summary: after a year of despair, y/n has come to terms with her indecisiveness and guilt over her past “relationship” with the older woman. though her marriage is failing, she’s losing herself, and mourns for the lost of her own first love. what she doesn’t know is that natasha sent her a letter that her husband has been keeping for over a year.
warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI age difference, older!natasha x fem!reader, major angst, smut, hurt/comfort, a bit of fluff, and maybe a happy ending between reader and natasha.
notes: out of boredom and the help of a friend, i decided to make part three of the series “the other woman”. if you haven’t read the first part, it’s in my masterlist. though, i will be probably tedious with the updates - so i apologize on my behalf. let us see this series flop!
masterlist
CHAPTER ONE: emails.
CHAPTER TWO: would you write back?
CHAPTER THREE: reminiscing the times when i was with you.
summary: maybe i wasn’t so wrong after all with my past relationship with natasha. why else stop when i can go further? it’s my turn to be happy, it’s my turn to not feel scared this time. the consequences have passed, it’s all up to me to go home to her in open arms. (the continuation of the other woman series)
warnings: major age gap, natasha romanoff x fem!reader, heavily explicit smut scenes along the way, heavy angst, cheating(ish) 18+!
spotify playlist | moodboard of each character (coming soon)
author’s note: oh my god part 2 of ‘the other woman’? yes. what you ask you shalt receive, indeed! i might be focusing on this story a lot since this is giving me a drive and the other woman was such a good series for me. i truly hope you enjoy my plans for part 2 and i just want to say there will be detailed smut parts and also heavy angst (i think) anyways, updating the first part soon!
takes place in “the other woman” & “the last time” series!
summary: after a year of despair, y/n has come to terms with her indecisiveness and guilt over her past “relationship” with the older woman. though her marriage is failing, she’s losing herself and mourns for the lost of her own first love. what she doesn’t know is that natasha sent her a letter that her husband has been keeping for over a year.
warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI natasha “recovering” from alcoholism, angst, mentions of alcohol and cigarettes, older!natasha x young!fem!reader, and a broken marriage.
notes: this chapter is very short, but it will be longer in the future. enjoy!
navigation | series masterlist
I was only twenty-seven when I got married to Patrick. At first, I was in love with him. How could you not? He has these big blue eyes that stare at you forever and his ruffled brown hair that is so delicate and soft when you touch it. His teeth were small but attractive, his lips were thin – but kissable. I was so in love with him, or so I thought.
Or maybe I loved the idea of being in love with him because there was nothing else to escape from my love... my old love for Natasha.
One year into our marriage, everything has fallen apart. No, literally fallen apart. He was away most often, while I was at home, doing my work. I was still writing. In fact, I'm an editor-in-chief at Graham Magazine Inc. – which by the way, has been very gifted to me. Natasha used to always say I have great talent with my writing skills, especially in poetry. She liked hearing my stories and reading from my scrap notebook, kissing my head while telling me how I will be the greatest writer.
I have achieved that dream but I still left her. I don't know why. Why? Why must I leave? When will you come back to me? I don't know, Tasha. I don't know when or how I will come back to you, I just can't.
Maybe I was idle with the idea of being with her, or maybe I was too frightened to let myself be with her since everyone hated us together. I knew, from the start, that she was never the problem in our relationship. I was the one who kept leaving her, I was the one who left her hanging. I was the one who kept pushing her away. There's no excuse for my stupidity, yet I could not help myself. Something deep inside of me crawls up all the way to my neck until I'm suffocating, those are the guilts and indecisiveness that wouldn't leave me alone. It's more like they're haunting me, as I try to run away from them. And then once they leave me alone, the cycle of my depression creeps in.
Therapy doesn't usually help. Mrs. Luis has done her best to help me, yet it seems like her steps or bright advice never execute me. She wonders that as well, asking me: have you tried writing your story? Maybe you should do it again and I deliberately would, walking back home and opening my laptop, but I never touched my keyboard. I only stared at the blank screen on my laptop and realized I've lost all of my talents. Then, my smoking addiction will kick in and several hours later, I couldn't think of anything else but the meaning of love and acceptance. Why must I go on this path when I should've chosen her instead? Why have I gone imprudent and unwary? Stupid me, stupid you.
Hours later, I'd be falling asleep with my ashtrays full of smoke dust.
"What food are you getting?" Patrick asked, his hand holding mine against the table as I heard the endless chatter from the crowd, but not to the extent where I lost my mind. It seems calmer than the last time I was here.
"Just the usual," I shrugged my shoulders, removing my palm away from his as I grabbed my phone instead. "I don't know what to really order, you know it would take me time to know what I'm gonna eat."
He sighs and drops his head. "Maybe we should change our routine."
