#ath: natasha romanoff
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she is midnight rain | n. romanoff
about me | series masterlist | natasha romanoff masterlist
pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader
chapter one | chapter two: she doesn't think of me
chapter summary: you just learned that your soon-to-be professor is straight up terrible. and in an attempt to drop out of her class, you instead became the target of her humiliation. you just knew you will hate her as she will you.
warnings: evident mommy issues (not really into depth)
a/n: im very excited to write this series (that's a lie, i'm only excited about the smutty parts, the beginning, not so much). will be trying to post an update every other day ꒰ ⸝⸝ɞ̴̶̷ ·̮ ɞ̴̶̷⸝⸝꒱
for all your years in high school, and the very few months you had before college, you didn't have a plan. you didn't know where you wanted to go. you didn't know what you wanted to take. there were too many choices. or maybe there's barely any. you just couldn't choose for yourself, you couldn't decide.
when you don't have a mother or in your case, when you have a mother who chose her boyfriend over you, you don't really have anyone telling you what to do, where to go. and maybe some people would love the same freedom that you had, but with that freedom was misguidance. you had nobody to help you choose, nobody to guide you, to teach you, to tell you what's best for you. you have to decide all that.
but when nobody told you what was best, what was the standard for best, how could you possibly have known. how could a child understand what was best for her when she was taught nothing about the sort.
you didn't know what you wanted, and your best judgement told you to trust in your friend and follow billy maximoff. he was your bestfriend. your other half. the only person you can confide in. you knew that you had to study where he would. you couldn't possibly survive on your own. you needed him to guide you. to tell you what to do. to protect you.
"you're in mrs. romanoff's class."
you were snapped out of your thoughts. you've been staring at the field the entire time. at the massive open field between the campus and the gate. you didn't know how long you've been here, for a moment, you didn't even remember billy being in front of you holding your class schedule.
"y/n, yoo-hoo. are you okay?" billy waved a hand in front of you. "what are you thinking?"
you sighed, "i can't believe i'm in college now and i still don't know what to do." you said, looking over billy's shoulder and getting once again lost in your own head. "how am i going to survive..."
"well, i'll survive." he said proudly, earning back your attention. you almost scowled at him for being a show-off. but he smiled at you. a soft reassuring smile. "i'll survive for the both of us." he said.
your heart fluttered a little. you didn't have a mom. or a dad. or siblings. but you had a family. you had billy.
"i know what i'm going to be. i have a plan. and while you don't have any for yourself, i'll carry you." he says.
you looked at your watch. freshman orientation is in a few, and seeing your attention on the clock sent billy the hint that you both should get going. nevertheless, your conversation didn't end as you both walked into the campus.
"how will you carry me?" you mused, not returning the same sentiment he sent you as you simply humored his words.
he held the straps of his bagpack. "mmmm..." he started thinking, "i'll get a job as soon as we graduate. you can stay with me and my parents until i get my own place which i'd be glad to share with you." he says. "that way, you can finally move out from your mum's house."
"that's... very free-loader of me." you chuckled, visualizing the life you'd share with your friend.
"well, you're my free-loader." he looks at you all giddy. "that's what friends do, right?"
you sighed, "yeah."
billy never had a good relationship with his twin brother, tommy. tommy decided to stay with his father after their parents got a divorce. billy on the other hand, stayed with his mother as she remarried.
you've never met mrs. maximoff's new husband. in fact, it's been a really long time since you'd seen billy's mom. the last time you saw her, she had some sort of a 50s haircut. from what your bestfriend tells you, she went through quite a few hair phases from a shoulder length side part to a long-haired rebonded look. at some point, you know she went crazy and got a full head of tight blonde curls. that was her, "going through a hard time with my husband so i must do something so incredibly different with my hair" hair. she went back to the normal big curls, fluffy airburn hair after she remarried though.
that's how close you were with billy. you were his sister, almost. you knew everything about him. even about his mother's haircuts half of which you're sad you weren't around to see.
"mr. stark's coming by for the orientation, did you know that?"
you looked at billy. "the rich guy who owns stark industries?"
"yeah. he's a friend of my moms and dad's."
"no way?!" you all but gasped. you did coo in shock a bit, looking at him with widened eyes. "damn, it must be nice to be connected to him." you say, your mind going on to imagine what your life would be if you were as rich as him. or even connected to him. then you wouldn't have to think about all the important decisions you need to make.
"he's connected to a lot of the professors here." billy mentions. "mr. rogers, mr. banner, mr. barton. but he's closest to mrs. romanoff. they're best friends." he looks at his watch. "i think he's here for the engineering department though. he's funding them lots."
"mrs. romanoff?" you ask, complete disregarding his following statement.
"he's the reason why mrs. romanoff met my parents." he says.
"i'm in her class right?"
you haven't taken a look at your timetable yet because billy has held onto it since it was given to you. eyeing all the names of your professors and giving you some kind of commentary about them. he knows a lot about them. mrs. maximoff used to be a professor here, and for the entirety of high school, billy frequented this very campus.
"yeah." he scoffed. "good luck."
"why? is she mean?"
"terribly." he says. "she's nice, but as your professor? she'll eat you alive."
you were in two of mrs. romanoff's classes, unfortunately for you. you had her in english literature, and business economics. and until classes had officially begun two days after your orientation, stories of how horrible she is; from how she failed more than half of the total students she's had in her lifetime, to how much she enjoys either suspending, or expelling her students over the littlest inconveniences became the center of all your conversations with billy. for someone who knows a lot about her, you wish he had gotten her instead of you. now the dreading fear of seeing her live up to your horrible expectations of her with you is just crippling.
"i'm dropping out of mrs. romanoff's classes." you blurt out during billy's long monologue of the stories he's heard about the professor.
he looked at you, "no! i didn't mean to scare you." he almost laughs. "she's actually really nice!"
you shot him a sharp glare. if he dares to defend mrs. romanoff after all the stories he's told, then he's better off shutting his mouth.
"yeah, no. too late."
there was a part of you that tugged at the idea of actually doing it. if there were something that stopped you, you would so give into it and drop it. you simply needed to know that you wanted to do—that you can do something about it so you can lie yourself into thinking that you have, this new life of yours, under control. and you were lucky enough to just serve into that purpose as you were unlucky enough to have stumbled upon a wooden door that had mrs. romanoff's name spelled out in gold letters.
natasha romanoff.
billy has been talking this entire time, explaining to you how mrs. romanoff could've been better than what he initially led you to believe. you've been taking mental notes but you haven't really been paying attention, so you only got, "she's the best professor here. constantly commended by the dean himself" and "her class is the hardest to get into. only the best of the best can get into it—"
you heard nothing further as you started fixating on how there was absolutely no way of telling if she was in as the massive window deemed useless with the blinds covering it. despite your efforts in trying to take even the smallest peak inside, no luck.
you can turn away. but you're here now. besides, not knowing whether or not she's in isn't really an inconvenience worth turning away from.
perseverance glinted your eyes. you weren't giving up. you put a hand on the handle, "y/n, no, she—", and you went in without hearing out billy, or even giving the chance for anyone to let you in.
you have to transfer out of her class before you have to go in it. as uncomfortable as this might be, it's this, or a whole year or more worth of wishing you got out when you could.
inside was a woman sitting at the desk just a few steps away from you. it was a relatively average sized room. it wasn't too small. not too cramped. but it wasn't too big either. not too empty. the walls of either sides were bookshelves. the back wall, a massive window overlooking the entire front of the school.
the woman lifted her head to see you, and immediately, you were taken aback by her... beauty. the features that are of the ordinary, but on its entirety, with all of it combined, created this image of the goddess sitting in front of you.
you melted. you pictured her to be an old woman, but now you see why everyone was so intimated by her. her simple gaze, and unmoving disinterest of your presence made you feel so small. to have such a gorgeous woman look at you like you didn't matter, exactly the way that she did you, is so intimidating. so belittling. yet, you were enamored. you were captured by her. she was just simply mesmerizing. satisfying.
she had red hair. massive curls that cascaded down her shoulders as if so intricately placed to look so neat and clean. she had a side part, though, it was barely noticeable as the part was a lot closer to the center than it should be for a side part. her eyes were so brightly... emerald. despite of the shadows created by the light behind her, it stayed so vibrant. like a gem. she had such a beautifully molded nose. and red lips. you wanted nothing else but to stare at her forever.
"i suggest you start saying something now, before this intrusion of yours becomes the reason why your time here ends."
her voice sent chills down your spine. you felt goosebumps. all the hair in your body rose. her voice was so terribly cold. she was composed, and calm. and had not a care in the world, especially you. the way she delivered it with such disinterest, almost in a condescending way made you feel so small. it gave you all the more reason to drop out.
she was looking up at you. her chin was resting at the back of her hand where she had a pen between her fingers.
she made your heart race in fear.
"i'm in your class." you take a deep breath. "i'd like to drop out."
you see the end of her lip twitch almost in amusement when her eyes dropped to the papers on her desk. she fixed her posture and started fixing the mess she had laid out. she did it so painfully slow as if you weren't there. but when she stood up, placing both of her hands on her desk, you knew she wasn't trying to torture you. the way the end of her lip raised into the slightest grin made you realize she was having her fun with you. like one of the students she'd amuse herself with first, embarrass, torture, belittle, before kicking out. almost like you were a toy. one of the many for her.
you gulped.
"tell me, miss y/f/n y/l/n. why do you want to drop out?" she asks, slowly going around her desk before she gestured to a chair in front of it—not to offer you a seat, but to require you to do as she wants, and sit down. "you haven't even seen me in class yet. i doubt you even had the chance to attend your very first class which you will soon miss if you continue to—waste, my, time."
you gulped again. something about the way she stares at you while she walks to the small table by the bookshelf where she had a few glasses and whiskey made your throat dry.
"i heard stories."
"i assure you, miss y/l/n," you flinched a bit when her glass hits the surface of her desk, later followed by her body dropping to her seat in the most elegant way. "whatever you heard is true."
goosebumps again. not good goosebumps. "please let me leave because i want to cry" goosebumps. her eyes were piercing through you, you can't imagine moving. to even relax your shoulder and somehow offending her with the slight movement is such horror for you.
she took a sip from her drink. before letting the glass hang barely by her fingertips as she leans closer to you, her chin resting once again on the back of her hand.
"how old are you?" she asks.
"i just turned 18." you answer quickly as if it would disappoint her if you waited a beat.
"what is something worth knowing about a y/f/n y/l/n?" you didn't notice the way your name rolled off her tongue. you didn't notice she knew your name this entire time. she said it with such grace. never had your name sounded so foreign. so new. so beautiful.
something about her was pulling you in. sucking you into her. and you weren't sure if it was the fear of getting kicked out, or just because of her sheer charms that made you blurt out every thinkable thing about you.
"i'm 18. i just turned 18." you started, taking a deep breath in and calming yourself down when you realized how quick you were talking. "i can't drive for the life of me. i hate milk. i'm plainly unhealthy. i don't drink vitamins. or eat an average amount of nutrients and meals in general. i'm nocturnal, i can't fall asleep at night. i love juice, soda, everything but water. i have a complicated relationship with my hair. i..." the realization stunned you. the realization that you were sitting in the office of who you heard was the strictest professor in this very university, telling her about the most absurd, uninteresting things about you, when you might just be on the very verge of getting kicked out of your bestfriend's dream university.
you calmed yourself down. you tried to rid yourself of the panic you resorted to burying deep deep down, you fixed your posture, cleared your throat, and in the most modulated voice that you can harness within yourself, you said, "i am ambitious, strong, independent—" that's a lie. "bright, optimistic, and persistent. and i really want to have the opportunity to begin my year in this university—" hopefully not in your class. "because i know that i have the exact amount of wit, and dedication this school is looking for in a student." i don't want to be in your class. "if given the opportunity to... in a different class wherein i can flourish."
"well," she says as if impressed. you stood up when she did, giving her a hopeful expression like that's going to boost your chances of getting out of her class without suffering the grave consequences she's known to give.
she moved around the table again, this time, moving slowly towards you. step by step. closer each passing second. and when the two of you were finally faced to face with each other without the desk between you, her small smirk dropped. "no." she says in a way that showed you how amused she was of putting your efforts of coming in here to waste without sounding anywhere besides stern.
"what?"
"i said no."
"no, what?" at this point, you were in distress. but you tried your best to hide it. you weren't very successful though. your voice raised, though you all but shouted.
her left hand rested on the surface of her desk when she leaned her hip against it, tipping her head slightly to the side, "look, miss y/l/n, i did not just waste all this time getting to know you and your... habits, just for you to drop out of my class."
her tone was unkind. she was cold, and stern. and she wanted nothing but to get her way. your attempts gave her mere amusement. she didn't acknowledge you, or your request, she just wanted to see the way your face would contort in shock when she declines you after letting you think your efforts would get you anywhere.
"but, mrs. romanoff—"
"BUT...! miss y/l/n—" she didn't shout, but the way she said it, the way her voice raised. you wanted to crawl into a cave and cry. especially with the way her eyes lingered on a little too long on yours before she looked away and returned to her seat. "i could so easily penalize you for entering my office with no permission." her tone was mad. graceful, elegant. calm and collected. but mad. "i would have you suspended if i didn't appreciate your... attempt, to even come inside my office, to speak to me and look me straight in the eye requesting me for something... you're gutsy. you could've used that in my class instead."
you weren't going to win.
today, you realized, that mrs. romanoff will always have the power. and if you can't handle that, then you're better of leaving the school.
she's dreadful. she's dark. she's the storm that angers the seas. and the rain at midnight. she is going to potentially ruin your chances of succeeding in this university—in life, and you will... hate her as you are now definitely sure she will you.
"i'll see you later."
you did see her later. a blissful 2 hours without her was replaced by dread when the moment you sat on the very back of the lecture hall, she came in. everyone stood before her, as if it were highschool, and you just went with it. just a mere clack of her high heeled shoes had everyone on their feet, their hands on their chest as if she was a goddess to be worshiped.
"good morning, everyone."
nobody spoke, it was mere silence after a beat of her greeting in which she gestured everyone to sit. you hid behind a tall man. the lecture hall was packed. although, there were a few empty seats up front.
"i'd like to begin today with..." she didn't have much with her. she only had a clipboard which she places on her desk. she took quite a while adjusting. but when she did; when she was leaning back on her seat, her legs elegantly crossed, where her hands rested on her knee, she looked straight ahead. and for a moment, you thought you can feel her eyes boring through the people you're hiding behind of and staring at you. "i have absolutely zero tolerance for any of your bullshit." all the calmness of her tone before was replaced by a sheer sharpness. "you either do as i say, exactly as i say it, or you leave this classroom. better yet, this school. are we clear?" she was stern. and you were scared. "now," she says with an exhale. "you at the back," you froze. "are we clear with that?"
#ath: natasha romanoff#ath: natasha romanoff series (wasn't midnight rain)#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff x reader#marvel#marvel imagine#marvel fanfic#mcu#mcu fanfic#mcu imagine
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shiny family | n. romanoff
about me | series masterlist | natasha romanoff masterlist
pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader
chapter eight | chapter nine: for some it was paradise
chapter summary: you were tired of the hot and cold. you were tired of her. you were tired. so much so that you wish you just never met her. and frankly, she feels the same.
warnings: smut; minimal spanking, slight manhandling, choking | small mommy kink | dom!natasha romanoff, slightly bratty but sub!reader. angst; fight. unedited, long.
a/n: hi, it's me again. I KNOOOW IT'S BEEN TOO LONG. but oh lord dear god, have i been busy 😭 but i hope you like this one. had a fun time planning it out in my head. also this is kinda long, and ugly because I NEVER PROOFREAD ANYTHING. but i'll definitely get around to proofreading everything once i wrap up the series.
the box was wet from your sweating hands. your hands has been doing that for a bit now, you weren't sure when it started. "happy birthday, babe," you smiled, your palms unconsiously taking turns rubbing down your sides which billy noticed.
he lazily stood up the couch to put his body against yours, and rest his chin on your head. "baby, you know you didn't have to," he whispers. he set your gift down before he took your wrists and had your palms rub against his shirt instead. "you've given me too much already," he says, his voice honeyed and soft.
he was right. you've given him a gift for every day that led up to his birthday. you were never a gift giver. but you just got the need to get him something. and the urge became compelling the more you saw the smile on his face and realized how much you'd hate if it faded away.
"you're the best present i could ever have. you're enough," he kissed your forehead, allowing a gap between you when his hands left yours on his lower back so it can hold your waist instead. "you know that right?" he was looking at you so intently. so lovingly.
you smiled. the brown in his eyes were a lot brighter than yours. you were always jealous of that. you could clearly see the lines that make up his iris, and the dark outline around it. it was always unlike his mother's who had blue-green eyes. wanda had green eyes.
natasha had green eyes.
she's not his biological mother, but she had green eyes.
you always liked mrs. romanoff's green eyes.
you always liked mrs. romanoff.
and there she goes again, natasha's in your thoughts again.
natasha natasha natasha natasha.
someone cleared their throat.
and by what instinct, you pulled away, lightly hitting his chest and laughing, "don't be so cheesy," you don't know why you said that. why did you say that? why did you say that?
you were sure he noticed, you could feel his eyes on you for a bit, but you weren't looking. you were too busy looking around as if you'd been caught in what mischievous act hugging your boyfriend was.
"happy birthday, bill."
mrs. romanoff.
the moment she caught your eyes, you couldn't look away. no matter how hard you tried. no matter how much you wanted to. she took every bit of your attention. and every bit of you. and you saw her lips move, but your ears couldn't hear anything other than her grunts, and your moans, and her skin slapping against yours.
"please... i need you."
you weren't sure what she was doing to you. what spell does she have on you? something was swirling in your gut, and pinching at your heart, and burning your skin, and you couldn't comprehend the mix of feelings. the only thing you knew was that she didn't look at you. she didn't look at you. she didn't look at you. she didn't look at you.
"y/n, babe, are you okay?"
she didn't look at you.
"does momma still make you nervous?"
she came in, and then she left as if you weren't there.
"bubba, you know she's nice. you guys were making progress, weren't you?"
there was not one second that her green eyes took interest in looking at you.
"she likes you."
why didn't she look at you.
"you don't have to be afraid of her."
why won't she look at you?
"okay?"
you didn't break out of the void that's your thoughts until you felt his hand on your shoulder. and by then he was already standing so close to you again, and looking at you with the same loving gaze as he was before. you opened your mouth, and silence poured out of your lips.
then mrs. maximoff saved you.
you heard her call billy from upstairs for plates.
billy runs his hand down your arm before smiling at you, "i'm sorry. i promise you'll have me all to yourself tonight," he says before running off to his mother.
you couldn't think. natasha took too much of your brain again. and your body had to fend for itself. your feet took you to the kitchen, and your hands grabbed everything in sight to make yourself busy. natasha was there. your body knew that much, and decided that this is where you should be. your body knows a lot about natasha. natasha is the only thing your body knows. so when your brain shuts down, your body escapes to the only thing it knows.
you don't what you were doing there. you wanted to get out. you needed to. you needed to breathe. natasha was by the counter. you were in the small round table near the entrance. you couldn't see her. you had your back against her.
"hey...," you said.
nothing.
then you felt a swift breeze behind you.
she left.
and you felt your heart crack just a little.
your heart was full of cracks. your heart has been full of cracks since the first moment you saw her. but nothing would ever compare to the shattered pieces your heart is barely held into right now.
what had you done?
you fucked her, that's what. a married woman—your boyfriend's mother fucked you and you let her.
but no, you were fine. she made you eggs the day after. she let her fingertips wander off to your skin too long when she passed by. she pulled your hair to one side so she can lay her warm touch on your bare neck while you sit in her office chair and she stands behind you. she... let you look at her. she smiled at you.
she was fine.
you were fine.
"what the hell is wrong with you?"
people started pouring in before lunch. you've never once recognized a face among the stream of people that went straight to the back yard where billy's "wanda-insisted-barbecue-party" took place. but you weren't really paying attention. you were too busy eyeing natasha from the other side of the hallway.
she came in the kitchen the moment you left. and since then, you've been standing in the dining room, across the hall even when people trampled into the house and you could only see nothing but an occasional glimpse of her smoking a cigarette in a black fitted dress between the gaps of figures that came running in.
your phone dinged. and it was billy looking for you. he texted you a photo of the plate he prepared for you and an emoji with its tongue out. "i set aside your favorite. come out, where are you?" his text read.
you could've gone out. after all it was the right thing to do. your boyfriend was looking for you and was right outside. but the people in the hallways were clearing up, and by the time the door closed, you marched, not to your boyfriend, but to who your feet knew you wanted more.
"what the hell is wrong with you?"
she didn't look at you, "shut your mouth. people can hear you," she says, barely acknowledging your presence.
a wave of deja vu hits you.
but not the same as to where you'd cry and blame her for being mean.
"shut my mouth?" you chuckled, "i thought you'd be the type to like it wide open," you challenged.
she didn't do anything at first. she was waiting until the very moment the noise outside came muffled when the sliding door to the backyard closed.
and then she smiled. your chest shrunk. she flicked of her cigarette and you saw it fly to the floor.
and then she had your neck in a bruising hold. so tight you could barely breath. she dragged you to the counter, her body pushing against yours, and her eyes burning with all the emotion you can no longer read.
she pushed your back to lay on the surface, pinning your wrist above your head. "i told you to shut your mouth didn't i?"
for a moment, all reason turned to the liquid you feel wet your underwear. but you resisted, you held the hand holding your neck, tapping out when tears started forming your eyes from the lack of air.
and then she let you go completely, stepping far, and facing away.
you were catching all the air you lost, your body melting to the floor where you kneeled with your back against the island's side, your hand clutching your chest.
but you didn't step down. never against her again. "you fuck me and pretend i don't exist. how does that work?" you say, meaning to sound much angrier but the air you caught onto didn't allow anything other than a few breathless words.
a classmate of yours delivered you a letter from mrs. romanoff a week ago. it was a transfer letter from her class to ms. parker's with her signature on it. she was letting you go.
when you came to class the day after, someone was already sitting on the seat you practically claimed was your own. the one behind that big guy who you'd hide behind of.
she didn't care that you were there though. she didn't care about you at all. she completely ignored your blatant chasing of her in the hallways, or your greetings, or your "why are you transferring me?"
she started locking her office door for anyone who might barge into it. she completely ignores your very being in dinner, looking at you as if she can see the wall through your fading existence. she stopped making you breakfast, or being in the same room as you.
she stopped looking at you.
