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sunsetcupid · 16 hours ago

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IT’S NICE TO HAVE A FRIEND (PART 2) ; 2025 ROOKIES, MV33, & FA14

synopsis: Y/N L/N meets six boys that will change the course of her life forever. Also known as the Friends!AU.

trigger warnings: Use of Y/N; Use of feminine pronouns from the reader’s perspective; Descriptions of romantic acts and behaviors; Suggestive remarks; Mentions of cheating; Mention of a miscarriage; Mention of a divorce; Use of curse words in English, Italian, French, Spanish, and Portuguese

a message from the author: Part Two! It feels surreal to be posting this, especially since this series took me nearly a month to finish. I absolutely adore the 2025 rookies and I knew I had to write a fic about them. I hope you love the conclusion to this series, but I will definitely be returning to it with one-shots/headcanons/bonus content. (Feel free to send me an inbox message if you have any ideas!)

Part 1

It had been a fortnight since that game of ‘Truth or Dare’, and yet you were still stupefied at how unbelievable the kiss with Isack had been. Your time with Mateo hadn’t been horrible; at least, that is what you were trying to convince yourself of, now that you knew just how good someone could taste. Isack had uncovered something in you that you hadn’t known existed, and it was hard to ignore it once it had been brought out of the shadows.

You collapsed on your bed, groaning dramatically. “No fucking waaay.”

In the living room, you could hear a Dutch radio station playing, and the sound of your father humming. It was probably – no, scratch that, definitely – a bad idea to talk to him about this, but you had no one to turn to.

Charlotte, your best friend, had laughed you off, congratulating you for finding a replacement so quickly. When you had told her, she was at your house, getting ready for a party you didn’t want to go to. (All you wanted to do was languish in bed.) “It’s great, really. So many girls would be jealous of you. And you’re telling me you didn’t take all six of them? Pssh. You have nothing to be worried about.” She popped her lips, applying more gloss in the mirror. “And he’s French, you say? Even better. That means he knows the art of that special kiss.”

“But the thing is,” you started – already knowing she was going to cut you off halfway. “I’m not ready for a relationship. I just broke up with Mateo.”

True to your guess, Charlotte interrupted a moment later. “You can take it slow. Having a crush on somebody doesn’t mean you have to immediately jump into a big lovey-dovey romance thing. You can just chill.”

“He might not want that, though, and I don’t want to lead him on.”

Charlotte’s shoulders drooped. “You’re a lost cause, girl. Be grateful for the amazing opportunity that’s been unveiled…If I were you, I’d be dancing and screaming at the top of my lungs with joy.”

Well, I’m not you, you wanted to exclaim, but you stuffed the outburst down. “Yeah, maybe.”

So you forwent trying to make Charlotte understand, turning to your father for help. He knew things about relationships; he was smart and calculated. Yes, he was extremely overprotective, and confiding in him would cause there to be more restrictions on everything you did, but his advice would be true, meant to only help.

“Pa?” you stepped out of your bedroom, moving towards the sound of the radio. Your father was in his office, thin wired glasses perched low on his nose as he skimmed through emails on his computer. He typed something out with T. Rex fingers, then turned to you. “I need to talk to you about something. Alstublieft.”

“Wat is er mis?” His voice was soft, but edged with concern. “Is everything OK?”

“Pa, there’s this boy, and I really… I really like him. I didn’t do anything bad with him, not yet, just kissing. But I don’t know what to do and –”

Your father put a hand in the air, cutting you off. “Tell me from the beginning. And slow down. Ik wil niet dat je stikt.”

“Het gaat goed, Pa, I need you to take me seriously. His name is Isack, and I’m friends with him. We played ‘Truth or Dare’ and I kissed him. I think he liked it, I mean – I know I did. I don’t know how to talk to him about it, we haven’t seen each other since.” You ran a hand through your hair. “I’m scared that I miscalculated everything, that he doesn’t see me in the same way. We don’t really talk much, but he’s there when I hang out with my friends and…”

“Is he nice to you?” Your father took off his glasses, fixing you with his terrifying blue-eyed stare.

“Yes. Very nice. The thing is, he’s painfully shy. Like, he will not make the first move, but he acts all flustered and awkward, so I’m ninety-five percent sure he is into me. But I don’t know for sure?” You finished clumsily, wishing you had more details. “Isack is…You would really like him. I wish that I knew how to solve this.”

His forehead wrinkled as he soaked in the information. “Jesus Christ, schatje. I don’t know what to say.”

“Please,” you wailed, sinking down onto the floor and covering your face with your hands. “I’m not trying to be dramatic, but it feels like the world is ending.”

Your father laughed unexpectedly. “You are fine, Y/N. Stop panicking.”

“I can’t, Pa. I’m terrified that I screwed up, and –”

“– If you keep jabbering on, I won’t help. Take a breath, and let me think.” You closed your mouth with a snap and waited for your father to continue. “Text him and tell him you want to hang out. Don’t say you want to talk; that will scare him off. Act normal. And then when you see each other, find a good moment to tell him how you feel. Don’t try to grab onto him with your claws; gently reel him in.”

You nodded. “That’s a plan, for sure.”

“Goed? Am I free to keep working now?” He kissed your forehead. “Ik hou van je, liefje. Now leave me be.”

So you had texted Isack, following your father’s instructions, leaving it vague but friendly. Not menacing, not imposing. Entirely calm and unruffled, when you felt the complete opposite.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Isack said, leaning over the table. “I’ve never been here before. The guys like ordering fast food, mostly, so this is a welcome change.”

You grinned. “This is so much better than fast food, I promise you.”

The two of you were at the local Italian restaurant, a casual diner with a long list of mouthwatering pastas and risottos. Everything was perfect: you were seated in your favorite booth, the music was lo-fi, and the eatery wasn’t busy, so it felt more intimate and personal to be there with Isack. “What should I order? Merde, there’s so many options.” Isack tapped the menu with his pointer finger, blinking at the page. “Fettuccine alfredo, mushroom bucatini. Dieu m’aide.”

“I always get the pasta al pesto. The sauce they make is so good.” You closed your eyes, thinking about how delicious it tasted. “My stomach is about to growl. Don’t laugh.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to order that too. I’m trusting you,” he proclaimed, “So don’t lead me astray.”

“I would never,” you assured him.

When the food arrived, you dug in immediately, not waiting to take photos like you typically would. Isack followed your lead, head cocked to the side as he contemplated his opinion. You observed him, waiting for his reaction, which came in the form of a deep, contented growl. “This is amazing, Y/N,” he hummed. “I don’t know how I’ve lived my life this long without this pasta in it.”

You laughed. “I know.”

The two of you finished your meal in comfortable silence, preferring to enjoy the pasta bowl without wasting time for minor chatter. Once you were completed (Isack finishing much quicker than you), you drummed your fingers on the table as Isack leaned back in his seat. “I have something I need to tell you,” you blurted out.

Isack rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Go for it?”

“It’s about two weeks ago, when we did truth or dare.” You began slowly, stumbling over your words. “When we kissed. Um, I don’t really know how to act around you after that night. If you want to forget it ever happened, or –”

Isack’s chin jutted up. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want you.” It sounded so easy, how it slipped off of his tongue. “I would never wish, not for a second, to pretend as if I did not kiss you that night. Because, against my better intentions, I have feelings for you.”

You sucked in a breath; hearing those words felt surreal. “Isack –”

“And I know you just broke up with that connard…that jerk of yours, so if you don’t want to move forward, I understand. I don’t mind.” Isack looked up at you through his eyelashes. “You do not need to worry.”

Absentmindedly, you touched the necklace strung around your throat. It was a gift from your father when you turned sixteen, and whenever you were particularly excited, your fingers always seemed to be magnetically pulled towards the chain. “I want to take things slow, but that doesn’t mean I’m not interested in a relationship. I’m into you, Isack. Far more than I was with…” The name stuck to your tongue like glue, bitter-tasting and wrought with sour memories. “With Mateo.”

Isack put his hand on his heart. “We can do that. I promise.”

You grinned, your heart full of the possibility of brighter days ahead, with Isack a permanent figure in them.

He took you back to your flat an hour later, and you wished him goodbye, a soft kiss fluttering by the hollow of his throat your parting gift. “I had a great night with you,” you said. “We need to hang out again sometime soon.”

“Oui, I agree. It was nice.” Isack averted his eyes, a soft pink blush spreading on his face. “I’ll see you around.”

You unlocked the apartment door, shutting it behind you once you had entered. The untroubled mood, however, did not last long, as you leapt backwards. Your father was standing in front of you, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, his face a murky sea of emotions. “Who was that?” he demanded to know.

“That was Isack,” you responded truthfully.

“You said you were going out to eat,” your father pointed out, trying to ensnare you in a lie. “Why was he there?”

You casted your eyes heavenwards, praying for a time when your father wouldn’t be so unnecessarily wary. “He came with me, Pa. You know what a date is, right?”

“Don’t give me sass,” he warned, eyes furrowing even more. “You didn’t tell me he was coming. Why do I always find out this information after the fact? Do I need to keep you in the house or something? I thought I could trust you, schatje, you’re going to university in a few months.”

You frowned. “That’s the point, Pa. I’m going to move out, and you won’t be there to monitor every little detail, every little movement I make. I’m a big girl, Pa, even though you think that I’m still your baby.”

“You are.”

“No, I’m not, and you need to realize it before it breaks you. I’m more than qualified enough to make my own decisions now, and I’m not saying that I’m not grateful that you care. I’ll always be thankful that I have an attentive father, but sometimes you have to let me take the driver’s seat and control the trajectory of my life.” You protested.

Your father adjusted his position, not backing down the slightest bit. He was like a cat ready to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse, but you weren’t unaware anymore – you had two decades’ worth of experience; you were capable of verbally sparring with him. “And what happens if you get hurt? What then, liefje? Am I supposed to say, ‘OK, looks like my daughter messed up. I don’t have to do anything’? Because I won’t let that happen.”