"Haven't we been doing that lately?" lies. Neither of us has been doing it, not even myself. I guess I could say I've lost all the effort and the hope of idealizing my marriage with him.
"We pretend to do it," he responded with emphasis, his lips twitching from the cold air radiating the restaurant. "Look, I have another trip by the end of the week. Do you need me to send extra money to your bank account to shop for yourself?"
Here's the thing I loathe the most about him: he can be conceited and push his accomplishments to me until I've gone insane. He makes me feel like I can't do anything other than being this perfect little housewife for him, like this one episode in Gilmore Girls. Though, we're married. The show is fictional.
"I earn my own money," I say with an edge slightly in my tone, not looking back at him.
"But–"
"Keep your money," I stop him from speaking as I raised my hand, bringing the waiter to us. "I don't really go out, anyway. I'll probably just work and go to my therapist this week."
"Okay," he finally lets it go and scratches the back of his head. "Fine. I'll be packing at night."
"Awesome."
Terrific, even. I'm so happy for him! Seriously, I'm the proudest wife that could ever exist. Oh, he's so perfect. How could I hurt him? No. He hurts me, he's so self-absorbed that you'd find him sickening and boring. All he talks about is his wealth and body, which he manages to stay fit with after all these years. The Patrick I met was no longer with me, he died the minute I married this psychotic guy who grins like this one character from Gone Girl. That's right, Nick Dunne. He's exactly like Nick Dunne.
We went back home an hour later and he packed quietly, while I was on my laptop again – still trying to think what to write next. I thought about writing my "affair" with Natasha many years ago, but wouldn't that be too juicy? That's mostly the point, people love the thrill of that kind of romance. Other than that, it's something that hurts me until this day forward. After two coffees and three cigarettes, Patrick's luggage was by the door while fixing his beanie that he wears on this cold evening. As a wife, I stood up and gave him a searing kiss. He kissed me back, surprisingly. He doesn't kiss back much, but maybe this woke him up. What woke him up?
"Be good," he says, pecking my forehead. I nodded and leaped back to my room, not looking back when he left the house.
I poured my glass of water and looked at my emails, scanning if my boss had sent me more information that we are writing about this woman who has became a millionaire at the edge of seventeen. She must be so successful, then. I wish I was something like that myself.
But she thinks about writing to Natasha instead.
No. I can't relapse. I can't go through my old emails with her and pretend everything is back to normal, letting the woman be hurt again. I can't do that to her again, it would be too much burden and misery. But there's this pounding in my head that I should write to her, to know if she's doing okay or bad. Why should I care? She's no longer mine, I'm no longer hers. Plus, I swore to Patrick that I'll love–
Out of impulsiveness, I sat back by the foot of the bed and grabbed my laptop, laying it on my lap. I still remember what her username was, but I have no idea if she still uses it as her main. Either way, it's now or never.
I shall type that I miss her and I love her.
No. I can't.
I caught a glimpse of the clock ticking on the wall and decided to count a minute before I wrote something down. If I don't decide within sixty seconds, I will never write to her again. I will force myself to forget her email username and possibly throw everything away. Thirty seconds in, and I haven't decided. Thirty left. Why is it going so fast? I looked at my computer and typed out her name, not naming the subject. Should I be anonymous? No, that's stupid. I shake my head in my foolishness.
Ten seconds in.
Fuck!
I didn't give it another second and typed a word. Hi. I know that's something I shouldn't send, but knowing my younger self, I know Natasha would receive that kind of message from me.
I let my fingers maneuver the keyboard instead, not caring if there are any errors – which I hardly doubt that there will be – and clicked send.
Natasha was on the road to recovery from her alcohol addiction, but that never happened. She knew she had to stop someday, but alcohol seems to be her long time friend and a companion ever since her lover left – again. Was she sick of it? Most likely, she was. Did she ever stop loving her? Never. There's always going to be a spot for Y/n in Natasha's heart, there was no way for her to stop loving a girl with whom she thought she was destined. She was a draught from her life, especially from her daughter whom she never spoke to again after being exposed, twice.
She knew it was better that way, she'd rather have her daughter hating her than be around her that could ruin her life as well.
The redhead bought two more boxes of can beers and placed them on the dining table, seeing Clint on the patio with a beer in his hand, his dog named Lucky by his side. At first, Natasha opposes him from staying at her house. But whenever her best friend was around, her thoughts of being in love with Y/n have been a blurry memory instead. Not in a literal sense, but at least she doesn't think about her much.
Her alcohol addiction is still something she can't let go of either.
"I bought more beers." she states aloud, walking to the patio and grabbing a thin cigarette from his package on the table. He turns to her and sighs with a shake of his head. Clint was merely disappointed, he knew that his friend would never beat the alcohol addiction.
