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corralinesage · 2 months ago

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Portrait of a wounded heart (7/8)

This is the last official chapter of this work. Hope you enjoy! <3

CHAPTER 7 Reification

Your eyes flashed open as you forced yourself awake, blinking your eyes to get rid of the heaviness of your eyelids. You couldn’t sleep, you couldn’t miss a single moment of being snuggly cuddled up in Natasha’s embrace, your cheek pressed up against her breast and her arms wrapped around you. She was lying on her healthy side, giving her injured ribs some relief, which left you the most perfect spot to sleep in. Your room was dark, streetlights peeking from behind your curtains to illuminate the wooden floor, the cold air of your room contrasting perfectly with Natasha’s warm body as it pressed tightly up against yours beneath the covers. She smelled like sex, you smelled like sex, the scent mixing with body wash and the mild fragrance of fresh linen that still clung to the sheets you had changed two days before. Natasha was asleep, her chest moving in tandem with yours as she breathed evenly, her nose buried in your hair. She must have been beyond tired after what she had had to endure at work. She had barely moved since you both had settled down for the night. You could hear her gentle breathing above you, a smile spreading onto your lips. In the span of just a couple hours you had noticed that she had a habit of huffing quietly in her sleep, soft noises getting muffled by your hair as she slept soundly, the weight of her arm squeezing you against her body, her fingers limply curled against your bare back.

You were so happy, you were so happy that your body physically ached from how difficult it was to process that emotion you had been lacking for so long. You felt small and feeble beside the overwhelmingly powerful feeling that had all of a sudden gotten such a tight, suffocating grip on you, yet it felt good. It felt comforting to know that there was still light somewhere in your future, that you could have good things. You weren’t damned to a life of misery, you weren’t destined for loneliness, but you had a very real possibility of finding true happiness and stability in your life, that was if the woman holding you managed to behave. You knew she shouldn’t have been the one to carry the burden of your contentment, but she just so happened to be a huge part of it, and there was nothing you could do about it. She made you happy, happy in a way that you couldn’t control.

Natasha huffed again, pressing her nose farther into your hair as she nuzzled herself closer to you, adjusting her position, her foot sliding up your calf. You couldn’t remember a time you had slept next to someone, let alone in someone’s arms, or you could, but you didn’t want to think about it. The memory would have only ruined the serene atmosphere of your bedroom where time stood still, and only happy thoughts existed. You burrowed your face into her bare chest, kissing the warm skin, freeing your hand from between your bodies to glide it down the curve of her waist beneath the blanket. Her skin was impossibly smooth, your fingertips stroking over the silky surface, going up to her hip to meet her hipbone that jutted out slightly before coming back down to where her waist dipped the lowest. You hugged her closer, your hand wandering to explore her muscular back, finding all kinds of subtle arches and bumps for you to trace. You breathed in the warmth of Natasha’s skin, your mind drifting, eyes fluttering shut without you noticing.

The next time you tore your eyes open, the sun was up in the sky, but covered by clouds, gentle light beaming into your room through the curtains. You could hear cars outside, the even hum of traffic with an occasional honk of a horn carrying through the poor structures of the building. Your body was stiff, but you were more than comfortable in your sheets. You felt a hand on your waist, your attention shifting automatically to Natasha as you turned around to face her, having rolled away from her embrace in your sleep. You found her frizzy hair, her relaxed face buried in her pillow, her eyes remaining closed. You couldn’t help the smile that took over your face, the excitement from the day before returning in full force. She was there, right there in front of you, cuddled up in your sheets, in your sheets. You hid your face in your hands, refraining from squealing. It couldn’t be true, it couldn’t. Yet it was.

You decided to let her sleep for as long as she needed to, hoping that she could recharge herself properly after the night she had had. It was quite early still, early enough for your 9AM-alarm to not have gone off. You had a four-hour-long lecture that day, but you were without a shadow of a doubt going to skip it, so you made sure to disable the alarm altogether to avoid disturbing Natasha in any way. You watched her sleep for a long time, your gaze studying her tranquil state until you finally failed to fight the itch to go fetch your sketchbook. You settled down on the edge of the bed where you could see her from your desired angle, your pencil finding the paper on its own as you started sketching, eyes remaining on her beautiful face, slowly moving down to her bare shoulder and waist, the duvet covering up the rest of her body. You traced her soft, feminine frame onto the paper, your pencil defining each gentle curve of her body while you simultaneously admired even the most minute details about her. It might have been a bit strange, it might have been unnerving to some, but you didn’t even think about it. You were simply drawing, yearning to replicate, immortalize, the beauty that you saw.

Your gaze remained on her face, the pencil in your hand halting for a moment. You felt overcome with reverence for her beauty, your mind remaining in awe of her ethereal appearance that somehow went much deeper than the surface. You couldn’t describe the experience adequately enough, her demeanor somehow shining through her exterior. Maybe it was something only you could see, maybe it was a mere figment of your imagination, but whatever it was, it was beautiful, breathtakingly gorgeous. It was reflected in every aspect of her appearance. You saw it in the way her long lashes only barely fluttered against her cheeks as she dreamt away. You saw it in those plump lips that were paler and drier than normal, the unmoisturized surface revealing the thin lines on the delicate skin. You saw it in each loose hair strand that curled against the ivory of her face and shoulder, in every gorgeous mole on her cheek. You saw the experience in its entirety in each captivating component of her face that formed the raw beauty that she possessed.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, but eventually your full bladder demanded your attention and you straightened yourself upright to fix the non-ergonomic hunch that you had sat in, abandoning your sketch to go into the bathroom. You made sure to fix up your appearance and brush your teeth to get more comfortable, no other reason, just to get the day started. You were totally not expecting to pick up where you had left off with Natasha the night before. No. You flushed the toilet, sprayed some of that average-priced perfume of yours on your wrists and immediately rubbed most of it off when you realized that you had a professional spy in your bedroom who would take one sniff at you and know that you had put on perfume for her. You didn’t want to come off as desperate. You washed your face, wiping the sleep off your eyes, your skin regaining its radiance and freshness with a layer of moisturizer.

When you returned into the bedroom, to your surprise, Natasha was awake, sitting casually against the headboard with the sketchbook in her hands. You froze, unsure of how she was going to react to the life-like drawing that reflected her appearance with surprising accuracy, even in your own, humble opinion. Her eyes met yours, a smile finding her lips when she was met with your gaze that reminded her a bit of a poor deer caught in headlights. You took a step forward to avoid making the situation even more awkward, slowly returning to bed, Natasha’s eyes dipping down your body to note the fact that you had found clothes.

