Natasha Romanoff x daughter reader one-shots

Teacher attachments

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Age: 14
Warnings: Abuse

In this one-shot Natasha is not your mom, but more of a comfort person I guess. Also if you guys have anything you want me to write about please let me know :)
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Y/N's POV:
Living in an abusive household is like living in an everlasting nightmare. I wake up each day with fear, my life only consist of terrifying moments I just have to endure. Fear, emotional and physical pain are my constant companions.

Today was not different. When I woke up I could already hear my dad in the kitchen, the clattering of dishes and the smell of his morning liquor lingering in the air. It made me realize that there was no way to sneak out of the house unnoticed.

As I reluctantly left the safety of my bedroom, I felt the fear rising in me. My heartrate increasing with every step I took. The hallways echoed as I made my way trough it, every step felt like a step into a minefield, never knowing which word or action might trigger his anger.

Descending the creaky staircase, I could see my dad hunched over the kitchen table, a half-empty bottle of whiskey at his side. He didn't acknowledge my presence, he never did. But I could feel his gaze, cold and scrutinizing, watching my every move.

I did my best to blend into the background, making myself as small and invisible as possible. I prepared a simple breakfast, careful not to make any noise that might draw his attention. But no matter how hard I tried, his eyes found me, and his voice, laced with bitterness, filled the room.

"Y/N," he sneered, "You're about as useless as they come."

His words were like a physical blow, and I struggled to keep my composure. I forced myself to remain silent, to avoid giving him any satisfaction. But his cruel comments chipped away at my already fragile sense of self-worth.

I counted down the minutes until I could leave for school. School had become my escape, the one place where I felt a glimmer of hope. But it was also a place where I had to hide my pain, my shame, behind a mask.

As I grabbed my backpack, ready to bolt to the door, I felt his presence behind me. He loomed over me, and I cowered backwards into a corner, trying to hide away from him. All of a sudden he raised his fist and it made brutal contact with my cheek. I felt a burning sensation as I brought my hand to my face.

''You ungrateful bitch!'' he spat, his face retorted with anger. His voice dripped with venom, as he started to tell me why I am so disappointing. His rage was irrational and unpredictable, and that made it all the more terrifying.

My only refuge from this torment was school, particularly my Russian language class. My Russian teacher, miss Romanoff, was a captivating presence. She was more than just a teacher; she seemed to understand, to care.

I had always been a quiet and reserved student, but miss Romanoff's classes became the highlight of my day. It was in her lessons that I found solace, as if I had found a sanctuary where I could escape the harsh reality of my home life.

When I reached the school's entrance, I pulled my hood over my head to conceal the bruise that was forming on my face, avoiding the curious or judgmental glances from my peers. Walking down the hallway with my head down, I couldn't bring myself to engage with anyone today.

My first class was math, and I hate that teacher, she is always mad at me for not understanding. As I walked in the classroom late, I could feel the collective stares of my classmates on me.

The tension in the room was high, and I sensed that something was off. It didn't take long for Ms. Jenkins, the math teacher, to call my name, her voice dripping with annoyance.