#nude modeling

[corralinesage]

Portrait of a wounded heart & Child of September MASTER LIST

Portrait of a wounded heart

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

Meant to be mine

Reification

Epilogue: First snow

Completed: Word count: 47,7K

Child of September - oneshot collection (18+)

Ps. This collection will make sense even if you haven’t read the first part and just want a fix of smut!!

18+ This is pure smut, read at your own risk

CHAPTERS

Tension 8,5k

Capturing memories 11k

Mirror, mirror 7,3k

Malyshka 4,2k

[nymphorchidea]

GSM (Governmental Sacher-Masoch) short

La fascination m’a mêlé à ton rouage, mon immobilisation est un état contemplatif où j’écoute ton analyse mécanique de la foule.

Captive, je t’ai captivé, je suis l’extension d’une machine dont tu as oublié le contrôle. L’harmonie sonore est une partition pour mes gestes que tu guides vers un plaisir certain. Me voici dans un rêve machiniste, celui où la sex-doll ne divertit plus qu’elle même. Mon divertissement est ton aliénation heureuse dans une réalité fantasmée par la technologie.

Fascination has intertwined me with your machinery, my immobility is a contemplative state where I listen to your mechanical analysis of the crowd. Captive, I’ve captivated you, I’m the the extension of a machine over which you have forgotten control. The sound harmony is a score for my gestures, which you guide towards a certain pleasure. Here I am in a machinist dream, where the sex doll entertains no one but herself. My entertainment is your blissful alienation in a reality fantasized by technology.

Perfomance by @nymphorchidea & @cellulemere

film : Philippe Guédon @philippe_guedon

postproduction: Anna Rmf @nymphorchidea

soundtrack: Helio Chen @cellulemere

Art direction : @cellulemere & @nymphorchidea

Art installation: Helio Chen @cellulemere

ROTTEN PARIS - SEPT 2024

https://www.instagram.com/nymphorchidea

https://www.instagram.com/cellulemere

[dirtytanuki]

[modelnova]

Photo by bobbydotnet

[the-pansexual-sasquatch]

I have been doing a body positivity photo project over on Instagram for the past few years or so:

I will continue to update there, and I love the interaction and visibility, but I want to have a space where I can write a bit more, show a bit more, maybe be a lil spicier at times, as well as a be a bit more uncensored and raw. So I figured why not return to a classic now that they have rolled back their censorship rules.

What to expect:

Photos and videos of myself and other collaborators, celebrations of fat bodies, queer bodies, disabled bodies, nonbinary bodies and all the wonderful things they do and how these things interact. Heads up for nudity, but not exclusively. Wrighting about gender, sexuality, ADHD, disability, polyamory and art. Also honestly just whatever big feelings are on my mind. Sometimes it will be light and whimsical, sometimes dark as life is rather heavy at the moment.

Also lots of butts

As you follow, lemme know of any accessibility needs for my content! I will try to be consistent in providing image descriptions as well as content warnings.

[Image description: Matt, a tall fat non-binary person with a big belly and strong arms is curled up warmly with on the forest floor on a bed of moss and foliage. above them looms tall green trees and a splattering of orange leaves and a grey sky peeking between the branches. The image has a feeling of warmth, but also isolation.]

[nudeposers]

Every guy should pose completely nude sitting on a wooden stool at least once. That should be a rule. Just relaxing and being themselves. Naked.

[corralinesage]

Portrait of a wounded heart (6/8)

CHAPTER 6 Meant to be mine

Smut warning 18+

There were no distractions left, no excuses. All of the food had been consumed and there was nothing in your way, both of you sitting still in the comfort of your warm and cozy bed. The room remained silent for the most part, your gentle breathing the only thing you could hear in addition to the rain outside. Natasha turned her head to the side to look at you, her eyes observing your features with care. She studied the slope of your nose, the arch of your brows, the surface of your skin, noting each and every feature that your face possessed as warmth bloomed in her chest, slowly growing into an agonizing burn. She was tucked up in your bed, in your room, in your clothes, smelling like you. She couldn’t help but to yearn for more. You felt her eyes on you, turning to meet her searching gaze. There was something in her eyes, something vulnerable, something grateful, something soft, your own eyes reflecting the tender look like a mirrored lake. Her gaze wandered down to your lips as she moved closer to you with mild difficulty, her ribs screaming in pain, but she failed to care about any physical discomfort, her hand coming up to your cheek to guide you closer. She kissed you despite the pain it brought her, maybe she even kissed you because of it, searching for something to alleviate the ache in her body, and you were nothing but perfect for the job, Natasha longing to sink into your caring embrace.

You leaned closer to her, parting your lips immediately to offer her better access to your warmth, the soft squelch of your mouths filling in the silence of the room. Your first kiss with her had been nothing short of shy, but you soon learned that there was not a trace of that left between you. Her hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to her to lessen some of the pain she felt for having to strain her muscles to reach you. She sank her fingertips into your hair, the touch of her mouth growing rougher as she guided you with her hands. You felt dizzy, breathless, your head spinning as you returned the passion that beamed through from her kiss. Oh, you needed more, you needed more of her addicting touch, her full lips sucking on yours, tongue licking into your mouth with a certain necessity, like she couldn’t quite feel at ease until she had completely devoured you. She welcomed you closer gladly, allowing you to press her back against the headboard where her ribs would get some rest, your mouth never easing off hers. You crawled closer, your hand pressing over her abdomen by accident, Natasha grunting into your mouth, the sound causing you to pull back immediately to both make sure that she was alright as well as find relief from the unbearable heat that exploded within you.

