#but this song was such a good fit I just had to

[sogoodtoheritsvicious]

in a world of boys, he’s a gentleman

summary: harry sings your praises in a recent interview, and you’re back with new music; leading to a surprising dm.

pairing: harry styles x reader

vicious speaks: happy valentine’s day!! 💞 mr. styles has officially entered the story!! i hope you enjoy chapter 2 <3 i took creative liberty with one of the lyrics, just so they fit the plot!!

series masterlist

───────── ❤︎ ─────────

liked by alexandrasaintmleux and others

hsupdates harry gushed about yourusername in an interview today!

“i just think she’s great. she’s an incredible songwriter and seems like a really down to earth person. she’s dealt with a lot recently and handled it with such grace. i can’t wait to see what she does next.” he said. when asked his favorite song by the singer, he said “hope ur okay. it’s so beautiful!” he also got really bashful when the interviewer asked if she’s his celebrity crush and he giggled and said “yeah…yeah, i’d say she is.” what do you think, harries? is a collab in the future?

view all comments

fan1 omgggg i know yn’s off social media but i hope she’s seen this!!

fan2 i hope it’s killing that man knowing one of his favorite artists took yns side in the break up

fan3 omg alexandra in the likes!!

⤷ fan4 alexandrasaintmleux please show our girl this interview!!

fan5 fuck a collab, is a RELATIONSHIP in the future???

fan6 he needs to stay far away from yn before she tries to ruin his reputation too

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux you sound ridiculous

⤷ fan7 alex said keep her wife’s name out your fucking mouth

fan8 i just know ynharrysthird is gonna lose it when she sees this 😭 she’s shipped them for ages

fan9 a ynharry collab would be so powerful

ynharrysthird oh. my. God.

───────── ❤︎ ─────────

───────── ❤︎ ─────────

liked by harrystyles, lilymhe and others

yourusername *taps mic* this thing on? been a minute since you’ve heard from me i know. i had to take a break to focus on healing but i’m back and ready for the next chapter!! you all have been so, so patient and you’ve sent many kind words that have helped me more than you know. as a thank you, i’ve decided to release a lil somethin’…my ep wendy is available everywhere now! 🧚🏼‍♀️

view all comments

fan1 MOTHER IS BACK AND BETTER THAN EVER

yourbff i love you and i’m so proud of you 🥹

⤷ yourusername i love you 🫶🏼

oscarpiastri hey! so this is insane!

⤷ fan2 omg does this mean no one knew about the ep until now???

⤷ yourusername it was top secret 🤫

⤷ yourbff i knew 😌

⤷ oscarpiastri of course you did

⤷ yourbff you hate me cause you ain’t me

⤷ fan3 icon 😭

carlossainz55 do you want me to kill that guy for you, queen?

⤷ yourusername LMFAO

⤷ fan4 CARLOSDKFJGKS

fan5 this ep ruined my entire day but i wouldn’t have it any other way

mclaren 🧡 ♥︎ by author

harrystyles it’s been on repeat all day ❤️ congratulations on a fantastic ep!

⤷ yourusername thank you, harry 🥹

⤷ fan6 HARRY STYLES WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?

⤷ fan7 he said he’s a fan in a recent interview! he even admitted that she’s his celebrity crush

⤷ fan8 harry please shoot your shot and show her how a REAL man is supposed to treat a woman

⤷ fan9 do we think she knows about him gushing about her?

⤷ fan11 congrats yourusername on being one of the few people to get harry to comment more than an emoji

alexandrasaintmleux in this house we eat, breathe, and sleep new yn music

⤷ charles_leclerc real

⤷ oscarpiastri real

⤷ lilymhe real

⤷ alex_albon real

⤷ maxverstappen1 real

⤷ danielricciardo real

⤷ logansargeant real

⤷ mclaren real

⤷ francolapinto real

⤷ pierregasly real

⤷ francisca.cgomes real

⤷ lewishamilton real

⤷ f1 real

⤷ fan11 well between carlos’ earlier comment and now this thread, we know who got yn in the breakup 😭

itsaria so. good. 💞

⤷ yourusername 💗

⤷ fan12 what the hell sure

⤷ fan13 dump lando and date each other

⤷ fan14 what in world is going on

fan15 not you making an ep all about lando after saying you’d never talk about what happened again 🙄 keep his name out your mouth!

⤷ yourusername i never said i wouldn’t sing about it. and just so we’re clear, his name doesn’t leave my mouth in a single song, which you’ll know when you secretly stream them later.

⤷ fan16 yn 😭

───────── ❤︎ ─────────

───────── ❤︎ ─────────

───────── ❤︎ ─────────

yourusername has added to their stories

replies

fan1 omg we’re being fed so well

oscarpiastri running to yt as we speak 🏃

⤷ yourusername my #1 fan

⤷ oscarpiastri think that title belongs to mr harry styles if we’re being real

⤷ yourusername pls 😭

alexandrasaintmleux love seeing my wifey everywhere lately 💕

⤷ yourusername 💞

fan2 it’s been so long since we’ve consistently gotten content that i almost don’t know how to act fkgjfjd

───────── ❤︎ ─────────

───────── ❤︎ ─────────

harrystyles has added to their stories

replies

fan1 so pretty 💕

fan2 this pic is very you

yourusername 🌸🌸🌸

fan3 don’t be shy, show us your face

fan4 enjoy your day, king 💞

fan5 came back to this after yns story…you two are totally hanging out today omg

───────── ❤︎ ─────────

yourusername has added to their stories

replies

lilymhe can’t wait to hear how it’s going!! ♥︎ by author

fan1 pause……harry just posted a similar pic

fan2 omg sad i missed you ☹️ i was at that cafe yesterday!!

fan3 ARE YOU WITH HARRY STYLES RIGHT NOW FKGNVKS

fan4 you and harry linking up was everything i wanted but didn’t think i’d get

carlossainz55 🍿

⤷ yourusername ?

⤷ carlossainz55 don’t mind me, just sitting back with some popcorn to enjoy the show

⤷ yourusername 😭

harrystyles 🌸🌸🌸🌸

fan5 MY PARENTS ARE TOGETHER

fan6 pretty flowers 🥰

oscarpiastri interesting…very interesting 🧐

⤷ yourusername hehehehe

yourbff i would kill to see your dms rn 😭

───────── ❤︎ ─────────

───────── ❤︎ ─────────

taglist: @pansexualdarling @mx13sworld @willowpains @nebarious @daemyratwst @angelluv16 @ggaslyp1 @hi26loveie @kikiki81 @eugene-emt-roe @nichmeddar @callsignwidow @harryssunflower17

[thegamingcatmom]

@groovestrawberry Thank you so much for your words. They mean a lot. Especially because I'm prone to taking stuff way too seriously, so I really appreciate the reminder to just chill tf out. 😅❤️

Right so, onto your questions!

1) the last sentence you wrote

"It didn’t take long for your heart to pick up its frantic rhythm once more, terror seizing you anew at the horrible realization that, who…whatever was chasing you, it had been close enough for you to feel it."

Wrote that only yesterday. 💪

6) the word that appears the most in your current draft

(This is Chapter 4 btw.)

17) talk about your writing and editing process

Oh boy, what to say. Where to start.

I mean, I tend to take things a bit too seriously, as mentioned before. Which means I'll sometimes go over a sentence or paragraph until it no longer makes sense to me, lol. I know it's probably fine as is and ppl are gonna enjoy it anyway, so this is a habit of mine I'm working on. Also because, in my experience, whatever your brain comes up with after you first get your thoughts on paper, it most likely won't be as good as what you first came up with, so you end up going back to the OG anyway. 🤷🏻‍♀️

So ye, editing ain't fun, but it must be done because I'm really not happy with some of the stuff my old self has come up with. 🙃

As for the writing: This goes hand in hand with editing, actually. First things first though: Music. Most important. If I have a song I can vibe to and it fits the mood and all, then it's going rather smoothly. But, even then, I'm by no means a "fast" writer. Even when vibing, I'm still hyper focused on not making mistakes and especially using the correct tense (something I find surprisingly difficult when you're actually focused on it, lol). So, just like with editing, I'll read over a section a few hundred times before I proceed. I know some say it's more important to just get that first draft done and correct any mistakes after but, honestly? When a chapter is done, I wanna post it, not spend another few hours/days/weeks editing stuff. 🤷🏻‍♀️

So ye, writing and editing is more or less the same for me because it happens simultanously. Or it will, once I'm done with editing TBRH (The Bumpy Road Home) and things go back to "normal." 😅

What else to say...hm, I guess a few other "quirks" of mine when writing are:

Writing out a piece of dialogue and putting it somewhere on the page to use later because I just know that if I don't do that, whatever I come up with instead (because my ass forgot half of what I originally came up with) won't be as slapping. OG always wins and all. 😉

Pausing to take a breather because I get so immersed in the scene, I actually need a moment to process it. (I read somewhere that someone referred to it as "zoomies." This was more in the sense of reading a fic and coming across a section so damn good, you need a moment to process it. But, sometimes, this is very much the case for writers too. 🫠)

Looking up images, videos etc. of the ppl or things I'm writing about. For Chapter 4 of TBRH, the Denali house was my trusty companion. Just chilling in the background (aka: another tab), lol.

Starting on another scene even though I haven't finished the current one because I just need to know what happens next. (Yes, I'm aware I'm the writer.)

Well, that's all I can come up with for the moment. I'm sure there's more and maybe I'll post it at some point. ✌️

.

.

.

Thanks a lot for your questions and your lovely words! 💋

✍️ more fic writer asks!

reblog & your followers can send asks with the questions they’d like you to answer!

the last sentence you wrote

a character whose POV you’re currently exploring

how you feel about your current WIP

a story idea you haven’t written yet

first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

the word that appears the most in your current draft (wordcounter.net can tell you)

your preferred writing fonts

if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

start to finish, how long did it take you to write the last fic you posted?

what is the longest amount of time you’ve let a draft rest before you finished it?

a WIP you’d like to finish someday

a trope you’re really into right now

a fandom you’re thinking about writing for

where do you get your inspiration?

favorite weather for writing

favorite place to write

talk about your writing and editing process

if you keep them, share a deleted sentence or paragraph from a published fic

the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

in what year did you publish your first fic?

when did you publish your most recent fic?

do you ever worry about public reaction to what you’re writing? how do you get past that?

pick three keywords that describe your writing

how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

besides writing, what are your other hobbies?

are you able to write with other people around?

your favorite part of the writing process

your least favorite part of the writing process

how easy is it for you to come up with titles?

share a fic you’re especially proud of

[cheralith]

my serendipity ₊˚⊹♡

— promise yourself to him, and he'll love you forever tenfold. or... the blue lock boys and their proposals to you.

starring ; isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, michael kaiser content warnings ; gn!reader, reader wears a skirt (bachira), cursing (shidou/kaiser), reader wears a dress and heels (kaiser), lowk ooc shidou, mildly ooc kaiser, not fully edited as of 02/15 a/n ; happy late valentine's day everyone and a happy birthday to me hehe! i hope i'm not late by a mere day, but this is both my valentine's day event and my birthday gift from me to you all, so i hope that alongside this, you're surrounded by nothing but tender loving care amidst the season of love ( •◡-)-♡! there's also a collection of some of my favorite love songs i've added under each of the names that i think fit them/their scene, so take a listen for a more immersive experience, so enjoy!

— love, isagi yoichi.

The freshness of the meadow's air was an atmosphere you think you can breathe in forever, for it was so much more pristine and clear than the air you were used to in the city. The setting sun overviews the seaside town that you and your boyfriend took the pleasure of visiting as a treat for you both since he was currently off season and you decided to make the most out of what you could do. It was a scene straight out of a painting, you think to yourself, as yellows and oranges paint the sky overhead, a sliver of iris beginning to take over as twilight sets.

The little town below you hustles and bustles about, its townspeople fluttering over to wrap up the seemingly mundane day. You're a little envious that they get to see such a beautiful sight like this everyday and get to breathe in fresh air without the mayhem of cars and salarymen scattering themselves. Closing your eyes, you take in the cooling spring air of the meadow, letting yourself linger amidst the peaceful atmosphere of the countryside.

You'll miss this. The peace and placidity of a place like this. You dream of retiring to a cottage somewhere similar to here, somewhere where the grass is greener and the sky is bluer. You think it'd do you some good.

"I think some wine would pair well with your daydreaming," a voice says playfully.

Opening your eyes, you see your companion holding a bottle of wine in his hands, gentle eyes softening at your serenity. Yoichi is glad he brought you here, knowing that you needed a break from city life to just simply get away to the tranquility of the countryside. The change in you was more than evident—the stiffness in your body was long gone upon arrival and you were much more laxed when it came to last minute changes on the itinerary. It was rare he saw this side of you, so he savored it with every moment he was able to get.

Smiling gently at your boyfriend, you nod and let him pour two glasses of white wine into the glasses you and him had brought for this picnic.

"How're the sandwiches?" Yoichi asks, handing you your glass. "I bought them at this local diner nearby the hotel, so I hope they're okay."

"I really was never much of a bologna fan until now," you say as you pick up your half-eaten sandwich and hold it out for him to take a nibble. "It's a little salty, but I like it."

"I'm glad," he affirms through chews before he hums in approval. "Did you try the charcuterie board yet? This place is known for their cheeses."

You shake your head. Yoichi grins and eagerly begins to throw together a cheese-and-cracker creation, topped off with a bit of crumbled nuts. He gently cups his hand underneath the one holding the stack and motions for you to come forward.

Biting gently and letting his hand catch the crumbs, you giggle when you thoughtfully chew on the combinations as Yoichi throws the extra crumbs in his mouth to not let anything go to waste.

"Hey! This was pricey," he claims, "I'm sure half a cracker cost one hundred yen each..."

You fight the urge to spit out your food at his exaggeration. Yoichi may be a world class soccer player, with the mere mention of his name lighting peoples' faces with pride as the ace of one of Japan's soccer teams, but despite his hefty salary, there was still that semi-frugal middle class boy who still debated in buying a yogurt drink or ice cream whenever you and him stopped by a convenience store—never mind the fact that he could buy fifty of each in one sitting.

His humbleness, however, is what made you so drawn to him in the first place. He knew, you knew, and everyone knew of his great skill and play on the field, but in interviews, he was always one to scratch his neck and say "I just did what I could, really..." post-games. Yoichi never let the fame get to his head, and his ability to stay so grounded to earth made you filled with love solely for him and him alone.

The mix of the sweetness of the cheese and the saltiness of the cracker blend beautifully together on your tongue. You mimic his actions from before and give a hum and nod with approval at your boyfriend's taste.

There's a few other assortments of food that you and him have collected prior to the picnic—some fresh fruit you had bought and cut from the farmer's market, a small pasta bowl made by Yoichi himself, little quiches you had grabbed from one of the bakeries, and a strange white box that peeks itself out of the picnic basket that you have yet to open that was brought by Yoichi.

Gently clinking your glasses together, the wine that goes down your throat feels just as mellow as the atmosphere that hugs you and your boyfriend. Everything feels just so perfect right now, you could bathe yourself in such contentment.

Some conversations float by between you and Yoichi, breezy and effortless for sometime as the sun slowly sets itself into the mountains. Talks about work, about his recent plays (you laugh out loud whenever his anger gets the best of him and a short fuse of cusses spit out from him when he talks about specific players' plays, throwing a stray at one of his teammates), about the latest gossips, everything that just comes naturally to you. There was no need for a filter whenever Yoichi was with you. His judgement barely shone through when you were around.

He finishes the last of his wine rather quickly. Yoichi places it down gently and grabs your hands in his own. "I have a surprise for you."

A brow raises as your lips curl. "Oh?"

"Wait here, yeah?" Yoichi asks as grabs the picnic basket and places it in front of you. "I have to go grab something from the car. Why don't you prepare the cake in the meantime, hm? Maybe do some cleanup with the food, too, since it's getting late."

"Oh so that's what's inside the box," you murmur.

"Uh huh, I had it specially made for us," he says with a pinch of excitement in his voice. Yoichi gathers up a few of the plates and juts them in your hands, a wobbly smile upon his face as he gets up and dusts himself off, beginning to jog off in the direction of the parking lot. "I'll be right back!"

You blink at his hastiness, a little out of character for him, but shrug as you return back to your original position facing the coastal town and sunset. You're glad he tasked you with cleaning up the leftovers, since you've grown accustomed to Yoichi's occasional messiness and clumsiness when it came to handling food. There was one time during a friend's dinner party that he dropped the pot roast in front of everyone, meat going everywhere to Bachira's delight and to Barou's disdain. You also grow a little weary whenever he's around ceramic, since he's broken quite a few bowls and plates without much effort since Yoichi doesn't seem to have a grasp of his own strength whenever he washes the dishes.

You shake your head at the memories, quietly laughing to yourself when you remember Barou forcing him to mop his apartment floor from the remnants of the meat as a punishment. Barou still invites you over to his house during group events, but you often have to plead with him to invite your boyfriend, now used to the pulled face he makes or the curse of "Is the donkey really necessary to bring?" through the phone.

Tenderly, you open the picnic basket and carefully take out the white cake box to put it on the blanket. You go to prepare two plates together for the cake and take the cake cutter out of the basket, ready for slicing. Your fingers gently tug at the delicate silk ribbon right before you open the lid.

Your heart skips a beat.

It's a simple white vanilla cake shaped into a heart. Its framed with pale pink frosting on its side, as well as a couple of chocolate-covered strawberries placed in some places of the framing. But it's not the design of the cake that captures you.

It's what's written on it.

Four words written in delicate cursive so clearly and distinctly that it's hard to miss.

Will you marry me?

Your breath hitches as you read it with glazed eyes, your head whipping around to call Yoichi over, thinking perhaps he grabbed the wrong cake by accident from the cake shop, but your doubts suddenly dissipate when you're faced with Yoichi on one knee before you...

... with a velvet box in hand, a glimmering ring ready for you tucked carefully within it.

Words falter, and you can only stare at him in astonishment as he smiles at you, his lips still a little crooked in apprehension.

He bites his lip, grin growing a little wider as tears brim your eyes.

"Well?"

— with all my heart, bachira meguru.

"Meguru, that's cheating!"

"Since when where there rules to tag?!"

You huff in annoyance as your boyfriend hops off the railing of the staircase he just slid down from as his hand grazed your back to indicate you were "it" again.

You can feel some of the stares of the security guards that were left to babysit you and him as you dash your way down the staircase to chase after your boyfriend through the empty halls of the museum he had cleared out for you and him this evening. That's one of the many pros of being a professional soccer player—that anything can be bent at someone's will with a mere slide of stacks of cash. And Meguru had decided to use his own gain to entertain you and him.

By playing a game of tag between the two of you in amidst the massive art museum.

He claimed it was the perfect foundation for it; pillars to hide behind, a maze of rooms to obscure the tail that one may have on another, wide halls to run around in. For Bachira Meguru, this was the perfect battleground besides the turf of a soccer field. You suppose it also came from his early love of art due to his mother being a painter, with some of her collections even being shown for the season in one of the halls.

Anyone else of your ages would think such an activity was foolish. To an extent, yes, they were right. You and Meguru were both adults with adult responsibilities and adult lives... but you only live once and you and him lived by the philosophy to live it to the fullest. Childish whimsies came more often to you and your boyfriend, and that was the gravitational pull that drew you and him together to blossom a relationship filled with surprises and spontaneity. You felt unbelievably alive with him.

He'd call you in the middle of the night, asking you if you want to skinny dip in the nearby beach with him. He'd stop the car in the middle of a busy road as the view of an amusement park came closer, snatching your arm and tugging you out of it to run to its entrance. He'd show up at your door with concert tickets in hand unprompted, jutting one in your hand and telling you to get ready.

Bachira Meguru was a lightening bolt, sparking energy everywhere unsolicited. And you were more than happy to be struck over again and again if it meant you felt alive.

So now you're here. It's near midnight, and you're sure you and him have scattered almost all the interior terrain of the museum he cleared out in your game of tag that he brought up to you yesterday evening out of nowhere, telling you to dress nice, but to wear running shoes.

Meguru poked his head out from behind a wall that lead to the other room, giggling as you whip your head a few times to catch where he went before you spot his bright canary yellow eyes and run after him.

You weave through the plethora of statues that sprinkle about the corridor, sprinting after the flash of brown and yellow hair in front of you. It shouldn't be fair that you're currently chasing down a professional soccer player who clearly has the upper hand, but in all honesty, you think the challenge makes it all the more fun.

Stopping to catch your breath, you hunch down for a bit, gathering your skirt in your hands to reveal the worn-out running shoes you wear that contrast heavily to the outfit you're wearing as you collect your energy.

"Don't tell me you're tired already," Meguru sings out, his voice rather close.

You lift your head up to see your boyfriend standing just a few meters in front of you, leaning on a pillar of a statue with a cocky smile, arms crossed as if this was the easiest thing in the world. There wasn't even a sheen of sweat on his forehead, unlike your misted one. Your chest heaves for a few moments, and he watches anticipatingly as you collect yourself before you take a swipe at him.

Meguru jumps back just in time, laughter ringing out as you gather up your speed and sprint. You manage to turn a corner that's shared with the hallway he had just turned on and take a shortcut, waiting behind the open wall before you jump out and tap his shoulder.

"Gotcha," you grin as he gasps in delight and looks back at you, mischief ever so clear in his face.

You attempt to muffle your many fits of giggles when you come up with a plan to try and escape him. There's two choices that unfold before you—either you can run up the flight of stairs into the Greek artifacts or you can enter into the inner garden.

With not much time left, you can hear his quickening footsteps growing louder and louder, and you go for the latter.

Your feet carry you into the dark garden, making you squint your eyes to get a proper view of where you're going, but you see a sheen of light the closer you get to the center of it. Deciding that might be where the common area is, you quickly dart towards it but gasp when the entirety of it comes into full view.

Candles light up the middle area of the garden with rose petals sprinkled about the ground. A large balloon arch of white and gold arcs over what seems to be small semi-circle of little flower bouquets with a small white rug placed delicately in the middle of it all. There's two words that spell themselves out in blocky letter lights.

MARRY ME?

It takes you awhile to register the scene before you, your heart thrumming faster and faster each time you scan it.

"Aw man, you found it too early..." Meguru's voice sulks from behind you.

Whipping your head around, you yelp at your boyfriend's sudden appearance, making him grin. You think you need to take a pause from all the excitement you've been absorbed in for the past few hours, a new one being blossomed at this very moment.

There truly was never a dull moment with Bachira Meguru.

Wordlessly, his smile turns less playful and more tender when you can't find the words to say. He takes your hand in his own grasp and gently leads you to the scene before you, getting down on one knee and pulling out a small box from his back pocket.

"(L/N) (Y/N)," Meguru starts slowly, his voice displaying the utmost sincerety he's able to muster and possibly the most serious you've ever seen him. "Will you do me the honor of marrying me and being with me for the rest of our lives?"

With someone as special and as enigmatic as Meguru, it really doesn't take you much debating to choose your answer. Someone like this only comes once in a lifetime, and you decide to cherish it as much as you can in this one.

You only live once after all.

You nod, whispering a "Yes..."

Meguru's smile stretches wide before he shouts out in happiness, jumping in the air. You laugh loudly at his antics before he plucks out the ring and puts it on your finger, letting you admire it before sharing a loving kiss. The security guards that oversee the garden let out claps of celebration and a couple of shouts of approval, making you and him laugh at the accidental audience.

Meguru goes to wipe away a fallen tear from your cheek before kissing your forehead gently. He suddenly goes near your ear and whispers,

"This still means you're 'it', by the way."

— sincerely yours, itoshi rin.

Rin always thought he was meant to be alone.

His own parents tended more of their attention to Sae, and Sae himself left Rin to his own devices when Rin was only eleven, just barely hatching into puberty. Much of life Rin had to learn the harder way, where he had no forewarnings from anyone and he had to be taught his own lessons. It was his own self-discipline that got him through much of his younger years that made him so sustainable solely by his own foundations.

Even during games, he tended to lean on his own instincts on what he thought was best rather than relying on his teammates for the best play possible. If it were legible, Rin would've taken an opportunity to play 1v11 in a match since he carried the majority of his teams anyway with his prodigal skills.

He thrived best in an isolated environment anyway. And Rin felt okay with it. No person is forever anyways, not even his own blood.

Until you came along.

It was in his second year during college. It was you and your stupid owl keychain on your stupid backpack that accidentally let out your stupid second volume of Ciguatera right in front of him. It was the stupid way how his hands lingered on the book just a little more than he should've. It was the stupid way that his eyes always gravitated to you during lectures. It was the stupid way that you and him were assigned as partners for a project. It was the stupid way your eyes lit up when you found out he played soccer.

It was the stupid way he felt able to breathe the air much more comfortable around you the more he spent time with you. It was the stupid way the days felt duller when he didn't see you on campus. It was the stupid way his heart fluttered when you laughed, when you smiled, when you said his name.

It was all so... stupid.

A feeling he never felt before had been born from your existence. Itoshi Rin usually had a pretty solid grasp on things he could control, but he didn't know how to handle such a feeling of affection because he hadn't ever felt it before, and it felt too slippery to try and get a firm grip of. You shook his core, and Rin hated it because only one other person in his life was able to do such a thing.

