You weren’t going to give up this easily.

Noah was waiting for you. Even if maybe he didn’t know that. You couldn’t afford to let something as trivial as a car breaking down stop you.

"Fine," you whispered to yourself, the determination in your voice solidifying. "I’ll walk."

Without another thought, you opened the door, slammed it shut, and stepped back out into the pouring rain. The streets blurred with each step you took, your soaked clothes clinging to you as you began your journey toward Noah, your mind set on one thing: You needed to see him.

The rain was hitting the ground in heavy, unrelenting sheets, turning the streets into rivers when you reached Noah's house. The sound of it pounded against your ears, drowning out everything else. You stood there, drenched to the bone, the cold water soaking through your coat and clothes, your hair was wet, dripping down and sending a chill through your neck, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting to Noah.

Nothing mattered except Noah.

The cold air pressed against your skin, your heart pounded in your chest, thoughts spinning.

You reached the front door, the familiar house looming before you, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t feel like home anymore. Not when everything had been shattered, and the quiet that hung between you two was almost suffocating.

Finally, you pressed the doorbell, the sound of it echoing louder in the still night than you had anticipated. The seconds felt like hours, and then, the door creaked open.

There he was, standing in the doorway, but he wasn’t the same Noah. His eyes were tired, bloodshot from lack of sleep, and his face was drawn. The person you had known—the one who laughed with you late at night, the one who made you feel safe—felt distant now, a ghost of the man you had loved.

He looked at you, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence as the rain kept pouring all around you. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even move. You couldn't read him, it was like he was trying to keep you at arm’s length, afraid that if you got too close, you might shatter him further.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words felt like they were stuck in your throat. What could you even say? How could you explain what had happened, explain how everything had fallen apart because of one man's manipulation? You knew this was your fault, too.

“Noah,” you said, voice shaky as you finally met his gaze. “I... I need to talk to you. Please.”

His expression remained overall hard, a wall that you couldn’t break through, not yet. He looked down for a moment, his jaw tightening, as if he was fighting the urge to turn away from you.

But when he looked at you, his eyes were soft, as if despite everything he couldn't look at you with anger.

"What?" he muttered, his voice strained, as if a single word was causing him physical pain.

You took a deep breath.

"Ever since Jason came back to town, I—I didn’t see it. I didn’t want to see it. I thought that chapter was closed, that he was a thing of the past, that I was done with him. And I was. Because I love you and I'll always love you and only you. But he wasn’t done with me. I should’ve known. And I... I was too fucking stupid to realize he never wanted to let me go. Not really. He wanted to win me back, to tear us apart, and I was blind to it."

He just stared at you, so you kept talking. Seeing him like that was absolutely breaking you.

"He asked Rick for help, a friend of his that understood he was doing something wrong and talked to me. And Rick, he... he just wanted to be a good friend. He didn’t understand. But Jason—he used Rick, manipulated him, got him to leave him drunk in front of your house, knowing that I would let him in because I am too fucking srupid and too fucking nice. He knew that you’d think I cheated on you. Knowing that you’d be hurt, that you'd doubt me, that it would rip us apart. He had everything planned. And I—I let it happen. I didn’t even see it coming. I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late, until I saw the way you looked at me like I let you down like your ex. And I've never wanted that.

And now... now I’m standing here, soaked to the skin because I always forget to bring an umbrella with me and because I care about you, trying to find the right words, but there’s no easy way to explain this. No way to take back the pain I caused you. No way to undo what Jason did. But I need you to know this... I love you. More than anything. More than I ever thought I could love someone.

And I’m so fucking sorry for the mess I’ve made and for letting Jason ruin everything. I’m so sorry I didn’t see what Jason was doing. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner that I was losing you, that I was pushing you away when all I’ve ever wanted is to be with you.

I love you more than I ever knew how to say. I love you more than anything. And I need you to know that, to believe that, because it’s the truth. You’re the only thing that matters to me and I miss you. And I miss Luna. And I miss the family we built. The three of us. And if you can find it in your heart to forgive me... I swear, I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. But please, Noah, don’t let me lose you. Not like this. Not because of an asshole who thought he had power on someone else's love."

After you finished confessing, Noah looked at you with a mix of confusion and concern for a moment, his brow furrowing as his gaze flickered over your drenched form. "Why are you completely soaked?"

You couldn't help but smile softly, a little amusement tugging at the corner of your lips, despite the moment. "My car wouldn’t start," you replied, trying to sound lighthearted, almost as if it was a silly inconvenience. "So I walked."

Before you could say anything more, Noah’s expression softened even more, and without another word, he stepped forward in the rain. His lips found yours with a sudden intensity, and it was like everything else melted away. You smiled against his mouth, the taste of him so sweet, so right, that it felt like you could stay in this moment forever.

You had longed for the sensation of his lips on yours, the warmth of his tongue dancing with yours, and the comfort of his arms wrapped around you for days.

His hair clung to his forehead as the rain soaked him through, and without thinking, you reached up to brush it aside, your fingers grazing the damp strands as you continued to kiss him, your hearts racing in sync. It was perfect. It was real. The kiss lingered, deepening, as if neither of you wanted it to end, until the air between you both ran out and you both pulled back, gasping for breath.

Noah’s hands were still on your hips, pushing you close to him.

His voice was low and vulnerable as he whispered against your lips, "I’ve dreamed of this moment for fifteen nights. I thought you hated me..I'm sorry I told you to leave. I was scared to lose you and so fucking jealous. I've never wanted you to leave. I love you.

I loved you from the first moment I walked into the café with Luna barely able to speak, when she raised her little hand to say hi. She didn't do it with anyone. But she did it with you. Maybe she also understood at that moment that you were going to be the most important person in both our lives."

You couldn’t help but smile, the warmth flooding back into your chest at the sound of his words. "I’ve walked in the rain for forty minutes for you," you murmured, your voice soft but full of certainty. "I’d say I don’t hate you at all."

