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bishopsbeloved · 11 months ago

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the art of falling in love (part five)

natasha romanoff x fem reader

best friend!yelena belova, aroace!yelena belova, internalised homophobia, found family trope, coming of age, angst, fluff (eventual happy ending)

read this fic on ao3!

Death was first explained to you and Yelena when you were six; Yelena’s favourite of her mother’s pigs passed away, and you were both called in from playing outside to be sat down gravely.

“Girls… Wilbur the piggy has, ah, passed away,” Alexi told you. You stared back at him blankly.

“Do you know what that means?” added Melina more gently.

“Uh… Peter from class said his mom and dad passed away,” Yelena offered after a few moments. “And it means that, like, he can’t see them ever again, so he lives with his aunt now.”

“Yes!” said Alexi enthusiastically, before catching himself and adding in a much more solemn tone, “I mean, ah, yes… very sad. Not good.”

Melina looked at him sternly and he fell silent. “You are right, Yelena. When someone passes away, it means they are no longer with us.”

“Like when you go to the store?”

“No. When I go to the store I am always coming back, да? Passing away is permanent, and it means you never see them again.”

“Oh. But I like Wilbur,” said Yelena sadly, and you nodded in agreement.

“That is what makes life all the more precious,” Melina told you gently. “You never know when someone may pass away — only that everybody will, someday. So you must enjoy the time you have with them, my darlings, and never take it for granted.”

As the years went on and the two of you began to understand what death actually means, that first introduction to it became somewhat of a running joke between you and Yelena (because how else can humans deal with such a terrifying concept as death? You can choose to either laugh or cry, and Yelena will always choose to laugh); the idea of someone passing away will often be referred to as going to the store. For example, Alexi is probably the sole man responsible for the entirety of Ohio state’s roadkill — neither you nor Yelena can remember a car journey with him in the wheel during which some unfortunate creature has not stumbled into his path and suffered fatally for that mistake. Every time it happens, without fail, Yelena will turn around eagerly in her seat or poke her head out of the window and assess the damage before gravely announcing, “That one is definitely not coming back from store.”

It’s a euphemism that can be used in any situation — and often is, actually. Whenever the TV signal packs up (as it often does in such a rural town as your own) and the Kardashians begin to cut out awkwardly, Yelena will throw down the remote and shout in frustration “Ma! The fork thingy on the roof has gone store again,” and Melina will know exactly what she means. Or whenever your history teacher Mr Fury hobbles into class, who is so old he looks like he’s witnessed half the events he teaches you, Yelena will nudge you and whisper “he is close to store’s doorstep now, eh?” Et cetera, et cetera. The phrase gets used often.

You feel silly for your mind wandering to those words, given the circumstances. But all you can think of right now is your overwhelming hopes and prayers that Liho has not gone to the store — and that neither has your bond with Yelena. As for Natasha… well, recent times have been a cruel wake-up call.

It’s been a few hours since Melina left with the cat, and the only text you’ve gotten from her since then says cat in surgery now. Yelena has barricaded herself in your shared room — her room now, you think miserably to yourself. You have never, ever seen her so upset, not in your whole life. You don’t think you’ve ever even argued with her, outside of your usual half-hearted play wrestles. But now she’s shouted at you through your thick heavy door, a solid wall between you, putting miles between the two of you but still not enough distance to lessen the brutality of the words she hurls at you from the other side of it. Words you can’t think of for too long or tears will begin to brim in your eyes all over again. Words which you know you deserve, but ones you never thought you’d hear your best friend say to you.

Now you sit uncomfortably stiff on the couch, feeling like a stranger in the home you’ve grown up in, the silence threatening to suffocate you. You feel almost like a prisoner in your body, unable to move as you relieve the last few hours over and over in your head. There’s no doubt in your mind that Yelena is right. You are an awful person. If you weren’t, if you were better, maybe Natasha would still want you, instead of casting you aside once you began to bore her. Maybe if you were better you’d have been sensible or strong enough to not sneak around with her at all. But you’re not, and now you’ve broken apart a family you weren’t even worthy of in the first place.

Natasha is sat in the armchair opposite you, legs curled beneath her, nursing her bloody nose. Her gaze has been fixed on you for the indeterminable amount of time you’ve both been sat here, but you are too exhausted to care. For once, you have much, much bigger problems than her feelings.

Eventually, she speaks, more subdued than usual. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Your voice doesn’t sound like yours. It’s somewhere else, someone else’s, far away.

“For…” She hesitates. Like there’s something she doesn’t want to say out loud. “For not, uh. For treating you badly.”

Well, that’s not really what you expected her to say.

Your silence prompts her to flounder further. “I just— I don’t, well, I can’t really explain a lot, but I— I know I messed up. You deserved better. And I’m sorry.”

And you’re so done with her, and so little of yourself is left now that you simply stand up and walk away.

Natasha doesn’t even call after you, just kind of makes this sad and defeated little noise that makes your heart hurt. You know it would just ache even more if you turned around again, though. So you don’t. You walk the hall for a few aimless moments before your feet carry you to the only person currently home who you still have a dependable relationship with — Alexi.

His workshop, as he calls it, is adjoined to the kitchen; a tiny wooden door which he has to bend himself double to fit through, leading to the garage. This has been his space for as long as you can remember. You have no idea how he moves with such ease through it when it’s like a maze to you — huge chunks of greasy half-repaired machinery everywhere, cluttered workbenches and racks of tools and shelves of liquids labelled in his indecipherable Russian scrawl. He often has the tiny tin portable perched on a shelf squeaking out radio shows in his mothertongue which he guffaws merrily at, but as you enter now the room is peacefully quiet, save for Alexi’s disjointed hums of a thousand songs in one and the little chink noises the piece of metal he’s working on makes every time he hits it, slowly bending it into shape.

“Ah, привет! Good evening, daughter,” he says cheerfully, without even turning around as you creep up barefoot behind him. He doesn’t say anything more, and neither do you, for a while; you opt to simply sink down onto one of the wooden stools littered about the place and watch Alexi absently while he works. This doesn’t faze him at all. On the occasions where Yelena was busy without you as a kid, you would do this very thing. Alexi would simply chuckle at you and ruffle your hair with a large bearish hand, oftentimes leaving behind little smudges of black motor oil in it. You’re still in your prom outfit, though, with your hair done up intricately, so tonight he stops himself in time.

“Do you think Liho will be okay?” you ask after a while, in a very small voice.

“Oh, да,” he replies, without hesitation. Even with his back to you as he tinkers busily you can hear the sincerity in his tone. “Yes, yes. Think of what that kitty has been through already, eh? When you found him he was doing worse than that. He is, uh, tough meat. A fighter.”

Seeing Alexi so placid and unshaken in the face of tonight’s events is strangely calming and you nod, soothed by his words, before another thought strikes you. “Oh… but the vet bills.”

Alexi lets out a low but not unkind laugh. “Ah, не будь глупым, you worry so much. We will figure those out. Melina is a sly fox, has money tucked away in hidey-holes, eh?”

“But— I mean —” You twitch uncomfortably, and Alexi seems to finally cotton onto what it is that you’re really worried about. He sets down his tools with his usual gentleness, which never fails to look foreign on such a giant of a man, and turns to look at you.

“You are member of this family,” he tells you. “No matter what Yelena say. She is angry, sure, but it will blow over, eh? You love the silly little fur man, and we do too. So if these bills will help him of course we will pay it. There is no need for worry.”

“But I ruined everything,” you say quietly.

He laughs again. “Nonsense. You have not ruined any of the things, голубка.”

“But… your date night. And— Natasha,” you hiccup.

“We have date nights all the time, подсолнух, there will be others. And Natasha… well, me and your mama are knowing this for long time. Yelena will be coming round also, eventually. We will figure this all out, we are a family. She is your sister. All of the things will be okay. None of them are ruined.”

And you can’t help but cry at that, at his earnest sincerity, his certainty that things will work out — and because you love him, and he is your family. You tell him so through choked sobs, and he just looks at you softly before wrapping you into a petrol-scented bear hug, prom outfit be damned.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe everything will be okay.

Yelena sinks into another episode over the following days. She does nothing much but sit, a vacant look in her eyes, devoid of any feeling, and stare for hours at a time as though seeing something that the rest of you cannot. She has no words left to give, and drifts around on autopilot, only performing basic functional tasks when prompted to — as if they’re an afterthought. Seeing her like this wracks you with guilt in a way none of her episodes have before, because for the first time you know with a crushing certainty that this is because of you. You offer countless times to return to your parents’ house across the road, the residents of which you haven’t conversed with in months, but Alexi and Melina dismiss this as if it’s the silliest idea in the world.

“You are family,” Melina tells you firmly. “Fights happen, да? You stay.”

Even if you’re still welcome in the house you’re certainly not welcome in your usual room. Natasha offers to put you up in hers but drops this very quickly after the look that you give her, so instead a section of the loft is cleared for you. You and Alexi spend a merry Sunday together in his workshop assembling a bedframe for your new space, only to discover once you’ve made it upstairs that it’s actually too large to fit through the attic hatch, so you have to take it to bits to get it up there and then rebuild it all over again. (It doesn’t really matter though, because Alexi is so bemused by the whole thing and his own oversights that it’s impossible to be frustrated at the setback. He just grins so goofily.) When Yelena is in the shower you sneak back into her room to gather as many of your belongings as you can and begin to turn the little space into yours. Melina brings home some fairy lights from the store, you order some posters online and within a week or so you’ve organised yourself a very cozy nest amongst the mess of the loft.

Even now you’ve moved in, over half of the room is still piled high with boxes of various things and piles of junk and the distinct, cloth-draped, dust-gathering shapes of Alexi’s abandoned projects (which he insists on keeping on the basis that he might need them someday, much to Melina’s theatrical chagrin). The various artefacts throughout the room create a kind of ever-changing maze, and you remember playing up here with Yelena when the two of you were kids and it was too cold to play outside — for you, anyway, being someone who’s grown up in a relatively warm American state. To this day Yelena often scorns you for your inability to tolerate any kind of cold, and reminds you of the climates the rest of the family has lived in.

Thinking of her makes your heart involuntarily twinge, and you wince, standing from your perch on the end of your new bed in the vain hopes of shaking it off. As you do so something in the opposite corner of the room catches your eye; the neat pile of scrapbooks Melina worked on for years when you were kids. “I’m going full American mama,” she would quip, spending hours of an evening painstakingly prettying the pages laden with pictures that Alexi had taken throughout the day. You find yourself warmed by these memories, and drift over to the pile of books, settling before it. The newest scrapbooks are naturally at the top, so you shuffle through the pile until you reach the very first scrapbook Mama Melina ever made, which begins the day Yelena came home. You settle down comfortably on the floor, cross-legged like you’re a kid again, and begin to flip through its pages; the very first are adorned with pictures of Melina and Alexi in their youth, and then on their wedding day. After that is the day Yelena came home, absolutely unfazed by this strange new country and its drawling people. Every single photo has the date it was taken written beneath it in perfect cursive, and through the timeline shown you can see that it was barely two weeks into Yelena’s residency here before you and her properly met, and became firm friends. Things progress like that for two years, from when you were five until when you were seven; regular entries are made in the scrapbooks documenting road trips and school plays and lost teeth, all of which you smile upon fondly.

Halfway through the third scrapbook, Natasha comes home. You recognise one of the many pictures documenting this milestone as one that hangs large and framed with pride downstairs above the fire; a stunned, still blue-haired Natalia swathed in thermals, huddled in the corner of Alexi’s rickety old fighter jet on the journey back from the motherland, beaming widely up at whoever’s taking the photo. Despite the fact that you see it every day, seeing it alongside so many others in which she’s so bewildered but so, so happy makes your heart feel so strongly that you have to flip ahead.

You pore over the pages of the main scrapbooks with interest for a while longer, until the main timeline ends and divulges into you, Yelena and Natasha each having your own dedicated scrapbooks. You have no interest in studying your own baby photos, and given all that’s going on reliving Yelena’s would be unbearable right now, so instead you find yourself picking up Natasha’s, and pushing the others aside.

Seeing her grow up before your eyes like this is surreal. In reality you were by her side every day, and most of these changes happen so gradually that you barely even noticed them, but here are immortalised stills from throughout the years which show how she’s grown. When she first came home she hadn’t had her growth spurt yet, and still had her gentle Russian lilt which the rest of her family retains to this day. As she starts attending public school and socialising with her peers you can see that something changes very hastily within her; a light kind of fades from her eyes. The blue is bleached from her hair, and as the red fades back in its place she seems to fade a little too — into the quiet, observant Natasha that you know today. She doesn’t seem unhappy, as such, but… uncertain, and it dredges up a kind of sadness in your chest that forces you to push the book away, lest the tears in your eyes follow through with their threat to overspill.

You’ve always seen Natasha as someone so secure and sure of herself — so much so that she doesn’t feel the need to speak over anyone else in the room in order to get her opinions across. When she does speak it’s usually a quick, cutting remark that earns laughs and leaves everyone eager to hear more out of her. When she walks into a room heads turn to look at her, no matter where she goes. She knows that. She’s someone worth paying attention to. It’s never occurred to you, not once in your life, that her behaviours aren’t the result of something different. But looking at these pictures has stirred up something in you which you can’t quite describe. A deep sadness at the fact that you’ve probably never known her at all, aside from the parts of the real her that have slipped through the cracks; her Russian accent and sleepy kisses first thing in the morning, her goodnight texts, the way she doesn’t need to ask your order at drive-thrus or coffee shops, the notes she’d leave under your pillow. That’s Natasha. Not whoever this is who’s pushed you away. Not this girl who has bleached the childhood from her hair and taught herself how to be from another place.

You pile the scrapbooks back in the neat and tidy order in which you found them and crawl back to your bed, flopping into it, utterly emotionally exhausted by this trip down memory lane. You think it’s dark outside… you’re certainly tired enough to rest now, anyway, and you do; drifting in and out of an uneasy slumber, visited by vague and twisted recollections from your childhood which disappear upon your waking again, before you can grasp them properly, like the sand of your youth slipping through your fingers.

Mama Melina is a woman of science. She’s always considered herself a grounded person. She doesn’t concern herself with what she doesn’t understand, or care for (namely whatever she cannot see for certain with her own two eyes) to the extent that this is the path her career has taken, and is now what feeds her children. She is, objectively, an intellectual woman. Her analytical methods of thinking have led to scientific breakthroughs in her area of expertise, and she is renowned as an expert at her job. She did not reach this point through belief in the spiritual, or abstract. Hell, being raised in an orphanage herself, she didn’t even really believe in true romantic love until Alexi bore his whole earnest heart to her.

One day, when you were young, you came home from school and, with frightening nonchalance, came home and asked if one of your classmates had been correct in saying that people who kissed others of the same gender were hell-headed sinners. Melina abruptly halted her mundane household task and sat you down, taking one of your hands in hers.

“Sin is a fairytale,” she told you, as delicately as she could. “Nobody knows for certain whether sin or God or heaven or hell are real. To believe that is a choice, a leap of faith which certain people make. But all we know for certain is what’s here now, да? Like I am real, you are real,” she cupped your little face between her warm hands and squeezed gently, making you wrinkle your nose and wriggle happily, “Baba and Yelena are real. But sin is thing you choose to believe in. It is made up stories to make us feel better about death but it does not matter, малыш. What matters is what we do now, when we are alive, not what we do to secure a place in an afterlife that might not exist, eh? We are kind to each other now while we live because we know it to be true that we’re alive. To tell someone else who to kiss was wrong and unkind of that boy at school. Worry about the afterlife once you get there, да? If you want to kiss girls, kiss girls. No one who is kind or worth your time will care.”

She kissed the top of your head before standing back up and returning to her cleaning. No more words were exchanged on the prospect, but from that day onward it has appeared to be common knowledge in the household that you like girls, and that Melina is not a fan of religion justifying bigotry.

In all honesty, she is not a fan of anything that’s not an irrefutable truth. Science is her preferred method of explanation for any problem that may occur. But as her relationship with Alexi has blossomed, and then in turn the ones she shares with her daughters too, she’s learned that facts and feelings do not have to be mutually exclusive. Some of the complexities of the human mind are far beyond her understanding, or indeed any of us — and yet this is a truth which ought to be embraced, not feared. The greatest joys in Melina’s life are its mysteries.

And so Mama Melina has never questioned the dynamic you and Natasha share; at least to her, it’s seemed crystal clear since day one that the two of you harbour affections for one another — admittedly for reasons beyond her comprehension, but it’s nonetheless undeniable to anyone who knows you like she does. She’s watched you grow all of your lives, delicately inching closer to one another like two flowers craning their necks to reach the sun. Melina long ago accepted she’ll never in this lifetime know what higher power reigns as a puppeteer over her, or understand the complexities of love, but she knows better than to pretend as if some things in this world aren’t inexplicably and cosmically connected. You and Natasha only prove this point. If she looks hard enough, Melina can see the red thread that runs from your body to her daughter’s.

Alexi, by far the romantic, wholeheartedly agrees with her, which only furthers Melina’s convictions (he would know better than her, she reasons) — although admittedly the events of the last few months have blindsided the both of them. Melina appears to be more concerned by it than her husband, though; so much so that one night she actually sits him down to ask if he even knows what’s going on, and why there’s this big gaping gulf between her daughters, tearing her family apart.

Alexi just guffaws, so full of mirth that Melina is startled. “Ah Боже мой, my love. Do not be silly, I would have to be blind to miss those daggers over dinner, no? No, do not worry, I’m understand. But love is not easy, ah? Its course has never run so smooth. Remember when I first asked out you? You were so… skittish, like little kitten, for weeks,” he recalls with shining eyes. “And look where we ended up now, ah? These are silly babies. They’ll make mistakes. They need the time that you did.”

His words soothe her, in the way that they always do. She relaxes into his comforting embrace with the knowledge that even if she’s the intellectual (and financial) breadwinner in this relationship, Alexi always knows what to say in the face of the heart’s unpredictability. Maybe he is right. Maybe everyone just needs some time.