Learning it was best to do so after his last lesson to keep himself safe, he attempted to push you away before his heart broke a second time. Yet somehow, Rin felt more drawn to your pull every time he tried to create space between you and him.

They say that distance makes the heart grow fonder. Rin never really gave the feeling such thought in regards to you until he found himself dismal and in a grey area again without seeing your face at least once, but still ever so stubborn, he thought this was best. This is what he was used to—being alone.

"I don't have time for you anymore," he said to you one evening as he dropped you off at your dorm.

You had turned back to him with the saddest eyes he'd ever seen, but with a small smile still on your face. Without asking for a reason, you merely nodded. "I see. Well... goodbye then."

Rin tried to ignore the way his heart had clenched so tightly as he watched you disappear into your dorm hall without glancing back at him one more time.

But the lines blurred. It wasn't him being alone that he reclused himself to during your absence from his life... but rather loneliness. He was back to being lonely, not alone.

He had to go back to watching movies by himself, conversing with his own thoughts instead of another voice. He had to go back to eating meals by himself without having a foot nudge his own under a table. He had to go back and stop looking for a specific pair of bright eyes and a wishful smile in the stands during games.

He went back to a world of grey of his doing. All because he was terrified to let another person handle his own heart. And he was doing a good job at altering his life back to the way it was, until you did what you usually did best and butt in and splash color all over his monochromatic canvas again.

It was before an away game, in the common-area just before he boarded the coach bus. There, just before you turned the corner, he spotted you saying goodbye to someone, where you had accidentally made eye contact with turquoise eyes that seemed to shine for the first time in a long time at your appearance before him. He couldn't stop himself from staring, feeling relieved that you were still within his radius despite him being the one to create space.

You lingered there for a moment, before swallowing and mouthing to him with that stupid gentle, forgiving smile of yours,

"Good luck. Do well."

Rin sprinted off the bus the moment they were back on campus after winning by a landslide due to his off-the-wall playing. His feet carried him to your dorm, where he rapidly knocked on your door despite it being near midnight. You opened the door to him and despite hating it when people touched him, Rin had held you so tightly with hitched breaths, whispering "I'm sorry..." over and over again into your ear.

And came Itoshi Rin's first love, blossomed on a random Friday night.

His only love at that. He can't imagine the ring in his pocket being for anyone else.

A couple years older now, he walks alongside you on the beach that he used to ponder about whatnot on as he listens to you talk about the latest gossip at work. This is the rhythm of how your dynamic usually works—you talk, Rin listens. He likes it that way. It's an adequate balance.

The air is cooling now, now that autumn is approaching. You're huddled in a light jacket (Rin's, respectively), and gently warm your hands by rubbing them together to let the created friction emit some heat. Rin wordlessly grabs your hands and cups them together, embellishing a better warmth from his own breath instead of letting you do your own work.

Your eyes soften as you let him do his own antics, his own gaze coming to meet yours as his hands envelope yours and clasps them tightly to keep the heat trapped in your skin.

"Is that better?" he asks quietly, eyes looking for any sign of your approval.

You nod contently. "Mm hm."

"I told you to dress warm," he says, sighing, "next time, bring gloves."

You know Rin long enough to know such a tone of phrase isn't necessarily scolding you, but rather cautioning you out of genuine care. It wasn't his fault his voice had a natural cutting-edge tone, but you've grown accustomed to the little bits of adjustments he does to indicate he's not being cold.

The soft sand feels more pliable than usual. Perhaps it was the heavier layers you wear, but you find yourself sinking into it more easily. Rin helps stabilize you by gripping your hand in his own, noticing your imbalance.

"It's just a little further," he murmurs softly, a little shy when he squeezes your hand in his jacket pocket.

He was never able to quite fully get over his fluster around you. You made his head fill with cotton, his heart pound a little harder, whenever you were within his vicinity. Even after six years of being together as an official couple, he never was able to fully get over that high school crush feeling. Maybe that's a good thing, though. Maybe it was meant to be that way. It was probably life's way of telling him that you were made to last for him, as only you were able to emit such a feeling for him when no one else could.

They say the average relationship lasts two years and three months. Yet somehow, Rin has never gotten over the feeling of falling in love with you since the moment he spotted you for the first time during a home game. It's been six years and ten months since that incident, and he figures that if such a feeling hasn't expired yet, it might never will.

The trail of candles suddenly appear before you to your surprise. The sand trail that it frames is the only part of the beach that is untouched by feet, as though it was waiting for you to imprint on it. On the other side of the trail lies a half-circular structure of individual white roses, all standing up right from the sand, along with blanket and a basket of wine and chocolates.

"Oh my," you mumble quietly, clearly taken aback at the rather romantic scene. While your boyfriend always did the most when it came to your dates, this was another level of sentimental. Be it the isolation from other people on the beach or the sunset horizon in the background, you feel a wave of solitude when Rin trails you down the path.

"This is rather new," you say to him suddenly, your eyes wide with worry. "Um, I didn't forget something big, did I? We celebrated your birthday... our anniversary isn't for another month..." you count down all the possible major events that you and Rin celebrated together as a couple on your fingers, but Rin shakes his head.

"No," he interjects. "This... i-is something completely different."

You blink owlishly and tilt your head, leaning your face closer to examine your boyfriend's blushed cheeks.

"Oh, are you proposing?" you ask inquisitively with a sparking coy smile, as if it was the plainest thing in the world.

Rin tends to be rather flat with his emotions, but he can't help but gawk when you guess correctly. He supposes his reaction gives his plans away, since you burst out laughing when a choked noise comes out of his throat.

"So I'm correct?" you ask through giggles.

"How'd you know?!" Rin asks, his blush now spreading rapidly on his face, the back of his neck absolutely burning with heat. Upset that all the plans he kept repeating to himself for the entire last three days was suddenly disrupted by you picking up context clues, he feels his ego crumbling before you, going back to square one where he'd feel that familiar flutter in his chest.

"Meguru told me a week ago when we all went to that one bar," you mention. "He had a little too much to drink and ended up accidentally spilling the beans."

A vein pops on Rin's forehead with avid irritation, jaw gritting as the phantom of a familiar bob-cut throws a peace sign in his mind. This is what's bound to happen when Rin asks for help on a major life event from the one person that can't keep his mouth shut even with a gun to his temple. But Bachira was the only person in the friend group that had been married so far to who was essentially his twin flame, meaning he was ultimately the last resort.

Rin thinks that he should've just asked someone on the street instead, now that it's clear his decision went awry.

Stupid shitty, fucking lukewarm bob-cut... Rin curses in his mind, a fire burning behind his eyes. Next time I see him, I'll—

"My answer is 'yes', by the way, Rin."

Rin's violent daydreams are suddenly broken when your voice cuts through. Your sweet, supple voice that's able to calm him down just by the sound of his name falling from his lips. Your superpower, he thinks.

He suddenly loosens his fist that he was making in his hand and looks at you. Clear, smiling eyes gaze at his wide ones with affirmation so distinctly held within them. All the tension he had been feeling up until this very moment instantaneously dissolves, running through his now-loosened fist like sand from the beach you and him are posted on.

He wants to grab your face and kiss you with as much strength he can muster. Wants to whisper sweet nothings and loving promises into lips he's tasted over and over again, yet just can't get enough of. Wants to hold you so tightly in his arms to the point where you meld into each other.

But, nevertheless, he holds himself back. There's still something he has to do.

"At least let me say the damn thing first," he mutters and finally gets down on one knee, his gaze never faltering against yours.

You giggle, nodding and letting him take one of your hands as his unoccupied one goes to fetch the ring box from his back pocket.

Rin was, and still is, not a man of many words. He says what he needs to say the moment he needs to say them. He feels as though he can't waste his time on incessant words, but this time, he feels as though four words can carry all the meaning he needs to convey.

He swallows thickly, presenting a luscious, glimmering ring at you, noticing the way your eyes become hypnotized with the specialized gem settled in the middle of the band.

"(Y/N)," Rin states, smoothing over your precious ring finger. "Will you marry me?

— forever yours, shidou ryusei.

"Ryu, you're gonna get another ticket!" you yell out through the helmet as the motorcycle's speedometer's needle rapidly ticks up. Your arms wrap securely around his waist as he laughs off your concern, his grip on the handles tightening when he squeezes the throttle grip.

You know Ryusei loves to live life to its fullest—its the core of his way of living life. He's irrational and explosive, impulsive and eccentric. Anything that makes him tick is what captures his full attention.

Unfortunately for you, your complete opposite behaviors is uniquely what made him so magnetized by you. Unlike Ryusei, who tends to stand out wildly in a crowd, be it his unconventional haircut or his obnoxious thoughts that he just can't keep to himself, you're demure and quiet. You keep to yourself at all times and you think that you're quite plain-looking. You don't sport wild hair or scattered piercings, nor do you remove your filter and say what you want to say, so you don't understand how someone like you have a spotlight in Ryusei's mind.

But you do, somehow. And you don't think that he's too intent on shifting it to anyone else soon.

So now you're here. It's eleven at night with an near-empty highway before you, backpacking your boyfriend that your parents heavily disapprove of in the middle of the night because he snatched you up from your apartment and told you to follow him. He tossed you his spare helmet for his motorcycle and off you and him drove into the night.

You should've known better, you really should've, considering it was Ryusei after all that you were dealing with. He'll do anything that his mind tells him to without thinking of the consequences. You can't think of another person in the world who has little to no judgement about his actions.

"Don't worry 'bout it, dolly!" he guffaws from his helmet. He lurches forward and you squeal when the motorcycle's speed suddenly jumps. "You know I'd never hurt ya!"

You very much want to protest against his claim, considering he's forced you to tag along with extreme experiences that have put you scraping at Death's door, but every time, Ryusei always tugs you back to reality, to him. Because your his before anyone else's, even the Reaper himself.

"Where are we even going?!" you ask out loud, trying to leer over his shoulder for any sort of familiar direction. To no avail, you're only met with the empty road of the highway, only lit by the streetlights. "I have a meeting really early tomorrow!"

"Fuck your meeting!" Ryusei hollers, giving another one of those joker-like laughs. "Fuck your job in general, but fuck your meeting specifically!"

You know Ryusei's hatred for your corporate job. Blame it on him hating the mundane or how you rant to him about your trashy bosses, he keeps telling you to ditch the position over and over again, even asking you if you quit every time you bring it up. You know that it's just him trying to be a good boyfriend, but when you try to bring up the fact that the job market for your skills is trash, he only shrugs and just tells you why even bother with working. His salary as a soccer player is more than enough to cover you and him.

"That doesn't answer my question!" you shout back through the loud roaring of the motorcycle's engine. "Where are we going?!"

"You'll see! You need to trust me!" he yells from over his shoulder. You can see those rows of menacing pearly whites from the shaded visor and your stomach stirs a little. From excitement or anxiety, that was up to fate to decide. You've placed your trust in Ryusei's hands a plethora of time and you still haven't gotten a good grasp of its pattern of consequences.

You merely sigh in defeat, placing your chin on his shoulder and placing your whims at his hands, letting him take reign of your late-night journey.

From a desolate parking lot, he introduces you to a lone hill, where a wooden staircase at the bottom of it waits for you and him to carry you to the top of it. It's rather a rough journey, with you counting a total of eleven flights of stairs that you have to take up in the dead of night where you were wringed out of all the energy you had from the day. Ryusei wastes no time, leaping through the first three with no problem. He waits for you as you heave through them at your own pace, your legs already starting to turn numb.

"Took you long enough," Ryusei remarks, not even waiting for a reply from you before he begins to climb another three.

By the time you've reached the sixth flight, he's already done with all of them to your discontent. He calls for you to hurry up from atop the stairs and you flicker back a frustrated middle finger back at him, to which he only answers back with an obnoxious laugh.

"Oop, watch your step, doll," he cautions as he catches you last minute before you face-plant on the floor when you trip on your last stair, your legs shaky from the exhaustion. "What took you so long?" he asks tauntingly.

You shove him off of you, deciding it was better to lean on a tree. "Screw you..."

"Mmh, you can do that later, if you'd like," he murmurs flirtatiously in your ear, laughing viciously as you swat at him. He lets you catch your breath before tugging at your sleeve and telling you to hurry. "Your surprise is waiting, c'mon."

Leave it to Shidou Ryusei to plan something spontaneous in the dead of the night. It was unfortunately very like him to do something as erratic as this, and you just hope whatever he has in store doesn't involve you facing a near-death experience like the one time he brought you bungee-jumping straight after work.

Yawning, you nod and follow him with fatigued limbs. It takes your tired eyes a little while to adjust to what Ryusei is pointing at, but the heaviness disappears the moment you understand why he brought you here so late.

The hill somehow overviews nearly all of the city and the lights it gleams out into the night. Your breath catches itself in your throat as you take in the glorious sight of the stars in the sky and the array of lights that dance about the city's skyline. The taller skyscrapers in the background loom over the rest of the city like guardians and the cars of the cars make them look like little fairies dancing about.

It's a gorgeous view that you knew you would've never seen if it weren't for the interference in your normally-mundane life that is Shidou Ryusei.

A pair of arms goes to wrap themselves around your waist and bring you closer to a chest. Ryusei settles himself nicely in the divot between your shoulder and neck, inhaling a bit of your leftover perfume. "You like?"

You nod, eyes taking in the breathtaking view in full depth, scanning every inch that your field of vision lets you see. "Yes," you breathe.

"Good," he mutters, "Discovered this place randomly a few weeks ago after a post-celebration. I thought you might like it."

"It's gorgeous, Ryu," you warmly whisper, your heart melting a little at his consideration.

In any frontal aspect, no one would expect the Shidou Ryusei to be in a relationship, let alone be good at handling one. But after being with him for quite awhile, with your third anniversary coming up soon, you found a side to him that would be deemed almost unnatural to the unsuspecting eye. Underneath those layers of brashness, you were able to find a softer side of him, one that'd only be revealed to you and you alone.

Sure, there were times when his usual image would shine through when you were with him, most prominent when there were others around that were eyeing you ("Take a look this way and I'll bust your head in, bud!" he had shouted with a wicked smile to a passerby one time that looked at you with just the slightest bit too much of intent), but behind closed doors, a tenderness revealed itself dedicated for you.

Because in all honesty—Ryusei was a good boyfriend. Audacious and obnoxious, sure, but good. There was a reason why your relationship has lasted this long, after all. He'd come at your beck and call when you needed him most with no questions asked. He'd offer you advice whenever you complained about something, knowing that you didn't really care about sympathy. He always remembered important dates, even the miniscule ones like what date the new season of your favorite show released just so he can watch it with you.

That layer that only you got to see was the prime reason as to why you returned his affection in equal fervor.

You begin to feel his lips peppering a small path up the side of the neck, letting out a brief yelp when you feel his sharp teeth graze the lobe of your ear. You can feel him grin against your skin.

"You wanna elope with me, doll?" he asks suddenly.

Spine stiffening, you look at him from the side of your now-widened eyes. "Huh?"

"You heard me," he shrugs nonchalantly, as if it doesn't bother him. And it probably doesn't, knowing that he'll always have a way out eventually to get what he wants.

"I—" you start, your words suddenly knotting in your throat. "Ryu... that's a big decision."

"Well duh!" he exclaims. "That's the point! We gotta make it dramatic as possible. That's the whole fun of it."

"Are you only asking me to do this just so you can get some weird spark of adrenaline?" you ask, brows furrowing in anticipation.

Ryusei snorts. "You think that lowly of me? Hell no. I wanna marry you, for real. It's just..." For the first time since you've known him... you hear Shidou Ryusei falter. His head hunches a bit, a frown forming itself on his lips.

"Your parents will never approve of me, we both know that," he says, his grip around you tightening as though you'd slip away from him at any moment. "I'd never get their blessing."

Your eyes soften a bit as he stares intently at the view in front of you. The way his voice goes so quiet confirms the genuineness behind his words and you know what he says about your parents is true. Yes, he loves you and yes, he'll be able to provide for you, but when your parents learned about his reputation on the field as a soccer player, they exactly weren't the most pleased to know that your boyfriend was willing to start fights with whoever dared to cross him.

But... despite it all, despite all the headlines and the rumors, Shidou Ryusei was still yours. You still held him close despite all the challenges that came your way just for being at his side. It was that singular layer of himself that he'd unsheathe just for you to let you know that you mattered to him just as much as soccer did. While the questions of why were still left unanswered, since as much as you knew him, Ryusei was still an enigma to you, his actions spoke loud and true. Reckless as he was, at the end of the day, he was so, so good to you.

Sure, you could also get such loving from some plucky nobody on the street, but Ryusei's form of love was different. It was vibrant, avid with colors and explosions of life, you don't think another person could dare paint themselves in the colors of Shidou Ryusei.

You could go about your mundane life. Settle down with someone that was just as enticing as you were, have a family, keep working at your corporate job, retire peacefully...

... but truly, where was the fun in that?

You don't think you can live life in that manner after meeting Ryusei. You don't think you should.

"... are you really serious about this?" you mutter softly. "Do you really intend on marrying me?"

Ryusei cocks a brow, as if you've just asked him if the sky is blue. "No shit I do. You think all those times me screaming 'This one's for you' right before I score a goal were for nothing?"

You sigh with a smile, memories of playbacks of your boyfriend shrieking out your name on the field when the ball lands in the net running through your mind and how you had to hide your face at times in embarrassment when he pointed a painted fingernail in your direction in the VIP section.

"Do you swear you'll treat me well?" you ask as your hand finds its way to his own.

Ryusei interlocks his fingers with yours. "When have I not?"

Your heart squeezes. "And do you swear that you'll love me forever?"

You can just hear the smirk in his voice. Suddenly, he removes his hands and repositions them on your waist, your feet suddenly not being rooted to the ground anymore.

"'Till death to us part, sweetness!" he shouts, twirling you around with his strength.

You yell at him to put you down, fists going to hit his arms as he nears the edge of the fencepost. "Okay, okay, I get it! Ryu, I'll fall—Christ, Ryusei put me down! I'll marry you, just put me down!"

Eventually, he does and his laughter dies down. Suddenly, your cheeks are being squished and your lips meet his in a semi-violent manner, teeth nearly clashing as Ryusei kisses you hard and passionately.

He holds you there for a minute, tasting your lips over and over again with his before he breaks apart from you and gives you a wide grin, smirking at your flustered breathlessness.

"Call off work," he says, giving a wet kiss on your forehead. "We're going ring shopping tomorrow first thing."

— promisingly yours, michael kaiser.

"I hate you."

... is what Kaiser said to you out of the blue one day, completely unprompted. You were standing at the entrance of his apartment, some food for him in hand, your journey to travel to his abode ending on a rather oddly sour note.

Despite the fact that it was him that asked you to come over to "hang out" at his place while he was off-season, Kaiser wanted to push you away, to get you as far away from him as possible. He could no longer stand to look at your face without his gut churning and his head spinning. Similar in the way that he'd watch his opponent score a goal during a high-intensity game, something about your presence made him feel queasy, as though there were a storm brewing up inside of him.

It wasn't always this way, which was the weird part. Or perhaps, for a better wording, wasn't always this intense. You and him had been friends since childhood, after he wandered into your father's bakery with the intent to steal to survive. You had graciously given him some spare bread rolls and told him that you'll see him later, in which his return to your father's bakery had bloomed a friendship. Leave it to the neighborhood baker's kid to befriend even the oddest of children, even the one that had a scrappy jersey and bruised knees with a busted lip that would send warning signs to most children. But no, you had to come in and swoop Kaiser into your life like the saint you were.

The problem is that Kaiser didn't know how a sickening feeling like this developed. Was it when you had baked him a small cake for one of his birthdays? Or perhaps when you started showing up to his soccer games to support him? He didn't know and that's what pissed him off—that he didn't have a definite answer to when this feeling started. He let go of that irritation quickly, however, choosing to dwell on the present and future instead of the past since he knew he couldn't change it even if he did have a framework of when. It wasn't like he could go back into the past and stop this horrid feeling from being born.

It was swiftly replaced instead by an annoyance of some kind. He'd get a tugging feeling at his chest whenever you smiled at him or whenever your hands would brush against his. His head would start to spin whenever you were near him, your perfume mingling in the air. The older you and him grew, the more intense such a feeling became and it became a more avid distraction as the years passed.

Like the time you had been sick and missed out on an extremely important match that would bring him to the German World Cup. He remembers seeing the empty seat he reserved for you and how he kept looking back at it during each play. He'd score a goal in a miraculous play and would whip his head around to see if you witnessed him in such a glory, but then a frustration would stir up within him at the air that lingered in your seat. He remembers being more destructive on the field that day.

Or perhaps the time he had taken you on a trip abroad to New York, just you and him, where amidst all the sparkling billboards, one of his own sponsored by Adidas posted on the Times Tower, Kaiser's handsome face overseeing the business of Times Square. It was hard not to miss, if anything, and he got upset that you only complimented it with a mere "That's so cool!" as though the man standing right next to you wasn't the face for one of the top soccer teams in the world.

Or when poor Ness had to witness him throw a tantrum in his apartment when you texted him that you had to cancel plans since you were going on a date one evening. Plates and glassware were broken, Kaiser's nails going to rip some of the canvases of the paintings that were hung up on the wall.

"A date?! A motherfucking date?! What the hell?!" he had shouted as another plate made contact with the wall, shattering it into pieces. "(Y/N) doesn't go on dates?! What the fuck is this!"

In his fit of fury, thoughts of all kinds had raced through his mind, and Ness had to use all of his strength to make sure Kaiser didn't hunt to the poor soul that you had a date with down. Thankfully, you had called him later that night and asked to go to his place, telling him your date had stood you up.

Ness had never seen Kaiser more serene after he ended the call with you, a content smile on his face despite the destruction around him.

Either way, you made Kaiser's body weaker with just the presence of you around him. And nothing made Kaiser hate himself more than feeling weak, hating how he was reduced that small child on the kitchen counter, staring up helplessly at a monster that he was half-created from. Your very essence made his core tighten and a heat bloom all over his cheeks, something that sickened him.

So he hates you. He hates you unbelievably so much for being able to bring him to his knees so pathetically, begging for your attention and your care. A twisted sense of shame would linger to him whenever he was reminded of your existence—as though you were his kryptonite.

He thinks this is the worse it's ever been—now that you and him are fully grown adults where maturity has blossomed something within you. You look more beautiful than usual lately, Kaiser notices. You're more confident and headstrong, your wit a little quicker. An aura of radiance seems to glimmer from you and you just have this magnetic pull that attracts many people toward your direction.

In a sinister sense, Kaiser wants to keep you all to himself. Wants to keep you trapped in his hold and keep you caged so he can admire you alone, away from prying eyes that might have similar intentions. No one should deserve to have such a beauty in their life, let alone gaze upon it. He's God's chosen emperor, only he should be allowed to have such a pretty, loving thing at his side.

But he can't obviously. You wouldn't be okay with it. And as much as Kaiser takes great pleasure in seeing faces of despair and misery from those he wants to bring down, he doesn't like it when you get upset at him. Loathes it, even, when you disapprove of something he does.

He hates you for making him so vulnerable, for showing him a side of himself that he doesn't want to acknowledge.

You blink blankly at his irritated face, raising a brow at such a statement.

But you nonchalantly shrug, used to Kaiser's peculiar behavior. Surely something from earlier must've pissed him off, which is why you leapt to your feet when he essentially commanded you to come over.

"Whatever man," you sigh, shoving your way through into his apartment without a care in the world. "Tell me something new for a change."

Kaiser opens his mouth to respond, brows furrowed, and ready to tell you to piss off and get the hell out, not wanting to be around you any longer, but words dissolve on his tongue when he watches you whistle a tune and unpack the package of food you bought along the way on the kitchen island. It's an oddly domestic scene.

You hold up a plastic container, its contents making Kaiser's eye grow wider.

"Look," you cheer, opening up and holding a stick of seasoned bread crust. "Even got your favorite!"

He swallows thickly, feeling that weakness come to his knees again when you give that dazzling smile of yours. Call him a masochist, but even though Kaiser hates the way you make him feel like this, he can't help but savor it.

So he's here now. A few years later, on the rooftop of an ancient Parisian building with a white carpet before him as he stands on end of a white carpet. The other side of it, the elevator to the rooftop.

Blue rose petals that mimic the tattoo on his neck scatter the area with a flower arch stretching over the small stage he's on. The Eiffel Tower oversees the entirety of Paris, its lights glowing amidst the evening sky. The breeze is just perfect, Kaiser just hopes everything else will go according to plan as he stares intently at the elevator.

"Ness, it feels a little tight..." you mutter, trying to tug at the blindfold that covers your eyes.

"But you can't see anything, right?" Ness asks as his grip on your shoulders stays firm.

"No, but—"

"Good!" he retorts happily. "Don't worry, we've only got a few more floors to go."

Your lips warble. You feel as though this is somehow a weird murder set up Ness has planned for you, possibly waiting for the right moment to just shove you off the building while you weren't able to see. He always did happen to hold a small grudge against you, after all, since he had to practically fight for Kaiser's attention whereas you got it so naturally.

"Where's Micha?" you ask as the floors continue to ding out from inside of the elevator.

"Somewhere," Ness singsongs out, making the feeling in your gut churn.

You stay quiet, trying to think of an escape plan to get yourself out of this mess, but suddenly you hear the elevator doors shift and feel a cool breeze.

