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scarlettsandmaroons · 11 months

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it came like a postcard | n. romanoff

about me | series masterlist | natasha romanoff masterlist

pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader

chapter twelve | chapter thirteen: she stayed the same

chapter summary: there was nothing more bitterly endearing than the postcards she'd receive of you every year. postcards from your travels, milestones, everyday life. a life that she was not a part of anymore. a life that she was exiled from until she finally sees you again.

warnings: angst; non-aggressive fighting, minimal shouting, one-sided anger, guilt. smut; dom!natasha romanoff x sub!reader | minimal mommy kink, degradation, slight choking, hair-pulling, spanking, light hints of exhibitionism. cheating, possessiveness

a/n: and she lives!!! hi! i'm alive. i know i've been completely m.i.a for 2 months, but i have been terribly busy, and i desperately needed to take time for myself. regardless, i am back. and i really do thank you for the anons who worry about me, and the people who asked how i've been. i see those messages, i just didn't have the mental capacity to reply yet, but really it means a lot that people care enough to ask. i love you all always! mwa

hands tugged at your hair.

you chanted billy's name in your head.

this was supposed to be done in your honeymoon. but you knew your fiance would never have it in him to pull your hair so hard that your body is forced to arch back.

billy billy billy billy billy billy billy billy billy.

"children always think they do it better than their parents. always so full of themselves," she whispered in your ear, her hand snaking to wrap around your throat to hold you harder against her chest, her lips on your ear. your left knee was barely staying atop your vanity, your arm was extended to hold yourself up, pushing against the mirror while your other was reaching back for her neck.

for a moment, you got a glimpse of yourself; your mouth open, your back arched, your lace—oh so expensive—dress hiked up to your hips, and your boyfriend's mother whispering in your ear: "but let's be honest. mothers always do best."

and then with some repulse, she curls her fingers inside you. and you have let the loudest moan you have ever in years.

"aww," she pitied. "you. fucking. whore. you missed me haven't you?"

you don't know how you got there. but she does. she remembers every second that led up to that moment right there.

from the christmas cards billy would send home of the two of you kissing, or holding hands, or on some trip, to finally, an invitation.

she traced your golden name on the front of the card, and every letter she knew you so carefully wrote for every invite. she ran her fingers through the hard paper, most especially the front. basking in its memory of your touch, hoping that she may feel the last bit of the touch you left on it.

and then suddenly, she's there. her son, the same one she hadn't seen in so long was there. he was near the front shaking hands with the entering guests. she was at the back, near the snacks table. she was holding a glass of champagne, an arm crossed over her body.

and then he saw her.

the way he walked down the aisle towards her in his white suit, and a black handkerchief so neatly tucked in his pocket. his hair slicked back, his shoulders broader, him a little taller.

he extends his hand for a handshake before he gently pulled himself into almost a two second hug that merely truly was a pat on the back and a gentle hi.

"i didn't think you'd come," he said.

"i was invited, wasn't i?"

he cleared his throat, looking away. "yes," he says.

there was a silent pause. "where's the lucky girl?" she asks, taking a sip of her drink.

she sensed hesitation in him. she knew he wanted to hug her, to hold her, to feel her motherly warmth like he hadn't for a long time. but there was a line between them. while they hadn't talked in years, there was a part of her that wondered if what kept them apart was you. had you told him? if you had, she wouldn't be here wouldn't she? had you told him she made you uncomfortable then? maybe something less worse than her fucking you. had you initiated the no contact?

but who was she kidding really? she knew it's her. it's always her. she forced a wedge between them because she hadn't called. because she hadn't asked how he's been, where he went. because the guilt hit her finally. because she was too much of a coward.

he cleared his throat again. "she wouldn't want to see you," he'd said in his big manly voice.

she was fazed almost—his voice had grown so much. he was no longer the 12 year old who would insist he deserves a bowl of ice cream through the gap between his teeth and his lisp; he was no longer the 18 year old who demanded her to give his bestfriend a better grade.

he was no longer the kid she used to take on midnight motorcycle rides, the kid she'd tuck to bed after reading a children's book to, the kid she'd hug to sleep in her bed in wanda's absence.

he was all grown up. and she should assume. so were you.

and you were.

she knew that because she watched you grow in the postcards she was sent. but it hadn't truly hit her until she found you. until she saw you through your vanity mirror. your face looked more mature, your hair was different. something about what she saw made her think that you were no longer the girl who was struggling to keep it down, laughing while trying to walk the pavement to the door from your dinner date.

so much of you had changed. and she knew that from a mere glimpse of you.

and then she caught your eye.

she hadn't realized how much more your face could drop until she saw it happen. it's like your face became too foreign of your smile. like you hadn't done it properly for awhile.