So, despite her doubts, time is what Melina gives.

Two weeks after that conversation, Liho comes home. His fur is patchy where it’s been shorn off and started to grow back again, and one of his legs is still bound tightly, but he’s back and he’s yours. He leaps happily into your arms when he sees you (despite the yelp of alarm Melina makes) and it’s like he never left. Yelena comes the closest to you that she’s been in weeks to pet his head while he’s curled up against your chest, and she even allows a smile to escape. You can’t help but smile back, like the beginning of spring after a long harsh winter, hope blossoming in your chest once again.

In the time that it’s taken him to come home, other things have happened too. Natasha’s nose, displaced by the punch Yelena successfully laid on her, heals quickly. Your relationship does not. Something unspoken festers between the two of you, hardening and shrinking and blackening into a sickening nothingness. You can’t look at her now without the taste of something bitter filling your mouth — and yet that boiling hot liquid rage still fills your chest when you think of her with someone else. How is it possible to love someone so much but hate them at the same time? You wish, more than anything, that none of this happened. You wish she would just let you love her without having to ruin it for the both of you.

It’s such an indescribably lonely feeling that the two of you are like this now, when only a short time ago the two of you bore open hearts to one another — well, you gave yours to Natasha, anyway. The more you think about it the less of her you have ever known. She’s a stranger to you. Quite a few times since prom night she’s tried to speak to you — offering another half-assed apology, no doubt — but you’ve only ever shut her down. What is there left to say? Nothing that you want to hear, for sure.

(And maybe the things that still hang heavy in the air between you are better left unsaid.)

A few days after Liho comes home you’re laid on your bed in the attic, with your baby boy himself curled comfortably on your chest, purring away merrily as you scratch at his head. There’s some soft music on in the background but neither of you are really doing much. You’re just trying to enjoy his company, (and he’s evidently enjoying yours,) now that you know not to take it for granted.

The scare you’ve had with him has shifted your perspective on a lot, actually — it’s been a rude but much-needed wake up call. Yelena, just like Liho, is your family, and you want to make up with her. Who knows how long either of you have left, or what might happen?

Yes, you absolutely want to be her sister again. You’re just not sure where to even start.

The knock that comes at your door is unexpected, though, and only more unexpected when you see who your mystery visitor actually is. Yelena stands in your doorway, eyes fixed on Liho on your chest. He mews happily when he sees her.

“Кот,” she says hoarsely, holding out her arms and making grabby hands. You blink, stunned for a moment at the fact that she is talking at all, let alone talking to you. This would usually be a good sign, one that she’s coming back into herself, but these naturally are unprecedented circumstances, and you can’t really be certain what anything means anymore.

Yelena steps forward, jerking you out of your trance; you shoot to your feet and kiss Liho on the forehead before holding him out to her with your hands beneath his armpits so that his legs dangle underneath him, rendering him comically long and thin. Lena scoops him up and curls him against her chest; he purrs contentedly and her eyes crinkle in quiet gratitude before she leaves, humming her song to herself.

You almost call out to her, but your body freezes. The door closes behind her you scold yourself for not reaching out, for trying to close this rift between you, but maybe you’ve not given her long enough yet.

What Yelena needs is time, you know. Her whole world has been turned upside down and she has to rebuild it piece by piece. But how much time is enough?

Well, as it turns out, you won’t have to wait much longer.

It’s the last week of school, just over five weeks now since your catastrophic prom night, and you’ve just walked out of your last final. Sam Wilson is waiting for you outside the doors with your favourite flavour of popsicle in his hand, and is already busily consuming his own. When he spots you he waves a broad hand merrily, and you make your way over to him.

“I’m sure you aced it, squirt,” he says before you can even open your mouth, and offers you the popsicle. Unfortunately you’re all too familiar to Ohio’s stifling summer air, making every thought or movement damp and groggy. You accept it gratefully.

Your core friendship group, which you’ve been in for years now, has been pretty turbulent since things went down between you and Yelena. Pairing that with finals and early graduations, you can feel a permanent shift occurring, and it’s frightening. Everyone’s still making effort to maintain contact with you, but this change on top of everything else has you feeling like you’re drowning when you think too long about it. It seems like you never know what are the golden days until they’re gone. (You got twelve golden years with Yelena, but is that where it ends? Will she ever tolerate your presence in her life again?)

Someone who you couldn’t be more grateful for throughout all of this is Sam. One day not long after everything happened you came to him crying, and confessed everything. He patted your back with an aura of awkward concern until your sobs subsided, at which point all he had to offer was, “Huh. Well, I guess that explains why prom night went to shit.”

You can’t help but admire the way that he takes everything in his stride. Nothing fazes him. It’s welcome after spending so long around Natasha, who’s constantly on edge, worried someone else might see her with you. Sam is so unbothered, just being in his presence is calming. He’s become a good and valued friend to you.

“That was your last final,” he reminds you, bringing you back to the present moment. “You’re free now for the whole summer.”

“Oh fuck yeah, man,” you say as the realisation dawns on you.

“How’d you want to celebrate?”

You look up at him and a toothy grin takes root on his face as he realises what you’re about to say.

“Arcade,” you say and he nods fervently in agreement. In recent times you’ve become its most loyal patrons; you retreat there often after classes, whether it’s to recuperate from a bad day or celebrate a good one. Today, thankfully, appears to be the latter.

“Arcade,” he repeats happily, and the two of you amble off out of the school gates and down the hill toward the centre of town, where the Boulevard housing the arcade is located. You chat happily for a little while, about your plans for the summer and what you might do together.

“And, uh… any updates on your… anything?” he asks delicately. It’s a vague question but of course you know what he means.

“Not really.” You deflate a little. “I’m not sure Lena wants me around anymore, to be honest.”

“I’m sure she does,” Sam consoles with a startling certainty. “Seriously. What about Natasha?”

You just shake your head. “I don’t want to… I can’t. Not until Lena…”

“Gives you the okay,” he nods understandingly.

“Yeah, I guess. But until she’s sorry, too. She was really mean,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, I get that. It’ll be okay, man.”

You’re not so sure about that, but before you can express this you cross the road and the two of you have reached the arcade, where your troubles are promptly forgotten.

Sam’s words are very quickly proven correct, though — within only a few hours. You arrive home from your arcade trip with some silly winnings tucked under your arm and a smile on your face. It is Friday night, date night for Melina and Alexi, so a car is missing from the driveway and the kitchen is empty as you enter.

Perfect, you think to yourself, and begin to fix yourself some food. These days you’re very careful not to venture into the communal areas of the house unless you’re sure you won’t be treading on anyone else’s toes. You kind of feel like a burden as it is — you’re not a proper part of this family anyway, not in the way that everyone else is — and you don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable in their own home. So you’ve moved bedrooms and now you meticulously strategise what times you’ll make an expedition down to the kitchen. (Sometimes, when you’ve not had a chance to eat yet, you’ll open your bedroom door to a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of you. Everyone in the house denies knowledge when asked but you have your suspicions of who’s behind it.)

Sometimes you think about moving back to the place where you were born, but you’re not sure if you could stomach that. That feels like a forever choice. There’s no going back from that.

Liho pads up to you, excited that you’re home and even more excited that you’re making food. Unable to help yourself, you indulge him with some chin scratches and scraps. Life’s too short, you say. Why shouldn’t you make a fuss of your boy?

He winds himself around your legs contentedly while you cook. It is just you and him and school has finished and you have the whole summer to do what you want, and you are cooking, and for the first time in a while you are able to shut off and experience a moment of complete peace.

Naturally, with the trajectory of your life at the minute, this peace does not last long.

“Is Sam Wilson your new best friend?” says a cool voice behind you. You actually yelp in alarm, and very ungracefully fumble with the piping hot utensils you’re using, burning your hand in the process. Liho hisses, and you do too, making a beeline for the sink.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” you mutter half-heartedly. Yelena, now moving to stand fully in the light, just makes a noise in the back of her throat as she opens the cupboard above your head and reaches for the first-aid kit. Her face is carefully unbothered.

“I only asked a question,” she says, moving your food off of the heat. Liho claws at your ankles worriedly. You struggle to process Yelena’s words, much less the fact that she is talking to you. Did you blink and miss a chapter?

“Uh,” you rub at the back of your neck with your hand not under running water, “n-no. No, he’s not my new best friend. I don’t,” your voice drops, and you look away, “I don’t think I have one anymore.”

“You do,” she informs you matter-of-factly, hopping up onto the counter beside you and swinging her legs while you continue to bathe your hand. “If you still want one. But she is very mad at you.”

Your voice catches in your throat.

“She does love you,” Lena continues, “but she is wondering why you did things in the way you did.”

There’s a moment of quiet. You gather your thoughts. You weren’t expecting to have this talk tonight.

“I was scared,” you tell her.

“Of what?”

“Of,” you gesture between the two of you, “this. Of making things bad. I always figured it would be like a,” you tilt your head back to keep from crying, because now would be a stupid time to cry, “a stupid schoolgirl crush, you know? She never even spoke to me, I was just her little sister’s dumb best friend, but then things happened and it was so fast and I was so scared. And I wanted to tell you but she… didn’t. She only wanted me when no one else could see. I guess I hoped that she would — come around, eventually, and then I wouldn’t be lying anymore.” You’re heaving with the effort to not cry. “I was wrong.”

“All this time the mystery girl was treating you like shit, you could have told me who it was,” Yelena implores. “I love my sister but she makes me sad also. She can be a dick, absolutely. She’s the worst. Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“She’s your family,” you choke. “I couldn’t cause a— a rift or a problem like that. And what if you believed her over me? And it kept getting worse, and —”

“Сестра,” she leans over, cupping your damp face between her hands and forcing you to look at her, “I would always believe you. Always. Never before have you given reason to not.”

You nod tearfully, and she lets go. The only noise is the running water for a few moments.

“That is probably long enough under tap,” Lena murmurs, turning it off and taking your injured hand in her lap. Opening the first aid kit, she begins to dress the burn. “I am sorry for making you jump.”

“I am sorry for everything else,” you reply honestly. “I was stupid.”

“Yes,” she agrees bluntly. Then, “Natalia was stupider.” When you look up in open surprise, she rolls her eyes. “Close your mouth, you will catch flies. Of course she was stupid, she has fumbled so hard. You,” she pinches your cheek affectionately, “are a catch. I am not even into all of this, but if I was a dater we would be together and I would treat you like four million times better than she does.”

“You already do,” you say quietly, looking down at your hand in her lap as she continues to bandage it.

“Oh absolutely, I am the best.”

Another, much longer, pause. She finishes wrapping your hand, and pats it three times to notify you that she’s done, the exact same way that Mama Melina does. The action makes your heart swell and eyes fill with unexpected tears.

“Do you know why I was so upset by all of it?” she asks unexpectedly. You blink in surprise. This feels like a trick question.

“Because… I lied?”

“Because you picked Natasha over me,” she tells you.

“No I didn’t— what?”

“Yes, you did,” she says, and she’s a little choked all of a sudden. “All of my life Natasha has been the one who everyone looks at first. She is the special one. You are the only one I had first, who was mine. My близнец. And then I find out that for months you have been lying and picking her over me instead. When she is mean, she is so mean sometimes, yes I love her but she is not much like when we were kids anymore, she is so mean. But everyone likes her more than me. Even you.” She turns away.

“No, no I don’t,” you rush to her side, unable to help it now, scooping her close to you. “No I don’t. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. It was stupid to think she’d ever love me, I shouldn’t have— and I shouldn’t have left you out of it. I think I was trying to protect you? I don’t know. You’re always the one to protect me and punch everyone else, I think I was trying to stop you from getting hurt. And her? But it was dumb. Very dumb.”

“Very, very dumb,” Yelena agrees.

“The dumbest.”

“You have broken world record, кролик.”

You laugh a little tearfully, and while Yelena’s arms are wrapped around you she feels it throughout her body. She revels in the feeling of you holding her and loving her again, after the longest time.

“So we are back from the store?” she asks hopefully after a moment. It takes you a moment to process what she means.

“Oh,” you laugh, “we were never there. You will always be my favourite person, Yelena Belova-Shostakov.”

“Okay.” She exhales in relief. “Good. Just, because — well, you know, we have not spoke in so long and you didn’t think you had a best friend, and—”

“No— what? No,” you frown, “that was me giving you space to process and heal. I wasn’t sure you’d want me back,” you laugh. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I promise.”

“I will always want you back,” she says in a small, content voice. “I will always want you home. With me. Not at store.”

“Not at the store,” you repeat.

And just like that, you have your best friend again.

One familial bond repaired doesn’t mean all of them, though — and Yelena’s relationship with her sister has been patchy recently, to put it mildly. In your eyes it’s a plus that they haven’t outright fistfought in the way that they absolutely would if they were any younger, but Mama Melina doesn’t seem to see things that way.

A few days after you and Yelena make up, the two of you along with your parents are sat around the dinner table. At the very least Melina is able to fuss over her twins again, and Alexi is able to once again boom “here comes trouble” whenever the two of you enter a room together. They both take great pleasure in it, much to Yelena’s entertainment and your endearment. You love your parents.

The conversation halts when the front door slams, though. Natasha appears in the kitchen doorway for a second before processing the scene in front of her and slowly backing away, back out of sight.

“What is this about?” Alexi calls after her through a mouthful of food. “Come eat, love.”

There is no response, only footsteps on the stairs.

“Our daughters hate each other,” Melina sighs heavily. When you and Yelena look up at her, she clarifies, “no, not you two. You and Natasha.” She pinches Lena’s cheek.

“We do not hate each other,” Yelena says placidly, much to everyone’s surprise. “I am just angry at her. We will be fine.”

Natasha, who is still within earshot at the top of the stairs, feels her heart skip a beat at this and thinks to herself that just maybe Yelena is ready to be receptive to her attempts at reconnection. Her only issue is she has no idea how to facilitate it. She’s done all the things she can think of, aside from straight up cornering her younger sister — she leaves offerings of food at her door and texts her when the Kardashians are on the TV — but all of it has been treated with nonchalance that’s left her bewildered as to what her next step should be.

Yelena’s got her covered, though.

It’s her turn to strike, she knows, and again she chooses to do it when her sister will least expect it. Nat traipses home late one night, exhausted from cheer practice that overran. (Their next game is the last of the season, and her last cheer match ever considering she’s graduating this summer, so this semester’s team captain Sharon is determined they go out with a bang — even if that bang is a cheerleader toppling from the pyramid out of sheer exhaustion.) She mumbles her greetings and goodnights to Melina and Alexi, who are huddled around a decanter of whiskey in the study with Liho, and stumbles upstairs. All the lights are off up here, and she figures you and Yelena are probably settling down for the night. With a long, wistful look up the spiral staircase towards your firmly closed door, she trudges into her own (pitch-black) room. When she flicks on the light, though, she shrieks in horror. Sat expectantly at the foot of her bed is a long-limbed and blonde-headed figure, with hands folded neatly in its lap.

“Good evening, сестра,” greets the figure, sometimes known as Yelena Belova, with vaguely ominous nonchalance.

Natasha leans back against the door and closes her eyes in a desperate attempt to revert her heart rate to normal. Her first instinct as an older sister is to yell at her to get the fuck out, but in light of recent events this probably wouldn’t be the wisest of choices. Instead, she clamps her mouth tightly shut as she attempts to regain herself.

“I don’t,” she pants after a moment, “I haven’t— what? Hi. What?”

“You should really get a better lock,” Yelena says amusedly. “Very easy to pick.”

“You don’t have to break in,” Natasha grumbles, letting her bag slide to the floor and flopping backwards onto the bed. “Just knock.”

“No fun.” Yelena pokes Nat’s thigh with her toe just like she would when they were kids and for a moment they’re both young again. But she blinks, and the moment is gone, and now they’re two almost-adults with an entire universe between them.

Natasha just groans and flops back to stare up at her ceiling. A few years back you and Yelena helped her paint it blue and now it looks like the sky. It makes her smile when she’s sad sometimes. Yelena joins her, and the two cloudgaze for a moment.

“Why are you in my room?” Natasha asks quietly.

“To annoy you,” Lena quips.

“Success.”

“And to talk,” she continues.

“Also success. We are talking.”

The blonde lunges for her, and Natasha rolls away playfully. “No, I’m serious. Real talking.”

“Alright, I’m all ears.” Nat puts her hands behind her ears and pushes them forward to emphasise her point — again, like they would when they were kids.

“I want to know what you were intending when you started dating Y/N,” Yelena says, and Nat’s stomach drops. She knew this was coming, she knew this was where the conversation would lead, but she was still hoping to stall it for as long as possible just for the joy that her sister is talking to her again. The excitement is short-lived, though.

“We were never dating,” she reminds her quietly.

“Why not?”

The bluntness of the question makes Natasha stop short.

“Because it just, didn’t work out like that, I guess,” she tries. Yelena remains eerily stony.

“It’s not nice to lie to your baby sister, Natalia.”

Natasha deflates. “Because w— because I’m a fucking idiot. I don’t know what you want me to say. I know I messed up.”

“Step one is awareness,” Yelena nods sagely, while Nat grits her teeth. “So what are you going to do about it?”

She shrugs. “Graduate, and leave town, I guess. You and Y/N are twins again now, and I caused all these problems, so once I leave things should be fixed.”

“Untrue and false,” the blonde interrupts sharply. “That is lie. Y/N/N is crushed. This will not magically be fix if you take off for college.”

“But it will help,” Natasha insists.

“No it won’t,” Yelena pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration, “oh my god, how are you so stupid. She is in love with you, and she is so patient with you, she is not even angry. Which I would be, by the way, but she’s not. She’s only sure you don’t want her.”

“Huh? But I do.”

