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literaila · 10 months ago

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three things

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: a fun trip to the grocery store (how do you raise children?)

warnings: a bit of anxiety, a bit too much of gojo

last part | next part

year one.

"no, satoru."

how many times have you said that today?

how many times has satoru pouted--like he's doing right now--and put back whatever he'd plucked off the shelf, grumbling something about how you hated him or you weren't his mom or how he was the one buying everything?

oh, too many times to count. you stopped after five.

megumi rolls his eyes with you, already familiar with this routine, looking at everything in the cart again with the same analytical eye he's had since you all walked into the store. you're pretty sure he's counting the total cost.

it might be cute--the way his frown deepens just a little bit after each new item is added--if it didn't worry you completely.

because it's the first time you've taken the two of them to the store, and the first time you're trying to recall everything their eyes trail over, the things they want but neither of them will say.

you're trying to remember yourself as a kid--if you begged your parents for anything you could possibly want, or if you stood there and stared longingly. but your childhood has always been a dull memory you keep hidden in the attic of your mind.

so you're not sure what to expect.

because neither of them has asked for much, since the first night. tsumiki requested a notebook she could draw in, and megumi asked if you could get gojo to stop talking to him.

the first which you did immediately, even letting gojo get her some expensive pencils to draw with, the second which you... tried.

it hasn't been easy, the past few days. settling two kids into a dysfunctional house didn't exactly fit into your schedule for the week.

"why not?" satoru demands, walking right along slide you, pushing the cart because you'd forced him to. "we need dessert."

"there are seven different types of dessert already in there. i'm hiding at least three of those, by the way."

"i'll find them," satoru grins mischievously, but waves a hand. "we've got two extra people in the house now. i'm not just shopping for me. do you want them to starve?"

you roll your eyes, again. then pull on his hair, which he squeaks at. "you're only shopping for you. i've seen your pantries, you know. and i lived with you for three years. we all saw your grocery lists."

satoru is about to say something, but tsumiki giggles. maybe at the stupid way his face looks.

the way he's almost smiling, even in denial. how his eyes show from just behind his glasses, his brows moving like a separate entity on his face.

you haven't really talked to him, the past couple of days. nothing beyond a question about megumi's technique, or where the two of them went to school.

how long will it take before you finally ask him--

you look over to tsumiki, shaking your head at satoru and smiling back.

"megumi doesn't like sweets much," she adds to you, easily.

you add it to the mental list of things you know about them.

you look at the little boy, and he nods, looking straight ahead. his shoes catch on the ground every couple of steps like they don't fit right.

satoru gasps like this is an outrage. because not drinking straight sugar is offensive to him.

"what?" he asks, stopping all three of you so he can grab megumi by the shoulders. "were you cursed?" he inspects the boy carefully, peering over the glasses on his face.

megumi seems to sink back with each glance of his eyes, his face turning red.

"cursed to deal with you, maybe," you tell him, pushing him away from megumi. the boy fixes his hair--which had been pushed over his eyes--and glares at satoru.

"he doesn't like sweets?" the man repeats, mouth open, glancing at all three of you like he's not sure that any of you are sane.

"you say that as if you don't eat enough for all four of us."

"i need the calories," satoru whines, fluttering his eyelashes at you. you ignore him--and the funny way you feel about the gesture.

you look at both of the kids, observing the two of you closely, and give them a look. a look as in, he's crazy.

megumi swallows. "i like dango."

"great!" you nudge satoru to keep walking. "we'll get some."

"that's it?" satoru prods. "what about--"

you pinch his hip and shake your head, glaring at him when he pouts at you again.

you step on his heels as you walk through the aisles, still watching the kids with sharp eyes, trying to figure out anything they might want.

tsumiki murmurs something to megumi every once and a while, but beyond that, they only walk alongside you and satoru, stepping out of the way of any other adults that pass by.

honestly, you might as well have taken them to the park. they don't even glance at any of the shelves--except when satoru pushes one of them away to grab something. at least at the park, they'd be getting some fresh air.

after you sigh in--what? frustration? disappointment?--for the fourth time, satoru gives you a look, raising his brows. you shake your head.

he nudges you with his shoulder but doesn't say anything. whistling while he sneaks more sugar into the cart.

after the fifteenth minute of this, megumi falls in stride beside you and you look down at him. his eyes evade yours, focusing on the necklace you're wearing instead.

"um, i have to use the restroom," he says to you, soft and embarrassed.

"okay," you place a hand on his back, gently turning him around, "i think it's just over here," you say, listening as satoru follows along idly.

"me too," tsumiki says, trailing on your other side.

the store is almost completely empty, so you tell the two of them that you'll wait right outside the door, and lean against the wall, watching the both of them disappear.

satoru is already looking at you.

"what?" you groan, glaring at the doors.

"what what?"

you sigh. his voice is annoying. "why are you looking at me?"

satoru is too close for comfort, his arm brushing against yours--uncomfortably of course because he is the worst--without a care in the world. "what's up?"

"what do you mean?"

"why are you acting weird?"

"i'm not acting weird," you look at him, frowning.

he's wiping his glasses on his shirt--like he can actually see out of them--and looking at you quizzically. "oh, so you staring at tsumiki and megumi like they're a science experiment isn't weird?"

you ignore him and his stupid blue eyes.

"if i was doing that you'd push me down a flight of stairs, but okay..."

you sigh again, rolling your eyes. and then again. and then you relent because satoru's silence will inevitably break you. "they haven't asked for anything," you say, almost whining to him. "you told them they could pick out whatever they want."

satoru shrugs. "so they don't want anything."

"everyone wants something, satoru. especially kids."

"everyone?"

"yes. i'd expect you to know better than anyone," he laughs but you frown. "it's a human trait."

he smirks, leaning down towards you. "what do you want, then?"

you scoff, flicking his forehead. "i want them to feel comfortable. and i want you to stop bugging megumi."

"but he makes it so easy," satoru says, pretending to be innocent.

"you're the adult, here," you say, even though you don't really believe it--nor should you. "act like it."

"all the kid does is scowl," satoru complains. "i'm just trying to make him comfortable."

"by invading his space?"

"you stare from far away, i stare from up close."

"you antagonize."

satoru grins, crossing his arms, very pleased with himself. he's silent again.

the past year has almost made you forget that satoru knows you like this. he's always known how to keep you talking, how to read your face and your hesitant glances.

it's not like time could make him forget. it's not like you've forgotten anything about him.

"you aren't worried?" you ask, after a second.

"about the kids?"

"yes," you say, obviously, "that we're already messing something up."

he gives you a dubious look. "it's been four days."

and he's right. you can't expect to understand either one of them after seventy-two hours of merely knowing about their existence. but you don't know how to treat kids like these, because any mistake you make--anything you say--will inevitably come back to haunt you.

"it's--" you shake your head. satoru doesn't worry about anything, so you don't even know why you're bringing it up. "it's like when you play with someone else's kid and feel like you're breaking some unspoken rule. except this time we're the ones making the rules. there's no one to tell us if we mess up."

"i think megumi would tell us," satoru answers, almost sarcastically.

"he's the kid, idiot," you groan. "he doesn't know."

"rude," satoru is still grinning. "what could you have messed up, at this point? all you've been doing is asking them questions. that's pretty straightforward."

"maybe it's too much, too fast."

satoru snorts, shaking his head at you. "grocery shopping?"

"everything."

satoru raises a brow at you, watching as you deflate. you feel like each move you make takes a little more air out of you, and who's to say when you'll finally run out?

how many mistakes do you have to make to finally get it right?

and you know--and you know that he knows--that it's not just about them, but about you. is this too fast? is this too much?

satoru rests a hand on your head. "you're too in your head about this."

"well, i have to do it for the both of us."

he ignores that. "if they need something, they'll ask," the words are soft, genuine. he's completely sure like he always is. "you made it clear that we're just here to help. it's been four days."

you sigh, nodding reluctantly.

"we'll figure it out," he says, simply. "you don't need to worry about anything. i mean, i'm here, so..."

you push his hand away, glaring. "megumi doesn't even talk to you."

"hey, yes he does."

"to call you a freak, maybe. or tell you to shut up."

"don't be jealous of my relationship with megumi. we're bonding."

you roll your eyes but find a laugh making its way out of you.

he's always been good at this, too. making everything seem easy.

when tsumiki comes out of the bathroom door, she smiles at the sight of the two of you still there--both talking animatedly, with similar glares in your eyes. she settles in beside satoru, copying him as she leans against the wall.

"you think i'm great, don't you tsumiki?" satoru asks her, goading.

she nods immediately.

you snort and look away while tsumiki giggles when satoru leans down to smack a kiss on her cheek.

something inside of you warms, just briefly.

and then megumi comes out, rubbing his hands together. unlike tsumiki, he glares at satoru and chooses to stand beside you.

"okay," satoru clasps his hands together. "are you both ready to go?"

"um," you turn to him. "satoru we haven't--"

megumi nods immediately, looking a bit brighter at the prospect, and tsumiki furrows her brows, questioning.

"great! both of you pick out three things that you want and then we'll leave."

megumi glowers.

"three things?" you clear your throat. "they need more--"

"three things," satoru repeats, looking right at megumi while he says it. some words pass non-verbally between the two of them. you might have to tell satoru not to talk to megumi about anything without you. "we'll get everything else we need."

tsumiki runs alongside megumi and grabs his arm, which he allows, though you watch his eyes roll.

"go on," satoru shoos them away, smiling all proudly. when they're gone, he turns to you again. "there. now you don't have to worry about picking something they like."

and he reaches his hand to grab yours, as a simple habit.

satoru has never tip-toed around the line of physical contact. even with shoko, even when she would push him off.

something passes between the two of you. holding his hand is familiar; egged on by four years of standing alongside him.

you try not to flinch away from the contact.

and, sure, satoru probably just lost both of them in the store, and you don't actually have everything else you need, or know what those things are, but he's smiling at you.

he's trying to be reassuring.

so you smile back and let him hold your hand.

"we'll figure it out," he whispers to you, and you push the cart this time while the two of you try to find the children he just lost.

later that night--after forcing satoru to put away the groceries with the rest of you--megumi lets you sneak into his room with a (third) bag of candy that satoru grabbed last second, acting like you wouldn't notice.

"where's the best hiding spot for this?" you ask him, looking around.

it's pretty doubtful that satoru would risk going into megumi's room just to look for it. and, you're sure, that megumi probably wouldn't let satoru open the door, nonetheless go through his things.

the boy points at his dresser and moves some clothes so you can hide it at the bottom of one of the drawers. he doesn't even question your motivations.

as you back out of the room again, you make him promise not to tell, and, for a single second, megumi smiles back at you, crossing his heart.

next part

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delewlew · 3 months ago

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can you watch my boyfriend for me: charles leclerc x black fem! reader °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

request: Can you do the “watch my bf for me” with Charles and he gets nervous and call for yn to come back pretty pretty please 🙏🏾

warnings: none

author's note: this one is a little short cuz i was running on no sleep and good vibes...but it's not too short i hope! please let me know how yall like this one. comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

never in a million years did you see yourself dating someone like charles leclerc. it wasn't that you didn't believe someone like him could find you attractive because to be quite frank, you were stunning and you knew it. the thing was you didn't picture yourself in love with someone who had the social status charles held. you'd assumed that rather than being in love with you he'd be in love with himself, instead of feeding his family he'd be more fixated on feeding his ego. however, upon meeting him for the first time you realized that those were simply preconceived notions that couldn't be further from the truth. that gentle smile and welcoming gaze wasn't a facade to draw girls like you in to become a pawn in some twisted romance game. he was genuinely a sweet and loving man who had nothing but love to give.

you met charles a year ago in baku at the azerbaijan grand prix after you'd been invited to attend because you worked as an influencer. it was your first time attending a grand prix and you got the complete hook up. it was qualifying day and you'd showed up to the paddock ready to enjoy the day in the early morning when there was a problem with security. for whatever reason the security guards were refusing to let you enter the paddock despite having proper identification. then, like an answer to your prayers a young man with ice blue eyes and the most perfect dimples came to your rescue, informing the staff that you were with him. a year later and here you were, actually with him but as a girlfriend instead of a stranger looking for help.

the social media following on all of your pages grew massively but you remained the same person you'd been before any of this happened. sure, now you were sitting in the ferrari garage every weekend, getting invited to more exclusive events, and getting spoiled by your boyfriend to where he had to lift the spending limit on his credit card. but you were still the same girl as you'd always been, posting videos that made you happy and getting paid for it.

𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

summer break had just begun for charles which meant that you had him all to yourself until he had to return back to work. this also meant you had to find a way to create content that would still garner enough attention when there weren't races for you to post about attending. you didn't like posting about your relationship in general because it felt unauthentic. your relationship wasn't the only defining thing about you and your career, it came after, so you preferred to keep work and personal life separate even if there is a little overlap between the two. but, the new tiktok trend you'd seen on your for you page was enough to convince you to break your personal rule, just this once.

you'd surprised charles with tickets to mauritius for break since he'd mentioned to you a few months ago that he'd love to go one day. so for the next week you and him were going to be spending time in paradise and you couldn't be happier. the two of you all had agreed on a 'no phones' policy, only agreeing to upload a photo dump at the end of the trip. until then you both were only going to take pictures and videos on your devices, or just 'live in the moment' and keep things exclusively to memory. however, before you both were going to turn off your access to social media, you wanted to hop on one last trend:

you were sitting on charles' lap as you gently braided the stems of small yellow flowers together. in front of you, your phone was propped your phone up against the small vase that sat at the center of the table. the video was already recording and you pretended that you were making a tutorial for how to make a flower crown. it was obvious charles was paying no attention to what you were doing by the way his head rested on shoulder with his face not visible to the camera. his hand rested at your hip with his thumb hooked through the belt loop of your jeans. he was busy looking at his phone in his free hand, going through random social media posts.

charles heard you murmur something but he wasn't paying too much attention so he assumed it was something about your flowers. he only looked up when you slipped from his hold. you simply said, "hold on- he'll show you how to do it." you handed charles the nearly finished flower chain and ran off before he could even object. your boyfriend froze awkwardly for a minute, his eyes darting from the camera to six other spots in the room as he clearly waited for you to come back. there was a soft hum he let out then he muttered, "i do not know where she went off to. but she told me to show you so...i guess i show you what to do."

silence fell over the room as charles was very focused and made attempts to demonstrate how you'd been weaving the flowers together. his cheeks flushed pink and his palms grew sweaty as he messed up three times in a row, that dimpled grin that you fell for long ago making an appearance. after the longest minute of his life he finally caved, "Ma chérie, reviens s'il te plaît, je ne peux pas faire ça." you let out a loud laugh and ran back into the room with a smile on your face as you sat back on charles' lap and he tucked his face into the back of your shoulder. [my darling come back please, i can't do this]

you examined the woven flowers and let out a soft giggle, "aw charlie you kinda made it worse." his arms wrapped around your torso holding you tighter to his lap as if he was worried you'd run off again leaving him alone. he let out a muffled reply, "then stay with me and show me how to fix it."

𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

the end.

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a-spes · 4 months ago

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| DEVIOUS LIES — Part two (8.790 words).

| Summary — Anon Request — When your friend asked you out for a drink, you didn't think much about it. Yet, maybe you should've, because that night ruined your life. It has been two years, and you can't stop think about what you lost. Your job, your friends, your lover, and even your mind was left in that motel room.

| Tags & warnings — Avenger!Natasha Romanoff x Avenger!Reader, AoS!OC x Avenger!Reader, Other Avengers, angst without comfort, cheating, mental health issues, suicidal ideations, self depreciation, mentions of SA&SH, manipulation, toxic relationship (OCxR), revenge porn, use of drugs.

| Author's notes — I don't know how I feel about that second part, i'm not sure i like it, but now it's written it costs me nothing to share. So here we are. I can just hope that I managed to convey, at least a little, the emotions I wanted to. And, most importantly, take care of yourself.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| Part one. Part two. Part three.

Almost a year has gone by, and it means one thing: in a few weeks, it’s going to be Natasha's birthday, again. The woman is not sure how she feels about it. She never really had a birthday before she joined the Avengers, and despite the years that have passed since, she still feels a certain awkwardness at this time of the year. Especially as the boys tended to do too much.

She could only pretend to match their enthusiasm. A slight smile spreads across her face as she takes a sip from her drink, staying silent. She has been listening to her teammates talking about her birthday’s party for almost half an hour now. She stopped trying to avoid it a long time ago, when she realized how much they enjoyed organizing this stupid party. She can deal with anything they’re going to come up with if she gets to see their smiles in exchange. Her sentence won’t last more than a few hours, but the memories are going to stick with them for eternity, and it has no price.

"Wait, you know what?” someone asked. It was Clint, and by the mischievous smile on his face, the redhead already knew that she wouldn't appreciate the next words that are going to come out of his mouth. “I think we should have the mascot come over again," he added, his eyes not leaving hers. "What? It was funny to have a cartoon version of you running around," he defended himself when he saw her glance darkening.

"You know what? Do whatever you want," she mumbled, “it’s not as if you were asking for my opinion anyway,” she eventually gave in. Sometimes, you have to know how to pick your battles, and that is one she definitely cannot win, not when all the others seem to appreciate the idea.

"That’s such a great idea!” one exclaimed, and this time it was Peter Parker, “Mr. Stark, do you think they would accept to come again?” he asked the man.

"Obviously!" Tony replied without an ounce of hesitation, laughing at the question. The man thought it was a stupid thing to ask, "she likes you too much to miss your birthday,” he explained, pointing at the redhead while saying those words. "What? She pretends it’s not true, but I know she is lying. I can see right through her and, believe me, she’ll be here," he explained when he noticed the confused looks of his teammates.

"Who’s she?" a voice asked, cutting short to Tony’s rambling. That’s the question that has been on everyone’s minds, but that no one dared to ask out loud, except for one of them — And it hasn’t been Natasha, it is Steve that spoke first.

On the contrary, the woman remained silent because she didn’t need words to express herself, a silent conversation taking place between the billionaire and her through a simple glance. Even if she already has her suspicions, and is almost sure that she knows the answer to that question, she wants him to say it, refusing to believe it otherwise.

The moment she saw the box, she was intrigued by it, something drawing the woman to the small package that no one claimed as theirs. It’s almost as if it came out of nowhere, no one knowing who left it here, or what may be inside the black box. At first, she thought it was some joke, but she knew they were being honest when saying they had nothing to do with the gift. And if she had expected a lot of things to be wrapped in the red ribbon, she definitely wasn’t ready for a ghost from her past to emerge from it.

A quick glance before she suddenly closes the box again, that’s all it took for the redhead to know who was behind that gift. The only thing she could think about was how — How did it happen without any of them noticing your presence? Despite the appearances, and the smile she was trying to keep on, the woman was shaken — Why would you do that, more than two years after your break up? Could it be that you are that desperate?

"Is everything okay?" Clint asked, being the only one to seem to notice a change in Natasha’s behavior. At least, everyone had enough restraint to not ask the question that burns their lips — What’s inside the box?

She wouldn’t have answered if one of them had asked. She wouldn’t even have opened the gift if she had known that it was from you, and that’s probably why you left it on the table, avoiding giving it to her directly. Smart girl, she thought. At first sight, the woman couldn’t tell it was coming from you but there was no doubt remaining once she saw the content — There is only one person on Earth that cares enough to give her such a gift. A person that constantly looks after her, guessing what the redhead wasn’t telling.

A person that she used to love.

A person that couldn’t be here, was she? The woman can’t help but glance around but she can’t find your face. What was she expecting anyway? To see you in the corner of the room with a bright smile and your arms open for her to throw herself in a hug? That was stupid, and so is the hint of hope she felt when she opened the box. The others told her many times she has to turn the page, but she doesn’t seem ready to let you go. Even after two years, she is still craving your presence as much as before.

The thought of it puts to shame the redhead who knows she shouldn’t hold on to the past, especially when the past in question has a pretty face and breaks her heart. Even after what you’ve done to her, she has spent hours crying, praying for you to come back. Even after listening to the others assuring her that she deserves better, she couldn’t forget how you’ve always been the most caring, and strong, and beautiful person she has ever met in her life.

You weren’t horrible. Were you?

Sometimes, she thinks you are a monster.

Sometimes, she thinks she is, for not listening to you that day.

That day, she let her anger speak for her, something she swore she would never do again. When she started to realize that, maybe, she should’ve listened to your version of the events, it was too late. At the time, she couldn’t bear to hear the sound of your voice or see your voice, but after two years, as the memory of it starts to fade away, she surprised herself to miss it.

Except that Fury had refused to tell her where you were. She tried to ask nicely, to beg, and even to threaten the man, but none of it worked. He said that you needed time, that you’ll be back when you are ready, not before. Despite her frustration, the woman accepted it. After all, she is the one to blame, the one that puts herself in such a situation. She could only hold on to the fact that, one day, you’ll be back. Right? As the days go by, the likelihood of ever seeing you again is gradually diminishing. Some nights, when she can’t sleep, she stays up, eyes fixed on her laptop’s screen — Maybe she could give fate a helping hand? She knows she could find you easily. Yet, despite her urge to do it, she has always ended up closing her laptop without starting the research.

She has to trust Fury, she repeats to herself. Even if she sometimes disagrees with the man, even if it’s frustrating, she has to believe him when he says that you are safe.

Some other nights, all she can feel is anger, and hatred. The redhead is lost, and scared, again, something she never thought she would feel again the day you two met. What if it was true, and you really cheated on her? Then, you could do it again if she forgives you, because history always repeats itself, and you are no exception to the rules of the universe. She knows how people tend to promise a lot of things that they don’t mean, especially when they are desperate, which is exactly what you’ve been that day. She couldn’t forget the look on your face when she dragged you out of the building, the despair in those bright eyes, glistening with tears. This is the only thing she can remember when she thinks about you. Not the good moments you’ve shared, only the brutality of the end of your relationship.

You've abandoned her, and so did she.

It has been three since she last saw you, and almost a year since her birthday party, but the woman couldn’t stop thinking about it. She didn’t take the gift, leaving the jewelry in the box, and the box on a shelf. She hasn't touched it since. How could she when just the sight of it was already too much to bear?

Every day, when she wakes up, it is one of the first things she sees, and one of the last when she goes to sleep. If it doesn’t feel right to the woman to take the gift, it doesn’t feel right to throw it in the bin either, so it stayed here as a constant reminder of what she has done. Every time she thinks she is finally over it, the box rekindles her doubts. There are some things she can’t quite understand about the situation, and why you would give her such a gift, two years after she kicked you out, is one of them.

Maybe it was a poisoned gift. Maybe it was a sick trick to make her feel guilty, a way to get her to crawl back to you. Beside these possibilities, she couldn’t think of any others that were likely, and she was afraid to admit that your plan was working. The box was a permanent reminder of your existence, something she couldn’t get herself to give away because of those dumb feelings she was experiencing. Somehow, she was holding on to that last piece of your years together after she threw away everything else with the help of the team.

The pictures, the clothes, the gifts, even your favorite cutlery has been burned a few days after you left them. It is almost as if you’ve never stepped a foot into the building, as if you’ve never existed. The woman was fine with the idea of pretending that nothing happened — She was fine with the idea of erasing every remaining part of your relationship.

Except that black box. It is stupid how she hangs onto that last proof of the relationship she once had with you. She had burned everything, but she couldn’t get herself to do the same with that gift. Maybe because she knew that she could never erase you completely from her life. She surely could pretend, it is a game she is really good at, but you would always be on the back of her mind because memories don't go away as easily as objects do.

Since she had opened the box, doubt had been creeping inside of her — What if? What if she has been wrong the whole time? What if she should have listened to you? Give you a second chance? That day, her reaction had been dictated by anger and hatred, feelings that still inhabit her soul, but have faded over the years. For two years, she had been sure that she made the right choice — At least, that’s what everyone kept telling the woman, and she listened to their comforting words.

But since she opened the box, she was no longer sure of anything. She wasn’t the one that wanted you gone in the first place. She surely needed a bit of space before being able to talk with you properly, but only a few days, maybe a few weeks, not two years, and definitely not more than that. That little box only worsened her doubt because who would be desperate enough to still cling to the person they betrayed, years after the events? A person truly in love. She had kept her doubts for herself before that day. If she is almost sure of the identity of the person who gave her the box, because there is only one person on that planet that cares enough to gift her something so meaningful, there are still a lot of questions to which she doesn’t have the answers — For example, how did you manage to sneak into the building without everyone knowing? She now knows that someone knew the whole time.

“Tell me,” she firmly asked the man, leaving little room for discussion.

No one pointed out the thing he has said about the mascot, the subject of the conversation quickly changed after that. Except, while they were talking about which flavor the cake should be, Natasha could think of nothing but Tony’s words — “She likes you too much to miss your birthday”, “she pretends it’s not true but I know she is lying.” So when everyone eventually decided to go back to their rooms, around two in the morning, she stayed a bit longer in the common room in hope of getting some information.

“Sorryy, I can’t, I don’t know anything,” the man replied, indifferent to her tone, “anything at all,” he repeated, chuckling like a child who has done something wrong.

The woman sighs, pinching her nose as she takes a deep breath, trying to not lash out her frustration on the man. The conversation isn’t exactly going the way she had hoped, Tony refusing to answer her question no matter how many times she has already asked. She even tried to blackmail him, but he was persistent in pretending that he didn’t know anything. When he almost falls on the ground trying to get a few steps back, it has been the last straw for the woman. Gladly, someone entered the room before she could hit him so hard that it would have sobered him in an instant.

"Is everything okay?" the voice asked, and both of them immediately shut up to turn their heads toward the woman who just entered the room, Astrid. She is leaning in the doorway, her gaze alternating between Tony and Natasha.

She hates her. Not as much as she hates you, but she still feels resentful toward the agent. When she smiles, when she speaks, even when she is just here, existing, the woman can’t help but hate her from the depths of her heart. Gladly, she rarely sees her, as an agent of the S.H.I.E.L.D., she is only around when they have outstanding missions. If Natasha had a choice, she would’ve thrown her away with you that day.

"She wants me to admit that her girlfriend was the one in the costume," he immediately replied, "but sshht, we can’t let her know that!" he added, holding his index finger in front of his mouth for a few seconds before leaving the room giggling.

"I know what happened," she eventually said when she noticed that Natasha was about to leave after a few seconds when they glanced at each other in silence. "Th- That night, in the motel room~," she added, her voice being hesitant. Those words made the redhead stop in her tracks.

"If you're about to rub in my face how you've ruined my life, you can shut up," she immediately cut her, not wanting to listen to the woman, not if it’s to tell her about how she fucked the woman she loves. Her voice was full of anger, just like the murderous look in her eyes. The only thing that prevented the woman from immediately leaving the room was the thing she saw in the other’s eyes. Her attitude betrayed her emotions, a mix of guilt, sadness, and shame, which aroused her curiosity.

With a nod, she ordered her to continue.

That morning, as many others, you are woken up by your girlfriend’s gentle touches, her fingers slowly tracing circles on your stomach. A hum of satisfaction escapes your lips before your turn around, nuzzling your head further into the crook of her neck.

How could you have known it would be the last time? How could you have possibly guessed that the routine you’ve got used to would be broken so quickly?

Every morning, it is the same thing, and while the former spy has no problems getting up early, you definitely can’t say the same for yourself. She is always awake before you are and, even if she had never admitted it, you are sure that she takes a few minutes to observe your sleeping form. She loves seeing you so peaceful and calm, being able to have a glimpse of your face without those worry lines, without the marks of your anxieties.

She is always the one who wakes you up, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. There is no better way to start a day than Natasha’s sweet words and caresses. It’s her fault if you never want to get out of bed, wishing every morning that you could stay in that bed, next to her, for the rest of your life. Sometimes, you suggest that you tell the others you are sick, just to spend a day together, but she just laughs, dismissing your idea.