“I’m not saying you should, but I am saying that you should let me be free. If I want to be with a boy, I should be allowed to. It’s my life, and I’m tired of always playing by your rules. It gets to a point.” You bit your lip, tasting the acrid flavor of blood as your tooth pierced through the skin. “The curfew, the phone monitoring…God forbid I mention the strict scheduling sessions I have to complete with you just so I can spend time with my friends. You might have ruined your life when you and Mama had me, but you don’t have to strangle me with your mistakes.”

The room went deathly still, choking you with the sudden frigidity.

Your father turned heel, his face disfigured by revulsion. The door to his office quarters clicked shut behind you, the sound like an executioner’s blade slicing through the air, and your vision went glossy with the downpour of tears.

Unable to withstand the quietness that had smothered the flat, you decided to leave, seeking fresh air. You scribbled a short note to your father, passing it through the space under his office door, not waiting to see if he picked it up.

Outside, the air had turned hot, the promise of summer pungent and tangible. Just a few more weeks, and break would commence; no more school…until university in the fall.

You sighed, guilt beginning to settle in your bones. What you had said to your father was not right; lashing out at him was disrespectful and uncalled for. But it had been an outpouring of emotions you had kept bottled up for years. Despite everything, you didn’t understand why he was so protective.

“Hey,” a voice called from behind you. It was Franco, his curly hair tucked inside a La Albiceleste soccer cap and brown eyes gleaming with mischief. “¿Todo bien?”

You sniffed back a rising current of tears that threatened to spill out. “I’m fine.” You hugged yourself, as if you could squeeze the pain away. “How are you?”

“Talk to me, chica. I can tell something’s on your mind.” Franco stepped closer, a divot forming in the space between his eyebrows.

Your shoulders slumped. “My father and I…we got into this huge fight, and I really messed up, Franco. I said a lot of hurtful things, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Franco’s face softened, and he outstretched an arm to pull you into a big bear hug. “Come here. Let’s go inside, yeah? And we can talk about it – nothing horchata can’t fix.”

He led you inside his apartment, where Ollie and Kimi were sitting on the couch, playing a frantic game of Mario Kart. “Boys, we have a guest,” Franco announced. “Miss Y/N L/N needs our help.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, even though you were already crying. “Honestly.”

Ollie paused the game, turning to you, his expression horror-struck when he saw you. “Oh my God, Y/N, what happened? Did someone hurt you?”

“No…I got into an argument with my father,” you blubbered, sagging onto the couch beside Ollie. “I think he’s going to disown me.”

“Ah, don’t be dramatic,” Kimi groused. “Your father loves you. I don’t know who he is, but it’s obvious he does.”

You rubbed your face. “He hates me, Kimi, and it’s all my fault.”

“Tell us what happened,” Franco pushed gently.

You looked up at them. “I went out on a date with Isack” – they all lurched backwards in surprise at this news, but nobody interjected – “and he got really upset with me that I didn’t warn him about it. I got frustrated that he keeps me so locked up, and…and I basically said that he destroyed his life by having me, but I didn’t care.”

Franco blew out a breath. “That is…something.”

“But it’s OK,” Ollie reassured you. “We all say some things we don’t mean when we’re upset. Obviously, what you said isn’t the nicest, but give your father some time to cool down. Then you should go and talk to him.”

You covered your face with your hands. “You don’t get it, though. My father, he never forgives and he never forgets. There’s nothing I’ll be able to do to fix it.”

“You’re his daughter,” Ollie stated the obvious, his head tilting to the side. “He can’t claim to care about you and then not forgive you when you make a mistake.”

Kimi nodded. “I agree.”

“I don’t know…” you rasped. “I don’t think he’ll forgive me.”

Franco pouted. “Just give it a shot, por favor?”

And so you did. You entered the flat an hour later, after drinking Franco’s surprisingly delicious horchata and being comforted by the trio. For teenage boys, they were great at soothing your nerves, and you were forever grateful for them.

“Pa?” you said, knocking on his office door, which was still closed.

You heard some ruffling – a sign of life from inside – and the door cracked open. Your father’s face was lined, his blue eyes dulled and blonde hair sticking up as if it had been electrocuted. “Wat wil je?”

“I came to apologize.” You averted your gaze, shame sticking to you, making you feel sick. “For what I said. It was horrible, and wrong, and I really…I hope you can forgive me.”

Your father’s lips thinned, but the gap between the door widened, allowing you to see his full face and body. “Do you know why it was so hurtful?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “Nee, dat doe je niet. Come inside, sit down – I’ll tell you why.” You obeyed, taking a seat in your father’s leather spinning chair, while he remained standing. “You know that you were born through the love and passion of one night. But you don’t know what happened later.”

“When you were two years old, I thought I found my true love. Someone who wanted to settle down and love me for who I was: a single father with trust issues and a heart encased in steel. We tried so hard to start a family, but every attempt ended in failure. Then a miracle happened – she missed her monthly. I thought that it had worked, that all our efforts had not been in vain.”

“Four months passed, and she was healthy. We were in good spirits, and you were so excited to be a big sister. But one night, she had a miscarriage. We lost…” He broke off. “We lost the baby. And it was so hard for both of us. For all of us. She ended up leaving me, telling me that she could not move on while the ghosts of her past were still haunting her. You were too young to remember, but…” Your father wiped away a falling tear. “That is why I care so much. For you and the child I lost. For the life I lost.”

A sob wrenched its way out of your chest. “Het spijt me zo,” you bawled. “I didn’t know, Pa. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, liefje. I don’t blame you.” Your father caressed you, his arms looping around your body in a warm embrace. “I will try to give you more space to breathe. I might have my demons, but I do not want you to suffer because of them.”

You buried your face in the crook of his shoulder. “I love you, Pa.”

“Ik hou meer van jou.”

Isack texted you later that night, your phone pinging and bright white light cascading through your room as you tossed and turned.

[ISACK] Ollie told me about what happened. I’m sorry if it was my fault.

You fumbled to respond.

[YOU] It’s not your fault at all! Don’t worry about it.

[ISACK] If you say so. When can I see you next?

[YOU] I have to study for final exams.

[YOU] But if you want to accompany me to the library, you’re more than welcome. God knows I could use company.

[ISACK] Sounds good. See you tomorrow, then?

[YOU] Sure.

True to his word, Isack was waiting for you outside the door the next afternoon, a bundle wrapped in his hands. He lifted it when he saw you. “It’s chocolate mille-feuille. For your father. And you, I suppose,” he said sheepishly.

“Trying to bribe him with sweets?” you teased.

Isack grinned. “If it works, it works. Don’t question my methods.”

“Let me bring it inside, and we can go. Sounds good?” you asked, and he nodded, handing you the box.

You returned, smiling brightly, dusting your hands off from invisible dirt. “He’s already eating them all.”

Isack pumped his fist. “Victory!”

“So,” you said as you were ambling along the cobblestone path, Isack trailing after you, “I usually study at the library. It’s quiet, and I can really focus there. But since you’re here, I think we should go somewhere else.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of not studying, Y/N.”

“No, I am,” you retorted defensively. “But I wanted to go to a different, better place.”

“Oui, and what is it?”

“The beach.” You looked at him, analyzing his reaction. “It’s a thirty minute drive from here, but it’s so worth it. The water? Crystalline. There will be people there – I think we can make an exception, though.”

Isack clucked his tongue, ruminating about the best course of action, leaving you taut with suspense. “Fine,” he caved.

“Yay! I’ll go start the car.”

“Mon dieu,” he grumbled, yet he trudged behind you with the hint of a smirk on his face. “You are not going to study at all.”

And perhaps Isack was correct with that assumption, because you were currently lounging on the beach, threatening to push Isack into the ocean if he kept bothering you about “exams”.

“You told me it was super important,” he griped. “That you would study.”

“Aw, come on, Isack. Can’t a girl have fun?” you shot back.

“Not when you have exams coming up.”

“You sound like my father.”

“Maybe he has a point then!” Isack crossed his arms over his chest, nose wrinkled in annoyance. “You’re acting like this is a game.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve already gotten admitted into university. These final exams are nothing.”

“You never know, Y/N.” Isack tossed you an aggravated glance. “Just to humor me, can we study? Please?”

“Fine. You can take my binder and test me, if you want.” You leaned back into the sun, angling your body so that it would tan correctly. “You’re a boring old bore.”

Isack stuck out his tongue. “Too bad, so sad.”

When the sun dipped below the horizon, the two of you walked back to the car, sufficiently warmed up from the heat of summer, and drowsy enough to fall asleep – because Isack had been relentlessly drilling you about a dozen different subjects for your final exam. “I love going to the beach,” you said breathlessly. “Definitely more when I’m not quizzed to an inch of my life, but the point still stands.”

“Don’t you feel a lot more prepared?” Isack inquired.

You crooked one shoulder. “Yeah, if I need to know who the first emperor of the Tang Dynasty is, I think I’ll ace that question.”

“And who is it?”

You playfully nudged Isack. “Shut up.”

“I’m just curious!” Isack threw his head back, a laugh booming out of him. “Want to get ice cream?”

You checked the clock on the center dashboard: 8:12 P.M. “Um…I’ll have to ask my father first. Can you open my phone for me? The password is 0628.”

“I got it.” Isack swiped open the cell phone. “I’ll tell him you’re getting ice cream with me and that you’ll be home soon.”

“Is my location on?” you asked, and Isack nodded. “OK, we should be good. Where’s the nearest ice cream parlor?”

Isack turned off your phone, putting it in the cup holder beside you. “When we get back to town, there’s one that is…how do you say it? Incroyable.”

“Yeah? What’s it called?” you wondered aloud. You’d lived there for your whole life; there was no chance you weren’t aware of its existence. “Are you talking about Little Sweet Treat?”

Isack’s eyes widened. “That’s it. How did you know?”

You giggled. “Did you really think you could gatekeep something that’s in the town I’ve lived in my whole life?” Isack opened his mouth to interject, but you kept talking. “You’re hilarious.”

“Je suis désolé! I thought maybe it might have…slipped under the radar, I don’t know.” Isack raised his hands in mock surrender. “I discovered it last week with Liam. I’m going to lose all my savings there, and it’s not even a casino.”

You shook with barely contained laughter. “You’re like a little kid, oh my God. How did your parents let you move out?”

“Because of university,” he reasoned. “And also the fact that I have five friends to protect me from making stupid decisions.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Uh…Have you met Franco? Or dare I say, Ollie and Kimi?”

