Summary: The image of Wanda and your mommy from the foster care facility are blurring into one. Even when you try to push Wanda away, you're drawn back in. With Natasha giving you a different kind of safety, will the lines keep twisting?
Word Count: 10.6k
Warnings: 18+, age gap, mommy kink, emerging daddy kink, heavy Freudian themes, pseudo-incest, dom/sub undertones, suggestive, making out, a little more emotional regression, angst and fluff, finding comfort in each other in a possibly unhealthy way, boundaries blurring, reader is kinda innocent
A/N: no idea how we got here, but hope you enjoy!
—
You stare blankly ahead at the pond. It's a calm day with barely a ripple disrupting the surface. Sunlight glints off the water in bright, sharp intervals. Watching the ducklings follow their mother has become a common sight by now.
But today is different.
A male drake follows alongside her, occasionally nudging her side. The mother duck takes a sharp turn away, but the drake follows anyway. It makes your lips curve upward in a small smile. It reminds you of old television sitcoms where the husband character annoys the wife, walking away while he tries to joke around, desperately attempting to get her to lighten up.
You peer to your right, discreetly. You're sitting beside Natasha on the bench. Wanda is on the far side. Wanda has been glaring at Natasha since the moment you all sat down, while Natasha just gazes straight ahead, smirking to herself.
You suck in a deep breath, averting your eyes back to the pond. The ducklings continue to follow blindly, even as the mother continues to shun the drake. You tap your finger against your thigh, trying—and failing—to ignore the suffocating, awkward atmosphere beside you.
I want to go home, you think to yourself.
You think back to last week in this exact spot. So many of your questions remained unanswered even now.
Natasha had released your hand but kept her gaze on you, scanning your face for something you couldn't decipher. The lack of malice in her expression was the only thing you could read. Your hand fell slowly to your lap while your thoughts raced. You looked up at Wanda with pleading eyes, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
Why did she put you in this situation? Why didn't she tell you she's married? Why didn't you bother asking if she was in a relationship?
Guilt pressed down on you from all sides as Wanda opened and closed her mouth. You needed her to give you some kind of explanation. You weren't someone who would ever get between a relationship, and you weren't starting now.
"Wanda, let's go," Natasha called over her shoulder plainly, almost unbothered. She turned her gaze back to you, taking a step back. "See you next week."
She turned around with a smirk before you could get a word out, taking confident strides toward Wanda. Natasha grabbed her hand, pulling her down the path.
"Wait," Wanda breathed out, as if she were finally knocked out of her trance. But Natasha didn't let go, continuing down the path and forcing Wanda to follow her lead.
Wanda hadn't visited once throughout the week, and her absence didn't go unnoticed by you. During quiet moments, the swirling emotions sent your thoughts into exhausting loops. Your feelings were a volatile, conflicting mess that shifted constantly.
First came betrayal over the fact that she hadn't told you she was married. All those deep conversations, the touches that went far past conventional friendliness, and the quiet moments spent confiding in each other about the people you missed. You knew you hadn't mistaken them. So, had she just been playing with you?
Then came guilt over your position in all of this. It was a position you were unknowingly thrown into, yet you still bore the responsibility of it. You had reciprocated those touches. You even enjoyed them. The thought of spending time with Wanda while her wife sat at home, oblivious, ate at your conscience. You knew that Natasha knew about you, but did she know the extent of what was going on?
Finally, there was shame. Shame that you had forgotten Her in that moment and called another woman mommy. Continuing to meet with Wanda had resulted in exactly what you feared. You were starting to forget Her. You were replacing Her.
But most of all, you felt longing. All the emotions would swirl, muddying the waters, until the sediment finally settled and left you with the agonizing truth.
You missed Wanda, even through it all.
When you scored 98% on your assignment, you wanted to tell her, to hear her tell you what a wonderful job you did. When a rude customer tripped on the way out, you wanted to recount the story to her, just to hear that gentle, joyous laughter of hers ring out.
You had so many questions ready for when you saw her again. If you ever saw her again.
It wasn't until today, Friday, that you walked out after your shift ended and found her leaning against her car like always. Except she wasn't alone. Natasha stood right beside her, smiling the moment she noticed you and waving you over.
"Thought I'd join the hangout today. That's okay, right?" Natasha said, sending a smirk Wanda's way.
Wanda rolled her eyes before meeting yours with an apologetic smile. It only made more questions form, but your lips had moved on instinct.
"Yeah, of course," you said automatically, cringing at yourself internally. You really should've just made an excuse.
It's why you're sitting here now. Silence hanging heavy in the air for the past ten minutes.
Natasha shifts her left arm, the movement drawing your eyes to her wrist as she checks her watch. Her wedding band glints sharply in the sunlight. She glances at you suddenly, her green eyes shining as she nods, raising her eyebrows as if challenging you. You're about to ask her what she's trying to say when she finally speaks.
"Shall we grab dinner? There's a nice spot up the street, but it's quite a busy restaurant. Would you mind going ahead to grab a table, Wanda? It's the Italian one." Natasha doesn't turn to look at Wanda once, keeping her eyes locked on you the entire time.
"What?" Wanda says, her voice a mixture of confusion and annoyance. "Why can't we just go together?"
"Your baby here," Natasha starts, the unbothered smirk returning to her lips, "seems to want to watch the ducks for a little longer."
"Natasha, sto—"
"I do," you interject abruptly, cutting Wanda off. You know why Natasha is doing this. Frankly, you've been wanting to talk to her, too. To apologize. "Can Natasha and I stay for a little longer?"
You lean forward, craning your head past Natasha to look at Wanda pleadingly, your eyes wide. Wanda's expression softens immediately, the glare vanishing from her face. She stares at you, her lips pulling into a thin line before she parts them, preparing to speak. Your lower lip involuntarily juts out into a pout at the refusal written all over her face.
Wanda pauses. Her shoulders droop before she lets out a heavy sigh.
"Okay," she murmurs softly. "Just don't be too long, sweetheart."
Her face morphs into a gentle smile, as if she can't help herself. Then she turns her gaze to her wife, the warmth instantly draining from her eyes. "I mean it, Natasha."
Natasha leans back against the bench, chuckling to herself. "Okay, okay," she agrees, her tone easy.
