Chapter Text
To put it bluntly, you’re pissed.
Embarrassment, frustration and insecurity are all swirling together into a storm of rage as you stalk down the path to your residence hall, eyes glaring daggers at the floor and books held tightly to your chest as you furiously blink away tears.
You had just left your screenwriting workshop where an innocent question posed to the tutor had been met with accusations of you not completing the readings, not listening to the lectures, and possibly lacking some common sense. You had spent the rest of the workshop sitting in humiliation, digging through the week’s lecture slides for any mention of the content you had just asked about. Humiliation had turned to fury as you had found no traces of the subject. You had barely managed to restrain yourself from leaving the workshop then and there, but had somehow managed to sit through it until the end.
Now you are desperate to get back to the privacy of your dorm, hopefully devoid of your roommate, where you can make yourself a calming cup of tea, curse out your tutor, and perhaps cry about the stresses of college life and unhelpful professors.
Your feet carry you on the familiar route on autopilot and you barely even register the change from outdoors to indoors when you arrive at the dorm building. You stalk over to the elevator, punching the call button with more force than probably necessary. The wait forces you to pause and you take a deep breath, and then another. The storm recedes slightly and you feel marginally calmer as the elevator dings and the doors open, leaving you to step in and press the button for your floor.
Put my stuff away, grab my mug, then I can go make a cup of tea, you tell yourself. Having a plan of action makes the tension in your shoulders subside further, and you leave the lift with a bit more spatial awareness. Walking down the hallway, you breathe out a sigh of relief as you open the door to find your dorm void of your roommate. You love Yelena, you really do - she’s become one of your best friends. But she can be… a lot, and right now you really just need space and quiet.
You head over to your desk and dump your books on it before swinging off your backpack and chucking it on the bed. You take a moment to bury your head in your hands and let out a groan of frustration. Today hadn’t been your first clash with this particular tutor, and you still had a significant portion of the course to go. You curse your studious nature, wishing not for the first time that you could be as careless as your classmates and just skip the workshops.
Pulling your head back up, you grab the empty mug sitting in the corner of your desk and head back out the door and down the hall to the communal kitchen. As you walk down the hallway, the storm of anger begins to relinquish, but another borne of a different emotion starts to brim in its place. Where your anger was all rough tempests and harsh cracks of lightning, this storm is the distant rolling of thunder in the distance, a promise of danger which makes your chest tighten in trepidation.
You find yourself getting lost in your head as self-doubt begins to overtake you. You can’t help but wonder if your tutor was right, if you really had missed something. No one else had asked about it, no one else had seemed confused. What if this was something you should have known, and you really had just made a fool of yourself in front of all of your classmates? You wondered, not for the first time, what if you didn’t belong at college?
You’re so caught up in your thoughts, eyes focused on the floor, that you don’t process the girl walking in your direction, not until you’re running smack-bang into her chest.
You gasp at the force of the collision, which forcibly tugs you back into the present, your arms flailing as you attempt to balance. Your efforts are in vain and you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing to meet the floor. But that moment never comes.
Instead, strong hands wrap around your abdomen, firm against the fabric of your t-shirt. You flush in embarrassment as the girl helps you find your footing and the blush on your cheeks only deepens when you look up to meet her gaze. Your breath catches as you meet calm green eyes, the girl’s nonchalance betrayed only by a faint glimmer of worry deep in her pupils. Her angelic features are framed by fiery red hair and you can see the muscles flexing in her biceps as she rights your footing.
She’s striking in the way a lioness is, short and lithe but the promise of sheer, intimidating power is threaded through the firm way she grips your waist.
“Okay there, детка?”
You stare blankly at the angel before you as her words wrap around you, noting the hint of an accent. The last word that falls from her lips is foreign to you but you place the accent as being Eastern European, perhaps Sokovian or Russian. You briefly lose yourself in her beauty, the firmness of her hands on your abdomen causing your heart to race. The subtle raise of an eyebrow jolts you out of it as you realise that she asked you a question.
“I-I-I’m so sorry!” you exclaim, stumbling back to put a respectable distance between yourself and this ethereal stranger. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, I really didn’t mean to run into you!”
The space between her eyebrows furrows as she says, “Shouldn’t I be the one to apologise?”
When you only stare in confusion, the girl nods towards the ground. You follow her gaze to see your favourite mug lying on the hard ground, cracks running through the little cartoon cats. You hadn’t even noticed it slip out of your hands but now you notice the absence of its comforting weight in your palm.