“How do you do it?” She asked in awe, her voice coarse and low from sleep, a gentle flutter going through you. Her eyes went back to the pencil drawing, her fingers caressing the edge of the pages as if itching to flip through the book. Maybe she already had.

“Do what?” You sat down on the bed, burying your cold feet beneath the duvet.

“Make it so realistic.”

“Um…” You chuckled from nerves despite the fact that Natasha had revealed herself to be a fan of art, especially your art. You didn’t have an answer for her. “I don’t know.” She flipped the page, her eyes landing on those obsessive, messy sketches you had made during your lectures, but her level face told you that she had already seen them. Had it been anyone else you would have felt resentment for having your personal belongings snooped through, but for some reason, with her you felt the need to showcase your work. You wanted her to see the sketches, you wanted her opinion, and above all, you hoped to please her with them.

“You’re incredibly talented. I don’t think you realize…”

“No, I’m…”, you chuckled again, feeling awkward for receiving praise, struggling to look her in the eye when you recalled everything she had said to you in bed.

“You don’t see it, do you?” She glanced at you, flipping the page again.

“Probably not.” You leaned closer to look at the sketch of her sitting in art class. “It just… It doesn’t feel right. I know it sounds dumb, but it’s missing that feeling. I don’t know how to describe it, but I’ll know when it’s there.”

“You’re not satisfied. I get that”, she hummed in understanding, going back to the sketch of her sleeping, admiring the dreamy quality that the smudged lead around the edges gave to it.

“Yeah. Anyways, did you sleep well? How’s your body doing?” You didn’t want to focus on your lacking drawing skills, so you sought for a way out of the conversation, bothered by the fact that you had yet again failed to capture her presence in the way you wished to. Natasha smirked.

“Oh, my body is more than okay”, she said knowingly, closing the sketchbook and handing it back to you, her smile wearing off on you.

“I meant your injuries.” You huffed out a small laugh.

“They’re alright. I’ll live.”

“Good.” You couldn’t stop smiling, staring at her for inappropriately long as she sat there in your sheets, naked with her messy curls. “Are you hungry?” You should have already known the answer to that, Natasha’s smirk turning into a wild grin.

“Oh, boy, am I.” Her eyes dropped down to your tank top, her lower lip finding itself clamped between her teeth as she took in the lace hemming of your shirt that matched with the waistband of your underwear. You might have put on a set just to please her. She glanced up at you briefly before her eyes took in the shape of your breasts that could be seen through the thin material, her hand reaching for your arm. “Come here.” You crawled closer to her, gladly allowing her to pull you into her embrace, a small giggle falling from your lips when she buried her face into your neck. “How do you look so good, hmm?” She opened her mouth, biting down gently to hear you squeal, Natasha chuckling quietly, clearly pleased with your reaction. “How did I find myself a girl this pretty?” You laughed again, warmth stirring within you from the way your body pressed into hers, your mind painfully aware of the fact that she was fully nude.

“By having taste”, you scoffed playfully, Natasha pulling back just so you could see her roll her eyes, but the gesture was nothing if not loving.

“Oh, she’s sassy too, I see”, she hummed a bit teasingly as if to herself.

“Would you want me to be more coy, more submissive?” Your tone was laced with sarcasm. You had no intention to be anything but yourself, although there was room for persuasion. She would merely have to say the words. “I can be anything you want as long as I’m yours.” It was all meant to be a playful, little tease, but you did want confirmation that everything that had been said the night before hadn’t just been sex-crazed confessions that meant nothing outside of the four walls of your bedroom. You could tell that your words got to her, those jade eyes turning hungry, her gaze lingering on your lips as her hand found your waist.

“You’re mine, detka”, she whispered, your cheeks heating violently at the low tone of her voice, arousal pooling in your lower abdomen. Oh, dear god. You gave her a smile, excitement beaming through the gesture.

“Good.” You had no words for the intense feeling of belonging that you experienced in her arms. You just knew you were meant to be there and nowhere else.

“Now I can cross ‘sassy girlfriend’ off my bucket list”, she mused, her sleepy eyes playful.

“You have a bucket list?” You asked in suspicion, wrapping your arms around her neck to stay close.

“No. Or I did, but you were the only thing on it”, she said jokingly, your laughter resonating in the otherwise quiet room.

She pulled you closer, her lips finding the side of your neck, trailing down to your shoulder, her fingers sliding the strap of your top down to get it out of the way, the material drooping lower on your breasts. She kissed the bare expanse of your chest, guiding you to lie down beside her on the bed, her lips remaining glued to your body. She moved to your side, a quiet groan of pain falling from her lips. Her movements were slow and controlled, clearly limited by the ache in her ribs, but she seemed relatively unaffected. She pulled back from you, propping her head into the palm of her hand so she could look down at you, her free hand pulling you flush against her naked body. You loved how comfortable she seemed with you, her nudity only solidifying the impression she was giving you. She didn’t mind being seen by you, maybe she even wanted it specifically, your eyes dropping down to her soft breasts. They were pale, her nipples hard from the cold air they were exposed to, a couple of red marks lingering on her skin from the night before. You didn’t even try to hide the fact that you were beyond pleased to be so close to her, your mouth finding her breast on its own as her fingers sank into your hair only to bring you even closer. She couldn’t resist you and your warm mouth, her body leaning into you automatically, searching for more as she carded her fingers through your hair.

Natasha got more comfortable on the bed, her leg hooking over your body as her fingers trailed down your upper back, a small smile that you couldn’t see lingering on her lips. You kissed her chest, locating her collarbones in the process of going up to her neck. You felt the soft moan that she let out, the gentle vibration reaching your lips as you kissed up her throat, your body reacting to the sound with sudden vigor, a happy grin finding your lips. The feeling was so intense that the smile was incapable of holding back your giggle. Natasha responded to it with one of her own as she rolled you into the sheets, her laughter flowing into a melodic chuckle that warmed your heart. She rested her weight over you, returning your kisses with loud and sloppy ones, her warm, wet mouth tickling your ear and neck. You arched into her, savoring the comfort that her toned frame brought you, your arms wrapping around her waist to keep her close. She pulled back enough to see your face, observing you for a long moment, her hand coming up to caress your jaw with the very tips of her fingers as she leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You look like you’ve got something on your mind”, she pointed out quietly, her fingers moving into your hair to play with it as she shifted her body slightly to the side, settling beside you with her head propped up by her elbow. You held her gaze for a moment, your cheeks warming up from how intimate it all felt.