Wanda rises from the bench, pausing in front of you. She reaches out, her fingertips brushing gently against your cheek, her thumb pressing against your lower lip. She gazes down at you, her eyes filling with an intense, consuming affection that you know isn't fully meant for you. It's for the ghost she sees in you. That distinct glimmer in Wanda's eyes that always appears whenever she's thinking or talking about the person she misses, present now. A satisfied smile touches her lips before her hand falls away from your face. She finally turns, walking slowly down the gravel path.
It's silent for a moment, save for the ambient chatter of people passing by the pond. You stare down at your jeans, picking at the loose seam on your right thigh before releasing a shaky breath. You twist your body slightly in Natasha's direction, letting your gaze rest on her face.
Her eyes aren't on you. Rather, they're glued to the ducklings gliding across the surface of the water. A faint, wry smile traces her lips. Her eyes swim with a complex storm of emotions.
"I'm so sorry. I really didn't kn—"
"Wanda and I don't have any children," Natasha states abruptly. Her voice sounds distant, clouded with a sudden melancholy that makes your thoughts freeze.
She finally turns her head, shifting her focus to you. Now that you can see her eyes fully, you catch the fleeting glimpse of sadness swimming in them before she blinks, and it vanishes. A small smile appears on her face, but there's no joy in it.
"Do you know why?" she continues.
You try to scramble for an explanation, but you don't know nearly enough about Natasha, or the intricacies of their relationship, to form a real guess. The only thought that echoes in your head is that Wanda would make an incredible mother. So why wasn't she?
You shake your head, your voice dropping to a soft, unsure murmur as you respond. "No, I don't."
She huffs out a little laugh and lifts her hand. You feel the gentle weight of her palm settle on the top of your head, patting you softly.
"Don't worry, I wasn't expecting you to have an answer to that," she says lightly. She ruffles your hair a little with a teasing smile before letting her hand drop away.
The curve of her lips falls just as quickly, her expression turning distant as she looks up in thought.
"When our relationship started to become more serious years ago, I brought up having kids. It just felt like something we should talk about, you know?" she starts, keeping her tone light, though you can hear a subtle strain underneath. "But it felt like every time I brought it up, Wanda would change the subject. I figured maybe she just didn't have the heart to tell me she didn't want them."
Natasha smiles wryly to herself, her voice dropping into a quieter register.
"But then I'd catch her smiling to herself when we'd hear children laughing on our walks. The longing in her eyes whenever we'd see a little girl walking hand in hand with her mother. Then, one day, she looked like she was on the verge of tears after hearing a kid calling out for her mommy. I asked her to finally be honest with me."
Natasha pauses, her gaze fixing on the pond.
"She told me she already has a baby. Not by blood. Not even through papers. But through love. And that baby disappeared from her life one day. She said she couldn't bring herself to have another child... because that was her one and only precious baby."
Your heart clenches as more pieces of the puzzle click together. You know how it felt to never have gotten to say goodbye to your mommy. It must've been unbearable for Wanda.
"Wanda told me so much about her," Natasha murmurs. "The way she'd run up to Wanda and hug her leg to greet her. How she didn't talk much with other kids, but always let them play with the toys before she did. The little smile she'd have on her face when she'd point out shapes in the clouds."
Natasha smiles to herself. It's an expression you haven't seen on her before, lacking the mischievous quirk of her lips when she smirks or the complicated, unreadable emotions in her eyes. Instead, the affection in them is clear. It reminds you of Wanda when she's thinking about the person she misses—the person you now know is the baby she never got to see again.
"I can see why Wanda refused to have any kids. That was her baby," Natasha pauses. "I wonder what kind of family we would've been," Natasha murmurs, the words just barely audible to you, as though she doesn't realize she's saying them out loud.
She finally turns back to you, a wave of understanding settling into her green eyes. "I can see why Wanda sees her in you."
Natasha scans your face, that pitying look from last week returning to her expression. "Wanda hadn't talked about her much for the past few years. It hurt too much. But after meeting you a few months ago, all that hope returned... but it's not good for her. And it's not good for you."
You look down at your jeans, the knowing look on Natasha's face becoming too much to handle. It feels like a spotlight is shining directly on the shameful feelings you've been harboring.
"You like Wanda."
It's not a question, but you respond anyway, your voice barely carrying. "Yes," you murmur, keeping your gaze low.
"Wanda likes you too," Natasha notes plainly.
You try to hide the way the discovery makes you feel, but your body betrays you. Your heart races against your ribs, a sudden wave of heat rushing up to your cheeks.
"You seem like a sweet kid. Maybe if the circumstances weren't what they are, things would be different."
The sudden, serious shift in her voice forces you to look up.
"Wanda is only interested in you because you remind her of her little girl," Natasha says, her tone leveling out into something sharp. "Seeing you keeps the memory of her alive in Wanda. But it'll only hurt her in the end. And you'll be hurt because you'll never be able to fully replace that baby."
Natasha stares at you, the warmth in her eyes turning hard, leaving no room for negotiation.
"If you want to make it up to me, because I know you've been wanting to apologize since we started this conversation, then distance yourself from Wanda."
Your gaze drifts upward, your eyes tracing the patterns of the clouds slowly drifting through the sky. Your bottom lip finds its way between your teeth, the pressure of your teeth grounding you as your thoughts race.
The complicated relationship you have with Wanda was something you always knew would reach an end eventually. The baggage you both hold would only become more apparent. The twisted feelings you have for her would start to consume you. You were both projecting someone who wasn't there onto each other.
Hearing Natasha say it out loud, verbalizing the worries you've harbored from the very beginning—makes the reality impossible to ignore, no matter how hard you've tried to bury it the entire time you've known Wanda.
But it's the confirmation that this—that you—would ultimately hurt Wanda that makes the answer obvious.
You have to let go. Even if all you want to do is curl your fingers into Wanda's shirt and melt into her shoulder while she reads to you.
You nod slowly, forcing a small smile onto your face that doesn't come close to reaching your eyes.
"Okay," you whisper.
Your gaze drifts down when Natasha doesn't respond, trying to see if she even heard you. But she's already staring straight at you.
When she finally speaks, her voice is surprisingly soft, filled with a quiet layer of wonder that catches you off guard.
"Jeez," she starts, a short, breathy laugh escaping her lips. "I bet it's that expression that made it so Wanda couldn't keep away. It's exactly how I would've pictured her little girl looking up at the sky."
She shakes her head a little, her brow furrowing slightly as if she's trying to snap herself out of a spell and get her head on straight.