“No, like wanting her,” Yelena says gently. “As a whole. Like… unity, ah? Влюбленный. She feels so not good enough for you, and every day you are prove her right. You take only what you want from her and leave the rest. That is not what love is. She feels not loved by you, and that you only like her for the things she can offer you.”

“Oh. But I didn’t mean to,” Natasha says tearfully. Suddenly she is very small, and she draws her knees up to her chest. “I was only… Lena, маленький, I didn’t know what to do.”

“The answer seems pretty simple,” the blonde observes astutely, “all you had to do was either tell her you love her and want to be with her, or tell her it is over. You can’t keep having things in your way forever. She has feelings too, and the relationship cannot be on just your terms. She is not a doll, or toy.”

“I do,” she says hoarsely. “I do, t- the first one. It’s- I do. But I’m so…” She raises a pale trembling palm to run a hand through her hair, inhaling shakily, and with a blink of surprise Yelena realised how scared her older sister truly is.

“What is so terrifying?” she asks tenderly.

“Y/N is a girl.”

Yelena almost laughs at the confession but is able to refrain, and is proud of her capability to do so upon seeing just how agitated her company is over the subject. “Is this all that holds you back? Nobody would care. Ma and Daddy wouldn’t. This is not end of the world.”

“No, you don’t get it,” says Natasha fiercely. “Ever since I came to America... you were here first, you and Y/N, and you just get to be you. You have who you are. But I don’t know who I am, so I have to — do all the American girl things. I have to fit in. I don’t have a Y/N. And American girls don’t kiss girls.”

Yelena stops to consider this. It’s true that Natasha has always put far, far more effort into fitting in and Westernising herself more than she or their parents ever did. Yelena is perfectly content with her slightly broken English and her raspy accent and her life of in-betweenness. She’s okay with being from two places. To her, when she looks in the mirror, that is Yelena Belova. They’re just parts of who she is. She’s never even stopped to consider those as potential insecurities — not when she had other things and feelings (or lack thereof) to worry about. How could something so unchangeable be a source of doubt? And yet here she now sits, struggling to wrap her head around this invisible binary which has suffocated her sister for so many years.

“But you are not… what?” she says confusedly. “You did have a Y/N. All of this… you’re being someone else. I knew something felt strange. I do not understand why? I like who you are before. It wasn’t bad. I like Natalia.”

This seems to break Nat, who buries her face in her hands. Yelena lets out a motherly cluck of sympathy and scoots closer to loop a gangly arm around her sister.

“I just want to be normal,” breathes Natasha.

“But it is not worth all this,” Yelena says, squeezing her sister tightly to her chest. “What does normal even mean? Being cool is not the most important, Natalia. Everybody liking you doesn’t… fix you not liking yourself.” She cringes at her own words, reminding herself a little too much of Darcy’s Pinterest feed, but the words seem to ring true with Nat, at least.

“I am just so scared,” Nat says in a small voice. “And I think I’ve made this so bad it can’t be fixed.”

Yelena pulls away to look her sternly in the eyes. “Things can always be fixed. Maybe not in ideal way you want them to be, but we can always make amends. But you have to be sorry.”

“I am,” Natasha cries, “I am sorry.”

Yelena holds her. “I know.”

She’s not so sure you know it, though.

Maybe somewhere deep down, you do. You see it in the saddened smiles Nat offers you whenever she steps out of your way or leaves a room so you can use it. You see it in the way she brings your favourite snacks home and leaves them in the pantry without word or question, like she doesn’t even expect you to notice. You see it even in the absence of her; in the way that she gives you space, quietly leaving rooms when you enter them so you can use them despite the fact that you can feel in the air how much she wants to stop and talk to you. Sure, you can tell that she’s sorry. But you’re not sure that she knows what she’s sorry for.

You’re not sure she knows how badly she’s really hurt you, with her every move stabbing into you repeatedly over a course of months. Now that the knife is turned on her and she’s the one in exile, a selfish part of you wants to leave her there, just so she knows what it’s like. You guess that’s kind of what you’re doing now. You know this can’t go on forever though. In a couple of months Natasha leaves for out-of-state college, which she announced over dinner a few nights ago. You had to excuse yourself from the table to process that information. Your time is limited, you know, and it’s clear what Natasha wants (to kiss and make up) — but what do you want? To leave this wound untreated, festering for the next eternity? Or to allow yourself peace and let this go?

“Why do I have to be the bigger person?” you half-heartedly complain to Yelena one night as the two of you wash the dishes. “It’s not fair.”

“Because you are the bigger person,” Yelena laughs. “Natalia has given you the control. The next move is on you. That’s just the way it is, if it’s fair or no.” She whips you playfully with her tea towel, and the conversation moves on without further incident.

The issue plays on your mind long after the words are spoken, though. Whether you like it or not, Yelena is right. The next move’s on you. But how are you meant to make that call? What is the right move to make?

Well, one of Natasha’s friends appears very opinionated on the subject.

On a particularly warm afternoon, you and Yelena stroll into town, and stop off at May Parker’s ice cream parlour — the best in town.

“Ah,” Yelena grimaces, as you draw close to its glass windows, “it is so busy in there. I go in, you wait out here?”

You smile at her gratefully, and she disappears inside.

“Y/L/N!” a voice calls out behind you, and you turn around to see Bucky Barnes making a beeline for you. He’s about twice your size in every way imaginable, and you gulp.

“Hi?” you say uncertainly. You don’t think you’ve ever spoken to him in your life.

“What’s up with you and Romanov?” Well, he’s straight to the point.

You flounder, mouth opening and shutting, and he’s gracious enough to continue, “look, I know you and her are a thing. Were. I don’t know, she’s being so weird about it. It’s okay, it’s okay, I was her beard. And she was mine,” he adds, gesturing over at Steve Rogers, who’s stood on the other side of the road waiting patiently for his boyfriend. He smiles and waves amiably on cue.

You blink. “And no one thought to inform me?”

He shrugs. “Not my place. I think it is my place, though, to ask what’s got her so torn up. You and her fallen out? I’ve never seen her like this. I’on know what to do.”

He may not mean it menacingly, but he’s towering over you and you’re finding it hard to breathe. “She was an asshole, dude,” you say, perhaps a little more defensively than you envisioned. “She wasn’t nice to me and we weren’t even together, because she didn’t see me like that. So yeah, I guess we fell out.”

He frowns, deeply, and takes a moment to process this. “Oh. That… but she does feel that way about you.”

“It’d be nice if she’d show it,” you say bitterly.

His face softens. “Maybe… Look, even if the two of you don’t work it out proper, wouldn’t it be easier to at least clear the air? She likes you so much. She just wants you in her life, I think.”

You look at him uncertainly for a moment, but he holds your gaze earnestly. You know him and Natasha are relatively close, and you don’t see why he’d lie about something like this. It’s definitely tempting to believe.

“Okay,” you say, “I’ll bear that in mind.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else, but you feel a hand on your shoulder and instantly recognise Yelena’s presence just behind you. “What is going on?”

“Just talking,” says Bucky smoothly, but it seems apparent that the moment is over. “See you around, kid.” He crosses the road back to Steve.

“Kid,” you mutter, “he’s one grade older than me.”

“What did he want?” Yelena asks you, and you relay your strange interaction to her. “Oh. Well, he is probably right, but I’m not sure how much it means coming from Natasha’s ex.”

“Were they really together?” you ask, your stomach turning at the thought. Wouldn’t that co-occur with your and her relationship? “He said he was her beard.”

She shrugs. “Not my expertise. Come on, the ice cream will melt.”

You don’t see Bucky Barnes again for the weeks that follow, although you can’t help but wonder what he meant, and what he was trying to achieve. (And a little part inside of you thinks that maybe he could be right.)

“Ma?” says Natasha suddenly. “How did you know you loved Alexi?”

It’s late at night, and the two of them are on the car ride home from Nat’s last cheer game of the season. (At her request it was not a family affair, despite Alexi’s insistence that it was his right to make a fuss of his talented daughter’s performance at her last high school cheer game.) The roads are empty and the towns are sleepy, but Natasha’s question has Melina wide awake.

“Eeh… it was not like a revelation. I did not wake up one day with new clarity. It came to me over time. It took me long time to accept, though. Your father is very patient man.”

“But was there anything specific?” Natasha persists.

Melina purses her lips in thought. “Well, when I met him I was not trusting person. One time when we were in the kind of in between bit right before being proper couple, ah —”

“The talking stage,” Nat supplies helpfully.

“— yes, да. We were in that, nothing proper but something, and he went to touch me and I had a… panic? I shut down. Achh, моя любовь, I was still figuring out who I was and what I did and didn’t like and… still growing up and healing from when I was kid. I was scared.”

Natasha nods solemnly. There are some childhood experiences which, despite unspoken, bind she and her mother at the soul.

“So I freak out, and I expected him to… belittle or leave, or something. But he stays and he is so patient, he apologise for making me jump and fetch me tea, and I thought like wow, he is so gentle. And he is not like the other men I known.”

Again, Natasha nods. Gentle is the perfect descriptor for her father. He’s the most wonderful man she’s ever met.

“So we spent more time together, he was patient with me and always caring. That was the time that I knew I would fall in love with him. But I’m not really know when it happened. Maybe by then it already had, ah? I have only ever had eyes for him. He make me feel… valued, and worthy.”

Natasha just hums in response, for she’s suddenly and embarrassingly on the verge of violent sobbing. She blames Ma and Baba and their beautiful relationship. Nothing else.

“Is this about Y/N?” Melina asks quietly. Natasha opens her mouth to reply and there it is, just as she feared, the waterworks are unleashed. Ma sighs heavily and pulls over.

“Идите сюда,” she says, holding her arms out, and Natasha crawls into them. She rocks her daughter back and forth, exactly how she used to so many years ago when the girl was half this size, while Nat’s face is buried in her mother’s neck. They stay like that for a while, until Natasha’s tears begin to die down.

“Do you want to go and get milkshakes?” Melina breaks the silence. Natasha hums her assent.

The 24-hour diner isn’t far from where they’ve pulled over, and it’s almost empty at this time of night. With no words exchanged Melina orders Natasha’s usual, or what was her usual when she was a kid — a strawberry milkshake and fries. A young Natasha decided strawberry was her favourite as soon as she found out that pink was a girl’s colour. Thinking about that now, especially with the hindsight of her conversation with Yelena, has her stomach turning a little. How long has she been letting her view of the world colour every single choice that she makes? Which parts of her are really her, and which are the ones she’s willed into existence?

It’s a scary line of questioning, and Natasha can feel herself beginning to spiral. No more, she tells herself. Yelena was probably right about needing to get to know herself — and learning her real favourite flavour of milkshake seems a manageable starting point.

“Can I have the caramel one?” she asks Melina gruffly, pointing at the menu. Her mama just nods and alters their order accordingly.

They sit at their usual booth and eat in a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional “pass the ketchup”s. Once they’ve finished, though, and Melina can sense her daughter has calmed enough to leave, she turns and says to her, “Love isn’t easy thing to admit. But it’s… not something to be ashamed of. When it comes, just let it happen. It’s scary, but it does not make you weaker, ah? It will do you no good to push it away.” She hesitates, but then seems satisfied with what she’s said. She turns on her heel and heads back out to the car. Natasha, dumbfounded, follows her.

When they finally make it home, Alexi is snoring away upstairs and you’re on the sofa with Yelena sprawled on top of you, fast asleep. You’re wide awake, though, and look up as the two of them come in.

“Night, ma,” Natasha murmurs to her mother, kissing her cheek before tiptoeing off to bed. Melina hums at the action and pads into the living room toward her twins.

“Hi ma,” you chirp, voice a little husky. “Everything okay?”

Your mama nods, and holds out a brown paper bag. “We stopped at diner. Got your favourite. Some for Lena too.”

Your eyes crinkle up into half-moons as you smile at her in gratitude, and Melina smiles back fondly, her chest filling with warmth. “Thank you.”

She kisses Yelena’s forehead, who does not stir, and then yours, lingering for a moment.

“I love you,” she tells you sincerely, and a fierceness glimmers in her gaze that you’re not quite sure what to do with. “We all do.”

“I love you too,” you tell her honestly. You only hope you’re matching her intensity. She holds your gaze for a moment longer as if searching for something within it, then nods, seemingly satisfied, and retreats upstairs to join Alexi, leaving you alone with a meal to demolish, a slumbering blonde pinning you to the sofa and many, many thoughts.

A few days after that conversation, you wander into the backyard (Melina’s carefully pruned pride and joy) to pet Liho, who’s basking peacefully in the summer evening sun.

“Careful of the flowerbed,” you warn as he flexes his claws and kicks his legs happily. “Someone will suffer if Ma’s roses are ruined.”

He huffs in what could be agreement, and you toe absently at the sandy dirt you and Yelena used to play in.

A gentle creaking sounds from somewhere nearby. It’s a noise that makes you feel ten years younger, and curiously, you rise to your feet.

At the far end of the backyard, nestled among the pines and pratia, is the swing set Alexi built a little while after Yelena first moved in. It’s a little haggard-looking, as when Natasha came to America Alexi bodged a third swing so all of you could play together, but to his credit it’s still held up all these years. Sure, it doesn’t get so much use anymore, but sometimes when one of you is feeling a little down you’ll revisit the simpler times of your childhood.

This seems to be what you’ve stumbled upon Natasha doing now. She’s sat on the middle swing (which in times gone by was your swing, as the middle spot often was when you were a kid, so both siblings got to be next to you), rocking back and forth gently as she cradles something small in her hands, turning it over. She’s lost in thought. Wondering if you’ve intruded on something private, you begin to slowly pace away. When you catch sight of what it is in her hands, though, your stomach turns; a small and glistening pink rock, rubbed smooth by years of love.

“You kept that?” you ask quietly. Natasha’s head shoots up and she takes note of your appearance in the same way that a deer takes note of rapidly approaching headlights. Her mouth opens as she fumbles for words, but she just settles for nodding vigorously before lowering her gaze to her lap again.

You don’t really know what to think, or do. You hesitate for a moment, and find yourself thinking of Bucky’s advice — wouldn’t it be easier to clear the air? This tension is suffocating. With this on your mind, you seem to surprise Natasha as much as yourself when your feet march you over to the swing on your left, and your knees bend to seat you. Her entire body tenses as yours nears her. You can tell that, since you’ve gone to great lengths to escape her company recently, this is the last thing she expected. (In all honesty you weren’t really expecting this either. What now?)

“You know that I’m in love with you, right?” Natasha says suddenly, and you freeze. Your chest tightens, and it’s like she’s wrapped herself around it, claiming your breath as her own.

“That’s not funny,” you reply in a small voice. “Don’t— don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Play with me like that.”

Her stomach lurches. “I’m being serious.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “Were you and Bucky ever actually together?”

“What?”

“Bucky Barnes. Were you with him when you were with me, too?”

“N- no,” she says with vehement certainty. “I was — well, I guess it doesn’t really matter now, but when him and Steve were a secret I was his cover story. And I guess he was mine, so that I could… yeah.” She gestures towards you, pressing her lips together.

“But even after they came out I was still a secret.”

“I—” Natasha says, and buries her face in her hands for a moment, because this is not how she hoped this would go. “Yes. And that was wrong of me. I’m sorry. I think I was trying to protect you, and me, and you from me because I know how messy I can be, and I wanted you so bad but I didn’t want to drag you down with me. And I still did anyway.” She sighs heavily.

“That’s an interesting way of showing affection,” you quip.

“I know,” she says quietly. “And I’m sorry. I know I haven’t shown it well — at all — and I don’t really blame you for not believing me. Or, uh, hating me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you say softly.

Her shoulders sag. “Oh. W— well that’s good, then.”

“But I wish I did,” you add.

“No, yeah. That’s fair.”

“You’re really mean.”

Natasha just nods.

“And it’s even worse because I can’t even hate you because you can also be really nice.”

She nods again uncertainly. She’s not really sure how to respond to that.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you so mean sometimes?”

This makes her stop up short. The way that both you and Yelena never fail to cut to the chase or ask the questions that nobody else would will always catch her off guard. “It’s kind of just who I am,” she begins, but at the way your face scrunches she adds, “or who I’ve decided to be, anyway. I don’t really know. I’m not sure… who I am.” Even uttering the statement aloud is a weight lifted from her shoulders. “It’s scary. I guess I… I thought that, like, I have to be the mean one, or someone else will first. To me. You know?”

“Why would anyone be mean to you?”

“Because I like girls,” she says truthfully, and there’s a tremor to her voice.. “And I’m not from here.”

You stare at her. “…? I like girls, and Yelena isn’t from here. No one is mean to us for it.”

“Because Yelena can and will beat the shit out of anyone that tries something,” Nat snorts. “But I just… I don’t know. It’s different for me.” You nod encouragingly and she adds with reluctance, “I don’t— belong here, not really. Or anywhere. I’m too American to be Russian and too Russian to be American. Ma and Baba and Yelena have it figured out, they’re just both and themselves and they don’t even have to think about it. But that’s not so easy for me.”

“Maybe,” you say carefully, “it’s to do with the people you choose to surround yourselves with. Is it possible that you’re… spending time with the wrong people? If you’re made to feel as though these things make you lesser.”

She shrugs. “Probably. But that doesn’t change the fact that I just… I really don’t have a lot going for me. So I kinda pretend that I do, and then it gets out of hand and I’ve convinced myself that I’m a lot more interesting than I am, to the point that I don’t know who me is. And I get all freaked out. And I’m so scared I kind of just shut off and try not to think, so I guess I’m just an asshole instead. Like it’s a reflex, you know? But it’s not really me. Nothing is me. My entire life is one perpetual identity crisis.” She drops her gaze to toe at the ground.