“That is true,” Isack agreed. “By the way…Have you noticed anything different about Ollie and Kimi? Je ne sais pas, but there’s something between the both of them.”

“Like tension?” You bobbed your head up and down. “I’ve noticed since day one, I just thought that I was imagining it.”

Isack snapped his fingers. “Non, there’s definitely something going on. Do you see the way Ollie looks at Kimi?”

“With heart eyes.”

“Exactly.” Isack laughed softly. “Thank God I’m not rooming with them, especially if they’re going to hook up. I don’t want to hear that shit; I want quiet.”

Your cheeks flushed. “You think that they’d do that?”

“Non, non, you’re right, they’re too scared to confess their feelings.” Isack wiped a hand across his face. “I get where they’re coming from.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Want to elaborate on that?”

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” Isack swallowed roughly. “It’s hard to believe that…that my reality, it’s real. That what I’m seeing before me is the truth. And not a dream.”

Heat crept through your face as you realized what he was hinting at. “Well, it’s not. I like you a lot, Isack. You’re sweet, and awkward. I like that.”

“But I feel so…so selfish for trying to take you when Mateo was just –”

“ – Mateo is nothing to me,” you said, venom dripping from your lips. “I never told anyone this, but when I went to the art history museum for my final project, I saw him there. With some other girl.”

Isack’s face shuttered, all amusement disappearing from him. “Quoi?”

“Yeah. I think he was cheating on me.” A heavy rock dropped in your stomach, and you took a second to compose yourself. The last thing you wanted to do was bawl your eyes out over your ex-boyfriend in front of your crush – and potential new boyfriend. “But it’s in the past now! I’m fine!”

“You didn’t deserve that,” Isack objected. “You don’t have to be OK with it, because what he did was wrong.”

You grimaced. “Don’t worry, I’m not forgiving him. Ever.”

“Bien.”

The birthday cake-flavored ice cream melted on your tongue, and you relished in its flavor. “This is soooo good,” you nearly moaned. “How is this possible? I need to know the recipe.”

Isack bit into his green apple custard, wincing at the coldness. “Can I try a bite, if you’re OK with that? You can have some of mine – warning, it’s sour.”

You swapped cones. “Damn, this one is super good too! Everything here is incredible.”

“I think I’m going to buy all of the ice cream here.”

You tugged back a loose strand of hair that threatened to spill itself over the ice cream. “Me too. We can share. 50-50.”

“Non. 70-30.”

You pursed your lips. “How is that fair? 60-40. But I get the larger portion.”

“I’m bigger than you, so I need more to keep me satisfied,” Isack argued. “Boom.”

You kept yourself from scowling. “I’m a lady, so I deserve more.”

“Says who?” Isack bit out a laugh, but sobered when he saw your murderous expression. “OK, OK, don’t kill me over this hypothetical situation. I’ll give you 60-40, deal?”

You reclined in your seat, content. “Great.”

“I make a terrible businessman,” he mumbled. “As soon as you disagree and start to argue, I relent.”

You pecked him on the cheek, and Isack instantly turned pink. “That’s what makes you amazing.”

When you got home, your father was already asleep in his room, the sound of white noise thrumming through the walls. You tiptoed stealthily to your own bedroom to get ready for the night, and your phone buzzed with a notification you only checked once you had made it successfully.

[ISACK] Did everything go well?

[YOU] Yeah. He’s asleep.

[ISACK] OK, bonne nuit. Talk to you in the morning, bébé.

You straightened up. Bébé – that was a French term of endearment – but you couldn’t remember exactly what it meant. Thankfully, a quick translation supplied you with its meaning.

Babe; baby.

You faltered. Obviously Isack was attempting to be flirtatious, in that offhand manner that you adored so much, but it was hard to scope out how he wanted you to react. You paced your room, grappling for the proper response.

[YOU] Goodnight. P.S.: Cute nickname.

A bubble appeared on your screen a second later.

[ISACK] Glad you like it.

[ISACK] Now, go to sleep.

[ISACK] Talk to you tomorrow!

A knock on your bedroom door startled you out of your comfortable sleep the next morning. You had been dreaming about something – a date with Isack, sun kissed skin and sour custard…But no, that was real life, and you smiled to yourself.

“Liefje, are you up? You need to get ready for school,” your father spoke through the door, his words slightly muffled. You groaned. “If you want me to drive you, then you have fifteen minutes.”

You jolted out of the bed, looking at your bedside clock, which revealed it to be half past seven in the morning. Your head was throbbing, but you pushed off the covers, yanking your closet open to grab the first matching pair of your uniform that you could see.

“I’ll be there in a second,” you said to him, though it was highly likely your father had already shuffled past to go shave his perpetually growing beard or listen to more of his favorite Dutch radio.

When you entered the kitchen, he was sitting at the table, drinking coffee from a lion mug you’d bought for him the last time you went to the zoo. “Ready?” he asked.

“Let me eat a breakfast bar and brush my teeth, and we can go,” you promised.

“You were out late last night,” your father said casually, taking another long sip from his mug.

You froze in your tracks. “I texted you.”

“I know. I didn’t say anything about that.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you look so suspicious?”

“I was with Isack. Which you knew about, so there’s nothing suspicious about it,” you retorted defensively. “You can interrogate me all you want, but I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your father lowered his gaze, seemingly appeased by your answer. “Ten minutes, or I’m leaving you here.”

“Fine.” You grabbed a bar from the top shelf, ripping off the foil and biting into it. “I just won’t go to school.”

“See how that fares for you,” your father deadpanned. “Stop standing around and go get ready, liefje.”

After school, you dramatically banged on the door to Isack’s flat. “Open up, please,” you whined. “I have loads of homework and I want your help.”

Liam was the one who answered the door. “What the he – Oh. Hi.”

“Is Isack home right now?” you said, breezing past him and heading to the kitchen to steal one of the plentiful French pastries stocked in the pantry. “I need him to help me study for finals.”

“Yeah, he’s in his room playing video games. I’ll go get him.”

While you waited, you collected all your study materials, fanning it out on the dining room table. Colorful highlighters, glittery pens, notebooks in every shade…You hated school, but at least it was a little bit better when you made it fun.

“That’s a lot,” Isack commented when he walked in, pulling out a chair and sitting beside you. “What subject is this for?”

You groaned loudly. “Physics.”

To your amazement, Isack’s face lit up as if you had turned on a switch. “J’adore physics!”

“I think you’re the only person in the world to say that,” you replied. “Because physics is a blight on this world.”

Isack gasped, like you had personally offended him. “My father was a physicist.”

“That makes sense. You inherited the insanity!”

He picked up a loose sheet of paper. “Oh, this is basic physics. Newton’s laws of motion, thermodynamics…Let me review quickly and I will help you.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” you praised, releasing the biggest breath of air in relief. “Thank you so much.”

Isack Hadjar had to be superhuman. There was no other explanation for it; how was it possible that someone who hadn’t been in school for a year was so knowledgeable about topics you had just learned and were still confused on? Some people were naturally intelligent, sure. You always thought you belonged in that group, but ever since you had met Isack, you were starting to believe that the title was slipping from your grasp.

It only took him a handful of minutes to learn the topics he didn’t previously know, and for the ones that he had prior knowledge for? He hit the ground running, spouting off excited phrases in French. The only thing you could compare him to was a puppy dog who was excited to see its human best friend again.

“The important thing to remember is that Einstein’s theory of relativity changed the world.” Isack motioned to the space around him, flapping his hands. “Everything.”

You grimaced. “I hate physics.”

“OK, but do you understand me?” Isack met your gaze, brown eyes sharp with elation. “This will definitely be on your exam. You have to know what it is and its effects on the world.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Isack pressed. “You look like you’re tuning out everything I say.”

You fake-sobbed into your arms. “Sadly, I’m listening.”

“I’m trying to help you. There’s other things I could be doing right now, bébé, I don’t want to be listening to your complaints,” he said. “Please bear with me.”

“The bear in me wants to hibernate,” you joked, but you straightened up anyway. “OK, I’m back. Let’s continue before I change my mind.”

Isack seemed very eager to keep tutoring you. Nevertheless, he was forced to relinquish you from his passionate talking spree when Gabi stumbled through the door, mumbling about dinner in frustrated Portuguese, and your phone lit up with messages from your father asking you to come home.

“À plus tard, d’accord?” Isack asked, kissing you on the shell of your ear and making you shiver with the contact. “Text me.”

“I will,” you promised. “Thanks for the help.”

“Anything for you, ma belle fille.”

Despite your grievances against physics and calculus, being with Isack was a massive boon for you. You were ninety-five percent positive that without his assistance, you would have failed your exams, which you took two weeks later. The hall had been stuffy and deafeningly quiet (an oxymoron, but alas! This is how it felt). You kept drinking water – a nervous habit of yours – and needing to use the restroom. Somehow, you weren’t accused of cheating, and you finished all your tests alive, though your brain was mush.

The exam scores would be released in August, giving you a month to panic and prepare. Your father baked you your favorite cake; a sickeningly sweet spekkoek with extra chocolate in it. Isack bought you a new set of special Prismacolor markers…and Franco had flirtatiously asked you to paint him, like Rose in Titanic. (Isack had thrown a pillow at Franco’s head. It was a miracle Franco hadn’t been decapitated.)

You spent that month in pure bliss, presenting Franco to your best friend Charlotte… but in a stunning twist, she liked Gabi more, a fact she confessed to you during a sleepover. You caught them passionately making out in the broom closet and almost poured bleach on your eyes until Isack convinced you not to.

Also, you introduced Isack to your father. It was terrifying, but thankfully, Isack was not eaten alive. Afterwards, you thought you might have blacked out in fear because you could not remember the first few minutes of handshaking and formalities. Surprisingly, your father was civil, only asking a couple personal – and slightly invasive – questions before inviting him into the family.

“I hope you treat my daughter like the princess she is,” your father said.

Isack’s face split into the widest smile you’d ever seen. “Oh, I do! I promise, sir.”

And when the scores were released, you checked them with everyone surrounding you, a protective bubble of support and unconditional love.

