#why is it so hard to come up with this stuff

[mbiwald]

It's hard to hate on a character when they are doing their best, and there also is a full grown up right there capable of taking care of all of it but decides that a child is totally more responsible for the job.

I like stories where if adults know about the stuff kids do they either have no choice but to let them handle it, but still support them, or step up and take as much responsibility as they can, to be later taken out bc they are not the MC. Like in Troll Hunters, where the adults understand that at the point they found out they have to let their kids Handel it, but are still there to support, or The Owl House, where Eda does shall she can to keep Luz and King safe and out of the main conflict. Meanwhile every adult in Marinette's life who knows her secret is puting her on a pedestal, and let's her handle everything, and the story supports it. Even ppl who don't know she is Ladybug, like her teacher, bc why was it her responsibility to "fix" Chloe? I swear, Gorilla is the only relayable adult in this show (and the bar isn't high). The writers are so weird when it comes to the adults, apparently the principal and the ex mayor went through a redemption arc when no one was looking.

If being a "Marinette stan" means I can understand that Gabriel Agreste is the reason Marinette is lying to Adrien in the first place and that she would never have done that if Gabriel had not manipulated her and that Nathalie should be the one telling Adrien the truth and not the 15 year old child and that Marinette's lies are hurting Adrien and that is awful and a tragedy and OBVIOUSLY she shouldn't have lied but that Marinette is also a victim of Gabriel and that Marinette is doing everything she does out of her deep love for Adrien and not to intentionally hurt him and that Marinette is 15 and acting 15 and that sometimes main characters have to do bad things and make mistakes to have a story and that those mistakes don't make Marinette a bad person but a good person in a very very very bad position.........

Then I guess I'm a dirty filthy Marinette stan.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Gotta say I used to extensively comment on fics and not just a few words but did some fairly long detailed comments on what I liked but recently I started to get less and less replies on them despite authors (relatively popular ones) sometimes replying to others. And while I understand that author doesn’t owe me anything it did quite demotivate me from leaving as much comments. Why bother if nobody cares in the first place? I know its an unhelpful mindset but I can’t shake it. Any advices?

hi!

as an author who likes to comment on others' works but is notoriously bad at replying to comments I receive on my own works, I can guarantee that 99.99% of writers read the comments they receive and, even if they don't reply back, they love and appreciate your kind words more than you know. I know this may sound cliche and all, but I can wholeheartedly say this because it's true for me, as an author.

yes, I admit that I don't always reply to comments I receive, but it's not because I don't appreciate or care about them. I read them, mostly several times each, I screenshot them and save them in a special folder so I can always come back and read them again. there are just so many kind comments I receive that make me smile to myself for minutes even though I don't reply back. some of them actually make me shed a few tears of joy.

thing is when us authors don't reply to comments we receive, it's mostly because;

we don't know how best to respond that will let the commenters know how much we appreciate them. because if the comments are several paragraph long (we LOVE that!), and we only reply with "thank you so much", then it sounds too short for us. (I know this because I sometimes spend so long thinking about how best to respond that will let my commenters know how much I appreciate them that I sometimes end up don't respond back.)

sometimes we are overwhelmed by several comments from several readers, and responding to all of them are too overwhelming. but we read, love and appreciate each and every single one of them very dearly.

sometimes we reply to some comments and not the others, because maybe we have little free time where we can only reply to some people, or maybe there's something about some specific comments that makes us respond back. but this does not mean we don't care about comments we don't reply back.

sometimes we're simply exhausted from stuff in our lives and replying to comments take time and energy, depends on how long the comments are / how long we want our responses to be / how many comments we receive, etc

writing is hard, but sometimes finding the right words to reply back to comments can be even harder, especially when we want to write several paragraph responses back just to let them know how much we appreciate them. and unfortunately sometimes us writers just don't have enough energy left.

but rest assured that, even if we don't reply, we love and appreciate every kind comment we receive very, very much, and they help motivate us to keep writing.

when I comment on my fellow writers' works and don't get any response back, I know why (for the reasons listed above), and that's totally okay for me because I don't comment on their works just for them to thank me, I do it because I want them to know how I love and appreciate their works, and I believe they do know. and that's really all that matters for me.

so if your favorite authors don't reply to you, please don't think that it's because they "don't care" or that your comments "don't matter" to them.

I mean, of course, I can see why not getting a response back can be discouraging, especially when commenting on writers' works are so encouraged, but as a fellow commenter (yes, I'm an author and also a commenter of fics I love), I always think of it this way; fanfics are gifts we receive for free, we comment on writers' works as a way to thank them for giving us cool fics to read. we don't expect them to thank us back because they've already given us this lovely gift. we comment only because we want to let them know we love their fics. and they know.

your comments could now be saved in your favorite authors' folders and re-read by them over and over again, even if they didn't respond back. they could be smiling to themselves reading your thoughts on their works. who knows? their next 100k word fic could be motivated by you.

[owuwi]

JACKIE TAYLOR.ᐟ

➤ jackie taylor x loser!fem!reader hcs

⤷ cw: no crash au, bullying, nothing romantic happens yet

✦ part two (coming soon...)

──────────────────────

── .✦ jackie who always had her eye on you. she was worried about you since she had never seen you with any friends, and the only people who approached you only did so to shove you against the lockers. the need to protect others came natural to her, though she chose to wait a bit with you. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who regretted her decision the moment she heard how jeff and his friends talked about you. she was used to the boys talking horrible about almost everyone at school, yet it didn't mean she liked their immature behavior. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who ignored her boyfriend's "warnings" about you and tried talking to you one day in class. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who couldn't understand why she felt so nervous to talk to you. what if you thought she was messing with you? she tried not to overthink about it too much—it was only making her even more nervous and it was very likely for you to notice her weird behavior—. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who quietly sat down next to you in spanish class and stared at you for fifteen minutes, her eyes not once leaving the pen you were holding onto and using to draw on your left hand, before eventually speaking up, . ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who thought asking you about the upcoming project was going to be a great way of getting to know you. truth be told, she had watched way too many rom-coms where the popular one asks the nerdy one to study and they end making out instead. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie whose eyes widened the moment she questioned herself on why she thought about those movies. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who managed to talk to you without making her stutter noticeable, though having a hard time maintaining eye contact. the sentence "i was wondering if you could help me out with the project. maybe we could even do it together?" had never made the girl shake in her seat until that moment. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who felt a pang in her chest the moment you asked her if she was joking, her answer—"no! of course not"—immediately leaving her lips without any sort of hesitation. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who swore the class was way too short than it usually was. did she seriously spent that long gaining the courage to talk to you? ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who didn't help with your skepticism as she said a quick goodbye before grabbing her stuff and rapidly walking out of the classroom. what you didn't know was how she immediately cursed herself under her breath for acting so stupid in front of you. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who was dying to see you again and show you a more normal behavior, and whose wants were accomplished—yet not in the way she expected—. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who didn't hesitate in defending you the moment she saw the way a guy pinned you against the locker and snatched your portapros off your head, anger bubbling inside of her as she watched the asshole snap your headphones in half. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

"hey! what is wrong with you?" she immediately asked, rushing over to where you were and pushing the guy away from you. "you're going to buy her new ones, got it?" she added, her tone firm and leaving no room for doubt.

"whatever, jackie." the guy simply said, rolling his eyes and walking away from the scene—clearly not taking the girl's words seriously—.

── .✦ jackie who didn't want to leave you alone for the rest of the day. she needed to make sure you were okay, even if that meant following you around like a lost puppy. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who understood why you were quieter than usual. not only were you not used to having her presence around but you were also really mad about what just happened. jackie knew how much you used your headphones and how much you enjoyed music. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who knew she had to face a very confused jeff after school. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

"so... i heard something went down earlier. what exactly happened?" he asked her, shifting on his bed and getting closer to jackie to rest his head on her stomach. "and what were you thinking?" he quickly continued, clearly feeling worried about his girlfriend.

"she's a nice girl. what do you all have against her?" she snapped, looking down at the boy with a heartbroken gaze.

── .✦ jackie who couldn't wrap her mind around jeff's "reasons"; they didn't even make any sense! she tried to make him see how childish he was acting yet he wouldn't listen, which ended up in the couple having an argument. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who started getting closer to you. whether it was small talking in the hallways or sitting down with you at lunch, she loved spending time with you. you were such a kind soul and she truly wanted to get to know you more. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who didn't care how many times she had to swear she wasn't pulling a prank on you, she'd do whatever was necessary to make you feel comfortable around her. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who immediately felt oh so happy the moment you looked out for her to show her the new spider-man 2099 comic you got. she didn't know shit about spider-man, especially not that one, but seeing how excited you were to talk about it was the only thing that mattered to her. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who wasn't expecting the yellowjackets to bring up her new friendship with you. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

"how's it going with your uh... little friend?" tai asked jackie, clearly trying her best to hold back a smirk—though her tone of voice said it all. "great!" she quickly replied, looking at her teammates with a bright smile plastered on her face.

"isn't she the reason why you fought with jeff?" shauna asked, not realizing how easily her words could get misunderstood. van couldn't help but let out a laugh; the rest of the girls looking at each other—confused. "uh yeah. i just don't get why he has to be such a dick sometimes." the locker room went silent again. the girls had seen you around and most of them started greeting you after seeing how already close you were to jackie.

"i mean, shit, the two of you are really close." nat intervened, scratching the back of her head before jolting as lottie smacked her shoulder. "we're happy you two are friends. she seems—... interesting." lottie spoke up, a tight smile forming on her lips.

── .✦ jackie who didn't understand why her friends were acting so weird about you; she couldn't stop thinking about what nat said. the two of you had indeed gotten really close to each other, not even discussing about the spanish project anymore, but what was wrong with that? she knew there was something else her team was referring to, and a small part of her knew what it was. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who couldn't stop thinking about you. you were her friend, of course it was normal for certain stuff to remind her of you. whether it was something as obvious as a comic book or as simple as a dinosaur plushie, you suddenly invaded her mind. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who didn't think twice when she saw the new audio techina model; the new headphones worth $800. she knew you were going to lose your mind and she couldn't wait to see you again. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

── .✦ jackie who started realizing how giddy she felt when she thought about you and your cute mannerisms. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

[bullet-prooflove]

Ethical Thieving: Andrew 'Pope' Cody x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @fadeinsol @akotafi @yousigned-upforthis @cowardlycandy

Companion piece to:

The Professional - Pope meets the love of his life when Smurf hires her to crack a safe.

Crazy (NSFW) - Pope's always been crazy but now he's also a man in love.

Tomorrow - Pope's family always fuck up the good in his life.

Do Over Day (NSFW) - Pope tries to make up for the day before.

Pope learns about ‘ethical thieving’ during one of your safe cracking lessons. He’s halfway through the tumblers on an Aspen 305 when you ask the question. “Have you ever stolen anything from a gallery?”

“No.” He tells you as he listens to the fourth one drop. “We’ve never had a fence that can move that type of shit.”

Art theft comes with its own unique set of problems. You usually need to have a buyer in place because the items are too hot to put out on the open market. Those types of people don’t exist in his world, they’re always too high maintenance or pretentious.

“No fence required in this one, no pay day either.”

He glances at you over his shoulder.

“No payday?” He exclaims, shaking his head. “Then why do it?”

“Sometimes it’s not about the money, it’s about righting a wrong.” You explain as he turns his attention back to the safe. He hears the locking mechanism click as he slides home, spinning the handle at the same time. The heavy door opens to reveal his prize, a Snickers bar resting on the middle shelf.

You’ve discovered he works best with an incentive so you’ve been sneaking candy into the safes to give him that drive. You never tell him what it is, which only adds to the intrigue.

“And what wrong would we be righting?” He asks, removing the Snickers and tearing it open with his teeth. He breaks it in half before handing you a piece which you take happily.

“We’d be liberating a portrait that was looted by a war criminal from his private collection.” You tell him with that mischievous look in your eye and that fire in him ignites because you, you might just be his salvation.

He’s never thought about utilizing his skillset for something like this before. All the jobs Smurf has given him have been for profit or to suit her needs, not anyone else’s. This is a chance to do some good, to put something positive back into the world.

“I’m game.” He tells you, focusing on unwrapping more of the candy bar. “It’ll be our first solo job together, maybe kinda like a date.”

“I’m not sure how all our other dates will live up to this one.” You tell him as you hop off the wooden work bench and duck underneath it to remove the schematics for the gallery. “Stealing Nazi artwork is kinda hard to top.”

“I’m sure we’ll find away.” He murmurs as he steps up alongside you, tilting his head to review the plans. “I didn’t miss the implication there would be more than one date by the way.”

“Good.” You tell him, your hip bumping against his. “I was hoping you didn’t.”

**

You really do plan the best first dates.

That private gallery job, it’s everything he could have hoped for.

Challenging, fun and the best part is he gets to burn down the whole fucking place to the ground.

A cleansing, you call it after you discover ‘Girl in A Yellow Sundress’ sitting amidst a plethora of Nazi memorabilia. It’s not the normal type of stuff you see in museums, it’s deranged fucked up shit like teeth from Auschwitz and baby shoes. The essence of human misery emanates from that room like a fucking beacon before it disappears in a puff of smoke, all of those trapped spirits returning to the ether.

The biggest high of the night is when you stop off outside the little house on Oakview. He watches from the driver’s seat as you climb the steps with the black telescopic tube slung over your shoulder. You’re greeted at the door by an old woman, one that grasps you so tightly he’s terrified she’s going to break something with the forcefulness of the notion. It’s that gratitude that lights up something deep within his soul, that knowledge that he helped with that, that he did something right for once in his life.

“Who was she?” He asks you when you’re back at your place, sipping beers on the back porch in the darkness. There’s a couple of candles burning on the wicker table in front of the outdoor couch, illuminating the two of you as you listen to the waves crashing against the shore.

“She was my foster mother once upon a time.” You tell him, pulling the hair clip from your hair. It falls across your features in waves and he wants nothing more than to run his hands through it. “After I killed my father, she took me in, raised me, taught me how to crack a safe. She gave me a trade that didn’t involve selling my body.”

“Is that why we took the painting?” He asks you, his arm coming to rest along the back of the sofa. His fingertips trailing over your bare shoulder, tracing the pattern of that Medusa tattoo on your bicep.

“She barely survived Auschwitz as a girl.” You say softly. “Her parents didn’t. The portrait is of her mother, one she barely remembers because of the Alzheimer’s. I hoped her having it would help with the good parts of her memory, that it would bring her some comfort.”

