alpalpym

[alpalpym]

Learning you by heart (6/?)

A/N: I hope you have a lovely week! <3

Chapter 6: Make yourself at home (1)

You could not deny it, you wanted to see Natasha. You liked her, you genuinely liked her, so much so that you no longer felt the need to adhere to any implicit social rules about new acquaintances. The kiss that you had shared with her two days prior was confirmation enough for you and boosted your confidence immensely. She enjoyed your company just the same, lowering the threshold of asking her to spend her free time with you. There was something specific you had in mind, a step that you were rather inclined and excited to take. You wanted to spend time with her in a place where you could fully relax, in a place with no additional pairs of eyes. You wanted privacy and intimacy. Neither of you had yet seen each other’s apartments, which gave you the wonderful opportunity to invite Natasha over for a casual evening in your living room. You had found a person that made your skin prickle with joy and excitement, it was only natural for you to crave her presence and her company when you were home alone dreaming about what it might have been like with her by your side instead. You had returned home from rehearsals just a few dozen minutes ago when you made your decision, picking up your phone to dial Natasha’s number.

“Hey, Nat. I was wondering if you’d like to come over…” You frowned to yourself, holding your phone in your hand, thumb hovering above the call button. “Is that weird? Does it sound sexual?” You didn’t know how to word it in a way that didn’t sound like you had been kissed once and now wanted more. “Hi, my roommate’s gone for the night- No. That's even worse.” You sighed in frustration, dialing the number without further fuss about words. You were only going to get yourself worked up about something that didn’t even need to be complicated. You brought the phone to your ear, fiddling with your hair as you listened to it ring.

“Hi!

“Hey.” She sounded like she was smiling, you hoped she was smiling.

“Are you doing anything today?” You asked in a hopeful tone, looking out the window as you waited for her answer.

“No, I just came home.”

“Perfect. Would you wanna come over? We could just hang out and maybe watch a movie or something.” You bit your bottom lip out of nerves, feeling a tiny seed of doubt in the pit of your stomach. Maybe it really had just been the mistletoe.

“God, I’d love to. I could use a little break from work stuff.” You grinned like a madman from pure excitement “Text me your address and I’ll be there in an hour or so.”

“Okay! I’ll see you then.” You could barely contain your excitement, your cheeks hurting from smiling.

“See you.” You had called her before on a few occasions, but you would never get over the thrill you got from hearing her voice right by your ear. It was always so smooth and soft. It made you want to close your eyes so you could enjoy every last drop of it.

You walked into the living room, or let’s be honest, you skipped into the living room, plopping down onto the couch to stare at your ceiling after you had messaged her your address. You did have things to do that some might have considered more important, but you were unable to even think about what your roommate had told you to do that morning when your mind was so full of Natasha. You clutched your phone to your chest, swinging your feet that hung over the armrest of the couch as you replayed the kiss from two days ago in your head. It had been so magical. It had felt so thrilling and wonderful and downright dizzying. You could almost feel the way her soft lips had pressed against yours, the way they had moved so gently at first, so carefully as if unsure of what you might have been prepared for. And then the kiss had slowly become deeper, firmer. You recalled the way her tongue had caressed your top lip, your body warming up at the mere thought. You closed your eyes, imagining how exciting it would be to get to kiss her again, to feel more of her, to spend a night with her, to curl up in her embrace and fall asleep there to the sound of a movie playing in the background. Your abdomen bubbled with pleasant warmth, your hands reaching for a pillow to hug as you allowed the comforting image to sink in. You could not wait for Natasha to come over, and somehow time was for once on your side because before you even knew it, the doorbell rang.

You blinked your eyes open in confusion, refusing to believe that you had just spent a significant amount of time daydreaming instead of doing any of the house chores your roommate had asked you to do. You got up from the couch, glaring at the two large boxes that sat by the entrance to the living room on your way to the door. You would simply have to take your roommate’s scolding as a punishment for your laziness and move on with your life. You reached the door, your hand flying to the knob to yank it open, a blissful thrill going through you.

“Hi.” She looked and sounded delighted, her signature reserved smile threatening to escape her control. Natasha was truly over the moon about spending an entire evening with you, or rather half a day with you because it was only afternoon, and she was not going to leave unless you shoved her out the door yourself.

“Hi.” You grinned widely, immediately welcoming her into a hug, your face pressing into the lush, dark brown fur lapels of her coat. She smelled heavenly, your eyes sliding shut on their own as her hand stroked your back briefly. You pulled away before you managed to make anything awkward. “Did you find it here alright?”

“Yeah, no problem.” She smiled a little wider, looking around the brownstone as she hung her shoulder purse on the coat rack that stood at the entrance of the house. It was dark wood and vintage, a piece your roommate had discovered from the very back of a furniture section at a thrift store. You took her coat as an act of hospitality and hung it up on a hanger to prevent wrinkles. “Thank you”, she hummed softly, toeing off her snowy shoes and leaving them by the door to avoid causing a slipping hazard on your floors. “I like your place. It’s truly beautiful. I was already looking at the houses outside when I came here. Such a gorgeous neighborhood.”

“Oh, yes. I love it here.” You felt like you couldn’t stop smiling.

“How long have you lived here?” You couldn’t help but to pay attention to her appearance as she ran her hand through her hair, ruffling her curls as if to make sure that the wind hadn’t put them out of place, your gaze flitting briefly down to her simple outfit of flared suit pants and a soft-looking white sweater. You kind of wanted to feel if it was as soft as it looked.

“Hmm, maybe four years now, I’d say.” You could feel her gaze slide down your body to take in what was a display of your slightly elevated lounge apparel. You had a relatively stylish knit sweater on, paired with comfortable, yet sleek pants to ensure that you came off as put-together but remained comfortable in your own home.

“If I lived here, I’d never move.” She let out a soft chuckle, her attention shifting to her purse. She pulled out a flat box, offering it to you. It had a red exterior, the cardboard decorated by golden baubles engraved into the material. You recognized the brand, a small frown of disbelief finding your face.

“Oh, you didn’t have to get me anything.” You received the package anyway, admiring its simplistic beauty.

“I wanted to. It’s proper manners.” She gave you a small smirk. “They were far too adorable. I couldn’t resist it.” Her comment made you smile even wider as you opened the lid to take a look inside. It was a Christmas luxury chocolate assortment of fifteen pieces that had clearly each been carefully crafted. Your attention was immediately drawn to a small black and brown penguin with yellow feet. You smiled at the sight. .

“The penguins have yellow feet”, you hummed in amusement, bringing a grin to Natasha’s face.

“They do.”

“I’m gonna have a penguin praline”, you informed her, picking out the adorable penguin as you eyed the flavors listed on the inside of the lid. “Have you had these before?” You offered the box to Natasha as she nodded her head.

“Yeah, my favorite is maple pecan.” She selected her chosen chocolate from the assortment, the pecan half on top signaling her what was on the inside. She brought the candy to her lips, your eyes dipping down to said part of her face, forcefully tearing your gaze off her to avoid exposing what was going on in your mind.

“I’ll try that next then. Anyways, come in, make yourself at home. If you need anything, just ask. We can listen to music –the stereo is right there–or put a movie on, and if you want any snacks or something to drink I’ve got it all.” You walked into the living room, setting the chocolate box down on the coffee table, gesturing for Natasha to join you.

“Thank you.” She took another look at the interior of the house as she slowly followed in your footsteps, her eyes locking on the cardboard boxes you had left lying around. She frowned at the bit of red that peeked from the box that was stacked the highest, her head turning to you for an explanation. “I thought you weren’t a Christmas person.” You let out a little groan of frustration for having once again forgotten about the boxes and your roommate’s request.

“I’m not. Sorry about the mess. God, she's gonna kill me.” Natasha raised her brows in search for an explanation, eliciting a small chuckle from you. “My roommate. She asked me to decorate the house while she’s at work because she’s going out with her friends for the evening. She’s had to put it off for ages because she’s been so busy, and now it’s almost Christmas and there are still no decorations.”

“I’ll help you.” Your eyes widened. “It’ll be fun.”

“No, no, you don’t have to. It’s my mess.” You sat down on the couch, shaking your head in protest.

“I actually really want to. I have no decorations at home to hang up.” You glanced at Natasha who was still standing by the boxes. “I’m sure your roommate will appreciate it.” You looked at Natasha and her smile for a moment longer before caving.

“Alright.” You got up and walked over to her and the boxes, her smile widening into a grin as both your hands reached for the flaps of the cardboard boxes to open them up.

“There are only a few items that have designated places, I’ll take care of those, but the rest are up for grabs.” You lifted up one of the three boxes, prompting Natasha to do the same so you could bring them into the living room where you would have tabletop space to spread out the decorations before finding them appropriate places in the house.

“Got it. Where did you say the stereo was?” She had a small, mischievous smirk on her lips.

“Right below the TV.” You watched her set down the final box before moving to the TV stand. “Just plug your phone in and you can play whatever you want.”

“Thank you, darling.” Your attention shifted immediately to the Christmas ornaments to hide how flustered you got from the endearment, your cheeks flashing with warmth. It didn’t take Natasha long to find the stereos, the familiar tune of Last Christmas billowing into the living room. You rolled your eyes, turning to her with a deadpan look on your face.

“Really?”

“I can’t decorate without some jolly tunes”, she said in a teasing tone that immediately brought a smile to your face.

“Fine, just this once.” You moved to the decorations, starting to pick them apart so you could find appropriate spots for them in the living room. You were quite frankly over the specific Christmas song that all the stores in Manhattan evidently couldn’t get enough of, but you sucked it up because it made her happy. You pulled out tangled up Christmas lights, focusing on the task at hand so that you could get it out of the way as quickly as possible and before your roommate returned home from work.

Your focus was strayed by a gentle humming sound, your head turning toward Natasha who was knelt on the floor beside one of the boxes, sorting through a collection of porcelain angels. You tried your best to be discreet so that you wouldn’t disturb her quiet singing. It was very tame and gentle, absentminded really. She was mouthing some of the words here and there, alternating between humming and singing. It made you want to sing. You couldn’t deny it. You knew the melody and the lyrics from how many times in your life you had been forced to listen to the song, and as someone who sang for a living, you found it difficult not to join her. Out of principal you denied yourself the joy of singing along to sappy Christmas songs, but as Natasha’s singing got a bit more prominent after the song changed to yet another classic Christmas song, you almost felt left out when you glanced at your companion who was now singing all the lyrics, her body swaying along to the music as if she was warming herself up for dancing. Natasha brought one of the porcelain angels to her mouth as if it was a microphone.

“I won’t even ask for snow”, you hummed almost shyly, joining her singing as you finally managed to straighten out the lights enough to be able to weave them through the railing of the staircase that led to the second floor. Natasha upped the volume of the music subtly, her singing matching the change. Her singing voice was airy, softer than her low speaking voice. Your participation made Natasha smile. Her plan was working. “ I’m just gonna keep on waiting underneath the mistletoe”, you sang slightly louder, falling victim to the catchy tune. Natasha gave you a small, knowing look that made you huff in mild annoyance. “What? I like to sing.” You both knew that, but it was rather a matter of what you were singing. She smirked.

“Come on, baby, show me how it’s done.” You moved a bit apprehensively away from the staircase, taking the makeshift microphone that she was offering to you. The tall angel and her white dress made you chuckle as you brought the halo end of the statue to your mouth.

“I won’t even stay awake to hear those magic reindeer click.” It felt good to sing. Despite the fact that you sang all the time, every day, this singing was different. It was casual and comfortable. It was a way to let go instead of a way to perform and present yourself to a crowd. Natasha looked enamored, her face reflecting the joy your beautiful voice brought to her. She gave you a small smile that was somehow brighter than any other smile she could have given you. She joined your singing, grabbing another angel statue for herself to use as a microphone. You walked closer to the middle of the living room that quickly became a makeshift stage for you, your singing getting louder to match the playback from the stereo. Your body moved gently to the rhythm of the song to copy Natasha and her playful demeanor.

“Cause I just want you here tonight, holding on to me so tight.” You felt your cheeks heat at the lyrics you sang, unwilling to admit that there was a hint of truth to them. There was a reason you were hoping to watch movies on the couch all night long. You wanted closer to her on a physical level. You wanted to know what it would be like, and if it would match the fantasies in your head. “What more can I do? Baby, all I want for Christmas is you.” You sang and you danced together, forgetting the task of decorating the house for a brief moment, too wrapped up in your fun to even care. Natasha grabbed your free hand, lifting it up in a prompt for you to do a little spin for her. You let out a small chuckle, deciding to do the same for her so she could get a bit of spinning in herself.

A few songs later you had managed to get back into the groove of decorating, upping your speed significantly once you realized that your roommate would already be on her way home. You packed up all the regular decor from your windowsills and shelves to make space for the Christmas ornaments, really loading up on all the beautiful elves, angels, and animals your roommate had collected over the years. You hung up a few garlands here and there, adding lights into the kitchen and a large star light on one of the windows facing the streets. You weren’t far from sweating by the time you had emptied the cardboard boxes all over the house and thus completed the task.

“What about upstairs?” Natasha asked in mild puzzlement as she filled the boxes with the previously used room decorations.

“We don’t really decorate upstairs cause we only have our bedrooms and a bathroom there. My roommate will take care of hers. I’m not gonna bother with mine.”

“Why, of course you are.” Natasha gave you a chastising look. “We can’t have come this far just for you to flake out on me now.” You rolled your eyes.

“I don’t need a bunch of elf decorations watching me sleep. Or do anything else.” Natasha gave you a look that made the corners of your mouth curve up. The mirth in her eyes made you give up. You wanted to please her.

“Fine, follow me.” You hoisted one of the full boxes from the floor and took it with you, Natasha following suit with a victorious grin on her lips. You went up the stairs and turned to the right toward the back of the house, setting your box down in the hallway before opening the door to your room. It felt awfully intimate to watch her walk inside your bedroom, your safe space and comfort, but it didn’t feel intrusive because she didn’t look like she was there to snoop around but simply observe a more authentic side of you. She took in the art hung up on your walls, all the small trinkets and decorations that you might have put up over the years of making the space your own. She looked at the curtains, the bedding, the rug on the floor, noting how each of the pieces somehow reflected your personality and style.

“I really like your room. It’s so cozy.” She looked around the room with a small smile on her lips, her gaze focusing on the bed that was pushed perfectly in front of the window to allow you a look at the snowy courtyard. “I love the layout.”

“Thank you.” You smiled to yourself, pleased by her compliments. “I’m a big fan of it myself”, you chuckled. “I don’t want anything crazy done here. Just a few tinsel garlands and candles should do it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” And just like that your smile was paired with a gentle heat on your cheeks that spread down your neck.

You finished decorating just in time for your roommate’s return, the door thudding loudly enough to be heard over the Christmas music that was still playing downstairs. You headed down to greet her with the intention of introducing Natasha to her in the process just so she would have a sense of who you were bringing into your shared home. It was somewhat of an unspoken rule between you. Natasha descended the stairs behind you, hearing some rustling from the kitchen.

“Hi.” You announced your presence to your roommate who appeared at the entrance of the house shortly after in a rush induced frenzy, taking a look at the decorated living room.

“Oh, you did decorate! Thank you so much. I wish I would’ve had the time. It looks amazing.” Her head turned from the interior decor to you and Natasha, slowly registering the presence of an unfamiliar face among you. Natasha froze.

“Yeah, we had a little fun with that”, you chuckled as you walked to the TV set to lower down the music to hear each other better before returning to Natasha’s side who stood at the foot of the stairs. Your roommate observed her for a moment, her round eyes taking in Natasha’s exterior, a calculating frown forming a tiny crease between her brows.

“This is my roommate Wanda”, you said brightly, gesturing into her direction. “Beware of her, she’s a little psychic”, you added teasingly, earning a roll of eyes and a chuckle from Wanda, but Natasha wasn’t laughing.

“I’m not.” Would Wanda know? Would she be able to tell? They looked at one another, Natasha offering a tentative smile to Wanda as if testing if her presence was welcome. Wanda didn’t indicate otherwise.

“Hi, I’m Natasha.” Natasha extended her hand forward to shake Wanda’s. The latter gave her hand a firm squeeze paired with a polite smile. Natasha couldn’t tell if she was imagining the odd tension between them or if there really was some form of acknowledgement between them. Was Wanda there to take her back? No, no, Natasha wasn’t ready. She couldn’t leave. She didn’t want to. For a moment, she felt a sudden panic rise to her chest, but when Wanda didn’t say anything, her intense green eyes laying off Natasha, she managed to gain control over the feeling.

“It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’d love to stay and chat but I’m already running late, so you’ll have to excuse me.” She didn’t have an accent, the realization sinking into Natasha with full force, yet she didn’t know what that specific observation entailed.

“Oh, it’s alright. I hope you have fun with your friends”, Natasha assured, moving to stand closer to you as if needing to make sure that she could cling to you, if necessary, but nothing happened.

“Thank you.” Wanda smiled brightly, taking a look at herself in the entrance mirror, her long fingers decorated by a few tasteful rings brushing back her dark brown hair that reached just above her collarbones. It was styled into a relaxed blowout that framed her slim face, giving her an air of confidence typical for a New York corporate worker, something Natasha hadn’t expected from a baker, let alone Wanda. “There’s still some leftover eggnog in the fridge, if you want. Don’t let it expire; it was truly divine.”

“Got it.” You nodded your head, observing the way Wanda was wiping her lips dry before applying some more lip gloss. “Should we save you some or are you coming back at all?” Wanda gave you a sly look, a smile finding her glossed lips. She rubbed them together to spread the product evenly.

“Monica will be there. We’ll see if I get lucky tonight.” You and Wanda both smirked knowingly. Natasha observed the interaction, feeling a natural curiosity bubble within her as she moved into the living room to give you two more space.

“Text me the details then”, you hummed with an impish grin on your face, walking closer to Wanda and gently pushing her away from the mirror. “You look beautiful. Now go, you’re already late.” Wanda huffed in feigned annoyance before picking up her bag from the floor. She glanced past you to make sure Natasha couldn’t hear her, leaning a little closer.

“You sure about her?” You frowned at her conspiratorial tone.

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” Wanda’s eyes flicked between your own as if assessing you.

“I don’t know. I guess it’s just my psychic abilities kicking in. I’m sensing something.”

“Yeah, right”, you laughed quietly, shoving her gently toward the door. “Go. Have fun.”

“Fine, fine. I’m going”, Wanda whined playfully, stumbling out the door right after. “Bye!”

“Bye!” You made sure the door was shut to keep the cold out before returning into the living room to join Natasha.

“She’s gay?” Somehow that didn’t seem right to Natasha. It was rather unexpected. She was so used to seeing Wanda and Vision together.

“Straight from the island of Lesbos.” Your answer made her laugh. “She’s been crushing on her coworker for ages, but there’s always something in the way with those two. I better receive a text from her tomorrow saying that they locked eyes for at least thirty seconds.”

“Wow. What’s the previous record?” You both laughed.

“I think five or ten. Apparently, Monica’s an intimidating woman.” You came to her side but didn’t sit down just yet.

“I know the feeling”, Natasha hummed in amusement.

“Yeah, me too.” You looked at each other for a moment. “You up for some eggnog and a movie?”

“Absolutely.”

[alpalpym]

Silhouette

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

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Natasha’s eyes clung to you as you walked over to the dancefloor. You pretended not to notice. 

Wanda held your hand tight.

