#this took a lot longer than i expected but...

[copper-16]

Reminds Me That There's A Room To Grow

Alexia had lost her childhood love at the last moment. Or did she?

{a/n: Hello everyone! Fair warning: I make a lot of changes about the “world” in the fics I write. Alexia grew up in Madrid in this and started out at Atlético Madrid (don’t worry she’s still the world’s biggest culer, trust), and the timing, clubs, etc are often somewhat fudged because I am lazy. If you come on here and start correcting me I’m just going to block you because this is a STORY, it’s not supposed to be accurate to real life because it isn’t real life. This starts in March of 2021, but there are a series of flashbacks. Reader is a few months younger than Alexia in this.

This story can either be: just the 1 part with an ambiguous ending if everyone is satisfied with that, 3 parts with a more solid ending, or 10 parts with a longer story structure (and I like the ending better personally but to each their own). Curious as to everyone’s thoughts are, and it’ll probably dictate how much I end up writing! I hope y’all enjoy the read! Title is from Drops of Jupiter and Spotify link can be found here!}

Dahlias. 

Resilient. 

Warm-hearted. 

Protective. 

Optimistic. 

Mysterious. 

Grounded. 

Alexia thought of the intricate flowers often. She even went so far as to plant some in a garden box on the balcony of her apartment, just so that in the warmer months she could go out and trace the petals gently under her fingertips. A reminder of everything wonderful she had been fortunate enough to have in her life, held in her grasp for just a little bit longer out in the warm air. 

She admitted it was a long time ago, but even if she tried to move on she simply couldn’t. 

—

Alexia is grateful she opted to wear pants for the event, if for no other reason than the fact that she has somewhere to put her hands. The event was on the smaller side, not quite intimate but still not overwhelming either. It’s March now in Barcelona, with warmer weather and sunshine, even if the event for this evening is held indoors. 

It was for Spotify, bringing together ambassadors of the brand from around Spain to interact and connect with the team. Naturally, Barcelona has sent Alexia and Robert along with a few of the staff members to represent Barcelona. The midfielder has spent the better part of the event making small talk, trying to be polite and sociable. These events are inherently exhausting for her, but she still understands the importance of them, even if there isn’t quite enough football talk for her liking. 

As grateful as the blonde is for the visibility of the team and women’s football, there are still moments when she has to force herself to remain appreciative. She sometimes misses the days of kicking the football around in the dirt, where the heaviness of expectations never plagued her. She misses cozy nights on the couch laughing until her stomach hurts or having someone pull her from her work, insisting that she take a break. 

The footballer struggles to remember the last time she took a break. Her life is full steam ahead, all of the time. It was rewarding and exhausting all at the same time. Even when she has a day off or a moment of peace, it never quite felt like hers. 

Everyone expects something of her. 

Everyone wants a part of her. 

But nobody wants her in her entirety. Nobody has in a long time. 

When the midfielder finally breaks away from the delegate of Barcelona members under the guise of going to the bathroom, she takes the time to just explore. The event space is lovely and spacious, with high ceilings and a gorgeous conference room 

She is aiming to head toward the restroom, but she wanders aimlessly. The brunette ends up in a hallway with a gorgeous light fixture, and she finds herself looking up at it in vague awe. She catches movement in her peripheral vision, and when she glances down, her breath catches in her throat. 

It can’t be? 

Could it be? 

After all of this time? 

Your head is turned up toward the light fixture as well, your face partially obscured by the angle of your neck tilting upward to admire the beauty of it. The dress you’re wearing is a deep emerald green, a crushed velvet material with a high cut neckline. There are draped sleeves that barely hit your mid bicep, and the cut of the gown is long enough that it hides that you’re wearing loafers over more socially appropriate heels. 

You’ve always claimed that a woman who spent her life stuffing her feet into uncomfortable shoes simply wasn’t doing life right. 

The ceilings are tall, and the hallway is nearly empty, but Alexia is pretty sure that there is a lack of oxygen in the air. 

And then you turn your head down from the lights above you, making direct eye contact with you.

Her heart stops for just a moment, unable to comprehend the reality of the moment. 

But the footballer realizes at that exact moment that it’s really you. 

—

When Alexia is six, her immediate family moves from the Mollet del Valles to Salamanca for her fathers job. Besides her Mami, Papi, and Alba, the rest of her family stays behind in Barcelona, a fact that Alexia both hates and struggles to understand. 

Concepts of a job and moving are a little far out of her realm, but she tries her best to calm Alba when she cries quietly out of homesickness. Alexia is strong and refuses to cause trouble, so she takes the move with a silent despair as she is abruptly pulled from everything she has grown to know and placed in a new environment. 

Her Mami explains to the two girls that they will return to Barcelona in the summer for a few weeks to visit family, and that they can still go to Barcelona games here in Madrid. The little brunette girl struggles to contain the disgust her face twitches with at the thought of Real Madrid, and Eli forces herself to hold in a gentle laugh. 

In Alexia’s second week of living in Madrid, she meets you. 

Your family lives in an apartment down the street, with your Mama and Papi alongside your two younger brothers. There’s an area between your house and Alexia’s for children which could technically be classified as a park because of the pathetic patch of grass inside a ring of concrete. It doesn’t matter for Alexia, who brings a basketball outside to play in the space after growing bored one afternoon. 

You were already out there, sitting in the small grass patch and playing with the flowers, gentle in the way only a young child could be. That precarious edge where you could crush the petals at any moment, but for whatever reason don’t. 

The brunette perks up, her steps quickening at the sight of you. She has yet to make a single friend here considering that school has not yet started, and now would be the perfect time. 

“Hola,” she introduces herself apprehensively, soft spoken but not exactly shy. You look up at her, surprise melting into a small smile that seems to spread through the rest of your body. 

“Hola,” you repeat, and Alexia sets the basketball down before sitting beside you. 

“I’m Alexia, I live over there. I just moved here,” she explains as she points toward her own apartment complex. You nod in recognition, turning to the opposite side of the street to point out your own home. 

“Nice to meet you Alexia,” you state resolutely, but your focus is still on the flowers underneath your hands, the  caléndulas. 

“Are you a big fan of la flores?” She questions, and you nod, tucking some hair behind one ear as you look over at Alexia. 

“Flori loves la flores,” the brunette declares, giving you a nickname that will stay with you as she pulls you up to go play basketball with her. 

—

When Alexia is seven she joins the Atlético Madrid academy, playing alongside boys her age. She also learns that you hate football with a burning passion. 

After that day in the street, the two of you have become fast friends. One could not be found without the other, wandering around the streets playing imaginary games or dancing together. You could even be coaxed into a game of basketball or handball sometimes if you were in a good mood, but never football. 

It’s strange to Alexia, because football comes so naturally to her. It is a part of her family, but it is not a part of your family. While you are light on your feet, graceful in dancing, other sports are not your cup of tea. 

You’re smaller than Alexia is, smaller than the average girl your age, and it shows when you’re trying to play games with everyone. You never complain about it, weathering the storm of fouls and near fatal injuries from competitors twice your size without so much as a spot of negativity. 

But Alexia knows that it is not your favorite, and she only asks you to play sometime. 

“Come on Flori, please? I need to practice before tomorrow?” Alexia begs, and though you threw her some sass, you quickly agreed when you saw the look in her eye. 

The desperate look on her face was enough to convince you that she really did need help. 

While you weren’t terribly skilled at football, you weren’t horrible at it either. You agreed to help Alexia because she is your absolute best friend in the whole entire world, and when she looks at you with that face, you know she really means it. 

It is all worth it when she comes home the next day, dropping her bag at home and sprinting over to your apartment. She barges past your Mama at the door to run to your room, jumping on your bed and telling you every detail of the day with excruciating detail. 

You want to listen to every single minute, filled with warmth from the clear excitement on her face. You’re happy that she is happy, and you know that football brings her peace in the same way dancing does for you.  

Which is why when Eli asks Alexia to stop playing football at school as a result of her joining a team outside of school, you are the one who covers for her. You easily vouch that she was pushed on the playground rather than scraping her knees playing football. 

The look her Mami gives you lets you know she doesn’t believe you, but she lets it slide regardless, much to your relief. 

—

When Alexia is eight, she learns of how fiercely protective you are. 

It had only been a small thing, a disagreement on the football pitch behind the school you all attended. She was playing with some of the other girls, the few ones her age who still wanted to play football. The ones who didn’t mind getting their knees muddied and running until their lungs gave out. 

Not that it mattered how much they tried, because Alexia always beat them anyways. 

You had chosen not to participate, electing to teach Alba how to weave daisy chains and making sure that your little brothers weren’t getting into trouble while they played together. You had just moved Alba’s hand gently to show her how to twist the stem of the plant correctly when you heard the ruckus. 

You lift your head, taking in the scene in front of you with a renewed urgency when you notice that Alexia was on the ground. One of the other girls is practically standing on top of her, she was so close to the brunette. The girl, Isabella, is practically pink in the face with her anger, yelling about some foul or dirty move on Alexia’s part. 

You didn’t care though, standing up in a flash and stomping your way across the football pitch to the two girls. 

Alexia is by no means a shy person, but she usually leaned toward being more reserved. She has a deep sense of justice though, and has always pressed for everything to be fair, even when it was not to her advantage. 

When she played games with Alba, the brunette would hold her dominant hand behind her back or close her eyes to even the playing field. And while she never let Alba win without reason, she was never overly cruel in her celebrations either. Especially not as one would expect a bigger sister to be. 

She did not have a chance to get a word in edgewise today, not when you stuff your body between the two girls and press your finger into Isabella’s chest, all but shoving her back. 

You tilted your head up in defiance, a positively ferocious look on your face. 

“Hey! There is no need to yell,” you argue ardently, your face twisted in complete and utter vexation at Isabella’s tone toward your best friend. 

Isabella just stares down at you for a moment, probably more shocked to see you there than bothered by the words you just said to her. You were smaller than her and Alexia, and it is rare to see you get angry or irate like this. 

“Right…sorry Alexia,” Isabella says after a moment, offering a sheepish smile before she turns away, walking off of the field over to a few of her other friends. 

You let out a small sigh as your body language settles into something more relaxed and calm. When you look back at Alexia behind you, you find her looking up at you with a tilted head and a look of confusion on her face. 

“What?” You question carefully, back to the serene best friend that the Catalan had come to know over the last two years. There is concern pooling in your eyes as she stood, brushing the dirt off her knees. 

“Nothing I…” she pauses for a moment before she shakes her head, a tiny smile gracing her lips as she lets out a chuckle. “Thank you Flori.” 

You smile up at her broadly before you turn and make your way back to your younger siblings, sitting down and going right back to teaching Alba how to make a daisy chain as though nothing ever happened. 

—

When Alexia is nine, the two of you dance together. 

You are both signed up for folk dance classes by your respective mothers, who have become powerless in trying to keep the two of you apart. The pair of you might as well be attached to one another, as if you need the other in your orbit to continue on with life. 

It’s not that you both don’t have other friends, because you do. But the connection between the two of you is strong, not understood by anyone else. 

Dancing with Alexia is different. She makes you laugh in ways you cannot quite understand, and despite being only nine years old, there is a gracefulness to her movements that the other girls do not possess. There’s an ease to your steps when you are partnered with her, almost as though you two can anticipate the movements of the other without speaking about it. 

Perhaps football has helped her dance abilities, you wonder silently, but even that might be a stretch. 

You aren’t sure it matters though, not when she looks at you with that wide smile that she only ever seems to give you. 

—

When Alexia is ten, she finds you on her walk home from football practice. Her Mami had just started letting her walk home alone, alongside another boy from her team who lived in the area. It wasn’t a far walk by any means, but it gave the brunette a feeling of huge independence that only a ten year old could possess. 

She has just turned the corner to head down her street when she hears loud, loathsome voices. 

“Flori, really? That’s a stupid nickname, just like you are a stupid friend. She only hangs out with you because it is an easy option, not because she likes you.” 

Alexia doesn’t even have time to consciously think before she sees red and surges forward, finding you cowering just slightly under the intense gaze of two older boys. They are in the year above you and Alexia in school, but they always hated the brunette because she was better at football than they were. 

It seemed that their response to this embarrassment was to take out their anger on you. 

Alexia could tell you were trying to show minimal fear, but you were a good head smaller than the boys who towered over you. Luckily for you Alexia wasn’t about to let them get away with it, and she came around the corner yelling in anger. 

The boys weren’t expecting her, and they certainly weren’t expecting the vehemently angry words that flew out of her mouth. 

You watched the exchange with a strange sense of detachment. 

Were you a stupid friend for Alexia? She was getting better at football now, getting noticed by people and places much bigger than the little neighborhood you guys lived in. She could be popular, have any friend she wanted. No longer was she beholden to you in any way. 

When Alexia grabs your arm gently, you look up to find that the boys are nowhere to be found anymore. It is just your best friend with you, her eyes scanning over every feature on your face with a furrowed brow. 

You let out a tight breath as you realize that you two were alone, sinking down to sit on the curb. Alexia joins you, taking your hand and holding it tightly in her own. 

“Are you alright?” She asks softly, and you don’t answer her for a long moment. 

“Do you think that I am a stupid friend? Do you wish you had more popular friends?” You counter, not really answering her question. You don’t want to burden your friend with your own emotions, sticking to the facts of the case rather than the maelstrom of unease swirling in your stomach. The brunette all but flinches at the question, shaking her head fiercely. You turned to inspect her face gently, to see that there were no signs of lying in the set of her jaw or the twitch of her eyebrow. 

“Why would you think that?” She prods softly, her voice only loud enough for you to just hear it. Alexia can tell that this is about more than just what the boys said. The crinkle in your brow gave away the depth of your worries, especially to the footballer. 

“I am not like you Alexia. I don’t like sports, or getting dirty, or playing with the boys. I am not talented like you, I will never be the star people think you will be. I hear them whispering about you, certain that you will be great,” you insist, reticent to a fate that you have seemingly already aligned for yourself. 

But then Alexia moves, crouching down in front of you instead of remaining beside you. 

“I don’t care about any of that if you aren’t my best friend,” she confesses with a sharp intonation, and she means every word of it wholeheartedly. 

She never thinks of herself as doing anything with football, because there is no path for a woman like her to play professionally like the men do. Even if there was, she has no clue if it is something she would want for her future. 

She loves football dearly. 

But she also loves you, and she tells you as much. 

“I will always need you in my life, no matter what. Now that you are here, you are stuck with me and I refuse to give that up. You are my best friend, and I don’t care what I do in life or who I become, you will always be my best friend Flori.” 

And despite everything that told you that you probably shouldn’t, you believe her with everything in you. 

—

When Alexia is eleven, she moves in with her aunt and uncle in Barcelona for the year to train at La Masia. 

You miss her terribly, even though life moves on. Your schedule every week is filled with friends and dance and time spent outside, but it’s never quite the same with Alexia. When you receive a little flip phone, your heart leaps at the thought of being able to talk to her even when she is far away. 

The two of you call every day, and patiently you listen to her describe every bit of frustration and excitement about football. It’s a huge opportunity to play in La Masia but there remain huge obstacles, and the program for the girls is unorganized and frustrating at best. 

You listen patiently, and Alexia is reminded all over again of how her life wouldn’t be the same without you. 

Gratitude and a strange swirling feeling twist in her belly, but it fills her with a warmth all over regardless. 

—

When Alexia is twelve, she returns to Madrid. The La Masia program for the girls has fallen apart, and she comes back to Atlético Madrid. 

She comes back home to you. 

