Natasha Romanoff x Reader Oneshots

back to the old house

happy birthday, natasha romanoff, you'd be 39 today. i miss you.
age: 17
tw: abuse
word count: 1,1k
teacher!nat
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Y/n's POV

It's the way that I can tell your footsteps from any others when you get home, the way the door slams shut and the way you walk up the stairs. Telling me if I have to get up, pretending to clean my room, hoping, begging that you'd leave me alone, not telling me off for being 'lazy'. Or if I can leave my room, telling you 'hello', hoping, begging that today will be okay, that today will be different, that it'll finally get better like you always tell me.

When you and my mother fight, it halls through the whole apartment. I then go and find my brother, taking him in my room so that I know that he's safe, that you're not lashing out on him. I put my headphones on his head, playing his favourite music- he doesn't need to hear you fight, I'm older, I can take it.

When I hear the door again I know that my mother went away, every time I doubt that she's returning back home. I tell my brother to be quiet, hoping that you'll just forget about our existence, that you won't come into my room to use me as a punching bag for all your problems, for your aggression.

That day you forgot, taking the Vodka out of the cabinet instead, drinking and drinking til you were passed out on the couch. It was then that I slipped into the kitchen, scrambling together the last food out of the fridge so that my brother doesn't go to bed hungry. Moments like these are better, being able to move in the apartment for a short while instead of being afraid to go to the toilet because maybe our parts will cross and I don't know how that'll end.

When my brother lies in bed in that evening I quietly read to him, trying to be the mother that I never had, trying to give him as much normality as possible.

The next day you come home angry. I wasn't careful.

A second later you're in my room, anger so visible in your face that it actually makes me question what happened. As your hand crashes down on my cheek and you're yelling at me that it's my fault, I know. Mother left.

I don't shed a tear, my eyes are long dry, my body just a shell of my hollow soul. I don't fell the pain anymore, your words bouncing of me, not getting close to my heart.

Mother left because of you. I know.

You're such a bitch of a daughter not even your mother wants you anymore. I know.

This is all your fault. God damn it, I know.

But my quietness just makes you more furious, I see it in your eyes. You kick and kick until I'm curled up in the corner of my room, trying to protect my head from your feet and hands, trying to protect my heart from eventually letting your words in.

When you finally leave me alone I'm left with bruises and scratches all over my body, a bit of blood tickling down the side of my face.

The next day I get up earlier than normal. I know you're asleep, I can hear you heavy snores from down the hall. I scramble through my make-up, trying to cover up the marks on my body. It's summer, it's hot, but that won't stop me from wearing a hoodie and sweatpants to school today. Normally I would skip my classes, waiting for the marks and bruising to fade, but there's this important test today so I really have to go.

I quickly finish a lunchbox for my brother, we don't have anything for breakfast but that'll hopefully keep him full until lunch brake at school- I'll get groceries today, I tell myself.

The air is hot, I already feel the sweat forming on my skin. I pray that my make-up won't smear.

As Ms Romanoff slides a piece of paper over my desk in the middle of the test I tense up. My concealer is still in place, right? I just checked before this lesson. Oh God, what if it smeared? What if-

I take the folded paper after slightly peering up at her, she sends me a soft smile, her eyes are kind.

Stay behind after class, okay?

No, not okay. Oh God. She didn't see, did she? Vomit rises up my throat at the thought, she can't know, no one can know. I need to get out of here, I need to get away. And everything because of you, because you can't control yourself, because of you I'm fucking up the test, fucking up my future, my future to get out of this house, to live my own life.

Ms Romanoff knows, it's her eyes that give her away, it's her eyes that have a certain look in them as I request to use the bathroom, just moments after she told me to stay behind. She allows me to go, so I do. What I didn't expect was her to follow behind, to lay a hand on my shoulder in the hallway, to stop me from running.

Her eyes know, her eyes make me break- how much power eyes hold.

It doesn't even take much more for me to break out in tears, the first tears in years. I freeze as she wraps her arms around me. No one gave me kind touches like that before, yours are always harsh and painful.

She takes me to her office, leaving another teacher to watch over the class. She urges me to talk, but not like you, she doesn't threaten me with a beating, doesn't restrict me of food and water, she's kind, she gives me time and accepts that the only thing I answered was 'I don't know'.

So father, when you read this me and my brother will be gone. This was only the first conversation I had with her, many, many followed and the latest one was with the police. So father, I hope you know what you did to me. So father, I hope you'll rot in hell, being punished for the pain you caused. So father, I hope you know that it isn't my fault, it never was, it's your fault. So father, I hope you wake up one day, realizing what you've done.

So father, I hope you know that I loved you, a part of me probably does. So father, I hope you understand.

But father understand that this is goodbye, that I never want to see you again, that my brother and I will live a better life from now on.

So father goodbye, I hope you'll forgive me one day.