“Oh,” you whisper, too tired to hide your crestfallen face from this beautiful stranger. It’s embarrassing, the tears that threaten, but it’s been a really shitty day and this is just the cherry on top. “It-It’s okay. It’s just a mug.”
When you manage to drag your eyes away back up to the girl’s face, her forehead has only furrowed further, a frown tugging at her lips. It makes you feel a twinge of guilt and you quickly decide that you never want to see her upset ever again. You open your mouth to reassure her that it’s not a big deal but she beats you to it.
“Can I buy you a new one?”
You’re quick to shake your head, never one to put someone out of pocket, least of all a stranger who had done nothing wrong. “That’s really not necessary. I’ll just go down to Target and get one.”
“Please, I want to. It’s the least I can do for you…?”
You can’t help but give into her pleading eyes and surrender your name in the hope it will return her smile. “Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. I’m in dorm 31.”
At this her face relaxes and a small smile returns to her lips. Victory.
“Natasha Romanoff.” She offers her hand and you take it, sparks flying up your arm from where your hands meet in a surprisingly firm handshake. She releases your hand far too quickly, leaving you standing there awkwardly and trying to figure out how to end the interaction.
To your relief, the girl - Natasha - takes the lead. “Well, I’ll see you around, Y/N. Keep a look out for any parcels.”
She sends you a conspiratorial wink before she turns and walks out of the common space, hopefully missing the blush settling in your cheeks. You stare after her, lost in the confidence in her stride before you catch yourself and give yourself a mental shake.
Get a grip, Y/N.
Collecting a piece of paper towel, you crouch down and carefully pick up the broken pieces of your mug. It feels like the cracked pieces are mocking you, a perfect representation of how the day has shattered your confidence. You stand with a sigh before locating the bin and throwing away the mug, and your academic dreams with it.
— ⴵ —
Days pass and the encounter has almost faded from your mind. After all, why shouldn’t it? There wasn’t anything extraordinary about the whole interaction. Except for some reason you can’t quite pinpoint, you can’t erase the image of fiery hair from your mind, so contradicted by the cool, collected nature of her green eyes.
You have almost forgotten Natasha’s promise of a new mug, certain that she wasn’t serious. It had just been polite, an empty promise. So you’re surprised when just under a week later, you return to your dorm to find an unfamiliar cardboard package sitting on your desk. A sticky note is attached to the top, looping red letters spelling ‘for Y/N’ with ‘Natasha xx’ signed below. The kisses make something leap in your chest but you quickly scold yourself with a shake of your head - she’s just being friendly. That’s all.
Your roommate looks up from her laptop from her place on her bed when she notices you picking up the package. “Oh yeah, Natasha came by with that earlier. She asked me to pass on her regards.”
Well, that solves the mystery of how Natasha got into your dorm without you there. Yelena returns her attention to her laptop, and if you weren’t so caught up with the kisses written on the sticky note, maybe you would’ve questioned why she isn’t interrogating you right now about the mysterious girl who dropped off a gift for you. Yelena normally wants to know everything about anything, so her lack of questioning is unusual. Even more unusual is her familiar use of Natasha’s name, but you’re not exactly thinking straight and the thought barely crosses your mind.
You sit down at your desk and open the box, taking out the ceramic mug inside. When you catch sight of the design, your heart practically melts. The white surface is covered with little cartoon cats in various poses, pastel flowers dotted in-between them. But while you adore the design, it’s not the only reason for the flutter in your chest. She remembered. She not only noticed but remembered the cats on your old mug. She could have bought any old mug but she made sure to buy one she knew you would like.
You didn’t quite know how to deal with her kindness. The simple gesture was overwhelming to you. You resolved to thank her properly next time you saw her, hoping that you would run into her again sometime soon. Damn it, you didn’t even know what floor she resided on, or if this even was her residence hall. She could have been visiting a friend for all you know.
“Hey, Y/N?”
Yelena pulls you out of your thoughts as she closes her laptop and levels you with that innocent look she always gives you when she wants something. And when Yelena wants something, she always gets it. She has this way of making you cave to her every whim and it drives you insane.
You just sigh in resignation and carefully place the mug on your bedside table before flopping onto your bed and levelling her with a questioning look.
"So you know how last year, there was that incident with Darcy Lewis—“
“I thought we agreed we don’t talk about Darcy Lewis!” you protest, faint panic fluttering in your chest.