You are unsure of when her smile started to make your stomach flutter, or when the brush of her hand against yours made your heart jump. And honestly, you don’t care. It is the most natural thing in the world to you. 

When she holds your hand for the first time and glances over at you shyly, you simply knew that your heart belonged to her, and somehow hers belonged to you too. 

—

When Alexia is thirteen, you ask her to be your girlfriend. 

Perhaps it's silly and juvenile and you two are the only ones who believe in the seriousness of it. 

She is caught by surprise at you asking, and suddenly the footballer finds herself throwing out her elaborate plan she had come up with to ask you in the following weeks. 

Alexia says yes to you, unequivocally and with a soundness she has never felt before. 

The first brush of your lips against hers lasts for a few seconds, but it’s exhilarating in an entirely new way.  

It’s perfect, as is the way her arms wrap securely around you.

—

When Alexia is fourteen, the two of you begin to experiment a little more for the first time. 

It’s awkward and bumbling sometimes, but there's a layer of comfort and ease above it all. Her lips on yours and the feel of her body next to you keeping you grounded and comfortable, ready to stop at any moment. 

When she pulls away, you find yourself giggling at the tickling sensation of her eyelashes against your skin. You bury your head into her chest, holding tightly to her as you feel a laugh rumble in her chest. . 

Even as she gets better at football and you grow into your own intelligence, it’s still the two of you together, taking life at your own pace. 

—

When Alexia is fifteen, she begins to struggle in school. 

You are the first person she talks to because she knows that you will meet her without judgement. You have always been a good student, and don’t mind spending the time patiently tutoring her. Topics that she should probably understand but do not are broken down into easily digestible ways, and for the first time in weeks her arithmetic work begins to make sense. 

She is able to continue playing without any problems, and her marks improve rapidly with her focus and your dedication. 

“Thank you Flori,” she sings as she walks out of the first session, and you can’t help but laugh at the tone of her voice. 

The footballer beams at you when you declare that your payment is a kiss for every correct answer. 

She pays her pension and then some without an ounce of complaint. 

—

When Alexia is sixteen, she makes her first team debut for Atlético Madrid. It’s a proud day for the whole family, and you sit squished between her father and Alba as you watch her race onto the pitch. 

There’s a sharp determination on her face, and though she only plays ten minutes you can tell she is going to be good. You can’t say you’re surprised, and when she turns toward her family and you and beams as the game ends, you know that you wouldn’t be anywhere else other than here. 

—

When Alexia is seventeen, she reminds you of what you mean to her. 

Atlético games are never terribly well attended with how little importance is placed on women’s football. But there is still a steady crowd, and it is beginning to grow more and more. 

Alongside that growth come some…interesting characters. 

You’re a regular in the stands, alternating between reading your book, watching the game, and doing homework. It’s rare for you to miss a match, though you have missed a goal or two when your nose is shoved in a book. Luckily, Eli, Jaume, or Alba will nudge you if Alexia is doing something important. If they aren’t there, then one of the other players' family members will, a fact that you’re extremely grateful for. 

Your commitment is unwavering, but your interest in any sort of PDA or anything is limited. Alexia is much the same, a characteristic you’ve always been grateful for. 

But then a group of girls from your school start to show up at games. There’s four of them, always sitting in the front row of the stands, no matter what. They cheer Alexia on as though she is their best friend, despite the fact that she told you herself she doesn’t really know them. When the footballer comes toward the stands after games, they rush to greet her. They fawn over her easily, throwing their arms around her for hugs and pressing chaste kisses to her cheek. 

You always find yourself standing awkwardly in the background, wishing to talk to your girlfriend but unable to stop staring at the scene in front of you. 

At first, it’s more funny than anything. You and Alexia’s family joke about her fan club and delight in the way her cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. 

But they never stopped coming to games. And by the time you figure out that they aren’t going to stop, you realize that perhaps you need to take a step back. Those girls are popular, sweet, they love football and seem to understand everything. You are intelligent and well liked, but nowhere near as popular or well versed in the game Alexia lives and breathes by. Trying to follow along to each whistle or hand signal is impossible for you, and your interest in learning comes and goes like an ocean tide. 

“I don’t think I can come on Saturday, I have a calculus project I need to work on,” is what you tell Alexia one weekend. But the brunette didn’t buy it for a single second, raising her eyebrows suspiciously. 

“You always just do it at the games – I’ve seen you in the stands with a glue stick before you were so determined to be there,” she points out, calling your bluff easily.

“Well…this is important Ale. It’s our final year of school, I need the marks to get into university,” you defend weakly, but it’s a lost cause. Your grades are extremely good, and you’ll have your pick of schools. One calculus project will not make or break that opportunity by a long shot. 

“Is this about those girls from school?” Alexia questions softly, her voice careful. You glance over at her and sigh after a moment, knowing that there's really no use in lying. The brunette could read you like the back of her hand. 

You don’t even need to voice your concern for Alexia to know exactly what you’re thinking, and she moves to sit down next to you on the edge of her bed. 

“I promise you with everything in me that I do not care about those girls. I don’t care if you are certain that they are nicer or popular or more pretty than you are. You are perfect to me, and I don’t care about them at all. I only care about you, and I only want you. You are my peace and my life, not them,” the footballer insists, and you look over at her with a quiet resignation. 

“Even if they understand football better than me?” You ask, your voice impossibly small. Alexia smiles sadly, reaching out to gently cradle your face in her hands. 

“When I look at the stands, it’s you I search for. It’s you who makes my heart skip a beat when I realize that you’re there. It’s you who fills my stomach with butterflies and sets the wind into my sail. How could I even notice them when I have you, Flori?” 

At the next game, Alexia politely smiles at the girls but moves straight past them to charge up the stands, still in her kit and boots. She gently lifts your calculus project off your lap so that she can press a resounding kiss to your lips, smiling into it when you gasp into her mouth with surprise. 

—

When Alexia is eighteen, two things happen. 

Everything somehow falls together, and falls apart all at the same time. 

The first is that her father dies. 

It's not unexpected, though the reality is still jarring. It feels like she is free falling, unable to find a moment of stability or rest. 

She finds herself in her old bedroom in her Uncle’s house in Barcelona, avoiding the mass of people downstairs paying their respects. While the sympathy of others is heartfelt and sincere, it’s heavy. 

She already feels heavy. Any more of it and she might break into a million pieces, that she is sure of. So she escapes up stairs for a moment, leaving Alba with a cousin and her Mami with an old friend. 

A knock at the door pulls her from her thoughts, and she looks over to see that you have poked your head into the room. 

“Ale?” You inquire gently, the question unspoken between the two of you. Four years of dating and endless years of friendship have left you with an innate ability to know when the brunette needs space, and that doesn’t feel like where she is right now. 

You’re nothing if not respectful though, aware that as much as you sympathize, you really might not have the answer here. Nothing this big had ever happened in your relationship before, or in either of your lives before. There was no book or manual to prepare on how to deal with a grief so complete and overwhelming as this.  

Alexia loved her father deeply, and no amount of time to anticipate or process her thoughts of his illness actually prepared her from the shock of him being gone. 

You had loved Jaume too, how he passed out love like it was free to give, how he laughed without inhibition, how he welcomed you into the Putellas family with ease. But it wasn’t the same, and you were aware. You knew that you felt only a slice of what your girlfriend did, and even just this amount of grief was unbearable. 

You didn’t know how the footballer was even standing. 

Alexia’s eye’s silently pleaded with you to come in, so you did. You moved across the room before laying down on the bed next to her until the two of you were laying parallel, staring up at the ceiling together. You’re exhausted as well with all the stress and worry, but your first thought is always her. 

It always has been. 

No words are exchanged between the two of you for a long stretch of time. 

What is there to say? 

Your heart aches for her, and for her loss, for her family. Alexia screws her eyes shut, trying to regulate her own breathing. Everything about her feels erratic and out of control.

The footballer turns to her side, tucking herself into your body. She clutches to your arm tightly, forcing herself to copy your steady, dependable breathing. 

As much as she needs her Mami and Alba in this time, she has to work to be strong for them. She was the person they looked to, the decision maker, the leader. They need her, and she would kill herself before she neglected that need. 

But you are her strength, you always have been. You are the one who protects her, whose only thought is her. You have always been constant and steadfast for her through anything, a pillar of strength. She relies on you, and it scares the hell out of her. 

And yet you’re right there, and you seem to take it with a practiced ease that makes Alexia want to sob with gratitude. 

Loss engulfs her and brings her back, your steady hand in hers the entire time. There is rarely a moment when she needs you and you are not there for her, always attuned to her moods and thoughts. 

But then a huge curveball is thrown in Alexia’s way. 

Two weeks after her father passes away, Barcelona calls her. They are creating a women’s team, and though it is not professionalized, it is a team. 

Alexia accepts the request on the spot, not even stopping to consider the consequences. 

It doesn’t matter, the answer would still be yes. Her Mami and Alba are thrilled, quickly deciding that they all should move back to Barcelona together. It was time, and as much as they had built a community here in Madrid, Barcelona would always be home for them. 

Alexia goes to you that night and asks you to move with her. She explains her plan vividly, how you can go to school, she will play football, and you both can get part time jobs. You’ll get a little apartment together, actually start the beginning of your lives together. 

There was never a world in which you were not together, not with how happy you both were together. It was a no-brainer, an easy solution to a problem that had never existed. Life for her didn’t exist without you in it. 

Alexia would move first, and you would follow her in two months once you had received your university acceptance letter. It was a fool proof plan in the Catalans mind. 

At least, it had been a fool proof plan. 

The night before Alexia was scheduled to leave, you arrived at her door. The surprise and excitement on her face quickly gave way to intense concern when she saw the trepidation on your face. 

“Can I come in?” You asked gingerly, stepping inside as the Catalan made way for you to come into her house. 

“Yes, of course you can,” she replied, following you into her kitchen and taking a seat across from you at the table. For several moments there is silence as you seem to work up the courage to finally choke out the words you need to say. 

“I…I can’t come to Madrid with you Alexia,” you finally stated, your hands folded neatly in your lap

“What?” Alexia isn’t sure she heard you correctly, because certainly you couldn’t be saying what she thought you had said. 

“I have to stay here with my Mama, to help her with the boys and the house and everything. I’ll get a job for a year before going to school, I think,” you explained slowly. 

“I…okay. Are you sure Flori?” You nodded with clear reservation, but the brunette continued forward regardless. 

“Well then…we can call. And take the train to one another when possible, and then maybe when the boys are older you can come to – what is it?” Alexia’s voice grinded to a halt when she finally seemed to notice your despondent expression

“I cannot come Alexia, and I don’t know when I will be able to. I will be very busy, and I am sure you will be as well, so perhaps it’s for the best if–” You were cut off, unsurprisingly. 

“If what?” Alexia challenged, her anger flaring. It’s not really anger, it’s fear, and you see right through her. But still you do not yield, your expression entirely unreadable to the midfielder. 

It only makes her more and more mad that she cannot tell what is going on. 

“Are you just going to give all of this up? I don’t even know what life is like without you, and what – now it gets a little hard and you call it quits? Did you ever even care about me? Did you ever even love me, or has this whole time just been a huge li–”  Alexia yelled from across the table, her hands slamming down to splay on the wood in front of her. 

“Enough!” You yelled, standing suddenly. Alexia seemed surprised at your outburst, but there was nothing other than a quiet resignation across your expression. There was no anger or outrage or fury on your face, but rather a strange form of acceptance mixed with defeat. 

When you spoke again, it was with softness and finality as the footballer looked up at you. 

“I love you Alexia. And I am very excited about this new journey you are going on, even if it is not with me.” 

You walked over to her side of the table before bending down to press a kiss to her temple.  You slipped out the door in a flash. Alexia was so completely thrown off that she didn’t have an answer or a response, she didn’t even have time to stop you. 

She had never sobbed so hard in her entire life than she did at the dining room table that night. Grief had become her shadow, but this was an entirely new kind of grief. It poured over her, consuming her, and she for once found herself completely lost in it. 

When she arrives in Barcelona, it is with red rimmed eyes and a renewed resolve to make something of herself. 

If it meant losing you, it had to be important. 

—

Alexia left Madrid when she was eighteen. 

Barcelona Femeni wasn’t even a professional team, and she was a nobody who had come into the system with promise and drive but nothing to her name. 

Throughout the past nine years, so much had happened to her both personally and professionally. Barcelona was not the same team at all, having been professionalized a few years after she arrived. They were taken somewhat seriously now, with titles and dominance in the domestic league. Though the Champions League eluded them, Alexia knew it was coming. 

She was in the prime of her career, playing better football than she had ever expected herself. The brunette was achieving everything that she had wanted, and she remained hungry and focused toward the future. It was never enough for her, and she always thought she could be doing better. 

There were times though…when she stopped and wondered. 

Was it worth it? 

She wanted so badly to say yes instantly. Football was her passion, her purpose, it had always been her goal to be the best she could be. It had driven every decision she had made in her entire life, and she wanted so desperately to believe in it wholeheartedly. 

But there had always been a flicker of doubt. She held it closely to her heart, never sharing it with anyone, not even Alba or Eli. She did not want to seem weak or doubtful of her decision.

Her apartment was empty, devoid of practically any women, and that had been her choice. Even after all of these years, she couldn’t bring herself to commit to anyone long term. 

The brunette wanted to be angry at you for staying behind, but she couldn’t bring herself to really mean it. She loved you far too much, and the ache of missing you only seemed to strengthen as the years bled on. She had other women, she really tried, but never did she feel the same connection that she had with you. 

Alexia had admittedly tried to look for you, when her initial hurt had bled away in an embarrassingly short amount of time. But you were a ghost. 

The footballer wasn’t surprised, considering that you had never been a big social media person. She found some of your relatives online but their accounts were mostly private and rarely were you photographed. When she returned to Madrid for games, your family was gone from the home you had been raised in, and she wasn’t shameless enough to start banging on neighbors doors to find out more. 

Your phone number had seemingly changed by the time she worked up the nerve to call you, and eventually it just seemed wrong. You never reached out to her, at least not that Alexia was aware of. 

She had simply been forced to accept the fact that she had lost you, for reasons she still did not comprehend or understand. All it took was one singular month to lose both her father and her…to lose you, and that thought gnawed away at a piece of her soul relentlessly. 

But suddenly here you were. 

Nine years later, and here you stood right in front of her. 

“Hello Alexia,” you stated, your face a veil of carefully constructed neutrality, even if your heart beat was erratic beneath your dress. The sound of your voice seemed to bring Alexia back from wherever in her mind she had been. 

“Hi…hi there,” the brunette stuttered, resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. She couldn’t quite get herself to believe that you were standing in front of her. . 

“I know it’s been awhile but it’s…it's good to see you. Congratulations on your team's success these last few years,” you commented gently, a true smile on your lips. 

“Oh, yes, thank you very much. You…you follow the team?” Alexia inquired, her eyebrow furrowing in confusion. You had always been so apathetic to football, she never could have imagined you sitting in front of the television watching games. 

“Ever since you moved to Barcelona,” you confirmed with a nod of the head. Alexia felt her perplexity only ballon in size. 

If you still cared, why did you let her leave in the first place? Why did you give up so easily? 

A silence lapped over the two of you, but it was filled with so many unsaid words, so much tension that had never existed before. 

Alexia and you both looked the same, and yet somehow completely different. You could tell how much the footballer had grown into herself given the ease at which she stood, her hands tucked in her pants pockets loosely. There was an air of elegance and power to her, hazel eyes piercing into you with purpose. 