He chuckled, the sound of it wrapping around you like a warm blanket. God, you'd missed that sound so bad. "I’d say I don’t hate you at all either," he replied, a grin tugging at his lips, and then he kissed you again, softer this time, as if savoring every second, every drop of rain falling around you both.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog

TBAF Tags: @klutzy-kay24 @mrscevans @concreteangel92 @iconic-taurus @niicoleleigh @cheyyyyr @supersquirrel1996 @respectfulrebel @clickmedead @whenyouwannafindlove @kenjipepsi1

[domm1etae]

Are u trying to kiss me?

yunho x mingi

oneshot | mdni

1.1k

Where Yunho and Mingi’s casual hangout goes from tipsy laughs to full-on "holy crap, are we doing this"

nsfw tags under

m/m, bottom mingi, top yunho, dryhumping, friends to ?, alcohol, drinking, makeout, kissing, horny drunks xd, blushing, subtle touching, grinding, blow job mentioned, and idk what more lol

Yunho and Mingi had been best friends forever—practically glued to each other since middle school. They’d been through all the cringe-worthy phases together: the awkward growth spurts that left them tripping over their own feet, the regrettable haircuts they’d both agreed were “cool” at the time, and crushes so embarrassing they swore to take them to their graves. Late-night ramen runs and arguing over the last piece of kimchi? That was their love language.

But tonight was… weird. Different.

Yunho had gotten it into his head to try out some new alcohol recipe he found online, proudly declaring it was a “genius masterpiece” that would change their lives. Naturally, Mingi volunteered to be the guinea pig. Free booze? Say less.

Now, a couple of bottles deep, the kitchen looked like a war zone—half-empty glasses scattered across the counter, sticky spills everywhere, and Mingi’s obnoxiously loud laughter echoing off the walls. He was leaning against the kitchen island, cheeks flushed red, head tilted back as he lost it over something Yunho said… except Yunho couldn’t even remember what was so funny.

All Yunho could focus on was Mingi. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the way his lips curled into that stupidly endearing grin, the way he looked so ridiculously carefree right now. Yunho found himself staring, his heart doing this weird little flutter thing in his chest.

“Dude, you’re, like, bright red,” Yunho teased, reaching out to poke Mingi’s cheek.

Mingi swatted his hand away, still grinning. “Shut up, I’m not red. You’re red.”

“Oh wow, killer comeback,” Yunho snorted, rolling his eyes.

Mingi just laughed harder, leaning into Yunho’s space without a care in the world. His shoulder brushed Yunho’s arm, and for some reason, Yunho froze. It wasn’t like Mingi wasn’t touchy—he was always in Yunho’s space, throwing an arm around him, hanging off him like a human koala. But tonight, it felt… different.

“You talk too much,” Mingi mumbled, his grin softening as his gaze locked on Yunho’s face.

“What?” Yunho blinked, his voice quieter than he intended.

“I said, you talk too much.” Mingi’s hand landed on Yunho’s shoulder, sliding down his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I like touching you,” he added, completely nonchalant, like he wasn’t flipping Yunho’s entire world upside down.

Yunho blinked again. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you’re soft,” Mingi said with a teasing grin, giving Yunho’s bicep a squeeze. “Weirdly soft for a guy your size.”

“Oh my god, you’re so dumb,” Yunho groaned, shoving him lightly.

“Yeah, but I’m your dumbass,” Mingi shot back without missing a beat.

Yunho froze. That wasn’t new—Mingi said that kind of stuff all the time. But tonight, it felt different. Heavier. Loaded with something Yunho didn’t quite understand but couldn’t ignore. And when Mingi leaned in, his face suddenly way too close, that something became impossible to avoid.

“Mingi,” Yunho said, his voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing?”

Mingi tilted his head, lips twitching into a lazy smirk. “Thinking about kissing you.”

“What?” Yunho’s voice cracked so hard he might as well have hit puberty again.

“I mean, unless you don’t want me to,” Mingi said, his smirk faltering a little.

“I—uh—are you serious right now?” Yunho stammered, his brain short-circuiting.

Mingi shrugged. “Kinda.”

“Kinda?” Yunho echoed, eyes wide.

“Fine, yes, I’m serious.”

Yunho opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t get the words out. His eyes darted to Mingi’s lips, then back to his eyes, and before he could second-guess himself, he leaned in.

The kiss started soft—almost hesitant, like neither of them could believe it was actually happening. But then Mingi made this quiet little noise, something between a sigh and a whimper, and Yunho was a goner.

Mingi kissed like he did everything else—with his whole heart. His hands slid up Yunho’s back, pulling him closer, while Yunho’s hands instinctively found Mingi’s hips. They pressed together, their bodies fitting like they were meant to, and Yunho couldn’t stop himself from deepening the kiss.

Their hands wandered, exploring each other's bodies with increasing urgency as their kisses deepened. It was more intoxicating than the alcohol they'd consumed, and neither of them could get enough.

Mingi whimpered again, his hips moving instinctively against Yunho’s. The sound shot through Yunho’s system like a live wire, it was the hottest thing Yunho has ever heard and wanted to hear it again, he couldn’t help but grind back.

Mingi's hips were unstoppable, moving faster and faster, he’d never felt this overwhelmed, this hot and bothered, not like this before.

Yunho must've noticed how frantic Mingi had become, and without missing a beat, he matched his rhythm. He slid his tongue along Mingi's neck, nipping at his jaw and biting at his ear, his voice low and teasing. "You wanna come, baby?"

Mingi's spine tingled at the sound of Yunho's voice—damn, he sounded so fucking hot talking to him like that.

“Yunho,” Mingi gasped, his head falling against Yunho’s shoulder. His whole body trembled, his nails digging into Yunho’s arms as a broken moan escaped his lips. He stilled after a second, shuddering in Yunho’s arms as he caught his breath.

Yunho held him close, one hand rubbing soothing circles on Mingi’s back. His own heart was racing, his head spinning, but all he cared about was Mingi.

“You good?” Yunho asked softly, pulling back just enough to see Mingi’s face.

Mingi let out a shaky laugh, his cheeks flushed and his grin lopsided. “Good? I’m amazing,” he said, his voice still breathless. Then his eyes flicked down to Yunho’s lap, and his grin faded. “But, uh… you didn’t…”

Yunho shook his head quickly. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Seriously.”

Mingi’s hand shot out, grabbing Yunho’s wrist before he could move away. “No,” he said firmly, his tone more serious than Yunho had ever heard. “Let me take care of you.”

Before Yunho could protest, Mingi was sinking to his knees, his hands already working at Yunho’s belt. The alcohol haze was gone now, leaving nothing but raw, unfiltered emotion between them.

As Mingi looked up at him, his dark eyes filled with something Yunho could only describe as pure want, Yunho knew one thing for sure: this was, without a doubt, the best experiment he’d ever attempted.