"mrs. romanoff," you said.

she felt chills, a sharp line that went down her back, and then goosebumps on her arm. mostly she felt something in her heart, a small pinch to the chest at how truly you've grown. away from her, apart from her, distanced from her reach. your voice was a little deeper, more controlled, smoother. more so, it was cold. free of any form of emotion, or love for her name.

you spoke like a stranger. like someone who hadn't told her "i love you". like someone who hadn't memorized her name. like someone who's never said it.

"y/n." she swallowed the lump in her throat. "how are you?"

"i'm good." you tell her. "billy's outside."

"i know, i saw."

"then why are you here?"

you weren't looking at her. in fact, you continued on your routine like she wasn't there at all.

"i wanted to see you."

"why?"

thoughts raced her mind. the words brewed in her stomach, it came up her throat but she swallowed it back down, only allowing a lie to come out of her mouth. "i wanted to congratulate you."

"i think you're better off congratulating your son than your former student, don't you think?"

she didn't say anything. she couldn't. but she couldn't leave either. she's here. she's a few steps away from you. seven years she's waited for this. what is stopping her? why couldn't she say more? why couldn't she come closer?

"why did you leave?" she finally said after what felt like an eternity. "why did you leave me, y/n?"

you froze.

slowly, you turned to face her. "you are the last person to ever have the right to ask me that."

"i always do what i don't have the right to, don't i?"

you chuckled bitterly. "you do," you tell her. "somehow, i get the sense you're proud of it."

"makes life more fun."

"was it fun?"

"what?

"was it entertaining to you, mrs. romanoff?" anger was starting to build up your voice. memories of your freshman year flashed through your mind.

"what is?"

and she seemed as clueless as ever. so you stopped. you took a deep breath, let yourself calm down for a bit. and you swallowed every word that now might be your only chance of saying.

'it's been seven years.' you reminded yourself in your head. 'i'm happy with billy. i don't need this. i've moved on.'

except you haven't. you wanted to scream at her. you were only nineteen. and frankly, you actually loved her. and she used you. she made you betray the two people who cared for you over some revenge she was never entitled to pull you in the middle of.

"i think you should go now," you tell her, unable to look even at her figure through the mirror.

she didn't move. she didn't say anything. she was just standing there, as if waiting.

"mrs. romanoff, i'm sure you and your wife has been assigned seat outside," you say breaking through the silence. "please."

"was that why you left?"

you weren't sure what about her words flipped a switch inside you that all the words, the anger, the feelings, the emotions that you swallowed came hurling back up. but you kept it in. you kept it in your throat just enough that you were able to turn to her slowly, finally meeting the eyes you were so keen on denying you longed for; and tell her in the slowest way possible, "what?".

"was my wife the reason you left?"

your face wrinkled in so much disbelief at how nonchalant she was. at how she asked that as if she were only truly curious without care. more so at how she deliberately left out the questions that she should be asking.

'are you okay?'

'were you okay before?'

'after all these years, are you okay?'

at most, what she should be saying is 'i'm sorry'. but no, who would natasha romanoff be if not an unapologetic disciplinarian who likes to take advantage of her students to get back at her cheating wife.

"you have some nerve, mrs. romanoff," you say with such infliction she physically felt all your rage from just a simple sentence. "you have some nerve even coming here after what you did."

you, at the point, were already facing her, finger pushing at her from across the tight room. your bridesmaids are waiting outside, your mother who's fresh out of rehab for the 9th time, and your stylists who you all made wait so you can escape to the small closet with the vanity and breath.

"you left," she told you with not a hint of anger, or resentment, but rather you got an ounce of condescension as if you were back in her classroom, just the two of you, and she points out a fact you already knew.

it was ironic how it riled you up the same way it used to. but truly, while things remain as stronger than time could ever be, things change. the chill down your spine wasn't like the goosebumps you'd get before. it was sharp, fast. like a calculated knife swiping across your skin just enough to hurt, but never enough to draw blood. there was a pulse not where you used to always find it where it shouldn't be, not between your legs but in your temples.

and suddenly you were back to being the 18 year old demanding that she looks at you. that she stops ignoring you.

except this time, you weren't sure what you were demanding her of. were you demanding that she understands? that she apologizes? that she accepts her fault?

"you used me!" you yelled at her, emotion flowing out of your mouth. "i was ninenteen! i was an innocent kid, and you used me!"