She looked at you as though she never wanted to look away again, and selfishly, you felt hope in your heart that perhaps…

“Are you with anyone?” You asked suddenly, surprising yourself with the forwardness. It could be interpreted as for the event specifically, but the potential broader implication suffocated you despite the fact that you were the one to ask the question. 

“No, I am not with anyone Flor–” Alexia cut herself off, seemingly realizing her mistake. 

It didn’t feel like much of a mistake to you, and you longed to hear the word come out of her mouth, just once more. If this was the end for the two of you, you would have sold anything you owned to hear her say it just once more. 

You nodded slowly, before replying that you were here alone as well. 

“Perhaps…perhaps we could go on a walk?” Alexia suggested, and you allowed her to set the pace of whatever you guys did together. After all, it had been you that had left in the first place, a fact that you would never forget. 

You nodded in affirmation, explaining that you needed to grab your clutch before you could meet her at the door. 

It was divine timing as well, considering that your boss had just let you off for the evening and you were planning to go home soon anyways. This was a more welcome surprise than whatever you had been planning in your mind. 

—

There was a wave of relief that rushed through Alexia when you appeared in the door frame a few minutes later, almost as though she was positive you were not going to arrive. But there you were, a light jacket thrown over your dress and a small purse in your hand. 

You both walked out of the event space together, silence lapping between the two of you as you continued forward. Alexia was struggling to organize her thoughts in any sort of productive way. She was so caught off guard by everything. 

She thought she would never see you again. 

“How long are you in Barcelona? Just for the weekend?” She questioned, her voice soft. You shook your head, your posture straight and somewhat tense. 

“No actually, I live here now. I moved a few years back,” you replied, voice unwavering. 

Alexia couldn’t help the stab of hurt that ran through her heart at that piece of information. She had always wondered deep down what she had done to cause all of this, why you had let her go. At first the distance was the only thing in Alexia’s mind to explain the break up, but now she knew you had been here for years. She didn’t understand it, even after nine years. Every piece of logical information told her that you had loved her, and yet here you were. 

Was any of this even salvageable? 

Did she want it to be? 

“Oh…I see,” her voice was flat, but in a way that oozed grief rather than true apathy. 

“I come to your games sometimes, once I moved out here,” you admitted, thinking of all the times you had sat up in the stands watching her play. The brunette glanced at you in clear shock, and you shrugged, unable to conjure an appropriate answer to explain yourself further. 

Things were…things had been so complicated. By the time all of it had cleared and the world made sense to you again, she was gone. You knew you had lost your opportunity to be with her, to be a part of her life. 

As much as it haunted you, it was the reality of your life. You never could have changed what happened, but that didn’t mean it cut you just as deep as it did Alexia. 

But perhaps there was hope for the two of you, here and now. Maybe it would be messy and complicated and painful, but it would be real. There was so much left unsaid between the two of you, and whether the two of you could face it headfirst or not would make or break the whole situation. 

“Where did we go wrong? How did all of this fall apart?” 

The question was sudden, a shock but not a surprise. 

You took a deep breath, stopping and looking back at Alexia. The Catalan had stopped walking when she had spoken, as though she was unable to move forward even an inch. Her hands were balled into fists, and everything about her body language communicated her discomfort. 

“Did I do something to make you stop loving me? Where did I mess up?” She questioned, nearly begged. 

Was her career worth losing this, losing you? 

Had she lost you? 

“Alexia, you did nothing wrong. You were perfect, you are perfect,” you promised, summoning every last bit of strength to imbue into your words. You walked back to her, reaching out carefully to place the backs of your fingers to her cheek, just barely touching the warm skin there. She closed her eyes at the feeling as tears burned in your eyes. 

“I lost you,” she whispered, both startled and settled that you still smelled the same, your perfume unchanged after all these years.

“I know, I know. But I’m right here now, I’m right here,” you vowed, still unsure and desperate of what to say. 

“I know that this is fucked up, and complicated, and it’s been years. I might as well be a stranger to you, but I need you to trust me when I say that nothing that happened was your fault. I made the decisions I did because it was what I had to do, but don’t for a minute think it didn’t kill me inside. Don’t you dare think I didn’t spend the last decade of my life missing you,” implored, almost as if trying to force her to understand the depth of your love, even after all this time. You turned your hand to cradle her cheek gently, your thumb stroking across the skin there as you spoke again. Your voice was barely audible, crackling with emotion. 

“Maybe this is crazy for me to say, but I don’t think I ever stopped loving you. And if I never see you after this, I want you to know how much I loved you. How much I still love you. ”

She reached her hand up to grasp at your wrist, holding your hand in place against her cheek. 

“Please don’t leave,” she murmured, and you nodded insistently. 

“I’m right here. I’m right here Ale.” 

The look of relief on her face at hearing you call her that was palpable. 

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stood there, lost in one another. It could have been a minute or a year, and you didn’t care. You would have stood there forever, content to ignore the rest of the world if Alexia remained this close to you. 

But eventually the telltale signs of rain began to stir, drops of water falling onto your jacket and in your hair. You pulled back, taking Alexia’s hand and squeezing it before you reached for your clutch. Opening the bag, you pulled out a business card and a pen, writing your personal number on the back of the card. 

“The number on this is my office, but the back is my cell. If you still want to…if you decide you want to talk more, call me,” you insisted lightly, placing the card in her hand. 

“I promise I’ll pick up,” you soothed after a moment, your words gentle. 

Alexia stared down at the card, at your loopy handwriting, for far too long. It reminded her of being fifteen, watching you write equations on the wall for tutoring. It was jarring, and it stirred up emotions she didn’t realize she had buried. 

When she looked up again you were gone, and yet not a single ounce of her felt alone as she stood on the sidewalk. 

She had a new possibility. The chance to return to who she was in her youth and understand the past. Or the option to continue forward in her career, focusing solely on football and her dedication to the sport while leaving the past behind. 

She had no idea what she would do, but at least for once she had the choice to decide.

[writeriguess]

Hey hun! Welcome back 😘

So, i have a kind of slow burn idea for a Bakugo x fem!reader fic. They both like each other and when she tries to ask him out or talk to him about it, he's kind of an ass 😅

He thinks she'll be in the way or a distraction to his goal, so he pushes her away. He can't get her out of his head though and their friends tell him he's being an idiot. Eventually, he cracks and tells her (in his very 'katsuki' way) that he does want to be with her.

Angst ending with lots of fluff, confessions, and a kiss please!

author's note: Thank you so much! <3 I just wanted to say that your idea was incredible, and I had such a great time writing it. It turned out to be much longer than I expected, but it was definitely worth it!

Heart of Dynamite

It started with stolen glances. You weren’t sure when you first noticed, but something about the way Bakugo Katsuki acted around you was different. He wasn’t nice, not by any stretch of the imagination, but there was something else buried beneath the rough edges and sharp remarks. A fleeting glance when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he always seemed to hover nearby during group exercises, subtly ensuring you didn’t get caught off guard.

You weren’t blind. You saw the way his crimson eyes would flick to you during lunch, only for him to look away just as quickly if you caught him. You noticed how his explosions during sparring would seem almost… controlled when directed your way—less destructive, more calculated. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you wonder. Enough to make you hope.

The problem was, Bakugo being Bakugo, he’d never admit to something as human as feelings. If he did like you, he was keeping it buried under a mountain of anger, pride, and whatever complicated emotions made up Katsuki Bakugo.

But still, the moments added up. And with each passing day, your crush grew stronger. You hated the way your heart fluttered when he called you by name instead of his usual nicknames for everyone else. You hated how you’d secretly look forward to his biting remarks because, in some twisted way, it was his version of paying attention to you.

And most of all, you hated how much courage it took to even consider confessing to him.

After weeks of agonizing over it, you finally decided you couldn’t live with the "what if." No matter what, you needed to know.

The opportunity came on a rare quiet evening at the dorms. Everyone else had gone out for karaoke, leaving you and Bakugo alone. He was sprawled on the couch in the common area, his arms crossed, staring at some mindless action movie playing on the TV.

You hovered at the doorway, your heart racing. You almost turned back, but then his gruff voice interrupted your thoughts.

"What the hell are you standing there for? You look like a damn idiot."

You flinched, but quickly steeled yourself. "I just… needed to ask you something."

His gaze flicked to you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "Then spit it out already. Don’t waste my time."

Your hands were clammy as you stepped closer, each word feeling heavier than the last. "Do you… want to go out with me? Like, on a date?"

For a moment, Bakugo just stared at you. His usual scowl didn’t shift, but you could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes—so quick you almost missed it. His jaw tensed, his hands clenching into fists on his lap.

Then, he scoffed. Loudly.

"You serious?" he said, leaning back against the couch like your question was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. "Why the hell would I want to go out with you?"

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your throat tightened, and your chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

"I mean, come on," he continued, his tone sharp and cutting. "What makes you think I’d waste my time on something dumb like that?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but not from embarrassment—from the sting of his rejection. You struggled to keep your voice steady. "I just thought… maybe—"

"Well, you thought wrong," he cut you off, his voice cold and unrelenting. "So stop acting like some lovesick idiot and get over it."

The silence that followed was unbearable. You felt like the floor had been ripped out from under you, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to step back.

"Got it," you said finally, your voice small and strained. You turned on your heel before he could see the tears pooling in your eyes.

Bakugo didn’t move. He stayed on the couch, staring at the TV that he wasn’t really watching. His nails dug into his palms, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

"Idiot," he muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if he was talking about you—or himself.

Hours passed, but Bakugo didn’t leave the couch. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind: the look on your face, the way your voice had cracked when he tore you down.

He hated himself for it. Hated the way he’d lashed out, even though he knew it was because he was terrified. Of what? He didn’t know. Maybe of admitting to himself that he cared. Maybe of the fact that you could make him feel so out of control with just one stupid question.

But now it was too late. He’d pushed you away.

You, on the other hand, locked yourself in your room, curled up on your bed, and let the tears flow. You couldn’t believe you’d been so stupid, so naive. Of course Bakugo didn’t like you. Of course he didn’t care. You’d just been projecting your feelings onto him, imagining things that weren’t really there.

Still, the hurt lingered. You tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter, that you’d move on, but the ache in your chest said otherwise.

Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting downstairs, fists clenched, consumed by his own turmoil. Because for all his bluster, he’d never wanted to hurt you. He just didn’t know how to deal with the truth: that he did like you, more than he was willing to admit.

Bakugo tried to convince himself that what he’d said to you was necessary. He had goals—real, tangible goals—and nothing, no one, was going to distract him. Becoming the Number One Hero wasn’t just a dream for him; it was a mission, an obligation, a destiny he was determined to carve out with his own blood, sweat, and tears. He didn’t need complications. He didn’t need feelings. He didn’t need you. That’s what he told himself over and over as he sat alone in his dorm room, glaring at the wall like it had personally offended him. His fists were clenched tightly in his lap, the tendons in his hands straining from the pressure.

But no matter how hard he tried to justify it, he couldn’t shake the image of your face from his mind. The way your expression had crumbled when he snapped at you, the hurt in your eyes as you turned and walked away—it all replayed in his head on an endless, agonizing loop. He could still hear your voice trembling when you’d asked him out, soft and vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to hearing from you. You weren’t the kind of person who let your guard down easily, and he’d taken that rare moment of courage and crushed it underfoot.

“Tch,” he growled under his breath, running a hand through his hair and gripping the strands in frustration. “Stupid.”

He thought that pushing you away would make things easier, but it didn’t. If anything, it made everything worse. You were everywhere. Every time he walked into a room, his eyes automatically searched for you, even when he told himself they wouldn’t. When you laughed with your friends, the sound sent an irritating warmth through his chest, only to be followed by a sharp pang of regret when he remembered the look on your face that night. During training, he found himself tracking your every move without even meaning to, his instincts on high alert every time you dodged an attack or threw a punch. He hated it. Hated how you’d wormed your way into his head and refused to leave. Hated how much he wanted to be near you, even after he’d made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with you.

It didn’t help that everyone else seemed to notice his turmoil. His friends had started giving him strange looks during meals, their eyes darting between him and you as if they were waiting for something to happen. Kirishima, in particular, had been annoyingly persistent, watching him with that infuriatingly knowing expression he always wore when he thought Bakugo was being an idiot. Bakugo did his best to ignore it, but the tension was impossible to escape.

One evening, when the others were hanging out in the common area, Kirishima finally confronted him. Bakugo had been sitting on the couch, staring at his phone without really looking at it, when Kirishima plopped down beside him with a heavy sigh. Mina and Kaminari weren’t far behind, hovering nearby like vultures waiting for a meal.

“Alright, spill it,” Kirishima said, his voice casual but firm. Bakugo barely spared him a glance.

“Spill what?” he snapped, his tone as sharp as ever.

“Don’t play dumb,” Mina chimed in, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at him. “You’ve been acting weird for days, and we all know why.”

“I’m not in the mood for this crap,” Bakugo growled, standing up to leave, but Kirishima quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Bakugo glared at him, his crimson eyes blazing. “Move.”

“Not until you admit what’s going on,” Kirishima said, his voice steady despite the obvious tension in the air. “You pushed her away, didn’t you?”

Bakugo froze, his scowl deepening. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Kirishima said, his tone unusually serious. “Come on, man. It’s so obvious you like her. Everyone can see it.”

“I don’t—”

“Save it,” Mina interrupted, stepping closer with a look that could cut through steel. “We’ve seen the way you look at her. And don’t even get me started on the way you lose your mind whenever she partners up with someone else during training. You care about her, and instead of doing something about it, you’re being a total dumbass.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t have time for this crap,” he muttered, shoving past Kirishima and heading for the door. But before he could leave, Kirishima’s voice rang out behind him, stopping him in his tracks.

“You think pushing her away will make you stronger,” Kirishima said, his voice softer now, almost sad. “But all you’re doing is proving how scared you are.”

Bakugo’s shoulders tensed, his hand gripping the doorknob so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out,” Kirishima continued, his tone unwavering. “But running from it won’t make it go away.”

For a moment, Bakugo didn’t move. The room was silent, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Finally, he yanked the door open and walked out, slamming it shut behind him without another word.

That night, Bakugo lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling with an intensity that could have set it on fire. Kirishima’s words echoed in his head, mingling with the memory of your voice and the image of your face. He hated how much it all got to him, how much he couldn’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard he tried. He hated the way his chest ached every time he thought about the hurt in your eyes and the way you’d walked away from him, your shoulders slumped in defeat. But most of all, he hated how much he wanted to see you again, to fix things, to say something—anything—that could make up for what he’d done.

Meanwhile, you were doing your best to move on. You’d been avoiding Bakugo as much as possible, throwing yourself into training and schoolwork to keep your mind occupied. It wasn’t easy, though. Every time you saw him, whether it was in class or during meals, you felt a sharp pang of hurt that refused to go away. You hated how much he still affected you, even after he’d made it painfully clear that he didn’t feel the same way.

But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you’d be fine without him, the ache in your chest lingered. You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been wrong to hope, if you’d been foolish to believe that he might have cared about you even a little.

Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting in his room, wrestling with his own feelings and cursing himself for the way he’d handled things. Because for all his bravado and pride, the truth was unavoidable: he couldn’t stop thinking about you. And the more he tried to push you out of his mind, the more you consumed his every thought.