"Let's go," she says, pushing herself up from the bench and smoothing down her suit jacket. "Wanda's probably going crazy waiting for us at the restaurant. The least I can do is buy you a meal before we part ways."
She holds her hand out to you. The gesture reminds you of last week, but the pity in her eyes is absent, replaced by a quiet understanding that this is the right decision, even if it hurts. You reach out, clasping your hand in hers. A wave of gratitude washes over you because you know she's looking out for your heart, too. Maybe if you had let this drag on any further down the line, the ache would've been debilitating.
She pulls you up from the bench, and you both silently turn toward the path. She matches her pace perfectly with yours, refusing to rush even with your slow, lagging steps. You wonder if she can tell you're stalling, trying to stretch out the minutes before you have to say goodbye to Wanda.
You don't feel entirely present. A messy blur of memories, of Her and of Wanda, swirls together in your head until it feels exactly like the day you realized you were never going to see your mommy again.
You're about to take another step forward when Natasha's arm cuts across your path, stopping you dead in your tracks. Her forearm presses firmly against your stomach.
You blink, the sudden impact snapping you out of your head. You finally register that you're standing at the edge of a busy crosswalk, cars speeding by in front of you.
"Didn't your parents teach you to look both ways?" Natasha breathes out sternly, her brow furrowing as she looks at you.
"I—" you start, the words trapping themselves in your throat. You don't want to lie to her, but you can't bring yourself to tell the truth, either. "I'm sorry," you finish lamely, dropping your gaze to stare down at the toes of your sneakers.
Natasha releases a heavy sigh. The rigid lines of her face soften. "No wonder she feels like she needs to take care of you."
Her hand slips easily into yours, her fingers clasping around your hand in a firm hold. "You go when I go, okay?"
Your eyes widen slightly at the contact, feeling the rough callouses on her palm brushing against your skin. It's such a vast difference from Wanda's soft, smooth fingers. But somehow, it feels just as nice. There's a strength in her presence that makes you feel like nothing can touch you as long as she's standing beside you.
You squeeze her hand lightly, a small, genuine grin finally breaking through. "Okay," you agree.
The pedestrian light snaps on, and the crowd of people around you begins to stream forward into the street. Natasha gives your hand a gentle tug, pulling you along. You walk in step with her, your eyes tracking a little girl and her father as they cross in front of you, hand in hand.
—
You and Natasha pass by the large windowpane of the restaurant. You stop in place the moment you catch sight of Wanda through the glass. She's staring at the front door anxiously, her expression shifting from a tight glare to quiet worry.
"What's wrong?" Natasha asks gently when the sudden resistance of your clasped hands stops her from moving forward.
It's better to stop this now, you reason with yourself internally. You don't know what you'll do if you walk inside and Wanda tries to look into your eyes and convince you that this is okay.
You meet Natasha's vibrant, green eyes, forcing your lips to curve upward into a fragile grin. "I just remembered I have a few assignments to finish up. I think I should head back to my apartment now, before it gets too dark."
Natasha's eyes bore into yours. A complex array of unreadable emotions passes through them in a second before they finally soften into a kind gaze. Her hand rises, landing softly on the top of your head just like it did back at the park bench. She ruffles your hair with a rough, but gentle tussle.
"You're a good kid," she murmurs.
Her hand falls away from your head, moving much slower this time than it did before.
"Goodbye, Natasha," you say with finality. Your hand slips out of hers.
It feels like you're suddenly facing the world alone again.
"Goodbye, kid," she whispers back. The usual smooth raspiness in her voice cracks into something that almost sounds unsure.
But you're already turning around, forcing yourself down the pavement in the direction of the bus stop. You peer through the glass one last time as you pass by the front of the restaurant. Wanda is looking down at her wrist, her eyebrows furrowed as she checks the time.
You keep walking.
—
You step into your small bedroom, the door clicking shut behind you. You race across the room and pull open the bottom desk drawer, your hands trembling as you gingerly lift out the stack of drawings and spread them across the wood.
You trace your fingertips over the faded, waxy lines. This is for the best, you tell yourself, desperate to stop the ache in your chest. Now you won't be replacing Her. Now you won't have to carry this suffocating guilt for wanting Wanda while constantly seeing Her through her eyes. Now your life can finally return to its mundane, quiet pace.
Your eyes stop on one of the drawings. It was a clumsy collaboration between the two of you. A picture of a family. You had drawn a wobbly stick figure that was meant to be Her while a smaller, neater stick figure stood beside Her. You. But you had added another stick figure on the other side of you, copying what you had seen in a picture book. A happy family.
She had been your family.
You slowly leaf through the rest of the drawings, letting the old memories replay. It isn't until you reach the very last sketch that it hits you.
You haven't been picturing your mommy’s face at all. In every single memory of the playground, the swing sets, and the naptime room, it's Wanda's green eyes staring back at you.
—
You brace yourself the moment you catch sight of Wanda walking through the grocery store doors in your peripheral vision. You immediately turn your face away right before she can meet your eyes, pretending to be absorbed in organizing the display of impulse buys in front of your register.
The weekend had passed in a blur. It feels like whenever you desperately need time to think, to process, or for the world to just slow down, the universe instinctively knows and spins the clock twice as fast.
When you and Her were separated, you had no options. You were far too young to have a choice, and being stripped away without seeing her one last time—without at least getting to say a proper goodbye—had left a deep scar that you don't think will ever fully heal.
But with Wanda, things are different.
You're an adult now, and the choice to protect your own heart belongs entirely to you.
Natasha is right, you remind yourself, your pulse jumping as Wanda steps up to take her place behind another customer in your checkout line. This is for the best.
But somehow, even though you're the one actively making the choice to build this wall, the ache opening up in your chest feels identical to the day you were forced to leave Her behind.
You take a quiet breath, smoothing down the front of your apron.
"Next," you call out lightly.
Your heart clenches the moment Wanda steps in front of your register. She's wearing a soft, basic white tee. One you had confessed you liked the texture of against your cheek. The high-rise, straight-leg light blue jeans she paired it with give off the vibe of a classic mom outfit you've seen in magazines.
You drop your gaze low the second she smiles softly at you, immediately reaching for her items to begin scanning them.
"Hi, honey," she greets happily, her voice washing over you like a warm blanket. "Natasha told me you couldn't join us for dinner the other day because of assignments. Were you able to complete them?"