“You have a good soul.” He tells you, his palm coming to cradle your face, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek. “If you wanna do more of these jobs, help more people, then I’m up for it. Hell, I could probably do with the good karma.”

Your lips brush over the base of his wrist, your eyes on his and he inhales sharply at the intimacy of the sensation.

“Too much?” You ask and he shakes his head, his breathing ragged.

“Not enough.” He murmurs. “I want…”

The words die on his lips because Pope, he’s never really considered his own needs before, he’s been too busy taking care of everyone else’s.

You shift positions, climbing into his lap. The two of you fit together like the missing pieces of a jigsaw, it’s both wonderful and overwhelming all at the same time. His hands come to rest on your waist squeezing lightly as he tilts his head up to meet your gaze.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask him and he nods unsteadily.

“You can do whatever the fuck you want to me.”

Your hands thread through his curls, tugging just a little and he moans outloud as your mouth meets his. You have the softest damn lips, he can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like chasing over his neck, his chest, his dick. A burst of citrus blossoms on his tongue, the taste of your lip balm and his hips arch causing you to make that sound, the sweet one he hears only in his dreams.

His hands rove over your clothes, stroking, caressing, kneading until your grinding against him so hard, he thinks he’s about to lose it.

“Gonna come.” He warns you, his voice a rasp.

“So am I.” You whisper back, your teeth grazing his lower lip. “You want me to stop?”

“Fuck no.” He whispers as that ecstasy surges up inside him. “I wanna keep going for as long as it takes us.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[n0tamused]

⋆.˚ ★—University AU!Anaxa x Reader

Content: a collection of modern au headcanons for Anaxa, some voicelines at the end, sfw, GN reader, yapping Words: 737

Masterlist ✦ Rules ✦ Ko-Fi

-Anaxa is a biochemistry major, he's simultaneously going to two universities actually. First one, his major, is in the morning hours while the second on is in the evening hours and the schedule for that one is much more relaxed. It's a miracle how well his schedules worked out. But that being said, catching Anaxa alone and while he is not busy is a rare event. He comes home and it is straight to his business again, studying, researching and reading some more like the nerd he is. Staying busy is what keeps him calm, which some find mind boggling

 -He isn't a morning person even if his uni has always started early, he never got used to it. He hates waking up so early and downs coffee down like it is water. He's not proud of it but he makes shit tasting coffee because he's simply not in the mood to spend too much time thinking about it so early...so if you happen to wake up around the same time as him or earlier and make him coffee?? Immediate brownie points that he saves up for later, but he also gives you a big kiss before he departs for class

 -Anaxa never misses a class he's interested in, and in general he is the type of person to always be there. Class starts at 6:00 am? He’s there before anyone else, somehow. There are one or two classes that he dreads to go to since he deems them worthless and not up to par with the modern advancement in technology and biology, but they're necessary so he drags himself to those too- although...you have a good chance of talking him into going to get a meal or a drink with you instead of going to those classes. This guy is just looking for an excuse and god knows he could use a good meal

-Anaxa has a reputation for debating professors or simply talking to them the entire duration of the class, which is both good and bad. It is something that landed him on the uni's debate team. He is quite snappy but it is hard to refute his arguments... 

-Has a pet bird that his sister gifted him and he loves that little bird lots. Named her something stupid though but endearing like Ribbit or something

-Anaxa doesn't let anyone inside his office room in his home, not that he really has anyone over nearly as much, but still. It stands that the office room is his room, his space, and no one else's. It did take a while for him to get warmed up to you but once he did he began inviting you inside, and slowly you began to just hangout in his office without him asking and he was 100% fine with it. He loves your company, even if you may not be engaged in an active conversation or interaction in general

-It goes without saying that Anaxa only indulges in physical touch with you, cuddling with you with a good book in hand or simply closing his eyes while listening to your heartbeat while he dozes off for a little while

-He doesn't dress that fancy around you, which is a sign of comfort. He doesn't like when anyone else sees him "underdressed". But you see him in the most absurdly casual clothes around the house. I'm talking stuff like pink slippers + shorts + beanie hat + sweatshirt. Does the fit make sense? It does to him. It's comfy to him. Don't question the genius

⋆.˚ ★—Voice lines

-"Beloved...why have you gotten out of bed so early? Hm? Mhm..." (He then gets up to spend the morning with you before you leave, regardless if he needs to be anywhere that early himself)

-"Such a matter could not have been in your control. Do not bash yourself over it, it is useless. What you should look forward to is this opportunity.. No, no, it is quite expected to feel lost. But remember, I'm here"

-"Come here... What? Yes, I'm calling you in for a hug. Don't make it a waste"

-"Here.. I've made us some tea. This blend will help your body relax. And while the tea takes its effect on your physical body, you and I can work on unraveling these knots and twists your mind has been pulled into"

-"No rush. This sort of thing takes time, breathe.."

Ⓒ n0tamused/jarttavia_. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[romancherry]

wet & willing

pairings ➝ joel miller x f!reader

summary ➝ a "stranger" uses you in the shower and makes sure to record it as a memory.

warnings ➝ dark!fic, explicit smut, cnc, home invasion in the shower, recording kink, fear play, rape fantasy, unprotected vaginal sex, doggy style, a bit of nipple play, rough sex, dominant!joel, submissive!reader, degradation, no outbreak, modern AU, overstimulation, creampie, pet names, aftercare, dirty talk, swearing and explicit language, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

word count ➝ 740

author's note ➝ hello guys! 💙 i'm back with another dark fic since it seems my imagination runs wild with this stuff lol. this trio of "cnc + shower home invasion + recording kink" has been sitting in my drafts for weeks and i'm happy that i finally got the time to dive into it. i hope this fic is enough to fulfill you while i'm working on ch 5 of caged in silk. enjoy ☺️

the sound of the shower running is loud while you gently rub at your scalp with shampoo, enjoying the hot thick steam that fills the bathroom and clouds your vision.

you don't hear the soft click of a tripod leg locking in place behind you. you definitely don't see the red light blinking from the vanity counter.

but he does.

joel's behind the camera first. watching through the screen, cock already straining in his jeans as he sees you: naked, slick, vulnerable. he adjusts the frame, zooms in on your back just a little to accentuate the curve of your hips and the way the water clings to your wet skin.

he moves.

fast.

a hand over your mouth. a hard body pinning you to the glass.

"you like showerin' with the door open, baby?" his voice rasps in your ear. "you wanted someone to come in and take what's theirs?"

you scream. muffled. thrashing.

he makes sure to angle your body towards the lens.

"smile for the camera," he growls. "wanna make sure you remember this."

he bends you over, water still raining down on you both. you catch a glimpse of the blinking red light on the counter and you fucking moan. eyes wide, heart pounding.

"yeah, you see it now," he chuckles, lining up behind you. "gonna play this back and watch you get ruined all over again. like the good fucking slut you are."

he enters your tight hole in one brutal thrust, giving you no time to adjust to his enormous, overwhelming girth. he is so thick you're worried he may split you apart.

but he feels so good. stretching you so painfully addicting, you can't help but replace the screams with pornographic moans and yelps entirely. eyes rolling in the back of your skull as your mind goes blank and all you can do is feel how he is impaling you on his cock from behind.

he fucks you like an animal. each thrust, each slap of skin, each broken sob into the tile meant for the camera. he drags his fingers down your spine.

"look at that arch. all for me. goddamn."

your body's twitching from overstimulation, close to collapse. and he knows it. one hand grabs your boob roughly, pinching the sensitive nipple. the other hand grabs your face and forces you to look toward the lens.

"wanna see what you look like when you come for your attacker, slut? huh? you wanna watch yourself beg? 'cause i wanna hear that pretty throat scream until the neighbours wake up n' call the police on us, sweetheart. so why don't you go ahead and fuckin' beg?"

"please, pretty please, sir, wanna cum so hard! wanna cum on your big fuckin' cock, sir. please let me cum… so good… yes, yes, yes!"

he pounds impossibly harder and faster into you and he is so big you swear you can feel him in your throat as he holds a tight grip over your body while he ocasionally spanks your asscheeks roughly until you come. hard. screaming. legs giving out — and he holds you there, pumping you deep and full of his cum, never once blocking the view of the camera.

when it's over, he kills the scene. pulls out gently, turns off the camera.

and suddenly - it's just joel. your joel. your thoughtful, caring husband wrapping a towel around you and kissing your temple.

"you did so good, baby. 'm so proud of you. you hurt anywhere?" he cooes while cradling your face in his hands.

"i'm good, darling. you were perfect," you say with a smile on your face as you wrap your hands around the back of his neck and place a gentle, loving kiss on his lips.

he carries you to the bed after the dries the both of you up with towels.

but the camera comes too.

he props it on the nightstand while he lays you on the bed. dazed and glowing.

"let's watch," he murmurs, crawling over you. already hard again.

"wanna see how gorgerous you look when you're scared for me."

you whimper as the screen lights up. "joel…"

"shh. round two, baby," he says, dragging your thighs apart. "eyes on her."

he runs two fingers through your puffy folds, a smug smile appearing on his face at your tortured whines filling his ears.

"this time, i want your face in the shot when i cum inside you."

[kissedcupid]

Cute moments when you first talked and met Damian as Jason’s sidekick. Ironically there will be another part to this im just really tired , the one that comes out later will be a bit longer I just wanted to get the stuff out. This is also an au , not a series so I won’t frequently write for this.

Damian Wayne x reader ⨾ Emails I can’t send - Sabrina Carpenter 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘴 , 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 , 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 , 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘳 , 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘸/ 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 , 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘥 , 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 , 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘰𝘸𝘴 , 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘰𝘥𝘥 𝘹 𝘧! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤 , 𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘞𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦 𝘹 𝘧! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤 , 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 , 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘯

𝜗𝜚 ꒱ wc. 1.811⋮ bookshelf !

notes : dividers made by anitalenia , I bended a lot of stuff in here so at some point it may not follow a lot of the plot..

0.1 › MEETING FOR THE FIRST TIME ⋮ Being Jason’s daughter he adopted on the street was kind of awkward to say the least. He took you in when you were ten , he didn’t ever really want to adopt you in fears of causing you harm or trouble but when he did he was kind of glad. You were like a mini him , and you enjoyed being being around him almost seeming like a father figure.

❝No I’m not doing that , why would I do that❞

✶ it was going to be the absolute first time you meet Jason’s family , it was a bit rocky since all you’ve ever known was Jason. It was hard enough to trust him what makes him think you could trust them. He didn’t really care for you meeting his dad , he really he just wanted you to meet Damian. You had no friends outside of healing Jason , learning how to cook , and everything else. He wanted you to have a life , he wanted you to see another person your age ; not because he got caught by Bruce and now there’s a family dinner , nope not at all.

✶ so when he told you to get ready because you’re going to a family dinner you wanted to die. Praying that they would be on you and stick to intrusive questions.

“No I’m not doing that , why would I do that.” You paced around the room already ready just in case , Jason’s didn’t want to go either but what choice did either of you have. “You have to do it , I don’t want to either but it’ll be worth it. You get to meet one of my brother’s , Damian he’s the youngest and the same age as you.”

Rolling your eyes showing that you knew that didn’t make a difference. “Don’t roll your eyes at me half pint , I may not be able to see from here but that doesn’t I could sense it.” Scoffing you had sat down on the carpet putting your hands on your face partially forgetting about your makeup. “Fine , I give up old man.” You chuckled slightly knowing it pissed him off a bit ; as you dusted yourself you had gotten up from your position. He hit your shoulder being annoyed at you.

As you two had arrived and dinner was ready all that was left to find seats. You didn’t want to sit next to someone you didn’t know , so you sat next to Jason very closely. “I can’t do this.” You were slightly pacing in your head , “what if they ask about my life story , or where I came from—” “No we aren’t doing this , you can do this half pint , you can survive.”

He then awkwardly patted your back as a sign of comfort. As everyone was seated , to your right was who you thought of as Damian and left was Jason. As everyone started eating the dinner was almost dead silent for ten minutes until the big man spoke up. “I’m Bruce , Bruce Wayne. And I suppose you are Jason’s…” he had let his sentence trail off to let you finish. You knew you had to have some kind of confidence and you needed to find it.

“I’m his side kick , kind of like a helper off field , and my name is __.” He looked skeptical almost as if you hadn’t told the truth. Then another person people up , “So , how old are you , and how much do you know about Jason ?” He was referring to how Jason was Red Hood and how he came back and shit. “I’m seventeen , I know that you all are you know. I’ve known for a while.” You really didn’t feel like speaking now , or even acknowledging this. “So you’re the same age as me ? Do you train as well alongside him ?”

You shook your head no , “I don’t train with him I know the basics and shit but like all I really do is medical stuff such as stitching and clean wounds.” You answered the person to your right , now confirming it was Damian. You didn’t know how to feel about Damian , you answered his question as if he was someone you knew for a while , you were disgusted by your own comfort around him.

He was a bit offended at your lack of respect with his the curse word. “You’re like a mini Jason to say the least.” Now it was just a conversation between you two. “I get that a lot..” you were a bit pissed off at how you weren’t recognized for your own identity as you were ions far from Jason , kind of. As the conversation started rising a tad bit the attention drifted away from you to Jason and why he adopted you.

You were still engaging with Damian. “So you live with him ?” Nodding your head a simple yes a response. You didn’t want to eat much so you gave the rest to the big back on your left. “Yeah which reminds me .. Jay , tomorrow can we go grocery shopping?” As he had finished a very aggravated conversation he turned to you , “Sorry half pint I can’t , you can though I have to do something. And remember no brands.” He was talking to you sternly like when you were younger.

Then nodding your head and turning to an indifferent Damian. “Grocery shopping ? Why would you need to do that ?” You could tell he has common sense , but like since he was rich you couldn’t tell if he’s ever been to a grocery store. “Oh we ran out of food since this bitch here doesn’t want to share his snacks , so I have to shop .. your voice stopped do you want to come ?”

Damian had no time for silly affairs and stupid stuff , and for some reason you’re naturally opening up. You could slightly feel a glare shooting at Damian from Jason , more of a dad glare. “I have no time for matters such as these , but sure. I might as well need to know you if you’re Jason’s sidekick.” He wasn’t there to be friends yet to simply just have leverage but that didn’t end anything , right ? So tomorrow was set , you’re going to the store at seven with Damian.

0.2 › GROCERY SHOPPING ⋮

Going to the store would be fun , it was late at night so not a lot of people would be there. Getting all you need would be pretty simple and easy.