“Last night, you said you didn’t wanna risk my safety. What did you mean by that?” You felt your insides twist from arousal as you recalled the very moment she had said those words. Natasha acquired a look of mild worry onto her features, her smile fading away.

“My work is… well, dangerous, to put it lightly. It’s why I prefer being single, being alone. It makes everything easier because I won’t have to worry about anyone coming after the ones I love, if there’s no one to love.” You felt the sad frown on your face before you even registered the emotion, your eyes returning to her solemn face. “I tried to keep it that way, but you…” She couldn’t help the smile that stretched onto her lips, her hand cupping your face as her gaze roamed all over your features. “You made it impossible.”

“Does this mean someone is gonna assassinate me?” You asked in a lighter tone to ease the sudden glumness in the atmosphere, but Natasha didn’t allow herself to laugh.

“No”, she mumbled quietly, tugging you closer as if to protect you from the nonexistent dangers of your bedroom. “You’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it.” You nodded your head, your entire body burning up in scorching flames from the subtle display of protectiveness. Oh, good god, what a woman.

“I have another question.”

“Let’s hear it then.” She gave you a small smirk, clearly pleased by your curious nature.

“Was it really just a coincidence that we ran into each other at the mall?” Natasha looked away, her sly smirk telling you everything you needed to know, your face breaking into an astonished grin.

“No”, she mumbled quietly, as if unwilling to admit to such a thing. “I followed you there.” You looked at her with your round eyes, unable to believe what she was saying.

“And your friend?”

“There was no friend. I had a day off, and nothing better to do.” She chuckled softly, continuing with her explanation. “I was gonna go to your campus, but then I saw you walking toward the subway and, well…”

“Wow, you’re such a creep”, you huffed sarcastically, Natasha rolling her eyes.

“Yeah? Shall we take another look at your sketchbook? Talk about a creep”, she countered in amusement, tickling your side teasingly, a small squeak escaping you.

“I’m so glad it wasn’t just me”, you said in a giggle, pushing her hand away as if you would have actually been against her touching you. She chuckled at the little squeal you let out.

“It wasn’t just you.” She kissed your forehead again, her hand moving down to the hem of your shirt, sliding up your front to rest over your bare sternum where she could very clearly feel your erratic heart thud against your ribs.

Breakfast was delayed by wet, sloppy kisses that trailed down your chest, both of you thoroughly appreciative of the comforting atmosphere of your bedroom until your rumbling stomachs got too loud to be ignored. The only problem was that you didn’t have any groceries, none, absolutely nothing, if you didn’t count the box of uncooked pasta and a bag of flour that both sat on your otherwise empty shelves. You really should have been taking much better care of your eating habits. You could always go out for breakfast. Manhattan had an assortment of amazing diner options, but you didn’t want to leave your cozy apartment because you feared that it was going to ruin the perfectly domestic atmosphere that you and Natasha had created for yourselves. Additionally, your protective side refused to let her walk more than a couple of feet with what may very well have been a case of broken ribs.

You switched the coffee maker on while Natasha washed the remnants of sleep off her face in the bathroom. You lent her more clothing options, all your skincare and lotions, even managing to find a spare toothbrush for her, willing to do just about anything to make her comfortable. And when you said anything, you truly meant anything.

“Hey, Nat, I’m gonna go across the hall real quick! I’ll be right back!” You hollered through the closed door of the bathroom, receiving an affirmative response before you exited your apartment and made your way to Mrs. Verlice’s door. You knocked on it, feeling your heart stutter from nerves. You really hated to be that kind of a neighbor, but it was your best option. The door opened, Mrs. Verlice taking a long, hard look at you as you stood there awkwardly on her doormat.

“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you, but… would you happen to have any bread?” You felt mortified for even asking, but she was the only person in the building who you had ever spoken to, and she was your best shot.

“Bread? For what?” She grumbled, her eyes studying your pajamas and morning slippers.

“Yeah, I kind of don’t have any food at home. I was gonna go shopping yesterday but something came up and…” Mrs. Verlice squinted at you.

“That woman”, she noted with sudden confidence. She knew for a fact that someone had come over to your apartment, and you knew that her peeping hole was to blame for all the spying she had done.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not in any trouble, are ya?” She eyed you intensely, calculating every square inch of your body to try to figure out your situation, eyes lingering on your neck. You might have had a hickey there.

“Oh, no, no. Nothing of the sort. See… I got a friend over and…” God, why did it have to be so awkward. “I just need something to feed her”, you chuckled jokingly, but you really did need something Natasha could eat. She was starving, she must have been. Mrs. Verlice smiled knowingly.

“She’s not vegan or whatever the hell that is?” There was a very clear hint of disdain in her tone. You gave her a small smile, trying to appeal to her to the best of your abilities.

“No.”

“Alright. Wait here.” And so, you waited, patiently listening to Mrs. Verlice explain the situation to her husband as the sound of dishes clinking carried into the hallway. You couldn’t tell exactly what was going on, or why it took so long for her to find a couple of slices of bread, but you soon received your answer when she returned with a whittle basket filled with food, your eyes widening in shock.

“Oh, no. You shouldn’t have. I would have been fine with just the bread”, you protested softly, truly appalled by her generosity. She shook her head dismissively.

“I got nine kids. I’m used to feeding a bunch of rascals”, she huffed, a small smile caressing her lips for just a moment as she recalled each of her children, her mind most likely filled with many memories of the now adult children that had once been your age and younger.

“Thank you”, you whispered, accepting the heavy basket, your brows furrowing into a small frown. “Is there anything I could do to repay you? I have money, or if you want me to draw you something-“

“No. You take that food and go. Make your girlfriend happy”, she said in a definitive tone, the use of that specific term catching you off-guard. You almost wanted to ask her what she meant by it, if she knew about your sexuality, but you decided against it, finding it unnecessary. “Johnny’s had too much bacon anyway. His arteries are about to burst, cholesterol through the roof.” You laughed quietly at her comment.

“Thank you again. I’ll make this up to you. I promise.” Mrs. Verlice didn’t say a word, simply waved her hand in a rather indifferent way and slammed the door in your face. You turned around and headed back into your apartment to set up breakfast for your very own Avenger.

“Where the hell did you find all this? I thought you didn’t have anything. How long was I in the bathroom?” Natasha asked in astonishment, walking over to the small dining table with her brow arched. Her gait seemed a bit better after a full night of sleep. She looked down at the assortment of food, finding a stack of pancakes, toast with sunny side up eggs, bacon, and a carton of orange juice.

