you are what you love

I Was Hoping You'd Say That – It always starts the same way — the squeak of rubber soles, the bounce of a ball, and your hopeless crush on basketball captain natasha romanoff. as AAU’s cheer captain, you swear it’s all “professional observation.” but when natasha starts noticing your disappearing act every time she’s near, she calls you out — and maybe, just maybe, calls you in.

If You See This – When Y/N returns home for the weekend, she doesn't expect to unearth a middle school notebook filled with doodles, glitter gel pen hearts, and dramatic entries about the girl who once made her heart race and her head spin. natasha romanoff—basketball captain, mortal enemy, almost something more.

Ms. Delinquent, Natasha — Y/N L/N, perfect student council president, gets paired with the school’s worst nightmare—rebel basketball captain natasha romanoff—for a major project. she’s late, annoying, and impossible to work with. but one unexpected moment makes Y/N wonder… is there more to natasha than the chaos she brings?

part one ‎♡‧₊˚ part two ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

Cite Me Later – You’ve always been top of your class—sharp, confident, and unbeatable. in your world, there’s no such thing as a worthy rival. that is, until natasha romanoff strides into your class with a smirk and a sharper argument that throws your entire carefully controlled world into chaos.

The Cat-astrophe Next Door – College life was already chaotic enough, but things took a sharp left turn when your sweet, innocent cat ended up pregnant—thanks to the mysterious feline next door. turns out, the culprit is none other than liho, the smug, too-handsome-for-his-own-good cat belonging to your intimidating (and unfairly attractive) condo neighbor, natasha romanoff.

In Sickness and In Soup – You planned a cozy welcome home for Natasha Romanoff—clean apartment, candles, kisses. But instead, she comes home early to find you sick as a dog, buried under blankets and full of complaints. While you wheeze through coughs and cravings for fried chicken, Natasha dives headfirst into caretaker mode with soups, threats, and soft forehead kisses.

Through Thick and Now – Late nights were once filled with whispered promises, stolen laughter, and the comfort of being understood without speaking. But now? Now they’re filled with silence. With absence. With everything that love wasn’t supposed to become. When doubt takes root and trust begins to fracture, even the strongest bonds can break.

Teenage Dirtbag – A story about pens that smell like caramel, songs that say more than words, and what it means to be chosen—on purpose.

It had been years since she last saw you.

Years since those soft, reckless days where she imagined wedding rings, a shared apartment filled with laughter, a cat sprawling across your couch, maybe even kids running barefoot in the garden. She used to picture it so vividly—two pillars, firm and proud, holding up something you could call a life.

But real love, she learned, wasn’t a fantasy. It was a verb. A choice you made over and over again, even when it hurt. She understood that now, but maybe a little too late.

Her youth, her most unguarded self, lived in your past. You had it all back then—late-night drives, lazy mornings tangled in sheets, the feeling that the world was yours if you just reached far enough. And yet, she had let it slip away. Not with one big mistake, but a hundred little ones. A closed-off heart. A stubborn need to control her own freedom. The fear of losing herself in love.

She thought settling down meant losing who she was. She hadn’t realized that with you, it would have meant finding herself.

Sometimes, in quiet moments, Natasha still caught herself wondering what you were doing now. Were you happy? Did you think of her when a certain song played? She liked to imagine you did—just for a moment—before life pulled you forward again.

She had loved others since then, drifted from city to city, country to country. But every time she found herself on a dimly lit stage at a friend’s gig, or in the back of a cab while a love song spilled from the radio, it was never a stranger’s face that came to mind. It was yours. Always yours.

She knew you would probably never be what you once were. That chapter had closed, its pages worn and marked. But she also knew life had a strange way of circling back, of placing people right where they needed to be—sometimes years too late, but still.

Natasha didn’t believe in fate.

But she believed in crossing paths.

And when yours met again, no matter how briefly, she would smile, knowing she had loved you once—fiercely, messily, entirely.

And maybe, just maybe, she always would.

—

The rain was steady, a fine mist turning heavier in gusts of wind that funneled through the streets. Natasha’s boots clicked against wet pavement as she moved without much direction, hands buried in the pockets of her leather jacket.

New York was a strange kind of friend—sometimes cruel, sometimes unexpectedly warm. Tonight, it was the latter, neon lights bleeding against rain-slicked asphalt, shop windows glowing like open palms. She didn’t have a destination, but the warm, amber-lit window of an old bookstore stopped her in her tracks.

The sign above the door was faded, letters peeling at the corners. The window display was a little chaotic—stacks of used novels, a trailing pothos plant, a ceramic mug holding fountain pens.

The bell over the door chimed as she stepped inside. Heat and the faint scent of dust and paper wrapped around her instantly. Somewhere deeper in the shop, a jazz record played—low trumpet, scratch of vinyl.

She rounded a corner, fingers trailing across spines without reading the titles—until her breath caught.

You were there.

Leaning casually against the poetry shelf, head bent toward a worn copy of Pablo Neruda’s Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. Your hair fell forward as you read, the same way it used to when you got lost in a page.

—

It came rushing back before she could stop it.

She’d met you in a library—not the kind you whisper in, but the kind tucked inside a coffee shop with mismatched chairs and the smell of cinnamon in the air. You had been cross-legged on the floor in the poetry section, humming under your breath as you flipped through Neruda.

“You’re blocking my exit,” she had said, a smirk tugging her lips.

You had looked up, unimpressed. “Then I guess you’ll have to step over me.”

Natasha had stepped over you—then sat down beside you instead.

You’d talked until the café closed, Natasha buying you a tea you hadn’t even asked for. She left with your phone number scrawled on a napkin and the taste of possibility lingering like honey.