"Watch your step now," he says from behind you, lighting pushing you forward while making sure your heel didn't get caught in the little gap of the elevator and its doors. He promised that Kaiser that everything about tonight had to go right, and if he dared to mess up anything, Kaiser would have his head. So Ness, ten times more attentive than usual, gently leads you out of the elevator and onto the rooftop.

"Where are we?" you ask him, your head turning around rapidly to try and examine your surroundings despite the black blindfold. " Are we outside?"

"Leave us be, Ness," a familiar voice says.

The heavy feeling on your chest suddenly lifts, letting you breathe a little easier now that you know that your life has been spared from Ness's hands. Kaiser's voice, though it may bring impending doom to many, somehow had the ability to ease you and your worries.

Ness goes to unravel the blindfold from your eyes, letting the warm glow of the many candles before you light up your field of vision. He leaves promptly, going back down the elevator and leaving you alone with the blurry figure some meters before you. Your vision clears eventually, and the scene unfurls before you much more vividly.

There stands Kaiser at the end of a magnificent carpet that tells you to come his way, dressed in a dark blue button up and black slacks with matching dress shoes. Ever the handsome fellow, you softly smile at him as you walk slowly down the carpet, never breaking eye contact with him.

It was good to make you wear white for tonight, Kaiser thinks to himself as he gets hypnotized by the way your dress flows behind you. This almost feels like practice to what's to come.

"This doesn't look like a dinner," you say softly as you take Kaiser's hand to help you up the platform.

"No, but it's something much better," he replies, a tightness in his voice that he tries to hide. "I hope."

"You hope?" you repeat, brow raising.

"It's all going to depend on you, so don't ruin it for the both of us," Kaiser grumbles before you snort out a laugh.

Getting a hint of what's to come, you allow him to take your hand and watch as he gets down on one knee before you.

Kaiser strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly, all the while gazing at you.

"You're the only person that's able to bring me to my knees, you know that?" he professes quietly.

You can feel a hitch in your throat when you nod, a heat forming on your cheeks.

Kaiser pauses for a bit before continuing. "I hate you. You know."

"Yes," you sigh gently, thinking about all the times that Kaiser spewed out the words whenever he got annoyed with you. "You make it very aware."

He chuckles, and you can't help but laugh as well.

"But I hate you for a good reason. You make me weak, you make my head spin with every action you do, with every word you say," continues Kaiser eventually. "You know me better than I know myself. And I don't know whether it's been in each other's lives for so long or... or if I just get so vulnerable around you."

You bite your lip in apprehension, trying to regulate your breathing as the words just flow from Kaiser's lips as he pulls out a white ring box from his pocket.

"I want to feel that way around you forever, even if it might kill me," Kaiser declares. He slowly opens the ring box to reveal a handcrafted ring that glimmers with a large sapphire gem in the middle whose blue hue reminds you of someone all the familiar. "I want you to keep making me feel so stupidly small, to keep putting me in my place when I need it. And I want to relish in it forever, just as long as its you. I want you all to myself, because only you, (Y/N) (L/N), can do this to me."

"Micha," you choke out his nickname with a voice just slightly above a whisper. The way he looks at you so dearly makes you want to burst into tears. You don't think anyone else has ever looked in your direction is such an adoring way.

Kaiser takes a deep breath, his nerves easing themselves to a balance as he swallows his concern away, letting himself linger in the moment.

"Will you marry me?" he asks you tenderly.

He thinks that the tears that cascade down your perfect face gives him all the answer he needs, but his heart nearly leaps out of his chest when you whisper back,

"... yes."

a/n ; ITS DONE !!!! oooohhh i'm so tired asdfllksadfk my ass hurts from all the sitting

but hi if you've made it this far! im thinking of making a part two to this with a couple of more characters, but wow i will not lie this took some life out of me lolol but regardless! thank you for reading, reblogs and comments are always noticed and appreciated (っ´ω`c)♡ !!

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐝?

a/n: parts of this (especially when it comes to the red room) are inaccurate/not canon compliant; either because of plot reasons or simply because i don't know better lol

summary: you and nat meet in the red room — years later, you reunite. named after the taylor swift song, but not really based on it. just thought it's fitting as the title

warnings: implied sexual contents, abuse, trauma, forced hysterectomy, descriptions of blood (brief); as always — if you notice anything else, tell me!

word count: 15.7k (yes, this is a long one, but i didn’t want to start another series)

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

You're 12 when you meet her again.

Blood under fingernails and girls huddled together in a dark room. Dirt on cheeks, thin clothes, the air way too chilly for a November night.

Natasha's back. Again.

A mission in Ohio had made her believe in something entirely too good to be true. A fantasy, a pipe dream.

Family, warmth, safety. None of it real, all of it temporary. She allowed herself to sink into the feeling anyway and, foolishly, got used to it.

She should've known it'd end eventually. Part of her didn't want to believe it, though. And now she's back here, being delivered to the Red Room. They drag the girls out separately before moving them inside. When the doors open once more, she clings to Yelena. Her sister's body shakes violently.

This is the moment where they part again.

When the girls walk into the dormitory, it's dead silent. Merely the quiet footsteps and the groaning of the door's hinges cut through the quiet of the night. Rows and rows of bunk beds accommodate two dozen girls, covered by threadbare blankets. They barely stir — at this point, they're too used to this routine to care.

You, however, are awake. The door opening causes the dim glow of the hallway light to seep into the otherwise dark room, and you peek at the door. A handful of the girls, most of them ignoring you and heading straight for the few empty beds.

Only a pair of green eyes meets yours.

The first thing you notice is her blue hair. Then, you dare glancing at her face.

I know her, you think before looking away.

Bedsheets rustle. Natasha climbs into the spot above yours.

. . .

You should've known better than to step out of line.

The Red Room doesn't want you to show mercy, or take it easy on your opponents. It wants you cold and ruthless, not soft and sweet. If there's a gun in your hand, you shoot. If you have someone pinned to the ground, you deliver the final strike.

But you never, ever hesitate.

The instructors were furious. Not only did they haul you off the ground and shove you into the sensory deprivation room, but they also took away your food rations for the day.

The result?

Sitting in a cafeteria full of girls, who all have a tray of food in front of them. Bland chicken, overcooked vegetables, some bread. Dry, soggy, stale. Far from fine dining, but at least it'll fill their stomachs up about halfway.

You keep your eyes glued to the table in front of you, fingers drumming against your thighs.

Suddenly, a slice of bread is slid across the metal surface of the table. You look up, if only briefly, and meet the same pair of eyes you saw last night.

Natasha.

Your mouth opens, then you close it abruptly. No talking — you almost forgot about that rule. But she looks like she doesn't want you to thank her, either. Her face is stoic, apart from the ever so slightly furrowed eyebrows. She looks at her tray again, at the white piece of chicken, and cuts it in half.

You don't even think about what kind of risk she just took, as you're too hungry to focus on the do's and don't's of the Red Room. You just grab the bread and quickly eat it by tearing it into small pieces.

Somehow, no one notices.

"Thank you", you whisper that same night. No response comes from the bunk above yours.

. . .

Rustling of bedsheets and a bunk mate that won't stop tossing and turning.

Natasha glares at the ceiling, her arms crossed over her chest. The blanket is thin and worn, the room cold. Almost everyone else is asleep, at least judging by the quiet breathing and the silence of unmoving bodies.

Of course, everyone but the girl sleeping in the bed beneath hers.

It's been an hour since you started, and there's no sign of you stopping anytime soon. You're caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, your body restless and your mind exhausted. The images in front of you keep switching between dream and reality.

Natasha shifts again, pressing her palms against her eyes. You have training in the early morning, and if she isn't well-rested, it could lead to mistakes. She really doesn't want to get punished.

Why won't you sleep?

A soft whimper makes her glance down at you. Your body jerks, your face buried in the pillow. Natasha pauses and watches your expressions. Is it a nightmare? It wouldn't be your first. God knows she's suffered from those before as well.

Another toss. Another turn.

She can't stand it any longer. It's the middle of the night and she needs to sleep.

The bed creaks underneath her when she sits up. She stays still for a moment to make sure she didn't wake anyone, then she slides off the top bunk and silently lands on her feet. Crouching down next to you, she places her hand on your shoulder.

"Hey...", she whispers, quietly but sharply, and then struggles. Your name. What was your name? "Wake up", she continues, not bothering with the formalities. "Wake up."

Her voice cuts through the mess in your mind, but you don't wake up. Your face scrunches up and you shake your head, hand fisting the sheets underneath you.

It's frustrating, how nothing seems to work. Whatever you're dreaming about seems to have a tight grip on you. Maybe she should leave you alone — but you're being loud, and she doesn't want anyone else to wake up. Not like this. Not over something so...human.

"Wake up", she repeats, shaking you. You suddenly jerk away, and for a moment, her breath catches. Eyes wide with alarm, the fear on your face raw and instinctual. Your body has tensed up, muscles coiled tight like a snake's. You want to recoil, but you manage to make out the features of the person in front of you.

Blue hair, green eyes.

First, confusion. Then, realization. You slump into the bedsheets again, exhaling shakily. Natasha watches. At this point, she's barely breathing. The look in your eyes reminded her of something — of her, of Yelena, of every girl who's woken up in this place.

"Goodness", you finally mumble, and her stoic facade cracks for the first time in days.

"You were loud", she states.

You blink at her, then close your eyes in exhaustion. "I woke you up?"

"No. Couldn't fall asleep to begin with."

"Because of me?"

Natasha shrugs, the loose fabric of the tank top hanging off her slender frame. "You kept tossing."

You shake your head and cover your face with your hands. This should be embarrassing, at least for most people, but you feel like you have bigger problems than accidentally keeping your bunk mate awake at night. Like the fact you have combat training early in the morning.

"Did any of the Madames notice?", you ask, voice muffled and tired.

Natasha hesitates and looks at the door. Locked, of course. A faint strip of light is visible through the narrow window at the top.

"No", she says. "Not that I saw."

You nod, body relaxing slightly with relief. If any of them had noticed, you'd be paying for it by now. Nightmares are seen as a weakness — which you, 12 years old and more reasonable than the adults in this place, realize doesn't make any sense. Not many people can control their dreams.

Natasha doesn't move right away. She stays crouched next to your bed, studying you. You peek at her through your fingers and her expression doesn't waver. After a moment, she exhales sharply through her nose and shakes her head.

"Go back to sleep", she whispers and gets up. She grabs the metal frame of the top bunk and steps on the ladder.

"Natasha?", you say.

Her shoulders stiffen. It's the first time you've said her name.

She doesn't respond or look at you, but she hesitates. For you, that's enough.

"...Thanks."

Again, no response. She swings herself up onto the top bunk and curls back into the sheets.

Your breaths slow down gradually. You fall asleep at the same time.

. . .

'Don't form bonds.' 'Don't get attached.' 'Don't let someone else make you soft.'

Those are rules you aren't sure you'll be able to follow.

Music pulses through the air, but your heartbeat is louder. It echoes in your ears like a drum as you struggle to keep your movements precise.

Ballet lessons in the Red Room aren't any less harsh than the other types of training you go through. It's intense, physically demanding, just as draining as everything else. There's no space for missteps — only perfection is tolerated.

Natasha is more tired than usual. She's skilled, more so than most of the girls who've ever stepped into this place, but above all, she's human.

Sweat over her eyebrows, movements stiff but practiced. Pirouettes that get shakier with each repetition. When she stumbles, it doesn't take much thinking for you to reach out and steady her. She freezes under your touch. Her eyes flicker to yours, in them a mixture of confusion and something else. It's only there for a split second, but you notice anyway.

You quickly pull your hand away from her back. The warmth of her lingers on your fingertips.

"Sorry", you mumble. "I just- I didn't mean to-"

You don't get much further, as one of the instructors grabs you and yanks you away from her. She barks something in Russian — no touching, no helping, do you want to get punished? This will have consequences.

You don't resist as she drags you away from the others.

Natasha doesn't move, doesn't react. She just stands there as you're pulled away, her expression carefully blank.

You know better than to look back at her, but you feel her eyes on you. Watching, calculating, trying to figure out something she isn't sure exists.

The punishments of the Red Room never happen immediately. They stretch across the next hours (and sometimes days), they linger, they let this feeling of imminent doom hover in the air like a silent threat.

Again, a dark room. Something spiky they make you kneel on. Later, a corner in the cafeteria. Your back faces the other girls, who are eating silently. Nobody dares to look at you. Nobody but Natasha.

When you return to the dormitory that night, exhaustion has settled in your bones like a weight. You don't expect anything from anyone. Certainly not from her, who still looked at you with that cold detachment in her eyes.

But when you lift your blanket, you find something wrapped into a napkin. Half an apple, turning brown around the edges already. Still, it's something.

Your fingers brush over the fruit, then you slip it under your pillow. You look up and see Natasha's back. She doesn't turn, doesn't speak, and you don't, either.

Eventually, you lie down and eat the apple in silence.

Nothing seems to change, but somehow, everything does.

. . .

A room that smells like sweat and metal. Your feet hit the ground, the sharp sound echoing through the room. The Madames and the other girls stand in a circle around you, watching you like hawks. If you falter, you get punished.

You've sparred against Natasha before, but it was never like this. There's a tension between you now, a silent understanding that's lead to a delicate truce.

You don't want to hurt anyone in this room, but you especially don't want to hurt the blue-haired girl in front of you. The bunk bed would feel utterly lonely without her, even if your interactions have been limited.

However, this is the Red Room. Any fight here is brutal.

Fists, kicks, blocks, dodges. She delivers a strike to your face, and you retaliate quickly. Movements become quicker and blur together. You block a punch, and the impact sends a jolt up your arm.

Another kick, which you dodge. But your feet slide across the floor and you lose a fraction of balance. Natasha's eyes flash — she's fast. The fight turns into blocking and countering, both of you trying to get the upper hand.

She steps forward again and you push back harder. Your movements are almost mindless at this point — that is, until a soft gasp makes you pause.

Natasha touches her bottom lip, which is now split in half. Blood drips down her chin.

You freeze for a moment. There it is. The line you crossed.

"Sorry", you immediately say, lifting your shaky hand. Panic starts to pulse through your veins. "Natasha, I didn't-"

But Natasha doesn't say anything. She doesn't look angry, either. She looks...resigned. She wipes her swollen lip with the back of her hand and glances at the smudge of blood.

She looks back up at you, eyes narrowed slightly as if she's expecting something else. You want to take a step closer, comfort her, apologize until your mouth goes numb, but one of the Madames' voices cuts through the air.

"Enough!"

Startled, you take a step back. It's just in time for the woman to grab both your arms and start dragging you out of the room. You stumble after her, not entirely sure where you'll end up.

"You will both learn", she hisses, pushing open a door, "that hesitation is a weakness."

Snow, freezing cold. The air immediately seeps through your clothes and into your skin. The woman pushes you both onto your knees and ties your hands together behind your back, then she leaves again.

After what feels like an eternity of silence, you dare glancing at Natasha.

Nothing. She stares at the brick wall in front of her, jaw set stubbornly, nose red from the icy air. Her lip keeps bleeding, the blood drying on her chin.

You turn away again and close your eyes. Your fingers turn numb within minutes. Your shins, buried in the snow, first burn before losing sensation as well. Your body goes stiff.

The Red Room teaches endurance, but that doesn't change the fact that your body — young, small — is not built to withstand this kind of extreme weather. The Russian winter has a way of humbling you.

You try to shift, but the rope cutting into your wrists makes it difficult. What's almost worse than all of this is the silence between you and Natasha.

You look at her again. She's always been a hardheaded thing. Tough shell, hard to break. You've seen cracks in it, but barely.

"You're bleeding", you murmur, eyes fixed on the clump of blood on her chin.

"Stop talking", she replies. She says it like it doesn't matter, like it isn't worth the effort. But you notice the way her fingers curl. She's cold, too. It's gnawing at her just like the pain and the never ending hunger.

You shift again and almost lose your balance. Natasha quickly moves her upper body to try and steady you with her shoulder.

"Careful. You don't want to lie in the snow, I can tell you that much."

You nod and exhale, the air making your lungs freeze. She's right. If you topple over, there will be no way for you to get back up. It'd be the quickest way to a lung infection or hypothermia, if that isn't happening already.

"About earlier", you say, struggling. Your breath comes out in puffs. "I'm sorry."

Natasha shakes her head. She knows the rules. She knows you need to follow them.

"Stop apologizing.”

"I didn't mean to-"

"I told you to stop", she says flatly. Her green eyes meet yours. The wind tousles her blue hair, the individual strands fluttering. "It's not like you have a choice, do you?"

No. You certainly don't.

By the time you make it back into the dormitory, you feel like a human snowman. Your skin is raw from the cold and your entire body is sore from the punishment.

No dinner for you tonight, which would usually mean an aching stomach. Tonight, however, you have different issues.

The room is dark and silent, save for the almost inaudible breaths of the other girls. They're curled up beneath the blankets already, getting what little rest this place provides.

You fumble with the ties around your wrists, your fingers stiff and useless. Your grasp keeps slipping, your mind is spinning. You're still freezing.

Next to you, Natasha pulls hers loose first. You glance at her and frown, determined to get the knots free. It's a difficult task, considering your hands are behind your back, but she managed to do it — why shouldn't you be able to, as well?

Another beat passes. You're still struggling when you feel her move closer. Then, a sharp tug and your wrists are free.

You turn around, but Natasha is climbing the ladder to the top bunk already. You don't thank her this time. You just lay down and close your eyes to try and fall asleep.

The blanket on your bed offers little comfort. The cold has settled in your bones, deep and unyielding, and you keep shivering. You shift, shiver, shift again. Your bedsheets rustle. Toss and turn. Shift again.

A long exhale from the bunk above yours. A pause.

"Stop moving."

You huff quietly and glare at the mattress above you, even if Natasha can't see it. You lift your foot and lightly kick the spot where you assume her back should be.

"Quit that!"

"I'm cold", you whisper.

"News flash: so am I."

You hesitate, then slide off the bed. Your joints protest as you make your way up the ladder. You reach the top and see Natasha, turned away from you so she's facing the wall. You hesitate again. Then, you move under the blanket with her.

Bodies curled inwards to preserve warmth, neither of you speak. You're still cold, but it's not as harsh and lonely now. What you're feeling is a sort of comfort you've been missing for years.

You bury your face against her bony shoulder. She sighs, barely audible, but shifts to be closer to you.

"Don't make this a habit."

You'll make it a habit.

. . .

Natasha glances at you during lunch. She listens to you breathe at night. She keeps an eye on you during training.

You go on missions together. You exchange looks and faint smiles. You let each other believe you aren't alone.

Maybe you actually aren't alone anymore, either. For the first time in years, it feels like you aren't.

Something like affection builds between the two of you, as childlike and innocent as the Red Room allows it to be. It's fragile, as everything that grows in this environment is, but it's there.

You don't talk much, but words aren't necessary. A glance across the table of the cafeteria. A nod before training. Watching each other's backs. She covers for your mistakes, and you cover for hers. If one of you gets punished, usually so does the other.

You learn the rhythm of each other's footsteps and the way you move when you fight. You learn how to make it look like you're not holding back, while simultaneously making sure never to hurt the other. You'd only end up splitting her lip one more time.

At night, she doesn't ask questions when you wake up from a nightmare. Instead she just scoots and makes space, anticipating your arrival. You climb the ladder without fail each time.

It's the same blanket as yours, the same pillow. Somehow, it feels warmer. You curl into her like a cat and tuck your face against her shoulder. It's beyond you how you never get caught, but you don't dare question this wonderful, reoccurring fluke.

Again, the Red Room is still a harsh environment. Beautiful things don't thrive here. Innocence doesn't thrive here. There's no room for softness, either — but somehow, you carve out a space for it anyway.

. . .

You're 15 when you realize that she means more to you than any person in this place should.

Two years have passed. Maybe three.

You're not really sure. The Red Room makes time seem like something fluid, something inconsistent.

When you look in the mirror in the shared bathroom, you can't pinpoint the exact differences. But something is different — you're taller, your hair longer (that is, before they cut it off again), your face still young but sharper.

What really shows you that time has passed is Natasha.

Before her, you never bothered to pay enough attention to someone to notice the changes that occur over the months and years. But with her? You can basically see her grow. It's a slow process, obviously, but it's there. It's graspable, real, how her hair is growing out and how she's suddenly grown — she's still smaller than you, but at least she's almost on eye level with you now.

Despite all that, time doesn't feel real in the Red Room. It slips through your fingers like sand, but it also stretches out endlessly. Days blur together, hours feel like they last an eternity. In the middle of it all, something shifts between you and Natasha.

The distance between you shrinks. It's barely perceptible at this point. There's no specific label for it, not yet at least. You're too young, too busy with other things to really think about it, but what you once had has turned into something sweeter.

At night, you climb into her bunk. It's routine by now, not something dictated by whether you have a nightmare or not. She scoots to make space, and when you're under the covers with her, she presses into you to seek out warmth just like you do.

And then, there are moments that catch you off-guard.

A glance that lingers. A knee that rests against yours, neither of you moving away. A hand brushing against your back during ballet.

The way her voice suddenly sounds softer when murmuring "goodnight". The way the detached look on her face disappears when looking at you. The way your heart rabbits in your chest.

Maybe you should've expected it.

You don't.

It happens at night, when everyone is asleep. You're wrapped into her blanket, the one that barely shields you from the cold. You both shift, though it's not clear why — maybe to adjust the blanket, or to get into a more comfortable position. Either way, it doesn't matter.

Natasha's head turns up the same moment you look at her. Her lips brush against yours.

It's everything and nothing at the same time.

A brief, clumsy contact, but an undeniable one. It awakens a swarm of butterflies in her stomach and makes your fingers tremble. You're both frozen for a moment. Face warm and red with something like shame and realization, you glance up at her.

"Shit", she mumbles.

"Yeah." You swallow, trying to catch her gaze. She keeps staring at whatever's right next to your shoulder. "I think that was my first kiss", you add dumbly.

"You're counting this as a kiss?"

You shrug, slightly confused. "What else could it be?"

No answer. Natasha chews on her bottom lip, trying to make the fluttery feeling in her stomach go away. It's annoying, how intense it is. She's never felt it before, and now that it's here, she can't get rid of it.

Her eyes meet yours again. Neither of you know what you're doing, but that's fine.

Her breath fans against your cheek when she exhales. It's almost a sigh. Then, she leans in again.

This time, it definitely is a kiss.

. . .

Cocooned in the warmth of her bed, the world around you suddenly doesn't seem to exist anymore.

You forget about the scars and bruises that litter both of your bodies (though that doesn't stop you from tracing each new bandage with your fingers, your eyebrows furrowed and your bottom lip between your teeth, even if Natasha keeps insisting she's fine). You forget about what waits for you in the mornings and what upset you in the evenings. You forget about the dried blood on your pillow, about the upcoming missions, about everything but her.

In the middle of pain and torture, you've found purpose.

At night, you climb into Natasha's bed. Sometimes, she climbs into yours.

You start to talk more. You find out things you can tell she kept secret until now.

Losing your family is something every girl in the Red Room has gone through. Natasha, however, lost two families.

She doesn't remember the first time, but the second time is burned into her mind. It haunts her when she's alone, when it's silent. When the lights turn off and she suddenly remembers being in that container again, when a girl crying sounds a little too much like her sister.

Yelena. She mumbles the name against your shoulder, her eyes closed. Unsure what to say, you lift your hand and brush her hair away from her face. Once blue, now red with blue ends.

"Younger than you?", you ask, your voice a whisper. You heard someone stir earlier, and you don't want to risk anyone waking up to you cuddled up like this. They probably wouldn't tell on you, but you're still cautious. You're young, but you know to protect what's close to your heart.

"She was six", she says, struggling. "I couldn't help her."

You close your eyes. You smell her scent, all soap and cotton, and nudge her forehead with your nose.

"Not your fault."

"She was a kid. A baby, basically."

"We're not much older."

Natasha stays quiet for a moment. She sounds helpless when she speaks again.

"I lost her."

There's not much you can say in that moment. Maybe you don't need to say anything, either. Maybe Natasha just needs you to be there — which you are.

You let your lips brush against her forehead. Your fingers ghost over her wrist, feeling the pulse beneath. Fast, steady. Most importantly: alive.

Her fingers curl around your hand, then squeeze gently. Barely there, but it means more than she could ever know.

"You didn't lose everything", you mumble, intertwining your fingers with hers. You're each other's anchor, even in a place like this. Especially in a place like this, maybe. "We'll find her."

We.

Natasha looks at you. Her chin tilts upward and she kisses you, lips warm and minty like toothpaste.

. . .

You feel the illness long before it really hits you.

It's nothing dramatic. A simple flu, complete with a fever, a cough, a runny nose. But your skull is pounding and your muscles aching, and when you open your eyes in the morning, you feel like you were hit by a truck.

It's still dark in the dormitory. Outside, the sun is barely peeking over the horizon, but you can't see it thanks to the lack of windows. You groan when a shiver racks through you, your throat sore and burning.

Natasha leans over the edge of her bunk bed. She left the feverish warmth of your bed as soon as she noticed your discomfort. It's the first time in two years that she didn't sleep by your side.

"Y/N?"

You look at her, then close your eyes again. This can't be happening. Being sick in the Red Room is one of the worst possible misfortunes that can happen. Rest is not an option here — not really, anyway. They grant you two days to get better, and if you still feel ill afterwards?