“A* for history and literature. B for…” you broke off, hands covering your mouth as tears began to well in your eyes. “Physics! And C for calculus! I passed!”

You felt your father pat you on the back, but you were delirious with joy. You rose from your seat, and Isack pulled you into a firm hug. “Congratulations, bébé. I knew you could do it.” His hands splayed out on your jaw, locking you into place as his lips met yours.

“Thank you,” you stammered once you broke apart. “For everything.”

Isack grinned. “You know I’d do anything for you. My best friend – my girlfriend.”

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redroomreflections · 2 days ago

Text

Hotel California | Track 20: The Countdown

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 3.8k

Chapter 20/22

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: i hear wedding bells

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Blind Item #1:

Word from the hills is that music’s hottest, chart-climbing power duo plan to make their love official this weekend at a super-secret ceremony somewhere on the California coast. Cue the flower-petal emoji avalanche.

Blind Item #2:

An ex-partner with lingering spotlight envy is privately “miffed” after learning they won’t be on the guest list, let alone in the bridal party. (Sources say the save-the-date never even hit their inbox.)

You thumbed the screen dark, jaw tight enough to make your temples throb. It was 7 a.m., three days to “I do,” and the to-do list on the kitchen island was already assault-weapon length:

final dress fitting (10 a.m.)

demo walk-through of aisle sound system (noon)

Mani and Pedi with the girls

confirm vegan entrée count for Natasha's side of the family

find out where in the multiverse Tony stashed the rings this time (bad idea)

… and then you got to add “Ignore gossip-site blind items” to the top in aggressive Sharpie.

You closed your eyes, inhaled the lavender-rosemary candle, and exhaled through pursed lips. They were just headlines, you reminded yourself. Words couldn't derail a wedding, not when the caterer, the florist, and a Fort Knox–level nondisclosure agreement were working for you. Additionally, they had the location incorrect. One of your best-kept secrets, if you did say so yourself.

Still, the pings kept coming vibration after vibration against the marble countertop. Wanda’s morning hype text. Melina’s text (“Flight lands 16:05; tell Natalia not to meet me in sweatpants.”). A calendar alert from the planner. And buried in the stack, a single message from an unknown number, almost certainly a tabloid fixer fishing for comment.

You swiped it all away and slid the phone face-down beneath a napkin like it was radioactive.

The coffeemaker hissed its last breath. You poured a mug, steeling yourself for the day. Somewhere down the hall, a door opened; Natasha’s bare feet padded across hardwood in unhurried rhythm. She appeared, hair a sunrise mess, Velvet Rebellion T-shirt hanging off one shoulder.

“Morning, future Mrs. Romanoff-Fury-Hyphen-Whatever-We-Decide,” she mumbled around a yawn. “Why do you look like you just read the apocalypse?”

“Blind items,” you said, handing over the caffeine. “Apparently the whole internet thinks we’re getting married. Also, at least one disgruntled ex is salty about not scoring an invite.”

Natasha snorted into her mug. “Which one? I’ve got, like, three.” Off your look, she amends, “Former exes. Pre-you exes. Irrelevant exes.”

You choked out a laugh despite yourself. “Pretty sure this one’s aimed at my column. Sam is blissfully unbothered. That leaves a few names I'd rather not mention."

"Let them be mad," She mumbled, putting her coffee mug down on the counter. She moved to wrap her arms around you, nuzzling her face into your neck, breathing in your scent. You melted against her. "I don't give a shit about them. The only thing I care about is marrying you."

She kissed your neck, your earlobe, the corner of your mouth. She tasted like mint toothpaste, and you sighed and leaned back into her as her hands slid over your hips.

"Babe," You said, allowing her to kiss and suck that spot right behind your ear that always made you melt, "we gotta—mmmh—don't leave marks." You warned her. She ignored you, kissing down your neck, giving a teasing nip before you reached behind you, grasping for something. "Before you get any ideas, we need to go over the checklist one more time." You shoved the clipboard between the two of you.

"But," she pouted, "what if I wanna check you off?"

You shook your head, a small laugh leaving you. "I'm serious, babe. We have the final cake tasting, and the flower delivery, and the officiant."

"Okay, okay," She grumbled, taking the clipboard, her other arm still slung around your waist. You softened because she had that effect and let her steal a second kiss before shoving the clipboard into her free hand.

“Love you,” you sighed, “but if you don’t start on page one, page ten is never happening.”

Natasha scanned the list. “Rings. Right. I’ll shake down Stark.” She taps the blank next to sound check. “Band’s covered. Go conquer the dress fitting; meet me at the venue after lunch.”

Another buzz rattled the countertop. Neither of you looked this time.

"If we don't get started now, we'll never finish." You said as she lowered the clipboard to kiss you again.

"Then let's finish already." She grinned.

"When you bat those pretty lashes I can't say no," You pouted.

"That's the plan," she hummed.

Natasha’s lips were just brushing yours again when the doorbell chimed one polite ding-dong, followed by a distinctly British voice you both recognized from countless video calls:

"Hello? I let myself in with the key code," Yelena called from the foyer. Her footsteps got closer and closer leaving you barely any time to react as she entered the kitchen.

Yelena Belova appeared in the doorway wheeling a floral carry-on and clutching a stack of colour-coded folders. A Cambridge-blue scarf was knotted around her neck, windswept blonde hair in a low bun, and AirPods still in.

She stopped, took in the half-hug-half-kiss you and Natasha were frozen in and raised one brow.

“So,” she announced, accent now more Oxbridge than American, “I fly across the Atlantic, sprint through Sky Harbor, and the first thing I witness is my sister half-dressed and behind schedule. Delightful.”

Natasha groaned. “Lena, the wedding isn’t for two days. Lecture me tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Yelena checked her watch theatrically. “We’ve already lost forty-six minutes according to the itinerary Wanda emailed me.” She waved a folder. “Colour-coded by hour. I highlighted where you’re statistically likely to panic.”

You blinked, then laughed. “Hi, I'm Y/N. Bride. Nice to finally meet in person.”

Yelena’s expression melted into warmth. She stepped forward, offered a quick, surprisingly sincere hug. “Lovely to meet you, future sister. You look way hotter in person. Way to go."

You snorted as Natasha shot her a death glare. "Thanks?"

"And you," Yelena said, rounding on her sister. "It's a good thing I'm here."

"Yeah, yeah," Natasha said. "You can yell at me after I find the rings."

"Remind me again why you've decided to marry my sister?" Yelena questioned with narrowed e eyes.

"My charming good looks and ability to sweep her off her feet."

"Nah that's not it," Yelena shook her head.

"I'd say the sex," You shrugged which made Yelena gag.

"I think I might throw up," She said, her nose wrinkled.

"Then don't ask questions you don't wanna hear the answer to."

"Fair point."

"Anyway," Natasha drawled, "it's gonna be a minute until the band gets here, and you and I are gonna need some sister time." She gave Yelena a look. "Will you be okay here until the last dress fitting?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine." You smiled. "You two have fun."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Yelena yelled after you, and Natasha dragged her away with a warning glare.

******

"Y/n is great," Yelena said as soon as the two were out of earshot.

"She's the best," Natasha nodded, "I love her, and I'm so happy that she said yes."

"Well," Yelena smiled, "you're my sister and she's the love of your life, of course, I'm going to support you two. And she seems like the perfect balance to your craziness. Plus, she's uber-rich. I mean, look at this place? If this is the rental, I want to see her real house."

Natasha laughed.

"And she has a kid, right? I've seen the three of you on all the tabloids," Yelena said. "It's sickening how sweet you are."

"I've always wanted a family," Natasha sighed. "Isabella is ten."

"You're not scared?" Yelena asked brows furrowed.

"Not at all," Nat replied. "Y/N is so wonderful with her. And she's amazing. I couldn't wait to spend the rest of my life with the two of them.

Yelena was quiet for a moment.

"What's up?" Natasha asked, "You're being quiet. Which is unusual for you."

"I know what I'm supposed to say," Yelena muttered, "and I'm happy for you. Do you think you're moving a bit fast? I mean you've only been together what? A year? I know lesbians move fast but not you."

"I don't care about a timeline," Natasha said, shaking her head. "And you saying that shows more of a reason why I'm so serious."

Yelena lifted her hands in surrender. “ Hey, judgment-free zone. I just don’t want you sprinting and then finding out the track is slippery, you know?”

Natasha reached across the space between them and covered Yelena’s fidgeting fingers. “ Lena, everything in my life has felt like sprinting. With Y/N, it finally feels like pacing myself. When Isabella laughs at my terrible jokes, when Y/N falls asleep on my shoulder in the tour bus—those aren’t rush decisions. They’re…the whole point.”

Yelena searched her sister’s face, looking for the stubborn spark that usually signaled a Natasha Romanoff impulse mission. Instead, she found something softer. Settled.

“Okay, Red,” she sighed, squeezing Natasha’s hand back. “But promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“If it ever stops feeling safe. If the world gets too loud for the three of you, you call me. I don’t care if I’m in Cambridge or on the moon. Family is family.”

Natasha’s eyes glossed over. “Deal. But you’ll probably have to share bunk-bed space with a ten-year-old who owns forty-seven Squishmallows.”

Yelena cracked a grin. “Consider it training for aunt duty. I’ll smuggle British chocolate and teach her really offensive accents.”

“Absolutely not,” Natasha laughed, swatting her arm, then pulled her into a full hug, forehead to forehead. “ Thank you, malyshka.”

“Anytime, big sis. Now,” Yelena sniffed, straightening, “where’s that checklist? I believe you still need vows printed, a cake tasted, and according to my covert intel, exactly one emergency bottle of tequila for pre-ceremony nerves.”

Natasha grabbed the clipboard with a mock salute. “Captain Belova, lead the way.”

*******

There was nothing like the shared laughter of sisterhood. You lounged in an overstuffed armchair, feet propped on a satin stool for a pedicure, while Preston, your go-to masseuse, whom you’d flown in for the weekend, worked the tension from your shoulders. Through a blur of chuckles, you scanned the room: every seat was filled by the women who mattered most, all receiving the same royal treatment.

