Some oneshots of your favorites!
I write for:
- Avengers/MCU
- Criminal Minds
- Harry Potter
- Star Wars
- The Originals
- The 100
- Twilight
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I own none of these characters. All rights go to their respective creator:
- Stan Lee (Avengers/MCU)
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☽【❖】☾
It's been almost a year since you left yours and Steve's room that night, and you haven't returned. You didn't say the words outright, but you both knew it; you were done.
Steve has, of course, tried to talk to you about it since then, but you refuse to communicate with him outside of missions and the occasional polite conversation. Despite you both living under the same roof, you've never been further apart.
Luckily, Natasha was there to help you. Despite being close friends with Steve, she was quick to drop everything when you needed her. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't come to rely on her presence and stern but caring energy.
You'd also be lying if you said you hadn't fallen in love with her over it.
Of course, you never told her. In the end, she's your best friend, and you don't want to lose that over something that may just be fleeting— something solid to hold onto in a sea of unfamiliarity.
"(Y/N)?" Natasha says, waving her hand in front of your face. You blink the tv screen back into focus and turn to look at her. Her expression, though amused, holds a hint of concern. "You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. Fine. Sorry."
"Not really into the movie?" she questions. You look back at She's All That playing on the screen and shrug.
"It's a good movie," you admit, "I'm just tired."
"Well, you did take quite the beating in the field today," she says, pausing the movie. She turns her body toward you, gesturing for you to do the same. As soon as you're facing her on the bed, she takes your face in her hands. You focus on keeping your breathing steady as she examines your various shallow cuts and bruises. She touches a particularly tender bruise on your temple, and you wince. "Sorry."
"It's fine," you reply quietly. Finally, she removes her hands, and you have to fight the urge to tell her to please put her hands on you again.
"Well, you don't have a concussion," she informs.
"I know," you grin slightly. Natasha mirrors it, her eyes flickering to your lips. Or was it your imagination? You brush the thought away, reminding yourself that you and Natasha are just friends. "I should probably go to bed."
"Right." You scoot away and off the bed, stretching out the leftover kinks.
"I'll see you for breakfast," you tell her, looking over your shoulder.
"Yeah." As your hand touches the doorknob, Natasha calls out. "(Y/N)."
You turn around to ask her what's wrong, but before you can get a word out, you're pressed against the door with Natasha's lips on yours. You freeze, unable to move. Natasha pulls away, a rare panic flooding her eyes. Before she can say anything along the lines of a needless apology, you capture her lips with yours.
Her hands are immediately tangled in your hair as you both fight to get enough of each other. Just as it's about to go too far, you find the strength to pull away. She rests her forehead against yours, laughing breathlessly.
"Safe to say it's reciprocated?" Natasha whispers. You laugh a little louder.
"What gave it away?" Natasha's small grin morphs into a gorgeous, full blown smile. "I should go."
"Why?" she asks cheekily. You roll your eyes and find the doorknob behind your back and twist it.
"Goodnight, Nat."
"Goodnight, (Y/N)."
You close the door behind you, smiling to yourself, your lips tingling with the aftermath. You make your way to the kitchen for a glass of water for the medication you inevitably will need to take for all the aches and pains. As you fill up a glass to take with you, you hear someone walk into the kitchen behind you.
"I'm not taking your pop-tarts, Thor. I learned from watching Clint try," you assure, turning off the tap.
"I'll be sure to pass on the message," a startling familiar voice says. Your shoulders drop as you realize who it is, and you take a deep breath before turning to face him.
"I'd appreciate that," you reply, moving toward the kitchen exit.
"(Y/N), wait," he calls. You stop. "I just have something I want to say."
"There's nothing for you to say, Steve. What's done is done. It's been a year. You need to move on." You turn to look at him, resigned. "I have."
Steve's face falls, and for a moment you're taken back to that night— the night where he compared you to Peggy. Back to the night where he left you feeling as if you'd never really mattered as much to him as he did to you— left you wondering whether he truly loved you for you, and not some small similarity of the woman he loved all those years ago.
"I know," he admits. "I..." he trails off, and you wait for him to speak. "I've seen the way you look at Natasha. It's how you used to look at me."
You don't say anything. You don't quite know what to say. As much as Steve hurt you, you'd relentlessly loved him for six months afterward.
Until you didn't.
It didn't happen all at once, kinda like falling in love with him did. Instead, you just woke up one morning, and the thought of him and what he'd said didn't hurt as much.
"I don't know what to tell you, Steve," you answer truthfully.
"A reason to hate you," he says. You furrow your eyebrows, confused.
"What?"
"I've been trying to get over you since you walked out of our- my room." Your breath catches as you stare at his usually towering figure hunched over in defeat. "And I can't. It would be easier if I could hate you, but I know that the only reason I'm in this mess is because of what I said to you," he says. "You know the saying you don't know what you have until it's gone?" You take a deep breath.
"That's the problem, Steve," you say quietly. "I don't want to be something that you only realize you love once it's too late. I want to be loved and cherished by someone who knows my worth from the beginning. I want to be loved for me, not for someone I could be or someone you wish I was, which is all we were. I loved you for you, but you couldn't offer me the same luxury," Steve shakes his head.
"You're wrong. I love you for you. We could work on this." You close your eyes tight, your heart breaking slightly at his words.
You don't want to hurt him, despite everything he's done to you. But you know that in order for him to move on, you may have to.
"There's an irrevocable difference between us, Steve," you whisper, taking a deep breath. "You still love me, but I don't love you."
You watch as Steve's face crumbles, and you have to hold back your own tears at his obvious pain.
"I'm sorry, Steve, but it's time to move on. For both of us."
And, without looking back, you leave Steve standing in the kitchen, his heart damaged but one step closer to healing— the same way yours had once been.
