Hiiii :) I'm Bvnny and welcome to my little corner of the internet!!
I'm a 19yr old fanfic writer who focuses on the soft things. My fics tend to be comfort-heavy, character-focused, sometimes a little messy, but always full of feeling.
This space is meant to feel safe and gentle. Please be kind while youâre here. No hate, no pressure, just softness and stories and feelings.
Feel free to stick around đ
Much luv & thx,
Bvnny đ
ââđŠčËâNavigationâËđŠčââ
â REQUESTS ARE OPEN (I am a bit behind on them rn though... sorry)
Please read my Disclaimers before requesting (just scroll a bit)
So far I've only written for Isadora Capri but I definitely want to explore other characters.
These are the fandoms/characters I'm happy to write about (ANDDDD: I am deffos willing to explore other characters I haven't mentioned below if requested, I'm just labelling the ones I'm very likely to write about):
â WEDNESDAY â
Isadora Capri (masterlist incoming...)
â MARVEL â
Natasha Romanoff
Wanda Maximoff
⯠ÍHARRY POTTER UNIVERSE ⯠Í
Severus Snape
Remus Lupin (In both Marauders & Golden Trio eras)
â DOCTOR WHO â
Rose Tyler (duh)
â STRANGER THINGS â
Steve Harrington
Robin Buckley
áŻœ BRIDGERTON áŻœ
Anyone and everyone because they are all so hot. (well except Gregory and Hyacinth because of obvious reasons).
Benedict Bridgerton
Anthony Bridgerton
Eloise Bridgerton
Other things I've watched that you might want to request from: Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Superstore, Secret Diary of a Call Girl, Anne with an 'E', Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, Killing Eve, Gilmore Girls, Alice in Wonderland, Jurassic World, Scoop etc etc.
If there's any other show/film you want to see just request it, I might have already watched it, or it'll inspire me too! I'm always looking for good film & TV recommendations :)
To be honest I'll love anything with Billie Piper, Scarlett Johansson and Maya Hawke so yeah...
DISCLAIMERS:
Men and minors, please do not interact. Even though my fics arenât explicitly adult right now, this space is written from my perspective and for my comfort. For my own peace of mind and sense of safety, Iâd prefer minors especially to stay away from my page and my asks. This isnât personal, itâs just a boundary that helps me feel secure sharing pieces of myself here.
At the moment, I donât have a strict ânever everâ list when it comes to requests. I tend to take things case by case, ask by ask. if something feels right and within my comfort zone, Iâll write it. if it doesnât, Iâll gently decline. I wonât shame you for asking (unless itâs wildly inappropriate), but I do reserve the right to say no if something doesnât sit right with me.
Everything listed above (characters/fandoms I'll write for) is always subject to change. My ADHD means I go through phases and hyperfixations. My interests shift, my comfort levels grow, and sometimes my brain just decides it wants to live somewhere new for a while. If Iâm not currently in the right headspace for that character, I might not be able to write them straight away â and I never want to force something that wonât come out as soft and true as it deserves to be. If you request a fic for a specific character, I will do my best to get around to it eventually. Itâs never personal, and itâs never me ignoring you. it just means my brain is wandering somewhere else for a little bit.
My ADHD also means my writing and posting can vary a lot. There is no schedule. Sometimes iâm bursting with inspiration so I update and write quickly, and other times it takes me a while to finish things (or even start them). But I promise iâm always trying my hardest, even when my brain makes it a little complicated. Thank you in advance for your patience and kindness - it truly matters and means the world.
I'm undecided about writing about real people, as in celebrities, so if you request it I'll go case by case and decide what I'm comfortable with and what not.
When it comes to smut⊠Iâm easing into it very slowly. I am currently working on something that Iâd like to include it in, but Iâve realised I find it a lot harder to write than I expected. By the time Iâm fully happy with it, Iâm not even sure whether Iâll feel comfortable posting it- weâll see. Youâre welcome to request it, but please understand I might not take it on, and if I do, it will probably take me longer while Iâm finding my footing and building confidence in that space. Iâd rather move slowly and feel proud of what I share than rush something that doesnât feel quite right.
Due to my ADHD, I do naturally tend to write y/n as a little âneurospicy.â itâs rarely labelled outright, but it shows up in the way they think, feel, process, and move through the world. Itâs never meant to exclude anyone â itâs just the lens I write through, and it tends to bleed softly into my characters.
I tend to write y/n using she/her pronouns. Iâm not comfortable writing y/n as male. If youâd like your request to be written as non-binary or without specified pronouns, please make that clear in your ask and Iâll happily adjust. If pronouns arenât specified, I will default to she/her.
I switch between second & third person POV depending on what feels most natural for the story. If you have a preference, feel free to include it in your request. If not, Iâll take a little creative liberty and choose whichever POV flows best for the piece Iâm writing.
Right now I only post on Tumblr (on this account), if you see my work anywhere else please tell me so I can report it as stolen. I am thinking of expanding to Ao3 and Wattpad but for now I'm happy here, I'll let you know if that changes.
If anyone has any questions or request or whatever please feel free to go to my requests, message me or even comment it.
Hope you enjoy your time on my page :) Love y'all đ
Warnings: Smut ahead. Angst. Yearning. A college love story. Mentions of sh, death and alcohol (minor talks).
Word Count: 22.2K Words
There were certain things everyone at university knew to be true. The library would always be packed during exam season. The coffee on campus tasted like burnt dirt. And if you ever spotted Natasha Romanoff walking across the quad, chances were you wouldn't find her alone. Somewhere within arm's reach was you, laughing at something she'd whispered, wearing her hoodie or athlete jacket despite owning plenty of your own, or absentmindedly reaching for her hand as though it had always belonged there.
The first thing people noticed about Natasha Romanoff was her confidence and her cocky nature (and she looked good but that was obvious). And the second thing was that she looked at you like you hung the moon and stars. It was the kind of love that didn't seem forced or performative. She would wait outside your lectures with your favorite drink, kiss your forehead before her track practice, and somehow convince you to skip studying just long enough to watch the sunset from the roof of your residence hall. And you did all of that, because you were deeply in love with her, that and Wanda said you were uptight and needed to loosen up.
You and Natasha were practically inseparable from the day you met, well that was a stretch but it was true in its own way. It all began when you were carrying a large suitcase with a box in one arm. You had been moving into your dorm suite and with your mom, still downstairs talking the RA's ear off, you basically had to do all of the heavy carrying alone. It was fine until you accidentally bumped into someone which resulted in you dropping the box that held most of your belongings.
"Shit. I'm sorry." You exhaled, bending over to pick the fallen goods up. What you weren't expecting was for the person to reach over and help pick your stuff up. You looked up to find a redhead holding the pink teddy bear your father had gifted you as a child before he passed away. Smooth. Heat flooded your cheeks as the redhead scanned the small teddy bear before giving you a smirk.
"Cute." She mumbled as you stood up before picking the box up from the floor. She straightened up and handed you the fluffy toy, hands grazing against your own in the process.
"You in this suite?" She asked and you gave a simple nod because at that moment you could not muster the courage to talk to the extremely good looking person that was standing in front of you. This would be the person you'd share a suite with? Woah.
"Natasha. Looks like we're roommates."
"Y/n." You replied with another curt nod. Natasha chuckled before pulling the heavy box out of your arms without asking. You raised an eyebrow as she opened the door. You took in the place. It was quite simple. There was the kitchen, a living room that had a small couch and the bathroom. On the other side were doors to what you assumed to be the bedrooms.
Natasha walked over to the empty bedroom. Your bedroom.
"You don't talk much huh?" You shrugged your shoulders while grabbing your suitcase and wheeling it in.
"Guess we'll get along great then."
"I...thank you." You stammered and the redhead gave you a look that sent flutters down your spine to your core.
"No problem." She set the box down onto the mattress and looked at you.
"I'll see you later then." Before you could reply, Natasha was out of your room, probably making her way to yours. You released a short breath before your mother stumbled into the suite, waving the RA (who'd been forced to carry the rest of your bags) into your room.
___
Later that day, you were already deep in organization mode. Classes didn't start for another two weeks, but your bedroom was immaculate. Bed made with crisp sheets, books stacked by subject on the desk, clothes folded and color coded in the closet, and your bookbag already packed with notebooks, pens, and a color coded syllabus you'd printed early. Perfection was control. Control was survival.
The redhead sauntered in like she owned the place, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, athletic shorts riding low on her hips, black tank top stretched across toned shoulders and arms. Her hair was messy in that deliberately effortless way, green eyes scanning the room with a lazy smirk.
"Damn, roomie. You moving in or building a museum?" She dropped her bag right in the middle of the floor, kicking off her sneakers without bothering to line them up. One landed near your perfectly arranged shoes.
You stared, jaw tight. Rude.
"Some of us like being prepared. You planning on living out of that bag all semester?" Natasha laughed, that low, cocky and flopped onto the unmade bed across from yours, arms behind her head.
"Relax, princess. It's college. Lighten up." She watched you reorganize the bag she'd slightly disturbed, clearly amused. You then proceeded to throw her own shoe back towards her which she caught with grace.
"Please refrain from coming into my room and leaving a mess." You explained.
"You always this wound up? Or is it just for me?" You hated her immediately. That smirk. That easy confidence. The way her masculine energy filled the room and made your carefully ordered world feel... disrupted.
And later that night, after you'd politely (but firmly) asked her to move her shit off the floor for the third time, she leaned against your desk while you were triple checking your planner.
"Is this cocky attitude the one that gets you girls?" You snapped, not even looking up.
"Because it's not working on me."
Natasha's grin widened, slow and dangerous.
"Who said I was trying to get you, sweetheart?" You gave Natasha a pointed look before you moved back to organizing your stuff. At least then you'd be able to put some order into your life unlike the redhead who just smirked and left your room.
__
Living with Natasha was a mission to say the least. If it weren't for the fact that she was awfully good looking, you'd really hate the redhead. You two had been living together for almost a month. At first, it was somewhat fine. You tolerated Natasha because she was civil and respected the rules and boundaries you came up with. But then, Natasha being Natasha had managed to get in your head after a while.
With that cocky attitude of hers, she thrived on driving you to the brink of insanity. Most days, Natasha would come back from her track practice, throw her bag on the kitchen counter before making her way into the bathroom to shower. You'd scold her occasionally about being messy, and she'd shrug it off by saying you needed to loosen up a little. You'd tell her to fuck off and then she'd smirk and call you "princess". You hated her. You hated her chaos. You hated her for being so attractive.
One late afternoon you'd come back to the apartment after having a long day of attending general biology, a statistics class and intro to psych. You walked in to find Natasha blending her usual protein shake. She was dressed in a black tank top and Grey sweatpants, hair wet probably from a shower. She glanced up at you, lips twisting into that smirk of hers once she set the lid onto the blender.
"Rough day princess?" You rolled your eyes while grabbing a glass from the cupboard above Natasha. For a moment you two were pressed up against one another before you stepped back to fill your glass with water.
"I told you to stop calling me that." You said after taking a sip from the glass and Natasha simply placed a spoon inside the sink. She turned to look at you, eyes scanning you from head to toe.
"What?"
"You look stressed."
"I am. Spent six hours with no break on campus." You finished the cup before rinsing it and placing it inside the sink.
"Make sure you clean up afterwards Romanoff."You mumbled before grabbing your backpack and heading to your room. Natasha watched you leave, eyes tracing the curve of your hips and your ass. She bit the inside of her cheek, hands gripping the counter top before accidentally dropping the spoon.
You looked back to find the redhead scratching the back of her neck while pretending like she had not been watching you walk away. Afterwards you slid into your room to take a light nap before you eventually had to study.
___
That same night you were on your bed, textbooks lined up in front of you as you made notes for your Intro to Psychology class. You'd opened the door to your bedroom because you needed the fresh air that your window was failing to provide.
Eventually you set the highlighter down to stretch. Your back was turned so you hadn't noticed the redhead that was leaning against your bedroom door. Natasha was about to make a comment but when a sliver of smooth skin showed and a soft almost moan like sound escaped your lips, Natasha swallowed the comment but that cockiness of hers remained.
She knocked on your door to get your attention before walking in and plopping on the empty side of your bed.
"Please, make yourself comfortable." You said sarcastically as she flipped through the thick textbook on your bed.
"Don't you have other things to do? Or I don't know, other girls to bother?"
"Why bother other people when I could just bother you? Besides I enjoy toying with you."
"You're such a menace."
"And you're insatiable." She retorted. You scoffed before getting up to put your notes into their color coded files. Natasha watched you with interest, one arm propped underneath her head while the other set the textbook down.
"You ever do anything else aside from color coding and organizing everything?"
"An organized life brings success Natasha."
"Huh. Y/n, we've been living together for almost two months and I've never seen you do anything remotely college like." You scoffed, moving towards your bed, ready to pull the redhead off of your bed but when accidentally bumped into your desk, it sent your small pouch bag onto the floor before the contents fell out.
Natasha's eyes trailed down before you could react, eyes widening and lips twisting into a huge grin. You scrambled down, picking the two perfectly rolled joints, weed flower, lighter and grinder up.
"Holy shit. Didn't think you had it in you." Natasha had managed to take one joint from you, assessing it with pure fascination before you grabbed it out of her hands.
"Give me that."
"Princess perfect is actually a stoner? Wow, impressive." She raised a brow, leaning onto your pillow as you shoved the pouch back into it's secret spot that you'd probably have to change later.
"Can you get out of my room?"
"Relax princess. I'm not judging you."
"I would not care if you did anyway." Natasha hummed then finally took the cue to leave.
"Alright then, I'll let you be." You exhaled once Natasha left your room but her scent was still clinging onto your pillow and her room. That night you struggled to sleep. You'd spent almost twenty minutes just tossing and turning before looking at the clock.
02:00
You sighed and rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling for a good five minutes. But instead of fighting with sleep, you got out of bed, your bare feet padding against the cold bamboo flooring of your bedroom as you grabbed your slippers and put them on.
Natasha found you in the kitchen a few minutes later. She watched you boil water before pouring it into the cup and stirring it. Eventually she spoke up.
"Couldn't sleep?" You shook your head and she stepped closer.
"Me neither." You grabbed another cup, pouring hot water inside before placing one of the chamomile teabags inside.
"Is this one of your health focus tea brands?" You gave Natasha a look and she grabbed the mug before bringing it up to her lips. She took a sip and hummed.
"That's actually good."
"Anything is better than whatever concoctions you make for protein." Natasha laughed, actually laughed, not one of those half chuckles she gave after throwing one of her ridiculous and dry jokes.
You spent twenty minutes like that. Just talking about small things, like how the wind outside was crazier than usual, or how loud the neighbors were and even how school was going for you two. Nothing deep but also not surface level small talk. Somewhere along the line, the cups had gotten empty and both you and Natasha had migrated to the small couch in the living area.
She'd currently been talking about the upcoming track selections and how nervous she was.
"I think you'll do great."
"Yeah? And how do you know that?" She pushed and you shrugged.
"Dunno, guess I can kind of see it. You have a nice and lean frame."
"Is this you flirting with me princess?"
"Jesus, only you'd be capable of turning a compliment into something that would fill your ego." You smacked your lips and Natasha's grin only widened.
Eventually the topics shifted onto a much more personal level. But Natasha never spoke about her own life. Instead she asked you questions and you answered, keeping it vague but respectful. And eventually you both drifted to your own bedrooms, but not before Natasha stopped you.
"Thanks. That was really... good."
"You're welcome." You both stood in the hallway, looking up at one another before she eventually stepped back, almost bumping the wall in the process. You just shook your head with a small laugh and disappeared into your own bedroom.
___
A week after that early morning, Natasha had come back from another brutal track practice. She found you sitting on your bed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration while you mindlessly bit the cap of your pen.
"Hey." She said, breaking you out of the frustrating trance you were in.
"Want to take a break?" She asked, eyebrows wiggling with what could only be mischief. You looked up and swallowed. Your eyes trailed down her sweaty frame, lean muscles and when you looked up you found the redhead waiting with that smirk of hers.
"I have a lot of work to do."
"Come on princess, don't be like that." You almost fought her but Natasha wasn't one to let things go. So you eventually sighed and slid your book from your lap and onto the bed.
"I'm not going anywhere with you until you take a shower." Natasha gave you one of her crooked smiles.
"What, you don't think I look good like this?"
"Shower or get out of my room." She eventually raised her hands up in surrender but left to go shower, mumbling how she'd be done in an hour.
That's how you found yourself walking with Natasha to some building behind the athletics complex. At first you fought her, mumbling how you had to be back soon because you were busy. But Natasha shut you down once she held up a fat joint, the words dying down fast.
"Huh, who would've thought that's all I needed to do to shut you up." She'd remarked while you shoved her shoulder.
"Shut up and let's go."
And that's how you found yourself sitting on a bench facing trees with off campus apartments. You two sat next to one another, watching the streets bustle with students going out for the night while others came back from the library. Natasha pulled out a simple black lighter before placing the joint in between her pink lips. You really never thought you'd envy a joint but here you were.
You watched her take a drag before exhaling the earthy smoke. You hated yourself for feeling this way about Natasha. She was cocky, egotistical, sometimes messy and annoying. But at the same time, she was also hot, funny and again, really fucking hot.
You were eventually pulled out of your thoughts when she leaned forward to hand you the joint. You accepted it before bringing it up to your own lips and inhaling the earthy smoke. Your body melted as the smoke curled around the both of you. You coughed once then took another inhale. Natasha didn't make fun of you, but she also did not wipe that smirk off of her face. You two sat there in silence for almost fifteen minutes before the weed finally settled deep within your bodies.
The high was smooth and calm. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off of your shoulder as you leaned back against the wall. Within a few minutes you started talking. Really talking. About nothing and everything. Natasha watched your lips moved as you rambled on about something. She threw one of her dry jokes and you laughed. She liked the fact that you laughed. Your laugh sounded nice.
"You're fun like this." She said and you turned to look at her.
"That seems awfully backhanded."
"No, you're always locked in your bedroom so much that I never get to speak to you unless you're scolding me." All you could do was shrug your shoulders. I mean what else could you say?
"I know you think I'm uptight, but I'm not." You'd spoken up after a while of comfortable silence. Natasha turned around and looked at you properly this time. The way your curls framed your face, the way your skin shone under the campus lights and the way you seemed to always be in thought no matter the time. You looked really good. So good that Natasha wanted to lean in and kiss you. But all she did was clear her throat.
"We should go." She said, already standing up and offering her hand to help guide you up. You took it without saying anything this time. Her hand was warm, and it felt nice. You two walked back in comfortable silence, the high making the walk intense in the best way.
When the two of you reached your apartment, you gave Natasha a small shove with your shoulder again.
"Thanks. This actually really helped."
"No problem." You two stood there in the hallway before you nodded then walked into your bedroom and closed the door.
___
After that night, it sort of became a habit. You and Natasha would walk to the athletics complex, sit there while smoking and talking about stuff. Sometimes you'd just sit there in silence and watch nature take its course.
After a particularly long day of classes and practice, Natasha came back to the dorm with a fat, perfectly rolled blunt and that signature cocky smirk.
"Round two, princess. You in? Or are you too scared I'll corrupt your perfect little routine?" You rolled your eyes but agreed. The two of you ended up on the quiet grassy area behind the athletics building again, sitting on a blanket under the stars. The first hit already loosened the tension between you. By the time the blunt was half gone, you were both properly crossed, all giggly, warm, and hyper aware of each other.
You were lying on your back, looking up at the sky, when Natasha rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand. Her red hair fell messily around her face, green eyes dark and intense as they traced over your body.
"You're really fucking hot when you're relaxed, you know that?" She murmured, her voice lower than usual. You turned your head, heart beating faster.
"You're only saying that because you're high."
"Nah." She leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away.
"I've been thinking about this since the day your grinder fell out." The kiss started soft. It was tentative, tasting like weed and cherry lip balm. Then it deepened fast. Natasha's hand slid under your hoodie, palm hot against your warm skin as she cupped your breast. You moaned into her mouth, fingers threading through her red hair and tugging.
Things escalated quickly. She pulled you on top of her, hands gripping your ass as you straddled her hips. The high made everything feel slow and intense at the same time. You ground against her, hands still tugging red hair while her own hands played with your breasts. She pinched a nipple and you moaned louder into her mouth. But you eventually pulled back.
"We can't." Natasha looked up at you with dark eyes and swollen lips.
"Not outside. Someone could see us." You sat up whe fixing your hoodie.
You stood up on shaky legs almost tumbling back down onto her lap and Natasha laughed.
"Damn, already falling for me." She retorted and you kicked her shin. She groaned.
"Fair enough." She mumbled. With your help, Natasha stood up and picked the blanket she'd laid down along with her small bag that carried all of her miscellaneous stuff.
The walk back to your suite was charged with electricity and the leftover tension from before amplified by the high. When you reached the suite, she set the things down before turning to face you. You took a step back until you hit the kitchen counter.
"We should probably talk about the kiss." Natasha raised a singular brow.
"Talk?" You nodded.
"Y-yeah. Talk." Natasha stepped closer hands making their way around your waist.
"You seriously want to talk?" She pulled you closer to her and you gasped.
"N-Nat."
"I don't think you want to talk." She leaned forward, her lips inches away from yours.
"Nat..." You whispered, voice trembling.
"Yeah princess?" You closed your eyes and opened them again to find her green ones watching.
"Kiss me." She didn't need anymore convincing, her lips found yours.
This time the kiss was heated, all the built up frustration from your days and the tension that had been simmering between you two for the past few weeks now being poured out into this kiss. Natasha pressed you further into the wall before she wedged her thigh in between your legs. The moan you let out was muffled by her lips but it still managed to send heat down to Natasha's own core.
"I want to hear you make that sound again." She'd whispered against your lips, her hands roaming around your waist but still remaining respectful. The realization alone sent flutters down your own stomach. You ground yourself against her thighs, and Natasha took the opportunity to grip onto your ass, pulling you closer. With strong arms, Natasha picked you up and led you to the nearest room which was your bedroom.
She carried you into your bedroom, foot closing your door right after before "gently" placing you onto your neatly made bed.
"Hey, careful-"
"These sheets are gonna be messed up when I'm done with you anyways. Should be the least of your worries." She leaned forward to kiss you again, and you pulled her against you. Her hands slid under your hoodie, pushing it up. You let her pull it off, then your t-shirt underneath, heart pounding with desire.
That's when she saw them. The faint silvery scars on your upper arms and across the softer skin below your collarbones caught the low lamplight. You froze once you'd noticed the change in her expression. Shame hit like ice water through the haze. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to hide, curls falling forward as you curled in on yourself.
"I think you should maybe leave." Just then Natasha grabbed your wrists, pulling you even closer. She didn't say anything, she didn't have to say anything. She'd seen them in passing when you were changing and she accidentally caught a glimpse of your body from behind (you were late for class after accidentally spilling coffee on your shirt and you'd forgotten to close the door).
Natasha simply pressed a kiss onto the jagged marks on your upper arms and the smaller ones on your collarbone. Your once tense body relaxed as she kept pressing kisses from your collarbone and onto your neck. You eventually leaned back, letting Natasha continue kissing and biting the smooth skin. She eventually found the sweet spot that had you letting out the softest sounds that made her suck and bite even more.
More clothes came off before you were both on your bed naked. At one point you'd stopped to lecture Natasha for carelessly throwing her hoodie onto the floor but that stopped once she'd started trailing her lips downwards until she was in between your thighs. She slipped your panties off a little until the black lace was out of her way, still hanging around your ankle but far enough for her to work.
Natasha slid her left finger in between your now swollen and aching slit. And it felt good.
"Stop teasing."
"Whatever you say princess." Her tongue slid into your soaking cunt, slightly calloused hands pulling you closer so she could feast on your pussy. You threw your head back as Natasha threw one leg over her shoulder, the same one that held the lace panties before they eventually fell onto the floor next to her hoodie.
Natasha moaned at the taste of your arousal, tongue finding it's rhythm inside of you.
"W-wow." Was all you could breathlessly moan and Natasha moaned in between your legs.
"Yeah?" She whispered mouth still working you open before she introduced a finger. Natasha slid her index finger inside of you which made you buck further into her mouth.
"Tell me how it feels." She worked the finger inside of you, the obscene sound of your pussy getting fucked, filling the walls of your bedroom.
"Good."
"I think you can do better than that." Natasha curled the finger which made you moan out loud. Her tongue was hot and confident as she dragged it through your folds, exploring before focusing on your clit. She sucked the sensitive bud into her mouth, tongue flicking fast and firm. She then added a second finger, curling them in a "come hither" motion.
"You always get this wet y/n?" She teased as her finger slid in and out of you so effortlessly. You shook your head.
"Yeah? Just for me?" She continued stroking her fingers inside of you, hitting the spongy spot inside of you that made you see stars.
"Your tongue feels so fucking good. Fuck, Nat-" You gasped, hips bucking. She held you down with one strong arm across your waist, red hair tickling your thighs as she ate you out like she was starving. The wet, obscene sounds continued to fill the small bedroom, her tongue lapping and sucking, fingers thrusting deep and curling against that spot inside you. You gripped her hair tight, thighs trembling around her head. The high made everything feel overwhelming and perfect at the same time. Every lick, every curl of her fingers sent sparks up your spine.
