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scarlettjohanssons-mistress · 4 months

Text

Winter painting

Warnings: First meetings, alternate universe - canon divergence,

Word count: 1.9 K

Pairing: Carol Aird x Fem!Reader

Prompt: Y/N feels like she's not good, she feels sad and she's tired.

But seeing a woman on the street indirectly invites her to draw again, and not only does it make her feel better about drawing her, it also makes her feel better in other ways.

Requests: OPEN

[Main masterlist] [Carol masterlist]

She was twenty-five years old and depressed.

Y/N was twenty-five years old and in a terrifying depression.

She knew her family had a history with the melancholy episodes that occurred every winter; but this was different.

College was killing her in one way or another.

Her family had hated the mere thought that their eldest daughter would have preferred to study, rather than marry the perfect prospect in their eyes, and not only had she decided to study, she had decided to start studying fine arts.

Pratt Institute offered an exceptional curriculum for those who wanted to study the fine arts.

Y/N knew she had a special gift with drawing. She never said it, but she knew it. Her grandmother always told her.

But, she was tired. The pressure of college, constant creator's block and bouts of melancholy were only making her paintings disastrous. At least that's how Y/N saw it.

Moving to New York had also hurt her melancholic attacks.

While she was almost always in constant conflict with her family, moving more than two thousand kilometers away from them, and from her only support, her grandmother, was difficult.

At least not everything in life was bad. New York in December was spectacular, almost magical, and her nice room in a building near downtown Brooklyn only helped this almost ephemeral romanticization of her college life.

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This vacation Y/N was not going to be able to travel back to her hometown because her parents had decided to travel to Travel to post-war England to visit one of her great-aunts, who was even more absurdly rich than her own parents. So, the woman decided that to kill some time and get some money of her own, she would work in a coffee shop near downtown, and in the evenings she would stay at home, anyway, it was a vacation and she wanted to rest.

And while she hated the bourgeoisie, to which, ironically, she belonged, she also had to admit that she hated her job.

She didn't know if it was the coffee beans, the smell of the flavoring syrups, the Italian coffee machine that always broke down in the mornings, her partner Francis who every morning flirted with her, with some hope of dating her, or maybe it was her boss, a bitter man who reminded her of her own father.

But, at the same time, hating her job made she appreciate her evenings all the more.

She would make herself a cup of chocolate and sit on the balcony of her apartment. She would sit in search of something to cheer her up, something to inspire her, but it never came.

Until she saw her.

Her eyes roamed over her from head to toe.

Black sneakers, slim ankles and calves that were only increasing in proportion. A brown fur coat that hid the clothes she wore; a coral-colored scarf, but that even so, despite that, left a little skin in sight, white, firm and elegant; a defined jaw, and a round chin, thin lips, well defined and outlined by a red lipstick, red perfection; an odd nose, not long, not curved, not upturned, but pretty; eyes as blue as the sky and protected by long, dense lashes, obviously made up with some mascara; perfectly sculpted blonde eyebrows; and blonde hair, short and combed, it looked and Y/N was almost sure she had taken at least a few hours to fix it.

Y/N had never seen a woman with that presence, with that elegance, and with that beauty.

The woman was staring at a sideboard in front of her building, so, quickly Y/N went back inside to pull out her drawing blog and began a quick sketch.

The long legs, the misty coat, the elegant hair, the hands covered by leather gloves.

The woman walked away from the sideboard and continued walking, until she was lost in the horizon.

Y/N closed her eyes and tried to vividly recall every color and texture of the woman.

She went back into her apartment and pulled out the crayons.

After finishing the perfected sketch, he began to fill the drawing with color. The cheeks, the hair, the scarf, the skin and the muscles of her neck.

What will it feel like to kiss her neck?

What will it feel like to run your fingers through your blond locks?

What will it smell like?

What will your perfume be?

Thoughts wouldn't let her continue with her drawing, so she simply left the blog on the table by the balcony and went inside for a third and final time.

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The next time Y/N saw the blonde, she was accompanied by another, equally beautiful, brown-haired woman. The blonde had the same coat, but the brunette had a much darker one. Both wore a pashmina instead of a scarf.

They both looked at the shop window that the blonde had seen the previous time.

Y/N took out her notebook again and began to perfect her drawing, as she watched the two women enter the store.

In the end they only stayed for a few minutes, leaving empty-handed, but leaving Y/N to finish her work.

As the blonde walked where she had come from, while the brunette looked around, until her chocolate eyes met Y/N's. The latter quickly put the blog away and tried to hide her face by putting the cup of green tea she was drinking in front of her.

And before the brunette's insistent gaze roamed over her disheveled figure, Y/N slipped back into her room and closed the door.