"look at me!" you say when your energy regains and you stand up. "what had i ever done to you! all i've ever wanted was for you to see me...," your voice cracks. "i don't know why i seek for your validation so much. why i care for what you think. why i let you define who i am. why do i live for you?"
"y/n...," she whispers into a warning.
"no. why? why? why do i care so much for you. why can't i stay away from you? why do i keep on chasing after you, running after you, pulling you, begging you. why can't i live when you don't look at me?" tears started running down your cheeks. you weren't sure why, all you were sure of was that you wanted to stop. you wanted everything to stop. you wanted her to leave your life forever because until she came, you were fine. why did she have to come? why did she have to ruin you? "you know what? i will give up anything to not have met you," you blurt out when you receive zero response from her frozen body. "i wish i never met you, mrs. romanoff."
"how do you think i feel?"
"what?"
she turned around. "how do you think i felt when i found out that the girl i liked was the same girl my son liked?"
you didn't know what to say. memories came tumbling down your mind, tangled to knots. thoughts were nothing but a mere "what?". and by then you just though it best to stay silent.
"you came into my office. you were gutsy, you were brave, and i thought: great, another student i can break. but you were pretty, and you were awkward, and sweet. and the moment i entered my class, you were the first person i saw," the distance between you two was more than you were comfortable of. you wanted her closer. but you didn't move. and she, she was already pulling you closer by her eyes, what more could she do? "i didn't even have to look for you, i just saw you. even at the very back, behind a giant guy, i still saw you. i looked at you, and i haven't looked away ever since."
you looked away, unable to hold the eye contact. "but it felt like you never saw me..., i wanted you to look at me so badly..."
she chuckled dryly, almost bitterly, "you were the only one i saw. i couldn't remember a single person in my classes, i don't recognize anyone but you," something pulled you back to her eyes. her face was relaxed. her shoulders were loose, and she was present, with you. just with you. for the first time, she seemed aimless. like she wasn't trying to get anywhere, or do anything. like she didn't have a goal. "i hate that the only thing i can see is the way your lips twitch, or your leg bounce, our your fingers fiddle with your pen. i see when you get lost in what i teach from the way your eyebrows furrow and you mouth a what the fuck before giving up. i see the way you actively try to hide behind your classmate, or the way you try to be as small as possible in my class. i see you and everything you do, and i hate it.
"i hate that i think about you. that i can't escape from you. even on the weekends, i think about that day when you came in with lip gloss on instead of lipstick and i wonder what kept you up at night that you ran late. when i'm going home, i think about you and if you'd caught the bus on your way home, or if you even ride the bus. and when you got drunk, i was in my office the next day, and i was wondering if you took medicine, if you were okay, if you were hungover, if you stayed over or if you went to your house."
your phone rang. and the air shatters.
you looked at natasha for a second, but she was already looking away. so you brought your phone up to your ear and turned away, "billy! hi...," you greeted with faux enthusiasm.
you could hear the noise from his end, the people talking, the meats cooking, "where are you? i want to introduce you to people!" he says. you can hear the smile in his voice.
you gave an emphatic smile, "i'm trying to choose a dress before i shower. i might take a while."
"i'm sure you'd like great even in a shirt and sweatpants, you're perfect!"
you forced a chuckle. "thank you."
"tell me if i need to get you, okay?"
"okay."
"i love you!"
silence.
"i love you too."
you closed the call. and natasha passed right by you on her way out, but you caught her arm before she made it. "wait," you say, turning her around. "we're not finished."
"i don't know what else you want to hear dear, but you should really get back to your boyfriend," she attempts to leave again, but your grip tightens.
"so what—so you can ignore me again? so you can pretend i don't exist one day, and tell me you only see me the next?" you're angry now. you were challenging the challenger. but you're tired of letting her have all the cards, of playing a game clearly only she has control over. you're tired of her. "i'm tired of the hot and cold, mrs. romanoff," i'm tired of one day feeling okay to call you natasha, one day feeling okay calling you mommy, then feeling i'm only entitled to a mrs. romanoff the next.
she looked away, smirking bitterly as if thinking about it. "fine, you want to hear it?" she says, breaking out of your hold. "you want to hear me say it?"
you were afraid she was angry. but she wasn't. her voice was raising. she wasn't shouting, and her eyes, they weren't staring soullessly into you. her jaw wasn't clenched, and somehow, you feel her racing heart, and her subtly heaving chest.
"you want to hear that it's wrong? it's wrong, y/n. you were my student. and i tell myself that whenever i think of you, whenever i see you, whenever i feel you, whenever i want you. when my heart skips, when i smile, when i grow excited to walk into my class because i know you'd be there, when i'm practically pulling the sun out of its sleep so it can be the next day, and i can see you again. i tell myself it's wrong. you were my student, and i was married," you could see the way her pupils dilated. she was thinking of wanda. you can always tell when she's thinking of wanda. "but i still wanted you."
it was odd to think that while the world went on outside, the two of you shared a moment as if frozen in time inside the privacy of her home. that in this very moment, it was just you and her, and whatever desire you have for each other. nobody else, nothing.
it was always like that between you two. it was always you and her. you always forget about anyone else outside your bubble. you forget about wanda, you forget about billy.
but she doesn't.
she lives with the guilt while you pretend it doesn't exist.
"so how do you think i felt when i finally pieced together that the girl i like was not just my student, but the girl my son was in love with? that she's as much a part of this family as i was?"
you were looking up at her, "you genuinely liked me...," you whisper.
"i tried not to. i tried to hate you. i ignored you, i humiliated you. you were my student. i needed to treat you as such. but i'm sorry, it was personal. i was actively trying to push you away. and then you were billy's bestfriend, and i had to hate you even more. but i couldn't," she was kinder. her voice was softer, just above a whisper. "and my wife was trying to fix our marriage. she was begging me to come home, billy needed me to come home. and i thought when i did, i'd finally escape you. i'd mend my marriage, and i'd stop caring about you. but even here you haunt me."
"natasha i—"
"i had to try extra hard, but i still wanted you, i burned for you, i desired you, i needed you. and i had always been terrible at resisting you. i always slipped before. and this time, i just... i couldn't," she paused to take a breath. and then she looked away with her lips that forced into a half smile. "but you love billy...," she whispers, completely avoiding your eyes. "and you should, i know him. he'll treat you right—"
you kissed her. you pulled her in by the neck, and you kissed her.
her hand quickly rested above your hips, pulling you impossibly close to her while your fingers found shelter between her crimson locks.
the kiss was hungry, you were sucking in so much of each other, and she had but one goal: to make you hers.
you were going around the kitchen, kissing, feeling for any surface she can take you on. your back hit a wall, but you flipped her over so her back was against the fridge. your hands were quickly feeling for her, running quickly against her sides, running back up on her abdomen past her breast, and back to her neck. you were trying to feel so much of her, every part of her like there wasn't enough time of the day.
because there really wasn't.
she was working on your denim shorts, and the lace that tied your top from the back. she switched with you so your back was against the cold metal fridge. and she pulled back, looking at you, panting, like silently asking for your permission.
her hair was all over the place, and you took it upon you to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. you smiled.
you held her hand on your neck, and you let it travel down your body. you lifted your chin to what the fridge behind you allowed when she caught on, and you pulled her hand to the gap between your covered breasts. and when it reached your stomach, you made sure to roll your eyes in the way that you knew might drive her crazy.
and then you pushed your hands between your two bodies so it reaches your wet core. you didn't let her touch. you felt her fingers extend in an attempt to reach it, but you held it far enough so she can only feel how warm you were without feeling you.
you made sure not to look at her. you closed your eyes, and you let your chest rise, and your mouth open slightly. it was as if you were playing with a sex toy. like you were holding a vibrator and teasing yourself with it.
you know she's in-charge. she would be in a few seconds, but you wanted to play a little. the only card you have against her was this, her imminent desire for you. and you wanted to use it. you wanted to tease her. you wanted to feel how it is to control her the same way she does you.
so you made it erotic, more than it should normally be—the way your back arched when you finally let her touch, controlling how long her finger stays, or how hard she pressed.
and then you let her fingers press a little harder on your swollen bud, and you moaned. she flipped you. she flipped you so quickly that you didn't realize your front was against the wall until she carried you by the stomach and bent you over the counter.
she made you spread your legs. and then her fingers danced on your core. she pressed on every part of you until you were grinding on her. "natasha, don't—" you breathed, "don't tease me," you were trying to stay in control, maybe her confession got to your little head. but you were trying to tell her what to do. and she wasn't having it. you had you time, your fun.
you gasped when she cupped your sex with her palm. "i think, you need to learn to be patient, dear," 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 people in the backyard. the people who can pass through the hallway, and find a clear glimpse of you and the birthday boy's mother.
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 hand by forcing yourself still.
"natasha, someone might see," 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 hand 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.
"so?"
the voice of reason left, and it took all your inhibitions with it.
anybody can walk in or even pass by and they will be met by you being fucked on top of the kitchen island. they're going to see what slut billy's girlfriend is. what slut she is for his mother. but you can't stop grinding on her hand. the mere thought of someone seeing you being fucked out makes you grind even harder until her palm leaves your clothed pussy, and lands hard on your covered ass.
"mommy doesn't like naughty girls. you should know that, right?" she slaps you again. and then again. and then again. "didn't i tell you to be patient?"
she removed your shorts before pushing herself against you, pressing down on your body while pulling your hair as far as your body allowed. you can feel her bulge against your cunt. and you couldn't help but grind against her dress, fully knowing the juices you'll be leaving on it, but frankly you couldn't care less.
"please, i just need you to fuck me.." you cried. "please, nat..."
her eyebrows pinched almost in insincere pity. "now, is that the way to talk to your mommy?"
"mommy, please..."
she made you sit on the counter, never letting go of the grip she had on your hair. you were panting. and huffing. you were like a puppy in heat as you faced her with legs all spread out on top of the counter. you presented her with the cunt that only she gets to touch. the pussy that she's claimed the first time she touched you.
her eyes softened for a moment when she comes as close as the counter gave her the space to. her other hand falls on your waist, while the other tugs at your hair so your faces are just an inch apart. she looked concerned, she looked like she was about to give into what you want. but then she doesn't.
"you have no idea how much i wanted you," she says, and suddenly her hand's on your neck, while the other finally makes contact with your cunt, pushing your lace underwear to the side. "i thought it would be less after i that night, but no... i just... i couldn't resist. i wanted you so badly, and i keep wanting more of you everyday."
your hips grinded harder against her fingers and then finally when she slammed two into you. and your eyes roll to the back of your head, your hips meeting her thrusts.
"god, yes mommy. please fuck me."
her grip on your neck tightens. "but you're billy's aren't you?" something in your stomach tightens. and you weren't sure what billy's mother wanted you to say. you weren't sure if she knew what she was saying, and what she was making you say.
but you sensed it. she sounded angry upset. and with the way she's restricting your airways, and the way she's slamming unforgivingly against your pussy, you knew.
she was fucking her son's girlfriend on the kitchen counter on his birthday. yet, you feel it inappropriate to tell his mother that you don't belong to her son, you're boyfriend.
but it was only true. "no...," you say.
you need her. her fingers aren't enough. you wanted her to stretch you out. you wanted to feel her against every part of your cunt.
"right...," she says. "who do you belong to, sweetheart?" her grip tightens even more when she adds another finger and your hips jolts up as your eyes roll impossibly further back into your head.
you were screaming her name. chanting it over and over again until her grip tightens even more. "quickly, sweetheart. i heard the backyard door open," she was bluffing. but you wouldn't know.
you couldn't breath. your hand takes grasp of her wrist, but it wasn't to stop her hand from gripping your neck. you couldn't care less about air when she just added the last of her four fingers while her thumb circles your clit.
you were chasing your high. you wanted this so badly. the way she was reaching spots, rubbing against parts you didn't even know existed. you were losing your mind. you couldn't breath, you couldn't think. your mind was blank, and it might be that you're about to pass out, that your close to seeing stars, but you knew that if you were on your deathbed, this might just be the memory you'd be wishing to relive.
"who do you belong to?"
you grinded even harder, your hips were writhing against the fingers that only increased in pace. you were hazy. you were a moaning mess. and right at the very last second when you can feel yourself slipping away in pure ecstasy and an incredibly limited amount of air, you were able to mutter, "you."
and then she lets you go right at the very second you exploded in her fingers. her hand was no longer on your neck, it was pressing on your chest just below your collarbone as she lets you ride out your high. your moans. her name. your cries. it was all music to her ears.
your consciousness came back, all along with your reason, and reality itself. you opened your eyes, panting.
and quickly, you dressed yourself, and she fixed herself when you did hear the backyard door open this time, and footsteps came approaching.
she pulled you in by the hand one last time to land a kiss on your forehead before she stepped away, and right on time, wanda came in.
"oh god, there you two are! we have been waiting for you to come out!" wanda says, rushing towards natasha but laying a careful touch on you when she passed by, "billy's looking for you dear," she tells you before she goes to the fridge where natasha waits for her. "oh lord, look at you! what ever happened to your hair?" while mrs. maximoff was fussing over her wife against the fridge, natasha was looking at you with a smug look on her face, like you two shared an inside joke no one in the world would ever know about. "quickly, quickly. we have to give a toast for the twins."
you left the two alone, going out to the backyard first where billy quickly welcomed you to his arms. you thought they deserved the privacy, you thought it was respectful to do so.
billy had his arm around your waist while he introduced you to absolutely everyone. the names got lost in your mind, but the few people you took note of were: tony stark, clint barton, bruce banner, and steve rogers.
half of them were professors. the other, you knew to be very famous. but billy left you with them when he was called onto by someone asking for help with the grill, and they were surprisingly, really fun.
you've learned they were very close to natasha. and now, you assumed that maybe they were this little group. from the way the four of them stuck together the entire time, you only assumed they were more here for natasha than wanda, or the party.
"so this is the special girl, huh?" clint opens with a one-arm hug.
"if you get tired of romanoff's bs, call me. i'll get you on a stark workshop, and i'll give you a job,"tony interjects, giving you a card. "you don't need romanoff."
"hell, he'll give you a house," clint laughs.
"or a mansion," stark adds. "whatever floats your boat."
"ask him to pay for you college fund. that's how i guaranteed free college for my three kids," clint whispers.
"it's nice to meet you, y/n l/n," steve cuts in between both tony and clint, and offered you his hand."i'm steve rogers, history and geography. nat has told us so much about you."
"i'm uh—bruce banner. chemistry," the other one says.
you knew who they were. everyone knew who they were. but you still shook their hands like you didn't.
soon, more than a few minutes of the four's overlapping attempts in making conversation with you, you heard a soft call for a toast.
before you could fully let sink in the image of vision and tommy, and wanda at the center with a glass raised and a butter knife gently hitting it, and natasha romanoff, billy snatched you right from the group and pulled you right to where they stood—the pieces of a broken family that still stands so tall and perfect.
you wanted to appreciate them a bit, while you and billy walk towards them. these people are a part of a big messy tree which you can guess has a lot of history. they were broken, and while the pieces meet, nothing would mend them back together.
but that's the beauty of it. you could see how perfectly they all fit together, even natasha. despite the gaps in between, this works. this dynamic works. they stay the family everyone wants to have despite the cracks. they stay perfect, and shiny.
you wanted to take a good look at them, before you break it. before you break it more. before you officially become a piece that would ruin the dynamic, the family, the specificity of everything that makes this work.
billy gives you a peck on the forehead, before letting you off to natasha who stands a few steps behind wanda who now had the twins on either side.
you didn't say anything, you just stood right next to her as if she just hadn't make you see stars 30 minutes ago.
and then suddenly you felt an arm snake behind you and pull you closer to her by the waist before it rested on the lower part of your back. she didn't say anything, she just took a sip from her glass as if her finger wasn't tracing patterns while wresting on your back.
"natasha," you whispered, looking at the grass beneath you. "i like you too."
she didn't respond for a while. but you feel her push her hand into the back pocket of your denim shorts.
"then how about we sneak out and go on a little date?"
you knew that the second she stepped out, and the moment you found a chance to follow her, that was the beginning of a secret that would ruin everything that you have.
and frankly, that did not stop you from getting on her motorcycle anyway.
#ath: natasha romanoff series (wasn't midnight rain)#ath: natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff angst#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha romanoff series#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda maximoff fanfic#billy maximoff#billy maximoff x reader#billy maximoff fanfic#billy maximoff imagine#marvel#marvel fanfic#marvel imagine#mcu#mcu fanfic#mcu imagine
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full of cages | n. romanoff
about me | series masterlist | natasha romanoff masterlist
pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader
chapter seven | chapter eight: picture perfect, shiny family
chapter summary: you thought you got everything you wanted. turns out there was one more.
warnings: smut; very very slight somnophilia (if you squint) | minimal spanking, dirty talking, manhandling, own orgasm denial, masturbation, minimal choking | mommy kink, praising king, degradation kink | dom!natasha romanoff, slightly bratty but sub!reader. very visible cheating, fluff; around the first half. unedited, long.
a/n: the time has come for me to write smut!!!! dear lord, finally. just a heads up, i am not the biggest fan of writing smut, this chapter dragged on way too long than it should be because i don't like writing smut (i sincerely do not know how to write smut, but having finished 90% of wanda and natasha smut fics on tumblr made me feel like i'm good enough to go), so do take note to lower your expectations and that feedback is highly appreciated!!
you'd come to learn that mrs. romanoff was kinder than she looked overtime. she's secretly caring, she just had the worst way of showing it. of course after three months of calling her office your "third home" you ought to get to know mrs. romanoff at least a little bit.
three months you spent coming to her office every free period so she can closely watch you rewrite the papers she tore off before; three months you spent sitting alone in her lecture hall after her last class so she can teach you everything you were too distracted to listen to before; three months, and now, you're about to reap your hardwork.
"are you sure you're going to do this here?" mrs. romanoff asks with a sigh.
slowly, you noticed her forgo her intense professionalism towards you. she no longer ignores you, or humiliates you. perhaps, that's from your eagerness to learn, and slowly diminishing number of mistakes. but she greets you in the halls, and she lets you stay in her office more than she's supposed to; even when you're just doing nothing but scribbling on your notebook waiting for your next class.
"y/n! i got it," billy barged in.
billy stays in natasha's office a lot too. at least, before natasha calls it a night. anytime before then, especially when you two are busy, she only allows billy to stand outside.
you stand up, holding billy by his wrists and jumping in the nervousness you tricked your mind into thinking was excitement. you caught a glimpse of natasha sighing, her hand on her forehead in almost embarassment of the two children that's making noise in her office right now.
at some point, your dreams of natasha stopped. you were distracted sometimes, yes. but when you really need to focus, she makes sure to make you. and when you're alone in a lecture hall with mrs. romanoff, or in her office writing papers, she can get very scary when she wants to make sure you're paying attention.
but as billy got more involved with you and his mother; bringing you coffee when he can, or lunch when you both miss the time; waiting for the both of you to finish and going home together, you noticed the mrs. romanoff that only exists for billy. you notice the way mrs. romanoff would pack everything billy needs in her bag, or the way she subtly scolds her son when he does something stupid. you saw mrs. romanoff sweaters in her drawers specifically for when billy gets cold which he does so easily. some time last month, you even saw mrs. romanoff keep a bottle of billy's perfume on her desk for him to grab whenever he needs to. you started thinking of mrs. romanoff as more of your mother too. despite the occasional slips, you are always reminded that she is more of a mother to you.
especially when she cooks you eggs in the mornings, or drives you to school for when you decide to come a little earlier than billy. and when you saw how much mrs. maximoff loves her…
"goodmorning y/n!" you had just come done that morning somewhere over three months ago, and what welcomed you (and what has been welcoming you since then) was mrs. maximoff's voice all the way from the kitchen.
mrs. maximoff was washing the dishes, that's the sight you come down to every morning. but usually, there wasn't a plate of eggs, bacon and ham, on the island unless billy decides to cook for you which he hadn't since the first time since you'd wake up before him often. mrs. maximoff only whips you up some green juice to encourage a healthy lifestyle but you didn't see any of that that morning.
"come, sit, sit. natasha made you eggs," your brows furrowed. "she left you some vitamins to drink too. said you don't look like the type to drink vitamins."
you were in a haze from waking up so you only sat down and started eating. "you know, i always assumed mr. vision just goes to work early and comes home late before i found out mrs. romanoff was your wife," you said, your mouth stuffed.
mrs. maximoff chuckled, "well," she said with a pause, as if she was trying to reminisce. "we got divorced a long time ago, sweetheart. it's been seven years, i think," she said.
you weren't one to pry but you did anyway, "why?"
mrs. maximoff smiled before she looked down at her hands. that time you knew what she was going to say, "i met natasha," she said. it was a long time before she said anything again. "tony, vision's long time friend introduced natasha to our family. i knew natasha long before i had billy and tommy, but when vision and i got married, we went away, and i just sort of never had any contact with natasha."
you knew where it was going. you knew what happened. and somehow, for a little, you couldn't fathom the thought. "natasha and i got close. she frequents the house, she got closer to the boys while vision was getting more roped into work," she said. she said it so lovingly as if there was absolutely nothing wrong. "i left vision for natasha."
she was having an affair with natasha while being married to vision. it was obvious. or at least she was falling in love with natasha while being married to vision. eitherway, it's wrong. eitherway, it's love.
"was that why you were at the university last week?"
she smiled. "i was there to talk to nat," she said, then she looked down, carrying on the work she didn't realize she paused. "she and i were going through a rough patch, she moved out to cool her head, and i went to get her."
guilt pinched at your chest. you were going to go to mrs. romanoff's class later having known her personal problem, yet you couldn't resist. you wanted to know more. you wanted to know about her so she becomes less than the monster you always thought her to be. "you joke about getting a divorce…," you whispered though you knew it was enough for her to hear.
"i thought we'd have to," she chuckled bitterly. "but who was i kidding? she's the love of my life, how could i possibly survive without natasha?"
she couldn't. you'd come to learn that when you saw her longingly look at her wife every chance she got, as if her very existence were enough to make her feel alive. wanda would give natasha the biggest meat, or the parts of her food she knew natasha liked. she would pack her sandwiches for work, and oftentimes, even drop by the university to have lunch with her.
of course, they could never really have any alone time with you and billy. you all end up eating together, laughing, and making noise inside her office. natasha, who you thought would get mad over the noise, was just calmly sitting through it, occasionally smiling over her family which you'd come to be a part of.