Yelena rolls her eyes with a sigh. “Fine, we don’t talk about Darcy Lewis. But still, after I saved you from that disaster, you were all, 'oh thank you Yelena, my lord and saviour, how could I ever live without you, I owe you one'?"
"I doubt I phrased it like that."
Yelena continued on as if you hadn't spoken. "Well, you owe me one. Kate cancelled on me last minute so you're coming with me to my sister's basketball match."
She might as well have suggested skydiving deep into a volcano filled with sharks, such was your hatred for sports. And this wasn't just watching a match on TV, this was the overwhelming sensory riot that was a college basketball match.
“Look, I know you’re not the biggest sport fan—“
“That’s an understatement.”
“—but this is the first time my sister’s played a home game in ages and I promised her I’d go!”
You knew Yelena was close to her sister. You had heard what seemed like everything there was to know about the mysterious ‘Nat’, the politics major with the basketball scholarship who supposedly couldn’t commit to a partner for more than a few weeks. You had never had a chance to meet her, and the prospect of getting to put a name to the face was surprisingly convincing. You weren’t going to give in to Yelena that easily though, not when you were drowning in final assessments before the winter break.
“Why can’t you go by yourself? You’re a strong, independent woman.”
“A strong, independent, beautiful woman who shouldn’t be taking the subway alone at midnight surrounded by drunk basketball fans!” Yelena protested. You had to admit, she had a point there. “Please, Y/N? I’ll buy you nachos?”
“And a coke.”
“Deal.” Yelena grinned smugly and you rolled your eyes with a huff.
“You’re so lucky I love you.”
— ⴵ —
As expected, the stadium is an explosion of sound and colour.
There’s a buzz of excitement in the air as people wait for the game to begin, the stands a flood of red and purple - Boston Terriers and NYU Violets. Yelena is all decked out in Violets merch as she leads you to your seats in the second row, saying hello to a few of the people around you. You suppose that they must be friends or family of the other players, as Yelena had explained to you that these were the reserved seats. She quickly gets absorbed in a conversation with someone seemingly called Clint, rambling about who knows what.
You pick at the overpriced serve of nachos Yelena bought outside and prepare to let yourself zone out for the next few hours. You had promised Yelena you’d come with her, but you hadn’t promised to pay attention. Instead, your thoughts wander until the noise around you barely registers in your mind.
You’re lost in thought about your upcoming assignment for your Gothic literature class when sudden cheers yank you back into the present. There on the court, the two teams emerge from opposite sides, each player practically buzzing with anticipation and the energy of the crowd.
“There’s my sister!” Yelena yells in your ear, pointing towards one of the players in purple jerseys. You follow her finger and feel your stomach plummet. Of course. How did you not realise?
The mysterious Nat that Yelena always talked about, her sister with the basketball scholarship, the overconfident jock with alleged commitment issues… Natasha Romanoff.
Your heart rate kicks up a notch as you stare in shock, taking in her sharp profile, fiery hair twisted into two tight braids, the defined muscles of her biceps exposed by the jersey. Her green eyes glimmer with a fervour that makes your breath catch. What if she looked at you like that?
Yelena seems oblivious to your plight, cupping her hands around her mouth as she adds to the cheers. The players take their positions on the court, the two centres coming to the mid-court line. NYU’s centre - Carol Danvers, according to the commentator - sizes up her opponent, staring them down as the teams prepare for the game to begin.
A hush falls over the stadium as the referee steps forward. Time stops as the ball is tossed into the air. Carol’s hand connects with the ball and suddenly the court is plunged into action.
The movement of the players on the court is like a coordinated dance. Each one seems to know exactly where to move, exactly what actions to take in any given second. It’s almost mesmerising to watch as the ball flows through the court, the Violets in possession. One of the Violets throws the ball into the three point arc and Natasha catches it, her movements smooth and assured as she pivots and shoots. Yelena jumps up beside you as cheers erupt and the ball falls through the hoop.
2-0.
The players reset, the ball is handed to the Terriers and after the referee’s whistle pierces the air, the game resumes. Contrary to what you expected, you’re paying rapt attention to every second, but secretly your gaze keeps drifting from the ball.
Natasha’s form is magnetic, captivating as she manoeuvres around the court. She’s confident as she weaves between players, intercepting the ball as it travels towards an opponent and not missing a beat as she begins to dribble it down the court. Your eyes keep honing in on her hands, remembering how strong they had felt wrapped around your waist. She passes the ball to a teammate and they take a shot. The ball swishes through the net as cheers erupt again.