She looked up at you while she worked, her green eyes locked on yours, lips and chin shiny with your wetness. The sight alone nearly made you come alone.
"You taste so fucking good y/n." She groaned against your pussy, then dove back in harder. She sucked your clit rhythmically while her fingers fucked you faster, curling just right. Your back arched hard off the bed.
"Nat, shit... I'm gonna...fuck!" She didn't stop. She moaned into you, the vibration pushing you over the edge.
You came hard on her tongue, thighs clamping around her head, a broken moan of her name spilling from your lips as your pussy clenched around her fingers. Natasha kept licking you through it, slower and gentler, until your legs were shaking and you were pushing at her head from the overstimulation. She finally pulled back, lips shiny, and crawled up your body with a satisfied smirk. She kissed you deep, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.
"You good, princess?" She asked, voice husky. You could barely speak, still catching your breath. You just nodded and pulled her back down for another kiss.
You were still panting, thighs twitching from the aftershocks as Natasha crawled up your body with that satisfied, cocky smirk. Her lips and chin were shiny with your wetness, green eyes dark with hunger. Before she could say anything smug, you grabbed her by the shoulders and flipped her onto her back. The high made you bold.
"My turn." You murmured, voice husky.
Natasha's eyebrows rose, but her smirk widened as she spread her legs for you.
"Yeah? Show me what you got, princess." You kissed her hard, tasting yourself on her tongue, then started moving down her body. You sucked marks into her pale neck and collarbone, then lower, taking one of her nipples into your mouth while your hand slid between her thighs. She was soaked. You groaned against her skin when your fingers met all that slick heat.
"Fuck, you're wet." You breathed, almost surprised. Natasha let out a low chuckle that turned into a moan when you kissed down her toned stomach and settled between her legs. You didn't tease. You dove straight in. You licked a slow, broad stripe up her pussy, savoring the taste of her. Natasha's hips jerked, one hand flying to your curls. You licked again, firmer this time, tongue dragging through her folds before circling her clit.
"Shit, yeah just like that." She groaned, thighs tensing around your head.
You got more confident. You sucked her clit into your mouth, flicking your tongue fast while sliding two fingers inside her. She was tight and dripping, clenching around your fingers as you curled them upward. The wet sounds were loud in the small bedroom of yours, obscene and yet so addictive.
Natasha's usual cocky control started slipping. Her red hair was messy against the pillow, hips rolling up into your mouth as she cursed under her breath.
"Fuck, y/n... your mouth feels so fucking good."
You moaned against her pussy, the vibration making her gasp. You fucked her harder with your fingers, sucking and licking her clit with messy enthusiasm, completely lost in the high and the taste of her. You looked up at her while you worked to make her cum. Her green eyes half lidded, lips parted, chest heaving. She looked wrecked. It was hot as hell.
You added a third finger, thrusting deep and steady while your tongue worked her clit relentlessly. Natasha's grip on your curls tightened, her thighs starting to tremble.
"Don't stop, please, fuck, I'm close-" You didn't. You sucked harder, curled your fingers just right, and moaned against her as she came.
Natasha came with a low, broken groan, hips bucking against your face as her pussy clenched hard around your fingers. You kept licking her through it, slower and gentler, until her thighs stopped shaking and she tugged weakly at your hair.
You finally pulled back, lips shiny, and crawled up her body. Natasha immediately yanked you down into a messy kiss, tasting herself on your tongue.
"Damn. " She muttered against your lips, still breathing hard.
"You're really good at that." You laughed breathlessly, collapsing beside her. She pulled you close, one arm slung around your waist, both of you sweaty and hazy from the weed and the orgasms.
Neither of you said much after that. Just tangled limbs, lazy kisses, and the quiet satisfaction after making each other cum.
___
Sunlight filtered through the blinds the next morning. You woke up naked in your own bed, but Natasha's arm was slung possessively over your waist and her red hair was tickling your shoulder.
For a second, the memories hit you. The shared blunt, her mouth between your thighs, the way you'd moaned her name, how good she'd felt. Your own leg in between her thighs. Your face heated instantly.
You carefully slipped out from under her arm, grabbed one of the oversized t-shirts from the floor which so happened to be hers, and tiptoed to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Back to normal. You had a 10 a.m. lecture. You also had notes to review. What happened was just... a one time thing. Spontaneous. Roommates with benefits didn't mean mornings had to be weird. Right?
You then walked back to your bedroom, ready to organize everything for the day. You were already at your desk in her t-shirt and panties, frantically reorganizing your color-coded planners and pretending last night hadn't happened, when Natasha finally stirred. She stretched like a cat, the sheet slipping down her pale, toned body. When she saw you at your desk, already in full type A mode, her lips curved into that infuriating cocky smirk.
"Morning, princess." She said, voice still raspy from sleep and smoke.
"Running away already?"
"I have class." You replied, not looking at her. You straightened your pens with more force than necessary.
"And you should probably clean up your bedroom, I walked passed it and it looks like a tornado hit it."
Natasha chuckled lowly and sat up, not bothering to cover herself.
"Cute. You're back to scolding me like nothing happened. Like I didn't have my tongue buried in your pussy last night."Â Your pen froze mid air. Heat rushed through you at the crude reminder. You turned slowly, trying to look unaffected.
"It was just sex, Natasha. We were high. It doesn't have to be a thing."
She stood up, completely naked, and walked over to you with that effortless athletic swagger. She stopped right behind your chair, leaning down so her breath brushed your ear.
"You can pretend all you want." She murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear.
"But I still remember how you sounded when you came on my face. How you gripped my hair and begged for more." You shivered. Your thighs pressed together involuntarily. Damn her.
You stood up abruptly, putting distance between you.
"I'm not begging. And I have to get ready for class." Natasha just smirked wider, clearly enjoying how flustered you were. She reached out and tugged lightly on the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing, her t-shirt.
"Keep it." She said.
"Looks better on you anyway." You grabbed your towel and practically fled to the bathroom, heart racing and skin still tingling from her proximity. You could hear her low laugh behind you.
The entire day, you tried to focus on lectures. Tried to pretend it was nothing. But Natasha's words kept echoing in your head. The memory of her mouth. Her fingers. How ridiculously good she was.
By the time you got back to the dorm that evening, you were tense and annoyed at how easily she'd gotten under your skin again.Natasha was sprawled on the living room couch in shorts and a sports bra, looking far too pleased with herself when you walked in.
"Still pretending, princess?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. You dropped your bag onto the kicthen counter and crossed your arms.
"You're impossible." She grinned and crooked a finger at you.
"Come here and I'll show you just how impossible I can be."
"I'm not easy Natasha."
"I never said you were. And quite frankly I enjoy it when you fight me, it's like our very own foreplay." You huffed in annoyance and turned around to grab a glass of water. Anything to help distract you from the girl sitting behind you. But that failed when you felt Natasha's presence and warmth behind you. You felt her hand tuck your hair aside before she pressed a kiss onto your neck.
"Tell me you didn't enjoy last night."
"Natasha I have work to do."
"Yeah? And there's something else I'd like to do now too. You."
"Smooth." But you weren't exactly pulling away when she wrapped her arms around your waist. And when she started kissing down your neck, you were already leaning against her, head thrown back, ass press firmly against her front.
It lasted approximately five minutes before you were led into her bedroom, gripping her red hair while riding her face with vigorous speed. The soft sounds of your moans bouncing off of her bedroom walls.
___
The next morning, you woke up first. The dorm was quiet except for Natasha's soft breathing. You were still in her bed, naked under the sheets, body pleasantly sore in places that made your face burn with memory. The joint you'd smokes in her room, her mouth on you, the way you'd moaned without shame... it all came rushing back.
You slipped out carefully, grabbed the first shirt you could find (hers, again), and went straight to your bedroom and sat by your desk. Back to normal. You started reorganizing your notes with sharp, precise movements, trying to shove the entire night into a neat little box labeled "Mistake."
Natasha woke up about twenty minutes later. She stretched, the sheet falling to her waist, and smirked the second she saw you already in full planner mode once she'd reached your door.
"Morning, princess." She drawled, voice still rough from sleep.
"You're up early again. Trying to pretend you weren't riding my face last night?"
You didn't look at her.
"I have a lecture later today. And your bedroom is a disaster again. Can you at least try to keep your shit contained now that we're... whatever this is?"
Natasha chuckled, completely unbothered by her own nudity. She walked over and leaned against your desk, arms crossed, watching you straighten pens with way too much focus.
"You're cute when you're in denial." She said.
"All tense and bratty like I didn't make you come three times."Â Your grip tightened on the edge of the desk. Heat flared low in your belly despite yourself.
"It was all just fun okay, Natasha. Don't make it weird."
She leaned down closer, red hair falling forward, green eyes amused.
"Weird? You mean like how you're wearing my shirt right now? Or how wet you already are just from me standing here?"Â
"You're in my bedroom naked."
"Yeah, and you like it." You finally looked up, glaring.
"You're so fucking cocky." That was all it took. Natasha grabbed you by the waist, spun you around, and bent you over your own desk in one smooth motion. Your carefully stacked planners and notes went flying again as she pressed up behind you.
"Yeah?" She murmured against your ear, yanking your her shirt up over your ass.
"Keep scolding me then. See what happens."
You tried to snap back, but the words died when she dropped to her knees and buried her tongue in your pussy from behind without any warning. She ate you out like she was proving a point. One that was messy, confident, and relentless. Her hands spread your cheeks as her tongue licked and sucked, two fingers pushing inside you deep. You gripped the far edge of the desk hard, biting your lip to stay quiet, but soft moans still escaped. She didn't stop until you came hard, thighs shaking, forehead pressed against the wood. Natasha stood up, wiped her mouth, and leaned over you.
"Still think it was just the weed?" She asked, voice smug. You were breathless, annoyed, and already wanting more.
"Just shut up and fuck me properly." You muttered.
___
The pattern became frequent. After the third night, you and Natasha stopped pretending like this was nothing, especially when the sex was just way to good to pretend. So you both agreed on being roommates with benefits. Whatever the hell you wanted to call it, that's what it was.
When you told your close friend Wanda about it, she'd given you a look that said she wasn't all for it.
"I know but its not like we can avoid one another Wans. I mean we live together for Pete's sake."
"Pete's sake?" Wanda teased and you rolled your eyes.
"Point is, we can't avoid it. Besides the sex is good." You shrugged and Wanda chuckled while opening the door.
You and Natasha began the rhythm. Whenever you had a bad day from pre-med classes, all she needed to do was look you in the eye, before she was guiding you onto the nearest surface and burying her face between your legs. Or whenever she had a bad practice, all you needed to do was pull her by her hoodie before laying her on the bed and fucking her with your fingers.
It was good, spontaneous and convenient. Neither of you had bothered to label it let alone think about it. This was all just the harmless kind of fun people have in college. Yeah. Just fun.
___
It was a Thursday night in mid November. You'd had one of those days. The kind where everything felt heavy. A brutal organic chemistry midterm you weren't sure you'd passed, followed by a phone call with your mom that dragged up old memories of your dad. You came back to the suite quiet and closed off, and this time it was the kind of quiet that usually meant you'd bury yourself in planners and books until the feelings went away.
Natasha was already there, sprawled on the couch in a tank top and shorts after practice. She noticed immediately. Instead of her usual cocky greeting or grabbing you for a quick fuck, she sat up from the couch and watched you drop your bag onto the kitchen counter and start reorganizing the contents in your bag with sharp, tense movements.
"You're spiraling." She said simply.
"I'm fine Natasha." You mumbled but your voice wavered. You weren't fine. You kept moving things around, trying to regain control. Natasha got up, crossed the room, and gently took the stack of notes from your hands.
"Hey." She said softly.
"Stop." You tried to pull away, but she set the notes down and tugged you toward her bedroom instead. No heat. No smirk. Just her strong arms guiding you down until you were both lying there, facing each other.
You expected her to kiss you, to turn it into sex like always. That's what this was supposed to be, just benefits. Release. Nothing more. But she didn't. Natasha just pulled you closer until your head rested on her chest. One hand stroked slowly through your curls, the other rubbing gentle circles on your back. The silence stretched, comfortable and heavy at the same time.
"You don't have to be okay all the time." She murmured after a while. Her voice was quieter than you'd ever heard it.
"Not with me." Something in your chest cracked. You hadn't let anyone see this version of you in years. The scared girl who still felt the guilt and pressure from home, who built walls of order so the world couldn't take anything else away.
But here, in the dim dorm light with Natasha's heartbeat steady under your ear, the walls felt exhausting.
You didn't cry. You just breathed her in. The faint scent of her body wash and the gym. And you just let yourself be held. After a long stretch of silence, Natasha spoke again.
"Wanna get something to eat?" All you did was nod, but Natasha held you for longer. She didn't want to stop.
___
Natasha slammed the door harder than necessary when she got back. You looked up from the couch, highlighter paused mid sentence. She was limping noticeably, jaw clenched, a fresh bruise blooming on her left cheekbone. Her duffel bag hit the floor with a thud, followed by one sneaker, then the other, right in the middle of the room.
"Bad day?" You asked carefully.
"Understatement." She grunted, wincing as she tried to put weight on her right ankle.
"Some rookie on the team decided to play hero during drills. I took the fall. Coach reamed me out anyway. Then my phone started blowing up with family shit. Perfect fucking day."
She looked pissed off at the world. You knew that look. It was the same one she got right before she usually pushed you up against a wall to blow off steam. But tonight she just walked into her room and dropped onto her bed, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended her. You closed your notebook and stood up before making your way into her room.
"Don't." She muttered when she saw you moving.
"I'm not really in the mood for your organizing lecture right now."
"I wasn't going to lecture you." You grabbed the ice pack from the fridge a towel, and the first aid kit that you kept in your room. Then you knelt in front of her without asking.
Natasha watched you silently as you gently lifted her injured foot into your lap and wrapped the ice pack around her swollen ankle. Your touch was careful but firm. You didn't say anything about the mess she'd made or the shoes in the middle of the floor. You just worked quietly, dabbing the bruise on her cheek with a cool cloth next. She stayed tense for the first few minutes, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then something in her shoulders finally loosened.
"Thanks."Â She said gruffly, almost like the word hurt to say. You finished securing the wrap and looked up at her.
"You don't always have to be the tough one, you know." Natasha let out a bitter little laugh.
"Yeah? Tell that to everyone who needs something from me." Instead of answering with words, you climbed onto the bed beside her and gently pulled her down. She resisted for half a second out of habit, then let you maneuver her so she was curled against your side, head resting on your chest.
This was new territory.
Natasha Romanoff, the girl who always had to be the strong, cocky one, let herself be held. She shifted until she was fully tucked into you, face buried in the crook of your neck, one arm slung over your waist. You wrapped both arms around her, one hand slowly stroking up and down her back.
For a long time, neither of you spoke. You just held her while she breathed through the shitty day.
Eventually, she mumbled against your skin.
"I hate this ankle. And my family. And today."
"I know." You whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her red hair. You stayed like that for over an hour. No sex. No teasing. Just you holding her while she let herself be vulnerable for once.
Later, when you both shifted to get more comfortable, Natasha turned over so her back was pressed against your front. You instinctively curled around her, becoming the big spoon. Your arm wrapped around her waist, your chest to her back, legs carefully tangled so you wouldn't bump her injured ankle.
Natasha let out a long, shaky breath and relaxed completely into you, the little spoon for the first time.
"Never thought I'd let anyone hold me like this." She admitted quietly into the dark. You hugged her a little tighter.
"Get used to it."Â She didn't reply, but her hand found yours and laced your fingers together over her stomach.
___
The shift happened gradually. You and Natasha still continued to have sex on occasions (more often than you'd like to admit) but underneath it all, something began brewing. Sometimes you caught yourself watching Natasha. Like the one Saturday morning where she offered to make you breakfast to deal with your hangover. Both of you had gone out the night before to some house party.
Natasha had to actually drag you out after you'd been locked in your bedroom for seven hours straight. You'd complained about it, so much that Natasha had to pick you up and out of the chair. You dropped your weight on purpose, forcing Natasha to practically drag you out of the chair.
"Stop deadweighting." Natasha grunted, readjusting her grip.
"I'm not." you lied, immediately slouching even harder. Natasha eventually gave up and threw you into your bed.
Natasha opened your closet, ruffling through the clothes inside. You sat up and frowned.
"What are you doing? Stop that. You're making a mess!" You scolded but Natasha didn't listen. She continued rummaging until she pulled out a black dress before handing it to you.
"Here, put this on."
"Why this?"
"Because I've never seen you in it and it looks easier to take off. Now get dressed." Without another word, Natasha left you to go get ready. And well, obviously you got dressed.
The party was loud enough to make conversation optional. Music thumped through the walls of the frat house, bass vibrating beneath your sneakers as bodies squeezed past one another with red cups and slurred laughter. Someone had already spilled something sticky across the kitchen floor.
"This was worth dragging you out for." Natasha teased, nudging your shoulder. You rolled your eyes.
"I'm still convinced I would've had a better night in bed."
"You say that every time."
"And every time I'm right." Natasha laughed, that soft laugh she only seemed to have around you, and she disappeared toward the kitchen, returning a minute later with two drinks.
"I remembered." She said, handing you the one without the cranberry flavored vodka. You frowned.
"You remembered?"
"You hate cranberry."
"Oh." You accepted the cup, suddenly aware that she'd never once asked you to remind her.
Hours blurred together. You danced with your friends. Natasha disappeared into conversations with her teammates. Every so often your eyes found each other across the room. Neither of you acknowledged it. Because there was nothing to acknowledge.
Then someone wrapped an arm around your waist. A guy from one of your statistics tutorials.
"You've been hiding all semester." He grinned.
"Dance with me?" You shrugged your shoulders.
"Sure." It wasn't anything serious. It was just dancing. No harm in that right?
You laughed at one of his terrible jokes, swaying absentmindedly with the music. Across the room, Natasha's smile faltered. Her teammate was halfway through telling a story before Natasha realized she hadn't heard a single word.
Who was that? Why was his hand there? And why...Why did it bother her?She scoffed quietly to herself. Ridiculous. You weren't together. Hell, you weren't even dating. You were roommates who occasionally slept together. That was all. So why did she suddenly want to march over there and pry his hand off your waist-
"You okay?" Natasha blinked.
"Hm?"
"You've been staring for like... five minutes."
"I wasn't staring." She said which wasn't exactly a lie. Her teammate followed her gaze.
"Oh." Natasha immediately looked away.
"Oh?"
"You've got it bad."
"I literally don't."
"Romanoff."
"We're just roommates."
"...Who have sex."
"...With boundaries." Her teammate snorted into her drink.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night."
When the song changed, you excused yourself for some air. The backyard was cooler, quieter. You leaned against the railing, breathing. A few seconds later the back door opened.
"You disappear a lot princess." You didn't have to turn around.
"I like quiet." Natasha stepped beside you, her warmth grounding you in the moment. Neither of you spoke. The silence wasn't awkward. It was... comfortable, like it always was whenever you say with Natasha.
Your shoulders brushed. Neither of you moved away.
"You cold?" Natasha asked.
"A little." Without thinking, she shrugged off her jacket and draped it over your shoulders.
"You'll freeze."
"So will you."
"I run hot." You smiled and let out a small chuckle.
"You always have an answer."
"One of us has to." Another silence.
Your fingers found the sleeve of her jacket, absentmindedly rubbing the fabric between your thumb and forefinger.
"You know..." Natasha said quietly.
"Hm?"
"I think you're the only person I actually like coming to these things with." You looked at her. She looked back. For just a second.
Long enough for something unfamiliar to settle between you. Not desire. That part had always been easy. This was...Different. Neither of you had a name for it yet. So, naturally, you both looked away first.
By the time the two of you stumbled back to the apartment, it was well past two in the morning. Natasha fumbled with the keys, muttering something under her breath when she missed the lock for the third time.
"You've got the hand-eye coordination of a professional athlete," you deadpanned.
"I've been drinking."
"You've had two vodka cranberries."
"They were... strong vodka cranberries." The door finally clicked open. You kicked your shoes off the moment you stepped inside, groaning at the relief.
"I am never wearing heels again."
"You say that every time."
"And this time I mean it." Natasha only smiled. It was domestic in a way that neither of you cared to acknowledge.
You disappeared into your room long enough to swap your dress for an oversized T-shirt and a pair of shorts. By the time you emerged, Natasha was already in the kitchen, two glasses of water sitting on the counter.
"Hydrate." She said, sliding one toward you. You raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"Nothing." You said, with a small shake of your head.
"What?"
"It's just..." You took the glass, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.
"You're weirdly caring." Natasha scoffed.
"I'm preventing your hangover. Selfish reasons."
"Mhm."
"I'm serious." She pushed.
"Sure you are." The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It rarely was anymore. You leaned against opposite sides of the counter, lazily sipping water while the refrigerator hummed in the background.
"You disappeared for a while tonight," Natasha said eventually.
"So did you."
"I was talking to my teammates."
"I noticed." She hesitated but then she spoke up again.
"...That guy."
"What guy?"
"The one you were dancing with." You blinked.
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"He asked me to dance."
"I saw." You couldn't help the teasing smile that spread across your face.
"Were you jealous?" Natasha answered far too quickly.
"No."
"You hesitated."
"I didn't."
"You literally did."
"I was thinking."
"About?"
"How annoying you are." You laughed, shaking your head as you walked past her.
"You were jealous."
"I wasn't."
"You so were." Before you could make it another step, Natasha caught your wrist. Not tightly. Just enough to stop you. The apartment fell quiet.
You looked down at her hand, then back up at her. Neither of you spoke. It would've been so easy to let go. Instead, her thumb brushed absentmindedly against your skin. A thoughtless gesture. One she'd probably deny remembering in the morning.
"You've got glitter on your face princess." She murmured.
"Oh." She reached up before you could react. Her fingers barely skimmed your cheek. One tiny fleck of silver caught on her fingertip.
"There." Neither of you moved. You were standing far too close now. Close enough to hear each other breathe.
Close enough that you could count the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. Natasha swallowed.
"We should probably go to bed."
"Probably." Neither of you did. For one suspended moment, the world seemed to wait with you. Then Natasha stepped back first.
"Goodnight."
"Night, Nat." Your bedroom door clicked shut behind you. Only then did Natasha let out the breath she'd been holding.
"This is getting dangerous." She whispered to the empty apartment. And in your room, sitting on the edge of your bed, you whispered the exact same thing.
And now, Natasha stood at the small counter in just a tank top and sleep shorts, red hair tied up loosely with strands falling around her face. She moved carefully because of her ankle, but she was focused, cracking eggs into the pan, buttering toast, cutting up an apple she must have grabbed from somewhere. Two plates were already set out.
You stood, leaning against the wall and just watching Natasha move. There was something about the sight that made your chest ache with a deep, quiet yearning. Natasha Romanoff, the girl who left chaos everywhere she went, who swore she didn't do soft things was currently making you breakfast.
After last night. After she'd watched that guy flirt with you at the party with that tight jaw and sharp eyes. After she'd pulled you close on the dance floor like she couldn't stand anyone else near you. After the almost moment at the door where she'd looked at you like she wanted to say something she couldn't. You wanted to crawl back under the covers of your bed and hide from how much you felt.
Instead, you straightened up and padded over quietly. Natasha glanced at you when you leaned against the doorway. For a second her green eyes softened, almost vulnerable, before she looked back at the pan.
"Morning." She said, voice a little rough. "Figured you'd be hungover. Sit." You sat at the tiny table.
She brought over a plate, perfectly cooked eggs, buttered toast, sliced apple, and a glass of water with ibuprofen next to it. She set it down in front of you like it was nothing, then sat across from you with her own plate.
You stared at the food for a long moment. She made this for you.
The girl who usually left protein shakers on your desk and teased you about your planners had gotten up early (or stayed up) to do something nice. No teasing comment. No smirk. Just quiet care.
The yearning hit you harder than it ever had. You wanted this version of her every morning. The one who noticed when you were overwhelmed. The one who got jealous but didn't make it your problem. The one who held you on bad nights and let you hold her on hers. You wanted to reach across the table and touch her hand. You wanted to tell her how much it meant. But you stayed silent, because saying it out loud would make it too real.
Natasha kept stealing glances at you while she ate. Her eyes lingered on your messy curls, on the way you were still wearing last night's shirt. There was a tension in her shoulders, like she was holding something back. Like she was fighting the same pull you were. The silence between you felt heavy with everything unsaid.
You wanted to be closer to her. You wanted her to pull you into her lap and hold you like she had the other night. You wanted to bury your face in her neck and breathe her in until the fear of loving someone this much went away. Instead, you took a bite of the eggs.
"They're good." You said softly.
Natasha's lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile.
"Yeah?" You nodded, heart aching with how much you were already falling.
She didn't need to say anything. The breakfast, the quiet way she watched you, the way her foot gently brushed yours under the table, it was all there.
And you were terrified by how badly you wanted to keep it.
