Natasha Romanoff/Scarlett Johansson x Daughter One Shots

Don't be sorry for this (N.R)

request from @prentissdaughter thank u for the request :)

i hope i did this right 

tw: death, self harm, nightmare

THIS IS ACTUALLY PROOFREAD

"Mom?" I call out into the darkness.

I don't see anything at first. Just an endless sea of black. 

But then, a flicker of movement, to the right of me. I immediately turn towards it, my heart racing as I squint my eyes. 

"Hello?" I whisper, the sound echoing around me. 

Suddenly, the darkness around me melts away, revealing a scene that looks like a battlefield. Waves of blood and mountains of bodies litter the floor. 

I search the nameless faces, hoping that none of them are familiar.

"Please, please, please," I mumble, praying to whoever's listening.

My heart stops when I see it. Red hair, green eyes, blankly staring at the sky above her. 

"No!" I cry out, kneeling next to her. "Mom, wake up! Please get up...please."

She doesn't answer. She's eerily still, her chest laying motionless. 

"There's nothing you can do about it," A voice says, right next to me. "She's gone. You couldn't save her."

I shoot up in my bed, breathing heavily. I search the room, looking for where I was before. What happened?

It takes a few seconds for me to realize. 

"It was just a dream," I say out loud, assuring myself. "You're fine. It's fine."

For some reason, my stupid heart won't stop beating so loudly, and my breathing won't slow down. My blankets are suddenly burning me, and I climb out of the bed. 

"It's just a meaningless nightmare, Y/N. God, why are you so fucking freaked out about something that isn't even real?" I pace the floor, trying to calm myself. 

I still see it, though. Mom's eyes staring into space. Why does this feel so real? It didn't even happen, yet every bone in my body act like she's gone. 

She could be, though, a voice says, the same voice in the dream. 

It's right, even if I hate it. Every mission she goes on, it'll only take a bullet to end her life. One wrong move, and boom, she's gone. I won't even get to say goodbye. 

I always get worried right before Mom goes on a mission. It's stupid and dumb and childish, but nevertheless, the worst scenarios always come to mind. 

Only one thing stops the endless stream of thoughts, but I promised myself I wouldn't do it anymore. I couldn't, I'm just making everything worse for myself. 

But the knife is right there, in the drawer, I can already imagine it. Mom's eyes are burned into my mind, and I don't want to think about that right now. I don't want to think. I want to get lost, and that knife is my ticket out of my mind. My hands itch to hold it, and my arm is yearning to be destroyed, and won't it feel so, so good to just be gone, to be erased?

I shake my hands around, still pacing the floor and panting. I don't want to do it, but I don't want to remember that awful nightmare, and I don't want to worry about Mom dying, and suddenly my hand reaches for the handle of the drawer and pulls it open, revealing the knife I stole from the kitchen a year ago.