Your swing comes to a still as you clasp one of her hands between both of yours. They’re warm and perfectly manicured, and her eyes light up at the contact. “You don’t have to know who you are. You just have to exist, and you find out. I’m learning things about myself all the time, and so is Lena. This was my first relationship —” Nat’s stomach drops at the use of the word was “— and I’ve learnt a lot about myself and how I like to be treated. And Lena only came to terms with being aroace this year. Even Ma only just decided she’s demi,” you point out, and Nat can’t help but smile at this. (A little while ago, after Yelena first came out, you and Melina began joining her in attending weekly meetings at the local youth centre for young queer people and their parents. Your mama was determined to be a more educated advocate for her three queer daughters. Very recently, with all this new terminology at her disposal, she dropped into a dinnertime conversation in the presence of the whole family that she thinks she’s demi. “Not that it matters,” she added, “the only one for me is your father,” and she kissed his beaming crinkly cheek with a motherly tenderness. It was a beautiful moment to witness, despite Yelena’s playful booing.)

“I guess,” she says quietly. “Um, I’ve been talking to someone. Professional,” she adds at the look on your face. “Yelena said some stuff that made me realise I probably shouldn’t sort through this alone.”

“Yes, you shouldn’t,” you nod. Natasha raises an eyebrow at your ready agreement. “It’s not something to be ashamed of. Lena sees someone. I do too.”

She blinks. “Really?”

“Yes,” you laugh, “Baba takes me every other Thursday. I have horrible abandonment issues. I guess after everything that’s happened, I’ve kinda internalised some stuff.”

“I definitely took advantage of that,” Nat says guiltily. “I’m sorry. Honestly, I am.”

You look at her. “I know.” Your hand squeezes hers before letting go and she instantly aches to feel it again. “I’m sorry, too. For not… I don’t know, setting more boundaries. Or being more forceful.”

“No, no, it wasn’t your fault.”

You hum, and the two of you sit in silence for a long while as the sun begins to retire.

“You know,” you say suddenly, “you don’t have to move across the country. You can if you want, obviously, it’s your call, but if it’s just because of me… you don’t have to.”

“But-? I’m trying to give you space? To heal,” she says confusedly, and you laugh.

“And it’s very sweet, but I don’t need that much space. I’ve already forgiven you.”

Natasha’s soul leaves her body. “You— huh?”

“I have,” you laugh kindly. “I did some of my own thinking, and I just… I don’t know. I don’t think you need me being mad at you, on top of everything else going on in here.” You tap at her temple gently to emphasise your point, and she shivers. “And I don’t think I need that either. I don’t want to carry that with me.”

“Okay,” Natasha breathes. “T— thank you.”

You wrinkle your nose at her affectionately. “You’re silly.”

She’s awash with the overwhelming need to kiss you, and instead twitches a little, digging her nails into her palm. You take in the movement with such wide-eyed concern that she has to close her eyes for a moment, because she’s almost ill with how much she feels for you. This feeling only grows more intense as you continue.

“I know we’re… whatever we are, but… if there’s anything I can do for you, let me know,” you say more quietly. “I know you’ve been through some stuff, and even when you’re seeing someone for it it can get overwhelming. I do care about you.”

She nods, and swallows thickly. “ I don’t— I— uhm. What does this make us?”

You can hear her hopes heavy on her tongue, and your heart is like lead. “Friends?” you offer. “I— I don’t think we should be anything else, right now.”

Natasha nods, and swallows thickly. With it she swallows back the words but I love you. It must be written across her face, though, because you cup it between your hands (which really isn’t helping her self-restraint at all).

“I love you,” you tell her honestly. “And I always have. But love isn’t… you don’t… I don’t know. That kind of love is something that you earn, I think. And we both need to take care of ourselves.”

“I understand.” Natasha’s voice is hoarse, and barely above a whisper. “And I want you to feel like I respect your decision. But I also want you to feel like I’m serious. About you. And I will prove it if I have to.”

Against your own better judgement, you smile at her.

One thing about Natasha Romanoff is that she’s not a quitter.

Some would say it’s an endearing quality. More would probably tell her it’s the reason she finds herself in so many messes in the first place. What’s objectively certain is that she’s a stubborn little shit — and and with this determination she’s decided she’s going to win you back. Your slight encouragement, no matter how vague, is enough fuel for a fire that could simmer for months.

It starts as chocolates, and flowers. At this point she seems to have cottoned onto the fact that you’re not one for big, theatrical confessions of love, but rather consistent affirmations of it. Actions, not words, she’s heard you say (although now more than ever before she’s seeing for herself what you mean). So there’s no four-act sonnet recitals when you receive her gifts — although you don’t really receive them at all, in the traditional sense. Rather they seem to begin popping up everywhere you go. At one point you open your locker to a bouquet so over-endowed that flowers begin to tumble out onto the floor. Sam steps neatly to the side and watches with glee as you scramble to clean the mess. (He’s most definitely enjoying watching all of this play out.)

Your favourite of all these surprise gifts is probably one delivered by your own four-legged Cupid himself. Liho headbutts the door to your room open and stalks in with a scowl on his face and something attached to his collar. As soon as you remove it to inspect it he rolls onto his back and looks up at you expectantly, clearly expecting compensation for this favour.

“Yes, you’re a very handsome boy,” you tell him distractedly, using one hand to rub his belly while you attempt to unfurl the note he’s delivered with the other. Yelena lets out a noise of amusement. She’s perched on your bed with the Kardashians paused on her laptop in favour of watching this play out instead.

“You are so ungraceful,” she comments mildly, making no move to help you.

“I love how you always see the best in me,” you reply through gritted teeth.

After a moment, you manage to succeed in your task. I picked these for you :), the letter reads. You glance over at Liho’s collar again to see a tiny bunch of forget-me-nots, only slightly battered from their journey and bound neatly by brown twine.

“Another gift from the mystery girl?” Yelena teases, and you groan.

“Okay, saying mystery girl is officially banned. It’s giving me war flashbacks.”

“And that is fair,” your sister muses, getting to her feet to inspect your latest delivery. After she’s done she sits back on her heels. “You don’t have to keep turning her down, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if it’s just because of me. You have my… blessing, or whatever. But on the condition that you’re not gross about it.” She rolls her eyes, and nudges your cheek with her nose. You squirm good-naturedly.

“Why thank you, your Grace.”

“Yes, I’m the graceful one,” she preens.

“Sure,” you snort, and she smirks. “Um, thank you, though. That’s good to know. I guess I’m still… figuring it out, but she’s growing on me again.” And it’s true. You have your reservations now, but she’s trying to remind you why you first fell for her (and yeah, she might be succeeding). Part of you wonders if she’s turning on the superficiality again, but after she spilled her guts to you on the swing set you’re trying to have faith that she really is turning a new leaf, and charming you authentically.

Yelena considers this. “Yes, okay. This makes sense. Remember to tell me if she tries anything again though. I will put them up.” She raises her fists and you giggle, but you know she’s at least partially serious. She’s very athletic in her own right and people at school go out of their way to avoid crossing her. That’s how you’ve stayed out of trouble your whole life — by standing behind Yelena and letting her handle it instead. Where you hesitate, she dives right in. You adore that about her, though.

“Do you know what you’ll do once she’s out of state?” Lena asks, and you shrug.

“Figure it out as we go, I guess. I don’t know if she’ll lose interest in me.”

The blonde looks up fiercely. “If she does that I will stick them up.”

You beam at her, admittedly less for the violence and more for the sentiment behind it. She beams back for reasons more ambiguous.

“Do you know what we will do?” Yelena queries. Upon your frown she elaborates, “next year when it is our turn to pick college. You and me, what will we do?”

“Pick the same one, and both get in because we’re super smart, and we’ll be roommates. And you can make us mac and cheese every night,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

She contemplates this.

“Okay,” she says, seemingly satisfied with your answer. “Can we hit play now? I want to know what’s happen to Kim’s diamond earring.”

“Two cookies say she gets it back.”

“Two cookies say eat my ass the way a fish ate her earring,” she retorts, and the two of you settle on the bed again. (You have two more cookies than usual after dinner.)

Despite the witticism you take Yelena’s blessing with pride, and it means a lot more to you than you let on. Now that every single member of your family has shown their support for your relationship you can’t help but feel a slight ray of hope, the likes of which you thought had been stomped out long ago. Never before have you dared to imagine a situation where you could actually have a shot with the girl of your dreams, who you’ve wanted for as long as you can remember — and yet here you are, with her putting her back out working overtime to win you over, and your family watching with interest. Every morning you wake up a little warmer to the idea of letting this happen.

That doesn’t mean Natasha’s out of the woods yet, though, and you’re careful to make this clear to her. She senses your hesitance, and completely understands its presence. She’ll wait for you as long as it takes. (She’s genuinely stunned at how forgiving you have been of her, in all honesty.) In fact she takes your reluctances in her stride in a way that actually has you feeling more for her — but again, you know better than to repeat your mistakes of the past, and so you take this as slowly as you can considering she’s coming on strong and you live under the same roof.

Three months of summer lie ahead of you, stretching out like an endless expanse of sunset-tinted possibility. You and Yelena manage to land jobs at the video store in town — Yelena goes blazing into the interview and makes it clear as she can that the two of you are a package deal. Wong, the guy who runs the place, just seems grateful for the help.

The store becomes somewhat of a hangout spot for the two of you, who work the same hours and are joined at the hip like always, and it’s a safe bet to stop by if anyone wants to find you. Sam often swings by to playfully irritate the both of you, since the marina where his parents’ boat is docked is just round the corner, and Natasha will meet you when you’re closing to take you out for dinner after. (Sometimes Yelena tags along to these meals, and gleefully revels in the awkwardness her presence causes.) Since you and Yelena are twins again too, things are looking up for your friendship group and they’ve taken to visiting also. You’re delighted to spend time with them again. (Seeing Makkari’s face light up when she steps into the Deaf & Subtitled section of the store makes your whole week.)

In fact, word seems to have gotten out about the fact that Wong’s employed you, because one sleepy Tuesday afternoon Bucky Barnes drops by to rent a DVD. He picks one at random, not even glancing at the cover, and as you scan it through for him he says to you lowly, “thank you for making Natasha happy again. She cares so much about you.” He offers you a genuine smile before heading out abruptly and almost forgetting his DVD in the process. (You suspect his purchase was a mere means to talk to you.) It’s a strange interaction, but decidedly more pleasant than your last with him, so you take it no further.

Another perk of having this job is that you have your own money now. You’re not really sure what to do with it at first; the only thing that occurs to you is that you want to get a gift for Natasha. At the end of the summer is her graduation — she’ll walk and wear the square hat and everything, and you’re very excited to embarrass her with photos of the event — and after that she’ll leave for college. Her graduation is the perfect time to present her with said gift, you decide.

You know you want the gift to be meaningful, but you’re not really sure of the specifics. Luckily for you, one night on the roof with Natasha is all you need for the inspiration to strike.

Can’t sleep, you text her one night, after hours of fruitless tossing and turning.

She replies immediately.

Me neither

Come down to my room :)

If you want to!!! she adds after a moment, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. She is adorable.

Omw, you tell her, rolling out of bed.

The door is unlocked!!!!!! just come in

You follow her instructions and slip inside. The room is cosily lit, with her fairy lights on and her little lamp shaped like Calcifer flickering merrily; the bed is unmade, as if someone’s been in it recently, but Natasha herself is nowhere to be seen.

“Nat?” you call out uncertainly, and squeak in surprise when her head pops through the window. She smiles softly at your reaction.

“I’m out here,” she tells you. “C’mon, there’s space for both of us.” She wriggles along her perch on the flat row of tiles of the roof, and pats the empty spot beside her. Antics like this don’t faze you after twelve years of friendship with Yelena. You clamber out beside her readily.

“Hi,” says Natasha a little bashfully, once you’re settled. You lean up to peck her lips and she flushes. “Y— yeah. Um, hi.”

“Hi,” you reply sweetly. “It’s nice out here.”

“It is,” she agrees, her gaze not straying from you. You take no notice, though; your sights are set to the heavens. No matter how much you snipe about how annoying it is to live in a small town, the views still take your breath away. The stars shimmer bright above you, as they do almost every night. They’re not the only beautiful sight your town has to offer; Wanda adores the rocky hills at the edge of town, where many scavengers like squirrels and raccoons have made their home (one boy in your grade, Peter Quill, has befriended one of the raccoons and affectionately named him ‘Rocket’. He visits Rocket every day after lunch with his leftovers from the cafeteria). Occasionally she’s able to convince everyone in your group to accompany her hiking there. Despite your grumbling, it does make for an enjoyable day out.

“I come out here when I can’t sleep,” she tells you quietly.

“I sit on the roof sometimes,” you reply, and you beam at each other. It’s true — you do, but sharing the information feels vulnerable. You’ve figured out how to hoist yourself up through the skylight in the loft and onto the utmost point of the house, but it’s an activity you’ve kept as your own for now. While you adore more than anything being twins with Yelena, and living your life with her, you’re also learning how to exist by yourself for the first time in your life, and enjoying having your own space. Your little corner in the attic has afforded you many freedoms, and not just material ones.

“You see the moon?” Nat asks. The planet in question hangs round and heavy over the horizon, not quite full.

“How could I miss her?” She’s the most beautiful thing in sight.

“You know the difference between waxing and waning?” Natasha prompts, and you shake your head, solely because you love when she talks about her passions. “Waxing is when the moon transitions from a new moon to a full moon — so she fills out. See, that’s what she’s doing now.”

“She’s nearly full,” you remark quietly.

“Yup.” She grins. “Now when she’s waxing, she fills in from the right side — so she kinda looks like a C.” She makes a C shape with her left hand and holds it up against the sky to confirm that, yes, while the moon is waxing it vaguely resembles the letter. “But soon she’ll start to wane — maybe next week? After the full moon. Waning is the transition from the full moon back to the new moon, so she shrinks away into nothing. She’s eaten away from the left side, so she looks like a reverse C.” Nat makes a C shape with her right hand this time, so that it’s reversed, and holds it up to compare to the moon. They don’t match up right now, but they’ll get there someday.

“This is my favourite period though,” she confesses, her voice dropping a little lower, “of the lunar cycle. When the moon is waxing.”

“Why?”

“Because it feels,” she hesitates. “I don’t know. It feels like gross to say out loud but it kinda just feels like, encouraging. Things are always changing. They won’t be like this forever, you know? The cycle keeps on repeating itself.”

“The cycle keeps on repeating itself,” you repeat, and she smiles at you.

“Yeah. You don’t think it’s… dumb? I don’t know, I’ve never brought anyone else up here. I —”

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell her, and she kisses you gently.

The next day you go out and buy a crescent moon necklace.

Natasha has been coming into your room more and more often lately, and you don’t trust yourself to not leave it lying around in plain sight, so one day while she’s out you enlist Alexi’s help to loosen one of the floorboards in the attic so you can stash things under it inconspicuously.

“It’s not for anything suspicious,” you tell him quickly, “you can look under it whenever you want. It’s just to hide gifts and —”

“Relax, sunflower,” he chuckles, “you are entitled to your secrets.”

The necklace stays hidden there until summer draws to a close.

The weeks fly by in a golden haze and before you know it, you’re getting ready for Natasha’s graduation.

Alexi is stood on the landing in his smartest suit, and flexing proudly in the mirror on the wall. “It still fits!” he booms triumphantly.

“Don’t forget to wear your nice shirt, любовь,” Melina calls up the stairs to him. “No one with holes in.” He deflates a little, and retreats back into their bedroom to change.

“He looks fine,” Yelena scolds half-heartedly as she lumbers down the stairs, holding out her wrists to Melina. “Can you do my cufflinks?”

“Where’s your please?” Melina retorts, but she sets her clutch down so she can use both hands to help her daughter.

“We have to leave in ten minutes,” Natasha announces as she bursts from her own room. “Семья, I know what you are like, and we cannot be late.”

“Relax, love.” Alexi reemerges from the bedroom in a different shirt this time. “I will go and start the car,” he starts down the stairs, “and— oh.” He pauses as several buttons pop off his shirt simultaneously. “Ебать.” He turns around and subduedly makes his way back up the stairs.

“Baba,” Natasha groans. “This is what I mean.”

“Hey! I am nearly ready,” says Yelena indignantly, nodding at her mother in thanks for doing her cufflinks before ducking in front of the mirror. “Oh shit, where is my tie?”

“Language,” reprimands Melina.

“See?” Natasha sighs exasperatedly. “Y/N/N is the only one who’s ready.” She hurries down the stairs to where you’re stood in the hall, watching the scene unfold serenely. You’ve been ready to leave for the last ten minutes. She beams at you and pecks you on the cheek just shy of your lips. You flush, and the crescent moon necklace burns a hole in your pocket. Now isn’t the time, though.

Eventually, you all make it into the car, with everyone now sporting correctly-fitting outfits. As always on car journeys, you’re in the back, sandwiched in the middle between Natasha and Yelena. Lena scrolls through her phone disinterestedly, headphones in, while Natasha vibrates on your other side with anticipation and nerves. You take one of her hands between both of yours and she stills instantly.

“I am very proud of you,” you say quietly, “to have made it this far, with these grades. You’ve gotten into your dream college. You can do anything. Today will go fine.”

She doesn’t speak for fear of bawling and potentially ruining her eyeliner, so instead she rests her head on your shoulder in silent gratitude. She doesn’t move until you arrive, at which point she shows you all to your seats (front row, you note) and disappears to the backstage meeting point for all of the graduates.

The actual ceremony doesn’t begin for a while, so Melina converses with the other parents seated around her while Alexi nods politely, and you and Yelena compete in a thumb war. Eventually Principal Rambeau steps onto the stage and a silence settles on the gathered audience.