[powdcr]

it'll only hurt for a second

୨୧ jinx x transmasc!reader

୨୧ summary: jinx helps you do your testosterone shot

୨୧ word count: 1.4k

୨୧ tw: needles, injections, medical stuff

୭ ୨♡୧ ৎ

Ever since you came out as transgender, Jinx had been nothing but supportive. She had seen the signs ever since she’d known you and had secretly suspected that you felt this way. You never seemed to fit in with feminine terms or as being described as a woman. Over the past few years, she had started referring to you with gender neutral terms and pronouns as this seemed to calm your discomfort. She figured that if you were struggling with your gender, and wanted her to know, that you would tell her when you were ready. That day came and went, and she never saw you any differently for it. You would always belong to her, and that’s all that really mattered to the blue-haired girl.

One day, you met with Jinx in her base. She was tinkering at her desk, working on a blueprint for a new gun that she had wanted to construct. You came in with a satchel thrown over your shoulder. Taking notice of the music being blasted, you smiled to yourself. That’s my girl. You sauntered over to her, trying to call out over the music.

“Jinx! Baby!”

No response could be heard as she kept hard at work, leaning onto the desk to get a better look at whatever it was that she was drawing. You sighed, shaking your head before tapping her on the shoulder.

“Oh, shoots!” She called out, startled, almost falling off of her chair. She turned the stereo off before turning around to see you. She laughed in relief, pulling a loose strand of hair back. “You scared me, space boy.” A blush covered her face as she looked you up and down. You were wearing a more masculine outfit than the ones you had been wearing up until now.

“Sorry, babe. I tried calling out over the music. You always have it so loud. Do you ever think about your hearing when you put it that high?” you asked in a soft tone, genuinely caring about your girlfriend’s health.

Jinx stuttered for once, not taking in the question that you had just asked her. “I- um, no… not really, but wow, you look… good. Handsome. You look handsome.” She gestured with her pointer finger to your outfit and stature, followed by a clearing of her throat.

You cracked a smile, looking down at your feet. You let out a small, “thanks,” before pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Anyway, I wanted to talk with you about something.”

Jinx’s eyebrows raised at your comment. “What’s up, buttercup?” Her tone returned to its normal cheery state as she fell back onto her desk chair. “Hit me with it.”

“Well, I… I don’t know how you’ll feel about this, but…” you stuttered as you opened up the satchel that hung by your hip bone. “I picked up this medication. I got it from someone that has connections over at the Piltover apothecary. If I pay him then he gets it for me, but I wanted to talk with you about it before I did my first dose.”

Jinx’s eyes narrowed. “Okay…” She bit the inside of her cheek as she sat up from her chair to look inside the bag.

The satchel contained needles as well as vials and alcohol wipes. It also had a small container that held syringes. She picked up a vial that had a see-through liquid within it, shaking it gently to watch as the liquid moved side to side.

“So… what is it exactly?”

“Well, you take shimmer, right? It makes you feel stronger, more confident, and it gives you energy. This… It’s supposed to do that for me. Except, it’ll make me look more masculine. I’ll look more like a man than I do now.”

Jinx inspected it further, holding the vial between her painted fingernails. “It’ll make you look more masculine?”

“Yeah! I might get facial hair, gain more muscle, and my voice would definitely get deeper.”

She smiled at your response. “So, correct me if I’m wrong, but… it’ll make you look more like you.”

“Yeah.” The corners of your lips upturned.

“I’m surprised something like this even exists, but then again, I heard there are some topsiders that are trying to create magic, so who knows at this point,” she said, rolling her eyes at the thought of the Pilties. “You want me to inject it for you?”

Your eyes lit up at Jinx’s question. “I mean, if you- yeah, if you’re comfortable. You don’t have to, of course, I wouldn’t wanna-”

“I’ll do it,” she said confidently, cutting you off with a smirk. Jinx motioned for you to hand the satchel over, which you did so obediently.

Jinx took the supplies out of the bag, assembling them all together as you instructed her to. She knelt down on the floor in front of you and had you lift up your shirt for her. Biting her bottom lip in a deep focus, she wiped a part of your stomach with an alcohol swab before pinching the skin in between her fingers.

“You ready, Mr?” Jinx asked in a playful tone to distract you from the situation. You always had had a fear of needles. The idea of them in general absolutely terrified you. That’s why she was so surprised at first that you were willing to do this.

You nodded nervously, holding your eyes closed as you braced for the pain.

“Don’t worry, it’ll only hurt for a second,” she said before sticking you with the needle, “See, it’s already in. You’re doing great, toots. In fact, you’re doing better than Silco does. He’s a real baby about his shimmer injections.”

You winced, but the pain really wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be. You laughed a little at Jinx’s comment about Silco. “Is that so?”

“Yep, he makes me do it every day for him at the same time, but he always procrastinates for like fifteen minutes beforehand. Sometimes he even paces,” she said with a giggle. “It’s really silly, honestly. I figure the faster you get it over and done with, the faster it’s, ya know, over. Makes sense to me.” She pulled out the needle as soon as she was done injecting the testosterone, placing a kiss to your stomach. “All done!”

“Really?” You asked, shocked that it happened so fast, before looking down at your blue-haired girlfriend.

“Yep,” she said with a wide grin, pulling your shirt back down for you, “so when does it start working?”

“Well, it’s something that builds up in your system, but technically I should see slight changes as early as the end of this week. I’m supposed to do it weekly, that’s why.”

“Nuh uh,” Jinx retorted.

Your eyebrows raised.

“I’ll be doing it for you weekly,” she said proudly, crossing her arms in front of her. “I might as well be a doctor at this point. I do your injections, mine, and Silco’s.”

You both laugh.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Don’t get all mushy-gushy with me. I know you’d do the same for me,” Jinx replied, trying to not get too sappy with you. “Anyway, I’m excited to see what you’ll look like… finally being you. You’re already you, but… ya know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“You never did tell me… Do you want me to start calling you something else? Maybe there’s a name that you feel suits you more?” Jinx asked, placing her hands on your chest affectionately. She was a mere centimeters from you now, looking into your eyes with her own doe-y, pink ones.

“[Y/N],” you replied. It was obvious that you had thought about it prior to this conversation, but you just didn’t know how to bring it up until now.

She smirked before going in to kiss you. Your lips pressed against her velvety ones. Electricity shot through you as butterflies erupted in your stomach. She tasted like blue raspberry and smoke. It made you feel high just being near her, but kissing her was different. It made you feel crazy.

“I love you, [Y/N],” Jinx replied in a softer tone than the one she had held throughout the rest of your interaction. It was gentle, welcoming, and made you feel safe. It was a voice that you had imagined her having before she had become ‘Jinx.’ She played with the collar of your shirt. “It’s a nice name. It suits you.”