“I have superpowers”, you said playfully, adding your jar of jam and another of peanut butter on the table, chuckling softly, Natasha squinting your way, walking right past the dinner table to you, her lips pressing down on the top of your head in a chaste kiss.

“It’s from that old lady across the hall, isn’t it?” She was far too good at her job not to put the puzzle pieces together by herself.

“Yeah.”

You both sat down at the table, gladly digging in on the delicious breakfast, your aching stomachs finally at ease after the long wait they had endured. There was a comfortable silence that engulfed you as you ate your food, Natasha’s foot resting against your own under the table, her toes occasionally brushing against your foot or ankle. She liked to be connected to you in whatever way was accessible, her body craving to be near you. The meal stretched on for much longer than you had anticipated. You made more coffee for the both of you, returning to the dining table with your sketchbook in hand, a spark of inspiration finding its way back to you with sudden confidence. You needed to capture her aura, and as impossible as it sounded, you felt like you could do it. The setting felt perfect in a way you couldn’t explain, the gloomy weather outside wrapping the moment in a warm and fuzzy veil of comfort that contrasted perfectly with the radiant happiness that billowed from your small apartment. The dark clouds of the sky, the wet, browning leaves outside surrounding you with a certain ubiquity, Natasha’s light, your light, shining through like a splash of vermillion against the dull grays of autumn. You needed to capture that contrast, that moment, in your notebook, in your drawing, painting, whatever. It didn’t matter which medium you used, you simply needed to capture it by any means possible, and a pencil and your trusty sketchbook happened to be the most accessible option.

Natasha sipped on her coffee, eyeing you curiously as you started sketching again, your eyes going back and forth between her and the pages in front of you. She could see the way the sketch formed through a practiced process of defining shapes, her eyes following along as you drew her seated position across the round table. She remained still on her own, not requiring any instructions from you. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, unless to take a sip of her coffee, maintaining her position for you without questioning it. She could see from your eyes that you had a specific vision that you were looking to fulfill, and she would have never dared to disrupt your creative process when she could so clearly see that you were fully in your element, reaching for something that only you could see.

Over the course of her career as a model, and as a spy, she had taken a liking to observing people. She had no problem sitting opposite of another person as an object of their observation because the other person was as much of an object as she was. Natasha had an undeniably good opportunity to form a very meticulous judge of character from her spot as a silent observer. She had learned to read the most minute details of a person’s facial expressions, and she was capable of making many very thoroughly rationalizable judgments about those who thought that only they were doing the observing. Sometimes people would forget her presence altogether, but contrary to popular belief, that was when her game of observing got infinitely better. That was when people’s true identities and personalities came out to play, and she would get a front row seat to the wonders of their minds, which was exactly why she had no problem posing for you for as long as you would possibly need her to. She enjoyed sitting still and being quiet, grateful to get yet another peek at your creative side. It had been all too long since she had last felt those calculating, admiring eyes on her.

The sketch came along with surprising ease, your hand flying over the paper in gentle strokes of your pencil. You defined the outline of her frame, shaping in her hair, her face, her shoulders, her knit sweater. You left the room a couple of times to find a different grade of graphite, searching for a deeper contrast, looking to make the drawing truly pop up from the paper. You even got a couple of colored pencils to map out the color palette of the moment, the feeling, that you were chasing after. You hadn’t decided to make a painting of her, or any colored piece for that matter, but the process seemed to flow into that direction on its own. You couldn’t resist it, wanting to remember all the colors that you felt within that moment, the contrast of warm and cold, dark and light, and above all, the harmony they created.

It took you an hour, nearly two, to finish the small, relaxed sketch you had made of her, the attention to detail having demanded more of your time, but it was all worth the effort. You looked down at your sketchbook, an intense sense of rightness consuming you. The drawing was done, and you could finally feel that specific feeling, her energy, transmit to the viewer through the image. You felt Natasha’s soft, unyielding presence that always demanded your attention, when you looked at the drawing, her regal composure coming through in a casual, quiet way. She looked divine in a mundane sense, her steadfast demeanor shining through the relaxed pose as she sat before the breakfast setting, a half-eaten stack of pancakes in front of her. You stood up from your chair, a wild grin on your lips as you made your way to Natasha, kissing her from pure joy.

“You’re perfect. Ah, you’re perfect! Magnificent”, you mumbled between kisses, Natasha’s chuckle getting muffled by your mouth. “I could actually squeal right now. I could squeal like a little kid getting candy for breakfast… and it’s all because of you”, you said, Natasha’s expression matching your wide smile as she pushed herself back on her chair enough to fit you between her and the table. You followed her silent urging and straddled her lap, her hands falling automatically to your hips, sliding down to your buttocks, fingertips rubbing gently over the thin flannel you wore.

“Squeal away”, she chuckled, looking up at you with a small smile, her hands wandering down your thighs as if massaging you absentmindedly. You could barely take it, your heightened emotions reacting to her touch in an instant. You needed to kiss her again, so you did. “Can I see it?” She asked as you pulled away from the chaste kiss.

“Uh-huh.” You reached across the table for the sketchbook to bring it between you, Natasha’s eager eyes finding the finished drawing. She looked at it for a moment, studying the very detailed image of how you saw her, her gaze lingering on the lead that marked the paper, slowly moving to the color wheel you had mapped out onto the next page.

“It’s beautiful. I love it”, she hummed quietly, glancing up at your face that was filled with excitement.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I can feel it. The thing you said about that specific feeling. Something’s different here.” Her eyes moved back down to the pages, her thumbs stroking over your waist in a way that made it harder for you to focus on her words.

“What do you feel?” You asked in curiosity, searching for her eyes, a small smile finding Natasha’s lips as she took the notebook from your hands and placed it behind you on the table, pulling you flush against her. She kissed you firmly, her left hand trailing up your back and into your hair, her right one pulling your hips closer to her lap. Had she not been injured she wouldn’t have wasted another second at the kitchen table, but her bruised ribs wouldn’t allow her to stand up without difficulty, let alone carry you into your bedroom, so she stayed there in the fading scent of bacon and pancakes, her tongue caressing the seam of your lips, asking for permission to deepen the kiss. Instead of giving her access, you pulled away, a smug look on your face. “Now you’re just giving me a lady boner.”

“Wow, what an eloquent way to put it”, she chuckled, warmed by the mirth that shone in your eyes.