"okay, mama. sit back for our shining grades," billy says, giving you the hardcopy of your report card that's inside a brown envelope.
you saw mrs. romanoff lean further into her chair, her eyes wandering over your faces. you couldn't disguise the nervousness anymore. you were nervous. especially with natasha in front of you. you all knew, in your minds, that natasha is the only one who would ever fail you. so to do this right in front of her, is only to see if she failed you again despite your hardwork. it's like opening a christmas present in front of your intimidating aunt.
you took a deep breath. you could never outlive the awkwardness if she did fail you again, and she's right in front of you to see your reaction. you might just explode.
"okay, babe. let's do it," billy says.
you started in internal count down.
1
2
3
1.6
your eyes widened. that was your lowest grade. and it wasn't from mrs. romanoff.
ENGLISH LITERATURE --- 1.0
BUSINESS ECONOMICS --- 1.0
while billy was busy eyeing your card, you were already looking at natasha who was only returning your gaze with a smug look on her face. it was only until billy gasped and attempted to hug you did you charge towards natasha who quickly stood up to welcome your body in her arms.
your heart exploded with joy. your efforts, the sleepless nights, the overtime, the swallowing the harsh words mrs. romanoff would throw at you when she notice you get distracted.
but most of all, it's finally living outside of mrs. romanoff's radar, it's finally seeing the nice side that billy kept insisting she had. it's having a family, and a boyfriend, and people who loves you. it's having a relationship with all of them, a relationship you'd never give up for the world that made your heart explode all the much more.
you hugged mrs. romanoff, and she stiffed. she didn't hug you back, or move. but you felt her warmth nonetheless, and you smelled the vanilla, and bergamot, and rosewater from her. you kissed her cheek, whispering a thank you for helping me, mrs. romanoff before running off to billy who lifted you and spun you around as you both basked in joy.
you both shared now an above 1.4 average and you can not be happier. you have a family who loves you, a boyfriend who's always been there for you, and good grades. there can be nothing else that you want.
"we're definitely getting good jobs with grades like these," billy says. looking at you, his eyes sparkling.
you giggled. "we're only freshmen, billy."
he leans down. "well, i'm very proud of you regardless," he says kissing you.
mrs. romanoff clears her throat, only then sitting down. "okay. get out now. i have work to do," she says.
you and billy went out with large smiles, occasionally squealing in between sentences as you walked down the hall. you… are now officially stress-free. you got what you want. your hardwork paid off.
you had a few remaining classes, and billy would pick you up from your lecture halls after each one. after your last period, billy took you out. "let's celebrate!" he said.
he took you to your favorite taco place. it wasn't really a date, yet he insisted it was. getting tacos, and going near the beach where food trucks were lined up are something you do on a usual day. but because of the boyfriend-girlfriend title, he insists that everytime you do something fun together, that it's a date.
of course, you were never really one for making the simplest date romantic, but you were never really a "romance" person either. billy was. billy always has been. and you appreciate his ability to find the love in even the simplest things.
you learned to do that because of him. everytime he wraps his jacket around you the moment it gets dark, you know he's doing it out of love. whenever he removes the vegetables from your food because he knows you hate them, you know he's doing it out of love. whenever he opens every door for you, and holds the umbrella a little more towards you, and ties your hair when it's windy, you know he's doing it out of love.
billy taught you to look at the little things.
and so everytime he pulls a chair for you, or puts food on your plate during dinner, or carries your things for you, it reminds you that you did make the right decision. that no one would ever love you as much as he did.
"let me take that," billy says, taking the plate you were holding but you didn't let go.
"listen to him, dear. he doesn't do any chores in this house. at least let him take the plates to the sink," you giggle at mrs. maximoff who was wiping the table.
you looked up, smiling at the way billy's damp hair hung over his forehead. you swept the hair out of his face, holding his cheek for a bit before looking down when you get too deep into his eyes. "you should shower, billy," you smile. "i can take this. you smell like the sea salt."
"listen to her, dear. she's actually smarter than you." billy rolls his eyes at her mother. "oh, i felt that billy!" mrs. maximoff says to which you laugh. she appeared next to you and billy, holding the other three plates you were supposed to come back to. "you should listen to your girlfriend, dear. she's might actually stop you from dying from your impulsive decisions," she says, putting the other plates on top of the ones you were holding. "now, go go. i'm sure y/n can manage," she tapped billy's arm twice, hurrying back to the table murmuring a, "swimming at the beach with your clothes on until night time. what were you thinking."
you smiled, bringing the plates to the kitchen while billy goes up to shower. mrs. romanoff was already there washing the first few dishes you brought earlies. "is that it?" she asks when you set the plates beside her.
"mrs. maximoff, are there any more dishes?" you shout over at the dining area.
"no dear! you brought the last of it," she shouts back.
you smile a bit. there's always that flutter that you feel when you feel the domesticity of it all. you never had this in your own home. and now you do.
"what are you thinking?"
you lifted your head with a "huh?" when you heard mrs. romanoff say something but the small interaction was interrupted when mrs. maximoff enters the kitchen, bringing the cloth she used to wipe the table with to the sink.
"you know, i could never understand why y/n dear won't call me mama," mrs. maximoff says with a huff when she began drying some of the dishes mrs. romanoff finished washing.
"well, i tried once. but with billy being my boyfriend, it just sounds too…," you passed behind the three older women to get to wanda's side and help out by putting away the plates she'd dried. "step-sister," you continue.
"well, maybe you should break up with him then," you hear mrs. romanoff say.
you didn't say anything, but you felt mrs. maximoff elbow her. "or she can just call me whatever she wants," she says to her wife then she looks at you with a smile, "oh, don't you listen to nat. she's just a little protective of her boy," you smiled. "oh let me take that from you dear, we're going to keep that away for the holidays," she took the cup from you before you even realizing, bringing the cups out of the kitchen for a bit.
you looked at mrs. romanoff who just turned of the sink after finishing the dishes, you smiled at her. "don't worry, mrs. romanoff. i won't take--" you stop when you feel her hand on your hips as she passed behind you and she swiftly moves you to the sink and takes your place beside it. you heart skips. she's making you slip again. but you can't, she's billy's mother.
"oh i know you won't take billy from me, dear," she says. "i was worried it might be the other way around."
you hadn't heard what she said because the moment mrs. maximoff came back, you ran off to your room. you were heaving. you clutched your hand against your chest, feeling your raising heart. "oh god," you sighed, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to fall on your bed.
it wasn't your first slip. there's been a couple when you thought of her other than billy's mother. when your hand would brush against her when you pass her a little too closely in the halls, when she'd place a hand on your knee when she's showing you what made your writing wrong in her office, when her hand would settle at a small part of your back as you walk towards billy's car in school. but you can't, she's your professor.
she's your professor.
she's your professor.
she's your professor.
she's your professor.
but you're masturbating to the thought of her.
she's your boyfriend's mother.
but your fucking yourself to the thought of her.
"you were moaning my name, y/n. you came to the thought of me."
no, but she's like a mother to you now.
"you were fucking yourself to the thought of me, not billy's."
your eyes popped open.
you were dreaming again.
except you weren't. you felt her breath against your skin, the ends of the hair that hung on one side of her head were brushing against your cheek, she was on top of you. mrs. romanoff was on top of you. you weren't dreaming.
"god, what are you doing to me…," she says, her eyes meeting yours. she was on her knees, your body in between her legs, and her arm holding her above you. "i can't stop thinking about you, you haunt me… you're making me feel all these things…," the way she whispered made you shiver. the raspiness of her voice was enough to revive the desire you so forcefully pushed down your very core. "i saw you touch yourself, i saw you cum, i heard you scream my name, please…," you feel her other hands softly tracing down your arm until she was able to take hold of your wrist. she used your very hand to tease you. she held your finger tips over the skin of your inner thighs, tracing patterns onto your skin with your hand. "let me see that again."
you heart was about to explode in your chest. but you didn't show her. for the first time in your life, you see mrs. romanoff at the lowest her pride could ever get. she was asking you for something, begging you. you saw the way she breathed against you, the way her eyes looked at yours. she needed you.
your inhibitions disappeared the moment you saw her on top of you. nothing else mattered at that point. you couldn't think of anything else that mattered aside from feeling her.
"say it," you whisper.
"i need you…," she said as a breath of air.
"where's your manners, mrs. romanoff?"
"please, i need you."
you would've done it without the please. but you wanted to push your luck.
the moment your hands met your aching core, your mouth opened. slowly, you started rubbing your clothed bud, teasing yourself with an initially slow pace that increased and decreased whenever you pleased.
you wanted the moment to last. you wanted the ache in her body to be so unbearable, she couldn't wait to fuck you. you didn't let yourself come, instead, you stopped everytime you were about to just to see her eyes darken in the pleasure you keep on taking away from her.
you kept eye contact. she saw every bit of movement your features made, the way your eyebrows stuck together, the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head, the way your mouth opened and silently moaned.
she'd had enough when your face became smug after disallowing yourself an orgasm again. her eyes were much much darker. it was lustful, and angry, and impatient. your eyes widened in shock when her hand harshly wrapped around your throat to a point where you can barely breath.
"you like teasing mommy, don't you?" she growled. "if you can't give me one, then i guess i'll have to pull it out of you myself."
with one swift movement, she had your ass up, and face down on a pillow near the foot of the bed. she harshly pulled down your pajamas, exposing your smooth cheeks and your hole that hid behind your folds. "you'll have to be quiet, yes?" she says. smoothing over your ass with her palm when a hard slap suddenly lands on it. "i was talking you, wasn't i, dear?"
you whimpered. had she gotten slightly closer she'd feel the heat radiating from your core. because you could feel it. you could feel it and the wetness that dripped from your pussy. "yes…," you whisper.
another slap. "yes what, sweetheart?"
you were panting. you needed to feel her. "yes, mommy."
"good girl," she acknowledges. that sent you over the edge and she hadn't even touched you. the sheer acknowledgement that you were doing good was enough for you to moan. "aww, is my baby horny?"
you hadn't realized you were pushing your ass into her to no prevail of actually feeling her body against you until she held you still.
"just touch me…," you whimper, trying to break free of her hold by pushing further against her but she didn't let you, instead, she only held your hips much much tighter.
"now, who doesn't have manners," she says. you feel her move behind you, "but i'll let it slide this one time," she was talking like mrs. romanoff now. like how she would to you in class, or when she's mad. it made your stomach flip. "you know what, i never thought you'd be the type of girl to fuck your boyfriend's mother, yet here we are."
you grinned, getting out a quip. "you'd be surprised, mrs. romanoff--" you gasped when you felt something cold and hard against your pussy. it was running through your folds; natasha's nails digging through your hips as she controlled just how close your body gets towards her.
"then surprise me, princess," she tells you. it wasn't until you felt something align at the entrance of your pussy that you realized what it was.
"no, no, wait!" you stop her, your hands pushing it way from your entrance. "i'm a virgin," you blurted out.
silence.
for a moment, you feared that you may have ruined the moment. but that disappeared when you felt a kiss on your lower back. "then let's rip the bandaid off now, shall we?"
and then she bottomed up inisde you.
it was like your cunt was tore in half. your face stiffed, mouth opened, and eyes wide; your back arching and your neck almost cracking at how much it stretched back in pain. you couldn't imagine what greater pain it would be if she started moving.
but she didn't. instead, she let you cry into your pillow while you adjust to her size while staying completely still inside you.
you prayed she'd stay like that forever. you didn't want her to move at all. you didn't want to move. it would hurt. you don't want to get hurt. you wanted to stop. but then you feel her press wet kisses along your lower back, her hands were soothing your sides, and then you heard her, "you're doing so great, sweetheart," she whispers. "you're doing so good for me, darling. i promise you it's going to feel so much better. tell me when you want me to move, yeah?"
you took a few deep breaths. for a moment, you thought the butterflies were a call of desire. but no, they weren't. nonetheless, you asked her to move. you want to make her happy. you want to feel good. you want her to make you feel good. you trust her. someone who might have hurt you before won't hurt you now.
"please, move now…," you whimpered, your voice muffled from planting your face deep into the pillow.
"are you sure?"
you take a moment to feel, realizing that you've grown accustomed to the size. that you crave to feel something more now.
"yes," you say surely. "please move in me now, mommy."
you swore you heard her smile.
you feel her move, slowly. you tried to hide your whimpers in pain by pushing your face further into the pillow. "are you okay, dear? do you want me to stop?"
soon, the pain turned into pleasure. the pain wasn't gone, but the pain was what made the pleasure much a lot better.
"well, would you look at that," you could practically hear natasha's smug smile while she watches you bounce on her cock to your own accord, leading with your own rhythm to which she only followed. but she gave you too much control, she ought to take it back. "there's no need for stopping now is there?" she asks before yanking your head back by a fistful of your hair, pulling you so far towards her that you were raised to your knees and your back was completely against her. she wrapped more of your hair around her hand pulling your head further that it was laying on her shoulder. "then how about we go faster?"
your eyes rolled to the back of your head when she started pumping faster, harder, deeper. a hand snaked under your shirt, her palm pressing against your skin, and it was like something had set you alight.
"oh god, i've always wanted to touch you," she whispers in your ear, her lips grazing over your love. "you make me so wet in class, and in my office, i just wanted to take you right where everyone could see you," she squeezed your breasts, fondled with it while pounding into you. and then you felt her hands travel back down. "you would like that, won't you dear? you want everyone to see how much of a slut you are for your mommy."
the moan you let out when her fingers reached your hardened bud was animalistic--so much so that her hand quickly flew over your mouth to cover it. "i told you to be quiet, didn't i?" she says sharply. you felt a something at the very pit of your stomach. you felt something tightening. you were about to see stars, and when she felt your walls tightening around her cock, she slapped your cunt harshly. "don't you dare cum when i'm talking to you," she growled, her pace not once faltering. "mommy asked you a question. don't you think it's rude that you're ignoring her?" you whimpered in her mouth, crying almost at the sever pleasure you're falling, but still graving more. she slapped your cunt again, this time, much much harder. the short moment when her hand landed on your clit was enough to make you moan into her hand. "answer me, slut. or i swear to god you will never get to cum ever again."
she allowed your mouth a little space between her hand so she can hear you. "mommy told me to be quiet. i'm sorry for being loud," you say, closing your eyes, swallowing down the moans that threatened your mouth, but one loud one slipped out.
"are you though?" she asks before her arm wrapped around you body while the other stayed on your mouth. a loud thud came from your room, when she angrily pushed you against your door, fucking her cock into you much deeper than what you thought was possible. "since you're such a whore, let them hear you come."
"oh god mommy, i'm cumming…," you cried.
she turned you around, her cock never leaving your insides. this time, your back was against the door, and your legs were wrapped around her hips. "fuck, keep doing that mommy, please. i'm so close, i'm so close…," you whispered, heaves of air leaving your body.
you closed your eyes, you back arching a little and your head tilting upwards to what the space between you and the door allowed. just right when you were about to plead for more, right at the very brink of finally reaching the stars, she grabbed your jaw. her nails were digging into your skin, and her hold, tight. you opened your eyes, meeting the green ones you never once thought you'd get to see this close, under this circumstance.
"you look at me," she says. "i want to see my little slut come."
and with one final blow, your body convulsed before her; your legs shaking as stars decorated your sight. she let you ride out your high, her hand making in on your mouth the moment it opened when you came.
she coos praises in your ear, soothing over your side until your body fell limp against her. you were panting while she carried you to bed.
and then she left.
she placed you on your bed, your body almost paralyzed, unable to move, and then she left.
she hadn't looked back. she just left closing the door behind her.
shame. there it was again. you hadn't gotten that feeling in a long time. you hadn't really dreamed of her in a long time, no feeling welcomed you in the mornings. but then here it was again. 100x more than it used to be. it ate you up.
the shame wasn't out of the two very special people who you just betrayed after doing what you did. the tears that fell from your eyes weren't from the shame of having acted on the lust you so long felt the mrs. romanoff. the shame was from embarassment. that she left you as if you were nothing. that you allowed her to use you, and violate you the way that she did, and leave you.
how could you allow that for yourself.
the horns natasha romanoff had grew back as you hugged your own body against your bed. and then you cried.
you cried until you hear your door open and by then you didn't really care to look.
"hey… are you okay?" your eyes shot open, hearing a voice you didn't expect to hear. she came back. she was standing beside you, bent over to see you more, and then she rests her hand on your arm. "sweetheart, is everything okay? why are you crying?"
i thought you left me. i thought you only came here to use me, and my body then leave. i thought you weren't going to come back. i thought you just went to get what you wanted. i… i… i…
"hurts."
"aww…," she coos, gently scooping you in her arms and carrying out the door. "well, i prepared a bath for you," she says gently.
you saw the bathroom light open from the gap beneath it's door. she prepared a bath for you. the moment the bathroom door closed behind her, she kissed your forehead. "you did wonderful for me, y/n," she tells you, letting you on your feet for a bit so you can remove your shirt. "i'm so proud of you."
then she carried you again, this time to place you in the warm bath she created for you. "let's wash you up."
you don't think you've ever felt more okay than you did with her now.
#ath: natasha romanoff#ath: natasha romanoff series (wasn't midnight rain)#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff series#natasha romanoff x reader#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff fanfic#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda maximoff x reader#billy maximoff#billy maximoff x reader#billy maximoff imagine#billy maximoff fanfic
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slow motion love potion | n. romanoff
about me | series masterlist | natasha romanoff masterlist
pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader
chapter six | chapter seven: full of cages
chapter summary: had she been intentionally haunting you, you wouldn't know. but for someone who doesn't think of you, she's been showing up more and more in your life. she's not just your professor who has it out for you, or the woman who's been haunting your dreams every night, she also live under the same roof as you now.
warnings: slight smut; masturbation, unedited; lots of typos, long.
a/n: oh my god, the last chapter was chaotic T T. i received so many feedbacks (which super super appreciated, thank you) BUT HAD NO ONE REALLY READ THE SERIES SUMMARY? the "plot twist" has been there forever! i've been trying to foreshadow it even though i explicitly wrote the whole gist of it on the summary, but i really thought it was obvious.
"you have to come back."
there were only ever two people who ever dared barge into natasha's office to demand her of something. she'll be damned if her students, knew that they were two freshmen who are barely five months into college. "mr. maximoff, you have to go," she says. removing her hands from the desk, and instead re-aligning the stack of papers she had on top of it as a subtle mark to end the conversation.
"mrs. romanoff," billy sighs.
"it's a little too early for this and you have class. so if you would just—"
billy's shoulders drop. "natasha...,"
"i'm quite busy, mr. maximoff," she insists.
but so did he. "mom..."
she was grabbing everything she could find on her desk, tucking them away, moving them across the table, fixing what hadn't needed fixing; from rearranging her stack of papers by putting a page from the back to the middle, or repetitively opening and closing her drawers for everytime she finds absolutely anything she can stash away.
billy only watched her. when natasha's desk had way more than enough space for her to rest her elbows on, and clasp her hands together against, she sighed almost defeated when she looked at billy.
billy had brown eyes; nothing like the ocean greens of her mother's. he'd gotten that from his father. in fact, billy looked so much like his father. he resembled vision so much that he became her constant reminder that while all of them favored scarlet over maroons, she had green eyes and they didn't. while they always win the argument over what to have for dinner, she was allergic to the tuna wanda puts in her famous maximoff casserole. while they made a hobby of providing food for the homeless, or volunteering in community outreach programs, she used to be a criminal.
while she'd always wanted a family, she also became the permanent line that would forever seperate one in half.
"billy," she says. she didn't know what she was going to say, but billy did.
"you need to come home."
what could she possibly tell a boy who's asking her to come home?
"my mom's crying," he said. "when i come home to pick something up for lunch, or when i'd acidentally left something at home, and i walk through the door, and i hear her, and i see her...," he paused. he swallowed on what almost made him choke. "and she's on her side of the bed, crying over you."
in people's minds, she was mean. sometimes, it amuses her knowing that when she walks inside a classroom, her students would each have a different version of what monster she'd look like if she took off her "disguise". and more times than not, she loves it. she loves that she's feared. she loves that they're so afraid of her, so much that they'd drawn such vivid images of what kind of horns she'd have in their minds.
she should be offended. disheartened. but knowing that she was nothing like the monster people think of her to be, knowing that once, she used to come home to her family; dance, and kiss, and spin, and dip her wife in the entryway; laugh and throw food around during movie nights with the two people who meant the absolute world to her; make sandwiches and play videogames or go to the gym with her son. knowing that she was a lot kinder; that she looks after her best friend's family because he continues to be in a dangerous line of work, that she still helps out her scientist friend with his experiment because only she can bring him out of a jam. it made it all the more special; knowing that she remained unseen. knowing that she was something she had complete control of giving to the very few people she trusted. it made it more intimate.
but in those rare moments when being depicted as such a terrible person didn't come so much with pleasure, she wondered if maybe it's because people misunderstood her. maybe if she smiled more? maybe if she talked slower. maybe if she was softer. maybe if she was gentler. maybe she wouldn't seem so bad.
"billy, this does not concern you," she said, regret immediately dawning on her the moment she saw billy's face contort in disbelief. she cleared her throat. for what has felt to be such a long time, she finally dropped her shoulders. she let herself slouch against the desk, she let her brows raise in comfort, she let a lump pass onto her throat for the sheer hospitality of the terrible feeling it came with. a feeling that she finally welcomed. she let her stoicsm break, and her pride falter. "billy, sweetheart," she says, almost in a pleading whisper. she reached out to him, inviting him to come closer which he did so by disallowing any space to be between him and her desk. then she holds his hands inside hers as he slowly sat down. "whatever happened between me and your mother, whatever will happen to us, you need to know that we love you very much, and that will never change," she says.
he shakes his head. "i'm not twelve anymore, natasha," he says, withrawing his hands from her hold almost abruptly. "i just need to know that my mother will be okay."
she didn't say anything though they both knew she should've. though they were both waiting for her to say something, she didn't.
"you promised me. you promised me that you'd be there. when you married her, you promised me you'd never hurt my mother the way that my father did. you promised you'd never be like him. you promised you were different...," he choked on the lump in his throat. he was spiralling. his sentences slur into a string of words that come out like a gush of waterfall. he was shaking his head, "you promised you'd love me...," he looks at her.
