pov- imagines

BAD DAYS- N. ROMANOFF

pairings: mom!natasha romanoff x widow!reader
warnings: nightmares, crying, mentions of the red room
about: ! "r has a nightmare and nat helps her back to sleep"
a/n: thank you so much for requesting!! i loved writing this!
translations: мама: mother | любимый: darling, loved

it's the silence of your footsteps. where you would usually make an effort to be louder than usual when coming into a room so as to announce your presence and not startle anyone, your steps are soundless. you walk in and out of a room unnoticed, the fact that you were even present barely discernible.

it's the hours in the ballet room. the routine nat remembers and dreads when she sees the familiar movements in the ballet room. your form is flawless, and the dance is beautiful, every movement of your legs calculated and delicate. however, she can see the fear of misstepping and the pressure of perfection prickling underneath your skin, threatening to make your knees tremble and clatter to the floor.

it's the way you've split open twice the amount of punching bags that steve has. your hits are deadly, no hesitation in the lethal strikes that show in the way they fall to the floor, abused and broken.
you think it fitting.

it's the way you won't look into her eyes. even as her hand gently stops your shoulder in the hallway, focusing on you and scanning the face that won't give anything away. your attention stays on her, eyes boring into hers, but she can tell you aren't looking at her. the look of recognition is gone as you numbly nod at her words and walk away from her without so much as a glance back.

but what it is proves natasha right is how your fingers keep finding her arm, and your head falls on her shoulder throughout the whole day, your eyes shutting and never really looking quite at her when they open. she doesn't mind your touch- in fact always welcomes it in the rare moments it comes because physical contact is difficult for both of you.

it's how she can tell it's one of your bad days, where your steps are marked with the ink of your past kills, guilt eating away at you while you try to keep down the cereal steve bought specially for you. nat has them, too, and although she knows you can deal with them- how many times have you dealt with them and she hasn't noticed? how much pain are you in and when she notices is it because it's more severe?- she doesn't want you to need to.

she knows better than to offer help, though. she knows how stubborn you are, how determined you are to prove to everyone that you handle anything yourself, although it has always seemed unfair that you even had to. so she helps you out in the small ways she knows will make you crack a smile.

she'll make tea in the mornings and press longer kisses into your hair, letting her eyes flutter shut as she tries her best to melt her love onto you. she opens herself up when you lean into her on the couch during movie nights, smiling at you while you take handfuls of popcorn. she'll come into your room and braid your hair as best she can, although it never comes out perfect because widows were taught to take care of themselves, braid their own hair and not their teammates- or in nat's case, daughter's.

she helps. and you appreciate that endlessly, but nothing can stop the onslaught of memories that attack you when you force yourself to go to sleep, trying to convince yourself you can handle the nightmares when, really, no one could. the distorted images always revert you back into the state even you feared, clenching up in your sleep and attempting to pry your eyes open but being unable to. the tears that build feel like piercing ice that burn your cheeks when they fall, allowing your eyes to open and your lips to widen in gasps, mind screaming the only safe place you know: мама.

she's startled when your fingers reach out to her shoulder in her sleep, immediately turning to attack before realizing it's you. the light that peeks out from the cracks of the drapes makes the tears that run down your face shine and her heart stop. "y/n," she whispers, freezing when you let yourself fall on her, your wet cheeks touching the warm crook of her neck. her arms hug you anyways, blinking confusedly while her fingers thread through your hair in an effort to calm you down.

"i had a nightmare," you explain softly after a few seconds, words cracked and she can feel you squeeze your eyes shut. "любимый," nat whispers, pulling you closer. "it j- it's like i'm back there- like they know everything and they'll take everything away," you whimper.

"they won't. i promise i won't let them," natasha vows, gently pulling you away to look at her. "do you understand? i will never let them do anything to you again." your nod is clumsy, chin wobbling as you try your best to believe her. you're in her arms again before your eyes fill up with tears.

"when i was seventeen," natasha begins suddenly, a small smile pulling at her lips, "i had a mission in this tiny town where i met this really old woman. i guess when she saw me, she figured i needed it, because she pulled me into her restaurant and gave me free food." your sniffles lessen while you listen to her, hearing the curve of her lips in her voice.

"i stayed with her for hours. she taught me how to make the special and told me bedtime stories that had been passed down in her family. the red room never found out because i finished the mission in the allotted time and i always had such little surveillance," nat continues. "it was the first time i had anyone that seemed to care about me. truly."

she looks down at you, kissing your head, "i care about you. you are my daughter and i will pass on all the recipes i know, and tell you everything you want to know. you are my daughter, y/n, and i will protect you from everything."

you're silent enough for nat to think you've fallen asleep before your whisper proves her wrong. "what were the stories?" you ask, "can you tell me the stories the woman told you?"

natasha blinks away the tears that gather at her eyes and nod, "yeah," she agrees softly. "yeah, of course."

she tells you until the sun begins to bleed into the darkness of the sky and your eyes have shut to peaceful dreams.