“Shh, I can take it”, she whispered urgently, pulling you right back into her embrace, almost as if afraid that she would have to let go of you. For a split second you felt hesitant, but she didn’t allow you to linger in that feeling as she tugged you back into her arms, her mouth finding your own. You felt her breath on your face, her sweet scent surrounding you with such intensity that it only lulled you further into a state of comfort. You allowed her probing tongue inside, pushing back just the slightest bit to test her, but your pathetic attempt at dominating her was met with immediate resistance. She was in control, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way, her soft lips eliciting a weak moan from you as she finally let her hands wander down your body. Her touch was firm and filled with intent, those capable hands starting off slowly, gripping your waist, gently massaging your curves before daring to find your hips to give them a squeeze. There was nothing you could have done, nothing that could have made you resist her intoxicating touch, your mind happily submitting you into her mercy.

It didn’t take long for those lithe fingers to locate the hem of your shirt, the digits fiddling with the material, only daring to hint where she wanted the make out session to go. The very tips of her fingers grazed idly over the warm skin of your abdomen, nails dragging over the smooth expanse of your waist as she dipped her hand beneath the fabric, her cool touch breaking you out in goosebumps. Your body ached for her, an incessant burn tickling your lower abdomen, the sensation spreading down your thighs and up your spine. You were hungry, so hungry for more, your starved body yearning to find connection in someone, longing to find a safe place. Her lips trailed up your jaw to your ear, Natasha placing open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, her tongue licking over the skin at a tantalizingly slow pace, the heat of her mouth only a taste of what she was capable of giving you. Your lips parted in a silent moan, Natasha tugging you closer to straddle her lap. You should have been more mindful of her injuries, but your willpower was nowhere in sight, and she was nothing but inviting, her hands sliding fully beneath your shirt to hike it up your body.

“Can I see you?” Her words came out in a breathy whisper, the sound of it tickling your ear teasingly. “Say the words.”

“Yes, please… yes.” You arched into her touch, her hands sliding up your back, prompting you to lift your arms above your head so she could remove your top. She flung it to the side, her mouth returning to your neck, moving down to your clavicle, sucking on the tender skin there. You wanted to press yourself down on her lap, search for friction to bring you relief from the pressure that had built up between your thighs, but the moment you allowed yourself to make that blissful connection you remembered the kind of beating she had taken that day, easing yourself off her slightly to avoid causing her any pain.

“No, let me feel you”, she mumbled into your skin, her hands gliding down your sides to pull your hips back down against her own. You felt so high from her touch that you were surely processing only a fraction of what was going on, your mind in a state of utter bliss. Her kisses moved over to your right shoulder, her lips finally parting with your warm skin as she pulled back to take a look at you, her hungry eyes devouring the newly exposed skin. For the first time you felt a gentle flutter of nerves in your stomach, hoping that she was going to like what she saw, hoping that your body and looks were enough to please her. You felt yourself blush, your eyes struggling to look at her as she studied your frame, her gaze lingering on your breasts. She smiled softly as if to herself, cocking her head slightly to the side to find your gaze, her hand coming up to your chin to make you look at her. “Gospodi (god), you’re gorgeous.” Her thumb brushed over your lower lip, her smile only widening. “I get it now.”

“Get what?” Your voice was so feeble, so frail that you almost sounded weak.

“Your blank sheet of paper from art class”, she said quietly, shooting a teasing smirk your way, your lips stretching into a shy grin.

“Right.” You let out a small chuckle, wincing at the memory.

“If the effect was even half of what I feel right now…” She didn’t finish her sentence, leaning forward to press her lips on your chest, her eyes locked with yours as her right hand inched up your back to guide your closer, her other hand stroking the muscles of your thigh over the fabric of your pajama bottoms. She planted her mouth over your right breast, allowing her teeth to scrape over the skin, but not quite hard enough to bite, a small moan escaping you against your will, your eyes fluttering shut as you leaned closer to her heat. She licked over the skin, her tongue guiding your nipple into her mouth, her lips sucking on the flesh with greed, slowly moving to your left breast to make sure there was no unequal treatment. She kissed across your chest, her lips marking the skin with faint bruises that faded away in mere seconds. Her tongue found your other nipple, massaging it gently, your body flushing with electricity as you tried to comprehend that her mouth was on you, her lips were kissing your chest, sucking on your breasts. Her hand came up to join her mouth, cupping the unattended breast, groping you with a certain confidence that was telling of her knowledge on what felt good, what you might like, but as wonderful as it was, you failed to remain patient. You needed more.

“Natasha”, you whined softly, rolling your hips against her lap, your hands gripping her sweater helplessly, longing to discover what was under it. You felt her smug smirk against your breast, her mouth easing off you.

“Begging already?” She asked in a small chuckle, pulling back to see your face, but her smile was wiped away with a single glance at those pleading eyes of yours. She had never quite seen eyes so beseeching, eyes so captivating, her stomach flipping from arousal as she slowly realized that she would give you anything you needed, anything you wanted, if you just looked at her with those perfectly sensual, yet tender eyes of yours. She brought her hands to her sweater, pulling it off, a slight wince overtaking her features as a sharp jolt of pain went through her, but to her relief the wool hid her grimace from you. She revealed the expanse of her pale chest, your eyes widening in surprise. Her skin was completely bare beneath the knitted sweater, her round breasts staring right back at you. “You didn’t give me any underwear”, she noted when she saw the look on your face, a pleased smile finding her lips.