But all the good things must come to an end, right?

"It's time to get up, milaya," she softly said in your ear, her breath tickling your skin, "Astrid won't be happy if you are late again," she added when the only answer you gave her was a groan of discontent.

"They won't say anything if I am late once, it's okay", you mumbled, her words not being enough to convince you to leave the comfort of her arms.

Especially when you realize that there is nothing to get excited about the day ahead of you, in perspective, only hours spent in an office, listening to men who think they know everything better than you do. Today, you are supposed to attend an important meeting alongside Astrid, and you still don’t know why you volunteered. The thought of the paperwork and the efforts that you will have to put in pretending that you are actually happy to be here definitely don’t worth your pay.

Except that you’ve lied to Natasha, and she knows it. This is definitely not the first time that you are being late, it happens almost every day, to the point that the day you are in time can probably be counted on your hands. Gladly, when you are coming in the S.H.I.E.L.D.’s quarters, it's Astrid who’s your supervisor, and she appears to also be your best friend. Most of the time, she is kind enough to accept to close her eyes on your delays. Today, you came in only ten minutes late, and the woman was somehow impressed, expecting you to be later than that.

“You’re late, again,” she replied, obviously waiting for an excuse that you don't have. She would know if you are lying to her, and you don't have the energy for that kind of game today, and you could see that the woman neither. She was starting to get tired of every day starting with the same bullshit coming from your mouth.

“I am so, so, sorry,” you said to her for what may be the tenth time since you’ve entered the office. She is walking fast, and you are trying to catch up with the black-haired woman, who is also your superior within the S.H.I.E.L.D. “Please, don’t tell Fury,” you begged, but all she did was roll her eyes, and give you a file when you eventually reached her office. You quickly glanced at it before closing it again, your attention focused on the woman, “Astrid, I am serious. He is going to give me more paperwork if you do. Or worse. Imagine if he forces me to train the new recruits, you know I can’t do that again. Please, …,” you added, looking at her imploringly.

“And what do I have in exchange?” she sighed, turning around to look at you, one eyebrow raised. Despite her serious expression, you know she was trying to not laugh. She may be your boss, but above all she is your friend, and you both know that she would never tell Fury about your delays. Even if she has threatened you to do so a few times in the past, she has never actually done it. Yet, this time she felt like she needed something in exchange, she had covered for you enough time for free, and you were happy to thank your friend with whatever she may want.

“Anything you want!” you replied, desperate but no less honest.

“Tonight, after work, you pay me a drink, deal?” she asked after pretending to think for a few seconds. In reality, she already knew what she wanted from you. She has thought about asking you out since the moment you met, something you’ve never noticed, always reducing her to the role of a friend, and not keeping up on the clues she was leaving you. Tonight, however, she will be clearer than she has ever been.

“Deal!” you immediately said, accepting the proposal without thinking twice about it. "Thank you. Thank you so, so much. You are the best," you added, kissing your friend on the cheek before leaving the room quickly, a sight that made the woman chuckle.

It is a deal that makes you both happy. You have met Astrid at the Academy, when you were both trainees that dreamed of joining the S.H.I.E.L.D. without even knowing if you were good enough for that. The two of you quickly became close — That’s the kind of thing that happens where you are the only two females of your promotion. Either you hate each other over your dead bodies, or you grow so close that you become inseparable.

Except that, since you've both achieved your dreams and joined S.H.I.E.L.D, something changed in your relationship. It wasn’t your fault, nor hers, that you had less time to see each other, your jobs taking a lot of your time and energy. Then you've been assigned on a long-term mission with the Avengers, and you’ve spent less time at the S.H.I.E.L.D.’s quarters despite still working for the organization. Then you've met Natasha, and you feel like you’ve slightly grown apart from each other after you’ve announced to her your new relationship. On the whole, you had less time to spend with your best friend, and the promises to make up for the lost time have never been kept, not until today. That deal was the perfect occasion to spend a bit of time together outside of the office work.

You both really hoped that this night would make things back as they were before.

"You know, I love her," she confessed to the redhead, her voice being barely louder than a whisper as she felt tears filling her eyes. "Since the day we met, I have loved her. That's what I told her, that night, when we went out," she admitted, and Natasha felt her heart pounding in her chest, her hands were shaking with apprehension, “but she rejected me. She loves you so much, too much," she sadly chuckled, but the redhead felt no relief when she heard those words because they were not explaining the pictures. She can't cry, not now, not in front of that woman.

"Continue," she ordered, feeling that the woman had more to say than that. She already knew that Astrid loved you, you may be the only one that hadn't seen it, or maybe you were pretending, or maybe you were blinded by your love for Natasha.

"I didn't plan to do that, you know," she started, carefully looking at the spy, "but I was so desperate that night, and I-," she said, except she was unable to finish her sentence, the words stuck in her throat.

The past three years, she had kept the truth a secret. At first, she thought it was better that way. The woman was ashamed of her actions, and she was relieved when heard that you’ve been transferred to another department, and she thought that her secret would be safe. Except that, if everyone acted as if you’ve never existed, her mind didn’t allow her to forget. Every hour of every day, you were in her mind, and the longer she thought about that night, the biggesther guilt became, until the burden was too heavy to bear. Tonight, hearing them argue about you, has been the last straw.

“What did you do?” she asked, sensing that something was wrong. She didn’t like the feeling that was creeping inside of her, “what. did. you. do.?” she asked once again, but more firmly that time, when the other didn’t immediately answer her question. As she saw the hesitation, she reduced the distance between them in a second, her hand gripping the collar of Astrid’s shirt that she pins to the wall abruptly, “tell me. Now,” she insisted as the interaction only reinforced the bad feeling she had.

That morning, unlike the others, you woke up alone. There haven’t been the gentle caresses of your girlfriend to wake you up, nor her sweet words to coax you into getting up. No, that day, it was only yourself, draped into the cold sheets, and it felt so strange, the silence and the loneliness of the room. Sadly, it has not been the exception you’ve wished it would be, but only the first of too many mornings like that.

In the sleepy state you were in, it took you a few seconds to realize that something was wrong, and almost a minute before you noticed that you weren’t home. You couldn’t even recognize the place you were in, only knowing that it looked like a hotel, a shitty one if you might say. The room was small, simple, and not-so-comfortable. There was something in the ambience that gave you an uneasy feeling about the whole thing, but you were unable to say what it was exactly.

Your head is throbbing, and you are definitely feeling nauseous, but you know that’s not the problem. Your physical distress isn’t the cause of the weight on your chest, the one that makes your breath aching, it’s something else that your mind can’t comprehend yet. It’s all these inconsistencies. The missing memories of last night, the unknown room, the fact that you are alone,... you don’t remember drinking that much last night. You may not be the most responsible person that planet has known, but you know how to handle yourself. Usually.

Could you have possibly drunk that much?

The day has barely started, but you already know it is going to be a rough one. If only you knew how right you were, maybe you would have taken a few more hours of sleep, enjoying the comfortable peace of your old life a bit longer before joining the chaos. Yet, you had no means to guess that your day would go that way.

It's a note left on the bedside table that answered all your questions, easing some of the worries that were creeping inside of you. Someone has written the following words : “Couldn’t get you home because of how drunk you were. don’t worry about being late today, I won’t tell Fury. however, had to go on a mission, be careful when you go home. I left you a bit of money, it should be enough to pay for the room and an Uber. Love you.” The message might not have been signed, but you can easily recognize Astrid’s handwriting. A smile spreads across your lips as you are reassured, the situation not being as bad as your mind made it look.

Some memories of last night flew back in your mind, but it’s only a glimpse of what happened, a lot of the events staying unknown to yourself. The last thing you can remember is the conversation you had with Astrid, when she admitted that she loved you and you replied that you too, thinking she meant as friends because you couldn’t see her any other way, not when you were already engaged in a relationship. The rest of the exchange is confused, and you are not sure what’s real and what has been made up by alcohol. Even today, you are still not sure.

Maybe you’ve really drunk too much that night.

Knowing that you’ve been with Astrid the whole time was reassuring, and you are no longer as bothered by the absence of memories. For a moment, you thought you'd been kidnapped by some weird man. As you regain your composure, your thoughts become clearer and you decide that the first thing you should do is to send a message to your girlfriend. She must be so worried, and your heart aches at the thought that you might be a source of problem for the woman you love.

It is not your kind to not keep your promises, and you’ve told her you would be home last night. It is not your kind either to not answer her messages or calls. In reality, you are quite the opposite, always sending her hundreds of messages when you are out with your friends. The only reason she hasn’t got after you is because she knew you were with Astrid, and she trusted you. However, the sweet messages are going to have to wait because, when you try to turn your phone on, you only encounter a black screen, a sign that you’ve run out of battery. Obviously, your friend didn’t think to leave you a charger.

You sigh, admitting your defeat. Shaking your phone surely won’t change the situation. For the moment, there is nothing more you can do, except hoping that Natasha won’t be too angry. As you are getting ready, your mind is focused on how to earn the redhead’s forgiveness — Maybe you could stop to buy her some flowers? You hate it, when the two of you are arguing. It doesn’t happen a lot, but it’s never pretty, and the mere thought that it might happen was already hurting.

As you definitely couldn’t go back to the compound by yourself, not knowing how far you were and being in a pitiful state, you decided to use the money left by Astrid to call a cab, as she instructed you to do. It’s not before you enter the car that you realize how late you actually were. It is almost one in the afternoon, and if you are not an early riser, like your girlfriend who is always up by six at the latest, you rarely get up after ten.

It has been a thirty minutes drive back to the compound, and the whole time you were thinking about two things: taking a shower, and leaning into your girlfriends’ arms. You are so exhausted, physically and mentally, that you’ve decided to skip work today — You were already so late that it wouldn’t make a big difference anyway. The journey was long, and those thirty minutes felt like hours.

Soon enough, you started to suffocate into your own mind, then skin. You felt so sweaty, and dirty, that it quickly became unbearable. Maybe it was the effects of the alcohol, or maybe because you’ve slept in a seedy motel, but the only thing you wanted was to get rid of the clothes you were wearing and the uncomfortable state you were in as soon as possible.

When you enter the compound, you find it empty, and so is the room you are sharing with the woman. If you frown, you don’t think much about it. If the building is rarely empty, it sometimes happens when emergencies are called. A whine escapes your lips as you realize that, if it’s true, they are going to be mad at you for not being here when they needed it. You can already feel your mind losing itself to self-hatred thoughts, as you mutter to yourself how stupid you are. You are going to need more than a few flowers to earn their forgiveness. The fact that JARVIS confirmed that everyone was at the S.H.I.E.L.D.'s quarters didn’t, you would have preferred to hear that they went to the restaurant without you rather than that.

Tears brimming your eyes, you quickly put your phone to charge. It is only when you get out of the shower, twenty minutes later, that you saw the missed calls and messages from Natasha. The most recent ones were sent a few minutes ago. There were too many of them for you to take time to read everything so you just sent her a quick text that said: “sorry, my battery was dead, and I couldn’t answer your calls. I’ll explain everything, I promise. see you soon. love you.” A message she saw but she didn’t answer, which is unusual and an obvious hint of how angry she probably is.

Despite your decision to not work today, you still end up in the S.H.I.E.L.D.’s quarters. You are almost running in the corridors, going to the meeting room where you find your girlfriend, and the rest of the Avengers. When you stumble into the room, a deadly silence descends. None of them greeted you, and the only reaction you got was Fury’s nod when you started mumbling excuses for your late arrival. While your eyes immediately landed on the redhead, she didn’t glance at you once of the entire meeting. The sight made your heart sink. You love her, but you have to admit that the spy is scary when she has that stern expression on her face, one that leaves no room for discussion.

The safest decision was to sit on the furthest chair, leaving her space until you get the opportunity to explain yourself. Something that you hadn't had a chance to do before a few more hours, when you stumbled into her in the corridors. You have been lost in your mind, having a hard time focusing on your work. Earlier, when the meeting ended, she immediately left the room, not leaving you a chance to exchange a word with her, and it has been bugging you since.

“Please, wait,” you said, already begging the woman. When she heard your voice, she stopped, allowing you to gently grab at her arm so she didn't go. She could, if she wanted to, and a part of her did want to run away, but the rest of her knows that this conversation can’t be avoided. “Listen, I- I am sorry,” you started once you were sure she was willing to listen to your excuses, “I should have warned you, but I couldn’t, my phone’s battery was dead and, and- honestly? I don't remember much of what happened last night. All I know is that once was enough. It won't happen again,” you chuckled sadly. When you woke up that morning, you promised to yourself that it was the last time you drank that much. A promise you kept, and three years later, you still haven’t touched a bottle of alcohol. “I promise, 'tasha. Please, don't be mad at me for that, or at least tell me how I can make up for my mistake,” you said, and the woman knew she had heard enough.

“Seriously?” she scoffed, breaking free of your grip. “I can’t believe you are that stupid,” she said, as she started to walk away. But if she didn’t want to hear the sound of your voice any more, you, however, weren’t done yet.

"I know I’ve made a mistake, but I am fine, isn’t it the most important?” you asked, starting to follow. Except that, when she heard your steps in her back, she accelerated her pace. “I promise to be more careful next time but, you know, I can handle myself for one night. Well, I might have drunk a bit too much, but Astrid was wi~,” you tried to explain, except she cut short your ramblings. To say, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but the woman quickly cut you. She scoffed again, in disbelief this time.

"You are really stupid, aren't you?” she said, stopping in her tracks, and you almost ran into her, surprised by her sudden stop. A few more seconds passed before she turned around to face you, her posture matching her stern expression. “Do you think I don't know what happened last night, with Astrid? Do you really think I wouldn’t have known the truth?” she added, taking a step forward for every question she asked, and you took one back every time, until your back hit the walls. You would certainly have found the situation hot if she didn’t look like she was about to murder you.

“W- what?” you said, “you are mad because I went out with a friend. That’s the problem? Astrid is the problem?" you snapped, starting to feel frustrated about the whole situation.