"and i do."
billy was nothing like his mother. maybe that's why they got along so well. the got along the same way natasha did with her; being complete opposites.
billy got most of his father's genes. not just his mannerisms, or his looks. billy was his exact replica. from the way he acts, to the way he brushes his fingers through his hair. billy is calm. he's collected.
billy spiraled the way he did. his anxiety works the same way his father did. how he acted through it, how he choked on his words, how he panics through his sentences,
"no, you don't understand. i need you to come home."
something in her cracked. and she was unaware of everything he said next, though she were sure it was something about his mother, about how she yearned for her. about how he wanted his family back. and the next thing she knew, she was writing a letter to her next door neighbor to look after the place she'd made for herself as she won't be coming back anytime soon. and then someone else was in the room.
she went home that night. because after a long day of answering students who deem it comfortable to barge in on her; billy's friend right after he left, grading papers, teaching, and erasing the life she'd created for herself so she can try to disregard the past few months to sit in their driveway, her new car behind her wife's, unable to fathom her return.
should she come in? if she did, it would be wanda, billy, and her again. it would be the maximoff's and a romanoff. it would be reminders of the family she felt like she broke and stole half of for herself, it would be their memories in what once was the home of vision, and tommy maximoff.
in the house with too many windows and green pannels; a brick porch and a gray roof, was the very home she used to stare at wanda a little too long in; it was the very house wanda would sneak longing touches in, disguised as accidents during friendly game nights.
it was the house she watched billy grow from a tween whose voice was much too high for his age, into a man who knows what he wants, and demands for it.
she spent a lot of her nights, sleeplessly caring for billy when he was sick. she already spent too much time on his projects, she already took him on too many motorcycle rides, she already suffered through too much of him complaining about you. she already spent so much of her time falling in love with billy. he's her son. what kind of mother would abandon her son?
"i missed you so much, mama," he tells her, his face nuzzled in her neck and his arms wrapped tightly around her arms.
her heart melted; its love and warmth swimming through her every vein. she hugged him back. it was like when he used to run out of the school bus to hug her, or when he'd kiss her cheek after she'd come home from work.
she felt at home.
that was until her eyes met with yours—a girl standing just right by the arch into the dining room. and suddenly, she felt like she was back in school.
she sighed, subtly. she can't seem to catch a break from you. and it doesn't do her any good. but she ignored you, still. she passed by you as if you weren't there at all. and the way she so closely ignored your very presence—not in class, not in a lecture hall full of people, but in the walls of her very home, the way her eyes passed through you as if you were some ghost, you shrunk. and you froze. if it weren't for billy who naturally put a hand on your waist to lead you inside following his mother, you would've stayed frozen.
you grabbed billy's arm the moment you snapped out, "billy!" you pulled him into the hallway. "god, oh lord, please explain this to me!"
he was a little agitated, too eager to enter the dining room to speak to the mother he never told you about. nonetheless, after stirring his head back and forth, for a bit, he stood straight and gave you his undivided attention. "what is it, dear?" something in your skin crawled.
"you never told me mrs. romanoff was your mother?!" you exclaimed, your whisper getting louder. "since when was this?!"
"a few years ago?" he said, his palm brushing against the back of his neck.
"a few years ago?!" you repeated, your voice now above a whisper. "how can you not tell me!"
"it never came up!" he returns your energy.
"for god's sake billy, she's the very professor i spend my every day complaining to you about!"
"and i tried telling you she was my mother but you never listened!" he exclaims. neither of you were whispering now. your voices were nothing but a little less than how you'd normally talk. "i thought you knew, it was pretty obvious!"
"boys, what's--" you hear wanda's voice from the dining room. "billy, y/n, what's the noise all about?"
neither of you answered. you were not but a wall apart, yet the silence from the other room made you think they can not hear you too.
"when?!"
"well, just last week you asked where my mother was, and when i asked which one you said, 'mrs. maximoff' so i just thought you knew...," it was the day after you got drunk. you remembered. never had you wanted to scream at yourself for not noticing, for not hearing it. maybe because you were too focused on yourself again to notice anything billy says.
god, if you'd only listened.
if you'd only put anyone above yourself.
"well, i was stressed. i didn't notice...," you defended, a little calmer now in slight defeat.
"any other time, you'd interrupt me."
"what?"
that was actually a slap on the face. a slap that left a, "if you would just take one second to look at anybody else other than yourself, maybe you'd realize" mark on your cheek.
you were certain that he might have told you, tried to at least, and every time you did interrupt him.
"i thought he was just your auntie nat...," you say quietly now, calmly, almost apologetically.
"yes," he says in a mere breath of air. "but i tried telling you she did become my mother after that."
"had you..."
yes. he did. you remembered because you assumed he'll only say that they'd gotten even closer eventually so you interrupted him. you remembered because for a moment you hoped you'd be as close to her as he was, and then you went on theorizing what made her so bad.
he was defending her so often, and you'd assumed it was because mrs. romanoff was wanda's friend. but who would scream like that to his mother's friend? what kind of child would barge into his mother's friend's office. how could you not have noticed?
"where did you two meet?" you ask.
you were looking at neither of them as your eyes were trained to the knife you were cutting through the steak. you didn't really want to look up. you didn't want to see mrs. romanoff and the way she couldn't see you; she didn't want to see you. but you'd grown tired of hearing billy's never-ending stories to catch his mother up. you didn't care how they met. you just couldn't stand the stolen glances, and the silent chewing between mrs. romanoff, and mrs. maximoff. the tension, you could cut through with a knife but billy couldn't tell. her never could.
"through a friend..." they say in synch, pausing upon the realization to look at each other for a little before looking back down.
you caught a glimpse of that simple interaction and thought it be best if you just let billy speak. you couldn't see something like that again. that simple strained interaction was enough to make your teeth hurt.
you made sure to keep your eyes on your plate too. the shrinking feeling of being unseen by mrs. romanoff when you're right in front of her, not because she chooses not to but because you hold zero value to her life that she can't actually see you, to see that is unheartly. she wasn't just your professor anymore, she's your boyfriend's mother who you're beginning to assume is moving back into the home you just moved into. even in her home, she couldn't look at you as if your of no worth.
you can't forget now, she's your professor, and your boyfriend's mother.
even when your skin burns from the imagery of her hands on you in your dreams, she's still your professor.
even when you pulse, and ache, in want and need at night, resist, she's your boyfriend's mother.
even when your hand travels down to your very core, and you vibrate in the irresistable desire the darkness of your room allows you. with every bit of her hands on your neck, and her body on you, engraved in your memory. forget about the dreams, she's mrs. maximoff's wife.
don't let her distract you, don't let your dreams decieve you, your body's just changing, your aching not for her but for the imminent desire to be touched, to be loved, to be wanted.
don't think about her. you don't want her.
don't think about her.
don't think about her.
but how can you not when she so gracefully writhes on top of you? how can you not when she's holding a handful of your hair and pushing her front against your back?
it's an illusion from your brain, a signal from your body of your sexual deprivation. but the way she kisses you, the way her fingers play with you very being, she's wanda's wife. she's mrs. romanoff.
"oh, god, yes! please mrs. romanoff...," you covered your mouth the moment you heard your voice be slightly louder than it is safe to be. but the fear someone might have heard you did not make you fingers falter. "please, god, i'm cumming, i'm cumming, i'm cumming..." you were chanting mrs. romanoff's name a few more seconds before you'd made yourself see stars, and your body errupted in pure euphoria.
it took a while before the stars faded into your ceiling, and you were panting. your chest was heaving, and when you brought your fingers from the gap between your legs, it's almost like you coudn't believe what you'd done.
"i did it...," you smile, seeing your fingers dripping in juices.
it was the first time you had done this. and somehow, all the tension, and the bottled sexual frustration all ceased upon your release. and a part of you hated that you hadn't done it sooner.
and then a creak snaps you out. and there it was, shame. the reminder that you did not only dream about your professor and bestfriend's--boyfriend's mother, but you got off on the thought of her. you weren't new to the feeling, it welcomes you every morning when you wake up realizing you had been haunted by her again.
"i need water...," you sigh to yourself as you got up.
you didn't realize your door was slightly open, but you didn't really care. the entire house was asleep, so much so that you can even hear your own breaths.
you looked at the hallway where the rooms are. it was dark but you still saw the bathroom door open at the end of the hall. your room was right by the stairs. it was originally a guest room until you stayed here as a kid. you still have a very vivid memory of vision painting your walls pink, and wanda painting flowers on a part of the wall. the room hadn't changed one bit.
billy's door was right in front of yours, and wanda's near the end of the hall. you wonder if natasha and wanda are sleeping on the same bed now.
something inside you stirs.
"you're still awake," you hear a familiar voice say and something inside you shifts. wanda usually keeps the kitchen light on. you didn't see mrs. romanoff until you looked up almost in shock.
she just humiliated you in her office earlier. then she complete disregarded your presence in her home. and then you got off on her.
you could never look at her without all these feelings eating you up. she scares you, and infuriates you, but still you want her to look at you, you want her to be nice, you want her validation.
"so, you're billy's mom," you say casually, walking up to the fridge.
she hummed. she opened her bottle of beer before tilting her head up to take a brief glance at you. "hadn't you known?"
it wasn't as much of a question as it is a tonal accusation that you had known, you're just pretending not to.
but you didn't.
"no. actually, i didn't," you say, finally opening the fridge which handle of you've been holding the entire time.
"hadn't you," she chuckled, then she took a sip of her drink while leaning against the counter.
this was the most you'd seen of her. outside of school, outside her profession. she wasn't mrs. romanoff. she was a normal woman who drinks beer at 1 am in the morning with wet hair and a gray shirt.
"i always thought you had all that courage with me because billy was your friend," she says.
this was the longest she looked at you. the only time when you felt like she can see you other than when she's trying to humiliate you, or you're asking for her attention.
"i...," you were at lost for words. not because you didn't know what to say. but because she distracts you. because she's distracting you again.
she wasn't looking at you, she'd only take glances, or brief looks. she seems comfortable enough looking at the kitchen island rather than you. and her lips, they twitch. the end of her lips twitch and stretches out into a small smile, especially when she chuckles. or when she quips your responses.
you're down here, staring at her as if you hadn't just moaned her name while fucking yourself.
but she... she was unlike the mrs. romanoff who would stare at your very soul, unmoving, unbothered, uninterested.
maybe, billy was right. she was nicer at home. but who would've thought you'd see her stoicsm break inside her home, at 1 am, while getting water in your pajamas.
you break out of your thoughts when she looks at you, waiting for you to speak, "i don't...," you speak aimlessly, unaware of what you're trying to get across. but then you look away. you open the fridge, sticking your face in so the door covers her. and you could speak. "what courage?" you say dryly.
"well, i'd told you already," she straightened her back, going around the island where she'd sat on one of the stools. "you have the courage to demand i be nicer to you, or that i let you go from my class. if you'd taken the time to ask me the right questions, maybe you could've done better."
"let's not talk school," you groan. "you're at home. i'd like to have a break from professor you."
"well," she grins to herself. "i think you won't be getting that much break from me."
she was gentler; kinder. you wanted this at school.
you finally bring out a bottle of water from the fridge, meeting her by the island where you stand across from her, opening your drink.
"it wasn't courage," you say. "i was asking you all that because i was afraid of you."
"isn't it courage to stand in front of something you're afraid of?"
you didn't say anything for a while. the both of you were on pause, not even moving.
"why are you being nice?" you say abruptly. "you weren't even acknowledging my existence until three minutes ago."
"didn't you ask me to be nicer to you?"
"when i got drunk, yes," and you asked her to fuck you. "i still mean it. but still. why?"
you see her lips twitch into what you noticed was a manneristic grin. and then you hear a small chuckle. "i think, y/n, that you blur out the lines between being professional, and being personal. i am a college professor, and i am not expected to be nice to my student, and neither am i required to," she slipped into being mrs. romanoff so effortlessly, professional after being personal in a snap. you'd think, she was the one who had her professional personality far too intertwined that she's starting to confuse the two. "just because i'm strict and a disciplinarian at work, doesn't make me a bad person in real life."
she was right. when was she not?
and had always been easier to blame her being mean when really... really, she was just so distracting.
her lips are moving, and you could feel something inside of you from the way her tongue rolls off the roof of her mouth. and her eyes... they flutter, and they close, and they stare at you, and you're so instantly drawn, you could feel yourself actively trying to pin your entire body down from being sucked into whatever gravity pulling you into her that science could never explain.
she's distracting you. everything she is, her very being distracts you.
"try harder, miss y/l/n," she says, again, breaking you out of your thoughts.
"what?"
"i think you're really smart. so try harder," she says. "and stop being so distracted,"
you feel it again. aching.
you could never try harder, because everything she does, everything she does to you, and says to you, it pulls you further away from what you should be focused on.
"are you distracted again, miss y/l/n," she said your name differently this time. it wasn't sharp, or harsh. you couldn't point it out, all know was how it sent chills down your lower back.
you're going to lose this tomorrow. the moment when she finally sees you would dissipate into tomorrow when she'd humiliate you again, call you out, or worse, ignore you. you couldn't.
"teach me," you say, slapping your hands against the surface of the counter.
"what?"
"you told me if i just asked you. so i'm asking you," you stared at her, looking directly into her eyes. "teach me where i got it wrong. tell me what to do, help me. guide me."
"is that what you want?"
"i want to do better," for you. "you should be asking me if that's what i need, shouldn't you?"
"what do you need?"
"you," you whisper. "i need you to help me."
#ath: natasha romanoff#ath: natasha romanoff series (wasn't midnight rain)#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff series#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff fanfic#wanda maximoff x reader#marvel#mcu#marvel smut#marvel fuanfic#mcu imagine#mcu smut#mcu fanfic#billy maximoff x reader#billy maximoff fanfic#billy maximoff imagine#billy maximoff
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it was paradise | n. romanoff
about me | series masterlist | natasha romanoff masterlist
pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader
chapter nine | chapter ten: all the love we unravel
chapter summary: you couldn't tell when mrs. romanoff became natasha romanoff; the woman who'd laugh with her friends, or kiss you in an empty parking lot. when did the big, bad, mrs. romanoff who you prayed would take you off her radar, became nat, the very woman you'd beg to look at you. when had the hatred turn to all this?
warnings: curse words, fluff; public displays of affection, platonic relationships, cheesy. unedited.
a/n: im sorry it took so long!!!! this was initially much much longer. but i had to cut this part in half. i had to sneak in this bit of fluff in the story, i think we all deserve it. but anyways, natasha and reader's relationship is just so <333333
"oh fuck off, romanoff!" tony yells when natasha steals the last bit of popcorn. the boys complain after him, clint taking a forgotten piece to throw at natasha. natasha expertly dodges even when facing away and walking back to her small kitchen.
you took a handful of your popcorn and threw it at tony, "hey, don't talk to my woman like that," you laugh, but not as loud as thor did when he joined in and threw a handful from your bowl at tony. and thus begun the ruckus in natasha's apartment of you and thor teaming up against tony in a popcorn war; clint and steve laughing at how tony tries to hide behind his swatting arms, and bruce trying to avoid the flying pieces of popcorn.
"fine. no college fund for you then," tony declares after you ran out of popcorn to shower him with, "and don't expect me to pay for your expenses the next time you visit."
thor chuckles, giving tony a big slap on the back on his way back to his spot on the carpet. "i'm only helping the girl," thor says, "don't talk to her woman like that."
"oh let him have his fun," clint interjects before bringing his bottle to his lips. "he knows romanoff won't do anything to him because y/n's here."
"shut up, katniss," tony hissed, dusting off the popcorn from his hair, "i'm not afraid of romanoff."
"you saying something, tony?" natasha says from the kitchen just a few steps from where you were inside her open floored apartment.
"no ma'am," tony salutes, and you all broke out in laughter.
natasha returns with a fresh bowl of popcorn, setting it down on the coffee table near the foot of the bed. "you guys are cleaning that up," she says, dropping herself down to the spot next to you.
"hey, y/n started it," tony insists, but natasha only chuckles.
"well, she did say not to talk to her woman like that, didn't she?"
tony stood up abruptly, pointing a finger at natasha who left no space between the two of you. "i'm sensing favoritism," he pushed. "this is unfair. i'm calling a for a vote."
"oh, sit down tony," natasha waves him off. she began picking the few pieces of popcorn stuck on your hair before bringing your forehead up to her lips for a soft kiss.
you swooned.
"i feel cheated on," tony sits down defeated, "can you see this, i can't do that now can i."
"you can always book us that trip to the bahamas," natasha laughs, still looking at you while holding either side of your face close to her own. she places another kiss on your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. and then she stares at you for a moment more before letting you go.
"did anyone get this on video? we need this for blackmail," clint says. "the big bad romanoff secretly a softie."
everyone coos.
"agent romanoff is in lo~ve," tony adds on.
"the wedding shall be held in asgard!" thor yells.
"i'm not paying for the space travel,"
"you own the ship though..."
"gas cost money, bruce."
"see, steve gets it."
you and natasha shared a laugh. enjoying the interaction between the five. if you didn't see them in their best tuxedos earlier, you would've forgotten how half of them were professors and the others, massive billionaires.
of course, earlier, that was all you could see them as: mrs. romanoff's big shot friends who you are terribly far from impressing.
"so what does your mother do?" steve asks breaking the silence after you'd all settled down on the table right at the center of the expensive restaurant tony book you in.
"oh, i—," you looked at natasha for a second, afraid almost that what you'll say next might turn her friends off. way to get on a bad side of people you're trying to impress is to tell them your mother is a drug addict. by then, every attempt you make at getting on their good side would only receive pity. "i don't have one," you resorted.
silence.
you feel natasha's hand on your thigh. she soothed it. and then she leaned in to whisper, "i'm sorry. they could be invasive," she tells you. "i'll tell them off later."
you were thankful the waiter came in to save what was filled with them avoiding your eyes and clearing their voices. you hadn't heard what everyone got. just that they all ordered a complete five course meal with fish, meat, vegetables, and everything else.
you were supposed to order next. at least, after almost a year of dating natasha romanoff, you'd grown accustomed to always ordering first, but this time she doesn't let you.
she ordered first.
"i'll take the oysters on half shell please," she started, looking at the menu. "then the shrimp cocktail too."
"any salads?"
"no, actually. maybe just the caesar salad for me," natasha's hand never left your thigh. in fact, if continued to soothe over your exposed skin. "then maybe pan seared scallops and steak tartare," she looked at you. "rib or strip?"
you stuttered for a bit, at lost for words when you realized that she was ordering for you too.
you didn't know what you wanted. you never really do. you always end up somewhat regretting your order every time you and natasha go out.
but in a hurry, you just utter a, "strip."
"great. i'll take the new york strip, braised short rib. and for sides, just the baked mac and cheese for the girl please," she smiled at the waiter and you swore he melted when he had to force his eyes off her and to his little notepad.
and you can't help but smile.
"did you want anything else?" she asks, looking intently at you but you just smiled and let your nose touch hers. you see her cheeks grow red. "what was that for?" she smiled.
she was never used to public displays of affection. even something as little as your noses touching, or your eyes looking a second longer than it's supposed to into hers. but of course, neither should she. something as destructive as your relationship should be kept a secret. even the smallest touches.
but at times like these, when you're neither alone nor allowed, but you still sneak in those rare moments of affection, she swears, she falls much much deeper.
"okay enough of that, the boy here is getting nervous," tony interjects, making you giggle out of the small bubble you and natasha had encapsulated yourselves into.
"i think you're getting nervous too, tony," clint laughs but he knew enough to stop when natasha shot him a sharp glare.
you smiled, soothing over natasha's hand that remains on your thigh before taking a glance at the waiter who was only standing there awkwardly staring at natasha, then at the hand you hold over hers.
that's right, stare at everything you will never have.
steve clears his throat. "uh, any drinks?"
"we—uhm—we actually offer—uh, we only offer wines in bottles for service. other drinks; cocktails, mocktails, vodka, everything else you can get from the bar."
natasha prepares as soon as the boy finishes, "vodka for me, and one mocktail. what are you having, boys?" she asks.
"isn't—isn't y/n going to like something with alcohol too?" bruce asks. you would actually, but before you have any time to say anything, tony beats you to it.
"exactly. give the girl a break, agent. she's not a kid," tony protests in your place.
natasha only chuckles, fixing the napkin that she took off her lap neatly on the table, "i think i know what's good for her, don't i, y/n?"
"boo!!!!!! give the girl a drink," tony still stands. "give the girl a drink!"
"no. we're riding my motorcycle home, and i'm not having her fall off my bike," she says firmly, almost like a silent command.
but you still insist. you looked at her with pleading eyes, extending your arm to hold her fingers. "i want a drink, please," you say. "i won't fall off, i promise."
"give the girl a drink!" tony chants but natasha's eyes stay on you, her smile, daring, but firm.
she leans against your ear, her lips softly grazing your lobes, and her arm supporting her weight through her grip on your waist. you shuddered. "come on, dear. won't you listen to mommy? mommy knows best, doesn't she?"
you were aware how exposed you were. in front of her friends. being at the very middle of the packed restaurant as tony claimed was the best table because of the sofa seats, tony, bruce and clint sitting across from you and nat who were the only ones on that side because steve decided to sit on an extra chair at the head of the table. you were surrounded by people, covered by a few friends who even then you didn't expect natasha would be so open with.
you almost wanted to complain. i'm only meeting your friends, what if they say we're too physically affectionate in public and it turns them off? what if they're reminded of wanda and billy, the very people we're betraying while we're doing this in front of them?
but you couldn't. this was one of the very rare times when you get to enjoy her physical affection, in public which was terribly off-brand of mrs. romanoff. this was one, if not the only moment when you don't feel hidden, when you felt normal, when you felt seen by the world. when you satisfy the small hidden part of yourself that craves for the domesticity of public relationships.
"i think she really likes you."
you hadn't realized she was gone until only the memory of her breath against your skin remain. and you remembered you were with her friends.
you looked up. within the 30-45 minutes of knowing these people, you've come to learn that tony is a very bullshit person. he's the joker, the one who would bullshit his death by making it into anything but serious. maybe through his narcissism, or sarcasm, or jokes. that's what makes him charming. other than, of course, his billions of dollars net worth.