Wordlessly, her thumb brushed the inside of your wrist. You caught her raised eyebrow and nodded reassuringly. 

The room was too hot. Pepper and Tony’s wedding reception was the event of the year but your skin was crawling. 

Natasha sat on a chair at the edge of the dancefloor. Her dress was short and her legs were parted purposefully. She rested her elbow against the drinks table, her hand cupped her face. She watched you obviously. 

You couldn't stop thinking about her stare.

Natasha’s eyes had haunted you for years. 

Wanda’s hand slid casually around your waist, pulling you flush against her front. A surprised huff escaped you as she stole back your attention. Instinctively, you moved your hips along with hers. 

Wanda’s thumb brushed your cheek now and then she touched your bottom lip. 

Her touch was gentle and warm. Time stood still.

She leaned in to kiss you slowly. Her lips were soft, pressing into you just as her fingers began to graze the base of your neck.

Her hips kept brushing against your front as she swayed, keeping up the pretense of dancing

A heady wave of attraction flooded you. You hummed with pleasure and watched as Wanda smirked at the sound. 

She took a step back and began to twirl you teasingly under her arm. From the corner of the room, you heard Tony give an ironic wolf whistle.

A reflex kicked in at the noise. Your attention shifted back to Natasha immediately, concerned for her reaction. 

Rage burned back at you in her stare.

Her fingers tapped impatiently against her tight jaw. Her hair was braided and the style made her face look taut. Nerves and attraction bundled confusingly in the pit of your stomach.

You turned back, trying to stay focused on Wanda. Her smile was soothing as she took in your expression. You knew she could only read the nerves in your eyes. 

Wanda always brought the calm back to you. You wished that you could forget Natasha.

If it wasn’t Tony’s wedding, you wouldn’t be here. 

Wanda tugged lightly at the fabric covering your shoulder, exposing a sliver of bare skin. She pressed her lips to the spot and your cheeks flamed at the intimacy on display. 

You knew she was trying to distract you. 

Your eyes flitted back to Natasha, but she wasn’t in her seat anymore.

You searched through the crowd of people in the busy room. Wanda murmured your name against your neck as she stretched back up slowly. Her splayed fingers slipped down to squeeze your ass. 

You caught sight of a red-headed woman leaving at the back of the room. 

You were nauseatingly predictable.

‘I need the bathroom.’ You mumbled. Wanda gave you a small pout, before stepping back. 

‘Go.’ She encouraged, and your heart stung at the trust in her gaze. ‘I’ll save my next dance for you.’

You moved quickly through the room, weaving between clusters of strangers, friends and colleagues. 

Pepper stared at you meaningfully. Clearly understanding your intention, her disapproval was obvious. You should have cared, instead you basked in the confirmation that you were right about the red-headed woman’s identity,

You pushed through the swinging door at the back of the room. The hallway was empty. You noticed the half open fire door and headed towards it without hesitation. 

You were right. You knew Natasha too well.

The day had grown dark whilst you’d been celebrating the wedding.

Now, all you could see was the burning orange of Natasha’s cigarette stub before she crushed it with her foot. 

‘I thought you quit.’ You said unthinkingly. You sounded too concerned. You couldn’t help it. You hated yourself. You tried to remember the trust in Wanda’s eyes.

Natasha gripped your shoulder tightly as she moved you back through the fire door.

‘You know I don’t quit.’ She told you, in a voice tight with frustration.

Fear built a lump in your throat. Still, an electric feeling sparked through your veins. You’d missed her. That’s what Wanda could never know. After everything, you still missed Natasha. 

You wanted her too. 

Natasha studied your face for a moment in the hallway. Her hand shifted from your shoulder, gripping your wrist instead. 

She led you wordlessly through the nearest door. 

The room was clearly used to store the chairs for events. A few rickety ones were still littered across the ugly green carpet. 

Natasha pushed you back against the opaque-glass paneled door as soon as she’d shut it. 

Her forearm crushed against your collarbone and your breaths came shakier. 

You shouldn’t be here, you should have learned.

‘You’re a slut.’ Natasha growled, and her face moved closer to yours. 

You could smell the cigarettes on her breath. She was still smoking the Russian ones.

‘I’m sorry.’ You whispered, because it was all you knew how to say. 

‘Are you?’ Natasha asked, pressing your jaw between her finger and thumb. Her nail dug in against your skin. 

‘I am.’ You admitted. Your eyes locked with Natasha’s.

‘I missed you.’ You continued with sudden ferocity. ‘And, you don’t even care about me.’

You pushed back against Natasha, feeling feeble in your attempt. 

Still, Natasha took a step back. Her hands went into the air in faux surrender. 

Her stare was unreadable but you couldn’t stop searching it for answers. 

‘I missed you too.’ Natasha admitted quietly, her eyes flickering down to the carpet.

She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and the nervous gesture washed you with nostalgia.

You knew Natasha better than anyone. You knew how lonely she was. You knew she was more afraid than anyone saw. 

‘I love you.’ You reminded her on instinct. 

Now, it was you taking her wrist. You rested your fingers over her pulse point, reminding you that she was there. Real, breathing, alive. 

Nothing was ever certain with Natasha. 

.

She kissed you hurriedly, barely allowing for breath as her fingers curled reflexively around your neck. 

Her body pressed you tight against the door. Your arms wrapped around her.

You felt her teeth drag across your bottom lip before she changed her focus to your shoulder. 

You knew she was leaving a mark. You knew she didn’t care. 

You tried to remember Wanda. But, everything felt hazy except for Natasha. 

‘If you love me, then love me.’ Natasha murmured against your bruising skin.

You understood her direction. You slid to your knees unhesitatingly.

Natasha braced herself against the door and smirked down at you. 

You rolled the hem of her fitted dress up to her hips.

She wasn’t wearing underwear, but you’d guessed that before. 

You could tell she was wet. You could almost feel the heat radiating from between her legs.

Your own possessiveness kicked in.

You wanted Natasha to be yours. To stay yours. 

Natasha gripped the hair at the back of your head and tilted you forward impatiently.

You moved obediently, tongue flat as you tasted her. 

Natasha groaned above you and you watched the muscles in her legs tense. 

Your fingers danced familiarly against the back of her bare thighs.

You pressed your tongue against her clit, before beginning to lick gently. 

You found a rhythm, enjoying the vibrations that you were shooting through her legs. 

Natasha swore incoherently as your pace picked up. 

Her hand fell to your shoulder and she dug her nails in again. You understood her silent demand. 

You sank your fingers inside her until you were knuckle deep. Natasha was already tightening around you.

You sucked her clit as you moved your fingers back and forth.

Natasha choked on her breath and you felt the tight squeeze and release around your fingers. 

You kissed her clit much more lightly as it continued, silently celebrating this moment. 

You wondered if Natasha would ever understand how good you felt when you made her happy.

You clambered back to your feet, sucking your fingers clean. 

You smiled as you saw the haziness in Natasha’s eyes. 

As it cleared, you squeezed her breast lightly.

You pressed your knee between her thighs, reminding her of where you’d just been.

Natasha smirked and a nervous attraction bloomed inside you.

It took a moment for you to notice the new coldness in her eyes. 

She brushed your hand away from her breast, with revulsion in her eyes. 

You felt diseased under her regard. Your arm fell to your side like a dead weight.

‘I never said I wanted you back.’ Natasha corrected cooly. You could hear the lace of humour in her tone. Self hatred bubbled up inside you. Tears filled your eyes. 

.

‘You’re a slut.’ Natasha reminded you lowly. And the heel of her hand dug into the crack between your ribs.

Misery and fear overwhelmed you.

‘Run back to your girlfriend.’ Natasha instructed you with a sneering dismissal. 

When she shifted her weight from the door, you cracked it open and stepped back into the corridor. 

You tried to fix your hair as a numbness crept over your skull. Your ragged breaths were obvious and you tried to steady them.

The doors to the dance floor swung open and Wanda’s face appeared suddenly in your line of sight. 

Her relieved smile switched to one of concern as she took you in. 

You walked unsurely towards her open arms.

Wanda’s hug was tight. Her lips pressed against your hair. 

‘Has she been bothering you?’ Wanda murmured, her stance tightening with defensiveness.

‘I just want to forget it.’ You whispered, closing your eyes as if Natasha didn’t hide in your darkest thoughts.

Wanda held your hand tightly. Protectiveness radiated from her as she led you gently toward the fire door at the end of the hallway. 

‘Let’s get you home.’ She promised soothingly, like you deserved anything good in this world.

You didn’t speak, trying desperately to ignore the silhouette lingering behind the opaque-glass door.

[alpalpym]

[alpalpym]

Learning you by heart (4/?)

Hopefully you're all having a nice start to the week :) Here's another update!

4. Jingle my bells

You met up again a few days later at a mall after Natasha managed to convince you to join her on a hunt for Christmas sweaters: one ugly and one decent. Although it required little to no effort to get you to agree to see her again. You didn’t care one bit about what you were doing because you knew you could rely on your conversational abilities and general chemistry to entertain you through any activities you might have come across. You had an embarrassing amount of pep in your step as you crossed the street to the plaza of the mall where you could already see Natasha standing before the sliding doors of the building. You bit down on your lip to prevent yourself from smiling, but the corners of your mouth tugged up regardless of your efforts. When she didn’t hide her smile, you felt like you didn’t have to either, a toothy grin finding your face. She was wearing her brown wool coat and an off-white scarf that made her look gentle and welcoming.

“Hi.” She said it softly, intimately, just between you, her arms rising up to welcome you into a hug. The gesture made your heart jump, your body leaning automatically into her embrace. Somehow it was casual despite the fact that you were not all that well acquainted with each other yet. You liked it, you liked it a lot. So much so that you felt a pang of disappointment for having to pull away from her touch and the cloud of perfume that had enveloped you. She smelled sweet, but not overpoweringly so, the scent balanced out by woody and spicy undertones that begged you to take another deep whiff of her neck, but you had enough self restraint not to do so. Natasha pulled back, taking a long look at you, a happy smile finding her lips. “You look beautiful, dorogaya.” You frowned at the term she had referred to you with. “Russian”, she added as an explanation before you could even ask. It was as if she could see the question form on the tip of your tongue, prompting her to answer again. “Darling.”

“Oh.” You nodded your head in understanding, immediately averting your gaze to avoid showing her that you were in fact affected by her. You had come to a crude realization regarding your feelings the morning after your dinner when you could no longer blame the giddiness and excitement on alcohol.

“Shall we get going? The sweaters aren’t going to find themselves.” You chuckled quietly, following her guiding gesture toward the sliding doors. “Will you be getting one?”

“For what?” You entered the mall, immediately greeted by a show of lights and Christmas decorations, busy people rushing around in the search for presents, others lounging with family and friends, some waiting around for one reason or another.

“For my entertainment, of course.” She smirked your way, and somewhere deep down you felt that you could be persuaded.

“In your dreams.” You gave her an amused glance. “I’d never wear it.”

“We’ll see.” You allowed Natasha to set the course for her desired stores, simply intending to tag along on her quest for Christmas sweaters.

“Is that a threat?”

“Yes.” You laughed at the serious look on her face, nudging her as if to tell her off for such a thought, but in reality, you simply wanted to make contact with her. She chuckled quietly, pulling down her scarf to avoid getting overheated at the mall as you stepped inside the first store that seemed to have potential.

“What kind of look are you going for?” You were greeted by an assortment of seasonal clothing, bright reds and deep greens, sparkles on dark fabric for the New Years. Your hand automatically reached for the sleeve of a sweater to feel the material with your fingertips, Natasha’s brows drawing into an adorable frown as she eyed the selection.

“This is crap. What store is this?” You let out a hearty laugh, watching Natasha take a look at the few red sweaters on display.

“Some high-end brand.” You let go of the sweater that felt a bit itchy in your opinion.

“Figures”, she sighed in disappointment but skimmed through the rack of clothing anyway. “I want something ridiculous, but for that we’ll have to hit the thrift stores.”

“You might just be right.”

“I always am”, she hummed with a teasing smirk on her face that made you roll your eyes. You decided to look at the assortment of clothing regardless of how much you weren’t going to buy anything. However, the clothes were most definitely not interesting enough to keep your attention, your gaze straying to Natasha time and time again. Sometimes she caught you looking, offering you a smile that tried its best to not show you how amused she was. You went deeper into the store to see what else they had to offer, following in Natasha’s footsteps.

“These would be perfect for skating”, she mused almost to herself, but you could tell she was speaking to you as she lifted up a pair of leg warmers.

“As in ice skating?” You frowned in surprise. “People really do that?”

“I do”, she chuckled. “You should come with me sometime.”

“What?” You nearly quaked in shock, Natasha lifting her head from the row of green sweaters that would actually suit her color palette rather well.

“Come with me.” You watched a wide, expectant smile stretch onto her lips as she looked at you from over the shoulder-height rack.

“Where would we even…?”

“There’s plenty of places. Rockefeller, Central Park, Chelsea, Bryant Park.”

“I’ve never…” Somehow, she had rendered you rather speechless.

“Even better. Wouldn’t you wanna learn?” Perhaps not, but the fact that it was her asking made a huge difference.

“Color me intrigued”, you hummed with mild hesitation.

“I could teach you.” An image of her holding your hands for support flashed across your mind. Sold. You were sold immediately.

“Alright.” You grinned at her. “You know the opera schedule. I’m free anytime outside of work.”

“Perfect.” Natasha smiled softly to herself, her eyes on the clothes before her. “Are you gonna try anything on?” She gestured toward the fitting rooms, a few pieces of clothing hanging from her forearm.

“No. I don’t think this is exactly my style”, you chuckled, earning a nod from her.

“Come keep me company then.” She took a few steps toward the fitting rooms, effectively coaxing you to come along. She got inside one of the free stalls, shutting the curtain while you waited on the other side. You really wanted to ask her about your first encounter together. You wanted answers. You wanted to understand why you somehow seemed to share a connection from the first night you had spotted her in the audience.

“Had you seen the opera before?” The second those words had left your mouth you realized that you did not have the courage to actually confront her. You didn’t want to admit to the fact that you had seen her before in the crowd and knew that she had seen the opera previously. You couldn’t look her in the eye and explain how her miserable exterior had made you feel no matter how you had made eye contact with her on both nights. You couldn’t be sure that she had been feeling anything other than whatever the performance had made her feel. She had been looking at an act. You had gotten fixated on her. There was a difference.

“I have, but not this adaptation of it.” Her voice echoed slightly in the stall. Thankfully her response gave you an out.

“What did you think of it?”

“I like the modern twist. I like that it’s less misogynistic and actually gives the female characters a voice. Especially since they’re in such an important role.”

“I’m so glad we’ve fulfilled our goal. Reading the original script was truly a painful experience.” You let out a chuckle, Natasha echoing the sound.

“Yeah, it’s not the most exciting piece of literature”, she chuckled, the curtain of her fitting room flying open. “How’s this?” You eyed her for a moment, the green of the sweater bringing out the hue of jade in her eyes, her red hair looking redder than ever. The sweater was loose and looked comfortable, the front of it decorated by a beautiful knitting pattern. The shade of green was undeniably christmassy but other than that, she could have easily worn it all year round. She looked beautiful in it, but you were slowly starting to feel like it wasn’t because of what she was wearing, but because of just her as a whole. Just the fact that you were looking at her and she knew it brought a warmth to your lower abdomen. She had an expectant smile on her face.

“I like it. The color is really good.” Your eyes rose up to meet her gaze, your cheeks heating just the slightest bit.

“I’ve got one more option for you.” She smirked, pulling the curtain between you again. You tugged off your scarf and coat, settling for draping them over the bend of your elbow to escape the sudden warmth you felt. It was irrational to be feeling anything at all. You could hear her undress herself, your mind jumping in at the opportunity to bring up possible images of how that might have looked like. You backed away from her stall, leaning against the wall of the hallway to bring some distance between you and the ideas your lewd mind was providing.

“How about this?” Natasha appeared in your line of sight again, wearing a gray sweater with the silhouette of a reindeer and a few snowflakes on it in a dark shade of brown. It was cute, but it felt too shabby on her. The green sweater reflected her elegance significantly better.

“I like it, but not as much as the green one.” Natasha nodded immediately.

“Yeah, this is something an aunt would wear”, she hummed in agreement. “Although, I don’t know if the fit of the green one is any better.” And with that note you both left the store empty handed and set course for other, hopefully more interesting selections of sweaters.

You walked beside her in the hallway, listening to the Christmas music that was blasting through the mall, your eyes dipping down to her hand that gently swung back and forth beside her. So what, if you wanted to hold a pretty woman’s hand? Who could seriously blame you? But despite your very elaborate daydreams about reaching for her warm hand, you averted your gaze and discarded the idea entirely. You hadn’t realized how much you had been longing for human contact. You hadn’t realized how much you missed being in a relationship, how much you craved to be intimate with someone. You truly missed feeling like you were everything to that one person who cared the most in the whole wide world, and for some reason, Natasha and her presence was heavy-handedly reminding you of what you were lacking. A part of you didn’t want to feel that way. You knew how emotionally draining a crush could get, never mind a relationship. You were busy with your career, the Christmas shows, practice, and your home life. You weren’t sure if you could fit another variable into the equation. After catching up with your train of thought you realized that you were being ridiculous. There was no potential for anything between you and Natasha. It was simply wishful thinking.

“Stop”, Natasha gasped in disbelief, her hand coming up to your bicep to gain your attention. “Santa’s here.”

“You know him?” You asked sarcastically, amused by her tone that somehow seemed to suggest that it wasn’t her first time seeing him. Natasha gave you a look and laughed.

“We’ve got to get a picture with him.” Your jaw fell open.

“No.”

“Don’t be such a Grinch”, she chuckled. “It’ll be fun.”

“It’s for children.”

“You can be a child at heart”, she reasoned, already pulling you toward the set that was nauseatingly christmassy. There was a long line of kids from toddler to teenager, the workers dressed as elves navigating the chaos that surrounded Santa Claus. “Don’t you wanna sit on his lap?” You scrunched your nose but couldn’t help the reluctant smile that found your face. She was such a breath of fresh air.

“I’d rather sit on Mrs. Claus’ lap.”

“That can be arranged.” She gave you a look, her smirk only widening.

“Are you serious right now?” You asked in utter shock as she towed you to the end of the queue.

“Do I look like I’m not?” You let out a little huff at her remark.

“They’re gonna think it’s weird. This is weird. I’m a grown woman. I’m not sitting on Santa’s lap.”

“Who cares what they think?” You looked at her for a moment, her green eyes as serious as ever, a hint of hope somewhere behind that look. That’s when you registered the warm touch of her hand on your own. She hadn’t let go of you after pulling you into the queue. She came off so genuine and authentic that you felt yourself be persuaded, the warmth seeping from her hand into your own and spreading all over your body. “We’ll come up with a cover story. You’re an actress.”

“A singer. And what would you tell Santa to not make it sound weird?” You gave her a challenging look, remaining fully unmoving to maintain the contact of your hands.

“We have a sick daughter at home, and we wanted to cheer her up.” She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.

“Oh, you’re evil.” You couldn’t help but to grin, the gesture morphing into a quiet chuckle. “I can’t believe this. Okay, fine. I’ll do it.” The toothy grin on Natasha’s face was every bit worth the sacrifice of your dignity. You waited in line with the screaming children, observing the process from afar so you would know how it all worked. There was a pile of props on the side that you could use to elevate the picture. There were elf hats, goofy slippers, teddy bears, and toys that children could wear or hold when posing with Santa. It was a rather heartwarming sight if you were being honest. Many of the children were bursting at the seams to tell Santa what they wished for Christmas. They had messy appearances, red cheeks, eyes glinting with mischief and glee, and for a moment you felt like you knew what it was like to be surrounded by pure joy. Natasha nudged you gently forward in the queue, smiling to herself. She knew that look on your face, she knew how deeply you felt at that moment. It was how you had always felt around the holidays.