You are tired, and the only thing you’ve wanted to do since you opened your eyes that morning — Throwing yourself in your girlfriend’s arms — was impossible to do. You hadn’t expected the woman to give you such a hard time. You knew she could be jealous sometimes, you’ve already had arguments about that in the past, but you’ve always been understanding because you know that her jealousy isn’t caused by a lack of trust. This feeling is fuelled by her own insecurities and past. Except that, that time, it was too much. The way she wouldn't listen to your excuses is seriously hitting on your nerves.

"Don't you dare to lie to me,” she said. For a moment, you thought she was going to hit you, but she took a step back before she could do that. She was angry too, taking deep breaths in an attempt to ease the feeling. “I trusted you,” she eventually added but her tone was different — The anger left her voice, replaced by pain. “I trusted you and, most importantly, I loved you,” she whispered, turning around to see you one last time. “After everything I have done for you, I can't believe that's how you are thanking me. You know, I really thought you were different, better," she laughed, trying very hard to not throw you against the walls or worse, to cry. The most insufferable was the look in your eyes, the false innocence. She was tired of pretending, she had given you enough chances to tell her the truth, “but you’re not,” but now, she was done trying.

That is the last time the two of you talked. The next time you’ve seen her, she hasn’t been kind enough to let you have a chance to explain things. She was done trying, and so were you. The last words she said are still ringing in your head, even years later. Maybe if you'd chased her once again that day, things would have ended differently, but you haven’t moved. You couldn’t, petrified by the conversation that just took place, you have just watched the redhead walking away without glancing back.

It’s only when you enter the break room that you understand the whole conversation you had with Natasha. No one was here, but the walls had been covered with pictures of yourself. At first, you thought it was a prank from your teammates’ but the pictures were all but innocent. You felt your heart sink when you took down one of the photos to get a closer look at it, and tears in your eyes when you realized that you were nude in those.

It was you, in bed, with Astrid. Your face doesn’t entirely show but you can easily recognize yourself and the bed you’ve woken up in that morning. There were dozens of different pictures, but all showed similar scenes: your bodies against each other as you are obviously sharing an intimate moment. Something that you should only share with one person on that Earth. A person that is definitely not Astrid.

Except that the more you look at those pictures, the more foreign they feel. You are sure you are the one in the pictures, but you are still unable to remember what happened. Slowly, doubt creeps into your heart — Did you drink that much last night?

So much that you betrayed the woman you swore to love until the sun dies?

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. You are suddenly overwhelmed by a bunch of emotions that you can’t describe, but that are definitely not pleasant. It is a mix of confusion, anger, guilt, and disgust. The pictures speak for themselves, and they leave little room for doubt about what you were doing — And you were surely not just sleeping. The woman was on top of you, her mouth closed to your neck, maybe she was leaving soft kisses against your skin, maybe she was whispering sweet things in your ears, you don’t know. But the thing you were focused on was her hand hidden by the sheets, leaving only your imagination to complete the scene. It wasn’t the only picture of that kind: they were all picturing similar scenes. You can easily understand her rage and hatred earlier because you are now sharing those feelings with your girlfriend, just for different reasons.

"What's wrong sweetheart?" a voice said, pulling out of your mind. It was Astrid, who just entered the room. She glanced around before looking back at you, a sad smile spreading on her lips when she notices the tears that are soaking your face. and you saw Astrid entering the room. She looks around, a sorry look on her face. "I am sorry,” she started, and you could feel she was looking for the right thing to say, “I- I sent the pictures to the wrong person. When I realized, I tried to explain to Romanoff but, well… you know how she is,” she explained, shrugging as if she was trying to make you believe she had actually tried to, “she wouldn't listen to me, and they- they did that before I could stop them. It doesn’t please me either," she added, reminding you that you weren’t the only one suffering from the situation. Except she seemed to deal with the situation better than you do. As she talked, she slowly walked closer to you, accompanying each of her sentences with a few steps forward until she was close enough to wrap you in her arms.

You didn’t get the energy to push her away.

"Did we.. ?" you asked, but your voice broke before you could finish your sentence. It felt too difficult to say those words out loud — “Did we hook up? Did I cheat on Natasha?” But the woman doesn’t need the words to be said, she seems to read in your mind the end of your sentence.

"Of course we did, what kind of question is that?" she replied, frowning. She seems to be surprised by your question. For a second, the hand that was slowly caressing the back of your head stopped. The woman pulled back a little, just so she could see your face. "Why? Do you regret it?" she asked, and for an instant she seemed to be genuinely worried about your reaction, "because you didn't seem to last night, when you cried my name,..." she whispered in your ear. You could feel her breath tickling your skin but it wasn’t a pleasant feeling, unlike when Natasha does it.

Everything felt so much. Her voice, her touch, her presence so close to you, was now unbearable. As she remembers the night you’ve spent, a soft smirk spreads on her lips, but you are definitely not sharing her feelings. “Of course we did.” The words loop back into your mind, it seeps in like a poison that quickly takes over your whole being. Soon, you are paralyzed by an awful feeling. It hurts, but at the same time you are not sure you are actually feeling something, your body and mind feeling so foreign to you — If you wanted it, why does it feel so wrong?

At that moment, if you had been able to move, you would have ripped your ears off just so you wouldn’t hear her voice any more, and maybe you would have done the same with your skin. It felt like the only way to get rid of your overwhelming feelings. Suddenly, the reassuring touch of your best friend made you feel gross, and so do her sweet words — But if she said that you did it, and wanted it, then it must be true, right?

You have seen the pictures, they are in your hands, right under your eyes. You can see yourself betraying the woman you love and in those, you really don't give the impression that you didn’t want to. On the contrary.

"No, no, it- it's not that, it’s just…," you eventually managed to say, but you are hesitating and unsure of yourself. There are too many thoughts and words clouding your head, so many ways you could react and yet, none of what you could say or do felt right. "It’s just that I don’t even remember last night,” you admitted, feeling ashamed about it, “I mean, did we- you know,... for real?" you asked softly but you were not even listening to Astrid’s answer, the question was more for yourself in reality. "Sorry, I have to go, see you later", you said, interrupting the woman. Somehow, you regained control over your body, just enough to push the other away and leave the room. You are not sure where you are going, but as far from that room as you can is already a good start.

That's where she found you when she came home that night, sitting on the bathroom's floor, the pictures in your hands.

Your hand is still wrapped tightly around the pictures, but you didn’t notice it. Not before being back home, in the room you are sharing with Natasha — Or were sharing, you thought, unsure about how the situation would unfold. It may be the last time you set a foot in that room that has been your safe place for months. Before you could completely break down, you decided to take a shower, thinking that, maybe, the steaming water would be enough to ease your mind. You took two showers. Then three, then four, and maybe more. You can’t be sure, you’ve stopped counting. All you knew was that it hasn’t been enough to get rid of the uneasy feelings and thoughts. You’ve scrubbed yourself until your skin was so sensitive that even the touch of the towel has been painful — But maybe you deserved it.

The rest of the day is a blur, and you are not sure what time it is. You’ve spent hours on the bathroom’s floor, your left hand clenched around the picture while the right one was holding the towel. Your head was so empty, but so full at the same time. That’s how she found you when she came home that night, and if she had been tempted to wrap you in her arms when she saw your pitiful state, the conversation she just had with the others discouraged her to do so — You didn’t deserve her pity. They are right when they say that you are not the victim: you are the one that cheated on her, and she needs to be firm, stern. You knew how hard it is for the woman to trust someone and yet, you still broke the fate she had put in you after years of making her dream of a better future.

"Oh, so you remember now?" she coldly said to you when she entered the room. You didn’t move, not even your eyes to look at her, but if you did, you would have seen that the woman was leaning in the doorway with her arms crossed. Maybe you would have also seen that her coldness was only a facade, and that she was as close as you were from breaking down.

You stayed silent, unable to say anything. The words were stuck in your clenched throat, and they aren’t feeling right anyway — How could you defend yourself when you didn't even know what happened exactly? Plus, you weren’t even sure there was something to defend, the pictures speaking for themselves. Even when she started packing your belongings, you didn’t move. For you to move, she had to grab your arm and drag you all the way outside the Avengers’s building by herself.

She needed you gone, and everyone agreed that it was only for the best. At least for a few weeks, just the time for things to calm down. That’s what she came to announce. The few words that left your mouth were useless, your pleas falling in deaf ears: the decision had already been made, and the sentence was irrevocable. The woman is done with your bullshit. She is done with you, and so you are.

"The pictures, they- they aren't real," she eventually admitted, her voice being barely louder than a whisper as she unburdens herself of this old secret. “I mean, th- they are, but it’s a staging. Nothing happened between us, she- hm, loves you too much to give you away,” she continued, tears filling her eyes as she talks, her voice wavering a little more with each word. "She isn't even conscious in these," she continued when the spy didn’t react. If the black-haired woman thought it was because the other was listening, it was because she didn’t know how to react.

The weight of what she had done left her shoulder, and it was now lingering in the room, where the air was suddenly thick, and almost unbreathable. Natasha felt a weight in her chest that made each breath harder than the previous one. Overcome by surprise, she had let go of the other, stepping back a few steps. Her thoughts were racing, numerous and contradictory, they weren’t coherent enough to allow how to respond in any way. She needed to do something, but she didn’t know what.

“I- I don’t know why I did that. It wasn’t me, that night, you know that, right? That I would usually never ever do something like that,” she started to defend herself when she saw the look on Natasha’s face, “I was so angry, and disappointed, when she refused. I have given her everything since we met, and yet you are the one she chose. I thought that, maybe, with a bit of time she would eventually realize her mistake, … but I was so wrong,” she sighed, and the redhead could see the remnants of that anger in her attitude. A clenching jaw and fists, accompanied with firm words that left no doubt about the resentment she held towards her, and towards you. “That night, I- I wasn’t myself. We’ve already had a few drinks and, you know, it doesn’t mix well with emotions,” she continued, and the woman could feel her anger rising with every word the other spoke. “All I could think about was getting revenge. I wanted to show her she was wrong, that I had so much more to offer than she thought. I wanted her to change her mind, to see me for more than just a friend,” she admitted, her voice being just a whisper as she says the last sentence. “I never thought it would end this way, I swear, you’ve to believe me, Natasha,” and to forgive me. She didn’t say the last words out loud, but she doesn’t need to, her eyes are speaking for herself.

Only, when her gaze met the redhead’s, she didn’t see in her eyes the compassion she had been expecting, only pure hatred, an emotion that had quickly replaced the initial surprise. Not even a word was addressed to her as the other left the room, leaving her alone to dry her tears.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| Part one. Part two. Part three.

| Taglist — @cd-4848, @chocolatestrawberrykryptonite, @gemz5, @jusnough, @m0nsterqzzz, @marvelwomenarehot0, @mrsrushman, @riyaexee, @takeyaki, @taliiiaasteria.

#a spes writing #devious lies #mcu fandom #mcu fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfiction #reader insert #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #angst writing #angst without comfort #anon request

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thisapplepielife · 3 months ago

Text

Written for a @astrangersummer.

Tip Your Driver

Of all the shitty service jobs Steve's had, this one is definitely among the worst.

And he's been stuck working some pretty shitty jobs over the years, both before and after they moved out here. If he hadn't hated the one at the shoe store so much, because ew feet, he wouldn't be doing this in the first place. At least that was in one location, a steady paycheck, and not that far from their apartment. But, he didn't know that feet draw in some weirdos, so here he is, lugging other people's shit around, because he needs the money.

He just sighs as he pulls up in front of the address on the app. He double checks the posted numbers over the garage, and it seems to be the right place. Everything matches enough for him to call it good.

The house is really nice.

It's not in The Hills or anything, so he hadn't expected something so nice.

Now, Steve doesn't mind delivering groceries, not really, but this guy, Eddie it says, ordered a bunch of heavy shit, and the tip was only the mediocre bare minimum. Which, he wasn't that mad about, until right now, after he's seen the house this guy lives in.

No, now he's pretty annoyed.

Whatever. Par for the fucking course from Fancy Pants Rich McGee over here. How the hell you spell chauffeur? Chauffeur. Indeed. Maybe he should make tiktoks about situations just like this. Robin keeps hounding him, saying if he'd just do it, that he could rake in a little extra cash.

He's skeptical.

Steve looks back at the house.

Oh well. He left his money behind for a reason, the only thing he kept was his car because his parents were dumb enough to put it in his name. And honestly? It does him no good to be jealous or whatever the fuck he's feeling right now.

At least this guy had been responsive, and pretty nice, when answering Steve's messages about substitutions and out of stock items. Not everybody is, unfortunately, acting as if Steve is the one stocking the store himself.

Steve opens the back hatch of his car, and leans in to grab the first items to be left at the door, as requested. If they don't see you, they feel less bad about the shitty tip, Steve's learned.

But it's fine. Steve doesn't want to deal with anyone face-to-face today, anyway. Because he needs to hurry. He and Robin are already a couple days late on rent, and he's gotta try to make up the difference today. If not, they're gonna be fucking screwed. Why is this city so goddamn expensive to live in? It's bullshit.

"Let me help," comes the voice right next to him, and Steve jumps, hitting his head on the open hatch door.

Now, he's skipped over annoyed and has been vaulted straight into pissed off.

Partly at himself for being so far in his own head that he didn't even hear this guy approaching, but mainly at this asshole for even being in his personal space in the first place. He needs to take about three big steps back.

"Oh, fuck! Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!" the guy shouts, and Steve hasn't even seen this asshole yet, but he knows he hates him.

"Most people don't help unload the car," Steve snaps, turning to look at him, and the guy is looking back at him with big, big brown eyes. Robin would call them doe eyes, without a doubt. Well, fuck. Fine. Steve softens his tone, "It's okay. I just wasn't expecting you."

"Sorry," Eddie says again, still too close. "I'm Eddie. I ordered the groceries. Can I help? Please?"

Steve nods, and lets him reach in and grab his own case of water, while Steve picks up a few of the sacks. It's the least the guy can do, now that he's given him a headache. Literally.