“I love you too, Jinx,” you replied in an equally as soft tone, “I love you so much.”

[writingwrongwjc]

First Date With the Munson Boy

Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: maybe slight angst for a second otherwise all fluff!!

“Should I wear this one or the red one?” You look past yourself in the mirror at Steve and Robin lying on your bed. Steve looks up hastily from the magazine but gives no response. Instead offering a lost expression

“Why are you even going on a date with this guy again?”

Robin props herself up, throwing the nearest object she can find toward Steve.

“Dude you can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not? I’m being honest he’s kinda… well he is a freak.”

“He’s... sweet.” You say, swinging around toward them; making sure your dress swishes as you do so.

“Plus I could make fun of you for so many girls… Linda!” Robin Chimes in.

“Okay, glasses Linda? That’s not fair becau-” Steve begins to ramble but you interject before his poor excuses can manifest themselves.

“You guys! You are no help.” You throw your hands in the air, flailing the dresses as you move.

“Red.”

“Red!”

They both say in unison. Given their struggles with finding love, and your growing irritation you opted for the white dress.

“Mmm it’s classy.” you quip, leaving the room to put on the dress.

How you met Eddie is a story you’d rather not share with them just yet. Although Steve and Robin are your best friends they don’t exactly know about your habitual love for Mary Jane. They know you’ve smoked before, even trying a little for themselves when drunk and adventurous. You have just been embarrassed to admit that you enjoy the little herb, and many of the outcasts that come with it on a consistent basis. One such outcast is the man who started to sell it to you in the first place, Eddie Munson. Town Outcast, drug dealer, and according to neighborhood moms; occultist! After you started buying from him more the two of you started to hang out in those woods more consistently, even when you didn’t want to buy, but knew he’d be back there.

“We can’t keep meeting this way.” He’d say one day, cocking his head with a gentle smile.

“No? Then maybe you should take me out somewhere?” You cocked your head back at him with a slight of mischief on your face.

So now, you stand in your living room all dolled up to go out with the Munson boy.

“He’ll be here any second you guys need to leave! Go!” You shout, pushing Steve and Robin out the front door; giggling as they shuffle through at the same time.

“Have fun!”

“Don’t get murdered!”

“Oh yeah. Use protection!”

Not even a minute later Eddie pulls up in his beat down old van blaring some Iron Maiden song. Rather than allowing him to retrieve you from the house you meet him at the curb so that your parents don’t berate him about where he’s taking you and what his intentions are. He stumbles over his own feet in an effort to reach the van door before you can.

“Your chariot awaits you.” He bows, hand still on the door, eyes lingering on your form for a moment. “You uh, wow.” He says, shaking his head in disbelief releasing a huff of air. “You look amazing.”

“Oh thank you,” you say blushing at his genuine comment. He shuts your door hard, galloping over to the driver’s side, jumping into the seat. The music is now at a comforting volume rather than its usual roar.

“So, where are you taking me?”

“I was thinking we could hit some takeout, then drive out to the quarry and have a bit of a soiree?” Eddie seemed unsure of his idea now that he’s presenting it to you.

“Who knew you were a romantic Eddie!”

“I just, I thought that the stars would be brighter out there, and… you wouldn’t have to actually be seen with me.”

The street lights lit up the sadness glistening in his eyes, although he hid it well under his vibrant expressions and smiles toward you as he spoke.

“If I didn’t want to be seen with you I wouldn’t go out with you, dummy.” You jabbed him in the side in order to lighten his mood.

“I yearn for adventure! There’s no adventure in a drive in. Just making out before you're ready.”

He laughs vibrantly fidgeting with the rings on his fingers as he palms the steering wheel. Quicker than you thought that you would, you arrived at the quarry with takeout cheeseburgers in hand.

Eddie parked at the edge of the water away from the main road. As romantic as it truly was, Steve's words popped back in your head for a moment: “Don’t get murdered.” Not that Eddie would hurt you, just the fact of how dark it is way out here and the colorful history of the area. It's peaceful, but in an eerie way. While you’re thinking about how eerie it is Eddie got into the back of his van to grab a blanket.

“Here it is! Only the finest silks for a lady.” He approaches you staring into the darkness. “Oh. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah! It’s just dark out here. Spooky.” You wiggled your fingers at him when you said the word spooky. You take the blanket from him and turn to find a spot while he turns on some music.

“Okay so options, killer options by the way. We have Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, Dio, Slayer. Oh I have my guilty pleasure prince tape! Or, behind door number three, surprise mix! I have no Idea what’s on this one, I think I was high when I made it or it’s like one of those things where we listen to it and a quest starts”

He holds up each cassette tape like a salesman attempting to get your buy. You couldn’t help but admire his features, complimented so well by a nice leather jacket, cleaner, sturdier than his usual jacket but it suits him so well.

“Door number three, Surprise me! Now come eat, it's getting soggy!”

“Oh one more thing!” he leans into the van once more sliding the cassette into place then reaching to grab something. The first song on the surprise cassette is certainly a surprise to you. Africa by Toto.

He holds up a small hand rolled joint with a crooked grin on his face.

“We’ll save it for dessert!” you say as he sits beside you on the blanket warming the brisk air.

“Oh I thought I was gonna have something else for dessert.” He looks you up and down, biting his lip slyly. Not sly enough, you push his face away from you.

“Eddie! Who do you think I am?”

Rather than taking your shove for what it was he threw himself to the ground with haste feigning injury. Making you burst into laughter from his theatrics. Sitting up again he looks at you with puppy’s eyes.

“I meant Ice Cream, freak. We can go get some ice cream!”

“Oh yeah sure you did, but I’ll hold you to that now.”

After stuffing your mouths and talking a bit in between, Eddie lights up the joint offering you the first hit. You can feel his eyes on your lips as you draw in the smoke. His gaze is soft and his eyes dart across the entirety of your face. As you go to hand him the lit joint you hear a crackle in the woods beside you. Reacting with instinct you gasp harshly scooting your body closer to his, dropping the joint onto the blanket.

“Oh. shit.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

The two or you scramble to pick it up and snuff out the embers, tangling into one another while doing so. Your arm is now hooked around Eddie’s bent leg and his arm under yours, hand resting on the tops of your knees. The tension between the two of you is palpable but you both laugh off what just happened, especially since the weed is now settling into your system.

“You’re honestly such a mage.” Eddies says out of nowhere.

“Huh?”

“I was just thinking if you were a class in D&D it would be mage.”

“I have no idea what that is.” You say looking at him confused but eager to learn more.