Your hand falters for a fraction of a second over a package of produce. Wanda was always so good about asking about your schoolwork without ever being pushy about it. Your adoptive parents had never bothered to ask. They didn't really expect anything from you.
You force yourself to draw a shallow breath, restarting the rhythmic beep of the scanner. You plaster a polite smile onto your face.
"Yes, I was."
You slide the last item across the glass scanner and look up, doing everything in your power to keep your expression neutral. "Did you bring a bag today, or do you need to purchase a paper one?"
Wanda's eyebrows furrow at your tone.
"I brought a bag," she says, her tone dipping into something unsure. She hesitates, leaning slightly over the counter. "Baby, can we talk after your shift? I have something important to talk to you about."
Baby.
You bite the inside of your mouth, but the sharp pain doesn't stop the old scar left behind by Her from tearing open at the corners. You reach your hand out across the register, and Wanda places her reusable bag into your palm, her eyes wide and clouding over with confusion.
"I'm sorry, I have a lot of things to take care of after this," you force out quickly. You carefully but rapidly load Wanda's groceries into the bag. You swipe the fresh receipt off the printer and drop it inside as well before lifting the bag and handing it back to her.
"Have a great rest of your day," you chirp out, trying to keep your voice light.
Wanda just stands there, staring at you, her eyes scanning your face, but you turn your head away.
"What about tomorr—"
"Next," you call out loudly to the next customer.
You immediately begin scanning the next customer's items. Wanda stands at the edge of your register for a long moment. Even without looking up, you can feel the burn of her gaze piercing straight into the side of your head.
She finally turns and walks away. Her steps are noticeably slower this time, the quiet squeak of her sneakers against the floor sounding hollow.
—
You sigh, rolling your shoulders back to relieve some tension. You smooth down the front of your shirt and sling your bag over your shoulder, making your way toward the exit. But right before you can step onto the black mat that triggers the sliding glass doors, you spot Wanda.
She's leaning against the rear bumper of her car, her eyes cast low to her hands, which are clasped tightly in front of her. The corners of her lips are pulled downward, her shoulders drooping heavily.
She looks so alone.
Your mind slips back to a few weeks ago. You remember stepping outside into the parking lot, squinting against the blinding sunlight glinting off the rows of windshields. You had been exhausted, having barely slept a wink because of your roommates hosting people in the living room until the early hours of the morning.
Wanda's arms had suddenly wrapped around your shoulders, catching you off guard as she pulled you flush against her. Her hand came up to rest against the back of your head, gently guiding you down until your cheek was pressed flat against the soft curve of her breast.
Your cheeks had immediately started heating up, the tips of your ears burning. But something about her scent, the sound of her heartbeat in your ear, and the warmth of her body, made you stay still.
"My baby," Wanda had cooed, her breath brushing the crown of your head. "You worked so hard today."
You had let your cheek press even harder into her warmth, your hand automatically reaching up to tightly curl your fingers into the hem of her blouse. It felt like when you were six years old, scraping your knee on the asphalt after falling on the playground. Your mommy would race across the yard to scoop you up, cooing out soft praises to drown out your crying while gently wiping the dirt away with a damp cloth.
It always made everything better.
You're about to take a step forward, ready to race into Wanda's arms, when Natasha's voice rings in your head.
"But it'll only hurt her in the end. And you'll be hurt because you'll never be able to fully replace that baby."
You let your foot drop back down and spin on your heel, turning your back on the parking lot. You walk with purposeful steps to the back exit.
The hurt you and Wanda are feeling right now would pass eventually. Even if it feels like the scar is tearing further and further open.
—
It stays like that for the next two weeks. It becomes an exhausting affair of cutting your conversations with Wanda short or walking away from the register altogether. On the days where there isn't another customer waiting behind her to call forward, you force yourself to invent random tasks that require you to leave your station. You tell her you're being summoned to the back by your manager, even when the register phone hasn't rung once.
And every single time your shift ends, you look out the front glass to see Wanda waiting outside, leaning against the rear bumper of her car exactly the way she always does when she's waiting for you.
She'll find someone else who reminds her of the little girl she lost, you try to convince yourself. Or maybe she'll actually find her baby.
A wave of shame washes over you when the thought of her finding her actual little girl fills you with a spike of anxiousness and jealousy. You had hoped these conflicting feelings would fade into the background as the days bled together, but they only seem to grow heavier, muddying your thoughts until you can barely think straight.
Memories of the past begin to play constantly in your head. Her pushing you on the playground swings. Sitting curled up in Her lap with your head pressed flat against her chest, listening to the thrum of her heartbeat before drifting into your afternoon nap. Her pressing a soft kiss to your forehead at nighttime to ward the bad dreams away.
But the memories are shifting. Your mommy's face blends and smears with Wanda's until the two women are completely indistinguishable.
It's why you're sitting here now. Back at the park bench in front of the pond, watching the ducklings trail behind their mother.
It isn't doing much to clear your head.
Today, one of the tiny ducklings has fallen far behind the rest of the line, struggling against the ripples. The mother duck hasn't noticed the widening gap, continuing to glide confidently ahead.
Your heart clenches painfully at the sight.
Go back, you plead with the mother duck mentally, your eyes boring into her as you grip the edge of the wooden bench. Turn around. You stare hard at her even though you know she can't hear you, and wouldn't understand anyway.
It's nearly empty at the park today. The only things audible to you are your own shallow breathing, the erratic loops of your thoughts, and the dry rustle of leaves shifting in the gentle breeze. Across the pond, the gap between the lone duckling and its family continues to widen. You clench the hem of your shirt, twisting the fabric into your fist until your knuckles turn white. It doesn't bring the same comfort you felt when you were holding onto Wanda's.
"Baby!"
You jump at the sudden sound, your head snapping around in the direction of the voice. Your heart begins to thud against your ribs at the familiar cadence.
Wanda is taking long strides to the bench, her breathing heavy and frantic. You've never seen her look this unraveled before. Her hair is disheveled, tossed about as though she had dragged her fingers through the strands repeatedly without bothering to smooth them back down. She's wearing that same soft white tee—the one you told her you loved the texture of—but the hem is tucked into her jeans haphazardly, half-in and half-out.
The dark shadows beneath her wide green eyes automatically make you bite your lower lip in worry.
"Wan—" you start, but you're abruptly cut off by Wanda hugging your head to her chest.