Steve carries the sacks towards the porch, and leans over to put them down.

"Just come on in," Eddie says, and the door swings open, banging against the rubber doorstop on the wall.

"Don't bang the door!" comes the yell from the other room, and Steve peers into the house and sees an older guy sitting in a lift chair, with a walker in front of him.

"It's my door, old man, I'll bang it if I want to!" Eddie yells back, but there's no heat there. Steve can hear the teasing affection in his voice, and Steve can't help but smile.

"Don't come crying to me when there's a hole in your wall. Can you patch drywall? Because I can't right now," the guy, probably Eddie's dad the way they're bickering, snaps.

Eddie ignores the question from his dad.

"C'mon, this way," Eddie says, looking over his shoulder at Steve, as Steve lingers on the step.

Well, no. That's not. You don't go in stranger's houses. It's, like, rule one. And just good common sense. Which apparently Steve has none of, because he does follow Eddie into the house.

Robin will kill him, if this Eddie dude doesn't kill him first.

Steve puts the bags down on the counter, and heads back out to make another trip, Eddie following, "That's my uncle. He's just crotchety that he had to have his broken hip replaced, and now he's dependent on me for the near future."

Steve laughs, "Well, maybe don't bang the door and he won't be crotchety."

"You heard me. It's my door," Eddie says, smiling wide. He's pretty, very pretty. Long, dark hair tied up on top of his head, and heavy tattoos all along his arms, creeping up onto his neck.

He's honestly gorgeous.

Steve wonders if he's famous. He doesn't look familiar, but he looks like he could be famous. And his house is pretty fucking nice. This is L.A. Everybody is somehow famous in L.A. Except for Steve and Robin. They are definitely not famous.

Unless he's a tech bro? But he doesn't really look the type.

Either way, famous or not, Steve smiles back, can't not, not when he looks like that, then asks, teasing him, "Well do you know how to patch drywall?"

"Fuck no. But I could hire someone to fix it if the door knob somehow gets through the stopper."

"Well, at least you have a plan," Steve says, and Eddie laughs.

"He just hates the city. Hates my house. Hates everything. Except me. He loves me," Eddie says, as he grabs a case of Gatorade in one hand and the case of pork and beans in the other.

That's a lot of beans.

"That's a lot of beans," Steve says aloud, even if he doesn't mean to, even if he knows better than to comment on other people's groceries.

But Eddie laughs. "Tell me about it. Man likes what he likes, though. There's no changing him now."

Steve nods, grabbing another handful himself. It's nice that Eddie is taking care of his uncle.

"I'm not usually home much, hence all the groceries being ordered at once. Sorry about that. The cabinets were pretty bare, and I just didn't want to leave him home alone. He's still a fall risk, even if he keeps insisting he's not."

"That's okay, I understand. Big orders are more common than you'd think," Steve says, stepping back into the house that he's probably not going to get murdered in, thankfully.

Big orders are common, he's not lying about that, and more often than not, the tips offered for shopping hundreds of items, are less than you'd think. So, this order wasn't even out of the ordinary. Not really. That's why Steve took it. Some pay was better than none, especially today, that's for sure.

"Still. I'm grateful. You saved my ass today, man," Eddie answers.

"Well, it's my job," Steve says, and Eddie laughs.

They finish bringing everything in, and Steve nods at Eddie, "Okay. I think that does it."

"Here," Eddie says, and plucks an envelope off the counter, "I always worry that your tips in the app will get eaten up by the corporate assholes taking their cut off the top. So. Cash is king."

Steve takes the envelope. A tip he doesn't have to report? Why thank you, Eddie.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do this, or help bring it in, you know? But I appreciate both."

Eddie smiles, "Thank you for getting all that shit for us. We both appreciate it. Don't we Wayne?"

Wayne grumbles, but Steve's pretty sure he doesn't appreciate anything right now. He knows he wouldn't either, if he had broken his hip.

They say their goodbyes, and that's that. Steve will never see Eddie with the pretty eyes ever again.

At the next red light, Steve opens the envelope, expecting an extra ten or twenty bucks, maybe, but is shocked to see that there are three, insanely crisp one hundred dollar bills inside.

Holy shit.

That's way more than he usually makes in a single day. Two days, even. Just by delivering one order that he didn't think was gonna pay well at all.

And he got to look at a hot dude for a minute or two.

It's enough to cover what they were short on the rent, even. It might not have felt like a lot of money to Eddie, if he handed it over so readily, but it feels life-changing to Steve, right now. He remembers when three hundred bucks wasn't anything to him either, back when he had access to all his parents' money and all their unhappiness.

Now, it's different.

Robin's gonna shit.

Hot damn.

Thank you, Eddie.

"Booyah," Steve says, slapping the envelope on the counter.

Robin picks it up, and thumbs through it. It has Eddie's tip, and the few extra bucks he picked up during the rest of the day.

"Oh my god, no way! Where did you get this much cash, dingus? Are you turning tricks on the side now?" Robin asks, and Steve laughs.

"Yes. I thought I'd see what I could get for this ass," Steve says, turning and pushing his ass outwards in her direction.

She doesn't even look, but says, "Honestly, you might be worth more than this, as much as I hate to admit it," she comments dryly, and he smiles.

"No, some rich dude that ordered a bunch of heavy shit gave me a big tip," Steve explains.

"That's what she said," Robin teases, and her eyes are still wide as she looks at the bills in her hand, "Seriously, though. Thank you, rich, old dude," Robin says.

"Rich, but not old. I think he might have been famous in some way. YouTuber? Musician? I don't know. Nice house."

"Well. Describe him. Let's Google him," Robin says, wiggling her fingers in the air like she's stretching before this big task she's about to undertake.

Steve isn't sure searching for him is gonna work, but he lets her try, "Eddie. Probably a little older than us. Lots of tattoos."

"Was it Eddie Vedder? Please tell me you know who Eddie Vedder is, dingus?"

He knows who Eddie Vedder is, Jesus.

He gives her a look, "Not that old. And he was heavily tattooed. Is Eddie Vedder tattooed? Plus, this guy had dark eyes. Really dark. And no flannel."

She keeps looking on her phone, showing him options, "Him?"

No.

"Him?"

No.

"Him?"

"No. Not him." None of them are. Nobody she shows him is the same guy. So, he thinks of all the famous Eddies he knows of.

"Was it Eddie Van Halen?" Steve asks.

"Since he's dead, probably not," Robin says.

"Oh," Steve says. He didn't remember that. And he'd be too old, anyway. "We're looking for someone that looks kinda like young Eddie Van Halen. But with tattoos."

"You're obsessed with the tattoos. Was it Ed Sheeran? He has lots of tattoos," Robin asks, and he rolls his eyes.

"Robin. I think I know what Ed Sheeran looks like. This man was not ginger. Dark hair, dark eyes. And he was American. Maybe this guy is just rich? Not famous at all. It doesn't matter. I'll never see him again, anyway. We'll just thank him from afar for saving our asses today."

Robin sighs heavily, and puts her phone down, "If you'd got yourself a rich boyfriend we'd have it made all the time."

"Well, I'll work on that," he says sarcastically.

At least for now, they can pay another month's rent. That's a big win. Huge.

Maybe they can keep their heads above water, now.

And they do, by some sort of miracle. It was only three hundred bucks, but that was enough of a windfall to get them back in the black. And somehow they've stayed ahead since, for nearly two whole months. They haven't been this stable financially since they arrived in town.

Today, Steve flips through the different apps he drives for, trying to decide what order to take, when he sees a huge pizza order. The order is absurdly big, but the tip is decent, and picking up a stack of pizzas is infinitely easier than shopping a whole-ass grocery list. Steve's just seriously questioning if it'll all fit in his car.

He's gonna risk it.

Luckily, it does, but there are pizza boxes piled high in every seat and the rear. He definitely doesn't have hot bags for all of them. Hopefully he doesn't get caught in traffic.

The area seems familiar, but when Steve pulls up in front of the house, he knows why. Eddie. Only, the last time it was groceries, not food, that he delivered here.

There are vehicles everywhere. Clearly some sort of party, Steve thinks, to require this amount of pizza. And as soon as Steve steps out of the car, Eddie is out of the house, being trailed by three other, mostly leather-clad, guys. It'd look threatening, if Eddie wasn't smiling so big.

"Steve! When I saw Steve was my driver, I was like, maybe? But Steve's a common name, and there was no picture, so I didn't get my hopes up, but hey! It is you!" Eddie shouts, moving to the back of the car, "Watch your head this time, sweetheart," Eddie adds, and Steve is sure he's blushing.

He just stands there kind of dumbly, watching as Eddie commandeers his order right out of Steve's vehicle. Eddie's definitely unusual.

Eddie hands stack after stack of pizzas to the waiting guys, making them carry the bulk of it. And Steve watches as they ferry them off towards the house, Steve not having to even lift a finger this time.

Now, it's just him and Eddie standing on the curb.

Eddie holds out an envelope, and Steve looks at it.

"Man, thank you, but you tipped so well last time, you really don't have to again."

"I want to. You provide a service, I want to pay for that service," Eddie says, shaking the envelope, and Steve reluctantly takes it. Whatever is inside, will really help him and Robin stay ahead. It did last time. He's not really in a position to say no, even as well as they are doing at the moment.

"Thank you, truly," Steve says, tucking it into his pocket, "How's your Uncle Wayne's hip?"

Eddie smiles, so fucking wide, "You remembered! He's good. Great. Headed home soon, which I'm certain he's thrilled about. He's definitely never coming here again. I'll have to go home when I want to see him."

Steve laughs, "Glad to hear he's better, if annoyed."

"Do you want to stay?" Eddie asks, "We're having a little going away party for him. The more the merrier. Or, is your shift not over? You could come back?"

Steve doesn't have a shift, he can clock in and out to take orders as he pleases, and right now he'd really like to accept Eddie's offer. Even if it's probably just Eddie being polite. A pity ask, if you will.

"You don't have to invite your delivery driver into your house, you know? I could be a murderer."

"Unlikely," Eddie says, "and I'm not inviting my delivery driver. I'm inviting you, Steve."

Steve thinks over the options, and then nods. He can go in for a bit. If he's uncomfortable, he can get right back on the clock, no harm, no foul.

"Okay, let me park," Steve says, and he does just that. Putting the envelope of cash into the glove box without opening it. He doesn't want Eddie to see him scrounging through it. That feels tacky.

The pizza boxes are already open on every available flat surface in the kitchen and living room, and Eddie shoves a paper plate into Steve's hands, "Eat. Drink. Be merry."

Steve nods, and grabs a slice from the nearest box. He's not picky.

The house is full of people, and a lot of them seem vaguely famous. Like this is an industry thing, instead of a going away party for an old man with a newly not-broken hip.

Steve's worked enough of these events. They tried the catering thing for a while, and it was fine, for Steve anyway. Robin was just a little too clumsy to carry trays of dainty hors d'oeuvres around rooms filled with beautiful women in expensive dresses.

This isn't any of that though. This is cases of beer being chilled in kiddie pools, and dozens of pizzas. Fancy house, but not a fancy party. Steve spots Eddie's uncle sitting by himself on a couch, a beer resting on his knee and a paper plate of pizza on the arm rest.

Nobody else is sitting by him, so Steve goes over, "Can I sit?"

Wayne grumbles something that could be yes, could be no, Steve's not wholly sure, but he chooses to go ahead and sit down beside him.

"How's your hip?" Steve asks.

"Who are you?" Wayne asks, looking at him, suspicious.

"Steve. Uh, a delivery driver? I've brought a couple orders to you guys now. And Eddie invited me to stay."

Wayne nods, and goes back to his plate, "Hip's fine. Ready to go home."

"Where's home?" Steve asks, and he's not sure why. Clearly this man has no interest in making small talk with him.

"Indiana," Wayne says.

"Hey! For me, too. Small world."

"What're you doing in California, then?" Wayne asks. "Trying to get into show biz?"

"No. No way," Steve laughs, "Not for me. Uh, my best friend? Robin? She wanted to move out here. Wanted an adventure. And I wanted her to be happy. So. Here we are."

Wayne nods.

"Did you break your hip in Indiana and Eddie dragged you all the way out here?" Steve asks.

"No," Wayne answers, "I came to visit him and broke my hip before I got out of the airport. This is why I don't take vacations."

Steve smiles, "That's bad luck. Sorry."

Wayne nods his head, and Steve assumes that's the end of this conversation, and they sit in silence for a few moments.

"You're Steve? The one that brought the groceries a few weeks ago?" Wayne asks.

"That's me," Steve confirms.

"He's been talking about you non-stop. I was like, just order more groceries. So, he tried. It was never you. Now we have more food than he'll ever eat. Probably need to take it to the food pantry."

Steve grins, looking down at his plate. He isn't sure what Eddie would want to see him for. They definitely aren't on the same level.

Eddie is across the room, talking wildly with his hands.

"He's a good kid," Wayne says, quietly, "All this? Not him. Not all of him, anyway."

Steve looks back at Wayne, "What do you mean?"

"All this fancy shit. I'm proud of him that their music has done so well. But he's a good kid. And he just wants to be happy."

"Don't we all," Steve says.

"People take advantage. If you're here for the money, for the fame. Just. Move on. Eddie would give it to you. But he wants something more. Needs it, I think."

Steve thinks he could be something more. But he doesn't really have anything to offer Eddie in return, and maybe heeding Wayne's warning wouldn't be such a bad idea. What business does he have getting involved with a famous musician? None.

"Got it," Steve says. "Well, I'm glad your hip healed."

Wayne grumbles at that, and it makes Steve smile.

Steve puts his trash in the can, and looks around. The hallways are lined with platinum records, news articles, and he leans close to read the name. Eddie Munson. Corroded Coffin. He's never heard of them. He'll have to look them up on Spotify.

He doesn't belong here.

He takes one last look at Eddie.

Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin.

He tries to memorize his name, his band, so he can tell Robin later, solving their little mystery.