"You gotta stop drinking, Nat."
Now, she scoffs. Why was he saying that now?
"Don't be a hypocrite."
"This is the only beer I have."
"And you're telling me to stop?"
"Natasha," he says his full name with an edge, his body fully turning to look at her more. He knew, somehow, that Natasha was miserable with her life. No wife, no daughter, and no Y/n. In translation: she's all on her own with no one by her side. Another translation: Natasha is an alcoholic and needs to see a therapist. But he couldn't form those words in his mouth, he could never tell her that. Continuing, he says: "I understand that you're hurt. But it's been over a year now, you gotta let it go."
How can she let go when Y/n was near? How can she let go when she's still breathing? Especially after all those years, she couldn't throw it away as if it was a forgotten memory. Natasha only looked away with shame and opened a can of beer instead.
She was stubborn like a little kid.
"I can't."
"Yes, you can–"
"No, I can't," she cuts him off with a broader voice, her eyes piercing at the plant across from her. It was a pink rose that reminded her of Y/n, but Clint doesn't have any idea about that. She wouldn't tell him. She pinched her nose bridge and continued, "I can't let go, I'm sorry. I know I'm being extremely childish, but I can't stop loving her. Not... not when I'm still alive. You have no idea what she is in person, she's like a petal that you aren't able to touch. She's delicate and wonderful, you'd honestly believe that she's surreal. I-I can't let go, I can't."
He didn't glower or step back, but instead wrapped his arm around his friend's shoulder and pulled her into this warm hug. She clings to him, sobbing on his chest as she mourns for her love. She wished – deeply wished – that she picked her instead, Natasha knew very well that she would take care of her girl. Why wouldn't she? Why would her indecisiveness take over her? She can only mourn and wonder why, she can only smell the rose and reminisce about her last breath with her.
She walks back to her room, Clint leaving the house with his dog. Finally, she thought while getting into bed. Retrieving back from her laptop as she does some of her work to keep her away from her thoughts.
The redhead sees an unexpected message from someone, and she knew immediately who it was from. Y/n, it's Y/n. I know it is. The email name is obvious. She thinks and tapped on the message – her heart completely stopped beating. Somehow, she felt parched. Somehow, her world is beginning to color, but she can't hope. She doesn't know what she'll read.
Hey, Nat. It's me, Y/n. I think you can tell from my email name, haha. I have this strong feeling that you no longer use this email anymore but I'd rather have it drafted instead of you reading it. But if somehow you are, then there's no turning back.
I'm sorry for everything. I know that it's too late to apologize now, but I am very sorry. I don't know how I can repay you for my stupid actions and my indecisiveness, but I'm very sorry Nat. I can't say I was younger then, because I'm still young right now, but there's just no excuse. I've left you many times, I understand that you resent me, but I hope that someday we will be able to talk about this.
Let me know, goodnight.
- Y/n.
Natasha almost dropped her cigarette between her fingers when she read the whole email. After a year of herself sending letters to her house, the love of her life decided to give her a message. Does she know what I've sent her? Has she read them? Please, God, please tell me she has. Natasha hoped in her head and closed her eyes, letting a roll of tears come down from her eyes.
After all this time, Y/n still has this great love for her – and it will never waver away, just like the ocean. She relishes the feeling of this desire and happiness and continues to cry for joy. What sort of disappoints her is that she called her Nat instead of Tasha where she calls her that nickname most of the time. Where is the "I love you"? When can I say I love you more? Am I thinking too fast?
Without even thinking, she writes back to her and sends it with hope.
I never thought you'd talk to me again. I thought you might've forgotten about me and have a life without even knowing how I am. How are you? How's everything? Are you working? I know I'm asking a lot, but it's been a year, has it?
Please don't worry about it, Y/n. It has been done. Yes, I was hurt, really hurt, but I can forgive you. I can't say I will forget, but I will forgive. I'm so glad you've reached out to me! I would like to see you soon, how about tomorrow? At Benny's? It used to be your favorite bar before you left for London. It feels like yesterday. Respond to me as soon as you can.
- Tasha.
The redhead knew giving the hint of her nickname "Tasha" was too fast, but she couldn't help herself either. From then on, she decided to completely stop drinking and move forward – with her this time. Natasha promises that there's no way for her to just give up like that, but she doesn't like the idea of chasing her. She has done that too much, it's time for Y/n to chase her back.
There are no reasons to rekindle a relationship that was there long ago, but to Natasha, there was always a reason. She knew that Y/n would always come back to her, but not in a manipulative way. It's more of as if it's expected. The thought of holding her face between her hands and touching her again was something she was most utterly excited about.
Natasha dips her head back into the pillows and calls it a night.