"i—" you didn't know what she was trying to say. was she going to deny it? was she going to apologize?

something inside you regretted that you didn't let her say anything. but you knew, had she looked at you with sympathetic eyes, had she apologized, had her body relaxed, had she looked at you like she'd loved you for the longest time, even if it were as fake as everything she used to show you; all anger will cease.

"it wasn't real." your throat closed. and your tears gathered in the corner of your eyes. and she wasn't doing anything. not frozen—just unwilling to move. and somehow, the way she looked at you, straight through you like she's watching tv, made you realize that... she wouldn't understand. "but it was real to me."

pause.

you hear murmuring outside until it stopped altogether. and then you heard footsteps. then a knock.

"babe, are you ready?"

billy.

it took you all the power you knew you had barely of to tear your gaze away from her and wipe your tears.

"30 minutes baby," you shout at him back before you realized you actually wanted to escape and decided to head for the door to go to your fiancé.

"i'm sure you'd look absolutely perfect," you hear a smile from his voice. "i'll come back in a bit, i'll just talk to the coordinator."

natasha stops you in your tracks right when you were about to pass her. right when your arms were not even an inch apart, so close to brushing but far apart that your skins never touched.

"im sorry," she whispered. you feel her reach for you, then her hand holds yours, and your skin burns against hers with all the longing of the seven years packed with her absence.

you looked at her. it was no crack in her stoicism; it completely shattered before you. and then you finally see her. you see her shoulders drop, and the ends of her lips twitching. you see her emerald green eyes, the way it craves for you; her eyebrows, the way they plead for you. you see her, you see her look at you, you see the way she calls for you.

"please don't go," she whispers so intimately. even in an empty room, she kept it so closely between the two of you. the warmth of her words, the heat of her skin, too close that it melts you.

and while reason fought with you. while wanda's voice repeats a 'she used you' in your head, it was always countered with 'but she won't be here had it not been real'.

her touch lingers. and it burns, and her warmth set you aflame. and you were on fire. your robe felt like it was raging with flames. and your body aches.

with no further thought, you pull her into a searing kiss. your arms took hold of her red locks. shifting constantly, unable to get enough of the feeling of her strands entangled between your fingers.

her hands roam around your body, taking in as much of you as she could. you could feel her hands everywhere, like she was trying to fit seven years worth of you in a minute. and you are completely unable to compose yourself, moving your body so impossibly closer, looking for more ways to feel her; from desperately trying to hang your leg by her waist, to forcefully pulling yourself against her that you feel she might fall.

your kiss was wet, sloppy, hungry, desperate, passionate, everything that set your soul alight. saliva drips from your mouth down to your chin. you weren't aware whose it was. but you feel her snake a hand in between you and she swipes a thumb under your lips to clean it up.

she pulls away a little looking at you while she sucks the saliva off her thumb. and that—that very gesture, the way she looked at you, the way her other hand holds your lower back and supports your body that hers is so heavily pressed on—was what silenced all reason in your mind.

you grabbed her lose tie, and her hand instinctively goes to grip your neck, and you both pull each other back into your kiss. this time, you walk back, pulling her in the process until you hit your vanity.

you both scrambled to get each other's clothes off, but to no avail, she settles with your robe barely falling off your shoulders, and her silk white top untucked.

you were sure if anyone were outside, that the grunts, the breaths, the subtle whimpers were everything that they can hear. and when you should truly care most, when your soon-to-be husband is within the building welcoming guests for your own wedding that's to happen in about an hour, and the people who matter most has seen his mother enter the room which the only noises coming out of at this moment were your wet kissing, this moment when reason fights hard for a place in your head, you don't care.

"don't..." you stopped her when she slows down. when she gently tries to lift you up the vanity while a hand runs up your thigh so soft, so smooth, so teasing. when her kisses slows down, and she takes more control, and it cleans up a little. you moved away, taking grasp of her wrist. "don't make love to me. at the very least, you owe it to billy to let him have that."

you see something inside her dull. the flurry of colors behind her green eyes gets the tiniest gray tint. and she stiffened.

for a moment you thought she'd stop. but then her features hardens, her jaw clenches, her shoulders raise.

and then she harshly took a handful of your hair and pulled your head back until you were practically resisting of pain and fear she might break it. her lips hover not even an inch above yours as she closely examines your face.

"if you wanted to be fucked hard, you could've just said so," she tells you. and then she manouvers you around, carrying you and practically throwing you against the wall, her body pressing heavily on yours. "but that's my bad, of course you want to be fucked," she says. "you're a slut."

she rode up your robe, and your lace dress underneath it, spreading your legs further apart until one of your knees lay heavily on the edge of your table.