“Next!” You came out of your silent reverie at the sound of the elf��s shout, moving forward toward Santa who was clearly waiting for one of the children to follow you from the queue. Natasha could barely hold her laughter at his puzzled expression.

“Ho, ho, ho. What do we have here?” You had to give credit to the man in the Santa costume for not breaking his character.

“Hello, Santa”, you began, feeling chills go down your spine from how hard you had to hold back your laughter. You couldn’t even glance at Natasha, knowing it would break your act in an instant. “You see…”

“We have a sick daughter at home”, Natasha filled in for you quickly. Santa nodded his head in immediate understanding.

“Yeah, and we thought we would cheer up our little Amelia by showing her that we met Santa and gave him her wish list”, you continued, biting back your smile that threatened to overtake your entire face.

“What a lovely idea!” He exclaimed in his theatrical voice, beckoning you to come closer. “How old is little Amelia?”

“Six.”

“Eight.” You answered at the same time. You and Natasha looked at each other in mild shock.

“Six and eight months, so almost seven”, Natasha corrected. You nearly brought your hand over your eyes but refrained from doing so to prevent breaking your cover story.

“They grow up so fast”, you mused solemnly, Natasha nodding in agreement.

“That’s an exciting age. You must be busy beyond measure”, Santa said.

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe, Mr. Claus.” Natasha matched his performance in a way that made you think of Golden Age Hollywood stars, the slight lilt in her tone begging to be listened to for hours on end. He pointed at the box of props on the side.

“Choose whatever little trinkets you’d like, and we’ll get that picture for your girl.” He had a very jolly way of talking, his gleeful tone bringing a smile to your face. You and Natasha rushed to the large box much like the children who had done so before you when you had been waiting in the line.

“What are you getting, detka (baby)?” It simply slipped from Natasha. Refraining herself was starting to get to her the closer you got with each other, but thankfully the endearment went by you since it was in Russian.

“I want the elf hat. It looks so soft”, you hummed, digging for a hat that had a fluffy, white fur lining.

“I’m putting the big red bow in my hair.” You spotted the item right beneath your elf hat and handed it to Natasha, who thanked you for your help before you returned to the large chair.

“I’m afraid my lap is equipped only for the little ones”, Santa chuckled quietly as he moved a bit to the side to make more room for you two. “And occasionally for Mrs. Claus.” The laugh he let out was so fatherly that you couldn’t help but to laugh yourself. Natasha took a seat beside him, a bright grin on her lips.

“We wouldn’t wanna make her jealous, now would we?” Natasha snickered, gesturing for you to come closer.

“I’m not sure I’ll fit on that rickety chair of yours”, you commented a bit hesitantly, giving the pair of them a small frown.

“Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart.” You felt a visceral reaction to the endearment, your abdomen bubbling with warmth. “My lap is open for everyone, especially you.” Before you had the chance to overthink her words and ponder their meaning, you remembered that you were wives in Santa’s eyes, Natasha’s hand pulling you onto her lap. You rested your weight down on her firm thighs, a very specific warmth spreading across your backside and down your legs.

“Are we ready?” The helper elf asked as she moved behind the camera to take your picture. You felt overheated under your elf hat, but smiled for the camera anyway, your mind effectively stuck on the way Natasha’s arms were wrapped around your waist to hold you in place.

“Yes, ma’am”, Santa chuckled, smiling his signature smile at the camera as the elf took a proper flash picture of you. “Now, what does little Amelia want for Christmas?”

“A pony, of course”, Natasha responded. The moment felt oddly surreal, and you soon realized that you did not want to get off Natasha’s lap so that you could enjoy the moment to its fullest, but they needed to keep the queue moving which forced you to move to the next step of the process where you would get your picture printed. You stood up, feeling Natasha’s arms loosen around you, her hands stroking unintentionally over your hips. You thanked Santa and left the set, sharing amused, secretive glances as you headed for the small booth in charge of the pictures.

“Now this one is going up on my wall”, Natasha chuckled as she looked at the screen that displayed your picture. You burst into laughter, your hand slapping her arm gently as if you couldn’t quite control the hilarity you felt.

“I look like I came to meet you instead”. You let out a long cackle, covering your face with your hand to hide from the embarrassment you felt, but it was by no means a malignant feeling. In the picture, you were sitting on Natasha’s lap with a comical smile on your face, one that reminded you of the gleeful and excited grins that the children wore on their faces. Only yours was not caused by Santa Claus. It had nothing to do with the fat man in a red suit and everything to do with the redhead hugging your waist. You could feel yourself blush just looking at the picture.

“I love it”, Natasha giggled, handing a twenty-dollar bill to the worker behind the counter to receive the image. “Two please.”

“Oh, I can pay for my own”, you butted in but received a gentle hush from Natasha.

“I made you come”, she hummed, finishing the interaction with the employee by receiving the pictures and a receipt. “Thank you.” She gave him a pleasant smile that you copied before you moved away to give room to the next customer. She handed you your own copy, your smile only widening as you looked down at the picture. Natasha looked so beautiful in it. She looked gorgeous with her toothy smile, her beautiful hair donning the comically large bow, and of course, you could not ignore the fact that she was holding you, her arms around your waist, your backside pressed up against her lap. Your stomach erupted with butterflies when you recalled the feeling, taking a good look at the floor tiles beneath your feet to escape the warmth that plagued your body. Natasha took another look at the photo, laughing quietly, the melodic sound caressing your ear.

“I think an elf died somewhere in the North Pole for the lie we just told”, you chuckled softly, trying to hide how flustered you were, fueling Natasha’s laughter.

“It wasn’t the worst I’ve told”, she huffed in amusement, tucking the picture into her purse so you could focus back on your hunt for sweaters.

You visited a few more designer stores, tried on some items that you spotted on the racks until Natasha eventually decided to go back for the green sweater that turned out to be the best option available, yet your quest remained unfinished. There were no hilariously unserious Christmas sweaters in sight at the admittedly high-end mall that attracted mostly a middle-aged crowd of housewives. Which was precisely why you left the Financial District and headed up north into East Village for some hidden gems in the heaps of donated clothing; the cheaper and trashier, the better. The first store you hit was billowing with clothes, racks upon racks of sweaters, hoodies, and crewnecks. The Christmas themed clothing stuck out to you pretty easily, all the bright red and green pieces demanding for your attention. The first store was slightly too proper for what you were looking for, the prices reaching double digits with ease in almost all items, which told you that the store simply did not have what you were looking for, so you changed spots.

“Now this is it”, you said with a wild grin on your face as you pulled a knitted sweater from a nearby rack shortly after entering another store. Natasha turned around to look at what you had discovered, her eyes landing on a sweater with a whole reindeer stuffed toy hanging from the front of it, baubles and lights made out of fabric decorating the ghastly sight. The grin on Natasha’s face was joyous, mischievous almost.

“Jackpot”, she hummed, diving straight into the rack you had pulled the sweater from, going through it with evident enthusiasm. “Ah, check this out.” Her voice was practically oozing excitement as she pulled out a sweater for you to see. It was bright red, disgustingly so, if you were being honest, and decorated with large snowflakes. So far, so good. But when Natasha flipped the article of clothing around to show you the front, your face acquired a look of amusement.

“Santa’s favorite ho”, you read to yourself, attempting to hold back your chuckle because it really wasn’t that funny, but it was rather the entire setting that made you want to laugh. You started looking through the rack as well, discovering dumber and dumber sweater designs that made you laugh unreasonably hard. Most of them were either visually very unpleasant or carried a rather lewd and sexual message.

“Why are there so many penises?” Your face morphed into a deep grimace as you showed Natasha yet another sweater with phallic imagery dressed in Christmas decorations. She took a look at your miserable expression, bursting into laughter.

“Put it away, darling. We don’t need to see that.” You both snickered in understanding, Natasha in turn, pulling out another gem she had discovered. “Look, it’s the bipolar express.” She held up a navy-blue sweater with the Polar Express decorating the front accompanied by the text she had just voiced out loud.

You both burst into laughter at how creative people could be, each sweater only fueling your excitement and enthusiasm for finding the funniest sweaters. You found ones decorated with real jingle bells and obnoxious frills, more lewd phallic images, and lots of references to inappropriate drinking. The selection was truly endless, featuring a lot of self-made pieces that were all too close to falling apart altogether which somehow made them work even better. You hadn’t laughed so hard in a long time, tears threatening to pool in your eyes from the effort behind your uncontrollable laughter. The entire aisle was filled by you and Natasha’s snickering, your abdominal muscles begging for mercy as you showed each other the most ridiculous pieces you could find.

“Oh, holy fuck”, Natasha gasped quietly as she looked down at one of the sweaters.

“What?” You paused to see what had caused such a reaction from her, prompting her to show you the sweater that quite literally repeated the words in an ugly front and sparkly Christmas tinsel and colorful fur puffs that only added to the hilarity of the message. You let out another peal of laughter, your body feeling weak from how long you had been laughing with her. You showed her another one that you had found, one glance at it enough to make you fold over from laughing.

“Sleight the patriarchy?” Natasha gave you a frown, her look of disbelief cracking soon after seeing how hard you were laughing before she joined you. “That is so ugly”, she giggled, stepping closer to take a better look at the sweater decorated by pink hearts and unicorns. You put it back on the rack, continuing your process of going through the clothing.

“Finally something for the lesbians”, Natasha groaned as if in relief, yanking back a large red sweater, your head turning at lighting speed to see what she had discovered. Aside from being an incredibly overindulgent and ugly sweater, the text in the middle of it made you laugh in disbelief.

“Dyke the halls…” You both laughed so hard you were on the verge of tears. You didn’t know what it was about her that made you laugh so hard you had to put effort into holding your pee in. You were having so much fun, laughing so hard you felt shivers down your spine. There was almost a sense of relief in getting to let loose in your own little world with her between the aisles of clothing.

“What about this one? Ho-ho-ho-mo sexual.” Natasha covered her face from how incredibly stupid it was to even laugh at the cheap jokes written on sweaters, but neither of you could help it.

“I think we’ve finally discovered the gay section of this rack”, she mused between gasps for air.

“Look at this.” You showed her a sweater with the text ‘Kiss under the mistletoe?’ where the said mistletoe was attached to the bottom of the sweater right above the belt line of the wearer.

“I could get behind that”, Natasha chuckled, giving you a look filled with mirth, her hands going through the endless selection of sweaters, her eyes spotting something rather unexpected. She pulled it out enough for you to see, raising her brows. It had a checklist design in the front of it with four options: rock, paper, Christmas, and scissor, the last option ticked. Your lips stretched into a wild grin.

“Now we’re talking.” The odd jumble of giddiness and tension between you was practically palpable, and you would have been lying had you said that you didn’t briefly consider what said activity would have looked like with her. If you weren’t jumping into ridiculous conclusions, you were quite positive that her blush was more intense than the one achieved through laughter.

“I’m so nice, Santa came twice.” You showed Natasha yet another sweater, continuing your game of back and forth, Natasha showing you another one that said ‘Jingle my bells’.

“Oh, this is getting perverse”, she gasped after moving on again, snowing you one of her own discoveries in response. Your hand flew to your mouth at the sight. The sweater displayed the rather overused line of ‘All I want for Christmas’ with a slew of yonic symbols that had been decorated to fit the theme of Christmas.

“That’s… I’m traumatized. That’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen.” You and Natasha’s eyes met momentarily before you burst into laughter.

“Never thought I’d see a vagina wearing a scarf”, she mused in a soft wheeze. “It might just be time to wrap it up for the day.” The pun didn’t go unnoticed by you, eliciting another laughing fit from the both of you.

“So what’s your verdict? Which one are you choosing?” You asked playfully, doing your best to gather yourself from the incessant laughter. She looked pensive as she skimmed her hand over the sweaters.

“I think I’m gonna go for that one with the ugly reindeer whose eyes were pointing into different directions.” You grinned widely, recalling the exact sweater and the way it had been filled with so many decorations that it had weighed twice the amount of the other sweaters. It was chaotic and captured the essence of a traditional ugly Christmas sweater rather perfectly.

“What? You mean you don’t want nine Christmas themed vaginas?” You asked sarcastically, earning an amused roll of her eyes as she shoved you playfully.

“I’m currently trying to wipe it from my memory”, she retorted, fetching her desired sweater from the other end of the rack. “You getting anything?” You couldn’t deny the fact that not buying a sweater for yourself made you feel left out. After all the fun that you had been having for the past hour or so, it felt anticlimactic not to fully participate in the fun, your hand skimming over the sweaters again as you let out a soft hum.

“Say when.” Natasha seemed to catch on to your suggestion, waiting a moment as you ran your hand over the shoulders of each sweater, randomly choosing one for yourself.

“Stop.” You pulled out the sweater your hand was touching, Natasha’s smile widening. “Let’s hope you get that kiss under the mistletoe this year”, she said in a teasing tone as you brought your hand to your blushing face in disbelief at having selected the sweater with a low-hanging mistletoe.

[alpalpym]

Learning you by heart MASTERLIST

Natasha Romanoff x reader Christmas romance

Rating: Gen (Eventual 18+ smut, I will warn ahead)

You lock eyes with a stranger in the audience of an opera, her troubled appearance piquing your interests immediately, the thought of her sticking around to haunt your mind that demands answers for her predicament. Turns out that there might be more to her than you could have ever imagined.

A Christmas love story filled with fluff and a hint of angst <3 You can find my previous Christmas stories and other fics from my ao3!!

MASTERLIST

Chapters:

Columbus Avenue w/c 5,1k

A second chance 5,5k

Light as a feather 3k

More to come!

[alpalpym]

Learning you by heart (2/?)

Here's another little update of the Christmas story! <3

Chapter 2: A second chance

If you had previously thought that you were obsessing over the woman –Natasha, as you had come to find out– you had been wrong. Now you were obsessing. You weren’t crazy. You weren’t. You couldn’t be. Instances like the one you had just experienced did not happen out of nowhere. You entered your empty apartment that night, feeling even emptier than your apartment was. Your roommate was out of town, visiting her brother in Boston. You felt like you had just been rudely shaken awake from a dream. You let out a deep sigh, setting down your purse, feeling a budding headache at the base of your skull. It had been building from the moment you had returned into the opera house to warm up and gather your belongings. You looked down at your arms, eyeing the dark brown coat you had acquired from Natasha. You felt hollow, still cold and stiff. You couldn’t wait to finally unwind after the dreadful day you had had. You shrugged off the coat and hung it up, brushing your dominant hand over it almost longingly before heading straight into the bathroom to draw yourself a boiling hot bath.

You spent an hour, maybe even two, in the bath, soaking up every ounce of heat from the bubbly water, staring up at the shower head in thought. You felt like you were going through a silent existential crisis as your mind tried to obsessively come up with all the different possible ways for your family to find out about your unfortunate death by getting run over. You envisioned your funeral, almost went far enough to pick out which songs you would want during your service, but you realized to stop feeding your imaginative mind after a lone droplet falling from the faucet brought you back into your senses. The bubbles were gone, your aching body feeling heavy and limber. The initial burn that had spread across your raw skin was gone and your headache had moved to your temples where it felt slightly more manageable. You had a feeling that it was soon about to disappear if your pain killer was ever going to kick in.

On your way into the kitchen, dressed in your bathrobe, you caught yourself eyeing the coat. Why would a stranger be so kind? It couldn’t have been normal. Nobody was that kind for the hell of it. Or were you truly that cynical that you couldn’t even receive an act of kindness with open arms? Did you have so little faith in humanity? You reached your kitchen cupboards with Natasha’s face on your mind as you began to make yourself a hot chocolate to ensure that you were going to be thawed from inside out. You made sure your drink was extra rich and extra hot before heading into your living room. You had a decent sized home for Manhattan’s rent prices, the view from your window displaying a white, narrow street of brownstones. You turned on the TV, cuddling up on your couch to enjoy your scalding hot chocolate, hoping to catch a break from the thoughts running inside your head. Those eyes, that look, the red hair. She had downright resembled an angel when she had looked down at you on the ground, or maybe she hadn’t. Maybe you were simply glorifying your guardian angel, playing it up in your head to entertain yourself and pretend that somebody cared for you. It felt ridiculous. You were alright. Your life was good. There were no voids to fill.

Your eyes landed on the screen of the TV, some Christmas romantic comedy coming up on the screen. You rolled your eyes, switching the channel only to be met with yet another Christmas movie. Every single program seemed to have at least a hint of Christmas in it, which would have been fine had it actually been Christmas, but it was at least three weeks away still, and to be completely honest, you weren’t a huge fan of the holidays in general. You had never been. You didn’t really see the point of it. To you it never really went beyond religion and commercial humbug. You felt as though you had no proper reason to celebrate it. You could appreciate the aesthetics, but you never cared enough to participate. You switched the channel again, finding a rerun of a detective series, settling for that while you sipped on your hot chocolate, your thoughts returning to Columbus Avenue time and time again. You wanted to talk to someone about it all, about her, but it was far too late to bother any of your friends with such mysteries, and your mother had an early shift at the hospital. She was about to perform a very serious operation that had been stressing her out for weeks on a long-term patient of hers. She did not need to know that her daughter was horsing around the city, getting herself killed in chase of a stranger. But it wasn’t only the availability of others why you didn’t tell any of your close ones, it was also your lack of ability to verbalize your experience. You couldn’t explain to anyone why you had gone after her, not even to yourself.

You fell asleep on the couch to the sounds of gunshots on TV, your exhausted body refusing to care about any surrounding noises. You needed sleep, and you needed it badly. Lucky for you, you slept like a rock, completely unmoving as you lay snuggled up on the couch, taking a much-needed break from the feeling that those green eyes stirred in you. It might have returned first thing when your eyes fluttered open again only to squint at the light coming from the windows, but at least you had gotten a small break from the draining task of trying to understand what you had witnessed and experienced. You moaned in mild annoyance as you turned onto your back, immediately aware of the physical abnormality you felt in your body. Your throat felt raw. You shut your eyes in defeat, noting your clogged nose and aching neck. Fuck.

“This cannot be happening”, you moaned quietly, testing your voice to see how bad the situation was. It came out hoarse, worse than it normally was in the mornings. You wanted to cry, but you didn’t, blindingly searching for your phone on the coffee table, nearly knocking over your empty mug in the process. You texted your director to bring out your understudy, and even called after her for good measure despite having no intention to open your mouth. You needed to preserve whatever was left of your vocal cords. Then you texted Beatrice and the cast group chat to let everyone know that there was a possibility of you being too sick to perform. It was entirely possible that you weren’t getting sick but were simply suffering from the aftermath of the cold weather you had been dealing with the day before. You glanced out the window at the snow tracks on the street, noting just how much it had snowed during the night. With a pained sigh you got up from the couch, noting that you had kicked your blanket onto the floor. You didn’t bother to pick it up, grabbing your rancid-smelling hot chocolate cup and heading for the kitchen.