Tough luck. You have to push through.

Natasha doesn't say anything at first, but she watches. Her eyebrows furrow with worry when you sit up, clearly dizzy. With one, swift movement, she's jumped off the bed and landed on her feet silently.

Her hands grab your shoulders and steer you back to bed.

"Nat", you mumble dismissively, voice muffled.

"Sit down", she says, pushing you onto your butt. You sit and sneeze. "Bless you. Now stay in bed."

"We have training-"

"You get two days off", she reminds you. "You need to rest."

You scoff and cross your arms. Natasha leans in and presses the back of her hand against your forehead. You don't need her to tell you to know you're burning up, but the way her expression shifts tells you anyway.

"Lay down", she murmurs.

You look at her, sighing. "Come on."

Her face, for the first time ever, turns pleading. "Lay down. Rest. You can't push yourself too hard."

After another moment of hesitation, you lay down. Natasha tucks you in, her hands lingering.

At night, you drift in and out of sleep. Natasha is sitting next to you, legs crossed. You're too dazed to pay attention to your surroundings, but you hear the faint clicking of metal and her soft, muttered curses when her hand slips.

The hex nut is slippery and small between her sweaty fingers. She slides off the mattress and sits on the cold floor, where she uses the concrete floor to smooth the edges. She's completely focused, shutting everything else out. Tongue poking out between her teeth, eyes slightly narrowed to be able to see in the darkness. Behind her, you roll over and sniffle.

Natasha turns. You barely manage to make out her features in the pitch black of the room.

You want to say something, but sleep catches up again. Cheeks rosy and slick with sweat, baby hairs sticking to your forehead, you close your eyes. Almost lost in the haze of fever and half-sleep, you can feel her fingertips brush over your temple. When she pulls away, the absence of her touch nearly manages to wake you.

You let out a sleepy huff and relax into the sheets again. Natasha picks up the hex nut and keeps filing the sharp edges.

Every night, she sits with you like this. Working quietly, diligently, until you're feeling better again.

. . .

You're 17 when you realize you're in love.

Black Widows don't have a future.

At least not the kind of future other people expect for themselves. Normal people. The ones with nine to five jobs and two kids, dogs and cats, cars in suburbs and nights out in the city. The ones who have a choice. The ones who aren't completely, utterly messed up.

It's nice to fantasize, anyway. Whether it's empty beaches or bustling cities, small cottages or mansions so big they make the Red Room seem tiny — you like escaping from reality now and then. You like allowing yourself to be delusional, to pretend you actually have an influence on how your life will go.

How will it end? You can't know that yet. But you hope it'll be at least a little more like the outcomes your mind produces late at night, when you have Natasha tucked against your chest.

She fantasizes with you. You like her fantasies, her dreams and desires, more than your own.

Though, there isn't a particular thing she wishes for. She only wants to get out of this hellhole with you.

"We will", you assure her. You're on your back, eyes glued to the ceiling you can barely see. Natasha is a warm, grounding weight on your chest you don't ever want to miss. "Even if the outside world scares me."

"More than this place?"

An unnecessary question, and you both know it.

"No." You feel her lips brush against your collarbone. "I suppose it scares me in a good way."

"Idiot", she mumbles. The affection in her voice is louder than what she said. "I suppose. Who talks like that?"

"You're mean, you know", you mutter and pinch her side. She bites your collarbone to stop herself from letting out a noise. "Ow!"

"You pinched me!", she says, her words a whisper. You scoff and lean in to kiss the grin off her face. "That doesn't work on me."

"It works on me."

"You're just looking for an excuse to kiss me."

"I wouldn't be me if I didn't."

Natasha's lips quirk into a smile. You know that because you feel it against your mouth — the subtle curve of her lips, the way her breath puffs out in amusement, her nose brushing against yours. You taste her happiness and crave more.

"I'm glad you're you", she whispers, "but I don't need your crab claws all over my skin."

You don't say anything. You huff softly, your hand reaching up to brush some hair out of her face. Natasha stills, her eyes studying you in the dead of night. You can feel the thoughts form in her brain and radiate from her, and you swallow. Her full lips part. Her voice is the only sound in the room, the only sound that ever mattered.

"I love you, you know."

Simple, quiet, to the point. For a moment, you don't respond. Not because you don't feel anything, but because you feel too much.

"I love you too", you then whisper back. Words you haven't said that many times, but the second you utter them, you know you mean it. You've meant it for a while.

She smiles and leans in, forehead pressed against yours cheek. Her breath is hot on your skin. Then she shifts to adjust herself, and you feel her face buried against your neck. You wrap your arms around her and roll over so she's tucked between you and the wall.

"Now go to sleep before you start crying or something", she mumbles. You scoff and kiss her temple. "I mean it."

"I'm not going to cry." You run your hand under her top and feel her warm skin. You feel the scars, the little bumps and ridges, the imperfections marring her skin, and quietly decide that with Natasha, imperfections don't exist. "You know, we'll get there one day."

"Where?"

"There. We'll get out, and- and we'll do everything we're told we can't."

Her eyelashes brush against your skin. Her hand fists the back of your tank top. "You're talking nonsense."

"I mean it."

A pause. The room is silent and dark, save for the quiet breathing of the other girls. When she speaks again, her voice is soft and hesitant.

"What would we do?”

You're not really sure. All you know is that, somewhere in this picture of possibilities and risks and fears, Natasha is there as well.

"Anything. Everything."

. . .

You're 18 when Natasha starts to slip away.

There is a day that all girls in the Red Room fear. Nobody really knows what happens. There is no announcement, no explanation.

The girls who leave seldomly return. If they do, they're different — sharper, but also sadder. Like even that little bit of light they had got drained out of them.

It's lunchtime. You're all gathered at the long tables, with trays in front of you.

You've had a bad feeling all morning long. From the moment you untangled yourself from Natasha, to the second you stepped into the cafeteria. It's heavy, nauseating, resting in your stomach like a weight you can't get rid of.

She seems different, too. Withdrawn, defeated. You watch her fingers trace the edge of her tray, her mind elsewhere.

You aren't sure what's going on until her name is suddenly called.

"Romanoff."

The entire room goes silent. She hesitates for what can only be a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Her chair screeches as she pushes it back. Your hand reaches out automatically, then you retract it as if you got burned. Part of you wants to jump in and stop her, tell her to stay, but you can't. No one can.

She doesn't look at you as she turns around and leaves.

You don't see her for days.

It's late in the evening when she returns. Nothing is the same anymore.

She doesn't speak, doesn't look at you. She curls into your side and puts her head on your chest. Her eyes stay open.

Concern washes over you. You dare looking down at her, at her top that has ridden up, and you feel something sour rise in your throat.

There's a bandage around her lower stomach, stained with dried blood.

You've seen many injuries in your life before — cuts, bruises, gunshot wounds — but this is different. This is deliberate, meant to keep her under control. You don't have to ask what it is.

The Red Room doesn't take kindness into account. It doesn't care about pain, grief, trauma. It doesn't care about futures stolen before they could even begin. Futures that may have never happened in the first place.

You wrap your arms around her and carefully pull her closer. You feel something warm and wet against your neck, slowly soaking into the fabric of your tank top. You don't say anything, because what are you supposed to say, anyway? That you're sorry? That you wish you could take her pain away? That this doesn't change who she is?

It doesn't change who she is. She's Natasha. But it still changes so much.

The damp area of your shirt grows warmer and larger. Her nose presses against your collarbone. You want to reassure her, comfort her, but you're not sure how. Nothing is going to give her back what was taken.

You bury your face in her hair and breathe in her scent. Soap, metal, something unmistakably her.

Her breath hitches. You can feel her suppress her sobs, making herself smaller. Her fingers twitch against your ribs, restless, not sure what to do. You're not sure, either.

Then, a sound. Small, pained, somewhere between a sob and a sigh.

"I don't feel real."

Some experiences haunt you for a lifetime.

. . .

You aren't aware of your lasts when they happen — your last kiss, your last 'I love you'. It isn't something you get to cherish, because you foolishly assume it'd happen again.

It won't. You just don't know yet.

The night before, she's in your bed. The scar on her lower stomach has healed by now. The next morning, she'll leave for a mission. Budapest, Hungary.

She doesn't want to go. It's always the same — violent, bloody, scary. At least she'll get out of the Red Room's confinements for a few days, which is the only upside she can think of.

You don't sleep much that night. Neither does she.

Her hands slide under your shirt, up to your ribcage. Fingertips trace your skin repeatedly, mapping out scars and ribs and birthmarks. She memorized the feel of you years ago. At this point, doing this is mere comfort. It's a quiet assurance that, no matter what, some things don't change.

Oh, how wrong she is.

"It's just a few days", you murmur. You can sense the anxiety radiating from her. It's not funny — obviously not —, but there's something ironic about someone as strong and resilient as Natasha being nervous about a mission. You both know that being in the Red Room is worse in many ways.

Maybe it's returning to the Red Room that worries her. Or not returning. Or always having to return. A never-ending cycle, perhaps.

"It's not about how long I'll be gone."

"I know."

Natasha looks up. Her eyes are exhausted, full of that same resignation you've been carrying for years.

"Then why'd you say it?", she asks.

You don't have an answer to that. Instead, you cup her face and kiss her. Not urgently, not desperately. Soft, slow, familiar like the feeling of your heartbeat under her fingertips.

By the time you wake up, she's gone. You won't see her again for years.

. . .

You're 31 when you get out.

Morocco's air is hot and full of dust. Yelena and you jump out of the window and land next to a woman. She turns and spots you, immediately going for an attack. You dodge her and wrap your arm around her neck. As she starts gasping, you see the vial, filled with red gas, in her hand.

"No!", she wheezes as you tighten your grip. Somehow, she manages to break the glass open right when Yelena stabs her. The powder spreads in the air and enters your airways and eyes, so you start coughing and let go of her — and the control that Dreykov had over you starts to fade.

For the first time in an eternity, you're yourself again. Or a version of yourself. You're not too sure. All you know is that the grip on your mind, your body, has disappeared. The thick haze through which you've been seeing life gets thinner and weaker.

Next to you, Yelena sneezes. You're too overwhelmed to react to that.

"What- what happened?", you stammer, letting go of the woman. Her limp body drops to the floor. "Fuck, did we kill her?"

"That...was that an antidote?" Yelena scrubs her hand down her dust-caked face. "Shit."

Confused, you start turning around to look at your surroundings. Right, Morocco. The mission. You remember getting here, but you also don't remember anything. Your memories don't seem to be your own. But they have to be, right?

Probably. You're not sure, though. Being freed from the Red Room's mind control is an odd sensation, and there are way too many things you're supposed to focus on.

You feel freedom. But it doesn't feel like you thought it would. You're...you. Just you. Suddenly, other parts of you have disappeared — parts that weren't yours in the first place, parts that they implemented in you.

Implement. They also implemented a gps-tracker. You grab a small blade and slice open your thighs to remove the small chips. You wipe your hands on your suit and get up, eyes scanning the area. For now, you're alone.

"We need to leave", Yelena says, throwing the trackers on the ground and crushing them with the sole of her boot.

"But Oksana..." You swallow as you glance at the woman lying on the dirty ground. "She helped us."

"She won't make it, Y/N", she says. "Seriously. If we don't leave now, they'll find us."

You give her a hesitant look, but Yelena looks resolute. She's about as stubborn as her older sister.

"Come on", she urges you, grabbing your arm. Her touch burns — you don't know how long it's been since you consciously felt another person's touch. You want to protest, to stay and see if Oksana's case really is as hopeless as Yelena is saying, but she keeps tugging you through the streets and into a dark alley.

A motorbike, flying down Morocco's roads. No idea where Yelena got that thing from — she suddenly made you sit on it without offering much of an explanation —, but you assume she stole it.

Wind that stings your face, whipping against your skin like punishment. You take a breath and taste dust. You cough and tighten your arms around her waist, quietly praying you won't fall and break your neck. Dying right after escaping from the Red Room would have to be the most embarrassing thing to happen in your life so far.

About an hour passes. The city flies past you, blurring like the thoughts in your head.

Yelena grips the handlebars harder and takes a sharp turn. You let out an undignified noise and bury your face against her shoulder.

"сука!", she curses when a guy, also on a motorbike, almost crashes into you. "Ah, fuck. They drive like lunatics around here."

"Are you kidding?!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" She cackles and stops in front of a gas station. You both hop off the motorbike, your legs shaking like jelly. You lean against the gas pump and groan. "Come on, that was nothing!"

"Screw you." You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand and sigh, glancing at your surroundings.

A gas station, tucked between two buildings with flickering neon signs. You smell gasoline, sweat (probably stemming from you and Yelena — you really need a shower), grilled meat coming from the stall across the street. A stray cat slinks past you, briefly looking up before losing interest. The only noise comes from a few cars passing by and a group of men loitering by their cars, laughing and talking rapidly.

Beyond the station, the road stretches into darkness. No Red Room agents, no looming threats—just empty space. It's peaceful out here, at least judging by what you can see and hear. But the paranoia lingers. You glance over your shoulder, waiting for something — someone — to come after you.

Yelena nudges your side. "Zoning out?"

"What?...no, I'm fine."

"Well, good. We still need to get some supplies." She jerks her chin toward the station and starts walking. "Chop chop!"

You sigh again, but ultimately follow her inside. Your days in the Red Room seem to be over, but peace isn't something you'll get acquainted with soon.

. . .

You awaken with a pained groan. Sunlight blinds you, so you turn your head only to be met with the sight of Yelena. She's not the most graceful sleeper — mouth agape, one leg hanging off the bed, her hand twitching in her sleep. But you're happy she's here, that you're not alone in this unfamiliar place.

You get up and stretch. The wound on your thigh stings as you step toward the window and look outside.

Early morning in Budapest is quiet but not silent. It's calm in a way you aren't used to. You still haven't gotten used to the fact you can sleep in (other than the woman snoring like a freight train), or that you can just go outside and buy bread. Or walk around the block. Maybe step into the park.

Because you're not used to it, you also don't do it. You're inside most of the time, only leaving the safe house when it's necessary. And even then you carry a gun with you, loaded and hidden under your jacket. It's a steady weight, providing you with a sense of safety. You're telling yourself it's a precaution, but deep down, you know better. The Red Room still has a grip on you.

Behind you, Yelena shifts and mumbles something in her sleep. Then, a sigh. A grunt.

You turn around and look at her. She peeks at you and rolls over so the sun isn't shining on her face anymore.

"Blinds", she mutters.

"Sorry", you say, closing the blinds. "Not going to get up?"

"I'm not crazy like you. But if you're up, you might as well make coffee."

You roll your eyes, but nod and put on your sweatshirt before padding into the kitchen. Right as you're grabbing a bottle of milk from the fridge, you hear someone fiddle with the lock of the apartment's front door.

You freeze.

Yelena may be lazy in the mornings, but she's not careless. Only you and her have access to this apartment.

The lock clicks. The door creaks open. Your hand instinctively touches your side, but you left your gun in the bedroom.

Steps, almost silent. Whoever it is, they're moving with the stealth of a cat. Only one person springs to mind, but your brain quickly pushes the thought away. Instead, you press yourself against the fridge.

You didn't expect them to find you yet. You found a spot that's well hidden, secure, thinking it'd grant you at least a few weeks to figure out what comes next. In the end, it's someone you never expected to see again.

A shadow appears in the doorway. When you look up, your eyes meet the ones you used to know like your own reflection.

They're the same. Time has had an impact on both of you, but her eyes? They never changed.

The bottle drops from your hand. Glass shatters, milk spills everywhere. But Natasha doesn't flinch. In fact, neither of you move.

You stare at her, trying to convince yourself this isn't real. That this is a dream, or she's a ghost, or maybe both. When you realize that's not the case, you silently start begging for her to leave again. Leave like she did last time, and never return.

She abandoned you in the Red Room. There's no room for sympathy here — but she stays anyway. It feels like no time has passed, even if that's definitely not the case. Time has passed. Years, decades.

Finally, her eyes flick down to the milk seeping across the floor, curling around the shards of glass.

"What a waste", she says, almost quietly. Her voice is soft enough to infuriate you.

"What the fuck are you doing here?", you snap, stepping away from the fridge. She doesn't react, doesn't budge. Truthfully, you didn't expect anything else from a woman that's able to stay calm even while defusing bombs and hunting literal aliens.

"I could ask you the same thing", she says, reaching into the pocket of her jeans. You back away and bump against the fridge again, but it's just a few pictures. On them? Two little girls, one blonde and the other blue-haired. "You sent me this."

You let out a humorless laugh, but it's tinged with pain. Your eyes stay glued to the simple images that managed to revive decades old feelings. Feelings that should be long buried.

"I didn't send you shit. You thought I'd contact you?"

"Someone", she says sharply, "sent me this. It led me here. So it was either you, or-"

"Morning", Yelena says, yawning and stretching as she enters the kitchen. She steps over the puddle. "Who the fuck is yelling this early in the morning? Also, someone dropped milk." She looks at Natasha and raises her eyebrows. "Oh, finally. Took you long enough. You're slacking."

"You sent those?", she asks, crossing her arms.

"Huh?" Yelena leans over to peek at the pictures. "Oh, yes. Right."

"Why?", you snap. Yelena gives you a surprised look.

"What, 'why'?"

"Why'd you send those", Natasha says, sliding the pictures toward her. Then, she grabs a bundle of vials and puts them on the table. "This, too."

"Oh, right", she says, sitting on the counter. She stirs the cup of coffee in her hand and takes a careful sip. "Because of the Red Room, you know. So we'll go take it down."

"You...what?"

"What are you talking about?", Natasha says, frowning. "The Red Room is gone."

Two heads whip around at the same time to stare at her. Her words, simple as they may be, make your heart pound. But she truly seems to believe what she just said.

"Are you kidding?", you say, your voice rising. "Gone? Don't tell me you really believe that."

"Dreykov's dead", she says, frowning. "I killed him years ago."

"Ha! She really believes that." Yelena jumps up and avoids the shards to reach for the vials. "This is an antidote, you know. For mind control."

Natasha shakes her head. She didn't expect to find you here; she thought it'd be just Yelena. It'd be easier if it was just her sister. She knows how to deal with her. But you? God, it's hard when it comes to you.

When she ran from her past, she ran from you. Now she has to confront the one person who, at some point in time, wasn't only her past — but her entire future.

"Dreykov is alive", you say quietly, looking away from her. You saw the expression on her face, and it's too much to handle in that moment. "You really think he'd let anyone kill him?"

"Killing him was part of my defection to SHIELD", Natasha says stubbornly. She still sounds convinced. "It took destroying almost the entire city to get to him."

Yelena pours some vodka into her coffee. When you glance at her, she shrugs. "We don't have any milk left." She turns to Natasha. "Did you confirm the kill? Check the body?"

Natasha takes a shot of vodka, her eyes tearing up slightly. You see the faint redness in them, the moisture that matches the one in your own eyes. You're both tearing up, but for different reasons. She bites the insides of her cheeks and lifts her chin in a defensive manner. "There was no body left to check.”

"He's not dead", she repeats. "Ask me, ask Y/N. We'd know."

They look at you. You shake your head, the heels of your hands pressed against your eyes, and blindly take a step forward. Glass cuts into your sole, but you ignore the sudden pain, the blood mixing with the spilled milk.

You need to get out of this room. You need to get away from Natasha, just like she got away from you.

. . .

In the morning, you leave. All three of you.

You're in the back of the car, refusing to do anything other than sit there and stare out the window. The tension in the small space is thick enough to be cut with a knife, but Yelena doesn't seem to notice that. She's never been particularly good at reading social cues, which is something she has in common with her sister.

"You two are so dramatic", she says after an eternity of silence. "I should've brought popcorn, you know."

At her words, Natasha makes a sharp turn. You brace yourself against the door and bite back a retort. Instead, neither of you reply.

Yelena yawns and stretches. She rolls her shoulders until her joints pop, then reaches over to turn on the radio. Natasha bats her hand away.

"Don't."

"It's boring."

"Yelena."

"I'll start singing." She clears her throat and then begins belting out an off-key rendition of some song. Natasha white-knuckles the steering wheel when Yelena's voice fills the car. She's doing this on purpose.

"Get her to shut up", you mutter, kicking the back of Natasha's seat.

She grits her teeth, not replying to you. Then, suddenly, she presses the small button on the radio. Static fills the car before settling on some station playing a song from the 90's you vaguely remember.

A mission in rural Russia. You and Natasha, 16 years old and curled together behind the dumpster of a bar. Soaking up the minutes left before returning to the place you're now about to go take down.

Natasha's gaze meets yours in the rear view mirror. It's just for a split second, but you both seem to soften.

. . .

You leave the city behind. Winding roads and open stretches of land replace it, the world eerily quiet in the dead of night. The car is silent, but only because Yelena has fallen asleep — head resting against the glass and mouth open, you're surprised she hasn't started drooling yet.

"How much longer?"

"A few more hours", Natasha mumbles, glancing at the fuel gauge. "We need gas."

She pulls up in front of a gas station and gets out. You stay in the back for a moment, watching her refuel the car, then unbuckle. It's cold outside, so much so that goosebumps form on your arms. You lean against the car and wait.

Natasha keeps a close eye on the fuel display, watching the numbers climb. She lets go of the handle as soon as it hits the right amount, shaking the nozzle to remove any excess fuel. She steps around the car and looks at you.

You hesitate before following her inside.

It's a typical gas station, with a bored looking clerk leaning against the counter and shelves half-stocked with dusty snack bags. Refrigerators full of soda and water bottles, some porn magazines, newspapers, souvenirs. You glance at a stuffed teddy bear that's wearing a shirt with the word 'Hungary' printed on the front.

Natasha grabs a bottle of water. When she notices you eyeing the shelves, she pauses before grabbing a second bottle and a protein bar. She holds them out to you and you hesitate once more, but then you take them.

Yelena is still asleep in the car. You sit on the curb and unscrew the bottle to take a few sips. You feel her presence as she sits next to you, see how she plucks a cigarette from her pocket, how she lights it but doesn't take a drag.

Silence used to be comfortable between the two of you. Now, it feels like an eternity of discomfort.

Plumes of smoke curl into the air as she finally takes a hit. You glance at her, briefly, but manage to catch her gaze. Wordlessly, she holds out the cigarette.

You inhale a lungful and stifle a choked cough. Natasha's lips twitch.

"Careful", she says.

"I'm not used to it."

"Might be for the better."

Natasha flicks ash off the tip before taking another puff. You glance at her and see everything that wasn't there the last time you saw her.

"You're an Avenger now", you state. She looks at you, but doesn't say anything. "Was it worth it? Leaving, I mean?"

She averts her eyes again. The cigarette falls to the ground and she presses it out with her boot.

"We're adults now", she says carefully. "There's no point in pretending. Y/N, I didn't have a choice. It was either leaving or dying in there."

You nod, fingers fiddling with the loose cap in your hands. "You left us to die instead."

No reply, no arguing back. Just silence and the hum of the cars as they pass by.

Finally, she turns around. Her fingers brush against yours, cold yet familiar, as she takes the cap from you. You look up only for the ache in your chest to increase.

"I would've come back", she says. "I didn't think you'd made it."

"Only 19 in 20."

"Yeah."

You study her in the dim light that's cast by the neon signs above you. Green, lighter than her eyes but not nearly as mesmerizing.

"I wanted to come back", she starts, glancing at the cap between her fingers. "I couldn't. Clint, he- he told me it'd be too risky. I couldn't afford going back there. Not after making it out."

"Clint?" It sounds like a question, but really, you know that name. Another Avenger.

She shakes her head in dismissal. "You'll meet him."

You tilt your head. I will?

"Point is", she says, glancing away again, "I didn't have a choice. Not really. By the time I did, it seemed like it was too late. I tried to find you, but I couldn't. It seemed impossible without directly confronting Dreykov, or someone close to him."

You nod, exhaling slowly. Trusting her still seems impossible, no matter how plausible her story may be. Being left behind like that leaves scars. Most of them haven't healed.

"The others were impressed", you mumble, tugging at your loose shoelaces until they come undone. "Jealous, but also impressed."

Natasha manages a bitter smile. "And you?"

You hesitate and let go of the shoelaces.

"I hated you for it", you admit. "At first. Now I get it, I guess. Which doesn't make it right. But you were trying to survive. We all were."

"It never stopped being about survival", she mumbles. "Not without you."

You swallow, eyes squeezing shut. You try to find an answer beneath all the layers of pain and anger, but you find nothing. Her words cut deeper than anything else she's said tonight.

You're pulled back to reality by Yelena stirring in the car. You turn around right as she lowers the window. Her tired voice cuts through the silent night, through the tension.

"You two better not be making out back there."

"We're not", Natasha calls. Despite the irritation in her voice, her lips curl into a tentative half-smile as she looks at you.

"Good. Let me know if you need a room or something."

"I'll kick you out of the car", Natasha says, unimpressed, and gets up. She holds out her hand and you take it, letting her pull you to your feet. The simple contact of skin on skin sends a familiar flurry of electricity through you. You ignore it as best as you can.

. . .

You're 32 when you take down the Red Room.

Somewhere between those moments in Hungary and the day you finally watch the place that stole your life go up in flames, you celebrate your birthday.

