Chapter Text
The first time you saw Natasha she had blue hair.
She had the other students' attention because she started her first day at school on a Tuesday in the middle of the year. She had your attention because you were innately drawn to her, beautiful and mysteriously quiet, you couldn’t keep your eyes off her.
As the year went on, her hair slowly grew out red from the roots and you gathered all your courage just to try and talk to her. You’d spent the whole time watching her from afar, taking note of all her interests, the jokes she laughed at with her new friends and every book that was ever tucked under her arm. She had sandwiches for lunch most days, occasionally ate from the canteen and played football with the boys from the grade above you. Occasionally you saw a little blonde girl attached to her side, a younger sister who she was very protective of.
The first time you tried to talk to her, the words just didn’t come out at all. Mrs. Jones, your 7th grade teacher, asked you to hand out papers to the class and you took your chance to finally say something to Natasha. You quickly handed out paper to the other kids in her row and when you reached her desk she was looking at you. Her piercing green eyes caught you completely off guard. You froze, mouth open and your brain stuttered over the myriad of things you had to say to her. The piece of paper in your hand was held halfway out to her and she tried to reach for it from your gasp.
“Y/N!” Mrs Jones called out, “Give Natasha her paper, please.”
Everyone turned to look at you. You snapped out of your daze and a soft smile pulled at the edges of Natasha’s lips. Her eyes were kind as they curiously searched yours and the attention made you blush viciously.
You quickly placed the sheet of paper in her hand.
“Come on, hurry up.” The teacher called out again, and you stumbled past Natasha’s desk to hand out the rest of the papers.
The next time you were better prepared. You’d written yourself a script and rehearsed it meticulously so that another terrible case of the tongue-tie wouldn’t happen.
On a sunny day at lunchtime you set off confidently across the field to her like a march into battle, the script clenched tightly in your sweaty fist like a sword.
You walked head down towards the grass and almost accidentally barged her over so you took an awkward step back to give her space. She watched you inquisitively and your eyes darted away from her nervously to your paper. You started to read:
“Hi -” The first word got stopped halfway out your throat when a football, fast like a bullet, hit the side of your head and knocked the paper from your hands. It felt like a slap had a baby with a punch, and that baby was a football. The stinging pain at your temple made you start to tear up and you curled your head into your hands pitifully. Natasha put a hand on your shoulder and you could feel her leaning closer to inspect the welt on your face.
“Hey! What the hell?!” She yelled out to the boys across the field.
This was not in your script. Your head didn’t hurt so much anymore but the embarrassment of being hit was made a thousand times worse in front of her. The sheer humiliation and disappointment flooding your veins made you start to cry.
“Are you oka-?” She started to ask, but you were already running off the field towards the building.
She threw the ball back to the boy's calling for it, and followed after you but you were gone.
~~~
Eventually, the fates took the wheel and your introduction to Natasha was thrust upon you.
Your father’s new business partner and his family were invited to a dinner party hosted at your house. You stood at the doorway waiting to greet the guests and take their coats. Natasha walked in behind her father who hid her from view until he stepped aside to shake hands with your uncle. The two of you stood awkwardly across from each other in the doorway. You fiddled with your fingers nervously and you could tell she was surprised to see you.
“Hi.” You whispered. Your cheeks heated up with an embarrassing pink glow and you ducked your head shyly.
“Hi.” She replied just as softly. She admired the colour that bloomed over your face and turned your ears a hot scarlett under your hair.
During dinner you sat across from each other at the table and her eyes would scatter away everytime you looked up and caught her staring. She watched you nibble at the food on your plate and politely converse with the adults when they joined you in the conversation. Occasionally you caught each other’s eye at the same time and shared a secret knowing smile at catching the other staring.
You were packing up everyone's plates, shuffling them together and balancing the stack on your small arms when the man beside you piped up with a comment you didn’t appreciate.
“Nah, omegas aren’t worth shit,” He chuckled.
His words cut like knives at your skin. Your eyes narrowed and you could feel every eye at the table turn to you as you spoke up.
“Malacombe was the best leader we’ve ever had. She said that ‘Omegas are rare gifts to be revered’.” Your heart raced under your brave exterior and you shakily reached across him for his plate and cutlery.
“She was a lousy female, what a pathetic excuse for an alpha.” He grumbled, rolling his eyes at you and he gave you a half-hearted elbow in the ribs to push you away from him. It knocked the plate in your hands and scraps of his meal fell down the front of your shirt.
Anger took a hold of you, without thinking you knocked the drink on the edge of the table into his lap. He gasped, jumping up from his seat as the spilt liquid drenched his pants. The table jostled and the legs scraped along the ground as his knees banged against the edge. His eyes twitched with poorly concealed fury as he loomed over you at 6’5 tall.
“Y/N!” Your father boomed across the table.
He grabbed you by the back of your shirt, yanking you backwards with the material digging into your throat and he pushed into the laundry room next door.
The door slammed shut and as you turned to face him, he swung his arm and slapped his hand into your cheek right over your eye, his wide palm reaching all the way to the edge of your jaw. Your head swung backwards and you yelped softly under your breath so they couldn’t hear from next door.
“You don’t speak back to guests, and you certainly never do anything like that. You’re lucky you get to sit at the table, omega.” He spat out.
All the guests sat uncomfortably around the table. Your mother was distracting herself in the tense room by cleaning up the drink you spilled. Natasha’s heart twisted and knotted painfully at the horrific sound of your fathers palm colliding with your cheek. Not just a slap, but a hard hit against your small face. Natasha sat frozen in shock, her heart beating faster than the speed of light. Something in her roared wildly and her fists clenched at her sides under the table cloth.
Natasha excused herself after dessert and tiptoed upstairs to find you sitting in the hallway, head between your legs that you clutched against your chest.
“Sorry,” You sniffled and jumped up to your feet to step back out of her way.
She stepped closer to you slowly like she was approaching a wounded animal.
“Are you okay?” She placed a hand on your arm, pulling it down from your face.
Your cheek was still red and a small clump of purple dots bloomed along the line of your cheek bone just below your eye where your blood vessels burst under the impact of your fathers strike.
“I’m fine.” You told her with a shaky voice.
She brought her palm softly to your cheek and under her touch, your skin started to cool down. Her thumb rubbed a soothing line over the bruise and the inflamed marks started to blend back into your skin. Your cheek tingled with warm sparks under her gentle touch and the pain slowly disappeared. You leaned into her hand, dropping the weight of your head into her. She pulled you into a hug and a few tears dropped onto the shirt covering her shoulder.
It felt like she held you that night for hours. As you pressed chest to chest in her arms, your omega fell in love and you’ve been irrevocably attached to her since then.