“You- I didn’t- I wasn’t… sure.” You couldn’t get a single sentence out, your eyes struggling to remain on hers.

“It’s alright, detka. Less work for you”, she said teasingly, your cheeks flushing with scorching flames that made your head feel as light as a feather. You would get to undress the rest of her. You would get to see her the exact way you had fallen for her. You finally allowed your gaze to drop properly down to her chest, your artistic eye yearning to step in with full force. You felt the need to replicate the pale softness of her skin. You wanted to mix the most perfect shade of ivory to match her complexion. You wanted the specific hue to carry that feeling of rapture that you experienced, that high. You needed to find that perfect harmony of primary colors to recreate the delicate pink of her skin, your eyes lingering on her hardened nipples. She made you want to create, her all-consuming beauty feeding your imagination, feeding the very depths of your soul. You brought your hands up to her chest, gently cupping her breasts, Natasha observing you carefully as if trying to get a peek inside your brain, searching for an explanation for the look of awe on your face. She was slowly bringing you back to life, reawakening the dead, dull side of you that you had been dragging along with you the entire year.

You had no words. The only thing you could have done in that moment to express yourself would have been to paint that feeling, paint her. She was the source of your joy, she was all you felt, your right hand moving down her body to trace it over the bruising of her ribs. Your brows furrowed in worry, but Natasha merely shook her head dismissively, her knuckles brushing up your biceps, her hands finding their way into your hair, carefully pulling you down to meet her lips. She kissed you gently, the act loaded with tender affection, the slow pace that she set allowing you to feel each and every sensation in your body: the wetness of your mouths, the warmth of her skin, the scrape of her teeth, the softness of her firm tongue, the arousal between your legs, the shortness of your breath, the ache in your lungs, the thrum of your heart that was off-beat with hers, your right hand resting below her left breast to feel her pulse.

Somewhere between the languid, sensual kisses her hand wandered to the strings of your pajama bottoms. She played with them for a while, purposely taunting you, keeping her hand just a nudge away from where you wanted it. You moaned in annoyance, nipping her bottom lip as if you weren’t completely at her mercy, as if there would have been even a hint of threat behind the act. Natasha chuckled softly, taking pity on you by untangling her fingers from the strings, her hand moving to the apex of your thighs, cupping you firmly. She felt you shiver against her, your body leaning helplessly into her arms in the search for more. You couldn’t pull away, you couldn’t stop kissing her, you couldn’t. There was nothing that you wanted more than to feel her mouth against your own. It was addicting, intoxicating. Your lips remained locked as she slid her hands beneath your pants, exploring the round expanse of your buttocks until you realized to move off her so she could get the rest of your clothes out of the way, Natasha shoving the blanket aside to make room for you as she spread her thighs, carefully guiding you to sit between her legs.

“Mmh, but your ribs”, you protested hastily, Natasha letting out a low chuckle, the sound of it tickling your ear as she pulled your back flush against her bare chest, your pants nowhere in sight, most likely laying somewhere on your bedroom floor.

“Forget about the bruises, baby. You took such good care of me. Now let me take care of you instead”, she whispered, slowly wrapping her arms around your middle, her hands rubbing over the expanse of your abdomen with firm pressure, her teeth nipping your ear lightly before she sucked gently on your earlobe. You went completely limp against her, your head lolling back to rest on her shoulder. “You’re such a smart girl. You work so hard. I’m sure you could use some stress relief.” Her voice was velvety and low, the hairs on your forearms standing on end as she dragged her lips down the tendon on the side of your neck, placing small pecks along the way. “Isn’t that right?” You let out a small hum of agreement, her hands moving down to your legs that remained together, fingers skimming over your inner thighs as if asking for entrance. “Can you be a good girl for me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What was that?” She asked teasingly, her hand gliding down your thigh to barely brush over your pubic bone. You let out a shaky sigh, your body writhing beneath her scorching touch.

“Yes.”

“Natasha”, she whispered, as if reminding you of who you were talking to.

“Yes, Natasha.”

“That’s it. Good.” Her right hand trailed up to the side of your head, gently guiding you to tilt your chin to the side enough to allow her to reach your mouth. She captured your lips in a kiss, her low moan getting muffled by your tongue. Your knees parted on their own, the outsides of your thighs resting against her toned ones, giving her hand access to descend lower, but her touch didn’t go where you would have wanted it. “Can I touch you?”

“Please… yes.” You swallowed thickly, waiting with bated breath for her to make the connection you were yearning for. “Natasha”, you added hastily, hoping to please her in every way.

“Such a quick learner too”, she mused to herself, her gentle breath caressing your lips as she spoke the words, her eyes fluttering open for a moment to see the expectant look on your face, your eyes shut, swollen lips slightly parted, waiting for her to kiss them again. She couldn’t resist you, her mouth molding over your own as she finally moved her fingers to your wet core, gently caressing the very tips of her digits over your sensitive folds to avoid startling you, a mild whimper falling from your lips. You were well past wet, your arousal clinging to her fingertips as she traced the shape of your sex, getting you both accustomed to the newfound connection. Her touch grew slowly more confident, her fingers stroking you with firmer pressure to spread the slick around and build up the pleasure you were experiencing, your back arching off her lap to press your core into her hand. Natasha swallowed each and every sound you made, her hungry mouth struggling to part from yours. She couldn’t get enough, she couldn’t kiss you hard enough, deep enough, her soul longing for something unattainable, something that reached beyond bodily perception.

