Warnings: possessive Wanda, slightly sexual at end
Reading time: ≈14 mins
Req by: anon {here}
Type: Oneshot
a/n - anyways i really hate how i wrote this
“Here's your drink, sir. Sorry about the wait,” you apologise, placing two pints of beer on the table.
The man clicks his tongue at you, slipping you a $5 bill. “No need to apologise, pretty thing.”
You smile politely at him, as you turn round your smile drops, stifling a disgusted shudder down your spine. You hate working down here, all sleazy men and meetings for cheep hookups. But you had to be down here to manage the bar, and make sure that they didn't find out about upstairs' affairs.
You tug your dress down your thighs again, stupid thing kept rolling up. A knock on the back door catches your attention. Only certain people knock on the back door — people involved in her dealings. “Hey. What'cha need?”
“I've got a rerouted box of items for...Fanny Longbottom?” the man tells you. Wanda.
“I can take it from here.”
“Yoy sure?” he asks. “Its pretty heavy for a delicate thing like yourself.”
“I'll be fine.” The man simply shrugs, handing you the box. You'll admit, it was a tiny bit on the heavy side, but you weren't about to say that in front of the delivery man. You place the box on the floor in the lift, pressing the button for the top floor.
Your heels click on the sleek wood floor as you and the box leave the lift on the top floor, the noises of the bar far away now. You'd seen other men cower at the mere thought of having to come up here, but not you. Being Wanda's right hand gave you clearance to a lot, including not having to be worried on her floor.
The echoing stops briefly as you pause outside her door, raising an arm to knock.
“Come in.”
You turn the handle, pushing the large mahogany doors open with your hip, letting them close behind you. “I have the rerouted package that was addressed for Crab's, ma'am.”
“Place it on my desk,” she replies. You walk closer as she stands up, smoothing the invisible crease in her tailored pants. You place the box carefully on her dark wood desk, stepping back. “The delivery guy give you any trouble, sweetheart?”
You hated that your stomach flipped a little when she said that word, when it rolled off her tongue so sweetly, smooth as silk like something meant just for you. “No, ma'am.”
“Good. You know what happens if anyone gives my...you trouble, yes?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Open the box, please sweetheart,” she says, sliding a pair of scissors across her desk. You nod, picking them up and slicing them across the tape. “How is the bar?”
“Good.”
“Anyone causing you problems?” She asks.
You shake your head. “Just the usual, ma'am.”
She hums, pressing her tongue into her cheek briefly as you cut the next piece of tape. “And what does that mean, darling?”
Your hands stop in their tracks. That name, the one that made your knees go weak, made your brain focus on her mouth and only her mouth. The one that a woman like her had no business saying to a woman like you. You clear your throat. “Um...just men. The usual.”
Wanda's jaw clenches tight. “And what do they do, hm?”
You shrug. You weren't really expecting her to be this interested in the bar downstairs, which she only had as a distraction for the real ongoings of this building. “Notning. Don't worry about it.”
“Well...I do worry when it's my pretty little right hand. How would I live without you, hm?” She practically coos, hooking a manicured finger under your chin, forcing her to meet your gaze. You'd been avoiding that.
“You'd manage, boss. You're very capable without me,” you reply, biceps tensing as you pull open the box flaps.
“Oh, nonsense, sweetheart. Don't be silly. Who else would've opened that box for me, hm?”
You smile a little awkwardly, hands digging through bubble wrap to bring out whatever was in the box. One layer, two, three. Someone really wanted these items delivered safely. Finally, something glints inn the lights. Metal.
“What's in it?” Wanda asks.
“Metal. Guns.,” you reply, holding up a pistol. “Looks...maybe from Africa? Crabs is probably buying them there for cheap.”
Wanda hums, her fingers grazing yours as she takes the gun from your hand. “Interesting. Good quality. Crabs knew he eas getting a good deal on these.”
“Probably. He's smart enough to know how to lower costs,” you mutter, tugging your dress down again.
Wanda eyes you, her gaze flicking from your face to your dress and back again, jaw clenching. “What was that?”
Your brows furrow slightly, head tilting in confusion. “What was what?”
“With your skirt.”
“What? Nothing. Just keeps rolling up.”
Wanda hums. “You're dismissed. Thank you for your help, sweetheart.”
You nod, walking to the door again. “You're welcome, ma'am.”
Back downstairs, you stand back behind the bar again, preparing to make drinks. A younger woman sits on one of the barstools, smiling.
“Hi, what can I get ya?” you ask, resting your hands on the bar.
“Something strong. Surprise me, sweetheart,” she replies. “Put it on my card.”