The days following your rejection from Bakugo had been a haze of hurt and confusion. You tried to keep yourself busy—extra training, study sessions, anything to keep your mind from replaying the harsh way he’d dismissed you. But no matter how much you told yourself to let it go, it lingered. You still felt the sting of his words, the way he’d looked at you like you were an obstacle instead of someone he cared about. That wound didn’t heal easily.

You avoided him as much as you could. You’d shift to a different group during training, sit at the far end of the cafeteria during meals, and leave the common area whenever he showed up. It wasn’t as subtle as you hoped; your friends noticed, and you were pretty sure Bakugo did too. Still, you couldn’t face him—not after everything he’d said.

What you didn’t know was that your absence weighed on him far more than he let on.

Bakugo was not a man who easily admitted to mistakes. Pride had been ingrained in him from an early age, and he carried it like armor. But lately, that armor felt suffocating, like it was pressing in on him from all sides. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, couldn’t stop replaying the hurt in your eyes when he’d lashed out. Every time he saw you purposely turning away from him or laughing with someone else, he felt a sharp pang of regret that he didn’t know how to fix.

Kirishima’s words lingered too. “You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out. But running from it won’t make it go away.” As much as Bakugo wanted to punch him for saying it, he knew it was true. He’d been running from his feelings because they terrified him. You terrified him—not because you were weak, but because of how much power you had over him without even realizing it. And that was what scared him most of all.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. Watching you avoid him, knowing he’d been the one to hurt you—it was eating him alive. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to explode.

That’s what led him here, standing awkwardly a few feet away from where you sat on the bench outside. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too focused on the notebook in your lap. For a moment, he hesitated, his chest tightening with something unfamiliar. Was this… nerves? He growled under his breath, frustrated with himself. He was Bakugo Katsuki, for crying out loud. He didn’t get nervous.

“Oi.” His voice came out rougher than he intended, and you jumped slightly, startled by his sudden presence.

You looked up, your eyes widening for a split second before your expression hardened. “What do you want?”

Bakugo flinched at the coldness in your tone, though he tried to hide it. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” you asked, already sounding exasperated. “If this is about training or some stupid lecture—”

“It’s not about training,” he cut in, stepping closer. His jaw tightened as he tried to find the right words. He wasn’t good at this, but he had to try. “It’s about what I said to you before.”

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into your expression. “Why are you bringing that up now? You already made your feelings perfectly clear, Bakugo. I don’t need to hear it again.”

He winced at the way you said his name—so formal, so distant. You used to call him Katsuki, back when things were simpler. Back when he hadn’t ruined everything.

“Just shut up and listen for a second, will you?” he snapped, though there was no real heat in his voice. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I… I screwed up, alright? I said some shit I didn’t mean, and I hurt you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your expression softened slightly, but your arms remained crossed, a barrier he knew he’d have to break through. “Then why did you do it? Why push me away if you didn’t mean it?”

“Because I’m a goddamn idiot,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. His gaze dropped to the ground, his fists clenched at his sides. “I thought… I thought if I let myself like you, I’d lose focus. That you’d get in the way of my goals.”

“And now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Now I know that’s total bullshit,” he said, finally looking up to meet your eyes. “You don’t make me weaker. You make me want to be better. And no matter how much I tried to ignore it, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re in my head all the damn time, and it’s driving me insane.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, but you still hesitated. “You really hurt me, Katsuki,” you said softly, the pain evident in your voice. “I don’t know if I can just forget that.”

He stepped closer, his gaze intense and unwavering. “I’m not asking you to forget it. I’m asking for a chance to fix it. I was a dumbass, and I don’t deserve it, but… I want to try. With you.”

The vulnerability in his voice was so raw, so uncharacteristic, that it left you speechless. You searched his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was regret and determination.

“Katsuki…” you began, your voice trembling slightly.

“Look, I know I’m not good at this,” he interrupted, his hands twitching at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “I’m not some smooth-talking idiot like Kaminari, and I’m probably gonna screw up a hundred more times. But I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m not gonna hurt you again.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his words sank in. This was Bakugo Katsuki—the same boy who never admitted when he was wrong, who bulldozed his way through life without looking back. And here he was, laying his pride at your feet, just for a chance to make things right.

“You’re really bad at this, you know,” you said finally, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

He huffed, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly my strong suit.”

You laughed softly, the sound making his chest tighten in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. For the first time in weeks, you felt the tension between you start to dissolve.

“So, what now?” you asked, taking a tentative step closer.

“Now I do this,” he said, his voice low as he reached out to cup your face in his hands. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he leaned in. His crimson eyes searched yours for a moment, and when you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance and kissed you.

The kiss was tentative at first, almost shy, but it quickly deepened as you responded, your hands reaching up to grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer. He kissed you like he was trying to make up for every moment he’d wasted, pouring all the unspoken feelings he couldn’t put into words into that one act.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads resting together, you were both breathless. He smirked, his usual cocky confidence creeping back in. “Told you I’d make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “You’ve got a long way to go, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed the gruffness of his tone. “Guess I’ll just have to stick around and prove it.”

And for the first time in weeks, everything felt right.

Feel free to request <3

[seoups]

close as strangers - y. itadori

yuji thought everything would be the same when he came back. cw: angst w a bittersweet ending song: close as strangers by 5sos a/n: if i have an opportunity to write angst, i will take it.

"TELLING YOU I HAVENT SEEN YOUR FACE IN AGES. FEELS LIKE WE'RE AS CLOSE AS STRANGERS."

Yuji spent an entire month picturing this moment.

In every spare moment- between training in the basement, laughing with Gojo, and going on missions with Nanami- he thought about you.

He daydreamed about seeing your face again. About wrapping you in one of the tightest hugs he could manage and spinning you around until you laughed and smacked his shoulder as hard as you could, so he’d put you down.

He thought about sitting next to you at lunch and stealing bites from your food, sending you stupid TikTok’s that made you giggle at late hours, walking you back to your dorm room after missions just to talk to you a little longer.

And when he finally saw you standing there with Megumi and Nobara, he thought- Finally.

“Hey! Didja miss me?” He grinned, expecting a dramatic reaction. “You absolute dumbass,” Nobara scoffed, slamming a fist into his shoulder that was a touch too hard to be playful. Megumi let out a sigh of exasperation, “Welcome back.” Yuji laughed, rubbing his arm where Nobara had punched him, and turned to you, “And you? I bet you were devastated without me!” You blinked at him, lips parting, eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, after a second too long, you smiled, “Yeah, I missed you a lot.”

It wasn’t what you said. It was how you said it. Like you were forcing the words out. Like you weren’t sure if they were true.

For the first time since he’d come back from the dead, Yuji felt uneasy.

He told himself things would go back to normal. You just needed time. You were probably still in shock. Afterall, he had died. That was a lot to deal with.

So, he gave you space. He didn’t want to push you further than you were ready. But after a few days of dry texts and halfhearted smiles, he decided enough was enough.

“Let’s go out.” You looked up from your textbook, brows knit together, “What?” “On a date! Y’know. Movies, snacks, maybe the arcade? Classic,” He grinned, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Come on, it’ll be fun! It’s been forever since we hung out. Plus, I heard human earthworm 4 is in theatres.”

You hesitated.

And that hesitation hit him harder than any curse ever could.

“Yuji…” you sighed, closing your book. “I don’t know if-” “Oh, nope- none of that!” He wagged a finger at you. “No excuses! You need a break. I need to make up for lost time. And I want to spend time with you, so… let’s go!”

There was an ounce of desperation in his voice that he hoped you couldn’t hear.

You stared at him for a long moment. Then, finally you agreed.

Relief flooded his chest so fast it made him lightheaded. Maybe things could go back to normal.

They couldn’t.

Yuji had tried everything. Everything he’d done with you before. New things. None of it was working.

He took you to a movie and cracked jokes through the trailers, but you had barely laughed. He won you a stuffed dog from a claw machine but you didn’t tease him for going all out like you normally would.

He filled the silence with endless conversation- jumping from one random topic to the next- but your answers were always short, your laughter never quite reaching your eyes.

It was like trying to hold onto something that was slipping through his fingers.

But Yuji was good at ignoring things. He could push down the sting in his chest and drown it out with more conversation, more jokes, more desperate attempts at being normal. But when he walked you back to your dorm room and reached for your hand, you pulled away.

It wasn’t dramatic. Not like you were disgusted or unhappy with it. Just… instinctively. Like you didn’t even realize you were doing it. Yuji felt his heart shatter.

He didn’t bring it up.

Instead, he tried harder. He called you every night, sent you stupid tiktoks, and went out of his way to be around you.

And at first, you humored him. You answered his calls, texted back, and sat with him at lunch.

But it was different.

And deep down, he knew that too.

He just couldn’t admit it.

Because if he admitted it, then he’d have to face it. And he wasn’t prepared for that.

The night he finally let himself say it out loud, it was raining.

You sat across from him in a tiny ramen shop that Yuji had sworn was amazing, your hands curled around a steaming bowl, looking exhausted. Not just physically- but in the way you held yourself, in the way you looked at him, like this conversation had been waiting to happen for a long time.

Yuji gripped his chopsticks a little too tightly, feeling the developing indent on his fingers, “You’re different.” You exhaled slowly, staring down at your food, “So are you.” His chest tightened, “I don’t want to be.” For the first time that night, you looked him in the eyes, “Neither do I.”

Silence.

The rain pattered against the windows, the hum of ongoing conversations around them buzzing like static.

Finally, Yuji spoke, his voice quieter than usual, “We’re not us anymore, are we?” You swallowed hard, “No, I don’t think we are.”

He should have seen this coming. Maybe he had seen it coming and had just been in denial.

“I really wanted this to work,” his voice cracked, barely above a whisper. You nodded, “Me too.”

Another long pause.

Then, you reached across the table, reading your hand in his, “You’re still my favorite person, Yuji.”

His breath hitched.

Yuji forced a small smile on his face, not allowing this to end on a heavy note, “Yeah?” You smiled, tired but real, “yeah.” He flipped his hand, curling his fingers around yours, “You’re mine too.”

You squeezed his hand, just once. And then, slowly, you let go.

And this time, Yuji let you.

[graciedollie]

Hii, sorry for sending so many requests but you have the best writing on this app and I can't imagine asking for anyone else. I would like you to do one in which the reader is an artist who makes Brazilian "baroque" paintings, but is embarrassed to show them because they are very expressive, until Grayson sees one of them and is amazed, sorry for the very specific request!, I saw your other one chefGrayson's post and wanted to order one too do this in your own time!❤️‍🩹

Grayson x Artist!Reader

warnings:nothing too drastic honestly, completely sfw and takes place in modern au

a/n: sorry for not posting a whole lot, just been burnt out and busy handling school :( hope you enjoy bby

you were a bit embarrassed with the art you’ve created. People would have a tendency to say your art piece is too…’expressive’ or ‘too out there for their liking’—which you wanted them to be expressive. baroque paintings have always caught your heart and you’ve spent long periods of time trying to conjure a beautiful piece similar to that; specifically the Brazilian Baroque painting styles. It brought you a sense of comfort and tranquility whenever you would just let your mind take over the brush and just relax.

It felt as if art was your place of sanctuary (that is when someone did open their mouth with nagging about how your art is too expressive and explicit)

It took you a while to become more comfortable at sharing your art, especially to the great world of social media. You would start to, first, post your artwork on tiktok. It went ok, but you would have some comments, such as: “oh…” “oh! that’s not…” “oh honey no.” and etc. It was tiktok for fuck’s sake, what did you expect. It was a little downing to have comments like that, but you would have other comments that would hype your artwork and even encourage you to post more, which you did, but you were just a bit hesitant..

A few days would go to pass and you’d become more comfortable with sharing your art on other platforms, tiktok, facebook, etc. You name it. Ofc there were some slightly mean comments, but you’ve gotten more positive ones and it made you feel a whole less shitty about what you were passionate about. Seeing the lovely comments showing you love and support with your art, that would be deemed as too expressive, made you feel so soooo much better and you couldn’t be more grateful for the support <3!!

Despite some of the comments being complete assholes.

One day, you needed to get some pain and brushes for this new artwork you wanted to try out and you were honestly ecstatic about it!! You stop by a new shop that seller some of the best paint called ‘Artistic Haven’. You’ve passed it multiple times, but never really had the chance to stop by—and boy did you wish you did sooner.

As you stumble into the nice shop with a sense of lavender and shaved wood hitting your nose, enjoying the warm aroma wafting to your nose. A woman, who appeared to be much older, turned to you with a welcoming smile etched on her lips—causing pretty smile lines to grace her skin. “Well, hello, Dear. How can I be of help, hm?” Her voice was raspy and husky, loving the way she used the sweet name in such a tone.

You’d tell her the stuff you needed and she was happy to help you pick out what you needed. As she was doing so, she couldn’t help but notice the way you would stare at her for longer than a couple seconds, but she just brushed it off with a chuckle “So, if I may ask, what do you like to paint, hm? I’m sure a woman as yourself can really create some great stuff, yes?” She had a sweet smile etched on her lips as her brow was raised while she handed you the items necessary—oil paint, new canvases, and other miscellaneous.

It felt like you were out on the spotlight with the sudden ask, but it was not big deal. You just felt a bit off since you knew how people would react if they saw your artwork and you did not want to embarrass yourself on the fine morning of 10:54 am. Though, she seemed sweet enough and wouldn’t judge—hopefully. “I, um…I actually like to paint Brazilian baroque paintings. I just like to recreate some or just do some on my own..” You admitted with a sheepish smile, noticing the way her brows raised with curiosity and was intrigued. “Mm, that’s sounds quite nice. Do you have any photos of your work? If it’s not an issue, I’d like to see.”

You could practically feel the stupid grin appearing on your face atp.

Your breath hitched your throat at her words before giving her a firm nod with a sheepish smile as you pulled your phone out, showing her the various amount of work you’ve created and poured tears and sweat in. Your eyes darted between the phone and her, trying to gauge her expression as she squinted her eyes to see the many of pictures. With a couple of minutes looking, an approved hum slipped from her lips as she gave you a sweet smile, “These pieces are absolutely gorgeous. You definitely have a gift, dear.”

She couldn’t help but adore the way you really captured that baroque style. The use of contrast, intense emotion, grandeur, and the way you drew the naked body gracefully. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t find your art absolutely stunning and very telling. She absolutely loved seeing how much dedication and effort into such a art piece—even the difficult ones. She loved to see one who shows effort and dedication to something they love and express themselves into. That’s what art mean to her, even though she didn’t do much painting herself.

The way her eyes stared into yours and the sound of her voice practically praising you, it felt as if your stomach would explode with the amount of fluttering that was occurring. A small chuckle slipped from your lips as you put your phone away, shrugging with a soft scoff. “Thank you…i’ve just been hesitant on showing people my work..” “Why is that, if I may ask?”

You glanced over at her as you two began to walk over to the register to check all your items, chuckling nervously as you shrugged again, “They’re too…expressive. That’s what people say most of the time.” She started to scan your items with quick precision before bagging them up and handing over the bag with a warm smile. “They’re expressive in the best way. You’ve got a precious gift, love and a good heart also. Your art only captures the beauty of things on the deeper end and that what makes art ‘art’, my dear.”

You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t want to just hug her right then and there, because you did. This random lady just gave you the most encouraging words and she probably doesn’t even realize it. A stupid grin tugged at your lips as you took your bag, looking over at her with a softened gaze. “Ya know, rather you realize it or not, you’ve certainly made my week.” Your words earned a hearty chuckle from her, feeling the way your heart quickened at the sound.