"you think?" it sounded coy but you were serious. you had to know. did she really like you? or was he bullshitting you? would he build this up into a joke, a thing to make fun of natasha when she comes back?
no. because he chuckles, and it was more genuine than even his smiles. and for the first time he looks away, and it took him a few seconds before looking at you again, "you know, romanoff called me last week. told me she wanted us to meet her girlfriend," he let that sink into you for a moment before he raises a finger, "you know, one thing about romanoff. she never calls me," he says. "she calls clint, tells him everything. she meets with steve. but that's between them. romanoff and i—we have a more eye-to-eye kinda thing. she came and visited me once, nobody knew i had a child by then, we look at each other for one second, and she understood the entire life i built beyond stark industries," he wasn't looking at you again. he was looking over your shoulder, unmoving. "when she called me first of all, i knew it was serious. group serious sort of thing. and then she told me she wanted us to meet her girlfriend? i dropped everything in my lab."
your mind still processed what he meant. actually, it was so far from that. you were stuck on the image of natasha visiting tony. or meeting up with steve. or telling clint everything. the little things that makes natasha further from her life as mrs. romanoff, or as wanda's wife, or as billy's mother, or as your secret girlfriend, and closer to just being herself, natasha romanoff, it sticks to you. and it remindes you that beyond the labels, beyond the titles, the names. that she was just natasha romanoff before all of these.
"natasha dated a few people, but none that we actually heard of," steve clarifies, but tony quickly took his spot.
"we knew about rogers and romanoff. they had a will-they-won't-they going on for a bit until she got together with bruce. of course that's something we just found out during a party when his face fell into her boobs—"
you choked.
and so did professor banner.
"she never told us anything. we know what we see, and the rest, well—who knows."
"actually, we didn't know she was married to wanda until three years into the marriage," clint adds.
your eyes widen at that, choking for the second time but this time on your glass of water. "what?" you ask. "you weren't invited?"
clint laughs, "oh no, we were invited."
"wanda invited us," bruce says.
"she invited us through text. she didn't specify who was getting married so we always just assumed she's either remarrying vision or she's marrying a new man," steve continues. "we assumed the latter."
"we've always been a vision fan, so we didn't go in case she was actually getting married to someone else," clint notes.
tony laughs in somewhat a bitter tone, but still humorous, "mind you, we had group night outs, phone calls and we texted all throughout those three years that she could've told us she'd gotten married to a mutual close friend."
"she didn't. and three of us works with both her and wanda at the university," clint losens his tie and slouches slightly against the couch. "we found out when wanda invited us for thanksgiving and said natasha should be preparing the table so we all came assuming natasha was only there to help."
"plot twist, she's married," bruce finishes.
there was a silence between your shared glances of natasha just talking to the bartender while being handed two drinks.
"you take care of her, okay?" tony says. his voice had zero pitch to it. it was low, and lazy, and sincere. "romanoff, spent decades taking care of us. you know, when we're sick, heartbroken, happy, drunk, sad, in trouble. she picks up after us. she holds us together. and she still does to this day," he looks up at you. "do us a favor, take care of her. i think you're the only person she'd let take care of her."
"what are you whispering about," natasha asks, setting down your drinks, just in time for your meals to arrive. she looks at you while sitting down, and bringing the napkin to her lap again, "do you still love me?" she sets both hands on your thigh, completely facing you. "whatever these idiots told you aren't true. do you still love me?"
you giggled. "i was hoping it might be true, actually," you say.
"this," tony interrupts. "this is true."
natasha rolled her eyes upon realizing that what he said might not be anything that would jeopardize the relationship you two have. she lands you a kiss on the forehead before fixing herself to her seat, and assisting the waiter in distributing the first round of meals.
"hello, friends!"
natasha doesn't tell you much about her friends. but she's told you enough to know where they live, and what her relationship is with them. you know one of them lives very far away.
this must be thor.
he came in late. he entered with much energy, immediately pulling you into a hug. you were sure he would've carried you right out of your seat and spun you around if natasha hadn't got out in time to make way for you.
he still picked you up and spun you around nonetheless, "oh is this the girl?!" he said. "look at you! you're a lot prettier than nat described you."
you'd gotten dizzy. your world spun, perhaps because of this giant man that spun you around like a kid with his doll, or maybe because natasha told them about you. she told them, like how you used to with billy over the guy you had a crush on in middle school. she told her friends about you.
"okay, okay, please stop. she's getting dizzy," natasha's voice faded into your thoughts as thor slowed down. natasha was already standing behind you, ready to catch you the moment thor sets you down, and she did. you fell limp into her arms as the world tried to catch up. "i swear to god, she's not going to make it out of here alive with you doofuses."
while everyone stood up to give thor a hug, natasha had her hands loosely wrapped around your waist, and her chin on top of your head while she holds you still to recover from the unsteadiness.
"so i see the problem," you hear thor say behind you. you turned around, still within the warm hold of natasha romanoff. "romanoff's smitten."
you blushed a little.
"am i—am i allowed to say that or will i be in trouble?" thor speaks when natasha doesn't, looking at the others for backup.
"you won't. y/n's here. we're basically untouchable," barton says, laughing.
that's how you spent most of the night—laughing. you slowly started easing into the group. they were laughing hard, and so were you. a lot of times, they were making fun of natasha, the others, they were asking about your life.
everything was light. and you noticed how they were smart enough not to put you in a spot where you'd have to mention either wanda or billy.
you see a glimpse of natasha's past through them. they were her family. you pieced that together after a few of their stories.
natasha was almost silent all-throughout, aside from the occasional protest when tony makes fun of her, or the rare interjections of when she feels they'd gone too far with you.
but because of all the laughing, you hadn't realize natasha cutting your meat for you, and taking the vegetables off your meal until she subtly switched back your plates which you hadn't notice was switched in the first place. you feel her constantly returning glances, checking on you, watching you. and when you ran out of the mocktail she got for you, you see her silently go off to get you another one.
"natasha, i'm okay. sit down and talk to your friends," you tell her softly when she comes back with another glass for you. this time, you take her hand that's been holding your thigh the rest if the night, and held it with both of yours on top of her leg.
"you heard the girl romanoff, sit down," tony agrees.
you were aware that these little moments between you and natasha were in front for everyone to see, and bask in. but you couldn't help it. you leaned against her, your head on her shoulder and your arm tangled with hers as you waited for desert.
at the end, what was supposed to be your last solemn night alone with natasha, became a loud one with her friends when they all decided to come over her apartment.
they all shared a car, going off first while you and natasha takes a moment to yourselves when you walk through the parking lot to her motorcycle.
you were silent, and walking so painfully slow as if you don't want it to end.
you spent the entire week together. alone. while you did have classes, your girlfriend was a professor, so was most her friends. she had you excused for a week, getting your work sent through her. while she was on a leave.
there's never a gap between the times you have to spend with billy, and the times she has to spend with wanda. but this week, with billy's research, and wanda's inability to leave the house without her son for long periods of time, you found your window.
natasha lied; said tony invited the group to the bahamas with their families. she knew wanda won't be able to come because billy won't. so she just "brings" you.
and just like that, you had one uninterrupted week of just you and natasha.
"did you have fun tonight?" she asks, stopping you to face her so she can wrap around you the coat you refused to wear when you left her apartment. you hadn't realized she carried it with her though.
"mhmm," you say with a smile, beginning to rock back and forth on your feet like a child. her hands found yours to hold. "i had a lot of fun with you and your friends."
"they weren't too much?"
"i feel like they'd get in trouble if i say yes."
"your intuition is spot on."
you laugh, "nope, they weren't too much then."
you fall into silence. comfortable, soft, kind. you watch the way the breeze blows the strand of hair away from her face. then it falls back, so you took it upon you to do a better job and tuck it behind her ear completely.
she smiled at you, holding your hand against her cheek now, warming up your cold hands from the heat of her skin.
"i want to stay like this forever," she tells you.
you weren't religious, but every day you thank the lord for every moment when you get to feel the bumps on her skin, or see the mole on her cheek; when you get to feel her lips twitch into a smile, not see it behind her office desk, or in front of the rows of people you're sitting behind of, but through the kiss that you share the moment her office door closes, or the last person leaves her classroom.
you weren't sure when all your hatred turned into love, when you started searching for her in every crowd, when you silently prayed for her praises, when avoiding her glances became begging for her gaze. when did you seek for her warmth beyond her approval? when did you chase for her recognition besides her dismissal? when did you thirst for her touch aside her praise?
the lines between hating her, and loving her was a blur. all you know was that one day you prayed you'd stop being the one student she saw, then the next praying you'd be the only one she'd look at.
"stay with me forever," you tell her.
she was a secret. she was forbidden. she was the sin you've been engaging in for a year.
you weren't religious, but every day you thank the devil for every moment when you get to feel the curves of her body, and the mounds on her chest; when you get to feel her tongue on your skin, or her hand between your legs. never in front of wanda, or billy, or anyone, but in every moment when one of them turns back, to every time they look lovingly into your eyes unaware of the touches under the table, or behind the counter.
you thank the devil for inventing sin.
praise the devil for every bite you take of your forbidden apple for god hadn't thought about the paradise you'd find in hell when he sent your ancestors outside his heaven.
you kissed her, basking in the taste of sin, and hell, and your home through the saliva that coats your tongue.
"i love you."
#ath: natasha romanoff series (wasn't midnight rain)#ath: natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff x you#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff fanfic#marvel#marvel fanfic#mcu#mcu fanfic
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all the love we unravel | n. romanoff
about me | series masterlist | natasha romanoff masterlist
pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader
chapter ten | chapter eleven: (didn't choose the) midnight rain
chapter summary: while most people would have to be dragged back down to reality from their fantasies, you'd gotten enough of that. so you step down to reality yourself.
warnings: fluff; more natasha and reader fluff, billy being a big drunk baby, wanda being a sweetheart. angst; cheating, a little anxiety (if you squint), minimal guilt.
a/n: look at me posting twice in one week. who would've thought i'll ever be capable of doing such thing! also, the series is ending which makes me sad a bit. we're a few chapters away!
you stumbled on the pavement, looking back at natasha who's hand your were holding loosely on yours. "shhhh," you giggled.
she didn't shush. in fact, your attempts at being silent only made her laugh harder.
you jumped between shushing and laughing even as you stepped onto your porch, and especially when you were crammed between the small space between the walls where the door was and she was fumbling for her keys to open it.
you were a little bit drunk, you will admit. while she wasn't, she couldn't help but laugh at your antics, at every thing you do so clumsily.
it was 8pm. it was dark, and silent, and the roads were empty, and not one house-old from your block had their lights on. something about going home felt wrong. like you were sneaking back in after sneaking out at midnight to go drinking. like you just missed your curfew, and now you're trying your hardest to not get caught as you re-enter the house.
"natasha, you have to be really really quiet," you remind her hazily when she finally pushed the right key in.
"i'm not even talking!" she protests in a whisper, but you only hold a finger against her lips.
"shhhhh!" you silenced. "be quiet and do it carefully."
her gaze remains on you. then she smiles through your pressed finger.
click.
the door unlocks, but she doesn't quite open it yet. instead, she pushes through your finger and kisses you despite your index in between your lips. "i love you," she says through a muffled whisper.
you silenced her with another shh.
then she turns the knob, and all your weight pushes the door open, making you stumble through but she quickly takes hold of your arm to pull you back to her before you fell head first to the floor.
"careful there," she whispers.
"natasha, dear, is that you?"
blood left your face. you mind spun back to reality, reason and truth grasping your brain tight instead of the blissful fog that hugged it moments ago. you pushed yourself away from her. she didn't let you go, she never does, never by choice too. her body clings onto you the same way her heart holds onto every fiber of your being. she couldn't.
but you always made sure to push twice, if not thrice as hard. you always made sure you'd be far far away from her, so far that you'd forget you were even close to her in the first place.
you ended up near the stairs where natasha emerged from. "oh, y/n!" she greets happily. "you look famish," she tells you, her hands quickly coming to fix your hair, then caress your face, then lead you to the dining room. "come, i made you food!"
you were stiff against wanda's arms. feeling a gush of guilt wash through your body when you saw a feast spread out on what usually was a two-dish maximum dinner table.
"oh, you didn't have to—"
"oh come on, just sit. you two have been gone for a week. i missed my girls," she tells you. pushing you to your seat while she moves around the table to hers. "being alone with billy drove me crazy. i forgot how it was to only live with that spoiled boy," she humors.
while she went on, natasha was right next to you, absentmindedly pulling out your chair for you to sit on, but you swat her hand from your seat and subtly pushed her to hers in the process of sitting down.
you got to shoot her a sharp glare which she caught on, realizing that she'd forgotten, just before wanda sat in front of you. she got your plate, beginning to put a bit of everything on it. while she goes on to asking you what you did.
you let natasha speak, naturally. you always let her speak. you would've stumbled for words, stuttered, slip. you could never lie. you couldn't even look at wanda when natasha does it for you.
might be a little hypocritical considering you tolerate natasha's constant need for touch, and kisses, even if it means doing it where wanda can so easily see.
"sounds like you two really bonded, huh?" wanda smiles. "you're stealing my only daughter away from me, nat."
you only noticed when she handed you the plate how all of it were vegetable dishes. barely any meat, just different vegetables cooked different ways.
you were never a fan of vegetables. in fact, you hated them growing up, not that you were forced to eat them, you just simply didn't like them. but wanda made it, for you.
you accepted the plate with a smile, but natasha quickly snatched it from your fingertips before wanda had even fully let go.
"looks good, hun," she says, and you only stare at her with almost wide-eyed confusion matching wanda's.
"natasha!" her wife scolds. "that's rude," wanda looked at you with a smile. "don't worry dear, i'll fix you another plate."
you wanted to say no. you were praying she wouldn't. how could you possibly hide the way your face contorts when you put a piece of it inside. what would you say if she notices your quickened munching, and immediate sip of water.
you could hear natasha and wanda having an exchange. wanda smiling at something natasha said, and sliding into a cute little argument still with endearments, and a flirtatious smile. you noticed that over the sudden ringing in your head when your mind filled with overlapping voices of whatever you could possibly say if wanda notices the way you stop your breathing when you put a piece of broccoli in your mouth.
"i'm sorry i just don't like vegetables, but i am fucking your wife."
how could you possibly decline the woman who offered you her home, who offered you a family, a real shot at having a normal life; a woman whose wife you're fucking.
"y/n sweetheart, are you okay?"
the world clears, and a snap from wanda's fingers was enough to silence your thoughts.
"sorry what?"
wanda's face was scrunched, worried. "are you okay, dear? you seem to be a little out of it today. did something happen?" she asks. "natasha says, you'd already eaten."
"no, i—," you looked away. "i'm just a little tired, that's all."
wanda smiles. "well, that's a sign that you two had a good time, isn't it?"
"i think y/n could say we had the best time," natasha adds in, taking a sip of her water.
"well, not that either of you asked. but billy and i had a great time too."
billy.
"oh, don't you wonder where billy is, dear?"
you were so worried about wanda, you'd forgotten about billy.
"oh i—," you stuttered for words. you know is bound to steal from you wanda's attention yet again, but she's saved far too many times tonight. she spoke for you the entire time. wanda would pick up on it. "i just figured he might still be studying for his exams."
you knew it when you said it.
"his exams were three days ago, dear."
this is why natasha speaks for you.
"had you not been talking to him on the phone?" she questions.
you knew that. he told you before you left.
"reception."
"her phone broke."
your eyes instinctively wanted to look at natasha, but you resisted. silently cursing yourself for the way you and natasha said two different things at exact time.
"nat was messaging me just fine though. did you really not have reception?" wanda asks. "we even call everyday."
"did we?"
"we did."
the time you could've spent thinking for an excuse was instead spent on repeating, "natasha was messaging me just fine" in your head, over and over again.
you couldn't expect her not to. but you'd never once seen natasha on her phone. you never saw her text, or call. sure, once, you saw her typing. maybe even twice. but she never told you. she hid it from you. why would she?
was the secret of you two fucking behind her wife's back not enough for her to tell you that she's messaging her wife on the week you were meant to get away from her.
she was yours, that week. just yours, solely yours. except, you find out, she wasn't. she was still wanda's even away.
"my phone broke. something's wrong with the way it gets reception now," you save yourself. "where's billy?"
"he's out with tommy. tommy's in town for the weekend, so they went to a pub," you stand up abruptly which startles wanda. "wait, i—"
"well, i should get going then," you say.
"but you just go home, dear."
"and i can't wait to see my boyfriend. i'm sure mrs. romanoff can't want to spend some alone time with her wife too," you spare a glance at natasha, seeing the visible urge to stop you. "not that you haven't been doing that on the phone."
"y/n, sit back down," natasha calls.
you smile at her on your wait out. "i don't think i will, mrs. romanoff," you tell her.
"sit. down."
"oh let her go, natty. she wants to be with her boyfriend. she's gotten sick of you," wanda interjects. "go on, dear. i'll text billy you're coming."
"she's drunk wanda!" natasha reasons then returns her eyes on you. "sit, the fuck, down."
"what's with this hostility, nat? she's a teen who's been away from her boyfriend for a week. let her go," wanda scolds, looking at you then mouthing a soft, "go."
that was your cue. you left completely disregarding the pair of eyes that you physically feel bore into your body. you called for a cab, your phone was fine. the missed calls from the last few days you intentionally missed popped on your screen. as well as the messages you did not even once open.
you found billy in the pub near your university. at 9pm, it was only him and tommy, and another person sitting alone.
you feel a sense of disappointment, searching for any signs of green in the brown eyes that met yours from across the room. he waved his hand, waiting for you to reach them. he continued his conversation with tommy until you sat on the chair next to him and flashed his twin a small smile.
it felt different. it was always different. he was always different. he wasn't natasha.
at some point, billy slid you his bowl of nachos when he adjusted himself to have his arm on the back of your seat. not once throughout the entire evening did he talk to you though. or look at you. he acknowledged you were there at least, whispering a small hi when you took a seat before returning back to his conversation. tommy would say something to you from time to time. but nothing that really involved you.
after what seemed like hours, the two finally stood up to give each other a brotherly hug. tommy went off first, billy sat back down finally looking at you for the first time.
he stares at you, his elbow on the table and his hand supporting the head the was on it. "i missed you," he says through a small smile.
you could smell the alcohol through his breath. he was drunk. he never seems like it sitting down , but you know it'll only worsen from here. "i missed you too," you whisper.
"i'm sorry i wasn't paying attention to you," he frowns. "i was catching up with tommy. and i know you hate pda."
something in your skin crawls, you weren't sure why. but you smiled nonetheless, "let's go home."
"y/n can i sleep with you?" he asks abruptly.
in fact, he kept asking you that although out the ride home. and when you were trying to carry his heavy body over the pavement, and up the porch.
you fumbled for your keys, struggling with carrying his weight. you pushed the door open, and came out was a loud groan from your boyfriend. "i want to sleep with you, y/n," he tells you hazily.
you stood him up straight, still supporting his body through a hand on each shoulder.
"you're drunk, billy," you tell him.
"just a little bit."
"no. by a lot bit," you correct. "you know you're a lightweight. why would you even drink."
"just beer."
"i don't care."
he closes his eyes, a smile drawing his lips before he opened his arms wide and trapped your body in his warmth. "oh i missed you, y/n," he tells you. squeezing your body while rocking you side to side like a kid with a friend. "and my mums love you," yeah, differently. "and i love you. and mommy said she'd disown me if i ever hurt you. and i looooove you, y/n."
your heart ached.
"i love you too, billy," you whisper.
once, in first grade, you were the shy kid who nobody would talk to in the playground. billy came up to you, handed you a lollipop, and asked you if you wanted to be his friend. you said yes, and he took you in his arms, squeezed your body while rocking you side to side, shouting to the world that he "loooooooves" his new friend.
tommy made him cry moments after that.
but you like to think that billy has never let go ever since. even thought sometimes, he suffocates you.
"it's 1am. i thought we've established your curfew being 11pm, billy."
you quickly stumbled out of billy's hold, the man being too dazed off to even notice his mother leaning against the arch of the kitchen in a pink robe and a glass of wine.
"hi momma!" he says cheerfully, going on for a hug but natasha tuts.
"you're drunk. go upstairs," she tells him.
the man frowns like a child who had just been told he's leaving the playground, "yes, momma...," he drags out. slowly making his way to the staircase before he got a glimpse of you again. "i'm sleeping with y/n today! yay," he says before hurrying upstairs.
you cleared your throat, aware of natasha's sharp glare though you pretend to take no notice, eyes still on the staircase though billy was no longer on it.
"and you," you hear her say, chills immediately running down your spine. "i told you not to leave, hadn't i?"
this would either end in sex, or a hard cold lecture. you were hoping for neither. you couldn't possibly, not when the last thing you told billy was you loved him. and when a pulse from a headache is beating in your head.
"well, i am a grown adult," you tell her. your eyes on the floor now, while your hands take its time searching for the back pocket of your pants to put your keys in.
you hear her take a few steps towards you. and then warm hands snatches your chin to look at her, nails digging to your skin. "well, a grown adult should be able to look at me straight in the eye, don't you think?"
her green eyes were dark, and her jaw clenched. you were silenced by the way she looked down on you, almost condescendingly with how you disobeyed her direct orders.
she dragged you to the kitchen, carrying you to sit on the island which you take no time protesting in. she would never be swayed by your protests. she never hears them.
but she does, however, have a very good sense of reading you. she picks up on the little things, on your routines, she notes your mannerisms. she knows you, and it scares you how much you hadn't told her yet she knows about you.
so when she saw the way your eyebrows drop the moment she cornered you, the way your breath didn't hitch, but instead only searched for more ways you can breathe in much much deeper, she knew what you needed wasn't sex, or a lecture. you just needed a break.
of course, you didn't know she knew that. your eyes followed her around the kitchen as she prepared something which you assumed would be something that would correlate to her fucking your senselessly, or maybe a snack she'd serve you as a side for her long lecture.
"natasha, i'm just really—"
"i know," she interrupts, handing you a glass of some green colored liquid, uncovering the mess she's made behind her. "drink."
"what's this?"
your face scrunched to form wrinkles when you got a whiff of the juice. it could've been nothing else but green vegetables. and you couldn't. but before you could even set down the glass, natasha grabs it from you, takes a drink, and pulls you by the neck to smash your lips against hers.
you could feel the liquid enter your mouth, and she felt your lips twitch almost in silent protest, but she refused to let you go. the expected bitterness wasn't there, instead, you tasted the wine that coated her lips, and the honey from her saliva.
you swallowed it, but you didn't pull away. you pulled her, kissed her, this time even deeper. your tongue smoothly slipped into her mouth, her saliva coating your tongue. you explored her mouth, then her lips, searching for the sweetness of honey, and the wine, and every taste of her.
she softly pulls away, catching her breath. and then she looks at you, "i didn't know you had it in you, y/l/n," she tells you.
"if you'd let me, i would so do a great job at dominating not just our kiss," you pull her back to you by her arms, wrapping your legs around her waist, and setting your arms on her shoulders. "i think i'd be great at dominating you in bed."