"My precious baby," she whispers, her voice breaking. She presses a kiss to the top of your head before continuing. "I've missed you so much. Did you not miss me?"
The desperation in her voice sounds exactly like every thought you've had since you distanced yourself. You know you should wiggle out of her grasp and leave, but the words slip past your lips anyway.
"I missed you too," you murmur shakily.
Her heart is beating frantically in your ear. You can almost feel the heavy pulsing of it against your cheek. She continues to hold your head tightly against her, pressing soft kisses to the crown of your head every few seconds. Slowly, her breathing begins to even out, the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat steadying along with it.
Your shoulders drop and you unconsciously lean forward, shifting closer into Wanda's space. Your own pulse begins to calm down, your breathing naturally starting to match the pace of hers. It feels like sitting in your mommy's lap at the facility, about to fall asleep to the steady sound of her heart.
But suddenly, Wanda releases your head. Her hands fall down to frame your face, her palms caressing both of your cheeks gently. She tilts your head up, forcing you to meet her gaze.
She looks infinitely calmer than she did a minute ago. Her hair is still disheveled, but her eyes are bright.
"I knew I'd find you one day," she says, her voice dropping into soft, quiet adoration. "My precious baby."
She strokes your cheekbone with her thumb. You freeze, waiting for the moment her expression will shift, waiting for that familiar look where she starts staring through you at the ghost she's truly directing that love toward.
But she doesn't. This time, it's different. Her focus never wavers.
She's looking straight at you.
"Wanda," you start, your voice tightening uneasily. "I don't think we should keep meet—"
"Mommy," she interrupts suddenly, her tone dropping all the softness. "You mean mommy."
Your breath hitches. The guilt you've been harboring for weeks begins to eat at you all over again. The sickening realization that you've been forgetting Her face and replacing it with Wanda's.
"I-I shouldn't have called you that, that one time," you stutter, trying to pull back against her palms. "Natasha's right. This isn't good for either of us."
Wanda scoffs without a hint of humor. "Natasha doesn't believe me. I told her that it's you. I know it," she says, her voice turning breathless. "I should've known from the very moment I saw you at the store. You could've been in my arms months ago. You're my precious ba—"
"Wanda," Natasha calls out sharply from right behind her.
You shift your eyes over Wanda's shoulder, just barely catching sight of Natasha. She looks like she just got off work, wearing a navy button-up and black slacks. But it's the sharp glare she's sending at Wanda's back that makes you shiver.
Wanda sighs heavily, rolling her eyes but stubbornly refusing to turn around.
"Wanda," Natasha repeats, her voice dropping coldly. "What you're doing isn't right. She's just a kid. Stop projecting onto her. It isn't fair to her, and it isn't fair to yourself."
Wanda finally turns around, keeping one hand firmly on your cheek while she points the index finger of her other hand at Natasha. "It'd be projecting if it wasn't her. But it is, Natasha."
"Because she said 'bye bye, mommy' to you?" Natasha asks, her tone flat and unimpressed. "I know that's what your little girl used to say, Wanda. But have you considered that maybe you trying to act like her mom all this time might have confused her?"
Wanda's hand finally drops from your cheek. You can see her eyes flashing with anger right before she takes a step toward Natasha.
"Moya lyubov," Natasha says suddenly. Her voice drops unusually low, filling with emotion that catches you off guard. "I would love if she's our—your baby. But you need to stop letting your emotions cloud your judgment."
"My judgment is not clouded, Natalia," Wanda hisses out. "She's my baby. The same baby that would sit in my lap and look up at the sky with wide eyes. The baby that would tug on the hem of my shirt to get my attention because she was so little. My little girl that would look for me when her shoes were untied. My precious baby that was taken from me at that facility, the one I didn't get to say goodbye to. I'm not letting anyone take her away from me again."
It feels like time has stopped. With every sentence that leaves Wanda's lips, the memories replay in flashes. Quiet afternoons spent sitting in your mommy's lap while she traced shapes in the clouds with her finger. The habit you developed of reaching out to tightly curl your fingers into her shirt so she would pay attention to you. Her crouching down on the floor, smiling up at you as she took your tiny shoes in her hands to tie them.
Facility. The word echoes loudly in your head. It's too specific.
You can barely hear the two of them arguing anymore over the sound of your loud, racing thoughts. It feels like it takes an eternity before you finally manage to refocus your vision.
Your gaze immediately falls back on Wanda. She's standing right in Natasha's face, while Natasha stares down at her with a hard, unyielding expression.
"Are you trying to hurt me, Natalia? If so, then—"
"Do you still have the drawings?" you ask, your voice surprisingly clear.
Wanda stops shouting instantly. She snaps her head around, turning to face you with wide, hopeful eyes.
Inside your heart, you know it's her. Your mommy. But a part of you—the part that had to let her go and live with the ache for fourteen years—needs the confirmation. You need to see them with your own eyes. For your head to agree with your heart.
"Of course," Wanda breathes out, her voice trembling. "I would never get rid of them."
"Can I see them?" you ask shakily.
Wanda shifts her gaze over to Natasha. It feels like the tension between them has evaporated. Natasha’s mouth is slightly agape, her eyes unreadable as she squints at you.
"They're at our home," Wanda says slowly, turning her focus back to your face. Over her shoulder, you see Natasha give a tight nod. "Are you okay with coming home with us?"
You nod immediately, your gaze unwavering.
You have no idea how you'll actually feel after seeing those papers. There's so many things to address. So many complicated feelings to examine.
But right now, you just need to know with certainty that it's her.
"Okay," Natasha says, her tone dropping into a flat, unreadable register. "Let's go then. The car is parked nearby."
Your eyes drift out across the pond one last time as you push yourself up from the bench.
The mother duck had finally gone back for her struggling duckling. The drake is right there beside her, too. The little duckling is swimming perfectly sandwiched between the two of them.
—
You're sitting at their dining room table. Natasha sits at the head of the table while you sit directly beside her. You can feel her staring at the side of your face, but it feels like you're stuck inside your own head.
The drive to their house had felt like a blur. You want to feel excited. You know you probably should be. But what about the romantic feelings you harbor toward Wanda?
The lines have all become twisted now, far more than they ever were before.
What scares you most is the weird sense of calm settling over you with that realization. Wanda was the first person to teach you about love. The first hug. The first kiss, even if it wasn't on the lips. It feels almost fitting that she's also your first romantic love, even if you know the lines blurring between Wanda being your mommy and just Wanda, the adult woman, is wrong.