Back in the privacy of her home, Y/N admired the work she had done.

And for the first time in months, it didn't seem catastrophic.

Yes, I wasn't happy with the final result (she hated working with pencils and in her college notebook), she knew I could have done a better job with the textures, the colors, the shadows… the red of the lips seemed almost pale, almost one-dimensional; the hair lacked that semi-golden glow it possessed. But it wasn't absolutely horrible.

Y/N turned the page to look at her latest drawing. A memorial portrait of her younger sister. There were so many beginner's mistakes that Y/N almost wanted to pull the hair out of her head.

Finally, I was making progress.

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Days passed, and the mysterious blonde never physically appeared again. But in Y/N's mind she never left.

Another day, she had decided to take out her easel, canvas and acrylics, and thanks to the confidence she had gained from her last drawing, she decided to start a landscape painting. Snow-covered New York was something worth capturing.

She started with the sky, moved on to the trees, and when she least noticed, a brown coat and a blonde mane appeared in the frame.

Admiring the top of one of the trees.

By the time Y/N realized it, it was too late, she was almost done with the beautiful woman in the painting.

Even without her here, she couldn't stop painting it.

She put her things in and set the canvas down for the paint to dry. She left her cup of hot chocolate in the sink, grabbed her coat, put on her boots and left her apartment.

She needed to see Fred.

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Y/N met Fred one day on the city subway.

Fred was studying psychology at Columbia University in the City of New York, but they always went to the same café to study.

They became fast friends, Fred trying to psychoanalyze each and every painting in her surrealism class as well as its colors, while Y/N was always trying to bring out the blond man's artistic streak.

When the woman arrived at the man's apartment, she hadn't even finished taking her coat off her shoulders when she asked the question:

What does it mean when you can't get someone out of your head?

Fred got excited and ran up to his room. He returned with more than three giant books in his arms. He was going to psychoanalyze her.

Freud said that love was an idealization of the subject himself, because it came from the Id. A narcissistic aspect from which no human being was free.

Fred explained to Y/N that humans juxtapose attributes of their own ideal id on the other person to generate an emotional bond beyond the sexual.

Y/N returned home and admired the now completely dried painting.

She did not attribute anything to this mysterious woman, she had not even crossed words with her, how could she attribute anything to her?

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Christmas had passed without accidents.

Y/N had decided to go celebrate at the home of one of her friends.

After several drinks, she ended up falling asleep on her friend's couch.

They woke up, ate some reheated food and Y/N went home.

Just as she reached the front door of her building, Y/N rummaged through her purse to find that she didn't have her keys with her. She was literally left on the street.

She had to walk to the corner and find a pay phone. Her friend confirmed that her keys were in her house. She asked her to stay outside and wait for her friend's boyfriend.

Y/N sat down on the outside stairs and took out a small notebook that she always carried. She took out the pen that her friend had given her the night before and began to draw the phone she had been on minutes ago.

Y/N began to be guided by the sunlight, until out of the corner of her eye, she could notice a shadow, and before her head turned, a voice interrupted her.

"Excuse me, do you know what day the store across the street is going to open?"

And in front of Y/N's eyes, stood the blonde, her muse.

Sapphire eyes, defined red cheeks, with a few freckles scattered all over her face.

"I don't know. "

Y/N could tell that the corners of the red lips were pulled down a little.

"Ohh"

Y/N was metaphorically struck, so she hastened to remedy her mistake.

"But, I live in this building, and my balcony overlooks the premises".

"Oh, in that case, could I leave you my phone number so you can let me know? Really, it's urgent that I buy a gift. I should have bought it from the first day, but, I decided to wait," said the blonde, letting out a genuine and deep laugh.

"Sure, you can write it down."

Y/N turned the page and handed the woman the notebook and pen.

The woman quickly wrote down her number, but by accident, she saw the multiple drawings in the notebook.

"Thank you very much…"

"Y/N"

"Thank you very much Y/N"

"You're welcome."

The woman held out her notebook to her, causing their fingers to brush for a few seconds.

"Well, that's that, Merry Christmas." the blonde said goodbye.

"Merry Christmas."

The woman started to walk away, but suddenly turned around to find that Y/N's eyes had not moved away.

"I like your drawings," the woman winked and then disappeared for good.

Y/N felt a constant tickle in the back of her neck and lower stomach, her hands were sweating, and she felt a warmth running from her neck to her cheeks.

Y/N opened the notebook to see the woman's handwriting.

Carol Aird

+16469806357

Note:

It's literally my favorite fanfic. I LOVED writing this.

I hope you enjoy it

I appreciate the reblogs, the likes and the comments

taglist: @littlebitchsposts // @xxsekhmet

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