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An Unconditional Kind of Love

It was a beautiful morning; the birds were chirping, likely grateful for the clear blue skies the budding Summer had afforded them. The bright sunlight was slowly filtering into your room through the cracked open blinds as time tediously passed on by. Lines of otherwise unseen dust were now illuminated as they flickered throughout the air. There were only the soft sounds of snoring as you laid there, your lover on your chest, it was relatively perfect.

There was no visible reason for you to be feeling this low, but immense dread had settled deep in your stomach as you read through your emails.

"Stark Charity Gala Reminder:

Hey honey, I had Happy leave a few dresses for you to try on, please let me know which one you prefer, and I'll have it tailored to your needs."

You didn't know how to tell him your needs were based on the disappearance of said flowy fabric.

Sure, you could tell him, but you were paralyzed by your fears that he'd expect it anyways. That your comfort wouldn't come before business, so you chose not to mention it. As progressive as the world has become, you know your father works closely with some wealthy men, most of whom were up there in age; in your experience they weren't all that big on the changing times.

This wasn't always how you felt, but as of late, you'd really felt an aversion to the expected attire at your father's many various events. In your day to day you could wear as you pleased, which is really just whatever attracts the least attention. Unwelcome comments on your appearance only ever made you feel more removed from reality.

Your father meant well, you know he always did, but it didn't change the fact that he was not the most attentive person, and therefore still saw you as the little girl in tutus chasing butterflies around the garden as a nanny tended to your needs.

Which truth be told hadn't been the case for most of your adolescence, it had only started weighing you down though in the more recent years. Everyday you woke up to have your identity invalidated in simple ways, and with that came chipped away pieces of your soul. This unsettling feeling came with the territory of being closeted, you remember it well from when you initially dealt with your sexuality, and coming out hadn't been any easier. If anything, it's only become harder.

To look into your aging fathers eyes, and tell him that the person he knew was never the real you was daunting, and was something that made you think suffering in silence was the better choice.

You'd already lived a long many years as Y/N Stark—Tony Stark's eldest daughter, and you didn't exactly know how to be anything but that in an outwardly sense. It was all a bit intimidating, and so you lived in this cycle where you would build yourself up to speak your truth, only to lose the confidence when faced with the chance.

While being so deeply in your thoughts you failed to notice the woman on your chest moving about. The beautiful woman who's held your heart in her very hands for years now, the same one who hadn't a clue what your inner turmoil's were like. Natasha was as understanding as they came, you knew deep down that she'd love you all the same, but the crippling fear of rejection never allowed you to utter the words, "I'm nonbinary."