Her hand massaged you languidly, exploring the delicate skin, studying your each and every reaction to her touch to figure out what worked for you, but little did she know that any touch at all would most likely have been enough to bring you what you were looking for. You were incredibly sensitive, the kind of sensitive that you could never reach on your own. You rolled your hips into her hand, a gasp escaping you when you were met with an electric buzz so intense that it made you delirious, Natasha letting out a pleased chuckle at the unrestricted sound. She wanted to hear it again, she wanted to hear more, her fingers increasing their pressure, slowly starting to rub circles over your clit.

“Does that feel good, krasotka?” There was a certain lilt to her tone, her words uttered in a soft croon that made your insides melt.

“Yes, Natasha. It feels… so good”, you answered breathily, writhing in her arms from pleasure, your eyes rolling to the back of your head before sliding shut completely. “Mmh.” You drowned in the attention she gave you, sinking into the comfort and pleasure she provided you.

“You’re so pretty like this”, Natasha hummed, her right hand brushing back your hair affectionately as she kissed the side of your head. “Prettier than I could’ve ever imagined.” You let out a moan between your labored breaths, your hand searching for something to grip, eventually finding the comforter to squeeze. “When I first saw you in that art class, I couldn’t stop thinking about.” She spoke as if telling you a story, her even tone reminding you a lot of the night you had spent on the phone with her. “Your eyes, that pretty mouth, your hair.” She kissed your neck, licking over the skin, her hand maintaining its steady pace. “I tried to stay away. I didn’t want to risk your safety, but…” She bit down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, dragging her teeth over your skin, the action slowly morphing into a kiss, her lips sucking on you firmly. “When you ran into me on the stairs, I knew I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t know.” You let out a low groan, thrusting your hips into her hand in the search of added friction. You were so close, your body tingling with your pending orgasm, mind fuzzy with pleasure, but thankfully not fuzzy enough for you to overlook what she was saying. It had been mutual. All along, it had been mutual between you. She had pined after you, just as you had pined after her. You hadn’t been crazy, you hadn’t been pathetic and ridiculous, or if you had been, so had she. Your legs trembled, body tensing as your knees closed automatically to keep her hand where you needed it.

“No, no, keep your knees open for me, malyshka”, she tutted softly, her other hand that had been fondling your breasts moving to your thighs, tapping them gently to make you part them again. You let out a strained whine, the unbearable tension in your body so delicious that you were losing control of your limbs. You buried your face into her neck, looking to somehow muffle your loud moans, Natasha’s calf hooking over your leg to keep you in place. “You’re doing so well for me, darling. You’re almost there.” Her hand came back up to your chest, cupping your breast roughly, massaging the silky skin there before finding your nipple to pinch. “Let me hear you. Show me what a good girl you are.” Your breath was nothing but a mere wheeze in your throat, your limbs cramping, back arching as your heart hammered vigorously in your chest.

“Natasha”, you cried in a weak moan, the coil in your lower abdomen breaking loose with a single roll of your hips, pleasure exploding inside you as your walls clenched tightly around nothing, pulsing with sudden urgency.

“Fuck.” Natasha moaned quietly, her hips bucking up into your lower back, desperate for some relief from the taunting burn between her legs, her pleasure mixed with a hint of pain that bloomed down her left side. Your surroundings went quiet for a moment as you experienced a high so tremendous that the world stopped turning, your body stilling once every last ounce of pleasure had been experienced, a soft ringing taking over in your left ear. You let out a deep sigh of relief, your hips grinding up into her hand a few more times, riding the waves of arousal until you were satisfied enough to fully relax against her warm chest, for once thankful for the draft in your bedroom, the cool air more than welcome on your skin.

“Oh.” You let out a small giggle, still panting heavily, your head resting over Natasha’s collarbone, your silly, little grin turning into a giddy grimace of disbelief. You were in her arms. You were in her embrace, and her hand was still touching you, drawing idle circles against you. She returned your laugh with a small chuckle, gently easing her fingers off you to give you a chance to recharge. Her arms encased you in a hug, her mouth pressing down on your shoulder.

“You are so hot”, she mumbled quietly, her words flowing into a small chuckle. “Seriously.” You could feel her smile against your skin, your features soon matching her grin as a blush spread up your neck and over your cheeks. You giggled, the delicate, girlish sound that was nothing if not a reflection of how pleased you were, almost unfamiliar to your own ear. You were so happy. “You’re perfect.” You turned around in her arms, looking at her with a huge smile on your face. You wished you could have been more sensual, more attractive, and maintained an alluring front, but you were too excited, unable to handle your joy. You crashed your lips against hers, kissing her as best as you could through your smile.

“You had a thing for me”, you sneered triumphantly, unable to get over the elation you felt for her returned feelings.

“Have”, she corrected you, her lips threatening to tug up into a smile. “Mmh, you have no idea”, she grumbled in a playful manner, her firm hands squeezing your curves, making sure you were flush against her.

“Did you think about me?” Your question came out a bit more tentative than you would have liked it to, but you wanted to know, you wanted to know if she was in the same place as you, if she felt the way you did. Natasha shook her head in disbelief, huffing a laugh.