“For lack of a better term”, you mumbled, leaning back in to kiss her. “But seriously, what do you feel?” Natasha didn’t even glance at the drawing, a hint of something that you couldn’t quite decipher on her face as she looked at you, your gazes locked together as if neither of you could do anything but look at one another.

“I just feel you”, she whispered earnestly. You looked into her impossibly green eyes, feeling like you were going to drown in the coolness of her forest green irises that reminded you of pine trees and heavy rain. “I feel adored and respected. I feel beautiful… all the things that I feel when you look at me.”

“You are beautiful.” You cupped her face with your hands, studying her unique features before gently ghosting your finger over the wound on her head. It had healed shut, but you should have probably put a bandage of some sorts on it. Your eyes met again, your fingertips sliding into her hair to push it back enough to see her face in all its glory. Your lips were mere inches away from hers, her weak breath fanning over your chin as you played with her thick locks, observing her features as up-close as humanly possible. You kissed her slowly, so slowly that you were teasing yourself more than you were teasing her, your underwear suddenly more than uncomfortable. “Wanna take care of my lady boner?” You asked in a playful, little quip, Natasha bursting into laughter, her face finding your neck to muffle the sound. You couldn’t help but to laugh along with her, the sound mixing with her low, melodic laugh, creating a soft harmony.

“I’d be honored to.” You giggled quietly, her mouth tickling your neck in a way that made your back arch. “Come on, sweetheart.” She patted your thigh gently, prompting you to get up. You didn’t make it farther than the living room couch before she was laying on top of you, her lips beelining to the waistband of your pants as you squirmed against the cushions, a ridiculous, sappy smile on your face when you remembered that every single other person in your class was sitting on a lecture, listening to the professor talk about something boring while you had a redheaded woman –your girlfriend– going down on you, her firm hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

A/N: Only epilogue left!

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corralinesage · 2 months ago

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Portrait of a wounded heart (5/8)

CHAPTER 5 Fallen for a lie

She hadn’t responded to your message. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since you had returned home alone and gathered up the courage to send her a text to ask her out, and she hadn’t responded. You were on the verge of a meltdown, the mug of tea in your hand so close to flying across the room and into the wall of your living room that you really should have put it down altogether. Why hadn’t she responded? What was taking so long? She had proven herself to be a rather skilled and available communicator. She responded relatively quickly and wasn’t afraid to show you that she wanted to text you, which was why you had come into the conclusion that you had done something wrong. You couldn’t think of another reason. Natasha had been put off by your dinner invite. That must have been it. Or then you were a bad kisser. No, that was it. She had been let down by your stupid lips. Maybe your mouth had been too wet, or you had used too much tongue, but whatever it was that you had done, it had driven her away.

You looked down at your tea, watching the surface ripple, your hand trembling ever so slightly. You wanted to scream, oh, you wanted to punch someone, your body longing for violence to help you through the intensity of your negative emotions. You took in a deep breath, glancing outside into the darkening night, a sharp squeeze of your heart bringing a frown to your face. You knew you weren’t actually angry, you were just trying to be, doing your best to camouflage the pain that you felt. It was easier to be angry at her than to feel the disappointment of being forgotten. You had been so excited the day before, you had been over the moon from morning to evening, and through the night after she had finally walked you home to make sure you didn’t find any trouble alone in the city. She had accompanied you all the way to your front door, having held your hand until the very moment she had told you that she had to go. She hadn’t mentioned to you where she was going nor what she was doing, but it hadn’t bothered you then despite having expected her to come inside your apartment. But as time passed, your imagination had started to steal the spotlight. Maybe she had another woman, maybe she just wanted something casual, maybe you’d done something off-putting, maybe you weren’t enough, and she was just trying to figure out a way to let you down easy. Whatever the case may have been, you couldn’t understand what had caused her to disappear like that. Surely an adult woman would have the means to communicate her emotions better than a middle schooler. The betrayal that you felt went much deeper than the surface, your dignity wounded from having made the decision to trust yet another person who didn’t value you and your time. But it wasn’t just betrayal that you felt, you also felt incredibly naive and stupid for having imagined that you were special to her, that you were somehow worth more than any other woman walking down the street. And what made it all hurt just that little bit more was that you had known better, from the moment that you had been pierced by a Cupid’s arrow, you had known that it would inevitably end in pain, yet you had allowed yourself to fall in love anyway. You had blindly ignored every warning sign that your intuition and past trauma had sent your way, and opened up your heart to someone who you didn’t even know. All you could do was sit in the disappointing aftermath of your own foolish decisions.

You heard a gentle knock, your pouty frown suddenly directed at the front door as you turned around to look at it as if to will the person behind it to go away, but despite your grumpiness you set your mug down and headed for the door, swiftly unlocking it to find an old lady standing at your doorstep. You smiled at her, immediately recognizing your neighbor who you had met on multiple occasions in the hallways of the building. She gave you a warm smile, offering you a plate with a bread cloth over it before even greeting you.

“Hi, dear, I brought you some snickerdoodles”, Mrs. Verlice said in her aged and strained voice, shoving the plate right into your arms. “Johnny bought six sticks of butter cause they were on sale. That stupid, old bastard”, she nearly bellowed, her face remaining stoic, but you knew that she meant it lovingly. “I had to make something.”

“I love snickerdoodles”, you said brightly, smiling through the tears that threatened to spring into your eyes from the old woman’s thoughtful gesture.

“Good. We’re one cookie away from being fat.” Your smile turned a little more genuine, Mrs. Verlice’s grumpy attitude never failing to amuse you. She was rough around the edges and always found the negative in everything, but not once had she disrespected you. “Eat as much as you want. We got more across the hall.”

“Thank you so much. You’re so sweet.” Mrs. Verlice gave you a look, clearly not pleased with such false accusations.

“Have you been painting?” She asked in a loud grumble typical for elderly people with bad hearing and vocal fry from cigarettes.

“I was actually just about to paint”, you revealed, deciding in that moment that it was going to be the only thing intense enough to distract you from your emotions.

“Let me see more of ‘em sometime. I look at Podge everyday. He looks down at me from the spice shelf every morning.” Her words brought an affectionate smile to your face that threatened to form into a sad frown. You had painted a portrait of the Verlices’ late Labrador Podge a couple of weeks before to honor his passing, the thought of your art bringing joy to Mrs. Verlice warming up your heart.