He takes the time to thoroughly explain the D&D classes and other game mechanics you didn’t fully understand but thoroughly enjoys the enthusiastic expression on his face while he explains something he loves.

“Basically, they’re very versatile in their magic, like you. Pretty, funny, smart, it's all magic!”

“So would you be a bard then, because they play instruments?” The glow leaves Eddie's eyes and his expression drops, pouting his bottom lip out slightly.

“Well, they play lutes and stuff, it's not the same.”

“I mean sure it is, your electric guitar is just a way cooler version of a lute.”

“There’s more to it than that I’m more of a rogue.” He stands up, broadening his shoulders, with an over dramatic sneaky look on his face.

“Whatever you say, oh great D&D expert!” You hop onto your knees fanning your arms up and down at him. “I dare not question thee. Forgive me my Lord.” Sarcasm thickens with each word.

“I’ll forgive you, fair Lady. Stand!” Eddie poses himself as a king making his decree. “On one condition!”

You stand to your feet with a bit of a wobble, choking back a giggle as the song that is playing ends and the song Hungry Eyes comes on.

“That is?”

Suddenly the air shifts. No longer do you feel playful, but a tickle of anxiety. Nothing surrounds the two of you now. Eddies searches for words to say but can’t think of a royal decree. He crosses his arms loosely.

“Man I suck at this.”

“Or you're distracted.” you offer up walking closer to him until your hands meet his shoulders. The leather cold under your palms. He lets his arms unfold, grabbing you by the small of your back.

“Yeah that’s-” He trails off nervously. You can feel his shaky warm breath amid the cool autumn air.

“Next time I want to go to the most popular spot in town.”

“Next time?” He smiles.

“Yes next time, dummy.”

You slide your hand onto his jawline and then to the base of his neck, burying your fingers into his mess of brown hair. He leans forward slightly, pausing just before he kisses you allowing you to direct the moment. You pull his head closer to yours, your lips crashing together sweetly. His lips full and passionate yet not hungry for more instead satisfied in the moment. You linger in the kiss allowing passion to blossom. When you pull away you linger close to one another, Eddie’s deep brown eyes locked onto your’s, his cheeks are full of color, and his lips forcing themselves upward.

The sweet silence is finally disrupted when you speak up,

“Did you know this mixtape is full of love songs?”

He says nothing, instead stifling laughter as he pulls away from you unable to hide his expression.

“You did, you sneak! Surprise, door number three my ass!”

“So how bout that ice cream, my lady?”

Authors Note: Steddie and Stucky Fics are coming soon! I know I write a lot of x reader but I am workin on others as well!!

[kaontic]

Sir, we have some questions for you, but first—

(I’m so sorry, you two—)

YES BITCH RAINBOW WIRES SLAAAAAAAY— 💅

NO NOT LIKE THAT—! (　〇□〇)

*Facepalms* Ok.

(It’s time for more thoughts that are all over the place)

So you were just, sittin' on your aft in a cave, in presumably, the American Southwest (are those saguaros? Interesante… 😶🌵), with exposed wires that I just realized share the same colors as the Well of Sparks—

When you broke outta CC’s crib, in the North???

Now it’s just funny thinkin��� about how Megs made his way down there without, ya know, 6 star wanted level antics.

I mean, there’s def gotta be more to this, even if Megs really was just “wandering” around lol.

(Hehe, robots in disguise~🎶 ;D)

Like think of how embarrassing that must be for Cobra(-La), if they couldn’t locate and recapture a giant blind robot.

Unless…this is what CC actually wants, so that when Megs finally reunites with everyone else, Cobra will make their move.

Gotta catch ‘em all, I suppose. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Still doesn’t explain how the actual frag Laserbeak seemingly found him so goddamn fast (unless there was a timeskip), so—

Soundwave, you’ve got some explainin’ to do too boo. 😗

Yeah, especially to Thundercracker. 😑

(Side note: He looked extra despondent these past two issues. Prob cuz of him losin’ Shockwave, but also it’s like findin’ Megs was the last thing he wanted to do lmao

Well, that’s what happens when you can’t find your backbone

*Lower voice* Furthermore, you’re one to call others “brutes” when you send out these cassettes you call “family” to do your dirty work

Just somethin’ to think about in the flood of shame you find yourself in)

(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

(Damn, Star! Save the punches for Megs! 😨)

Some extra questions (cuz what can possibly go wrong with askin’ ‘em, right? *Laughs nervously*)

. Y’all worryin’ about Ultra Magnus, but not Jetfire???

Is he dead for good?

(Please don’t let that be the case. He deserves more attention, and he’s got character potential, I promise

If it is what it is tho, can we at least confirm it, instead of makin’ Optimus look genuinely bad rn for this? Otherwise, it’s just a repeat of G1 writing at this point)

. I’m just gonna assume for now that Star had left the cat and the Cobra M.A.R.S. guy behind for (wow, if he even “cares” in that way) their safety, which would be one of the smarter decisions he’s made

Especially since he’s likely stuck until Astrotrain proves that, once again, he’s an MVP

. *Gasps* And Astrotrain has a love that Megs ended?????????????

Oh, you just keep gettin’ better and better— 🩶💜💛

(And frag Megs for makin’ my train man upset like this! 😤)

. Wait Cliffjumper doesn’t wanna go back—?

(Well I guess this at least means he could run into Springer and Hot Rod in the future)

. So the relationship between Cybertronians and the majority of humanity is officially cooked, right?

And every time Optimus is experiencin’ a crisis there’s gonna be a white background?

I like that. I like white backgrounds :3

. Do you think Roller and the Combat Deck are also experiencin’ the visions and the corruption stuff?

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh to the actual no—

[scoops-aboy86]

wc: 647 | Rating: T | CW: mentions of infidelity, technically hurt no comfort because I haven’t written the part where they make up | Additional Tags: future fic, famous Eddie Munson, past Steddie

Okay, look. The tv was on in the background, and Ross and Rachel were breaking up, and this happened in my head. I’m posting it for Fuck It Friday because fuck it. The only thing getting me through life right now is cough drops.

Hell of a Time at the Wake

“Yeah, haven’t had a drink or touched any drugs in five years, as of last month.”

“Oh wow, so that’s from before Corroded Coffin made it big.” The interviewer chuckles. “Usually it’s the fame and rehab that come first.”

“I prefer to think of myself more as regionally notorious, but sure. Never did the rehab thing, though.”

“Well, what’s the story there?”