“Did I? You’re all I can think about. You and your gorgeous eyes.” Her tone shifted lower, her right hand caressing your lower back in gentle strokes. “The way you looked at me… I’ve never seen a gaze so adoring”, she admitted, her chest squeezing with affection as she looked into those very eyes that she was talking about. You held her gaze, your heartbeat still erratic in your chest, your mind struggling to maintain its focus on her words, your eyes threatening to stray down to her mouth.

“Did you think about me like this?” You didn’t have to elaborate. She knew what you meant, your hand brushing subtly down her abdomen. Your eyes met hers before she had the chance to respond, the look on her face providing you the answer.

“I did”, she whispered in all honesty, a hint of longing flashing across her face as if she was slightly nervous to admit it, hoping that it was reciprocal. “Did you?”

“Too often.” You couldn’t help the small smirk that found your face. You had thought about her obsessively, religiously, every single night since you had met her, whether it was sexually or not. She returned the expression on your face, grinning up at you, unable to hide her excitement.

“Good.”

You looked at each other for a moment, processing the newfound information, the tangible, mutual thrill that you experienced slowly fading into something more serious. You had no words to respond with, your smile slowly disappearing as you brought your lips to hers again, kissing her with a returning passion, the soft, quiet moment finding a spark of lust once again as her tongue pushed past the seam of your lips. You kissed her with sudden ardor, the wave of zeal crashing over you twice as hard. You needed her so desperately, your tongues dancing together in an overwhelming frenzy, the added confirmation of your mutual feelings bringing a sense of security into the act. Your night together was most likely not going to be a one-night stand. It meant something more, and you both knew it. Natasha pulled back, panting heavily, her eyes fluttering open to see your face.

“Think you could give me another one?” She asked, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, her gaze searching as she allowed her fingers to caress your jaw. Your eyes widened in mild surprise, her other hand already at your inner thigh, tracing random shapes into your skin.

“But… I was- I wanna- I…” You couldn’t say it, feeling yourself grow more flustered by the second as you thought of what you wanted to do with her. It felt awkward to voice your wishes.

“You wanna make me come?” She asked with a hint of smugness in her tone, pleased to get a glimpse of your bashful side. You nodded your head.

“It’s only fair”, you reasoned with a small smirk, finding a spark of confidence from somewhere.

“Fair indeed.” She was clearly amused. “Say what, how about you let me hear those pretty moans again and then I’ll find another use for that mouth of yours?” She crooned, her lips brushing over yours as she moved to your cheek, placing gentle kisses there. “I know you can take it.” Oh, you could take it, you could so take it. The opportunity was too good for you to pass on it, your thighs pressing together automatically, already anticipating what was coming your way. Her fingers wandered up to your lower abdomen, skating over the skin around your navel, coaxing you to relax back into her arms and lose control once more. “I wanna feel you come around my fingers”, she whispered in your ear, a shiver going down your spine, your eyelids sliding shut as you leaned into her, drawn in by her velvety voice. “How does that sound?” The pressure between your legs returned in an instant as you imagined her fingers inside you, your walls pulsing expectantly. You sank back down on her chest, her nose ticking your neck as she kissed your warm skin, her smile widening the slightest bit at your reaction.

“Good”, you mumbled weakly, arching your back to adjust yourself in her arms.

“Yeah?” Her fingers continued their way up, cupping your breasts, a quiet hum of pleasure falling from her lips.

“Yes, Natasha.” The pull within you was unbearable, and in your state of expectant bliss you failed to find the energy for thoughts. All you knew was that you needed more of her.

“Open your mouth, krasotka.” There was something about the way she ordered you around in gentle whispers, her breath fanning delicately against your neck as she spoke. You could do nothing but comply, your lips parting for the fingers of her right hand that slid inside the warmth of your mouth. You sucked on them, wetting the digits for her with your saliva. She pumped them in a bit further, almost experimentally, a nearly imperceptible gasp sounding from her when you swallowed them deeper, your lips brushing over her knuckles. “Look at that”, she said in a pleased, little mumble, pushing her fingers deeper to caress the very back of your throat. “Taking me so well.” Her left hand moved to the apex of your thighs, finding your core with a certain familiarity, stroking you slowly, gathering a bit of slick from your entrance. She removed her hand from your mouth, bringing her wet fingers to your entrance. You tilted your head down to see what she was doing, drawing your lower lip between your teeth at the sight, your eyes following along the prominent veins that trailed up her forearms. Fuck, she was so sexy.

She stroked your clit as if warming you up to her touch again, the tip of her middle finger dipping to your entrance, not going quite deep enough to be inside you. There was a quiet gasp, your body squirming impatiently, waiting for her to give you more. You could barely contain your desperation, but you did your best to try to focus on the moment itself to hopefully prolong it, looking to savor every last drop of it. You traced your fingers along her forearms, caressing the soft skin there, your fingertips going over a couple of scars that had healed long ago. She had probably gotten them in a fight with an alien, or maybe some cyborg-robot. You were still struggling to process just who she exactly was. Natasha Romanoff. Natasha Romanoff. It didn’t make any sense, your life wasn’t like that, you weren’t like that, yet there she was, touching the most intimate parts of you. She slowly inserted the finger inside you, swallowed by your silky walls that immediately clenched around her, but it wasn’t enough. You felt empty, your body begging to be filled to the brim by her.

“More”, you whined, arching your back to hopefully make her go deeper.