You hear the rustling of papers and suddenly Wanda is sitting in front of you on the other side of Natasha. She sets the stack of papers between you, before fanning them out gingerly. You suck in a deep breath, your hand reaching out. Your fingertips trace the waxy lines and it's like you can see the day you drew them with her.
The yellow of the sun mixed with random blacks and browns that you could never get out of the point of the crayon brings you back to the sunny day you drew it. She always liked having you in her lap even on hot days. She'd hold your hands in front of you, narrating her day while moving them.
It's like you can hear her voice clearer now in those memories. Wanda's voice.
Your eyes drag across the array of drawings. Sometimes it was just playing tic-tac-toe. Sometimes a drawing of what you did together that day. One of them is just you, beaming at her. Wanda. Your mommy.
Your gaze lands on the last drawing. It's closest to Natasha. Her fingertips are tracing one of the figures in it. It's a simple drawing. A stick figure of you and Wanda. But on the other side of you is another wobbly person. It reminds you of the drawing you have back at your apartment, but this one is slightly different. You read your messy handwriting.
Mommy+Me+Daddy
A complete family. You realize now that there's no such thing as a truly perfect version of one, but back then, it was what you thought you wanted more than anything.
You hear Natasha suck in a breath before the sharp sound of her chair scraping against the floor breaks the quiet.
"I have some things from work that I need to look at," she states, her posture stiffening. "You two should talk."
She's already turning on her heel and walking away before either of you get a chance to say a word.
You stare at her empty chair, a strange part of you wishing she had stayed, even though you barely know her.
"You know…" Wanda starts quietly, drawing your focus back across the table. "I would stare at these drawings all the time whenever I missed you. Which was every single day." She lets out a small, watery chuckle, moving her gaze from the papers to lock onto your face.
Her eyes are shining with tears, the edges of her face suddenly becoming slightly blurry.
You blink, realizing it's your own eyes welling up that are making her image distort.
"I got a 98 on my assignment a few weeks ago," you whisper. You finally get to tell her.
A wide, radiant smile stretches across her face. "That's amazing, baby!" she praises with excitement. "You were always a little genius."
Sparks of happiness bloom through your chest at the words you've been wanting to hear since you first received that grade. It makes your next thought slip past your lips without hesitation.
"A-And I missed you all this time," you admit, your voice dropping into something wobbly and small.
For the past few weeks, the last fourteen years, every time she would have to go home after you fell asleep at bedtime.
Wanda reaches her hand across the table, her thumb gently brushing your tears away even as a fresh wave continues to fall. The touch reminds you of all the times she would crouch down on the floor after you had a bad dream or fell on the playground, smiling softly at you while wiping your cheeks. Exactly like she's doing right now.
"I bet I missed you more," Wanda says, her tone morphing into an almost teasing register, though you can hear the truth bleeding through it.
You shake your head, opening your mouth ready to quip back, but Wanda gently shushes you, her eyes shifting down to check the watch resting on her left wrist.
"We'll talk more tomorrow, but I think it's about time that you go to bed. You discovered a lot of big things today," she says, her voice raising a pitch.
You agree blindly, nodding at her words without checking the time yourself. Your eyes are already starting to droop, the weight of all the emotions and discoveries of the day having exhausted you.
Wanda's hand drops from your cheek. She holds it out in front of you instead, and your hand slips into hers automatically. She lists out a few different articles of clothing that you can borrow while she walks you down the long hallways, her fingers tightly intertwined with yours.
It doesn't occur to you that she never actually asked if you wanted to stay over. Or that you could have easily just followed behind her without her holding your hand.
—
You step into the bedroom Wanda leads you into, the fresh clothes she lent you loose against your body. The long sleeves of Natasha's oversized t-shirt fall past your elbows, the hem swallowing the sleep shorts Wanda lent you. You blink slowly, trying to map out the contours of the unfamiliar space. The room is only lit by a nightlight plugged into the baseboard near the bed, casting a dim, yellow glow across the sheets.
Your eyes are drawn to a bright, yellow duckling plushie propped against the pillows. Half of its fuzzy body is covered by the comforter, carefully tucked in.
Wanda walks you over to the side of the bed. She pulls the covers open, waiting for you to slip inside, her fingers still securely laced with yours even as she adjusts the blankets over your chest. You lift your free arm out from beneath the covers, your fingers gently holding the duckling's wing, the soft material warming your palm.
Wanda kneels beside the mattress. She rests her elbow on top of the covers, propping her chin in her hand.
"I bought that for you a long time ago," she says, keeping her voice low and soft. "It was supposed to be a birthday present, but you were gone before I could give it to you."
You feel her fingers squeeze your hand a little tighter.
"But now you're here." Her voice shifts, raising into that higher, melodic pitch. "Mommy will make sure we always get to stay together from now on."
Is this okay? you question to yourself tiredly. The rational part of your brain knows you need to talk to her about this. About the romantic feelings you have for her. But exhaustion washes over you.
You can sort things out with Wanda in the morning.
Wanda leans forward, her face hovering over yours. You close your eyes automatically, ready for the gentle forehead kiss she always gave you to ward the bad dreams away.
But instead of pressure against your forehead, you feel something soft press flat against your lips.
Your eyes snap open at the sensation, your gaze dropping down to see Wanda's lips flush against yours. You gasp at the sight, but instead of moving away, you freeze as Wanda's tongue slips easily past your lips.
Her tongue explores your mouth before dragging the tip of it against yours. Your face flushes instantly at the feeling, your breaths becoming ragged.
You've never done anything like this before. You know you should feel ashamed for accepting it, but instead of the guilt burning through you, a sudden heat begins to pool in your lower stomach.
Wanda tilts your chin up, forcing your mouth to open wider. She coaxes your tongue to move, stroking hers against yours with intoxicating pressure. You try to press back clumsily, attempting to copy what she's doing, but Wanda takes control. Every time you try to press down, she easily slips her way out, winning the strange game of wrestling taking place between your lips.
Saliva begins to drool down the side of your mouth slowly. Wanda presses her upper body flush against yours, your breasts squishing against her larger one through the thin fabric of Natasha's shirt. You squirm beneath her weight, an uncomfortable stickiness beginning to build in your panties.
Wanda lets out a low chuckle against your lips. "You're so messy, baby," she murmurs.