Truthfully, you have no idea what your actual birthday is — which is the case for most girls in the Red Room. It's a piece of information that's deliberately withheld from you, for whatever reason that may be. It's not that it'd be of importance, either. They don't celebrate your birthday. All you know is that you were born somewhere in the late days of summer.

Natasha used to celebrate with you. Handing you a piece of fruit or bread wrapped in a tissue, kissing your cheek, scooting closer. It only happened a handful of times, but every second of those nights is ingrained in your brain.

The motel you're at is rundown and small. It's unlike the ones you've seen so far, but it's not the worst, either. Considering your circumstances, you're happy with mold-free bathrooms and a somewhat clean bed.

You plop down on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging, and untie your boots. Yelena is in the shower, leaving you alone with Natasha. She hasn't said a word since you got here.

When you're about to toe off your second boot, a rounded something wrapped in a paper napkin lands in your lap. You look up and are met with the sight of Natasha watching you.

"You know what day it is?", she asks.

You stare at her, caught off guard. "No?"

"Your birthday."

You hesitate and unwrap whatever she handed you. It's a small cupcake, crushed from being carried around. Vanilla, judging by the color of the frosting. "I don't have a birthday."

"Not true", she says, sitting on the bed next to you. The mattress dips, reminding you of nights in the Red Room. How the thin mattress would sink under her weight, announcing her arrival. How the first thing she'd do is press closer and seek the warmth you both craved. "Everyone has a birthday."

Touché. You brush your finger against the bottom of the cupcake, unsure what to say.

Natasha shifts, arms crossed and expression guarded.

"I didn't bake it", she states the obvious. "I found it at a gas station."

You let out a sound that's dangerously close to a laugh, inspecting the cupcake. "How did I not notice?"

"I made Yelena distract you."

This time, you let out an actual laugh. You peel back the wrapper and take a small bite. Dry, but yummy. A bit too sweet. Nice vanilla flavor, though. "Thank you."

You look at each other. Natasha hums, tentatively reaching out to brush a crumb from the corner of your mouth. It's a brief, light touch, but it makes you freeze. Silence suddenly fills the room.

"Happy birthday", she mumbles. She pulls back, arms crossed over her middle. You swallow and look at the cupcake again.

"Doesn't feel like much of a celebration."

"They didn't have balloons."

"Candles?"

"No."

You crack a smile and poke at the cupcake. "A song, maybe?"

She laughs and shakes her head. "Not even for you. Sorry."

Something flickers in her expression, mirroring your own. Before you can address it, the bathroom door swings open. Yelena walks into the room, towel-drying her hair and humming to herself. When she sees you sitting so close on the bed, she stops and squints.

"What's going on?" Her gaze falls to the cupcake in your hand. "Hey, nobody told me we had cake!"

"It's not cake", you say. "It's-"

"A birthday cake?", she cuts in. "Oh my god. Whose birthday is it?"

"Cupcake", Natasha says, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"My birthday", you add, glancing at the woman next to you. "According to her."

"Oh. Well then..." Yelena saunters over and inspects the sweet treat. "That's pathetic. I could've stolen something way better for your birthday."

"You did steal something", Natasha reminds her. "Lollipops. A handful of them."

"Yes, but those were for me." Yelena lets out a long-suffering sigh and plops onto the second bed. She stretches her arms and legs and yawns. "Worst birthday ever."

You smile to yourself and lick some frosting off your finger. Everything else seems to fade, at least for a moment — your past, your history with Natasha, the Red Room. It's just you, a small motel room and people that maybe do care.

You take another bite.

"It's not so bad."

. . .

With the Red Room gone, you're free.

Yelena leaves with Melina and Alexei (who she, embarrassingly, introduced you as Natasha's Любовница to — it took you ten minutes to assure them you definitely aren't lovers); they're about to be useful and help the girls you freed from the Red Room.

Natasha lingers by your side as the three drive away. You glance at her, allowing yourself to study the facial features that have changed so much yet are still the same.

"So", she finally says, suddenly twirling a set of keys around her finger, "Любовница?"

You roll your eyes. "God, I hate you."

"Come on." She nudges you with her shoulder, then starts to walk without waiting to see if you'll follow.

You do. Maybe you always will.

You have no clue what to expect, following Natasha blindly like this.

It's been 14 years. A lot can change in over a decade of time.

Examples?

The cost of homes has doubled.

Gas prices have gone from $1.36 per gallon to $2.10 per gallon.

Instagram has replaced MySpace.

Somehow, Natasha stayed the same. Even the way she walks — long strides that you can barely keep up with — is familiar. Her little smile as she glances at you, the glint in her eyes that remained from her so-called childhood.

"You're always the same", you say as she sits in the driver's seat. "Everything's different, except you."

The engine roars to life, and the black SUV pulls out of the parking lot. Natasha focuses on the road, so much so that you start to believe she didn't hear you.

"Yeah?", she finally says, absently, and glances at you. "Is that a good thing?"

"I haven't decided yet", you mumble, tilting your head. She smiles faintly.

"I think it's good", she says. "If you're as perfect as me, why bother changing?"

You know she isn't being serious, but a part of you knows very well that, once upon a time, you'd have agreed with the sentiment. Natasha was the closest thing to perfection you knew. She exceeded whatever it is you two had back then. A foolish, naive thought only a teenager in love can have.

She didn't change. She's still brash, self-assured, always pretending she's got everything under control. But there's a weight to her now, something that's been there ever since her graduation ceremony in the Red Room.

"You're not invincible", you say quietly. "Even you've got your cracks."

Natasha hums, her gaze briefly flitting over to meet yours. "Cracks aren't always bad", she says. "Sometimes, they let light in."

"Sometimes, they make glass shatter."

For a long few seconds, she goes quiet. Then she sighs, and you hear the exasperation in her voice.

"Alright, Shakespeare", she mumbles.

You laugh, but it's an unconvincing sound. You're tired, exhausted actually. You want to sleep. You want to rest. You want answers, but you also want to drown the whole world out. You want to cling to the one familiar feeling you know, but you're also scared that the same feeling — the same person — will suddenly leave again.

You don't voice your thoughts, your fears. You stay quiet and let the darkness of the night swallow you.

. . .

It takes an actual jet for you to get wherever the hell Natasha is bringing you.

In the end, it's all the way in New York City. Here, everything is alive — the bustling crowds, the neon signs, the cars. Music and chaos and hopes and dreams, all crushed into one place.

You can tell Natasha likes it here. You can tell it's become a home to her. It's so different from the Red Room, which is probably why she likes it so much.

This place is huge. From the city to the building, everything is ten times bigger. Nothing encloses you, nothing keeps you back. Freedom seems like an achievable goal out here.

She parks in front of the building. It's late at night, so there are barely any lights greeting you from the windows of the compound. Just silence and the lighting coming from the logo beaming above you — a big A, as in Avengers.

"Not too shabby", you mumble, closing the car door behind you. Natasha follows, her eyes holding something you can't quite place. "Must've costed a fortune."

"Probably", she says. She keeps pace with you, hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans. "I'm not the one who paid for it, though."

"Tony Stark", you say. She opens the front door using a keycard, her fingerprint, and a password. Something beeps and the door opens automatically. Inside, it smells like citrus.

"Yes, exactly."

You can barely hear her footsteps as she walks upstairs. You follow behind her, briefly studying her back. Her legs, the braided red hair, the leather jacket. You smell her perfume and avert your eyes.

Natasha walks you all the way to the end of a hallway and unlocks a door there, then she pushes it open. The room you enter is spartan, minimally furnished — a bed, a closet, a desk. Clean towels, folded and stacked, lay on a chair.

"I assume you don't have any clothes in your nonexistent suitcase", she mutters, disappearing into the hallway again. She returns moments later. "Here."

Pajamas, underwear, a bottle of water. Her fingers brush against yours. You curse your heart for doing that fluttery thing again.

You swallow, cradling the clothes to your chest. Natasha, leaning against the doorframe, watches you.

"You okay?", she eventually asks.

"Are you?"

Her lips twitch into a ghost of a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She nods at the bed.

"Get some sleep", is all she says. You listen to her leave down the hall, retreating to her own room. The door closes with the gentlest of clicks.

Being alone again, you allow yourself to relax. Or, in your case, try to relax. You sit down on the bed and take a whiff of the clothes in your arms. Laundry detergent and something distinctly not Natasha. Probably for the better.

The bedsheets are softer than anything you've ever felt before. You curl into them, letting them warm you up, but sleep doesn't come. Everything else seems to be more interesting in that moment — the moon outside, the crystal clear windows, the fact that, somewhere in this big building, Natasha is going to bed as well.

You find yourself wishing for the bunk beds again. She was much closer then. Now, she seems so far away.

You roll onto your side, fingers curling into the sheets. You miss the sound of her breathing. You miss how her cold feet would press against your legs, how she'd tuck her hand under your back.

Maybe she misses it too. She probably does.

You use that as an excuse to pad down the hallway and look for her room.

She didn't tell you which one it is. She didn't have to — the pair of black boots in front of the door tell you where to go. Your hand lingers on the doorknob before you turn it.

You don't need to look at her to know she isn't asleep. Her breathing is a telltale sign that she's wide awake.

You walk on cold floor until your feet step on a rug made of wool. Your breathing hitches ever so slightly when your eyes meet in the near darkness of her room.

She stares at you for a moment. Then, without a word, she moves the comforter aside so you can lay down. You make sure to leave some space between you when you do.

You both roll onto your sides. You put your head on her pillow and smell the faint, lingering scent of her perfume. The fabric feels soft against your skin when you turn your head to bury your face in it.

"Reminds me of something", she murmurs. You can't stop the corners of your mouth from twitching into a faint smile.

"Bad habit."

Natasha's eyes trace your features. Beneath the sheets, her fingers brush against yours. Barely, just enough for your heart to start hammering. A test, maybe. Or a reminder.

Your first instinct is to scoot closer, so you do.

Your second instinct is to stay away, but this one, you ignore.

"I missed you", she says. "I really did."

"You had a funny way of showing it."

"I was selfish", she says. You scoot closer again. "I didn't want to be reminded of that place. Not even by the person who was there with me."

You give a small, bitter smile. Your fingers touch hers, and after a split second, you take her hand.

"Sometimes, I thought you were dead", you say. "Sometimes, I preferred that idea."

"Can't blame you for that, can I?"

Not letting go of her hand, you shake your head. You can hear the rain outside, but it's a sound you barely focus on. Her breathing is much more interesting than the pitter patter of the water droplets against the window.

Her thumb brushes over your knuckles. You look up and feel the impending kiss like a bad omen.

Before anything can happen, you turn your head. Ever so slightly, just enough for the tension to turn into confusion and hurt.

"Get some sleep", she says, after a long moment of silence. "I'll be here in the morning."

Natasha is a woman of her word.

. . .

You wake up at the same time. Her eyes linger on your face, then you catch them flit down.

You realize two things:

1) Your shirt has ridden up while you were asleep.

2) The faint scar, stretching along your lower belly, is on full display.

You pull down your shirt and sit up abruptly. Natasha frowns and follows in suit, scrambling out of bed.

"Hey, wait-"

"Coffee", you say, hurrying down the stairs. You hear her footsteps right behind you. "I just- I need coffee."

"Y/N, wait-"

You shake your head, round the corner — and suddenly see a group of people sitting around a table. The strong coffee smell tells you you're right here, but the amount of eyes that are watching you unsettle you.

Natasha comes to a halt next to you. She gently grabs your wrist and leads you away before anyone can say anything. As soon as you've left their field of view, their conversation continues. You don't hear it, though. You're shaking too hard to notice.

"It's okay", she starts, furrowing her eyebrows. She doesn't know what to say, either. "They're friends."

"It's not about them", you say, running your hands through your hair frantically.

"What's it about, then?"

You try taking a deep breath, but it fails. Shaking your head, you start pacing. Natasha stays still.

"Y/N", she says slowly. "Tell me."

Tell me. The way she said it makes it sound so easy — like you wouldn't be ripping open old wounds, wounds that haven't even properly healed yet. You almost laugh at the absurdity, but you're too focused on not losing that last bit of sanity you have left to do so.

"No", you snap, whirling around. Her eyes widen, but your brain doesn't register it. You're too focused on trying to breathe, which seems impossible in that moment. "No, I- fuck."

"Y/N..."

"No!" You step backwards, eyes darting across the room. Paintings, plants, polished marble floors.

A door.

Without reconsidering what you're even doing, you turn and bolt. Natasha freezes before following, but you're outside before she does.

The rain is louder than your thoughts, louder than her voice. It soaks into your clothes and hair, biting and unrelenting, weighing down your clothes and chilling you to the bone. Not nearly as bad as the Russian winter, but cold enough to make your teeth clatter.

You almost slip on the wet grass while trying to get away from Natasha. She runs after you, breathing heavily despite the fact her stamina is as good as ever.

"Y/N!", she yells. "You'll get hypothermia, you idiot!"

You don't hear her. All you hear is the pounding of your heart, the sobs ripping through your chest, the ringing in your ears. Your hand grazes against your shirt, right where the scar is.

Then, someone grabs your wrist. Pulls you closer. Another sob, your hands pressing against her chest to keep her away. But, as unrelenting and stubborn as you may be — this is a fight you can't win.

Natasha shushes you, her arms wrapping around your body. She's as drenched as you are. Your head drops against her shoulder, body still shaking and shivering.

She doesn't tell you that it's okay, because she knows it isn't. So she leads you inside, up the stairs, into the bathroom. You lean against the wall as she starts the shower, eyes slipping closed. Steam fills the room and warms it up.

You feel her fingers brush against your wrist. When you open your eyes again, she's rolled up her soaked shirt to reveal the scar that matches yours.

You've seen it before, of course. Back in the Red Room, after she disappeared for days. When she slipped into your bed and cried. The bloodied bandage, her sobs, the way something between you shifted.

You blink, looking at her for a moment, then you reach out and trace the line with your fingers. Natasha tenses, then relaxes. You slowly pull your hand away again.

"You should shower", she says, adjusting her shirt. "You need to warm up."

"You're wet, too."

"I'm fine."

"Join me."

She looks at the shower, hesitating. Then, her eyes meet yours again. She pulls her shirt over her head, the sound of wet clothes against skin louder than ever. Your hands tug your clothes off blindly.

It's warm in the shower. Not nearly as warm as her body, though. You feel it against yours.

“I’m sorry”, she says.

Your hands touch her face.

“I know.”

She kisses the side of your thumb. You push her against the tiled wall.

“You don’t have to forgive me.”

You press your lips to hers. Water fills the space around you, between you, replacing the emptiness that’s been growing for more than a decade now.

“This isn’t me forgiving you”, you say, then kiss her again. Her hands run down your back, her head tilts so she can deepen the kiss.

In the Red Room, you were never granted the freedom to go this far. Displays of affection were kept to a minimum — kisses, cuddles, fingers trailing underneath clothes but never quite reaching their destination.

Somehow, you know your way around each other's bodies anyway. It's a language in itself, one you didn't have to learn to be able to speak it fluently.

. . .

There is a reason why you always stayed in Natasha's bed. Even in a place like the Red Room, where doing so was risky, dangerous — a death sentence if anyone found out, basically —, you did it anyway.

Back then, you were both kids. You were nameless soldiers, no future or family in sight, but you were kids. Teenagers at most. Raised in a world of lies and betrayal, finding something real seemed impossible. Then, you found Natasha. Natasha, who was so human despite claiming not to be, who was more real than the hunger you felt or the prickling pain of snow on bare skin. Natasha, who was a constant, a fragile thread that connected you to life itself.

You were in a place that saw emotions as a weakness, a place in which connection was reason enough to get killed. In each other, you found something that wasn't just a weapon, or a tool, or something to be broken.

Things have changed since then, but the feelings remain. The safety, the comfort, the simplicity of it are still very real.

You used to slip into her bed every night. Suddenly, you find yourself doing the same thing all over again — but this time, there's no fear of being caught looming over you. No one's going to kill you for sharing a bed.

The other Avengers don't notice, or don't care. Either way — they don't bring it up, for whatever reason that may be. They're polite enough, possibly because Natasha threatened them to be. You find yourself getting along with them quite well. Despite that, you spend most of your time latching onto the one person whose every breath seems familiar.

You don't talk when you get under the covers at night. You feel her roll over, her cold feet against your legs and her hand under your back. You see glimpses of what could've been if you had met in a place other than the Red Room.

Sometimes, you wonder what would be different. Whether you'd be married, maybe with kids. Or maybe you would've broken up after a few years. Maybe you never would've fallen in love in the first place.

So many possibilities, and you can't decide which is the least painful.

You feel that she's still awake without her having to say anything. You aren't able to fall asleep, either. Something in your body is protesting the idea of sleep.

Instead, you roll over. You curl into her and feel the kisses she places on your face.

"Sleepy girl", she mumbles.

"Can't fall asleep, so not really."

"You can be sleepy without being asleep." Natasha wraps her arms around you and pulls you into her bare chest. You nuzzle her warm skin with your nose, her scent surrounding you. "Something on your mind?"

"Please", you mutter. Ever since you were a little kid, there's always been something on your mind. Not a day goes by where your brain isn't flooded with (sometimes irrational) fears and worries. She should know that because she can relate. She does know that.

Natasha realizes her mistake and runs her hand down your back. Her fingernails gently scrape along your spine. "Fair enough."

You hum and close your eyes, lips brushing against the side of her breast. Your lips part slightly, tongue flicking against her skin. She exhales, a nearly silent sound you should've missed.

"I just..." You sigh, turning your head again. Your voice is muffled. "None of this is easy."

"Y/N, it was never easy in the first place."

That's true. It's only gotten easier over the years, but somehow, it feels like the opposite occurred.

"It's not fair."

"It was never fair, either."

You look up, eyes squinting and lips forming a thin line. "You really do have an answer for everything."

"Years of dealing with the bullshit of five different men help", she replies. Her fingertips brush against your ribs, tickling you, coaxing a small laugh from your mouth. The sound makes her feel a fluttery something in the pit of her stomach. "It's not about fairness. If it was, you'd leave."

You go silent for a moment. Slowly, you lay down on her chest again. Her heart thumps against your ear.

Natasha knows she should shut up. Not enough time has passed for her to say things like this. Wounds haven't healed, scars haven't faded. But the words lie on the tip of her tongue like you do on her chest, so she lets them tumble out.

"I love you."

You close your eyes. Her fingertips draw shapes on your back.

"I think we missed our shot there."

. . .

You're 33 when you do something you'd regret for the rest of your life.

Your relationship is a push and pull. You find that, even in the Red Room, knowing what you want was easier. Now, the decision seems unnecessarily difficult.

You may stay in her bed, but you don't join her before the hallways are dark. You kiss her, but not where anyone can see. You feel that you love her, but a part of you protests the mere idea.

Natasha notices the pattern, but she chooses not to comment on it. At least not at first — too big is the relief of having you back, of feeling something that comes close to what she last felt more than a decade ago. Things are hard, but they’re harder for you.

Still, there is a breaking point for everything.

You know she's back home without having to see her. You hear the Quinjet landing, the footsteps, the muffled voices. The Avengers are returning from a mission you didn't go on.

You glance at the live feed display of the security cameras and see a bunch of now-familiar people — among them, Natasha. Her suit is a bit torn, there's dirt on her cheeks, her hair is a mess, but she looks like she's fine. You get up anyway and open the door for them. They spot you from about 40 feet away, but your eyes are on her. When you realize they're all looking at you, you turn your head and step aside to let them in.

Natasha lingers by the door. Tentatively, she puts her hand on your side. You don't pull away from the contact, but don't lean in, either.

"Hurt?", you ask, searching her face.

"I'm good", she says, squeezing your waist. "Nothing a few painkillers can't fix."

You hum, still staring at her. She smiles faintly and kisses your cheek, but you unconsciously slip out of her embrace. You realize what you've done as soon her smile, small to begin with, fades.

"Am I doing something wrong?", she mumbles.

"No, I just..." You hesitate, unsure how honest you're allowed to be. "No. You're not doing anything wrong. This is about me, not you."

"No", she says. "It's about both of us."

You frown at her. Steve, who has been crouching in the hallway and cleaning his shoes, glances up before slowly leaving the room.

"What are you talking about?"

"In case you haven't noticed", she says, starting to unzip her suit and walk up the stairs, "there's two of us here."

You follow her, hand sliding along the railing and eyebrows furrowed. "Wow, newsflash."

She doesn't say anything. She walks into the bathroom, door almost closed, and doesn't react when you enter after her. She peels her suit off and reveals skin covered in scars, most of them healed, and dirt mixed with blood. You lean against the wall, trying not to stare.

"I want to shower", she suddenly says.

"I've seen you naked."

"Y/N."

You ignore her, and she ignores you. Her back is turned to you as she begins doing mundane things — test the water temperature, prepare a rug to put in front of the shower, pick which body lotion to use. The muscles on her back flex, on full display thanks to the sports bra she's wearing, but even that doesn't snap you out of your thoughts.

You don't know what to tell her because you don't know what you're feeling, either.

It's not that you don't feel anything — it's the opposite. After so many years, you still feel too much.

Her bra comes off, then her underwear. She takes her hair out of the braid. Stepping forward, you run your fingers through the tangled strands. She freezes before her shoulders slump.

"Are you going to keep punishing me for the rest of- of whatever this is?"

You stop, fingers still buried in the red locks. Is it a punishment?

Maybe. Not a conscious one, though.

Water flows, steam rises, hearts pound. Neither of you dare to move for a moment that lasts way too long.

"I'm not punishing you", you say, slowly moving your hand away. She exhales.

"Then what the hell are you doing?", she asks, stepping into the shower. You almost follow before realizing you're still fully clothed. Letting out a noise of frustration, you take off your shirt. "No, don't."

"No, we're talking." You let your sweatpants pool around your ankles and step out of them. Natasha swallows when she sees you half naked. "This is bullshit."

"What?"

"It's bullshit that we were better at figuring stuff out at 17 than we are now."

You join her under the water. She bites back a quiet whine.

"It's bullshit that we can't just pick up where we left off", you add. "It's bullshit that everything feels the same when it clearly isn't."

"It feels the same to me", she says defensively.

"It's not. It hasn't been since you left."

"Y/N", she says, voice low. "I know it isn't. I know what I did. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

(She would.)

"You can't make up for some things", you reply. Her sides, her breasts, her arms are warm and slick to the touch from the water. You feel the slight roughness of her scars, the contrast of smooth and scarred. You feel the muscles beneath, the gentle thump of her heartbeat. You wish you could take it all in and not have the weight of your past press down on you.

Natasha leans in, forehead resting against yours. The water falls in a steady cascade, enveloping your entwined bodies, blurring the space between you. Scents of sea salt and orange, the tiles slippery beneath your feet. You've never been closer, but you've never felt further away. Her lips brush against yours, promise and plea at once.

"Let me try", she mumbles before kissing you again. You feel the tears form in your eyes. Her lips travel to the corner of your mouth, along your jaw, down your neck. "We got out of the Red Room. We can do everything else, too."

You want nothing more than to believe her. But her words can’t undo the years of separation and silence.

"Natasha." A soft sob rips from your throat.

She kisses your collarbone, your chest. You run your fingers into her red strands of hair and grab them for purchase. Her head tilts up so she can look at you. "Please, Y/N."

Breathing ragged, you can do nothing but stare at her. Natasha gets on her knees, her lips finding the scar stretching along your lower stomach. The faded line feels hot when she litters it with slow kisses.

"No", you whisper, voice thick and shaky. "No, Nat. It doesn't work like that."

Her kisses stop. She buries her face against yours stomach. You feel her unsteady breaths against your skin, her fingers curling into the soft skin on the back of your thighs. Your thumbs brush against her temples.

"Get up", you plead. Natasha hesitates. For a second, you think she might fight for this moment with you.

But then gets to her feet. Once she's on eye level with you, you cup her face and kiss her. Firmly, deeply, apologetically. You step away, out of the shower, wrapping yourself into a towel and leaving without looking back.

There is both a first and a last time for everything.

. . .

It's been months since everything was somewhat normal.

Conversations are short, clipped, impersonal. Eyes don't linger. Her bed is a place you don't visit anymore, not even at night, when the silence is suffocating.

She doesn't initiate anything. She doesn't try to change your mind, doesn't try to fix things. She thinks it's better this way, that maybe the space will allow you to heal.

She's still making up for what happened years ago, but it's small, quiet, and you find it hard to notice it when the walls between you are this thick.

One morning, as you pad into the shared space downstairs, you see Natasha in the living room. She's wearing her suit, her hair pulled back into a braid again, and there's a backpack on the coffee table. Next to it lie guns and her Widow's Bite.

You frown. Nobody said anything about a mission.

"What?", she asks, not having to look up to know you're watching her.

"Nothing." You glance at the weapons that are neatly arranged in front of her. "You didn't...“

"No."

"Right.“

Natasha looks at you. She puts the taser aside. "Won't take long. A few days."

"Okay." You hum, briefly sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. "Not that it concerns me."

"It doesn't", she just says. Her eyes don't look away from yours. You shift under her gaze, the history between you like a weight in the air you can't escape.

"Be careful", you say.

"I always am."

"Liar."

There it is — the subtlest twitching of her lips, the almost-smile you've been dying to see. Amusement glints in her eyes, and she blinks it away.

"Go eat something", she says, focusing on her weapons again. "I made waffles. ...They're a bit burnt, though."