“Thank you all for attending,” she begins. “We’re here to celebrate our wonderful seniors, who have put in so much work to make it here today, and walk this stage.” She continues like that for a short while before they begin to call the students’ names, and they each walk across the stage in turn to claim their diploma. Natasha is a little later on the register, so you just sit back and enjoy the show — you’ve lived in this small town all your life, where most people know of each other, and so you recognise or even know the vast majority of the people who make their way across the stage. Some of them choose to make a memorable exit from their high school career (like Happy Hogan who chooses to breakdance his way across the stage, or Ned Leeds who walks proudly in a hot dog suit), whereas others take the more graceful route (see Valkyrie King, a prominent athlete of the school, who walks with confidence and regally basks in everyone’s recognition of her). When Natasha Romanova-Shostakov is called, she walks the stage a little bashfully, and with a blush accepts the cheers showered upon her after several years of being the cheer team’s star. You clap and shout louder than anyone else, and to Yelena’s glee capture several shots of her in her square graduate cap. Front row seat privilege.

After the presentations, the students flood into the crowd and people break off into little groups. The air hums with the joy of people laughing and congratulating and embracing one another. Natasha makes her way over to you and Yelena, who are stood now with your parents beside the refreshments. She brightens when she spots you, and is instantly by your side, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“There is my girl!” Melina cheers. An outbreak of hugging ensues.

You mingle politely for a while with the other families milling around your own. Natasha appears intermittently, being the centre of attention today. Yelena is by your side (with her arm annoyingly resting on your shoulder to remind you that she’s taller) until one of her hockey friends pilfers her to show her something. In the few moments that you’re unaccompanied, Natasha resurfaces from the crowd, takes your arm and leads you somewhere a little quieter, and a little less visible to the masses.

“I just, um,” she realises she’s still holding your arm and lets go of it with a blush, “I wanted to thank you for being here. Like actually. It means a lot to me. I know— I know that in a couple of weeks I won’t be here properly, and it might make things weird, but —”

Now is the perfect time, you decide. As she continues to nervously ramble you pull the crescent moon necklace in its little velvet box from your pocket, and present it to her. She falls silent and looks at you.

“It’s for you,” you say unnecessarily, opening it to show her the treasure inside. Her eyes widen. “I— I want to do this with you. I want to give us a try. I like being with you.”

And as you clasp the delicate chain around her neck, and lean up to press a chaste kiss to her lips, Natasha understands. Love is something you earn.

She entwines your hand with hers, and together the two of you make your way back towards your family.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x fem reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff #natalia romanova #black widow #high school au #marvel high school au #mama melina paramore reference u get a cookie if u spot it

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dovesdreaming · 5 months ago

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can you write i'm still into you by paramore for Benny Weir?

After all this time

Hi I hope you enjoy this it was very fun to write! I have a good angst idea for this and would love to write that aswell if anyone’s interested <3

Warnings: none (unless you include mushy fluff)

You and Benny had been together two years now and it hadn’t been all easy, there had been bumps in the road but what relationship doesn’t? Despite the years of dating and the years before that of friendship it still felt like you had only recently fallen in love. You still felt the electricity fire through your system from the smallest of touches from benny. He could hold your hand, interlocking your fingers, like you had done countless times yet it still gave you the buzz a new couple would feel the first time they held hands.

You should be over all the butterflies Benny gave you yet everything he did created a swarm in your stomach. He was the only one for you. There had been doubts from yourselves and your friends at the start of the relationship as navigating love from a friendship isn’t the easiest and can have disastrous effects if it ended but you had made it this far and saw no end in sight. You had said your first I love you’s only weeks into the relationship after a midnight run to the convenience shop round the corner of his house. He was walking you back to your house, slowly so that you could spend more time with each other. You couldn’t stop laughing with each other and your heart felt so full of love you couldn’t help but blurt the three words out. Benny didn’t hesitate to say them back either.

Even on your worst nights where you and Benny had argued or got into a slight disagreement with each other you couldn’t let yourselves go to bed angry with each other. Depending on who felt less stubborn on that day would be the one to reach out first. The persons phone buzzing with a text message wanting to talk. From there the rest of the night would be spent on the phone talking since you had finally made up and could talk to each other again. You and Benny never ran out of things to talk about as you both just said whatever random thing came to mind. You had both fell asleep on the phone to each other multiple times.

Little did you know the butterfly feeling was mutual. Benny still had to pinch himself sometimes as he couldn’t believe he was so lucky to have someone like you in his life. He spent everyday of his life admiring you and would continue to do so for as long as you let him. You both loved each other in bucket loads and felt as though you could never live without the other.

After all this time you were still both very much into each other.

Thank you for reading!

Author rant: after hearing this song live recently I have been going crazy for paramore songs and love that I got to write inspired by one <3

#fanfiction #x reader #blog #fandom #benny weir x reader #mbav #benny weir #my babysitters a vampire #mbav x reader #my babysitters a vampire x reader #paramore

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sunnyvelvet · 3 months ago

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Getting Lost (Hayley Williams x fem!reader) (gxg)

A/N: Here is another old imagine of mine. Requests are open. Enjoy!

W.C. 404

Wattpad

You had agreed to move in with your long distance girlfriend Hayley.

Moving all the way from Nevada to Tennessee. Let's just say you weren't excited about the drive there. It was almost a 26-hour drive. With taking time to sleep, it would be a good two and a half days. Hayley wanted to fly to Nevada to drive up with you. You refused though, saying that it would just be a waste of money and time. So, now three hours into your drive you regret your decision. Wishing that Hayley was there to make time go by faster. You turn the radio on to see that they were playing a Paramore song. Definitely not helping my situation. You change the station.

It was the next day, still driving. Hayley had called and you had your phones blue tooth hooked up to your car. "I wish you had let me come," Hayley starts, "You would be having so much more fun and would have more company." "I wish you were here too, baby." You respond. This trip had suck big time. It was all worth it so you could live with Hayley though. Not being long distance would be amazing. "You'll be here soon though right?" Hayley asked. "Yeah not too much longer. I'll be there tonight, I think." You say reinsuring Hayley.

By the time you got there, it was pitch black out. You could barely see anything. Being kinda lost you get your phone to look up directions. It wouldn't connect to your data. "Fuck" you declare. You wing your way to some sketchy area. You decide that it's best to call Hayley. "Where are you?" Harley says, sounding kinda scared. "I don't really know, I'm lost." You say feeling quite guilty. "You're Lost! Oh, my God, what are you around, " Hayley particle yelled into the phone.

That's what began the hour process of Hayley trying to help you get to her place, by phone. It was long, tiring, and probably not worth it to most people but to you, it meant the world. You were so happy to finally see Hayley again. To hug her, kiss her, and even cuddle her. You were both so happy. You changed and jumped into your new bed. You too cuddled and talked till you both fell asleep. Nothing else in the world matter but that moment. The first moment of a new beginning.

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lavendercharm · 11 months ago

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Linger, Chapter 4: Burning Down the House

A/N: I simply had to include both versions of this song - I was raised with Talking Heads but the Paramore version is what I’ve been listening to a lot recently, and what I thought of when naming this chapter.

Summary: From the moment you meet her, you can't stand Melissa Schemmenti.

Warnings: Strong Language

----

Your plan begins with Janine Teagues.

You spend the whole drive home positively seething, so caught up in your rage you nearly run a red light and forget to use your signal on three of your turns. You never forget to signal, which makes you even angrier. Even when you’re not caught in her physical orbit, Melissa Schemmenti finds a way to piss you off. You feel like it’s eating you alive, the pressure building until you’re sure you’ll explode.

When you arrive home, you storm inside, slamming your front door. Framed art pieces and photos rattle on the wall. Throwing your bag across your living room, you begin to pace, breathing heavily. Your mind races and your eyes dart around your apartment. The one word bouncing around inside of your skull: Revenge.

The pressure that had been building inside of you begins to lose steam as you realize something crucial: You know almost nothing about Melissa. You know she’s stubborn, loud, arrogant, breathtakingly gorgeous, and impulsive. You know she makes your skin tingle and your heart pound. You know she’s phenomenal at her job and she loves her kids - you’d never dream of doing something that would affect the kids and their learning. You want her to feel as personally attacked and downright fucking inconvenienced as she’s made you. But you don’t know how to hit her where it hurts. How do you get real revenge on someone you don’t even know?

Suddenly, you’re struck with an idea. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you send a quick text to Ava.

Hey Ava. Could you send me Janine’s number?”

You barely have a moment to think before your phone dings.

Ew, why would I have Janine’s number saved? I guess I can look through my messages to find her.

Her message is punctuated with an eye rolling emoji. You shoot her a quick thank you, and it’s only a few minutes until Ava sends you Janine’s contact info.

You brought this on yourself girl.

If only Ava had a clue - you knew exactly what you were doing. It only takes you a few minutes to draft your message to Janine.

Hey Janine! Ava gave me your number. I was the sub for Miss Schemmenti this afternoon. Speaking of, I had such a great day working with her, I’d like to surprise her with a thank you gift when I leave at the end of the week. Can you tell me a bit about her?

Prior to this morning, you might have felt ashamed at how easily the lie came to you. Turns out your moral compass tends to stray when you have your headlights bashed in.

You scan the message after it’s done, reading it out loud to make sure it sounds believable. You don’t think Janine would be suspicious of anything, but you had to keep things airtight. You couldn’t risk her telling Melissa you’d been asking after her. Satisfied, you hit send, and put your phone down, ringer on. You’d know when someone texted you, but you didn’t expect Janine to write back immediately in the middle of the school day.

You channel your frantic energy into tidying up your kitchen, swapping out your work clothes for a sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, and trying your best to busy yourself in the hopes of shutting off your mind. It didn’t work.

Nearly two hours later, your head whips over to your coffee table as your phone buzzes. You don’t even consider that it could be someone else as you snatch it up. Luckily enough, Janine Teagues greets you at the top of the message as you unlock your phone.

Hey! I didn’t see you at the end of the day today, you must have had to run! Um, I LOVE surprises! They’re basically like secrets, which I love getting but hardly anyone ever tells me their secrets. I don’t know why, I’m a great secret keeper. (You doubted that.) But surprises are so much fun! Melissa is a really private person, but lucky for you, I’ve managed to crack that tough exterior! She probably wouldn’t want me to tell you about her but I will, since it’s for a surprise!

Her message continued on, a practical master’s thesis of a text. It seemed Janine rambled just as much over text as she did in real life.

Eventually you strike gold.

You send Janine a very sincere "thank you" text, telling her she’s given you the perfect idea for a surprise. You promptly turn her texts to Hide Alert . You couldn’t risk Janine’s inevitable follow up messages distracting you. You tied your hair back, sent a mental thank you to Past-You for taking some digital art and marketing classes in college, and put your master plan to get revenge on Melissa Schemmenti into motion.

—----------------------

You ultimately end up asking for help from an old friend. You’d managed to make decent progress on your project, working late into the night. But once you realized your idea was just outside of your skill set, you decided you needed reinforcements. You gave her some excuse about using them for a collage. After all, she didn’t need to know she was participating in the very real crime you were committing. It gave you pause at first, when you realized that your plan hinged on breaking the law. You weighed your options. Was this revenge plot on Melissa really worth it?

After you saw how much replacing smashed headlights could end up being, your fire was reignited.

Your friend had agreed to help you, not a single question asked. Your timeline wasn’t a problem - she’d get you the files you needed well before the end of the week. From there, a barcode, a bit of cardstock and some strategically placed glue, and the key to your plan would be ready to go. As you collapsed into bed, triple checking that your alarm was set for the AM, you couldn’t help the devious smile that played on your lips. Melissa would have no clue what hit her.

Despite having gotten less sleep than you were used to, you woke up strangely energized. Getting up to no good seemed to give you an extra boost - whether it be anticipation for your scheme to fall into place, or pure anxiety. You wouldn’t let yourself think too much about it. You were in it now, and you were determined to see it through.

Having woken up on time this morning, you were able to properly get ready for your day. You showered, dried and styled your hair, and chose your outfit for the day - black straight leg jeans, a light short sleeved teal button up, the top three of which you left unbuttoned, and white sneakers. You added some golden necklaces and a few rings to finish off your outfit for the day. On your way out of the door, you were extra sure to grab your lunch - you wanted to avoid a repeat of yesterday with every fiber of your being.

As you drove to Abbott, the seed of doubt in your stomach began to grow into a pit. Were you seriously going to go back into that classroom? The woman had hurled insults and smashed out your headlights for crying out loud. And although you seethed thinking about it, you took note of the apprehension mixed in with the anger. If she has no qualms about smashing your headlights, who’s to say your face isn’t next? You might have thought the idea of another teacher taking a bat to you was ridiculous before yesterday, but the odds increased drastically in the last twenty-four hours.

You pulled into the parking lot, turned your car off, and took a few deep breaths. You told Ava you’d be back - you weren’t going to ghost this job, and not just because you needed the money. You wanted to keep your word, and you wanted to show Melissa Schemmenti you weren't scared of her. Even if I am, you thought. Steeling yourself, you grabbed your bag and got out of your car, allowing your gaze to linger on your destroyed headlights for only a moment on your way in.

You’d barely stepped inside when you heard Ava say, “Damn, you really came back, huh? I’m not gonna lie, Olive Garden, I didn’t think you’d pull through.” She was standing in the doorway to the administrative offices wearing a flowery blouse and dress pants. Her hair and makeup were just as flawless as they were yesterday. You made a mental note that befriending Ava might not be a bad thing - maybe she could give you some pointers.

“Good to know you believe in me,” you muttered sarcastically in reply. You frowned. “And I’m not dressed like a waiter today. Please don’t call me Olive Garden.” Ava simply rolled her eyes, but you could see the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“Well, you know where to go, Red Lobster. Better not be late again, if you want to see lunch time.” You pressed your lips together, your mouth suddenly dry. The odds you’d beaten Melissa to work were slim, which meant you were walking into a hornet’s nest. Worse, there likely wouldn’t be witnesses if she decided to end you here and now. Still, you’d survived yesterday. It couldn’t get worse than that. Mustering up as much courage as you could manage, you made your way to Melissa’s room on semi-steady legs.

To your surprise and relief, Melissa was nowhere to be seen yet. The door was open, the lights were on, and you took note of Melissa’s things near her desk - so she was here, but the room was vacant. Perhaps she’d needed to make copies or use the restroom - either way, your anxiety grew, alongside something new. You felt… thrilled at the idea of Melissa stumbling upon you in her room. In a way, this gave you an upper hand. There was no doubt in your mind that the woman didn’t expect to see you again. You imagined the shock on her face, the surprise sparking in her eyes as her sculpted brows rose, creating a ripple of delicate lines across her forehead. The enraged blush that would undoubtedly be dusting her cheeks as her mind caught up with what she was seeing. Her leather pants catching the light and clinging tightly to her soft, full thighs…

Your train of thought was swiftly followed by the heat on your cheeks, and you frowned. It didn’t matter that Melissa was downright gorgeous. As far as you were concerned, she was a horrible, hot headed woman with little regard for others. You ignored the voice in your head that contradicted that evidence: the lasagna Janine had given you a clear indication that Melissa cared about people. If you were going to get back at her, you couldn’t acknowledge that she might actually be human.

You quickly made your way to the desk in the back of the room and unpacked your things, staking a claim to your territory. You wanted to look settled and comfortable when she got here, hoping that making yourself at home in her room would add salt to the wound. Soon, though, you were at a loss as to what to do with yourself. It felt a bit silly, just waiting there for her, and you didn’t want to look like you were waiting for her, even though that’s exactly what you were doing. You internally groaned in frustration, your tendency to overthink everything creating problems that weren’t there. In an effort to look nonchalant, you channeled the audacity of a man as you leaned back in your office chair and stretched your legs out under the desk. Bringing your arms up and resting your hands on the back of your head completed the laid back pose and you prayed you didn’t look as dumb as you felt.

You sat like this for an embarrassingly long time. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, you saw it was nearly time for students to start arriving. Just as you began to readjust your position, you heard the telltale sound of a chunky boot heel on linoleum. Your heart was apt to burst out of your chest and you didn’t even know you were holding your breath, too busy trying to look blasé while also not shitting yourself. You were going to throw up.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to her fiery red hair as she walks into the room. You brace yourself for a barrage of insults, but they don’t come. Her face is buried in a stack of papers. A grimace briefly crosses yours before you fix it. She was so focused on whatever she was reading that she hadn’t even seen you yet.

You have to be kidding me, you think.

As she situates herself at her desk, she absentmindedly grabs a pen from the holder and pulls the cap off with her teeth. Your eyes are glued to the cap held between her plush lips, the gloss shining in the fluorescents. You can feel your imagination begging to run wild and it’s only through sheer force of will that you keep it at bay. She continues to write for a few minutes more and your heart pounds as you observe her, though for different reasons than it had been a few minutes before.

She plucks the cap from between her lips and places it back on the pen. As she grabs the stack and lifts it up to align the pages, her eyes lock with yours. It feels as if time is frozen. You’re trapped in emerald pools as she stares back at you, and you feel a stirring in your stomach. You have no clue how long you both sit there like that before something switches in your brain. Slowly, you allow the biggest shit eating grin you can muster to cross your lips. You flash her the biggest, toothiest smile, and say, “Good morning.”

This breaks whatever spell had been cast over the both of you, and you see an infuriated blaze spark in her eyes as she slams her papers down. “What the hell d’ya think you’re doin’?” she growls.

You furrow your brows in mock confusion. “I’m sitting at my desk, silly.”

She grits her teeth. “I thought I told you to fuc-”

You cut her off. “Ava convinced me to stay. She said Abbott is really hurting for subs, and seeing as I’m experienced , she would overlook yesterday’s… incident.”

The attractive flush of rage had worked its way onto Melissa’s face and you fleetingly wondered what else would make her blush like that for you. Her fists were balled and you sat forward in your chair, wanting to be prepared to run in case she charged you. But instead, she bit out a threatening, “We’ll see about that,” and promptly stormed out of the room.

Your breath came out of you in a huge whoosh as you slumped forward, resting your head on the cool wooden surface before you. You were alive. You might not be employed in the next ten minutes, but you weren’t dead. You realized if Melissa got Ava to let you go, you wouldn’t be able to orchestrate your grand revenge plan. But a part of you felt relief at that, too. You were proud of how you hadn’t wilted under the Italian woman’s fiery glare. You’d held your ground, and if you were about to be let go, you’d walk out of Abbott with your head held high.