But you realized you were never going to really get everything since Jay didn’t make a list. Walking down the isles with Damian on the side as you were pushing the cart , basically just getting a bunch of things. “I can pay for it.”

Did you hear these words right? “You , pay for this ?” You almost were impulsed to buy a bunch of things after hearing that. He nodded his head a short yes.

You pulled out your phone to text jay that you would be getting more than needed and that you didn’t need his money. As you started getting a bunch of stuff Damian started directing to you the check out isle.

As you reached the end , the worker there looked at least thirty , or potentially that one dude from the dinner , Dick maybe ? But like in a mustache. “Are you two a couple maybe ?” That was a weird way to start small talk. Damian spoke up for you , “she’s not my girlfriend.”

Dick looked annoyed he was really hoping to get drama. “Soo you’re using a black card for your "not girlfriend"?” Twirling the ends of his mustache he lowkey looked like inspector gadget but like jacked. “Whats that to you ?” “It’s just interesting..” As you two had finishing checking out you then headed home.

0.3 › ICE CREAM ⋮ “You are not sitting on my side of the couch , get off.” You weren’t afraid to be aggressive because he would just give it right back. “No , why would I ?” You scoffed , tired of how you thought you could actually get a long , and maybe you were right.

Fortunately for him you just accepted fate and sat on the other side. You had eaten chocolate ice cream , it was a tradition between you and Jason yet unfortunately he wasn’t there. Damian was glad he didn’t have to fight you over it so he simply has a lifted expression , in return he was watching you eat your ice cream next to him.

“Oh do you want a bite ?” You weren’t chocolate obsessed but the days you had it were amazing. “No its—” shoving the spoon in his mouth full of ice cream you made sure to clean the spoon before you had spoon fed him. Watching him swallow , he had gave you a hard glare. But you couldn’t resist to look at how his Adam’s apple bobbed , it was interesting how it looks so.. “You want more ?” He shook his head no as you then ate a bit of ice cream cleaning the spoon before.

“I’ve been told by my father to get more people in my life who are my age.” You mentally needed to take note of that , losses and hits on your path may be caused by this and you can’t afford to go through this again. “What are you trying to imply ?” “Us being friends , or something , it’ll get my dad off my back.” You laughed just a bit more quietly , “So all I’m hearing is you want to use whatever this is to get your dad to shut up ?”

Damian looked confused as to why you would want to reinstate something pretty clear , “shorter words , what do I get out of this ?” His ears perked up as if you had yet to realize how rich he is , “I could get you a cat , or you could meet my cat.” How did he know you liked cats , or animals in general ?

“Wait , wait , actually never mind sure let’s do it. But , on one condition, we become actual friends I can’t do this fake stuff anymore. With how many friendships and relationships I’ve been through I can’t handle a fake one that leads me to believe we are friends.” Damian nodded his head , simply in a thinking matter. “Fine.”

BONUS : in the future..

© kissedcupid , all work belongs to me, if you want to translate my work please dm me and ask me before hand.

[thewildernesschooses]

Stone Cold Sober, a nataliexreader one shot

soooooo, basically you’re close friends with nat and you’re both gay :)

You don’t know why you were even chosen for this. You weren’t the second best shot, Travis was. He should be hiking out to the middle of nowhere where right now, not you. Also, he was a boy and this felt like boy stuff.

Travis was being difficult but no one could give him a particularly hard time about it. Seeing Coach skewered on a tree freaked you all out but it devastated Travis. He wasn’t like this before. He would never be the same.

Coach Ben volunteered you to accompany Natalie on the hunt, he said solo hunting parties were dangerous when hiking that far out. Natalie tried to convince him it was fine but he held firm.

And, yeah, it hurt that Natalie had basically refused to spend time with you alone the entire time you had been stuck in these god-forsaken woods. Especially because she was the one who kissed you.

Natalie didn’t have a car so you gave her rides to things sometimes. Your parents liked to live a little ways from town so you were only a couple of streets over from the trailer park Natalie and Van lived in. You had offered them both a ride but only Natalie accepted, Van had been getting rides from Taissa recently even though you knew Taissa lived by the school. But whatever, if they thought they were being slick with their queer little looks, you would play along. Can’t throw rocks in glass houses and all that.

Usually, it was fun to ride there and back together. You would get slurpees on the way back and Natalie’s parents didn’t care about you guys smoking weed on their porch. That’s the only nice thing you had to say about either of them.

The ride there was standard. Natalie and you always looked a little funny together. You were pretty square, wore whatever your mom got you from the GAP every season. Natalie was something else entirely. She didn’t have much more but she had an identity. You were sometimes envious of that about her. She didn’t feel all this pressure to not be herself.

You got to the party and Natalie went off with her alternative friends. They were apparently trying to score acid but you doubted that ginger kid she hung around wouldn’t get ripped off with some tissue paper. You never drank but you smoked a little, early enough for it to wear off by the time you had to drive home. You wouldn’t want to wrap yourself around a tree the night before nationals.

Shauna and Taissa got into some kind of catfight. Shauna always got confrontational when she was drunk. She kept everything too bottled up sober to not. Jackie tried to fix it but there was no fixing the fact that Taissa subconsciously crippled a freshman.

You were trying to catch Natalie’s eye, you usually would make eye contact when Jackie was acting like an 80s high school rom-com protagonist but she was staring off into space and giggling. Jesus Christ. That ginger managed to score acid.

You got pulled away from the team huddle by some baseball boys you were cool with, they offered you some wine coolers and a ride home but you declined. You weren’t ditching Natalie like this (and you kinda thought they were pigs who were only good for getting joints).

Eventually, you got back to Natalie where she was transfixed on the bonfire. She was mumbling things about Misty Quigley and the Olympics. You just hoped she came down in time for Nationals.

“Come on, let’s get you home.” She didn’t react until you put your hand on her shoulder. She jumped but settled when she realized it was you and smiled. The weed must’ve been strong because you felt floaty all of a sudden again.

She kept looking at you for a little before she stood up. She didn’t follow you until you grabbed her hand to guide her to your car. The person next to you parked like shit so you had to crawl over her in the passenger seat to get to the drivers. She grabbed onto your hips and tried to help you into your seat but it made you feel less coordinated for some reason. You’d really have to get one of those boys to get you more of that weed when you got back.

When you went to shift gears, Nat put her hand on yours. You assumed she was just feeling the LSD and wanted some connection so you let her have it. She was still giggling occasionally, you didn’t know what about. She started tracing her fingers on your palm but you couldn’t make out what she was drawing or writing. Maybe it was just the tactile sensation she wanted.

After a while, you pulled up next to her trailer. She didn’t rush to get out. You didn’t mind if she wanted to stay and talk, you’d always be happy to talk to Natalie, even if she was drugged up and incoherent.

She took a deep breath and turned to face you. You were already looking at her. She was just so cool, it almost hurt. That jacket she never took off, except for practice, looked almost blue in the motion-activated lights.

You thought she was going to say something. Maybe something funny but knowing Nat, it could be something accidentally profound. Instead, she reached over the console and kissed you. Closed mouth, chaste, but a real kiss. She was still holding your hand and everything. You were going to push her away but she backed up first. You thought she would look freaked out but she was still looking at you expectantly. That same look as when she slides her Slurpee next to yours at the counter and just knows you’ll pay for it.

You’re gonna pay for this, you thought to yourself.

“You’re high, Nat. You didn’t mean that.” You nervously chuckle, all of a sudden half hoping she did.

Natalie obviously didn’t see anything awkward or out of place. She was still holding your hand for Christ’s sake. She was smiling at you like you were just the sweetest thing.

“I liked it though.” So cheeky, always. So herself.

You looked down at your joined hands, why hadn’t you let go yet? Why hadn’t she? You liked it too and that scared you.

“Yeah, but Coach Ben talked about how when you’re drunk, you shouldn’t really do stuff with people because they don’t know what they're doing and I’m pretty sure that extends to acid, y’know?

Her voice was all low and gravelly. “So if I wasn’t tripping, you’d come inside?”

“I’m going to assume you didn’t mean that either. You should go inside, Nat. Alone.” You were talking big game for someone who hadn’t let go of her hand yet.

“I don’t want to be alone right now, I want to be kissing you.” How could she just say things like that? Girls didn’t just say things like that. It was uncouth.

You tried to tell her exactly that but she just groaned a little and said “You’re not convincing me you don’t want to kiss me.” She was all pouty and emotional right now. God help you.

You were going to say something stupid because of her. Stupidly honest.

“If you still feel this way tomorrow, we can talk about it then. We’re going to be sharing a room with Taissa and Van and they sneak off together a lot.” She was going to argue before you cut her off by saying, “You’re not going to be able to convince me to take advantage of you.”

She giggled more. “No matter how much you want to?” Starry eyes was not an apt phrase for hers.

You kept looking at her and let go of her hand slowly. What are the odds she even remembers this tomorrow? What the hell, say it. “No matter how much I want to.”

You guessed that was close enough to what she wanted. She got out and skipped to her front door. She looked at your car before walking in and blew you a kiss. You hoped no one saw anything. You hoped she forgot this all because you blew one back.

She obviously didn’t forget it all.

She got out of Van’s mom’s car and didn’t look at you once at the airport. She saw you saving a seat next to yourself and sat a couple of rows up front alone.

The only time she had talked to you, hell, even looked at you, was when she found you after the crash. You had a nasty gash on your calve and your nose was bleeding from a bag falling on your face. Adrenaline had you running from the wreckage further than everybody else because your brain was telling you it was going to explode for some reason. You ran for a minute or two until your leg started to hurt and you realized that no one else was with you. When you didn’t hear any explosions, you started limping back.

It took more time to get back than it did for you to sprint away. You returned to chaos that was mostly directed by Misty Quigley.

Taissa was looking around, shouting Van’s name. Natalie was shouting yours. You were already out of breath but seeing Natalie shouting for you made it worse. You couldn’t get a big enough breath in to let her know you were ok before she saw you and started running.

Your face must’ve looked worse than it was because she lost it. Natalie didn’t show concern like this usually. She was more likely to get pissed off at you for putting yourself in the situation to get hurt. This was panic.

“Are-Are you ok? God! You’re bleeding a lot. I’m going to get Misty, OK? She’s good at this stuff.” She was tempted to touch your face but didn’t know what hurt. She was terrified to make it worse. To hurt you. “Um, lean forward! Wait! No! Lean back. Or does that make the blood go down your throat? Whatever, keep your head like that. I’ll be right back.”

She didn’t really come back after that. She sent Misty to check on you and made sure you were bandaged up but that’s it. She sat next to other people around the fire, passed the water to the person that was next to you, avoided eye contact.

This was why you never let your mind go there. She had opened up all these feelings that you were content to push onto other things like baseball boys and soccer but now you were 100s of miles away from both and the girl you kissed won’t even look at you.

Actually, correction, she kissed you!

And Coach Ben had somehow contrived the worst way to force you guys to be friends again. If friends was even the right word. Two girls don’t get along anymore? Let’s give them a gun about it!

The two of you tromped through the woods in silence for a long time. You had no inclination to lead and certainly no inclination to be to one to break the silence so you quietly followed. You didn’t even know how to tell the cardinal directions.

The complacency made you feel slightly crazy but she owed you an explanation. She practically forced you to admit to whatever you implied you felt and now she has the audacity to act like you made it weird. She’s the one that kissed her girl best friend! Not you!

This was what drove you insane about Nat. She acted on impulse and did what she wanted. She knew who she was and at one point had chosen to honor that. You both admired her for it and regretted the way it inconvenienced the both of you. So why was she so self-conscious now unless she was disgusted by you?

You were never going to do anything about those urges. You knew it was wrong but sometimes you wanted to touch girls the way boys touched girls. You knew Shauna and Jackie practiced kissing so it wasn’t such a weird thing. And Tai and Van seemed to have a thing too. This is why your father didn’t want you to do women’s sports. It did turn you into a lesbian.

Natalie could practically hear you spiraling. She knew you were losing it but didn’t dare to address anything. She was sure you were just being nice to her when you said all that stuff about talking when she was sober. You were nice and from a good family. You didn’t need to throw all that away by turning gay and dating a burnout.

Natalie didn’t want to make you say it. She knew you were too nice to just tell her she was a weird predator. You fought to not have to come with her today even though three weeks ago, you had volunteered to go to Saturday detention with her even though you had no slip. You were sweet like that.

Natalie mourned the inevitable loss of your relationship. She valued your opinion in a way she never had anyone else. She trusted you. She knew you were a good person and Natalie knew how rare that was. Of course, she would go and fuck it all up.

She heard you sniffling. She hoped your nose was ok. It looked like the bruising went away but you started making that nasal sound again.

It took a little for her to realize you were crying. You didn’t cry. Natalie turned around to face you, knowing she had to put an end to this. You obviously were taking it hard.

It was embarrassing for you to cry like this, especially when you were so committed to staying steadfast but you needed Nat, especially with all this crazy shit happening. You couldn’t take her just ignoring you until you got rescued.

Natalie was looking at you with a blank face which made it worse. How could she go from smiling at you to looking like that? You had read everything so wrong.

“I’m sorry I kissed you. I made everything complicated and I didn’t mean to. Can we just forget it happened? Say it was the acid and weed and call it even?” Natalie was trying to act casual like it was no big deal. Just an awkward thing to deal with like walking in on someone changing. But you didn’t want to forget about it. You couldn’t no matter how much you had tried. She had showed you an option you didn’t even know was there. One you kept exploring in your head.

Humiliatingly, you started crying more, wiping the tears away like you could hide them. You practically yelled, “No, you don’t just get to forget about it. You kissed me and you’ve just got to live with it no matter how disgusting you find me.” Not the plan but OK! Emotional honesty had rarely gotten you anywhere good but you could try again.

“What? I don’t find you disgusting?” She looked confused and walked closer as if to prove that to you.

“Then why do you refuse to even look at me? You kissed me! And I’m sorry I kissed back when I knew you were fucked up but I never would take advantage! I didn’t even know I would want to do anything like that until you did it to me first so this is all your fault.”

Natalie scoffed. “My fault? You’re the one that let me hold your hand the whole ride. You got in my lap on the way in!”

“I’m not going to do this with you. Let’s just turn back and tell Coach we can’t do this together.” You tried to school your expression. She totally didn’t read that right. You weren’t flirting that whole night.

You turn around to walk back to the cabin when she grabs your hand. That same hand you kept on the gear shift. The one she held before your worst nightmares came true.

It was enough to make you turn around. She was always enough to make you turn around.

