Natasha Romanoff x Reader Oneshots

little bit

thank you for 20k reads and almost 300 votes:)
tw: ed, slight sh mention
age:17
word count: 1k
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Y/n's POV

Most of times I say that I don't care about other peoples opinions, that I never did. Secretly I know that's not true, whether or not I admit it to myself.

When I was six my grandpa called me the 'fat pig of the family'

When I was eight and in primary school my nickname was 'fat cheeky'

When I was eleven my friend told me to shave and loose some weight, no boy would ever like me looking like this

When I was thirteen I covered the mirror in my bathroom, not sparing a look at my body

When I was sixteen my friend told me they wanted to look like me, that I had such a pretty body, I laughed, because why would anyone ever want to look like me? They told me I was skinny, not underweight more like average, but still skinny. They found themselves too skinny. I laughed again, I would die to switch bodies I told them. We dropped the theme.

Later that year I talked to another friend, we were best friends once, but I switched schools and she started to work so we lost contact. We never really spoke about our feelings, looking back it was a weird friendship even though it lasted for over ten years. We never had those talks where you could pour all your feelings out or talk about your problems, we battled alone, by ourselves. But this day she told me that she hated how she looked, that she'd cut her thighs open in the bathroom when she was alone. I told her that I understand how she feels- she cut me off, asking how I would ever understand with a body like that

I didn't understand, I just looked at her, because when did people decide to see me as 'skinny' and 'pretty' instead of the big fat pig that is too ugly to even look at. When did that happen and why did nobody tell me?

I don't have curves, I don't have boobs, maybe a little bit of ass but why does it matter? Why does it matter? When did I start to fit in the socially acceptable concept of 'skinny', when did I become skinny? I don't feel skinny, I feel like a six year old, getting called names from my own family and bullied for the way I look. Any time I look in the mirror I see fat, nothing but fat, fat thighs, fat stomach, fat cheeks, fat face, fat arms- not skinny, nothing about me is skinny.

Now I keep my mouth shut when my friends complain, I'm too skinny to understand anyways. When I'm alone I laugh, I tell myself I don't care, society is just a big swarm of rich, insecure people who shame others to feel better about themselves. I don't care about their opinions, or do I?

"You really wanna eat that, y/n?" my grandfather asked me at the bare age of ten, God that man still drives me crazy. Every time I eat pizza that sentence replays without end in sight.

"Keep watch you're getting fat"

"Well, looks like you need new clothes again"

"You should watch you eating"

"Maybe cross out that cookie in the afternoon"

"Try water instead of juice, less sugar, less calories"

You'll thank me later, they tell you. Oh, will I? I don't even know how I look anymore. Thank you for that, I guess.

When I was twelve I downloaded the first calorie tracker. Life went to hell from then. My day consisted of eating (or not eating), sports and sitting on my bathroom floor, trying to understand the hell hole called life. I liked the idea of being skinny, feeling good in my own body, so I lost weight. Kilo per kilo, day for day, I wanted to be pretty, I wanted to be looked at, I wanted to be noticed.

I looked at my reflection a year later and still felt the same, the scales told me I lost weight, there was evidence right there, but I didn't see, I couldn't see. I was still fat cheeky and a pig, no matter what I did.

Then I staved myself, I could resist. I got used to the feeling of an empty stomach, God I even learned to like it, it made me feel like I accomplished something, I was proud. I told myself I had it under control, I'll just eat again when I'm pretty enough, but truth be told, you'll never feel pretty enough. Damn, once you start you'll never ever feel enough, the only thing that'll make you happy is a grumbling stomach that screams for food.

Just before my 17th birthday I ran away. I met Natasha shortly after. She took me in, loves me like a daughter.

It didn't take her long to pick up on my poor food habits, she's a spy after all. She's the best. A lot of people I met just forced the food down my throat and left me afterwards, leaving it in my own hands what to do with just consumed calories- Natasha's not like that, she never lets me go a day without food but I can negotiate, I can plan with her. And even when our food plans don't work out as we want them to she isn't mad, she holds me close and tells me that I'm beautiful.

She never calls me 'pretty' or 'skinny', she says my mind has constructed so much shit around these words that she would burn them out of my head and make me forget them if she could. Anytime I tell her that I look fat she disagrees, but she also says that you don't need to be low weight to be loved, weight doesn't matter.

She restored my self worth. I can't say that I love the way I look now but I will say that I'm on a good way to do so. I still don't understand the way my body looks or what the hell people think about it, but for now I don't need to, I've got Natasha and that's enough. Because I can cry, laugh and do whatever I want with her.

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I feel like this oneshot is all over the place and I'm sorry for that, but I'm sick so it's okay.

also Lana got ROBBED at the grammys like HELLO???

shoutout to my favourite (not) grandfather at this point xx