The game continues on and you’re so caught up in the flow of the game - or, rather, Natasha’s movements - that the half-time horn startles you. Your eyes follow Natasha as the teams disperse to their respective benches. Sweat glistens on her skin as she eagerly drinks from her water bottle, her throat bobbing as she swallows. Her hand flexes as she wipes her mouth and then she pauses, catching your eye. You freeze. Natasha simply smirks at you and winks before turning to talk to a teammate.
You feel like you might spontaneously combust. In a panicked attempt to avert your gaze, you look up at the scoreboard on the far wall. It’s close, 45-48, the Terriers only just in the lead. It could still be anyone’s game.
When the game resumes, the players seem to be even more fired up than before, a new wave of energy brought by the break and the close score. Natasha is no exception, weaving through defenders and easily blocking a shot. She doesn’t let up, nor do any of her teammates. The atmosphere is tense as the Terriers keep up with the Violets’ score, not letting them get ahead.
And then there’s only a minute left. And the score is tied.
The court is almost electrified, each player pushing themselves beyond their limits to try and settle the game in their favour. As the final few seconds roll around, Natasha takes possession of the ball, runs, dribbles and takes aim.
77-75.
The endgame horn is almost entirely drowned out by the wild screams of the crowd as the ball falls through the hoop. Natasha is swarmed by her teammates as they celebrate their victory, all wide smiles and sweat-soaked skin.
The crowd has started to disperse when Yelena turns to you, “Come on, let’s go say hi.”
You swear your pulse stutters. “W-What?”
Yelena’s smirk is downright terrifying and you pray she didn’t notice you practically ogling her sister all game. “What, you scared or something? She won’t bite - unless you ask her to. Come on, I’ve got a sister to congratulate.”
Yelena tugs you up out of your seat and leads you down onto the court. Your heart rate picks up with each step closer to Natasha, who’s standing talking to the man Yelena was speaking with earlier - Clint. She notices the two of you and turns with a wide grin, eagerly accepting Yelena’s embrace.
“Well done,” says Yelena, clapping her sister on the back. “That wasn’t completely terrible.”
Natasha rolls her eyes as Yelena steps back, playfully crossing her arms. “I suppose you missed the last minute where I single-handedly saved the day?”
Yelena just shakes her head and without thinking you open your mouth. “I thought it was really impressive!”
Fuck. Suddenly Natasha’s eyes are on you, muscular arms still crossed as the corners of her mouth twitch in what you think might be amusement. “Is that so? Thank you, Y/N. I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight - it’s a nice surprise.”
“O-Oh. Well, Kate cancelled on Yelena and so she convinced me to come along - not that I didn’t enjoy it, it’s just that I’ve never watched basketball before or had any interest in it so it wasn’t my first choice of activity.”
You think that if your heart goes any faster, you might end up in the emergency department. However, Natasha doesn’t seem offended, simply amused. You’re not sure whether that’s any better.
“Well, maybe I might see you at some more of my games?” Natasha asks, her voice seemingly genuine, perhaps even hopeful. What the fuck is going on?
“Y-Yeah. Maybe.”
Thankfully, Yelena’s tug on your arm saves you from any further embarrassment. “Y/N, we have to go now if we’re going to catch the next subway. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to spend ten minutes waiting surrounded by drunk idiots.”
You nod, finally dragging your eyes away from Natasha to meet Yelena’s eyes. At that, Yelena embraces her sister once more, murmuring something that sounds like Russian, before turning to leave. You go to follow her but a hand on your upper arm stops you.
“I suppose I might see you around, Детка,” Natasha grins as you turn to face her, your brain faltering as her eyes met yours.
“Y-Yeah. See you around. And thank you for the mug.”
“No problem.”
She lets go of your arm with a squeeze before walking back towards Clint. It feels like your arm is burning, like her touch left a permanent brand on your skin. You will your heart rate to slow and desperately pray that Natasha hadn’t noticed the blush creeping up your neck.
“Y/N! Let’s go!”
Yelena startles you out of your trance and you jog to catch up with her. As you walk out of the stadium, a single question comes to mind.
“Hey Yelena, that word that she called me, what does it mean? Dit-kah, or something?”
“Детка?”
You nod. Yelena’s only response is a laugh.