Monica, maid of honor, naturally held court with a dramatic recap of yesterday’s dress fitting, her jokes landing so hard that your older sister, Shauna, nearly snorted her mimosa. Stacy, best friend from forever ago, laughed loudest. Your mom sat serenely beneath a warm towel wrap, while Isabella and her partner-in-chaos, Lenny, perched at a low table, comparing polish colors. When you’d said the wedding would be small, this was what you meant: no entourage, no influencer “plus-ones,” just family, laughter, and enough self-care stations to make a spa jealous. You thought about how happy you were in the moment and wanted to keep it bottled up forever.

Monica, perched on the chaise with foil wraps on every fingertip, was mid-story.

“—so the seamstress goes, ‘Ma’am, the zipper will not survive your upper body strength.’ ” She flexed theatrically, making even Preston let out a laugh. “I told her, ‘Sweetheart, this is natural. The dress will adapt.’”

Stacy wheezed, nearly sloshing her mimosa. “Mo, you’re about to outshine the bride just by breathing too hard.”

You arched a perfectly manicured brow. “And that’s exactly why you’re in sage green and not ivory.”

“Oop!” Monica clutched her pearls; the room erupted again.

Across from you, Isabella and Lenny dipped cotton swabs into bowls of warm water, pretending to be junior manicurists. Each time Isabella pressed lotion into your mother’s hands, her expression softened into the kind of smile you hadn’t seen since holiday mornings when you were ten.

“Mama,” Isabella whispered, leaning across the ottoman, “can we have sparkles on one nail? It’s a statement piece.”

Your heart did a flip. “Only if Grandma gets the matching glitter.”

Debra lifted her chin, regal. “For my granddaughter? Pass the glitter, baby.”

Your mom's nails were barely dry before Monica slipped right back into maid-of-honor mode.

“So,” she purred, spinning her the liquid in her glass like it held state secrets, “have we finalized the other itinerary yet. You know the honeymoon one? Because I have… accessories on standby.”

Stacy’s eyes lit up. “Wait, did the swing make it through TSA last time? Because if we’re talking Maldives, I know a discreet shipping service—”

Shauna cracked up, chiming in, “Y’all better leave room for at least a day of sightseeing before you quarantine yourselves in whatever love-shack villa you booked.”

You cleared your throat, jerking your chin toward the low table. Isabella and Lenny were still within glitter-tossing distance, ears wide open.

“Ladies,” you warned lightly, “tiny humans are present. Let’s save the equipment inventory for later, yeah?”

Monica winked, raising her glass. Stacy raised hers too. Shauna and your mom laughed.

The pedicurist tapped the tops of your feet, indicating you should switch places, and you slid off the chair to swap. When you returned, a fresh cucumber-infused eye-mask ready, Monica leaned in conspiratorially.

You braced yourself.

She was a brilliant publicist, a masterful negotiator, and your dearest friend, but when it came to her idea of a perfect wedding, the only word you could use was overboard.

Which is how she wound up in a green bridesmaid dress instead of an ivory bridal gown.

Which is how a custom-made swing ended up on a private beach in Fiji last year.

Which is why, when the conversation turned to the honeymoon, you knew the exact word coming next.

You weren't disappointed.

“Soooooo,” She smirked, sliding her sunglasses down her nose like she was about to break insider-trading news. “How many days before you two finally emerge from the honeymoon suite? Because I’ve located an ocean-front villa in Seychelles with room service, blackout drapes, and furniture that’s let’s just say structurally… versatile.”

Stacy nearly choked on her cucumber water.

Shauna applauded. “Can the furniture sign an NDA?”

“Monica,” you warned, flicking a toe at her calf. You tipped your head toward the junior spa technicians now painstakingly choosing glitter top-coats. “Tiny impressionable ears.”

Isabella didn’t look up from applying lotion to Lenny’s hands but sighed, long-suffering. “I’m ten, not two. I know what a honeymoon is.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, straight face. “And you also know that ‘honeymoon talk’ is adult-zone only.”

Isabella nodded solemnly. “So… that means we get the rest of the chips in the minibar while you talk code?”

Debra laughed. “Look at these future negotiators.”

Monica raised both palms in surrender. “Fine, fine. No details.” She turned to Debra with exaggerated innocence. “Mrs. Fury, I was merely recommending ergonomic seating for reading on the beach.”

Debra arched a brow, caught your eye, and sipped her mimosa. “Mmm-hmm. Just remember: sunscreen goes everywhere.”

“See?” Monica crowed. “She's on my side practicalities first!”

You groaned, then grinned, feeling Preston’s hands work a knot from your shoulder. “Practicality noted. Now, new topic: first-dance suggestions. Beyoncé and Stevie Wonder are tied.”

Isabella perked up. “Beyoncé. Definitely Beyoncé.”

Shauna cued up her phone. “Stevie’s a vibe, though.”

“And there,” you said, laying the eye mask in place and settling back as laughter rippled again, “is a conversation even the under-12 delegation can vote on.”

Monica clinked her glass gently against yours. “Touché, bride-boss. Honeymoon logistics tabled until post-bedtime.”

“Good,” you muttered, a smile tugging despite yourself. “Because I’m pretty sure my mother just threatened me with SPF-50 in places SPF-50 should never see.”

Debra winked over her flute. “A mother’s job is never done, darling.”

******

The arrival curb at Sky Harbor was smooth sailing compared to LAX. Natasha parallel parked into a spot with expert precision, turning on the hazards and checking her rearview mirror every ten seconds for airport security. Yelena sat with her feet on the dashboard, drumming up some tune she had in her head, as they tried to spot their mother.

"She's probably got ten thousand bags," Yelena said as the minutes passed. "What do you think is her favorite thing to do when she travels?"

"Knit or something else old people do," Natasha shrugged with a snort.

"I give her two minutes before she audits the cleanliness of this car,” Yelena replied. “Five bucks says first words will be about ‘crumbs’.”

Natasha smirked. “I’m not taking that bet. I vacuumed yesterday and somehow the Cheeto dust re-spawned.”

The sliding doors hissed open and there was Melina with a slim carry-on in one hand, garment bag in the other, posture straight enough to shame royalty. She clocked the illegally parked SUV, the hazard lights, and the sisters arguing about snack residue, and issued a silent, pursed-lip sigh that Natasha could feel through the windshield.

“Look alive,” Natasha muttered, jumping out. Yelena yanked her feet off the dash and exited the car too.

Melina reached the curb just as security began its slow prowl down the lane. “Natalia.” She kissed her eldest daughter’s cheek, then gave Yelena a once-over. “Feet on floor, not dashboard. Car interiors are not ottomans.”

Yelena’s smile went full cherub. “Hi, Mama. Missed you too.”

They popped the hatch, pitched Melina’s luggage inside, and scrambled back to their seats. Natasha eased into traffic signal on, perfect merge, saintly.

Melina sighed again.

She checked her watch, a vintage Rolex from 1958, and glanced over the center console at Natasha. Her gaze narrowed, and she said in a carefully modulated voice, "We will not be late. This is not a race."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Yes, mama."

Yelena stifled a grin.

"Where's my new daughter in law?" Melina asked. "She should be here."

"Y/n and a few of her friends had a spa day," Natasha answered, glancing at the road signs, trying to determine which exit she needed to take. "But we are seeing them in about an hour. We're having a bonfire."

"Ah," Melina nodded. "Good. That is very good. And how are you, Natalia? Are you excited?"

Natasha smiled. "I'm the most excited I've ever been. I love her so much. She makes me really happy."

"Good," Melina said again.

"Are you nervous, Red?" Yelena asked, reaching from the back seat to prod her sister.

"Not at all," Natasha replied, shaking her head. "It's just a formality. I already consider her my wife."

"That's sweet," Yelena hummed. "Never thought we'd see the day with you so in love."

"Yeah, yeah," Natasha drawled.

She couldn't wait for the bonfire.

****

The bonfire was a hit. Low lanterns ringed the grass, music floated from a Bluetooth speaker blasting Stevie Wonder, because the Beyoncé-vs-Stevie debate was still unresolved, and the slight breeze carried the sugar-sweet smell of toasted marshmallows. Your guest list tonight was exactly fourteen. An intimate night with family and friends that had you excited for the weekend to come. You emerged from the rental house, balancing a tray of fresh drinks. Natasha met you halfway, slid the tray onto a side table, and without warning curled an arm around your waist, tugging you down so you landed sideways across her lap.

“Nat,” you hissed, half-laughing, half-mortified, “parents are present.”

“Already checked,” she murmured against your ear, her grin warm against your hair. “Dad Fury just raised an eyebrow rating my technique; Mom Romanoff is pretending she’s not amused. We’re good.”

You rolled your eyes but settled, back pressed to her chest, heartbeat syncing with the low thump of the music.

Across the fire, Isabella pirouetted, marshmallow sword held aloft. “Victory! S’more number three, incoming.”

"We should give her a sugar curfew," you whispered, watching your daughter bounce toward the s'more supplies once again.

"We could," Nat replied, "but then we'd have to hear her whine about it and I don't think anyone's ready for that."

"Good point," You chuckled.

Natasha nosed a kiss behind your ear.

You sighed, sinking into her arms.

Yelena, marshmallow in hand, called across the flames. “Hey, future sister you make Red unbearably sappy. I approve.”

You blew her a kiss. “Wait till tomorrow when she cries at the walkthrough.”

“I don’t cry,” Natasha protested into your neck.

“Uh-huh,” Monica chimed in, “and the ocean isn’t wet.”

Natasha stuck out her tongue.

"Well, I love you, sappy," You said, grinning. "You've always made me soft, and I'm so lucky to have found you."

Natasha hummed. "I've always wanted a family, and Isabella is a great kid. And you are so great with her, Y/N. Thank you for letting me be a part of the life you've built."

"Mom, scoot over, you're hogging her." Isabella playfully rolled her eyes as she smooshed herself into your cuddling session.

"Oof, hi sweetie," You laughed, making room for her to sit.

Natasha squeezed the two of you tight, dropping a kiss on top of your head.

"Ugh," Yelena muttered.

"What?" Melina frowned.

"You're gonna make me barf," Yelena scrunched up her face.

"No, I quite like this," Melina began to take out her phone. "In fact let me get a picture."

"Mama," Natasha shook her head, "I look terrible."