It was another few minutes before Melissa stalked back into the classroom, and her shoulders were nearly touching her ears they were so tense. She pinned you with a glare so hateful, you thought you might actually catch fire. Then, to your utter disbelief, she said, “If you so much as blink at the wrong time, I’ll have you out on your ass before you can say ciao . Capisce?”

You had to fight hard to keep the grin off of your face, so you simply nodded at her to communicate you understood. But you both knew it - you’d won this round. Yet, as she rounded the corner of her desk, she asked, “By the way, how’s your car?”

The urge to grin fled as your eyes narrowed and your ire sparked. “Why do you ask? Have something you wanna tell me?”

She smirked, and you wanted to wipe it off of her stupid, enchanting, smug face. “Oh, no reason. Been some cars getting vandalized ‘round here, that’s all. I’d keep an eye out.”

You open your mouth to retort, but you're interrupted by a shrill, “Good morning Miss Schemmenti!” from one of the students as she ran into the room. Melissa’s attention was drawn away from you as her teacher persona slipped flawlessly into place.

“Good morning, Kayla!” she replied sweetly. Her smile was positively radiant. You despised it.

You settled into your chair as more students trickled in. A storm of anger and discontent was raging inside of you, but you worked to calm yourself before the school day really began. As you watch the seats fill in the room, you see Melissa approaching you from the corner of your eye. You wait for her to reach you before turning your head and cocking it to the side. You see her tongue press against the inside of her cheek momentarily and you know she’s pissed that she has to be cordial with you in front of the kids.

As she drops some worksheets on your desk for you to pass out, her eyes catch on something. You glance down and see the tupperware containing your lunch sitting in your unzipped bag. Looking back to Melissa, you see the malicious smirk form on her full lips before she speaks.

“Decided you didn’t feel like stealin’ today, huh?”

You clench your teeth together as she turns and walks away from you. You definitely don’t pay any special attention to the way her curvaceous hips swing, her self-satisfied air nearly suffocating you. You close your eyes and take three centering breaths. As you reopen them and begin passing out papers, you repeat a mantra in your head: Just make it to Friday. Melissa Schemmenti will get what’s coming to her.

—----------------------

She chooses to ice you out for the rest of the week, and frankly, you’re not mad about it. It’s better than having barbed remarks constantly thrown your way, and it’s definitely better than getting into another vicious verbal brawl. Or worse, a physical one. However, it also makes your job harder. She practically won’t acknowledge your existence unless she absolutely must, and she doesn’t include you in any of her teaching. You do a fine job answering individual questions during the kids’ work time, and nothing beats the feeling of warm satisfaction when one of them works out a difficult math problem or correctly spells a word they’d struggled with. But you didn’t feel like you were really a part of the classroom; Melissa wouldn’t allow you to be.

You’d decided to brave the teacher’s lounge for lunch on your second day and were glad that you did - although Melissa wasn’t happy with your presence there, Janine more than made up for it. She quickly introduced you to Jacob and Gregory, and timidly introduced you to Barbara, who you realized was close friends with Melissa. Barbara had a kind air about her, and you instantly felt soothed when speaking with her. You couldn’t fathom how she could be friends with the stubborn, explosive, and cruel redhead. For the rest of the week, you ate your lunch in the lounge, sitting with Janine and Jacob, politely greeting Barb and Gregory, and entirely ignoring Melissa. This was noticed by absolutely everyone.

In the evenings at home, you worked diligently to make sure you had what you needed for Melissa’s “surprise”. Your friend had sent the files you needed, and you thanked her profusely, promising to buy her drinks the next time you were both in the same city. She’d done an excellent job. You needed things to be as close to perfect as they could get. Nothing could tip Melissa off or else your plan would fail.

3:00 on Friday rolled around painstakingly slowly. You were a bundle of nerves all day, and you were paranoid Melissa was picking up on your energy. She’d given you scrutinizing glances twice and you’d done your best to ignore them. By the time the whole class had left and it was just the two of you, you felt like you were bursting at the seams. You could feel your heart beating as you reached into a small zippered pocket in your bag. Grabbing the fruits of your labor and pressing them behind your back, you cautiously made your way to Melissa’s desk.

She didn’t acknowledge your presence, keeping her eyes glued to her computer and ignoring you entirely. You pursed your lips and took a deep breath. You needed this to work.

“I’d like to extend an olive branch,” you said, pleased at how steady your voice was.

Without looking up, she curtly responded, “Not interested.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Big surprise,” you muttered. Her gaze snapped to yours and you felt your stomach drop. Swallowing, you continued, “Look, it’s not like I’m going to ask to be friends or whatever. I know that we… got off on the wrong foot,” which was an understatement. “I just wanted to tell you that I was sorry, and I’d like it if we could at least be cordial.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but you held up a hand to silence her. She recoiled a bit, her brows arching at your nerve, but her surprise at your boldness bought you time to interject. “I didn’t think you’d just take my word for it, so I got you these.”

You brought your other hand from behind your back, and held out two VIP tickets to the Philadelphia Eagles game this coming Sunday.

You heard her teeth clack as her mouth snapped shut, her eyes wide in shock. Her expression quickly turned to one of suspicion as she asked, “How do you know I even like football, huh?”

Your cheeks colored a bit against your will. “I uh… I asked Janine to tell me about you so I could surprise you.” You didn’t like the meekness in your voice. For some reason you were embarrassed, your reasons for doing this notwithstanding.

A look of pure annoyance crossed Melissa’s face as she muttered, “Dammit, Janine.” She gazed at the tickets, almost as if she was wary of them. As she was contemplating, her teeth caught her lower lip and you felt something stir in you. God, how dare she look fucking endearing after everything. In another life, you would have liked to trap that lip between your teeth.

As your mind fought off those thoughts, she gingerly reached out and took the tickets from you. You felt your pulse quicken as she pulled her cat eye glasses off of her head and examined them. A few moments that felt like an age passed, and you thought you might explode from the anticipation.

Suddenly she removed her glasses and set the tickets down on her desk. Looking off to the side, Melissa Schemmenti crossed her arms and looked almost timid . And then, to your utter disbelief, she said words you never thought you’d hear her say to you.

“I uh…guess that’s one helluva olive branch. How could I say no to that?”

You stared back at her, mind blank. She’d just accepted your peace offering. It took you a moment to catch up and you realized your mouth was literally hanging open. You promptly shut it.

“Thanks,” Melissa said, and this time she looked you in the eye. There wasn’t warmth there, but there was a distinct lack of animosity, so she may as well have been beaming at you. As you stared back into her captivating green eyes, you felt the beginning of a new feeling. It dawned on you that you were starting to feel bad.

You had to shut that shit down.

You started, backing away from her desk and nodding in her direction. “Yeah, of course,” you say, quickly turning to grab your bag and get the hell out of dodge. “I gotta run, but, uh… I hope you have fun,” you say, and holding her gaze feels absolutely grueling. “I dunno if I’ll be back next week, so…” you trail off.

She’d turned back to her computer, but she actually glances up at you when she says, “Ashley��s still healin’ from her surgery, so you’ll be off the bench next week too. You, uh… might actually be able to teach these kids somethin’ before she gets back.”

You blink in disbelief. Did she… was that almost a compliment? Was she at least admitting that you were a better aide? For the first time, you think that you might be making a mistake.

Yet, as you stand there, the last week plays out in your mind - the rude treatment, the outright disrespect, the vicious words, and the ruined headlights on your car that you could barely afford to fix. You couldn’t let yourself back down now, and not just because she already had the tickets. You wanted to ruin her week the way she’d ruined yours - you wanted to get her hopes up and then crush them.

You grasp ahold of the rage that had been motivating you. You feel the tenderness in your heart harden to steel as a false smile graces your lips, and as you turn to leave, you reply, “Well, I guess I’ll see you next week. Let me know how the game is.”

And you leave Melissa Schemmenti with two counterfeit VIP Eagle’s tickets.

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #this song is burning down the house by talking heads/i've been listening to the paramore cover like nonstop #it's so good #also obsessed with this gif #it was part of what inspired the pen cap in the mouth thing #oral fixation much??#Spotify

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slaymybreathaway · 1 year ago

Text

All I Wanted - Roderick Heffely x Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 742

Masterlist

"Y/n come over," Rodrick said through the phone, his room was in the attic of the house so he didn't really have to whisper.

"Why? What's up?" y/n said as she sat on her at her desk, putting on eyeliner just for fun. Her room was in the attic, too.

"Don't you wanna see Greg's face when I trick him into thinking it's the first day of school?" he said. Y/n could sense his smirk through the phone.

"Yanno, I would love too but I just got into bed. Damn," she lied.

The girl could hear footsteps coming from the other side of the phone and then the sound of curtains opening. "Liar. You're a bad girlfriend," Rodrick said.

Y/n winced in defeat as she walked over to the window. She could see straight across, to the Heffley's house. Rodrick stood waving through the top window.

"I'm not your girlfriend, Rod," Y/n said with no expression.

The L/n's moved in last year and it wasn't long before the Oldest Heffely brother made his feelings for the Oldest l/n sister very clear.

Y/n made an effort to show little to none romantic intrest in the boy but somehow, he just wouldn't back off.

"If, I come over will you stop telling everyone that I'm your girlfriend?"

Y/n crossed her arms. She could see Rodricks's visible disappointment through the window.

"Alright, fine," he sighed.

Y/n hung up the phone and put on her shoes. She crept down the stairs slowly, trying not to wake her family.

When she got halfway down the stairs she heard a little voice. "Y-y/n," her little sister, Janie, spoke while rubbing her eyes tiredly.

Y/n walked up the stairs and picked up the three year old. The little girl clung to her like a koala. "Come on honey, let's go back to sleep. I'll buy you some ice-cream tomorrow afternoon. Does that sound good?"

Janie nodded, sleepily. The second her head hit the pillow, she started to snore.

"Phew," y/n whispered as she returned to her original mission.

She made it out of the house with no further obstacles and as he walked next door, she could she Rodrick standing at the porch.

"What took you so long?" he whispered.

"Little sister caught me. I bribed her with ice-cream," she whispered back and walked through the front door.

They walked up two sets of stairs to rodricks room that was... Surprisingly clean. "It's not a pigstye in here," y/n crossed her arms.

Rodrick raised an eyebrow. "Why would you think my room would be messy?" he asked.

Y/n walked to the bed. "I can see more from my window than you think," she shrugged.

♡

They sat on his bed, talking for a while. Rodrick was showing y/n his ideas for new Loaded Diaper songs.

"Yeah and there's this one. Which I really like but it's a duet and none of the other guys would like this kind of song so I might just keep that one for myself," he explained.

Y/n looked at him confusedly. "So you are able to tell everyone that I'm your girlfriend but you can't even ask me to duet a song with you?"

He looked over at her "Wait, you can sing?"

Y/n giggled and nodded.

"Alright cool. We have practice here every Friday after school so just come by," Rodrick smiled.

In that moment, y/n forgot what she had against the black haired boy.

♡

An hour had passed and they were still in the same place, only this time, they were listening to music off Rodrick's ipod through his earphones. Each of them had one earbud in.

'All I Wanted' by Paramore started playing. Rodrick cringed, its the most 'girly' song on his playlist. He looked over at y/n to see her opinions on it when he had realised that she had fallen asleep.

He had really grown to like this girl but the only way he knew how to show his emotions was to be painfully obvious. He wished that he worked differently but hey, would it have led to her in his bedroom?

Rodrick lay down beside y/n , putting his arm around her waist just as the chorus of the song kicked in.

All I wanted was you

#roderick heffley x reader #roderick heffley #roderick #diary of a wimpy kid #doawk rodrick #emo music #paramore #Spotify

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walkingintheheartbreaksatellite · 1 year ago

Text

Fake Happy(1)

(Harry Styles x Reader)

Song:

Summary: A heartbroken Harry meets a heartbroken Y/N. Friends to lovers.

Warnings: Cursing.Angst.Fluff.

>>>————————————->

“Trevor, you need to figure your shit out.”

He scoffs into the phone.

“Y/N, you know how much this means to me-.”

“Of course I do! I’ve been working my ass off to support us when you move here and now you’re just suddenly done?! You haven’t spoken to me for days and now you drop this on me?!”

He sighs and I sniffle, fighting back my tears.

“I just- I don’t think we’re good together anymore… I’m sorry Y/N, but that’s the way it is. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

He hangs up, and my tears start to fall. I sniffle and wipe my face with my sleeve before locking my car and heading into my parents large house. It’s crowded inside and it takes me a few minutes to find my father, who gives me a look of displeasure the second he sees me.

“Y/N, what have we talked about? You can’t show up to these things in that ratty uniform of yours. Diane, sweetheart, would you please take her upstairs and fix her?”

My mother smiles and nods, taking my hand and pulling me through the house and up the stairs into my parent’s bedroom. She shuts the door and turns to me, pulling me into a hug.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart…”

My eyes widen and she pulls away, wiping away my remaining tears.

“How did you-.”

“Mother’s instincts. You were far too good for him. You are more than I ever thought you could be. I’m very proud.”

I sit on the edge of the bed and she walks into her closet.

“Why…? Father isn’t happy…”

She comes out with a cocktail dress and a pair of matching heels, a frown on her face.

“That may be so, but it’s only because he wants to keep you safe. He feels he can’t do that when you’re on your own. But you’re a strong, independent girl. You are entitled to live your life as you choose and sweetheart, you are doing amazing. You support yourself no matter what, and I could never be prouder…”

She sits down next to me and takes my hand.

“Sweetheart, you be the best you that you can be. And if Trevor can’t see that- someone else will. Now, let’s not keep your father waiting. Go change and I’ll do your hair and makeup.”

I sigh and stand up, changing in the bathroom before coming out and taking a seat at my mother’s vanity. She begins to brush my hair and then she braids it, tying it up with a bow. I slip on some earrings she holds out to me before she slips on a diamond necklace.

I slip on the heels and she quickly does my makeup when there’s a knock the door. My father pokes his head through the door and smiles when he sees me, coming in before closing the door behind him.

“Much, much better. Now, come along. I have someone I’d like to introduce you to.”

I take his arm reluctantly and escorts my mother and I downstairs to a small group of men, one I recognize awfully well. I quickly grab a champagne flute off of a nearby tray and I down it, making my father a scoff.

“Gentleman, forgive my daughter for her lack of.. decorum- Harry, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Y/N. Y/N, sweetheart, this is-.”

“Harry Styles…”

Harry smiles and holds out his hand to me. I shake it with a blush and a small smile. The older man discuss for a few minutes and I stand there, downing a few more flutes before someone taps my shoulder. Harry.

“Did you maybe want to get some air? It’s getting a bit stuffy in here and it seems like you could use some air as well.”

I smile and nod, following him outside. I take a seat on the deck bench, clutching my half empty flute. Harry takes a seat next to me and doesn’t speak for a minute.

“So…You seem bothered.”

I scoff and shake my head.

“You’ve known me all of ten minutes. How could you possibly know that?”

He sighs and I turn my head to him.

“Because I recognize the look on your face. The same one I’ve had the past few months…”

I frown and place my hand on his shoulder.

“Love sucks.”

He lets out a light laugh and nods.

“A bit…”

I sigh and lean against the wall.

“One minute You’re planning your future and the next your heart is smashed to pieces.”

He leans against the wall and looks at me.

“So why fake happy?”

I sigh and fiddle my fingers.

“My father. He doesn’t exactly make it easy to be human. I have to keep up an image. He’s already angry enough that I don’t live alone- let alone that I work…”

I finish off my champagne flute and I kick of my heels, flinging them into the grass.

“Don’t you have anyone to confide in?”

I side eye him, shaking my head.

“I confide in my pillow. Just as I always do. And what about you? Surely you’ve got people who understand you.”

He gives me a sad smile and shakes his head.

“Technically I guess I do. But not anyone I feel comfortable telling.”

I stay quiet for a minute before I decide to bite the bullet and speak my mind.

“If you ever need anyone… You can call or text me. I’ll be here if you need to talk…”

He widens his eyes and looks at me, his mouth gaping.

“You’d do that? Why?”

I shrug and give him a small smile.

“Sometimes it’s nice to lean on someone. And maybe… I don’t know- maybe we can be that for each other… Friends?”

He smiles and leaps to me, hugging me tight as I laugh.

“Yes! I’d love that! But promise me one thing?”

He pulls away and I look at him as he takes my hand.

“Let’s not fake happy around each other. Deal?”

I like my pinky with his and smile.

“Deal.”

>>>————————————->

This is only part one lovelies! I promise they’ll be together! Please let me know what you thought!

