natasha x daughter one shots

can't pretend ( part one )

warnings: mentions of self harm

age: 14

nat isn't y/n's mother in this, she's her teacher

-

Y/N's POV

Russian. The only class in school that I feel safe in. The only place in the world I feel safe in, actually.

My teacher, Miss Romanoff, is the sweetest person alive. It doesn't matter how crazy our class gets, she'll always address us by 'my loves' like, 'Settle down, my loves'.

Not for me, though. She has a special name for me: detka.

I had to search up what the name meant the first time she used it on me. 'Baby'.

Me and Miss Romanoff have always had a special connection, she even lets me call her by her first name, Natasha.

Whenever I'm upset or anxious, she can always tell and lets me out of the lesson for a little while to calm down, or she'll sit with me and help me take some deep breaths whilst letting the others do their own thing for a few minutes. Safe to say, I got attached to her pretty quick.

Today is one of those nervous days. I'm currently sat at the back of her classroom - my hands shaking so badly that I can't write anything down. There's been something on my mind lately and that revolves around telling her about my cutting.

I've tried multiple times to bring it up, but my words failed me every single time. I'm at a crossroads on what to do really. If I tell her, she might be able to help and I won't have to try so hard to keep it a secret anymore. But on the other hand, it's highly likely she'll have to tell my parents. Not like they'd care anyway. They haven't payed enough attention to even notice I'm doing it so why would they bother trying to get me any help?

I feel bad saying that they're bad parents since they're not abusive, we just get into a lot of arguments and it feels like they don't love me.

"Y/N?" I'm snapped out of my thoughts by Miss Romanoff calling my name in registration. I must not have heard the first time since she has a worried look on her face.

"H-here," I answer quietly.

My name is close to the end of the list so I vaguely hear her call out the last few before she makes her way over to me, asking the class to re-read notes from the last lesson.

"Are you okay, detka?" she asks and crouches down beside me.

It takes all of my strength not to burst into tears right here and now, but I can't do that. I'm in the middle of class.

"I'm fine," I answer, avoiding eye contact for I know I will crack under the gaze of the woman whom I receive my comfort from.

-

The fifty minutes of utter distress go by and it's just me and Natasha left in the room. She must have dismissed everyone and asked me to stay. I didn't hear any of that, though. I was too focused on shoving my feelings down.

"Y/N, honey, what's going on?" she asks, pulling out a chair and taking a seat beside me.

How do I tell her everything that's going on? The endless thoughts swirling through my head day after day.

"I-I can't tell you," I whisper.

"Why not, detka?"

I try with everything in me not to answer, but her soft tone mixed with her gentle hand on my arm lulls me into a sense of security and I can't help but give in.

"Because you're gonna have to tell my parents."

"Maybe I will. It depends on what you're gonna tell me."

"Which is why I'm not telling you."

"Y/N... I would much rather risk losing my job by not telling your parents whatever it is than having you bottle up what you're feeling," she explains with sympathy coursing through her voice.

"Even if I did tell you, I have no clue how to say it."

Nat waits a few seconds, seemingly trying to find a solution before finally coming up with one.

"Would you be able to write it down for me, love?" she asks, sliding me a piece of scrap paper that she finds on the windowsill behind us.

I take a moment to consider her offer before deciding that it's probably the best way to go about this. With trembling hands, I reach for the pen and paper and begin to write, making sure to cover it with my hand so Nat doesn't see yet. Once I'm done writing, I put the pen down and turn the note over so the blank side is all we can see.

"Alright, are you ready?" she asks to which I shake my head. "That's okay. We can wait here as long as you need."

A few minutes go by of complete silence, the only occasional sound coming from me messing around with the piece of paper in my hands. I don't know why this is so hard. But I figure that I have to do it, right? Otherwise I've wasted all her time for nothing.

The nerves getting the best of me, my hand unwillingly jolts and it causes the piece of paper to fall on the floor. I immediately scramble to pick it up, worried that my teacher will see it but when I sat back up, she's looking in the opposite direction.

"I'm not gonna look yet because you're not ready," she reassures.

-

"Do you want me to read it?" I'm asked after I swiftly place the folded note in front of her ten minutes after dropping it.

I take a deep breath before replying, "Yeah."

This is it. No going back now.

NATASHA's POV

I slowly start to unfold the paper, still giving Y/N time to tell me to stop if she needs to.

With no objections, I manage to open it completely and brace myself before reading whatever she's so hesitant for me to know.

I was expecting something bad.

But not this.

'I've been cutting myself and I feel like it's getting out of control,' it reads.

I can't help but let out a small gasp at what's just been revealed. I hate learning of something wrong with my students, especially the ones who make a difference in my life like the girl sat before me.

"You're gonna tell them, aren't you?" she asks with an anxious tone.

"Oh, detka... I... I don't... can I see first? Before I make that decision?"

She starts to shuffle back in her chair slightly at my question.

"Darling, I don't wanna make you uncomfortable. I just need to know what you're doing to yourself."

With a little more gentle coaxing, she allows me to take her arm in my hand and I make sure to keep my grip gentle as not to hurt her further.

"I'm gonna roll up your sleeve now, okay?"

Within the space of a few seconds, her bare skin is on display.

Loads of fresh cuts layered on top of each other, ranging between surface wounds and almost dangerously deep, with big purple scars laying underneath.

My eyes start to water involuntarily. This is worse than I thought.

"Let's get you some help, okay?"