natasha romanoff x fem!reader one-shots

⑱+ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐩𝐭.𝟐

a/n: enough people asked for this so...part 2 😭 this was suggested by a reader and ngl i liked the idea so i decided to use it. very smut-heavy so don't be surprised by the random sex scenes lol

edit: im basically done writing and im kinda realizing i shouldve just kept it one part 🥲 whatever, i spent a few days on this so here you go

warnings: porn with plot, g!p buff!natasha, MILF!reader, pervy nat, bit of a pregnancy kink so apologies for that, this is gross at times so apologies for that as well

It takes a while until you connect the dots. By the time you do, two lines tell you what you should've known way earlier.

Natasha dreads class every week. She hates entering a room she knows you'll be in. She hates sitting all the way in the back, trying not to stare. She hates how you dress, how you talk, how you glance in her direction like you're secretly checking up on her.

At the same time, part of her looks forward to it. The desk in your class isn't the same as the one in your office, but it's good enough. Your shirts — top button undone, just tight enough to give her the illusion of seeing what she saw weeks ago. Your lipstick, still red, still giving her whiplash each time she remembers the smudges on her own skin.

And then, looking you in the eyes. Jumping back in time, even if just for a second, and returning to her dorm all hard and desperate. She can't differentiate between lust and love, can't figure out whether it was the sex or something else. Her hand pulls her throbbing cock free anyway, wrapping around it and stroking it in that same, slow and loose way you did.

Minutes later, her cock jerks in her hand. She comes all over herself, and her desk, splatters of cum ending up on the black screen of her laptop. Ever since you entered her life, porn has become useless.

She's pathetic. She knows it. She should be hooking up with whatever girls she can find at parties. Last week, she almost let a blonde from down the hall suck her off — but then she thought about you again, and she pulled her pants back up and left. Instead, she's sitting at her desk and wiping cum stains off her laptop.

You're not doing better, but for you, it's easier to pretend you are. You have a life to maintain, a son to raise, a husband to divorce. You have classes every day, too. You're updating lecture material because the field never stands still, always moves fast. You don't have time to mourn something that shouldn't have existed in the first place.

Sometimes, you make time. At night, after you've packed your son's lunch for the next day, you pull out your phone. You reread the handful of text messages you and Natasha sent each other. Professional at surface level, loaded underneath. Before it can start to feel wrong again, you turn off your phone and go to sleep.

Class is hard for you, too. After catching yourself staring at her a few times too many, you made it a rule to only look at her twice — at the beginning of the lesson, and at the very end. The only exception is when she speaks up, which never happens.

You haven't spoken to her privately since that morning in your bed, either. After you got that email, things happened fast, and once she left, you swore this wouldn't happen again. The sex was mind-blowing, Natasha was easier to talk to than anyone else you've ever met, but in this case, there were more important matters at hand.

Like your career, and your son. If this ever came out, you'd lose your job and, considering your ex husband is the biggest asshole you know, custody of your child as well.

You avoid her. It's harsh, but it's true. You stop going to the cafeteria, stop entering the library during periods you know she's at the university. When other professors mention her, you smile tightly and brush it off — part of you is proud that she's made it this far, and another, hurting part wishes she'd leave again.