She struggles to say it but Nat asks “Were you serious? About talking about it later? You weren’t just saying that to be nice so you could let me down easy later?” Natalie wasn’t usually unsteady like this. Sure of herself was her natural state.

“No, I wanted to talk about it at Nationals but…you know.” You were going to try being honest. “I liked what happened.”

Natalie exhaled something close to a chuckle like she couldn’t believe it. “I did too. Like it, I mean.” You squeezed her hand that had grabbed yours

You made the same sort of chuffed sound. “What does this all mean?” You asked.

She squeezed your hand, “Whatever you want it to mean.”

That was difficult because you had no idea. Natalie was the one who always knew what she wanted. She could walk into any thrift store and find herself in the racks, could walk into any classroom and find the person that was broken like her. You had spent most of high school feeling the contact high that was Natalie Scatorccio. Now she was asking you to score some on your own.

But maybe that was tiring, always being sure. Maybe it wasn’t as natural for her as it was necessary.

You braced yourself, about to say something ridiculous, “Maybe we could just do what we want out here. Figure it out a little more before we decide.” It felt contradictory that your big exploration of self started with being comfortable with not knowing but you figured that’s how it usually went. Acknowledging you have a problem first and all that.

“Does figuring it out involve kissing you again?” She was always so cheeky, you’re glad the plane crash didn’t take that.

“If that’s what you want.”

“I think it’s what I’ve wanted for a while.” She stepped even closer to you. The distance you two would usually have when she was telling you a secret.

And you knew this was all supposed to be a secret. That you both would get home soon and probably forget all about this. Baseball boys and goths would get in between the both of you. But for now, in the woods, away from your conservative father and judgemental eyes, you could finally just do what you wanted. And you wanted to kiss Natalie fucking Scatorccio, stone-cold sober.

[deardiarywrites]

dealing with the blues : how to manage negative emotions and more ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა rotting vs resting

i know how upsetting life can be sometimes. you want to get better but something happens and life just keeps pushing you down, and you fall further and further into a rut. and because of that, you start to feel even worse. "why am i not doing as good as the others?" , "why am i so xyz?" , "why am i not like her?" etc etc. cmon my love. this isn't the time to compare yourself to others and feel even worse but to slowly dig up the soil, and find out what is actually going on. ♡ just take a day off, babe seriously. sometimes you just need to let yourself be upset and be unproductive yk? there is nooo shame in being unproductive as hell for a day or two. take your time and have a good break. now talking about breaks, we have a problem. are you really resting or rotting? RESTING makes you feel good, happy and energised ROTTING makes you feel guilty, unproductive, sluggish a lot of the times, instead of resting and recharging our minds, we are feeding our minds with lots and lots of brainrot, indulging in bad habits in the name of "resting", avoiding important work etc which in return make us feel even worse! well, resting isn't supposed to do that, right? resting is supposed to recharge you, get you ready to fight again. so next time you choose to 'rest', be mindful. do not indulge in things that you know will make you feel worse. doomscrolling is not resting. stalking your friends is not self care. intentionally avoiding important work is not self care. binge watching series by wrecking your sleep schedule and then feel guilty abt being on your phone all day is not self care. self care and resting is doing things you love which will nourish your mind and distract you for a little while, so that you can take a step back and just be aive for a bit.

an example of a day off could be smth like this ( just an example, please remember that everyone's life is different and so is yours. adjust accordingly ) : ʚɞ do not set any alarm, let yourself wake up naturally and when you do, pick up that book you have been meaning to read for a long time. ʚɞ have breakfast ʚɞ do 1 thing you really love and which makes you super happy (dancing, singing, acting etc) ʚɞ talk to someone or write abt how you are feeling ʚɞ try to create smth. a quick diy project, a lil sketch, crochet, a new dance move, a song cover, a poem, a video, photography etc ʚɞ do 1 imp work which you have been putting off (homework, stdy for a test etc) ʚɞ delete instagram for a bit and surround yourself with positivity. use tumblr, youtube, pinterest instead. ʚɞ go outside, even for just 5 minutes. ʚɞ maybe call up your friend/s and play smth ʚɞ take cute pics of urself ʚɞ maybe post smth cute on tumblr wink wink ʚɞ have a cute night ritual and then go to bed. ₊⊹ monitor what you have been consuming lately what you feed your mind and body actually matters (lol what a shocker). so tell me, have you been eating well? sleeping well? surrounding yourself with positivity? or have you been consuming content which further degrades your mental and physical health? try to replace unhealthy junk with healthy stuff. fix your fyp, choose "not interested" for posts which no longer resonate with you. declutter and reorganise. i really, really suggest trying a quick digital detox for a day. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ talk to someone who you feel safe with. you can even text me, ill try my best to respond <3 please talk to someone when you feel upset, communicate bbgs, communicate! even if it is hard and uncomfortable. if you feel like you have no one to talk to, talk to a stuffed animal or a tree or yourself. let those thoughts and feelings out, don't hold them inside your body. release them. observe them. try to understand them. but never let negative emotions become a part of you. they come and go, like any other emotion. you will be just fine. even when it feels like it is the end of the world love you always,

@deardiarywrites

[panerasbox]

—TALK TOO MUCH; 10 Days To Go

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x fem!Reader.

Genre: light smut (dryhumping, thighgrinding)

Word count: 1,200.

summary: You’re ranting. Melissa’s done listening. She shuts you up—with her mouth.

30 DAYS OF MELISSA SCHEMMENTI MASTERLIST

You’re pacing the length of Melissa’s classroom like you’ve had 4 cups of coffee—and you probably have.

“…and then Ava tells me the science lab budget went to a smoke machine for the talent show, so now we’re doing the volcano experiment with baking soda and vibes, and I’m just saying, this is why—”

Melissa’s watching you with that amused, long-suffering expression she’s perfected over a lifetime of listening to nonsense. Except this time, the nonsense is coming from you. And she doesn’t mind. Not really.

But she does wish you’d shut up long enough to let her do something about the way your mouth moves when you’re worked up.

“Sweetheart,” she interjects calmly, sipping her coffee.

You keep going.

“I mean, who even signs off on this stuff? You know how long it takes to get reimbursed for anything? I’m about to start charging the school interest. Or, like, emotional damages. Whichever one gets me enough for new glue sticks.”

Melissa’s eyes trail from your lips to the curve of your neck, and she leans back in her chair, letting your voice wash over her. Half listening. Half planning

“You know,” she says, her voice a low hum, “there are easier ways to get my attention.”

“I’m not trying to get your attention,” you argue, still pacing, hands flailing. “I’m trying to prevent a complete meltdown of the educational system—again. And Ava’s out here pretending to be a pop star with a fog machine while the rest of us are drowning in permission slips and expired Expo markers!”

She hums again, sounding impressed, though the glint in her eyes says otherwise. “You finished?”

You pause, blinking. “Uh, no? I still haven’t even gotten to the part where the copier jammed and Jacob tried to fix it with a ‘positive affirmation.’”

Melissa stands.

She doesn’t say anything. Just crosses the room slowly, deliberately, like a lion deciding whether to pounce. She stops right in front of you, just close enough to make your heart stutter.

Her voice drops to that low, dangerous register you’ve only heard when she’s really had it with someone—or when she’s flirting like it’s a full-contact sport.

“You talk too much, hon.”

You open your mouth to reply—some combination of excuse me? and rude!—but you never get it out.

Because Melissa Schemmenti kisses you like she’s been waiting for the perfect moment.

It’s laced with the kind of pent-up tension that only comes from months of stolen glances and lingering touches that never quite crossed the line.

Your back hits the classroom door with a soft thud. Her hand is on your waist—tight. Her mouth is claiming yours, and your thoughts go fuzzy as your hands fist in her blazer, pulling her impossibly closer.

You whimper. Actually whimper.

That earns you a pleased noise from her chest, and then she’s tilting her head, deepening the kiss like she knows exactly what she’s doing; which, of course, she does.

When she finally pulls back, lips kiss-bitten and eyes dark, you’re left breathless and dazed and absolutely not thinking about the copier anymore.

She smirks, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.

“There. Much better.”

You swallow hard. “I—what just—”

“That’s what happens when you don’t stop talking,” she says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Now sit down before I really show you how much you’ve been driving me crazy.”

Melissa’s mouth is back on yours, demanding and rough, and it’s like the rest of the world just…falls away.

She kisses like she fights—sharp, precise, and absolutely in control. Except now, she’s letting herself lose some of that control. For you.

Your hands are everywhere—clutching at her hips, sliding up the back of her blazer, dragging her tighter against you like your body needs hers. She tastes like coffee and something unmistakably her.

“You gonna be good for me now, hon?” she murmurs against your lips, voice low and wrecked.

You nod, but she tugs your bottom lip between her teeth, teasing. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” you gasp, barely coherent. “Yes, please—fuck, Melissa—”

She groans like that did something to her, like you did something to her, and then she’s pressing you harder into the classroom door, her thigh sliding between yours.

Your hips buck before you even mean to. It’s instinct. Need. You can feel her smirk against your jaw, her breath hot as she trails kisses down your neck.

“You were driving me crazy, you know that?” she mutters, hand slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, palm flattening over the small of your back to keep you flush against her. “Pacing around, flapping your mouth, looking at me with those big eyes like you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t—I mean, I wasn’t—”

Another slow grind of her thigh between your legs cuts you off with a strangled whimper.

“Yeah, sure. Real innocent.”

Her hands slide to your ass and pull you tighter, and suddenly you’re rocking against her leg, shameless and desperate. The friction is obscene, delicious—heat building with every movement, every groan, every kiss that’s more teeth than tongue now.

You feel drunk on her. The way her body fits against yours, how solid and sure she is, how present. It’s overwhelming…in the best fucking way.

“Fucking finally,” Melissa grits out as your hips roll again, your breath hot and broken against her collarbone. “You have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?”

You moan, nails digging into her back as you chase every bit of pressure she gives you.

“Touch me,” you whisper.

“I am touching you,” she growls. “You want more?”

You nod frantically. She slides a hand under your skirt, not quite where you need her, just enough to tease. Her fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh, keeping your legs spread around hers as she starts grinding you down on her, slow and rough and completely unrelenting.

“Come on, baby,” she urges, lips brushing your ear, voice thick. “Be good for me. Take what you need.”

You whimper, and your rhythm stutters, thighs shaking. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s perfect.

You’re not even sure who starts it, but suddenly she’s kissing you again and it’s messy, open-mouthed, teeth clashing. One of you moans into the other, and it’s lost in the wet, dizzy tangle of lips and tongue and desperation.

You’re so close.

Soaked through your panties, rocking against her thigh like a woman possessed, chasing it.

Melissa moans your name and it tips you over the edge.

You come with a cry muffled by her shoulder, your whole body shuddering as she holds you firm, still grinding you through it. Not letting up.

She’s panting too. Forehead against yours, breath ragged, lips swollen and red.

When you finally still, breathless and trembling in her arms, she kisses you once more, but gentler this time.

You blink up at her, dazed. “Okay. So. I guess I was talking too much.”

Melissa snorts, presses one last kiss to your cheek. “You ever do it again, I’ll shut you up the exact same way.”

God help you—you hope so.

[gojosluut]

hi ur blog is so cute i luv ur writing! idk if u take requests but i was wondering going to an amusement park with gojo and him trying SO hard to be non chalant on the rides and chill but as soon as u guys get on he starts screaming like a BITCH i just feel like thats so him and its kinda funny to him after a while and he does it extra loud just to tease and embaress u idk >.<

Hii !! thank you sm!! (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)♡ !!

a/n- I tried super hard on this cause i’m such a pussy and have never and will never go on a roller coaster. So in all honesty it would be my ass screaming and crying next to him😭 -

-crack and fluff! mainly crack though !

ೃ ✿𓈒ॱ⬭ᩙ ೃ ✿𓈒ॱ⬭ᩙ ೃ ✿𓈒ॱ⬭ᩙ ೃ ✿𓈒ॱ⬭ᩙ

It was dumb. It was dumb even getting in the car to come to the damn amusement park, let alone to even wait in line at the roller coaster he picked out cause he was trying to act tough in front of you. Satorus mind was freaking out and spiraling, he looked down at you while you were looking up at the rollercoaster examining it.

His lips upturned into a smirk as he squeezed your hand to get your attention. “It doesn’t even look scary, i mean i’ve been higher in the air than that thing,” he cockily says. But as the two of you get closer and closer to it being your turn. He’s shitting himself. He even lets go of your hand because of how sweaty his palms are and stuffs them into his pockets, which earns him you giving him a weird look which is deserved.

Once the two of you were strapped in the seat of the roller coaster he’s sweating. Bad. He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous or even scared when he’s been higher than the damn thing, but as soon as the operator pushes the level forward to make the ride go he squeezes his eyes shut. He feels your hand go ontop of his that was gripping the bar, his eyes open slightly looking down at you.

“you okay?” You ask suspiciously raising your eyebrow slightly at him. He just laughs shakily, “yeah yeah..i’m fine..just uh..” Before he can even get out his shaky half ass sentence the cart is going down the tallest hill, and he loses it. All the trying to act calm in front of you just flies out the window.

He screams at the top of his lungs as it goes down, his eyes squeezed shut and his large hands about to break the damn bar because of how hard his grip was. You can’t even scream because of how funny he looks his high pitch scream is louder than everyone else on the ride. You lower your head from how hard you’re laughing at him, once the cart is down the tall slope he has to swallow his heart back down to his ribcage. He looks over at you with a pouty look from how hard you’re laughing at him.

His pout fades as his lips upturn into a small smirk getting an idea as the cart goes down another hill not taller than the last one. But this time he puts all of his breath, lungs, everything in him as he lets out a louder high pitched scream. Your head whips up looking at him your cheeks turning red slightly from just how loud he was screaming. Your hand goes to the side of his cheek pushing his face slightly.

“Satoru!! Shut up!” You laugh out from embarrassment, trying to cover his mouth with your shaky hand. As he was the only one on the ride that was actually screaming that loudly. He gives you a side eye stopping for a moment before screaming again once you take your hand away from his mouth, that damn ass.

Once you two were off the ride he looks down at you with a grin his hand interlocking back with yours.

“Wanna do it again?” he says with that stupid cocky smirk. You laugh shaikly still calming down from the adrenaline rush plus the laughing.

“no.” You say breathily between laughs looking at him. He rolls his eyes smiling pulling you into his side as you both wonder to the small ice cream cart.

