Natasha Romanoff x Daughter Oneshots

Show Me!

Age: 15
Warnings: Sh, yelling, swearing
Word Count: 1093

Blood drips from the blade, down onto the floor. The crimson red–it was beautiful. How it created a masterpiece on the tile floors.

The cutting eases the pain, like a friend. The blade is your best friend. The only one you can trust. The one that you can turn to, if life ever becomes too much.

The blade rips through your skin, tearing into your flesh. Dark angry lines that you keep hidden beneath the fabric of your skin tight jeans.

It's an addiction.

An addiction you can't quite figure out how to quit. It's all you have to protect yourself from the world–from your family, from your mother.

She was the mother every child dreams of having. The mother that will do anything for her child–for you.

But she took her job as a mother too seriously. She damaged you with her overprotective nature. She'd do anything for you–and she has.

You were twelve when the blade first slid across your thighs. You could remember just what had happened. How it terrified you and how it showed you your mother's true colors.

You just needed a release.

And now it's the only thing you can count on.

___

"Baby, I'm home." Natasha called out, closing the front door behind her with a kick of her foot.

Natasha walked into the kitchen, setting down the bags of groceries on the counter. She took a breath, looking around the room. She assumed she was alone in the house. She never knew where you were anymore. She didn't know if you were safe or doing things you shouldn't–and it was starting to worry her.

She pulled out her phone, quickly clicking on your contact before raising the phone up to her ear.

It rung continuously until Natasha gave up with a sigh, slamming the phone down on the counter.

"Dammit, Y/n." She mumbled under her breath as she began putting the groceries away.

She finally moved onto the last bag, taking it upstairs to the small bathroom at the end of the hall. The new stock of toothpaste and face wash she had bought you was placed in the top drawer of the vanity, where something had caught her attention.

Natasha's hand shook as she reached for the cold metal at the bottom of the drawer. Her eyes were blurred with tears, but she could make out the sharp edge that was stained with your blood.

___

You stepped into the small house you and your mother shared, immediately taking notice of the sound of frantic shuffling. Your heart leaped into your throat before you could even register that the sounds were coming from your bathroom.

Your legs moved faster than your brain as they lead you sprinting up the stairs. You hoped Natasha was just in her stressed cleaning mode, but even then, she would have found it.

Once you were down the hall, just outside your bedroom and bathroom, your eyes widened with fear. The bathroom was torn apart. Garbage, mostly consisting of bloodied tissues wrapped in toilet paper, was thrown on the floor. Everything stored in the vanity had been removed from the drawer and thrown to the ground.

You're bedroom wasn't any better. Garbage dumped and clearly rummaged through, your dirty clothes covering your entire floor. Every drawer in your room was emptied and it's contents thrown onto your bed.

You hadn't realized the tears silently falling down your cheeks as you watched your mother go through your closet. She was terrified, you could tell. She was frantic, going through anything that could be a perfect hiding place. Her body was shaking, and you could tell she was crying.

You wanted to hug her, to calm her down and explain you were fine. But were you? What does fine even mean?

Before you could take a step toward your mother, Natasha turned around. Her eyes were red and swollen, a pained expression flashed across her face. But it was gone in a split second.

"Show me!" She yelled, stomping toward you. Her change in emotion scared you, so quick it made you flinch. You stepped back but Natasha grabbed your wrist.

"What?" Your voice was quiet and shook with fear. You knew Natasha would never buy the confusion you were trying to display.

She pulled a handful of blades out of her sweatshirt pocket and slammed it on your dresser. "SHOW ME!"

Your eyes involuntarily glanced over at the, not one, not two, but six different blades Natasha had found. She gripped your wrists, pulling up your sleeves and finding nothing.

"Where do you do it?" She shouted, lifting up your shirt.

"Mom! Stop!" You screamed, swatting her hands away. She wouldn't let up. You knew she wasn't mad, she was just scared. Terrified even.

"God dammit, Y/n!" She shouted. "Show me where you cut yourself!"

You looked into your mother's green orbs. They were full of terror and love and guilt. The last thing you wanted her to see were the red angry marks you drew yourself. But those eyes were desperate and you had no option but to show her.

"Fine." You whimpered. "Fine." You took in a shaky breath before dropping your pants down to your ankles.

Natasha dropped to her knees, sobbing at the sight of those marks. She gripped the back of your legs, pulling you into her.

"Why, baby. Why?" She sobbed. "Why would you do this to yourself?"

You pushed your mother off of you, pulling your pants back up. "Mom, I don't want you to cry."

She didn't listen. "Why, Y/n?"

You walked over to your bed, sitting on the edge as your mother followed. She sat, pulling you into a much needed hug–for the both of you.

"You listen, детка." She mumbled into your hair, swaying you side to side. "I want you to give me all your pain. You hear? All of it. Mommy can handle it, I can handle it."

You closed your eyes, letting the tears fall as you gripped your mom and pulled her as close to you as possible.

"You hear me, детка?" She asked again, her hands desperately trying to comfort you. "All your pain, just give it to me. Please, I'm begging you sweet girl. I cant loose you. You're my one and only. My baby girl. My miracle. So you just give me all of your pain, I can take it. I promise you, I can handle it."