pov- imagines

POWERLESS- N. ROMANOFF

pairings: mom!natasha romanoff x widow!reader
warnings: torture, implications of death, super short
about: a blurb where y/n is in danger
a/n: this is so short i'm sorry, i barely have time to write, and i'm working on a request that is taking a surprising amount of time because i got way too carried away with it

the feeling of being powerless is not something you're used to. which means sitting in a chair you actually can't get out of, with your limbs tied back even though you're unable to move and barely able to breathe from the panic that you can't do anything is terrifying. you hold back the physical indications of it, like you were taught to, but you can feel the shivering in your bones, the tears that threaten to sprout and the cracks in your facade peeking through. you want to shut your eyes and think of every happy memory and stay there forever while the people who keep you here carve words you want to forget with the edges of blades into your delicate skin, searching for information you will never give up.

you want to scream for your new mother, call her name and plead that you are still so young, that you still have so much to live through, but you can only stare and keep a smirk on your face. you can only move your face, and the set expression is hard enough to do as it is.

it's moments like these where you wish you had powers- or, even better, didn't have any of the abilities that have saved you for so long, didn't go to the place that gave you the power to kill anyone in fifty ways with absolutely anything. you think about all the ways you could defeat everyone in the room with each object in the room if you had any power over your limbs, but whatever the hell they injected you with is strong, and, as much as you try to force it, not even your finger will budge.

you think through everything you've ever wanted, to be the best in the red room, that bunny you once saw in the window of a shop while on a mission, the shiny gun on one of the agents, to defeat the avengers, to escape the red room, the sweet looking dogs in the shelter you drive past every day with natasha- and you soon realize that all you want is your adoptive mother.

if you were brave enough to let them know you were scared, you would squeeze your eyes shut and imagine the last time she hugged you- just before this mission, her arms tight around you as she pressed her lips to your forehead, eyes shut as she leaned her head against yours, "be safe, моя дочь," she had begged, the hand that squeezed yours whispering that she needed you to come back home, that she didn't actually want to let you go.

you want to settle in the warmth of her hug, bask in the love that she pressed into your skin each time she kissed your hair. you want your mother, who can wrap her arms around you and protect you from anything.

she's that good.

hopefully good enough to get to you in time.

моя дочь- my daughter