Tag List

@be-with-me-so-happily @swiftmendeshoran @babyiamperfectforyou @freedomfireflies @kaminokatie @harrysmimi @violetsandfluff @fruitmans @fruitmansrecs @harringtons-honey @rafaaoli @kimmi-kat @erggggggggg @cayleyhannha-blog @acesofspadess @that-mcu-fan @styles-barnes-bitch @purple9950 @justmystyles @itslottiehere

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shewki · 11 months ago

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my katsu who plays real drums on his phone when he's bored or when he cant sleep <3

#I LOOOVE MY BABY SO MUCH #i cling on his chest!#as he learns a paramore song on it! <3 #i tell him to turn it down and he barely does :(#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #mha imagine #bnha x filipino reader #bakugo x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bnha x poc!reader #mha x filipino reader #mha x poc!reader

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thefrogdalorian · 11 months ago

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The Best of Both Worlds - Chapter Three

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

❁ Series Masterlist ❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Word Count: 8323 Rating: General Summary: Your internet bestie arrives in preparation for the Star Wars convention you will attend together. Everything is set for the greatest weekend of your life! Until you arrive at the con and find yourself overwhelmed by all the crowds and noise. At least you have numerous incredibly realistic Mando cosplays to distract you from how stressed you feel, and there's one in particular which is uncannily accurate... Content Warnings: Reader struggles to eat due to nerves and feels anxious due to crowds. Also, not sure if it's really a warning, but there's some allusions to fandom discourse in this one, particularly how men in the SW fandom can behave towards women. So warning for fandom wank, I guess, but reader goes off on them ;) Author's Note: A very long update, wow. Honestly, this chapter was semi-autobiographical lmao. It was my exact response to how busy SWC was last year, even down to hiding under the stairs! Except I did not have a cool internet bestie (just my uncool irl bestie), nor did I stand up and speak in a panel like reader does. I did however see many amazing cosplays and the picture of the Din cosplayer is one I took there! :) Hope you like this one. Not sure for how long me updating every two days will last, but my mind is fully focused on this story for the moment, so who knows! Thank you once again to the wonderful @suresnips for being my beta! Couldn't do it without you ♡

3. This Is Why (I Don't Leave The House) [Reader's POV]

You could scarcely believe that the person you had spent so many hours of your life gushing over The Mandalorian with online, was really here with you in your little flat. Ria had arrived a few hours ago and you two had instantly gotten along famously. Somehow, it was as though you had always known her, even though this was the first time you were actually meeting in person.

You had left your flat earlier in the evening with a mix of trepidation in the pit of your stomach and overwhelming excitement crackling like electricity as it coursed through your veins. The prospect of finally meeting someone who meant so much to you was both daunting and exhilarating. There were so many things that could go wrong, since you had never spent any time together in person and were unsure of your dynamic in that sense. There was pressure, too, particularly bearing the distance Ria had travelled from the U.S. in mind, plus the money you had both spent on ForceCon tickets.

It was a big deal for you to invite someone over to your flat to stay with you like this. From morning until evening, the two of you would be in each other’s presence constantly. At least it was only for five nights… Ria was leaving first thing Tuesday morning as you had to get straight back to work. You quieted your nerves with the thought of how brief her visit would be, until a notification lit up your phone and made your stomach drop:

[thisistheslay]: 18:36: I’M HEREEEEEE!!!!

Ria must be here at the station. You searched around frantically for her, trying to spot her amongst all the commuters that were barreling through the station. You realised, then, that you had no idea how tall she was compared to your own height. That was something you had never needed to know online. Finally, you spotted the brown hair and thick black glasses that you instantly recognised as your internet best friend’s, making her way towards the barrier and the incredible weekend of nerdy fun that lay before the two of you.

After approximately five seconds of being in each other’s presence, you knew that all your fears were unfounded.

As Ria had fumbled with her phone to make the contactless payment and make her way through the gates, the way her face had lit up at the sight of you instantly allayed your anxiety. The bone-crushing hug she had pulled you into had helped too, it was hard to believe she was actually here with you. This hug was for all of the hard days you had endured, separated by many miles when the two of you had just wished you could wrap the other in your arms and be there for them.

It struck you how poised Ria was in real life, too. At the end of the day, the two of you shared a pretty nerdy hobby, it would have been understandable if she was quiet and a little nerdy. But here your internet best friend was, pushing her way through the busy rush hour crowds and throwing the death glares of the commuters, mainly old men in suits, who had glared at the two of you for daring to embrace in the middle of the station hall and block their way from making it to the next tube.

It always baffled you to witness how eager people were to push and shove their way through others for the sake of arriving at their destination just two or three minutes earlier. Somewhere along the way, it felt as though a basic human kindness had been lost in how Londoners seemed to interact with each other when it came to public transport.

But that was a gripe for another time. Your best friend was here, you would not let anyone ruin that. As you emerged from the station and onto the street, you found at a loss for what to say, other than asking about her flight. Luckily, Ria filled the gap in conversation by incessantly babbling about her travels here and the shady characters she had encountered during her two layovers, as she chatted all the way back to your flat. All the guilt you had felt at having her make her own way here – you had wanted to meet her at the airport but work had prevented you from getting away on time – vanished as you saw how much confidence she possessed. Her bubbliness was almost overwhelming, you could scarcely get a word in edgeways. But secretly you were glad of it; ordinarily you found that you were a little awkward in the presence of people you had just met as you adjusted to their presence and their energy. Ria more than compensated for your social shortcomings and fortunately, your dynamic appeared as though it would translate from online into the real world.

Ria burst into your flat after you had met her at the station, full of enthusiasm, lighting every corner of your abode with the warmth and humour that had always been present online. It was incredible how much energy she had actually, considering the fact she had just endured a transatlantic flight. You marvelled at her energy levels, considering you felt exhausted after merely going to the shops. It was so amazing to have her here with you, though.

You had laughed before meeting her about how bizarre it was that internet friends always seemed to know the most intimate details about your life, in a way that you never felt comfortable sharing with real life friends… but you had never seen each other’s legs! Yet, now Ria was here, legs and all.

The two of you were inflating the air mattress for Ria to sleep on, keen to get an early night after so much travelling and how early the two of you would need to be up to make your way to the Dockside Convention Centre for the Con the following morning. You positioned the air mattress underneath the TV, on which you had just spent hours watching your favourite episodes of the show that had brought the two of you together. Of course, you had only intended to watch one episode. But with Mando, there was no such thing as only one episode. Once you started, you just couldn’t stop and you had ended up watching most of the second season. Both you and Ria agreed that the second half of it was incredible, but it was a bit of a slow start. Overall the pair of you preferred the first season, which was a pretty popular consensus amongst fans.

Ria had no qualms about her sleeping arrangements. London was an extortionate city at the best of times, but accommodation when ForceCon was in town – especially close to the convention centre – had meant that your offer to allow Ria to stay in your flat was the only way she had been able to afford to come. It was a debt to you that Ria was grateful for. You didn’t see it as any kind of debt though, you knew she would do the same for you.

Plus, there was no way you could not offer to help her. If something as ridiculous as actually encountering Mando happened, she would never be able to forgive you if she was not by your side.

Ria had always been your closest friend since you had first met her online and you were so relieved that there had been no hint of awkwardness between the two of you. Ria had made herself right at home, and you had struggled to believe as the chatter and laughter continued that this was genuinely the first time the two of you had ever met in person.

You watched in awe as Ria moved around your flat, her brown hair which she usually wore in a bob, now tied up ready to sleep. The glasses with thick-black frames were still on her face, a sure sign she would be scrolling on her phone, probably replying to people on her wildly popular blog, before she finally got some sleep.

Now that she had changed into the tank top and shorts that she would sleep in, you could see more of the extensive tattoo collection she possessed, including a few Mandalorian tattoos. There was an outline of Mando’s helmet that was so well-done, it made you want to rush out to the nearest tattoo shop and get one for yourself. You knew there would be tattoo artists at the Con too, but you also knew you would inevitably chicken out.

With her confident nature and collection of tattoos, you were both in awe of, and utterly intimidated by your best friend. You thought, as you watched her climb onto the air mattress with a giggle, as it tossed her around, that Ria seemed so much older than you even though she was actually eighteen months younger! But that was the bizarre thing about being in your mid twenties, people either seemed to be fully formed adults or still more like teenagers. There was rarely any inbetween.

You shouldn’t have been surprised that the two of you had gotten along so well. After all, you and Ria shared a similar sense of humour, had a similar taste in music (that wasn’t the Mandalorian soundtrack) and a love of books that had allowed your friendship to blossom into something more than purely an entirely Mando-centric friendship that you felt like you shared with some of your other online friends. It wasn’t as though the friendships were shallow or that you didn’t get on with them or anything, but you had just not spoken more deeply about other parts of your lives in the same way as you had to Ria.

“How’s the air mattress?” You asked with a smirk as you watched Ria toss and turn as the unpredictable surface tossed her around.

“It’s fine! Just a bit lively but honestly now I’m lay down, it’s super comfortable. I’ll be asleep in no time,” Ria smiled.

“Good,” You nodded. “Still can’t believe you’re really here. I thought about this moment for months but now it’s actually here, it’s surreal,”

“I can’t believe I’m here either. In this flat, which I’ve seen so many times on FaceTime. It feels so weird in the best way!” Ria laughed. “We’re going to have the best time this weekend.”

“We are. It’ll be incredible,” You breathed, trying to contain your excitement so that you would actually be able to get some sleep. The thought of being surrounded by so many fellow Star Wars nerds was electrifying.

“And don’t forget that panel tomorrow, when we finally meet Mando!” Ria exclaimed. “I’m sure he’s going to fall in love with me at first sight.”

“In your dreams, Ria,” You rolled your eyes playfully. “Goodnight, see you bright and early in the morning.”

“Goodnight bestie, I need to get my beauty sleep for Mando,” Ria added with a wink.

You shook your head with a grin on your face as you made your way into your bedroom, still utterly bemused by Ria’s utter conviction that the two of you were somehow going to encounter the man who was sworn to complete secrecy. You kind of admired Ria’s utterly unshakable confidence in the matter, even if it was a little delusional. At the end of the day, though, you knew it was all lighthearted. She wasn’t the type of person to try to hack into CCTV cameras or bribe the doctors and nurses at the hospital where a suspiciously-realistic cosplayer had surprised sick children. Ria loved The Mandalorian a great deal, but she also had other hobbies and interests.

As you tried your best to convince your body that it really needed to sleep before the Con tomorrow, you were struck by how surreal this all felt. Tomorrow, you would travel to what would become, for the next few days, the nerd centre of the world. It was an event that you had dreamt of going to for years, where all of the latest Star Wars projects were announced. Yet, you had never imagined it would be possible to attend, due to how expensive a trip abroad would be. Luckily though, ForceCon travelled around regularly and the stars had aligned to make this possible for you. When it had been announced that the next one would be held in London, you knew you had to do whatever it took to be there.

After almost an entire year of anticipation, you knew that in just a few short hours you would be there, at the event where everyone who was anyone in the Star Wars world and the people who admired them were to be found.

There was just one exception, though. Mando would never get to see how much the fans appreciated him. Keeping his identity a secret meant that he would never be able to feel the amount of love that fans held for him. Your heart constricted as you thought about it. Even though you had tried in vain to convince yourself that you didn’t really care that much about not knowing who he was, you thought it sad that the man, who was so beloved by people young and old, might never know how truly appreciated he was. You just hoped that one day, on his own terms, he would allow himself to feel some of it.

It was a thought that lulled you off into sleep, underneath the large poster of Season One that hung above your single bed.

The familiar sound of the opening theme to The Mandalorian jolted you awake. With its rhythmic drum beat and melodic bass recorder, it was really the perfect alarm. What wasn’t so perfect, however, was the ungodly hour at which it had interrupted the peaceful slumber you were enjoying. You fumbled around, bleary-eyed in the early-morning light as your hand felt around the nightstand to turn it off, frustrated at being awoken. Until you remembered precisely why you were awake at five in the morning.

For a second you lay there and closed your eyes, attempting to compose yourself and stop the fluttering in your stomach as the realisation dawned upon you: It was ForceCon day!

Finally, after months and months of anticipation, you would finally get to have one of the best weekends of your life. The big day was finally here and you and Ria did not want to miss a single second of time there, hence the early start. The venue for the Con, the Dockside Convention Centre, was a considerable distance from the outskirts of the city where you lived in your rented flat, which somehow fell within your budget despite how close it was to the tube station.

The journey to the convention centre was even further than your daily commute to the museum where you worked. The thought of a journey that would take upwards of an hour to start your day, before you had even contended with the crowds at the convention, was slightly distressing to you. But you knew that with Ria by your side, there was no doubt that you would be able to get through it.

Getting up at five meant that you had ample time to get ready for the event. Your outfit was comfortable and practical but still showed your nerdy side. It had been somewhat of a project for you in the run up to the convention, with a denim jacket that you had walked past in a shop window and fell in love with, decorated with various iron-on patches that were a nod to your favourite characters. You coupled it with a comfortable pair of black jeans that weren’t too tight – a must when doing as much walking as you were about to do this weekend – and your trusty favourite pair of shoes.

You wandered into the main room of your flat, quietly watching as Ria sat on the small couch and expertly applied the finishing touches to her make-up. Suddenly, she snapped the handheld mirror shut and turned to face you.

“Are you ready for the greatest weekend of our lives?!” Ria asked enthusiastically.

“Yes… but no… but yes!” You exclaimed, still unsure how to process the rush of emotions that you were feeling about the day ahead.

“Let me just fill my water bottle up and then I’m ready,” Ria said as she jumped up from the couch and grabbed the titanium bottle that was covered with various Star Wars characters.You chuckled at that. Despite how effortlessly cool your friend seemed to most people, even you, it was reassuring to know that at heart, Ria was still a nerd.

After one last check that you both had your passes for the event, you grabbed the backpacks you had carefully packed the previous evening, between episodes of The Mandalorian, and headed out, to where a weekend of nerd heaven awaited.

Waking up so early had meant that the two of you could take your time getting ready and then head out to the convention before the main rush hour began on the tube. Much as you loved your sleep and wanted to feel well-rested, being able to avoid the worst of the crowds was a deeply appealing prospect. Plus, you would have a chance to stop for breakfast closer to the convention hall and eat food that wasn’t horrendously overpriced.

But as you sat there, staring at the sandwich you had ordered and barely taken a few bites of, you seemed to have a mental block when it came to actually finishing the thing. You wanted to, you knew you needed to get some food in your body to give yourself the fuel for contending with the crowds at the convention. Try as you might, though, your mind was not onboard.

“Too nervous?” Ria asked with a knowing smirk as she munched on some fruit.

“I guess,” You shrugged, feeling as though your stomach had tied itself into knots and was attempting to strangle itself.

“You can always bring it with you. We’ll probably have to get in line and wait around for a while before we go inside. Perhaps you’ll feel like eating then,” Ria suggested.

“Yeah, good idea,” You smiled, suddenly feeling immensely relieved that you had someone else here with you. “I don’t know how I’d do this without you, Ria. Thank you.”

The two of you left the cafe with your takeout coffee cups and finally headed towards the convention centre. As you made your way towards the crowds of people, your stomach dropped as you noticed just how busy things were going to be. For the first few hundred feet, things weren’t too bad as you were sent down what appeared to be a wide, service road, built into the side of the convention centre with the masses of people who were all heading in the same direction as you.

You stuck to the side of the walkway, where you could see the roads and city below, and feel the fresh air on your face over the barrier that bordered one side of the walkway. As long as you could still see daylight and the crowds were moving, you were fine. Slightly stressed, but you could cope.

However, the sight that greeted you at the end of the walkway was like something from your worst nightmares. It was your first glimpse inside the packed convention hall, where you had been so certain that you would have the greatest weekend of your life. But if it involved walking into something as stressful as the sight before you, you were not so sure that it would be the incredible experience you had built it up to be in your head.

As far as you could see, in the biggest room you had ever stepped foot in, there was an endless sea of people. The space was enormous and industrial, with a black floor and white sliding doors at the far left end that opened sporadically to let attendees into the main hall. You felt sick as you looked at it, you couldn’t survive more than a few minutes in that space, especially without knowing how long you would be there for. But no one you encountered appeared to have any idea as to how long you would be in this space. You were just glad that you had arrived a little before the doors to the con opened.

You had expected that, given that ForceCon was officially endorsed by Lucasfilm, it would at least be professionally organised. Instead, though, it seemed as though there were a small number of stressed out volunteers responsible for herding the attendees into a series of pens, with no security or leadership in sight. The poor workers looked incredibly stressed and overwhelmed by the influx of people.

“Ria, I don’t know if I can do this.” You mumbled when you noticed the crowd of people that you were being swept towards as the volunteers motioned for you to fill one of the pens. It seemed as though it would never end, as far as your eyes could see there were people. You felt panic rising in your chest, how were you ever going to get out of here?

“Just breathe, bestie. Breathe.” Ria said, placing her hand upon your back soothingly. “This won’t last forever, it’ll all be worth it. Think about the Mando cosplays! Look, there’s one over there!”

But it was no use. Not even the greatest Mandalorian cosplay in the galaxy would be able to comfort you now. Panic was rising in your chest, you felt overwhelmed by being stuck between two metal barriers in a pen full of people.

You tried your best to focus on her words as you took a seat on the cold, hard floor of the hall. The buzzing in your head was back, it grew louder and louder. You shut your eyes and stared at the floor, hands covering your ears as you willed time to go faster.

“Won’t be long now. I promise,” Ria said reassuringly.

How was she always so calm and composed when you felt as though the world was ending over a few people in a room together? It seemed almost unfair. But you knew that Ria would not want you to feel bad, she just wanted to make sure that you were going to be alright.

Mercifully, before too long, the con opened and you eventually began to move out of the enormous room. At that moment, you felt excitement bubbling up in the pit of your stomach as it dawned on you that you were about to enter Star Wars heaven. You glanced for the first time at the various incredible cosplays that surrounded you, in awe of the hours each person had dedicated to their craft.

Any relief you felt was short-lived, though. The main hallway was not much better. You couldn’t move, or stop to think. The crowd continued plodding down the hall towards a destination unknown. You were sure it was the busiest place you had ever been in your entire life.

“Just keep swimming, swimming,” You chanted to yourself under your breath as a way to soothe yourself.

You took deep breaths and concentrated on the rhythmic thudding of your feet as you stared up the ceiling and continued on your way. You instantly felt lighter, the beginnings of a smile traced across your features when you looked up and saw a giant poster of Mando hanging from the ceiling. If you could just make it to him, you would be most of the way down the corridor and then you would almost be at your destination: the main hall.

Focusing on the Mando poster helped and before you knew it, you were there, surrounded by a dizzying variety of stalls selling more Star Wars merch than you had ever seen gathered together in one place in your entire life. You thought you had a pretty impressive collection yourself – having a proper, adult salary had made it easier to give into your whims and purchase a variety of collectibles – but this was really something else.