You want to tell her it's fine, that you'll eat them anyway. But nothing is fine. It hasn't been for a while.

"I'll pass", you say, briefly shaking your head. Natasha hums and glances at you, then she puts the weapons aside before walking into the kitchen. You follow her without needing to be told to.

A plate of — indeed burnt — waffles is handed to you. You inspect them, smelling the slight char, and look up at Natasha. The helplessness in her eyes is unfamiliar, and your chest tightens.

She's trying. She's always trying, even when you make it hard for her.

"Thank you", you manage to say, looking at the plate of food again. "I'm sure some syrup will help."

"It won't", she says, leaning against the counter. "I tried it, too."

"Sugar?"

"Nope."

"I could scrape off what's burnt."

She laughs, but the sound isn't as genuine as you hoped it'd be.

"Don't bother", she says, walking to the freezer. She pulls out a box of Eggo waffles. "Just heat these up. They'll taste better."

You glance at the yellow box. Not a bad brand — you've eaten them for breakfast a few times since getting here.

"No", you say, sitting at the kitchen table and ripping one of Natasha's waffles into two pieces. "I prefer these."

She watches you for a moment, a bunch of unsaid words lying on the tip of her tongue. Then she turns around and puts the Eggo waffles into the freezer again.

You watch her grab her stuff. She returns to the kitchen, her backpack slung over her shoulder, and studies you.

"I'll be back."

"I know."

"You can call me. If you need anything."

You smile faintly and reach for her hand. You squeeze, feeling the fabric of her fingerless gloves. "I'll be fine."

"Good." Her lips brush against your hair. "I love you. Be back soon."

One truth, one lie.

. . .

Hours after Natasha's death, Clint knocks on the door to your room. You wipe your eyes and look up, glancing at the little velvet sachet he's carrying. You two look at each other for a long moment. You see the redness in his eyes, how swollen they are. You know his pain because you feel it too.

He walks up to your bed and puts the sachet in your open palm. It's light, which doesn't make it any less confusing. Your fingers wrap around it.

"For you", he eventually says. "From her."

You frown and look at the sachet again, brushing your finger over the soft fabric. "I'm supposed to open it?"

"It'd defeat its whole purpose if you didn't."

You nod, opening the sachet and taking a look inside. What you see doesn't give you the explanation you desperately crave. What could be important enough for Natasha to give it to you from the afterlife? Not a hex nut, certainly.

"Try it on", he says. "If you want."

You put the hex nut into your palm and inspect it, then glance at Clint. "What are you talking about?"

"Y/N, just...give me your hand. Left one."

He grabs the hex nut and slides it onto your ring finger. When you realize what it is, you nearly break down. The edges, almost smooth. The shape. His explanation almost falls on deaf ears, that's how distraught you are, but you manage to catch the most important details.

How she made it in the Red Room, the nights you were sick. How she polished it using the floor. How a screwdriver she stole allowed her to hollow out the center. How she kept it in her nightstand, for years, and how a tiny part of her believed she might be able to put it to use someday.

It's not perfect. Even after all her hard work, it still resembles a hex nut more than it does an engagement ring. Natasha didn't care — it was the result that mattered, the future it may have lead to. The day you maybe do say yes, despite everything that happened.

That day wouldn't come. Nobody would ever say it out loud, but you know it's because of you.

She was your first kiss, and you're her last.

You're 34 when you lose her entirely.

[hemlockesprings]

i jam sever the blight most days of the week i’ve loved it the minute it was released

how did you decide which songs to include on going gone? how does that work? big fan 4 life keep it up xoxo <3

so glad u enjoy the single! thank you for listening! 💕

honestly, I sleep on it! I also often write/type different tracklists out until I get a warm feeling! For going going gone, I rewrote the tracklist about ~40 times before I felt good about it

I got A LOTTT of flack for not including sever in going going gone (😳) that made me feel misunderstood! For me, ggg had too much of a indie-bedroom feel that sever did not fit at all (in my mind) hence I kept it off! agree to disagree, I suppose..........

I think because I was just starting out and stuff, I just got so happy and just kept releasing.......but in time I realized I was releasing so many singles and I felt like didn't have a solid grasp on my project and what I wanted it to be....I had no direction and needed to figure it out for myself!

...so future musicians reading this, don't be like me LOL!!!!!!!!

I regret releasing it when I did (wish I kept it to release with the album) but at the end of the day, I think there's a reason for everything! From a marketing perspective I probably/definitely fucked my self over, but marketing, schmarketing, ya know??

I had to be able to sleep at night and not rip my hair out over what I felt at the time to be a lofty tracklist (also if I hadn't changed it, you probably wouldn't have gotten enknee1, train to nowhere, or going going gone)!

So that's the same thinking I am keeping with this project: What's going to keep me from pulling my hair put at the end of the night?

I probably have rewrote the tracklist about 3x as much as I did ggg! I'm starting to get a warm feeling when I look at it/hear it, so I know I am getting close!!

-🔒📝

[luvoooenha]

Enhypen as Short n’ Sweet songs!

Warnings - clubs, slightly spicy scenes…? Idk - heartbreaks - crying - teasing - luv - fluff - anger - pls lmk if i missed some!

Word count - 2.4k

a/n! Loved sabrinas short n’ sweet deluxe album, i needed to do smth enha related to it I might start a serious of enha as different types of songs, artist, etc! if wanted pls lmk if you want to be apart of the taglist!

heeseung - juno

*Whole package, babe, I like the way you fit, God bless your dad's genetics*

The club was packed, neon lights casting a moody glow over the dance floor. Bodies moved in sync with the deep bass, but Y/N had eyes for only one person—Lee Heeseung.

He was leaning against the bar, one hand wrapped around a drink, the other resting casually in his pocket. He looked unfairly good, messy hair falling over sharp eyes, lips slightly parted as he took a slow sip. He wasn’t trying to stand out, but that only made him more magnetic.

Y/N smirked, stepping forward. She didn’t hesitate—she never did. Running her fingers lightly across his shoulder as she passed, she turned just enough to catch his attention.

“Dance with me.” Not a question. A demand.

Heeseung blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward in amusement. “Bossy, aren’t you?”

Y/N just raised an eyebrow. “Are you coming or not?”

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he followed her onto the dance floor.

The moment he stepped closer, Y/N turned, pressing herself against him, her hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. She felt him inhale sharply, his hands hovering for just a second before settling at her waist.

“Damn,” he murmured, voice already lower than before.

She smirked, tilting her head just enough for her lips to brush his jaw. “Whole package, babe,” she whispered, dragging her fingers down his chest. “I like the way you fit.”

Heeseung let out a breath, his grip tightening instinctively. His hands slid lower, fingertips pressing into her hips like he needed something to ground him.

Y/N trailed a hand up, fingertips grazing his jaw before tilting his chin so he was looking straight into her eyes. “God bless your dad’s genetics,” she teased, lips curving into a knowing smile.

Heeseung swallowed hard, eyes darkening. “You’re dangerous,” he muttered, almost like a warning.

Y/N laughed, slow and sultry. “You just figuring that out now?”

Leaning in, she brushed her lips over the shell of his ear. “Now tell me, Heeseung… are you taking me home, or do I have to keep making you suffer?”

His jaw clenched, exhaling sharply—then, without another word, he grabbed her hand and led her straight out of the club.

Tonight, he was all hers.

rest of the members below the cut!

-

Jay - please please please

*Don't bring me to tеars when I just did my makeup so nice Heartbreak is one thing, my ego's another I beg you, don't embarrass me, motherfucker*

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, tilting her head slightly as she admired her reflection. The blush sat just right on her cheeks, her eyeliner sharp enough to cut through whatever bullshit the night threw at her. If nothing else, she looked flawless. And tonight, that was all that mattered.

The second she stepped into the party, she spotted Jay across the room. Of course. He was always where she didn’t need him to be. Laughing with his friends, acting like everything between them hadn’t been unraveling for weeks. Acting like she wasn’t standing there, looking the best she ever had, for him to notice.

But then, he did notice.

Jay's gaze flickered to her, then down, like he couldn’t quite hold it. Like he knew what was coming.

"Y/N," he started, meeting her halfway across the room, voice just low enough for only her to hear. "Can we talk?"

She knew how these talks went. A carefully worded speech, a soft apology that felt more like an excuse. A way to let her down easy, as if she hadn't already braced for the fall.

"Make it quick," she said, arms crossed, voice steady despite the way her chest tightened.

Jay ran a hand through his hair. "I never wanted to hurt you."

That was it. The words that meant everything and nothing all at once.

Y/N exhaled sharply, her perfectly lined eyes stinging, but she refused to let the tears fall. Not now. Not when she'd spent an hour making sure her face told the world she was unbothered. Heartbreak was one thing—she could deal with that in private. But her pride? Her ego? That was a whole different battle.

She took a step back, chin high. "Jay, I swear, if you make me cry right now—" She let out a humorless laugh. "I just did my makeup so nice."

He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand. "Don’t. Just… don’t embarrass me."

And with that, she walked away, head high, heart aching, but not a single tear in sight.

-

Jake - bed chem

*Who's the cute boy with the white jacket and the thick accent?*

The party was alive with golden lights and pulsing bass, the kind that settled under your skin and made everything feel electric. Y/N wasn’t even sure why she had come—maybe for the distraction, maybe because she was tired of scrolling through her phone in bed, watching everyone else live their lives.

But now, standing near the entrance, drink in hand, she suddenly felt alert. Because of him.

A boy she didn’t recognize.

White jacket, dark hair, a presence that stood out even in the crowded loft. He was leaned against the counter, laughing at something someone had said, but it wasn’t the laugh that caught her—it was the way he carried himself. Effortless. Like he knew exactly who he was. Like he didn’t have to try.

And then he spoke.

Low, smooth, laced with something foreign, something that rolled off his tongue in a way that made her breath hitch.

Y/N nudged her friend, eyes still locked on him. “Who’s the cute boy with the white jacket and the thick accent?”

Her friend followed her gaze, then let out a knowing grin. “Jake. Just moved here a few months ago. Apparently, he’s trouble.”

Trouble.

The word clung to the air between them, stirring something inside her. She should probably walk away now. Find someone less trouble, less interesting. But she didn’t. Instead, she tilted her glass against her lips, letting the ice cool her throat, watching him over the rim.

As if sensing the attention, Jake glanced up.

Their eyes met.

And just like that, the whole party faded.

It wasn’t an accident—he knew exactly what he was doing. His gaze was steady, unreadable at first, then something shifted. A slow smirk, the kind that said, I see you staring. What are you gonna do about it?

Y/N held her ground, her heart picking up pace. She could look away, pretend she hadn’t been caught, but where was the fun in that?

So instead, she let her lips curl into a smirk of her own. A challenge. A promise.

And just like that, the night had suddenly become a lot more interesting.

-

Sunghoon - slim pickins 

*a boy who’s jacked and kind, can't find his ass to save my life*

Y/N sighed, crossing her arms as she stood in the middle of the store parking lot, watching Sunghoon spin in slow circles, utterly lost.

“It was right here,” he muttered, glancing around, as if the car would magically reappear if he stared hard enough.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You mean where every other car is parked except yours?”

Sunghoon huffed, running a hand through his hair. “I swear, I parked near the entrance.”

Y/N fought back a grin. He was tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of guy who looked like he could carry three grocery bags in each hand without breaking a sweat. Strong, athletic, surprisingly sweet. But apparently, completely incapable of remembering where he parked.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, shaking her head. “A boy who’s jacked and kind, but can’t find his ass to save his life.”

Sunghoon shot her a playful glare. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, really? Then where’s the car, genius?”

A beat of silence. He glanced around helplessly.

“…I have no idea.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “We’re gonna be here all night.”

Sunghoon groaned, but even he was smiling now. “You could help instead of roasting me.”

“Oh, but this is way more fun.”

Still chuckling, she pulled out her phone, tapping her screen. “Lucky for you, I did think ahead.” She flashed her screen at him, showing the location pin she’d dropped when they arrived.

Sunghoon blinked, then exhaled in relief. “I take back everything. You’re actually a genius.”

Y/N smirked. “I know. Now come on, let’s go find your car before I start thinking you actually Ubered here and forgot.”

Laughing, he slung an arm around her shoulders as they finally walked in the right direction—together.

-

Sunoo - espresso

*'Now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh Is it that sweet? I guess so Say you can't sleep, baby, I know That's that me espresso'*

Y/N could feel the weight of the text before she even opened it. Sunoo had always been the type to send messages that made her smile even when she didn’t want to, but this one was different. The text, simple yet intriguing:

“Can’t sleep. I guess you’re on my mind again.”

She smirked, her fingers hovering over her phone. She knew exactly what he was doing. Sunoo had this effortless way of making her feel like she was the only person in his thoughts, even when he was probably busy with a million other things.

She couldn’t help it. She typed back, her response teasing yet playful:

“That’s funny. I guess I’m your personal espresso now?”

It didn’t take long before he replied.

“More like the best shot of caffeine I could ever have.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped her. She should’ve been asleep too, but she couldn’t fight the way Sunoo always seemed to slip under her skin. No one else could make her feel like this, like she was the center of his universe, even in a simple text at 2 a.m.

She leaned back on her bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how he always seemed to find a way into her thoughts too.

“So, you can't sleep?” she sent back, letting her voice drop playfully. “Guess that’s my fault now, huh?”

It took him a few moments before his response popped up.

“Yeah, you’ve been running through my mind all night. I don’t know whether to blame you or just admit it’s pretty sweet.”

Y/N smiled at her phone, warmth spreading through her chest. She wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something about Sunoo's words that made her feel all kinds of special. The way he thought about her—like she was the shot of espresso in his day.

Maybe she couldn’t sleep either, but tonight, that didn’t seem to matter.

-

Jungwon -  don’t smile

*Don't smile because it happened, baby Cry because it's over Oh, you're supposed to think about me Every time you hold her*

Y/N hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.

She stood on the edge of the park, watching Jungwon laugh with someone else. It wasn’t just anyone—it was her. The girl he’d started seeing just weeks after they called it quits. The girl who wore his favorite color, who could make him smile the way Y/N used to.

She had always told herself she would be okay. That they were better off apart, that maybe time would heal everything. But watching them now, the way his eyes lit up when she spoke, made something inside her twist.

They didn’t see her, too wrapped up in their own world.

Y/N swallowed, forcing herself to turn away, but the words, those lyrics, rang in her head as she walked away:

“Don’t smile because it happened, baby. Cry because it’s over.”

She hated how right they felt. How she could still feel every moment with Jungwon—the late-night talks, the laughter, the way his hand would find hers in a crowd. And now, it felt like those memories were slowly being buried beneath the weight of her own sadness.

But what hurt even more was the thought of him holding her and forgetting about the way it used to be with them.

“You’re supposed to think about me every time you hold her,” she whispered to herself, voice barely audible in the cool evening air.

Jungwon had always been the one to remember the little things. The way she liked her coffee, the exact way she laughed when she was nervous. And now... he had someone else to remember all those details for.

Y/N took a shaky breath, wiping away the tear that threatened to fall. It was over. But the hurt? That would take longer to fade.

-

Ni-ki - bad reviews

*Been alone for so long, I've got somethin' to prove If I close an eye, it's almost like your red flags are blue So still I choose to be in love with you*

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, scrolling through her phone, her mind wandering. It had been so long since she let herself feel this way—this tangled mess of emotions she couldn’t make sense of.

Ni-ki had always been there, in his own way. Quiet, serious, but with moments of warmth that made her heart skip. But lately, it felt like there were more cracks in their relationship than ever before. Red flags she couldn’t ignore—late-night texts that didn’t feel like his usual self, the way he would pull back when she got too close.

It wasn’t like she didn’t see it. She did. She saw the warning signs, the places where it wasn’t all perfect, the way his words sometimes didn’t match his actions.

But then there were moments like tonight.

Ni-ki had shown up unannounced at her door, a rare smile on his face, and everything seemed right again. She hadn’t even realized how much she missed him until she saw him standing there, looking at her with those soft, dark eyes. And for a moment, all the doubts—every little red flag—seemed to fade into the background.

She closed her eyes and thought of him.

“If I close an eye, it’s almost like your red flags are blue,” she murmured to herself. It sounded silly, but it was true. Every time she convinced herself she shouldn’t care, that maybe she was wasting her time, he’d show up with one smile, one word, and it was enough to make her forget all the signs.

She loved him. And no matter how much her heart tried to warn her otherwise, she kept choosing him.

Y/N picked up her phone and typed a message.

“I choose you, even if it’s crazy.”

She hit send, her heart racing. Would he reply? Would he understand?

Seconds later, the text bubble appeared.

“I choose you too. Always.”

And for tonight, that was all that mattered.

-

© luvoooenha on tumblr 2024-2025. please don’t copy, repost, or translate my works! feedback and reblogs are appreciated :)

[yutassweetangel]

Val special ♡

kiss kiss fall in love! 💋

song: ᵏⁱˢˢ ʸᵒᵘ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵒ・┈ I know, you know, chska

❥⁀➴featuring ! jjk men and how they'd confess to you through cliche ways! (+ kiss chu!)

︶🤍Pairing ! gojo, yuta, yuji, geto x reader

🤍 Cr ! @enchanthings-a , @ethereal-graphics

︶🤍authors note ! Had sm fun designing this! Oh yeah and im alive :D.Working on a fanfic heheheheehheh. Enjoy for now and happy valentines ♥ im alone.... As usual... heh.... Also the colour for the borders dont fit... Heh... Happy (late) valentines day! PS. This was kinda rushed sorry if the writing sucks.

🤍 word count ! 2.1K

︶🤍 warnings ! geto almost chokes you and loves to tease you, he kinda lashes out on you, but he's tired so dont blame him :(, mentions of kissing, biting and licking your lips 💋 mentions of tongue ON TONGUE YAHOOOOO, no smut but there is A LOT of spice in the kissing part

gojo

confession

not so cliché..... but gojo would confess through flirting. yes, flirting. it honestly sounds like him... one moment you'd be talking to him, just chatting. next second he's grabbing onto your hand, rubbing circles that would relieve you of any stress and anxiety before popping the big question—smoothly of course.

"did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?" gojo compliments, and you giggle at. "no like, do you want me to confess right now how much i want to be yours?"

your blood rushed to your cheeks and you look down, to notice gojo rubbing your soft, delicate hands. "y/n. how about i make you mine right now, hm? your cute, im cute, lets make cute children together eh?" he confessed.

you giggle. you can tell he wasnt joking by the way he looked deep into your eyes, searching for an answer. "gojo if this is another one of your jokes...." you said, jokingly and gojo looked hurt.

"am I THAT unserious?" gojo asked, chuckling. "yes." you agreed. "yes to my confession? love you pumpkin." you were about to retort before gojo pulled you into a hug, and squeezed you so tight, it took your breathe away.

i guess you'd let him win...... for now.

kiss

your first kiss with gojo is as expected. rough, but tender. he'd kiss you by grabbing your arm and pulling you into the most hot and intimate kiss of your life. he'd tilt his head to get better access to your lips. he'd bite, lick and nibble on your bottom lip before finally sliding tongue in once your mouth was open. he'd leave you breathless after the kiss, leaving kisses on your neck before feasting off your lips again. he'd place his hand on your chin too, for a much better access. the heat of your body radiating off his. rough, hot, passionate and tender. but also, sweet

________________________

yuta

confession

definitely through letters. what can you say? yuta is a scared and anxious guy. he's tried to confess before, but fumbled so badly you'd think he was saying his first words.

yuta's first time was so bad he'd get second hand embarrassment from it. he walked up to you in an empty classroom, his hand behind his back as if he were a little kid. unbeknown to him, you had ear pods in one ear at full volume so you could barely hear a word he said.

yuta cleared his through loud enough to get your attention. his soft cheek would turn a light pink as he looked to the ground and immediately stammer on his words before finally making a comprehendible sentence.

"erm... y/n.... I..i.... like you!" he squeaked and he immediately felt embarrassed. he wanted to disappear so badly right now. lucky you didnt hear him.

"what?" you shout, taking your ear pod out. "you like what?" you ask him, and yuta froze up. he was both happy, and disappointed. happy you didn't hear his very awkward confession, disappointed you didn't hear his awkward confession.

"I said I like poo, good-bye." yuta dashed out of the the room in embarrassment and you stood there confused.

his second confession is.... too embarrassing to say. since both his approaches failed, yuta decided since he cant voice out his love for you, he'd write out his love for you.

its a usual friday morning as any usual one, until a letter falls out of your locker. a love letter? on Val? thats so cliché yet so cute. you read the letter and it said:

"I love you. I love you, every time I breathe in, and every time i breathe out, im reminded just how much I love you. the way your cheeks rise up when you smile, the way you twirl your hair in class, the way you bite your pencil when you dont know the answer to a question, the way you jump up when your excited. the little things, I love that too. I wish you could hear how much my heart races every time i see you. I love you. they may sound like just empty words, but if I have to say it a million times before you believe me then so be it. I love you.

so can I be yours and yours only?

—yuta, your classmate if you dont remember:)"

fuck. yuta hated it—the feeling of waiting that is.

he paced around the classroom, deep in his thoughts. what if you hated it? what if you saw it as too cliché? what if—

"yuta?" your sweet, sugary voice called out to him and he froze. "y-yes?" you looked at him, both amused and in adoration. he was so cute, you thought to yourself. you ran up to him and hugged him.

yuta was stunned at first, but he quickly reciprocated it back. having you in his arms, made him the luckiest man on earth.

kiss

yuta's kisses would be just like him. soft, gentle, intimate and a little rough. yuta had this exterior of a softy, but deep inside he was an animalistic fool, and it showed most when his kissed you. he'd cup your cheeks and pull you in immediately, and then he'd go berserk. finding ways to make the kiss as deep as possible so you can remember it all day. biting your lips until they bleed. feeding off them like they're a midnight snack. then when he's done he'll ask you in his usual softly and gently tone, "are you ok? did it hurt?" as if he doesn't know what he just did. but you had to admit, they were always the best.

____________________

yuji

confession

yuji gives of MAJOR football, basket ball, or just any sports typa guy. but for the sake of these headcanons we'll do football (american yk the one where they tackle people)

yuji would definitely be the star player of the football team due to his resilience, endurance and his strength. his way of confessing would be through writing on the field for you to be his.

it would be the hottest game of the season, if yuji's team won this, they'd go to nationals. one. more. goal. that was all that rang in yuji's head as he crotched down, eyeing the opposite team member holding the ball.

he looked up to see you in the crowd holding a banner with his team name. he had to win. not for his team, not for himself, but for you. then he could pop the big question. for you to be his.

the referee blew the whistle and in an instant the ball went flying in the air, yuji immediately went after it, catching the ball and running towards the opposing teams post. he pushed, fell, stumbled and crawled his way to the goal post.

as he ran he looked at the timer, sixteen seconds left. a group of the opposing team jump on him, and just in the last second he threw the ball into the opposing teams post.

"goal!!!!" the crowd scream and erupted into cheers, some crying and cheering yuji's name, other groaning and calling the game a fluke.

yuji looked up at you, excited, happy and gorgeous as you hugged your best friend beside you in happiness. with the tension of the game finally at ease, yuji asked the big question. he ran up to the head cheerleader, whispering something into her ears before going back onto the field.

and there it was, written on the cheerleaders pom-poms and on a big paper, which his team mates held. "may I be your boyfriend y/n?"

you immediately gasped as you looked at yuji and everyone in the crowd turned to look at you. how could you ever say no?

you shouted out in the crowd a big "yes" and yuji couldn't help but smile as the crowd erupted into big cheers.

kiss

yuji's kissed would be unexpectedly soft and gentle. he'd kiss you by holding onto your waist and smash his lips onto yours. despite the way he did it, he makes sure to go soft and easy. its after sometime that he'd finally slide his tongue into your mouth—with your permission of course. your tongues would share a dance before he'd pull out, breathy as ever. a irresistible smirk on his face. oh, you just want to wipe it off... chu!

____________________

geto

confession

geto is a calm, quiet and reserved guy who doesnt seem like the type to just put himself out there and tell you he liked you and has been dreaming about kissing you, touching you and being with you every other night.

he'd confess similar to yuta's own, through poems. he seems like a man who knows his literature. he'd write you the sickest poem in the world, but he can't just make it just off the bat.

you were someone special, so this poem had to be just as special as you.

one night, while geto was brewing an amazing love poem for you, you knocked on his door and geto would respond with a tired "come in"

you allowed yourself in and was amazed by the outcome of his room. geto was a germaphobe. so to see his room, scattered in crumbled up papers and for him to writing with only a dim, yellow night to accompany him was crazy.

"hey..," you leaned on his door, crossing your arms on your chest. "are you ok? your room is... not.. you." geto sighed, running his hand in his hair and rubbing his temple in frustration.

the single light that lit up his whole room shined on his face and you could see the very visible eye bags under his eyes.

"I'm just... tired." he said, his voice deep and hoarse from the sleepless nights. you looked down at what he was writing, but couldn't see it due to the lack of lighting.

"whatcha writing about?" you asked, stuffing your hands into your pockets, your posture relaxed.

"about you." "what—?

"fuck, y/n, this is what love does to you. it drives you crazy and makes you do stupid shit," has he lost it? "look at me! I'm a mess, for you." why was he lashing out on you?