You smile back. “As you wish.” Your hands start moving automatically, preparing a cosmopolitan, before tapping her card on the machine. “Here. One cosmopolitan.”
“Mm. And my card, sweetheart?” the woman adds. “If you wanted money to buy nice things, you could've just asked. A pretty woman like you shouldn't spend her own money on things.”
You laugh at that. “Really? And you'd just give me the money?”
She sinks at you. “With a face like that, who wouldn't?”
“Very forward...?”
“Elissa.” she tells you. “And you?”
“Y/N,” you smile.
Elissa nods. “You take tips?” You nod. She reaches into her wallet and takes out a crisp hundred. “Here. Buy yourself something nice. On me, pretty.”
“Oh, I couldn't take that.”
“I wasn't asking you to.” The woman replies. “I was telling you to.”
“Please—” you begin, holding the bill out to her. Thankfully she takes it back.
Then the woman reaches out over the bar, sliding the bill into your bra without much effort.You smile. Respectful...ish. Always nice. “You gonna take that bill, and get yourself something nice, sweetheart. And take my number too.”
She slides you a piece of paper, he number already written down on it. Like she'd had this planned in advance. You hum, looking down at it, more than a little enamoured by the woman's confidence. You lean across the bar, pressing a little kiss to her cheeks, leaving a pink mark on her cheek. “Thank you. I will.”
You hear the click of heels then, walking across the bar. Clear, recognisable. Like air itself moves apart when it hears her coming. Wanda. You frown, clearing your thraot. Wanda never came down to the bar. You shove the paper down your bra too. “Boss?”
“With me. Now. It's urgent,” she tells you shortly.
You glance between Elissa and Wanda. “Right. Sorry, Elissa. Bye.”
“Text me,” the woman calls after you. You don't dare respond. Not with the carefully calm face Wanda had on.
The ride up the lift is silent, the only sound being the whirring of the gears and the soft ding each time you passed a new floor. The silence was tense, dragging, until the doors slid open at the top floor. Thank God. Wanda steps out first, her heels clicking firmly along the corridor, while yours follow behind.
Her office door shuts behind you. She returns calmly to her seat, like nothing had happened, you follow her up to her desk. "What did she say to you?"
You blink. "What?"
"The woman downstairs."
"Oh." You shrug. "Nothing important."
Wanda raises an eyebrow. You immediately regret your answer. "Nothing important," she repeats.
"Just normal customer stuff."
"Mm." The sound is unconvinced. "What customer stuff?"
You shift awkwardly. "She complimented me."
Wanda's jaw tightens. "And?"
"She bought a drink."
"And?"
You clear your throat. "She left a tip."
"How much?"
"...A hundred."
Silence. Dangerous silence. Wanda leans back in her chair. "A hundred dollars." You nod. "To a bartender." You nod again. Wanda taps her fingers once against the desk. "Interesting."
You know that tone. Nothing good ever follows that tone. "It wasn't a big deal," you say carefully.
"No?"
"No."
Wanda's eyes drift downward. Straight to where you'd hidden the folded paper. Your stomach drops. "Then why," she asks softly, "did you put her phone number in your dress?"
You freeze. Wanda smiles. The smile somehow makes it worse. "Sweetheart."
Your face burns. "She just gave it to me."
"And you kept it."
"I didn't want to be rude."
Wanda laughs. Actually laughs. A short, disbelieving sound. "You didn't want to be rude."
"No, ma'am."
Wanda gestures you closer. Slowly. Every instinct tells you to take a step back. You don't, you move forwards.. Mostly because you know she'd notice. You stop directly in front of you. She reaches her hands up. "So let me understand this correctly." Her fingers straighten the collar of your dress. "A stranger walks into my restaurant."
You swallow. "Flirts with my assistant." A pause. "Calls her pretty." Another pause. "Touches her." Your heart pounds. "And then gives her a phone number."Wanda's gaze lifts to yours. "And my assistant keeps it."
You suddenly feel very, very warm."It wasn't like that."
"No?"
"No."
Wanda studies your face for several long seconds.Then she sighs. A disappointed sigh. The worst kind. She reaches forward. Two fingers slip into the neckline of your dress. You nearly stop breathing. A second later she pulls out the folded piece of paper. The phone number. Wanda looks at it. Then at you. Then back at it. And tears it neatly in half.Then again. And again. Tiny pieces drift into her office bin. "There." She smiles pleasantly. "Problem solved."
Your mouth falls open. "Boss—"
"Mm?"
"You can't just do that."
"I just did."
"That was rude."
Wanda laughs again. The sound is warmer this time. "Sweetheart." She cups your cheek briefly. "Being rude is one of the perks of being the boss."