ೃ ✿𓈒ॱ⬭ᩙ ೃ ✿𓈒ॱ⬭ᩙ ೃ ✿𓈒ॱ⬭ᩙ ೃ ✿𓈒ॱ⬭ᩙ ೃ ✿𓈒ॱ⬭ᩙ

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

Hi!!! Do you think you could do write something about the eltingville boys finding out their S/O is pregnant and how they treat them throughout their pregnancy? (btw I LOVE the way you write!!)

(Lol buckle up this ride ain't gonna be pretty

Here's how we are gonna do it-Its going to be 3 full fics for each guy separately of course because this is going to be A LOT of writing also

tw I'm keeping this real- this isn't going to be fairytale happy stuff so... you've been warned and lowkey I got teary eyed writing this with all that said please Enjoy !

"Yeah? Well, I’m Fuckin’ Pregnant."

(Epilogue Bill Dickey x Reader — toxic softness, pregnancy reveal, eventual protectiveness)

“You’re a goddamn psycho, y’know that?”

Bill’s voice was sharp, fast — his usual go-to in a fight. Deflect, insult, talk louder than the truth.

You stood your ground, arms crossed tight over your chest, even though your throat was already tight. “Yeah? You’re not exactly a fuckin’ prize either, Bill.”

He scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair, pacing across the shitty apartment floor like a caged dog. “All I said was it’s not my fuckin’ fault you’re always so goddamn emotional lately. What, you want a trophy for havin' a meltdown over—what was it—spaghetti?”

You flinched.

It had been spaghetti. You'd cried over pasta.

But—

“That’s not why I’m—” you started, then stopped. Tried again.

“I’m not emotional, Bill. I’m pregnant.”

He laughed. Full-body, disbelieving, cruel. “Yeah, okay. Real original. Is that supposed to shut me up?”

Your stomach twisted. “I’m not lying.”

The laugh died in his throat. He turned to look at you. Really look.

And suddenly the room was quiet. Not tense. Not buzzing with static. Just quiet.

The kind of quiet that happens right after a car crash.

“You’re serious,” he said. Voice low now. Dangerous.

You nodded, eyes shining, defiant even through the tears. “Yeah. I’m late, I took two tests, and—yeah. I’m serious.”

His mouth opened. Closed. He looked like he wanted to say something awful.

But it didn’t come out.

He just stared at you, jaw tight, breathing hard, until finally he muttered:

“...fuck.”

The first week after that was weird.

He didn’t say much. Didn’t yell, didn’t leave. Just kind of… lingered.

Hovering near you like a stormcloud, eyes flicking down to your belly when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

At first, you were sure he hated you.

But then he stopped letting you carry groceries.

Stopped letting you clean the litter box.

Started keeping saltines by the bed before you even said anything about the nausea.

He’d act like he didn’t care. Like he was just being practical.

But then—

“Hey, where’s that shirt with the elastic waistband? You’re bloated as shit, you’ll be miserable in jeans.”

“Don’t fuckin’ look at her like that—she’s pregnant, asshole.”

“I got prenatal vitamins, shut up, they were two for one.”

You caught him staring once, when you were standing in front of the bathroom mirror, lifting your shirt to look at your not-quite-there belly.

He didn’t say anything. Just watched you, then muttered, almost like it hurt:

“...fuck, you’re really gonna do this, huh?”

You turned to him. “We’re gonna do this.”

He didn’t say it back. But he didn’t leave.

By your second trimester, he was a different kind of mess.

Worse temper than usual. Yelling at people who got too close to you in line. Fighting with strangers online because they called a pregnant comic book character “useless.” Refusing to let you carry a laundry basket even though you told him to fuck off.

He'd get flustered about it all the time, too.

If you cried? He'd groan, swear, wave his hands like he was being attacked.

“Jesus Christ, not again—what did I do now—?!”

But he always ended up sitting behind you, arms around your middle, rubbing your back with those rough hands.

Once, when you had heartburn and couldn't sleep, you caught him googling "how to swaddle a baby" at 2am.

He slammed the laptop shut like you walked in on him watching porn.

By the time you were showing, he started talking to the bump.

Only when he thought you were asleep.

Muttering shit like:

“Don’t come out dumb, alright? You’re already starting off with my genetics, you’re gonna need a fuckin’ miracle.”

or

“If you kick her too hard, I swear to God—”

You never mentioned it. He’d probably explode.

But you knew.

That somehow, beneath all the bile and sarcasm and venom, Bill Dickey was scared shitless.

And already in love.

---

"Don't Fuckin’ Die on Me."

(Part 2 of the epilogue Bill Dickey x Reader pregnancy fic)

Themes: real long labor, exhaustion, fear, messy emotions, Bill being Bill but showing up hard

CW: mentions of intense pain, blood, medical imagery, swearing, raw emotions

You were screaming.

You'd been screaming for hours.

And the worst part?

You weren’t even close.

The nurse had checked you three times now — always with that infuriating little smile.

“Still about six centimeters. Let’s try to breathe through the next few, okay?”

You wanted to throw something. Maybe a chair. Maybe Bill.

Bill, who was pacing the room like a caged animal, muttering to himself, biting at his nails and snapping at every single beep the machines made.

“Six centimeters?” he barked after the nurse left. “What the fuck is this, a slow cooker? Can’t they do something?”

You groaned, head back against the pillow, sweat dripping down your neck. “Jesus, Bill, shut up.”

“No, fuck you. You’re in pain, and they’re just—what, hoping you pop like a zit? Bullshit.”

You turned your head just enough to glare at him. “Not helping.”

Bill froze, fists clenched at his sides. He looked at you — really looked at you — for the first time in hours.

Saw your bloodshot eyes, the tremble in your hands, the shaking in your thighs.

The way you couldn’t stop crying even when you weren’t making a sound.

"...fuck," he muttered. He came over, dropped to one knee by the bed, grabbing your hand with both of his like he was afraid you’d slip away.

“I got you,” he said, voice rough and quiet now. “I got you, okay?”

By hour 18, you were delirious.

You’d thrown up twice, begged for the epidural too late, and Bill had been kicked out once for yelling at a resident who didn’t wash his hands fast enough.

They let him back in when they realized you wouldn’t stop screaming until he was.

You were soaked in sweat, your hospital gown stuck to your back, and you felt everything. Every contraction, every stretch, every fire-in-your-bones need to push.

And Bill?

He looked like shit. Pale, shaking, eyes rimmed in red.

But he stayed.

He held your leg. He screamed with you. He cursed the doctors under his breath and kissed your knuckles like it would save you.

“You’re doing so fuckin’ good,” he didn't know what the fuck to say and his voice was rasped, holding your hair back while you sobbed. “You’re scaring the shit out of me, but you’re doing so fuckin’ good.”

You whimpered. “I can’t do this—”

“You are doing this,” he said, panicked now. “Don’t you fuckin’ say that. Don’t you dare. You've put up with so much of my bullshit.

Your eyes rolled back. The pain was unreal. It felt like being torn in two.

And then—

Then the doctor said, “One more push. One more—”

And you did.

The baby came out screaming.

Bloody. Squirming. So small it made Bill stumble backwards, mouth hanging open.

You didn’t see it.

You were out. Not unconscious — just gone. Eyes glazed, body limp, every nerve fried.

They put the baby on your chest, and your hands twitched, trying to hold it, but your arms shook too hard.

Bill rushed over, grabbing the baby with stiff, terrified hands.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, staring down at this weird, red, alien-looking creature. “You look like a goddamn raisin.”

But his voice cracked.

And he sank into the chair beside the bed, baby bundled in his arms, staring at you like you’d just survived a car crash.

Which, in a way, you had.

He looked at you for a long, long time.

At your matted hair. Your pale lips. The dried blood on your thighs.

And then down at the baby.

"...you better fuckin’ thank her someday," he whispered, eyes wet. “She ripped herself in half for you.”

---

“I Fuckin’ Love You, Alright?”

(Postpartum fic, Epilogue Bill Dickey x Reader)

CW: postpartum pain and mood swings, sleep deprivation, body image struggles, Bill being a disaster but present, emotional vulnerability

---

You didn’t cry when the baby came.

You cried two days later. Over toast.

Cold toast.

It was 4am. You were in the hospital bathroom, bleeding and sore and shaky. You sat on the toilet with a mesh diaper between your thighs and stared at the plate Bill brought you — untouched, crust curling up at the corners — and something in your chest snapped.

“I’m so tired,” you whispered. “I can’t do this.”

Bill looked up from the chair he’d passed out in, eyes wild and bloodshot. He jolted up, stumbling over to you, voice panicked. “Hey—hey. Hey. What? What’s wrong?”

You looked at him. Eyes dark-circled. His hoodie stained with god knows what. A burp rag on his shoulder. Your spit-up, maybe. Or the baby’s.

You laughed, bitter and quiet. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, well, you look like a crime scene.” His mouth moved faster than his brain. “Sorry. Fuck. That came out wrong—”

You pressed your palm to your face, trying not to scream.

He hovered. Helpless. Hands twitching. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” you snapped. “I don’t know, Bill! I want to feel like a human being again. I want to piss without bleeding. I want my fuckin’ stomach to not feel like jello and I want you to stop hovering like I’m gonna shatter.”

“Well what the fuck do you want me to do instead, huh?” he shot back, voice too loud for a room with a sleeping infant. “Wanna go back to yelling at each other? Pretend this shit didn’t happen? Pretend I’m not scared shitless?”

You froze.

Bill’s chest was heaving. He scrubbed a hand down his face and then looked at you like it physically hurt him.

“I almost lost you,” he said, quiet now. “In that fuckin’ room. You looked dead. And all I could think was—I never even told you.”

You blinked.

“Told me what?”

His lips curled, not in a smile. In defense. Like saying it made him weak. Like maybe it did.

“I fuckin’ love you, alright?”

He spat it like a confession. Like a punch to the gut.

Like it scared him more than fatherhood ever could.

“I love you,” he repeated, voice hoarse. “Even when you scream at me. Even when you’re gross and bleeding and can’t look at yourself in the mirror. I love you anyway. I love you through it.”

Silence.

You blinked again.

And started to cry.

Bill panicked, crouching down in front of you, gripping your knees. “No—no no no. Don’t cry. Fuck, please don’t cry—”

You laughed through the tears, snotty and aching. “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah, well.” He rested his forehead against your thigh, eyes squeezed shut. “You picked me. That’s on you.”

You threaded your fingers into his filthy hair. “Say it again.”

He looked up.

You didn’t blink.

And this time, softer—

“I love you.”

---

[sturniolohohoho]

Sold to the Sturniolo Triplets...

it was the morning after the big move and you swept your messy dark brown hair that was slightly wavy with sun kissed natural blonde streaks in it up into a messy bun. a perfect bun that little waves fell out of, framing your doll-like freckled features.

I swiped mascara across your thick lashes that brought out your shining blue ocean colored orbs. you didn't wear ANY other makeup though, you were perfect and didn't need it...

getting up to get changed, you threw on the large frumpy sweatshirt that i had thrown on the floor the night before. you haphazardly, shove your glasses on.

i heard the doorbell ring from downstairs. “y/n!” your mom yelled “get down here quick!”

“what is it mom?” i yelled back, she was so annoying sometimes.

also you didn't have the best life escpically with your mother being a alcoholic and her not there supporting her. Being bullied at school didn't help her either, but being smart as a straight A student made her strong. Until her mother was having trouble with money.

“your new owners are here,” she stated. “my- what?” you stammered, perfect pink lips opening in shock. “yes honey, how else do you think i was able to pay for this house and my alcohol addition? now open the door”

"WHAT THE FUCK MOM?" you scream. "WHY?"

"because I love drugs and hate you!" i stormed upstairs and felt the tears start to stream down my face. there was no way I was going to let her sell me to a creepy strangers! I grabbed my backpack and filled it with some clothes and my favorite books. I tossed in my iPhone 4s– I decided I was going to have to run away. Since I'm not like other girls, I don't have very many friends. my only guy friend was mean, but he lived like a block away. I slung the backpack over my shoulder and slipped on my beat upconverse.

I bolted down the stairs and towards the front door when you opened the door and saw them on the doorstep, the sturniolo triplets. they looked mostly bored but matt opened his arms and gave you a brilliant smile, his pearly white teeth glistening in the sun.

“Ello love! We're your new owners. grab your stuff. we bought you off facebook marketplace.”

nick adjusted his hat and gave you a once-over. “she looks like she reads at concerts,” he muttered.

“uh… do you need help packing?” matt asked, peering past you awkwardly.

"no what the fuck! i dont want to go with you guys!"

chris shook his head. "Oi, don't be so rude! girls love, haven't you been on tumblr?"

"well i'm not like other girls! i want to stay here"

your mother comes up behind you, seething. "YOU BETTER GO WITH THEM, y/n!"

you sigh in defeat.... i guess there's no way out...

"so, you coming?" matt responds, his icy blue orbs looking into your shining blue ocean colored orbs adorned with perfect lashes.

"I guess..."

UNRELATED FIC, BUT THE SAME MEME/TREND:

the arena was shaking. lights flashing. bass booming. teen girls were screaming so hard it created a minor earthquake in the tri-state area. someone in the crowd was crying because matt glanced vaguely in her direction.

and yet—there you were.

front row. sitting on the grimy floor of a stadium. cross-legged, legs covered by an oversized hoodie that could fit three raccoons and a bad breakup. your hair was thrown up in a messy bun that said “i don’t dream of labor.” and in your lap?

a copy of the bell jar by sylvia plath. annotated. aggressively.

nick was the first to notice. mid-sentence. mid-shout. “WHO’S READY TO LOSE THEIR MINDS TONIGHT?!” he screamed into the mic. the crowd screamed back.

except you.

you… turned a page.

his eyes squinted into the front row. matt leaned over to him. “yo is she… is she reading?”

chris tilted his mic away. “nah there’s no way. maybe it’s a lyric book?”

nick stared. “bro that’s like… a real book. like with metaphors and stuff.”

matt stepped forward, still out of breath from jumping around. “yo. you. in the hoodie. what are you doing?”

you looked up slowly. “i’m reading.”

chris leaned into the mic. “reading? like, for school?”

“no,” you replied, voice calm. “for myself.”

nick was flabbergasted. “you’re at a sturniolo triplets live show. you paid for this.”