You were like a kid in a candy shop, mouth open as you wandered from stall to stall, taking in the wares of the various vendors. You felt like Mando the first time he visited Tatooine. He had wandered around just like you were, amazed by the variety of produce on display. Unlike Mando, though, you were unable to get even remotely close to the stalls. There was a throng of people gathered at each one. You were not the least bit assertive in crowds, you had no desire to engage in a battle with your elbows through a gaggle of fellow nerds for some slightly-overpriced collectibles.

“Shall we find somewhere to sit and catch our breath before the panel?” Ria asked, sensing your discomfort. For someone that you had only met face-to-face the previous evening, she was more perceptive than some people who had known you for years.

You headed out of the main hall, desperate to find any relief from the overwhelming noises and sounds that the thousands of people crammed inside the Dockside Convention Centre were currently creating. The first place that you noticed was a staircase. You ducked under the metal bar that surrounded the bottom of it and flopped down unceremoniously on the floor, finally feeling your nerves begin to settle as there was a physical barrier between you and the rest of humanity for the time being. Things suddenly felt a lot quieter and more manageable as the buzzing in your head began to subside. Ria sat opposite you, her blue eyes looking into yours concernedly.

“Ria, I’m sorry I’m such a nervous wreck. It’s just… it’s so much busier than I was expecting.” You admitted.

“Girl, shut up. This place is crazy. Like, the craziest place I have ever been in my entire life. I suffer with this shit too.” Ria admitted. “I think I’m just running on, like, the adrenaline of thinking about Mando being at that panel.”

“Ria, he’s not going to be at the panel!” You laughed. “Please stop being delusional!”

“Sure, there he is right now!” Ria giggled breathlessly as she pointed towards the main hallway, which had emptied somewhat since you had fought your way through it just a few minutes ago.

You had fully intended to make another jibe about Ria being delusional, but when you turned your head, the sight caused all coherent thoughts to leave your brain. You were transfixed at the sight before you. It was as though you had suddenly been transported a long time ago to a galaxy far, far away. The most incredible cosplay you had ever laid eyes upon was heading straight towards you. The armour itself was immaculate, the details on it really looked as if they were forged out of Beskar by a Mandalorian armourer. Of course you knew that screen realistic cosplays existed, you had obviously seen the viral footage of a Mando cosplayer visiting a children’s hospital a few months ago. But it was more than the armour that made your entire world pause on its axis. It was the way this cosplayer carried himself: the self-assured, confident swagger that you would recognise anywhere. The way his hands were held at his side, somewhere between relaxed and tensed, ready to put his finger on the trigger at a moment’s notice. For one brief, fleeting second: you could have sworn that the real Mando was actually walking towards you.

“Wow… that’s…” You stuttered, failing to find words that could capture your feelings towards the sight before you.

“Um, excuse me! I’m the one who gets called delusional and obsessed with Mando, but look at you!” Ria said with a knowing smirk, clearly where words had failed… your face had betrayed you. “You’re getting flustered over a cosplay!”

You couldn’t even deny it. You were feeling more than a little flustered. It was the first time you had ever seen a Mandalorian in real life. Nothing could have prepared you for it, the presence that the man had, even from this distance. Watching the way he carried himself as he had swaggered down the main hallway had been intoxicating to behold. It was also the way with his T-visor, that you never knew exactly where his eyes were trained. They could be right on you or they could be looking right past you, you would never know. As far as you were concerned, he had picked you out from the crowd, his eyes focusing on you and only you as he walked down the hall. It was an electrifying thought, you felt little bolts of electricity all over your skin. You had half a mind to run up to him and beg him to bring you in warm or cold, he could decide, you really weren’t fussy.

“Hellooooooo, bestie!” Ria said sarcastically, waving her hand in front of your eye line, which was still trailed off into the distance where the cosplayer had disappeared into the crowd. “Anyone home?”

“Sorry.” You said, shyly. Now that the Mando cosplay had walked past, you had sadly realised that he was not making a bee-line for you to sweep you off your feet, you felt a little embarrassed. “I just couldn’t stop staring. That was an amazing cosplay.”

“It was. Or maybe… it was really him!” Ria said, throwing her arms like a conspiracy theorist gif that your groupchat had sent one too many times.

You both collapsed into full belly laughter at that. Ria was so devoted to the bit at this point that you just went along with it. You silently called a truce: you would stop calling her delusional, it was a fun joke that had distracted your anxious brain from the throngs of people that surrounded you, just beyond the metal railing of your refuge under the stairs. Despite the distraction, they had not magically disappeared.

“The Mando panel isn’t for a couple hours yet. Is there anything you want to do beforehand?” Ria asked, once the two of you had finally stopped laughing.

“Uh. I don’t know. We could go and have a look around, find where the stages are maybe and then have lunch?” You suggested, not feeling like working your way through the hordes of people by the stalls again.

So Ria and you did exactly that, getting your bearings and orienting yourself in the massive convention hall. There seemed to be so much to see and do, you were so grateful in that moment that you had splurged on four day passes. It would probably take you four days to walk around the entire thing! Your exploration of the centre meant that by the time the panel came around, you were grateful that you would be able to sit down, you were more than ready to rest your tired, achy legs.

As you made your way into the room where the panel would be held, you went out of your way to thank the staff on the door. You knew most of the people who worked here were volunteers and a lot of the panel goers were looking straight through them. Manners cost nothing though, a simple “thanks” and a smile and nod were enough to make someone feel valued when they perhaps felt as though they were doing a thankless task. You couldn’t understand why more people wouldn’t take just two seconds to say thank you.

Your heart was thundering as you took a seat in the hall. For a strange moment, you felt as though you were back in a lecture at University. Everyone sizing each other up, wondering where to sit – should they leave a gap or get close to others, maybe strike up a conversation? Personally, you wanted to place as much distance between yourself and others as humanly possible and the thought of speaking to strangers made you freeze up in terror. But Ria, ever the extrovert, was quite happy to strike up a conversation with the guys next to you.

They were fans of Mando, but you could tell pretty quickly that they were casuals. They did not have the deeper love for the show that you and Ria held. After a few minutes of sitting around, the people who were hosting the panel emerged, walking down the gap between the neatly-arranged chairs to take a seat on the long table that sat on a raised platform so everyone in the room was able to get a good view of them. The room was long but narrow and you and Ria were sitting around 10 rows back. As you glanced behind you, you realised that it had filled up rather quickly. You were glad that you had been here well ahead of the scheduled start time to ensure you got a good seat.

The guys running the panel began messing around with their laptops so they could get the powerpoint they had created on the screen. They were certainly not what you were expecting for this panel. You had expected it to be on a bigger stage, with more fanfare. But it was actually just a small panel hidden away at the back of the convention centre, up a flight of stairs that people might have missed. You had wondered, momentarily, whether you should get up and leave… Yet something was telling you to remain seated and stay. Just because it hadn’t been what you were expecting, didn’t necessarily mean it was going to be a bad thing. The audience seemed to be friendly too, a combination of people who you hoped would ask some thought-provoking questions and wouldn’t turn this all into baseless speculation over who the actor behind Mando really was.

When it got started, though, it soon transpired that this was not going to be the discussion you thought it was. The guys running the panel were sharing their views about Mando as though it was one of the online Star Wars podcasts that you avoided like the plague. There was little room for audience participation. The chair of the panel, a man with a backwards baseball cap on, which was slightly cringeworthy considering he must have been pushing fifty, was called Jeff.

Jeff was very American, thrashing his limbs around exaggeratedly, imitating Mando’s fight style as his voice got quicker and higher pitched in enthusiasm for the tough warrior. Jeff and his colleagues were definitely the kind of people who watched The Mandalorian just to see him fight bad guys and kill them in cool, new ways. Obviously you enjoyed that too, but there was really so much more to the show and the character than just fighting. You wished that they could see that too, especially considering they were running a damn panel about it!

You were so utterly tuned out by their incessant ramblings that you turned your head towards the back of the room to indulge in a bit of people watching. Principally, to see if the two guys on your row that Ria had chatted to before the panel began were as bored as you were. It seemed that even they were utterly uninterested in Jeff and his buddies. You found that your relative boredom was mirrored on the expressions of numerous others in the room who were just as unenthused by Jeff and co’s surface-level analysis of the show you all loved. You felt at that moment that if you and Ria had somehow been able to lead a panel it would have been much more exciting.

You would have actually introduced some nuance and character analysis as the title of the panel had suggested would happen. Ria’s wild theory that this would be the place that Mando would reveal himself to the world had soon gone out of the window, too. Out of all the places in the world that he could choose (or not) to finally reveal his identity, a room tucked away in the far corner of the Dockside Convention Centre did not seem the most likely.

But your stomach dropped in the familiar way that it had when you were crouched underneath the staircase, catching your breath after the bedlam of entering the Con.

It was him.

The same cosplayer was back.

He was sitting on the last seat in the row, two rows behind and opposite you, perfectly straight with his shoulders back, hands resting on his knees. It was almost uncanny, the way he held himself… it was so much like the way you had witnessed Mando sit so many times on the show. When he visited cantinas or sat in his ship, Mando held himself in an uncannily similar position.

You shook your head, mentally telling yourself to snap out of it – you were being ridiculous! If Ria was thinking these thoughts, you would tell her to stop being crazy. You were usually the grounded, rational one. For even you to be getting caught up in such delusional thinking, well that was truly concerning. Perhaps it was thanks to the early start and crowds. Either way, it seemed as though you were really losing it.

You blamed it on Mando, all logical thought went straight out of your brain when it came to him. Of course the best Mando cosplayers would be here at this con. It wasn’t really him, but it sure was uncanny how realistic both the cosplay and way he sat was. Extremely uncanny. You didn’t have time to dwell on it, though… because Jeff was asking a question to the audience. One that you were keen to answer honestly and defend the character that you loved so much, with as much ferocity as if he was really listening to your every word.

“So, finally, we wanted to leave a few minutes for discussion about what the character of Mando means to all of you, here. You must be pretty big fans of the show to have found us all the way back up here!” Jeff joked, to a few laughs from the room.

You had gotten the sense since you had walked into this panel that Jeff and his buddies viewed everyone here with a baseline level of contempt. It was something that you couldn’t quite place your finger on, but you felt as though if a person did not entirely agree with his point of view, then he was not impressed by them.It was a shame, really, you loved hearing the opinions of others. Even if you didn’t agree with them, you always found out something new about yourself.

Jeff had only just finished speaking, and already there was a steady stream of people flocking to queue at the microphone positioned in the aisle. There was nothing on earth that could motivate you to go up there, so you sat, with your arms folded, and leaned back into your chair. This would all be over in a few minutes. Then there would be a hopefully much more interesting panel about historical parallels with Star Wars, something you were truly interested in, that you wanted to check out with Ria.

The first few audience comments were pretty dull. You disagreed with all of them almost entirely as they again reduced the concept of understanding a character to things such as seeing a face and knowing a name. Jeff just responded hollowly, thanking the speakers for their thoughts. But it did not provoke any deeper discussions like you had been hoping for.

That was certainly a disappointment, but it was not a reason for you to lose your temper. You just felt slightly numb to the whole experience, wishing it was over as soon as possible and already plotting your route to the next panel. It was dull, but inoffensive.

That was, until the next two speakers boiled your blood with their assumptions and cruel jibes.

“When I first started watching The Mandalorian I loved it. I really thought Star Wars was back!” A man in a Darth Vader hoodie, who was probably in his late thirties, said proudly as he echoed the empty talking points that you had heard over and over since The Mandalorian premiered. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. This guy was clearly someone who thought that Star Wars was all bad now. He probably bought into all the theories that his precious sci-fi franchise had been ruined by women. He continued his tirade: “But now, it’s just the same thing every week. A hollow, emotionless tin can man strutting around from planet to planet, taking guys out. Like, it was cool the first few times but it’s just getting boring now. We need to see his face!”

Your blood was slowly boiling as you heard all of these hollow criticisms of the show you loved so much. It truly upset you that a place you had believed would be full of fellow fans who would be eager to enthuse about the show alongside you and Ria had been nothing of the sort. Instead of the welcoming, open-minded environment you had expected, things had been wildly different, as the next speaker was about to prove once again.

The next man who spoke had long brown hair. He was dressed in a Mando t-shirt and jeans.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love the show and all. But I just feel like we don’t know that much about Mando. It’s as if we, as an audience, are being held back from connecting with him fully because of some diva’s selfish demands to keep his identity hidden!” The man exclaimed. Several people laughed and applauded. He was probably around your age but it stunned you how drastically different your opinions on the show could be. Perhaps he spent his time online in different circles than you. In fact, you were almost certain that you had seen these conspiracy theories about Mando’s actor pushed by people who swore it as the gospel truth, even though there was absolutely no proof of it. But he was not done yet, levelling a final cruel jab at the actor who played Mando: “Seriously, the guy who plays him must be such an asshole. Imagine having to work with that guy!”

Your head was burning… that was too much. Once people got personal about the actor too, that did it for you. It was one thing to criticise the show, but to level insults towards the person behind the character, who clearly did not want his business in the public eye, was enough to compel you to speak up.

Before you really knew what you were doing, you had somehow risen from your seat, stumbled over a few bags and outstretched legs and now stood in front of the microphone. Jeff looked at you expectantly, the eyes of everyone in the room were on you. Suddenly the gravity of what you were about to do had dawned on you, you felt your pulse thundering in your ears. But then you remembered what the previous guy had said about Mando, and you opened your mouth to launch into a passionate defence of your favourite fictional character of all time.

“I think tying Mando’s identity to his name and face is a pretty narrow way of viewing how we can understand who someone truly is inside and what exactly motivates them. I mean, I think I’ve connected to his character pretty well without ever seeing his face or knowing his real name. That’s because Mando has proved time and time again what kind of man he is. The way he has risked his life multiple times to rid the galaxy of threats and evil shows that he is committed to securing a brighter future, even if he is not around to see it. This man is willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good. Sure, we don’t know his name or face or a lot about his origins, but I think to us, that should prove that he has nothing but noble intentions. That human side of the man beneath all of the armour allows us to connect to him on a far deeper level than just seeing a face and learning a name ever could.”

Jeff began to thank you for your thoughts, using the same hollow phrases that he had used for every previous speaker, but you were not done yet. For the reason you had stood up to speak was not only motivated by the way people had spoken about Mando, the character. It was not just accusations against the fictional man that you were here to refute, but also the way that they had tried to turn on the man beneath the Beskar.

“Also, I know no one outside this room will probably ever hear what had been said at this panel, but I think attacking the character of the man who portrays Mando, simply because he wants privacy, is unfair. I think we should always talk about people, online and publicly, as though they can read or hear what we say. We don’t know why he won’t say who he is, but I trust that he has his reasons. Even then, he doesn’t need to have a good reason,” You argued passionately, noticing how the trembling in your voice had ceased the more you spoke. “Everyone is entitled to their privacy for the simple fact of wanting to be private. I just think that we see Mando go from planet to planet, connecting with locals and communicating with them respectfully. He leaves every place better than he found it… I wish more people would take those lessons from the show, too, rather than how skilled Mando is at fighting and killing,” You made a pointed effort to look straight at Jeff as you made that last quip about his fighting skills, but he just stayed slumped in his seat, hand resting under his chin, looking utterly bored. Your words had done nothing to get through to him.

You walked back to your seat, head down, trembling. Speaking that much in public had been a lot more than you would ever have expected yourself to be able to handle. Ria was staring at you dumbfounded, her mouth open in shock.

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” Ria asked, astonished.

“I… uh….” You stuttered.

“Look, I knew you loved Mando, but that was insane!” Ria whispered excitedly, while beaming at you. “You defended him as if he was a real person, like he was actually here in the room! That was awesome, beyond badass! He’d be so proud of you, bestie.”

“Thank you.” You whispered, face suddenly feeling hot. You were sure you were visibly shaking after your public outburst. But it had been worth it, you had meant every word.

A few more people offered their thoughts but your head was still buzzing with the emotional exertion of public speaking, so you did not pay them much mind, even if they still repeated the same old tired arguments about Mando that you had just tried to argue against.

Finally, Jeff drew things to a close and then it was time for everyone to leave. He had invited people to come and speak to him at the front after the panel if they wished to, but you were definitely not going to be taking him up on that offer. You had believed that anyone given such an incredible opportunity to speak about something they loved at an event as prestigious as ForceCon would be nothing less than delighted. But clearly, you were mistaken. Jeff had seemed utterly bored throughout the panel, not least when people he did not agree with had spoken. You were not a fan of him and his backwards baseball cap in the slightest.

As the panel ended and people began to filter out, you glanced around to where the incredible cosplayer had been sitting. But it seemed that while you had been distracted by your emotional state after speaking so publicly, he had already made his way out. You were disappointed, you wanted to compliment him on his cosplay and maybe even get a picture with him.

Just being in his presence twice had been intoxicating, you had been unable to look away from him. When you saw him, it really felt like you were actually in the world of The Mandalorian. You had a strong desire to be near him again, but you were too late. The man was apparently long gone. But you didn’t want to dwell on that and ruin the rest of your experience. You still had three more days here. So it was time to get over your disappointment, even though you were still kicking yourself for not pointing him out to Ria.

As you made your way down to the main hall of the convention centre, you couldn’t help but feel your chest swell with pride when you remembered how you had spoken in such a surprisingly eloquent manner at the panel. It had really been so many steps out of your comfort zone, but you had proved to yourself that you could do it. This entire weekend, really, was out of your comfort zone. But so far, you were matching every hurdle before you.

Perhaps speaking up at the panel would be the start of a new, more confident you. A you that was unafraid to stand up for what she believed in.

But then, the idea of a simple panel at a sci-fi convention being some sort of life changing experience was surely an absurd notion.

Wasn’t it?

Next Chapter

Taglist: @toxic-seduction

#my fics #tbobw #din djarin fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin fanfiction #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #i am also titling chapters now lmao this one was a paramore song

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