You tried not to look at the coat that hung at the entrance of the house, looming ominously there. It didn’t belong there. It wasn’t yours. You kept your head straight as you walked past it, momentarily thrilled that you had been able to resist its pull, but right as you were about to step into the kitchen, your head turned to look at the brown coat as if to make sure it hadn’t all been a dream. It was such a deep, delicious shade of dark chocolate that you felt drawn to it. You wanted to touch the item, study it. The feeling became so strong that you simply went into the kitchen and discarded your mug before heading straight to the coat hanger. Your fingers brushed over the wool, feeling its smooth but coarse texture. Without embarrassing yourself entirely, you leaned closer as if by accident to smell the piece of clothing, noting the weak scent of perfume that lingered on the wool that still had a slightly damp smell to it. You pulled on the fur lapel of the coat, taking a better look at it. Your eyes noted the logo of a clothing brand at the neck. It was on the more expensive side but nothing outrageous by any means. The inside was lined with satin, a glossy brown material that begged for you to glide your fingers over it, so you did. You felt the fabric under your fingertips, exploring the textures, your hands sliding into the pockets to check them just in case if you were ever going to wear the coat out. Something cold and hard touched your right hand that was in the left pocket, a small frown finding your face. Your fingers curled around the object, pulling it out.

“Huh.” You stared at the flat piece of metal in the shape of a fish with a keychain ring attached to it. “A tag?” You eyed it carefully, noting that there were engravings on the polished surface. “Liho.” You flipped the tag around to see the other side, gasping softly. There was a phone number. Could it be hers? You couldn’t deny the jolt of excitement that went through you at the possibility of not being stuck with such an open end to your encounter with the woman. You wanted her to be something more than just a face you saw in the crowd. You owed her your life. There needed to be a bigger, stronger connection between you. It couldn’t simply be that she saved your life and that was the end of it. You had been given a second chance at life. It was meant to be a new beginning.

You thought about the matter for a moment longer. No, you were being ridiculous. You couldn’t go harassing Natasha for the hell of it. It wasn’t socially acceptable to be so needy and expect her to give a single dime about you despite her saving your life. It wasn’t fair of you to have any expectations for her. You pocketed the tag, placing it back in its rightful place, yet it remained on your mind with impressive consistency throughout the impromptu day-off you were having. What if she needed the tag? What if she hadn’t realized that her pockets weren’t empty? You stared into the direction of the coat as you sat at your dinner table, slurping on some chicken soup for a late lunch, the coat’s ominous presence eventually forcing you to pick up your phone. You waited in immense anticipation as you held the phone to your ear, listening to it ring. Your heart hacked in your chest. Could it be her number? You were practically clutching the phone with both of your hands as you waited.

“Hello?” The world stood still for a second. It was her.

“Hi.” You cleared your throat. “Hi, hey, it’s Y/N.” Natasha went silent, her eyes filling with tears instantly. She took a shallow breath, closing her eyes for a moment as she reigned in her feelings.

“Hi!” She sounded overly positive to her own ear, the tone disguising the onslaught of emotions that she experienced at the sound of your voice. “How did you get my number?”

“Uh, a cat tag for Liho.”

“Guess I had a cat”, she mumbled nearly imperceptibly. “Liho.”

“What?” You couldn’t hear her.

“Nothing. My cat, Liho. I miss her”, Natasha explained swiftly.

“Has she passed?” Your voice nearly disappeared halfway through the sentence. Natasha recognized the tone, a small smirk finding her lips.

“Did you get a cold?” And just like that she evaded the question.

“I did.” You coughed lightly to make your voice sound less harsh to her ear, attempting to get rid of the gravelly tone that you had had all day.

“You put your understudy to work”, Natasha hummed in mild amusement, eliciting a hum of agreement and a small chuckle from you that turned into a cough. It was followed by silence. You played with a strand of your hair, looking around the living room impatiently, glancing outside at the streetlamps that were turning on, making the snow glow golden. You couldn’t take the slight awkwardness, the words leaving your mouth on their own.

“I can bring you the tag… if you want. I’m bored out of my mind with this sick day.” Your heart hammered in anxiety. It had been a long while since you had asked a woman out. With all the work you had put on your singing career that year, it had left little time for personal relationships, and she was certainly someone that fit your criteria. “Oh, and the coat. I wouldn’t wanna rob you of that. It’s a beautiful one.” Natasha stayed silent, her weak breath barely flowing out of her lungs and past her parted lips. Could she handle it? “You can say no”, you blurted suddenly, realizing that the silence could have been caused by her search for an easy way to let you down.

“No, no. Oh-” She chuckled at her own awkwardness, starting over. “I’d love to. Meet me at Ground Central on 8th Avenue?”

“I love that place!” You squeaked out the words, scrunching your nose in mild embarrassment for how you sounded. Natasha smiled fondly; of course you did. She knew that.

“Perfect. I’ll see you there”, she hummed softly. “Bye.”

“Bye.” You ended the call, Natasha’s cheeks flushing an intense red as she clutched her phone to her chest, a gentle gust of wind dusting her blazing face with powdery snow. She stared up at the crystal-clear sky, faint stars starting to show through the darkening blue above. Without a second thought, she changed her course of direction and headed to 8th Avenue, the snow crunching under her boots with every step.

Natasha sat on a large black antique couch, her nails digging into the leather of the seat where the material had chipped off slightly. She was a nervous wreck, doing her very best not to show it as you walked through the front door into the delicious smelling cafe. You were dressed warmly in a rather obvious manner, the comically large scarf around your neck keeping your vocal cords safe and warm. Natasha stood up, smiling to you amicably as she made her way over to you, leaving her coat on the couch to save her spot.

“Hi, did you make it here alright?” She asked politely as she came to stand beside you at the vitrine that displayed all the delicious goods that the cafe had to offer.

“I did, thank you.” Seeing her again was stirring something within you. The previous night flashed across your mind, your body recalling the cold of the snow against your skin, the way her body had pressed up against your own, the way your head had ached. You stared at her ivory skin tinted by a hint of blush and her green eyes that you could not tear your gaze away from. You felt something swirl in your abdomen, an odd budding curiosity toward her.

“You guys ready to order?” The barista’s voice pulled you out of your momentary stupor over her enigmatic energy. Your head snapped to the side to look at the young woman behind the counter before returning to Natasha.

“Order what you want. It’s on me”, you said quietly, Natasha giving you a small, knowing smile that you took as nothing but polite. She didn’t protest, placing her order as if she would have known just how much you hated it when friends and lovers alike refused your genuine act of kindness. Natasha turned to the barista.

“One gingerbread mocha with an extra shot, please.” She looked at you expectantly.

“And a flat white with a cherry danish.” You pulled out your credit card from your wallet, watching the barista type down your order.

“What, no silly Christmas drink for you?” Natasha asked in a small tease, earning a laugh from you.

“No, not really a Christmas person”, you explained, turning to look at her. She had an odd, calculating look in her eyes, a hint of confusion flashing across her face.

“How could that be? You’re the lead star of the most talked about Christmas opera this year?” You let out an amused huff at her words.

“Perhaps that’s exactly why.”

“Ah, so you don’t like to mix business and pleasure”, she concluded.

“You could say that.” You looked at her again, the corners of your mouth turning upward on their own. You couldn’t quite stop looking at her. She had this smile that softened her rather intense features in a split second. You could see the way her eyes lost their stoic gaze, her brows relaxed, the apples of her cheeks became slightly more rounded to highlight the mild blush there. It was reserved, didn’t show teeth, yet it was somehow so full. You received your order a few minutes later before making your way to the spot Natasha had reserved for you.

“I love the atmosphere of this place”, you said as you sat down on a red antique armchair that was placed next to the black leather couch.

“Me too. It’s the perfect mixture of casual and comfortable”, she hummed in agreement.

“So, I take it that you’re a Christmas person?” You nodded toward her drink with a mountain of whipped cream on top, sprinkles and crushed candy cane on top. It amused you slightly. She had such a captivating, intense exterior that you hadn’t expected her to order something so ridiculous.

“I didn’t used to be…” She seemed to pause, her fingers playing with the warm mug of coffee. “But then I met someone who changed it for me.” You felt the heaviness of her statement, sensed the pain behind it, unsure where to take the conversation from there. “She showed me how fun it can be.” Natasha smiled at you, those green eyes boring right into your soul. You barely dared to smile back at her, but you managed just fine, thankful that she moved her focus on the drink instead to take a sip of whipped cream to break the charged moment. The drink left a white foam mustache on her lips that made you grin in amusement.

“You’ve got a little something there”, you said teasingly, pointing at your own upper lip to show her the spot you were referring to. Natasha rolled her eyes in good nature, wiping her lips into the back of her hand. You both chucked quietly.

“So, what’s your excuse for not liking Christmas? Any trauma in that department?” Her question didn’t come off as invasive but rather lighthearted and jovial.

“No, thankfully not.” You nursed your nearly scalding hot mug of coffee to warm up your stiff fingers, still clad in your scarf despite having taken off your coat. “I’ve just never really celebrated it. It means nothing to me. Just some lights and jingles.” Natasha pursed her lips.

“I get what you mean. Believe it or not, I used to be a proper Grinch.”

“You? No way.” You added some feigned disbelief into your tone as you eyed her christmassy drink, coaxing out a chuckle from her.

“What can I say? I was converted to the dark side.” Natasha raised her hands up in defeat, her smile only widening alongside yours.

“What happened there?” You looked at her with pure curiosity shining in your eyes, your lips sipping on your coffee.

“Love, but that didn’t end all that well, so now I just enjoy the overconsumption of sugar and winter spices, and the pretty lights outside.”

“Ah, you too have fallen victim”, you said dramatically, a sense of understanding budding between you.

“Unfortunately so. What about you? I can sense the bitterness from a mile away.” She had a way of speaking that made you feel like you knew each other. She wasn’t tentative about crossing boundaries. She was honest and straightforward. You chuckled at her comment, shaking your head.

“Oh, it’s been way too long for me to still be upset over it”, you mumbled to yourself but decided to answer her question anyway. “She… she was one hell of a gaslighter.” You smiled bitterly. “She was so good at it that I lost my sense of self. I forgot that I knew the truth and that I didn’t have to listen to her lies, let alone believe them.” You turned to look at her, those green eyes fixed on you. “I’ve been healing… slowly.” You scoffed softly at yourself, mildly frustrated by the lack of progress you were making.

“She sounds like she deserves a fist in her face.”

“Oh, she does”, you chuckled, nodding your head in agreement.

“She’s about my height, blonde hair, and a punchable face, so if you ever see her in the streets, don’t be afraid to clock her.” Your tone oozed amusement. You weren’t serious, and Natasha could tell. She knew you weren’t one for violence.

“Oh, I’ll serve justice. Trust me.” You both laughed again, a brief moment of silence taking over as you both sipped on your drinks. You took a few bites of your danish that you had not gotten a chance to taste yet because of your immersive conversation. Natasha’s eyes dipped down to your scarf, a hint of something along the lines of curiosity in her eyes. “Talking isn’t too hard on your voice, is it?”

“No, it’s okay. It’s probably nothing. Just a little reaction from last night.” You shook your head in emphasis. Your voice was slightly hoarse around the edges and maybe a tad bit lower than normal.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” She asked in visible concern. “It was quite a fall. I was rather rough.”

“Hey, you saved my life. I can take a little roughing up.” There was a hint of flirt in your words, the familiar suggestive tone bringing a bright, involuntary smile on Natasha’s face.

“Good, I’m glad you’re alright”, she hummed, once again looking at you with that gut wrenching longing etched into her eyes. It made you wonder what she was thinking. The emotion in her eyes made you feel uneasy, worried for something, but you didn’t know what. You couldn’t understand what reason she had to be looking at you that way. “The opera needs their lead singer. You were amazing out there.” And just like that the odd feeling you had experienced had been wiped away alongside that pained look in her eyes, replaced by playful compliments. “You always liked singing.” She almost said it as a statement instead of a question. It was too assertive. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, it comes from my family. We just always loved music, and then a teacher in high school steered me into the direction of classical singing. She said my voice suited the style. Did some theater too.” You chuckled openly at those days, recalling various hilarious moments from your catastrophic plays. “But let’s be honest, opera is just elevated high school theater.” You both chuckled. “I went to Julliard and now… here I am.” You smiled at her, shrugging your shoulders.

“Here you are”, Natasha whispered, an admiring look on her face.

“What’s your history with New York? Do you work here?” You wanted to know more about her. She looked slightly taken back by your question, like maybe she didn’t quite have a straightforward answer that time.

“I recently moved here, but I’ve visited enough times to know my way around. Although there are definitely still places that I have yet to see.” Her answer made you smile. What a perfect window of opportunity.

“Maybe I can show you around sometime. I owe you at least a dinner for your heroic efforts.” You could feel the way you looked at her. You knew that look, and a part of you was begging you not to direct it at her, but you couldn’t help it. You were interested.

“Maybe you can.” She responded to you with a small smirk on her lips. She seemed pleased. “Dinner sounds lovely.”

“I know a few good spots in the city. Anything you don’t eat?”

“I’ll eat anything as long as the company is good. And well… no worries there.” You could feel your cheeks heat, unable to break the eye contact that had you completely captivated. You needed a distraction before your feelings became too evident to her.

“So, what do you do for a living?”

“I work at Stark Industries.” It was the best she could come up with. She had forgotten to create a secure alias for herself. She knew she had once been working for Stark, but she could not fact-check anything on such short notice.

“Really?” You were clearly impressed. “How did you end up there?”

“To be completely transparent, through connections. I was offered a job, and I took it.”

“A businesswoman, I see.” You smirked. Her style of dressing definitely suited that description. “What do you do?”

“I’m a business development manager. I deal with company relationships, business opportunities and so on.” She would definitely have to send an application for the position in question if she wanted her lies to only be temporary.

“That sounds interesting. Do you like it?”

“It does the job”, she chuckled, taking a long sip of her gingerbread latte.

Talking to her was easy, effortless, and she certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes. Before you even knew it you had completely forgotten your initial agenda of returning the cat tag and finding an answer to the feeling she elicited in you whenever she looked at you. Not that you would have had words for such questions. She made you feel warm with her secure personality, witty demeanor, and attentive attitude. She asked you questions, made you feel included, your body sinking even further into the armchair even after you had finished your drink and pastry. She made you feel like you had always known each other which was slightly disturbing because of how uncommon that feeling was for you. The last time you had felt anything of the sort it had been with your ex. After going over the more practical aspects of getting to know her, the conversation took a turn for oddly specific details of your lives that ended up being bonding points for you. The early evening turned into night, the lights on the streets illuminating the busy people that were undeniably a trademark of the city. You wrapped your scarf tighter around you, as if it was a blanket, curling up on your armchair without so much as a budding intention of leaving any time soon.

“Yes, exactly! That’s exactly what I mean.” Your conversation had somehow led to you and Natasha being the most renowned film critics in New York City, at least in your opinion, as you discussed a movie that had only recently come out.

“The people weren’t ready for it”, Natasha shrugged in defeat, a smile lingering on her lips.

“They hate to see women win”, you sighed, your focus shifting momentarily on your empty mug of coffee.

“I hoped things would be better here.”

“In New York?” You asked for clarification. Natasha seemed to pause for a moment.

“Yeah. You know, the Big Apple, metropolis, a heavier concentration of educated people.” She really needed to get a grip on herself. She was too close to the edge. “But alas, I am still surrounded by idiots”, she chuckled light-heartedly.

“Don’t I know it.” You crunched your nose, feeling a sense of communion between you. She understood you and you seemed to share a lot of beliefs and opinions, which was always exciting because it made you feel seen and valued. “I find it surprising that so many people missed the entire point of the movie. It was right there”, you groaned, the look on Natasha’s face agreeing with you without her needing to utter a single word.

“It baffles me, truly.” Your topic changed into literature, somehow bridging into art and culture before circling back to movies and then again changing course to politics before you found your way to music. Natasha learned to tread carefully after slipping in a comment about a notoriously idiotic world leader, which elicited a confused frown from you, paired with a simple “who?”. She had had too many slip-ups, but thankfully the conversation carried on effortlessly. You wished you could have had five more cups of coffee if it had meant that you could have kept up the conversation to get to know her better, but you could already see from the corner of your eye that the baristas were cleaning the counters and the tables, emptying the vitrine in preparation for closing the cafe.

“Hey, guys, just to let you know, we’re closing in five minutes.” And before you even knew it, the staff was ushering you outside. You got up from your seat, Natasha pulling on her shiny black fur coat, both of you assessing the weather outside to prepare yourselves for the cold that you would have to face.

“Do you live nearby? I could walk you home, it’s dark outside”, Natasha offered as you headed to the front door after thanking the baristas for their service. She pushed open the door, holding it for you, her hand brushing only barely over your lower back as you walked by.

“You know, I’m not some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself”, you retorted playfully, Natasha smirking in amusement as she followed you outside, the snow crunching beneath your feet.

“I know.” The way she said it made you feel like she truly did know, the look she gave you letting you know that the reason for her offer had nothing to do with your ability to look after yourself, but perhaps something else, which made your chest squeeze from excitement; she didn’t want to part ways just yet.

You walked up 8th Avenue to Columbus Circle, turning to the right where you could easily go into Central Park where you would have an opportunity to find a space with less traffic and busy people roaming the streets. The park was beautiful when covered in snow. The once clear sky was now a murky grey, the very tops of the tallest buildings fading into the clouds above, the tall trees dusted white, some of the trunks and branches decorated with golden Christmas lights. Every bench, bush, and lamppost was covered by at least an inch of snow, the pathways littered by footprints, paw prints, claw prints. You felt so warm and cozy in your thick scarf and coat that for a moment you couldn’t even talk, soaking in the atmosphere to the fullest. Natasha seemed to feel the same way, walking silently beside you. She knew when to be quiet and she was comfortable with it as well, which you appreciated greatly. You listened to the crunch of snow, Natasha’s footsteps echoing yours as you breathed in the crispy air that made the tip of your nose sting. After walking aimlessly for a while, both of you simply admiring your surroundings, your attention shifted from the nature around you to Natasha.

Her cheeks and nose were tinted pink, red tendrils of hair framing her face beautifully. She didn’t have a scarf, but the lapels of the fur coat were enough to cover up her pale neck. She nuzzled her chin deeper into the coat, her hands in her pockets, eyes focused on the glistening snow around you. There was something indescribable about her beauty, something that gained your attention particularly, yet you had no idea what it was specifically. She just had an air about her that was intriguing as well as captivating. Her gaze shifted to you as if sensing your eyes on her, a gentle warmth spreading over your cheeks for getting caught. Neither of you said much more that night until you reached the nearest subway station where you ended up parting ways since you lived in different parts of the city. You stopped by the edge of the park, below a warm yellow lamp.

“Oh, before I forget, here’s your coat. The tag is in the pocket.” You handed Natasha a net market bag you had been carrying on your shoulder the whole day.

“Thank you.” She received it, sliding her arm through the straps to bring it onto her shoulder. “I hope I’ll see you again soon. You’ve got my number. Call me.” You grinned brightly.

“Right back at you. I had a nice time with you.” She returned your smile with equal excitement.

“Me too. Get home safely. Look out for cars”, she said teasingly, taking a step back to allow you to part ways.

“Yeah, yeah!” You laughed at her concern, waving your hand at her before descending underground to catch a train home.

[alpalpym]

Learning you by heart (3/?)

Happy Saturday!!

