in which marco reus falls head over heels in love with a woman whose skin is much darker than his.
(completed in 2016, CURRENTLY BEING REWRITTEN in 2020)
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89,031 likes natashaclotaire: told my baby I was proud of him & he said he's Prada me too 😇 il sait vraiment comment m'habiller 🥺 3,062 comments marcinho11: all bad 🥵 marcinho11: keep looking at me like that & speaking your little French & i promise you the farthest we'll make it is that backseat natashaclotaire: @marcinho11mon amour ;)) juweigl: brother 🤝🤝🤝 @marcinho11 sarah.richmond: @natashaclotaire 👸🏾😍👸🏾 badgalriri: WOW 🔥🔥 ameliahuff: TASHA ARE U SEEING THIS^^^ natashaclotaire: @badgalriri OH MY GOODNESS I CANT BELIEBE YOU KNOW I EXIST 🥺🥺
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"I can hardly believe my eyes. Marco Reus is double texting? Or is that triple texting?" Mats Hummels snorted at his German teammate as he nosily gazed over Marco's shoulder, watching as the trending footballer sent a slew of affectionate emojis to his girlfriend. "Are you whipped, or are you whipped?"
They were on the bus back from a successful afternoon match; if they made it by the ETA, Marco could finally see Natasha during the daytime—that is to say, before midnight. Their schedules, between his constant traveling for football and her bar tending job as well as school, were both so hectic that Marco and Natasha could hardly ever go on normal dates together—but part of him knew she liked it better that way. After all, that meant there weren't nearly as many paparazzi or public nuisances to deal with. "Shut up," scoffed Marco, despite hastily turning off his phone—just in time for Julian to tune in to his following words. "I happen to like my girlfriend. Is that so shocking?"
"Knowing you, yes, it is." Julian snorted, half heartedly scrolling through Marco's Instagram feed. "You post so many photos of Tasha that I'm starting to think it's her page now. Not that I'm complaining," Julian let out a low, playful whistle. "She's certainly worth the controversy, isn't she?"
Jadon grinned, himself wincing—as if Natasha's beauty caused him physical pain. "She's the baddest woman in the entire country. No, the entire continent. Not the most beautiful, or the prettiest. The baddest."
"Baddest? What does that even mean?" Mats rolled his eyes, then looked back at a smirking Marco. "Regardless," declared the German, "It doesn't seem like she's nearly as keen on him as he is her. You sent her at least ten texts in a row. I, for one, am worried. It's not like the Marco we know, that's for sure. Scarlett used to constantly hassle you about how little you'd respond."
Marco scoffed and shook his head. "I think you think you know more about me than you actually do," declared the German, unconvincingly. The truth was that Mats was right: Marco was in over his head when it came to Natasha, and it was getting harder and harder to manage his desire for her—when coupled with the fact that it felt like they only saw each other when they were sleeping, and with the fact that he knew his own best friend was Natasha's ex-boyfriend, his possessive urges were already being put to good use. "Natasha isn't like other women. She has her own life," declared the German, biting his lip. Her own busy, often distant, confusing life. Deep down, Marco knew he wanted their lives to be intertwined—he wanted her as close to him as possible, and he felt this way constantly. His attraction to her was only growing stronger and stronger.