You stare at her. She stares right back. Completely unapologetic. Then her expression softens. Just slightly.
You roll your eyes, brushing her hand away. Who did she think she was, cockblocking you and then acting all sweet? You take a step away. An arm reaches forward and wraps around your waist, pulling you back towards her. She traps your feet between hers, both arms wrapping tight around your waist, her arms tugging until you're forced down.
She smiles as your weight settles on her, pressing her face against your neck, her warm breath fanning your neck and ear. “No one else gets to flirt with you. You are mine. Do you need me to remind you?”
“What?” you reply, turning your head to face her, until a hand grabs your jaw, forcing your head forwards again.
“Maybe you do need reminding,” she replies lowly, her lips grazing your neck, making your stomach clench.
“Wanda— boss, I don't—”
The woman's legs spread beneath you, her torso leaning forward,her lips pressing and sucking trails up the column of your neck and jaw. “You're going to keep quiet aren't you, pretty girl? I wouldn't want to have to...silence you myself,” she whispers, her free hand trailing down the front of your dress. Between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, across your abdomen.
Your heart beats a little faster at her touch, the thought of being restrained and needy for her. “I can...be quiet.”
“Can you?” She asks, tilting your head further back, her own face visible in your peripherals, lips grazing against your jawline. “Prove it.”
Summary: After being kept isolated and untaught by HYDRA your whole life, Natasha spends weeks teaching you how to talk and be a person.
Word count: ≈5300
Warnings: mentions of past trauma, restraining minor, HYDRA
Reading time: ≈20 mins
Req: Tumblr anon
Type: Oneshot
tag list: @tigerlillyruiz
a/n - i keep forgetting my tag list bruh im sorry 😞 promoting a Scarlett Johansson fan server on discord for a friend. join here hehe
Your arms don't cooperate when you move them, like they were too heavy. Your eyes slip open. A light hangs above you. It's off now, but you know it would've been bright once. Your arms are strapped down. The room is warm. Warmer than these rooms ever were.
A smell like smoke hits your nose, a mix of ash and burning making fog in your brain. What was happening? Where was everyone? All you can do is grunt, trying to fight against the restraints.
Alarms suddenly scream around you, mixing with the sounds of guards shouting and something like metal on metal. Your breathing gets heavier, heart pounding against your ribs.
You stop fighting. Listen. A bang. Another. Then footsteps. Close. Too close. The door flies open. You flinch so hard the restraints bite into your skin. A stranger stands there. Not white coat. Not guard. Not trainer.
Red hair. Green eyes. Black clothes. Smoke curls around her from the hallway behind. She sees you. Stops. You stop breathing. Her eyes move to the restraints. Then to your face. Something changes in her expression. Not anger. Not disappointment. Something else.
Slowly, she lifts both empty hands where you can see them. "Hey," she says softly. You don't understand the word. But her voice doesn't sound like punishment. “Its okay. We're here to get you out.”
She watches from the doorway as your brows furrow, confused. Like you've got no idea what she's talking about. Natasha glances at you, hesitating. “Uh...me,” she points at herself, then you. “You,” then at the door. “Out.”
Natahsa notes that you don't reply, but your body relaxes slightly, brows not so furrowed anymore. She takes a step closer, then another. Your body tenses up instinctively, but her eyes are calm and her hands are kind. She reaches forward, hands working to remove you from the restraints. The last restraint clicks open. You don't move. The woman waits. Her hands lower slowly. "You can get up," she says softly.
Nothing. Because nobody ever removed the restraints before. Not unless they wanted something. She glances at your wrists. Red marks already bloom there. Then she understands.
You aren't staying because you want to.
You're waiting for the order. She points gently at the bed. Then the floor. "Down."
The word means something. Your feet hit the ground immediately. Too immediately. Like muscle memory. You stand perfectly straight. Hands at your sides. Eyes fixed ahead. Waiting. The woman goes very still. “Its safe here. The team took care of the guards. I know it's hard, but...you can relax a little.”
You body doesn't move. Doesn't drop or flinch or relax. Just stays. Like someone trained from birth for exactly this. “Uh...you understand danger?” You blink. “Huh...hurt?”
Your brows furrow, feet widening to hip distance, fists raised like you were ready to fight the hurt. “Thats a yes then...” she mutters. “Uh...how about 'no hurt'. It's gone.”
Nothing.
She hesitates again. “Ojay...what about follow? You...know that?” Natasha asks as she walks a little closer to the door. You follow. And then it really hits Natasha. You'd been trained like a dog. Everything you understood was commands a person taught a dog. Down, follow. The thought settles uneasy in her throat, half-dtuck as she forces it down.
Your eyes track her as you follow. Red hair. Empty hands. Eyes not angry. Voice soft. Strange.