Chapter 3: Light as a feather 

You looked at yourself in the mirror, tilting your head as you analyzed yourself from head to toe. Your outfit was simple but classy. It looked good. You had nicely fitting trousers on and a plain but neat top. You squinted at the reflection. You came off as boring. You didn’t look good enough, just average. You yanked off your shirt, staring at your half-naked body in the mirror, your gaze focusing on the way your bra supported your breasts. You needed more cleavage. A different bra. She would- No, you could not let yourself think like that. It wasn’t a date, just dinner. Yet you could not deny the giddiness that you felt when you went back to your closet to find a more revealing shirt and a more flattering bra for you to wear, hoping somewhere in the back of your mind that she was going to appreciate the effort you were putting into your appearance. You returned to the mirror after yanking on your change of clothing. The shirt had long sleeves so that you wouldn’t freeze to death with the low v-neckline that gave your breasts a chance to shine, at least a little bit. You didn’t want to give everything away on the first date- not date… The first non-date with Natasha.

You moved on to your makeup, carefully enhancing your appearance to make sure you looked nice. No other reason, just to look nice and presentable. You even styled your hair as a final touch to complete your look, unable to deny the fact that you had just spent nearly two hours getting ready for a casual dinner with a woman you had met less than a week ago. You stared at yourself in the mirror again, scrunching your face in disgust when you realized how obsessive you were being over your appearance. How unfeminist of you. A frustrated groan left you as you pressed your hand over your reflection in the mirror, cursing yourself for being so affected by the mere thought of her. It was way too early to be feeling any type of way toward Natasha. Way, way too early, yet you skipped to the door like a complete fool to put on your coat and leave the house.

The restaurant of your choice was The Nines. You had been there on few occasions with a few of your cast members, and it had been the first place to pop into your mind when Natasha had agreed to your offer to go for dinner. The place screamed elegance, high-class, and NYC. It was an absolute dream, and a perfect location for a comfortably spent evening together. You were using your one day off that week on a dinner with her, so you were certainly not going to skimp out on the opportunity to spoil both yourself and Natasha. You met up at the restaurant, going inside together so that you could get to your reserved table at the same time.

You took off your outerwear and left it at the coat rack, your heart nearly falling between your legs at the sight of her. She was dressed in a gorgeous dark red knitwear set that somehow suited her incredibly well. The off the shoulder sweater was loose in a relaxed manner, the foldover neckline presenting her sculpted shoulders and collarbones rather perfectly. She was strong. You needed merely a single glance at her to determine that, her lean shoulders stealing your attention with ease. Her bottom half was donning a matching maxi skirt that hugged her hips perfectly, the outfit paired with simple silver earrings, a few thin rings, and a small black purse. You couldn’t help but to stare. She fit into the restaurant perfectly, her elegant, yet sufficiently casual appearance complementing the red and gold interior of the restaurant. Her auburn locks had been swept back into a ponytail at the back of her head to let her neck and shoulders shine.

“You look beautiful, gorgeous.” It might have been slightly weird for you to compliment her so openly, but hell, what did you care? You were speaking the truth, but you did want to soften the blow a little by directing more attention to what she was wearing to avoid coming off too strong. “The color suits you so well. Where did you get this? Is it a dress or a skirt?” Somehow asking for those specific details made your comment friendlier. Natasha smiled brightly.

“Thank you”, she hummed, pursing her lips slightly to hide just how much she liked that her efforts had gained your attention. She had based her outfit specifically off your weak spots after all. “It’s a set.” She lifted the loose fabric of her sweater up, just enough to flash you the lines of her abdominal muscles that brought an instant heat to your cheeks. She seemed excited to share that little secret with you; anyone else would have thought it to be a dress.

“It looks amazing on you.” Her smile widened against her own will.

“Almost as amazing as you tonight”, she countered, her eyes trailing down your figure as you sat down to your reserved table for two. The atmosphere was beyond comforting. It made you want to curl up and close your eyes so you could properly take in the live piano music that played Christmas themed music, the low lighting of the dining hall tying together all the different elements that made the place so elegant and cozy. You could hear quiet chatter, glasses and cutlery clinking, the bartender shaking up drinks at the bar. The decor was nothing short of old Hollywood, the deep, rich red of the curtains, the golden yellow lighting, and dark wood begging you to spend less time staring at Natasha who looked like she had been made for the place.

“What do you want for drinks?” You asked her after getting over the rush of excitement you felt. Natasha was already eyeing the seasonal cocktails.

“I was thinking of having a snickerdoodle martini. It sounds interesting”, she hummed, bringing a smile to your face. “What about you?”

“Hmm, I usually go for a White Negroni.” You received your chosen drinks and a small array of complimentary snacks before moving on to deciding what to have for dinner. You watched Natasha take a sip of her beautiful cinnamon-topped drink, your eyes focusing on the way her lips pressed over the rim as you waited for her verdict.

“Is it good?” Natasha gave you a look, licking her lips clean from the foam on top, your hand bringing your own glass to your mouth.

“It’s amazing, here.” She handed the drink to you without so much as a hint of hesitation about sharing with you. “Tastes like a cinnamon cookie”, she hummed as you received the glass. You didn’t wanna offend her by rejecting her offer, and you did actually feel a little left out because of your own very unoriginal choice of drink. You took a sip, your eyes meeting hers as she waited for your reaction.

“Wow, that’s creamy. I like it.” You chuckled softly, handing the drink back to her, her fingers stroking over your own. They were warm, the skin smooth and soft. “Do you wanna taste mine?” Her straightforwardness made you curious. You were intrigued, which naturally made you want to reciprocate. Did she share with everyone or was it just you, and what did it mean?

“Yes, of course. Thank you.” She seemed to appreciate the gesture.

“What were you thinking for main course?” You observed her alluring appearance, unable to quite get over her beauty. It seemed to demand for your attention. She took a sip of your drink, nodding in approval at the pleasant flavor before handing it back.

“You’ve got good taste.” It made you smile, maybe even blush. “The wood roasted salmon sounds delicious.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve heard good things about it.” Your eyes were stuck on the smudge of lipstick that decorated the rim of your rocks glass. One might have assumed that it was off-putting, but any thought of germs or crossing boundaries flew right out the window, replaced by a hint of giddiness over her willingness to share.

“What about you?” You had been intending to get the infamous burger, but you couldn’t deny the fact that you wanted her to learn that you also possessed a more refined palette, deciding to match your order to hers.

“Hmm, I’ve never had the duck in plum sauce. It could be good. I think I’ll have that.”

“Perfect.” While you waited for a server to come around, you got back to talking about your lives, looking to get to know each other better.

“So, any plans for Christmas?” Natasha asked in curiosity, taking another sip of her martini. “Any friends or family around?” She wanted to see how well you matched the version of you she had once known.

“I might visit my parents, but mom will most likely be working and dad I just saw last week, so I might not bother to go to New Jersey. They live nearby anyway, and we never cared for Christmas all that much.” You shrugged your shoulders casually. “And what comes to friends, I might see if my roommate wants to do something special. She’s bigger on the holiday shenanigans.” Natasha chuckled in understanding.

“You have a roommate?”

“Yeah. We’ve been living together for two years now. She helps with rent and the company isn’t too shabby either.” You laughed quietly, your attitude toward your roommate coming off as affectionate. “She’ll probably strap me down and make me watch sappy movies and eat her newest baking concoctions. She’s a manic baker. Owns a bread bakery in Chelsea.” Natasha gave you a knowing smirk.

“I like her style.”

“Strapping or stuffing?” You both burst into laughter.

“I’m not drunk enough to get that inappropriate yet”, she hummed in visible amusement, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

“No?” Natasha shook her head.

“Maybe a few more of these and I’ll be on my way there.” She lifted the class in her hand before bringing it to her lips.

“Do you have family around here?” Natasha didn’t know. She didn’t know the answer to your question, and she suddenly grew very curious about the possibilities. Perhaps she hadn’t always meant to be an orphan.

“I’m estranged from them. All of them to be exact.” She laughed it off, just like she always had. “I didn’t have much of a childhood, and before you let my tragic backstory become irresistibly attractive, I wanna mention that it’s better this way.” You smiled softly, sympathetic to her situation.

“You don’t need a tragic backstory to be attractive.” How awfully bold of you, but it was true. Your hand reached over the table to touch her right one that rested over the tablecloth, your fingertips touching. You almost regretted your rather obvious and straightforward move, but you could no longer backtrack without making it awkward for the both of you, your hand covering briefly her own in a gesture of comfort and understanding. It made her smile.

“Wait ‘til I reveal my wounded side to you”, she hummed teasingly, giving you a subtle wink that you laughed off. “Now, there’s something for you to work on.”

“Don’t worry, I’m already itching with the need to fix you”, you mused playfully, pleased to hear the low rumble of her laughter. It was soft and melodic, the sound of it caressing your lower abdomen. She had such an energy about her, yet you couldn’t pinpoint it.

“Good. Then I know where to look for a healer if I need one.” You grinned, maybe with a little too much excitement. You glanced at the drink on your table, noting that it was probably wiser to slow down.

“Do you have plans for Christmas? Or how do you like to celebrate?” Your fingers played with the sides of the rocks glass, drawing patterns into whatever condensation was left.

“I like being with someone I care about.” She looked wistful for just a moment. “And just sharing the holidays with them. I like the small, little traditions that people have… I like the atmosphere. People seem happier, lighter.” She smiled fondly. “So, I just try to soak up as much of that joy as I can.”

“Do you have any favorite traditions?” You were then interrupted by the waiters who came to take your order and ask if you wanted more to drink.

“Hmm, do you mind?” Natasha asked you as she took the seasonal cocktail menu into her hand, mindful of your attitude toward drinking.

“No, not at all. Knock yourself out, girl.” You waved your hand in dismissal, Natasha’s amused eyes moving down to the menu.

“I think I’ll have a Naughty or Nice. Mmh, it’s got maraschino”, she hummed in mild excitement, placing her order right after voicing out her dinner of choice. She was being such an embodiment of Christmas somehow that it made you feel left out. You hadn’t even looked at the seasonal cocktail menu, but you were easily influenced, especially by her. You grasped the menu into your hands, eyeing the drinks available. You couldn’t decide. There were too many options, too many liquors, and too many words, not to mention that you felt pressured to be quick since the waiter was waiting patiently beside you.

“What would you order for me?” Natasha smirked immediately. She had almost expected you to say those exact words. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“Hmm, something fruity with the duck. You could have the Pear Tree Martini. That might go well with your meal.” She eyed the menu, pursing her lips as she went over the list again. “Actually, scrap that. The Sugarplum Spritz, you’ll love that one.” You eyed her in curiosity. She sounded like she actually had an idea of what you liked, but you knew that to be impossible.

“I’ll have the Sugarplum Spritz and the duck, please”, you said to the waiter. He smiled at you kindly.

“An excellent choice.” The waiter thanked you before leaving to go take your orders to the chef.

“Where were we?” Natasha asked, finishing off the remnants of her martini.

“Traditions.”

“Right. I like all the basics. Gift exchange, movies and cuddles, hot chocolate and decorating the Christmas tree. I’m not much of a cook but I like a nice Christmas dinner, maybe some easy baking, a walk outside. You know, a bit of everything.” You nodded along. It did sound really nice. You couldn’t deny that.

“Sounds lovely.” You both smiled. “Who are you spending the holidays with this year?” Natasha’s heart ached like it had crudely been ripped out of her chest.

“We’ll have to see.” It sounded like she didn’t want to admit to you that there might not even have been any options available, so you decided not to pry further, simply nodding in response.

“What’s your favorite tradition then? If you had to choose one.”

“Ah, that’s a hard one. I don’t think I can choose. It’s just the general atmosphere.”

“Humor me. Choose one”, you persisted, giving her an encouraging smile. Natasha looked at you for a moment, clearly in thought before a small, almost shy smile found her face.

“Cuddling up under a blanket in the evening with candles and Christmas lights on.” Her voice was dreamy, her gentle gaze holding your own. “The smell of gingerbread in the air, and you just feel so warm and cozy.” You felt your own features soften at the image she was painting.

“That sounds lovely.” You took a sip of your drink to cool off your blazing cheeks, or subsequently only adding fuel to the fire that was all Natasha’s doing.

“And with the right person, it’s nothing short of magical”, she whispered, the budding tension between you getting broken by your cocktails that arrived at that moment.

“Oh, I’m so excited”, you mumbled softly as you brought your glass to your lips. You had never had any kind of plum drink in your life, and somehow Natasha’s involvement in the choice made it that much more exciting. You took a small sip, your eyes widening slightly from the flavor experience.

“Is it good?” Natasha had a bright grin on her face.

“Yeah. Your choice was spot on.” Your smile only widened. “It’s exactly what I like.” You handed the drink rather automatically to Natasha who had just taken a sip of her own. She offered her cocktail to you just the same. You quite liked how casual it was. You had yet to learn just how much you were going to like it once they brought your dinner to the table. She had such an effortless ability to make you feel seen and included as she offered you forkfuls of her food to try. She seemed to genuinely want you to be a part of her own experience without any pressure for you to reciprocate. It came off as authentic and unapologetic.

You returned home that night with your mind floating somewhere far away from your buzzing body. You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, going over the most unimportant details of the night as you shut the cab door and stepped out into the crisp air. You took a deep breath, feeling so whole from the interaction you had had with her. The entire night had been so comfortable and casual. You let out a long exhale, tilting your head up into the sky to look at the stars as the car behind you revved its engine and was on its way to another destination. Your chest felt full, full of what, you couldn’t tell. You were perhaps slightly tipsy, your physical being feeling lighter than a feather. You felt warm and satisfied. Your stomach was full of delicious food, and you had a comfortable, soft bed waiting for you inside, not to mention the fact that you already had another little date arranged.

[alpalpym]

Natasha’s dead and Sebastian Stan is still campaigning for buckynat 🥹

[alpalpym]

[alpalpym]

quick are you mythologizing sex again? are you making it seem like a special category of human behavior rather than just a thing people do? are you forgetting that it can be silly or fun or simply pedestrian? are you forgetting that it requires conversation and negotiation just like every other human activity that involves other people?

[alpalpym]

Mood

[alpalpym]

… ive returned to this phase

[alpalpym]

[alpalpym]

Portrait of a wounded heart MASTER LIST

Here’s a little autumn love story for those who love putting on candles and cuddling up in bed to read when it’s cold and stormy outside. I wrote this on a whim in an attempt to romanticize my art block. I couldn’t resist posting this cause fall is my favorite season and this fic is quite literally an embodiment of everything I love. This fic is so close to my heart I just had to share it<3 The full story has already been posted on my ao3 account, if you're feeling impatient!

Summary: You attend a live figure drawing class with the intention of falling in love with your favorite hobby again, instead you set your sights on something entirely different.

Lesbian fall romance for those in need ;)

Note: 18+ content in some chapters, so please read at your own risk!!

CHAPTERS:

Obsession, digression

I'm a fool to want you

All night long

Weeping soul

Fallen for a lie

[alpalpym]

Hii,

I’m a fan of your work on ao3 and really excited you’ve started a tumblr page as well:)

I recently got an idea for a fic and wanted to write it. So I say down and planned out this whole thing for hours and that was it. I’m talking character analyses, a story outline with ideas for scenes, but no actual writing. Do you ever get stuck in that phase, and if so, how do you get out of that?

I actually happen to be the complete opposite of this and I start blindly writing without planning anything beforehand😩 I let the story kind of write itself which is very unhelpful advice here. I do sometimes brainstorm ideas and plot points beforehand but all of that often stays as a vague idea in my head, almost like a loose guideline.

What I’d advise you to do is just start. It doesn’t matter where or how. You don’t have to plan anything further. Just start. You can even start from the middle of a scene as long as you start putting your ideas into words. It can be a line, or a description, or a statement. Whatever comes to mind first. Just write one thing and then keep going. Another helpful tip is to write the most interesting and exciting parts first to get yourself excited about your writing and to help you find the flow of writing. There’s no use in starting with the dullest parts of the story cause all that’s gonna do is make you impatient and frustrated. You can fill in the blanks later. Don’t overthink it you can edit the text later but for now simply put your thoughts into words. I’ve seen a lot of people get stuck on finding the “perfect” word or expression or a line of dialogue, and all that’s done is prevent them from finding a good flow. It doesn’t have to be perfect, at the beginning stage it doesn’t even have to be good, it just has to be written. You can make changes later on, but it’s easier to make those changes when you’ve already tried writing it one way. That way you’ll be able to identify what you like and what you don’t like. Explore your style of writing. Try out new things, get comfortable with making yourself cringe and pushing yourself out of your comfort zone. It’s the only way you can truly find your own style.

I hope this helps! Let me know if I can help in any other way or if there’s any more questions you have. I’ll gladly give advice to anyone and everyone♥️ Just contact me, anonymously or not!

[alpalpym]

RUNNING IN CIRCLES- NR

ROMUGH’S KINKTOBER

october 23rd — stress relief, free use, friends with benefits

DAY FOURTEEN || kinktober masterlist || 2024.

pairing- natasha romanoff x medic!avenger!reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, bottom!natty, fingering (n rcv), oral (n & r rcv), rough & vulnerable sex? not many tags in this one!

wc- 8438 words

a/n- absolutely loved writing this :') differs from my usual filthy stories, but it's still got it's smutty goodness hidden! :p very poorly edited and reread though, sorry in advance <3

synopsis- uhhh later i gotta study

taglist?- @lost-mortemanghel ♥︎, @idkwhatever580, @elliecoochieeater, @left-and-right-up-and-down, @deadlesbianwitches, @lizziewitchy ❀ - comment or dm to be added :)

The crisp autumn air carried a bite that sank into your skin, even through the thick fabric of your SHIELD uniform. Outside, the trees had begun their slow transformation, leaves turning from deep greens to vivid shades of amber and crimson. As you walked down the corridor, you could see the skyline of the city framed by the headquarters’ tall windows, the buildings standing tall against the grey-blue sky streaked with the orange light of dusk.

Autumn had always been your favourite time of year. There was something invigorating about the chill in the air, the way it sharpened your senses and reminded you of the changing seasons. It wasn’t just a shift in weather—it was a time of transition, of letting go and starting anew. The world seemed to draw inward, becoming quieter, more introspective. And yet, for all its beauty, autumn was also a time of unravelling, of revealing the underlying fragility beneath nature’s vibrant display.

It wasn’t much different from life at SHIELD, you thought. The polished surfaces and steel corridors held a kind of deceptive calm, a veil over the constant motion of agents moving from one mission to the next, patching themselves up and heading right back into the fray. The medical team worked tirelessly in the med bay, patching up wounds that spoke stories of close calls and dangerous encounters, although there were always those who chose to bypass the med bay entirely.

Natasha Romanoff was one of those.

You’d seen her a handful of times in the corridors and offices, her expression always calm, almost detached, as she moved with a purpose that never faltered. It wasn’t that she was unapproachable—she exchanged words with other agents quite often, actually—but there was a clear distance she kept, a barrier that kept others from getting too close. As far as you knew, she had not once come to the medical wing. If she had sustained injuries, she kept them hidden well to an untrained eye.

You suspect that she handled most (if not all) of her wounds herself, stitching up gashes in the quiet solitude of her room and bandaging bruises with the same efficiency as she did her missions. It was the kind of self-sufficiency you’d expect from someone with her background. She had come to SHIELD from a life that demanded resilience, a life where depending on others could mean the difference between survival and death.