You flush, thinking she's noticed, but instead she leans back slightly. She wipes away the stray saliva with the pad of her thumb. She licks it away, staring down at you with dark, blown-out pupils. But despite the heat radiating off her, her expression holds that same soft smile she used to give you right before she said goodnight at the facility.
You stare up at her hazily, your lips tingling and swollen from the force of the kiss. You hear her groan quietly, her teeth biting into her own lower lip. She leans forward again, giving you a quick, firm peck.
"Don't look at me like that, sweetie. I won't know when to stop." Her warm palm caresses your cheek one last time, her eyes softening. "I just had to give a goodnight kiss to my precious baby," she whispers.
Before you can even try to form a coherent thought, her fingers slide away and she's standing up by the side of the bed.
"Sleep tight," she says in a sing-song tone before closing the bedroom door behind her.
Your breathing is still ragged, your heart threatening to beat straight out of your chest. Your head feels empty, as if Wanda had managed to kiss every single thought out of your brain. You turn your head slightly, catching sight of the glowing digital clock on the bedside table.
It's 9:35 PM.
It's much earlier than you would ever normally go to sleep. You try to remember the last time you were actually in bed at this hour. The image of your bedroom at the facility flashes through your head.
It was the mandatory bedtime there.
You tightly squeeze your thighs together, desperately trying to ignore the shameful, sticky ache pooling between them.
—
You wake to the distant, muffled sounds of metal clanking together. Your eyes open slowly, blinking blearily against the bright morning rays cutting through the curtains of the window. You shift slightly beneath the covers, feeling something soft and fuzzy resting in your arms.
Your eyes drift down lazily, finding the yellow duckling plushie safely cradled against your chest.
You blink again. Your vision clears, and your eyes widen as the entirety of yesterday begins to replay in flashes.
Wanda showing up at the park. Her unraveled, disheveled state. Natasha appearing on the path. The two of them arguing. The memories of the facility crashing back. The crayon drawings spread across the dining room table. This duckling.
Wanda kissing you on the lips, sliding her tongue into your mouth.
You sit up abruptly in the bed, your heart hammering against your ribs as you hug the duckling plushie even tighter against your chest.
Wanda—your mommy—had kissed you. And you had liked it.
You bury your face into the duckling plushie, its soft, fuzzy material barely doing anything to comfort the rising panic.
"What's wrong with you?" you whisper into the fabric.
Shame creeps through your body, making you cringe inward. This isn't right, you tell yourself internally. The lines were blurring until you could barely see them anymore. But deep down, you know the truth.
They were probably blurred from the very moment you met Wanda at the register. The moment you saw your mommy in her.
You throw the covers off your body and clamber out of the bed. The cold wooden floor bleeds through the soles of your bare feet, but you press forward anyway, cracking the bedroom door open and creeping outside into the hallway.
You follow the sound of clanking metal. Somehow, the sound feels like a beacon of clarity. And you need clarity more than anything else right now.
It's only when you finally reach the door the muffled sounds are echoing from, that your gaze drops down. You're still carrying the yellow duckling plushie, its fuzzy wing tightly pinched between your trembling fingers.
You pull the handle of the door down slowly, cracking it open just enough for you to slip through the gap. Immediately, you're hit with the bright light of the sunlit garage. The main door is raised, a sleek, old-school car parked right at the opening with its hood popped open. You can just barely see Natasha's profile as she leans deep over the engine bay.
You breathe out a quiet sigh of relief, that weird feeling of protection you feel around her returning.
You take quiet, careful steps forward, maneuvering around the power tools scattered across the large concrete space until Natasha comes fully into view. Her hair is tied tightly back so the strands don't get in her way while she works. She's wearing a plain white tank top accompanied by a dark pair of blue jeans. Both the fabric and her bare skin are marked with black streaks of grease, her hands coated in it as well.
It's reminiscent of Wanda's outfit yesterday, but it holds a different kind of feeling.
She doesn't even blink when you approach, quietly sinking down to sit on the concrete right next to the toolbox at her feet.
You place your duckling in your lap, squeezing it's wings between your fingers as you tilt your head up to watch Natasha work. With every minute that passes between the quiet clanging and Natasha's steady breaths, your thoughts begin to calm.
You look down at the duckling, flapping its wings slowly to build up some courage.
"It's not normal… the relationship between me and Wanda, is it?" you mumble so quietly, you think Natasha probably didn't hear it.
But Natasha turns her head toward you, a bead of sweat on the bridge of her nose and a fresh streak of motor oil across her cheek. She looks down at you sitting by her feet and gives you a small smirk.
"What's even considered normal anymore?"
"I-I mean," you start, your voice trailing off as you struggle to find the right words. You release a breath, your shoulders dropping. How can you explain a relationship to someone else when you haven't even figured it out yourself?
Instead, your mind shifts to the other issue at hand.
"But you guys are married," you state. You can hear all the unsureness and anxiety you're harboring inside bleeding through your voice.
"We are," Natasha responds in that same nonchalant, steady tone.
You bite your bottom lip, gnawing lightly on the skin as you try to force up enough courage to ask the real questions screaming in your head.
How are you so calm about this? Are you actually okay with this? Your wife kissed me last night.
"Don't get me wrong," she starts, turning her focus back to the engine. "I love Wanda more than anything in this world. We've been together through our absolute lows and our highs." She pauses, screwing a heavy bolt into place.
You nervously shift your arm against your knee when the long sleeve of her oversized t-shirt slips down, impeding your movements.
Natasha pauses what she's doing. She slowly wipes her grease-stained hands on the towel hanging off the edge of the open hood. Suddenly, she drops down to crouch in front of you. She reaches her hands out and takes your wrist, beginning to carefully fold the sleeves up your arms.
Her voice is remarkably soft when she finally speaks. "Wanda loves you. And I can tell you love her. It's not the most conventional kind of love," she starts, continuing to hold onto your wrists even after she finishes folding your sleeves up.
She meets your eyes. The tenderness swimming in her gaze makes you pause.
"I imagine you're curious what my thoughts are on all of this."
You nod slowly. Her brows furrow unsurely.
"I never thought I needed a family outside of Wanda," she says quietly, her thumbs resting against your pulse points. "But then she told me about her little girl, and I couldn't help but imagine what our life would look like with her in it. As for the other feelings…"
She trails off, the sentence hanging heavy in the air. She finally releases your wrists and pushes herself up, standing to her full height.