___
The party that Wanda was throwing was loud and crowded, but Natasha couldnât take her eyes off you. She seemed worried because you weren't acting like yourself. She noticed it first in the bathroom hallway. Youâd stepped away for a minute, and when she followed a little later, she caught you in the mirror. Your face was twisted. A quick flash of disgust and shame as you looked at your reflection, arms subtly crossing over your chest like you wanted to disappear. You fixed your expression fast, but Natasha saw it. She felt it like a punch to the gut and said nothing. Not then.
Later, back in the main room, it got worse. You were sitting beside her on the couch, but you werenât really there. Your arms stayed crossed tight over your chest. Your shoulders curved inward. You laughed when your friends joked but it was hollow. Natasha watched you slowly disappear into your head, picking at the sleeve of your shirt, trying to hide pieces of yourself she already knew were beautiful.
It killed her.
The walk home was quiet, the cold night air sharp between you. Natashaâs hand brushed yours a few times but she didnât grab it. She just stayed close, jaw tight, heart doing something complicated and heavy in her chest.
The second the door to your suite closed, she couldnât hold back anymore.
She stepped forward and pulled you into her arms right there in the middle of the living room.
No words. No teasing. No rush to turn it into sex. Just Natasha wrapping herself around you completely. One arm slid around your waist, the other hand cradling the back of your head as she tucked your face gently into the crook of her neck. She held you like she was trying to shield you from the whole world. It was strong, steady, and warm.
You froze for half a second, then melted. Your arms came up slowly, wrapping around her back, fingers clutching the fabric of her hoodie like she might vanish. Natashaâs chin rested on top of your head. She breathed you in, slow and deep, her heartbeat strong against your cheek.
The silence was thick with everything unsaid. She could feel the tension still lingering in your body, the way you were trying so hard to shrink yourself. It made her chest ache with a fierce, protective kind of yearning. She wanted to tell you how fucking perfect you were. How she hated that you ever looked at yourself like that. How sheâd been falling for you for weeks now. For the girl who scolded her about messes and still took care of her when her ankle was fucked up. For the girl who let her see the cracks even when it scared her.
But she didnât speak. She just held you tighter, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back while the other stayed buried in your curls. The butterflies in her stomach were violent. This wasnât benefits anymore. This was her wanting to be the person who made you feel safe enough to stop hiding. You pressed closer, face buried deeper into her neck, breathing her in like she was the only steady thing in your chaotic world. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure she could feel it.
You were terrified by how much you needed this. How much you needed her. The girl whose chaos kept breaking your control and somehow made you feel more alive than your perfect plans ever had. Neither of you let go. You stood there in the middle of the living room for what felt like forever, wrapped up in each other, hearts racing with quiet, terrifying yearning. The kind of closeness that felt bigger than sex. Bigger than just roommates with benefits. This was just two girls falling slowly, deeply, and helplessly into something neither of them could stop anymore.
Later that night, you laid in Natasha's bed. No heat except for the warmth her body provided. She held you tightly as you both watched tiktoks on your phone. It seemed very intimate, the lines were crossing. But as Natasha pressed a kiss onto the top of your head before laughing at some video on your phone, you knew that you wanted to feel this more. You wanted her. Deeply.
___
2026
You were sitting in the bedroom of your off campus room, pre-med textbooks gathered around you like weapons. The room smelt of Redbull, the incense sticks you'd lit up to relax you and help you study (which failed) alongside your iPad. Luna, your cat, was perched on the other side of the bed, her gaze focused on your stressful form. She tried to help by making the occasional biscuit but that ended with her taking a short nap inside of your sheets. Lucky.
You groaned, throwing your head back before closing your textbook. Just then, your phone buzzed with a notification. You glanced at it and found her name on your screen. Your stomach shrank.
Natasha
Fans want more content. You up for it?
You clenched your jaw, heart slamming against your ribs. You wanted to type, tell her to fuck off but you didn't have enough fight in you anymore. It still hurt deeply. It was as if Natasha had pulled your entire heart out with her hands before smashing it into bits and pieces. The tears were already gathering in your eyes. How could she just waltz back into your life after every fucking thing? You should have blocked her, deleted her number even but instead, you just typed.
You
Why are you texting me?
Natasha
Just wanted to see if you're up for it. I miss you.
The notification preview told you everything you needed to know. You read it once, twice, then swiped it away without ever opening the conversation. You laughed bitterly before switching your phone off for the night. You grabbed your books and iPad to place them aside. You weren't in the right mind space to do any studying.
Luna moved closer, tucking herself underneath your arm once you were settled. You switched the lights off and stared at the ceiling. How dare she.
But when you woke up the next morning, the message was edited this time. Still there, just that last phrase "I miss you" was gone. Coward.
___
It was a rainy Friday morning. The storm kept everyone inside. You were curled up on the couch with a textbook, trying to focus. Natasha had been restless, pacing the living room until she finally gave up and dropped down beside you.
Without asking, she lifted your legs into her lap and started massaging your calves with strong, careful hands. You glanced at her, surprised.
"Youâre always tense." She said quietly, not looking at you.
"Figured Iâd help." You didnât argue. The steady pressure of her thumbs felt too good. After a while, you put the book down and just watched her. The focused crease between her brows. The way her red hair fell into her face. The quiet gentleness she only seemed to show when it was just the two of you.
Natasha caught you staring and smirked, but it was softer than usual. She kept rubbing your legs long after they stopped aching, like she didnât want to stop touching you.
There were other moments where natasha and you realized that this was beyond just benefits. Like the time where she helped you study. It was 2 a.m. You were at the kitchen table surrounded by flashcards, eyes burning. Natasha shouldâve been asleep in her room, but she wandered out in an oversized hoodie and sat across from you.
She didnât say anything at first. Just stole one of your highlighters and started quizzing you in a low, patient voice. Every time you got an answer right, sheâd give you a small, proud smile that made your stomach flip.
When you finally slumped forward in exhaustion, she stood up, came around the table, and pulled you into a hug from behind. Her arms wrapped around your shoulders, chin resting on your head.
"Youâre gonna kill this exam." She murmured.
"But you need sleep, princess." You leaned back into her, letting yourself be held. In that moment, with her warmth surrounding you and the quiet of the dorm at night, you realized how much you craved her presence. Not just the sex. Her steadiness. The way she made the weight on your shoulders feel a little lighter.
Or the other time when you woke up to the sound of the door closing. Natasha had gone out early despite the cold and came back with two coffees. Yours made exactly how you liked it, with the right amount of oat milk and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top. She set it on your nightstand and tried to sneak back out, but you caught her wrist.
"You didnât have to." You said, voice still sleepy. Natasha shrugged, looking almost shy for once.
"I wanted to." She lingered in your doorway, watching as you took the first sip. The quiet fondness in her eyes made your heart do something dangerous. You wanted to pull her into your bed and hold her. You wanted to tell her how much these small things meant. Instead, you just smiled at her over the cup, and she smiled back. A smile that was small, real, and full of unspoken yearning.
Late November, you stormed into the shared living room after a long day and the sight made your jaw clench. Natashaâs protein shaker was tipped over on the counter, leaking across the surface. Her duffel bag had exploded near the couch, knee pads and shoes scattered. One of her hoodies was draped over the back of the chair you always used.
"Natasha! "you said sharply, setting your bag down.
" This is shared space. Iâve asked you so many times. I need things a certain way out here. I canât keep cleaning up after you every single day-" She stepped out of her room, still in her tank top and shorts from practice, green eyes darkening the moment she heard your tone.
Instead of snapping back, she walked straight toward you with purpose. You expected her to kiss you roughly like usual, to turn the scolding into angry sex. But this time she stopped right in front of you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her.
"Keep going." She murmured, voice low. "Tell me how much Iâm ruining your perfect little world." You opened your mouth to continue the lecture, but the look in her eyes made the words die. There was hunger there, yes, but also something deeper. Something almost reverent.
She took your hand and pulled you into your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind her. The second you were inside, she lifted you onto your desk in one smooth motion. Your perfectly stacked planners, color coded notes, and highlighters went tumbling to the floor in a chaotic rainbow mess as she shoved them aside. The sight of your carefully controlled space being disrupted by her sent a shiver through you.Natasha kissed you deeply, hands sliding under your shirt, but she was slower than usual. More deliberate. When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours.
"I want to fuck you with the strap tonight." She said quietly, voice rough."
"If youâll let me." Your breath caught. Youâd never let anyone do that before. It felt big. Vulnerable. Trusting someone that deeply with your body, especially Natasha, the girl whose chaos kept cracking your walls, was terrifying.
But you trusted her. You nodded, swallowing hard.
"Okay."Â Natashaâs eyes softened for a moment, something like awe flickering across her face. She kissed you again, slower this time, like she understood what you were giving her. She took her time undressing you, kissing every new inch of skin she revealed. When you were naked on the desk, she grabbed the strap from where it had started living in your room and buckled it on carefully. Then she stepped between your spread thighs, slicking the thick toy.
"You sure?" She asked, voice gentler than youâd ever heard it during sex.
"Yes." You whispered, gripping the edge of the desk.
"I want it to be you." The trust in your voice made her exhale shakily. She pressed the head against your entrance and pushed in slowly, watching your face the entire time. You gasped at the stretch, fingers digging into her shoulders. Natasha stilled, letting you adjust, one hand stroking your thigh soothingly while the other brushed a curl from your face.
"Fuck, you look so beautiful." She breathed, voice strained with how much she was holding back. Once you nodded, she started moving, deep, rolling thrusts that gradually built in intensity. Every snap of her hips knocked more of your organized notes and planners to the floor, the chaos of her presence completely overtaking your control.
But you didnât care. You wrapped your legs around her waist, pulling her deeper, moaning softly against her neck. The sex was heated, yes, her hips snapping harder as she got lost in it. But it was layered with something much more intimate. The eye contact. The way she whispered âIâve got youâ every time you gasped at a particularly deep thrust. The way her hands held you like you were precious.
You came hard around the strap, trembling in her arms, a broken moan of her name spilling from your lips. Natasha followed soon after, grinding deep and shuddering against you, burying her face in your neck.
Afterward, she stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you breathing hard amid the scattered wreckage of your desk.
She pulled back just enough to look at you, green eyes dark and full of quiet wonder. The trust youâd just given her, letting her be the first to take you like that, hung heavy and beautiful between you. Neither of you said it out loud. But the feelings were there, growing stronger with every passing day, whether you wanted to admit it or not.
___
You and Natasha walked through the carnival, shoulders occasionally brushing. It was supposed to be a group hangout, but when Carol and Wanda coincidentally excused themselves because they had plans they'd forgotten about, it was just you and Natasha. You didn't mind it though, especially because you enjoyed being around her. As friends.
"Still can't believe you've never been to these things before." You shrugged.
"Never had the time."
"Well, now you do, so let's make sure you have fun princess." She wrapped an arm around your shoulders before guiding you further in. You melted into her embrace, especially when she pulled away and you still smelt like her perfume. The carnival was small but lively. Twinkling lights strung between booths, the distant screams from the Ferris wheel, and the smell of fried dough and popcorn in the cold night air.
Natasha kept stealing glances at you, her red hair peeking out from under a black beanie, green eyes bright under the colorful lights. First stop was the food stalls. Natasha insisted on buying you a massive stick of cotton candy. You laughed when she tore off a piece and tried to feed it to you, both of you giggling as the sugar melted on your tongues. She won a small stuffed keychain at the ring toss and immediately hooked it onto your bag.
"Souvenir." She said, smirking.
You retaliated by dragging her onto the Tilt-A-Whirl. She pretended to be unaffected the whole time, but when you got off she was a little green and dramatically leaned on you for support.
"Youâre enjoying this way too much." She grumbled, but her arm stayed around your shoulders.
The real moment came at the basketball shootout booth. Natashaâs eyes lit up when she saw the giant prizes hanging above the counter Especially the oversized, soft brown teddy bear with a red bow.
"Watch this." She said, cracking her knuckles with exaggerated confidence. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her with an amused smile. She paid for three shots and stepped up, rolling her shoulders like she was back on the volleyball court.
First shot, swish. Second shot, nothing but net. Third shot, she paused, glanced at you, then sank it perfectly. The guy running the booth looked shocked. Natasha just smirked, pointing up at the big bear.
"That one." He handed it over with a defeated sigh. Natasha turned to you, holding the giant teddy bear like it weighed nothing, her cheeks slightly pink from the cold and the small victory.
"Here." She said, pushing it into your arms.
"For my favorite control freak." You smacked your lips but accepted it gratefully. You hugged the soft bear to your chest, half laughing, half melting. It was huge, almost as tall as your torso and ridiculously cute. But it wasnât really about the bear.
It was the way Natasha watched you, green eyes soft and warm under the carnival lights. The quiet pride on her face. The way sheâd gone out of her way to win it just to see you smile. You clutched the teddy bear tighter, butterflies exploding in your stomach.
"Thank you." You said softly, stepping closer until you could rest your forehead against her shoulder for a second.
"I love it." Natashaâs hand came up to rub your back, lingering there. She didnât tease you this time. She just held you for a moment, the chaotic carnival noise fading into the background.
Later, as you walked back toward campus with the giant bear tucked under your arm (and Natashaâs arm around your waist), you kept stealing glances at her.
When you got to the apartment, you set the teddy bear down before being pulled into her arms. She kissed you softly, like you were made of glass and you wrapped your arms around her neck. Somehow you landed up on the couch. You both smoked in the living room with the window cracked and the fan on, laughing at nothing until the giggles faded into comfortable silence. The high settled deep, warm and floaty, lowering every defense you both usually kept up.
Somehow you ended up in the tiny shared bathroom, clothes already half off from making out against the wall. Natasha turned on the shower, and you both stepped under the hot spray together, bodies pressing close in the small space.
Water cascaded over you, your warm skin against her pale, athletic frame. Steam filled the air. Natasha had you pinned gently against the tiles, kissing you slow and deep, her hands sliding over your waist, your hips, your thighs. The high made every touch feel electric and endless. The laughter had died down. What was left was something heavier.
Natasha pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against yours. Water dripped from her red hair onto your shoulders. Her green eyes were dark, pupils blown, but the look in them wasnât just lust anymore. It was soft. Adoring. Almost overwhelmed. She brushed a wet curl from your face with trembling fingers.
"I love you." She whispered, voice rough and raw under the sound of the water.
"Fuck, Y/N⊠Iâm so in love with you it scares me." The words hung between you, real and terrifying. Your heart slammed against your ribs. You cupped her face with both hands, thumbs stroking her wet cheeks as you searched her eyes. The yearning youâd been feeling for weeks, the quiet pull every time she held you, every time she looked at you like you were more than just benefits, crashed over you all at once.
"I love you too." You breathed, voice shaking.
"I didnât want to. I wasnât supposed to fall this hard⊠but Iâm so in love with you, Natasha." The kiss that followed was slow, deep, and full of everything youâd both been trying not to feel.
Hands roamed with new tenderness, not rushing toward sex, just touching, holding, memorizing. Natashaâs arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you impossibly closer under the spray. You clung to her like she might disappear.
You stayed in the shower until the water turned cold, trading soft kisses and quiet âI love youâs between shaky breaths, hearts racing with the terrifying, beautiful weight of what youâd just admitted.
When you finally stepped out, still wrapped in towels, skin damp and warm, you and Natasha stumbled into her bed, giggling and kissing like you couldnât bear even an inch of space between you. The âI love youâs from the shower still echoed in the air, making everything feel electric and terrifyingly soft at the same time.
Natasha pulled you on top of her, hands sliding under your towel to caress your bare skin. The kiss deepened, slow and reverent, tongues brushing lazily. You could feel how much she was trembling, not from nerves, but from the weight of what youâd both just admitted.
"I love you." She whispered again against your lips, like she needed to taste the words.
"I love you too." You breathed, smiling into the kiss. She gently rolled you onto your back and settled between your legs, but instead of reaching for the strap or going down on you, she shifted higher. Her thigh pressed between yours as she hovered above you, red hair falling around both of you like a curtain.
"Can I�" She asked softly, eyes searching yours.
"I want to feel all of you." You understood. You nodded, heart racing. Natasha lowered herself until your bodies aligned perfectly. It was wet, warm, and slick against each other. The first slide of her pussy against yours made you both gasp. She interlaced your fingers, pressing your hands into the mattress on either side of your head, holding you there as she started moving.
It was slow at first. Gentle rolls of her hips, grinding her clit against yours in a delicious, intimate rhythm. The sensation was overwhelming, slick heat, perfect pressure, the way your bodies fit together so naturally. You looked up at her and couldnât look away.
Natashaâs green eyes were locked on yours, full of so much love and awe it made your chest ache. Her lips were parted, cheeks flushed, red hair messy and damp. Every slow grind pulled soft, breathy moans from both of you.
"I love you." She whispered again, squeezing your hands tighter as she rolled her hips in a slow circle.
"So much."Â You let out a shaky giggle, overwhelmed by how good it felt, how right it felt.
"I love you too⊠fuck, Nat-" She laughed softly too, the sound breaking into a moan when you tilted your hips up to meet her. The giggles turned into breathy, loving sounds as the pleasure built. Your fingers stayed tightly laced, thumbs stroking each otherâs skin.
You couldnât stop looking at each other.
Every roll of her hips, every slick slide of your clits together, every shared gasp, it was intimate in a way youâd never experienced before. Beautiful. Vulnerable. Full of love.
Natasha leaned down to kiss you, still moving, still grinding in that perfect rhythm. The kiss was messy and sweet, full of smiles and little giggles when your noses bumped or when the pleasure made you both tremble.
"You feel so good." She whispered against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours.
"I canât believe youâre mine." You squeezed her hands harder, legs wrapping around her as the pressure built higher.
"Iâm yours. All yours." The orgasm came slowly, beautifully, washing over both of you at nearly the same time. You came with a soft, broken moan, clenching and shuddering against her. Natasha followed right after, hips stuttering, a quiet âI love youâ spilling from her lips as she trembled above you. You stayed like that for a long time afterward, foreheads pressed together, fingers still intertwined, breathing each other in. Soft giggles bubbled up between lazy kisses as the high and the afterglow mixed together.
Later, while music played softly from the speaker in your room, Natasha held you in her arms, fingers drawing lazy patterns onto your skin.
"I wasn't always like this you know." You mumbled before untucking your head from her neck. Natasha never stopped drawing patterns but her focus shifted to you.
"One morning I'd been late to school because I spent the night before prepping for this debate tournament, nationals actually." You paused then continued.
"I panicked but my dad said he didn't mind dropping them off for me. He left work, picked them up but..." Your voice cracked.
"He got into an accident and died on the spot." Natasha stopped drawing but she held you tighter.
"If I had just stuck to my usual routine, stuck to the order that I know instead of just...he still could've been alive."
"Y/n..." Natasha started but you shook your head.
"I know, it's not my fault but the thought never leaves my head. He saved people you know, traveled the world to help sick families. If only I'd been careful enough, I could've saved him too." You let out a dry chuckle.
"It's why I'm studying medicine too. I don't know, maybe if I save other people's lives, it will somewhat fill the hole of taking his life."
"I started hurting myself after that. But even that wasn't enough... That's why I love having things in order so much. Control is good, safe. Things don't get taken away if they're planned. B-but with you, you just bring this chaos. You make me feel like I don't have to suffocate with this persona." She wiped the tears that had fallen down your cheek away as you continued to talk.
"I never wanted to let anyone else in because I'm scared of having someone I love so deeply get taken away from me. But you and your cocky self managed to break in." Natasha let out her own laugh, soft and warm. She let out a soft sigh before looking up at the ceiling.
"My family isn't so great either. Dad was never present, moms an alcoholic who had two children and we were barely getting by." She paused and looked down at you, as if she couldn't believe that she was actually telling someone about this.
"I was always the stronger one you know. Had to raise my sister and practically keep my mother from spiraling too. She wasn't abusive or anything but it's hard caring for other people when you don't even have the capacity to care for yourself. I wasn't that smart in school either but I had these killer legs. " You laughed despite the tears sitting in your eyes.
"In middle school, I worked at some shops just to be able to afford secondhand spikes. They weren't quality but I turned them into something great. In high school I was luckier, I had this coach who believed in me. Bought me my real first pair of spikes. Even though they barely fit me, I still keep them with me to remember why I'm here."
"Are those the blue ones hanging on your walls?" You asked and she nodded.
"Yeah. Coach always said I'd go far. But he also said I'd have to let go and let someone in. Never believed him. That was until I met you." You didn't say anything but you tucked your head back underneath her chin. She held you closer, as if she were trying to become one with you. And you let her, because in this room, it was just the two of you existing in this messy thing you called life.
___
2026
The sound of footsteps nearing the door had your heart slamming against your ribs. Eventually the door open and you were met with the redhead standing in sweats and a black top. She looked unfairly good but you pushed that down.
"Hey." You gave her a short nod and she opened her door wider, letting you step inside.
"I'm glad you said yes."
"Cut the small talk Natasha. We're just here to film." Natasha flinched at the use of her full name laced with venom. It sounded so wrong coming from you but she nodded before scratching the back of her neck.
"I set up in my bedroom." You let Natasha lead you through her off campus apartment into her bedroom before setting your bag down.
You stripped out of your jeans and sweater, until you were just in pink underwear. Natasha had been fidgeting with the camera settings until she saw your body. The sight alone was able to send a wave of heat down her body but it also brought back ugly and unwanted memories. She swallowed the thoughts down before pressing record.
You both had eventually agreed to film one last video together. After the breakup, you hadn't exactly deleted the page you created together. The breakup was too messy to even approach this conversation so you left the site up.
Six months after the breakup you finally gathered the courage to log back in. It felt like a knife was being twisted inside of your heart as you replayed a video. It wasn't out of lust, no. This was from the intimacy of the videos. Watching the way Natasha held you, caressed you touched you, fucked you, made love to you, brought so much pain to you because she left. After building something so beautiful, she packed up her things and left as if all of what you'd built together was just a phase. You remember getting so wasted that night, that you almost sent her a drunken text about how she fucked you over. But that ended with your head inside of the toilet throwing up from the thought of speaking to her again. Not even the alcohol could destroy you the way she did.
Two month later, you went back and released a video alone. It made money yeah but the comments were the same.
Where's Natasha?
Did you guys break up?
Bring back red, you two were so amazing together.
You wanted to log off and delete the account then but you didn't. And now, almost a year and a half after the breakup, you were sitting on your heartbreakers bed.
You two eventually fucked. When her hands first touched you, it felt like coming back home after a long holiday. She made you feel good, you moaned for the camera, had your share of orgasms, gave Natasha hers, allowed her to fuck you with the strap but never in missionary and cow girl. Anything that avoided prolonged eye contact (even though that had been your favorite back then).
After the both of you had your last orgasm, you let her kiss you and praise you, but that was all for the camera (fans loved the aftercare that she provided. It was rare to see and that's what made you two such a hit). After that you got up and got dressed. Natasha watched you but you could tell there was a lot on her mind that she wanted to say.
"I'll post it tonight. Whatever comes in we split 50/50." You'd explained after slinging your bag onto your shoulder.
"You seriously won't talk to me?"
" You did all of the talking back then. I have nothing to say to you. Delete my number and forget about me." You left her apartment after that but you both knew that this was far from over.
___
The fans loved the video. Comments begged to have more. And when Natasha sent another text.
Natasha
Money was good. We could film another one.
She was right, the money was so good, you were able to get the new edition of Gray's Anatomy for Students for medical school.
___
It was sophomore year of college. Both you and Natasha were lucky enough to get another shared suite. And the first thing you both did was christen the entire suite.
"I missed you so fucking much during summer break." She whispered against your lips, hands already picking you up and placing you onto the kitchen counter.
"Loved those photos and videos that you sent." She murmured, lips sucking against her neck, you moaned but when Natasha tried to push you further onto the countertop, you paused.
"How clean is this surface?" You dodged her kiss turning around to assess the counter top Natasha placed you on.
Natasha only sighed in a mixture of sexual frustration and love.
"I'm sorry Nat but you're not about to fuck me on a dirty surface." Natasha whined as you climbed off and sauntered over to get cleaning products in your bedroom.
"The sooner you help me, the sooner I get to show you lingerie I got!" Natasha practically ran into the room to help you after that. Your new home was a mixture of both of you. Natasha seldom left her things around anymore but you still lectured her most days. She let you just because she knew it would end up with you gripping the nearest surface while her head was in between your thighs.
The relationship blossomed beautifully. You two even had polaroid pictures of one another behind your phone case after Wanda had sneakily taken one with her camera. You got the picture of the two of you kissing while Natasha got the one of the two of you looking so lovesick, it was disgusting.
"For your crazy kids someday." She remarked after handing you the two copies.
You walked around on campus during the day and at night, holding hands and talking about nothing and everything. You pulled her into study sessions at the library that started with either of you testing one another on your modules and ended with the two of you sneakily making out in the section tucked far away that no one visited while her hand slowly made it's way up your thigh. Most times you'd swat her hand away but it would end up inside you anyway, Natasha watching you with this smitten look.
Some nights, after coming back home late from a study session with friends, you'd slip into her bed and watch her sleep. The sight alone was able to ground you but recently she had this habit of faking sleep just to scare you.
"Boo!" You shrieked and threw your head back in frustration as Natasha poked your stomach.
"What the fuck Nat?! Stop that!" Natasha only chuckled in response to your reaction.