But the traces were there if you, SHIELD’s best medic both on and off the field, looked closely enough. Sometimes, when she crossed paths with you in the halls, you’d notice a faint mark along her jaw, or the slight favouring of one leg over the other. Nothing major, but enough to suggest she wasn’t invincible, no matter how she made it seem. It was as if she considered her injuries her own secret to keep, never offering them up for anyone else to see.

You often wondered what it was that kept her from seeking help. Pride, perhaps, or a simple lack of trust in others’ abilities to treat wounds as precisely as she could. Or maybe it was just a habit—an old reflex from her past, carried over into the present, one that kept her self-reliant to the point of isolation.

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity whenever you saw her passing by. What kind of person could continue like that, carrying their pain alone and never asking for anything? What did it cost her to keep everyone else at arm’s length? And what would it take for her to finally walk through the doors of the med bay, to let herself be cared for by someone else?

(You acted like it wouldn't matter if that someone else turned out to be you.)

(It did matter. Who are you trying to fool??)

The Avengers, Fury and his right hand eye Maria, and Agent Coulson were seated at the debriefing table, half-listening to Fury’s voice as he went over details of the recent happenings in New York. The room felt cold and stale despite the hushed murmurs and shifting bodies of the gathered Avengers. Natasha was no stranger to these debriefings, yet today felt different. There was a tension that hung in the air, a sense of expectation she couldn’t quite shake.

Fury paused, glancing toward Maria before asking, "Where’s Dr. [Y/L/N]? I want her in here for this."

Maria nodded, left the room with a quick stride, and the space fell into a brief, uncertain silence. Natasha’s brows furrowed as she stared at the door Maria had just exited through. She had heard the name before—Dr. [Y/N] [Y/L/N]. The head medic at SHIELD, supposedly one of the best in the business. Natasha knew your name, but that was it. She’d never bothered to seek you out, preferring to handle her own injuries anyway, to keep her vulnerabilities under lock and key.

As the door opened again and you entered behind Maria, the quiet murmur of the room seemed to still completely. You stepped in with a confidence that felt almost casual, your uniform fitting snugly against your muscular frame, showcasing the strength in your arms and legs, while still accentuating your femininity. You had a kind of presence that filled the room—bold yet serene. It was something that Natasha found herself drawn to almost immediately, her attention locking onto you as you came to stand near the table.

Your skin seemed to glow against the muted tones of the room, a healthy flush brought out by the brisk autumn air outside. Natasha’s gaze drifted over you, taking in the shape of your jaw, the arch of your brow, the curve of your lips. You looked… different from what she’d expected. Not in a way that was disappointing—no, far from it. It was more that she hadn’t expected someone with your kind of beauty to be the person who spent their days stitching together the wounds of agents, taking care of others in a world that offered so little care in return.

God, you were so pretty.

Natasha hadn’t meant for the thought to hit her so suddenly, but there it was. It unfolded in her mind with a kind of vividness that startled her. You were pretty. No—beautiful. Strong. Mesmerising, even. The kind of person who stood out without trying, who seemed to belong in the very air around them.

She cursed herself quietly, realising she was staring, and that her thoughts were running away with her. Her chest tightened with a strange, unexpected sensation, something that lingered in the back of her throat, catching at her breath. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this about anyone—let alone someone she had just met, or if she ever even had felt this way at all.

She hadn’t even really met you yet. She was just looking at you—right now, at this exact moment—for the first time.

And already, there was something there. An unfamiliar warmth unfurling beneath her ribs, spreading outwards in a way that made her wonder if it was adrenaline or something else entirely.

As you took a seat at the table, Maria introduced you to the Avengers, Bruce and Tony sending you a small smile in recognition, "Dr. [Y/L/N], head medic at SHIELD, also responsible for overseeing the field medics. She’s been with us for a while now, recently keeping out of the action but always ensuring our agents come back in one piece."

The explanation seemed distant to Natasha, drowned out by the thoughts that crowded her mind. You had been the head medic at SHIELD all this time, and she had never even thought to step foot in the med bay. How many times had she stitched herself up in her room, refusing to show any sign of weakness to anyone? And now, she couldn’t help but feel the slightest hint of regret. What would it have been like to be treated by you? To have those hands bandaging her wounds?

A blush crept onto her cheeks unbidden, and she clenched her jaw to hide it, forcing herself to focus on Fury as he spoke. But then there was that moment, that brief exchange when you glanced her way, and your eyes met hers for the first time. Natasha’s breath caught in her throat, a hitch so subtle she doubted anyone noticed. But she noticed it. She felt the way her pulse quickened just the slightest bit.

You were speaking to Fury now, your voice calm and unwavering as you discussed your hesitation about the new position. Natasha listened intently, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. It wasn’t like her to pay this much attention to a person she didn’t know. Yet, there was something about you—the way you carried yourself, the way you seemed both grounded and powerful, that made her want to know more.

She hadn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked in.

You let out a sigh, your mind racing with the implications of what Fury was asking. It wasn’t that you doubted your ability; you had proven your strength countless times in the field, and your physique—a testament to hours of gruelling training—reflected that. But something about this offer felt different. He was asking for more than medical expertise. He wanted you back in the thick of things, facing enemies head-on while patching up your teammates whenever that would be needed.

“What exactly would change?” you finally asked, voice steady as you pretended not to feel the Black Widow’s gaze boring into your soul.

She could sense your uncertainty as you spoke, could see the way you hesitated when Fury explained that the role would involve being more than just a medic. You’d be a full-fledged agent, an Avenger, basically. You looked at Fury with scepticism in your gaze, your lips pursed in a faint frown. Natasha almost smiled at that. She liked the way you questioned things, the way you didn’t simply accept everything at face value.

The weight of his words settled in. You would be more than a healer. You would be a warrior.

You sighed softly, shook your head, and stood up. You walked over to Fury, reaching into the breast pocket of his coat and pulling out his pen with a deft, graceful movement. It was such a simple act, but Natasha found herself watching every second of it, as if it were a dance unfolding right before her. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears, the steady thrum of it filling her senses.

When you signed the paper and handed the pen back to Fury, Natasha could have sworn she saw the faintest hint of a smirk curling at the corners of your lips, as if you were silently challenging the world—or maybe just him. And just like that, you turned and walked out of the room, leaving behind an unexpected sense of anticipation in your wake.

Natasha realised then, as the door clicked shut behind you, that her curiosity was already blooming into something else, something she didn’t want to acknowledge, didn’t want to admit.

Yet for the first time in her life, she found herself wondering what it would be like to let someone in, to let someone see past the carefully constructed walls she kept around herself.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

Natasha found herself standing at her room’s door, her fingertips grazing the very faint burn on her palm. The dull sting served as a reminder of her momentary distraction in the kitchen. She glanced at the door across the hallway—your door—still unoccupied. Her brow furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line as her mind wandered to thoughts of you. You should’ve moved in by now, settled into your newly assigned Avengers room in front of hers. But for some reason, it remained untouched, a constant reminder that you weren’t there.

It was absurd, really. She wasn’t used to this—this strange, inexplicable feeling of missing someone she barely knew.

With a frustrated sigh, she turned on her heels and headed down the corridor, her steps picking up pace. 

She wasn’t sure why she was doing this—why she was making her way to the med bay for something so minor. The skin wasn’t even burned, just red and slightly tender, the kind of irritation that would go away in an hour or so. Normally, she wouldn’t even give it a second thought. But this time, as she approached the med bay, she found herself hoping that you were there.

The sliding doors parted, and Natasha hesitated at the threshold, her gaze searching the room. There you were, sitting in your office behind the glass walls, a faint frown on your face as you worked on some paperwork, your work glasses perched delicately on your nose. Her heart gave an unsteady thump as she took you in, the way the light cast gentle shadows across your features. It was so mundane, so normal, yet something about seeing you there—focused, calm, and completely unaware of her presence—sent a jolt of nervous energy rushing through her.

As if sensing her gaze, you looked up from your work. Your eyes met hers, and for a second, everything seemed to slow. The tension in her chest unravelled just a bit, the weight of her own uncertainty lifting at the sight of the small, welcoming smile you sent her way.

But then, the reality of the situation crashed back in, her nerves flaring up once more. What was she doing here? Natasha wasn’t used to feeling nervous—she was the Black Widow, for god's sake. Yet the warmth creeping up her cheeks betrayed her, and she quickly averted her eyes, glancing around the med bay in a futile attempt to hide the flush that tinged her skin. She scanned the empty beds, hoping for any distraction, any excuse to turn back. There wasn’t a single medic in sight.

When she glanced back at you, you were still watching her, your expression now tinged with a hint of curiosity. The small smile remained on your lips, but your brows drew together slightly, a question forming in your eyes as you took in her hesitant stance. Natasha stood there, rooted in place, her hand still pressed to the burn that she’d nearly forgotten about.

You tilted your head, motioning her inside with a simple gesture. She took a steadying breath, feeling her pulse quicken as she pushed open the door to your office. Her steps were quieter than usual, hesitant even, as she crossed the threshold. She took a steadying breath, walking into your office with a calm that didn’t quite reach her racing pulse. Your eyes tracked her movements, and she could feel your gaze lingering on her, keen and observant.

“Natasha,” you greeted, your tone light, yet there was an underlying note of concern. “This is a surprise.” You glanced at her hand, then back to her face, as if piecing together the puzzle before you. “What brings you to the med bay?”

She swallowed, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. “Burned myself,” she admitted, her voice steady, though it felt like every nerve in her body was lit up with the awareness of how close you were, of how you were looking at her with such careful attention. She showed you her hand, revealing the reddened skin of her palm.

Your gaze flickered down to the ‘burn’, your expression softening as you took her hand in yours. Your touch was gentle, professional, but even so, it sent a jolt of awareness through her.

You gave the faintest chuckle as you looked at the ‘injury’, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Not sure this qualifies as a burn,” you said, your tone dry, though not unkind. “More like… a heated reminder that pans get hot.”

Natasha huffed, her lips curving into a small, reluctant smile. “Guess I’m not much of a chef,” she murmured. The words tasted foreign on her tongue, an admission of sorts, one she wouldn’t normally make. But there was something about the way you looked at her—patient, unhurried—that made her feel like she could let that slip.

You motioned for her to sit on one of the medical beds, and though you knew you wouldn’t need to treat her ‘burn’, you figured it would be better than letting her stand there awkwardly. “Go ahead, take a seat,” you said with a nod toward the bed. “Might as well make you comfortable while I bandage you up for, uh, safety reasons.”

She sat onto the bed, her movements graceful but not entirely relaxed, as if she didn’t know what to do with herself in this setting. You took your time gathering a few supplies—far more than you needed, really—giving her a chance to settle in. As you approached, you couldn’t help but wonder what had truly brought her here. The faint redness on her palm wasn’t worth a trip to the med bay, especially not for someone like Natasha, who you knew could take a bullet without flinching.

You gently took her hand in yours, inspecting the skin. “Honestly,” you murmured, keeping your tone light, “I’ve seen paper cuts worse than this.” You dabbed at the redness with a disinfectant wipe, more out of habit than necessity. “If you’re planning on cooking again, though, I’d recommend sticking to things that don’t involve open flames. Or hot pans. Or, well, anything that could potentially burn the whole tower down.”

A faint scoff escaped her, but there was a trace of amusement there, even if she wouldn’t admit it. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, her voice laced with dry humour. But as you worked, she found herself less focused on the barely noticeable sting of the wipe and more on the warmth of your hands, the way your touch was careful and gentle, even though it really didn’t need to be.

“You know,” you started again, your tone conversational, “I didn’t think I’d ever see the infamous Natasha Romanoff in the med bay.” Your lips curved into a teasing smile. “I thought you were allergic to hospitals.”

Natasha scoffed, rolling her eyes even as a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Not allergic,” she replied.

You began to wrap a small bandage around her palm—a completely unnecessary measure, but you had a suspicion that there was more to her visit than a minor kitchen mishap. You chuckled softly, and the sound wrapped around her, disarming her in a way she hadn’t expected.

“Well, I’m honoured to be your first doctor,” you said, your tone light but sincere. “I solemnly swear to do my best to make it worth your while.”

There was a brief, comfortable silence as you finished bandaging her hand, your touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. When you finally stepped back, Natasha found herself reluctant to leave the warmth of your presence. It felt strange—this desire to stay, to linger in your office just a little while longer. But before she could come up with an excuse, you spoke again.

“Try not to make a habit of burning yourself, okay?” you said, your tone gently teasing. “But if you do, you know where to find me. Well, you’re welcome here anytime, actually not just with me,” you said, the warmth in your tone unmistakable. “Even if it’s just to burn yourself on another pan.”

Natasha shook her head slightly, a small smile curling at her lips as she slipped off the bed. “Thanks, doc,” she murmured, her voice softer now, the weight of her unspoken thoughts hanging in the air between you. She turned to leave, but not without glancing back over her shoulder, her eyes lingering on you for just a moment longer.

When she walked out, she felt an odd mix of relief and regret, like she’d left something important behind in that small, sterile room. But there was also a sense of quiet anticipation, a nagging thought at the back of her mind that maybe, just maybe, she’d be finding her way back to you sooner than she’d expected.

As the med bay’s room clicked shut behind her, Natasha couldn’t help but notice the absence of that soothing calmness your presence brought.

Her thoughts trailed back to the feeling of your hands on her skin, the way you looked at her with such genuine care. It was foreign, this sense of wanting to be seen, to be taken care of. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. But as she headed back to her room, her mind kept drifting to you, to the thought of what it might be like to let herself be vulnerable for once. To let someone in.

And it was that thought that left her standing in the hallway, staring at your empty room again, with a faint glimmer of anticipation she didn’t quite know how to name.

‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

The dimly lit corridors of the Avengers Tower were quiet at this hour, the stillness only broken by the sound of Natasha’s footsteps as she made her way down the hall. It was well past midnight when she returned from the mission, her body aching from bruises and scrapes that ran deeper than they looked. There were no major injuries—nothing that would keep her from reporting for duty tomorrow—but she knew she needed to see you. There was something different about this mission, something that gnawed at her. The kind of thing she didn’t talk about.

When she reached the med bay, she found the lights still on in your office. You were hunched over a tablet, reviewing some data from the Regeneration Cradle project, still in your scrubs despite the late hour. Natasha hesitated for a moment, unsure of what exactly had drawn her here yet again. But before she could question it any further, you glanced up and saw her standing there, framed by the doorway, your brows knitting together in concern as you took in her dishevelled appearance.

“Natasha,” you murmured, rising from your chair and crossing the room in a few swift strides. “What happened?”

She shrugged, the motion a little stiff, her expression unreadable. “Mission got a bit rough. Nothing I can’t handle,” she replied, though you noticed the faint tremor in her voice. It was almost imperceptible, but you’d spent enough time with her now to pick up on the small cracks in her otherwise flawless façade.

“Sit down,” you said softly, your voice steady but firm, leaving no room for argument. She obeyed without protest, settling onto one of the medical beds while you began to gather supplies. As you worked to clean and dress her wounds, you could see the signs of fatigue written across her features, the way her shoulders sagged and the dullness in her usually sharp eyes.

You tended to her in silence for a while, your hands moving with practised ease, but as you wrapped a bandage around her arm, you noticed the distant look in her gaze. Her mind was somewhere else, reliving whatever had unfolded on that mission. It wasn’t just the bruises or the cuts—something deeper had left its mark on her, something that bandages couldn’t heal.

When you finished, you packed up the supplies and glanced at the clock. You could see the exhaustion settling over her like a weight she couldn’t shake off. “Come on,” you said quietly, your tone gentle yet insistent. “Let’s get you out of here.”

She raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity and surprise flickering across her expression. “And go where?” she asked, though her voice was softer now, not challenging.

You didn’t answer right away, just gave her a small, reassuring smile as you started toward the door. She fell into step beside you, and for a moment, the silence stretched on, neither of you quite sure what to say. It wasn’t until you reached your floor, walked into the hallway and passed by the door to your own room that she noticed your hand lingering on that handle.

Natasha watched as you pushed the door open and stepped inside. It was the first time she’d seen you enter your room, and something about it felt significant, like you were crossing a line that had been quietly drawn between SHIELD-you and Avenger-you. But just as quickly, you emerged again, pulling the door shut behind you as if it had been nothing at all.

You turned to her, and before she could think of anything to say, you placed your hand gently on the small of her back, your touch grounding her in the quiet darkness of the hallway. Leaning in close, you whispered, “You’re not going to be alone tonight, Natasha. I’m not leaving you to deal with this by yourself.” Your voice was firm, yet so tender it almost broke her resolve.

Her breath hitched, and she felt a shiver run through her at the closeness, at the feeling of your warmth pressed lightly against her. The words hung in the air, wrapping around her in a way that made her want to lean into you, to let down the walls she’d so carefully built up. But she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t used to someone offering to tend to her in this way, to look beyond the bruises and cuts and see the wounds that lay beneath.

You saw the hesitation flicker in her eyes, so you took a step forward, pushing the door to her room open with your foot and guiding her inside. She let you steer her, grateful for the quiet control you took over the situation. It felt strangely freeing to relinquish that power, even just a little, and she found herself relishing the way you took charge, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Her mind was racing now, her thoughts blurring into a haze as she imagined you continuing to take control—not just over this moment, but over her entirely. She could almost see it, feel it—the way your hands would travel across her skin, guiding her to let go, to forget about the burdens that weighed on her. It was a dangerous line to tread, one she’d never dared to walk before. But as you gently steered her toward the bed, keeping your hand at the small of her back, she found herself wishing for it, craving it.

You closed the door behind you with a quiet click, the sound almost like a promise. “You don’t have to say anything,” you whispered, your voice steady, yet carrying a note of command that sent another shiver down her spine. “Just let me take care of you tonight. Whatever you need.”

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat, the emotions swirling inside her too complex, too raw to unravel right then. But as she sank down onto the bed, she allowed herself to look up at you, her eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. There was none. Only the steady calm of your gaze and the silent promise that you wouldn’t let your friend and teammate be alone with the darkness of her thoughts.

The room was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioning and the gentle rustling of sheets as Natasha settled onto the bed. You could see right away now that something was different about her tonight—her movements were slower, her gaze unfocused, and there was a hesitance in the way she held herself. This wasn’t the confident, self-assured woman you’d come to know. She looked almost… lost.

You didn’t comment on it, though. There was no need to call attention to what was already evident in the way she slumped slightly, or the way her eyes drifted to the floor, avoiding yours. Instead, you pulled up a chair beside the bed, lowering yourself to her level. "Natasha," you said softly, your voice laced with concern, "is it alright for you if I stay here tonight?" She looked up at you, a flicker of surprise crossing her expression. "I see what you're going through," you continued, your tone gentle and reassuring. "You don’t have to say anything, but I just want you to know that you’re safe here. I meant it when I said you could always come to me.”

She nodded, a small, almost imperceptible motion, but there was a weight to it that spoke louder than words. "You can stay," she murmured, though the admission seemed to make her tense up even more, as if the very act of accepting comfort was something foreign to her.

You moved to sit beside her on the bed, and she hesitated for a moment before scooting closer, leaning into you ever so slightly. Her mind must have been racing, you realised, because the look in her eyes was distant, glazed over with something that lay beyond mere exhaustion. A soft flush began to bloom on her cheeks, high up on those sharp cheekbones of hers, and you could see the way her breath quickened ever so slightly.

Curious, you tilted her chin up with your fingers, guiding her gaze back to you. "Natasha," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, "talk to me."