"please..." you whimpered, face pushed hard against the cold surface of the mirror.

she trailed a soft line up your leg, her touch spreading fire to your skin, a pulse to your insides, heat to your core.

your whimpers filled your room. the sound of your submission, the smell of your desire filled her senses. she never thought a day would come that she would have you in her hands again. most especially, not in this way.

"you can be patient, no?"

you gasped when she cupped your sex with her palm. she lowered her body, and pressed it hard against your own. her other hand tucks a portion of your hair behind your ear so it's not covering your eyes.

"i think, you need to learn to be patient, darling," she whispers against your ear.

you felt her weight. and her warmth, and somehow, with the very little reason left in your body, you remembered the door. you remembered the sound it made when billy knocked on it.

billy.

your billy.

her son billy.

you couldn't move. the weight of her body held you in place. but you forced your hand to find the back of her head. you resisted the moans. you resisted the uncontrollable urge to grind against her arm by forcing yourself still.

"nat, we can't," you whispered. "we can't do this here."

suddenly, she was rubbing your pussy. with the entirety of her palm. she was rubbing your swollen nub, and your hole, and everything that her palm covered. your mouth dropped wide open to let out the most animalistic moan you had absolutely no control of. and then she pulls your hair back so your ear is right where her lips were at.

"says who?" she pushed. "you're an adult now, you can do whatever you want."

and then there was wanda.

and then wanda was whispering in your head: "you're just a kid,"—and you wanted to pull away. "she shouldn't have taken advantage of you." you can't move. your body refused to. instead, you drank on her heat, and her warmth, and her. "she was trying to get her revenge on me."

your mind said no. you hoped your body was strong enough to do the same. it wasn't. instead, you could feel the tears forming in your eyes as your inhibitions slowly faded away.

you were like a puppy in heat. squirming under her, unable to control what desire flowed through your veins. "then tell me, who do you belong to?" she said, her voice a seductive whisper. "i don't touch what's not mine."

you chose to silent the thoughts that screamed in your head. the voices that shouted of anger, reason desperately trying to be heard.

"you." your voice was eager and you had absolutely no remorse for your words. "i belong to you." and somehow, though disguised by the desire you had for her, in your very core, and hers, you knew it was true.

so just like that, her fingers started rubbing tight circles against your clit. the pressure from her touch even against your clothed core emitting a loud pornographic moan from you that even you didn't know you can make.

"such a slutty little mouth you have," she cooed against your ear, holding you still with her hand against your throat and the other rubbing your center. "i want to hear all the sounds that pretty little mouth can make."

you grinded against her fingers, your eyes closing shut as you've fully given into the pleasure of her touch, intoxicated by the kisses she left across your back.

"y/n? are you okay?" but then you heard his voice from the other side of the door, and the moment you did, natasha's finger entered your dripping cunt with no warning, starting in an incredibly fast pace, pumping into you hard and fast.

your eyes shot open, thinking—hoping that after hearing his voice, the desire you have for the lady fucking you right now would be washed away by the thought of the man you're meant to marry in half an hour. you thought you'd push natasha away and run back into the arms of your fiance.

but when your head turned towards the door and all you thought then was the woman behind you, you knew that not even your fiance's voice, his face, or him can control what eager desire you had for the woman. the desire you've long had for her.

"y/n, what's going on, i can hear your voice. are you crying?" the man asked again, interrupting the moans you tried hard to swallow down.

"i..." you managed to let out, looking pleadingly at the woman with eyes that wished for her to slow down.

"go on. answer him," she said, completely ignoring you as she added on another finger, your hips grinding against her palm for some friction against your clit. "or would you rather he hears your slutty moans?"

you could feel that coil in your stomach beginning to tighten with your eyes starting to water in sheer pleasure. you turned your head back towards the door, huffing as you held back your moans, chasing for your orgasm.

"im okay, billy!" you practically yelped his name coming out as an unintentional moan when you've reached the peak of your orgasm, having now natasha help you ride it down. "im..." you panted. "im okay. just trying to get into my tight dress." you said.