"Stop watching me sleep you weirdo." You'd shove her head back when she leaned in for a kiss but that only ended with your legs wrapped around her shoulders while her mouth was in between your thighs telling you that she'd rather watch you cum instead.
On a whim, you had posted a video on tiktok about you and Natasha. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the two of you lip syncing to some new trending song while her hands roamed around your waist. It was harmless really but it started getting people's attention.
You wouldn't say that you and Natasha are the typical "tiktok" couple but watching the two of you do some trend or lip sync or even just harmlessly post one another was really something people enjoyed watching one of the videos that had gotten a lot of attention was the one where couples were sitting in a car and trying some takeout. Now neither of you had a car but that didn't stop you. Instead, you'd set up your phone in your room (because yours was the aesthetic and Natasha's room was a mess).
The video was simple. You recorded the two of you holding up different things taking bites and sharing the foods. But then it would fade to the two of you making out. The first kiss was soft. Natasha leaned in, cupping your jaw as she kissed you softly. It was slow, sweet, and intimate your eyes fluttering closed, one hand resting on her thigh. You smiled into the kiss before pulling back. You both continued eating like nothing happened. The second one was much hotter.
Natasha had her hand fisted in your curls, kissing you hard. You bit down on her bottom lip, tugging it visibly between your teeth. Natasha groaned into your mouth, the sound low and rough. The kiss was aggressive, needy, her free hand gripping your thigh tightly. When you finally pulled back, her lip was red and slightly swollen.
You both turned back to the camera, a little breathless.
"These spicy dumplings are no joke." You said, voice slightly husky.
"Super flavorful. 9/10 from me." Natasha licked her bitten lip.
"Yeah⊠really fucking good. 9.5."
The third and final one faded in with you already straddling Natashaâs lap. You were kissing her deeply, her hands resting on your hips as she tilted her head to kiss you harder. It was slow, passionate, and full of heat. Soft sounds escaping as your bodies moved subtly together. You pulled back just enough to look at her, both of you smiling against each otherâs lips.
You turned toward the camera, still in her lap.
"Overall verdict?" You said, a little flushed.
"This place is a strong 9.5 out of 10. Weâre ordering from here again for sure."Â Natasha looked straight into the lens, one hand still possessively on your thigh.
"Highly recommend." She added, voice low and satisfied.
"10/10 experience." The video ended with both of you smiling at the camera, the takeout boxes scattered around you.
The soft moments mixed with the heated ones and the way you two looked at each other like no one else existed, made the fans lose their minds in the comments. Comments varied, some calling you a cute couple or something alike. While some were bolder and friskier.
"Drop the twitter"
"Can we watch"
You remember the night you'd shown the comments to Natasha. You were laying on top of her, scrolling through the comments before showing her your phone. She just laughed.
"I mean we'd look good." The topic ended there.
But the love for filming intensified. There was something so satisfying about filming your sexual activities. She'd hold the phone while taking you from behind. There was something so tantalizing about her pale hand gripping onto your ass, hips pounding hard enough to send your ass rippling like water. You'd moan into the pillow hands gripping the pillow while throwing your ass back to meet her thrusts.
"You look so fucking good baby. Throw that ass back f'me, yeah just like that." You'd moan in response.
"Tell me how deep I'm in baby."
"So f...deep." Natasha slapped your ass, spurring you on.
"Yeah? Feel my cock deep in your pussy?"
"Feel you everywhere, in my stomach." She fastened her pace, the new strap hitting deeper inside of your pussy. You came fast, the sound of your melodic moans sending Natasha into her own orgasm.
Your filmed videos varied like that. Either you'd record her in between your legs, sucking and fingering you while talking filthy to the camera. Or her in between your legs shoulders propped onto her shoulders as you gripped the counter top. She'd kiss down your thighs, lick your leg kiss a toe then go back to sucking in between your clit. Other videos ranged between you fingering her, riding her cowgirl or even of the two of you touching yourselves in front of her. But your videos weren't the only thing growing.
The love and vulnerability between you two grew too. After she'd come back from a horrible athlete tournament, third place, though it was good, Natasha screwed up the last run and was almost disqualified.
You ran her a bath, let her soak before giving her a massage. You then spent a long time just massaging her legs, focusing on the calves and quads.
"You're good no matter what Nat. You're the best runner I know. " You'd praise. You worked slow circles into the knot in her calf before moving to her hamstring.
"Relax." You murmured, lifting her leg into a passive hamstring stretch.
That night Natasha let go and let you fuck her with the strap. The sight of he laying back, red hair spilled across the pillow as you thrust into her filled your heart with so much warmth.
"You're so beautiful Nat." She pulled you in for a kiss and came with you playing with her tits while kissing her deeply.
That night you laid together, listening to the shared Playlist you made together. Natasha's eyes were filled with love as she mindlessly played with your curls.
"Falling in love with you is like discovering a new favorite song. Every time I think I've heard the best part, I listen again... and somehow find another reason to love it." She whispered. You stared at her.
"...What?" Natasha smiled sheepishly.
"I said falling in love with you is like finding a new favorite song." Your heart felt impossibly full. You searched her face as if trying to figure out how someone could say something so effortlessly beautiful.
"That's... " You laughed softly, shaking your head.
"Probably the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." Natasha's cheeks flushed.
"Yeah?" You slipped your arms around her waist.
"Yeah."
___
The first fight was over something stupid really. It was after you agreed to meet Natasha after your last class of the day (where you had to write an exam about statistics which you weren't really succeeding. So you really expected Natasha to be there because she knew what this meant to you.
You checked your phone for the twelfth time in fifteen minutes. Nothing. No text. No missed call. Just the lock screen staring back at you with an empty notification bar. Students poured out of the lecture hall in clusters, laughing as they made plans for the afternoon. One by one, the crowd around you began to thin.
You stayed where you were. Natasha had promised she'd be here.
"You waiting for someone?" You looked over at one of your classmates.
"Yeah."
"They're running late?"
"...I guess." Another five minutes passed.
Then twenty. You sighed, slipping your phone back into your pocket. Maybe she'd forgotten. The thought stung more than you cared to admit. Just as you turned to leave, a familiar voice called your name.
"There you are." You looked up.
Natasha jogged toward you, her track bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. A sheen of sweat clung to her forehead, and her hair had almost completely escaped its ponytail.
"Sorry." She said between breaths. "Practice ran over." You stared at her.
"You could've texted."
"I know."
"You said you'd be here."
"I did." Another pause. Natasha rubbed the back of her neck.
"Coach kept us longer than expected."
You waited. She didn't say anything else. No apology. No acknowledgment that you'd been standing there for almost forty minutes wondering where she was. Instead, she flashed that easy grin.
"C'mon." You didn't move. She frowned.
"What?"
"I waited for you."
"I know."
"And?" Natasha shrugged.
"It wasn't a big deal." Silence.
The smile slipped from her face the second she saw yours.
"It wasn't..." you repeated quietly.
"I mean-"
"It wasn't a big deal?"
"No, that's not what I-"
"You made me wait nearly forty minutes."
"I got held up."
"I know that."
"Then why are you mad?"
You let out a short laugh. Not because anything was funny. Because you couldn't believe she was missing the point.
"I'm not mad because you were late."
"Then-"
"I'm mad because you couldn't take ten seconds to tell me."
Natasha opened her mouth. Closed it.
"I was busy."
"You were too busy to send one text?"
"I just forgot." The words landed harder than either of you expected. Forgot. You looked away first.
"If it's not a big deal to you..." You adjusted your bag onto your shoulder.
"Then I don't really have anything else to say."
"Hey-" You walked past her. She reached for your wrist. You slipped out of reach before she could touch you.
For the first time since you'd met her you left Natasha Romanoff standing there alone.
___
The apartment had never been so quiet. Usually, one of you always had something to say.
A joke. A complaint about assignments. An argument over whose turn it was to do the dishes.
Now:
"Morning."
"Mhm."
"You heading to class?"
"Yep."
"...Okay." Natasha watched your bedroom door click shut. She hated it. She hated how you wouldn't even look at her.
By lunchtime she'd already sent three messages.
Nat đ·ïž
Still mad?
Nat đ·ïž
I'm sorry.
Nat đ·ïž
Can we talk?
You'd read every single one from the notification preview. You never opened the chat. That somehow felt worse.
The next morning, another knock sounded against your bedroom door. You ignored it. A second knock. And then you heard her voice.
"I brought a peace offering." Silence.
"It's coffee." Nothing.
"And one of those stupid blueberry muffins you always complain are overpriced but still buy." Your hand froze halfway through zipping your backpack.
"Go away."
"I'd rather not." You opened the door. Natasha stood there holding a takeaway tray in one hand and a small paper bag in the other.
"You look tired."
"I slept fine."
"Liar." You reached for the coffee. Natasha pulled it back.
"Not until you hear me out." You narrowed your eyes.
"You're annoying."
"I've been told." You folded your arms.
"Talk."The confidence she'd worn so effortlessly for the last two days disappeared. She looked... nervous.
"I was wrong." You stayed silent.
"I should've texted." Silence.
"I knew you were waiting for me." Another pause.
"And I made you feel like... like it didn't matter." Your expression softened but only slightly. Natasha took a careful step closer.
"I wasn't thinking."
"No." You said quietly.
"You weren't." She nodded.
"I know."
"I kept checking my phone."
"I know."
"I thought maybe you'd forgotten about the fact that I needed you." Her face fell.
"I didn't."
"I know that now." Another silence settled between you. This one wasn't angry. Just honest.
"You hurt my feelings, Nat." The words came out smaller than you'd intended. Natasha's shoulders slumped.
"I'm sorry." No excuses. No jokes. No trying to make you laugh. Just two words.
"I'm really sorry." You looked at the coffee again. Then at her.
"You got my order right?" A tiny smile tugged at Natasha's lips.
"Extra caramel."
"And?"
"Oat milk."
"And?"
"No whipped cream." You took the cup from her hand.
"Good." Natasha let out the breath she'd been holding.
"So..."
"So?"
"Am I forgiven?"
You took a long sip before answering.
"You're on probation." She laughed.
"I can work with probation." You tried to keep your face straight. You really did.
But the corner of your mouth betrayed you. Natasha caught it immediately.
"There it is."
"What?"
"That smile."
"I'm not smiling."
"You are."
"I'm literally not."
"You absolutely are." You rolled your eyes, finally looking at her properly for the first time in two days.
"Shut up." Natasha smiled back. god, she'd missed hearing you say that.
___
You woke up to Natashaâs warm body curled around yours, her arm slung over your waist and her face buried in your neck. For a moment you just stayed there, soaking in the quiet comfort of her breathing against your skin. Then reality hit. It was a Tuesday. Your birthday. And you had an 8 AM lecture.
You pressed a soft kiss to her lips, smiling when she sleepily kissed you back.
"Gotta go." You whispered.
"See you later."
Natasha mumbled something incoherent and pulled you closer for one more kiss before letting you slip out of bed. You got ready quickly, leaving her dozing under the covers, and headed out without making a big deal about the day. Birthdays had never been special. They were just another weekday.
The second the door closed, Natasha was wide awake. Sheâd been planning this for weeks. Under her bed was a plain cardboard box sheâd been secretly filling. She pulled it out and spent the next few hours arranging everything with more care than sheâd ever admit to. It was nothing expensive, just things she knew youâd love. She got you a stack of your favorite snacks (including the weird spicy chips you pretended not to like but always stole from her), a soft oversized black hoodie sheâd "borrowed" from the athletics store because she knew you liked wearing her clothes, a delicate gold bracelet with a tiny star charm, a new sleek black grinder, and a small bag of good weed flower sheâd saved up for.
But the part that took the longest, the part she was most nervous about, were the flowers.
Natasha sat cross legged on her bed for almost three hours, tongue poking out in concentration, twisting colorful pipe cleaners into little flowers. Her fingers ached. Some of them came out crooked. A few petals were lopsided. But she kept going, making a small, imperfect bouquet in your favorite colors. When she was done, she put them in an empty mug and set everything on your desk with a simple handwritten note:
âYou deserve to feel special today. Happy Birthday, princess. From Natâ
She wasnât cocky about it. No smirk. No teasing. She just wanted you to feel loved on a day youâd told her once meant nothing.
You came back from your afternoon classes exhausted and expecting nothing. You pushed open the door and stopped dead in your tracks. The living room was softly lit. On your desk sat a wrapped box and the most ridiculous, colorful bouquet of pipe cleaner flowers youâd ever seen. Natasha stood in the middle of the room, hands in her hoodie pockets, looking almost nervous. Her usual cocky energy was completely gone. She just looked at you with soft green eyes, waiting.
"Happy birthday. " She said quietly. You walked over slowly, picking up one of the pipe cleaner flowers. It was messy and imperfect and so obviously made by her hands that your throat tightened.
"You made these?" You asked, voice small.
"Took me three hours." She admitted with a shy little laugh.
"Theyâre kinda ugly, but⊠I wanted to make you something myself." You opened the box next. Every single item inside hit you right in the chest. The hoodie. The bracelet. The snacks. The new grinder and weed. All chosen because she knew you. Because sheâd been paying attention. Tears welled up before you could stop them.
Natasha stepped forward and pulled you into her arms without hesitation. She held you tight, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow circles on your back.
"I know birthdays arenât a big thing for you." She murmured into your hair.
"But I wanted this one to be different. You deserve to be celebrated, Y/N. You deserve someone who notices the little things and wants to make you smile."
You hugged her back fiercely, burying your face in her neck as a few tears slipped free.
"No oneâs ever done anything like this for me." You whispered, voice thick.
Natasha held you even tighter, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.
"Well, get used to it." She said softly. "Because Iâm gonna make sure every birthday from now on feels like you matter." You stayed wrapped up in her for a long time, the pipe cleaner flowers and thoughtful box on the desk behind you. For the first time in years, your birthday didnât feel like just another day. It felt like love. Real, warm, and beautifully overwhelming.
___
2026
You don't know how you let yourself be roped back into her bed, but here you were, moaning and letting Natasha fuck you like old times. The camera caught everything. The way she pulled you closer just to bury her mouth in between her legs, how your fingers pulled her hair, pulling her impossibly closer, or how she kissed your thighs like she still had the control to do that. And you let her, because part of you really wanted to reminisce about the good times. About what used to be. About her...
When you were done, you got dressed like you usually did after this.
"You posted another video of yourself." She started, you paused. Then she spoke and you almost didn't hear her.
"It was beautiful." Another pause.
"I miss you." You clenched your jaw, fighting the emotions down.
"You don't get to do that."
"Y/n, at least talk to me. Please, just give me a chance to talk." The laugh you let out was so bitter it made Natasha flinch.
"Why won't you just give me a chance to talk y/n, please I'm begging you. Baby I'm begging you."
"Why?!" You finally turned to look at Natasha. She looked devastated.
___
2025
The rain thrummed violently against the window to your shared off campus apartment. The sound should have been grounding you at this moment but your kind was a storm. And your heart? It was raging from unshed tears and unsaid words.
Lately things with Natasha were extremely rocky. It was like you were treading on thin ice. At first you chalked it up to her grad school applications and her regional tournament. But you were starting to believe it was more than that.
Natasha was distant, quiet and guarded. You tried to talk to her but it either ended in a fight where she'd leave and come back smelling like alcohol or with the two of you fucking before going to sleep facing the walls. That's not what you wanted. You wanted your Natasha back. But she was so gone.
Even the sex, it was still good but she barely paid attention to you anymore. She wouldn't look at you with those adoring eyes anymore, now it was filled with anger. Not to you, never to you. But you still felt it. Either that or she'd stare into the distance. She'd fuck you like she was trying to punish you for something you didn't do, then slip into bed without giving you the aftercare you emotionally needed.
That's how you found yourself sitting on the countertop. The food you'd cooked had gone cold and the lingerie piece you'd bought sat untouched underneath your robe. Natasha was late. Again. You'd tolerated the countless of times she was late back then but on your fourth anniversary?? You'd drawn the line there.
Natasha stepped into the apartment, hair and clothes soaked before throwing her bag down onto the floor. She took her spikes off and set them aside before turning to find you waiting for her.
"Oh. I thought I told you you didn't have to wait up."
"Seriously?" You exclaimed. She sighed in annoyance.
"Y/n, please don't start this right now, I'm not in the mood."
"Bullshit Natasha, you're never in the mood anymore!" You hopped down, robe slipping off your shoulder and she noticed.
"Okay are we gonna fuck or what because I'd rather get to that now."
You shook your head, tears blinding your vision.
"What's today Nat huh? Tell me." She paused and frowned.
"I don't know what you're talking about." You laughed.
"It's our fucking anniversary Nat!" You watched the realization hit her before she spoke.
"I forgot."
"Yes, like you're forgetting everything else about me. Natasha I haven't seen or spoke to you properly for more than two weeks. You're just-"
"Don't do that bullshit now y/n! What... have you been secretly writing this in your little planners? Have you been waiting to throw this in my face? I'm busy y/n, I'm sorry I don't have time to entertain you like I could when we were fucking nineteen years old."
"I'm not asking for a lot. All I'm asking for is for my girlfriend to kiss me on the cheek and fuck me like I actually matter to her." You raised your voice and she shook her head.
The fight escelated.
"I can't keep carrying this relationship on my back Nat. It's like I'm the only one in this relationship. It's fucking one sided.. I love you Natasha I really do but I can't suffocate like this anymore. Do you even love me?"
"I never asked you to carry us y/n, you put that on yourself. I'm not some fucking thing you can organize and fix to be in your perfect life."
"I never said that I wanted you to be perfect, I just want you to be present! Are you even fucking listening to me or am I just some body you get to fuck and leave huh? Cause I'm so convenient for you the moment you want us to film a video and get money but then you're back to drinking and acting like I don't exist. " It sounded ugly, but you had been feeling like that for a while now.
"I have family shit okay y/n! My families fucking breaking apart and I've got no one or nothing to keep me from fucking spiraling." You froze, by now the tears were falling freely.
"Then talk to me baby, please. I want to help you but you need to let me in."
"I donât need you to fix me, Y/N. Stop trying to organize my trauma like itâs a fucking syllabus." That stung.
"Iâm not trying to fix you. Iâm trying to love you. But you wonât let me. You fuck me, you laugh with me on camera, but the second it gets real, you shut down."
Natasha stood, voice cold with that old cocky edge sharpened by pain.
"Maybe we were always better as a show. Hot couple on campus OnlyFans. Perfect on TikTok. In real life? You need order. I bring chaos. Weâre ruining each other."
You cried. She didnât. Words flew, accusations about her emotional unavailability, your rigidity. She accused you of no understanding family. Like the time you two fought about Natasha just giving her mom the some money from cash she'd been saving up for after college. You retaliated buy saying she never let you in. How she only told you half truths. Like the time she pulled away early senior year.
Her mom had a bad relapse. Overdose scare that landed her in the hospital. Yelena called in a panic at 2 a.m., and Natasha drove six hours without telling you the full story. She came back three days later, hollow eyed and closed off. Practice became her escape. Sheâd return to the apartment late, smelling like sweat and exhaustion, and the sex turned into what it did. The angry, distant, missionary with her eyes fixed on the wall while she thrust into you like she was punishing the helplessness she felt.
And still you gave her all of you but now she couldn't even give one bit of herself to you.
"You want me to spill every ugly detail so you can organize it into neat little boxes? Fix me like one of your fucking syllabi?" Her voice rose.
"My mom almost died again last week, Yelenaâs spiraling, and Iâm supposed to what, come home and play perfect girlfriend while pretending Iâm not drowning? You have no idea what that pressure feels like."
"I donât?â Your voice cracked, tears burning behind your eyes.
"Iâve been carrying us for months, Natasha. Planning around your moods, making excuses for why youâre distant, waiting up after your âfamily callsâ like some pathetic side character in your chaos. I love you. I loved planning a future with you. But you look at me during sex like Iâm not even there anymore. Do you know how that felt? To feel invisible to the person who used to make me feel seen?" The words hung heavy. Natashaâs jaw clenched, her athletic frame rigid.
"You need everything perfect and scheduled. I bring mess. I ruin things. Maybe I should just stop pretending I can be what you want."Â That broke something in you.
"Youâre a coward." You whispered, voice shaking with hurt and fury. Tears spilled over now, hot on your cheeks.
"Youâre using your family as an excuse to run. I never asked you to be perfect. I just asked you to let me in. To stay. But youâd rather fuck me like an escape and leave me picking up the pieces than actually love me back the way I deserve."
Natasha flinched like youâd hit her. For a second, her eyes softened, regret flashing through the anger, but she doubled down, voice low and final.
"Then maybe stop waiting for me to be someone Iâm not." She turned away, grabbing her duffel bag from the closet.
"Iâm done ruining your perfect order." You froze.
"Baby please don't do this." But Natasha continued packing as if you weren't standing there. She packed her protein shakers, spikes a few clothes and other necessities. Every movement felt like another crack in your chest. At the door, she paused, hand on the knob, red hair curtaining half her face.
"I did love you." She said quietly, without turning around.
"Still do. Thatâs why I have to leave."
The door clicked shut behind her.
You didnât scream. You didnât collapse right away. You just stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around yourself, feeling the silence press in like a weight. The apartment, once shared chaos and love, felt too big, too empty, too perfectly organized without her mess disrupting it. Your chest ached with a hollow pain that made it hard to breathe. Tears came in waves as you sank onto the couch, pulling your knees up. Sheâd chosen her walls. Her family ghosts. Her escape.
And you? You were left with the brutal truth. Loving Natasha Romanoff had been the most beautiful, terrifying disruption of your life. Now it was over, and you had to rebuild your order around the giant hole sheâd left behind.
You cried until your eyes were raw. Then you got up, wiped your face, and started reorganizing the apartment the next morning, erasing every trace of her while your heart stayed shattered.
You blocked Natasha after that then deleted your number, but you couldn't log into that account. Not yet at least.
The weeks after the breakup were hell on a shared campus. You threw yourself into your pre-med grind harder than ever, color coded schedules, extra lab hours, anything to avoid the places where Natasha might appear. But it was impossible. The university was big, but your worlds overlapped too much.
The first run in happened three days after she moved out. You were grabbing coffee at the student union when she walked in with two track teammates. Your eyes locked across the room. Natasha froze mid step, green eyes widening with raw guilt before she schooled it into that old neutral mask. You turned away first, heart hammering, and walked out without your drink. Your hands shook the entire way back to your apartment.
You spent the entire night sitting on the shower floor crying and watching blood run down the drain. The blade was left on the bathroom counter but the pain remained in your heart.
You could no longer function anymore. It was as if your body was on autopilot. You couldn't listen to music anymore, that just reminded you of Natasha. Getting high was no longer an option anymore because the high only brought back memories. So many of them that you ended up hurling your guts out before curling into a ball and crying. Your apartment became a mess. What was once neat and organized became untidy. Back then you would've cleaned it but now you just sat in the chaos because at least then you could be reminded of Natasha.
And having shared friends made it worse. Your friend group had basically fused over the years. Mutual friends from parties, late night study sessions, and track tournaments. The first group hangout after the split was brutal.
It was a casual bonfire at someoneâs off campus house. You almost didnât go, but you refused to let her exile you from your people. Natasha was already there when you arrived, red hair loose, wearing the black hoodie you used to steal. She was laughing at something a teammate said, but the moment she saw you, the laugh died.
You sat on the opposite side of the fire, surrounded by friends who were visibly uncomfortable. The group chat had been suspiciously quiet about "the situation." Conversations felt forced. Someone tried to tell a story from sophomore year involving both of you, then trailed off awkwardly.
Natashaâs eyes kept finding yours across the flames, heavy, regretful, full of everything she wouldnât say. You hated how much you still wanted to walk over and touch her. You hated even more that she looked like she wanted the same. When you got up to leave early, she followed you to the edge of the yard.
"Y/n-"
"Donât." Your voice was ice.
"You made your choice. Live with it." She didnât follow after that.
You saw her everywhere. At the athletics center when you cut through to get to the library. Sheâd be coming out of practice, sweaty and flushed, duffel bag over her shoulder. Sometimes sheâd nod. Sometimes sheâd just watch you walk by with that haunted look. In the dining hall. One time you were with friends and she was two tables away.
At mutual friendsâ birthdays. One party got especially messy when someone who was too drunk asked loudly.
"So when are you two getting back together? The chemistry was insane." You left. Natasha stayed and got wasted. She ended up in someone else's bed but even then she felt distant and hollow.
"You should talk to whoever it is." The girl said the next morning.
"What are you talking about?"
"Whoever she was, she's clearly still haunting you." Natasha let the girl out of her apartment but five minutes later she had a bottle of alcohol in her hand, stating at the polaroid Wanda once too of the two of you as if she could teleport back to that day, just to feel you in her arms again. She spent the day crying and went back to the shared account just to see your face again.
You both kept up appearances. Natasha threw herself harder into track practice and grad school applications. You buried yourself in research and solo content that paid the bills but felt hollow. The OnlyFans account stayed dormant, neither of you posted anything couple related, and fans noticed the silence.
The pain was constant but quiet. You missed her in the small ways. No more protein shakes magically appearing, no cocky texts making you roll your eyes, no warm body disrupting your perfectly made bed. Some nights youâd stare at old TikToks (private now) and cry. Other nights youâd fuck yourself with the vibrator sheâd left behind, hating how you whispered her name when you came.
