Natasha Romanoff x Daughter Oneshots

Sober

Age: 15
Warnings: drinking, yelling, abuse
Word Count: 1158

Natasha pulled you into her embrace, mumbling a string of words you couldn't quite understand. She was drunk–the stench of alcohol lingering on her breath was enough to tell you.

"Mom-" You tried to pull away from the hug but Natasha shook her head, holding you tighter.

"No, not yet малышка." She whispered, rocking you side to side. She hummed a sweet lullaby, placing a few kisses on your cheek. "You're the best part of my life." Her words were slurred, just like always.

"Maybe you should drink some water." You muttered, retracting yourself from her arms before grabbing your mother a water bottle from the fridge.

She shook her head, declining the offer. "No need sweetheart, I have a coffee." You raised your brow as she held up her mug.

"Let me see." You commanded, grabbing the mug before she could react. You sniffed the black liquid, your nose immediately scrunching at the strong smell of whisky.

You wasted no time as you stomped over to the sink, pouring the Irish coffee out. You could hear your mother's footsteps behind you–angry and drunk.

Natasha grabbed your shoulder, whipping you around. Your eyes held so much fear as her hooded ones bore into yours. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

You shrugged, your voice suddenly caught in your throat. You hated your mother for this–hated that she was always drunk. Sometimes she'd hold you, reminding you how much she loves you and other times her fuse was short–always taking it out on you.

Sometimes she would hurt you–but you knew it was never intentional. You knew if she remembered, things would only go downhill.

"Answer me!" Natasha yelled, pushing you back into the counter. "What is wrong with you?"

You wished you could go back to just a few minutes ago, when she was drunkenly holding you. It didn't feel as natural as when she was sober but it was better than her yelling. It was better than fearing your own mother.

What happened? Why does she need to drink? Was it you–did you make her unhappy?

"Nothing, I'm sorry." You replied quickly, looking down at the floor. You hoped your quick apology would fix the sudden rage that was nagging at your mother–but you knew there wasn't going to be any more sweet moments today.

No more hugs–no more 'I love you'. Maybe you should have just let her drink the Irish coffee, it would have prevented all this.

Natasha scoffed, stepping away from you. "You just wasted the last of my whisky."

"Good." You mumbled, turning back to the sink. "It's time you start to sober up anyway."

"What?" She heard you–you knew that for a fact, but you were too deep to turn back.

You turned back around to face her, your brows furrowed. She was standing by the fridge, her arms crossed over her chest.

"It's 11am." You replied more confidently. "Don't you think that's a little early to be drunk?"

Natasha's eyes widen slightly as she stepped closer to you. She was breathing heavily, each breath smelt of alcohol–directly in your face.

"Don't you ever talk back to me." She seethed. "Do you understand?"

You were tired of taking care of you mother. She was supposed to be the one caring for you–you are the child in this situation. You were always the child.

"Have you ever stopped once to think about how all this is effecting me?" You yell. "All you do is drink and rely on me. I'm tired of it!"

Before you could realize what had happened, a sharp stinging sensation lingered on the side of your cheek.

She had hit you–again. Not a hint of remorse in her eyes.

"I have never asked you to do anything!" She yelled back. "And I certainly don't rely on you!"

You sucked in the tears that had been threatening to form. "I have to stop you from driving to the packie every fucking day, just to make sure I still have a mom!"

"Don't be dramatic." She forced out a laugh.

"You don't even care!" You scream. "All you do is drink away your problems. You're a fucking coward!"

You immediately regretted your choice of words as you watched your mother's brows narrow. Your olive green eyes widened with fear as Natasha pushed you back into the counter once again.

It was your fault. You should have never said anything–you should have caught yourself the minute you felt your feet slip out from under you.

You felt your head slam against the edge of the counter, a rhythmic thumping–your heartbeat possibly–loud and clear in your ears. The world around you went black before you even hit the ground.

___

Natasha woke up the next morning, her head pounding. She always fixed her hangovers by drinking–but before she could even get out of bed, her phone rang out loudly.

"What?" She answered, placing a palm to her temple as she shut her eyes tightly.

"Y/n isn't going home, not for a long time."

Natasha sat up quickly, her headache suddenly replaced by her heart pounding rapidly. "Yelena, what are you talking about?"

"Y/n doesn't want to see you and frankly, I don't feel comfortable with her being around you." Yelena explained sternly. "We both agreed we weren't going to report anything but trust me, I will if you don't get immediate help."

"Let me talk to her." Natasha ordered, worry consuming her entirely. She was confused at what her younger sister was saying, not a word helping her remember events from the previous night.

Natasha listened carefully as the phone was passed to you, the shallow fast breathing worrying her more.

"Mom." You shakily call into the phone.

"Hey, детка." She smiled softly. "I-I didn't realize you were at Aunty Yelena's house."

You swallowed the large lump in your throat, glancing over at your aunt briefly before turning back to the wall you were staring at.

"Yelena picked me up."

"Oh." She replied. "I didn't realize we planned for you to visit her."

You gulped again, tears stinging at your eyes. "We didn't."

Natasha wasn't a fan of these short answers, no explanations what so ever. You were always the one to explain everything–even if no explanation was needed. Usually it was her that gave short one worded answers.

"Is everything alright, детка?" She questioned. "You're not as talkative as normal."

Natasha could hear the distant whispers of you and Yelena arguing. She could hear your aunt telling you to talk–but what broke her heart was hearing you say no.

"Please tell me." Natasha begged. "What's going on?"

You gave your aunt a small glare as you wiped away the tears that had began to stream down your cheeks.

"You hurt me, mama."