Natasha Romanoff x Reader Oneshots

I'm gonna help you

nat x daughter

age: 16

tw: assault/rape (no detailed description), talk of abortion, my 2am writing

word count: 1,6k (not proof read)

————

Natasha's POV

"Everything okay, Nat?" Clint asks me and rips me out of my thoughts "Sure, why wouldn't it be?" I ask, glancing over to him "You're standing in the kitchen with probably the third coffee today, blankly starring at the floor- I know you Romanoff, I can practically see the wheels turning in your head"

I sigh in respond and he steps closer "What is going on?" I open my mouth to say something but stop myself, receiving a glare from him.

"Has y/n been different?" I mumble, giving in. "How different?" he asks, confusion written over his face. "She's hiding something, I can sense it. I've tried talking to her but she blocked me out, she even screamed at me to leave at some point, she never screamed at me before."

"She's a teenager, Nat, that would've eventually happen" he says calmly "This is different Clint! She flinches at even the slightest touch, she doesn't cuddle anymore, she's shutting everyone out, she barely comes out of her room! Ever since I've come back from that mission three weeks ago she's been different" I say with a slightly raised voice and slam my cup of coffee on the counter.

"Hey, no need to freak out" he tries to calm me "Something is wrong! And she won't talk" I yell and feel tears breaking through my surface, so I run out of the room to the bathroom, not wanting anyone to see me cry.

three weeks later

She still didn't tell me what's wrong. I am worried. And getting impatient.

The thought of something being truly wrong increases as I walk past her door, only to hear muffled sobs and the sound of her throwing up.

Not caring to knock I blast into her room, knowing she won't be there. I take a deep breath before knocking on her bathroom door, making my presence known. "Y/n? Sweetheart? Can you open the door please" I plead 

"I'm fine" she croaks as she muffles another sob "We both know that's not true, I can help you, please let me in" "You wouldn't understand" she cries "Y/n/n, honey, please open the door" "Go away, you don't understand" she says, raising her voice "I think I should decide that, yeah? I'm gonna help you and I'm gonna come in if you want or not, you clearly need help right now, understood?" I tell her using my mama voice to make clear I'm serious.

"Please don't be mad" she begs. What is going on? What the fuck is she hiding? "Y/n, please" I whisper loud enough for her to hear.

"It's open" she whimpers. Oh.

As I open the door I meet with I sight I'm not gonna forget that soon. My daughter curled up on the floor, emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet, mascara mixing with tears, sobbing and whimpering while desperately trying to get her hair out of her face. 

I rush to her side and pull her hair in a loose ponytail before starting to draw calming patterns on her back.

After a couple minutes it seems like she stoped throwing up. "Done?" I ask and receive a nod so I pull her back from the toilet and into my lap. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" she whimpers as tears still well out of her eyes.

"You don't have to be sorry, y/n, everyone gets sick eventually" I coo but feel her taking a painfully sharp breath. My eyebrows draw together. "I- I-" she stutters "I'm not sick" her voice barely about a whisper. I don't know if I like where this is heading. "Y/n?" I ask, my voice breaking slightly