“What was that, malyshka?” You could tell from her tone that she had heard you, but she was looking for something specific.

“More.” It came out in a small whine, Natasha humming softly at the sound, pleased to hear how powerless you sounded.

“Mm, so eager. You think you can handle more?” Her tone was teasing. She knew you could, but she wanted to hear more of your desperate whimpers.

“Yes! More, Natasha, please.” You said the words in a breathy moan, the second digit gliding inside you with admirable ease. You muffled the moan that you let out, turning your face against her neck, breathing in her shower-fresh skin, taking in the warm scent, the scent that was somehow distinctly her own.

“Good girl”, she crooned, curling her fingers inside you, slowly dragging them over the sensitive skin of your walls. You couldn’t take the heat, your head spinning with arousal. She was inside you, touching places that no other people in your life had access to. She was claiming a very special place in your life, and you were hoping that she was going to accept it, embrace it. You were hoping that she wanted more than just a fling, more than just a silly night with your body.

“Natasha.” It came out in a frail whisper, your voice almost breaking from how quietly you spoke.

“What, baby?” Her response came notably softer, reflecting your tone.

“I want you”, you admitted suddenly, not having planned your confession but you couldn’t let her have you if she wasn’t in it, if she wasn’t willing to take all of you.

“You have me”, she whispered, kissing the side of your head.

“No… I want- mmh.” She slowed down her fingers, sensing that there was something you needed to communicate to her. “You can’t leave me.”

“What?” Natasha asked in surprise, withdrawing her hands altogether. She pulled back so she could see your face, her gentle eyes finding your own.

“I need you. I need you to be mine, all mine”, you explained timidly, nervous for taking such a huge leap with a person who you barely knew. It turned out that even less so, ever since you found out about her true identity. There was no guarantee that she hadn’t lied about a lot more than just her name, but you were blinded by love, dazzled by her. You saw a smile spread onto her face, her eyes questioning.

“You wanna be in a relationship? You wanna be my girl?” She used her clean fingers to brush back some of your hair.

“I wanna be your girl.” You nodded softly, Natasha’s heart clenching harshly at the way those pleading eyes looked up at her. There was something jarring about your beauty, about your captivating eyes that looked at her with gut-wrenching genuineness.

“You are my girl”, she whispered, her lips brushing over your own as she leaned down to kiss you. “I don’t want anyone else.” Your eyes fluttered shut as you waited for her to connect your lips, her sweet breath tickling your chin. She kissed you gently, the movement of her mouth so delicate, but it didn’t stay that way for long. You parted your lips, your tongue meeting her own almost instantly. You knew it was fast. You had known the woman for mere days if you didn’t count your first encounter and the couple of weeks that you had spent daydreaming about her, but you simply couldn’t explain it. You knew what you wanted. You had known from the moment you had laid your eyes on her. It didn’t make sense. There was no use in rationalizing it, there was no use in trying to reason any of it because the only answer you would have found was that you were in love regardless of how or why you had fallen for her.

You guided her right hand back between your legs, her fingers slipping inside to continue where they had left off, your moan muffled by her mouth. You held onto her hand, guiding its movement to set a comfortable pace, your body tuning right back into the stimulus that made your belly flutter from pleasure. She curled her fingers inside you again, unwilling to leave a single spot untouched, each pump of her hand sending a jolt of warmth through you. She kissed you harder, your hips picking up a steady rhythm to match her thrusts as her free hand traced circles over your breasts and down your front to join her other hand. You gasped into her mouth, breaking off from the kiss when her fingers pressed down on your clit, but once you had gotten adequately accustomed to the new sensation her lips were right back on yours, and remained there until the pleasure got too intense for you to be able to maintain contact. You were panting heavily, your eyes screwed shut, chest heaving with labored breaths as her hand picked up its pace a notch, your nearing orgasm climbing higher and higher. You bit down on your lower lip to prevent yourself from sounding so desperate for release, holding onto your moans for dear life.

“Don’t be shy, I wanna hear you, detka”, she reminded you, kissing the side of your neck as if she couldn’t resist it, as if she longed to kiss your lips instead. “I wanna hear my girl.” Your lips parted automatically, a low moan of relief falling from your lips as you let go completely, no longer caring to control the way you sounded. Natasha’s eyes slid shut, her head resting against your own as she savored the spark of thrill that rippled through her at the sound of your very obvious pleasure, her lips pressing to your ear. “More, baby. Mmh, you sound beautiful.” You barely even heard her through the loud thud of your heart and the sound of your own breathing, but your dizzy brain complied, nonetheless. You needed her deeper, you needed her to touch the very depths of your walls, your hand pushing firmly over her own in an attempt to make her go deeper.

“Please, please, harder, Nat-Natasha”, you whimpered, your breath coming out in ragged exhales, your chest heaving with the effort behind it. Your words were followed by a low moan that fell so naturally from your lips, the sound loaded with carnal need. She listened to your request, going deeper with each thrust of her hand, her fingertips reaching so far inside you that you saw stars, those wonderful moans that Natasha was looking for turning into deep, guttural groans that you wished you could have swallowed down, but you no longer had any control over a single aspect of your being. You came without a warning, your walls clamping tightly around her fingers to keep them inside, making sure she stayed right where you needed her the most, your unrestricted moans sounding next to her ear as you panted heavily.