“That so? I’m honored to do such.” She leaned against the counter with a small smirk etched on her face, scanning over you with an observing gaze. You bit your lip as you fought to not embarrass yourself and you barely managed. “You have a name?” You mentally slapped yourself. Of course she had a damn name. She chuckled softly at your words, “Grayson, dear. And yours?” You told her your name and she gave a warm smile, “a pretty name for a pretty lady as yourself.”

oh yeah, you’d definitely be coming back again and again.

this might’ve been a bit shitty but we’re slowly gettin back in the groove 🫶🏾 hope you enjoyed bby’s!!

taglist!!

@thesevi0lentdelights

[taruruchi]

𝐃𝐚𝐲 2: 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 3

Post-overblot Azul

I got a sudden vision of an unseen scene that happened in the main story, and in this essay, I will entertain the question:

What happened after Azul's overblot?

This is mainly reliant on the fact that the overblot students have to recover after their overblot. Because it took a lot out of them, right? So they're stuck in the infirmary for a few days and can't go about their regular duties (If they didn't and I'm remembering wrong, idc they have to stay in the infirmary now bc I say so)

I imagine that after each overblot, the prefect has to bring homework and stuff to whoever just overblotted, like Riddle in Chapter 1, Leona in Chapter 2, etc. because they're the resident Errand Runner

Azul has a bigger workload since he's running Mostro Lounge too. Now, Jade and Floyd and the other Octavinelle students can take over, sure, but it's not like he can just put it aside while he's recovering in the infirmary. He gets restless and bothered that he's not there to look after his business. So the prefect has to bring both his schoolwork and those Mostro Lounge documents he looks over

And this is where I start talking about this in terms of the version in my head, aka the version with Taruchi

The first day after The Incident, Taruchi heads to the infirmary after class to give Azul all his stuff. She's already done this for the previous overblot students

"Hii... How are you doing? Are you doing okay?"

Azul looks up from the papers he's holding—the financial losses of the other day—and finds the prefect peeking from behind the curtains separating the beds

"Prefect? I wasn't expecting you here. I'm doing fine, thank you."

"Just dropping off your stuff. ...Are you working???"

She spots the papers scattered on his bed.

"Ah— Yes, I was calculating the amount of losses Mostro Lounge experienced yesterday."

Taruchi gets closer and looks at all the papers. "...Need any help?"

"I couldn't possibly ask you to do that. It's all right," he declines.

"No, you're not feeling well. You should rest. And I'm decent at math, I'm sure it won't be too hard."

"No, seriously, it's fine."

Taruchi frowns at his insistence to keep working despite needing to recover. "...Fine. Just... don't overwork yourself, okay? You haven't completely recovered yet."

"Sure. Thank you, prefect."

"No problem. I'll, uh, I'll go back to my dorm now. Hope you get well soon."

She comes back the next day on her second round of "errands."

"Helloo, I'm back." This time she has a small smile on her face as she greets him.

"Ah, hello, prefect." Azul naturally smiles in return.

"What are you doing today?" He's got papers around him again.

"It's for Mostro Lounge again." He rubs his temple as he looks at the papers. "I need to think of a way to make up for our losses."

"Ohh... How are you gonna do that?" she asks curiously, and half as a way to make it less awkward.

He ends up talking about Mostro Lounge for a while and his plans, so she just listens and asks questions. Her mind wanders a bit to the realization that he's very dedicated to and passionate about his business. She tries not to smile.

Then he stops for a bit and inquires of her, "I meant to ask, why are you here? For longer than yesterday, I mean. You dropped off my things already, so did you need my assistance with something?" Was he trying to fish for a deal right now? Even after his lesson about taking advantage of people's problems and luring them into contracts?

"Oh, n-no. I didn't need any help. I was just visiting." No chance to rope her into a deal.

"...I see."

"I'm sorry, do the visits disturb you? I know you should be recovering and resting up..." She's never felt this nervous about her post-overblot infirmary visits before. (Well... Maybe. Leona was pretty intimidating to bring homework to... He kept trying to get her to keep it.)

"Not at all. I don't mind." He gives his charming smile. In his mind, he's just trying to get her to like him and lower her guard so she doesn't hold these errands and visits against him or something. As if he was the one who forced her to do this. (It was Crowley. And partially Grim because he left her alone for the reason of wanting to go back to the dorm early to "do homework.")

"Oh, okay." She checks the time on her phone. "Ahh, I need to go back to my dorm now. Grim's waiting for me and I've actually got homework to do..."

A light bulb lights up in Azul's head. This would be his way of making it up to her. (Making what up to her? His reasoning is the trouble of helping during his overblot and sending over his schoolwork and Mostro Lounge work.)

"I could help you, if you'd like."

She smiles and tries to decline. She just wants to go to her dorm. "Oh, no, it's all right, I can do it by myself—"

"I insist. I offer my services all the time. See this as my way of repaying you for all the trouble I put you through."

Now she felt guilty and couldn't say no. "Really...?" she asks hesitantly. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay, then..." She sits back down on his bed and takes out her homework.

After an hour or somewhere around that, she packs up. "Huh, I actually got a lot done today." She smiles. "Thank you so much, Azul."

And he smiles back. Only to be polite, of course. "It was no problem. Feel free to see me tomorrow as well."

"All right. Thank you." She keeps smiling and finishes packing up her things. "So I'll go now. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

See you tomorrow... Azul found himself smiling at that one phrase, but stopped as soon as he realized it. Why was he smiling anyway?

Taglist: @solxima @angelwishess @scint1llat3 @distant-velleity @twtysevapr @cynthinesia @h0neybane @viperbunnies @linabirb @thehollowwriter @wafflethewitchboy @siphoklansan @jewelulu @skibidibabygirl @jadelover69 (ask me if you wanna be added/removed!)

Divider credits: @/cafekitsune and @/roseraris

[bellysoupset]

Wendy was in god's most awkward position, panting and covered in sweat, when her phone started ringing from across the room.

Her teacher threw her a dirty glare, "phones on silent, please," the yoga instructor scoffed, gesturing for Wendy to go turn off her phone.

She crawled on the mat, still panting and wiping her sweaty hands on her shorts before swiping on her screen to unblock it. She was fully expecting it to be a call from Bell after that horrible hospital morning and the news that hadn't been fully digested yet, but no. Instead it was Vince's name.

So her heart sunk down to her stomach when the name displayed across the screen was no other than her boyfriend's. Vince knew her schedule of classes by heart and he never called during those hours. Besides he was much more of a texter, sending her a million texts throughout his day.

"Vin?" Wendy whispered, picking up the call and stepping outside of the classroom. She stood in the hallway, pressing her back against the cold wall, "honey?"

A sob answered her and Wendy's heart picked up, "Vince? Answer me, what's wrong?"

"Max, he- I- I... Can you come over? Please? I- We were hiking and he- there was so much blood, I-" he wasn't making any sense, clearly shook to his core, "the bone was sticking out-"

"Vince," Wendy forced a calm she didn't feel, walking back to the room to grab her ditched purse and power walking out of the building, "is he alive?"

"What...?" His voice, that had been far away, snapped back to the present, startled, "Yes! Yeah!"

Wendy let out a sigh of relief, "what happened, honey?" she clicked her car keys, whole body and face tingling from the sudden change of temperatures between the chilly night and the hot yoga class.

"We were hiking and I- I don't know... His foot got stuck? Then he was screaming and I-" Vince interrupted himself with a gag and Wendy silently cursed. It took a lot to freak out Vin to this degree, even if he was a sensitive man, he was normally pretty calm.

"It was his foot then?" she ushered him to continue, driving out of the parking lot, "take a breath, Vin."

Vince out the air slowly, shakily, "yes... An-ankle."

Good. Much better than the gruesome scenarios Wendy had been conjuring up. She thanked the fact ER had prepared her for almost anything when it came to ugly injuries.

"How long ago was that, Vin?" Wendy turned the second exit, as her phone finally connected to the bluetooth of her car. She dropped the device on the passenger side, focusing on the road.

"I don't know, I- Wendy there was so much blood," Vince's voice turned into a whimper, "and he just- went out. Wouldn't wake up."

He had gone into shock, which was more than expected considering an exposed fracture. Wendy cringed, wishing she could pull her boyfriend into a hug as she heard his ragged breaths.

"Honey," Wendy said slowly, "Vin, listen to me. Is he in surgery?"

"Ye-yes..." Vince sniffled.

"Okay, how long ago was he wheeled in?"

"Uh- About fifteen minutes ago..."

"Alright honey," she softened her voice, "I want you to go eat something, ok?" Wendy knew better than to ask him to go home. This was her boyfriend she was talking about, the most loyal man she had ever met. He wasn't going to leave, "wash your face, get something with carbs to eat and a warm drink. He won't be out for at least an hour and the anesthesia will take even longer to fade."

"Okay..." Vince took a deep breath, then asked in a small voice, "you're coming over?"

"I'm on the road already," Wendy reassured him, and thanked her stars it was a Friday. She wasn't scheduled for that weekend, "Max is going to be fine, Vin. I know it was scary, but it's an ankle fracture, he'll be absolutely fine," although probably a little traumatized and very pissed, Wendy huffed at the mental image of the blonde's characteristic scowl.

Vince let out a sigh and she could almost see him nodding, his voice soundly relieved, "okay... I'll see you in a bit."

"I love you," she told him and Vince let out another small sob.

"I love you too. Thank you for calming me down..."

"Anytime, my love," Wendy promised, "I'll see you soon, please eat!"

---------------

Vince raised from his chair like a lighting bolt had struck him, jumping up as soon as he heard her voice. Wendy was barely through the doors, before he was wrapping her into a tight hug, which was entirely for his benefit.

He crushed her to his chest, causing Wendy to gasp when his bear hug cut off her air supply. Vince let out a sigh, loosening up the grip just a tad.

"Oh honey," Wendy cooed, tiptoed in order to cup his face, noticing the red tear tracks and how overly shiny his eyes were. She squeezed her arm around him, pressing a kiss over his chest, "I got you."

Vince kissed the top of her head, letting out a shuddering breath, "it was horrible," he grumbled, pulling back and gesturing to the bed. Max was passed out, face slack and pale, blonde hair covering the pillow.

His left foot was in a cast and sticking out, lifted to avoid the swelling.

Wendy unwrapped herself from Vince, walking closer and moving without thinking, brushing Max's hair back, "no complications through the surgery?"

"No..." Vince collapsed back on the chair he had been occupying, "it was my fault."

"Tripping and falling on a hike sounds like an accident, Vin," Wen rolled her eyes, moving her had to check Max's pulse on his neck. Steady, calm.

"No," Vince groaned, folding forward and cradling his forehead in his hand, elbow on his knee, "I pushed him too far, I- I fucked with his head, that's why he wasn't paying attention..."

Wendy frowned, moving away from the bed and crouching down next to Vince, resting her hands on his leg, "whatever do you mean?"

"I asked him if he was lonely, the conversation sorta turned into a fight- He wasn't paying any attention to where he was walking..."

"Vince," Wendy let out a huff, squeezing his thigh, "the world does not revolve around you. Max didn't fall and break his ankle because of your fight, he would've probably fallen regardless. It was a hike, hikes are risky," she took his hand, kissing his palm, "and you're here, aren't you?"

Vince's chin trembled just slightly, jaw clenching, and he nodded, avoiding her eyes. Wendy let out a sigh, standing up and pressing a kiss to his temple.

Immediately he wrapped both arms around her waist and pressed his head to her chest, trying to hide from the sight of Max flat on the bed.

Wendy curled her fingers into his hair, there were the vestiges of a braid, but by now most of his curls were lose and there were leaves sticking out. She fished them out, kissing the top of his head, just as Vince pulled back and frowned.

"Why are you in gym clothes?"

"Well, my boyfriend called right when I was in yoga class- I didn't even pack a bag," Wendy cringed at the fact she was still sweaty and in her matchy gym set, "you sounded really distraught."

Vince let out a huff, leaning back in and planting a kiss in the valley between her boobs, "I was. Hell, I am. You have some clothes at my place, wanna go change? Get a shower?"

"Is this your way of saying I'm stinky?" Wendy teased him, rubbing her chin on the top of his head, "I'd rather stay until he wakes up, it'll probably be soon, the surgery was hours ago."

"Hopefully, stinky," Vince grinned up at her, pulling Wendy to sit on his lap and leaned back on the chair, smile fading as he watched Max splayed on the bed, "I feel like I keep getting into fights lately, maybe the issue its me."

Wendy frowned, she had heard the tale of Vince and Luke's fight. Twice, once through Vin, then Bella's version distorted by Luke's emotions, and Wen might have been biased, but she didn't think Vin was in the wrong.

She was flattered Lucas had jumped to her defense, specially considering how betrayed she had felt a year before when Luke knew Vince would be leaving and hadn't given her a heads up, but she understood why Vince had been so offended over Lucas' implied accusation.

Wendy leaned in, pressing her forehead to Vince's and cooing softly, "I don't think so, honey," Wendy kissed his cheek, "I'd tell you if you were making an ass out of yourself, but I really don't think you are."

Vince huffed, not quite believing her and Wendy settled in his arms, looking in Max's direction. Max wasn't a frail dude by any means, and yet her heart couldn't help but squeeze at the sight of him. There were bruises on his brow and on his right cheek, from the fall, and the hospital gown made him look even more pale.

Vince squirmed under her, getting more comfortable, resting his chin on top of her head and Wendy leaned back, exhaustion of driving 4 hours after a full day of work and the emotional punch of that morning with Bella and Luke catching up with her. She let out a yawn, pressing her forehead to his neck and closing her eyes.

Wendy woke up with Vince moving. She was a heavy sleeper, so only her boyfriend literally moving her was capable of waking her up and it took her a minute to situate herself.

Vince wasn't looking at her, but ahead and she followed his gaze. Max's eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, clearly a little high from the general anesthesia.

"Max, are you alright?" Vince asked and Wendy stumbled up with him, rubbing her eyes and moving closer to the bed.

The blonde was blinking heavily, lips so pale they were blending with his skin. He jerked at Vin's voice, turning his head in his direction and frowned, "Vin...?" his voice came out raspy, a grimace taking up his face, "what- what happened-" Max eyes widened and he glanced ahead, to his foot, panicked, "my leg-"

"Hey," Wendy's medical training kicked in before Vince could say anything. She circled her boyfriend, planting a hand on Max's shoulder, "you're alright now. Look at me- You're alright, okay?"

His eyes were still panicked as he blinked profusely, then nodded, gulping down, "I don't... I don't feel well..." he swallowed in, "m'dizzy..."

"Wen?!" Vince's voice was worried, asking for an explanation and she shushed him waving in his direction, without looking away from the blonde.

"It's the anesthesia," she pushed Max's hair back, "deep breaths, slowly," she looked around the room, searching for an emesis bowl. There was a metal one resting on the small bedside table and Wendy gestured for it, Vince obeying without her needing to ask.

Max let out a groan, his head lolling and eyes struggling to stay open, "what- What are you doing here...?"

Wendy let out a little hysterical giggle, as he finished his sentence with a weak gag and she caught the vomit in the emesis bowl, placing it right under his chin. He didn't even seem sick, just totally out of it.

"Can I sit him up?" Vince hovered around, but Wendy shook her head.

"Don't move him, the pain will make him sicker," she planted a hand on Max's cheek, moving his head so he wasn't half pressing his face to the pillow while puking, "sweetheart, are you with us?"

Max gulped down, nodding, and then a little burp escaped him, followed by a much larger wave of vomit. He let out a whimper, eyes squeezed shut, "m'head..."

