Under You [N. Romanoff × Female Reader]

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗦𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻

Twenty-four hours later you hadn't come back home. Natasha watched the clock tick every minute, waiting for the door to open or maybe someone would knock, or Jackson would finally tell her where you were but even if Natasha forced it out of your brother, she'd still end up with nothing, because after your little speech with your brother, you flew off to a place somewhere in town and Jackson stayed up all night at the hospital, just letting it cool off for whatever happened between the both of you. Natasha is out of the option to reach you since you left your phone in your room — well, except if she goes around town to look for you which by the way is what she's going to do now if you don't appear by the front porch just as Natasha was walking out of the door.

"Y/N, where have you been?" Se went to pick you up from the floor but you refused to stand up.

"Hi," you smiled bubbly at her.

"How much did you drink?" She furrowed her eyebrows at you.

"Not enough to drown my sorrows," you hiccuped.

"Why?" She asked, wanting to know the reason why you ended up so drunk that your clothes were different from when you left the house, and she prayed, she REALLY prayed that you didn't just do what she was thinking at that moment.

"My dad is dead," you slurred, laughing after you saw how Natasha gaped at you, who was now sitting in front of you. "Sorry, my bad... What I meant was him, uhm, dying... He dies in three days." Your eyes welled up again, and you dramatically wiped it out before tears could fall. To be honest, you were tired of crying your eyes out, and if it weren't for your swollen eyes then people would've just thrown you out into the street when you had to change clothes since you threw up on the ones you have, so, that's probably it.

"C'mon, get up, you have to sleep, it's late," Natasha's voice was now softer but tight at the same time. She didn't like it when you get drunk, no — she hates it but loves it at the same time, because at times when you're drunk, you were always yourself emotional but happier, so bubbly, sometimes she worries you'd float away.

"Why is life so unfair?" You slumped on the couch. "Did you know?" You laughed and she stood right in front of you, "The reason why my mother is not around... Is that — did it ever cross your mind that maybe I killed her? That she's not here because I—"

"Shh," she shushed, making you furrow your eyebrows at her. "You don't have to tell me."

"No, no, I want you to know," though she already knew, she didn't stop you. She let you tell the story again but this time with depth, with reasons of how it wasn't your fault, which you know, but you still blame yourself. Of how the guilt eats you up every time you think of it. You told her that you find it weird that you've never had a nightmare about it, that maybe it was because your mom hates you that even in a dreamless state she wouldn't 'visit' you.

Natasha didn't say a word after that, instead, she just pulled you in her arms and hid your face on the nape of her neck, the action making you giggle. "Stop!" You shrieked, "My school loved hearing that story every time I joked about it, not knowing it was all true."

"You're too honest, it scares me," Natasha quietly admitted.

Scoffing, "You're not scared that I could kill you now if I want to?"

With a smile on her face, "Not ever, baby." She looked into your eyes, "Because it wasn't your fault, okay? Your mom's death was never your fault," she planted a kiss on your forehead and whispered, "It was never your fault."

With tears clouding your vision, you quickly wiped them away and prompted your head at her.
"Nu-uh," you placed a finger on her lips, "you are engaged and I am drunk and single."