She looks down at you from above, a complex mix of emotions swirling in her steady stare.
"I'm not sure yet."
You nod quietly to yourself. Her answer makes sense.
She moves back toward the open engine bay, reaching into her pocket to pull out her phone.
"Wanda says to go inside. She made breakfast. I'll eat after I finish this." She tilts her head back down to face you, a small, knowing grin tugging at her lips. "I texted her the moment you cracked that door open. Told her we were having da—"
She cuts herself off suddenly, clearing her throat before continuing.
"Time together," she says. "She'd be worried sick if she walked into your room and found you missing."
Your cheeks instantly heat up. You hadn't been as sneaky as you thought you were.
After opening up to Natasha, the panic from when you first woke up feels distant now. The thought of going inside to see Wanda sends a flutter of warmth through your chest.
You reach your hand out, your fingers gently tugging on the fabric of Natasha's jeans.
You look straight up at her with wide eyes. "Can… can we do this again?" you murmur, your voice small and hopeful.
Natasha stares down at you, her eyes softening the longer she takes you in.
"That's not fair," she murmurs quietly to herself. She clears her throat, her teasing smirk quickly returning to her lips. "You're going to have to learn about the tools next time if you want to be a proper helper."
You nod excitedly, beaming up at her before finally releasing her jeans from your grip. You stand up from the floor, holding the duckling's fuzzy wing in your hand while you stretch your tight muscles with a small groan.
"Go on now," Natasha laughs softly, her eyes dropping back down toward the car engine. "Wanda's waiting for you, little girl."
You take a step forward toward the house door, but you turn your head back just to catch sight of her one last time before leaving. Her eyes are bright, a gentle smile on her lips.
—
You retrace your steps from last night, navigating the unfamiliar hallways. The quiet sound of Wanda's soft humming guides you whenever you take a wrong turn, drawing you forward.
You peek around the corner of the hallway, Wanda's back coming into view. She's wearing a pair of simple black leggings paired with a soft-looking brown sweater, the yellow strings of an apron tied into a neat bow around her waist. She walks easily around the vast kitchen, barely even having to scan the counters to find what she needs, as though she's done this a million times before.
It feels… domestic.
It's a feeling you never experienced during your childhood, your adoptive parents always defaulting to leaving cash on the kitchen island for you to buy your own food for the day. Around Wanda, it feels like the morning sunlight streaming through the windows is somehow brighter, warmer.
She turns around suddenly, spotting you immediately just like she used to do whenever she arrived at the foster care facility. Her eyes brighten instantly, a joyous smile pulling at her cheeks.
"Good morning, baby," she calls out in that sweet, sing-song voice. She waves you over toward the counter. "Come here and pick out what you want for breakfast. I made a variety since your tastes may have changed."
You step around the corner, the duckling plushie swinging loosely in your hand. But instead of stopping in front of the bowl of cut fruit or the plate of sandwiches, you walk straight into Wanda, bumping into her.
Wanda's arms immediately wrap around you, her warm hand stroking the back of your head. "Is something wrong, sweet girl? Did you not have a good talk with Natasha?" she asks, a gentle lilt of concern entering her tone.
You shake your head, your cheeks swishing against the fabric of Wanda's apron. You tilt your chin up, looking up at her with wide, confused eyes.
"I… I feel like it's wrong to like you in this way. In both ways," you start, your voice trailing off unsurely. "I-I've never kissed anyone before, and I don't know if the way I reacted last night is normal."
You pause. Your cheeks instantly blaze with heat at what you just admitted out loud. "Um—" you start, desperately trying to change the subject.
"So… I was your first kiss?" Wanda whispers. You catch the familiar glint of guilt in her eyes like when she first traced your lip.
You nod shyly, looking down at the floor as the tips of your ears burn with embarrassment.
Wanda's hand gently cups your jaw, her fingers tilting your chin back up. Her pupils are dark and dilated as she looks down at your face, the affection in them unmistakable.
"I don't think it's wrong," she says, moving her face closer and closer until you can feel the warm ghost of her breath against your lips. "Mommy loves you so much, and that love grew into something more. Isn't that a good thing?"
Your mind goes blank for a moment.
Is that right? you think to yourself. It sounds convincing, but your conscience still wavers. Wanda's lips move even closer to yours, the sweet scent of flowers washing heavily over your senses and making your head turn fuzzy.
"I-I guess it's a good thing," you murmur, your voice wobbly and small.
She presses her soft lips firmly against yours, making your heart flutter uncontrollably. Her fingers hold your jaw a little tighter, angling your chin until it's just right for her. You hold the plush wing of your duckling tighter in your fist, your free hand rising to find the hem of Wanda's sweater, tightly curling the fabric around your fingers when it feels like you're almost out of breath.
Wanda finally leans back, her lips parting from yours with a quiet pop. She smiles gently down at you. Her expression is so different from the hungry, desperate way she just kissed you, making your head spin.
"Ready for breakfast now, sweetheart? Natasha will join us in just a bit."
You nod slowly, the complicated, racing thoughts you've had all morning suddenly vanishing from your mind. "Yes, Wanda," you respond softly.
Wanda gazes down at you with a hopeful expression, her head tilted slightly as if she's waiting for something.
"Yes… mommy," you blurt out quickly, the tips of your ears burning all over again.
She beams at you, affectionately stroking your cheek one last time before turning back to the stove, where sausages and eggs are sizzling in pans. She begins listing out all the different things you can eat, while you glance down at the yellow duckling in your hand. You bring the plushie up, wrapping both of your arms tightly around its fuzzy body and squishing it against your chest.
The idea of calling Wanda mommy had sent pangs of guilt and shame through you. But actually saying the word out loud to her now, you feel the guilt lessen a fraction.
Wanda turns back to you suddenly, her green eyes sparkling with joy.
"Welcome home, my precious baby."
—
A/N: i actually enjoy writing for this AU quite a bit. expect to see reader calling wanda mommy on her own and wanda going feral over it, daddy daughter date with natasha in which they get closer, perhaps wandanat meeting reader's adoptive parents. let me know if you have any other ideas. thanks for reading!
why am i obsessed with the idea of a wlw au crossover of these two? look at them. femme fatale power couple who are always fighting and competing, but love each other deeply. they make fun of each other, just don’t you ever do it vibes. it kinda gives ‘mr & mrs smith’. they’re wives, there i said it.
theartofmadeline
gamechangershow
turnnoffyourmind
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