“my friend paid. she won them in a giveaway. i don’t believe in idolizing influencers,” you said, folding the corner of your page. “parasocial relationships are a symptom of capitalist decay.”

the entire crowd gasped. someone in section 23 fainted.

matt looked personally attacked. “but… we’re the sturniolo triplets.”

you nodded solemnly. “i don’t engage in manufactured personality branding.”

chris was now fully crouched at the edge of the stage. “okay but what chapter are you on though.”

you stared him down. “chapter nine.”

he swallowed. “that’s… that’s a good one.”

nick put a hand over his heart. “she’s different... she's not like the other girls here.”

matt shook his head. “she’s terrifying.”

“you’ll never understand me,” you said softly, turning back to the page. “and that’s the point.”

a/n: 100% satire, so is the goofy ass writing style.

a/n again: the interchanging between "i" and "you" was also on purpose, it hurt a lot to write so sorry

ps: the alcoholic mom thing is a part of the original meme, i'm not making fun it, nor am I trying to make it just a joke

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

taglist - @sturniolosrtewsexy @sturnbrooke @emely9274 @babytomatoes21 @arianna1342 @gemzyy @namelesssav @chestersturn @ellieluvssturniolos @tits4matt @vanteguccir @luke8989 @matt-sturnioloo @glee2skkii @riggysworld @sturnslux3 @cass-sturn @auttysturnz @oopsiedaisydeer @chrismakesmewet @whore4chris @chrisspussygang

(was debating not tagging yall for this ABOMINATION of a fic, but whatever, enjoy!)

comment to be tagged for all my works!

[fordiaz]

The Archer (Evan Buckley) ࣪ 🏹°࿐ ࣪ ᳝۰ ◝

“We’ve both been afraid of losing the things that matter. But maybe this time, we don’t have to.” જ⁀➴

Synopsis: Evan Buckley has always feared people leaving — but the 118 never did. When a new paramedic joins the team, Buck is forced to confront the version of himself he’s tried to outrun. Through quiet moments, late-night calls, and unexpected vulnerability, he learns that maybe, just maybe, love doesn’t have to hurt to be real.

Genre: Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Slow Burn

AU: None

Pairing: Evan Buckley x Afab!Paramedic!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of injuries the usual stuff in 911 episodes, calls and emergencies.

Note: Another fic yet again because these things are literally sitting in my google docs waiting to breathe new life. Thank God for my hyper fixation on this show (I’m still on S6) that I’m putting out fics like a machine. Anyways, if you guys enjoyed don’t forget to like + reblog and leave any comments because they are very much appreciated! Happy reading!

Evan Buckley lived in extremes.

He always had. From the moment he showed up at the 118 — too young, too fast, too much — he’d chased every call like it owed him something. Like if he just ran hard enough, climbed high enough, saved enough, he could outrun the feeling gnawing at his ribs.

He didn’t name it back then.

Didn’t need to.

Because naming it meant slowing down. Meant looking it in the face and admitting that he wasn’t just chasing danger — he was chasing worth.

The job gave him purpose. The team gave him structure. And for a while, that was enough.

Until it wasn’t.

Because when you’re the guy who runs into burning buildings with a smile on your face, people stop asking if you’re the one burning.

He became a legend fast — not in the medals or accolades kind of way, but in whispers around the department.

That’s Buck. He pulled a kid out of a collapsing house. He scaled five stories without ropes once. Total maniac. He hooked up with two EMTs in one weekend.

They weren’t wrong.

Buck didn’t care what people said, as long as they were saying something. Being talked about was better than being forgotten.

And under the bravado, the recklessness, the charm — there was a boy who had been left too many times. By his parents. His sister. Abby. The world.

So he made sure no one could ignore him.

He was the guy who dove headfirst into every call, heart first into every mistake. He was loud. Sloppy, sometimes. He was the kind of brave that bordered on foolish.

Bobby saw it. Hen saw it. Chim tried to buffer him, joke around him, nudge him back into place.

But Buck? Buck was barely holding himself together.

He wasn’t malicious. Just restless. Hungry for connection, for the kind of safety he didn’t believe he deserved. Which is why, when Abby Clarke walked into his life, he latched on with both hands and no helmet.

She was older. Calmer. She saw through the noise and offered him something still. Something quiet.

And he clung to it.

He thought this is it — someone who stays.

Until she didn’t.

And when she left, she didn’t just take her suitcase. She took whatever fragile progress Buck had made believing he was enough for someone to stay for.

He spiraled.

Hard.

Sleeping around. Ghosting shifts. Picking fights with Chim. Pushing Bobby’s patience to its limit. He got suspended. Almost fired. And still, he kept running — from something, toward nothing.

And then he hit a wall.

Not a physical one. But one only he could feel — the kind that comes when the thrill stops numbing the ache.

That’s when Bobby finally sat him down. Really sat him down. No raised voice. No threats. Just a soft, quiet: “Are you done trying to destroy yourself?”

Buck hadn’t answered.

Not that day.

But something shifted.

He started showing up differently. Stayed sober on his days off. Came early. Took care of the new guy, Ravi. Listened more. Talked less. Learned to shut his mouth before the sarcasm slipped out and hurt someone.

It was slow. Uneven. There were backslides.

Nights where he stared at his ceiling wondering if there was anything left for him outside the job. But then came the little wins — Bobby trusting him with a delicate rescue. Hen letting him lead a training. Chim actually saying, “Proud of you, man.”

They were quiet victories.

The kind that didn’t need sirens or spotlights.

And Buck started to realize: maybe being seen didn’t have to mean being loud. Maybe it could mean being real.

And in that stillness, that liminal space between healing and hurt, something — someone — would soon arrive.

But not yet.

Not today.

Today, Buck walked into the firehouse with a steady gait and a thermos of coffee in his hand. He wasn’t running anymore.

He wasn’t fixed. But he was trying.

And as he stepped into the kitchen and spotted Ravi talking to someone new — a face he didn’t recognize yet — he tilted his head, curiosity piqued.

Not because of interest.

But because these days, he paid attention.

Because he knew better than anyone: everyone walks in with a story.

And sometimes, if you’re lucky, you find someone who stays for yours.

The firehouse kitchen smelled like garlic bread and grilled chicken — Bobby’s signature meal for easing new recruits into the fold.

A little comfort food, a lot of subtle observation. It was tradition by now. Buck had seen it play out a dozen times. But tonight, something felt different.

“Alright, everyone,” Bobby called out, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“We’ve got a new member joining us on rotation. Paramedic. Transferred from Station 136. Came highly recommended — and yes, she’s already survived the paperwork.”

That got a few chuckles.

Buck leaned back in his chair, sipping a beer, eyes fixed on the table — until he heard footsteps and glanced up.

You walked in with quiet confidence, your expression open but unreadable. You gave Chim a nod, bumped fists with Ravi, even managed to coax a small smile out of Eddie. But when your eyes met Buck’s, something sharpened in your gaze.

“Evan Buckley,” you said, stepping forward before Bobby could do the honors. “The man. The myth. The sex swing incident.”

Hen choked on her water.

Buck blinked. “Seriously? That’s still going around?”

“I mean, you got stuck mid-rescue,” you said, grinning. “It’s basically required reading in paramedic group chats.”

“I was saving a guy’s life—”

“While tangled in a very specific apparatus,” Hen added, laughing now. “Classic Buck.”

“Right,” Buck muttered, but he was smiling too as he stood to shake your hand. “Well, glad I could make an impression.”

“Hard not to,” you replied smoothly.

Bobby motioned toward the food. “Grab a plate. Get comfortable. You’re family now.”

You slid into the seat between Buck and Hen — the one always left open for new blood. Buck noticed the ease in your posture, the way you listened when Chim talked about his daughter, how you laughed — really laughed — at one of Ravi’s sarcastic remarks.

You were tuned in. Not trying to dominate the room, just present in a way that made people want to open up.

Hen leaned closer. “So, three years at 136, right?”

“Yup. Two of those mostly on medical calls. Rotated through some tough wildfire seasons last year. Decided I wanted something steadier. A tighter-knit crew.”

Buck tilted his head. “And you think this place is steady?”

You looked at him with a smirk. “Steady’s relative. But I’ve got a good gut.”

Hen raised her glass. “To instincts. You’re gonna fit right in.”

Buck didn’t say much after that. Just observed.

The way you leaned toward Hen when she spoke. The way you passed the salad bowl without anyone asking. The calm energy you brought into the chaos.

And for a guy like Buck — whose life had often felt like a long string of misfires — that calm made him want to stay just a little longer in your orbit.

Later, when you excused yourself to help Bobby in the kitchen, Hen elbowed him. “She’s good.”

“Yeah,” Buck muttered, still watching the doorway you disappeared through. “She really is.”

Something in him stirred — something that hadn’t moved in a long time.

But for now, he kept it buried. One shift at a time.

The sirens wailed as the 118 raced through downtown. Dispatch had flagged it as a ‘multi-casualty trauma,’ and the pit in Buck’s stomach tightened the closer they got.

It was a three-car collision on a bridge, with reports of people trapped, including a child in critical condition. The kind of call that didn’t just test your skills — it tested your nerve.

“Chim, Buck — you’re with me on extractions. Eddie, Y/N, you handle triage,” Bobby directed as the truck rolled to a stop with a hiss of brakes.

Without missing a beat, you grabbed your trauma bag and jumped out of the rig, sprinting alongside Eddie toward the first wrecked vehicle.

Buck watched you go, momentarily caught off guard by the way you moved — focused, fast, in full command of your role.

He didn’t even realize he was smiling until Chim gave him a look. “You gonna stand there or you wanna keep up?”

“Right, yeah,” Buck muttered, snapping into motion.

The scene was chaos. Glass shimmered on the pavement like ice. A woman screamed from one of the cars, her leg pinned beneath the dashboard. A toddler wailed in the backseat. And that was just one of the three vehicles.

Buck was elbow-deep in a door panel when he heard you over the comms.

“Victim 1 has a head wound and possible spinal trauma. Stabilizing now.”

You were crouched beside a man whose forehead was bleeding profusely, calmly applying a C-collar and giving directions to a bystander to help brace him.

It wasn’t just that you knew what to do — it was the way you spoke. Direct, grounding. People listened.

“Y/N, I need a hand over here!” Chim called out from the middle car.

“On it!” You tossed a pair of gloves to the bystander and dashed over.

Buck watched as you assessed a woman’s irregular breathing and slipped a hand behind her neck like you’d done it a thousand times.

You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t rattle. You just moved.

Even Eddie glanced up from where he was wrapping a boy’s arm in gauze and muttered to himself, “Damn. She’s good.”

By the time all victims were stabilized and en route to the hospital, Buck stood near the rig, helmet tucked under his arm, adrenaline buzzing.

You walked over, brushing dust off your sleeves. “You alright?”

“Me? I’m good,” Buck said. “But you—wow. That was incredible. The way you handled the head trauma guy, and that kid who was hyperventilating?”

You shrugged, modest but glowing from the rush. “You do this job long enough, you learn how to find your footing in the chaos.”

Buck stared at you for a second longer than necessary.

“Yeah, but not everyone makes it look that easy.”

Chim joined them, clapping you on the back. “If you keep pulling moves like that, I’m not gonna let Hen take you next shift.”

“Too late,” Eddie said as he came up, peeling off his gloves. “I’m already requesting her.”

You rolled your eyes, but Buck could see the smile tugging at your lips.

Bobby walked over last, clipboard in hand. “Good work, all of you. Y/N, you’re proving to be everything your record said and more.”

“Thanks, Cap,” you said, wiping sweat from your brow.

As the team packed up and got back into the rig, Buck slid into the seat beside you.

“You’re full of surprises,” he said quietly.

You turned to him, brow arched. “Good ones, I hope?”

“The best kind,” he said.

And he meant it.

It was just after sunrise when the 118 pulled back into the station. The adrenaline from the bridge call had faded, replaced by the familiar ache of fatigue and the hum of relief.

The B shift crew was already filtering in — exchanging nods, half-sleepy greetings, and fresh cups of coffee.

Buck scrubbed a hand through his messy curls as he slid off his turnout coat, tossing it into his locker.

You were at the sink in the kitchen, rinsing your hands and scrubbing away the grime of the last twelve hours. Hen passed you a towel and a warm smile as she grabbed her keys.

“You did good today, Y/N,” she said. “For what it’s worth — not many people impress Buck.”

Buck looked up from his locker with a faint scoff. “I’m not that hard to impress.”

“Yes, you are,” Chim and Eddie said in unison as they passed by, drawing a light chuckle from you.

Buck shot them both a look before wandering over to the kitchen. You were drying your hands, your sleeves rolled up, a few strands of hair escaping your bun.

“Hey,” Buck said, leaning a little against the counter. “Shift’s done. You got plans this morning?”

You looked up, curious. “Besides sleeping for five hours and eating my weight in leftover pasta? Not really.”

Buck smiled. “Well… I was thinking coffee. There’s this spot a few blocks down — open early, quiet, and they actually know how to make a flat white. If you’re into that.”

You blinked — surprised, but not unpleasantly. “You offering me caffeine, Buckley?”

“Maybe,” he said, his grin boyish, almost shy.

“Or maybe I’m trying to hang out with the paramedic who saved three people in record time this morning and made Eddie Diaz speechless for a whole twenty seconds.”

You let out a small laugh, reaching for your jacket. “Alright. Coffee sounds good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “But you’re buying. Hero tax.”

Buck chuckled, holding the door open for you as you both stepped out into the golden, sleepy haze of early morning.

“Deal.”

From the window, Eddie watched the two of you walk off together, shaking his head with a knowing smile. Hen stepped beside him, coffee in hand.

“Told you he’d crack first,” she said.

Eddie hummed. “Yeah, but for once… it’s not just a flirt.”

Hen sipped her drink. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t mess it up.”

The thing no one told you about being a firefighter wasn’t how loud the job could get.

It was the silence after.

The silence when the sirens faded, and the blood was cleaned from your gloves, and the screams stopped echoing in your ears.

That was when the weight crept in — not just from the job, but from who you carried it for.

You had learned early in life not to hold on too tightly. Nothing ever really stayed — not your childhood house, not the friends you thought were forever, not even the people who promised they wouldn’t leave.

Change had always arrived like a storm: without warning, without apology.

So you adapted.

You moved light. You didn’t ask for permanence. You didn’t get too attached.

But then you found the 118.

And somewhere along the line, they became the one place you didn’t have to flinch.

Buck had started as a ripple.

That first coffee turned into a second, then into breakfast runs, then into small moments: him helping you hose down the rig after a muddy call, saving you the last protein bar in the kitchen, walking just a step behind you on every building search like he was quietly, instinctively keeping watch.

He didn’t make it loud, but Buck had slipped into your life like he’d always been meant to be there.