And then he ducks out of the front door, walking down the long driveway towards his car.

"Hey, Steve! Wait!" Eddie yells from behind him, and Steve slows.

"Hey, man. Thanks for having me," Steve says, turning to look at him.

"You're leaving already?"

Steve nods, "Work, you know."

Eddie nods, "Okay. Well. Come back. Anytime."

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve says, because he's pretty sure Eddie means that, "Enjoy your party. I'm glad Wayne's hip is good as new."

Steve turns to keep walking.

"Steve. Uh," Eddie says, and Steve considers pretending he didn't hear him. It'd be easy. The music is loud, probably pissing off the neighbors, but Eddie keeps talking. "Listen. I like you. Yeah, I know. I barely know you. But. We got good vibes, man. Can you not feel that?" Eddie asks, and when Steve turns to look back at him, he sees that Eddie's hands are shoved deep into his pockets.

He looks nervous.

He's famous, clearly rich, and beautiful. He could have anyone he wants. But he looks nervous talking to Steve. Who delivered the pizza. Make it make sense. Goddamn.

"Eddie," Steve says.

"Do you not feel it? If you don't, I'll leave you alone. I swear. But if you do…"

Steve nods, "I do. But I'm a delivery driver. I live in a tiny apartment that I share with my best friend. We barely make ends meet. You could have anyone. Why would you want me?"

"Because I like you," Eddie says, "and I want to get to know you. I didn't grow up with anything either. I'm not old money. I'm new money. Brand new. So. I'm not that out of touch yet."

Steve smiles. He's old money, he just doesn't have access to it anymore. Eddie's new money, and doesn't know how to handle it. They'd be quite the pair.

Eddie keeps talking, trying to wheedle a date out of him, "Just. Let me take you out. Just us. Let's see if there's anything here," he says, motioning his hand between the two of them.

Steve wants to, he really does.

"Okay," Steve finally says, "nothing fancy. A normal date."

"We can definitely do that," Eddie says, and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. "Let me give you my number."

Steve rattles off his number, Eddie texts him, and it buzzes against Steve's thigh. Already coming through, showing he's serious.

"Dinner? Movie? Bar? You name it," Eddie offers, eyes never leaving Steve's.

"Dinner's good. Nowhere fancy, though," Steve warns.

"Do I look like I like fancy places?" Eddie asks, looking down at his own clothes.

And Steve's eyes cut back to the gorgeous house.

Eddie laughs, "Fair enough. But I don't."

"Can you go out in public? Or are you too famous?" Steve asks. "I'm not familiar with your band, sorry."

Eddie laughs, "I think I like that you aren't, sweetheart. That means that maybe you like me, just for me. And I can go out. Nobody cares about me all that much."

Steve nods. Alright. They can go on one date, and see how it goes.

Well. That's how it goes.

Very, very well.

So well, that Steve's now satisfied and loose in Eddie's bed, when Eddie laughs, rolling into Steve's shoulder, face pressed to his skin. Lips kissing his shoulder, biting at him gently. Playing with him.

"What?" Steve asks, smiling as Eddie slides his hand into his, squeezing. "What's so funny."

"I tipped my driver," Eddie chokes out, laughing around each word, pressing his crotch into Steve's thigh.

Steve laughs, looking down at this ridiculous man clinging to him, "That you did. And damn well."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

#a stranger summer #week fifteen #prompt: modern au #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #wayne munson #stranger things fic #robin buckley #stranger things 4 #steddie #platonic stobin #steve x eddie #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: a stranger summer

442 notes · View notes

vanteguccir · 9 months ago

Text

── ୨୧ !　𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗟𝗢𝗣𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗜𝗔

　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N has suffered with an eating disorder for years, but lately, - because of the some "fans" and social media - her insecurities have been taking her to a more than dangerous path, which she couldn't get out without help.

WARNING: anorex!a, eating disorder, comparison, self sabotage, self hatred, panic attack, pure angst... PLEASE read with caution!

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Atelophobia; the fear of not being good enough.

This was one of the millions of fears and problems that haunted Y/N's mind. Her head convinced her a long time ago that she simply wasn't enough; for her school teachers, for her classmates, for her friends, for her parents, past boyfriends... not even for herself.

This led her to listen to what others said and thought about herself since she was very young, the desire to be perfect and within society's standards in all aspects of a human being consumed her; personality, thoughts, knowledge... body.

She was told all the time how she should behave, act, and be. She was just a child, but that didn't seem to matter to those who did it, clogging her up with responsibilities and comparisons.

One thing led to another. Her desperation to be the best at everything started to include her own body. "Fat" was the first word people used to describe her. She had no control over the situations around her, but she had control over her weight.

Y/N was always the biggest girl in her class, and her classmates seemed to love reminding her of that; often being excluded from work groups, forgotten in groups of friends, or not chosen in any team during Physical Education classes.

Until the year when everything changed. During the school vacation, she decided to change, intending to return to school as a new girl. The new cycle started well, Y/N saw a nutritionist, cutting out all fatty foods from her routine and consuming only healthy ones. She started going to the gym daily, doing the recommended training time. All of this led her to lose a significant amount of weight.

Soon, the vacation was over, and with that, the negative comments from her classmates were replaced by positive comments. Girls asking what she had done to lose weight like that, searching for advice and seeing her as a miracle. Boys saying how changed and prettier she looked.

How could she not fall in love with her own illness?

So, that made her feel good. Too good... her mind began to yearn to become thinner, more beautiful, just to hear more from others. And then the healthy diet and the one hour training at the gym were no longer enough for her. She needed more if she wanted to be better.

Y/N then intensified her training, staying at the gym for 2 hours per day, doing more reps with more weight. She crossed out several foods from the list of permitted that her nutritionist had made, choosing for herself the ones she thought were ideal, until it had almost nothing left.

Her brain self-sabotaged so that she wouldn't go out with her friends, because they would definitely want to eat somewhere and she wouldn't be able to.

She no longer participated in family dinners, creating excuses so as not to be forced to sit at the table and eat.

Her mind convinced her that she wasn't thin enough to satisfy her boyfriends' sexual and non-sexual desires, which made her pull away during or at the beginning of any relationship she had until the guy got tired, or she simply ended it.

She spent hours on the internet, searching for sensational diets that reduced daily calories to 500 or less, promising extraordinary weight loss. In addition to getting on the scale at least 4 times a day, hoping for a miracle every time she looked at the numbers.

Y/N replaced her eating schedules with random hobbies like drawing, learning a new instrument, or picking flowers from her garden to make flower crowns, occupying her time and mind.

Some things scared her, her period hadn't come in months, clumps of hair fell out every time she ran her hands through it. Her vision went dark at least 3 times a day. Her body shivered from the complete cold of her insides, and her stomach hurt more than usual.

But she had to suffer them alone since she had no one to talk to about, always alone.

Until Y/N met Matt.

Matt was the boy who made her want to get better. He encouraged her to look for a hospital that fit her preferences, where Y/N finally began to receive psychiatric and psychological care.

Her diet changed for the better, into foods that Y/N saw as safe. She did not abandon the gym but reduced the weight and time, maintaining her training just for the health of her muscles, as she had lost a lot of lean mass during her worst moment.

The calculator in her head finally stopped. Her eyes started seeing food as just food and not as the enemy. Her stomach craved for all the snacks she loved, and she finally ate them, without feeling guilty.

Matt was so thoughtful about her entire situation, having suffered himself with extreme anxiety from a young age. He could tell he understood in parts what it was like to live with a mental illness.

So he helped her maintain her healthy diet and eat all her daily meals within her limit - often opting to eat together in their room, since he knew the trepidation Y/N still felt about doing it in front of other people.

Matt praised her in every possible situation, trying not to be extreme but to show his intense love and support for the girl. All of that was helping her a lot.

Until it wasn't.

Y/N and Matt never hid their relationship from the public, the girl knew how famous her boyfriend was and how difficult it could be to keep their relationship hidden, they would be seen together at one time or another.

So it wasn't surprising that the girl appeared in some of the triplets' pictures sometimes, and that's what happened that Friday.

As usual, Nick posted a photo dump on the triplets Instagram to promote the publication of their new car video, and one of the photos was of Matt and Y/N, specifically one in which the two were sitting on the couch in their living room, the girl had her legs draped over Matt's thighs, while his tattooed arm wrapped tightly around her waist, huge smiles decorating their faces.

It was a cute photo, but apparently, that wasn't what fans thought.

While Matt and his brothers were in the kitchen, preparing healthy snacks - a habit they built through the girl, but which in the end helped everyone -, Y/N was lying on her bed in the room she shared with Matt, wrapped in too-warm covers, holding her phone with her right hand while her left hand wrapped around her stomach in an almost painful grip.

Her thumb scrolled through the comments screen beneath the post. Almost everyone there talking about her picture with Matt.

"Matt can do so much better than her"

"I really don't know what he saw in her"

"She's going to end up crushing him like that"

"I'll pay for the gym for her if that's the price for Matt to have a worthy girlfriend"

And so on, it was as if they knew all of Y/N's weaknesses.

Some fans of them could be cruel when they wanted to, and Y/N knew this by heart since seeing Nick crying several times because he was body shamed, or when she noticed Chris being quieter than usual after reading comments saying how loud he was and how that was unbearable.

Her heart was crushed every time she saw Matt suffer in silence until he couldn't hold it in any longer and finally cried in her lap for hours after reading people saying how insignificant and quiet he was in the videos.

Even though a huge mass of the fandom loved them with all their hearts and took care of them as much as the distance of a phone screen allowed, it still wasn't enough to swallow the hate comments.

But when it came to Y/N, more than half of the fandom turned against her. Maybe out of envy, but it was obvious that the girl didn't see it that way. She was convinced that they were right.

Her heart tightened as if someone was crushing it with their bare hands. The air seemed to escape her lungs, and the lunch she ate hours before seemed to want to go up her throat. Her fingers trembled as she held her stomach, feeling everything she had and didn't have there. Her eyes began to water, her lips quivering from the tears that wanted to escape.

Y/N quickly moved her finger to the back button, hoping to break out of the horrible cycle she was about to enter. A loud sob escaped her lips when, upon finally leaving the post, her feed reloaded, and a picture of a model that Y/N followed and admired appeared.

Comparison was her biggest enemy.

Negative thoughts about herself began to pollute her mind, everything around her becoming a fog. The sounds coming from the kitchen became muffled to her ears. Y/N's right hand - which was holding her phone - was gripping the device in such a way that her fingers turned white. Painful sobs escaped her mouth as her eyes remained fixed on the woman's perfect figure.

Why can't I be like her?

The longing for the sensations she felt when she starved hit her chest hard. The desire to want to be as thin as before - or more - filled her.

It didn't take long, and soon, the bedroom door was slowly opened, Matt's silhouette appearing behind it. His face was lit up with a smile - probably because of some joke his brothers made - while his right hand held a plate with two sandwiches.

His cheerful expression was replaced by a frown of concern. Matt quickly closed the door with his feet, walking towards the bed, haphazardly placing the plate on the nearest bedside table before sitting down on the mattress.

His hands flew to Y/N's waist, stopping over her own hand that was squeezing her skin with a force that was sure to leave it bruised.

The girl seemed to wake up from her trance, lifting her head and meeting Matt's calming - but worried - gaze. She cried harder as she imagined what her boyfriend would be thinking of her now.

Automatically, her mind started to play her current state, messy hair, swollen and red face, skin wet with tears, eyes half closed and mouth open, allowing sobs to escape from there.

"M-Matt-" Her sentence was cut off by a sob, her eyes closing tightly.

Matt took a deep breath, trying to process what to do next. His left hand - the one that didn't cover hers - slowly took the phone, taking it out of his girl's death grip. He glanced briefly at the screen, automatically understanding what was happening before locking it and putting the device aside.

He moved his body so that it was closer to hers, resting his hand on her spine and guiding her until she laid her head on his chest, caressing the area below his fingers.

Matt felt his heart break with every tremble that rocked the body beneath his caused by the sobs. If he could take that pain away from his girlfriend, he would.

"It's okay, baby, let it out. I'm right here." He cooed, his fingers caressed the tangled strands of her hair lightly, stroking the area while moving his upper body back and forth, slowly calming his girlfriend.

"Ma-Matty-" Y/N's voice was weak, wobbly from the pain in her heart.

Matt removed his hand from hers for a few seconds, stretching it to the bedside table - where the plate was -, taking the bottle of water that Y/N always filled before going to sleep. He opened the lid in one quick movement, bringing it close to his girl's face.

"Come on, my love. Sit down for a moment and take a sip of water. Please." The boy asked in a soft voice, helping Y/N straighten her posture before bringing the bottle closer to her lips, helping her take a few small sips of the contents.

He closed the bottle after making sure she was satisfied, placing it on the mattress before turning his attention to Y/N again. He brushed away the strands of hair from her face, tucking them behind her ear.

"What if they're right?" She asked in a whisper, catching her bottom lip between her teeth in an attempt to keep from crying.

"No, they aren't." Matt's tone was convincing, as if he was absolutely sure of what he was saying. "You are not worse than others because of your weight. You look great as you are. Your body is perfect, do you know why? Because he's healthy enough to carry you around and take care of you." The boy held her hands lightly, stroking the back of her fingers gently as he looked into her eyes. "The recovery journey is not easy, I remember the words your psychologist said to me when we had that session together. I imagine your head when you see clothes getting tighter, and these comments certainly make you want to give up, I know you, baby."

He paused momentarily, watching her reactions carefully.

Y/N knew that, recovery was hard work. Not wanting to die was hard work.

"Recovery is not a race. You don't have to feel guilty about taking less or more time than you originally thought or having relapses from time to time. This is part of the process, and I want you to understand this. You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my entire life. When I look at the most beautiful things, I remember you. In the pink tulips of the flower shop across the street, in the Cassiopeia constellation, in the bees that fly in our garden and in the greenest tree I have ever seen." Y/N let out a tearful laugh when she heard him mention the tree, knowing his immense love for nature. "Because you're pretty like them."

