Natasha Romanoff x Daughter Oneshots

You are Beautiful

Age: 15
Warnings: Ed, body dysmorphia
Word Count: 2619

You stepped in front of the mirror, your hands shaking as your vision blurred over. You had never remembered hating your body as a kid–even just a couple years ago. So why now?

You weren't fat. You weren't skinny. You were simply fit. Your body was toned and athletic–it always has been–just like your mother.

But you didn't have a flat stomach like those models you see daily in your Instagram feed. You didn't have a gap between your thighs and your arms weren't skinny enough for your standards.

Everything you hated about your body was exactly what Natasha loved about herself. So why did your mother look so beautiful with these imperfections when you looked like...this?

You squeezed the extra skin on your stomach–but it wasn't just loose fat–it was muscle. The muscle you had worked for, the muscle that protects your organs.

But you only saw fat.

You couldn't bare the sight anymore, quickly grabbing your hoodie and slipping it on. You took one last glance in the full length mirror, your eyes dropping to your thighs.

You hated them. You hated how you couldn't wear mom jeans or straight legged jeans–it always had to be skinny jeans or leggings. Of course, you only looked good in skin tight pants that framed your thighs perfectly–too perfect.

"Hey детка, it's time-"

You turned, facing your mother with furrowed brows as you quickly wiped your tears. "Don't you knock?!" Marching over to the door, you slammed it shut.

Natasha stood on the other side of the door, shocked by your sudden outburst. She had noticed a major change with you, but simply brushed it off as teenage hormones.

Even this could have been brushed off as simply the time of the month. But something was nagging at Natasha for far too long, telling her something was seriously wrong.

She didn't knock–she could care less. Instead she barged back in, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Slamming the door in my face?" She questioned rhetorically. "That's new."

"Sorry." You mumbled, quickly packing your unfinished homework in your backpack.

Natasha's expression softened as she sat on the edge of your bed, watching you pack your bag. "What's going on, дорогой."

"Nothing." You snapped, eyes not daring to meet your mother's.

Natasha sighed in defeat, not sure of how to approach the topic of concern. She was so used to seeing the happy bubbly girl and now she was still trying to grasp the fact that you weren't that kid anymore. It felt like such a sudden change–but it had been this way for over two months.

"Детка, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?" Natasha tried, dipping her head to try catching your gaze.

You scoffed, hoisting your backpack over your shoulder. "There's nothing to talk about."

Natasha stood up, following you as you walked out of your room. "Clearly something is bothering you."

You ignored her, continuing your way downstairs with your mother following close behind, eager to figure out what was wrong.

Natasha was left to only guess what could be the matter. "Did something happen with your friends?"

"Nope."

Natasha nodded, her brows knitting involuntarily as she thought of another reason for your recent behavior. "Does it have anything to do with that boy you like?"