And that terrified you.

Because lately, your heart had begun to stutter every time you lost sight of him during a call.

You started counting the seconds he was out of your line of vision. Every loud crash, every “man down” over comms, had you holding your breath before you even realized it.

You weren’t used to caring this much. Not about someone who ran headfirst into fire.

And today’s call — it shook something loose.

A scaffolding collapse. Six construction workers trapped. One rebar impalement. Two amputations. The kind of call that would drain anyone.

Buck had gone up to the second floor, clearing debris to reach a trapped victim. You and Hen had stayed on the ground level, assisting with triage. You’d looked up once to check on him, just in time to see the beam snap above him.

He’d dodged it. Barely.

He’d waved it off afterward with that crooked smile of his, sweat matting his curls. But your heart had dropped so fast you didn’t even register you were shaking until Hen quietly placed a steady hand on your back.

You didn’t let it show.

Not then.

But later that night, long after the rig was clean and the paperwork was filed, you found yourself lingering in the kitchen as the others filtered out.

Bobby was wiping down the counter, Hen sipped her tea at the table, and Chim leaned back in his chair scrolling through photos of Jee-Yun.

You didn’t mean to say it aloud.

But you did.

“I’m scared.”

The room stilled — not with judgment, but with familiarity.

Bobby set the towel down. “About what?”

You hesitated, swallowing. “About caring too much. About getting used to something good… and having it taken away.”

Hen tilted her head, gently. “You mean Buck.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Chim set his phone down and leaned forward, more serious now. “Buck has that effect.”

“He’s reckless,” you said softly, voice fraying. “He throws himself into danger without a second thought. He laughs it off and keeps going. I’m just— I’m scared one day he won’t come back.”

“Have you told him?” Bobby asked.

You shook your head. “I don’t want to make it about me.”

Hen stood and crossed the kitchen, resting a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Sweetheart, caring about someone doesn’t make it about you. It makes it real.”

Chim smiled, softer this time. “He probably feels the same way. Buck might be reckless with himself, but he’s not reckless with people he cares about. And trust me — he cares about you.”

You looked up, heart pounding. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Bobby said. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you after every call. Like he’s checking to make sure you made it back.”

Hen nodded. “You don’t have to keep carrying the weight of every fear by yourself. You’ve got us. And you’ve got him — even if neither of you have said it out loud yet.”

The silence returned, but this time it was filled with something warmer. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“Thanks,” you murmured. “I needed that.”

Chim bumped your shoulder with his. “You’re part of this family now. You don’t get to do things the hard way all the time.”

You laughed, finally. “Noted.”

And when Buck walked into the kitchen a few minutes later — face flushed from a hot shower, curls damp, a curious glance cast your way — you didn’t look away.

Maybe things didn’t always stay.

But maybe some people could.

And maybe, just maybe… he was one of them.

It started small.

You used to sit next to Buck on shift, shoulder-to-shoulder at the kitchen table, his leg brushing yours whenever you both leaned in for a bite of something Hen made.

Your jokes came fast and easy. He knew the exact creases in your smile, the way your laugh always started in your chest before reaching your eyes.

But lately?

Lately, you’d been somewhere else entirely.

You’d started riding back with Chim and Eddie after calls, hanging back in the rig longer than usual, sometimes even taking your coffee breaks outside, pretending to answer texts.

When you laughed now, it was still warm — still you — but Buck didn’t feel like the reason anymore.

At first, he told himself it was nothing. Maybe just a bad day. A bad week. Burnout.

But now, two weeks deep into the change, he was starting to feel like an outsider in a story he’d once felt lucky to be part of.

Breakfast runs used to be your thing.

It had started after your second call together — a collapsed balcony with two patients and a lot of adrenaline.

Buck had bought you a coffee to calm your nerves and you’d smiled like it meant more than just caffeine. After that, it became ritual. You even had a usual order.

Now?

You didn’t even ask if he was coming.

Buck found you outside the diner that morning, standing by the curb while Eddie laughed at something Chim said through the window.

You were focused on your phone, but your face was too blank for someone reading a meme. You looked… elsewhere. And that scared him more than anything.

“Hey,” he said, approaching slowly. “Got room for one more?”

You looked up, startled. Your smile was polite. Too polite.

“Of course.”

That should’ve been comforting. It wasn’t.

He slid into the booth beside you once inside — you didn’t protest, but you didn’t shift closer, either. Chim and Eddie talked around you both, but Buck barely heard any of it. His stomach was too twisted.

And when you offered Eddie a bite of your toast with a soft laugh — the same kind Buck hadn’t heard in days — something inside him snapped quiet.

You both ended up walking out together afterward, coffees in hand, the LA morning sun not yet punishing. He waited until you reached the edge of the lot before breaking the silence.

“You’ve been distant.”

You froze just a little — not fully, but enough for him to notice.

“I’ve been tired,” you replied.

“That’s not what I asked.”

You sighed, brushing hair from your face. “Buck, it’s nothing personal.”

“But it feels personal.”

That made you pause. Really pause. Buck looked at you like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t have all the pieces for.

“You used to talk to me.”

“I still talk to you.”

“Not like before.”

That quiet hung between you, longer than it should have. Cars rolled by. Somewhere nearby, someone honked. It all faded into background noise.

“I just needed space,” you said finally. “That’s all.”

“From me?” Buck asked, not unkindly — just hurt. And it was that part of him — the aching, raw honesty he only ever let out with people he trusted — that finally cracked through.

You didn’t answer right away. And maybe you didn’t need to.

“Did I do something?” he asked softly. “Or not do something?”

You looked down at your cup. “It’s not about you, Buck. Not completely.”

“Then help me understand.”

You exhaled. Slow. Heavy.

“I care about you. That hasn’t changed,” you said. “But this job… what we do, what we see — I’m trying to protect myself. And lately, I’ve been feeling things I shouldn’t.”

“What kind of things?”

“I worry about you,” you said.

“Every damn call. Every time you take a risk or crack a joke to hide how much you care. I worry because you act like you’re invincible when none of us are.”

Buck blinked. That was the last thing he expected.

“I worry about you all the time too,” he said.

“You think I don’t notice when you zone out after a call? Or when you touch your shoulder like it still hurts from the collapse?”

You looked at him then, and it was the first time in a while you really looked. Buck felt it in his ribs.

“I didn’t mean to shut you out,” you said, voice quieter now. “I just didn’t know how to make room for… this.”

“For what?”

“For how much I care about you.”

That stopped Buck cold.

For a second, he couldn’t speak — which was rare for him. He ran a hand through his hair, swallowed hard.

“I thought I was imagining it,” he admitted. “When you started hanging around Eddie more, I thought… maybe you were just over me.”

“I needed a breather,” you said gently. “And Eddie’s easy to be around when you’re trying not to feel everything at once.”

Buck nodded. He understood that more than you knew.

“I don’t want to be a distraction,” he said finally. “But I don’t want to be out of your life either.”

“You’re not,” you said quickly. “You’re not. I just need to go slow. For my own heart.”

Buck gave you a smile — soft, genuine, a little sad but somehow still hopeful. “I can do slow. I can do anything, really… just not losing you.”

You reached out and touched his wrist, just briefly, but it sent a warmth through both of you.

“You’re not losing me, Buck,” you said. “Just finding me again. In a different way.”

He nodded.

And for the first time in weeks, the silence between you didn’t feel like a wall.

It felt like a bridge.

The shift was slow.

Rare for L.A. — rare for the 118 — but the quiet was almost a welcome reprieve.

The four of them had just wrapped up restocking the rig after a minor call, and Buck found himself sitting on the tailgate with Eddie, nursing a bottle of water and trying not to let his thoughts spiral.

You weren’t on shift today.

And somehow, that made him more aware of your absence than usual.

Eddie glanced at him from the driver’s side. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Buck said automatically — then sighed, tipping his head back toward the sky. “Actually, no. Not really.”

Eddie raised a brow, folding his arms and leaning against the rig. “Wanna talk about it?”

Buck hesitated. “What’s Y/N been saying?”

Eddie blinked. “That’s direct.”

“Yeah, well. I’ve been going in circles in my head for two weeks, so I figured I’d try a straight line for once.”

That earned a short laugh from Eddie. “She’s… she’s been quieter. But not cold. Still herself, just maybe… more internal lately.”

Buck nodded. “She talks to you though.”

“She talks to everyone, Buck. Just not you the same way right now. You know why.”

He did. But hearing it said aloud still stung.

Hen and Chimney appeared around the corner, Hen wiping her hands on a towel while Chim juggled two protein bars and a Gatorade.

“Talking about Y/N?” Chim guessed with zero subtlety.

“Wow. Okay,” Buck muttered.

Hen smiled knowingly. “It’s not hard to tell. You’ve been sulking like a sad golden retriever since the breakfast run.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“Painfully,” Eddie replied.

Hen sat beside Buck and nudged him with her shoulder. “You wanna know what she said the other night?”

Buck’s eyes narrowed. “You’re just gonna tell me?”

“She said she didn’t know what to do with someone who felt permanent.”

That made the words hit like a sucker punch. Buck’s grip on his water bottle tightened.

“She said,” Hen continued, “that for the first time in a long time, she had something that scared her in a good way. And it scared her so much, she didn’t know if it would survive her fear.”

“She meant me?”

“She didn’t say it. But she didn’t have to.”

Buck went quiet.

Chim leaned against the door, eyes thoughtful. “Y/N’s always been calm in the chaos. But when it comes to people she lets in… she’s selective. You got past the filters.”

“I didn’t mean to overwhelm her,” Buck said, voice low.

“You didn’t,” Eddie said. “But you surprised her. That’s different.”

Buck glanced at all of them. “Why does it feel like I’m the only one who didn’t know what was happening until it was too late?”

Hen softened. “Maybe because you’re not used to something being real, Buck. You’re used to the storm, not the quiet after.”

Buck didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then: “I think I love her.”

The words felt like oxygen and a confession in one breath.

“I didn’t mean to,” he added quickly.

“I just… it crept up on me. Somewhere between the way she remembers everyone’s coffee order and the way she calms people after the worst days of their lives. Somewhere in how she’s always steady, even when she’s falling apart.”

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes wide now that he’d said it aloud. “I think I love her. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

The group went still for a moment — not shocked, but holding the weight of the moment carefully.

“You don’t do anything,” Eddie said, voice quiet and firm.

“Not right away. You be there. You let her come back to you. And when she does, you make sure she knows it’s safe to stay.”

Buck blinked, chest tightening.

“And if she doesn’t?” he asked.

“Then she wasn’t ready,” Hen said. “But I think she is. I just think she’s scared.”

“And you know what it’s like to love someone who’s scared,” Chim added. “So… don’t rush her.”

Buck nodded slowly.

He looked around at the people who had been his constants — even when he hadn’t been his best. People who saw through the ego, the recklessness, the mess.

He’d never imagined the moment of falling in love would come with so much stillness. But now that he’d recognized it… he didn’t want to run from it.

“I’ll wait,” Buck said. “Whatever it takes.”

Eddie patted his shoulder. “Good. Because she’s worth it.”

Buck looked toward the horizon — where the next call, the next shift, the next chance would come.

And somewhere in all that unknown, he hoped you were waiting too.

It was strange, being off shift and still feeling like you were waiting for something to go off — like a bell, a siren, a call that never came.

You hadn’t been sleeping much.

You hadn’t been talking much either.

At least, not to him.

Not since that breakfast run where Buck had looked at you like you were slipping through his fingers and didn’t know how to stop it.

It had been easier, in a way, to talk to Chim, to Hen, even Eddie — because it meant avoiding the one person who made your heart pace harder than a four-alarm call.

But today, you’d needed something softer.

So you texted Maddie.

Mind if I come by? I kinda miss Jeeyun.

Maddie had responded within a minute:

We’d love to see you. She’s teething like a tiny gremlin but I promise we’ll try to make it fun.

Now, you sat curled up on the couch in her apartment, a blanket half-draped across your legs, a drool-stained burp cloth clutched loosely in your hand, and Jeeyun nestled in your lap like a warm, squirming bundle of grounding energy.

“She likes you,” Maddie said softly from the kitchen, mug of tea in hand.

“She’s a baby,” you murmured. “She likes everyone.”

“No,” Maddie said, settling beside you. “She likes you. Not everyone gets that giggle from her.”

Jeeyun babbled loudly, her fingers wrapped around yours.

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Maddie didn’t press. Not at first.

“I’m guessing this visit isn’t just about teething woes and baby cuddles.”

You sighed, brushing a hand down Jeeyun’s back.

“No. I just… I needed quiet. And I needed not to be at the station. Every time I walk in there, I feel like everyone’s waiting for me to say something.”

“About Buck?”

You nodded. “He’s… I don’t know. I don’t know where we stand.”

Maddie watched you carefully.

“Do you want to know what I think?” You glanced at her.

“I texted you, didn’t I?”

She chuckled lightly. “Fair.”

There was a pause, quiet except for Jeeyun’s soft breaths.

“I think my brother can be reckless. Impulsive. Emotionally chaotic. But I’ve never — not once — seen him as focused or consistent as he’s been since you came around.”

You looked away. “He’s… he’s Buck. That scares me.”

“Because you think he’ll mess up?”

“Because I think he won’t. And then I’ll be the one who doesn’t know how to handle it.”

That admission came with a weight you hadn’t expected — a kind of ache you hadn’t named until now. Maddie leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees.

“You’re not the only one who’s scared. Buck doesn’t do vulnerability well, not with feelings like this. But he’s trying. And believe me, I would know.”

You swallowed hard. “I don’t want to be someone he gets tired of. Someone he looks at one day and realizes he wanted something easier.”

“He already had easier,” Maddie said. “And none of it made him feel what he feels now.”

Your eyes burned, but you didn’t cry.

You just looked at the baby in your lap, who cooed and grabbed at your dog tags like she was trying to keep you grounded.

Maddie added gently, “If Buck had to choose between a steady life without you or a chaotic one with you in it, he’d pick the chaos. Every time. I know my brother. And I wouldn’t see him with anyone else.”

That last part — I wouldn’t see him with anyone else — cracked something inside you.

It was one thing to wonder if he felt what you felt. It was another to hear it spoken, with certainty, from someone who knew him best.

You nodded slowly, pressing a kiss to Jeeyun’s hair. “Thanks for letting me come over.”

Maddie smiled. “Anytime. Especially if it helps bring you back to him.”

You didn’t answer.

But you thought about how Buck looked at you like you were something he didn’t want to lose.