Natasha looked like shit for a while too, thinner, quieter, the cocky energy dimmed. Mutual friends said she wasnât dating anyone. She wasnât even hooking up. Just⊠existing. You both became experts at polite distance. Civil nods in public. Short, surface level conversations when forced by group settings. Never alone. Never touching. The tension was thick enough to choke on.
Even at her big track tournament. Natasha had do drag herself there. She wasn't even excited to run but she had to because her scholarship was riding on it, and with her grades slipping, she couldn't afford another mishap.
Natasha was anxious as she tied the laces to her spikes up. She scanned the crowd, half expecting to find you there. And to her surprise you were. You guys locked eyes, her heart stuttered but then you looked away. It hurt but you still showed up. And that pushed Natasha to run like her life depended on it.
She won first place but it felt hollow. Because even when cheerleaders, friends and teammates surrounded her to congratulate her, she wanted nothing more than your attention. For you to be running down and throwing yourself in her hands, exclaiming that you were proud of her while wearing her jacket and kissing her face.
But when she looked back at the bleachers, you were already gone.
___
2026
"Fuck you Natasha. You don't get to come into my life and expect everything to go back to the way it was." Natasha flinched but she stood stronger.
"I know. I'm sorry. But I need you y/n. I miss you. I thought it would be better to be our own people but fuck..." She paused and rubbed her neck.
"I'm not even a person without you."
___
It was hard it really was but you two missed one another. You agreed to meet up at a coffee shop. One coffee just to talk and no funny business. She looked ecstatic when you told her that.
That's how you ended up fixing things with one another again. It took some time, a lot of time but soon enough you two were falling in love again. You didn't just fall back into her arms again. You made Natasha earn you. If she wanted you that badly then she'd earn you, fight for you, love you the way you deserved.
And it worked. You two ended up dating five months later. You went on for two years. It was like falling in love all over again. It was beautiful, messy and fragile but with Natasha it all felt worth it. The next two years were genuinely good. You graduated pre-med and started med school. Natasha finished her degree and took a coaching job at a local club while figuring out her future. You moved into a nicer apartment together. There were trips, lazy mornings with coffee and Luna demanding breakfast, passionate nights where she still fucked you like she needed you more than air, and quiet ones where you just held each other.
You even filmed a few more videos together, not for the money anymore, but because the trust had returned and it felt fun again. But something was⊠off. It wasnât dramatic. There were no massive fights like senior year. No distance. And yet it never quite reached the effortless magic you both remembered from freshman, sophomore and junior year. You were both trying so hard, too hard, to make it what it used to be. The nostalgia became weight instead of warmth. You were in love with the memory of each other as much as the real person in front of you. Stuck. You two loved each other but you weren't in love anymore.
The final conversation happened after a quiet fight. It started over something small, you reorganizing the kitchen again because her post practice mess triggered old anxieties, and her snapping that she felt like she was always walking on eggshells in your âperfectâ space. It escalated into the living room, voices raised but not screaming.
"I feel like Iâm failing you again." Natasha said, running a hand through her red hair. She looked tired.
"Like no matter how much I try, I canât give you that version of us you remember." You sat on the couch, Luna jumping into your lap like she sensed the shift. Your chest ached.
"I feel the same." You admitted, voice cracking.
"I love you. I really do. Youâre still the only person who makes me feel this alive. But⊠itâs not working the way we want it to. Weâre both holding on because the love is real, but weâre not the same people who fell in love in that freshman dorm. I keep waiting for it to feel like it did back then, and I think you are too." Natasha sat beside you, careful not to crowd Luna. She took your hand, the touch still familiar, still warm.
" I keep thinking if I just try harder, get better at the family stuff, stop bringing any chaos⊠itâll click again." She said quietly.
"But thatâs not fair to either of us. I love you enough to admit this isnât what we both deserve anymore. Weâre good together. But weâre not right anymore."
Tears slipped down your cheeks. Luna purred loudly, pressing against your stomach as if offering comfort.
"I hate this." You whispered.
"But I think youâre right. Weâve been trying to recreate something beautiful instead of building something new. And itâs exhausting us both." You talked for hours that night. Really talked. About the good times (freshman year stoner giggles in the shower, the way she used to make you laugh until your sides hurt, the electric chemistry that started it all). About the pain (senior year, the breakup, the campus ghosts). About how much youâd both grown.
By the end, you were curled against her, Luna between you like a fluffy mediator, both of you crying quietly.
"I donât want to lose you completely,â Natasha said, voice thick.
"Youâre still one of the most important people in my life. Maybe⊠we figure out how to be friends? Real friends. Without forcing the romance." You nodded against her shoulder.
"Friends. It hurts like hell right now, but I think thatâs what we need."
The breakup was kind. No slammed doors. No bitterness. You helped each other move her things out over a weekend, sharing memories and even laughing through tears when Luna tried to âhelpâ by sitting in every box.
You stayed close. Group hangouts were no longer awkward. Natasha still came over sometimes, just for dinner or to watch movies with you and Luna. The romantic tension faded into something softer, warmer. She was still your person, just in a different way. You dated other people eventually. So did she. But no one ever quite matched what you had.
Years later, when people asked about your college love story, youâd smile and say.
"We burned bright. Really bright. And when it was time, we let it settle into embers instead of forcing the fire. Sheâs still family."
You know how your favorite song builds and builds until it reaches that one perfect moment? The moment that makes you close your eyes every single time you hear it. But even after that, the music doesn't stay there forever. It softens. It quiets. Eventually, it comes to an end.
Maybe that's all you two ever were. Not a song that ended too soon. Not one that went on for too long. Just one that reached its peak... and knew when it was time to fade.
sorry if this makes no sense, I have not proofread, just blurted...
So I've written a sequel/diff POV to my Isadora Capri fic Love, Revised (like how I did with A Symphony of Clues and A Refrain of You) and I've had it pretty much finished for over a month now but because of my style of writing I have a lot of one line paragraph sort of things and Tumblr has a block/paragraph spacing limit (which I totally understand) which I have gone over by... a lot... and I keep trying to edit it and shorten it or change my style of paragraphing and it is so so draining and I've restarted over and over again, and it's just so sad to see the fic I wrote (on docs as per usual) having to be changed so much when I was actually really happy with it.
Anywayyyy, I've applied for an Ao3 account which says that I'll get an invite by the 24th of June (which is so long away- Im so so impatient, I had no idea you had to be invited đ) so I thought maybe I could just upload to full, original fic there? I'm not too familiar with Ao3 except for reading a few fics on there so I was wondering if anyone who has posted on there knows whether there's a block/paragraph limit on there as well???
Also should I maybe upload to wattpad??
I'm not really sure, any guidance would be HEAVILY appreciated, I really want to get this fic out there to you guys in its truest form đ
Then maybe if I post in full I'll be less stressed and could break it into parts for Tumblr? Idk
The name of the fic is a tempo of tenderness and I freaking need that right now with how stressed I am đ
anywayyy... much luv, thx, and apologies,
bvnny đ
Me having a mental breakdown trying to shorten my fic:
SteveHarrington x Fem!Reader (established relationship, newlyweds)
Warnings/Tags: Established relationship, Husband!SteveHarrington, Newlyweds, Domestic fluff, Emotional intimacy, Soft!SteveHarrington, Mild body insecurities, Body image reassurance, Housewarming party prep, Kissing, Implied sexual content, Suggestive themes, Sexual tension, Affectionate touching, steve's love language is deffos physical touch, Playful/teasing/flirty banter, Nothing explicit, No use of y/n, Late 80s/early 90s, Slight foreshadowing, and yeah just cute stuff :) Probs not proofread very well
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part 1 here
A few weeks later, the house finally feels lived in...
Most of the boxes are gone now, unpacked and broken down in the garage. The walls aren't quite as bare, photographs slowly finding their places among crooked picture frames and shelves that Steve insists are straight. The fridge is covered in magnets, the kitchen drawers are organised according to her system, not Steve's, and every room carries little traces of them.
Their home.
Still new enough to make her smile whenever she says it.
The bedroom smells faintly of her perfume.
Something soft and floral, lingering in the air as the late evening light filters through the curtains, catching on the mirror and the scattered little things across her vanity â lipstick, a brush, a pair of earrings set carefully beside each other.
Downstairs, music crackles faintly through the speakers. Something Steve insisted on putting on 'for atmosphere,' even though no oneâs arrived yet.
She stands in front of the mirror, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress for what must be the tenth time.
It doesnât need fixing.
She knows it doesnât.
Still â her fingers fuss with the fabric anyway, tugging slightly at the waist, flattening something that isnât wrinkled.
"Okay, so I think the tape deck might actually be-"
Steveâs voice cuts off the second he steps into the room.
She sees it happen in the mirror.
The way he just⊠stops.
His hand still on the doorframe, his expression going completely still, eyes fixed on her like heâs forgotten whatever he was about to say.
"Wow."
Her lips twitch into a small smile, a faint blush rising as she glances up at him through the mirror.
"Hi," she says softly, almost shy all of a sudden, before her gaze drops again, fingers going back to smoothing the dress. "Do you think itâs alright? Iâm starting to think itâs a bit much, I don-"
His hands find her waist before she can finish.
Warm. Familiar.
He steps in close behind her, pulling her gently back against his chest, their reflections lining up in the mirror.
"Darling," he murmurs, voice softer now, but certain, "you look phenomenal."
She lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head slightly, even as the blush deepens. "Thatâs a big word for you."
"Hey," he protests lightly, a smile pulling at his mouth, but he doesnât miss the way sheâs deflecting.
He never does.
His grip tightens just a little, grounding, and he leans in, brushing a slow kiss just beneath her ear.
"Okay," he murmurs against her skin, voice dropping into something teasing, "maybe Iâve been expanding my vocabulary..."
Another kiss â lower this time, softer.
"...For occasions like this."
She exhales, the tension in her shoulders easing as she melts back into him, her hands coming up to rest over his where they sit at her stomach, fingers tracing absent patterns along his skin.
"Youâre ridiculous," she murmurs, but thereâs no bite to it.
"Mm," he hums, lips brushing her neck again. "Still right, though."
She smiles at that, just a little helplessly, before turning slightly in his arms, only as much as heâll let her.
"Which earrings?"
She lifts one from both options, holding them up above her shoulder so he can see them.
Steve presses one last kiss to her neck before pulling back just enough to actually look, one arm still looped securely around her waist.
He studies them like itâs the most important decision heâs ever made.
Then he reaches out, tapping one.
"That one."
She tilts her head. "Any particular reason?"
"Yeah," he says simply, taking them from her. "Theyâll match your eyes."
Her breath catches â just slightly â and she looks away, smiling despite herself.
"Shut up."
"Never."
Before she can reach for the other, his hands are already there.
He turns her gently to face him fully, his touch careful, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world, even though they very much donât.
She stills, watching him.
Thereâs something about the way he concentrates â brows slightly furrowed, tongue just barely pressing to the inside of his cheek â that makes her chest feel warm and tight all at once.
Heâs so gentle.
Like sheâs something delicate.
Like she matters.
Even though she could do this in seconds, she doesnât interrupt. Doesnât rush him.
Because this-
this is way better.
When he finally gets the first one in, he leans back just slightly to check his work, then moves to the second, just as careful.
"Hold still," he murmurs, unnecessarily.
She smiles. "I am holding still."
"Could be more still."
She laughs softly, but obliges anyway.
When he finishes, his fingers brush lightly against her jaw as he pulls away.
"There," he says, satisfied.
She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
"Thank you."
But the way she looks at him lingers a second longer.
Says more than just that.
And he knows it.
His hand comes up briefly to cup her cheek, thumb brushing her skin before he lets her go.
She turns back to the mirror, giving herself one last check. Turning slightly, smoothing the back of her dress, glancing over her shoulder-
âand thenâ
smack.
"Steve!"
She jumps, laughing, hand flying back to swat at him as he grins behind her.
"Sorry, sweetheart."
He doesnât sound sorry.
Not even a little.
His hands slide back to her hips, pulling her flush against him again, chin resting briefly on her shoulder.
"I did say you looked phenomenal."
"Oh my god," she laughs, shaking her head, but sheâs leaning into him again anyway.
Always does.
His lips find her neck again, slower this time, more deliberate â like heâs testing the waters.
She hums softly, eyes closing for just a second as she lets herself sink into it.
Just a second.
Then her eyes open again, catching the clock on the wall.
"Steve," she murmurs, breath a little uneven, "people are gonna start arriving in..." she squints slightly, "...like, eight minutes.â
He kisses a little lower.
Finds that spot that makes her inhale sharply.
"Good thing," he murmurs against her skin, voice warm with amusement, "I only need five."
"Steve-!"
But heâs already turning her, hands firm on her waist as he spins her to face him, kissing her before she can properly protest.
She laughs against his mouth, hands coming up to his chest as he starts guiding her backward.
"Steve, we really shouldnât-"
"Probably not," he agrees easily, like it means nothing.
The back of her knees hit the bed.
She lets out a surprised little laugh as she sits back slightly, his hands still holding her there, his mouth brushing along her jaw now.
"Seriously," she tries again, though itâs softer now, less convincing.
His hand slides- just enough to make her breath hitch, a soft sound escaping her before she can stop it.
He freezes.
Then slowly pulls back.
He freezes.
Then slowly pulls back.
"âŠOkay," he says, far too composed, like heâs making a noble sacrifice. "Youâre right. Iâll stop."
There it is.
That tone.
Barely there, but she knows him.
She stares at him for half a second, breath uneven, lips parted, eyes flicking briefly â traitorously â to the clock on the wall.
Seven minutes.
Her gaze drifts back to him.
To the way heâs looking at her.
To the way his hands are still resting at her waist like he hasnât actually let go of the idea at all.
She exhales, something caught between a sigh and a laugh.
"Okay," she says, already leaning in, already closing the distance between them. "But you better make it quick."
His eyebrows lift â just slightly, impressed â and then sheâs kissing him again before he can respond.
Itâs not tentative this time.
Itâs warm and certain and wanting.
She pulls back only for a second, breath brushing his lips. "And donât ruin my hair."
"Wouldnât dream of it," he murmurs, smiling.
Then sheâs kissing him again, deeper this time, her hand sliding to the back of his neck, fingers curling into his hair, holding him there.
Her other hand moves lower, finding the line of his waistband, and-
Steve lets out a quiet laugh against her mouth, something a little disbelieving, a lot fond.
"Jesus," he breathes, but heâs already pulling her closer, hands slipping down to find the hem of her dress, fingers brushing warm skin as he lifts it just enough.
She exhales softly into his mouth, pressing closer, like she canât quite get enough of him.
Like she never does.
His forehead bumps lightly against hers for half a second, both of them a little breathless, a little giddy with it.
"Jeez," he murmurs, voice low, eyes flicking over her face like heâs trying to take it all in at once, "you really are phenomenal."
She laughs quietly, but it melts into something softer as she kisses him again.
And the world narrows.
Just for a little while.
A few minutes later-
The bedroom is quieter.
The air warmer.
Softer, somehow.
She stands in front of the mirror again, smoothing her hands over her dress â again, though this time thereâs a faint flush still lingering across her cheeks, her lips a little more pink than before.
She adjusts one of her earrings â still in place, thanks to him â and takes a steadying breath.
Behind her, Steve is already halfway out the door, running a hand quickly through his hair, trying (and failing) to make himself look a little more put together.
âTheyâre here!â he calls, already moving down the hallway.
âGo!â she calls back, laughing under her breath. âIâll be down in a second!â
His footsteps thud down the stairs, followed by the distant sound of the front door opening, his voice greeting someone brightly, easy, warm, like nothing happened at all.
She lingers for just a moment longer.
Her eyes flick, almost unconsciously, to the bed.
Sheets slightly rumpled.
A quiet, intimate kind of mess.
Her smile turns soft.
Fond.
A little flustered.
"Insatiable," she murmurs to herself, shaking her head just slightly.
Then she reaches over, flicks off the bedroom light, and pulls the door closed behind her-
carrying that warmth with her as she heads downstairs,
Sorry it took so long, I started writing a completely different part two and intended this to be part three instead and push everything back a part but... I think I'm just gonna make what I was writing like a drabble? Then maybe I can just add extra parts that don't need to be read within the context of the story but they are just cute and you get to see a bit more of their relationship??
All likes, follows, comments, reblogs and requests are very much appreciated - I love hearing from you guys! đ
SteveHarrington x Fem!Reader (established relationship, newlyweds)
Warnings/Tags: Newlywed Steve Harrington, Established relationship, Husband!SteveHarrington, third-person limited, domestic fluff, hurt/comfort series (the hurt comes later), kissing, implied sexual content, suggestive themes, emotional intimacy playful teasing, use of pet names, reader insert (no use of y/n), late 80s/early 90s setting, brief mentions of family planning, cute soft idiots in love :)
Find full series warning list in series navigation
The key sticks for a moment...
Steve jiggles it, shoulder nudging the door like thatâll help somehow, breath puffing out in a half-laugh, half-groan.
"Câmon," he mutters, mostly to the lock, like itâs personally offending him. "Donât do this to me on day one."
Behind him, she shifts her weight, suitcase bumping gently against her leg. "Maybe it already knows youâre going to be a nightmare homeowner."
He huffs out a quiet laugh at that, glancing back over his shoulder. Sheâs smiling â soft, a little tired from the drive, hair not quite sitting right after hours in the car â but glowing in that way that still catches him off guard sometimes.
His wife.
Jesus.
The lock finally clicks.
"Ha!" Steve pushes the door open triumphantly, stepping forward â and then stopping just as she moves to pass him. His arm comes up automatically, bracing against the doorframe, blocking her entrance.
"And what do you think youâre doing, sweetheart?"
She blinks up at him, already smiling, head tilting just slightly in that way that makes something in his chest go warm and stupid. "Going into our home?" she says, like itâs the most obvious thing in the world.
God, he loves her.
"On your own two feet?" Steve shakes his head, mock-serious. "I donât think so."
Before she can even react, he drops his suitcase with a thud onto the porch and swoops her up.
She squeals, startled laughter bursting out of her as her own bag slips from her hand and lands beside his.
"Steve! What are you doing?!"
"Carrying my bride over the threshold," he says, like sheâs the ridiculous one. "Duh."
"Oh."
Her arms come up around his neck easily, instinctively, fingers curling into the soft collar of his shirt as she settles against him. That smile softens into something fond, something a little more private.
âYouâre so stupid.â
âYeah, yeah,â he murmurs, but heâs grinning.
She leans in and kisses him â quick at first, just a soft press of lips that lingers for half a second too long to be casual. Itâs enough to make his brain go pleasantly blank.
"Well," she murmurs against him when she pulls back, voice warm, teasing, "what are you waiting for, husband?"
Steve blinks, like heâs just remembered his own plan.
"Right. Yep. Important tradition."
He steps forward then, carrying her over the threshold properly this time, like it matters. Like it means something.
The door creaks behind them, the house quiet and still, the air faintly dusty with that closed-up, unused smell. Boxes are stacked along the walls, mismatched and uneven, labels scribbled in marker â kitchen, bedroom, misc. stuff?? â a whole life waiting to be unpacked.
But he barely notices.
Heâs too busy looking at her.
He sets her down slowly, hands lingering at her waist like heâs not quite ready to let go.
She glances around, taking it all in â the bare walls, the scuffed floor, the way the late afternoon light spills in through the front window, warm and golden.
For a moment, she just⊠breathes it in.
Then, softer, almost to herself, "Itâs ours."
Something in Steveâs chest just-
He doesnât even think about it. He leans in and kisses her again. Once, twice, three times in quick succession, like he canât help himself.
"Steve-" she laughs, trying to push him back, but thereâs no real effort in it.
"I know, I know," he mumbles, pressing one more kiss to her cheek anyway. "I just- yeah. Ours. Thatâs⊠yeah."
His hands slide down from her waist to her hips, pulling her just a little closer.
She looks up at him then, properly, and thereâs that look â soft and open and so full of love it almost makes him dizzy. And... because heâs incapable of leaving anything alone for too long, his expression shifts, something more mischievous creeping in.
Her eyes narrow slightly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Steve hums, like heâs considering something very serious.
"Remind me," he says, voice dropping just a little, "how many bedrooms does our house have?"
She frowns, confused but playing along. "Uh⊠four? If you include the study." A beat. "Why?"
"Oh, no reason," he says lightly, but his hands tighten on her hips, tugging her closer until thereâs barely any space left between them.
Her breath catches, just slightly.
"I just figure," he continues, quieter now, grin turning softer but no less teasing, "itâs good to know exactly how much room weâve got to⊠fill."
It takes a second.
And then-
"Steve Harrington."
Her face warms instantly, that blush spreading up her neck as she tries (and fails) to look scandalised.
"What?" he says, completely unrepentant.
She shakes her head, but sheâs smiling, eyes dropping for a second before flicking back up to his. "Youâre unbelievable."
"Mm," he murmurs. "You married me."
"Regretting it already."
"Liar."
She opens her mouth to argue but he kisses her before she can.
This oneâs different.
Slower.
Deeper.
Her hands slide up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt before moving higher, settling on his shoulders, and then into his hair. His hair. The one thing heâs always been weirdly protective of, except with her.
Never with her.
He exhales softly as her fingers thread through it, tightening just slightly, and his grip on her hips shifts â firmer now, pulling her flush against him.
The world narrows.
Boxes, dust, the open door to their new neighbourhood... everything else just fades.
Thereâs only her.
Her breath, her warmth, the way she leans into him like she fits there.
Like she always has.
And like she always will.
When they finally pull apart, itâs only barely, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling, neither of them moving far.
She lets out a small, breathless laugh. "Weâre supposed to be unpacking."
"Mhmm," Steve says, not sounding remotely convinced.
Her thumb brushes absentmindedly along the back of his neck. "And the bags are still outside."
"Tragic."
"Steve."
He grins, eyes flicking toward the stairs for half a second before coming back to her.
Then, without warning, his hands shift â sliding down, hooking under her thighs as he lifts her again.
She gasps, then laughs, instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist, arms tightening around his neck.
"Steve-!"
"Priorities," he says, like itâs obvious.
He kicks the front door shut behind him without looking, the sound echoing softly through the empty house.
The sun dips lower outside, golden light stretching across the floor, catching on abandoned suitcases and unopened boxes.
This part is definitely more 'Steve feelings heavy' and this will fluctuate between the two of them throughout the story but I hope this was a good little intro into their love and relationship before... well yep... no spoilers...
Anywayyy, all likes, follows, comments, reblogs and requests are very much appreciated - I love hearing from you guys! đ
Iâm so excited (and honestly a little very nervous) to finally be launching this series. Iâve had this idea sitting in my brain for so so long now, and starting to actually write it has already become incredibly special to me. Especially because this is also my first time writing for Steve Harrington </3
I think one of the reasons Iâve held onto this concept for so long is because Iâve always felt like thereâs a bit of a gap in the Steve fic world for hurt/comfort in this specific way. Iâve definitely read some absolutely beautiful fics that touch on these themes, but i really wanted to put them at the centre of a story and give them the space they deserve - especially in a longer series format.
A huge part of why I write hurt/comfort is because I love exploring emotional vulnerability and the quiet ways people care for each other through difficult things, and this series is very rooted in that. But itâs also rooted in topics I care deeply about outside of fiction too: infertility, societal expectations surrounding motherhood, misogyny, women feeling pressured into certain "roles," the idea that success in womanhood is tied to becoming a mother, different ways people become parents, and also the reality that some people donât want children at all and that is perfectly fine.
This story wonât always be sad - thereâs so much love in it too. Domesticity, longing, softness, teasing, intimacy, Steve being hopelessly in love, and all of that good stuff. But I really wanted to explore what happens when love exists alongside pressure, expectation, grief, guilt, and hope.
Also a small disclaimer!:
Iâm only 19, and while I care deeply about the themes explored in this series and have done and will continue to do my best to approach them thoughtfully and respectfully, this story is still ultimately a work of fiction written from one specific perspective and experience. Fertility journeys are incredibly personal and vastly different for every individual and couple, and this fic is only portraying one possible emotional experience surrounding those topics.
The same goes for themes surrounding motherhood, womanhood, marriage, and family expectations - there is no one "correct" way to feel about any of these things, and I never want this story to imply otherwise.
More than anything, my intention with this series is to explore, empathise, and open space for conversations and emotions that I donât always see represented in fanfiction as deeply as they could be.
Anywayyyy... I really hope you all love this story as much as I already do. Thanks for being here đ
bvnny đ
also if anyone wants to share any thoughts or feelings or just needs somewhere to vent, my comments, messages & inbox are always open xx
Steve Harrington x Reader (Newlyweds, set after S5, possible implied references to the TV shows... adventures)
A story about love, pressure, and all the rooms waiting to be filled...
Click to read authors note & disclaimer :)
Summary, warnings and chapters below...
Summary:
Steve Harrington has always dreamed of a big family.
A home full of noise, love, and six little nuggets running through the halls.
So when he and his new wife return home from their honeymoon to their new empty house and a future entirely their own, it feels easy to believe everything else will fall into place.
