You're Not My Type (A Wanda Maximoff One Shot)

You're Not My Type

Seeing your ex-girlfriend kiss someone else in your workplace felt like hell.

It was as if love broke you. The ability to function hindered only by one organ in your body. And even if it was so tiny, once it was hurt, it would hurt you like a ton.

Through the first weeks, the breakup affected your work. Finding yourself stuttering through discussions or staring blankly in space during meetings, it was as if your life stopped and you began to question on your existence.

What is the meaning of life if not to love?

Your boss even requested for you to take a leave because he said you deserved it. And you wondered which thing you did deserve, the leave or the breakup.

Maybe both.

When your friends started to notice you being all depressed and mopey on your table while your ex from another department was smiling like crazy as she prepared herself for a date with the new guy, they immediately felt the need to console you with food, drinks and company.

That was why on your 7th week after the said awful breakup, your friends managed to pull you on your feet and dragged you with them into a bar owned by the sister of one of your  friends.

After gulping down your second shot of whatever drink your friends offered to you, you finally stood up and declared.

"Okay, I think that's enough for today-"

But Natasha, your somewhat close to bestfriend, stopped you. "Cmon Y/n, we barely even started."

"Yeah, Y/n," Steve, Nat's boyfriend, added as he made you sit back on your stool. "Plus, the reason why we're here is so you can find yourself a gal and move on from that stupid ex of yours."

"She's not stupid," you immediately argued, making Steve raise his hands in surrender. You didn't even know why you were still trying to defend her. She hurt you. "Sorry... She's just, complicated. That's all."

"Enough about your past," Pietro butted in. "Steve's kinda right, you know? You have to realize that there's still plenty of fish in the water and your ex was just a tiny plankton."

"That's not even a fish-"

He stopped you midsentence. "What I'm trying to say is that there's someone out there waiting for you to ask her out. And all you need is a one big push. Maybe you'll even thank your ex someday."

You only shook your head as he offered you another shot.

"Unless... you're scared," Pietro added.

"Oh... This is good," Tony meddled in. "Did you just call Y/n a scaredy cat?"

"I am not scared to flirt, okay?" You defended yourself, straightening the collar of your shirt. "I just... Well, I'm just not in the mood."

"Fine, if you're not scared as you say you are... I dare you... To ask that bartender out," Pietro suggested, pointing at the woman mixing and serving drinks at the bar. When you turned your head to glance towards her, as if on cue, Stand By Me by Ben E. King blared from the speakers in the background. The woman had brownish blonde hair tied up in a bun. Her emerald eyes glinting as she smiled at her customers. You could tell right away she wasn't the kind of bartender who'd sport a fake smile, she was a genuine one, like a beautiful flower in an open field of buckwheat.

You thought Pietro had good taste because the woman was so breathtakingly attractive. But you knew there was no way she'd say yes being asked out in a place like this. She had probably received a lot of offers, too. Looking like that, most people would just objectify her. While you would worship her.