And maybe… just maybe… you weren’t ready to lose him either.

There wasn’t a moment he could point to when it began — no grand gesture, no dramatic reconciliation.

But it started, he realized, during a call.

A routine one, even. An apartment fire, thick smoke, elderly couple trapped on the third floor.

Buck was on the hose line, you were searching rooms with Chim, and the second he heard your voice over the comms — calm, clear, certain — something in his chest loosened.

Then, something else happened.

You came back.

Not all at once. But in pieces.

During cleanup, you passed him a water bottle and murmured, “Nice knockdown.” Your eyes met his.

Not too long, not too soft. But you looked, and Buck noticed. Buck felt it.

The next shift, you called out for him during another call — “Buck, left hallway’s clear, I’m heading back out with Hen” — and your voice didn’t sound clipped like it used to.

It was steadier. Almost like… you wanted him to hear it.

He started hearing it more and more.

You began standing a little closer when you briefed with the team. You laughed again — not at him, not because of him — but near him. And it mattered. God, it mattered.

During a high-rise evacuation with B-Shift, you caught his wrist when he was climbing the stairs too fast and simply said, “Don’t push your knee, you’re limping again.”

It wasn’t playful, but it was gentle. The kind of thing you used to say before all the silence.

And Buck held onto it like oxygen.

Hen noticed first.

She leaned into him at the back of the rig as you checked Chim’s minor burn. “You feel that?” she murmured, tilting her head in your direction.

Buck didn’t answer. Just followed the way you were focused on Chim, how your hand moved with practiced ease, how you smiled slightly when Chim made a joke about pain being temporary and dramatic flair being forever.

“She’s softening again,” Hen said quietly. “Good job not screwing it up this time. Yet.”

Buck let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Later that night, Chim tugged Buck aside while restocking the trauma bags.

“You know she asked about you last shift?”

Buck’s heart thudded. “She did?”

“Yeah. Something about how your wrist was holding up after that fall. Didn’t want to ask directly, I guess.”

Buck couldn’t stop the small smile that crept in.

“She cares,” Chim added. “Still. Maybe more than ever.”

That did something to Buck — not just fill him with hope, but anchor him. Because for the first time in a long time, the thing that had been tearing at him didn’t feel like loss. It felt like a second chance he hadn’t even known he was working toward.

At the next call, he was assigned to your side again.

And when you both cleared the scene, soot-smeared and tired, you nudged his arm lightly with your shoulder.

“Nice teamwork, Buck.” His chest bloomed warm at that.

“Thanks,” he said softly, catching your eyes again. “I missed it.”

There was a pause. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.

“Me too,” you said. And it wasn’t nothing.

In fact, it felt like everything.

It was after another long shift.

One of those where your muscles ached in ways you didn’t realize they could, but the adrenaline was still running high.

The sun had barely cracked over the horizon when the 118 rolled back into the station, your silhouettes golden in the dawn.

Buck stretched his back with a groan, watching you unclip your radio with one hand and rub the back of your neck with the other.

He was just about to say something — anything — when you turned to him with that same look you used to wear months ago. The one that came with trust.

“Coffee?” you asked. Then — after a beat — “Breakfast?”

His heart did a quiet somersault.

“Yeah,” he said, voice soft. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You walked a few blocks in comfortable silence. No teasing. No awkward tension. Just footsteps echoing side by side until you found a small diner tucked on the corner of an empty street.

It wasn’t fancy — red booths, yellow lighting, a faint smell of syrup in the air — but it felt safe.

You picked a booth by the window. Sat across from him. And when the waitress poured coffee into your cups, you stirred in sugar like it was second nature.

For a while, it was easy.

You talked about the calls. About Christopher’s latest obsession with stop-motion animation. About Chim’s plan to prank Ravi again and how Hen was already scheming a counterattack.

And then — mid-bite into your pancake — you set your fork down.

“I used to think nothing in my life stayed,” you said suddenly, eyes on your plate. “Family. Friends. I don’t know, stability just… always felt like it slipped right through.”

Buck blinked. Because it felt like you had just cracked something open in him too.

“But the 118… it stuck,” you continued. “And I guess somewhere along the way, you did too.”

Buck’s throat went dry.

“I know we never said anything outright,” you went on, quieter now. “But I felt it. I know you did too.”

“I did,” Buck said, immediately, almost breathless. “I do.”

The way you looked at him then — hopeful, hesitant — it punched through him like nothing else.

“You scared me,” you admitted. “Not because of who you were, but because I didn’t know if I could handle how much I wanted to stay where you were.”

His heart was racing. He leaned in, hands wrapped around his mug to keep them steady.

“I’ve always been afraid of people leaving,” Buck said, voice low.

“Most of them did. Except the 118. Except you. And I was such a mess when we met — sleeping around, numbing out, pretending like nothing mattered. But you…” He exhaled. “You looked at me like I could still be something good.”

You stared at him for a long moment.

“Because you are,” you said.

Silence stretched between you. Not uncomfortable, but full. Full of everything unsaid that no longer needed to be hidden.

Then, softly, you added, “We’ve both been afraid of losing the things that matter. But maybe this time, we don’t have to.”

Buck felt the weight of it — that promise. That hope.

He reached across the table slowly, gently, letting his fingers brush yours. And you didn’t pull away.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

You smiled — small, but real.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I’m tired of running.”

There wasn’t an announcement.

No dramatic revelation. No secret whispers caught in the locker room. But something shifted.

It started small — the way Buck hovered just a little closer to you after morning roll call.

The way your elbow would brush his when you reached for the same granola bar in the kitchen, and neither of you flinched away anymore. The way you’d grab an extra cup of coffee during breaks without being asked.

Hen noticed first.

Of course she did. She always did.

She didn’t say anything at first — just arched a brow and smirked a little to herself when Buck instinctively grabbed the end of a hose line before you had the chance to haul it alone. She made a bet with Chim the moment she saw you both return from a supply run with that familiar soft flush on your faces.

“Twenty bucks says they’re already halfway in,” Hen muttered, sipping her coffee as you and Buck disappeared around the engine. Chimney blinked after you.

“They’ve been soft with each other lately,” he admitted. “Buck didn’t even try to one-up Eddie on that last rescue. That’s growth.”

“Love’ll do that to you,” Hen said with a grin.

Eddie noticed, too — quietly, in the way only Eddie could. He wasn’t surprised. Not really. He’d seen the way Buck looked at you for months now, even before Buck knew what he was feeling. And he’d seen how you looked back like you were trying not to fall but were already halfway there.

He hadn’t said anything, but the first time Buck helped Christopher adjust his helmet during a family BBQ with you smiling in the background, Eddie knew. And he was happy. Genuinely happy.

Bobby didn’t need to say much either. Just gave Buck a knowing pat on the shoulder one day after a call — the kind of gesture that said, I see it. I trust it. Take care of her.

Even Ravi, the last one to catch on, noticed how you leaned into Buck’s side during team lunches. How you laughed easier now. How Buck seemed to listen more — not just with his ears, but with his heart.

It wasn’t just affection.

It was something steadier.

And you felt it too.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t flinch at the idea of something lasting. You weren’t waiting for the other shoe to drop, or for Buck to disappear when things got too hard. He had been showing up — for you, for the team, for himself — in a way that wasn’t performative. It was real.

You caught Hen watching you one morning in the kitchen. She was grinning.

“What?” you asked, sipping your coffee.

“You just look happy,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You smiled back, a little shy but not scared. “I think I am.”

Buck came up behind you, ruffling your hair with that ridiculous grin of his before stealing a bite of your toast.

“Hey,” you laughed.

“What? We share now,” he teased, mouth full.

Hen just shook her head and muttered something about whipped golden retrievers.

The rest of the day passed like any other — calls, chaos, controlled urgency — but the difference was in the pauses. The quiet in-betweens where Buck would find you, touch your hand briefly, or glance your way like you were the thing grounding him to the world.

And for once, you weren’t afraid of what that meant.

Because he wasn’t afraid either.

This wasn’t the kind of love that burned too fast and too bright. This was the kind that unfolded. That stayed. That chose you every day, in every little moment — even the ones no one else saw.

You were still the same firefighter. Still the same paramedic.

But now, in the laughter around the table, the warmth of the 118’s eyes on you, the feel of Buck’s fingers brushing yours when he thought no one was looking — you felt something new:

Home.

© fordiaz 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[ultramaga]

It's illegal to have male only anything in Australia - women only are fine, but not many women want to use them because, sadly, this is what the women are often doing. There's a lot of videos of this stuff happening in America so I know it's not just an Aussie problem.

"So why do men and women in the military have different haircuts, and there are such things as female-only gyms?

Basically it's complicated, according to Anti-Discrimination Commission Queensland acting president Neroli Holmes." No, it really isn't complicated, Leftist. You just hate men.

Holmes is a fanatic. We could simply gather up the Leftists like her/him/whatever, and ship them off to Canada, to be treated humanely and efficiently by their health system. Then once they were so very kindly treated, we could simply have equal rights. No discrimination on the basis of sex unless common sense says otherwise eg different biology. Men should have their own spaces, same as women, with no different treatment. If Trans can't cope with that, they can have trans only spaces, fair's fair. The Leftists of this world hate that - they want women to walk in, piss on the seats and claim the territory, because Feminists did, but with the added complication that they class trans as super-women who can then walk in to women's spaces and piss on their seats. What could be simpler? NOT HAVING ANYBODY PISSING ON THE SEATS. I worked at Teletech, which was a call centre company. I was in a dress code study. We found overwhelmingly the people breaking gender neutral codes were women. Women wore sandals, while very very few men had a problem with business shoes. Women wore short skirts or open tops, while men were wearing the boring business outfits. I'm trying to think of a deliberate male dress code infringement but it just didn't happen, the other blokes would have made fun of someone turning up too casually. Women were pushing the sexual envelopment regarding clothes at the workplace - because that's the instinct, advertise the body constantly even if you are in a relationship -and men weren't, because we don't get sexual power through appearance so much as social status. The men were the ones volunteering for over time and hard work like going over to Malaysia. Because men know if you want a family, you better have a nice nest to show to the lady, or she'll move on.

The next one is pretty funny though.

Ban women from public gyms.

[mynameisalanwake]

play guide: dragon age origins

aka: the order that i do the quests/maps and the canon/practical reasons why i do it this way

putting the steps below the cut so it doesn't swallow everyone's dashs <3

qualifications to make this: - autistic - played origins 4 times - on console so i have to work really hard to avoid bugs

a few things to remember: - talk to EVERYONE! - "camp time" = one or two dialogue trees, only one or two gifts at a time, talk to dog until he stops barking, inventory management, giving materials to army - whenever possible, all side quests for a region are done while i'm there for the storyline quest

your origin (obviously)

ostagar/kocari wilds/the battle - don't forget rigby's cache to give to jetta in redcliffe. most of the kocari wilds quests are pretty codex-reliant but if you walk around the whole map you should get all of them

lothering - sweep the map! don't leave anything behind and sell everything you don't need. be sure to talk to the blackstone irregulars guy.

camp time - levi dryden, bodahn, sandal convos. after this my decisions are 90% just based on my character and 10% practicality

kinloch hold - as a mage warden, starting here makes sense to me, esp since the templar in lothering tells you about the rite of annullment. gets the fade out of the way early and makes ALL options for redcliffe/connor available without having to go back and forth. you can't do any of the side quests during the broken circle main line and if i do it too late i don't feel like going back to finish those. i have a reason to come back later anyway

redcliffe - by this time my cunning is high enough and i'm mentally prepared to protect redcliffe/convince everyone to fight/run around the estate. i usually either sacrifice isolde or save them both, so i'm set up for either option here. don't forget to go back to the village to turn in quests and pick up chanter board stuff. i like doing redcliffe second - if you're playing as magi/dalish/dwarf i suggest doing the region specific to your origin first (sorry cousland and tabris

camp time, do random map marker quests for chanter board

soldier's peak - this DLC isn't particularly hard or long (that's what she said) and i like that it gives me a storage chest/starfang so i do this early on

honnleath - i like having as many companions as possible early on too. by this point you should have Dog, Alistair, Morrigan, Sten, Leli, Wynne, Zevran, and now Shale

camp time, check if you're ready to turn in quests like Mage's Collective stuff (there shouldn't be too many because you just did two DLCs)

orzammar - again, picking up all my companions early on. this is arguably the most side quest heavy area between orzammar proper and underground. if Leli is at 80+ approval, bring her with you to Dust Town

camp time but with a purpose - by now, your approval should (hopefully) be high enough with Sten that you trigger his personal quest. giving Oghren all the alcohol (gifts) you've picked up for him so far should be enough as well. if not, just save these next 3 steps for when you do have high enough approval

kinloch hold - bring Sten & Oghren for their stuff, go to tower to ask Irving if Dagna can study there, do all the leftover side quests (i think there are only 3 and some fetch quests for other stuff)

back to orzammar if needed to give Dagna the news - this is also a good time to run around and do whatever companion quests you've picked up that require backtracking (Sten to Redcliffe, fighting Flemeth) - i like to do Shale's stuff here as well - it hits different after doing the anvil

camp time

brecilian forest - the werewolf ruins are the worst part of DAO for me. curing the halla requires high survival so i save this for closer to the end bc survival is Not one of my priorities. bring Wynne so you can do her quest. the map makes this section the most time consuming bc i definitely run around 3 times before i find what i'm looking for

camp time

denerim - FINALLY! i know i'm lame for saving the sacred ashes for last but i like the ~drama~. do Alistair and Leli's quests. do whatever you can in town and pick up the chanter board/mage collective/blackstone stuff. i try to have denerim as cleared out as possible before i set off to the next map

haven/the temple of sacred ashes - nothing exciting. don't forget about the Zevran gift in the store and yaknow the high dragon

camp time - the closer i get to end game, the more often i go to camp. take care of chantry board map stuff

return to ostagar but if you're a ~secret companion~ type person you might save this for later

redcliffe - wakey wakey arl eamon :)

denerim - turn in whatever you still need to, escape from the palace, gather points for landsmeet, solve problems in alienage (i don't even bother trying the orphanage quest anymore because it has broken literally every single time except for the time ser otto died)

battle of denerim - wahoo you did it!!

by this point, i'm usually so ready to move on to awakening that i don't do anything after the main campaign so assume any and all side quests are turned in prior to the landsmeet

my playtime for DAO on average is 30-40 hours and i would say i get to like 90% completion but there are some quests that ALWAYS bug out like the orphanage and some i will never do like jammer's stash