"I-I'm sorry." The girl whispered, sniffling then lowering her gaze in shame. "I... I saw the photos that Nick posted, and there were comments..." She shook her head, closing her eyes tightly.

"Oh baby." He leaned slightly over Y/N, sealing his lips over her warm forehead. "If you want to apologize, let me do it. If you went through this now, it was because of me."

"No, Matt. It was never and will never be your fault." Y/N shook her head, wiping her eyes momentarily with the sleeve of her - his - hoodie, sniffling slightly before taking one of Matt's hands, intertwining their fingers. "You don't control people, much less through the internet. They will always talk a lot because they are behind a screen that protects them, but that will never be your fault. I would rather go through this a thousand times and have you with me than never have you again."

"I understand." He paused momentarily. "Please, don't let it get to that point again while you're alone. If you see something that upsets you or makes you feel bad, turn it off instantly and call me. I want to be there to help you. I want to be there for you." The brunette asked, staring at her eyes.

Y/N sighed, nodding her head and leaning slightly closer to him, resting her forehead on Matt's shoulder, exhaling the softening scent and perfume that exuded from the fabric of the hoddie on his body.

Her eyes burned from the tears she shed, closing them tightly to prevent more from falling, her heart still feeling sore from everything.

"If you want, we can contact that psychologist again, the one who helped you throughout the process at the hospital." Matt lowered his head, bringing his face closer to the back of Y/N's head, pressing his lips against his girl's hair, closing his eyes as he felt the warmth of her body close to his. "I want to attend some sessions just like we did last time, so I understand how I can help you this time."

Y/N felt her heart warm instantly, her free hand snaking to Matt's thigh closest to her, stroking the covered skin lightly.

"Okay."

Matt loved Y/N more than he loved himself, and he would make sure that she understood that she wasn't alone anymore.

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chris @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

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safination · 4 months ago

Text

The Second Time Around

|Masterlist|

Alastor shakes his head, chucking a little. Each puff of his laughter cranes your head up and down. “Mother would strangle me if she learned what I’m doing with you,” he says. “Oh, she would go bonkers and grab my ears, telling me I was raised better than this.” “What exactly are you doing to me besides lulling me into sleep after filling my belly with the most exquisite food.” “We’re living together.” You pull away, looking at him to motion to the house. “Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but we’ve been living together for the past two years. Well, ten if you count our life up top,” you say with a snicker. “Living together is the least sinful thing we’ve done together!” Alastor shakes his head, pushing you up to your feet. TLDR: Alastor prides himself in being a gentleman, yet here he is now, living with his not-really wife but still his wife without rings around your fingers. It’s time he changed that.

Just a small little fic. I'm working on some requests right now, so to those who requested, I didn't forget about you, don't worry <3

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Alastor adjusts his hold, securing your body with a firm hold as he carries you on his back. The pads of his thumb go up and down the skin of your leg, and each movement lulls you deeper into him.

Strands of his hair brush your cheek when you rest your chin on his shoulder. They caress your skin every time Alastor takes a step, humming a song as he walks down the street. It’s a familiar tune.

Night-time air blows cold, even in Hell. Despite already wearing Alastor’s coat, the breeze forces you to sink deeper into his back. It’s warm—he’s warm.

The pads of your fingers draw circles on his dress-shirt as you press yourself into him. Closer…the desire to be closer never ends. It’s like a never-ending fire that consumes you with every touch. How unfair of Alastor to hold this kind of power over you.

It's funny—hilarious, even.

The same scent of detergent emanates from your clothes, but there’s this undertone in Alastor’s coat. It’s a whole mix of different scents but to you, it’s just Alastor. Nothing less and nothing more. How can the same batch of laundry produce such a different smell?

There’s a metaphor somewhere there that Alastor can probably find. Your clothes. His clothes. The same smell of laundry detergent, but each piece holds a different whiff.

You tighten your grip on Alastor’s shoulders, steading yourself to lean back and stare at the sky.

The sudden shift of weight causes Alastor to stumble back. His leg shoots out to keep your bodies stable. Still, you lean your head back to watch the reddened sky. Clouds filter across its red canvas, prompted by the cooled winds of Hell.

“Dearest…if we fall, I will blame you.” Alastor scowls, and the faintest of static emits due to his annoyance. It’s something he’s still learning to control, and you let this offense pass…for now.

“We?” you echo, smiling into his shoulder. “Does this mean you would fall into the ground with me, my love?”

“Perhaps…,” Alastor begins, keeping his eyes ahead, “…I…I should skip a few steps and drop you right now. Oh, that would be quite the hilarious sight! Just the thing to end the night.”

A laugh escapes into the air and echoes across the dirty streets. You crash your weight forward, pressing your chest against his back.

Alastor stumbles forward, catching himself just in time to keep your bodies from falling. “I will actually drop you if you continue this childish behavior of yours.”

You settle yourself on Alastor’s back and press a small kiss on his shoulder. “My feet are starting to feel better. You don’t need to carry me,” you begin but wrap your arms around his neck, “my darling…my sweetest, sweetheart.”

“It’s you who insisted on wearing these blasted shoes. I told you to wear practical ones.” Alastor makes a face, pointing his nose into the air…but still, he presses his lips down on the skin of your arm. “I would say, ‘It paints me to tell you so’ but we both know that isn’t true.”

“Then don’t say it.”

“Dearest.”

“Yes?”

“I told you so,” Alastor says, and despite him looking away, you can practically see the smile on his face. “It doesn’t pain me to do so at all. Actually, it brings me great joy knowing I was correct.”

“I hate you.” The words are mumbled into his back.

“Now, now,” Alastor says. “We both know that’s a lie.”

“Al…I love you.”

“I know,” he tells you, pressing another kiss on your arm. “I love you.”

“That’s sweet but if you truly loved me, you would have told me we’d be dancing after dinner,” you say, banging your forehead on his back with a small huff. It’s a poor attempt to hide your shy smile. “Go on then, drop me if carrying your wife bothers you so much.”

Alastor keeps his eyes ahead as he walks, angling his head to connect with you. “That’s quite the ridiculous notion, considering we’re already home.”

You try to slip out of Alastor’s hold.

“Dearest, we’re still at the gate,” he says, shaking your body to force you to wrap around his neck tightly. “We haven’t reached the door yet—sit still.”

“Al, I can walk the rest of the way,” you tell him but still…you settle back into his hold. “The door is right there.”

Alastor keeps silent, intent on walking to the entrance of your home with you on his back.

He struts past the garden, and walks straight up the porch, landing you gently on the rocking chair. The pads of his fingers trail down your leg until they catch the soles of your shoes. Alastor slips them off your feet, revealing the red spots that mark your skin.

Alastor kneels before you, one leg propped up like a stool for your foot. Ha! It’s quite the sight to see the Radio Demon on his knees for his wife.

The pressure he uses to massage your feet brings instant relief to the buzzing of pinched nerves. His thumb glides over a particular aching spot that forces a hum of delight out your lips.

Maybe wearing the wrong shoes wasn't such a bad thing…and maybe, you should wear the wrong shoes more often.

With Alastor’s gentle attention, your feet stop aching.

Alastor takes your hand, pulling you to stand off the rocking chair. He takes the seat from you, but before you can begin to huff, Alastor pulls you on top of his lap. Your legs lean against the arm rest as you curl between his legs and into his hold, pressing deeper into his chest.

You flick the ends of his bowtie, and take the monocle resting on his face. The round glass connects to a chain. “Do you actually need this?”

“Sometimes.” Alastor rests his chin on your head.

The monocle distorts your vision as you bring it closer and farther to check the grade. “You didn’t need this when you were alive.”

“That’s because I had glasses.” Alastor snatches his monocle, and places it back on his face. “You smudge it.”

“I liked those glasses,” you say. “They were very handsome, and suited you very, very, handsomely.”

Alastor hums, rocking the chair to bring you into a lull. The breeze of the night forces you to pull his coat closer around your shoulders, eyes drooping as you settle between Alastor’s legs. This moment will pass, and soon Alastor will force you to your feet and into proper clothes then into a proper bed.

That’s later…this is now.

And right now, you’ll inhale the soft scent of sulfur from Hell’s air while chasing that precious mix of Alastor’s scent. And right now, you’ll lean into the heavy hand that soothes your back, grounding you into his arms.

Alastor presses a kiss on your forehead. “My dearest.”

“Hmmm?” you say, letting the lull take hold.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” He brushes a palm across your head, patting the strands that stick out. “I need to know if you had fun.”

“It was the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“What exactly are you doing to me besides lulling me into sleep after filling my belly with the most exquisite food.”

“We’re living together.”

You pull away, looking at him to motion to the house. “Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but we’ve been living together for the past two years. Well, ten if you count our life up top,” you say with a snicker. “Living together is the least sinful thing we’ve done together!”

Alastor shakes his head, pushing you up to your feet.

He presses a kiss on your ring finger, letting his lips linger across the skin. “I am a gentleman,” Alastor tells you, and each word brushes your skin. “My mother raised me to act with honor…yet, here I am living in our house, sharing a bed with you, all without being married.”

“Alastor, we are married,” you say. “Was tonight’s dinner not meant to celebrate our anniversary?”

“You’re forgetting that our vows ended with, ‘till death do us part’,” Alastor says, wagging his finger at you. “I died…and so did you. Death parted us, yet it also brought me to you once more.”

Alastor lowers to his knees, your hand still secured around his own.

There’s a smile on your lips that you don’t remember smiling, and the words tumble out on their own. “Yes.”

“My dear,” Alastor starts, sighing. “I haven’t even said anything. The ring isn’t even in my hands yet.”

“Okay…okay,” you say, laughing into the air. “Sorry—go on, please. I won’t interrupt you.”

“Let me finish.” Alastor reaches into his pocket, bringing out a small box. It’s just the right size to hold a ring. “Will you—”

“Yes.”

“—let me finish?”

You flash your most innocent smile. “I’m sorry. I promise to stay silent.”

“From this day on, I never wish to be parted from you,” Alastor tells you. “Death or no death. I am to be your husband, and stay in this house until eternity ends.”

You squeeze his hand. “Yes.”

“Dearest…,” Alastor says with a warning tone, but squeezes your hand back. “Will you do me the honor of re-marrying me?”

“Yes,” you say once again. “Always…I will always say yes to you.”

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek, allowing his lips to linger for what seems like a lifetime—the same lifetime you’ll spend together once more.

The next kiss lands on your other cheek.

A kiss to the forehead.

A kiss on the edges of your lips.

Alastor runs his thumb over the soft skin of your mouth. Breaths mix together with small huffs. The intoxication of his nose trailing up your face consumes your very being.

The back of his fingers caresses your face until they reach to tuck a strand behind your ear. His touch shifts to cup your face as the pads of his thumb swipe across your cheek. It’s over…you’ve fully lost yourself into him.

His lips brush above your own, torturing you slowly.

The hold on the back of your neck brings you closer until your noses crash into one another, and your forehead presses against each other. His mouth grazes yours, but never fully connects. Inches of breath separate your kiss, and every exhale only pulls you deeper into madness.

The lids of your eyes flutter to a close when he finally kisses you. Kiss after kiss after kiss. Your arms snake around his chest, pulling him closer into a hug.

The kisses he blesses you with are slow, as if he savors each and every one. Alastor kisses you like there’s no place he would rather be than pulling flush against his body like he was carved to fit you into his space.

Alastor slips the ring around your finger.

You’ve said ‘Yes’ once before, and you’ve said ‘Yes’, this second time around. The answer will always be the same throughout any lifetime or any world.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Tell me what you think! I quite like this short one. It's sweet and just hits the feels for me. School has been killing me. BUT DON'T WORRY I REALLY HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOUR REQUESTS. THEY'RE DRAFTED AND WILL BE COMPLETED

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x wife!reader #alastor #alastor x you #hazbin hotel x you #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #alastor x wife reader #human alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel fanfiction #Hazbin Hotel #hazbin hotel imagines

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withleeknow · 6 months ago

Text

whiskers.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff; reader has whisker dimples bc this is self-indulgent as hell, written in one sitting and v unedited lol it is once again 2am and i am half asleep. the fake cut mimo has on his cheek in the pics is kind of exactly where my whiskers are lmfao word count: 0.6k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

"whiskers," minho says, pulling your gaze away from the laptop in front of you.

you roll your eyes half-heartedly, though you do put the device to the side to give minho your undivided attention. he's looking at you expectantly but patiently, like he's just asking you to give him a little love.

this isn't something that you've always liked about yourself, your whisker dimples as the internet has so lovingly deemed them these days. they would come out when you smile, or when your face twists into an unpleasant scowl. as a kid, people often found it odd how you had dimples so high up in your cheeks when others had them around their smile lines. you always felt a little different, a little weird whenever someone pointed this out even if it was only in harmless fun.

when minho first became aware of it, he was absolutely fascinated. he'd made you laugh so hard that you couldn't contain the bright grin that spread across your face as complete and utter joy took over you. you were clutching his arm, giggling at the story he was telling you when the dimples showed themselves, the cute indentations settling on top of your cheeks as if they were the physical manifestation of the happiness you felt inside.

you remember what minho did. he had cupped your face gently in his hands, then traced the soft lines with his fingers as he marveled at you. "you look like a cat," he had said, and you didn't really know what to make of it. it was so early in your relationship that you weren't sure if he was complimenting you or making fun of you like the others had.

but then the stars in his eyes twinkled a little brighter, the delighted quirk of his lips expressing his wonder better than words could. he had kissed you right there, softer and sweeter than he ever did in the short time that you had known each other back then, and you quickly learned that oh, maybe this little detail about yourself that you were embarrassed of your whole life was a good thing after all.

you still don't know the reason minho likes them so much. to you, they've always been something to ignore as best as you can, something to not draw attention to because you don't want people to highlight that maybe you're a little different from everybody else.

even as you sit here, years later with the love of your life who's got a very particular request for you, you're still not entirely sure why he's obsessed with your odd dimples enough to want to see them almost every day. it's a mystery to you and yet, it makes you feel all warm and bubbly inside whenever he sends this simple demand your way.

you adhere to his request nonetheless. when the dimples appear, you watch as a smile blooms on his face, growing bigger and bigger until it makes his eyes crinkle. like an instant boost of serotonin, you think.

minho traces them with gentle fingers, gazing at you in awe as if it's the first time he's seeing you like this. when he leans closer, you can't help but meet him halfway until his lips are tentatively brushing your cheeks. you can't help your own smile either, when it deepens and only accentuates the small moon-shaped dents which he kisses. five times on each side, and then he's peppering kisses all over your face while you laugh and accept the sudden burst of love.

sometimes he calls them whiskers, sometimes he calls them moons.