“That’s a good place for him to watch the dinner table from”, you noted with a small chuckle, blinking your eyes rapidly to dry up your tears when Mrs. Verlice wasn’t looking at you, your current chaos of an emotional state heightening your sensitivity. “He was a good boy.” She looked down at the floor, her shoe brushing over the doormat as you both stood in silence, weighed down by the sad memory of Podge’s passing.

“Yeah, he was. Anyways, enjoy the cookies. Go create something. I’ll see you in the hallway”, she said suddenly, turning around and leaving you alone with a plate of snickerdoodles and a rogue tear that slid down your cheek.

You wiped your eyes dry, kicking the door shut behind you as you pulled off the bread cloth to smell the freshly baked cookies. They made you feel a little bit better, although they weren’t enough to make your sorrows disappear. You continued to fight your tears throughout the night, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket in front of your easel, one hand stuffing cookies down your throat, the other placing carefully calculated strokes of oil paint on a large canvas as if slowly carving out the shapes of the trees in your landscape, the autumn leaves matching the ones that you had seen in Washington Square Park. The painting resembled the scenery a little too much, your heart aching whenever you recalled your first kiss with Natasha beneath those perfectly arching trees. It hadn’t been your intention to paint anything related to her or women, or even people, but your subconscious mind had clearly found a different route, the painting linked to Natasha whether you wanted it or not.

You wiped your brush clean on the bit of paper towel that you had placed on a table you were sitting next to, picking up a brighter shade of orange, a shade that reminded you of her gorgeous, sun-lit curls. You shut your eyes, swallowing down the sob that threatened to push up your throat as you recalled what it was like to be kissed by her, what it was like to be engulfed by her scent, her presence, her touch. Your brush halted against the wooden palette, a quiet sniffle escaping you as your lower lip picked up a steady tremble. You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t want to be pathetic and cry over a woman you had kissed once, over a woman you barely knew, over a woman who was rapidly tearing your heart in two. With a quiet huff of determination, you opened your glossy eyes and focused back on your palette, your eyes going over the various shades of oranges, yellows, and browns that blended together in your blurry vision. You wiped your eyes on the corner of your blanket, grabbing another chewy snickerdoodle that might have been slightly undercooked, taking a bite of the cookie, the cinnamon-sugar coating sticking to your lips. You shifted your attention fully on the fall scenery you were working on, the sunset-painted sky all too cheery for your glum mood. You started mixing a vibrant gray that was a perfect blend of ultramarine, cadmium red, and lemon yellow, the shade leaning toward muted purple. You saw each color shine through the blend, your trained eye recognizing where the shade turned warmer and where it cooled down. You took another deep breath, staring vehemently at the vermillion leaves, the burnt umber of the tree trunks, and the sienna of the leaf-covered ground, your large paint brush moving to the lighter shades of the sky, marring it with one long stroke of gray. You needed the painting to match your sadness, you needed it to be a reflection of your pain because it had started out as an image of your joy that had now been ripped away from you with one single act of omission.

You made sure that the paint layer covered every single happy cloud that had once existed and replaced it with the deep gray that was about to become your signature color if Natasha didn’t get her act together and respond to your text as soon as humanly possible. Natasha. Natasha. You shouldn’t have let yourself think about her. You shouldn’t have… Your eyes filled with tears again. Suddenly, the stretched fabric of the canvas looked undeniably punchable. Maybe you should have painted another portrait of her just so you could have decked her ass in a tangible way instead of just screaming at her inside your messy mind. She had been too good to be true. She had been too perfect, too all-consuming. That kind of love didn’t exist in the real world. It only existed in fairytales and movies where people could live out their dreams and escape the destructive grip of reality. She had been nothing but an apparition visiting you from your fantasies.

There was another knock at your door, a weak tap that was telling of who was behind your door again, Mrs. Verlice’s arthritis preventing her from banging the door down like she probably would have wished to do. You were mildly thankful that there was a new distraction for you to deal with as you stood up and wiped your eyes again, heading for the door. You unlocked it, expecting to receive another plateful of baked goods, but instead your gaze met a messy heap of red curls and an apologetic smile.

“I would love to go for dinner”, Natasha said as if she had fought the world to get to you just to tell you that, a weary smile on her face. She was beaten down, the left side of her face decorated by trails of crimson blood, her skin tainted by dirt and more dried blood. She seemed tired, injured, as she stood there at your doorstep, leaning to the left in an uncomfortable manner as if her hip or ribs had taken a beating.

“Natasha”, you gasped in shock, your hands reaching for her in an instant to support her, afraid that she might just collapse right there in front of you.

“Hey, krasotka.” Clearly her wit was still intact. She offered you that little smirk that you loved so, the expression morphing into one of discomfort as she shifted her weight onto her other foot.

“Krasotka?” You had to ask. You couldn’t stay in oblivion forever.

“Pretty girl”, she whispered, smiling in satisfaction at the look of awe on your face. Your cheeks warmed up as you realized how many times she had used that same moniker for you. All that time she had been calling you beautiful to your face, but you didn’t have the time to get fixated on details, you had an injured woman in need of care right in front of you, mind you, your woman. She was right there, and she was hurt, your protective side kicking in with force.

“What happened to you?” You asked in worry, gently pulling her inside your apartment. “Who did this?”

“Oh, you know, work.” She huffed out the words as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about her condition. You thought back on the bruises you had seen on her knuckles the day before.

“Love, what the hell are you doing here? You should be in the ER”, you said with mild scorn as you walked her inside, your foot nudging the door shut behind you. Natasha turned to look at you, those normally intense eyes suddenly flashing momentarily with something vulnerable, like your words, the endearment, was a confirmation of some sorts.

“I didn’t get to respond to your text”, she muttered as if you were overreacting to her condition. You brought her to your small dining table by a large window in your kitchen, the warm glow of the streetlights illuminating her briefly until you turned the kitchen lights on.

“Sit down”, you ordered, Natasha giving you a look of defiance.

“It’s not that bad. I’m f-”

“Sit. Down.” You ordered firmly, standing right in front of her, waiting for her to obey. Natasha looked at you for a moment, but eventually seated herself on the chair, quietly groaning when a sharp wave of pain went through her. You moved to the side to grab an emergency kit from the depths of your cupboards, intent on fixing her up.

“What happened? Did you get mugged?” You asked her as you opened up the kit, spreading its contents on the kitchen table. You had no clue what to do with it or how to treat her, but at least you were properly prepared.

“Mugged.” She chuckled. Natasha didn’t get mugged. She might have mugged someone else, but no one was going to mug Natasha. “No. It’s nothing, dorogaya, I told you. It’s just work.”