"listen geto, your tired, I think its best you get some rest." you suggest and geto sighed again, nodding his head to your suggestion. "ok. yeah, I do need some rest." geto gets up and walks over to his bed, rolling over before closing his eyes and immediately falling asleep.

you watch him and sigh before looking at the lamp. you lean over to turn it off before you look into his book.

"if now is the only time and only place, the only place, then let be with you. if i have to hold cars our heart together, then let it be with you. I want to with you, despite how mad you make me. how sad you make me. how crazy you make it. how much you break me. please, im begging you now, please say yes..."

the rest were just scribbled and crossed out words. a smiled creeped up your face as you turned the lamp off and closed the book before shutting the door behind you and smiling to yourself.

kiss

geto would pull you in for a kiss, holding onto your chin. he'd pull you so close with your eyes closed shut. waiting for him to close the distance between yours and his lips. then he'd smirk, knowing how much he's been craving for you everyday. now that your his, your craving for him. then he'd pull you in, finally closing the proximity and you'd taste his tongue, feel his hot breathe, feel how much he's been wanting this for like, ever. he'd grab onto your neck as if he's choking you, but he doesn't, he just wraps one hand on your neck, the other on the back of your head. it was like poison. his mouth, tasted like poison.

do not copy, translate. All credits to original author @yutassweetangel

if gotten inspiration from please give credits <3

[he3ts]

FOR YOUR LOVE , masterlist

( nam gyu x reader (rockstar au), thanos x reader )

warnings: to be consistent with the plot reader is danish, smut, drugs, alcohol, explicit content, lots of music, for this story i was inspired exclusively by the discography of måneskin. i was inspired by one of their songs for this story.

plot: you and nam gyu don't get along. never. he is arrogant, prickly, always ready to challenge you with sharp jokes and fiery glances. you, you are exactly like him, a devil incarnate in a woman figure. you must be perfect, as the guitarist of saurer sarg, a rock band on the rise.

on stage you are a shadow moving between sharp riffs and fiery solos, but out of there the real show is your relationship with nam gyu, the drummer. you prick each other relentlessly, always on the edge between rivalry and something more, something neither of you has ever had the courage to really face.

then there is thanos, the charismatic frontman. when you start writing songs with him, the complicity between you becomes obvious. every note, every word seems to bring you closer and closer, and suddenly nam gyu is no longer just the guy you argue with over every musical detail-he's the one who looks at you in silence when you think you don't notice.

but success brings with it the weight of choices. the tour lengthens, tensions rise, and the distance between you becomes deeper than the music can bridge. as the band begins to crumble, you are faced with a question that is not just about the music: who are you when the lights go out? and who do you really want by your side when everything seems to fall apart?

SAURER SARG ( MEMBERS )

— the guitarist,, you

— the drummer ,, nam gyu

— the singer ,, choi su bong

— the bass player ,, se mi

DISCOGRAPHY ( SONGS )

20 years ( written by thanos )

" i'm twenty years old

and i don't give a shit, i have zero to prove to you

i'm not like you who give your soul to money

from the eyes of the pure you are only cowards "

hate ( written by thanos )

" let's spend the rest of life together tonight

life is being with you in bed, everything else is waiting

we own ourselves only the time we spend together

and to both of us so it fits "

malak ( written by thanos )

" something is moving (euphoria, i'm crazy about you)

it's us against the light (euphoria, i'm crazy about you)

the birth of another venus is you and me "

the essence of the universe ( written by se mi )

" this morning i was on my way to work

i thought i'm not like them

i am a fountain pen

ink on the skin of others, a means of making sense

to the dirt on the hands of those who dig into mental problems "

the man who loved women ( written by you )

" only you, forgetting you is hard

you were a little more

i liked the way you loved

how much of a man you are

if i'm not around

you consume me in a day

waiting for a farewell "

escort ( written by nam gyu )

" come on you are ashamed

we've been here for more than an hour, you get undressed

you don't want to throw your money away

you don't need the eyes excuse anymore

it's not a vice if i do it once in a while

do you mind if i call you once in a while?

i didn't think i liked you so much

if you keep it up I swear i'll have a heart attack "

goodbye ( written by thanos )

" i never really remember how i started

we never really stop when we start

if freedom is a teenager's mistake

to love without asking, to hate without understanding "

i want you ( written by nam gyu )

" you, i feel like you're terrorised

i have a feeling

i feel like telling you now

hey, i feel like love is good

it's such a big deal

i feel like telling you now "

FOR YOUR LOVE ( CHAPTERS )

i. years to grow

new chapters coming soon

[witchygagirlwrites]

Antonio Dawson x Reader

Antonio is sick of seeing how Kelly drags your heart around

Companion piece to Never Thought

“She’s replacing Shay! There is no way possible I am ever going to like her!” That was the first thing Antonio ever heard about you from Gabby. He knew there was a new paramedic coming in after Shay’s death. Fifty one had gone through a few temps and none of them had really been a good fit, apparently Boden had found one he thought would work. “Give her a chance” he’d told his sister. He understood the gap of losing a partner, a friend but she very well couldn’t ride solo the rest of her career also.

One week later Gabby had a smile on her face when she was talking about the fact that someone had gotten aggressive with her on a call and you’d kept a smile on your face as you’d tripped the guy down the doorsteps then with all the sincerity in the world had told him “Oh no sir. It appears you’ve hurt yourself. Do you need to be checked out as well”  “What happened to never liking her?” he teased and Gabby shrugged “She’s not what I expected honestly. I think she’s gonna fit in” 

You were at fifty one for exactly one month the first time Antonio met you. Adam had caught a round to his vest but considering the bruising already spreading under it Voight wanted him ran to Med to make sure it wasn’t a collapsed lung like Kevin had happened once. When the ambulance pulled up Gabby hopped out and you followed. You were in work mode but still smiled up at him as Gabby said “Oh yeah, this one is my brother” “Nice to meet you. Heard a lot about you” he had to remind himself it wasn’t polite or professional to stare at the pretty paramedic, especially considering it was his sister’s partner and his partner was currently her patient.

“Nice to meet you too” he replied and you winked at him “See ya around Dawson” before you and Gabby loaded Adam in the rig and rolled off. Yeah, maybe he was hooked from then but it was too soon after his divorce and you weren’t even settled yet.

The longer you worked with Gabby the more her talking about you shifted from sounding like shop talk to her talking about her friend. It also meant he started getting to know you better.  You were smart as hell, damn near fearless and didn’t hesitate to run into danger even when you were scared if someone else was at risk. You had a weird sense of humor, loved strong coffee and sang along with Gabby to damn near every song on the radio. 

He watched you heal his sister’s heart as you worked your way into his. He couldn’t admit anything of course. You were his friend and sometimes that was even better because he got to see every side of you. 

You would show up in tow with Gabby, half drunk and giggly. You’d pop up to help wrangle his kids when he had them for the weekend and when he worked late a time or two he’d come in to you, Gabby and the kids all asleep in his living room floor in a blanket fort despite the fact that the kids were tiptoeing into their teens.

When intelligence would work a scene with CFD he’d find him having to catch not only his sister with her temper but you as well a time or two. You’d hold your tongue but if Gabby ever jumped? You were swinging without a second thought to back her up.

When you called him because there was a guy that wouldn’t leave you alone he took it upon himself to find the guy. He started coming by to follow you home every night just to make sure you got in your apartment ok. Then one night the guy was dumb enough to be waiting in the parking garage of your complex. He’d ended up cracking the guy’s cheek in two places and got him arrested.

He found himself falling for you but by the time he fully realized that it was too late. You were with Kelly Severide.

“Kelly isn’t treating her right” Antonio cut his eyes up at Gabby. “I know Severide wouldn’t ever lay his hands on a woman so what are we talking here?” she shrugged “He won’t commit to her. He flirts with other women constantly. He does everything shy of physically cheating then sweet talks his way with false promises back into her bed, using her heart against her” 

“What do you want me to do? If I say something and she stays with him, I’m the asshole trying to break them up” Antonio told her and she smiled slightly “Maybe, just maybe if she was faced with the fact that she has much better options available she’d kick his ass to the curb”

He shook his head “I am not telling her I have feelings for her” “Come on, don’t be a coward!” she teased and he shook his head “I’m not that kind of man” she crossed her arms, glaring at him “But you are the kind to see the woman you’ve been head over heels for get her heart dragged through the mud by some playboy while you’re sitting here wanting her and would treat her right?”

“And if she ever figures out he’s an idiot I’ll be right here” he replied and she threw up her hands in frustration “You are both idiots!”

Antonio walked into Mollys with intentions to just have a beer, hang out for a little while then head home. That was until he spotted you with his sister and her husband. He headed for the three of you “There’s my favorite paramedic” 

His sister turned first so he grinned “Oh, you’re here too Gabby” and she shook her head then you cut your eyes back at him “Hey Antonio” he smiled but when he met your eyes he knew something was wrong  “Cariño, what is wrong?” “Nothing” you answered a little too fast. He looked towards Gabby who looked across the bar so he followed her line of sight to see Kelly sitting close enough to some brunette they looked like they were on the verge of fucking right there in the bar. He felt anger flicker to life in him. He’d been holding back from you, biting his tongue for that? “Isn’t he dating you?” he asked, looking back at you and felt his heart crumple just a bit when you dropped your eyes to not look at him or Gabby “We’re not really dating” Gabby cursed under her breath but without meaning to he found himself laughing a bit “Good” 

Your eyes flew up to his “Good?” he nodded then cut his eyes at Gabby, letting her know he was taking her advice finally. She grabbed Matt’s hand and told you “Holler if you need me babe” then the two of them walked off.

You watched them then looked back at him “What?” he felt a smile slip onto his face “If you’re not really dating Severide then it shouldn’t really be an issue if I tell you I am so tired of seeing that man steal your smile” “Huh?” you asked, confusion plain on your face and god you looked fucking adorable. He nodded to the stool Gabby had been sitting on “Can I sit?” 

You nodded so he sat down, resting his hand next to yours on the bar and letting one finger trace over your knuckles gently “Gabby has told me a couple things. Don’t get mad at her, it’s just because she cares about you” and god knows his sister did. She fucking loved you. You nodded slowly, your eyes following the trail of his fingers before asking “What has she told you?” your voice was so small compared to normal he found himself lowering his own voice as he responded  “How Kelly has been dragging your heart through the mud”

You finally brought your eyes up to meet his and he smiled “You deserve much better than that. If he won’t commit to you, if he won’t see that there is a gorgeous amazing woman right here then he doesn’t deserve your attention and damn sure doesn’t deserve your heart. I’m not going to ask you out tonight because I’m not the type of man to take advantage of a bad situation but if you decided you’ve had enough and want someone that would want you and only you, I’d love to take you out sometime when you’re ready”

For a few heartbeats he was nervous he’d fucked up a friendship until you smiled “Will you walk me home?” he nodded “Of course” then stood to offer you his hand. You shivered as you stood so he looked around for your jacket “You didn’t bring a jacket?” You shook your head “I forgot one”  He slipped his jacket off and motioned for you to turn around “You don’t have to” you said and that alone, the fact that giving you his jacket when you were in a short sleeve and could see he was in a long sleeve was making you get all flustered made him want to knock Severide flat on his ass.

“I know” he told you and you finally turned to let him help you slip the jacket onto your arms. He had to admit, seeing you in it..you looked gorgeous in it.

“Now, come on. I’ll let my sister know I’m taking her partner home then if it sounds good I’d like to take you and Gabby out for breakfast tomorrow” you smiled “I’d like that”

_____________________

You and Antonio had just made it outside when he heard Kelly call your name and braced himself for a fight. He stepped to the side, letting you say whatever you felt the need to Kelly. This was your ballgame. “What Kelly?” you asked and Kelly looked between you and him “I look up to see you leaving the bar with him”

Ok that implication alone pissed Antonio off. “She asked me to walk her home” he spoke up and Kelly had the nerve to wave a hand dismissively towards him “Wasn’t talking to you” “You know what Severide” he took a step with every intention to see rather or not he could put the fireman flat on his ass but you slid between them at the last moment, a hand on both of their chests. “We are not doing this! Kelly repeat what you just said”

Kelly looked from your hand that was on his chest to your hand that was on Antonio’s “I looked up to see you leaving the bar with him” you nodded “You looked up because I was there for a good twenty minutes or more. The entire time you were so far wrapped up in another woman you never noticed me”

“We were just talking” Kelly defended and it took everything in Antonio to not laugh in the other man’s face. That was no damn excuse. You cut your eyes at Antonio “Give us a minute please?” so he nodded and took a few steps away but could still hear you as you said “Kelly do you think you could ever love me? Commit to just me fully?” he wanted to interrupt and tell you he could. He could easily see himself falling for you and just one word and he would be one hundred percent yours but he kept his mouth closed. 

After a long moment of silence stretched out you nodded “That’s what I thought. Now Antonio is going to walk me home and you’re free and clear to go in there and do more than talk with the gorgeous brunette ok?”  “Baby” Kelly finally managed and you sighed “Tell me you’ll stop flirting with other women..stop taking it so far that you do everything shy of physically cheating and mean it and I’ll come in the bar with you” “I can try to change” Kelly whispered and you shook your head “If you really wanted to there would be no effort required” 

Antonio found himself being so damn proud of you just for standing up for yourself. You never had to give him a chance. Just being able to witness you finally seeing your worth meant everything. You turned around to him and held out your hand “Dawson, walk me home?” he slipped his hand into yours and the two of you left Kelly standing on the sidewalk.

That following morning when Antonio pulled up to your apartment to pick you up to have breakfast with him and Gabby he saw something he hadn’t seen in a long time when you came out to his truck. You had a genuine smile on your face.

You slid into the passenger seat, cutting your eyes at him “Good morning” he nodded “Morning” when he pulled out onto the road you started messing with the radio dials and before long was humming along with the song. “Go ahead” he told you and a grin split your face before you started singing along and he found himself joining in.  You were so damn beautiful and looked relaxed for the first time in too damn long.

_______________________

It took a couple weeks before you were ready. Antonio was patient, he’d waited this long wasn’t like he was going anywhere now. You called him one day after you got off shift and asked if you two could grab dinner at the place down from your apartment complex. He’d agreed because why the hell wouldn’t he?

When he pulled into the parking lot you were standing next to your car and smiled when you saw him. The moment he stepped out of his truck you walked up to him and pulled him into a kiss. He froze at first, the moment having caught him off guard but the shock quickly wore off. He had you in his arms, finally. He was kissing you. His hands went to your hips, pulling you closer as he took control of the kiss, rolling his tongue against yours, a light noise leaving you that was nothing shy of heavenly. When the two of you started to pull apart you laughed lightly “Does that offer still stand of wanting me and only me?”

He nodded, forehead pressed to yours “Of course Cariño” and you smiled “I’d like to be yours now Antonio” “Good because I’ve been yours for some time mi amor”

The day Antonio figured out just how deeply in love he was with you was when he got a call you and Gabby were in med. Apparently some stupid son of a bitch had run your rig off the road. He was outside of a house preparing to go in but one look at Voight and he nodded “Get to your girls”

He wanted to check on his sister of course but seeing the line of staples on your head, it filled him with fear and anger. “Baby” he cooed, coming to sit next to you on the bed and you curled up on his chest “I’m ok. We’re ok” he nodded “You two scared the hell out of me” and you cut your eyes up at him when you realized he was in full gear “Did you leave a raid?” he nodded “Of course. I get a call my sister and the woman I love is hurt, nothing is stopping me from getting to you”

The smile you gave him made his heart threaten to burst out of his chest “I love you Antonio. So damn much” he pulled you against his chest “I love you too” that weekend he got Gabby to go shopping with him. Who better to help pick out an engagement ring than your best friend? 

[ghostboy512]

Get to know your mutuals: tag game

thank you for @mapofyourstars and @ashestxr for tagging me 😊😊

What's the origin of your blog title?

when i was a teenager being a closeted pre-transition trans guy i felt really invisible and like i didnt fit in anywhere, a "ghost". and 512 is the name of a song i listened to a lot at the time. nowadays i find the url a bit cringy but im too lazy to change it lol

OTP(s) + Shipname:

honestly at the moment i only care about cherik haha but i appreciate raven x emma and logan x ororo as well :)

Favourite colour:

black for clothes, pink for literally anything else i own

Favourite game:

i have 1500 hours of stardew valley on steam lol. its an absolute obsession. it comes in waves tho, like twice a year ill get hooked on it again and create a new farm to achieve perfection on. other than that, i really loved playing undertale and graveyard keeper.

Song stuck in your head:

this is kind of embarrassing but atm im a bit obsessed with daisy by ashnikko (the ft. hatsune miku version).... I LIKE BETTER MUSIC TOO I SWEAR

Weirdest habit/trait?

pacing around my apartment thinking abt my current obsessions... i used to be so embarrassed but ive come to find out lots of people do this too so thats fine i guess

Hobbies:

reading and playing games, mostly. ive been trying to write more lately too

If you work, what's your profession?

ESL teacher. its not the coolest thing in the world but i really enjoy it

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? Realistically?

literature professor in uni/published author

Something you're good at:

(literally the same thing ashe, who tagged me, said) i believe im a pretty good writer despite being slow and not doing it that often lol

also i know im a very good teacher (i know its my job so duh but youd be surprised with some of my coworkers...)

Something you're bad at:

keeping secrets, especially my own 😭😭😭

Something you love:

cats, wine and contemporary brazilian literature

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff:

why i love charles xavier so much and queer/feminist theory.

Something you hate:

uhhhhhh idk my ex i guess (happy valentines day!)

Something you collect:

hello kitty merch 😌😌😌

Something you forget:

dates and appointments, its so fucking bad i put everything on a calender above my desk and i still manage to forget them sometimes

What's your love language?

im very touchy and affectionate but i also love acts of service, like surprising people with small gifts (i believe thats part of acts of service?)

Favourite movie/show:

my favorite movies are xmen fc, dofp and xmen II (obviously) but also amelie poulain and fried green tomatoes

my favorite series are breaking bad and the office, ive watched them both multiple times

Favourite food:

chicken!!!! fried chicken, roasted chicken, chicken with pasta, chicken with rice and beans, chicken with mashed potatoes, give me!!!!!!

Favourite animal:

i was OBSESSED with cheetahs as a child, still love them but in general rn id say cats. also love monkeys

What were you like as a child?

a very idealistic dreamer with a bit of a savior complex (hello charles xavier). not the sharpest social skills.

Favourite subject at school?

in high school it was english just because it was so fucking easy bc i was fluent lol

in uni any of my literature classes

Least favourite subject:

hated physics in hs i was so fucking bad at it. and in uni i'd had ENOUGH of pedagogy classes they were soooo boring and repetitive

What's your best character trait?

im very honest and if i love you i will do anything for you

What's your worst character trait?

probably snapping at ppl sometimes. i know its terrible but i really try not to and i always apologize. up until last year also i always let ppl treat me like shit and didnt set boundaries. im unlearning that now.

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?

have enough money to only focus on my studies and not have to work lol

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet?

maybe kim jonghyun. he was my favorite singer when i was younger and he passed away in 2017 :( he was such a great person :(

im not sure who has already been tagged in this but ill tag @caramelc0rgi , @foxherder , @disasterhals , @eriknocherikyes , @stinkrat-aleks , @mooniel, @eriksdefender and any other moots who'd like to do this!

[tessasturns]

UNDER THE INFLUENCE

summary… how matt and influencer!reader met :)

warnings… drinking, use of y/n, throwing up, partying, pampering, not proofread and i think that’s it :)

divider creds… @dollywons

blessings and riches, tessa

(masterlist) (taglist)

the music blaring through the room made you even more dizzy, if possible. you were at tara yummy’s valentines party, just trying to have a good time with your girlfriends.

you forgot how much you’ve had to drink, but it’s starting to catch up to you. you stumble around the room, trying to re direct yourself to tara and her friends.

you nearly trip over your feet, playing it off and just sitting at a bar stool.

“uhm one vodka soda please” you babble to the bartender, hoping he could make out what you’re saying.

the bartender sighs, knowing he has already given you a lot to drink but nonetheless gets you the drink.

you sip on the drink, soon deciding you didn’t just come to this party to sit around. you get up looking for a guy to dance with, or at least trying to in your drunken state.

as your walking, you notice him; the brunette boy shying off to the side. you know you’ve seen him before, or someone who looks like him. the alcohol acts before you do, your legs walking right up to where he’s standing.

“oh hey, have i seen you before?” you say, trying to not fall as you walk up to him. “uhm… i don’t think so. what’s your name?” he asks.

“oh i’m y/n l/n” you explain. “shit, my brother watches your videos” he tells you. “i’m matt, matt sturniolo. i film with my brothers”

and then it clicks. “oh my gosh yeah! holy shit i have seen you” you giggle. “you’re cuter in person”

“hm?” he hums, your last statement being more of a mumble. “nothing” you reply quickly. “wanna get a drink together?”

“i’d love to” matt responds, following you to the bar. you’ve watched the sturniolo’s videos before, you and nick commenting on each others posts here and there.

matt orders the both of you some drinks as you sit down on some random couch near by.

“i just got you a daiquiri, it seemed like it fit your vibe” he smiled, handing you the drink and sitting next to you.

“oooh thanksss” you say, sipping on the drink. small talk sparks up between the two of you, just questions about being an influencer.

“ugh i’m bored, let’s dance” you say placing the drink on the table and getting up. you start slowly dancing to whatever song is playing, holding your arm out for matt to grab it.

he chuckles, reluctantly getting up from the couch. you grab his hands, attempting to dance but being to drunk to.

then it hits you. your mouth fills with saliva, your head starts spinning, eyes start to blur, and everything you hear is getting louder.

“sorry i-i have to go” you let go of matt, running to find a bathroom. you finally find one, lifting up the seat to throw up the drinks you previously had.

you feel someone grab your hair back, pulling it away from your mouth. you finally finish puking, flush the toilet and sit against the wall.

“you okay?” matt asks. “mhm…yeah” you say. “sorry about that” he purses his lips, sitting next to you.

“it’s all good” he says, rubbing your shoulder. “had too much to drink?” you chuckle. “yeah, probably more than everyone here”

he laughs with you. “i know this is a weird way to meet, but i swear i’m more fun than this” you smile. “trust me i’ve seen your videos” he laughs.

you watch the door open, a short woman entering. “oh thank God you’re here, i was looking for you everywhere” tara says, sitting down with you. “hey matt” she nods to the boy.

“you okay? drink too much?” she asks, wiping your mascara. “yeah, i’m good” you respond.

“let’s get you some water and a ride home, yeah? you could stay here but i’m sure you just want to sleep” tara explains, standing up with you. “thanks for taking care of her matt” she says as the three of you leave the bathroom.

“yeah no problem” he says. tara grabs you a water and calls you an uber, waiting with you. the uber comes and you wave goodbye to your friends, matt insisting on walking you out.

“thanks matt, a lot. i really appreciate it” you smile. “yeah anytime.” he says, walking you to the uber. “oh and y/n? we should keep in touch”

you smile at his words. “yeah, i’d like that.”

tessa’s notes… OH MY GOD THIS SUCKS AND IM SO SORRY FOR BEING INACTIVE I LOVE YOU ALL THANK YOU FOR 200 FOLLOWERS OKAY BYE I LOVE YOU SM

taglist… @emely9274 @baileysturnz @sllutty-sturniolo @chrisspussygang

[dangermousie]

Some more thoughts on The White Olive Tree

Most of the times, when I finish a drama, even one I love, I move on the moment the end credits play. But Olive is a rare drama that keeps me thinking after. So have some disjointed thoughts.

I love love love (and by that I mean, I weep weep weep) that the very qualities that Song Ran fell for Li Zan for - his selflessness, his bravery, his unhesitating ability to lay down everything including his life for a complete stranger - is what creates the tragedy at the end. Look at their very first encounter - he is a deminer/bomb defuser who risks his life without even a flinch of a second of pause for a total stranger (her) and is willing to die with her if he fails - he does not love her yet, he does not even know her. He is in every way a modern day Saint, a hero, and a Good Samaritan. How can she not fall?

And yet, and yet - even if nothing that happened after happened, if I were her friend or family member, I'd lose my mind at the thought of her dating a deminer. Like!!! This is a profession with a high risk of leaving the loved one a widow or taking care of someone severely damaged.

And when you take into account that he is not a military person from Eastern Country or even from that country at all - i.e., it's not his country and his war - that adds another layer because it's one thing to do dangerous things fighting for your homeland (because if the other side wins, the results/risks are even greater) but to go into another country that you have no connection with to perform one of the most dangerous job known to man...that is a whole other level. A person who would want to do that is either an adrenalin junkie who'd never settle or so deeply selfless as to be a paragon but either is not a category that would make a comfortable partner. The latter type of person is amazing and the world needs them but in terms of their loved ones, ooof - a bed of nails is not a comfortable marital bed.

I know they made him a volunteer (and not a Chinese citizen :P) to appease the censors who would probably lose their minds at a portrayal of Chinese commandos having PTSD or being anything but utterly perfect but despite presenting factual questions (why is a civilian engineer, even a demolitions one, trained in making/defusing bombs/mines and his job keeps giving him time off to do it), it actually fits emotionally - because Li Zan is not even a military who maybe would have training/counseling/structure to deal with traumas and perhaps fellow sufferers around him but also it's one thing to go into the military as a choice and then get that specialty, and another to be a civilian who just periodically is thrown into a hot zone and hell and then has to go back and be normal over and over again. Perhaps if he were a type of person who'd be drawn to serving in the military, he'd also be the kind of person who could cope better but all he's motivated by is doing good. And that is a double-edged sword.