But months pass. Expectations grow heavier. Questions become harder to ignore. And somewhere between love, longing, and the quiet pressure of becoming the people everyone expects them to be, Y/N finds herself wanting it more desperately than she knows how to admit - not just for herself anymore, but for Steve, for the future they promised each other, and for every hopeful look that lingers just a second too long.
Warnings:
(list will change as I write and update the story, if you feel anything should be added please comment or message me!!)
infertility themes, implied infertility struggles, pregnancy anxiety, discussions of motherhood & societal expectations, internalised misogyny, emotional distress, pressure surrounding pregnancy/family, grief surrounding infertility, marital strain, angst with comfort, established relationship, newlyweds, domestic fluff, emotional intimacy, implied sexual content (nothing explicit), slow emotional deterioration, hurt/comfort, I try not to use Y/N but if I slip up... sorry đ
Please take care when reading đ
Chapters:
(titles may changed and parts may be added as I update the story)
Hi, Iâm loving your writing as always:) Just wanted to let you know that itâs clear how much thought and care you put in your storytelling, and that itâs very much so appreciated (and eagerly anticipated)!!!
Would you, perhaps, consider also writing Isadoraâs POV of âLove, Revisedâ?
Hi!! Your are actually SO SO sweet, this means so much to me đ„ș
I actually have already been working on that POV, since I posted the original, so I hope to get it up soon!
You don't understand (or... you might? Who am I to assume) how much motivation I get and just love I feel when my readers send me messages like this so thank you đ
Teacher!IsadoraCapri x Teacher!Fem!Reader (established relationship)
Isadora/Y/N POV of: A Symphony of Clues (You don't need to read symphony fic before refrain but I suggest you do)
Warnings/Tags: Teacher x teacher (established relationship), Soft domestic fluff, Implied sexual content (nothing explicit), Married sapphics, ArtTeacher!Reader, Mild teasing, Mild power dynamics (but in a safe way), Mutual affection, Lot's of touching, teasing, rings, hands etc... Also implied neurodivergent y/n (via self-projection âïž), Proofread badly.
This fic is quite long and yeah, oh also I had a hard time writing it... or well finishing it, it's sort of explained in this rant/post
hopefully it was worth the wait đ
Morning at Nevermore was quiet in a way that felt almost conspiratorial...
Grey light slipped through the tall windows, pooling softly over tangled sheets and the familiar sprawl of their shared space â half-finished mugs on the bedside tables, sheet music curled at the edges, a paint-stained scarf slung over a chair like it had been forgotten in a hurry.
Y/N did not want to wake up.
She shifted, slow and careful, and immediately hissed under her breath before burrowing closer into Isadoraâs side, seeking warmth and safety in equal measure.
Isadora stirred at the sound.
Her eyes opened lazily, a smile already tugging at her mouth as she felt the way Y/N clung to her, all soft and heavy and uncharacteristically still.
âGood morning, sweetheart,â Isadora murmured, voice low and warm.
Y/N answered with a quiet groan, face tucked into Isadoraâs shoulder. âI hate mornings.â
âYou donât hate mornings,â Isadora said gently, fingers beginning slow, soothing passes along Y/Nâs back. âYou hate moving.â
âThat too,â Y/N muttered. After a beat, softer, âEverything feels⊠tender.â
Isadora hummed, unmistakably pleased, and pressed a kiss into Y/Nâs hair. âImagine that.â
Y/N tilted her head just enough to give her a look â sleepy, flustered, undeniably fond. âYouâre enjoying this far too much.â
âIâm enjoying you,â Isadora corrected, brushing her thumb along Y/Nâs jaw. âAnd the way you sound when you complain.â
Y/N opened her mouth to argue, then caught herself, cheeks warming. âThat is unfair.â
âMm,â Isadora said, entirely unrepentant. âYou were very vocal about your opinions last night.â
Y/N made a small, embarrassed noise and hid her face again, which only made Isadora laugh quietly.
âI liked hearing them,â Isadora added softly, kissing her temple. âEvery," kiss, "single," another, "one," and one lasting one on her lips.
The room settled into something warm and unhurried after that, the kind of silence that only comes when nothing needs to be said.
Eventually, Isadora began the slow work of waking her properly â gentle kisses along her cheek, her jaw, the corner of her mouth; murmured promises of coffee and patience and Iâve got you.
âCome on,â Isadora coaxed. âIf you stay any longer, youâll convince yourself you can live here.â
Y/N sighed but let herself be guided upright, blinking blearily. âI could.â
âI know,â Isadora said fondly. âBut the world insists on having us today.â
Getting ready together was a quiet ritual.
Y/N slipped into one of Isadoraâs button-ups, oversized and already marked with old paint, then fumbled immediately with the buttons, hands sluggish and unfocused.
Isadora stepped in without comment, fastening them for her, fingers lingering at Y/Nâs waist just long enough to make her breath hitch.
âYouâd be late to your own life if I didnât help you,â Isadora teased gently.
âI would make it eventually,â Y/N said, unconvinced.
âAt noon.â
âAt earliest.â
At the dresser, Y/N reached for Isadoraâs rings, sliding them onto her fingers with familiar care. She spun one absently, grounding herself in the familiar weight and the soft clink of metal.
Isadora watched her with quiet affection, leaning in to kiss her brow once she was done.
âThank you, angel,â she murmured.
Y/N ducked her head, flustered but smiling. âYouâre welcome.â
They lingered there a moment longer than necessary, foreheads pressed together, the morning stretching softly around them â unrushed, intimate, carrying the quiet echo of the night before.
Then Isadora squeezed Y/Nâs hand once, gentle and sure.
âCome on,â she said. âLetâs go pretend weâre respectable.â
Y/N laughed softly and followed her out.
---
Isadora had learned, early in her Nevermore career, the difference between teaching and holding attention.
Today, she was doing neither.
The room buzzed with the low-grade restlessness of adolescents who did not care for harmonic progressions, no matter how gently or enthusiastically they were presented.
She leaned one hip against the piano, tapping an idle rhythm against her thigh, watching eyes glaze and drift.
It didnât bother her.
She knew what this class was really here for.
When Ajax raised his hand, she braced herself.
âWhat music do you actually listen to?â he asked. âLike⊠when youâre not teaching.â
A harmless question. Personal, but safe. Isadora allowed herself a small smile.
âA bit of everything,â she said. âMy wife says my playlists sound like a game of roulette.â
The word slipped out easily.
Too easily.
It landed in the room with a soft, audible weight.
Isadora felt it immediately â the collective shift, the sharpened attention, the way several heads snapped up at once. She straightened just a fraction, folding her arms loosely across her chest.
Isadora tilted her head. âYouâve asked me about modes, not my marital status.â
That earned her a few laughs, but the questions came anyway, tumbling over one another in an uncoordinated rush.
She answered as little of them as possible.
Then Enid Sinclair raised her hand.
Isadora had noticed Enid on the first day â bright eyes, sharp instincts, a mind that never truly rested. The kind of student who watched the world like it was a puzzle meant to be solved.
This, Isadora thought distantly, might be a mistake.
âWhy do you wear so many rings?â Enid asked. âLike⊠so many. Is it symbolism? Or just an aesthetic thing? Because itâs a slay either way.â
Isadora glanced down at her hands.
The rings caught the light â metal and stone, familiar weights, each one chosen not for beauty alone but for memory. Her thumb brushed one without thinking.
Her voice softened before she could stop it.
âMy wife,â she said quietly, âlikes to play with them. It calms her.â
The room reacted instantly with the kind of collective aw that made her huff a breath of laughter before she could help herself.
But beneath it, something stirred.
Not alarm. Not regret.
Just the faint, unsettling sense that she had revealed more than she intended.
She cleared her throat. âThatâs enough questions. Modes. Page forty-seven.â
They obeyed â mostly.
Isadora turned back to the piano, her focus ostensibly on the lesson, though her thoughts had drifted elsewhere entirely.
To paint-stained sleeves.
To nervous hands.
To the way Y/N fidgeted with her rings like they were a lifeline.
She didnât notice Enid watching her smile.
---
The paint was seen before Enid pointed it out.
Isadora noticed it the moment she lifted the sheet music â a smear of cerulean blue along the corner of the page, careless and unmistakable.
She didnât sigh.
She didnât smile.
She simply adjusted her grip and continued stacking the papers as if nothing were amiss.
âMs. Capri?â Enid asked, peering over the edge of the stand. âWhy is there paint on this?â
âYeah,â Enid said brightly. âLike⊠art room blue.â
Isadora hummed, tapping the stack into alignment. âPerhaps the sheet music felt it needed a splash of colour.â
She risked a glance then â and caught the tell-tale corner of her own mouth betraying her, curving upward before she could school it away.
Enid noticed.
Of course she did.
Isadora turned, offering the class her most serene expression. âCareful observation is commendable,â she said lightly. âHowever, we are still discussing harmonic analysis.â
The subject was dropped.
Officially.
Unofficially, Isadora spent the rest of the lesson acutely aware that at least one student had filed this away as evidence.
Later that afternoon, she found Y/N in their shared quarters, sleeves pushed up, hands stained with half a dozen colours.
Isadora didnât bother hiding her smile.
âDid you,â she asked mildly, setting her bag down, âby any chance brush past my sheet music today?â
Y/N froze.
Then groaned.
âOh no,â she said, her fingers automatically finding her nail beds, picking them raw. âWas it blue? I bet it was blue. That paint is always so stubborn in drying.â
Isadora crossed the room, catching Y/Nâs wrists gently before she could spiral, and hurt herself, further. She lifted one paint-smeared hand, examining it with mock seriousness.
âYouâre a menace,â she said fondly.
âI am an artist,â Y/N countered, indignant, tilting her head, eyes warm despite herself.
âYou knew about the collateral damage when you married me.â
Isadora huffed a laugh, leaning in to press a kiss to her multicoloured fingers. "Yes, I married the mess â and the hands that make it. Happily.â
âAnd I married someone who should come with a warning label,â Y/N said, breathless, flustered. Then she leaned in, stole a quick, panicked kiss from Isadoraâs lips, then immediately tried to escape past her like proximity itself was dangerous.
Isadora caught her waist with easy familiarity, pulling her closer than before.
âOh?â she murmured. âAnd what would the warning label read?â
Y/N froze, already undone.
âIt would say-â she rushed, barely stopping to breathe, â-that you tease and you look at people like that, like you know exactly what youâre doing, and you say things so calmly itâs worse, and suddenly I canât think or talk or remember what I was trying to prove and-â
She cut herself off with a small, helpless huff of breath.
âI donât do this to anyone else,â she murmured. âI married you knowing Iâd undo you like this for the rest of our lives.â
She kissed her then â slow, quiet, certain â like they had all the time in the world.
---
The art room smelled like paint and clay and something faintly metallic â wet brushes soaking too long, pigment settling into the cracks of the tables.
Y/N liked it that way.
It meant she was doing something right.
Enid Sinclair hovered at her desk, sketchbook tucked under one arm, eyes bright with the kind of focus that made Y/N feel like a specimen more than a teacher. Still, she smiled, leaning against the edge of the table as she talked through composition and colour balance.
âTry not to overwork the shadows,â she said. âLet them breathe a little.â
Enid nodded, earnest. âGot it.â
Y/N turned to her desk, pulling open the top drawer in search of a post-it.
It resisted â stuck the way it always did â before sliding open too fast.
She pulled a few things out.
A pencil rolled.
A dried flower from one of the many bouquets Isadora had given her.
And then-
The ring.
Y/Nâs breath hitched.
For half a second, the room tilted.
Oh.
There you are.
She stared at it â silver band, cool even from a distance, the blue stone dulled slightly with dust. It had laid nestled against old scraps of paper and a forgotten eraser like it belonged there.
Her fingers moved on instinct, lifting it, weight familiar the moment it touched her skin.
Iâve been looking for you, she thought, a little dazed.
Then the memory stirred.
Not fully â not yet â but enough.
A flash of paint-slicked hands.
A laugh, low and warm against her ear.
A desk pressing into her back.
Her stomach flipped.
Oh no.
She became acutely aware of Enidâs presence again, standing too close, watching too intently. Y/N forced herself to breathe normally, keep her expression steady.
She had the sudden, awful certainty that if she looked at Enid right now, sheâd give herself away entirely.
There was a flicker â she knew it. She felt it cross her face like a shadow.
Recognition.
Realisation.
A very specific kind of panic.
She closed her fingers around the ring and slid it back into the drawer with practiced calm, pushing it just out of sight.
No big deal.
Totally normal.
Definitely not something Isadora was going to tease her mercilessly about later.
She shut the drawer and turned back to Enid, smile already in place.
âSorry,â she said lightly. âWhat were we talking about?â
She continued the conversation like nothing had happened, voice steady, posture relaxed.
Inside, her thoughts were anything but.
How did I forget that?
Why did I put it there?
Isadora is never going to let me live this down.
Worse: what if Isadora was upset?
The ring wasnât just a ring. It was one of the ones she wore most. The one Y/N always reached for without thinking, thumb spinning the stone when her thoughts got too loud.
She swallowed.
Iâll tell her tonight, she decided. Before she notices itâs gone.
Because she would notice.
Isadora noticed everything.
Y/N glanced down at her paint-stained hands, already imagining the look on Isadoraâs face â amused, fond, devastatingly smug.
She exhaled slowly.
I am so dead.
And behind her, Enid Sinclair watched her with narrowed eyes, curiosity sharpening into something far more dangerous.
---
By the time Y/N made it back to their quarters, the sky outside had gone violet-soft, dusk pressing gently against the windows. Her bag was heavier than it shouldâve been.
Not physically.
Just⊠morally.
Isadora was already there, sleeves rolled up, hair loose from its usual tie as she flipped through sheet music at the dining table. She looked up when Y/N came in, her expression easing immediately.
âThere you are,â she said warmly. âI was beginning to think the art room had claimed you as its own again.â
Y/N huffed, dropping her bag by the door. âIt tried.â
Isadora smiled, eyes flicking over the familiar paint stains, the nervous way Y/N worried at her nail beds when she thought too hard. She rose, crossing the space between them with easy grace, pressing a kiss to Y/Nâs cheek.
Then she noticed it.
Not anything obvious.
Just Y/N.
Too quiet, careful. That particular kind of nervous energy that never quite sat right on her, like she was holding something behind her teeth instead of letting it spill.
Isadora slowed, her gaze sharpening slightly.
Y/N felt it instantly. Her shoulders tensed like a caught animal.
ââŠIsa,â she said, voice already apologetic.
Isadora looked down softly at y/n, patient, a brow lifting curiously. âAngel?â
Y/N reached into her pocket, fingers fumbling for just a second too long before she produced it.
The ring.
Silver band. Blue stone.
She held it out on her palm like an offering.
âI found it,â she said quickly. âIn my desk. I- I didnât even realise I put it in there, I swear, and then Enid was there and the drawer got stuck and it just- appeared.â
She stopped, breath catching, finally daring to look up at Isadora.
ââŠIâm sorry.â
Isadora stared at the ring for a heartbeat.
Then she laughed.
Not sharp. Not upset.
Warm. Low. Thoroughly entertained.
âWell,â she said, taking it gently, thumb brushing over the familiar stone. âI can't say I'm surprised.â
Y/N groaned, burying her face briefly in Isadoraâs shoulder. I knew you were going to say that.â
Isadoraâs arm came around her automatically, holding her close. âSweet girl,â she murmured. âYou didnât think I'd be upset, did you?â
Y/N huffed into her shoulder, still hiding. âI didnât know,â she admitted, mumbling. âYou wear it all the time and I just- lost it in a drawer like an idiot.â
âMm,â Isadora hummed, entirely unconcerned, her hand smoothing once over Y/Nâs back.
She slipped the ring back onto her finger, twisting it once, deliberately.
âDo you remember,â she added, voice turning just slightly more pointed, yet lower, âhow this one got lost?â
Y/N froze.
Slowly, she pulled back, cheeks already warming. âI-â
Isadora tilted her head, eyes dancing. âBecause I remember.â
Isadora leaned in closer, voice dropping just enough to make Y/Nâs stomach flip. âYou were painting,â she said softly. âVery late. Very focused. And I came looking for you.â
Y/N squeezed her eyes shut. âIsa-" her hands came up, instinctive, twisting at Isadoraâs sleeves. âYouâre impossible.â
âAnd you,â Isadora said fondly, âhave a terrible habit of stealing my rings when you're preoccupied.â
âI give them back,â Y/N muttered. "Anyway, it is not my fault I was distracted when you were the one who instigated-"
"Oh," Isadora said mildly.
The interruption was gentle. Calculated.
"And you didn't want it?"
Y/N stalled for half a breath. Regrouped. "That's not what I said-"
"Because I remember," Isadora continued, unhurried, "you being quite eager."
Y/N scoffed, heat creeping up her neck. "And I remember my back being sore for pretty much all of last week afterwards."
Isadora's mouth curved â not quite a smile.
"Yes, that desk is pretty unforgiving"
"You wouldn't know, I was the one pressed against it" Y/N fought, breathlessly.
"And who put herself there?" Isadora replied with a calm that made Y/N's stomach turn inside out. "Repeatedly."
Y/N stared at her. "You kissed me first."
"I always do."
Y/N tried again, desperate now. "You distracted me"
"You let yourself be distracted"
"That ring would have still been on your hand if you hadn't-"
"If I hadn't what?"
Y/N waved a hand, flustered. "Touched me like-" She cut herself off, breath uneven. "You know."
"And yet," Isadora stepped closer. Not crowding. Just inevitable. "You're the one who leaned back."
Y/N swallowed. "You didn't stop me."
"No," Isadora agreed. "and you didn't stop me either. My hands... my mouth-"
Y/N cut her off before she could tease further "SO we're... equally to blame."
Isadora raised a brow, pretending to consider while looking at her wife's flustered cheeks, then nodded once. "For the ring."
"And the desk," Y/N added mutinously.
"And the desk," Isadora echoed.
A pause. Charged. Heavy.
Isadoraâs hand slid to Y/Nâs waist, firm but light, grounding, inevitable. Her thumb brushed just under Y/Nâs ribs, the same spot that had made her forget everything else that night.
Y/Nâs breath hitched. ââŠIsaâŠâ
âYou remember,â Isadora murmured, low, deliberate, âwhat it felt like when I found you?â
"Yes..." Y/N swallowed, cheeks warming, and a shiver ran down her spine. Boldness wavered in her chest. She let her fingers brush Isadoraâs hand lightly, teasingly, almost daring. ââŠAnd I mightâve⊠liked it,â she said softly, voice trembling just enough to betray her nerves. âMaybe⊠I wanted it again.â
Isadoraâs eyes darkened with amusement. A slow, calculated smirk spread across her face. âOh, did you now?â
Y/N bit her lip, heat spreading, biting back a nervous smile, and took a tentative step closer, almost imperceptibly leaning in. "Yes... and I was hoping it would be... somewhere more comfortable than that desk?"
âHmm,â Isadora continued, voice silk and sharp all at once, âand here I thought I was the only one making sure we didnât forget that night.â
Y/Nâs knees weakened, breath catching, a giggle escaping despite herself. âYouâre insufferable,â she whispered.
âI know,â Isadora said, smug, deliberate, letting the weight of her presence settle around Y/N. âAnd lucky for you, I plan on reminding you again.â
Y/Nâs laugh caught in her throat, half disbelief, half longing. Her fingers lightly trailing down Isadora's arms, her eyes following her own movements, away from her wife's gaze.
âAnd,â Isadora continues softly, teasing, her hand leaving Y/N's waist to her chin titling it up to meet her eyes, "even luckier for you, I think I could be convinced to help you find... somewhere more comfortable."
Y/N shivered at the words, the touch. "Isa-"
"Shh," Isadora whispered, guiding her gently by the hand. "Come on. I know how much you like being pressed into... things but I don't believe the front door is more comfortable than your desk."
Y/N stumbled slightly, laughing softly, breathless and flustered, letting Isadora lead her. The warmth of their shared quarters pressed in around them â the rumpled sheets, the quiet sigh of the evening, the comfort of home.
Isadora slowed as they neared the bed, keeping her tone teasing, low. âYou do realise,â she murmured, lips near Y/Nâs ear, âthat asking like that⊠well⊠it makes you very hard to resist.â
Y/Nâs laugh was half-nervous, half-excited. ââŠI was just sayingâŠâ
âShh,â Isadora whispered again, a smirk in her voice, pressing her hand lightly against Y/Nâs shoulders, guiding her to sink onto their bed. âI know exactly what you meant.â
Y/Nâs fingers found Isadoraâs, twisting the ring once more. The air between them was warm, charged â full of anticipation, implication, and the memory of that night at the art room looming, ready to resurface when the time came...
---
Later that week the classroom was restless in that familiar way â chairs scraping, voices overlapping, a dozen small movements happening at once.
Y/N stood near the front, close enough to Isadora that she could feel the warmth radiating from her, but with enough distance to be called, maybe not professional, but friendly.
It was instinctive, unconscious. The way they always found each other in a room.
She was only half-listening to the hum of conversation when it happened.
âTheyâre sooo cute together.â
The words cut clean through the noise.
Y/Nâs stomach dropped.
She turned just in time to see Enid Sinclair â eyes wide, hands clapped over her mouth far too late â staring at them like sheâd just solved a decades-old cold case.
The room went very, very quiet.
Y/N felt heat flood her face all at once, a hot, mortifying rush that made her ears ring. She glanced at Isadora, heart hammering, bracing for â something. Surprise. Damage control. A polite deflection.
Instead, Isadora raised an eyebrow.
Slowly.
Amused. Curious. Almost impressed.
âSorry, Enid,â she said lightly. âDid you say something?â
Y/N wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
Enid did not take the invitation to retreat.
She launched.
Words spilled out of her in a breathless cascade â the lunches, the staff room, the paint, the gravitational pull, the ring. The ring. Y/Nâs chest tightened with every detail Enid named aloud, each one too accurate to be coincidence.
This was happening.
This was actually happening.
Y/N stared straight ahead, cheeks burning, hands curling into the fabric of her sleeves. She could feel the studentsâ eyes on them now, the sudden shift from suspicion to certainty.
When Enid finally ran out of breath, silence fell again.
Isadora broke it with a soft laugh.
Not startled.
Not defensive.
Warm.
âWell,â she said, glancing sideways at Y/N with unmistakable fondness, âsheâs observant.â
Y/N groaned quietly. âTerrifyingly so.â
âBut correct,â Isadora added.
The room erupted.
Gasps. Squeals. Laughter. Someone clapped. Someone else whispered, I knew it.
Y/N squeezed her eyes shut for half a second, then opened them again, exhaling slowly.
They were safe.
She hadnât realised how tightly sheâd been holding herself until Isadora shifted just enough that their shoulders brushed properly, grounding and steady.
The questions came next â too many, too fast â but Y/N barely heard them over the sound of her own heartbeat.
When she was asked about the ring â why she didnât wear one â she answered honestly, tugging the chain from beneath her collar, the gold band warm against her skin.
âIâd lose it,â she admitted. âOr get paint on it. Or glue it to something. Orââ
âYou once glued a ring to your canvas,â Isadora said mildly.
âThat was one time.â
Isadora smiled at her like this was the most natural thing in the world.
Y/N laughed, helplessly, because what else could she do?
---
Eventually, the bell rang.
The students filed out buzzing, voices still carrying fragments of awe and delight down the hall. The classroom emptied until it was just the two of them again, the echo of the day lingering like a held breath.
Y/N sagged slightly, all the adrenaline leaving her at once.
Isadora noticed immediately. She stepped closer, closing the space fully this time. âCome here, darling,â she murmured.
Y/N did. Her fingers found Isadoraâs hand, twisting the rings there gently, familiar and grounding. The silver band. The blue stone.
Her shoulders finally dropped.
âI canât believe she figured it out,â Y/N said quietly. âAll of it.â
Isadora hummed softly, tilting her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. âI can. This ring, you,â she added, teasing, thumb brushing Y/Ns fingers, âalways seems to bring me trouble.â
Y/N pouted, twisting it once more. ââŠI thought we had decided it was both our faults.â
âMmm, yes, I suppose we didâ Isadora said, voice low, smug, as she closed the distance between them. Y/Nâs side pressed against Isadora, warmth spreading through her as she kept hold of Isadoraâs hand, fingers still fiddling with the ring.
Y/Nâs cheeks warmed. Her heart still beating a little too fast.
They lingered there, quiet, taking in the aftermath of the day, the soft hush of the empty classroom surrounding them. Y/N continued to spin the silver-and-blue stone, tracing its familiar edges.
Isadoraâs thumb brushed lightly over hers, grounding, warm. Finally, she leaned down just enough to meet Y/Nâs gaze, voice soft but full of quiet curiosity. âWhat is that pretty mind of yours thinking about?â
Y/N hesitated, heart fluttering. She smiled up at her, cheeks still warm. ââŠOh, nothing,â she murmured, brushing a quick kiss to Isadoraâs cheek. âJust⊠how lucky I am to have you.â
Isadoraâs eyes softened, her hand lingering over Y/Nâs. âIâm lucky too,â she said, quietly, warmly, holding her close, "ridiculously so."