Behind their frontman, the rest of the band shares a look. “Oh, we don't need to—” 

“Nah, Jeff, it’s okay man.” Eddie waves them off, then turns back to the interviewer. “Back before we hit the road to make a name for ourselves, I was seeing someone back home. I mean, the someone. The one. But we kept having this same… not really a fight, just this thing: I wanted to leave town, they didn’t. And then finally we had this huge blowout about it that started as something else and somehow turned into that again, which turned into both of us storming off. They went home, and I went out and got completely shitfaced, and in the morning I woke up with someone whose name I didn’t even know in bed with me.”

The interviewer winces. 

“Yeah. And when you do something shitty like that, it’s going to come out sooner or later. Or pretty much immediately, in this case, which.” Eddie grimaces and shrugs. “Well, it gave us something else to fight about, that’s for sure. I knew I’d fucked up bad, but it took hours of back and forth before I realized that we were done done. Trust completely obliterated, no way to come back or move on from that, just… over.”

There’s a pause where he stares off into space for a moment, stuck on a memory. Then he shakes himself and refocuses. 

“Anyway, at some point during my doomed attempt to salvage things, I swore I’d never have another drink ever again. Which, the being drunk of it all wasn’t really the problem, so saying that didn’t buy me anything, but… even after it ended, I didn’t. I’d been so fucked up that night, and it wasn’t the booze so much as the fear of it being over that made me a one man self-fulfilling prophecy—but I hurt someone I loved more than anything, and I never wanted let myself get that fucking stupid again, so. I haven’t. And honestly, I sleep better knowing that.”

“Wow.” The interviewer is staring at him, stunned. Probably doesn’t get a lot of this sort of thing, not just because of all the wild rockstars and other celebrities that come on the show with stories about trashed hotel rooms and wild parties, but because Eddie is being honest. 

It’s not something he talks about… ever, really. Not even with the guys. But, after five years, it doesn’t hurt the same. It’s not even for St—

It’s not for his ex anymore, if it ever was. 

“Why would it be weird?” Gareth is saying. “We have a built in DD, that’s always great. And Eddie doesn’t give us shit for anything, he’s just honest when we ask if anything was too out of hand. It’s a good reality check.”

“And like,” Doug adds, “he’ll still come out with us to clubs and shit to hang out. But if he says he doesn’t want to drive us to a bar it’s not some passive aggressive or superiority thing because we drink and he doesn’t; he’d really just rather fuck off and do something else.”

“Gee, thanks,” Eddie says dryly, but he’s smirking. 

Doug flashes him finger guns, the fucking dork. “You’re welcome, asshole.”

And the interview moves on. These guys have been Eddie’s friends even longer than they’ve been his bandmates, and the four of them are solid. If the gossip vultures out there want something to pick at, they’ll have to find a different target. 

Permanent tag list (ask to be added/removed):

@hotluncheddie @hiei-harringtonmunson @sofadofax @hickeysgodcomplex @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @yesdangerpls @theseaofdespair

And then someone shows Steve the interview and he asks Robin for Eddie’s number, and they talk for the first time in years and end up falling back in love, but that’s the hard to write part so this is what you get. Xoxo

[reijamira]

THK EP 7: Uh-oh, trouble in paradise. (My reaction.) 

I tried to stay away from spoilers, but I’m weak. I sneaked a few glances at my Xitter timeline and one at my tumblr dash. What I learned beforehand was: 

It’s Bison’s birthday, and Fadel gifts him a cute cake despite him being angry (Why angry?) 

Keen is spying on FadelStyle in the restroom (it’s a trend, right? JoongDunk have a restroom scene in literally every one of their shows. What's more: Dunk said when they met for the very first time ever, they also went together to the restroom to have a little chat. 🤣 Coming back after I watched EP7 to add: Now Style's comment about making friends in restrooms is all the more funnier.)

Fadel’s arm is in the sling. 

Fadel uses chloroform on Style. (Why??? 😭)

They do paintball. 

Style gets jealous. 

There is a scene with a husband? 

Style drives while Fadel points a gun at his head. 

Style, with his arms tied behind his back, clad in only his boxers, sits on the side of an empty swimming pool. (Help! I’m so scared!)  

That’s it! How does this all add up? Joong said on his IG today that it’s not a sad episode. Let’s see if he’s right. 

Wow, 1:09 hours long! Make that at least two for me. (In the end it took me three. 🤣) I will have to pause and rewind a lot. Roll around on my bed, hitting my pillow, squeeing and screaming. Like always. 😂 

My hands are cold as ice. I’m already so emotional and I’m not even two minutes in. Uhh! 

Oh Jesus, Bison’s fake smiles and his overly cute expressions! 🤣😭 

Those little kisses and pecks Kant gives Bison are so adorable. Oh my, he is so whipped. 

Omg! That scene with Style on that garage trolley! HOT! Love how Fadel gets Style to consider with a challenging “are you scared?” It’s always the challenges between them. 

OMFG, the dad!!! Muhahahaha! Lol he didn’t buy Style’s explanation! 😂😂

Style’s dad is so wonderful! I like him a lot. Yes, give Fadel a hint that Style loves with his whole heart! 

The scene with Kant and Bison in bed: It’s so tragic. If you know where Kant is coming from, it’s all in his dialogue. He thinks about family and work. Yes. Ooooh, my poor guy.

“No matter what happens, I’ll keep all the good memories.” Please, no foreshadowing! 

WOW! Bison just said “I love you, Kant.” And Kant said it right back! My heart is aching! Will Style confess his feelings for Fadel in this episode as well? 

Man, I really feel for Kant here. His broken expression. What should he do in a situation like that? 

I LOVE Fadel wearing Style’s shirt and him loving Style’s scent! 😍

Both Kant and Style have noticed and commented upon the fact that their boyfriends act weirdly. Interesting. 

Soooooo adorable! Fadel smelling Style, loving how he smells. Omg! He is an addict. 🫠 He looks like a cute dog. 

Please, no sad Fadel face! I can’t bear seeing that man so miserable. 

The paintball game is so much fun. lol Style’s worried look when he sees Fadel firing his gun. 😂

Bisooon, come on “lovers in the trenches”, “like we are going to die together”. Enough with this nonsense. This is a rom com. No one of the couples dies! Kant’s “we’ll fight through it hand in hand” is killing me! 😭 

Bison: “You gotta protect me, then. Don’t let anyone harm me.” 

Please, why so much foreshadowing?? 💀

Fadel saying Kant “started all of this”. Uhhhhh lord, the heavy double meaning! Style did notice something. 