"You look like a woman in love," Melina snapped the picture and then another one. "Smile. I will show the grandbabies someday."

"Grandbabies?" You chuckled.

"If the universe works in my favor, yes," Melina nodded.

"I want a sibling," Isabella announced, popping a marshmallow into her mouth. "Natasha already promised I could name it."

"You did, huh?" You asked eyeing Natasha.

"I didn't promise anything," Natasha shrugged. "I said I would talk to you. Negotiations are still… pending.”

"Maybe one day," You said lowly.

Isabella folded her arms, mock-serious. “I have a shortlist. ‘Storm’ if it’s a girl. ‘Rocket’ if it’s a boy.”

Around the circle, soft chuckles. You raised an eyebrow at Natasha a silent 'you started this' and she lifted both hands, guilty but smitten.

“Right now, I’m still memorizing how this ring looks on her finger.” You raised Natasha's hand. Everyone around you whistled and whooped. Natasha’s free hand drifted over your stomach in a feather-light caress, half joke, half unconscious promise, and she pressed a kiss to your temple. The fire threw halos across her lashes; her whisper was for you alone.

"One thing at a time."

"You're right," You nodded, looking over at the love of your life, the ring shining in the low light. "We have all the time in the world."

"Damn straight," Natasha replied, kissing you on the lips this time.

"Gross," Yelena gagged.

"Get used to it," Natasha teased, "you're stuck with us forever."

"I think it's nice," Isabella beamed.

"Me too," Melina agreed.

"Alright, alright," Debra waved a hand. "Let's keep this party going."

You grinned, looking at everyone around the bonfire. This was the best start to a wedding weekend. You couldn't wait to spend the rest of your life with these people.

"I agree," You smiled.

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha romanov #natasha x you #hotelcaliforniaau

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mickyschumacher · 21 hours ago

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Omg Dean omg Dean 😭🙏

Thank u he’s lit soooo underrated and it’s dry out here babe like I’m thirsty

Idk if your requests are open but can u write something long for him (like 6k word count or something) something like angsty like they meet randomly somewhere but reader doesn’t know anything about football so she doesn’t know who Dean Huijsen is and they keep getting closer and closer but he doesn’t tell her about his football career but then somehow she finds out (like maybe went to a game with her friends? You’re free babes it’s your style so im sure it’s gonna be fire) and she gets upset like she cuts him off and all and he’s trying to win her back but but but wait a min pookie i got more 😌🤚 you thought only Dean has secrets guess what she also lied about some stuff miss reader here lied to Dean about why she cut him off cuz when he asked she’s like “you lied to me” but babe she didn’t tell him that she’s scared to date a footballer because of the spotlight and she’s not in a good financial situation (make it like lil hints in the fic before they reveal the fact she’s not that rich).

Thank u pookie in advance love u 💙

[PLEASE DON'T FALL IN LOVE WITH ME!]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you would never believe that a random meeting with a boy at work would've ever resulted in this. or in which a few lies are told to protect some hearts.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: angst, reader isn't rich = talks about money, reader works and is in uni bc i love me some education, poor football match description, lying from both parties, fluff to balance some angst, reader doesn't have the best relationship with her parents, bad humour imo, and vv bad spanish ♡︎ // not really proof-read

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: dean huijsen x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 5.9k+

𝐀/𝐍: soo i loved this request! and i hope i did it justice! almost got to your 6k word count which is absolutely lovely. would love to know what everyone thinks bc i love comments or messages in my inbox! ♡︎

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You tried to withhold the sigh the came naturally upon hearing the bell to the local supermarket where you worked. It was a small dainty thing really. A few fridges on one side, fresh flowers decorating the area, and a nook for the cashiers. To be honest, it was so small, you could run from one side to the other in less than three minutes.

It was decently popular within the Alcobendas area, known for it's quality products and friendly environment. Customers flew in and out at a steady rate, always leaving you a little something to do other than study.

"___, you wanna go for your break?" Your boss and family friend, Rosa, queried, walking over to the cashier. She gave you a soft smile, spotting your tired eyes. "I'll take it from here. When you get back, I think Marìa needed some help on the upper shelves since she hurt her back."

You nodded, smiling gently. "Claro. Call me if you need anything, okay? En serio. Stop trying to do everything by yourself," you narrowed your eyes playfully.

Your boss rolled her eyes. "I'm not that old yet," she retorted, walking behind the nook to replace you. She watched a customer come forward with some items and looked over to you. "Now go on."

You sighed, begrudgingly walking away from the cash register while you removed your apron. Hands parting the curtains to the back room of the store, you rummaged through your bag, grabbing the apple and planner in your bag before leaving through the back door. You winced at the harsh reality of the sun on your skin. The air conditioner in the store had clearly been doing you a favour.

There was a café next door to the store. Equally small and busy. At this time, however, it was more vacant, allowing you to snatch a seat outside after you ordered your second coffee for the day.

You gave a thankful smile to the barista who placed your coffee on your table before opening your planner, finding your happiness quickly die down. Due dates were plastered in every box, some for university and others for your bills.

Taking a bite out of your apple, you flickered through the dates with a frown. When did these all become so close together? A sigh fell from your mouth. You took out your phone, opening your calendar to add on any extra work you had to do in the upcoming works.

By the time you finished, you could barely look at your planner anymore without wincing. You closed the thing shut, taking the last sip of your coffee before resting your cup on the saucer.

Overlap. Everything was beginning to overlap. Work. Assignments. Payments.

Moving out of your home for your first year of university wasn't ideal. But when it became apparent your parents couldn't afford it and suggested for you to work instead of prioritise your education, the only option you saw was to leave.

You parents weren't particularly happy about it, to say the least. But they didn't complain when a magical fairy deposited money every month to help them. In the end, you were doing what you wanted. Even if it was a struggle.

Your eyes flickered over to the time on your phone. You had a minute left till your break and four hours till your other part-time job. Without a second thought, you were walking back to the store, phone slid back into your pocket. You smiled at Rosa as you entered the store, forgetting to get your apron as you found the shelves your co-worker Marìa was initially attending to.

You squinted at the height of the shelf, old stock all towards the back of it. You weren't particularly any taller than Marìa, if anything she had a couple inches on you. Nevertheless, you stretched up, leaning on the tips of your toes, arm reaching out to grab the glass jar of pickles. You winced, feeling your arm strain at the burning stretch, fingers grasping only the air while the store's door opened once again.

You looked blankly at the shelf. You would probably have to go get the step stool in the back room. But before you committed to the idea, you decided to try once again, hand reaching out to, waiting to graze the jar at least but to no avail.

Instead a much longer arm reached above you, grabbing the jar with swift ease and in one fell swoop that had you widen your eyes. You blinked in surprise, turning to find an almost overly tall boy your age stand in front you, hair verging between dark blonde and brown, eyes hooded yet smiling as he handed the jar to you.

"Aquí," the stranger said, voice slightly on the lower side.

Hesitantly you grabbed the jar. "G-Gracias..." you smiled awkwardly, holding to the jar close to you, taking a step back when you realised how close you were.

"Oh," he blinked as if he had remembered something else. He looked down at his hand and the book in lying within it. He stretched out his arm again. "You forgot this at the café. I thought I'd give it to you."

Your eyes widened at the sight of your planner in front of you. You could've sworn you had brought it with you... right? Your brows furrowed while you meekly took your planner from his hands. "How did you..."

His lips parted, realising how weird this seemed. "Oh, um, I was at the table next to yours... so, uh, I just figured you'd want it."

"Right," you slowly nodded, pressing your lips together before you lightly smiled again, flickering your eyes to the amused Rosa in the corner. "Thank you."

His smile in return seemed genuine, far less awkward than yours. He ruffled the back of his hair sheepishly and shook his head. "No worries. I'm Dean."

You blinked at the hand hung out in front of you. Oh. This conversation was still going... You nodded slowly, smiling once again while you reached to meet his hand, eyes having to look higher than usual to meet his gaze. "Nice to meet you, Dean. I'm ___."

Dean nodded as if he was trying to repeat your name in his head. The loud dings from his phone broke his concentration. He sighed, knowing exactly what those messages were saying. "Mierda," he quietly swore under his breath. He looked back at you and sucked in a sharp breath. "Um, I need to be somewhere right now. I just... do you– do you go to that café often?"

You blinked, feeling a wave of heat crash over your face. "Y-Yeah, I guess."

Dean smiled with satisfaction, taking a step back to quickly leave. "Great. I'll see you soon!" He called out, reaching the store door, letting an elderly lady go first before running down the street.

You swallowed hard, trying to register what on earth had just happened.

━━━━━━━━━━━

It turned out Dean truly meant what he had said. You had in fact seen him soon. The next day actually. And almost every other day after that.

You had a friend in him when you least expected it. You spent an unhealthy amount of texting him and waiting. You had no idea what he did during the day but it didn't bother you. You assumed he was also studying or doing something similar which was why you always met in the late afternoons and evenings.

But you couldn't meet him all the times. You had your other job as a retail assistant in a small shop just two streets away. Then you tutored some kids. Though you would never tell Dean.

Dean wasn't like you. If he knew struggle, it was unlikely to be of the monetary kind. The nice clothes, the expensive perfume, offering to pay every time you met each other... his house, God, his house, it was like a mansion. Nothing compared to your over-priced one-bedroom apartment nor your parents' fixer-upper of a house which required a plumber to come every other month to fix something. His parents were similar, naturally. Sophisticated, polished, educated.

These differences lead to excuses. Take today for example. Dean had invited you to go shopping on your free day and then eat at a fancy restaurant. But you declined those hopeful blue eyes. You said you had to study. Which technically wasn't a lie. The studying came after your work shifts and tutoring. But what had been bugging you the most, was the way you looked next to him.

So... out of place.

Like you didn't belong.

Deep down you knew it was nothing to be ashamed of. But it was so difficult. The only thing that was easier to do was make up excuses.

"Can you please go?" Your friend, Isabella, from your very first day of class begged you, waiting for your lecture to start.

You gave her a confused look, putting your laptop on the table gently before you turned to her. "Why would I go to a football game? I don't even watch it."