"Shhh, I know," Wendy pressed the nurse's button, keeping the bowl steady, "get it up, honey."

Vince was chewing on his lip, hands ghosting over Max's opposite arm, clearly distraught by how helpless he was.

"Can you get him some water?" Wendy asked, despite knowing Max wouldn't want to drink it, just so Vince would have a task at hand. He nodded eagerly, before rushing out of the room and Max gagged again, whining as he burped up another wave.

He coughed, forcefully clearing his throat and spitting out the ropes of saliva, wrinkling his nose, "oh gross..."

Wendy smiled at him, lowering the emesis bowl but not moving it away, "better?"

Max nodded, although he gagged once more, this one not productive, "what are you doing here...?"

"Vin called me, you really spooked him," Wendy carefully planted the emesis bowl away from him, gesturing down Max's body, "that was a nasty fracture you got, Max."

"Ugh, yeah, tell me about it," Max rubbed at his face, seeming to regain his strength, "there was a whole bone out..." he shuddered and Wendy grimaced in sympathy.

"I guess you're not walking around any time soon," she sat on the edge of his mattress, "how's your head? Still dizzy?"

"No," Max frowned, "pounding, but I'm fine... Vince called you?"

He sounded genuinely confused and Wendy fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was a mystery to her how Max failed to see what was obvious to Wendy from the get go, that Vince wanted him in his life.

"Yes, sobbing," she confided, looking over her shoulder to make sure her boyfriend wasn't coming back. She could see his silhouette through the small frosted glass window, "here comes your doctor."

True to her prediction, trailing after Vince, was the doctor in charge, who threw Wendy a glare as he saw her perched on the edge of Max's mattress.

They carefully assessed Max's ankle, then his head since he was claiming to have a headache, before clicking a button on his mattress and the whole thing tipped forward, pushing him into a sitting position.

Max let out a whine at the movement, before it turned into a sigh of relief as he was almost sitting up.

"We're going to keep you overnight, Mr. Daniels, but you're free to go home as soon as there's the shift change," his doctor continued to speak and Wendy blinked heavily against sleep as this was familiar territory, "you shouldn't be alone on the first twenty four hours home, do you have anyone to be with you? Otherwise we can arrange you another night at the hospital-"

"He does," Vince interjected, "I'll stay with him."

Without looking up from his clipboard, the doctor nodded, then opened a smile, "that's all. You can click the button for more painkillers, I've instructed the nurses on the amount already, and dinner should be coming up soon. I expect you to eat."

Max made a nauseous face, but nodded, lips curling in disgust, "yessir..."

The doctor glanced at Wendy, "no climbing on your boyfriend's bed, he needs rest," he squinted at her, before turning around and leaving the room.

Vince let out a scoff, rolling his eyes and Wendy shrugged, her face aflame. Between them, Max yawned, "you heard him, no climbing on my bed," he said, smugly, before closing his eyes, "thank you for being here..."

Wendy had no idea if he meant her or Vince, but she smiled nonetheless, combing her fingers through his hair as the rest of anesthesia knocked him out once again.

[schrijverr]

I Know That, because I Married Him for It

Divergence from chapter 20, where Chimney finds out Buck and Eddie are married from a high Eddie and then has to deal with keeping it secret; an impossible task for him.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (pre-slash)