"is that so?" she challenges. "but you can barely look at me, baby. how can you ever."
"blindfolded."
she snickers. holding you now by the waist, and looking up at you again. "were you mad at me?" she asks. "for what wanda said?"
you look away, pulling yourself slightly further to give yourself the space to think, and process stepping into a more serious conversation.
"i'm just—"
her hold on your waist became a full on hug. "you can't possibly be mad at me for something i—"
you wrapped your arms around her head tighter, less like how it was loosely hanging earlier. "i know, nat. i get it. i just—," you take a deep breath, then you looked away. "i didn't do that with billy. i didn't answer any of his calls, or opened his messages because i thought... i want to be just yours for a week. not billy's... yours."
"but i am yours. even when we're here, or school. i'm yours, i'm yours only."
"no you're not. you're wanda's wife," you move away again, allowing more air to be in between you two.
but she pulls you against her again. "but you're the one i think of to sleep. you're the one i kiss. you're the one i touch. you're the one i hold. you're the one i make love to," she narrates slowly, looking up at you. "you're the one i love. i... am... yours."
"are you?"
"every part of me, everything that i am, is yours," your heart melted. so did you. your body relaxed against her hold. your forehead resting on hers before she speaks again. "so tell me. why didn't you answer billy?"
"i told you. i wanted to be just yours."
"wherever you are, you're mine, dear. you can be anywhere in the world with billy, and you'll still be mine," you look away. unable to meep her gaze. "but i think, you just love me."
you giggled a little, leaning back with your arms supporting you weight on the counter. "you think?" you ask almost teasingly.
"you know, i never heard you say you loved me."
"i'm waiting for our first year anniversary. i want it to be like a grand gesture—"
"should be today. it's almost 2am," she points out. "but that's not it."
she was insisting. and you just sighed. you sit back up, taking the glass of green juice and finishing what turned out to be really sweet, and yummy.
and then you look at her. she's still waiting.
"i.... it's wrong nat. what we're doing," you fiddled with your finger through the glass you were holding. "you left your wife upstairs, and i left her son, my boyfriend to sleep on my bed alone, so we can kiss in the kitchen at 2am. so we can do all sorts of secret things that are wrong."
"i think we did worse things than kiss secretly in the kitchen."
"and that's what i'm saying," you say, sliding off the counter. "wanda offered me a family to save me from my own. she treated me like her own daughter, she's paying for my everything. and billy, i always loved billy... he's always been my family, and i—i'm betraying them to—for you."
"do you love me?" she says abruptly.
you hesitated. you know you shouldn't. there was one straight answer. "if i say it, then i'll only confirm the feelings i shouldn't be having for you in the first place."
"do you... love me?" she pulls you towards her when you move to the sink to set your glass inside. "look me in the eye and tell me what you feel."
she trapped you between her and the counter. she had her hands on either side, holding you against the counter, her face inches form yours.
you hold her face in your hands. "i love you so much, it hurts me."
"then runaway with me," she blurts out. "i'll divorce wanda, and we can make this right. we can be together. we can runaway."
your heart dropped. "what?"
"let's run. we can move to new york, or california. away from westview, away from new jersey."
you couldn't think. your mind was foggy to the point that no coherent thought passed through. "natasha i—"
"you can study in ucla. i can get you in," her eyes were straight, her breathing controlled. she thought about it. she knows. she's serious.
"natty, i don't think ucla will let me in. you did fail me first semester last year."
"oh, i can get you to harvard even. don't worry," she assures. but that doesn't really eases you.
"then what will you do?"
"anything i want. i can get a job anywhere," she smiles, noticing the uncomfortable position she's put you through so she moves away to allow you to breath. "i don't think you've seen my resume."
"nat, how about money, and—"
"you possibly can not think we'd ever have problems with money," she says, moving to the counter in front of you and leaning against it with her arms crossed against her chest. "we can get married when you graduate, then we'll figure it out from there. you can work anywhere, and i'll support you. we can travel the world, we can—"
"natasha..."
you move towards her this time, trapping her between your body and the counter behind her.
she holds either hands with hers, looking ay you with pleading eyes. "sweetheart, we can move to an apartment near your school. an apartment for just the two of us. then i'll drive you to then pick you up from school. we can go on dates, we can..." she paused. "you can live your life, you can do whatever you want. and you can be with me. we can be together," she was insisting, urging, pushing. "then we'll settle in norway, have a kid, build a family..."
"i can't..." you whisper.
"but you said you loved me......"
something broke inside you. the image of the family you'd build with her, the life. the feeling of how true all of that can be, and realizing you can't have that. what's in front of you, what's holding you. that you can't choose that. it broke you.
"loving you is already wrong enough. if i runaway with you, i betray wanda, and billy. i betray my family, your family," your heart ached. "wanda and billy are very dear to me."
"dearer than i?"
"...no. not dearer than you. never dearer than you," something hugged your chest, tightly. something choked it to a point where you can barely breath. "but they're dearer than me. they mean more to me than i mean to me," you see the light inside her eyes disappear, the same way you feel you getting farther from the life you wished you'd have. "natasha, i could never choose myself over them."
"but how about me?"
tears started running down your face. you weren't sure where they came from. you never felt them coming. but they were there.
hearing her plead for you. the very woman who would die before you see beg, the very woman who never asks, never cries. not in front of you, not in front of anyone. seeing the way her eyes held onto every hope, every love you have for her. it hurts you.
"natasha..." you whisper. unable to get anything past the lump in your throat. "natasha, you're asking me to choose over you and your family. over you and billy."
"why can't you choose?" her voice cracked.
but you stayed strong. you held her hands firmly no matter how much it sweats, and shakes. "because i grew up with a mother who chose everybody over me. who chose her boyfriend, and drugs, and everything else over me," you tell her softly. "i will never let billy have the same mother i did. a mother who didn't choose him. and i will certainly not let you be that mother. not to my bestfriend, natasha. not to billy," you say. "and i refuse to be the reason you don't choose him."
you wiped your tears, letting go of her hand, preparing to leave. "im sorry, i can't...," you turn away.
"so what now?" but she stops you in your tracks.
if you left before she asked, you could've woken up the next day pretending that none of this ever happened. that you were just as happy as you were five minutes ago. that you're still together, even in secret. you could've thought about it. you could've been okay.
"what?"
"what are we now?" she asks again.
you cleared your throat, looking back at her hopefully with less sadness than there is love. "people who refuses to hurt the people they love," you say shakily.
"but you're hurting me..."
"and i'm sorry."
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midnights like this | n. romanoff
about me | series masterlist | natasha romanoff masterlist
pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader
chapter three | chapter four: he is sunshine
chapter summary: your mother was crazy. and when the realization of something you long denied, defended even, hit you, your first instinct was to leave, and drink until midnight. it didn't occur to you that you might run into the woman who took a share in making your life miserable.
warnings: a more dig into the evident mommy issues; a fight with your terrible mother, curse words, kind of long, unedited.
a/n: here's the long awaited update. i don't think it's as good as expected for a chapter that took too long to be uploaded, but I PROMISE YOU IT GETS BETTER. anyways, i'm sorry it took so long! christmas break is right around the corner, and i had to get so much done.
your mother once slapped you so hard your vision went black for 5 seconds. that was over the peanut butter she had you look for but couldn't find. she got so mad at you, she hit you. you were five that time.
growing up, you always tried to find a way to hold some grudge against your mother. one would say it's easy. she hits you everyday; every chance she gets, and you would be stuck with the bruises she left you for the next day until she gives you new ones.
she yells at you, always. never had she not yelled at you for anything. she brought home weird guys who you'd often catch her have sex with in the kitchen. she embarrasses you. she once flashed your neighbors in anger as if her boobs would prove a point.
she manipulated you. gaslighted you into doing everything for her. from picking up her drugs from her dealer, to dropping it off to her boyfriend's house.
you were a kid. that was your life everyday from when you learned how to walk, until you met billy in fourth grade.
you can't really hate your mother though. she was an addict. she's a drunk. for a while, you two lived in her van which she filled of off with weed and beer. she hurt you in every way that a mother can possibly a child. she was terrible. and you hate her for that. but sometimes, there's a thought that tugs at the back of your mind, a feeling that you're being illogical. that you're being unfair. she was an addict. she needed help. why would i hate someone who needed help?
but you needed help too. away from her. but you can't. you're stuck with her. who would possibly look after her.
you promised yourself you'd do good in school. she hurt you everytime you don't. so you can get out of there and be on your own. you knew she'd hurt you if she saw your grades.
you were holding your report card in your hand, and mrs. romanoff did fail you. until you saw it, you held onto that small ounce of hope that she's only doing everything to scare you, to humiliate you. you hoped she wouldn't follow through. you prayed your friend's little outburst at least defended how dedicated you are; how much of a good student you are.
of course, to pray that she was like those professor in movies who beat you to shape by humiliating you, but reaches an arc where becomes proud of you for whatever kind of declamatory speech you give them, might be a little too much. it should be enough that you're still here a week later. not suspended, not expelled, still here.
but it never hurts to hope.
well, it does—when you hope a little too much. the disappointment hurts. when you dream a little too high, and suddenly, you come crashing down, it hurts.
"at least she's your only failing grade," billy's eyes stayed on the paper you gave him which your professor took the liberty of laminating. you have this theory that she only did that to emphasize—to immortalize the only two failing grades you have, both from her, among your otherwise "straight a student" grades. but that just made you all the more disappointed which is a feeling you share with billy.
neither of you were disappointed of you, of your performance. your sleepless nights, and your caffeine-induced body did not deserve a below 50% grade. you were disappointed of how little to none your efforts did in persuading mrs. romanoff. of course, you didn't persuade her. you basically yelled at her. but still, if she had only let you leave when you asked her to, you wouldn't have resorted to barging in her office and invading her space by accusing her. but you were even more disappointed of how little your efforts in her class weighed in on your grade.
"i mean, she is a terrible professor," she's not. she is terribly good. "that's a lie. she's just a bad person."
billy groaned frustratingly. "she's not though!" he insisted. "she is a good person."
billy always came to defend mrs. romanoff. despite having barged into her office, pointing fingers at her, and calling her biased, he never lets you think she is a bad person. he defended her. and maybe that's why you have this small hope within you that maybe, just maybe; she's kind. she's nice. and from what you've heard, she is. from what he told you, the little boy who was "auntie nat's little bill", she is nice. just not to her students. and especially, not to you.
the both of you continued walking even as he dropped his hands to his sides. "if she were, she wouldn't give a student whose life almost revolves around her subject, a failing grade," you argue. "not even just a failing grade. the failing grade."
"she is a good person. i grew up with her. she was auntie nat. and eventually—"
"maybe she doesn't have a family," you theorized. you said it as if it were some massive discovery, which if you turn out to be right, might just be one. if she turns out to be a sad lonely woman then it might explain why she's been so hard on her students. on you.
"she does!"
"i just don't understand why she's targeting me—why she seems to be targeting me," you sighed out in deep frustration. "what is it with me. why me?"
you've been walking around campus for a while. that's always been your bonding with billy. you two like to walk, to tire yourselves. it's always better than spending money for the same purpose: to hang out.
and then you dropped everything, even billy. "mrs. maximoff?!" you were sure your scream echoed through the hallway of the left wing and into the offices of your professors as all regard for absolutely anything was washed away by the sight of a brown-haired woman who was striking through the hallway as if she owned the place. you ran to her, and she was quick to open her arms wide to welcomed you into a hug. you were much excited to see her than her own son.
your nose nuzzled through the crook of her neck. you inhaled her, you took her in and her motherly warmth. how you've missed her. she was your second mother. she was your mother. being with her, seeing her, hugging her filled the gap in your heart. the void left by your own mother.
mrs. maximoff wrapped you in a tight hug. "y/n, oh how you've grown!" she says, pulling you away by the shoulders so she can let the image of you sink in. and then she pulled you in her arms again, "i missed you so much."
your heart screamed of so much joy while your arm clung to billy's mother. you toured the university, gone through every hallway, every crevice. and while billy walked almost dreadfully slow behind the two of you, the most special women in his life walked gleefully in front of him as they shared laughter and stories.
"will you be going back to your revenge hair though?" you asked. "oh!!! i would love to see it. please go back to your revenger hair."
"i might when i get divorced again."
she laughed and continued on your conversation. she invited you out for lunch, and then for a stroll down the park, and after your second class with mrs. romanoff, you find her waiting for you outside with a smile on her face.
it almost made you cry, how appreciative she was of you. she was more of a mother to you that day than your mother ever was. you spent the entire day together, at some point losing billy but not entirely caring. she continued on listening to your stories, encouraging you to go on.
she knows your situation with your mother. for almost the entirety of your childhood, you stayed in the maximoff household because yours was too dysfunctional for a kid. she took you in until your mother broke up with her boyfriend and demand that you return.
you hadn't seen mrs. maximoff until now.
"what if you stay with us tonight?"
your day with mrs. maximoff ended when you had reached the gate. she held you by the shoulders and looked at you with hopeful eyes. "i don't want our day to end. if it were up to me, i'll keep you forever!" she says.
you laugh at her, forcing your arms to tangle against hers so you too can hold her by the shoulders.
"what weird mother-daughter ritual is my mother forcing on you now?" you ignored billy's comment as he approched you.
"i'll ask my mother." you say. neither you or mrs. maximoff acknowledged billy who was almost forcing himself to be seen.
"i'll prepare the guest room."
"hello, yoo-hoo. am i invisible or something?" billy waves a hand in between the both of you, to which his mother only scoffs at annoyed.
"oh shut up, billy." mrs. maximoff says playfully.
billy frowned as he dropped his shoulders and slouched. "but i thought you came here for me!"
"sure. anyways," his mother looked back at you. you were sure going to tease him about how you'd always been the favorite child later. "i'll make your favorite!"
you laughed. "i think the last meal you remember to be my favorite was cotton candy with pop rocks."
"true." she clings her arms with yours again. closing the gap between you, and the space to which billy can squeeze in. "but i hear a lot about you, so you should trust me."
you looked at billy behind you and flashed him a playful glare. "what have you been telling mrs. maximoff!"
"mama, dear. call me mama."
you melted.
your mother never lets you call her mom. at first, not in public. and eventually, not even when you two are alone. so to say you had a bad mother, was an understatement. you didn't have a mother at all.
and somehow, for the first time since you left billy's house, you feel like you did.
"mom!"
your loud angry call echoed around the walls of your two-floored house. but somehow, the squelching sound of your mother eating out the face of some man against the wall of the staircase was louder.
you could feel yourself shrinking. not only was your house a terrible mess, your 40 year old, alcohol-reeked, duster wearing, mother was also grinding her every bit to the man who seems so closely your age.
clothes scatter on the floor. dirty plates, peeking from the arc of your living room where it's stacked near the couch. nothing is where it should be. there were shoes everywhere; trash on the floors.
you spent your whole teenage years living in this dump. at some point, you stopped caring. but mrs. maximoff...
her house had always been so cozy. so neat. it was never messy. she made sure that it was clean, and tidy, but never so much that it looks like a showroom. she made sure it felt like a home, that it felt like people lived in it. she had each member of the family incorporated in her house, from using her children's kindergarten artwork as decoration, to using their favorite colors as the scheme for her home.
it always smelled like roses, and tuberose, and fancy hotel bathrooms in her house. everything is where it should be. and they're a functional family. mrs. maximoff, although going through a rough patch with her husband, had always been so loving, so kind. she is a good mother.
nothing about billy's family is similar to yours. not that you had a family in the first place but god did you wish you did.
"god, mom! stop!" you scream again. your head shaking from the sheer force of your voice.
you felt mrs. maximoff's hand on your shoulder. for a moment, you weren't sure if she was taking pity. seeing the state you'd lived in for years, does she feel sorry for you?
if she did, you'd hate her.
"y/n, dear. i'll talk to your mother." she whispered softly. "go upstairs."
"oh perfect, sweetie, you're here. meet my new boyfriend." your mother said with pride as she moved away from the boy so slowly as if basking in the feeling of getting caught.
"janet, please," mrs. maximoff pleaded.
"wanda, sweetheart, are you here to take my daughter again?" your mother slowly walked down the stairs, her hand waving in the air until her fist slammed against the wall, "because no!" she yelled. her eyes dark, and angry. and then she laughed again. like a maniac, a psychopath.
her eyes were red and puffy, and her cheeks were deeply hollowed from drugs. the way she looks now would have never lead you to believe that she was once a scientist two decades ago.
her last study was of quantum physics. she and her husband, hank pym, got so far into the study that they, at some point discovered a way into the quantum realm.
that was around the time her first daughter was born. hope van dyne. after the discovery of the quantum realm, your mother wanted to go into it. to further their research. to go inside it. the obsession she had over the study, her life long work, made her a negligent mother and wife.
hank left her with hope. with a note, of all less. and he took everything.
she told you that when you were five and she got so high she couldn't make it passed the porch so you laid down with her. suddenly, all of it made sense. it shouldn't to a five year old, but it did to you. she wasn't crazy. not a scientist turned crazy. but a woman who lost her family.
"mom..." you called out.
"don't!," she yelled, taking you aback to which mrs. maximoff quickly pulled you behind her. "call me mom!" she breathes out. and suddenly, with a calm and composed demeanor, like a switch inside her flipped, she smiles, "call me janet, dear."
she continued to advance towards you. very slowly, it scared you. "janet, you're not well—"
she slapped mrs. maximoff.
it was so loud, so hard, it echoed around the whole house. it rung in your ear, and you felt it in your chest.
at that moment, you understood why hank left her. why he pursued the study on his own. why her kid never called her. she was crazy. that's why her family left her.
you couldn't for years because you felt sorry for her. for the way she lost everything. but now you see how she deserves it.
you had to leave.
at least, tonight.
so you did. you pulled away from mrs. maximoff's grasp and took a cab to the farthest pub you can afford to pay him to take you to.
you weren't sure if you were allowed to be served a drink. but when the bartender saw your teary eyes, and your severely worn out state, he didn't question anything. instead, he served you a drink you didn't really asked for, and continued to until midnight, when you had a couple and could barely stay on the stool without almost falling off.
the bartender had to hold you by the shoulders on multiple occasion to make sure you didn't fall down. yet, you continued drinking until your mind was so fuzzy, you couldn't even hold yourself up so you had to lay your head on the counter.
you raised a finger, and in quite a declarative tone, said, "another on—"
but you were cut off. "that's enough for her, thank you." the woman says with nonchalance. "i'll pay. do you take card?"
you recognized that voice. though, your very blurry vision and barely opened eyes only allowed your sight a view of the woman's waist and the line between her red top and her skirt, you knew who that was.
"mrs. romanoff!" you said with what your intoxicated brain made it seem to be such a great discovery. "what are you doing here?"
"you're too young to drink, aren't you?" she says, placing something inside her clutch, while you force yourself to sit up. "on a school night too."
"why do you care?" you say, looking up.
"i don't."
she was standing beside you, towering over you. despite the blurriness, you can still see her eyes as clearly as ever. she had these deep set of green eyes that you'd never ever want to look away from. the kind that pulls you in. she pulls you in. even when she's scary. even when she humiliates you. somehow, she's still so... beautiful.
how can such a beautiful person be so mean.
"why do you hate me so much?" you ask.
"i don't hate you."
"why are you targeting me? i might not be excelling in your subject, but i'm better than others. i don't see anyone else receiving a failing grade, so why are you targeting me?" you were practically yelling at her, exactly the way that billy did. you wanted to tell her how shitty your life was. you wanted to give her a rundown of everything that happened to you. you wanted to tell her that your life was already shit, to ask her why she has to make it worse. why were you given a life like that? a professor like her? why you? "why me?"
"because you make it so easy," she says casually.
you sighed, looking away and slouching against the marble counter. "that's just mean." you say."you're mean."
"what do you want me to do about it?"
"i want you to be nice."
"how."
there was a pause. you might be pushing it. but you were drunk. you had a shitty day. you don't care if you even get kicked of the school. your life was already shit, it would only be shittier, and when you grow up from a life like that, you stop even hoping for anything to get better.
"billy tells me your nice in your house. outside of school. do that to me..."
"do what to you?"
"say hi to me. greet me. cook me eggs. stroke my hair, love me." you looked back at her with pleading eyes. you didn't know what you were asking for, only that you so desperately wanted her respect, even her validation; to be seen, and treated like a human being she actually acknowledged, that you were begging her to do just that. "treat me as if you live with me. find it in your heart to love me. so it will be easier for you to be nice to me."
"you want me to be nice to you that much?"
she continued looking down at you. she didn't sit down. she just looked at you, her body merely a few inches away from you that you'd gotten more drunk on her scent than you did on alcohol.
"yes."
she smelled like rose water, vanilla, and cherries. she smelled so good. you wanted to get drunk on her forever.
"okay."
#ath: natasha romanoff#ath: natasha romanoff series (wasn't midnight rain)#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha romanoff imagine#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff fanfic#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda maximoff x reader#billy maximoff#billy maximoff fanfic#billy maximoff imagine#marvel#marvel fanfic#mcu#mcu fanfic
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she doesn't think of me | n. romanoff
about me | series masterlist | natasha romanoff masterlist
pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader
chapter two | chapter three: midnights like this
chapter summary: your professor is targeting you and neither you or your bestfriend are having it. she however, doesn't seem to care about you at all.
warnings: natasha is mean.
a/n: this was rushed, i'm sorry! should've posted this last night, but i was so busy i just decided to squeeze writing this chapter into my schedule. it's really short too, rest assured, the next one will be better!
you were on natasha romanoff's radar. and you want so badly to get out of it.
"oh i'm sure she'll soften up! mrs. romanoff is nice!" billy insisted, but you carried on basically dragging yourself into yet another dreadful hour with mrs. romanoff.
"it's been three months, billy! i don't know what to do," you threw your arms up and then caressed your face with your hands, wanting so deeply to cry into it.
the two months being mrs. romanoff's favorite student hasn't exactly been the easiest. after handing off a couple of late assignments, which you had stacks and stacks of from her, you were surprised she hadn't pulled some strings to suspend you.
she would very often tear your paper in front of you. she would call you into her office just so you can watch her tear the last 15 hours you spent in pieces before throwing it away. she never lets you off of class without calling you at least 3 times. never leaving out some commentary after you answer that would make you embarrassed to the core. she pointed out your shortcomings in class. she made sure to always always let everyone know what and when you're doing wrong. and after all that humiliation, what aggravates you is how she doesn't, at all, acknowledges your existence outside of class. you would pass her by the halls, you would see her near the gate, never once would she make eye contact, or even look in your direction. she wouldn't even do so much as breath in your direction!
to her, it's nothing.
