Natasha Romanoff One Shots

Double Edged Sword

You were fifteen when Natasha Romanoff stepped into your life, a shadow amidst the wreckage of your parents' tragic "accident". At first, she seemed like a distant figure, all sharp edges and cold professionalism, rather than a comforting presence.

Her presence in your life was a paradox. She was a protector with a past shrouded in secrets, a stern guardian who seemed to hover between the realm of myth and reality. You had heard whispers of her past—stories of espionage and battles that seemed as far removed from your own pain as the stars from Earth.

In those early days, Natasha's care was a double-edged sword. Her training sessions, though intended to build strength and resilience, felt like a form of emotional armor she imposed on you. The discipline and skills she imparted were a way of preparing you for a world that had turned ruthless and unfeeling.

Yet, beneath the surface, there was an unspoken connection—a fragile thread of shared understanding that neither of you fully acknowledged.

As years passed, Natasha's guarded demeanor softened, though her vulnerability was always just out of reach. You were no longer the frightened child she had found; you were growing up, fighting your own battles.

But as always, Natasha's influence was a double-edged sword—her strength inspired you, but her constant readiness for conflict left you with a lingering sense of instability. You longed for normal, or at least as close to it as you could get.

One evening, Natasha received an urgent call. Her face, usually a mask of composure, revealed a rare flicker of anxiety. "Stay here," she instructed, her voice terse. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

You watched her leave, a storm of emotions swirling within you. Her absence wasn't just a physical void; it was an emotional chasm that reminded you of the instability she had inadvertently introduced into your life. Her world was one of shadows and danger, and her departure left you grappling with a profound sense of abandonment.

Hours stretched into a restless night, each minute marked by your gnawing worry. With each mission she went on your fear of the silence around you grew.

Natasha had always been the one who faced danger head-on, who had given you the strength to face your fears. But in her absence, you no longer had the strength to face your fears. You felt helpless, as if the ground beneath you had shifted, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

The phone rang, piercing through the silence. Natasha's voice came through, strained yet steady. "I'm okay. There was a complication, but it's under control. I'll be home soon."

Her reassurance did little to quell the storm inside you. Her resilience was a source of strength, but it also cast a long shadow over your sense of security. She was a force of nature, but in her wake, she left a path of emotional wreckage that you struggled to navigate.

When Natasha finally returned, her presence was a complex mix of relief and guilt. She looked exhausted, her eyes reflecting a depth of weariness that spoke of battles fought both externally and within. The embrace you shared was fraught with unspoken tension—a blend of gratitude and the aching reality of the emotional distance that had grown between you.

In the days that followed, you found yourself wrestling with the duality of your relationship with Natasha. She had shaped your life in ways you could never fully articulate, imparting lessons of strength and resilience. Yet, her presence was a reminder of the emotional fragility that lingered beneath the surface.

You were eating dinner one night as Natasha recounted the details of her mission, you listened with a heavy heart. Her stories, once inspiring, now felt like echoes of a world you struggled to understand.

The bond you shared was complex. A true mix of admiration and anguish. And an even bigger reminder of the unspoken pain that both connected and divided you.

In the quiet moments, you grappled with the realization that Natasha Romanoff, for all her strength and sacrifice, was not just a guardian but a symbol of the emotional turbulence that had become a part of your life. Her influence had shaped you, but it had also left you to navigate the shadows of your own past.

You so desperately wanted to cling to her. Because in the years that you had known her she was your one constant. The one person you could rely on to care for you, at least physically. Emotionally you held so much weight and baggage that would never see the light of day.

You wanted to cling to the person that had become your family, your everything. But in those quiet moments, when the world seems to slow down you're reminded how you met and how you became the person you are.

So while you desperately wanted to cling to Nat and the comfort she provided with her presence, you wouldn't allow yourself to feel whatever feeling this was.

It certainly wasn't love. You weren't made to love, and no one would ever love you. But if only you knew how much Natasha was trying to show you she did. It was foreign to her, but she loved you like you were her own. She would die for you, but more importantly she would kill for you. But you couldn't see that. You were too caught up with the storm of emotions in your own head you missed it.

But you had to hide. You had to weather the storm within you on your own.

You are marble, therefore you cannot break.