I can’t with the heavy double meaning in this scene. Style doesn’t know that Fadel knows. 😭

Style: “Professional BB gun shooter” 😂😂🤣��🤣😂 Saved at the last second. 

Fadel: “Make sure no one shoots me in the back.” 

And then their talk about trust. Whew! Love the subtext! 

FUCK! I knew it! They did intend to shoot them for real! Shit! Kant!! 

Okay, apparently, Bison did intend to shoot Kant for real? 

Ah, no, so there IS still a plan? 😭 

Whoah! FLASHBACK!

Not Bison burning their trophy! 💀😭😱

Uh oh!!! So, that’s how Fadel learns how Style got involved! Jesus! Bison just told him straight up. Intense! No, Fadel, don’t hit him! 

Gods, their shouting at each other was hard to watch. I know that Style and Fadel will also have a scene where they will be shouting at each other. I’m not ready for this. Not. One. Bit. 

No, Fadel, you weren’t happy before Style. You said so yourself. Stop lying to yourself! 😭🥺

My goodness, make them fall head over heels in love and then kill them. But they ARE already heads over heels in love! Just open your eyes and see!! 

Man, you are all so wrong! They don’t think you are fools, you FOOLS! Seriously, if any of you would just open their eyes and interpret the evidence (couldn’t resist the Hannibal reference 😄). 

HELP!!! I did not expect to witness Bison’s murder fantasies in such explicit detail! 💀😱

Oh, my heart is melting! Fadel, you adorable man! The cake is so sweet! With the little house! 🥺 They want to be safe and normal. 

Style and Kant in the shower. I love how positive Style is. It’s so refreshing. He really brings a bit of light in the darkness of late. 

Well, was that the husband from my spoiler? The disgusting guy with the death glare at Fadel and Bison? Maybe he is the shooter, not Keen? 

It’s getting exciting now! 

Oh no, not me tearing up about Kant’s thoughtful gift to Bison. 😍🥺

Not Fadel and Style watching this cute, romantic scene play out right before their very eyes. Fadel’s expression is getting to me. He had a partner once, who apparently vanished. Now he has a new partner, but this one is seemingly fake. 😨

Fadel saying Style is unique. My god, just lay it all on the table. All the cards. Enough with these games! 

WHAT!!! Style?? A ring and ask Fadel to marry you!!! Jesus, this is foreshadowing I LOVE! 

WAIT!! WHAT?!!? JESUS, WHAT?? WHAT JUST HAPPENED HERE? 

For a second, I was worried, Style’s intended way to go was by poison! Look y'all, how worried Fadel got in a blink of an eye! Wasn’t he supposed to murder him? Doesn’t look to me like he could, though. 🤣 

Did Style really just cough up a ring? The fuck? Muhahahaha, this is such a Style thing to do! I bet Fadel found it secretly endearing. Yeah, look, he calls himself a fool. Yes, a fool for love. Good thing, Style’s love for you is genuine! Open your eyes, Fadel! And please, do marry him! 

Uhh, Fadel? What did you just intend to put into Style and Kant’s beer? 

What’s Keen’s plan? Appreciating the antiques?

lol Style, you are so naughty. Wash your hands first, please, would you? 😂 I bet Keen is perking up his ears now. 

I think Keen will set his eyes on Style now, right? I believe he had something to do with Fadel's ex, too.

Oh gosh, it’s happening! So, Keen wanted to shoot, but it’s the disgusting husband from outside the bar! 

Hahaha, Style! lol way to show your jealousy! 😂😂😂

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Everything I thought was WRONG! Bison gets stabbed!!! Not shot! And Fadel gets shot protecting the woman! My goodness! What a mess! 

Fucking hell! STYLE! Just like that, yes? Picking up a gun and training it at someone with a death threat on your lips. How freaking badass! 

What a captivating scene!! Jesus, lord! 

Huh, a broken arm? Thought he got shot? 

My boys, Fadel and Style! Just realize that there is genuine love between the two of you! 

No, no, no, don’t push Style away, Fadel! 😭😭😭

Kant breaks my heart. 🥺🥺🥺 No, man, I’m crying with Kant here. 😭

Oh shit, Kant! Bison! Behave!!! 

Hehehe, Captain Christ cursing is hot! 

No, but Bison’s crazy psycho look at Kant in the trunk was scary. And sexy.  

Nooo, the chloroform scene! Why, Fadel??! 😭😭😭😭

Nooo, I can’t watch this scene!!! Help! I was hoping it wasn’t Fadel who would do this to Style! 

Great cinematographic shot, btw. Style has a beautiful back. 

Good god, what is Fadel’s plan? (How did he even do all of that with a broken arm???)

Jesus, I can’t! Style said he loved Fadel! Man, this scene does my heart no good. It wants to beat out of my chest. 

No, what? Don’t hurt him! Whaaat??? You can’t end this scene on a gunshot and then nothing! What the hell?? 

Shit! Goosebumps! Oh my lord, that’s why Kant is afraid of the ocean! Jesus Christ! 

Oh, he really did jumb. For Bison! 😭😭😭😭 

NO! Not another cut! 

lol Style! Flirting with your enraged hitman lover. You sure love the rough, romantic side! 😂😂

What’s with the appreciative glances at Fadel? 🤣 Style, you are beyond help. 

Wellll, that was an emotional rollercoaster! I love this freaking show so much! Next week, we finally get the bathtub scene, y’all! 

What’s with the car bed scene? 

I think they will angrily shout at each other and the car bed scene comes right after that (Dunk said in a clip I watched on YT that both their voices were still raw from shouting at each other for a scene of THK.) 

Kant has to do penance with Bison. Poor man, but he did fall in love with the crazy one. 😂 

It looks like Fadel and Style get attacked? Is this the scene where Style gets his injury? 

Gosh, I can’t believe the seven days of waiting in doom and misery have begun anew. 😭

Joong was right. This episode had its heartbreaking moments, but overall, it wasn't sad, rather dramatic and scary and thrilling. 

[gaybd1]

so sokka's problems mostly swept under the rug because he doesn't have time to deal with huge and heavy emotions when he has to step up and keep his tribe and his sister and then later the gaang safe. i keep thinking about what that must mean after the war is over, how sokka would get the first real calm in his life for years and suddenly be hit by a train of trauma that needs unpacking. maybe not directly after the war, but a few years later, when things have stabilized, he just emotionally collapses and needs help from the gaang (and specifically zuko cmon now) in order to pull himself back up

YES I obsess over this concept.