Her composure cracked like thin ice under the weight of her emotions. Her shoulders slumped, and her breath shuddered out of her. "The mission," she began, her voice raw and tired, "it was… draining. More than usual." She took a shaky breath, her eyes glistening with a vulnerability you hadn’t this explicitly seen from her before. "I’m so exhausted, in my head… But my body doesn’t know how to stop. I can’t seem to switch off, not even for a few hours of sleep."

You pulled her into your arms without hesitation, feeling her melt into your embrace as you held her close. Her head rested against your chest, her breaths coming in uneven patterns as you gently stroked her hair, your fingers running through the strands in a soothing rhythm. She nestled herself deeper into you, finding comfort in the steady beat of your heart, and for a long while, you simply held her, letting the silence stretch on as she settled into the warmth of your touch.

After a while, she tilted her head up, resting her chin against your sternum so she could meet your gaze. Her eyes were dark, filled with a yearning you couldn’t quite place, and she whispered, "Do you… have a remedy for that? For this? For helping me sleep?" There was something in the way she said it that carried more weight than just the words themselves, like she was asking for something deeper, something that went beyond comfort and rest.

You shook your head softly, your fingers still combing through her hair. "I don’t," you admitted, your voice low and steady, "but I can stay with you. I’ll be here, Natasha. For as long as you need me."

A small, frustrated whine escaped her lips as she burrowed her face into your chest again, trying to get comfortable in your embrace. She shifted against you, the silk of her bralette brushing against your skin as she cuddled closer, her hands slowly trailing down your sides. You continued to rub her back, your hands tracing gentle circles over the soft material, pressing into the tense muscles to release the knots that seemed to have built up there. She sighed into your touch, her breath hot against your skin, her body relaxing bit by bit under your ministrations.

But then, as your hands wandered lower, you felt it—the slight roll of her hips against your thigh, a subtle motion at first, as if she hadn’t quite realised she was doing it. But there was no mistaking the soft, breathy moan that slipped from her lips as she continued, her body responding to the contact in a way that betrayed her exhaustion. It was instinctual, unthinking—her hips moved with a slow rhythm, grinding against the muscle of your thigh, her breath quickening as she unconsciously chased some kind of relief.

Your hands stilled for a moment, and you could feel your pulse quicken at the realisation of what was happening. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t anticipated that her need for comfort would turn into something else. But as she pressed herself against you, her breath becoming more laboured with each movement, you found yourself reacting to her in ways you hadn’t thought you would. Heat pooled low in your belly, and you felt the tension building as she rutted against you, completely unaware of just how much she was affecting you.

You slipped your hands lower, cupping her behind and giving it a firm squeeze, feeling the way she gasped, the sound escaping her lips louder than before. "Natasha," you breathed, your voice low and gravelly as you massaged the flesh beneath your hands, the heat of her skin searing through the thin silk.

She whimpered at your touch, burying her face even deeper into your chest as if to hide the flush that burned across her cheeks. Her hands fisted the fabric of your pyjama shirt, tugging at it almost desperately, and you couldn’t help but chuckle softly as you reached down to help her peel it off. She pushed it up and over your head with trembling hands, her gaze still filled with that desperate, confused need that made her look so beautifully vulnerable.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your voice gentle but laced with a hint of command. “I’m here, Natasha. I’m your best friend, remember? I said I’d help you with anything.” The words hung in the air between you, their meaning sinking in as you brushed your thumb over the curve of her cheek. Her breathing hitched, her eyes searching yours for reassurance, and you gave it to her without hesitation, pulling her closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

Natasha’s body trembled against yours, the air thick with a mixture of tension and anticipation. Her breath came in shallow pants, and you could feel the way her muscles tensed as your hands wandered over her curves again, massaging the silk-covered skin beneath your touch. You kissed along the side of her neck, gentle and slow, as if to coax her into relaxing even further, but you could sense the way she craved more—something deeper, something stronger.

Her hands gripped your shoulders, nails digging in as you eased her back onto the bed. She lay beneath you, her hair fanned out across the pillow, and you took a moment to admire the flush on her cheeks, the darkened look in her eyes that spoke of need.

Natasha’s breath hitched, her back arching instinctively as your hand slid between her thighs, grazing the damp fabric of her underwear. She gasped, hips jerking up to meet your touch, the thin barrier doing nothing to hide the wetness that had already pooled there.

"You're so tense," you whispered, your voice low and soothing as you slipped a hand inside her panties, finally touching her bare. The heat of her arousal coated your fingers, and Natasha’s head fell back with a sigh as you began to trace slow, teasing circles over her clit. "Just let go for me… I'm right here."

Your words seemed to unravel something in her, a barrier breaking down as her legs fell open wider, inviting more of your touch. You slid a finger inside her, her walls clenching around you instantly, hot and slick.

Her moans were soft at first, barely audible as you set a gentle rhythm, the pads of your fingers curling up to stroke that sensitive spot inside her that made her toes curl. She was dripping, her arousal coating your fingers as you slipped another one in, filling her more. Her hips moved in time with your thrusts, as if seeking even more pressure, more friction.

It was pure bliss for her; your touch was skilled, coaxing her closer to release with every deliberate stroke. Her hands fisted the sheets as you leaned down, kissing along her collarbone, and you could feel the way she trembled beneath you, her thighs quivering.

It didn’t take long before you felt her tightening around your fingers, her breath coming faster, her moans growing higher and more desperate. You kept your pace even as she came, her body shuddering in pleasure, riding out the waves of her first orgasm.

You kept your touch and movements gentle, drawing out her pleasure, letting her ride the waves as they gradually ebbed, not wanting to overwhelm her just yet.. But just as her breathing steadied, a hoarse whisper escaped her lips, "More… please, I need… rougher."

The desperation in her voice was raw, unfiltered, and it made something tighten in your chest. This wasn’t just about pleasure; she was asking for something deeper, a way to escape the weight she carried.

Natasha’s skin glowed with a light sheen of sweat, the warmth radiating off her body mixing with the coolness of the room. As you leaned over her, your hands travelled the curves of her ribs, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her silk bralette. The fabric felt smooth against your fingertips as you traced over the taut muscles of her abdomen, her body tense and ready beneath you. She let out a soft sigh, a quiet surrender as she allowed herself to let go, to focus solely on the sensations you were creating.

You shifted your weight slightly, your hips pressing into the firmness of her pelvis as you slid your fingers back into her, this time with more force and speed than before. Natasha moaned, the sound vibrating in her chest as you pushed in deep, filling her completely. Her walls tightened around your fingers, clenching with each thrust as you built up a rhythm that left her gasping, her hips rocking back against you. Her body was a mix of heat and tension, the friction of your skin against hers heightening every touch, every sound.

“More,” she whispered, the word slipping out like a plea. “Please… I need more.”

The raw need in her voice spurred you on, and you complied without hesitation. You could see how much she was aching for it, her body craving the kind of release that came not only from pleasure but from being overwhelmed, from being taken. You angled your fingers upwards, finding that perfect spot deep within her, and began to stroke it with every thrust, sending sharp jolts of ecstasy through her. Natasha’s breath hitched, a choked moan escaping her lips as her hips bucked, seeking more of the relentless pressure you provided.

“Is this what you needed?” you asked, your voice low and rough as you watched her come undone beneath you. “For me to fuck you like this?”

Her response came in the form of a breathless cry, her fingers digging into the sheets as her back arched off the mattress. Her body trembled with each deep thrust, the wetness coating your fingers making each movement slick and easy, allowing you to pound into her at a brutal pace. You could feel the way her walls gripped you tighter and tighter, the pressure building up inside her like a coiled spring ready to snap.

Then, in one swift motion, you turned her over onto her stomach, and Natasha let out a surprised gasp as you pressed her down against the bed. You kept her legs spread, your hand slipping between her thighs once more, but this time your other hand slid up her spine, following the curve of her body until you were gripping her shoulder. The position allowed you to thrust even deeper, the new angle making her whole body shudder as you buried your fingers inside her, the wet sounds of her arousal filling the room.

Natasha whimpered, burying her face into the sheets as you began to pound into her from behind, the pressure of each thrust making her toes curl. The sensation was overwhelming, her senses consumed by the way your fingers drove into her, the roughness of your touch giving her exactly what she’d begged for. She pushed back against you, her hips meeting every thrust with desperate need, as if she couldn’t get enough. The force of your movements rocked her body forward with each plunge, and you could feel the way her muscles tightened, the tension building in her core with each deep stroke.

As you drove her closer to the edge, you leaned down, your lips brushing against her ear. “You look so beautiful like this,” you murmured, your voice thick with desire. “Falling apart, just for me.”

Her body shivered at your words, her breath catching in her throat as a flush crept up her neck. You could feel the way she was spiralling, her control slipping away with every thrust, every stroke of your fingers inside her. And then, just as she teetered on the brink, you withdrew your fingers, only to replace them with your mouth. You pressed your tongue flat against her slit, licking a slow, deliberate stripe from her entrance to her clit, tasting the heady mix of her arousal on your lips.

The sound Natasha made was somewhere between a gasp and a sob, her body jerking in response to the sudden shift in sensation. You felt her thighs tremble as you dipped your tongue inside her, savouring the wet heat of her. Her taste was intoxicating, each flick of your tongue drawing out another moan from her as she pressed her hips back, desperate for more contact. You alternated between licking and sucking, your lips closing around her clit to draw it into your mouth before swirling your tongue over it, sending sparks of pleasure racing through her.

Natasha’s body tightened, her legs trembling as the pressure built to an unbearable peak, her orgasm finally crashing over her in a wave that left her gasping for air. Her moans were unrestrained, desperate, as her body shuddered beneath you, the intensity of her climax making her limbs quake. You didn’t let up, continuing to lap at her with slow, thorough strokes, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until she was completely spent.

As her breathing began to steady, you pulled back, allowing her a moment to catch her breath. Natasha's body lay limp against the bed, the flush still lingering on her cheeks, her hair a wild mess around her face. But even as the exhaustion settled in, you could see a renewed hunger in her eyes as she turned over onto her back again, reaching for you. Her hand slipped down to your thigh, tugging at you weakly as she whispered, “I… I want to taste you.”

You hesitated for a moment, but then obliged, positioning yourself over her. As you settled above her mouth, you felt a shiver of anticipation run through you. Her breath was hot against your core, the warmth of it making your skin prickle. 

Natasha's tongue darted out, hesitantly at first, tracing a slow path along the inner curve of your thigh before moving higher. Her touch was unsteady, as if she was still recovering from her own release, but you could feel the eagerness in every movement as she began to lick at you, her tongue sliding over your folds, tasting the arousal that had gathered there.

The first real contact sent a jolt through your body, a sharp intake of breath escaping you as Natasha pressed deeper, her tongue curling upwards to tease your entrance. The sensation was electric, the wet heat of her mouth surrounding you, and you couldn't help but let out a quiet moan as she began to suck gently, her lips closing around your sensitive clit. She licked with a kind of desperation, her mouth moving in frantic, needy strokes that made your hips twitch involuntarily. You could feel your own release building, the pleasure winding tighter and tighter with every flick of her tongue, every gentle suck.

But then her pace faltered, her movements growing slower and more languid as the exhaustion pulled at her. You felt her head slump slightly, her breathing uneven. Acting quickly, you grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled sharply, your voice a low growl as you demanded her attention. “Natasha,” you said, a dark chuckle slipping past your lips as you looked down at her. “You’re not done yet.”

Her eyes fluttered open, filled with a renewed determination. You stroked her jaw, feeling the wetness smeared across her cheeks and lips before guiding her back to your core. “Keep going,” you instructed, your voice firm and commanding as you bucked your hips forward slightly. “You’re doing so well. Show me just how good you can be.”

The words seemed to ignite something in her, and she dove back in with fervor, licking at you greedily. Her tongue moved in long, deep strokes, lapping up every drop as if she were trying to devour you entirely. You could feel your own body trembling with the effort to hold back, the pleasure cresting higher and higher with each pass of her tongue over your clit, each eager suck. Your fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her movements as you rode the waves of pleasure, the sensation building to an almost unbearable peak.

The tight coil in your belly finally snapped, sending you tumbling over the edge into a mind-numbing climax. Your thighs clamped around her head, your moans spilling out uncontrollably as the pleasure coursed through you in heavy, pulsating waves. Natasha’s mouth never left you, her tongue continuing to stroke you through every spasm, every shiver, milking every last bit of your release until you were left trembling and breathless above her.

Natasha’s body moulded perfectly into yours, her weight a soft, reassuring presence as she settled against your chest once more. The aftershocks of pleasure still lingered faintly in her, and you could feel the slight tremble in her muscles as she curled tighter into you, seeking comfort. Her breath was warm against your neck, her chest rising and falling slowly, as if her exhaustion was finally overtaking her.

You stroked her back, fingers moving with practised tenderness, tracing small, soothing circles over the silky fabric of her bralette. Her skin beneath was flushed from the intensity of what had just transpired, the heat from her body sinking into yours. You could feel the subtle tension still in her muscles, the kind that came from more than just physical exertion—it was the emotional weight she carried, the one that had been gradually cracking through her tough exterior tonight.

“You’re okay now,” you whispered into her hair, your voice barely more than a breath. The words were simple, but you knew how much she needed to hear them. “I’ve got you, Natasha.”

She made a sound in the back of her throat, a low hum of agreement or maybe relief, her arms tightening around your torso as if she didn’t want to let go. “You’re always good to me,” she murmured, her lips grazing your collarbone with each quiet word. There was a vulnerability in her voice that was rare, as though she was allowing herself to drop her walls completely, if only for this moment.

“And I always will be,” you reassured her, your voice soft but firm. “Whenever you need me, for anything… I’m here.”

The weight of those words seemed to hang between you, not just as a promise but as something deeper—an acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between you, shifting from mere friendship to something with far more gravity. Natasha tilted her head back slightly, her eyes heavy-lidded but searching yours, as though she was trying to understand why you were so steadfast, why you remained by her side even when she was at her most vulnerable.

Her lips curled into a small, almost fragile smile. “It goes both ways, you know,” she said, her voice low and still tinged with that post-orgasmic haze. “If you ever need… anything… anytime, I’m here for you too. I mean it. If you need to blow off steam, or… just… need someone to take care of you.” Her gaze flickered with an unusual openness, her green eyes catching the low light in the room. “I’ll always be there. For you.”

You felt your chest tighten slightly, a warmth blooming inside you at the thought of what she was offering, what she trusted you with.

“You’d be up for this… whenever?” you asked, a teasing edge to your voice, though your heart pounded a little faster at the idea.

Natasha nodded, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment, clearly struggling against the heavy pull of sleep. “Anytime,” she whispered, her words soft and sincere. “Even if it’s the middle of the day… middle of the night… if you need me, I’ll be there.”

Your lips quirked into a soft smile at her honesty, feeling the significance of her admission. Your hand found its way to her cheek, gently tilting her face back to you. She gazed up at you with exhaustion and trust written across her features, her breath slow and steady, her body pliant against yours.

"Good to know," you murmured, running your thumb along her jaw, feeling her relax into your touch. 

Natasha's eyelids fluttered shut as the weight of sleep began to pull her down, her body growing even heavier against yours. Just when you thought she’d drifted off entirely, she spoke again, her voice slurred with drowsiness. “Let’s… keep this just between us,” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin. “No one else… needs to know.”

You pressed your lips to the crown of her head, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair. “Just us,” you promised, your voice low and soothing as you cradled her closer. “No one else has to know.”

Natasha gave a small, sleepy nod, her arms tightening around you as if clinging to the comfort you offered. “Good,” she whispered, her words barely audible as sleep finally claimed her. “Just… ours.”

As she drifted off, you continued to hold her, feeling the steady rhythm of her breath against you, your fingers still tracing soft patterns over her skin. You knew this arrangement, this shared need for each other, was more than just a temporary fix. It was a deeper understanding, an unspoken promise to be there in whatever ways the other needed—whether for comfort, for stress relief, or something more that neither of you was ready to name yet.

[alpalpym]

Portrait of a wounded heart (1/8)

Summary:

You attend a live figure drawing class with the intention of falling in love with your favorite hobby again, instead you set your sights on something entirely different.

Lesbian fall romance for those in need ;)

‼️This work has been posted to ao3 as well and you can find the complete book there if you don’t wanna wait for the updates here!

18+ toward the end, read at your own risk⚠️

CHAPTER 1 Obsession, digression

You had been putting off signing up for a live figure drawing course for the entirety of your summer break when you had had all the time in the world to really get into studying anatomy with various different mediums, but inspiration and motivation had been very sparse for longer than just a few weeks or months. You didn’t really care anymore. You had lost what was perhaps the most important part of creating, you’d lost your passion toward art, the very same passion that you had kept alive since childhood. You knew you should’ve kept practicing, should’ve put more effort, more love, into the part of your life that kept you mentally nourished, but you just couldn’t seem to get over the artistic block that held you back. So, as a result you had made the decision to take part in a quick art course at your university to really push yourself out of your comfort zone. It might have either been the best or the worst idea you had had in a while, but there was no telling until you would enter the classroom and get to work.

You heard a loud honk through your earbuds, something that seemed to be more than frequent during rush hour, the sound blending in with the music that you were blasting into your mind to keep it quiet as you hurried across the street in case the honk was directed at you specifically. You tossed your empty takeout cup of coffee into the nearest bin you could find, tugging your coat tighter around you to shield yourself from the aggressive wind that made you shiver violently as you walked down the dark and busy street to find the university building that offered night classes to anyone who paid an excessive amount of money. You couldn’t really tell why you had decided to spend so much on a month-long course, but you could no longer withdraw your payment which left you no other choice but to go.

The door to the building you were heading for opened, a tall woman stepping outside, scrunching her nose at the humidity in the air, her hair dancing in the wind as she walked down the steps and disappeared out of your sight. You pulled on the handle of that same door, finding yourself inside an ancient building that had a rather striking, old-fashioned interior, the academic decor of bookshelves and plaster statues gaining your attention immediately. You had never been inside it before because your studies were mostly located on the opposite side of campus, but you managed to locate your classroom with only mild difficulty, feeling nervous butterflies in your abdomen, the odd sensation fluttering through you in waves of discomfort. You kind of wanted to leave, backtracking in your plans of reawakening the creative part of your mind. You could bring it back to life in the comfort of your own bedroom, the easels and assortments of charcoal pieces suddenly feeling more than intimidating by the minute as other artists slowly filled the room with their presence. None of them had even touched a single pencil or a piece of paper, yet you felt intimidated, like you had already failed before even getting the chance to prove your skills. You bit the inside of your lip, fiddling with a raw piece of coal, unintentionally staining your fingers black with the unrefined drawing tool. You felt like you couldn’t draw at all, like you had been shoved into a room filled with Michelangelos and Van Gohs who would all notice your incompetence before you had even been assigned a task.

Your anxiety flattened your mood rather effectively, the teacher’s words going right past you as she introduced herself, telling the class about her history with the university. You briefly wondered if you should have paid more attention to her because you were paying to be there after all, but you failed to keep your ears open and eyes on her, so you began to shade in the corner of the paper with no further purpose than to kill time, patiently waiting for the teacher to give you something to do. She rambled on for quite a while before asking the class to draw a quick five-minute sketch from memory of a person golfing, reminding everyone to focus on the line of action that often defined movement in drawings. You hated the prompt. You had never drawn a person golfing because nobody wanted to see that. Golf? Golf was for old people, but you began to draw random strokes on the paper anyway without even knowing what pose you were going for. You tried to see a golfing person through your mind’s eye, but apparently that part of your brain was out of use. You just couldn’t figure it out, the time limit only adding on to the pressure you felt.