"do you need me to help you?" he says, then he chuckled, "i know im not meant to see my bride but i'll close my eyes!" though you had no remorse for your actions, not for your words, not for your desires, billy's innocence didn't fail to make your heart ache in guilt.

you opened your mouth in an attempt to speak but before any words could come out of your throat, natasha's fingers had already beaten them as it slid through your mouth, hearing a soft, "clean them."from natasha.

the way she had her fingers in your mouth; the way she spoke, encouraged, urged when her son was merely a door away from her made you wonder if she felt what you did at this moment: guilt. her son being outside should make what she's doing with you slightly harder but it didn't. natasha was not troubled by any guilt as she bent you down the table, holding you down with both of your hands on your back, her hand keeping them in place.

she pulled your panties down, and the skirt of your dress even further up; her eyes falling immediately on your ass that she stared at with admiration. then her hand rubbed softly against your exposed ass.

she could hear your whimpers, that moan you let out when you felt the cold air against your dripping cunt, or the heavy breaths of you just waiting for what she'd do next.

her fingers ran through your folds, smearing the wetness that gathered on your hole. she bent down, her body pressing against you and her mouth on your ear.

"you're not married yet so there wont be anything wrong if i do..." she trailed off her words into a sudden slap on your ass that had you yelping in pain.

"what was that?" billy asked. "y/n, are you sure you're okay?" you didn't say anything. "will you open the door for me please?"

another slap was planted on your ass. and a couple more that in your head you counted to be 15. each one leaving a hard painful sting on your skin that as much as it shouldnt have, had added into the pleasure of having been bent across the island, exposed under natasha's eyes.

"billy..." you huffed, tears falling from your eyes in both pain and pleasure of natasha's every slap. "i think you should... go," you said, heavy breaths in between your words.

there was silence.

"y/n i—" he hesitated.

you hummed feeling natasha's fingers ghosting against your clit again. "is my little whore scared that her boyfriend would hear her slutty moans?" natasha asked, her fingers lightly pinching your clit that sent waves of pleasure over your stomach.

you whimpered, letting out a weak yes before suddenly feeling her entering 3 fingers inside of you. fucking you in a merciless pace that had you moaning so loud you were sure billy heard every slutty moan that came out from your lips.

"your pussy is so tight, baby."

but frankly, you didnt care. you were far too focused on the pleasure natasha is giving you that if everyone were to hear you, you won't even bother. the way her fingers pumped into you, filling you up and sending you over the edge with every twist and every shift in angle.

"y/n, my mother is here..." he finally says. reason shot up your brain. and you feel a stutter in natasha's pace. but she didn't stop. she continued on, now even harder than ever that you feel you are losing your mind. "have you... gotten the chance to talk to her?"

"oh god mommy please..." you moaned out, unable to keep it in, moving your hips to match every thrust of her expert fingers. "please... please... please..."

your mind left no space for billy though you try to force him in it. you feel his hesitation. you feel his doubts. you know the questions that raise his mind. but you didn't care. you were chasing the high you have longing for, for years.

"you're such a desperate little whore aren't you?" she cooed. "whores dont get to come."

she pulled out.

and then it dies down.

you came back from your high, the cloud from your judgement faded. and you were suddenly scrambling to cover yourself before billy could even think of unlocking the door with the key on the desk outside.

you didn't think of looking at natasha. not one second. not even at her white-stained trousers, or her brown boots underneath. you fixed your hair, you closed your robe, and you opened the door to billy, welcoming him to yet another one of your mistakes.

natasha remained invisible behind you.

she was set to the side, flicked off, disregarded. as she should've. then regret surged through your muscle, guilt through your every vein.

what had you done?

and once again, as he always have, and as he promised to always do, he opened his arms for you, welcoming you into his warmth, washing you away of your sins, as if his hug reinstills you of your virtues, and your truth, and who you are, which is beyond this, which is all that he truly sees.

he spared a glance at natasha, before leading you out of the room, safe in his arms, safe from harms way. and neither of you ever looked back.

you walked out on her.

for the second time.

but this time, she actually saw you. she saw you walk out of the door, she saw you leave, she saw you choose someone who isn't her.

this time she wasn't holding any flowers as she walked through the door of her home. water dripping from her hair, petals drenched with the heavy showers of what she read her city should be clear of for today.

this time, her wife wasn't in the kitchen. lifeless flowers on the floor yet they're of color, a candle rolled off an empty paper bag by the threshold.

this time, no realization hit her. her brain didn't have to process anything, she didn't have to stand frozen, with her hands shaking denying every bad thought that raced her brain.

this time, she had no wife to run to. no wife to pull off the floor to question what she'd done to you. no wife to cry to her to tell her you had ran off with billy. no wife to tell her you were gone. that your mother was being released, and you chose to go back to her with billy.

you left her before. you left her again.

and much like the last, she no longer has you. except this time, she won't ever have you back.

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