“That’s my girl.” Your chest fluttered with warmth, your body consumed by pleasure from head to toe. You felt so good, so light that you felt like you were floating in her embrace. “You did so well. You were such a good girl for me”, she crooned, kissing your cheek repeatedly until you let out a soft chuckle. “God, you’re pretty when you come”, she hummed, emphasizing her words in that low tone of voice, your smile only widening. You looked down your body to see your abdomen contract as an automatic reaction when she pulled her fingers out, the digits coated with clear slick that stretched into thin ropes. Your smile turned into a small smirk as you wrapped your fingers around her wrist, bringing her hand up to your mouth.

“Ah, no”, she tutted you softly, pulling her fingers away before you had the chance to lick them clean. “I want my share first.” You turned around in her arms, pulling away from her embrace right on time to see her slide the digits into her mouth as if she was eating a popsicle, her lips dragging along the entire length of her fingers, cleaning up the mess you had left on her hand. She looked at you intently, mirth sparkling in her eyes, her lips threatening to tug up into a smile. Her mouth let out an obscene sound as she pulled the digits out, your cheeks warming up, your smile turning a bit shy as you waited for her verdict. She let out a small moan, pulling you right back into her embrace, her lips finding yours on their own. “You taste just as good as you look”, she mumbled between kisses. “I bet you’d taste even better sitting on my face.” You felt a visceral reaction to her words, warmth engulfing you whole as you arched yourself closer to her, overlooking the fact that you couldn’t get any closer.

“But-”

“I know”, she said affectionately, her lips tugging into a smile. “Your turn.” She seemed amused by your need for equality, endeared by your enthusiasm to return the favor. You let out a small giggle, your lips going right back to her own for the millionth time that night.

You couldn’t get enough. You could simply not get enough of her, your kisses dragging on for minutes on end until you finally found the patience to trail your lips down her neck and to her chest. You felt overwhelmed by her beauty. You wanted to appreciate every square inch of her body and give it the attention it needed, but you also wanted to go lower, so much lower to see if she was as pretty as you had always imagined, your curious mind struggling to decide what to do next. You pulled back to look at her, your eyes finding her heavy breasts, their inviting softness stealing all your attention. You could pace yourself just the slightest bit to make sure that her perfectly sculpted chest knew just how perfect it was. You placed your mouth on her breast, licking over the silky skin that felt so impossibly delicate against your sharp teeth, Natasha’s hand skimming up and down your back, never seizing to soothe you in the most affectionate manner, her eyelids sliding shut at the pleasure your wet mouth brought her. She could feel herself slip into your comfortable warmth, a tickling buzz caressing her core, her body longing for something to ease the ache, but your mouth only made it more intense. She felt a similar sense of conflict within her. She wanted you to move lower to give her relief, but at the same time she was held back by the dizzying attention her breasts were receiving, your dominant hand coming up to assist you.

She arched into your touch, longing for more despite the way her ribs protested the act. Your lips simply felt too good wrapped around her nipple. You swirled your tongue over it, licking and kissing her breast, slowly but surely turning the soft shade of pink into a vibrant rosy color that only screamed for more of your attention, Natasha moaning quietly when her nipple popped out of your mouth, your sensual eyes glancing up at her as if searching for validation, searching for a confirmation of her pleasure. She simply brought her hand to the back of your neck and pulled you against her chest, letting out a deep sigh of satisfaction. Your blush was so intense you could feel it on the very tips of your ears, your body radiating warmth, the sensation only intensified by Natasha’s heat that mixed with yours. Everything was so hot, your bodies were in overdrive from the extreme sense of desire that you felt. Your face remained buried in her chest for a few moments longer, your tongue gliding over the skin like a wet paintbrush, claiming every perfect dent and curve carved on her chest, your lips marking her pale skin with smudges of pink that drowned in the warm-toned blush that spread down her neck and chest. She was angelic, oh, she was the most captivating woman you had ever seen in your life, and it wasn’t just the primal, lust-driven side of you talking, but your soul. Nothing had ever affected you on such a metaphysical, discarnate level.

You were painfully turned on, but you wanted her just a little bit more than you wanted your own pleasure, your mouth moving slowly lower, your lips kissing down her defined abdominal muscles, your tongue tracing the lines to her navel, your fingers coming up to her waist to slip beneath her pants. You inched the material off her hips and thighs, discovering impossibly pale skin, her curves, her muscles, any blemishes on her skin screaming for your undivided attention. You could barely wait to discard her pants to the side before bringing your hungry mouth to the warmth of her lower abdomen, your lips sucking gently on the tender skin of her belly. Natasha’s hand found your head automatically, fingers sinking into your hair to scrape her nails over your scalp. You looked up at her, your devoted eyes observing her reactions to your touch as you ghosted your mouth over her pelvis. She bit down on her lower lip, her eyelids threatening to droop shut as your breath fanned over her delicate skin, only barely brushing over her core. You pulled back, carefully pushing her thighs farther apart to spread her open for you, almost heady with the excitement you felt for having just a taste of control over her pleasure, but her gaze was unyielding, firm, as she observed your every move. You were almost waiting for her to do something to show you that she still had the upper hand despite your mild teasing, warmth gliding down your spine at the thought.