You came into the conclusion that the exercise sucked. You stared at your sketch of a lanky golfer holding up a golf club, deciding that the figure was unintelligible and looked stiff in its unnatural position. You wanted to rip the paper into shreds but allowed the teacher to give you a second prompt without you making a scene in the corner of the large classroom. You hated that you had no way of finding references for what you were drawing, but you guessed it to be some sort of teaching method that would allow you to see your faulty way of thinking, as well as encourage you to actually learn anatomy that would eventually grant you the skill of drawing from memory. The subsequent prompt the teacher gave you went in from one ear and came right out the other, leaving you to ponder what it had been for the next five minutes while others sketched said figure. You pretended to do something with your easel and piece of lead to avoid sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the enthusiastic students as they worked on their sketches. With no prompt to follow, you zoned out completely, your eyes falling out of focus, freezing you into place as you sat still on your small stool. You barely even registered the teacher’s timer going off somewhere in the background, your body remaining in the same position for the next fifteen minutes as the teacher explained the meaning behind the first exercise and moved on to introducing a second one. Your mind was empty and full at the same time. You were stuck, stuck both physically and mentally, a sense of despair clawing at your chest for the wasted opportunity. You should have been happy, excited, eager to learn more, eager to give yourself what you needed, but you just couldn’t. You were too overwhelmed, too nervous to even give your creative side a chance, so you just sat, staring ahead. What finally drew you out of your troubled mind was the plain door to your left that opened suddenly, the gentle sound alerting you of an entering presence that caught you completely off guard in the state of comfort that you had found in the lonely corner of the classroom. You watched as a red-headed woman wearing a white robe slipped through the door. She gave you a polite smile as she shut the door behind her, walking over to the teacher who had a bright smile on her face.

“Here’s your model”, she announced in that overly sweet tone of hers, clearly ecstatic about the exercise. There was something about the way she spoke that made you not want to listen to a single word she said, but the remarkably beautiful woman who she was introducing to everyone seemed to be enough to hold your attention. “I want to go over the appropriate etiquette one more time so that there is no confusion”, the teacher said a bit more sternly. “There will be no photographing the model. There’ll be no touching, no talking, no commenting on appearances. Her safety and comfort come first which means you’re not allowed to make any kind of contact with her unless she initiates it”, the teacher reiterated, your eyes lingering on the model’s soft features, her striking red hair styled into loose curls that reached past her shoulders. “If I see so much as a glimpse of a phone or some other photographing device you’ll be thrown out of class and charged a fine. And finally –you would think this goes without saying, but apparently not– you’re not allowed to ask her out on a date or ask for her phone number. She is here to model and that is it”, the teacher asserted, brushing her hand down the model’s back, discreetly guiding her toward the center of the room where a tall stool stood. “Now… shall we get started?”

The model exuded confidence, she knew what she was doing, how to act, her captivating exterior letting you know that she had posed more than a couple of times before. She dropped her gown to the floor, your eyes suddenly nailed to your fresh sheet of paper. You couldn’t look at her, it felt too disrespectful. You couldn’t understand why because you’d seen naked women before, you had seen multiple naked people in your lifetime, yet suddenly it made your cheeks heat from embarrassment, your stomach swarming with butterflies. She was too pretty to be looked at, too enchanting, but deep down you knew you were beyond curious. You wanted to see more of her beauty, suddenly reminded of why you always gravitated toward figure studies specifically, and why you had chosen the course in the first place. You loved anatomy, and more explicitly female anatomy. You treated the female physique with a certain reverence, appreciative of both its capabilities as well as aesthetics. You felt a spark of excitement within you, allowing yourself to be intrigued by what was to come, but you also knew that it wasn’t just the artist in you that wanted to see her, wanted to witness the extent of her charming looks. You felt like everyone was looking at you, judging you for exhibiting homosexual tendencies. You shut your eyes, wincing at your reeling mind before gathering yourself, preparing to take a look at your subject as the teacher gave some more insight on the exercise.

“I want you to draw her in ten seconds, and ten seconds exactly, no more, no less. You’re going to produce me a loose sketch. Make it as loose and wild as possible, but make sure it still lets the viewer know that the subject is human. Utilize light strokes, curves and circles. Remember, the human body has no straight lines. There’s always a slight curve”, the teacher instructed, walking back and forth in the classroom, observing everyone to make sure no one was falling behind. You picked up an HB-lead pencil, whittling the tip with a utility knife to get your desired lead sharpness for drawing. “Ready?” You heard the teacher’s voice, preparing yourself to take a look at your model. So what, she was pretty? You drew pretty people all the time. “Three, two, one, go!” The teacher cheered with so much enthusiasm it sounded like she was commentating a sports event.

You peeked your head from behind the board propped up on the easel, your eyes landing on your model only to find her staring right back at you. Holy fuck. Your face flushed. Out of all the directions she could have been looking at she had chosen yours. She sat on the stool, her right foot supported by the beam that connected the legs of the chair at the bottom, left foot up on the edge of the seat. Her arms hugged her bent leg loosely, the position hiding her bare breasts from most angles. Her head was slightly tilted to the side to give her pose a sense of casualness, her natural color-palette and dominating presence begging for you to find any kind of assortment of pigments that you could utilize to replicate the soft hues of her complexion. There was no other way to capture her beauty, her poise, her hair, her skin, her eyes, her lips. You just stared at her, unable to move as the sound of charcoal on paper filled the room, the rest of the students putting admirable effort into their sketches, whereas you just stared. You could not pull your eyes away, you simply could not, the woman holding your gaze with impressive consistency. Her eyes were so intense, so green and warm even though the shade of green was on the cooler side. She had a mole on her cheek and a slight pout to her lips, the very last seconds of your time spent on observing the gorgeous shape of her round nose.

“Time!”

The corner of the woman’s mouth quirked up in a small smirk as your eyes widened. There was not a single line on your paper, not one, not even an accidental smudge of lead, and she knew it. She had seen you stare at her for every single second of the assigned time. You pulled back, forcing yourself to take a glance at the teacher who was looking over everyone’s work. Shit. You gripped your pencil, quickly drawing an oval shape to represent the model’s bent up leg, drawing a messy circle for her head, and a couple loose lines for the rest of her limbs. It was poor, but it wasn’t supposed to be good anyway, your hand leaving the paper when your teacher walked to your side, eyeing your plain sketch.

“Good job everyone!” She congratulated rather vaguely, moving back to the middle of the class where the students could see her. “I want you to draw the same pose again, but this time I’m giving you thirty seconds. Make it more detailed, take it a step further. You’ll be surprised by how much the extra twenty seconds will affect your work”, she said encouragingly, glancing down at the timer in her hand. “Is everyone ready?” After receiving affirmative nods and a couple verbal responses she pressed the button to start the timer again. “Go!”

Your gaze returned to the model, her eyes still on you. It was ridiculous. Why did she have to look at you? You were going to get nothing done in a class you paid a fortune to be in. You sighed in defeat, allowing your eyes to drop down to her body, trying your best to keep your cool as you studied her toned legs for a moment before going back to your sheet of paper. You reproduced the ten-second sketch, defining the shapes a little more, pulling back a bit to place your pencil in front of you, measuring the length of her limbs by looking at her through your dominant eye only to get accurate proportions. Once you got the sketch going and found a way to direct your attention to the sheet of paper, drawing became significantly easier, allowing you to get over your initial feeling of being flustered, but when the chair and limbs were done and you moved on to her torso and head, you felt your mind blank again. There she was, looking at you, staring at you with those steadfast eyes, unmoving like a carefully chiseled marble statue. Something made her unique, made her different from the other people you had drawn in your lifetime. She was so incredibly captivating that you felt like it couldn’t possibly be replicated through any art medium. You were positive that not even the highest quality camera could capture her energy, her entity, quite right.

You spent more time looking than drawing, but you didn’t mind it in the slightest, and neither did your teacher as long as you were drawing something and putting at least a bit of effort into it. You continued the exercise, the teacher increasing the time limit with each round, the model’s pose remaining the same for the rest of the two-hour class. You were sure you could have drawn her in your dreams from how many sketches you had made of her, but you didn’t feel satisfied. You wanted to be able to capture her perfectly, you wanted a fresh sheet of paper and thirty hours to create a piece of art that would match her regal composure. She deserved more than messy lines and quick sketches. She deserved better materials. She deserved a canvas, the richest paints you could find, an atelier with the most perfect natural lighting. She deserved a real artist, someone who could do justice to her beauty.

You felt like you couldn’t get a single sketch right. Objectively they were good, and there was nothing wrong with them, but to you they didn’t feel right. Time and time again you failed to bring out that same sense of awe and admiration that she awoke in you when you looked at her. Your sketches were flat, void of the thrill you felt whenever your eyes locked with hers. You weren’t sure if you were even skilled enough to capture such a feeling, but you were willing to try, vehemently sketching away every single time your teacher set a new timer for the next round. It bothered you that you felt rushed by the time limit. You wanted to draw in peace, constantly getting fixated on different details on her body or face. You couldn’t focus on her as a whole because every small curve and arch of her body demanded your undivided attention. You couldn’t just look over the small freckle on her calf, or the ivory of her thighs, or her auburn curls, or the purple shade of her nail beds as she slowly grew colder over time, her lack of clothing making her hairs stand on end. You felt the urge to walk over to her and drape the robe back over her body, despite how unbothered she seemed by the low temperature.

“Time! What have you guys noticed so far?” The teacher inquired in genuine curiosity as she started walking again, eager to observe everyone’s work. You couldn’t think of an answer, no, your eyes straying back to the model, once more allowed to watch her without having to draw. You had moved your small stool to the side a bit, the model noting that she could see you fully in your new set up. Her gaze flicked down your body for just a split second to see all of you before her eyes were back on yours, the model maintaining her pose meticulously. You felt your body burn up when her lips pursed the slightest bit, threatening to curve into a smile, her eyes turning almost playful.

“You… um, Y/L/N, right? What have you learned?” The teacher asked suddenly, walking beside you to see your sketches. She clearly had impeccable name memory. Your eyes widened, the model scrunching her nose discreetly as if apologetic for the situation you had found yourself in.

“Yeah, uhh…” You simply could not think, struggling to form a single word in your brain that had been caught off guard by your teacher’s inquiry, anxiety creeping up your neck to squeeze your throat. “Lots”, you mumbled, glancing at the model, which turned out to be a mistake because she was biting down on her lower lip to keep herself from laughing at your poor answer. “You can go a long way with just… shapes”, you elaborated, the teacher seeming to accept your answer, nodding in agreement.

“Yes, precisely! I want you to look at your subject and draw shapes”, she began, her words clearly aimed at the entire class, her attention no longer on you or your work. “We often overcomplicate things by focusing on what they are instead of the shapes that build up the whole picture”, she explained, your attention going back to the model, your teacher’s voice fading into oblivion.

You weren’t sure whether it was all in your head or not, but you felt like there was tension between you and the woman in front of you, a connection. It almost made you feel like it was just the two of you in the classroom. Maybe it was because she was looking at you and you only, or because you were being delusional and a hopeless romantic who caved at the very thought of being the object of someone’s observation. You wished you could have spoken to her, could have somehow confirmed whether you were crazy or not, but it wasn’t allowed. You weren’t allowed to contact her in any way which caused a sudden wave of sorrow to go through you. Something about her made you want to get to know her, your predicament striking you as rather unfortunate because you didn’t feel that way about a lot of people. You couldn’t remember the last time you had even cared to waste a single thought on someone who you didn’t know. You glanced at the model again, trying to give her a small smile, wanting to give her some kind of signal of communication, but your smile was shy, so shy in fact that it probably didn’t look like a smile at all. You almost didn’t dare to look if she reacted to it, but to your utter surprise she returned your smile, the look in her eyes shifting the slightest bit. It was like she could smile through her eyes.

“Thank you for today. I’m looking forward to seeing you all next week!” The teacher’s voice drew you back into reality. You blinked your eyes, nearly flinching when the model moved suddenly, the effect very similar to that of a moving statue, the woman getting off the stool to pick up her robe, sliding it on to fight the cold of the classroom as the other students cleaned up after themselves, loud rustling of paper sounding in the air. You couldn’t move, still far too occupied by her energy, your eyes lingering on her, and then all of a sudden, she was closer. She was walking closer to you. She came to a stop in front of you, taking a good look at your sheet of paper filled with sketches of various levels of effort. She glanced down at you on your seat, pursing her lips to hide her smile.

“You’re very talented”, she said quietly, her voice low and smooth, not something you had expected, but it suited her perfectly. You didn’t know what to say or do, looking up at her with your lips parted, searching for words, but you didn’t have to figure out anything to say because she turned around and walked away, disappearing through the door that was on your left.

You exited the class in a haze, so deep inside your mind that you didn’t even realize it was dark and raining outside. The wind blew in your face, wetting your hair and skin as thoroughly as possible, your fingers doing their best to untangle your earbuds as you walked down the street, dodging a couple pedestrians who you nearly ran into on the narrow sidewalk. A man hit you with his shoulder, not far from pushing you into a pole in his hurry to avoid the rain. You would’ve thought that New Yorkers would have been used to the rain, but apparently you were wrong. Yet the normally irritating encounter didn’t manage to ruin your mood, not when you had someone who tended to steal your attention time and time again with her red hair, and sweet voice. You kept replaying her words in your mind, trying to remember the tone of her voice as accurately as possible, but you could already feel it slipping away from you despite your efforts. It frustrated you. You needed to know more about her, hear more of her voice, anything at all really. You wanted more, unable to shake her from your mind as you hurried down a staircase to catch the subway that had just come to a stop and was opening its doors to new passengers. You picked up your pace, running along the platform and slipping inside the train.

The memory of the model would not leave you alone, your mind returning to the way she had smiled at you, the way those impossibly green eyes had looked at you for minutes on end. She was there when you went to bed, when you woke up the next morning, when you rode the subway to the university, when you sat in class. You wished to draw her again, noticing your notebooks slowly fill up with quick sketches of that same pose that was forever going to be ingrained into your muscle memory. However, you struggled to remember the smaller details, none of your sketches resembling her enough, a growing frustration alerting you of its presence. You had to get it right, you had to see her again.

You were sitting in a lecture hall, shading in the muscles of her thighs absentmindedly as your professor spoke about the significance of Victorian literature. You liked your professor, finding her voice soothing, which often ended up being deceitful because it made you zone out without you even trying, her calm way of speaking allowing you to focus all your attention on the sketch in front of you. The model was beautiful, she was so beautiful even in your inaccurate sketch. You sighed quietly, tilting your head as you tapped your pencil against the sketchbook. You wondered what her name was, how old she was, what she did for a living. She looked like someone with an elegant name like Eleanor, or Francesca, or Antoinette, well, maybe not that fancy, but something along those lines. Maybe Anastasia or Madeleine. She looked older than you for sure, but certainly not too old for you. You liked older. Maybe she was somewhere between thirty and thirty-five, and possibly a full-time model. Although it didn’t seem to quite fit her. In your head she was not exactly a model by occupation which made you ponder how she had ended up in your classroom. She was athletic and worked out, that was for sure, her defined forearms and calves flashing through your mind. There was so much you didn’t know, so much room for possibility, room for you to make assumptions, the ambiguity allowing you to see whatever you desired. She was a blank canvas, a mystery for you to uncover.

An entire week’s worth of lectures went to waste as you daydreamed about your next art class in the hopes of seeing her again. You had far too much time on your hands to let your imagination run wild during lectures, every minute spent sketching as you thought about her. You thought about drawing her, painting her, holding her hand, your fantasies advancing to scenarios outside of art class to silly things like her waiting for you at campus, the autumn wind fluffing up her curls, a cup of coffee in her hand. You imagined the way she would smile at you, those pillowy lips sipping on her drink as she watched you do your homework at the library. You had decided that she liked pumpkin spice lattes with extra syrup and whipped cream on top. You thought that she looked like someone with an office of some sorts and maybe a nice flat in Brooklyn. You imagined that she wore classy clothes with an occasional odd piece that didn’t always fit her style. Of course you didn’t know because you had only ever seen her naked. The thought made you blush, an urge to hide away taking over you as your gaze met your professor’s. Hopefully she couldn’t read your mind. Her eyes flitted down to the sketchbook on your table, but she didn’t say a word despite seeing you do anything but focus on what she was talking about. You felt mortified, but only for a split second because then you were already dreaming of the way she would cup your face and pull you in by your waist to plant her lips on yours, and then before you could control your mind her fingers were buried deep inside you, her tongue licking into your mouth. Your entire body was lit on fire in mere seconds, your tight jeans only amplifying the arousal you felt pool between your legs. Oh, crap. You had a crush.

You weren’t one to flirt with women, you weren’t one to spend time around people, but for her you could’ve made an exception. You didn’t have crushes, you didn’t daydream, you weren’t a lover girl, yet slowly, you were becoming one, your mind consumed by a woman you knew nothing about. You couldn’t understand it. It was so unlike you to have silly crushes like that, but you couldn’t deny it. She was on your mind day and night, visiting you in your dreams. You loved and hated the feeling, finding joy in the thrill of liking someone, yet at the same time it was agonizing to know that it would never actualize into anything real. You were struck by an intense wave of affection, the subject of your admiration having no clue about any of it, which was both a relief and a disappointment to you.

A week rolled by on its own, bringing a sense of anticipation with it. You had patiently waited for your second art class in the hopes of seeing your newfound muse again, beyond thrilled that the agonizing wait was over. You said goodbye to one of your only friends at the university, heading to the beautiful, old building you had entered for the first time a week ago. You located your classroom with ease that time around, pumped full of excitement as you set everything up according to your teacher’s instructions, trying to remain patient as you waited for the class to begin. You were thrilled to create, to draw, to lose yourself in your work –in her– much like what you had been doing the previous week of school. You just needed to see her again, you needed to refresh your memory, even if you wouldn’t be allowed to talk to her. It didn’t even matter because you had gained your spark back, found passion, found something artistic to direct your energy toward. You had finally found a reason to create again, your heart longing for that consistent flow of inspiration, that high of creation, success, that state of mediation. You waited with the utmost patience for your teacher to bring out your model, but to your utter disappointment, she never showed up. She wasn’t there. Instead, you got a male model and an exercise for practicing color theory, which normally would have been greatly appreciated, but you just couldn’t get past the heaviness in your chest. Every time the teacher came to check on your work and tell you that your colors were looking sad you felt like crying. You wanted to ask her if she could bring your model back, but you knew you couldn’t even mention the woman without coming off as weird and unprofessional, so you bit back your sorrow, your wounded heart bleeding onto the canvas in dull, muddy colors that made the lively, young man sad and hollow.

When you finally escaped the classroom at the end of the night you burst into tears. You felt so desolate, like you had been abandoned, left alone, which was of course more than ridiculous because she didn’t even know your name. She wasn’t in your life, she was merely a person who you had crossed paths with, yet for some reason it hurt so much. It hurt unbelievably much considering you had never been anything at all, not even acquaintances, but the lost possibility of something more seemed to linger in your mind as you rounded the corner and entered a coffee shop to escape the frigid wind of September, in search of something that could provide comfort to your depressed mind. You got yourself a warm drink and a fat muffin, finding a seat in the corner of the cafe where you could cry in peace, looking out the window at the wet streets that glistened under the streetlamps as the rough wind whipped the leaves off the defenseless trees.

More chapters to come!