—

Back in the present, you looked up as if you’d felt the weight of being watched. Your eyes widened.

“Nat.”

It was quiet, almost careful.

Natasha swallowed. “Hey.”

For a long second, neither of you moved. Natasha could see recognition in your eyes, but also the pause—like you were deciding whether to be glad about it.

“It’s been a long time,” you said finally, closing the book.

“Yeah,” Natasha’s voice was low. “How long?”

“Seven years.” You tilted your head. “You still keep your hair braided.”

Natasha’s lips quirked. “You still dog-ear pages. Still drives me crazy.”

A flicker of a smile, brief but warm, crossed your face. Natasha felt herself take a step forward before she’d even decided to.

—

The smell of coffee pulled her back—bare feet on cold kitchen tiles, you leaning against the counter in one of her shirts, hair a mess, mug in hand.

“You made the good stuff,” you had mumbled, eyes still half-closed.

“Of course,” Natasha had said, sliding a plate toward you. “Can’t have you leaving me over bad coffee.”

You’d laughed, soft and warm, and Natasha had thought—I could live here forever.

—

You ended up in a café across the street, the kind with steamed-up windows and chipped mugs. You took a corner booth, tea between your hands.

“It’s strange,” you said, stirring slowly. “Seeing you here, like no time’s passed.”

Natasha’s gaze stayed on you. “Feels like too much time has passed.”

You talked about safe things—mutual friends, work, travels. But Natasha could feel the unspoken things building between you like static.

Finally, you said, “You know… I thought we’d be married by now.”

Natasha’s grip on her mug tightened. “Me too.”

Your eyes softened, but your voice stayed steady. “Then why didn’t we?”

—

Snow started falling softly as she remembered that night on the balcony in Prague. The cold air bit gently, and somewhere deep in her pocket, the small box pressed against her fingers, her thumb tracing its edge nervously.

You were talking about Christmas lights and hot chocolate, your voice warm against the chill, and she had almost—almost—pulled out the ring.

But then she froze. Her chest tightened, weighed down by the gravity of what that moment meant—the permanence, the risk.

By the time she found her voice again, the moment had slipped away, swallowed by the quiet hum of city lights below.

—

Back in the café, Natasha exhaled. “Because I was afraid,” she said. “Afraid that if I stopped moving, if I stayed… I’d lose myself.”

“And because of your job,” you added quietly.

Natasha met your gaze. “And because of my job. I told myself you’d be safer without me. That walking away was… protecting you.”

Your lips curved bitterly. “You weren’t protecting me, Nat. You were protecting yourself from the risk of loving me.”

The truth landed heavy—because it was exactly what she had feared.

—

The rain was falling then, too—steady, cold, relentless. You could hear it tapping against the windowpanes like a heartbeat that wouldn’t quit. Natasha stood halfway out the door, a worn duffel bag slung heavily over her shoulder, her breath fogging in the chill air. The weight of the moment pressed down on both of you, thick and suffocating.

Your voice cracked as you spoke, raw with frustration and pain. “You think loving you means I’m in danger?" you asked, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Nat, you’re the danger to yourself. You keep cutting people out before they can leave you.” The words hit her like thunder, echoing in the silence that followed.

For a long moment, she didn’t move—her fingers clenched the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles went white. She wanted to turn back, to throw her arms around you and make everything right, but the fear tangled around her heart like iron chains. The thought of staying, of facing the vulnerability and risk of loving you fully, terrified her more than the cold rain outside.

Her feet, however, had a mind of their own. Without permission, they carried her forward, each step heavier than the last. She crossed the threshold and into the gray, drizzling street, leaving you behind with the weight of those words hanging in the air.

She never looked back.

—

The rain had softened to a gentle drizzle by the time you stepped outside. The city around you felt quieter somehow, as if it was holding its breath, waiting for something to break the stillness. The wet pavement shimmered under the dim streetlights, casting blurry reflections of the world you’d both tried so hard to leave behind.

At the corner, you hesitated, your footsteps slowing as you finally turned to face her. “It was good to see you,” you said softly, voice barely above a whisper. There was a fragile vulnerability there, the kind that only comes when years of silence and distance suddenly collapse into a single moment.

Natasha nodded, but something twisted deep inside her chest—an ache she thought she’d long buried—as you started to walk away. The weight of everything unsaid pressed down on her, heavier than the cold air around you both.

“Wait,” she called out, voice steady but urgent.

You stopped in your tracks, uncertainty flickering across your face. The night air seemed to hold the space between you, thick with tension and possibility.

She closed the distance, each step deliberate. “I can’t just let you walk away again,” Natasha said, her eyes searching yours like she was trying to memorize every detail—every line, every flicker of emotion.

You studied her face, the soft glow of the streetlamp casting shadows that made her look both familiar and new all at once. “And what do you want me to do?” you asked, voice trembling slightly. “Pretend seven years didn’t happen?”

“No,” Natasha answered quietly, her voice raw with honesty. “I want to try again. Not perfect—just… us. This time, I won’t run.”

Your lips curled into a small, incredulous laugh, disbelief mixing with something warmer, something hopeful. “You always could talk me into bad decisions," you teased, the old spark returning between you.

Natasha’s smile was faint but genuine, the kind that reaches your eyes and stays there. “This one’s not bad,” she said softly.

Together, you started walking—not away, not apart, but side by side—your steps falling into rhythm with each other once more.

The city around you slowly woke from its quiet haze. Neon lights flickered to life in distant windows, and the faint hum of late-night traffic began to fill the streets. But none of it mattered, not really. What mattered was the steady warmth building between you two, fragile but undeniable.

Because some people aren’t meant to be left behind.

Some people, you just keep.