You know that take-off announcement? About putting on your own oxygen mask before assisting others - Li Zan has never learned that. It's not that he thinks he has no worth or value; it's just he sees his worth and value in helping others. He's important to himself it's just helping others is even more important to him. And I think the tragedy is that before the kidnapping/torture of 36, he was finally taking baby steps in learning to balance - as he said, he wanted to be selfish for once, he actually skipped going on a mission (!!!), he planned to go home with Ran asap etc etc. They were SO CLOSE to happiness. If they went home before the orphanage opened, they could have had a happy life. Yeah, he'd probably still have issues (and so would she) but it would be manageable and their lives would be overall happy - he really was getting healed and you saw it. It's just like bomb disarming - it's high risk/high reward, and he hit the high risk portion of it.

You know, it just occurred to me that the tragedy of Olive that it is a person's best qualities, the things that they should normally be praised for that doom them. Zan's selflessness, tender heart, heroism, driven perfectionism, sense of responsibility, yes. But Ran is also doomed by her best qualities - her devotion, her ability to love, her refusal to abandon, her opening her heart utterly, and her own sense of responsibility (you cannot tell me that in the back of her head she's not reliving the what-if of what if she didn't ask him to stay for a couple of extra days and he said yes; what if they left when he wanted. No way she does not wake up thinking it's her fault.)

This is a very different drama and genre than Royal Nirvana but one thing it has in common is a bleak message that on a playing field with monsters, the monsters will always win because they can do and tolerate things humans cannot, a soul is a handicap. All those awful people who broke Zan probably slept quite well at night not bothered much (unless and until they got killed) because their souls have scales when Zan's is wide open. Unless you turn into a monster yourself (which is another loss), you will always lose. Because yes, the war is over and so many people got saved by Zan but he himself lost utterly on a personal level (and is now in a country where all the peaceful happy people who've never known war look at him like a freak who should be locked up when his trauma acts up.)

OK, one last observation before this turns into War and Peace: I am so so so so impressed with makers for sticking to their guns (pun!) - in showing war and its effects as a lot less rosy than dramas normally do, in not healing Zan through the power of love, in showing that physical and mental trauma stay and reverberate. But also in the whole Ben x Saxin thing. I didn't post much about it because bickering couple is not a dynamic that is my catnip (same reason I was not that invested in Third Couple in PM), but my jaw genuinely hung open for the bulk of their storyline. Even the figleaf of Dr Pei (and hey, bisexuals exist so it's not even much of a figleaf) could not cover what they were doing there.

OK, I lied - this one is final. I love that at the end, Ran published that book because it harkens back to that conversation she and Zan had in that village after seeing children being trafficked - when she is in despair wondering what is even the point of anything and he lays out his worldview that everyone will eventually be dead and all the suffering they see and go through will be history but if it's documented maybe later generations will learn and make different choices. Because that book is her response to him, picking up that mantle - their lives may never be fixed (one can disagree as to whether their "elope" means suicide - I am inclined to think no for reasons I mentioned elsewhere - but it's a legit read - but even if they live for decades more, they have both been ruined) and all they are left with is the hope that maybe that story will save someone down the road, lead them to different choice, to a different world. Maybe their suffering has meaning in giving someone else a greater chance for happiness and if it isn't them in a nutshell, I don't know what is.

This drama was a masterpiece.

[whatcannotbesaid-shallbewept]

So What Makes Chappell Roan so great anyway?

This post is way too long. BUT. If you are interested in how Chappell fits into the current pop landscape, why she’s unique, and why she got so big then read on.

Personally - I think if pop music is going to continue then it NEEDS to follow Chappell Roan’s example.

As a popstar she stands out from her contemporaries in a way that isn’t talked out enough. If the world doesn’t end in the next ten years, I feel like we’ll be looking back at Chappell Roan as a gamechanger for changing the pop landscape. 

Let’s put things into context. Before going to gay clubs and writing pop music, Chappell was closer to an Adele-wannabe than the next Lady Gaga. 

In old videos from the 2010s Chappell distances herself from the “pop” label. Her republican family wanted her to use her voice to go into country or christian music. 

Becoming a popstar - a Katy perry maximalist popstar at that! - was not only a deliberate choice from what she used to be, but a risk for her. The oldest songs on her album are still piano ballads for that reason. 

If you look at her career momentum you can already tell she’s coming at this from a much different angle from everyone else.

Back in the rock era, people heard “Live Forever” or “Smells Like Teen Spirit” in tiny venues before they even knew anything about Oasis or Nirvana. The bands got big because of the strength of those songs - 

Success doesn't work like that in the pop landscape though.

Ariana Grande, Selena Gomez, Tate Mcrae, Sabrina Carpenter, Harry Styles, Camilla Cabello, Renee Rapp didn’t get big off the strength of their songs. You can argue they have good songs, sure - but that’s not how the order they got famous in. Their names were known before they had songs out. They then had songs people liked, but they were famous first. 

Would Selena Gomez really have gotten so famous if she started out by just touring a lot as a no-namer and hoping people liked her songs enough to buy them?

But Chappell got big the old way! She performed live in obscurity for years, working and learning how to hype up a crowd. Go watch her perform Naked In Manhattan to a crowd of 50 people. She custom-made songs to sound better live. The thing that finally pushed her into the mainstream was giving a great performance at Coachella.

People just liked her music enough to keep seeing her live, despite her not being famous. 

She has a much different background than any pop star working today, and because of that she just brings a lot of different things to the table. She’s not only not a traditional popstar - she’s openly explicitly gay, her drag aesthetic isn’t to shock it’s out of a genuine love for that style - she doesn’t sound like a traditional popstar. 

First of all - her voice! Which honestly needs to be talked about way more, because WOW. Way more expressive and powerful than what’s expected from pop music. I think Olivia has a great voice too, but Chappell just makes way more interesting choices with her vocal performances. It’s really no contest.

 Listen to how hurt she sounds in Casual, how angry she is in Good Luck Babe or how scared she is in Pink Pony Club. See how different she sounds from Ultra Graphic Modern Girl, California and Guilty Pleasure. Like yeah, obviously this woman started out singing low-key piano ballads where she had to work to actually distinguish her voice instead of letting it drown under production. 

She also just has way different influences than the other main pop girls. 

We currently are living in the era where every new popstar really, really wants to be Taylor Swift. Olivia is Taylor all over, Gracie Abrams is very much positioning herself as a Taylor Swift type figure, and Sabrina is extremely influenced by her. 

However Chappell (And Billie actually) are really uninterested in Taylor. 

Chappell lists her influences as Lady Gaga, Katy Perry and Kate Bush. Billie always mentions alt-icons like Radiohead, Amy Winehouse, Lana Del Rey. Both are actually pretty influenced by Lana. And it shows when you compare their music -

Olivia does some interesting stuff with her sound - the riot grrl nods are very fun imo - same for Sabrina (Go listen to Juno and Espresso!). But they are a lot less adventurous than Billie and Chappell sound-wise. Like Taylor they just prefer to stick to something so they can put the lyrics onto. Like Taylor their lyrics are self-referential and outwardly trying to signal to the audience what they’re about. 

For Billie and Chappell the production is just as important as the rest of the song. Which puts them more in the lane of alt artists like Caroline Polachek, lana del rey or Charli XCX. It makes Rise And Fall Of A Midwest Princess/Hit Me Hard And Soft way leagues more interesting to listen to than Tortured Poets Department or The Secret Of Us. 

I already knew about Chappell from the lesbian twitter circles I was on. But like… that wasn’t necessarily unique to her. We were also hyping up quite a few gay girl obscure singers. Fletcher, XANA, Renee Rapp all had their moments where we thought they could be a big thing. Especially Fletcher. Chappell Roan actually started out opening for Fletcher. Which is crazy, since you guys probably haven’t even heard of her. 

If we’re being serious, there have been lesbians making pop music before the Beatles (Lesley Gore, Dusty Springfield). In the modern age, there are multiple lesbians winning grammys, some are on the charts, and there are plenty of famous bisexual woman making music. Chappell is not a gamechanger for being openly queer.

But when we talk about Pop music, Chappell Roan stands out because she's owning it, in a similar way that Lil Nas X did. Making it extremely explicit in almost every one of her songs, and making her queerness is a huge part of over the top pop persona. 

Lil Nas X isn’t all that relevant anymore but he was breaking boundaries that haven’t been touched since Madonna for a while there. Chappell Roan definitely feels like a continuation of that.

She’s also just very good at articulating the queer experience? 

Obviously she has the “men can’t give me orgasms” songs, but Pink Pony Club might be the archetypal example here. Leaving your shitty hometown to be gay in the big city is a topic that has been done before - but Chappell sounds so vulnerable when she sings it.

She doesn’t pose being herself in that song as a choice - but something done out of necessity. And like Queer Euphoria of being free for the first time, you hear it! There’s so much optimism and heartbreak in that song. All the best Chappell songs have both of those in them.

Naked In Manhattan is joyful and euphoric for the most part - but in the subtext its way more complicated. She’s way more into this girl and vice versa, and how apprehensive, and again, vulnerable she sounds on some of lines kinda hurts your soul.

Kaleidoscope is mostly a sad song about falling in love with your best friend but how hopeful and pleading she is in the chorus just makes the entire song.

Unlike say Olivia, she writes her pop songs to have emotional plot twists Guilty pleasure and Feminonmenon start out as sad ballads and break out into explosive energetic pop songs. Bridges in Red wine supernova or Good Luck Babe hit like a sledgehammer. 

Oh yeah. Good Luck Babe. She can work in the industry for another ten years but I still think “You’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling” will go down as her best lyric. 

As a woman who repressed herself for years and grew up in a homophobic environment… It shows in the way she writes. She knew from experience what “you’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling” meant. 

But even down to the way that she describes love, you can tell its actually very different than her popstar colleagues. Love is a Chappell Roan song is an immovable force that can’t be tamed or controlled. In the narratives she sings about, it’s hindering her, making things more complicated, breaking her heart when it isn’t breaking her partners.

 

In typical pop-punk fashion ;ove in an Olivia Rodrigo song is a condition. Illogical, embarrassing but ultimately something to get over (Stranger) or to avoid (Bad Idea right, get him back). It gets rough out there, but love can very much be won in a Olivia song. 

Love in a Sabrina song is a game. Or perhaps more like a battle? Sabrina is locked in regardless. Almost every love song Sabrina writes is about her plans or how she wants things to go just as much as it's about what’s actually happening. The way her relationships affect her ego and people's perception of her is one of the big challenges she goes through in her discography .

Most of the time she fails! The balancing game between having someone and her ego gets tipped in the wrong direction. She’s with guys just for the sake of saying she’s with someone. It ends poorly. Sabrina’s songs are full of expectations in a way. This is probably why straight women relate to her so much.

Love in a Chappell Roan song is an eldritch monster.  It can’t be controlled or stopped. All you can do is obey or suffer through it. She sounds so angry in the good luck babe bridge because she knows you can’t control love. 

You’d have to stop the WORLD just to stop the feeling. 

[sillygoofyqueer]

Au where Shen Yuan transmigrates/is reborn (or not haha. Undead joke. Sorry.) as a Jiangshi or some other kind of undead and is aware enough of his feelings [OOC Warning!] (But just hear me out) to feel jealous of Binghe's wives and kind of compare himself to them to which his equivalent of the crow family (undead family? Fellow cemetery residents?? Or whatever the Chinese equivalent of a cemetery is.) comforts him.

Aka I was thinking about Crowyuan and the crow family as Tears To Shed from The Corpse Bride but it didn't fit and I've also had the idea of Shen Yuan as a Jiangshi (Jiangshen?) in my mind for a bit so I combined them and made this ask.

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII. HELLOOOO HI HI HELLLLOOOOOOOOOO. I read through this and went down a rabbit hole about Jiangshi, so thank you for that! Welbecome to the inbox, for one, there's a lot goin' on in there right now hehehe ANYWAY, this is such a fun idea. I'm going to be so real with you, I never really liked the Corpse Bride. *immediately gets shot* - but seriously. It was always just so creepy to me, and I know that was the point, but I feel like that about most of Tim Burton's films. For this, though, I will throw all of that aside because 'Tears to Shed' is SUCH a good song, and I adore the idea of Shen Yuan as a Jiangshi. I imagine him waking up for the first time in a fucking COFFIN and being like "dude. What the fuck." The system is just like "[First Mission: Get Out Of The Coffin ヾ(≧▽≦*)o]" so Shen Yuan is trying to get out of this thing, so focused on it that he doesn't even realise that he's not breathing and his heart isn't beating until he finally breaks out and expects to be gasping for air but NO. He's just CHILLING. Of course, he blows up at the system and basically scares it off (until it comes back telling him that he needs to eat n shit), before wandering around to get to know his new body and ends up 'adopted' into this whole group that are so pleased with the rather pretty corpse (shut UP he can be pretty if I want him to be (/silly)) that is in severe need of a family. Something something, they start hearing rumours of a demon lord from late night travellers (who probably end up eaten or something) and Shen Yuan's like "my BINGHE NOOOO" and everyone (basically correctly) assumes that this is like a crush/husband from when Shen Yuan was ALIVE.

[ilikekidsshows]

I dislike how Adrien's character is just a massive macguffin at this point. If he isn't going to do stuff himself, or even get scenes that don't involve Marinette, why would you make him the male lead and everything in the Miraculous world connect back to him???

Wanna why know why Gabriel's Hawkmoth? Emily's death! But well actually, she only died because of Adrien. Why's Lila a villain? Well, she had a spat with Marinette! Over what, you ask? Adrien. Ah yes, Felix, our dear fandom's most inconsistent character like seriously why the hell did he go from being angry his cousin didn't attend his dads funeral and calling love confessions sappy to being glad his dad is dead and randomly breaking into song resident jerk, he actually does stuff for change!! Why's he here? Well, actually he's Adrien's cousin

But, does Adrien actually do anything with this (I'd say information after this but lets be real, he has none)? Nope, sir/ma'am, nothing at all!! He never learns his father is Hawkmoth and his father never learns he's Chat Noir. Jury's out on Lila but so far, hd does absolutely nothing at all.

Well, what about Felix? You'd think that, with a character so intertwined with him, they'd actually do something with it? Give them a few scenes? Maybe actually have Adrien talk or maybe even punch some sense into his cousin for vanishing the entire world besides like three people? Give the duo some scenes? Actually address what Felix did after his introduction? Show Felix breaking him and Kagami out of Gabriel's white rooms? Nope, lets just shove Felix to the side with Kagami, and forget about him unless we have an episode which requires a jerk character, since literally none of the good guys fit that role!!

Honestly, even leaving aside the stuff abiut wasted character moments, it feels like Adrien's been relegated to like the third or fourth most important character in the show. Marinette and Alya are wayyy above him at this point. Lila can take another spot albeit hesitantly since she clearly has more focus and plot relevance than him.

Marinette didn't even give Chat Noir a kwatagama to remember her by (if Alya can have one, so can he, he was Mister Bug, remember?). He doesn't even know about the Alya is the next Guardian stuff. Literally no one does. If Marinette does have something happen to her and she gives up the guardianship, why would anyone even listen to Alya!?!? Chat Noir outranks her by seniority alone, Carapace isn't even that close behind in terms of that and most importantly, she's never led them, she's never made battle plans, she hasn't been there from the start like Chat Noir, not everyone's fought with her probably, and they've never been made aware of this little back-up plan. Who's to say she isn't a Miraculous thief, huh? What if she stole the box and killed Ladybug? They have nothing to go off of except her word.

The writers probably don't even know how to use Adrien now that the crush arc of the show is over. Everyone's saying that he's obviously getting a big build-up, but what if they just "Catwalker" this and make it so that this is all "resolved" in a single episode and they all go back to the status quo with the slight change with the slight change that everyone is more subservient to Marinette and now recognises her brilliance or whatever.

---

Some people still believe Miraculous has proper build up and payoff, huh? I’m not surprised yet I’m still disappointed at how helplessly naive this fandom is.

Like, I was trying to figure out how to properly showcase what I think is wrong with Adrien’s character, why I think he’s less of a character than ever before, even when he gets a whole episode revolving around his family. So, here’s the Animus Litmus Test of Is The Love Interest a Real Person

Does the character have an actual conversation (aka, the speaker is changed at least twice) with someone other than their significant other?

Is this conversation about something other than their significant other?

Does this conversation take place in a scene that doesn’t feature the significant other at any point?

Does the character have any goal outside of “be with the significant other”?

Like, supposedly Adrien should have a conversation in 'Werepapas' with someone other than Marinette about something other than how much he wants to stay with Marinette, but, like, this is the episode that teased the audience with Plagg getting to show up, only to not just exclude Plagg, but to exclude Adrien himself from the Akuma fight so that he can be shoved inside a literal trophy while Marinette plays with his life like an object.

[mint-ty]

Since the Lithuanian band Katarsis is new to me too, I made a summary of this interview that was filmed after LT semi-final. (youtube video)

They say they're very surprised about getting through the LT semi-final (when this interview was filmed) and it's amazing how many people have listened to their song.

Did they watch the semi-final on the tv? (the shows were prerecorded).

Alan: no, I was a bit scared and spent the day in bed watching random series, only turned on the TV for the final voting :D and when we passed I rewinded the whole show to watch from the beginning.

Why Eurovision?

Lukas: in the beginning it was just like a joke among us like "oh let's go to Eurovision!:D" but then after looking more into it, it seemed like a good experience and opportunity. Hardest was to convince Emilija and Alanas to sign for it.

Alanas: yeah I didn't want to participate for myself, I didn't think our music would be welcomed maybe on such a big scale, but the band is more important so I wanted to fight with my fear and do this for my friends:)

Lukas: there's a lot of skepticism around underground musicians for both Eurovision and TV in general. But after thinking about it longer we decided there's nothing we would lose by trying.

Have you ever played on Žalgiris Arena stage before? (currently the biggest stage in LT)

Alan: yeah once :D another warm-up band needed a back-up guitarist and asked me in. It was nice:D

Is there anything you want or plan to change for the LT Finals performance?

Lukas: maybe the whole entrance? we're not used to tv stages so just when to start a song is communicated well in my opinion. But for the song itself we try not to think too much and keep everything that is as now.

How hard is it to pretend to play the instruments on stage, since only the vocals are live?

Alanas: yeah it was hard, since it doesn't feel like you even need to be there on the stage. I really wanted to pretend like Kurt Cobain overly acting in that one TV show or something like that :D I think it's better to do it with less perfection, but to do it live.

Have you played the song before?

Lukas: no, it never has been finished to the very end. When we will play it now, it for sure will sound different from how it sounded before in our rehearsals. In live gigs we can adapt the songs much more to the audience and the feeling, but this song obviously will have to stay closer to the recorded version from now on, with back vocals phonogram and all.

What is the song about?

Lukas: I don't really know honestly, the song changed so many times and had so many meanings to me, that now it doesn't mean anything in particular. Maybe it's about relationships. It also can mean anything to the listener, however he understands the song.

So is it about a relationship with a particular person?

Lukas: no, it had many forms and now it's just a ball of a feeling in general, so it's really hard to say what it's about.

What about the part "tavo" in the end of the song? people even count how many times it was said and say it's too many times.

Lukas: the original song was even longer, over 4 minutes, so we actually concenced it. I used the sound of "tavo" as an additional which I think sounded cool :D

How did Katarsis start?

Lukas: first I was alone, just playing music as a teenager in my bedroom. My first recorded song from a phone is even still on soundcloud. Then I got invited to several gigs and saw that playing by myself was very difficult, and started looking for a band, and here we are eventually.

Where is the name "Katarsis" from?

Lukas: I really like movies and theater, and at the time I was in a sort of movie camp, and heard this word and really liked it. Now it also has a meaning of "letting out your feelings", which I think fits our music style well.

You say you are an alternative music underground band, but I wouldn't call you underground because you have another song Vasarą Galvoj Minoras that has 3mln on spotify and even got an award. How many gigs do you do? I heard people sweep your tickets?

Lukas: recently they don't sweep our tickets anymore, maybe that's why we went to Eurovision :D we had a period when everyone wanted to hear just that one song, now our gigs are smaller but people actually know our songs and want something new, so that is very lovely

Are you afraid Tavo Akys might be your most popular song now, that you'll have to play as the finishing one for many gigs to come?

Lukas: not really, no. Even Vasarą Galvoj Minoras we weren't playing in the end. Usually in the middle somewhere, and recently I don't think we played it at all.

Alanas: I don't really like that song so I'm happy we're not playing that :D I had told that to Lukas too :D I joined the band after it was already released.

How did the band come together? since each of you have also your individual music projects and other bands that you also play in, like Emilija has a duet band with her partner, you Alan are playing for another band and also have your individual EP, and etc.

Alanas: I was asked to join by our drummer Jokūbas, since we were coursemates in uni.

Lukas: and Jokūbas came to the band to replace the previous drummer before I even knew the old drummer wanted to leave :D he said to me one time we met in a fest "I heard you're looking for a drummer?" and I was "no?.." :D but I did call him later to join after all.

Questions from the listeners: Any bands that influence your music?

Lukas: honestly I try to listen less at the moment because I don't want to pick any influence. So I can't say if there was any influence before. Recentry I liked some wild noise electronic songs, and maybe Orillia(?) Shadow song from the 90s I think.

Any rituals before going on stage?

Both: nope

Alan: tune my guitar :D

Have you noticed more alternative music going to Eurovision stage? Would you like to see more bands like yours on Lithuanian stage?

Both: honestly we weren't following previous eurovisions that closely, maybe only the finals..

Lukas: yes of course. It always feels like eurovision songs are just a repeat of the same. I'd especially love to see more unique music, I think Lithuania has a lot to offer not only for our stage but for all Europe. Something like Molchat Doma has done by Belarussians, I think we can really find good music to uplift among ourselves too.

Do you expect to do gigs outside in other European countries?

Both: we weren't even expecting to pass the semi-final :D

Alanas: but yeah I'd love to try playing abroad. I had talked with fellow musicians and it sounds like an amazing experience.

What about lithuanian language in the songs?

Lukas: I love that it has been becoming more popular. I always enjoy hearing native language in foreign songs too, so I hope there will be more of that.

Who worked on the LED visuals on the screen?

Lukas: it was Ignas Blažys, a graphic designer, but he feels like a part of our band now since he helped so much with the visuals. We might change something a bit for later on the screen, I don't know yet, we'll see.

How about a choerography on the stage? are you planning anything?

Lukas: yeah we planned - walking around a bit :D we might need to think about that too, but for sure we don't want any hard choreography because it won't feel organic then and we want the song to feel natural.

The cameras should be catching me, not me catching the cameras.

Interviewer: not how eurovision works, but good luck :D

Are you scared a bit about going to Basel? Have you kept several free weeks in May just in case?

Alanas: I didn't.. :D maybe I should cancel my works just in case..

Lukas: to be honest we're not expecting to go to Basel, so we're not scared and we're trying to enjoy the experience. Maybe if we win, then we will be scared I think :D

Do you have some jobs outside of music that might be impacted by a trip to Basel?

Alanas: I teach guitar, so I might need to cancel few weeks of lessons :D

Lukas: I work as a video editor, mostly because I need a salary. Also I wanted to say thank you very much for everyone who believe in us and write lovely comments, they really go to my heart ♡

Do you write song lyrics by hand?

Lukas: no I write to notes on computer or on my phone. I'm that generation already.. :D I don't think I have a ballpen at home... :D

Just for curiosity, are you right or left-handed?

Lukas: I think we're all right-handed in the band.

If you meet Tommy Cash, what would you talk about? :D

Alanas: oh wow, I don't even know, I'm a bit intimidated I think.. :D he's an amazing artist and performer and I have huge respect for him, I don't know.. It's like when I was a child and saw Marilyn Manson, what would I even say? :D

Interviewer: I had a chance to be in the same party with Marilyn Manson two times - he is as creepy as he looks :D But with Tommy Cash I'm sure you'd find a common topic if you both meet, especially that his music is also considered alternative to some level.

How old are you?

Alanas: 23, Lukas: 22

Are you planning an English version of Tavo Akys?

Both: for sure no.

Have you got a katarsis feeling when you passed the semi-finals?

Lukas: maybe not katarsis, euphoria maybe? when we passed I was super happy for a bit and then I got worried what next, another 2 weeks of work. But then, before now I had half of year of free time and I wasn't feeling too well myself to be honest, so now with a full schedule of things to do I'm feeling much happier and fuller as a person.

Have you checked reactions from foreigners to your song? do you read comments?

Alanas: yeah I love reading comments :D some of them are very creative, I also screenshot and post some to our group chat :D

Lukas: youtube reactions are also funny, they really don't say anything, but yeah we've seen some.

Any potential collabs or wishes?

Lukas: we're actually planning a collab song with another band Velvet vocalist.

Any more plans? for albums or such for this year?

Lukas: we have some gigs planned for this summer, but with new releases we'll see, maybe.

Did you have a strategy for going to eurovision?

Lukas: I think the main strategy was just to try and see, get some experience, try for ourselves so we don't feel stuck.

Interviewer: Thank you everyone and good luck.