"do you want me to talk to her?" billy asked. she's been the subject of almost all your conversations with billy. and he has so patiently listen to your every rant about her.
"how would you even," you were hopeless. you would leave, but you're already too far into it. she had humiliated you way too much to back out now. you didn't go through months of torture just to leave. to her, you're not even relevant. you're just another student who couldn't withstand her. leaving would hurt your pride more.
so you straightened your back, and marched like someone truly eager to learn. "i'm sick of her nonsense. i'll show her what i'm made of."
you certainly didn't show her what you were made of when as soon as your name rolled off her tongue with strength and almost anger, you folded. you curved. you balled. whatever one might call it. you caved. you gave in. all sense of even an ounce of bravery was washed away by trembling fear. intimidation. you'd come to learn of that feeling the very first time you met her, it still surprises you how you've yet to get accustomed to it.
you stood up, slowly. here it comes. you know it’s coming. you have a visual bulleted list of everything you could’ve possibly done, everything you have done that she has yet to shame you for. just yesterday, you bumped into her in the hall. literally, bump into her. the moment you felt the impact of her shoulder against yours, you made sure to avoid her eyes at all cost. you walked away like your life depended on it. you weren’t going to be subjected under one of her condescending gazes again which sheer sharpness of will have you begging for her forgiveness in seconds. you didn’t acknowledge her, or that it happened, not out of pride, but out of fear. she was already scary enough, and until yesterday, you hadn’t really done much to piss her off.
before that however... you've done a few. for example, in class a few days ago. you know she saw you. you hadn’t slept in so long that day, you couldn’t keep your eyes open. billy was there to offer you his car to sleep on the moment you got off mrs. romanoff’s class. he fixed the back seat; set up his air bed and everything. that was the best sleep you had in days. the only sleep you had in days. you were surprised mrs. romanoff had yet to give you shit for that though. especially, when you’ve made eye contact with her the moment you woke up.
somewhere last week, you also handed a late assignment. the very first one she hadn’t called you to watch her tear off and throw away. you also have an overdue paper you hadn’t even got the privilege of a free time to start doing. and you’re sure she hated the heels you wore two days ago from the judgmental look she shot your way after getting a glimpse of the maroon stilettos.
mrs. romanoff is like a ticking timebomb. one that could go off over something so obvious yet unforeseen you’d hate yourself for not thinking of. that’s what created your visual bulleted list of everything you had done for her to humiliate you, everything that she might embarrass you for, everything that you can choose from as to why she must hate you that very moment. it helps to have a list. to be able to predict what’s making her mad again. what about you today infuriates her? it’s like a game.
today, you’re guessing one of those three. of course you had done more. some you know, some you hadn’t realized she hates you for doing, some you don’t even realize you did.
she stood up and crossed her arms. you were so far from her; so many people in between. yet the way she stared at you made you feel like it was just the two of you. not in a good way. in fact, in the worst way. it’s like being left alone with a beast.
“you’re failing my class.”
you weren’t in high school anymore. that much was clear when she announced it to the whole class where a high school teacher would never go so far as too doing. but the line between high school and college became a blur when what were a few snickers became a full blown laughter of which mrs. romanoff only basked in. you wouldn’t be surprised be there was some kind of pride in her as the class erupted in laughter over her embarrassing you.
that was very on-brand of her. but it hurt you nonetheless. your heart dropped continuously until you can feel a dragging weight on your chest. to even make it out of the classroom was such a challenge as you could barely carry the weight that pulled at your heart. you held in your tears as you walked down the hall. you needed billy. it was an hour before lunch, billy’s in mr. barton’s class but you texted him nonetheless.
‘sos’, you sent him.
it was barely ten minutes later. by then, you were already sitting on a bench just outside of your campus building when he came running to see you forcing everything in until he was able to sit beside you and pull you to him. “i got you, y/n.” he says as he held your head against the crook of his neck where you just exploded in tears. you cried heavily against his shoulder; the three month worth of pent up frustration over your studies finally breaking free from your system. “let it all out.” he whispers while a hand rubs over your back and the other plays with your hair.
muffled words escape from your lips; complete incoherent. billy pulls you off of him, holding your shoulders and taking a good look at your face; red nose, eyes, and lips, all puffy and plump from crying, snot on your nose, tear stained cheeks, and wet eyes. he hadn’t seen you cry like this since you failed math in junior high.
“okay, now tell me. what’s wrong?”
you sniffled hard before running the back of your hand against your nose. you were looking past his shoulder as tears continue to pour from your eyes. “i failed english…” you cried.
“what?! but you’re an english lit girlie!” he says. “remember? and i’m a math wizard. how can you possibly fail english?!”
that made you cry much harder, pushing through the arms that held your shoulders so you can return to your place with your head against the crook of his neck. crying all the much more. “mrs. romanoff failed me…” you cried, lifting your head slightly so your words doesn’t come muffled. “but she tore off my homework! she refused to accept anything i submit her—"
“okay, that’s it.” billy stood up rather abruptly, holding you by the hand and marching off back to the campus.
you sniffled, trying to clear your sinuses. “what are you doing…?” you ask. he was holding so tightly on your hand, you could barely feel it as he drags you through the hallways and straight into mrs. romanoff’s office.
you weren’t able to stop him—you didn’t even know what he was going to do! and by the time everything was finished processing in your mind, billy had already started yelling at your professor who only watches intently from behind her desk. “how could you fail my friend!” he yells at her.
you were taken aback. you didn’t know what to do. you’re already in here, he already yelled at her, knowing mrs. romanoff, you both would suffer the same consequences as if you would have stopped him.
“goodmorning to you too, mr. maximoff.”
her chin was resting on the back of her hand. she was looking at him so intently, as if she was interested in everything he has to say—as if she’ll hear him out. you were getting the strongest sense of déjà vu. you’ve been here before. you knew how this was going to end. you knew how much this would amuse her. you knew because this happened to you.
“y/n doesn’t deserve that.”
you can hear it in billy’s voice. he was infuriated. he hated her perhaps maybe more than you did. it’s always been this way—the two of you. he’s always been the man who protected you; who shielded you; who fought for you. and you were always there holding his hand as he does so, ready to back him up.
“how come?”
but with mrs. romanoff, against mrs. romanoff, it was different. her eyes were trained on him and him only. she did nothing to acknowledge your presence—you wouldn’t even be too surprised if she hadn’t realized you were here. but from the slightest chance that she might be watching you, from the slightest chance that your hand holding billy’s were caught from her peripheral, you slowly withdrew your hand, and took just the smallest step away from him so your skin doesn’t touch.
you know billy noticed this but he seemed to not have given it much thought. he was in here fighting for you knowing full-well he’s risking his future, and yours, in this university. you holding each other’s hand and being mistaken as a couple is not going to help your case. you deserve to be here. and you don’t deserve what you were given. and billy knows that. the last thing you want is for mrs. romanoff to further disregard your efforts, or any of the very little chance you have of winning this because she thought billy’s only doing this because you’re “his girlfriend”.
“she was the best in our grade!”
“i think you mistake this university for a small-town public school in west view,” she fixed her posture, straightening up when she pushes her chair further into the table and her hands rest on her desk.
“she doesn’t deserve this, and you know that! she worked day and night for your subject,” billy insists.
“i fear for her future if that’s the best her entire day’s work is worth for.”
you shrunk. you slowly hid behind billy though you were aware they both noticed. you wanted to cry. to scream into a pillow. she belittled you. and she did so without even acknowledging you at all, your presence to her was nothing. if you couldn’t see the way you hand was trembling, you would think you were invisible. from the way they were talking about you, to the way they were exchanging arguments as if you weren’t there. the very sole reason they’re even arguing, they almost pretend to not be here at all.
“that’s unfair. maybe you’d see how it’s worth if you’d even take the time to look at what she gives you before throwing it off.”
“why would i even give time for an output worth nothing more than what i throw in my trash can?”
“you are unfair! you give her all these work—,” billy’s voice raised to an extent you’ve never heard of, and even you were almost scared, but of course, mrs. romanoff wasn’t even fazed, if anything, she seemed to be getting bored of this whole thing.
her hooded eyelids dropped halfway, and her eyebrows tightened by the smallest bit. her patience was growing thin. and from the way her jaw clenched, you knew she was over it.
“and you are being disrespectful, mr. maximoff.” she said sternly.
“you’re biased. you humiliate her in class, you embarrass her, you pick on her. i don’t see you doing that to others. at least not to the same extent you do her. you’re wearing her off!”
by then you knew this shouldn’t go any further. he was blatantly disrespecting a professor, who as much as you hate, shouldn’t be disrespected by a student. at least, not to the extent billy was going for.
“and you, come in here accusing me; questioning me, a professor, with absolutely no regard for the inconsistencies and rather meritless of your argument.”
“i demand to see your grading sheet, because i assure you, you are making a mistake.”
mrs. romanoff abruptly stood up, placing both hands on the surface of her desk as she leaned towards it with anger painted across her features. “and i demand!... mr. maximoff,” her voice raised, and something about it, the coldness, the sharpness, the loudness, the entirety of it, almost made you cry. you were scared, your rapid heartbeat was evidence of that. “…that you leave. you have exhausted my patience. and i assure you, you will have no office of mine to barge into, or a university to attend if you further push your luck which i guarantee you is not more than what you’d have when you’re standing on very thin ice.”
“you wouldn’t…”
you put a hand on his shoulder. he was really pushing it. and mrs. romanoff wasn’t someone who you should be pushing it with. mrs. romanoff follows through. that much is evident as she consistently tore off your paper, without fail, every time you submit it.
“oh i’m sure you wouldn’t love to see me try.”
billy gave into her warning, but more so into you. you tolerated him—this, to a certain extent, especially since he was only fighting for you. but there’s a line, and with mrs. romanoff, it’s not something you should ever dare cross. billy listened to your implied warning too. he always listened to you. so with a scoff, he took your hand and prepared to leave, but as he was approaching the door, you pulled your hand from him to look at mrs. romanoff who, for the first time since you came in, finally was looking at you.
“are you going to continue being like this?” you asked. you weren’t as mean as billy was. you weren’t demanding. you were just sad. hopeless, almost.
“being what, miss y/n?”
“unreasonable.” you whispered but you know she heard you.
“if you see a reason for me not to be, then i wouldn’t.”
“don’t you think about how that might affect my future?” your voice was soft, kind.
“oh, i don’t think about you at all.”
her voice wasn’t. she was cold, almost proud; condescending.
a feeling inside you brewed. something about her eyes. how delicate they are. how enchanting. it couldn’t possibly belong to what a wretched-hearted woman she seems to be. she’s inviting, enticing. something about her pulls you in. intrigues you. now more than ever. now since ever.
you want to break mrs. romanoff. you want to see who she really is. not for revenge, not to hold it against her. simply because you’re curious. you’re aching to see mrs. romanoff—natasha. she couldn’t possibly just be that. mean.
she is not just that.
#ath: natasha romanoff#ath: natasha romanoff series (wasn't midnight rain)#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff series#marvel#marvel fanfic#marvel smut#marvel imagine#mcu#mcu fanfic#mcu smut#mcu imagine#billy maximoff#billy maximoff fanfic
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he is sunshine | n. romanoff
about me | series masterlist | natasha romanoff masterlist
pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader
chapter four | chapter five: all of me changed like midnight
chapter summary: you could not have a worse day. but of course you did after being blacked out drunk the night before.
warnings: evident mommy issues; actual issues with reader's mother, slight angst (if you squint), heavily but not entirely centered on billy maximoff, kind of long, unedited.
a/n: i know!!! it's been almost a month. i was supposed to post this yesterday but it was my birthday so i postponed it. also, i was on vacation during the holidays, so i am terribly sorry. anyways! this is the start of the build up, so you might be getting something jucier next part.
green orbs stare into you. so deep, so bright, so lost. everything was a haze. everything else was blurry. but not her. not her eyes. you saw her so clearly. the way she was so closely standing against you, her nose grazing above yours. your whole world was shaking, like every thump of your heart was a shake in the earth’s core.
this wasn’t mrs. romanoff. before you, with the warmth of scarves in winters, and the scent of autumn, was natasha romanoff.
she smelled so good. she felt so good. you’ll never how she smelled; how she felt. you will never forget how it felt to see a glimpse of natasha romanoff.
you’ll never forget.
you can’t forget.
not the warmth.
the rose water, vanilla, and cherries.
rose water, vanilla, and cherries. rose water, vanilla, and cherries. rose water, vanilla, and cherries. rose water, vanilla, and cherries. rose water, vanilla, and cherries. rose water, vanilla, and cherries. rose water, vanilla, and cherries. rose water, vanilla, and cherries. rose water, vanilla, and cherries. rose water, vanilla, and cherries. rose water, vanilla, and cherries. rose water, vanilla, and cherries. bergamot, vanilla, and cherries. something, flower, and cherries. flowers? mint, fruit? wood, mint, and something. oak, mint, and shaving cream.
murmuring, then nothing.
suddenly, everything was a massive thump in your head. painful. continuous. consistent. and then there was light.
“good morning, beautiful.”
you open your eyes, sitting up as a sudden ringing in your ear began. “ow…,” you say, your face contorted in discomfort as you rubbed your eyes.
billy was in front of you, near the foot of your bed, holding a tray of food. you quickly realized where you were. the pastel furnishing, the pink bedsheets, the massive bed, and the massive closet in what is really just a small room, creating only enough space left between the walls and the bed.
“can i set your food down now or are you still adjusting?” billy asks.
your vision adjusted to the terribly bright light that the giant windows welcomed into the room. “what happened?” you ask. suddenly, a memory of leaving mrs. maximoff with your mother flashed in your mind. your mother and her boyfriend, your mother and her boyfriend and mrs. maximoff; you screaming at your mother, you screaming at your mother when mrs. maximoff was around. and then you were scrambling to get off bed. what could your mother have done to mrs. maximoff. billy’s mother could have just been eaten alive, and you spent your night getting drunk. “oh no,” you whisper. “i left mrs. maximoff…”
“hey, hey… stop. what are you doing?” billy rushed towards you in three massive steps. he kneeled in front of you, stopping you by the shoulders. “you can’t get off bed. you’re hungover.” you didn’t realize that you were, in fact, hungover, until he pointed it out. and suddenly, you were aware of the ringing in your ears, and the pulse in your head that you impossibly have forgotten of when you remembered the embarrassment you left mrs. maximoff to see.
you looked at billy, “where’s your mom?”
“which one?”
“mrs. maximoff,” you say.
“i knew she’d be looking for me first.”
you stood up, rushing towards the door where mrs. maximoff appeared from only a little later than when you were aimlessly just going to the door to search for her. “mrs. maximoff…,” you sighed. she leaned against the door with a small smile on her face—a tired one, almost.
“uh-uh,” she tutted and raised a finger at you. “mrs. maximoff?”
“momma…,” you say shyly. you saw the way her smile widened a little. she ran both hands up and down you arms, looking at you with much appreciation. never had your mother looked at you the way mrs. maximoff did. wanda had always been a great mother, especially to you. “look, i-uh. i just want to apologize for leaving you with my mother last night,” you say, looking down as you began to rub your own arm with your hand. she crossed her arms over her stomach. you could feel her intent gaze even when you weren’t looking. suddenly, you were afraid of being judged. your family doesn’t stand anywhere near hers. billy’s perfect, she’s perfect. you’re just broken—your mother as much as you. “i’m sorry you had to see that. she’s been struggling these past few weeks,”—decades, “after she broke up with her other boyfriend. and i—i’m sorry you had to be there.”
there was a pause of her just looking at you, almost too long to be deemed comfortable, before she placed a hand on your shoulder. she had this expression—pity, but without judgement, more of, love. “let’s sit down.” she whispers.
your heart thumped along the pulse in your head. you flashed billy a look, but he wasn’t looking. he just had his arms crossed against his chest, lost in thought as he looked at the floor. you sat down, before mrs. maximoff did. and then you noticed, the sadness written across her face. it scared you.
“your mother…,” she paused like she couldn’t gut what she’s about to say. “i… you’ll be staying with us for a while… if that’s okay with you of course. i—”
thoughts of your mother overdosing, or worse, actually killing herself in front of mrs. maximoff, a sight you weren’t exactly new to, but couldn’t possibly allow mrs. maximoff to see, filled your head. what could she have possibly done this time. what could she have done to herself. did she kick you out?
“whatever she did, i’m sorry. i’ll talk to her when i get home,” you quickly say.
mrs. maximoff placed a hand on your wrist, “no, i—” she swallowed. you could see her chest rising. and suddenly, yours was too. “i called the cops on your mother. i’m pretty sure they’ll be taking her to rehab to get her the help that she needs,” mrs. maximoff blurted out.
you didn’t say anything. in fact, you only got lost in thought—wondering if it’s right to act on the sadness, on the disappointment, that you’re feeling right now. you feel betrayed. she took your life in her own hands. she made the decision that should’ve been yours. what if your mother changes? what if your mother was bound to change tomorrow for you, but she couldn’t because she was sent some place far from you? did wanda really did not trust that you can handle your own life, your own mother?
“but—but, you can stay in here. this used to be your room, remember? we can re-paint it. we can get you new furniture, maybe a smaller bed so we can fit a big table for studying—"
but rationality tugged at you. she did it because she cared. she did it because she cared about you. because she loved you. she did it as a mother, as your mother. she took it upon herself to care for you, to love you, in a way that your mother never could. she did this for you. a great act of motherhood that you never saw from your mother. that your mother would never do for you even if your life depended on it.
“i’m sorry, y/n.” she sighs.
you looked away. “i-uh, i have school…,” you say, standing up and dusting off the wrinkles from your clothes, avoiding her eyes at all cost. “i’m sorry, but i—i think i should go.”
it wasn’t for the best, but you went downstairs, eager to get away from the house. eager to get a time on your own to think a little. to let everything sink in. while you know, this is great for you, you can’t not be sad. you had to be a little. and you were.
it was like the sadness overtook the physical pain of being blacked out drunk the night before; it's as if your mind can not comprehend the overlapping feelings of sadness, and pain, and disappointment, that it couldn't possibly process the physical pain you were feeling.
you went downstairs, immediately being met by the sight of boxes, and bags on the living room floor. they were yours. from your childhood, to your teenage years. your whole life was packed in the mess that’s scattered on the living room floor.
“y/n!”
it wasn’t until billy practically leaped from the stairs to where you were, did you realize his presence. you didn’t hear the loud footsteps of him rushing towards you from upstairs, you didn’t even feel his hands on your shoulders from behind. but you knew you didn’t want to be with him. he would try to eat you up with his optimism. you needed to be away.
“billy, i—”
you hear keys. “let’s go.”
“what?” you try to look behind you but he passed you before you could even look at him.
“come,” he says, spinning the ring of his keys on his index finger and opening the door for you. "fuck the hangover. we're going out."
you didn’t know what he meant. or what he was up to. but you trusted him. you trusted whatever he’s trying to do. you trusted him. he opened his car door for you, and when you got in, he followed right after.
“where are we going?” you ask. “i can’t go to school like this.”
you were still practically in your pajamas. you wanted to be away from billy. you knew he’s going to try to look for the bright side as he does with everything as if looking at it would make your situation any better. that’s what he did when you were nine and your pet hamster died; “at least he’s in a better place now. he won’t get stepped on by your mum anymore!”. he bought you a corndog and held your hand through the heartbreak of being rejected by peter parker in a school fair when you were in fifth grade urging you to: “look at the bright side. at least you can go with me! he’s weird anyway. he likes spiders way too much,”. or when you didn’t get into the “popular” friend group in middle school because you were too “uncool” and he trapped you against the wall to tell you: “at least you get to hang out with me. they’re too uncool for you anyway,”.
and when your mum overdosed when you were fifteen and he brought you to a park instead of the hospital just so he can tell you: “look, she’s going to be fine. when she gets better, she’ll improve herself for you. you have to trust her, you have to look at the bright side,”. and when mrs. romanoff failed you. he spent every waking moment with you just so he could remind you: “she’s nice when you get to know her! look at the bright side,”.
as annoying as it is to hear every single time, as invalidating as it may seem like to continue to urge you to look at the bright side, billy was there for you every step of the way. he held your hand, cried with you, and even held a funeral for your dead hamster, rabbit, when you were nine. he faked being rejected by you, and caused a scene in front of everyone at your fifth grade school fair just so he can show peter that he’s missing a girl a guy would cry for. he forced you into his friend group—full of your middle school’s varsity players—when you were rejected by the popular kids so you don’t feel alone.
he drove your mother to the hospital when she relapsed, using his first car that he drove without his license which he almost got arrested for if it wasn’t the situation that’s your mother at the back of the car. and he barged into your professor’s office demanding to give you what you deserve.
no one would have ever done that much for you. even you would have never done that much to you. but he did. he did because he loves you. he always had your back. he always made you feel better. he, on his entirety, might be the only person you’ll ever need in your whole life.
so, to say that you trust him right now as he drives you around, you think aimlessly, is an understatement. you trust this man with your entire life.
“where are we going billy?”
“well…,”
billy took you to the mall. he was holding your hand the entire time, pulling you everywhere; dragging you from store to store. he bought pajamas so he could match what you were wearing; something silk, and red just like yours—so much like yours that you looked like an old married couple that had just come out of bed. then he took you to the food court. the both of you bought every single snack possible, and took it to the cinema where you jumped from theater to theater, movie to movie, watching every possible movie there is to see. and by the time you were done, you were both horrified and sick from the most gore-y horror movie you’d ever watch. but your hair was all over your face, and popcorn crumbs were all over his mouth; and you were laughing, and he was holding you. and everything felt fine.
it was already 5pm by the time you returned to his car. you seem to be at such a high, and it was all because of billy. he was tickling you during the movies, you were throwing popcorn at him whenever you can. he distracted you. and you were okay.
“a toast,” he says raising a bottle of vodka and two red cups you didn’t notice him pull out of the back seat.
you chuckled, “did you have alcohol this entire time?”
“yes.”
“could’ve led with that, you know,” you say grabbing the bottle of vodka from him to pour him a cup of, and keep the rest. “cheers,” you raise, drinking straight from the bottle before he even had the chance to blink.
the bitter taste, and the sharp line that the liquid draws along your throat as it travels down made you shiver. you almost feel your insides burning. from the amount of food you ate, to the brewing feeling in your stomach, it wasn’t wise to drink—continuously, as you did. but this wouldn’t be the first time. you can handle your alcohol well—oftentimes during the very rare times that you actually drink.