“Work? What do you do for work?” You could see that she sensed the air of anger around you, she could see the glossiness of your eyes. She knew that you were hurt.

“Ever heard of the Avengers?” You looked at her blankly, very far from amused, frustrated that she was dodging your questions after showing up at your door with visible injuries and refusing to cue you in.

“Not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” You held her gaze, your eyes widening slowly. You weren’t someone to follow politics very intently, nor were you that interested in local or global news. You knew who the Avengers were, you didn’t live under a rock, but you would have never realized to make the connection on your own. The Avengers were on the news, they lived a different life than the average person. They were out of the reach of your kind, unattainable, far, far away. “Natasha Romanoff.” She offered her hand to you, introducing herself officially, but you just stared at her, unable to grasp her hand, grasp the statement behind her words. Your eyes dipped down her uniform that you were only then registering, slowly taking in the leather combat suit that hugged her body snuggly, nylon straps fastened around her thighs to carry her guns. Natasha Romanoff. The Natasha Romanoff was sitting in your kitchen, bloody and beaten, a twinge of betrayal squeezing your chest for the lies she had told. You had fallen in love with Natalia Nazarova, sometimes called Natasha Nazarova, not Natasha Romanoff, the infamous Russian spy and a member of the Avengers. You had fallen in love with a lie, but the feeling dissipated soon after when your eyes trailed back up to her face to see her angelic features marred by blood. She was still the same person, at least for the most part. She was still your model, your Natasha, the woman you had kissed, the woman you had pined after for weeks on end. She was still somewhere there. You grasped her hand.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” Natasha gave you a small smile, a look of relief on her features as she gave your hand a small squeeze. You returned the gesture, your attention shifting to the emergency kit. “Where does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“Uh-huh, right.” You nodded indifferently, pouring antiseptic onto a cotton pad to clean up the side of her face where the blood was the most concentrated. You stood above her, tilting her head back to give you a better visual.

“I don’t need-” She tried to move away, pulling her head away from your hand, but you didn’t let her get far, your other hand sliding to the back of her head, fingers gripping her hair to keep her still.

“I don’t care”, you countered immediately, leaving her no room to defy you as you gently patted the cotton over the damp wound, watching how the stark white material was quickly stained red. When she realized that there was no getting rid of you and your caring hands, she spread her knees enough to allow you to step between them and take a closer look at her wounds. Her eyes wandered down your body as she obediently waited for you to clean the laceration on her temple, her attention shifting to your baggy pajama pants, the material hanging low on your hips, giving her just a peek of the waistband of your underwear, her eyes lingering on the sliver of soft skin that had been left bare by your long sleeve shirt. Her hand brushed up your outer thigh in a casual manner, a slight smirk flashing across her features. If you were going to order her around, then it was only fair that she would have her own share of the fun. The smile returned when she noted the flustered look on your face, your body moving closer to her, chasing the feel of her hand.

“How’d you get this?” You needed a distraction from the heat that her touch elicited in you, your mind struggling to comprehend what it meant that she was there in your apartment, just a few feet away from your bedroom. The thought was followed by a reevaluation of your character. The woman was injured. It was not the time to be thinking about anything of the sort.

“Didn’t dodge fast enough, and he had a knife”, she replied nonchalantly, allowing her fingers to stroke up and down your thigh idly, a very prominent swarm of butterflies filling your stomach in a sudden burst. You were rather positive that if you had just opened your mouth, a couple of the butterflies would have escaped you to explore the wonders that your kitchen had to offer.

“Was there more than one man?” You loosened your grip on her hair, sinking your fingers into her thick locks, gently caressing the back of her head as you finally found the source of the bleeding, wiping away dirt from the cut on her temple.

“Yeah. There was an issue with the communication system, and backup came a bit late”, she explained, her eyes shifting up to your face. She held your gaze with that same unabashed consistency that she had possessed since the moment you had seen her, those eyes studying your reaction to the given information. You felt a frown on your face, your hand pulling her closer almost subconsciously.

“I’m glad you’re okay”, you whispered, your hand halting and moving away from her face so that you could look at her properly. You offered her a shy smile, feeling yourself lose the mild edge you had had on her. You could never seriously defy her, not when a single look from her was enough to make you lose your composure.

“It’s a good thing I’ve got a sweet girl like you to make sure of that.” Your cheeks heated, your shy smile widening into a pleased grin.

“You can shower here. I’ve got clean clothes for you if you wanna get more comfortable. I got food, and tea or coffee, if you want. Or if you’d prefer something stronger, I’ve got that too”, you offered kindly, giving her a small smirk, although it was less of an offer and more of a plea for her to stay.

“I’d really like that, thank you, detka.” She started to get up from the chair once you backed away a bit to give her more space, your helping hands supporting her forearms to minimize the pain she was in.

“You’re not injured severely elsewhere, are you?” You asked in mild concern, eyeing her middle that seemed to be slightly hunched in on itself in the manner of a wounded animal.

“No, just a bit of bruising.” You looked up at her tentatively, refusing to back away from her as she stood mere inches away from you, your dominant hand moving to her left side, gently pressing over the curve of her waist. She failed to control the wince that took over her features momentarily as a jolt of pain went through her.

“Natasha”, you said pleadingly, pulling your hand away to avoid causing her any more pain.

“I’m okay”, she assured you, her partly gloved hand coming up to cup your cheek. You looked up at her, fighting the tears that threatened to return from the shock you had experienced that night, her thumb stroking over your skin delicately. She gave you a small smile, her features softening when she saw your eyes gloss over. Even when beaten down, Natasha had an air of security around her that made you want to fall into her arms as you stood there in front of her, staring up at her like a small child in need of her love.

“Okay.” You nodded your head gently, stepping to the side to allow her to move more freely. She let go of your cheek, taking a step toward what she assumed was either your room or the bathroom. “The bathroom is on the right. You can go in and take your clothes off… you know, to shower and stuff”, you said awkwardly, stumbling over your words when you realized what you’d said, swiftly busying yourself with the emergency kit to have something else to focus on than the fact that she was going to be nude in your shower.

“Thank you, krasotka”, she grunted as she walked toward the door you had instructed her to go through, her hand holding her ribs discreetly as if you couldn’t see that she was in pain.

“There are towels in the sink cabinet for you”, you added hastily before she got the chance to disappear out of your sight. She thanked you again before closing the door behind her.