Isabella clicked her tongue like it was obvious. "Because I'm trying to turn you into a madridista!" She sighed, hands wrapping around your arm in an effort to plead. "Please. I need you to experience this with me. It's Madrid versus Barça," she sobbed loudly.

You winced at the curious looks from your fellow classmates, covering your burning face with your hand while you looked at her. "Fine. Fine. If you shut up, fine."

Isabella leaned back, dropping the fake cries and smiling satisfactorily. "Thank you," she beamed with a shamelessness in her tone.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as your professor walked in.

━━━━━━━━━━━

"Do you eat a lot?" Dean queried, following you around the grocery store.

You furrowed your brows, pausing in front of the fruit and vegetable display racks before looking at him incredulously. "What?"

"Np, I mean–" Dean's eyes widened, cheeks automatically flushing. "I just feel like you're always here. I didn't know there were so many things to buy," he shrugged, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Right.

You hadn't told him that you had worked in the store. Dean had assumed when you first met each other that you were just doing some usual shopping to get your daily needs and whatnot.

You should've told him the truth but you just couldn't bring yourself to do it. Especially when you had met him the next day and realised just how different he was from you. It was just... embarrassing.

You smiled awkwardly, holding up a green apple. "I just really like fruit," you huffed uneasily before putting it in your reusable grocery bag. You internally winced at the amused grin on Dean's face as you moved to the cash register. "Buenas tardes Rosa," you greeted.

Rosa smiled at you, eyes flickering to the tall boy next to you. She had seen him more often in her store, making sure to take her time and tease the both of you. She grabbed your items, sporting a cheeky look on her face as she opened her mouth. "How are you finding my sweet ___?" Rosa asked him.

A family friend... that was what you had told Dean. That's what Rosa only was. Not your boss. A family friend.

Dean grinned, taking a quick glance at you. "You're right. She is pretty sweet."

Your cheeks reddened, a sigh falling from your lips while you shook your head lightly. "You two," you mumbled, rubbing the back of your neck nervously.

Rosa rolled her eyes, sending a nod of agreement towards Dean. "Kindest heart I've ever seen. Don't lose her, okay?" She gently chided, poking his arm playfully.

Your eyes softened for a moment before you looked away, guilt quickly replacing the warm feeling. Your chest felt heavy as Dean grinned again, nodding.

You weren't kind. You were a liar.

You cleared your throat, giving her a tight smile. "I'll see you later, hmm?" You queried, gathering your things, taking her nod as an answer and leaving with Dean.

Five minutes of walking had left Dean spotting a flower shop and begging you to stop for a minute. You weren't going to say no but his lips pouting and blue eyes swirling with hope made it difficult. It had come to the point you rather text him because at least then it was easier to make excuses.

You stood inside the store, calmly eyeing the colourful range of flowers while he greeted the owner. The store had a bit of everything. Pre-made bouquets and pots hanging from every inch. Small paintings hung on the columns, framed with flowers covered in resins.

"¿Buscas flores para una senorita guapa?" The owner queried, taking a step forward and glancing between Dean and you knowingly. Looking for flowers for a beautiful lady?

You opened your mouth to refute the question but Dean had beat you to it. "Algo así," he nodded, tips of his ears turning red. Something like that.

Pressing your lips, you hoped your hands were cold enough to reduce the temperature of your flushed cheeks. But your efforts were to no avail. You could feel your fingers absorb the heat but you could still feel the visible presence of the warm tint on your skin. Furthermore, your heart... it was thundering against your chest.

"I... I think I'll wait outside," you murmured, suddenly craving some fresh air. You walked through the door, still able to here them within earshot.

The owner grinned, turning to find the bouquets of flowers closest to him. He bent down slightly, pointing at the different types. "They all look nice but all of them have different meanings," he started. "The Bougainvillea come from Granada symbolising beauty and peace. The red carnations and the Valencia roses represent affection and love. Lavenders are grace and serenity."

Dean leaned into the flowers, eyeing them carefully. "I'll take a combination of these two," he pointed, smiling at the amused look on the owner's face.

You chewed your lip nervously, slowly breathing in the summer air of Spain. Your heartbeat had gotten slower, thankfully. Out of your peripheral, you could seen the mop of Dean's dark blonde hair. You looked at him and then the small bouquet in his hands: Bougainvillea and Valencia roses.

"Beauty and affection," Dean murmured, pushing the flowers towards you. "Fitting for you."

Your cheeks were flushing once again, even more fiery than the last time. Your throat felt dry. You weren't sure what to say. "I... um."

"Just take it," Dean laughed quietly, taking in your flustered state. He stepped forward, pressing the bouquet into your hands.

Your breath hitched, in fact it ceased to exist as or a moment, you felt as though time itself had stopped. He was so close to you, you could faintly feel his breath as he towered of you. You could feel his hand raise, fingers lightly grazing your searing cheek.

He smiled, stepping back, blue eyes still on you. "Linda." Cute.

━━━━━━━━━━━

"Am I going to have to ban you from your phone?" Isabella queried, amused at the way you were smiling at your screen while you walked towards the stadium for her oh so precious football match.

You gave her a pointed look, rolling your eyes while you turned off your phone. "No, you don't," you maintained, eyeing the floods of white shirts amongst the blue and red.

"So how are you and your mystery loverboy?" She asked, showing her ticket to the staff official outside the doors.

Isabella had caught wind of a change in you almost instantly. It was like you were a different person entirely. Humming while you studied out of nowhere. The weight on your shoulders lighter as you sat in your lectures daydreaming.

When she had asked about it over and over again, you had finally caved, telling her about this strange boy you had meet at work. And she absolutely positively loved it, dreamily citing, with her words exactly, "You two came out of romance novel."

Your cheeks warmed at her words. "There's nothing going on between us," you denied, also showing your ticket.

The both of you headed towards the security check, letting them do whatever they had to. A dry laugh fell from Isabella's lips, hand on her hip. "He got you flowers. He remembers your coffee order. He thinks your beautiful. And when he first saw you, he asked if he could see you again."

You sighed at the way your heart skipped a beat, still remembering that moment outside the flower store – heck it had been replaying in your mind for days. "A-Anyone can do those things," you retorted, dismissing her once again.

Isabella stared at you for a moment, thinking while she pursed her lips and nodding. "Sure," she agreed, grabbing her stuff, "but he did those things and to you."

You stayed quiet, following after her. The sound of your heart rang inside your ears. She was right. Even if you hated to admit it. After Dean had brought you those flowers, your friendship had taken a different turn. It was like he could confidently compliment you without feeling as nervous. And you could laugh freely at his stupid jokes, knowing very well no one else would ever find them as funny as you did.

Your silences together were more comfortable. Small things would remind you of him. He's send you videos of what you thought you'd like. He had even made a handmade card to motivate you for your classes, pairing it with a teddy bear.

It was strange. The world now seem to spin more. Flowers seemed more lovely to you. You would look in the mirror and find yourself smiling out of nowhere. Even the air seemed sweeter to you.

If you took a step back to look at the bigger picture, you could see Dean for who he was. He was sweet, understanding, an idiot most of the times, and walked around carefree.

Simply put, you liked him. And that excited you as much as it terrified you.

━━━━━━━━━━━

You sat in your seat amidst rows and rows of madridistas. The flocks of white stood bright across the wave of red and blue from the culers. You had never been to a match before, though you had seen clips of it on screen. The real thing was far more surreal. Loud, full of cheers and chatter before it even started, music barely intelligible as it thundered through the speakers, and the vibrancy of the green field was striking. Banners and flags ran one with the wind, large tv screens capturing every moment.

The announcer's voice reverberate amongst the crowd, introducing each team, creating the rumble of roars as if it were a cacophony. On the screen, you could see the backs of both teams, each player holding a child's hand while they walked through the tunnel and entered the pitch. Thank God, for the screen. You could barely see anything from where you were sitting.

You watched both teams line up, chests already heaving with anticipation. The camera started with Barça, zooming in on their faces. You could recognise some faces from social media, players like Yamal and Pedri being hard to miss. But as the camera went further down the line and moved to Real Madrid, you could feel the world that was once spinning come to a halt.

Your eyes widened, breath hitched. Heart echoing in your ears under a sadder pretence this time round.

The camera had now moved past him but you could still see it clear as day.

Dean.

It was Dean.

The same hooded blue eyes. The same dark blonde hair. The same freckles you had come to admire. But dressed in white from head to toe, with the royal club crest embedded at the corner of his jacket.

Holy shit.

You watched him join his teammates clapping and greeting every player and referee before running to prepare, shrugging off his jacket, you could see the writing clearly.

Huijsen. Dean Huijsen. He was a football player.

"Oh my God," Isabella squealed next you. "It's Dean." She captured your furrowed brows and sighed, quickly remembering you were a newbie. "He signed with the team a month ago or so. He used to be in England, playing for Bournemouth. He's a really good defender."

A month ago. That was probably when you had first met him.

You said nothing, just vaguely nodding at every bit of information Isabella told you throughout the first half of the match. You just couldn't stop thinking.

You had taken out your phone, hesitantly searching Dean's name and funny enough, you had learnt more about him in ten minutes then you had in a month.

Your stomach churned, skimming the information as much as you could. His Instagram which you had never thought to ask for... it had 3.5 million followers. His dad, a former footballer player.

Chewing your lip, you fought to breathe normally. A football player. That meant cameras, no privacy, a spotlight, and worse of all, money.

Your head peeked up at the sound of the referee's whistle, indicating it was half time. Your eyes naturally fell to Dean, who moved towards the edge of the field and towards the tunnel. He couldn't see you from where you were. And for some reason you were thankful.

For the rest of the game you simply chose to watch him play. It was better than feeling the sickness swirl around in your stomach. Dean was good, like Isabella had said. She had said he was a slightly aggressive player, which surprised you. You had never seen him get angry before. He was always so... shy and sweet around you. Like he was walking on glass.

But you could see it. The desperation and annoyance written across his face as one of his teammate barrelled into an opponent, hands wailing in the air, mouth open to shout. A sore reminder that you didn't really know him.

━━━━━━━━━━━

The game had ended with Real Madrid winning, which you supposed was good for Dean. But even as you waited for Isabella outside the bathroom, you couldn't shake off what you had now known.