And as Y/Nâs fingers continued to twist the ring, the one that had caused all this chaos, her mind began to wander â lamplight flickering across a quiet art room, the faint tang of paint, her brush abandoned mid-stroke, the cool edge of the desk pressing against her back, shadows stretching along the wallsâŠ
--- flashback :)
The art room was quiet in the way only late nights ever were..
Not silent â never silent â but hushed. The low hum of the old building settling around her. The faint scratch of brush against canvas. The soft clink of glass jars when Y/N reached too quickly and knocked something over.
She hadnât meant to stay this late.
But the painting had taken hold of her hours ago, that familiar tunnel-vision pulling her deeper and deeper until the rest of the world slipped out of reach. Her sleeves were rolled up, hands streaked with colour, hair coming loose from its tie strand by strand.
She didnât hear the door open.
She didnât notice the presence at first â the way someone leaned quietly in the doorway, arms folded, eyes soft with fondness and patience.
Isadora watched her like that for a long moment.
The way Y/N tilted her head when she concentrated. The way she worried her lower lip between her teeth. The way her fingers â paint-slicked and restless â kept drifting together to worry at her nail beds, not having Isadora's rings to spin.
Eventually, Isadora's hand brushed Y/N's back.
Y/N startled so violently she nearly dropped her brush.
âGod- Isa!â she gasped, hand flying to her chest. âYou canât just do that.â
Isadora smiled, slipping her hands around her waist, front pressed against her back. âI said your name twice,â she said mildly. âYou didnât hear me.â
Y/N let out a shaky laugh, relief settling in now she knew who it was, settling into her hold. âSorry. I was⊠gone.â
âI noticed,â Isadora murmured, kissing her shoulder. âWhat are you working on?â
Y/N gestured vaguely at the canvas. âI donât know," she leans further into Isadora. "It was supposed to be one thing and then it became⊠something else.â
Isadora hummed thoughtfully. âIt suits you.â
Y/N smiled without looking at her. âYou always say that.â
âAnd Iâm always right.â
Y/N turned then, brush forgotten, her hands already reaching for Isadora without thinking. Fingers slid down her arms, wrists, thumbs finding familiar metal, spinning one of the rings slowly.
The blue-stoned one.
Isadoraâs breath hitched â barely â but Y/N felt it anyway.
âCareful,â Isadora said softly. âYou know what happens when you do that.â
Y/N grinned, emboldened. âYou get distracted.â
âHopelessly.â
Isadora stepped closer, backing Y/N gently against the edge of the desk. Not pressing. Just there. Close enough that the air between them felt charged, heavy with everything unsaid.
Paint-smudged hands slid up Isadoraâs sleeves, leaving colour in their wake. Isadora didnât stop her. She never did.
The kiss started slow, unrushed and exploratory, but it didnât stay that way for long. Y/N melted into it immediately, hands tightening in Isadoraâs shirt, her thoughts scattering like startled birds. Isadora's hands started to wander before Y/N pulled back.
"We shouldn't do this here," she said breathlessly, looking into Isadora's eyes.
"I know," Isadora agreed lowly but her kisses didn't stop, trailing Y/N's chin, down her neck, and finding that spot that she knows makes her knees weak.
Y/N let out a soft sound, holding Isadora's arms tighter, eyes closing, pressed further into the desk. "I've missed you," she admits.
"Darling, we work together now, live together, how could you possibly miss me," Isadora teases in-between kisses, knowing full well what Y/N meant.
"You know what I mean," Y/N looked at her before looking away, shyly "we haven't- you've been- I've been- we haven't-" she let out an exasperated sigh, as Isadora continued kissing her skin.
"We haven't what?" pausing her kissing, pulling away, guiding y/n to look at her with a hand on her chin, her other hand at her waist brushing her ribs.
"We haven't- you know" Y/N took a breath quickly mumbling: "beenintimatesincebeforethestartoftheschoolyear"
Isadora chuckled, her hands lowering and squeezing Y/Ns hips "sorry, sweetheart, what was that?"
Y/N looked at her incredulously before rolling her eyes saying at a now perceptible, rambling pace "we haven't been... intimate since before the school year, so like nearly three weeks, and that isn't that long but it also is really long and I just-"
Isadora cuts her off with a hungry but short kiss before whispering "God, I love it when you're needy" pulling her into another longer kiss, hands travelling, down behind her before squeezing, eliciting a soft gasp out of Y/N.
Somewhere between kissing, Y/N shifted onto her tiptoes hands leaving Isadora as she moved objects blindly off her desk. Isadora helped lift Y/N onto the desk while stepping between her now open legs, hands travelling her thighs, her kisses returning to her neck.
And again: "We really shouldn't be doing this here..." Y/N breathed, pulling Isadora impossibly closer by her hands, her fingers reaching those familiar rings. Those trouble causing rings. Pulling and twisting in that nervous excited way.
Again.
And again.
And then â during the throws of ecstasy â y/n slipped it free.
The ring landed softly on the desk beside them, forgotten the moment it left Isadoraâs hand.
Because Isadoraâs hands were everywhere now â steady, guiding, grounding. Because Y/Nâs back met the cool wood of the desk. Because the world had narrowed to breath and warmth and the way Isadora said her name like a promise.
Time dissolved. Like it always did when those two were together.
And later, once she'd recovered enough, Y/N would quickly tidy the room in a half-dazed fog, sweeping brushes into jars, shoving loose things into drawers without looking too closely.
The ring would disappear then.
Not lost.
Just⊠set aside.
Forgotten in the aftermath of being thoroughly, lovingly undone.
I hope you liked it, and you weren't let down by the lack of smut đ
I REALLY TRIED
The end flashback was where I intended to put smut but well yeah... đ
BUT ALSO FUN FACT (if you didn't realise it when reading) like a ring, this fic is of a cyclical narrative. As in the end flashback is the night before the start scene so technically you could read the fic again and again and be stuck in a loop. SO YEAH I thought that was cool because the whole thing of this fic and the other one is the ring. Oh also the title, like a Symphony of Clues, is musical. A refrain in music is to repeat, as in CIRCLE, as in RING, as is CYCLICAL LIKE THIS NARRATIVE, as is Y/N AND ISADORA 4EVER.
anyway,
love y'all.
All likes, follows, comments, reblogs and requests are very much appreciated - I love hearing from you guys!
Summary: Natasha is used to running away from the quiet. For her, silence is dangerousâthe memories of the things sheâs done wait there, jumping at the chance to drag her back down. But in a quiet Manhattan coffee shop, she finds a different kind of silence in a barista who doesn't need words to see right through her. How can she become a part of your world? How can she meet you halfway?
A/N: Most of the signs are specific to ASL. ASL is the form of sign language that I know, but I'm aware that there are others like BSL and CSL that are just as important!
â
The chatter of civilians passing by, the hum of car engines, the chirps of birds flying overhead. The world is full of sounds. An upward inflection at the end of a sentence indicates someone is asking a question. A sharp car horn conveys anger. The softening of voice as it speaks to youâan auditory cue of affection.
The coffee shop doors open with a chime. The barista taking orders looks up immediately, but the one behind her remains unfazed, focused on the espresso machine. Natasha enters, baseball cap pulled down enough to cover her eyes, a mask covering the bottom half of her face. Sheâs greeted with a smile at the front, while the second barista continues their steady rhythm of making drinks.
The aroma of coffee beans fill the shop. The hints of earthiness and cocoa notes fill the air, bringing a sense of warmth and comfort. Light wooden tables with matching chairs are occupied by customers, whose chatter settles in the background acting as a backtrack. Sunlight streams through the windows that go from floor to ceiling. The sunlight stretches across the floor where it naturally brings her eyes to the white marble counter where the barista who greeted her stands, taking orders and writing them on cups or stickers for the mugs for those staying in the shop to drink their coffee.
Natasha walks to stand at the back of the line, carefully deciphering the chalkboard resting behind both baristas even though she knows sheâll get a black coffee in the end. The chalkboard is haphazardly written but somehow charmingâjust barely readable. Doodles span across the margins, including a hand-drawn loaf of bread with eyes, declaring: âLook out day. Bready or not, here I crumb!â
The line moves forward steadily until sheâs standing at the marble counter.
âHi there! What can I get for you today?â the barista at the register asks with a bright smile and voice to match. Natasha's eyes drop to the name tag pinned to the light brown apron.
Meg, she notes.
âJust a small black coffee to-go, please,â Natasha requests politely. She reaches for her credit card as Meg taps the order into the system.
âOf course! May I get a name for that?â Meg asks.Â
âNatalie,â she responds smoothly
Meg scribbles the name and order on a white paper cup with a marker before placing it behind her. The second barista reaches for it with a fluid motion, before glancing at the order.
âYouâre all set,â Meg says while pointing to the end of the counter where a small group waits. âThe drink will be at the end when itâs ready. We put them in alphabetical order so thereâs no confusion.âÂ
âThank you.âÂ
Natasha walks to the end before looking around the space again. The shop is full of the sounds of low conversations and clinking of mugs. Her attention is drawn by the barista behind the espresso machine.
The barista is moving with a rhythm that is almost hypnotic. A stray beam of light glints off the name tag pinned to the apron, catching her eye.
Y/N, mouths Natasha beneath her mask. Your name rolls off her tongue, melodic and smoothâjust like your movements. You grab a pitcher with practiced motion, pouring milk into it before bringing it to the steam wand. You stare intently at the heating liquid, tucked away in a world of your own.
Your black shirt and blue jeans compliment the warm brown of the apron. She can barely make out the side of your face where your hair falls forward, just your eye staring intently at the pitcher. You pour the espresso into a mug before pulling the pitcher of steamed milk off the steam wand, wiping the metal clean with a swipe.
Maybe a trainee? Natasha wonders, watching how focused you are on the milk. The intensity seems a bit much for a simple latte.
But the thought vanishes the moment you tilt the mug.Â
She watches, mesmerized, as you pour the steamed milk in a hypnotic pattern. With a delicate flick of your wrist, the milk melds with the espressoâthe foam transforming into a perfect, delicate swan.
Definitely not a trainee.Â
You carefully slide the finished mug into the section labeled âA-F,â before pressing the order sticker next to it and tapping the call bell.Â
A man steps up, reads the sticker, before claiming the mug. Natasha watches from her spot at the end of the counter, noticing him scanning the area for something. He looks up at you, but youâve already turned away, starting the next drink.
âCan you sprinkle some cinnamon on top?â the man directs towards you.
Itâs as if he hasnât said a word. You continue your task, slowly pouring hot water over a fresh bed of medium roast grounds. She can see the beginnings of her own nameâNatalieâon the side of the cup that is beneath the filter holder.
âHello?â The manâs voice rises as he waves his hand choppily next to your face.Â
You jolt, the stream of hot water breaking. Droplets of scalding water skip across the white marble, narrowly missing your arm. Natashaâs hand tightens on the strap of her bag, her eyes narrowing at the man. Megâs eyes flick toward your sudden movement.
âOne moment,â Meg says to the customer at the front. She takes quick strides toward the end of the counter. âWhat can I help you with?â
âI need some cinnamon on top,â he says, gesturing to the mug frustratedly, his eyes casting towards you with impatience.Â
Natashaâs jaw clenches, tension growing. Meg offers him a smile but Natasha notices it looks tighter than the one she received when she ordered earlier.
âIâm happy to do that for you. Though, next time just ask at the front when youâre ordering, itâll be done for you so you donât have to ask here.âÂ
Meg moves into your line of sight, her shadow stretching on the counter beside you. She grabs the cinnamon duster in front of you, bumping her hip against yours with a playful nudge. You offer her a small, grateful smile before turning back to the pour-overâthe light catching the conflicted expression slowly settling over your features.
Meg sprinkles a hefty amount of cinnamon over the foam before pushing it towards him.
âHave a great rest of your day,â Meg says. Her voice is flat, the customer-service tone gone, and her smile not even attempting to reach her eyes. She turns away before he can even respond.Â
The man casts one last glance at youânoticing how you donât even bother looking up again, before he turns away with a huff.
âUnbelievable,â he mutters under his breath. He makes sure itâs loud enough for you to hear, but your focus never wavers from the pour-over in front of you. You donât even blink.
She watches as you click the lid into place on her drink. You take a slow, deep breathâas if resetting, before turning toward the end counter. You tap the call bell, the metallic sound echoing throughout the shop, and place the cup gently in the âN-Zâ section.
Natasha approaches the counter to claim it. As she reaches for it, your eyes drift to hers in acknowledgment. You give her a radiant smile. The corners of your eyes crinkle and the curve of your lips show nothing but warmth. Itâs as if youâre thanking her without a single word, a silent hope that she enjoys the coffee.
Her hand pauses mid-air. She feels like sheâs stunlocked from the brightness of your smile after the tension with the man before. You give her one last fleeting smile before giving her a nod and turning back to the espresso machine, picking up the next cup.
Natasha snaps out of it, her fingers curling around the cup sleeve. âThank you,â she says, voice slightly muffled behind her mask.
Your hands never miss a beat, already pumping syrup into a new white cup and unscrewing the cap of a milk jug. You donât acknowledge her thanks. You donât even flinch.
She frowns, the paper cup feeling heavy in her hands. Maybe she didnât speak loud enough.
âThank you,â she says again, her voice louder, projecting through the mask.
You continue pouring the milk into a fresh pitcher, while an espresso shot pulls in front of you, a soft smile playing on your lips as you watch the components of the mocha latte come together.
She sighs, a flicker of disappointment in her chest when you donât look her way. She takes one more glance at you, before she goes. You look sereneâunbothered by the honking cars outside and booming laughter in the corner of the shop. Like youâre living in your own quiet world.
No point in bothering her, she thinks, fingers tightening around her cup as she turns away and walks out the door.Â
The cold Manhattan air wraps around her, but the warmth in her hand keeps the chill from permeating. She pauses, looking back one last time. She can only see your back through the glass of the door, the elegance of your movements is visible even from the sidewalk.
It feels like sheâs looking from the outside into your world. Yet she knows that even if she were to enter the shop again, sheâd still be an outsider.
What does the world look like to you? she wonders, the thought lingering as she finally turns to walk back toward the Tower.
â
Natashaâs hands burn in the biting cold, until theyâre numb. Snow swirls around her boots and drifts into her red hair before slowly melting, dampening her strands. Her cheeks are flushed a raw, wind-burned pink, her skin feeling rigid and freezing as she felt about herself.Â
Cold.
She had just returned from a two week long mission. Bruises that were beginning to purple cover the expanse of her torso, where she had taken a brutal fall that she didnât have time to break. A square of medical tape plasters her right cheek, where a piece of glass had cut her skin.
She was forced to go to the med bay, where she was brought face to face with the very person she was running away from. Bruce. Seeing him was a constant reminder of what was broken about herâof why sheâd never be accepted for who she was.
She needed to get away. From the Tower. From him. From the team, who looked at her with barely hidden pity at how her and Bruce had turned out. She needed to be somewhere where she wasnât expected to speak. Somewhere she didn't need to explain herself.
The golden light from the coffee shop door spills across the snow-covered sidewalk. The sun had set an hour prior, the early winter stealing the light before the day was truly done. Winter was here in full force, and on the sidewalk, where the only other light comes from distant lampposts, the warmth of the shop feels like a welcome sign.
The snow crunches beneath her boots as she walks closer, pausing right in front of the glass. The air is still biting, but at the sight of your backâstill focused, still moving with unexplainable graceâshe feels the first bit of warmth since she landed.
Constant.
She pulls the handle to the door, the bells chime muffled from the warm air rushing to greet her. Itâs a slow night with only two tables occupied, the threat of piling snow keeping most people at home. Her hands begin to hurt from the heat rushing back into them. The pain is a distant reminder that she can feel.
The hanging lights cast a warm glow over the shop. She glances up at the chalkboard, the doodles had been changed. A cookie with bulging muscles proclaims: 'Youâre a tough cookie.' A small, involuntary smile tugs at her lips, the movement stinging against the cut on her cheek.
She walks up to the marble counter, noting that Meg was nowhere to be seen. Youâre alone.
A hand-written sign taped to the marble catches her eye, the messy handwriting reading, âGive me a wave to order.â An ocean wave with sunglasses is doodled next to it.
She waits until you finish the drink youâre working on, seeing that there are none after. She slowly reaches out her hand before giving a hesitant wave in your peripheral vision.
You turn towards her, a warm smile already gracing your lips. The biting cold feels distant standing here in front of you. You tilt your head at her.
âHi,â she says, voice sounding small. âCan I get aâŠlatte? For here.â
 Her voice falters towards the end. Her usual âBlack coffee, to-goâ script veers completely off course. She doesnât want to leave yet. She wants to bask in the warmth and stillness sheâs found here even if itâs just for a little.
You nod, tapping her order into the register. You grab a sticker, scribbling her order before finishing with her nameâNatalie.
âYou remember me?â she asks, the words slipping out before she can stop them.
It had been two weeks since sheâd last been here, sheâd worn a mask and a baseball hat that barely showed her eyes. Sheâd gone out of her way to be just another face in the crowd.
You nod, giving her a small, confused smile. Itâs as if youâre wondering why she would even ask.
Sheâs still in shock as she taps her card against the card reader. How? She hadnât done anything worth remembering.
By the time she looks up to see if youâll explain, youâve already turned away. A ceramic mug in your hand and a jug of milk in the other.
Sheâs used to being the one who does the recognizing. Used to being the ghost that no one remembers, but having the burden of remembering everything.
She takes slow steps to the end counter, your practiced movements never falter. The quiet hiss of the milk steaming and the low hum of the espresso machine settle between you two, filling the gap where words usually fill. Your focused gaze on the heating milk is identical to her last visit. Just by sight, you know when itâs done, pulling it off of the steam wand.
After pouring the espresso, you donât let her watch. Instead, you turn away, blocking her view of the mug. Natasha tries to crane her neck to see, trying to catch a glimpse of the hypnotic movements from the last time, but youâve built a wall with your shoulders.Â
Sheâs about to say something when you turn around. Carefully placing the cup in front of her. Itâs not an intricate swan or a simple leaf. Instead, a perfect smiley face made of foam looks back up at her.
Her fingers curl around the mug, its warmth permeating through her skin. She glances up at you to see a smileâone that matches the cheerful foam, awaiting her.
âThank you,â she whispers.
She watches as your eyes drop to her lips, tracking the movement of the whisper. Your smile widens, the warm lights making your eyes shine a golden hue. You donât say a word. Instead, you open your hand, tapping your middle finger to your chin before extending it gracefully toward her.Â
Before she can even ask what the gesture meant, youâve already turned away. Brushing off stray espresso grounds and clearing the steam wand a few times.
She watches as you clean the counter, mesmerized, before Meg appears from the back and snaps her out of her trance. Her hand curls tighter around the mug before she makes her way to a small corner table.
She sips the latte, the foam smiley face slowly fading away with each sip, but she feels lighter with every swallow.
Delicious, she thinks, staring down at her cup. Across the room, she catches the movement of Meg speaking to you. Meg is animated, hands moving constantly as she talks to you as if sheâs acting out a story. Natasha is about to look away when she sees you reach up, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.
Earbuds? she wonders. Maybe thatâs why you didnât hear her the first time. She squints, eyes narrowing to confirm her observation.
She freezes.Â
The light catches the sleek curve of the device nestled in your ear. Sheâs seen it before. A similar model to the one sheâs seen on Clintâs nightstand after a loud mission.
Theyâre hearing aids.
The realization hits her like a wave. The lack of reaction to the door chime, the way you jolted when the manâs hand invaded your space, the ignored thank you. It wasnât a choice. It wasnât that you were simply focused on the task at hand. It was just silence.
Beneath the table, she slowly extends her hand, palm up. The image of your gesture earlier replays in her mind. The gentle way your finger tapped your chin and the soft extension of your hand toward her. She copies your motion, not being able to replicate the gracefulness in which you moved. Her hand feels heavy in comparison to yours.
Her eyes drift to you again, where youâre smiling and nodding at what Meg is saying. Your gaze darts between Megâs lips and her eyes. Your eyes are bright and comfortable. The kind of expression you only share with someone you trust.
Your expressions tell a million stories that words could never begin to explain. You arenât broken by the silence.Â
How?Â
Ever since meeting Clint, joining S.H.I.E.L.D, then the Avengers, sheâs spent every waking moment running away from the quiet. Silence is dangerousâthe memories of the things sheâs done wait there, jumping at the chance to drag her back down. Itâs where sheâs forced to face herself.
She watches as you tilt your head, your lips curved into a small, soft smile as you look at Meg.
She finishes the last sip of her latte before standing up. The chair scrapes against the floor, the sharp sound echoes throughout the shop. Meg turns to her immediately. It takes a moment longer for you to react, following Megâs gaze.
Natasha walks to the bin, carefully placing her mug on the rack before turning towards the counter.
âHave a great rest of your night!â Meg calls to her, her voice bright even after a long shift.
Natasha offers her a quick smile, already starting to turn away when she sees you raising your hand.
You wave at her before bringing both your index fingers to the corners of your mouth. You lift them into a smile, mirroring the latte art youâd made earlier.
A genuine, uncontrollable smile takes over her features. The cut on her cheek doesnât sting anymore. The cold she felt within her no longer resides. She doesnât feel apprehensive about returning to the tower.
Natasha waves back at you before bidding Meg a goodnight.
She walks onto the sidewalk, the biting Manhattan air stopping just at the surface of her skin. She turns back one last time. Your back is turned, disassembling the espresso machine for the night.
She turns in the direction of the tower, beginning the journey back with light steps.
I want to know your world.
â
Natasha pushes the door open to her room. The common room had been empty when she arrivedâTony and Bruce were probably in the lab, and Steve was either in the gym or turned in for the night. Clint, the one person she needed to talk to the most, was still on a mission with no clear end date.
Part of her felt relief. It meant she wouldnât have to explain the recklessness of her injuries or why she didnât greet the team when she returned.Â
She sheds her outwear, hanging it up. Every motion tugs at the blossoming bruises surrounding her ribs, forcing a wince. She sinks into the chair at her desk, leaning back and closing her eyes. The passing image of your smile clouds her thoughts.
She shakes her head, flipping open her laptop to start her mission report. The blank report stares back at her, waiting to be filled out, but a flash of the gesture you had given her at the counter steals her attention.
Her fingers hover over the keys. Instead of inputting the first steps of her mission, she clicks on a search engine.
What does it mean in sign language when someone taps a flat hand to their chin before extending it towards another person?
The answer appears in front of her instantly. Thank you. Or: Youâre welcome in response to a thanks.Â
It wasnât just a random hand motion. You were acknowledging her in the only way you could. The realization settles in her chestâyou had âheardâ her whisper, not with your ears, but by watching the movement of her lips with focused, deliberate care.
You had seen through her facade of indifference. You hadnât pitied the wound on her face or the exhaustion in her eyes. To you, she was just Natalie. A returning customer who looked like she could use a smile.
Natasha raises her own hands, bringing her index fingers to each corner of her mouth, pulling them up into a mimicry of your smile as she had left. She removes them, realizing a genuine smile had taken its place
She wants to bask in itâa warmth that doesnât burn. A heat that melts the ice within her without scorching her as a whole.
She deletes the previous search from the bar. The mission report is long forgotten. She types a new question.
How do you learn sign language?
â
Natasha walks slowly across the sidewalk that is piled with fresh snow that has accumulated overnight. The snow illuminates the streets, giving a natural light in the otherwise darkness.Â
Her hands are buried deep in her pockets, but theyâre far from idle. Even as her fingers ache in the freezing temperatures, she wills them to move, clumsily copying the motions she had studied on her laptop screen until 4 AM. Flat hand. Near forehead. Palm facing outward. Extend hand away. Like a saluteâa soldierâs movement. Should be simple.Â
The sign, designed to be a beginnerâs gesture, feels anything but that. The woman in the video made it look fluid and natural, but when Natasha had tried to replicate it in the mirror, it was like her hand was made of lead. The movement was choppy, a stark contrast to her usual lethal grace.
She catches sight of the coffee shop door, the glowing warm lights shining through the glass. Every step closer sends a jolt through her chest, her heart rate picking up with nervousness that she hasnât felt in a long time.
Through the glass, she sees you restocking cups and lids. The shop is empty, the late-night quiet settling over the shop with an hour left before closing. Her hand shakes as she settles it on the handle, pushing through her nerves as she opens the door, the familiar chime of the bell signaling her arrival.
The visit feels identical from the last two except for one thing. Your back isnât turned away. Youâre already looking at her, eyes meeting hers the moment she steps inside.
She watches as you put a sleeve of paper cups down, walking to the register. Youâre already grabbing a sticker, writing her name on top before looking up to give her a gorgeous smile. She can see the tiredness in your eyesâbut even so, youâre radiant. The warm glow of the lights feel brighter with every expression you make.
Her breath catches, her thoughts momentarily freezing as she gazes back at you. You tilt your head to the side, a silent, curious question in the way you watch her.
âDouble shot vanilla latte for here, please,â she says, the words falling out of her mouth before she can stop herself.
You nod, tapping the order into the register before popping the cap off a marker to write the details on the sticker.
She mentally facepalms, the weight of disappointment at the missed opportunity sinking into her chest. She had missed it. The chance to sign a simple Hello to you. The very sign sheâd been practicing all day for this moment.