Holy lesbian fantasy. You sat down on the kitchen chair she had just occupied, looking around your apartment in utter shock. You heard some rustling from the bathroom as Natasha got undressed, your lewd mind jumping in at the very first opportunity for you to start creating unnecessarily detailed and dirty daydreams. She was injured. You stood up, finding something else to do instead. You went to your kitchen cupboards, digging out a mug for her, finding her one with a pattern of hearts and a big heart smack in the middle of its bottom. You looked at it for a moment, your eyes stuck on the dark red hearts. Could you have been any more obvious? You put the mug back on the shelf, choosing another one in the shape of a jack o’lantern. It was beyond cute, but for some reason it didn’t feel right. It didn’t exactly fit her personality. It was also worth noting that your own mug that sat beside your easel in your room was a part of a ceramics set you had made years ago, its exterior decorated with miniature paintings of dogs of all sorts. You dug out its partner, a similar mug painted with cats, figuring that it suited her the best out of your narrow collection of mugs. She seemed like a cat person with her mysterious, slippery aura, and you wanted matching mugs, no matter how you tried to deny it.

You decided to make her some tea, deeming that it was the most comforting of the three options you had given her, so while the kettle was heating up, you headed into your bedroom to find clothes for her. You stared at your closet with a small frown on your face, your hands on your hips as you contemplated your options. What would she want to wear? You’d never seen her in loungewear. Was she a sweats kind of woman or a leggings kind? Or maybe she preferred shorts… You preferred her naked. You groaned at your train of thought, moving closer to the drawers and shelves that carried your cozier apparel. You pulled out a pair of straight-fitting trousers that were made of soft, thin fabric that was more than comfortable. You paired it with a thick knit sweater that would go wonderfully with her auburn locks. You barely ever wore the sweater because its off-white shade didn’t suit you for some reason you couldn’t understand. It was a shame, really, because you loved the plaited sweater, but you could never pull it off. Thankfully, you now had someone who you knew was going to wear it the way it deserved to be worn. You found her pink fluffy socks to finalize the outfit, smirking to yourself as you imagined her in the fuzzy socks, the pleased expression changing drastically when your eyes wandered to look around your room. You noted every misplaced item and the laundry on your floor, your eyes widening at the mess that your bedding was. You had no other option than to tidy up your room as best as you could. You made your bed in a hurry before the tea water was done boiling, shoving all your laundry in the laundry basket to hide it, making sure all the surfaces were free of unnecessary clutter to make the space look more organized. Finally, you placed each item of clothing that you had chosen for her on your bed, folding them up nicely before returning into the kitchen.

Food. Surely, she would need food. She had been fighting evil people for who knew how long. You stared at your empty fridge: a jar of jam, butter, and a possibly moldy cucumber. You moved to the bread box, opening it up to find a single slice of toast. Great. You grabbed it nonetheless, chucking it into the toaster as you pulled out a jar of peanut butter, retrieving the jam from the fridge. By the time your sad meal was ready you heard the shower turn off, the door to the bathroom opening a few seconds later. Suddenly, you felt more than awkward, your eyes snapping away from her figure as she slipped back into the hallway with a towel around her.

“I picked out clothes for you. They’re on the bed, but feel free to grab something else from my closet if you want”, you said loudly, refusing to turn around because you didn’t want her to see just how flustered you were by the sole thought of her in your bedroom.

“I’m sure whatever you picked out works just fine”, she said with a soft chuckle as she entered your room. She halted by the door, slowly taking in the atmosphere of your bedroom, her eyes darting around to register every little detail of your personality that it had to offer. There were colors, patterns, objects that all felt so you that Natasha couldn’t help but fall in love with your room in that instance. It was a true embodiment of you as a person, the art hanging on the walls immediately attracting her attention, her gaze eventually shifting to the unfinished painting on the easel. There were so many little things for her to look at, pictures, books, perfume bottles, candles, jewelry. She was faced with such an accurate display of your personality that it made her want to be consumed by your home, consumed by you. Even the smell of your bedroom was enough to stir up something within her. She wanted more of it. She wanted the source of it. She wanted you.

She entered the room, fully dropping her towel as she reached for the clothes you had picked out for her. She smiled to herself, pulling them on to escape the chilly air of your apartment. She dressed herself up from head to toe, hearing a knock at the door just as she was pulling on the soft pink socks. She gave you the permission to enter, an amused smile on her face. It wasn’t like you would have seen anything new had she still been undressed.

“Hi, I brought you a snack. I’m sure you’re hungry from fighting the bad guys and stuff. I didn’t really have much, but we can order in”, you explained as you entered the room with a single toasted peanut butter and jelly, paired with a couple snickerdoodles and her tea. Her features softened at your kind gesture. “You can get comfortable and lay down, whatever you want. You’re probably really tired.”

“I’m okay, honey”, she assured you in amusement, your eyes finding her shower-fresh face that was still decorated with some bruising and scratches, but she looked notably better without the dried blood.

“Are you sure you don’t need stitches or something? I can try.” Natasha chuckled quietly, her heart warmed by your offer.

“Yes, I’m sure. Now come here and sit down. You’ve done enough”, she said gently, patting the edge of the bed where she sat. You handed her the steaming tea, setting her toast on the bedside table. She smelled like you. It was the first thing you noticed when you sat by her side. She smelled like you, her hair, her clothes, her skin, all of it smelled like you. She took a sip of the tea, a smile finding her face when she saw the peanut butter toast. “How’d you know I like peanut butter and jelly?” She asked playfully, setting her mug down, moving to lean against the headboard when she noticed that her bruised ribs were too weak to support her. As if tuned into the very smallest details of her demeanor, you moved to help her, your hand finding a blanket from the end of the bed.

“Doesn’t everyone?” She smirked at your reply, your hands covering her legs with the blanket. “It can get really cold in here”, you mumbled as an explanation, tucking her in. Natasha gave you a pleading look.

“Baby, it’s okay. Everything is okay. You can slow down”, she assured you gently, her hand grasping yours that was still adjusting the blanket. Your eyes snapped up to meet her gaze, the endearment falling so naturally from her lips that it made your heart hack in your chest. The tension in the room was palpable, her warm hand sending a spark through your body as you allowed her to tug you to sit beside her against the headboard. “Here, have a snickerdoodle with me.” Her smile was gentle, the comforting energy that always surrounded her wearing off on you, slowly allowing you to relax. She offered you a cookie from the plate, both of you sitting in silence, mouths occupied by the sugary treats.

A/N: We are finally getting somewhere

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