“okay, that’s enough for you,” he interrupts, gently getting the bottle from you. there was something so familiar about billy—weirdly so. you’d seen him, you grew up with him, but something… he hints of something. you were getting a weird sense of déjà vu as if you’d seen him before, but you had. “pace yourself, not only are we too drunk to drink, on a school night too, but my mum would kill me if she smells us reek of alcohol.”
you’re a little too young to drink, aren’t you? on a school night too.
he took one massive gulp of his drink before reaching for something in his glovebox. “what are you looking for?” you ask before he took out a bottle of perfume. “we don’t even smell like alcohol,”
he sprayed it so vastly among the four walls of his car. he was spraying it too much, you could barely get the scent of it before you started sneezing all over your seat as the mist of the liquid continues to tickle your nose.
“safety measure,” he says. “call me crazy, but you know my mother.”
“you’re crazy,” you cough, your face contorting in extreme displeasure of how the scent tickles just the right spot that gets you sneezing, and coughing.
it was vanilla.
the rose water, vanilla, and cherries.
"y/n, i...," he sets the bottle inside the cup holder on his car door, then he placed a hand on your knee. "i need to tell you something."
he swallowed before he said that, shifting in his seat as if trying to prepare for what he's about to say. of course, you didn't notice. everything around the mist of perfume was a blur. you were waiting until each particle, every ounce, every drop, dispersed in thin air.
his entire car smelled like vanilla.
you’ll never how she smelled; how she felt.
when the mist finally subsided, like glitter in a fairytale, you were met by his loving eyes. so brown, so firm, so sweet. you couldn't turn away. you were so stuck on it that it almost felt like you were waiting for something.
“y/n? you good?”
green orbs.
“mrs. romanoff…” it was like something flicked a switch that brought you back to wherever your mind planted the memories of your professor, so brief, so blurry, so delicate, in your head. “she was there with me last night, i mean, i don’t remember, i only remember seeing her but i—,” you were, at this moment freaking out. because you were blacked out drunk. and if you had made a fool out of yourself in front of the professor who had just failed you yet again then—“billy, drive.”
he did drive—after countless and consistent attempts of trying to explain to you what happened which you disregarded, and interrupted, fully of your little outbursts of, “oh god, this is so embarrassing. i want to cry,” or “please, dear god. spare me from this embarrassment.”
you got from billy a very detailed, which of you could not care any less about, story of how mrs. romanoff called him and had him take you home. nonetheless, you were flat out, blacked out drunk. within the minutes spent of him driving to you, you could’ve already made a fool out of yourself between the seconds of.
"oh my god, i absolutely—ugh!! she already hates me enough as it is!" you threw your hands up before using it to caress your face.
"y/n, i—"
your head snapped towards billy before your body actually followed and turned to him. "what am i going to do, billy?"
you started spiraling, between the incoherent words, and the string of sentences that made absolutely no sense, you were absolutely giving zero space for billy to but in regardless of his countless attempt.
it wasn't until the car stopped abruptly did he actually get to say what he's been meaning to. "y/n, if you would just listen!" he yelled. you were stunned silent with eyes wide and mouth agape. you'd never hear him yell; at least, not to you. and he just did.
you noticed his striking grip on the steering wheel, and his tensed muscles. he whipped his head towards you, "if you would just take one second to look at anybody else other than yourself, you'd actually realize that i like you!" he yelled. "i love you, y/n! last night, natasha called me to pick you up. i took care of you, i was there for you. i had been forever. if you would just... if you would just care to look..." he was frustrated, and almost pleading. and you don't know what had gotten into you. you weren't sure if it was him screaming at you, or the intense confession, or maybe even the insinuation that your friendship had revolved around nothing else but you; but you left. you stepped out the car in silence, and as luck would have it, you were already right in the school's parking lot.
the heaviness of your chest that dropped moments ago was dragging. you wanted to cry. you wanted to fall apart. but you couldn't, you shouldn't. so you ran. you ran until all you could hear was every sound your foot made upon hitting the floors of your university. you ran towards the office of which you’re not new to barging into, so you proceed to do again.
“mrs. romanoff i—,” you said as you forced yourself through the door that flung against the wall behind it from your push.
if you were to be honest, you knew it was a terrible idea the moment you saw an unbothered mrs. romanoff, writing something, undisturbed as if a student (she hated) had not just barged into the door of her office, aggressively if might be added, for the third time. you did it for the sheer theatrics of it, not truly expecting she be here as she could’ve gone home, as you guessed.
“good evening to you too, miss,” mrs. romanoff says without raising her head. “should you close the door, i’d be willing to address any concerns,” she only looked up mid-sentence, only when she wanted to, as if she had every power to acknowledge you, notice you, only whenever she wanted; whenever she pleased.
you closed the door, watching as she slowly, subtly, started packing away her things. never truly that she loses her focus on you. but just enough that you do not notice.
“you didn’t go to class today,” she says. “hungover aren’t you?”
you were quick to take a seat at the mention of that. leaning towards her desk with your hands clasped together as if begging her for something, but nothing in particular, really. “that’s what i wanted to talk to you about,” you started. the tone of your voice was a little too calm for how your eyes pleaded, and how your eyebrows were scrunched up. but you knew outbursts with mrs. romanoff do not work. and with mrs. romanoff, you can never really play your cards wrong. “i—i just want to apologize. that you had to see that. i… i wasn’t doing okay. and i didn’t really think that you’d be there, and i’m sorry, i—”
“are you dating billy maximoff?”
you didn’t notice how empty her desk was now. she had everything stashed away and you hadn’t even realized until she swept you off of whatever momentum you were working with to apologize, with a question you never thought she’d ever be interested in asking. or you’d ever be interested in answering.
until she asked, you had a few seconds of solitude that completely relied on your fear, and nervousness of entering her office. you were neither thinking about your mother, nor billy who you, until now, hadn't thought about dating since the 10 minute window between his confession, and your intrusion of mrs. romanoff's space.
“mr. maximoff is outside, yes?”
“what?” your head rocks back from the door to mrs. romanoff in a repeated motion, as if trying to discern what she meant, if she’d meant anything. or was she just throwing you off. “right, i—i also wanted to thank you for that. thank you for calling, billy to pick me up. i… really didn’t think you’d—i thought you’d leave me there and…”
“do you really think i’m that cruel?”
there was something about her eyes again. a glint of amusement can never be too unnoticeable when you poise with such gorgeous green eyes. she was, yet again, entertained by this. by you. like everything you do, and try to do, only entertains her. amuses her. like a circus monkey who you play with for your enjoyment but nothing it really does sticks with you because you couldn’t care less about it. that’s what you are to her.
“honestly? yes.”
“fair.”
“but no, i-uh, i’m not dating billy. he’s just a friend and i—”
she brought out her bag now, openly fixing her things as if putting a deadline on your conversation, which she subtly commands you get over with soon.
“you said.”
you look at her in confusion. “then why did you ask? wait,” she wasn’t looking at you at all. “i said…?”
she looked at you, her hands clasping together on top of the briefcase she’d placed on her desk. “i couldn’t exactly trust a drunk person’s words.”
“i think drunk words are just sober thoughts,” you say almost quietly. at this point, you were highly unsure of what’s going on. you were bantering. but she couldn’t possibly banter.
“huh.” she says.
something about the way she looked. the way her eyes glowed of mischief, or the way her lips stretched into a sly grin made your heart thump. “please don’t tell me i said something bad…,”
she stood up, slowly grabbing her case without looking at you at all. “so you wanted me to fuck you?” she says, going around the desk as she prepared to leave.
you choked a, “sorry what?!” before you followed her out.
you passed by billy who you didn't know was waiting outside as you tried to catch up to her quick pace while she strode through the empty hallway. “you tried to, actually.”
“what?!” you exclaim. you ran you hand through your forehead and up, “oh my god, mrs. romanoff. i’m so so sorry. please i—"
“oh mrs. romanoff, you’re the prettiest woman i’d ever seen. your green eyes, and your red hair, and your… voice. and your entirety. please take me. love me. fuck me,”
she wasn’t looking at you, instead, she was looking straight ahead like a model through a runway. but you saw how much she enjoyed it. how much she enjoyed imitating you. you saw how the sly grin became a smirk, and the mischief in her eyes became pride.
“mrs. romanoff i—i didn’t—”
you were her circus monkey. and you just gave her another banana to dangle on your face.
“goodnight, y/n.”
#ath: natasha romanoff#ath: natasha romanoff series (wasn't midnight rain)#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff series#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha romanoff imagine#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff fanfic#wanda maximoff imagine#billy maximoff#billy maximoff x reader#billy maximoff imagine#billy maximoff fanfic#marvel#marvel fanfic#mcu#mcu fanfic
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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.
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.
#ath: natasha romanoff series (wasn't midnight rain)#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff x you#natasha romanoff imagine#marvel#marvel fanfic#marvel smut#mcu#mcu fanfic#mcu smut#billy maximoff#billy maximoff fanfic#billy maximoff x reader#billy maximoff x you#billy maximoff imagine
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midnight rain | n. romanoff
about me | series masterlist | natasha romanoff masterlist
pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader
chapter eleven | chapter twelve: it came like a postcard
chapter summary: sometimes, weather forecasts can be wrong; yours said it would be sunny yet a storm came. the same way the bestest days can take a turn for the worst. you'd never choose rain. you did it once and now you're lost. but when you are, the sun always comes. and it envelops you in its warmth. it finds you, it makes you follow it, and you're secure. you'd must always choose the sun.
warnings: angst; non-aggressive fighting, guilt.
a/n: i know it took so long, but im too busy!!! i barely have time for anything so please understand! this took so little time actually, i wrote this in class for 30 minutes, and while i do hate the way i wrote it (for some reason i could never write proper angst?) my creative juices won't allow me for more. so please bear with me. ALSO, LITERALLY ONE CHAPTER AWAY FROM THE ENDING, YAY US.
a few months ago, you attended a sophomore party around the first few days of your sophomore year. it was at the university, in the event hall which happened past midnight where none of the teachers would have known the drinking, the dancing, and the sex on each corner of the space.
of course, natasha knew about it. she always knew everything. more so if it's something about you. you weren't supposed to go. but you and natasha had a small argument the day before the party—something about the way she so boldly touches you even when people were around. so to get your mind of it, you went; to get back at her, you didn't tell her and planned on going home drunk; and to taunt her, you wore the most absurdly revealing outfit in your dresser.
you were expecting to go home to her waiting for you in a robe and red wine, as she usually does when you come home past midnight. but she didn't. a few shots, and some minutes of dirty dancing later, you were pulled off the dance floor but her harsh grip, and everyone stunned at the professor's actions.
she pulled you in her office, trapped you between her and the desk, and when you thought she'd lecture you, she didn't. she dropped her forehead on your shoulder, and she bathed you in her warmth.
she told you she loved you. that she loved you so much. that she loved you dearly, sincerely, desperately. and the next day, you woke up with flowers and a bottle of her perfume on your bed. you need not a note to know what she was implying—you can try to grind on every person you want, but they'd know.
that's been your routine after every fight.
flowers, and a present.
today was undeniably one of the best days ever. granted, you and natasha had a little argument the night before, but that's what led you to the flower shop for the first time. you spent an hour smelling every plant; feeling the difference between the patterns of every petal; basking in the colors of the life the surrounds you.
and then you rode a bike to the mall. it wasn't your bike, it was wanda's old one from when she and vision had just moved to westview. but you found it in the shed. and with the flowers you bought in its little brown basket, you went toe to toe with the massive cars driving right next to you. and somehow, you felt like you were saving the world.
wanda, that morning, cooked you breakfast. and then she gave you ice cream in a bowl as dessert which doesn't happen at all. wanda can be a nag about health, and you often find the domesticity of having a mother nag you for eating junk very endearing, but it never hurts to have ice cream. and did you jump out in joy when she handed you a bowl.
billy wasn't home. wanda sent him to an errand outside westview. but he left you a sweet note and a sandwich on your bedside table before he left, and before you woke up. he should be home long past 12pm though, which would give you the very opportunity to make it right with your girlfriend before he comes back.
she wasn't here.
she's never here when she gets into a fight with you. she cools off her head, gives you your space, then she comes back to talk.
you assume that's how she'd always been, even with wanda given that she did use to live away from her family that you assume is because of a blowout. you never asked. and you knew she didn't want you to.
you bought her flowers and a scented candle that smelled like your favorite perfume. something that she can put in the office that's been home to too much of your sins, and overflowing with so much of your love.
the sun was out, and for the first time, it didn't seem to burn. it was just... warm. no chance of rain, said the weather forecast.
but of course, sometimes, they're wrong.
"do you know i cheated on natasha with vision?"
and it rained.
"sorry, what?"
the moment you closed the door behind you, and right after wanda called for you in the kitchen, it poured. harsh, angry rain.
"it was over a year ago," wanda clarifies. "natasha was getting too busy with work, and vision happens to drop by."
"wanda, i don't—"
"and i slept with him."
you stiffed. your chest tightened, and the grip you had on the bouquet you couldn't be bothered to hide behind you became strained.
you weren't sure why wanda was telling you. neither did you want her to. but suddenly you feel for natasha. like that very thing wanda did was enough to justify and save natasha from every argument, every fight, every bad thing between you two.
"wanda, i really don't know why you're telling me this," you whisper, voice shaking, resisting. "i think it's none of my business."
you didn't know what to do, what to feel. wanda cheated on natasha. and natasha is cheating right back. should it be called even? you couldn't say. the anger of knowing what natasha had to go through, vs wanda... your mother. sweet sweet wanda. you justified wanda in your heart.
she was standing behind the kitchen island, looking at the yard over the floor to ceiling windows. and then she turns to you, pauses when she sees the flowers and paper bag in your hands.
she smiles, tiredly. "is that for her?"
you didn't have to be asked twice. your mind didn't scramble for an excuse either. surprisingly, no "for who?" or "it's for billy". just silence.
she looks at you.
she knew.
her eyes stayed the exact same green shade as they were earlier. or yesterday. or the many days before that. there was nothing different. she looked the same. but she knew.
you'd already betrayed her, you couldn't lie to her. and your mind didn't allow you to even dig through your raging thoughts for an apology.
and she beats you to it. "i'm sorry," she tells you; her voice raspy, coated in what pain you could feel her hide.
all thoughts left your body. and you weren't sure why it was only now that guilt surged through your every vein, every muscle.
you might have not chosen natasha, but a part of you knew that she would choose you. that she would always choose you. and somehow, that was able to keep you in your bubble. to spare you the guilt. to keep you safe. knowing that while you would choose wanda, that you would do what's right; she wouldn't. she would choose you. even if it's wrong. and that makes the weight of your sin much much lighter.
"wanda i—" she gave you the chance. she stayed silent. she waited, she hoped, she looked at you with eager eyes. but you couldn't say anything. you didn't say anything.
she walked closer to you. you could tell her knees were weak, barely carrying the weight of her body. then she smiled, a sad comforting smile. like when she told you what she'd done to your mother. like when she offered you a way out.
you yelled in your mind. screamed. the voice begged to be ousted;
don't touch me.
don't touch me, wanda.
please, it's my fault.
don't smile at me.
slap me. curse me. swear at me.
throw me away.
force me to go.
don't...
please don't be nice.
please don't smile.
please...
don't make it harder for me...
you stayed silent.
something about the way her eyes sparkled with threatening tears made you feel a sense of home and longing. like the feeling you get when you know you'd have to travel the next day so you clean your home, and enjoy the few hours you have in your room. and you feel at peace. the dread, the excitement, and the longing. you feel everything all at once.
"i'm sorry," she tells you again. raising her visibly shaking hand to caress your cheek. you didn't know what to do. you froze. "i was supposed to protect you, i was supposed to be your mother," her voice decreased to a whisper. but you still heard the way it cracked. the way it got stuck in her throat. "it's all my fault."
and your heart broke. your heart broke for her. your heart broke for the crying eyes staring into you—the same ones the would shine when seeing her wife, or would sparkle when billy gives her a hug. your heart broke for the hurting mother. for your hurting mother. for the mother you hurt.
"wanda, it's not...," you whisper.
she stuttered for words. avoiding your eyes, struggling to keep her composure, "i really love her," she cries. "and i needed her. and she wasn't here. and i was desperate."
she was defending herself for a crime she didn't commit. you're supposed to be the one justifying. you're supposed to be the one crying—looking at her with grieving eyes.
but how could you? what could you say?
i didn't love her, wanda. but i would long for her touch, crave for her lips, burn for her warmth the same way i long for air, and crave for love, and burn for every bit of earth that falls on my skin.
i didn't love her, wanda. but when i go to heaven, and god tells me that this very sin is what would send me to hell, i'll tell him how ironic it was to have the only heaven i'd ever known be what would send me to burn down in hell.
i didn't love her, wanda.
but i did.
oh how i did.
"i'm sorry....," you finally say. you finally gathered the courage, the words, the thoughts to apologize. may it be the wrong ones, for the wrong person, but you were sorry for tolerating natasha. you were sorry for the indulgence. you were sorry for granting yourself the heaven when you were only meant to stay on earth.
you were sorry for natasha. for everything that you did. but not for loving her. never for loving her.
"no, darling i...," how could she call me that? "it's my fault. i should've—i should've known. i should've realized. you should have never been in that situation if i—"
"wanda what are you—"
"she wouldn't have used you."
she wouldn't have used you.
she wouldn't have used you.
she wouldn't have used you.
she wouldn't have used you.
but she loved me...
"at least it—it wouldn't have...," she choked. "it wouldn't have gotten this far, i—"
she told me she loved me. she whispered it to me in bed, she wrote it to me in class, she moaned it in my ear. she loved me.
"you were a kid, i—"
she wasn't looking at you. she was avoiding your eyes, guilt surging through her body, and pain glinting her eyes. she was shaken up, she was confused. and you... you were lost.
"i married a beautiful woman. she is kind, she is thoughtful, she is caring," and she loved her deeply. you could hear it from her voice. and see it with the way a smile crept her face through her tears. the thought of her alone is enough to put her in a trance, in her own little bubble.
and then the bubble pops. and she looks back at you, unaware that she'd been looking away. "i...," she searches for words, looking in your soul; holding it, hugging it through the windows of your eyes. "i didn't think she'd be the kind to... take advantage of a child so she could get back at me."
i didnt think she'd be the kind to take advantage of a child so she could get back at me.
i didn't think she'd be the kind to take advantage of a child so she could get back at me.
i didn't think she'd be the kind to take advantage of a child so she could get back at me.
suddenly the memory of her touch burns your skin. the memory of her kisses slices you. the memory of her, and everyday of the past year, and you, and the both of you—suddenly, everything was hell. and you were on fire.
your ear rings.
she used you.
she loved me.
she was using you for revenge.
she loved me.
she took advantage of you.
she loved me.
she pretended.
she asked me to run away. she loved me.
she's taking it too far.
she told me she loved me.
did she really?
no.
"she loved me," you resisted her touch. you moved away from her. you insisted, you screamed, you cried. "she loved me wanda."
you saw pain through the wrinkles on her face. you saw pain for the family she's losing, and pity for the daughter she'd come to love as her own. she grieved for her family. and mourned for your innocence in your place.
you saw it overtake her—the broken woman whose family's at loss overtake the sweet mother who'd cared for you for over a year. and more as a child. you saw it glint her eyes, the change from pity to anger.
"she loved me...," you cried, dropping to the floor.
you knew she was torn. should it be pity that you loved her wife, or anger that you loved her wife. she was fighting in her head. you can see the way she defended you in her own mind. you were just a kid that her wife took advantage of. but also, you were the stain in the family that she's been trying to fix.
you didn't know which one won, which side of her. the subtle cruelty of the way she dropped an envelope on the floor to your knees, and the love that it was to crouch to your level and look at you.
"you're breaking my family...," she told you. "i can't let you do that anymore."
you wonder which wanda your talking to. while her words were thorned, her voice was coated with the love of a mother.
"this is enough to get your mother out of the hospital, and last you until you graduate."
she had kept a distance between you two, especially when she stood up. she's calmer now as if she'd already decided.
"for what it's worth...," she trailed off. "i wish you never had to hurt billy."
the fight is over. you were the kid who her wife took advantage of, and let it happen. you were the woman who betrayed her son. and she hates you. like a mother who hates her child: forever.
just like that, you were out of the house you'd called your home for the last year, and under the blazing storm. you were lost.
"y/n!"
until your beacon shines again.
"oh my lord, what are you doing outside!"
billy runs over you from his car with an umbrella. he hadn't heard. but he takes you in his arms, and wraps you around his coat. "i left early," he whispers. "what happened?"
you were lost. you always had been. but billy always found you. and you always followed him. you were lost as a child, and followed billy to his home. you were lost after graduation, and followed him to university. you're lost now. and you knew you'd chosen well. because he always found you.
#ath: natasha romanoff series (wasn't midnight rain)#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff x you#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff angst#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha romanoff imagine#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff angst#wanda maximoff fanfic#wanda maximoff imagine#billy maximoff#billy maximoff fanfic#billy maximoff x reader#billy maximoff imagine#billy maximoff x you#marvel#marvel fanfic#mcu#mcu fanfic
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request guide
request status: open
fanfiction, blurb, headcanon
• fanfiction
for natasha romanoff, wanda maximoff
for scarlett johansson, elizabeth olsen
for larissa weems
the list is not limited to these people only, but these are the people i feel i can do the most justice in writing a fanfic for.
restrictions:
1 dark themes is welcome except for; kidnapping, drugging, abuse between the pairing.
2 pedophilia, direct incest will not be seen on my blog.
3 no age play simply because i don't think i'll be able to write it the way it's expected to be written in a fanfic.
• blurbs
for natasha romanoff, wanda maximoff, carol danvers, pepper potts, maria hill, peggy carter
for scarlett johansson, elizabeth olsen
for larissa weems, morticia addams
the list is not limited to these people only, but these are the people i feel i can do the most justice in writing a blurb for.
restrictions:
1 dark themes is welcome except for; drugging, abuse between the pairing.
2 pedophilia, direct incest will not be seen on my blog.
• headcanon
for the og6, and anyone in the mcu
#ath: infos and navis#marvel#marvel fanfic#marvel imagine#mcu#mcu fanfic#mcu imagine#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff smut#natasha romanoff x reader#wanda maximoff fanfic#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda maximoff smut#wanda maximoff x reader
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