You sighed, head leaning on the wall, arms folding around your cardigan. You were torn. What were you supposed to do? You liked him. But this wasn't... you weren't prepared for something like this. Hell, you were nowhere near worthy of it either.

Your head turned to a small crowd of laughter, eyes immediately zoning on the dark blonde haired boy who was smiling ear to ear, patting his teammate's back.

You could feel your heart dropped as he turned, catching you in an instant while your hand shot up, your purse covering your face. You winced, eyes clenched tightly. Shit. Shit. He hadn't seen you right?

Hesitantly, you peeked your head, lowering your purse. You spotted Dean's face and it made your chest hurt. He wasn't smiling anymore. His sleepy eyes were wide, lips parted in shock. He stepped forward, hand reaching out to you, calling out your name gently as if he was scared you were going to disappear. " I–"

Just as he did, Isabella had come out of the bathroom, not bothering to look at who was behind you as she rambled on and on about needing to get to the car park before you were stuck here forever.

You took one last dejected glance at him before following after Isabella.

━━━━━━━━━━━

It had been a week and Dean was still reeling from the moment he had seen you after his win. The last thing he had expected that day was to see you there. But there you were.

He wanted to explain. Why he lied instead of telling the truth. But you had ceased all contact. Blocked his number. Even his Instagram that you didn't follow. And you didn't come to the café anymore. He didn't know any of your friends that he could contact. You had cut him off effectively.

He only had one last resort.

"Buenos días," he greeted as opened the door to the store, waving his hand at Rosa, who was stocking some fruits.

"Dean," she acknowledge with a warm smile, putting down an apple before walking towards him. "I saw you on TV the other day. You should've told me you played. Anyways... well done, my boy," she congratulated, patting him on the back with the gentleness of a mother.

Dean smiled tightly, stomach turning at her second sentence. "Thank you," he said earnestly, blue eyes flickering around for a familiar face.

"Looking for ___?" She asked knowingly, grin softening at his eager nod. "Wish I could help you," she sighed regretfully, "but she hasn't come to work for the past three days."

Dean furrowed his brows at the information. "Work?" He repeated, "She works here?"

Rosa also looked confused, nodding slowly. "She does. For a few months now. She also works at that small clothing store two streets down from here. Inventory or something like that."

Dean blinked in surprise. He mulled over her words, trying to piece everything together. "She does all of that and study?"

"I don't know how she does it. She even tutors some kids to earn some money. She left home to study. Her parents, my friends, they weren't too happy about it," Rosa sighed with a sad smile.

Suddenly it clicked. Why you were so secretive. All your excuses. Why you were so awkward at his house. Why you were always in this store. The look on your face when he offered to pay.

And now you knew him as a fucking footballer.

"Mierda," he swore under his breath, taking a step back. He looked down at Rosa, opening his mouth in desperation. "Do you know where she'd be right now?"

━━━━━━━━━━━

The library. Dean didn't know how he hadn't thought of that. He supposed not having to focus on his education made him forget that you had probably spent a majority of your time there aside from work.

Dean had never stepped into a university before but the action alone had shown him a whole new world – your world. Students everywhere, few of which lightened up, recognising him quickly. He winced, pushing his cap down further to cover his face while he sped up.

His eyes flickered over the campus. He could see all the things you had described to him when you met. The fountain, the large trees, the the endless glass buildings. They were still here. But still he wondered which building you went to the most during your time here. Where your favourite class was. Where your favourite café on campus was. What class you absolutely hated.

The thought of these small things made his heart stutter. Because he had been more further away from finding those things than he had ever been. He needed to find you and explain everything. Now.

He stopped at the words written in bold across a brick building. Biblioteca de Universidad. Dean sucked in a sharp breath before going inside.

The quietness was what hit him first. The chatter was barely above a whisper, almost melding with the soft smell of books and paper. It was large, numerous floors layered with rows of desks and lamps, surrounding by years of accumulated knowledge. And there on the ground floor, you sat in the corner, headphones plugged in, eyes focused firmly on your laptop while your hand wrote down the necessary notes.

He spotted the various small snacks on your table and frowned gently. It was like you had been there for hours already, choosing to immerse yourself into studying if it helped you avoid him.

Dean tried to quiet the thrum of his heart in his ears as he walked over to you. You hadn't noticed him yet, heavily engrossed in what you were doing. Slowly, he pulled out the chair across you and took a seat, finally capturing your attention.

Your eyes widened at the sight of Dean, registering his presence while you took your headphones out of your ears. He looked pretty terrible for someone so handsome. Slightly dark eye bags, exhausted eyes, hair poking out of his cap in odd directions.

"Hey," he softly said, giving you a small wave from across the table before resting both his hands.

"H-Hi," you greeted back, eyes cautiously flickering around to see if anyone recognised him. "What are you doing here?"

"I want to talk," he simply said, shoulders shrugging and his face full of hope.

Your stomach churned at his words. You knew what he wanted to talk about. The very conversation you had been avoiding. It didn't take long for the waves of betrayal and guilt to flood your brain. "I..." you sucked in a sharp breath, "I don't think that's a good idea."

You could see the disappointment kill the hope in his eyes and you hated it. If he was angry, it might've been understandable. Yet his voice still came out soft and gentle. "Even for five minutes."

You bit your lip, carefully thinking over your options. If you didn't talk, you wouldn't know why he lied but you would also avoid bringing up anything unnecessary. If you did talk, however, you weren't sure if you'd like the outcome.

You blinked as Dean's hand reached over to cover yours, a small warmth spreading through your skin as he tightly smiled. "Please."

You caved. "Okay," you uttered out, not trusting your voice to say anything else.

Leading him outside of the library, you found an isolated corner. The both of you took a seat on the bench, taking a breath of the fresh summer air, still crisp and refreshing. You waited for him to speak, watching the clouds pass by on the blue canvas above you.

Dean quietly laughed to himself, making you look away from the sky and raise a brow at him. He sighed, smile still on his lips. "Now that we're here, I don't really know what to say," he admitted in disbelief.

You pursed your lips, rubbing your arms lightly while you looked back at the sky. "You lied," you simply stated.

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. He rubbed his clammy hands on the material of his shorts, heart beat picking up once again. "I did," he agreed.

"Why?" You finally queried, turning your head to him.

"Honestly?" He asked, sucking in a sharp breath of air. "Because everyone knows Dean Huijsen. But you didn't. I didn't have to feel judged around you and I liked that," he confessed, pressing his lips together.

You blinked. The guilt was gnawing at your heart again. Here Dean was talking about judgement. And it turned out you both had been worrying about the same things. You cleared your throat, trying to push away the nauseating feeling. "But you had to have known that being a footballer would change everything. The camera, the media, the spotlight–"

"Is that what you're worried about?" He interrupted with a raised brow. It wasn't in a demeaning way. In fact, the action held all the concern in the world.

"What do you mean?" You retorted, mending your own brows with confusion.

"I visited Rosa."

Your face paled while your body stilled. Shit.

"Why didn't you tell me you worked there?" Dean asked, pausing momentarily to let you answer. But when you said nothing while your cheeks heated, he sighed. "That's nothing to be embarrassed about."

You huffed with amusement, your eyes burned as they focused on the students in the distance. "How would you know? We're entirely different people. I can barely afford half of the lunches you paid for. You dine in at fancy restaurants. You live in a seven-bedroom mansion while I live in a shitty one-bedroom apartment. You don't even need to think about about looking at the price. Dean, when I'm next to you, I'm nothing."

Dean clenched his jaw at your choked voice. His chest hurt upon hearing your words. He leaned up from the bench, turning his body to face yours. He took your hands into his, capturing your attention. "I don't care about that. You're not... you're not nothing," he whispered, struggling to get those last words out without feeling disgusted.

You couldn't keeping looking into his eyes. You were scared. Scared he would see right through you. See past your glassy eyes. See your fears for what they were: the fibres of who you were. So instead you looked away again, praying the hot tears welling in your eyes wouldn't fall.

Dean swallowed, blinking rapidly. He stood up from the bench while he kept your hands within his grasp. Bending down in front of you, he ensured you could see him clearly, giving your hands a comforting squeeze. "I'm proud that you work there. Or anywhere. I might not know how you feel. But I know that when you struggle, you don't see how strong you are. You're living by yourself as a first year university student and paying for everything and yet you smile through life... if that's not strong, I don't know what is."

Dean could feel his heart breaking with every passing second, watching the rivets of tears drop and roll down your cheeks, your body shaking lightly. If he could, he would've done anything to stop you from feeling like this.

You groaned to yourself, sniffling while you removed your hands from his hold. You covered your face, voice muffled. "Esto es tan vergonzos," you sighed out, wiping the tears off your cheeks. This is so embarrassing.

"It's not," Dean reassured, hand moving to hold your face gently, thumb carefully caressing your cheek. "I'm sorry you felt this way. I wish you felt like you could've told me and I'm sorry I made you feel like you couldn't. And I'm so goddamn sorry I lied to you. I don't know if it's obvious or not, but I really really like you."

"Even after all of this?" You queried, breathing out slowly to calm yourself down while you met his eyes.

Dean smiled gently. "Well, since we both lied, I'd say we're even," he joked quietly, letting his chin rest on the top of your knee as he looked up at you. "But yes," he agreed, "even after all of this. If you're worried about what the others will say then forget about them. If you let them, my parents could hunt them down."

You snorted and rolled your eyes, making him grin. He adjusted his body again, leaning up straighter to smooth the creases between your brow. "But I promise you I don't care. What is it they say? For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer?" Dean queried, a quizzical look washing over his face.

You narrowed your eyes yet unable to keep your smile down. "Wedding vows already? You aren't thinking too far ahead?" You teased, poking his shoulder.

Dean smiled, reaching his hand out as a gesture. "Will you take me as your... uh," he paused, trying to think, "oh, as your universally-acknowledged boyfriend?"

Your heart fluttered as it usually did around him. You took his hand and grinned and you could've sworn for a moment Dean had malfunctioned. "I do."

#mickyschumacher #dean huijsen oneshot #dean huijsen fanfic #dean huijsen imagine #dean huijsen x reader #footballer x reader #football imagines

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