You studied her body, your eyes running over her pink folds, recognizing the soft shade that often dominated her lips. She was wet, her walls pulsing slightly, her body begging to be touched by you. She had such an intense air of confidence around her that you felt the urge to cower under her gaze. You liked what you saw, and she knew it, her grip on your hair tightening the slightest bit as she massaged the back of your head, subtly encouraging you to keep going. You broke eye contact with her, lowering your mouth to her pelvis again, pressing wet kisses on her heated skin, your lips trailing along her inner thigh, your tongue licking over the skin in slow, tantalizing strokes. You went lower, hoping to savor the moment and maybe tease her a bit just to test your limits, her fingernails immediately scraping over your scalp in a kind warning. You smiled against her thigh, glancing up at her playfully, her unimpressed eyes meeting yours, but she failed to maintain her stern demeanor, a small smirk finding her lips as she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t test me today, detka.” Her voice was laced with humor, but you wouldn’t have dared to defy her regardless. You knew she meant business. You merely gave her a small smile, pleased with the tone she was taking with you, making sure you were looking right up at her as you finally lowered your mouth to her sex, her arousal clinging to your lips when you kissed her softly, her hips canting up immediately to chase after the feeling. You repeated the action, excitement fluttering across your chest when you heard her quiet sigh, her grip on your hair threatening to loosen. You kissed her again, purposely avoiding adding any tongue, curious to see just how long she would be willing to deal with your teasing. “Alright”, she said in a mild berate, warmth bubbling in your abdomen. She wanted you to pleasure her. She wanted your touch. She was impatient to have you. Wishing to remain on her good side, you finally parted your lips properly and flattened your tongue over her core, disregarding entirely the fact that you too were growing unbearably impatient. You wanted to hear her, see her, witness her fall apart from your touch.

You figured out a pace that worked for her, your mouth massaging her nerves with purpose, aiming to bring her the most pleasure possible. She tasted sweet, a mild flavor that suited her perfectly, your tongue lapping up every bit of slick she had to offer. You nuzzled your face into her, coating your chin in her arousal, the scent of her sex addicting. You needed more, so, so much more. Natasha relaxed into the bed, her hand remaining in your hair, occasionally playing with it, her fingers tucking your hair behind your ear to keep it out of the way, at times wandering to caress your cheek and jaw in an affectionate manner that made your heart swell with emotion, the ardor that you felt getting poured right into her heated sex. You licked a wide strip up her center, alternating the pressure of your lapping tongue until you finally wrapped your lips around her clit, sucking harshly on the incredibly sensitive area, Natasha’s lips parting in a silent gasp. Her body started to slowly grow more restless as you worked your tongue against her, increasing your pace to build her pleasure up higher and higher before decelerating to bring it down a notch to both prolong her release as well as give your mouth a break. You were definitely not against spending longer than you needed to between her legs, your arms wiggling beneath her thighs to hug her closer.

You listened to the way her heavy breathing would hitch at times, soft, nearly imperceptible sounds falling from her lips as she tried to snuff out any noise at all, the moans that managed to escape giving you a sense of indescribable thrill because you could tell that they were authentic and more than unintentional. Driven by her subtle signs of pleasure, you increased your pace one more time, focusing all your attention on finally bringing her over that edge she had been teetering over for a good while. You heard a slight hiss, her hips rocking against your mouth to match your movements, her ragged breathing accompanying the wet squelch of your mouth. Her hand returned into your hair, gripping the roots tightly as her body cramped up, an unrestricted whimper falling from her lips, the sound followed by a low moan that almost made your heart stop, her muscles throbbing beneath your mouth as pain and pleasure coursed through her. You slowed down your tongue, keeping your mouth still for her so she could ride out her high in her desired way, her hand pressing you impossibly close to her. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t move, her hand gripping your hair almost painfully hard, but it was the most exhilarating kind of sting that you had felt in a while, especially when you knew that it was all your doing, that she was losing herself in your touch. Any amount of pain would have been worth the quiet moans of pleasure that left her.

“Oh, Y/N”, she sighed weakly, her head thudding quietly against the headboard when she finally let herself relax fully. The way she uttered your name made fresh arousal bubble up inside you, your mind screaming from the thrill it gave you, but instead of showing your reaction to her, you simply smiled against her, kissing her folds a couple of times in a much more affectionate manner. You started slowly moving your kisses up to her pelvis, but to your surprise her hand tightened in your hair, guiding you right back between her legs. You rolled out your tongue for her, immediately complying with her wishes. She held you in place, riding out the very last waves of pleasure that rippled through her, her hips grinding into your face a few more times before she let you go. You felt dizzy, your well-spent body longing to crawl into her arms.

“Mmh, come here”, she mumbled in a quiet groan, pulling you closer by your arm, clearly thinking the same thing as you. She wrapped you in her embrace, kissing your damp chin in the process before allowing you to find a comfortable position to cuddle in, so you could both recharge yourselves for wherever the night was headed. She let out a long groan that was laced with satisfaction, her hands rubbing your back firmly as if to press you closer to her. “Fuck, you’re excellent.”

“Yeah?” You lifted your head off her chest, giving her a smug smirk, wiping your chin into your shoulder briefly to get rid of the spit and come that remained there. She pecked your lips, her mouth stretching into a smile.

“Don’t push it”, she chuckled, the sound rumbling against your ear as you rested your head over her breast, a satisfied, little smile on your face.

A/N: she is something else omg. Also come talk to me I'm bored

[zillatron95]

Three of my latest drawings, two of which are for my upcoming story Antlers and Fins

[jbsdrawings]

[cheesecakeai1]

👇

[corralinesage]

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!

[jbsdrawings]

[cheesecakeai1]