WOULD he deal with it in a healthy manner? Ever? Or would he just keep himself busy, keep moving onto the Next Big Thing because that’s all he knows how to do? Would he throw himself into his work? Massive engineering projects to improve the world? His new version of saving the world, and we’ve SEEN the changes between the first show and Korra. Did he do all of that? To keep himself from thinking about his trauma? Does he become a workaholic? Does he end up spending less time with loved ones than he ought to because he’s so busy giving them a better world to live in??

I DON’T KNOW but I do know that boy wouldn’t WILLINGLY go to anyone else about his issues because HE is supposed to be the responsible one and burdening anyone else with his insignificant problems (from his perspective) is UNTHINKABLE

[crazysnakey]

Something something about the Third Doctor and the fate of Tantalus. You're trapped in one place. Everything you want, that you once took for granted is right there in front of you, you can see it you can reach for it but you can never have it. You will never attain it on your own. Your fate is dependent on the mercy or cruelty of others and you hate it and you rage against it but you can’t do anything, your defiance is treated like nothing but a childish tantrum but you refuse to beg, you won’t get that desperate no matter how long you’re trapped here, no matter how low you’re brought down. You stand among humans and you look human but you’re not, you’re an animal in a cage with them and you’re the only one who can see the bars. Gnawing and hacking at them to no avail. And yet all you can do is wait and hope and try and fail in an endless loop until an outside force interferes to free you from your prison. The carrot and the stick. How does it feel to be on the receiving end?

[deus-ex-mona]

my five surviving braincells when something remotely good happens:

[mimiyanna]

Stealing this image from twitter and bringing it over here, because holy shit, some of the clowns I have been seeing talk about the game lately.

[teethpaste]

It’s so weird how the body will try and protect you like. I am incapable of feeling grief right now. I know it will hit me like a fucking Mac truck in about a month

When I was here in Ireland in July thinking my grandma had days to live, because the doctors told us so, and urged everyone stateside to drop what they were doing and come to Ireland for goodbyes, I was torn up. I was the first one here because I was already in Dublin on business and luckily my job just let me work from Ireland for about 2 months. So that happened. But then she got palliative chemo, and somehow here she is, 5 months later, against the odds in stage 4 lung cancer. I can tell she is so tired. I feel like she was holding on for this holiday and that as soon as I leave Ireland come December 29, it’s going to happen quickly. Which I hate to even write into existence, but sometimes, you just feel it.

And I hope it doesn’t. But I also don’t want her to be in pain. Chemo ravages the body. Her last treatment was over a month ago but the cancer has spread through her whole body and it is wearing her down. She went from still bartending at 77 and going out with her friends weekly + walking the 2 mile trek into town everyday, to finding out she a tumor overtaking her right lung (completely collapsed at this point) from years of smoking. I was sitting with her at the table the other night before I went to the pub, painting her nails, and she asked “can we talk about something morbid”

Things hardly feel morbid these days. So I tell her yes, of course. I feel like I have this desensitized view around death now. Or I’m numb to it. Like my body remembers watching my dad die and is like HEY ITS FINE, don’t be sad in the moment. Because you can’t be. You have things to do. Then you can cave in on yourself.

Anyways, when I told her sure we can, she then got embarasssd and I had to beg a little for her to tell me . She then says “right. Because I know you’ll have the energy to handle”. She just tells me how she wants to be presented for her wake. No makeup, but make sure her eyebrows are done. Hair with a bandana. Jean shirt. Nails painted. Cowboy boots on that she never got to wear in Vegas this year. She starts telling me about where jewelry is and what she wants in a service. I listen and file it away.

I still think I’m stuck on “because you’ll have the energy to handle”. I think about when my dad died, my mom and sister were inconsolable. About how it happened so quickly and we as humans make it very complicated. Do you know how hard it is to transfer a body across state lines? The hospital doesn’t tell you what to do. I had to google so many funeral homes that morning. I think about those people too. The sanitized nature of conversations. The first place I called didnt say any niceties. They immediately went to prices so I hung up. Second place was more of the same and the third place asked me how I was doing and if I wanted to share anything about him. So I went with them. My dad didn’t leave a will so I had to pull the trigger on weather to cremate or bury. I went with the former and was sick for months thinking I made the wrong choice but one day a few months ago my mom found a random letter he wrote, tossed behind his living room chair, where he noted cremation was a better option bc of the $ and finally that guilt left me.

Did you know that when you list you’re an organ donor on your license, they have to call the family? And when they call, there is light elevator music playing in the background, and mere hours after your person dies, a woman with a nasally voice will calmly ask, “May we take his skin and eyes?” I felt like I was in a cronenberg movie. I remember being so shocked at the matter of factness of the question. Being disturbed but thankful neither my mom or sister were doing this part. I remember saying “why would you want that, do you know how he died? How are those parts even usable” and she paused . And “hmm’d” and as she began to speak I said “no we won’t be donating”.

Anyways. I’m trying to be present while I’m here in Ireland for the holidays. I want to cry but I can’t. This is the last time Christmas will feel like Christmas. I’ve never much liked the holiday. But after my dad died I’ve hated thanksgiving and Christmas even more. Being with my grandma here in Ireland makes it feel like that “magic” is still there a little. But I know it will be completely gone by this time next year and I hate that.

I also worry bout my mom and how she’s taking it. She lost her dad in 2023, her husband in 2024 and now her mom’s dying. That’s how it goes I guess. I stayed in tonight but she went out to the pubs with her friends and came home absolutely trashed. She made it up the stairs before I heard her start violently vomiting. It’s always strange when you switch places with your folks. I took off her clothes and got her changed into Pjs. Brought her water and crackers. She laid with her head in my lap as I stared at the wall. Being around this kind of stuff always makes me wonder if I’ll regret not having kids. Like the fact that when I’m her age, and my grandmas age, I’ll effectively be alone. Like yes there are friends etc but I won’t have children or grand children. Just makes me feel weird.

Anyways now it’s 6 in the morning and I’m going on a run in the 22 degree morning air. Bye bye.

[danielnelsen]

there’s so much i wanna do this week/month/etc but i’m just too sick, i have no energy, i can’t sleep, i’m constantly nauseous and headachey and on the verge of a migraine, i’m stressed and irritable and impatient and panicky…….how tf did i survive nearly 5 years of high school untreated if i can’t even manage this when i don’t have any major obligations rn

[quietwingsinthesky]

what if. Amy “fix-it” because hallucifer makes sam so paranoid about dean leaving for no reason that sam gives in and follows him and is witness to the whole thing