Warning: non consensual drug use

~~~

Maddie has just carted Buck off in her car, which had been more trouble than Chimney expected, since him and Eddie have apparently become conjoined under the influence of whatever drug is in their system right now.

However, the two of them succeeded …leaving him with a now crying Eddie. Great.

Chimney very much did not sign up to be a tripsitter – well, maybe he had being a paramedic and all, but still – and it has been more stressful than expected. Though that can be attributed to it being his friends and colleagues that were drugged with an unknown substance by an unknown assailant at an unknown time somewhere today.

Anyway, that is not for Chimney to worry about. Chimney needs to worry about Eddie being okay until his aunt can come pick him up. And right now Eddie is crying, which means Chimney will have to do something about that.

He gingerly makes his way over to Eddie and sits down next to. Despite how he was draped over Buck earlier, Chimney doesn’t touch him, just sits close enough for Eddie to know he’s there. With the state he’s in, he doesn’t want to accidentally trigger him.

“Hey, buddy, how are we doing?” he asks.

“Badly,” Eddie says, before starting to cry harder.

Right now Chimney really wishes Maddie would have taken longer to be here, since Buck’s high had been gentle until they had to separate the two and he was the only person that was stopping Eddie from crying. Chimney is pretty okay with people crying from the pain, not great with people crying because of emotions. He’s awkward, alright!

“Well, I know it’s scary, but you’re gonna be okay.” Chimney pats Eddie on the back, since Eddie is tilting towards him until their knees are touching.

“No, it’s not. You took Buck,” Eddie pouts. “And I’m not gonna be able to see Chris again. I miss him.” Then he starts crying again.

Okay, Chimney knew Buck and Eddie had become fast friends in the past few months, but this is ridiculous. Still, Eddie is in distress and Chimney is trying to keep him calm. They’ve made more than enough of a scene already.

So, he tries to soothe him again: “I know, Eddie, I know. But you’ll see them soon.”

It doesn’t really help and Eddie continues to cry. Chimney is looking out over the parking lot desperately, trying to see if a car comes pulling in with a woman that looks like she could potentially be Eddie’s aunt. No dice.

“Uh, I can tell you some stories about Chris and chickens? Would that help?” Chimney asks, because it seemed to help when Buck did it. Eddie doesn’t answer, so he tries: “So, uhm, Chris was on a farm and there was this chicken named Betty. They were the best-”

“No!” Eddie cuts him off, shaking his head stubbornly as he scowls: “That didn’t happen.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Chimney replies, a little annoyed. Why did it work when Buck did it, but not when he does it?

“No,” Eddie says again, god, he really is pig headed, why didn’t Chimney notice that before. “Buck told me things that happened. You don’t.”

“How can Buck have told you things that happened?” Chimney exclaims. “He was talking about Chris and chickens, don’t tell me you two went to a chicken farm recently.” Is is childish to argue with the drugged person about this? Maybe. However, Chimney has had a stressful day, okay?

“Of course not,” Eddie actually sounds offended. “You’re doing it wrong.” He is at least not crying anymore, instead pouting as he defends Buck’s storytelling over Chimney’s. “Buck was talking about the Johnson farm.”

“You two actually went to a farm?” Chimney exclaims, because what the fuck is his life becoming, this just can’t be real.

“Yeah, Buck worked there, dumbass,” Eddie tells him. “It’s where he met Chris.”

“No, Buck met Chris at the hospital after your grandma had a fall. That was pretty recently. Don’t you remember that?” Chimney knows that sometimes the best move is to go along with delusions or confusion, but right now he wants to be sure Eddie is actually okay and memory loss is a scary thing to happen. Fuck, why did he let Hen and Buck out from under his supervision?

Eddie is oblivious to this and in a know-it-all manner he says: “No, he didn’t. Buck met Chris on the farm, because he was watching him. I know that, because I married him for it.”

Chimney chokes on his spit and starts coughing. He knows people say all sort of things while high, but holy shit Eddie sounds way to confident about that one. “What?” he finally manages to push out of his throat.

Now Eddie is looking at him with confusion as if he is the weird one. “What what?”

“You married Buck?” Chimney asks, still a bit breathless and red in the face.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, then he leans in and whispers: “But you’re not allowed to tell anyone. It’s a secret. Shhhhh,” he places a finger to his lip as he does that.

“Buck is your husband?” Chimney says, voice distorted by the finger still pressed to his lips.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie hums happily, pulling back. He smiles for a moment, before his lip wobbles again and his voice sounds very sad when he whispers: “I miss him.” Then he bursts out into tears all over, burying his head in his hands.

What the fuck.

Chimney is honestly so thrown off by everything Eddie just said that he doesn’t know what to do with himself, because none of that makes sense. Eddie and Buck? Married? He knows they’re friends, but they just met. He was there for that!

But here Eddie is, crying about missing his husband, whom he apparently met at a chicken farm and who is Buck. Like probie, has been there for a year never mentioned having any family, Buck. It doesn’t make any sense to Chimney.

He wraps an arm around Eddie, letting him lean his head on his shoulder, while his face still carries a bewildered expression. What is today. What is his life.

Eddie sadly murmurs into his shoulder: “I wanna see Buck and Chris now. I don’t wanna be all alone again. I had to be alone away from them in the army and it sucked. I don’t wanna do that again. I never wanna do that again. Why did you make Buck go?”

And he sounds so fucking sad that Chimney has to push his bewildered-ness down, so he can squeeze Eddie’s shoulder and shush: “I’m sorry, Eddie, but you’ll see both of them soon. You need to get this stuff out of your system, it’s not safe to leave you alone, so I called your aunt, because I didn’t know. If you said, I could have let you go with Maddie.”

Chimney honestly doesn’t know why Maddie didn’t say anything and just struggled with him to get the two separated.

Almost as soon as that question pops into his brain, Eddie’s starts shaking his head. “No. No, Maddie doesn’t know.”

“She doesn’t?” Chimney can’s help, but exclaims, because what. It is already wild information that he doesn’t know what to do with, but hey, keeping your relationship out of the work place isn’t too crazy, but Maddie doesn’t know? Buck’s sister doesn’t know. Is she homophobic? Chimney didn’t think so, but he’s only met her a few times now. That would suck.

“No one knows. It’s a secret,” Eddie tells him, giving him big eyes and putting on the most important voice he’s capable of.

Chimney freezes.

No one knows?

The implications of that hit him. He might be straight, but he’s been friends with Hen and Karen for a long time, stood as best man at their wedding, witnessed how the 118 talked to her before Bobby took over. No one knowing means Chimney has to keep this secret.

Fuck!

“Uhm, okay. It’s a secret,” Chimney agrees, voice a little faint. He can do this, right? Yeah, he can totally keep this secret… He hopes.

“Hmm, secret,” Eddie nods. Then he looks over to the side, distracted by some of the kids from the pageant running around, while their moms tried to prevent skinned knees, Chimney doesn’t get it, but Eddie seems to take something different from it, saying: “I miss Chris.” And it doesn’t surprise Chimney in the slightest when he then breaks down again.

Unwilling to have more knowledge unwillingly dropped on him that he’ll then have to keep secret, Chimney lets him cry as he holds him without saying anything to invoke a reaction. God, he hopes Eddie’s aunt comes soon.

Fifteen minutes later, his prayer is answered. A car pulls up and a severe looking woman with black hair steps out, immediately zeroing in on Eddie and walking over. Once she is sufficiently close enough to loom over them, she crosses her arms and shakes her head: “… Edmundo.”

Eddie looks up and blinks a few times, tears still in his eyes, but he smiles when he sees the woman, despite her expression. “Tía Pepa!”

Pepa’s face soften and she nods to her car: “Let’s get going, mijo.”

Almost instantly, Eddie starts to move and Chimney quickly catches up, helping him up, because despite his determination, his coordination is less than stellar right now. He wants to be polite and say hi to Pepa, but Eddie is moving, so Chimney supports him all the way to the car.

Thankfully, Pepa opens the door for them, even though she lets Chimney do most of the heavy lifting, while she just tuts at Eddie and scolds him for not being more careful and that he has Chris to think about.

Wrong thing to say of her, but she hasn’t been there, so Chimney forgives her as Eddie starts crying again while Chimney buckles him in.

Once Eddie is seated, Chimney straightens up and finally extends his hand to Pepa: “I’m Chimney, Eddie’s coworker. There was an unknown substance he must have come into contact with. He’s not the only one, but with the symptoms observed, he doesn’t need to go to a hospital. He’s just high, essentially. Uhm, so you just have to keep an eye on him, make sure he’s okay, get him to drink water if you can. Thank you for coming to pick him up, I can’t imagine that call was what you were hoping for today.”

“Pepa,” she introduces herself, before amusedly scoffing: “And I’m just glad you kept my nephew out of trouble. I’ll watch over him, don’t worry. I have time.”

In the background Eddie sobs again and Chimney cringes: “Thank you, uhm, the crying has been kind of normal.”

“He misses Chris, I get it. He always does,” Pepa says, giving him a sharp smile. “I’ll call Carla to watch Chris, since I don’t think Eddie would want him to see him until it’s out of his system, even if he misses him. How long do you think it will last?”

“I can’t give hard numbers, but most of the time trips last between 9 and 12 hours. So, he’ll be okay by tomorrow for sure,” Chimney tells her.

“Alright. Thank you and nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you too. Good luck, have a good day!”

Pepa just smiles and nods at him, before getting in her car. Chimney watches as she swats Eddie’s hand away from the radio, then cards a quick hand through his hair, before pinching his cheek. With that done, Eddie calms a little and she pulls out of the parking lot, leaving Chimney behind.

For a moment, he just stands there as everything all comes crashing down on him again. Holy shit, his coworkers just got drugged. What the fuck!

Chimney deflates slightly, the stress of suddenly being responsible for all his coworkers on a call washing off him now that he’s handed over the last one to someone else. He’ll have to drive the ambulance and truck back to the station somehow and stay behind until they can get a full shift back at the house, not to mention give a statement, but at least no one got seriously hurt.

There were no overdoses, no bad reactions – either allergies, bad trips or meds that shouldn’t mix – and he has a text from Athena saying Bobby is okay. Chimney kept everyone alive.

He lets out a deep breath and rubs his face.

He allows himself one moment, then pops a piece of gum in his mouth and makes his way back inside to get all the gear sorted out.

The 125 had been called in to deal with the shoe in face incident instead and there are fortunately still some of them there, so Chimney gets the Captain to lend one of his people out to help Chimney drive the two vehicles back to the station. Chimney gets the feeling this won’t be the last time someone asks what the hell happened.

Once everything is sorted and the guy from the 125 is back to his own house, Chimney flops onto the couch. He is exhausted. Cops will come by later to take his statement and all the food has been confiscated, which sucks, but at least there won’t be any calls.

As he lies there, he fishes his phone out of his pocket. Karen has send him some videos of Hen, which are hilarious and they’re so going to make fun of her for that later. Athena only sends him a curt text back, which is understandable. He didn’t give Pepa his number, so nothing from her, but Maddie did text him that Buck’s gentle high has become an emotional one and they’re on the couch with ice cream.

Chimney thinks to himself: understandable, we took him away from his husband. He is about to text a joke back when he remembers it’s a secret. It honestly doesn’t feel completely real yet that Buck and Eddie are married, but Eddie seemed adamant.

And now Chimney knows.

And no one else.

Looking back on his conversation with Pepa, he realizes that she never mentioned Buck at all, just Chris. Seems like Eddie wasn’t lying about no one knowing. If it’s real at all.

He doesn’t know if he should take high Eddie’s word as gospel, but it also seems like a wild and random thing to lie about. Like even if Eddie has a crush on Buck, jumping to being married seems excessive. And why the chicken story? How did that just happen? No, it definitely has some basis of truth.

It has a basis of truth and it’s a secret. A secret that goes deep. They didn’t tell their families, they didn’t tell Bobby, Buck never mentioned it all his entire probie year, even if he’s a chronic over-sharer. Hell, they played out a first meeting on Eddie’s first day. They had a spat.

Buck and Eddie are married and have gone to great lengths to hide that fact and now Chimney know it too. This is going to end terribly.

First, Chimney can’t keep secrets for shit, so this is impossible. Secondly, this is really something HR should be informed about. Eddie can’t work with Buck in his probie year. Chimney would think they’d lied for that, were it not for neither Maddie and Pepa knowing.

So, now here he is. With no clue what to do. He can’t go to Maddie to talk about it, because that would be outing him to her, which is bad. Even telling Hen or Bobby would be outing them and bad, because one is their boss, so don’t share sensitive information with him, especially because this might get them fired, and Hen is their coworker as well.

He should just wait for Buck and Eddie to ride out this high, then go to them about it. That is the best course of action. They can decide what to do with Chimney knowing and the likely limited time he can keep it to himself.

Fuck, why did he have to find this out! Unfair. Chimney has a stressful enough life with working as a paramedic/firefighter, he doesn’t need big coworker secrets on top of this.

Like, is he now complicit in them lying to HR? Do they even know they can get into serious trouble for this? Or will they be able to claim obliviousness and it’s only Chimney who will go down for this?!

Okay, no, breathe. You’re going to talk to them, explain to them why this is a bad idea and that they have to come clean before he accidentally does it, apologize in advance for doing that, and then it will all be fine.

It’ll be fine.

It’s totally gonna be fine.

…

God, Chimney hates this!

He tosses and turns a little on the couch as his mind whirs without being able to calm down. He is almost grateful to the police coming to take his statement, because that’s a distraction he can use right now. However, not blurting out what Eddie confessed when recounting their behavior is a struggle and he dreads the coming few days.

Beyond that he texts Maddie some but that’s a minefield, tries to beat Hen’s high score on the pin ball machine, then sulkily plays firetruck simulator when he can’t, as well as naps a bit.

Still, despite not answering any calls, since it’s just him at the firehouse, he is exhausted when B shift comes back in to take over for him.

When he gets home, he has a text from Maddie saying Buck has moved from crying it out to sleeping it off. So, Chimney tells her that despite usually knowing better, he’s going to follow her brother’s example, which gets him some laughing emojis back. With that he drops into bed and knocks out, hoping he’s forgotten today when he wakes up.

After a good amount of sleep for all of them and a drug test for most of them, they’re all back for a shift.

Chimney is both looking forward to it and deeply dreading it.

Bobby has come in early and hidden away, a clear message that he does not want to discuss it. But Hen is right there to be made fun off, which Chimney needs to blow off jitters and nerves, because if he is teasing her, he can’t be talking about Buck and Eddie.

Luckily, it’s Hen and she knows him, so she takes like a champ. She sniffs: “I’m not embarrassed about being filled with love, Chim.”

“According to Karen love is not the only thing you wanted to be filled with,” Chimney says gleefully.

“Oh shut up!”

“What are we talking about?” Buck asks as he and Eddie come walking up, both looking better than the last time Chimney saw them. Which isn’t that hard admittedly, since both were crying said last time.

“Nothing!” Hen exclaims, not necessarily embarrassed, but happy to have an out from the teasing to focus on Buck and Eddie instead.

Chimney would have happily teased her in front of Buck and Eddie, had it not been Buck and Eddie who just arrived. Together, he notes. Did they arrive in one car from their shared home? Or are they still keeping it up, even though he knows?

Neither of them seem nervous or looking at him anxiously and they haven’t texted him. What are they thinking? It seems like only he is panicking, since Hen is oblivious and either Buck and Eddie are phenomenal actors or they don’t care as much.

To distract further from herself, Hen asks: “Did both of you get everything out of you system alright?”

Buck blushes a bright red at that and throws himself on the couch, groaning loudly: “I embarrassed myself so much. After all my efforts to do dumb shit like this when Maddie couldn’t see, this had to happen to me. I’m never going to eat anything I didn’t see prepared.”

“What did you do?” Hen asks curiously.

Now Buck looks away and mutters: “Nothing.” Suspicious. Did he accidentally tell Maddie? Is Chimney no longer alone in this?

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Eddie tries to comfort him. Does Eddie not know? Is that why both are not looking at him, because Buck didn’t tell Eddie and Eddie didn’t tell Buck? Should Chimney be worried about that? But then why isn’t Eddie looking at him.

“You weren’t there,” Buck grouches, crossing his arms. “I had to wrestle for control to get those videos deleted.”

“And what about you, Eddie? Spill anything to your aunt?” Chimney finds himself asking, biting the inside of his cheek to not ramble on more.

“Uh, no?” Eddie frowns, now looking at Chimney, but only being confused, nothing else. “Did I say something weird to you? It’s honestly a bit of a blur.”

Fuck, does Eddie not remember telling Chimney? That is even worse! Noooo! How could this happen to him? What does he do now!?

Floundering for a second, Chimney goes: “To me? Weird? No, no, of course not. Nothing weird said to me, no, sir. I- I am not knowing of anything weird. At all. I just- I gotta go.”

Chimney can’t do this, he spins on his heel and quickly walks away. Where? He does not know, but that doesn’t matter, he needs to be somewhere other than here. As he leaves, he hears Eddie ask: “Did I so something?” but he doesn’t care. Eddie did do something. He ruined Chimney’s life, he just doesn’t remember it.

He walks until he’s in the locker room, then decides this is far away enough to have a freak out.

Okay, so… Eddie might not remember telling Chimney this very big important secret. That is Bad, very bad. Fuck. What does he do? What is the plan?

Alright, Chimney, think. Eddie doesn’t know you know this, so Buck doesn’t either. They are oblivious as is the rest of the 118. It can remain that way. If he just keeps his mouth shut, they can pass this by without anything changing, it’s not his secret to tell anyway, so he should just keep it.

But they might get in trouble with HR. But is that Chimney’s problem? Maybe he can say he didn’t know when it comes out, that could work. But he also is a bad liar. But he can claim not being a dick and not wanting to out his coworkers, or say he thought it had been approved. Yeah, that could work. Chimney can totally make that work.

He nods to himself, glad to have made the decision. He is just about to rejoin everyone when Hen pokes her head around the door of the locker room. She asks: “Is everything okay? You just kind of ran away from Eddie, did something happen?”

“Me? Not okay? Of course I’m okay,” Chimney grins awkwardly. Okay, so maybe his acting casual skills need some work, but he’s trying!

“Chim,” Hen raises her brow at him with a tone that says: ‘you’re not fooling me, something is up and you better tell me right now.’

“Hen,” Chimney replies, hoping his tone conveys: ‘I know you know something and that you also know that I know that you know that I know something, however, for my sake, please do not ask me more.’

They stare at each other for a few seconds in a stand off, neither of them budging. Then Hen goes: “Alright, keep you secrets.”

“I know that’s a Lord of the Rings quote! You do pay attention when I force you to watch movies with me,” Chimney crows, both delighted at winning the stand off and at the confirmation that Hen does pay attention, even when she complains.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she rolls her eyes, “just don’t come crying to me when whatever is going on, goes wrong.”

“I won’t,” Chimney promises, even though he’s not sure he’ll keep it and Hen knows it. Luckily, he doesn’t get called out on it, because the alarm starts to ring and they have to get their asses into gear instead.

Being on a call with Buck and Eddie isn’t much better. He continuously notices how close they are, the way their shoulders always bump together, the way they wordlessly communicate, the little glances and looks they give each other.

However, being on a call is a distraction, which is better than nothing. Focusing on a patient always puts him in a different mindset and he can ignore the Buck and Eddie show for a bit.

It’s worse to have down time. Chimney realizes very quickly his acting skills are worse than he thought and acting casual is practically not an option for him. Whenever he is around either Buck or Eddie for too long, he starts rambling, before having to remove himself from the situation.

Still, Buck and Eddie don’t have to make it so hard on him! He had already noticed they were close, but now he is just way too aware of the massive heart eyes they keep giving each other. Like, if they were keeping their marriage secret, could they at least act less sappy, in love around each other? For Chimney’s sake.

Less than a week has passed since their first shift back on after the drugging and Chimney is slowly losing it.

They’re back on today and Buck and Eddie are playing pool together. One could say they were shit talking each other, but Chimney couldn’t describe it as anything other than flirting. Badly flirting at that. God, they’re made for each other, he thinks disgusted. Why does he have to be lonely? It’s so unfair.

Apparently, he has been as unsubtle as Buck and Eddie have been, because Hen throws her hands up and exclaims: “Okay, I can’t take it anymore.”

“Wha?” Chimney blinks as everyone turns to look at her.

Hen places a hand on her hip and says: “You have been acting weird around Buck and Eddie since the drugging, just tell everyone what happened and put us all out of our misery! I can’t take this anymore.”

“Me? Weird? I’m not weird, I’m like so normal. I- I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hen,” he chuckles nervously, already glancing around for his best exit strategy.

“Chimney, I swear to fucking god, if you don’t-”

“Eddie told me him and Buck are married!” It bursts out of his mouth, the pressure becoming too much as he cracks under it. Immediately he cringes and slaps his hands over his mouth. He did not want to tell anyone like this. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to tell anyone at all!

“What?” Hen shrieks, clearly, this is not what she thought he’d say.

He squints slightly, chancing a peak at Buck and Eddie, who are completely frozen next to the pool table, staring at Chimney with horror.

Hen whirls around to where Buck and Eddie are, repeating loudly: “What!”