She taps her card against the tablet as you turn away to start the drink. Her feet feel heavy as she makes her way to the end of the marble counter.
Youâre grinding the espresso beans when you suddenly turn to her. She meets your eyes as you lift one of your index fingers, hovering it over the corner of your mouth before pulling it up, mimicking a half-smile.Â
You had noticed. Even through the practiced mask she wears to protect herself, you had seen right through her.
You turn back to the coffee grinder as if it were nothing, tamping the espresso grounds with a fluid motion. Even with the currency of time always depleting, you had chosen to spend some of yours on her. She feels warmth bloom inside her, melting the disappointment she felt earlier.Â
She watches, mesmerized, as you assemble the latte. The pump of the syrup, the hiss of the steam wand, the rich, smooth pull of the espresso shots. She wonders if youâll make it a surprise again tonight. Her thoughts are answered when you bring the steaming pitcher and the ceramic mug over to the marble counter, right where she can see.
You glance up at her, a playful smile on your lips, before tilting the mug. She expects the same, hypnotic movements that sheâs seen before, but this time, the pour is simple. A plain white circle of foam sits atop the mixture of espresso and milk.
She quickly looks at you when you make no other moves, tryingâand failingâto hide her surprise and slight pang of disappointment at the lack of art. Itâs as if you can read the âWhereâs my swan or leaf?â written across her face, your smile turning into a wide grin. You grab a toothpick, dragging it through the top two sides of the circle. You turn, grabbing a pinch of cocoa powder, dotting on what appears to be eyes, before rotating the mug toward her.
Itâs a cat. One with lopsided ears and one eye slightly larger than the other. It stares up at her with a clumsy sort of charm.
Natasha looks up, her eyes finally breaking away from the lopsided cat to meet yours. A smirk crosses over her features, her voice dropping into a teasing lilt. âI guess youâre not perfect at everything.â
You gasp, mouth dropping open in a feigned look of insult. You can barely hold the expression long enough before morphing into a silent laugh.
Natasha has to catch her breath, forcing herself not to stare at you in awe. She watches the way your shoulders shake, the way your eyes crinkle in the corners, and the genuine joy you exude. You look adorable. Itâs a word she doesnât use often, but thereâs no other way to describe the sight.
You turn away, walking back to the register, and her heart drops. The interaction had lasted a few minutes, but to her, it felt like seconds.
Her thoughts are beginning to spiral, wondering what she couldâve done or said for you to continue the interaction, when you return. Youâre holding a scrap of sticker paper. You scribble something quickly before sliding the paper across the marble to her.Â
She looks down, recognizing the messy handwriting from the one on the chalkboard.Â
Nobodyâs perfect - H.M.
She stares at the slip of paper in disbelief, the emotional whiplash hitting her with full-force.Â
âHannah Montana?â she asks, her voice a mix of incredulity and confusion.
You nod, giving her that same adorable, soundless laugh that makes her breath catch. You gesture to the mug, your eyes urging her to have a sip.
She brings the edge of the ceramic to her lips, the scent of vanilla and rich espresso enticing her. She takes a slow sip, savoring the velvety warmth of the liquid.
âDelicious,â she whispers in awe before taking another sip.
You smile at her proudly before turning to clear your workspace. She glances down at her watch, realizing sheâs probably stopping you from doing your closing tasks.
She waves her hand gently near you, catching your attention once more.
âIâm sorry, can I transfer this to a paper cup? Itâs gotten late and I donât want to hold you up.â
You give her an appreciative look before grabbing the mug and transferring it. You hand it to her before sliding the scrap of paper from earlier back to you. You scribble something down before sliding it back to her.
Her eyes track the newly added line.
See you again!
She peers up, a smile tugging at her lips. âSee you,â she breathes out quietly. She lifts her hand hesitantly, trying to remember the gesture you had given her the day prior.
Her open hand moves rigidly to her chin, her fingers tapping it, before heavily dropping down and extending it to you.
Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second before offering a small, genuine smile.
You repeat the action back to her, though yours is filled with grace and an ease in your movements. Youâre welcome.
She gives you one last fleeting smile before grabbing the paper cup along with the scrap of paper.Â
She passes the trash can on her way to the door, the logical side of her telling her to toss the note into the bin since thereâs no further use for it. Itâs a messy scribble with a pop-culture joke. Thereâs no tactical use for this.
But her fingers wonât loosen their grip. She wants to remember thisâthe lopsided cat, the silent laughter, the look of surprise on your face.
She pushes through the door, the chime of the bell echoing through the shop that is now truly quiet. Outside, her footsteps from earlier have already been covered by a fresh wave of powdery snow. She takes her first step, breaking the untainted white canvas.
The sound of crunching snow echoes through the street. The moon reflects off the peaks of the snow while the cold air bites at her skin. Everything is the same as when she first arrived, yet she feels different.Â
She clutches the paper deep in her pocket, thumb rubbing grazing your handwriting, already thinking about when sheâd be able to see you again.
â
The elevator doors slide open, revealing the dim, luxurious common room. Natasha can hear the low drone of the TV playing quietly. She keeps her steps light, trying to pass by without being noticed.
A head pops up over the back of the couch, messy hair catching the light of the TV.
âYouâre back late,â Clint notes, his voice rough with exhaustion.
She freezes for a fraction of a second before her composure snaps back into place. âSo are you, apparently,â she responds, her voice level.
âJust got back from a mission. Turned into a simple recon.â He sits up, shifting so he can observe her properly. âOut late with a secret boyfriend?â he asks, a teasing lilt clear in his voice.
She rolls her eyesâa gesture she reserves almost exclusively for him and Tony. âNo, Clint, I just had some stuff to do,â she says, her tone dismissive.
He points a finger to her hand. âThings that require a vanilla-scented latte past evening? Also, since when do you do sweet? Double alsoââ his eyes narrow, tracking the way her other hand hasnât moved from its position, ââwhatâs in your pocket?â Â
 âSometimes I like something a little sweet,â she responds, her annoyance flaring to sound convincing. âAnd thereâs nothing in my pocket. My hands are just cold. Itâs snowing outside, in case you didnât notice.â
She pauses, the edge of the note in her pocket brushing against her fingers. She meets his eyes. âYou know American Sign Language (ASL) right?â
âI mean, yeah,â he says while gesturing towards his hearing aids. âIt would be a pretty big disservice to the deaf community if I didnât. Why?â
âTeach me,â she says. Itâs not a request. Her gaze is unwavering.
âWhat?â he asks, brow furrowing in disbelief. âTasha, you already know enough. Between the military signs and the tactical handspeak we use in the field, youâre practically fluentâ
âNot those,â she says, her impatience slipping through. âI meanâŠfor a conversation. Real words. Not just target on your right or breach on five.â
He squints at her, head tilting. âWhy on Earth would you need to know that? Need to ask someone how their day is?â
âForget it,â she snaps, turning on her heel and heading to the hallway.
âSo, itâs a deaf secret boyfriend?â he yells after her, his grin audible. âI know you admire me but thereâs a lot of fish in the sea!â
She can still hear his boisterous, annoying laughter echoing down the hallway as she closes her door shut.
She leans her back against the door, the cool wood a stark contrast to the warmth still present. She finishes the rest of her-now cold latte, savoring the sweetness of the vanilla before walking over to the trash. She hesitates for a moment before dropping the paper cup inside, but keeping the note firmly in her hand.
She smooths out one of the corners that had bent in her pocket, her thumb tracing over your charming handwriting. She reads it over a few times. Just two lines, but she can still picture the focused look in your eyes as you wrote them.
She looks around her sterile room until her gaze settles on the small wooden box on her dresser. Itâs where she keeps her jewelry she rarely wearsânecklaces and rings that serve as disguises more than pieces she adorns herself with willingly. She pulls the drawer open, tossing the gold and silver aside without care. They feel cold and meaningless compared to the piece of paper in her hand.
Carefully, she places the note down against the red velvet. It looks out of place. A piece of paper in a box meant to hold priceless jewelry. Somehow, in her eyes, it fits perfectly. She closes the drawer, finding herself wondering how many notes it would take to fill the box.
â
Natasha wakes to a room flooded with a translucent glow. For the first time in months, she had slept through the night. Usually needing a mission that pushed her to her absolute limit to have a full nightâs rest. She stretches her arms above her head, the tension in her shoulders easing, before standing to pull back the curtains.
Below, the city has transformed into a winter wonderland. Cars struggle through the heavy accumulation of snow, tires spinning in place futilely. Snow flurries drift through the grey sky, landing freely wherever the wind takes them. The city feels quiet, the usual bustle muffled by the heavy snow blanketing every surface.
She moves through her routine, changing into a pair of leggings and a hoodie for her workout. She pulls open her bedroom door, stopping when she sees an object resting in front of her living space door.
Itâs a bookâa hefty, thick one that looks untouched. She leans down, fingers brushing the spine as she picks it up carefully. American Sign Language for Beginners.Â
She flips open the front cover, finding a purple sticky note stuck to the first page:
I donât know why you suddenly have an interest in learning ASL, but hereâs a guidebook for idiots like you. -Clint (aka your favorite friend)
A small, endearing smile tugs at her features as she looks down at the sticky note. She can feel the weight of the book, heavy and solid in her hands. It would be a commitment, a steep learning curve, and even then, this would just be the beginning.Â
She flips to the first chapter: Introductions.
An image of the steps to say Hello appear in front of her, identical to the ones she had studied in the videos. The very sign she had let slip through her fingers at the counter. Her fingertips trace the picture, following the lines of the printed hand before dragging them down the edge of the book, feeling the texture of every single page as she skims them. She taps her finger against them in quiet contemplation.
Slowly, she reaches her hand up. She follows the steps displayed, her movements still rigid, still lacking feeling. Even so, her decision had been made.
â
The workout had long since been forgotten. Natasha sits on the hardwood floor of her living space, back pressed against the foot of the couch and the heavy ASL guidebook propped open against her knees. She rubs her eyes that are laden with exhaustion. The room was dimmer than it had been hours ago, though the snow still casts a soft, ghostly glow throughout the room.
She tries, for what feels like the hundredth time, to go through the alphabet without a single mistake. Her hands that are usually so precise seem to have developed a mind of their own.
She constantly keeps mistaking S for T. They are so similar, yet completely different in meaning. Both require a closed fist, but while S demands her thumb to rest directly across her fingers, T requires her to tuck it tightly between her index and middle finger. Itâs a slight nuance, but it can mean the difference between spelling tight and sight.
She has mastered a multitude of languages throughout her time as a spy. She can blend into a crowd in Paris, Beijing, or even Berlin without suspicion. Her undercover operations have always benefited from her ability to mimic and adapt. But somehow, sign language isnât clicking with the same ease. It was one thing to speak a languageâit was another entirely to put her words into motion.
She stares at her fist, her thumb flipping between the two positions until her joint aches. In the Red Room, a mistake in form would result in a beating, a sharp, physical reminder that being anything less than perfect was unacceptable. It made any girl who wavered in her posture tense with a deep, systemic fear.Â
But here, in the quiet safety of her quarters, the consequences are different. Thereâs no one to hit her if she misplaces her thumb, but the silence feels heavier.
A mistake here means failing to even catch a glimpse into your world. It means continuing to stand at the other side of the marble counter, watching as you navigate a world of silence and still offer a smile. She doesnât understand how you can do that. How you can accept the quiet without it destroying you. She doesnât want to just watch. She wants to be a part of that world.
She looks up at the cream-colored ceiling, the restless motion of her thumb finally stopping. Whatâs the point?
She hardly knows you. Even calling each other acquaintances would be a stretch. She was just another customer and you, a barista. Your worlds had collided by pure chance. It didnât have to mean anything. She didnât need to be sitting here on the floor, making a fool of herself for someone who was probably just being nice. Her fists clench tightly, her nails digging into her palms.
She takes a deep breath.Â
But then she remembers the shine in your eyes when you smiled. Your silent, breathless laugh, that she could somehow hear in the way your shoulders moved. Your gentle movements. Your messy but charming handwriting. The smiley face. The lopsided cat. The silly pop-culture joke. The way you looked at her head-on, gently removing her mask without her even realizing.
She breaths out, her fists slowly unclenching as the tension drains from her shoulders. She doesnât know why yet, but sheâs mesmerized by you. And she wants to find out why.
She sighs, looking down at her hand, crescent shaped indents littering her palms. She looks up at the guidebook still resting against her knees. Her hand moves into a fist again, thumb resting on the side of her index finger.
Alright, she thinks, her focus sharpening. Letâs take it from the top.
Starting again from A.
â
The streets and sidewalks have finally been cleared of the heavy snow that had encapsulated the city. Piles of snow cover the sides of streets while snowmen stand guard in the front of buildings. A week has passed since the storm, and Manhattan was slowly beginning to return to its usual frantic energy.
The cold, grey sidewalks lead Natasha forward, the remaining snow at the edges acting as a pale guide under the dark sky. Sheâs bundled up this time, having learned her lesson from the past visits. Warm boots, fleece-lined leggings, and a heavy black trenchcoat over a thick sweater. She can see the fog of her breath against the night, pulling her bag closer to her to conserve heat.
The familiar warm glow of the coffee shop seems to shine brighter as she nears. Her hand hovers over the handle, the cold metal grounding her.
She lets out a slow, nervous breath. Just do it like you practiced, she chastises herself, her fingers twitching in her pocket.Â
She pushes open the door, the bell chiming with a sound she knows you wonât hear. She looks up from her boots, her eyes scanning the space. Thereâs only three tables occupied, already seated with their drinks half-finished. And there, behind the marble counter, you stand alone again.
Her eyes are drawn to the chalkboard above you, where a coffee bean with a flirty smile says: âIâve bean thinking about you.â She recognizes your handwriting, smiling despite herself when she realizes that every doodle sheâs seen in the shop has been yours.
She walks up to the marble counter, her heart hammering in a way she canât suppress. She notices the same wave sign from two visits ago taped to the counter. Sheâs mid-way through raising her hand to catch your attention when you turn towards her, meeting her eyes. The shift in your expression is instantâtransforming from deep thought to bright recognition.
Before she can second guess herself, she turns the wave into a mock salute. Itâs the beginner's greeting from the guidebook and videos. Forcefully etched into her mind after failing to do it the last encounter and the countless hours sheâs spent studying the guidebook.Â
You tilt your head, eyes widening as the realization: the gesture was intentional. You give her a small, breathtaking smile, raising your own hand to repeat the motion back to her. Where hers was rigid and hesitant, yours is fluid, seamless and practiced.
Youâre already reaching for a sticker, writing the first letter of Natalie, when she reaches out. Her fingers cover the back of your hand, stopping you from continuing.
âUmâmy name.â She pauses, her cheeks heating up as she quickly releases your hand. She tries to remember the signs for âMy name is,â but the guidebook pages slip through her mind like sand. Instead, she says aloud, âMy name is actuallyââ
She raises her hand, her knuckles turning white as she forms a fist, tucking her thumb between her middle and ring fingers. N.Â
Her fingers move slowly, her green eyes staring daggers at her hand that is lifted. Every letter feels like a battle sheâs struggling through as she tries to recall them, until she reaches the end. She presses her index and middle finger together, pointing them outward to the sideâHâbefore finishing with the oh-too-familiar, A.
Natasha.
You stare at her as the silence in the shop stretches. Her thoughts immediately begin to spiral. Did I just do everything wrong? Did I confuse the S and the T again? I swear I double-checked theâ
Her frantic internal monologue is interrupted by the fluid movement of your hand.Â
You begin fingerspelling her name back to herâN-A-T-A-S-H-Aâyour fingers moving much faster and more assured than she did. You tilt your head, your eyes searching hers with a silent, playful question, as if asking: Was that right?
She nods, her eyes fixed on your hands as you resume writing from where she had stopped you, carefully writing her actual name onto the sticker this time. You glance up at the chalkboard menu, a silent prompt for her to order.
âOh, um. Iâll just get a plain latte this time. For here,â she says, her voice a little breathless as she realizes sheâs been standing at the register for a while now.
You tap in her order, a small smile playing on your lips. You turn towards the espresso machine the moment she pulls out her card, ceramic mug already in hand. She quickly taps her card against the tablet before rushing to the end counter to watch you work.Â
The milk is already steaming and an espresso shot is pulling in front of you. It feels like a mirror of the previous time when you bring the mug and steaming pitcher over, placing them right where she can see. But this time, you have the espresso shot glass next to you, a dark amber residue remaining at the bottom.
You tilt the mug, pouring the milk in a slow, steady stream until a perfect white circle of foam rests atop the dark liquid.
A cat again? Or maybe a bunny? she wonders, watching as you grab a toothpick.
You dip the tip into the leftover espresso, coating it. You begin to move it across the foam like a pencil, dipping back into the glass occasionally with a focused expression. With a final flick of your wrist, you rotate the mug towards her.
Natasha :)
The handwriting looks a bit shaky, the letters blooming slightly into the foam, but there is something so you about the effort.
Sheâs about to take a sip when the sharp scrape of chairs echo throughout the shop. The remaining customers stand, as if sensing that she wants to be alone with you
Youâre still looking down at the mug, your eyes tracing the name you wrote on the foam, when Natasha taps her finger against the marble. The motion catches your eye, forcing you to look up at her. She points toward the door, where the departing customers are waving their farewells. You break eye contact with her instantly, offering them a radiant smile and a wave that feels entirely too familiar to her.
She feels a sudden, sharp pang of irritation in her chestâone that she canât logically explain. Itâs the realization that she isnât special, you offer that same warmth to everyone.
She is still trying to process the sting when you turn back to her, your hands moving in a quick blur of signs. She tries to replay the motions in her mind, desperate to connect them to diagrams in the guidebook but she finds nothing. Youâre looking at her expectantly, head tilted like youâve just asked a question sheâs already failed to answer.
âIâm sorry,â she says, her voice sounding small in the quiet shop. âI only started learning a week ago. After⊠after I spoke to you.â
Your expression changes in an instant. The comfortable, playful look in your eyes vanishes, replaced by the same conflicted, guarded look sheâd seen when Meg had stepped in to help you with the man at the counter when you couldnât yourself. Itâs a look of tired endurance.
She feels like sheâs said all the wrong things. Your eyes drop to the marble counter, making it impossible for her to say anything with the limited knowledge she has right now. The silence between you hangs heavy, thick with the implication of pity that she never intended to give.
You turn away, grabbing a piece of sticker paper. You write slowly, tiredly, like youâve had this conversation dozens of times before. You slide the paper across the marble.
Why did you decide to learn sign language?
She pauses, a part of her recoiling at the thought of being vulnerable. But as she looks up and sees the genuine exhaustion etched onto your face, she decides to be honest. âI wanted to be able to talk to you.â
Your expression doesnât soften. You scribble a new line, pushing the paper back to her tiredly.
Itâs okay to talk to me normally. You donât need to go through the trouble.
âIâI know.â She struggles to find the words. She still hasnât figured out what it is about you that made her this wayâwhy she studied videos on sign language until 4 AM after only seeing you twice, why she spent an entire week obsessively trying to memorize every word, every diagram in the guidebook. How all the tiredness she felt from staying up all night studying and practicing signs washed away when you smiled at her. How can she put that into words?
She didnât want you to think that this was pity. That she was just another person who felt sorry for the deaf girl.
âI know I donât need to.â Her hands move instinctively as she speaks, a restless, upward motion to enunciate her point. âBut I donât want to just be another customer. I want to meet you where you are.â
She meets your eyes, feeling vulnerable, but her gaze doesnât waver. Her eyes filled with determination and honesty.
You look down, pen hovering over the paper as if youâre deciding. Finally, the pen touches the paper. You write slowlyâeven slower than beforeâcarefully considering every word. You finally slide the paper to her.
Sign language isnât easy. Itâs a long journey.
She knows. She already searched for the numbers, finding it would take two to five years at a minimum to reach fluency. It would be a hell of a journey, a steep climb through a language that she was struggling through just the basics of. Itâd be easy to quit now.
She nods, and for a split second, she swears she sees a flicker of disappointment on your features. A shadow of expectation that she was preparing to give up like everyone else.
âYouâre right,â she says, her mind having already been made up a week ago when she sat feeling helpless in the silence of her room. âItâs a long journey. But Iâll get better. Iâll keep practicing until one day, we can have a conversation where spoken words arenât needed.â
She meets your gaze, her green eyes steady and unwavering. âYou wonât have to keep meeting me where Iâm at. Iâll keep going through this journey. Every day. Until one day, weâll meet in the middle.â
The silence between you is heavy and charged, both caught in each otherâs gravity when the chime of the door opening shatters the moment. She turns, seeing a man taking long strides to the counter. She reaches out, gently tapping your hand that is holding the pen.
âCustomer,â she says quietly, over-enunciating the word before pointing in the direction of the register.
You shake your head, as if clearing your thoughts, offering her a quick, appreciative smile before turning to tend to him.
Her fingers curl around the ceramic mug, clenching tighter than necessary. She brings the rim to her lips, carefully avoiding the foam that is adorned with her name. She canât bring herself to ruin it. The latte is past the point of being hot, more lukewarm than anything. She glances at her watch, noting that the shop would be closing soon.
She watches you interact with the manâthe way you tilt your head and nod in practiced understanding. The same flare of irritation from before surges through her, stronger and sharper this time, until the puzzle pieces finally click into place.
Jealousy.Â
She was jealous when you looked at others. Wanting your radiant smile to be just for her alone.
âI only want you to look at me,â she breathes out in realization.
You and the customer move toward the end counter, a paper to-go cup in your hand. She finds herself sighing in reliefâhe isnât staying. She wants a bit more time with you.Â
She watches as you prepare the simple mocha. Your hands move faster than usual, yet remain perfectly precise. You slide the cup to him with a smile, and he offers a quick thanks before the bell chimes behind him.
You turn to her as she finishes the rest of her lukewarm latte, setting the ceramic mug down gently against the marble.
She doesnât know what to say. The air in the shop still feels charged with the truth sheâs just admitted to herself. She wasnât sure if her honesty had reached you, if you truly understand that this isnât a fleeting whim or pity.
Your arm lifts, your flat hand touching your chin in a gesture she recognizes as the beginning of Thank you. But then, you move it down, landing it softly on the palm of your other hand. Your lower arm steadily moves into a horizontal line across your chest, while your other hand curves over it in a slow, graceful arcâlike the sun dipping below the horizon.
âWhat does that mean?â she asks, her face a mixture of confusion and pure admiration at the fluidity of the movement.
You tilt your head, a challenging, playful smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. You meet her gaze, your eyes screaming:Â Try to figure it out.
You turn away, effectively dismissing her for the night and begin disassembling the espresso machine. She stands there, lingering for a moment. She feels a strange mix of emotions she can't quite categorize yetâhalf-impressed by your skill, and half-tethered by something deeper, something she hasn't quite figured out how to name.
She reaches out, fingers curling around the scrap of paper left on the marble counter. She tucks it deep in her jacket pocket, careful not to crumple it.
Itâs more than just a note now. Itâs a promise.
She pushes through the door, the chime of the bell echoing behind her as she steps back out into the biting New York winter air. As she walks the familiar route back to the Tower, her hand rests in her pocket, tracing the ink. Sheâs already mentally flipping through the pages of the guidebook, already trying to commit the sign you had shown her to memory. She was going to show you that this wasnât just words. Sheâll meet your challenge.
âWell, Clint,â she breathes out, a crest of white fog blooming from her lips into the cold night. âItâs definitely not a deaf boyfriend.â
â
Numba 4. I wrote this on a whim while I was practicing ASL since it's been a minute since I used it. I'm not sure if I'll do a part 2 to this, make this a series, or just let it stay as a one-shot. Let me know!
I know most people who've read my other stories might be wondering where the POV switches are. My thought process was that since many people don't know sign language, you'd be able to relate to Natasha a lot here. If I do end up doing a part 2, it'll be Reader's POV and you'll learn more about them (us?). Thank you as always for reading! đ
Secret A/N: Has anyone ever lost 10 games of Valorant in a row, demoted twice, with your friend constantly saying after each game, "We can't end on a loss." Anyways, yeah. That was my Saturday night.
For the last... honestly four months (that's actually so embarrassing)... I've been trying to write smut and I just cant do it!?
I feel terrible and stupid- like I can write flirting and teasing fine and very heavily implied things but the actual act of sex- ITS LIKE MY BRAIN SHORT CIRCUITS AND I CANT WRITE ANYTHING. Ans it's not like I don't read it myself- đ
I hate myself.
Anyway- one day I might be able to write it?? Maybe?
But I have this fic that I really want to post which I intended to have smut at the end because I genuinely think it deserves it (if that makes any sense?!). Well, because I'm incapable of writing smut I haven't posted it. And I was wondering if you guys would rather wait like for the possibility of me one day being able to write smut or I should just post it?? I mean I could always come back to it and write smut for it if I miraculously one day feel comfortable enough to write it??
I think I might just post it... but like maybe you guys can pretend I wrote life altering smut at the end. Sounds good? yep. okay.
Anyway- umm I'm sorry đ
It's the Isadora/Y/N POV for my most fav & popular fic: A Symphony of Clues (sister to Love, Revised: A Study on Love) so I really think you guys will love it even without the smut.