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

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pomefioredove · 4 months ago

Note

HII i saw your event! reading the prompts list gave me too many ideas to send but OKAY maybe you can pick whichever stands out to you the most:

"you're a bad idea, but i like bad ideas" with jamil

or any of the following lines with vil:

"your lips would look so much better on mine" / "smiling is the second best thing you can do with your lips" (sorry you've written so many vil requests already but i just CANNOT get enough of this man)

TYSM in advance!

since we have another jamil fic coming soon, I will do another vil. for the vil fans

summary: "smiling is the second best thing you can do with your lips." type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, established relationship, fluffy, vil being a teeny bit protective

"You should smile more; it looks good on you,"

The first year's comment sits in the back of your mind all day.

It had started off as an innocent group photo with your class, and ended with a Octavinelle student you hadn't really spoken to dropping that and walking off.

You assumed it was supposed to be a compliment, but something about it didn't sit well with you.

"Do you think I don't smile enough?" you ask, carefully studying your reflection in the vanity.

The dark room is lit by various sweet-smelling candles, warm light sending flickering shadows across your face.

"Hm?" Vil hums, putting out the match he'd been meticulously lighting each with.

The scene is perfectly romantic. Your boyfriend doesn't often get whole nights off, but he takes full advantage of the ones he does.

"Of course you smile enough," he says, his eyes turning to you. "...Why?"

"No reason," you lie, though you know it's useless. He can read you like the back of his hand by now.

Vil walks over to the vanity and pulls you to your feet. "You're a terrible liar," he brings you to the bed and pats the spot next to him for you to sit. "Now..."

"Tell me what's wrong, hm? I won't be able enjoy myself if I know something is bothering you."

Ugh. You can't tell if you hate or love how he can see right through you.

"It's nothing. I'm over it, anyway,"

He raises an eyebrow, almost amused by your deflection. "So someone said something, hm? About your smile?"

You're not getting out of this one any time soon. You sigh.

"Nothing... bad, per se. Someone just... tastefully implied I don't smile as much as they think I should,"

Somehow, that seems to bother him. His smile drops, and he goes quiet for a few seconds too long.

"And why is it any of their concern?" Vil asks.

"...Tsk. You would assume the other housewardens would teach their students some manners..."

You observe his expression carefully, watching it go from nonchalance to unease, to annoyance, and then back to neutral with a little sigh.

"...And they upset you?"

"Not really. I was just a little self conscious about it,"

"Don't be," Vil says, cupping your face in his hands. "You don't owe them any of your attention. Besides..."

A faint smirk graces his lips, and he draws you a little closer.

"Smiling is the second best thing you can do with your lips,"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #queued

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natailiatulls07 · 1 year ago

Note

Hi Ivan you please do teenage reader is Jules bianchi daughter and Charles raised her as he’s her godfather and she’s his pride and joy and grew up basically at the paddock so all the drivers knew her and are like uncles to her and there all wrapped around her finger cause of how sweet she is ( she’s like sunshine ) and can you do them and Charles reaction to her getting her first boyfriend?

Marguerite

Jules Bianchi x Daughter!reader

Charles Leclerc x little sister!reader

Summary - Charles’ little sister, is now dating but that’s not much of a celebration to her brother and the three other drivers

Warnings - swearing in french, probably horrible french translations lmao, Jules Bianchi's death, funeral

A/n - Charles and Y/n aren’t blood related but consider each other brother and sister

Marguerite

2015

Front row in Nice Cathedral sat Y/n Bianchi. She was dressed in a lacy black dress, her hair in curls tied up in a half up half down hairstyle. Beside her was Charles Leclerc, her older brother. He kept glancing over at the nine year old girl.

In front of them sat her fathers coffin surrounded with daisies, his favourite flower. It was also what Jules nicknamed Y/n.

'Marguerite'

She was playing with the lace, this isn't the right place for a nine year old to be. Outside were a plethora of media and press, ready to capture the drivers attending the funeral, Jules' coffin or Y/n Bianchi. There was little to no pity for the young girl on this hard for her from the media or press.

"Charlie?" Y/n's small and unsure voice pulled his attention to her. "Who are all these people?" Pointing to the many people attending the funeral around the cathedral, Y/n made a face of confusion.

Charles was quick to look around the cathedral. "They are here to pay their respect to papa...just like us" He took a deep breath, trying to keep composure for the nine year old. "Papa is a very loved and respected man by many"

Y/n knew of the love and respect her father had, but still couldn't understand that. "But they didn't know him like we do?" It was true, these people don't know Jules like his daughter and godson does.

They didn't know that he was doing formula one for Y/n, they didn't know that he was both terrified and proud of Charles for following in his path. They didn't know this stuff, personal stuff.

The Monégasque loved how observant she was, he loved that she could seperate personal love and platonic love. "That's why you don't need to give them anything today, just focus on loving and saying goodbye to papa..." Nodding her head, Y/n listened to Charles' request.

"Focus on papa..."

2023

After Jules' death, Charles' practically adopted his daughter. Only a couple months after the funeral, Y/n moved in with Charles. He became her legal guardian.

Y/n, now seventeen years old, was sat at a lunch table with Alex, Charles' current girlfriend and Rebecca, Carlos' current girlfriend. On any race weekend, she would attach herself mostly to the two girls and looked up to them a lot .

"So babes any more news on that boy, what was his name? Tom?" Alex asked curiously. With Charles being Y/n's legal guardian, Alex would take on the role of big sister and would give anything to talk about the seventeen years olds love life.

"Oh my god yeah! Has it moved any more from the dms?" Rebecca would chime in, she was also a great lover of listening about Y/n's love life.

"Well..." Y/n dragged this bit out, seeing how anticipated the two older women were getting. "We've been on a few dates, Charlie doesn't know though"

Both Alex and Rebecca were quick to gasp, drawing the attention of those around them before snickering slightly. "Oh and when I asked what we were, he said that I'm his and he's mine!"

All three females were grinning at that last piece of information and Alex was about to say something when the two ferrari boys had made their arrival at the table. Both dressed in the racing suits, red head to toe.

"What we talking about ladies?" Charles asked excitedly, giving Alex a quick peck on the lips before checking on his adopted sister who was trying her hardest not to laugh.

"Oh nothing! Just asking Y/n how she's finding college at the moment..." The oldest of the ladies, Rebecca, spoke up and quickly covered up their previous conversation with a lie.

Y/n let out a nervous laugh, glad that Rebecca had managed to cover it all up. "Yeah, it um...great at the moment, love it"

She was about to say something else but Charles was quick and swift to step in and essential boost about the girls success in college. "Better than great! Marguerite is at the top of her class, studying media and communication!"

'Marguerite'

It warmed Y/n's heart to know that Charles had carried on her papas legacy.

"Oh wow! Go on Y/n!" The tall spanard celebrated, clearing proud of her success much like his teammate. "Top of the class! You really are a smart lady, you gonna conquer the world!"

The whole table laughed at Carlos’ enthusiasm to praise the seventeen year olds success in her studies.

It was two am in the morning, Charles and Alex were asleep in their room however the teenager was not.

No, she was pulling on her Jordans. Wearing a white and baby pink tracksuit, Y/n grabbed her phone before quickly and quietly rushing to the front door of the apartment.

She was going to hang out at Toms house, yet Charles still didn’t know. Also the Monégasque had a curfew for Y/n, two am was much past that curfew by now.

Y/n went to unlock the apartment door but when she accidentally dropped her keys on the hardwood floors, she panicked. The walls are paper thin.

Of course this meant that she had woken up Charles and Alex. “Fuck!” Y/n quietly cursed herself for ruining her plan.

As she went to pick up the keys, the hallway light flickered on. “Y/n? What are you doing up?” It was Charles. “And dressed?”

“C-Charlie…hi” He gave her a confused expression, clearly not oblivious to her nervousness.

“Y/n what’s going on?” Charles asked again, more firm now.

“I um…nothing” Y/n replied to his question horribly, it was evident that she was lying. He held a intimidating glance over the girl, prompting her to open up and spill. “I was sneaking out! I’m sorry Charlie!” She pleaded.

“Where to? A party?”

“No…um my boyfriends house…” She knew it would come out eventually so it was better to rip off the bandaid and fast.

Silence filled the hallway, Charles looked shocked and unsure of how to react whilst Y/n felt ashamed and anxious.

Another voice filled the air, Alex. “How about we all go to bed, yeah? Talk about this in the morning” She waited for the two to nod, Y/n much quicker than Charles but he did still nod. “Y/n, I suggest you text Tom and tell him you can’t come over”

“Okay…” Charles look even more shocked and angry when he realised that Alex must of known about this the whole time.

Waking up the next morning, Y/n could hear distant voices from the kitchen. Getting out of bed and making her way to the kitchen, the voices became more identifiable.

There were four, all with various accents. Monégasque, Spanish, British and finally Dutch. That could mean only four people.

As she walked into the kitchen dining room, it was confirmed to Y/n that she had Charles, Carlos, Lando and Max there, all seemingly waiting for her.

"Morning..." It hadn't seemed to click in her mind as to why they were all there staring at her disapprovingly.

It was only when she realised that Alex was not there and the usual bubbily behaviour the men would have was no where to be seen that the penny dropped. "Oh..."

"You wanna tell the guys whats happened?" The sarcastic tone Charles had set the tone for the rest of the conversation. Plus it was bullshit. The Monégasque would have already told them the whole story, it was evident on their faces.

"Go on Y/n, do tell..." The third time world champion pushed.

Looking down, Y/n had now instantly found her acrylic nalls very interesting. "I was sneaking out...and Charles caught me..." The seventeen year old mumbled.

"Where were you sneaking out to?"

"My boyfriends place..." The girl finally looked up and was met once again with disappointed facial expressions. "I'm sorry, I know you like me dating but he's a really sweet guy..." Y/n tried to reason with them but before anyone else could say anything, there was a knock on the front door.

"I'll get it and you." Charles got up from his seat, pointing to Y/n. "You are still not off the hook." He was quick to make his way to the front door whilst Carlos, Max and Lando spoke to Y/n a little bit more, slightly softer now.

However, their conversation was cut short rather quickly when they heard Charles shout. "You got to be fucking kidding me!"

Turns out Tom had decided to come over, expecting only Y/n to be home. So now he was being dragged into the kitchen dining room by his shirts neck line. "Carlos, Max and Lando meet the boyfriend. Go on introduce yourself."

Tom and Y/n locked eyes, his more panicked and hers more guilty. "Charlie come on, let him go! He hasn't done anything wrong!" The twenty six year old did thankfully listen to her, but dropped the boy to the ground in the process.

“Except violate our Marguerites innocent mind” Lando snapped back, truly believing that Y/n’s mind was completely innocent.

The young boys hands went up in defence, smirking slightly. He knew that Y/n was far from innocent. “Oh don’t smirk!” The Spaniard caught Toms smirk, and was not happy about it.

It was Maxs turn to speak again. “Okay okay, right Y/n and Tom sit down on the couch” He demanded.

Listening to the Dutch man, the two seventeen year olds were quick to sit down on the couch. Toms hand unconsciously moved to rest on Y/n’s thigh but drew back to his own lap when he felt the sharp glare from all four of the drivers.

“You explain yourself” Max pointed toward the female.

“Me and Tom met through a mutual friend, we’ve been on a few dates and I love him” A deep crimson blush covered her cheeks. Giggling softly.

It was hard for the drivers to stay annoyed at Tom, they could see how happy this one boy made her.

Happiness is all Charles ever wanted for Y/n especially after losing her father. Happiness was something the Monégasque always deeply prioritised whilst raising his little sister.

“He makes me happy…Charlie please”

That same deep blush covered Toms cheeks, he was still a young and awkward teen. “Oh I didn’t know that…you love me?”

They were like love sick puppies, anyone could tell even if they were blind or deaf. “Yeah of course I do…”

This stumped Charles, Max, Lando and Carlos. They wanted to be angry at Tom but they simply couldn’t. Why? Because it was obvious how happy and loved Y/n felt with Tom.

“Putain!” Cursed Charles. How is he meant to be angry now? “You know, you are really making it hard for us to be angry at you”

Lando nodded in agreement. “Yeah fuck you for that guys”

A smirk cracked through Y/n’s rosey cheeks, well aware of what was happening. She knew full well that they weren’t annoyed at them anymore.

“So does this mean that you approve?” As soon as Y/n asked the question, Tom became confident once again and moved his hand back to her thigh, caressing it slightly.

All the older men just groaned, knowing that they’d just have to endure with the relationship. It was gonna happen eventually, Charles just wished it didn’t come round so soon. “Yes fine, just keep it pg thirteen around us please”

Nodding excitedly, Y/n happily jumped up from the couch before wrapping her arms around Charles hugging him tightly. “Thank you thank you thank you!”

This made him reminisce on when Y/n was younger, hugging was on of her favourite things to, especially with Jules.

Whilst the brother and sister hugged tightly, Tom with his new found confidence also got up. Shaking the hands of the three other drivers.

“You protect her, you hear me.” Carlos warned. Tom was quick in nodding, not wanting to cause any more bad impressions.

And in those moments where Y/ns relationship with Tom could come free, letting them love each other openly and without fear, both Charles and Y/n could feel Jules’ presence.

They could feel how he was looking down on them, protecting them, loving them and being their guardian angel.

Watching over his dear godson and his Marguerite.

Marguerite

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