“Uh… Eddie was lying?” Buck offers after a few seconds, the answer sounding more like a question, as if he is asking them to believe his lie.

“No, he wasn’t,” Chimney frowns, because he can’t have been. One, Buck is clearly lying right now, and two, Chimney did not torture himself for a week for it to not be true now.

“I have no clue what you are talking about,” Eddie says, sounding a little more believable than Buck does.

“You don’t?” Chimney starts doubting himself again. Buck did have that hook up phase, he wouldn’t do that if he was married, right? Maybe it was just a hallucination and that’s why Pepa never mentioned Buck, because it’s not real.

Oh god, what if it’s not real?

“I just- You sounded very sure of yourself,” Chimney stutters, feeling a bit like a fool now. “I mean, Buck was talking about Chris and chickens and then you mentioned you two meeting on a chicken farm, uh, the Johnson farm, I think it was.”

“How do you know about the John-” Buck cuts himself off as Eddie elbows him in the side and he clears his throat and says: “I mean, huh, Johnson farm. Don’t know it.”

Eddie face palms at the words and Chimney is now pretty confident that Eddie hadn’t been lying about the being married thing. Which is so much more confusing now. Just why couldn’t Eddie have kept his mouth shut? Why must Chimney go through this?

“You two better start talking right now,” Hen tells both of them, her eyes daring them to deflect or deny again.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “so me and Buck are married.”

“How long?”

“Uh,” Eddie thinks for a second, looking at Buck, who fills in: “Two years. Give or take, little more give than take.”

Eyes nearly fall out of both Chimney’s and Hen’s sockets. Chimney half assumed that it was a recent thing, maybe an impulsive marriage, post-Buck’s hook up phase at least, but two years? Uh, jikes, dude. Chimney and Hem exchange a glance.

Naturally, Eddie chooses this moment to become observant and suspicious back, asking: “What was that glance about?”

Chimney and Hen exchange another glance, before Chimney delicately says: “Uh, the- the two years is a bit of, uhm, a surprise? Uh, since- since neither of you acted very married.” He coughs. “I mean, especially Buck, uhm, during his probie year.”

Realization dawns on Buck’s face and Chimney really hopes he isn’t going to see the start of a divorce right now. He’s been put through enough.

“Oh, you mean the Buck having sex thing?” Eddie says, realization also hitting him. He sounds very casual about it and neither know if that is a good thing.

“That is not what you think!” Buck quickly exclaims, waving his hands about as he does. “That is so not what you think or what it looks like. Me and Eddie aren’t married like that. I wasn’t cheating on him, I swear.”

They look over to Eddie to confirm. Eddie doesn’t look very pleased, but he manages a smile to them as he explains: “It’s a marriage of convenience. Me and Buck are friends, just legally married for Chris’s benefit.”

Chimney’s voice is a little higher than normal due to the relief as he says: “Oh, that’s- that’s good. Really good.”

“Uh-huh,” Hen agrees. “So, how did that happen? And why the fuck did you lie about that?”

Now it’s Buck and Eddie’s turn to give each other a look, making a few facial expressions at one another before they seem to reach a consensus.

“Well, I worked at a chicken farm in El Paso and I met Chris there with Shannon, his mom. We kind of hit it off and I started babysitting,” Buck starts.

Eddie sees their question coming and interjects: “Me and Shan were already divorced then.”

“Oh, yeah, important detail,” Buck says sheepishly, before continuing: “Anyway, I babysat a lot, Eddie came back from tour, then Shan left to take care of her mom – long story, kind of shitty of her – but then I met Eddie, helped out more with Chris. Chris needed more surgery. Surgery is expensive. Eddie went back in the army. We got married so I could adopt Chris and look after him while Eddie was on tour. That’s kind of the spark notes.”

That is a lot of information to process and Chimney has a head start in the processing department. It is honestly the most Buck and Eddie move that the explanation makes almost less sense. But of course, these two are married as friends, because Buck dated Eddie’s ex-wife and then just hung around to help with the kid after she left. Somehow that makes perfect sense for him.

What is his life at this point?

Next to him, Hen seems to have processed most of what they just told them – there are still a thousand questions to be asked, but they at least have the basics – and is sharp enough to ask: “And what about my other question? Why did you two lie?”

Both Buck and Eddie look a little embarrassed about it with Eddie looking away with red ears, while Buck rubs the back of his head again.

“Uh, well, we wanted to work together,” Buck finally says. “It says no romantic partners in your probie year, but me and Eddie aren’t romantic, right, so then it doesn’t apply. But then we were thinking, when you know someone, people ask questions about how you know them and then the story would have come out and it’s a bit complicated and stuff. So, uh, we decided to lie.”

“Of fucking course you two did,” Hen sighs, taking off her glasses for a moment to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“Are you mad?” Buck asks, voice small. It never ceases to amaze Chimney just how vulnerable Buck can sound.

Instantly Hen melts a little, putting her glasses back on as she smiles: “Of course I’m not mad, Buck, just wrapping my head around it all.”

“Sorry,” Buck says and, hey! Why does Hen get a sorry? Chimney has been keeping this secret for a whole week, doesn’t he deserve credit for that? He was suffering!

“It’s okay,” Hen reassures him.

Then Eddie asks: “So, what is gonna happen now? You know, now that you know? Are you going to do something with it?”

“Oh no, definitely not. I’m not meddling more in this nonsense,” Hen says without skipping a beat and she is so right for that.

They look to Chimney, who says: “Yeah, no, I already went through enough for that secret, I’m not putting myself through more.”

Both Buck and Eddie seem to sag a little in relief, then Hen pulls the rug out from under them: “But you two gotta tell Bobby. He needs to know about this. Just in case.”

“What? No!” Buck exclaims horrified.

“Hen, please don’t make us do that,” Eddie begs.

Chimney can already tell by the way Hen is standing that she isn’t going to change her mind and he cackles loudly; vindication for his suffering! Maybe being forced into tripsitting everyone, isn’t the worst thing that could have happened to him.

~~

A/N:

Do I get frustrated with season 4!Chimney for keeping that secret from Buck? Yes, I do. Was it also fucking hilarious? Yes, it was xp

[vad-hander]

I Love You More

pairing: Jaebeom x reader

others: Jinyoung, GOT7 members

genre: fluff

warnings: idol GOT7!au, married couple, pure softness, crying

Words: 1,1k

______

short soft one-shot inspired by GOT7's concerts this weekend and them being so emotional and crying and saying a lot of things that tore my heart apart. Jaebeom will always hold a very special place in my heart and I was excited to write this! I haven't written for got7 in years, so let me know, if you're interested in more

alsooo, I've never posted anything this short, so let me know if you enjoy stuff like this and I should be doing more of it!

_____

You stood in the corner of the waiting room, your eyes trained on the only man that actually mattered in your life and as the teardrops streamed down his pretty face your heart squeezed in an attempt to pump blood into your head and steady out its beats. Your heart ached, but you held back from crying  in this moment with him - if he’d see your tears you knew it’d be an undying contest of emotional breakdown and you didn’t want him to go through that. You loved him too much. He only ever deserved love, happiness and much easier life than he was living now. 

Jackson patted Jaebeom’s head and the staffs that filled the room tried to continue with their duties, but also be mindful of 7 crying and sobbing men in the centre of that room. Your gaze shifted to sobbing Mark and the way teared up Youngjae and Bam tried to calm him down. At least this view wasn’t tearing your heart into pieces. As a figure approached you, though, you had to readjust your eyes and focus on the man in front of you. The very next moment Jinyoung’s very warm hand grabbed yours and pulled you behind him. He felt your resistance and turned around, reading your face expression perfectly.

"I think he really needs you to calm him down." Jinyoung pulled onto your arm once again and you followed. "Hey, Seunah" Jinyoung called out in an attempt to whisper, but making it more of a low growl. Jackson, raising his head and seeing Jinyoung pulling on to you took a step back. Giving you space to come closer and giving you two space for privacy. Jaebeom raised his head a little, as he felt the loss of contact and took a few blinks to focus his teary eyes on you. Both Jackson and Jinyoung respectfully took a few more steps back and as you approached Jaebeom a little more, you couldn’t hold back a pout. Jaebeom straightened his back properly and it seemed the tears streamed down his face at a much lower pace. You pursed your lips and took a little step closer, not forgetting precaution and turning around to read the room - everyone seemed busy with themselves and their duties. But in all honesty - you couldn’t just stand and watch him any longer, even if the people watched you two attentively - your heart ached the moment you saw that first tear fall down his face back on stage. 

“You did so well-.“ You still whispered, everyone acted busy, but peoples’ ears were always perked up. Jaebeom blinked more tears down his face. Shit, you only made it worse for him. “Everything went so perfectly. You worked so hard. I’m so proud. These should be happy tears, everything worked out amazing. Right?“ you tried to give Jaebeom a smile, your words only made the tears fall down harder, while Park Jinyoung expected you to do the opposite. “Ah-, love, don’t cry.“ You finally sighed and reached a hand to his face, cupping his cheek and making a lame attempt at catching the teardrops - it did seem impossible. The waterfall that streamed down his face was impossible to stop with a finger. Jaebeom leaned in into your touch and closed his eyes. You tried to caress the softness of his cheek, while not making it too inappropriate for a working environment. “Everyone’s so proud and everyone are so thankful for the things you do. You’ve put so much hard work into this, it’s okay to cry. I can’t even hold back my tears for you and ah-.“ Jaebeom suddenly draped his arms over your shoulders and lost his face in the crook of your neck. You patted his nape in a very weak attempt to calm him down. He seemed crashed, drained and exhausted. You really wished you could lift him up just like that and transfer to bed and let him get as much sleep as he needed - doesn’t matter if its 12 hours or a week. You watched him work so hard all these weeks to make the concerts possible, you watched him all those years make all those things possible while also being a sweet and loving husband to you. “I just hope it’s tears of relief. As long as they’re not tears of pain - it doesn’t matter. We could cry all night long, right?“ You tried to give him a little kiss, forgetting all the work space boundaries in your head, landing your lips on his jaw. You patted his nape a few more times, moving your arms lower - you gave his waist a squeeze and rubbed your face against his shoulder - the sobbing man in your arms seemed to calm down at least a little. 

“I love you.“ you breathed out, somehow in unison with Jaebeom and as shocked as you were at the silly little coincidence, Jaebeom moved back a little and looked at you properly, with no tears falling out of his eyes,  beautiful irises focusing on you. 

“That’s silly of us.“ You giggled, moving your fingers to dry out the tears on Jaebeom’s cheeks. 

“But I, definitely love you more.“ He even made a weak attempt to smile and made you feel more at ease yourself. The air suddenly felt lighter and the second time he tried to make that little smile - the smugness on his face, your chest burned with love. Jaebeom covered your palm with his and moved it closer to his mouth. “I wouldn’t be here without your support.“ You knew exactly what he meant by that, how hard it was for both him and you to get his mind to a better place. You weren’t about to shy away and act like you weren’t behind it all. In a great partnership with the man himself, of course. 

“I know.“ You accepted with a playful nod and watched his lips give your palm a kiss with a smile. You were glad you could refer to dark times with a joke and a smile now. Jaebeom let go of your arm and tried to dry his face with the shirt he wore. 

“Ah!“ Jinyoung materialised behind you, his firm palm on your shoulder making you jump in place. “Nothing like a wife’s touch that could calm a man down.“ He teased happily, wrinkles round his eyes as he smiled were the resin for a little upward motion on the corners of your lips. 

“Sh! Shut up, there are strangers in this room.“ you hissed at the man, though. He ruffled your hair with a teasing face expression.

“Hey, show some respect.“ you played back, your unending battle of teasing continuing every time you opened your mouths.

“Right, show some respect to my wife!“ Jaebeom chimed in, regret on his face immediate, as the both of you knew the comeback would be explosive. Jaebeom wrapped an arm around your waist, you not being sure whether he was backing you up or wanted you to back him up in this.

Jinyoung, though, already moved on -  looking at the members and then at his leader and giving you nod. 

don't forget to like and follow for more <3

[allfearstofallto]

A wip that I started that I liked a lot. I don't think I'll ever finish it though because I genuinely CANNOT REMEMBER WHERE THE STORY WAS SUPPOSED TO GO.

anyways Venti x Fem! Reader

TW: alcohol and drinking

Your travels took you to lots of places. The harsh deserts of Sumeru and the stormy terrain of Inazuma being two that you could think of right off the top of your head. Being an adventurer meant that places like that would be common for you, not something to look forward to, but something to be expected and dealt with accordingly. With that being said, even you found yourself grateful when the most you had to worry about in Mondstadt being small hilichurl camps and winds that could at most, blow your map away.

The city of freedom truly lived up to its name. It was the smallest in size, but somehow the most lively you’d been to. Bards were commonplace and music being played on the streets was normal to the point where you rarely ever heard the silence. The people, while often drunk, were friendlier than in most cities. In exchange for their help, all they’d ask for was to share a drink, while you told them a tale of your adventures.

That was one thing that they loved most. A good story. Especially one that went well with their liquor, hence why you were always so popular in town. Your adventures, while they seemed rather tame to you, were like music to the ears of the people of Monstadt. They just couldn’t get enough of you. Even though you were supposed to leave days ago, you found yourself unable to pry yourself from the comradery of the city, choosing to stay for just a bit longer.

You nursed your drink and listened to a sailor who’d just gotten home tell the tale of a monster that he was convinced he saw in the sea. The bar patrons heckled him, calling him a liar in more ways than you’d ever heard of, all the while he continued on as if he weren’t being shouted at. It surprised you the first time you saw something like that, them yelling at the person giving the entertainment. It didn’t take long for you to realize that this too was normal and also in good fun.

“I have a story to share,” all eyes turned to the corner of the room to find the source of a voice which was followed by the strum of a lyre harp. Even you found yourself perking up at the sound of the mysterious verse, “A story in the form of a song.”

The bar went silent as the man plucked the strings of the instrument, playing a slow, solemn melody. The way his fingers moved was hypnotizing, they were like waves of water, splashing over the shore in a pattern that was heavenly. But he didn’t speak, didn’t sing, just played that tune into the silence with his eyes gleefully glued shut.

“What are you waiting for? Tell us the story!” someone shouted from across the bar. This caused an almost instant reaction amongst the crowd of more yelling and cheers.

“But it’ll cost you,” he said, finally peaking open one of his swirling green eyes, “The price of one drink.”

There was an instant groan and booing amongst the masses after he said this, but he didn’t falter. He just shut his eyes back, crossed one leg over the other, and began strumming on his lyre again, playing peacefully as if none of the complaining was bothering him. Everyone else went back to what they were doing, ignoring the man once in favor of talking amongst themselves, already sick of his antics. Everyone, but you.

What little bit of the song you’d heard was already stuck in your head, to the point where you just had to hear more. You scraped the mora you had in your pocket out and handed it to the bartender, a tall glass of dandelion wine was slid back to you. A specialty of Mondstadt, you seldom drank it yourself. The taste of it was sweet, a little too sweet. Its sweetness hid the taste of the alcohol, to the point where you found yourself drinking a little too much of it. You didn’t remember any of that night and decided to lay off the wine for a while.

Slowly, you eased the glass onto the table next to the bard, but before it could even leave your hands completely, he had already picked it up and was chugging it down. You watched in relative horror as he swallowed the drink down, each gulp of his throat making the glass become emptier and emptier before he slammed the now completely drained glass onto the wooden table.

“Phew! That hit the spot!” he breathed dramatically, using his forearm to wipe away what little liquor had fallen away from his lips.

Words couldn’t even escape your mouth. You just stared at him in what was akin to horror. Even you, who had a pretty okay tolerance, knew that downing a whole glass like that with no breaks, would get you too drunk to see straight, let alone still act entirely sober. Yet here he sat, lyre in hand, staring up at you with a playful smile.

“So it’s a song you wanted to hear?”

A mere nod was your answer. Curiosity had gotten the better of you in actuality and drinks cost so little. It wasn’t much effort to see what he was offering.

“Then a song you shall receive,”

[amascomet]

HEYYYYO I WAS WONDERING WHAT EACH OF THE TURTLES RELATIONSHIPS IS WITH SPLINTER AND HOW DOES SPLINTER VIEW EACH OF THEM.

Omg! So glad you asked!!

To start off, Splinter is very put off by them at the beginning of our tale. I feel like hate is too strong of a word to use, but it’s the closest thing that comes to mind. He’s very jealous and weary of them because he knows that they’re better than him in every way. I like to say he’s the old dog and they’re all the new puppies! It’s not secret that his new role is to teach and train them so they can replace him. That’s what’s expected of him and he’s supposed to just be ok with it. He tries to be, but it’s very clear he doesn’t want to be around them longer than he has to. This all does eventually shift and change though! He does begin to care for them and become the father they need. He doesn’t repeat the cycle that happened with him and Shredder.

Splinter loves his sons, but he does unfortunately show favoritism. (Something he does try to rectify with time!) He’s much closer with Leo and Mikey than he is with Donnie and Raph.

Leo - He was terrified of the blue one. Leo reminded him of Karai way too much and that horrified him. Splinter distanced himself from Leo the most because he didn’t want to become attached to him. The last time he became attached to someone, Shredder took her away. Subconsciously, he doesn’t want that to happen again. Being around Leo hurt and reminded him too much of the past. He does eventually flip from this behavior and stops running from him. Even embraces in speaking about the past and the little mannerisms that remind him of Karai.

Mikey - He’s the first one Splinter allows himself to get close to! And the reason why? Mikey reminds him of Saki! Insane and backwards isn’t it? There’s a moment where Splinter is in a vulnerable place and Mikey just happens to be there and is able to comfort him. This kindness reminds him of how Saki was to him when he wasn’t Shredder. He’s just kind of starved to have that again so he gravitates into spending more time with Mikey. Meditating with him. Being more attentive during training. Liking Mikey talk and ramble. Things like that. Anyways to just reiterate it again in simple terms, Splinter gravitates towards Mikey cause he’s a lot like Oroku Saki!

Raph and Don - I was going to have them in their own paragraphs but their relationship with Splinter is very similar. He’s very much just a trusted guardian/older brother figure when it comes down to it. Raph and Don both find parental figures in other characters. Raph with April and Donnie with Stockman. While they do still seek approval/guidance, they’re a lot more independent with how they operate. They’d like to be just as close to Splinter is Leo and Mikey. Things just didn’t spin that way and it’s okay. There’s not any real resentment about it. Splinter does take time rectify this and bond with them but y’know. It is what it is. They love him and he loves them.

[darehearts]

𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

italicize what your muse likes. bold what they love. strike what they hate.

Taste :

Sweet | Salty | Bitter | Umami | Sour | Chocolate | Bacon | Vegetables | Fruit | Berries | Carrots | Cake | Cookies | Pretzels | Pasta | Tomatoes | Applesauce | Sauerkraut | Pickles | Olives | Potatoes | Ice Cream | Pineapple | Pineapple on pizza | Fish | Beef | Garlic | Spinach | Mushrooms | Cheese | Milk | Juice | Marmite | Beetroot | Anchovies | Gefilte Fish | Peppers | Wholewheat bread | Marshmallows | Mango | Broccoli | Peanut butter | Nutella | Mint and chocolate | Cashew nuts | Tofu | Brussels sprouts | Grape flavor

Touch :

Soft | Rough | Smooth | Sticky | Slimy | Hot | Cold | Damp | Wet | Clammy | Coarse | Fur | Velvet | Silk | Lace | Hot metal | Cold metal | Paper | Plastic | Bubble wrap | Wool | Wood | Tree bark | Hot asphalt | Leaves | Wicker | Sand | Rocks | Rough rocks | Smooth rocks | Hair | Skin | Tight hugs | Gentle hugs | Lip kisses | Skin kisses | Holding hands | Rough touches | Gentle touches | Scratches | Bites | Sunlight | Light sheets | Thick blankets | Baggy clothes

Scent :

Flowers | Sea water | Chocolate | Fish | Cooking onions | Cleaning products | Citrus | Lemons | Grapefruit | Oranges | Rain | Freshly cut grass | Wet dirt | Wood | Cologne | Perfume | Fire | Smoke | Gasoline | Tires | Paint | Chlorine | Pools | Fresh bread | Cooking bacon | New books | Coffee | Linen | Vanilla | Cinnamon | New car | Coconut | Sunscreen | Nail polish | Mint | Cigarette smoke | Leather

Sound :

Loud sounds | High pitched sounds | Low pitched sounds | Quiet sounds | Loud voices | Soft voices | High voices | Deep voices | Morning voice | Snoring | Rain on windows | Fire crackle | Crickets | Frogs | Typing on a keyboard | Horse hooves on gravel | High heels | Laughter | Deep laughter | Giggling | Purring | Dog bark | Howling | Car engine | Distant chatter | Bird chirps | Classical music | Pop music | Folk music | Rock music | Country music | Klezmer music | Violin | Piano | Frying food | Nails tapping

Sight :

Red | Orange | Yellow | Green | Blue | Purple | Pink | Black | White | Silver | Gold | Shiny | Dull | Shapes | Orange lighting | Natural lighting | Seaside scenery | Forest scenery | Field scenery | Patterns | Clear skies | Cloudy skies | Night time | Day time | Sunrise | Sunset | Stained glass windows | Old buildings | Stone buildings | Wood cabins | Spring | Summer | Fall | Winter | Brick buildings | Moss | Flowers | Gardens | Hedge mazes | Corn mazes | Lakes | Rivers

tagged by : @danversiism & @respondedinkind ! ( ty ! ) tagging : @ithring, @ripcvnningham, @rvndrkhlme & YOU !

[unikorpi]

Fae animation practice

[kiwibrain]

This bit of dialogue did something to my brain, i just had to draw it :^)

[tsukinoshinjiu]

A little something I did over on twitter :)

[tempo-takoyaki]

Happy (belated) New Year 2024!

[deoidesign]

Ray of sunshine

(pre-launch page for their comic)