Natasha Romanoff x Reader Oneshots

a different age

I just can't find time to write lately I'm sorry, anyways thank you all sm for 55k reads
word count: 1,2k
age:17
tw: eating disorder, weed mentioned
Nat's basically like an aunt or smth
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Y/N'S POV:
Being home alone for a couple of days while Nat was on missions used to be the best part of living alone with her. It's not that I don't enjoy her company, because I absolutely do, but when you're around people all day, in school, at work and sometimes at the tower, it can be exhausting to have someone at home, too. I don't like being with people all day, I value my alone time.

When she was gone for a bit longer I used to invite friends over to hang out and maybe have a drink. It was fun, always.

Nowadays those times mean hunger, weakness and freezing. I long switched the alcohol for weed, less calories. The first time I smoked weed on an empty stomach was horrendous. But is a bad trip gonna stop me from getting high to feel anything else than this misery?

Natasha's been gone for a week. I miss her. God, I miss her so bad. But it's just four more days, I can handle that. Maria was supposed to check up on me yesterday, I told her I wasn't home and she probably hadn't found the time to come over again— which is probably for the best because I can barely get down the stairs without needing to lay down and she would definitely pick up on that.

I'm so hungry.

I pick up my phone, opening my hidden pictures and reliving the way the number on the scale dropped. God, this is probably the biggest satisfaction in my life, ever. I won't eat, not while Nat's still gone, I know that, but sometimes, sometimes the urge to put a pizza in the oven and inhale it whole gets so strong, so so strong, that I just need a reminder, a reminder of why I'm doing this.

I turn off the lights, sleep is the best way to ignore.

—

She's coming back today. Finally. Because, I like starving myself, at least I used to— now it feels like an obligation that every time that I'm alone I stop eating, just because I can, because no one will know. Just to be skinny, everything to be skinny.

I drag myself out of bed, when she comes home and sees me like this, she'll know, then everything will come crumbling down. It can't, I need this. I meet a pair of eyes in the mirror, they don't seem like my own, a distant abomination, that's all that is reflected.

Because deep in my heart, I hate myself. 

I'm fucking disgusting. The way my stomach rolls when I sit down or the fact that not even a hoodie can hide my fat arms. I hate this. I hate me.

I tear my eyes away from the mirror, slip in a fresh pair of joggers and hold onto the sink so that my shaking knees don't give up under my weight. I slowly make my way to the kitchen, I sit down on the middle of the stairs, catching my breath, stabilising my circulation, trying not to pass out. When I make it to the kitchen the insides of my hands are covered in a cold sweat and I feel like throwing up— except there is nothing to throw up because the only thing I ate in the last week and a half were a cucumber and some greek yoghurt. I grab the package of cereal that stands abandoned on the countertop, sink down on the floor and eat it dry, milk isn't necessary, just more calories.

It tastes good, so good and, man, do I miss enjoying food. Now my brain is a living calculator, never shutting up.

I move to the couch, hoping to feel okay when Nat comes home, praying she won't notice. But she's a spy, I should've known better.

—

NATASHA'S POV
The house is quiet when I arrive. I limp into the hallways, the gunshot wound in my thigh sending shooting pain through my whole being. I drop my bag and throw the keys on the little sideboard under the mirror. I look terrible, hair greasy and dirty, a cut above the left eyebrow and a bruise forming under my cheek. "I'm home, sweetheart" I yell into the quiet room.

When I pass the living room I notice y/n curled up under two blankets on the couch. Smiling I make my way over to her, trying not to wake her in the process. She looks a little pale when I come to face with her, but as I reach out to stroke her cheek to effectively wake her and her eyes blink tiredly up at me, all that is forgotten. "Nat" she mumbles groggily, leaning into the warmth of my hand "Hi" I whisper. "You look like shit" she says softly "Thank you, you too." I muse "No but seriously, are you okay, y/n?" I ask, pressing my hand flat to her forehead to feel if she may have a temperature, which she doesn't. "I'm fine, just a little tired" she tells me but I can see through the lie instantly.

"Ts, don't lie to me" I say, my eyes boring into hers, she knows she can tell me everything and I won't get mad in 90 percent of times, but she knows I don't like getting lied to, especially from her. "I'm fine" she insists

"Alright" I say, knowing I won't get through to her like this "I'm gonna take a shower and then make something to eat, that sound good?" I ask, not really caring for her opinion because I'm literally starving. She grumbles before turning around and leaving me be— weird, but okay.

When I open the fridge to start on dinner almost everything seems to be untouched, almost as if she didn't take anything out of it, all the things I bought two weeks ago are still there, it's almost like she— and then I know. "Fuck" I whisper "fuck, fuck, fuck"

"Y/n?" I yell, emotion evident in my voice. I never wanted her to feel this. I never, never— shit. She shouldn't feel like this, she's just a child (You were just a child, the voice in my head tells me), she's innocent, she's sweet, she's my baby, why her? why? why? why!? Breathe, Natasha. "Y/n, sweetheart?" I question, back in the living room.

The second I'm face-to-face with her I just can't control my tears, they just start coming and don't stop. I pull her into my arms, hugging her tight, not wanting to let go even though the awkward angle puts to much pressure on my bad leg and my shoulder aches as I press her body close to mine. "I'm sorry, y/n. I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have to feel this. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." I whisper over and over. "What are you talking about?" she suddenly speaks up and I pull back to look into her eyes "I know you haven't been eating"

At that she freezes "No, that's not true, I have been, I have been, I promise" she pleads "It's okay" I tell her "It's okay"

"No, you don't understand—"

"I do, I do y/n, I do understand" I say, holding her closer as she starts to cry as well. "You're gonna be okay, It'll be okay"

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this is shit I'm sorry xx