“You...name?” she asks, pointing at you, then herself. “Me...Natasha.”
Natasha. You thought it fit her. “...no,” you reply raspily, your voice thick and hoarse and unused. Natasha's expression softens.
"No name?” she repeats carefully. You stare at her. She points at herself again. ”Natasha.”
Then at you. You swallow. “No.”
The word scrapes your throat. You haven't spoken in...you don't know. Days? Months? Years? It hurts. A crease forms between Natasha's brows. “No name?” she asks again.
You don't understand all the words. Just enough. Name. No. You nod once. She goes very still. Somewhere in the hallway, voices get louder. Footsteps. You immediately drop into a fighting stance.
“Easy,” Natasha says softly, holding up her hands again. The footsteps come closer. A man appears in the doorway. Tall. Beard. Blue clothes. You bare your teeth. He stops. "Oh," he says. "She's awake."
You don't know the words. You know the tone. Talking. Not yelling.
Steve,” Natasha says quietly. “Not right now.”
His eyes move to your wrists. To the marks on your skin. “Oh.”
Silence. You hate silence. Silence means waiting. Waiting means punishment. Your breathing picks up. Natasha notices immediately. "Hey.” Soft again. You flinch. She lowers herself slowly until she's sitting on the floor. Not standing. Not looming. Just there. She pats the floor beside her. “Sit.”
You understand that. You sit instantly. Steve's face does something strange. Natasha's does too. Neither of them speak.
After a long moment, Natasha carefully pulls something from a nearby desk. A bottle. She points. “Water.”
You watch. She drinks from it first. Then offers it to you. You don't take it. Her hand doesn't move. She waits. Nobody waits. Eventually, slowly, you take the bottle. Nothing happens. You stare at it. “Drink,” Natasha says, miming it.
You copy her. Cool liquid touches your tongue. Your eyes widen slightly. Not metal. Not bitter. Just...water. Natasha notices.“You like it?”
You don't know the words. But her voice sounds pleased. You look at the bottle. Then at her. Then, very carefully you nod.
________________________________________
Tony ends up having to quietly sedate you to bring you back to the Tower in the Quinjet. Your brain is fuzzy as your eyes squint open. The ceiling is white. Not grey. Not stained. White. Your eyes squint against it. Soft. Everything is soft.
The thing beneath you sinks slightly under your weight. Your hand presses into it automatically. It gives. Not metal. Not concrete. Your breathing picks up. Wrong. Beds don't move. You sit upright so quickly your head spins. A room. Small. A window. A chair. A table. No restraints. No cameras. No door window. Wrong. Wrong. Your feet hit the floor. Cold wood. You freeze. Wood. You don't remember touching wood before. Your heart beats harder. The room smells strange too. Clean. Like soap and something sweet. A sound. Footsteps. You jerk towards the door. They stop. A knock. You flinch. Silence. "It's me."
The voice. Smoke and ash. Red hair. You know that voice. Silence again. Then slowly, "Natasha."
She says her name like she's reminding you. You don't move. The handle turns. You tense. The door opens. There she is. Red hair. Green eyes. Different clothes now. Grey shirt. Black pants. Empty hands. She sees you standing there. Her gaze flicks over the room. Then to you. Then to your bare feet. "You woke up."
You don't understand all the words. You know her voice. She takes one step inside. Stops. You stare. She stares back.
She points. "Bed." You look. Bed. She points again. "Chair."
"Window." Your eyes follow. Words. She's giving things words. Your brows furrow
She points at herself. "Natasha." Then at you. She pauses. Her face changes slightly. Right. No name. "Hi," she says instead.
You don't know the word. But it sounds soft. Silence. Then something happens. Your stomach hurts. You freeze. The pain is low. Twisting. A noise escapes your throat.
Natasha notices instantly. "Hey." You back up. Another noise leaves you.
She still doesn't come closer. "Are you hurt?"
Words. Too many. You don't know. Your stomach hurts again. You curl slightly.
Natasha blinks. "Oh." Her face changes. Not alarm. Understanding.
"When did you last eat?" Nothing. You stare. She sighs softly. "Right." She backs toward the door. You tense. "I'll be back."
She leaves. The door stays open.Yo u stand there. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Nobody comes. No alarms. No punishment. No shouting. Just quiet. Your stomach hurts again. Footsteps. You immediately straighten. Natasha appears. Something in her hands.
Steam curls upward. She enters slowly. Sits on the chair. Not the bed. Not close.
She places the bowl on the table. "Food." You stare. Food. You know food. She points. "Eat."
You don't move. Because food has rules. Eat when told. Stop when told. Don't spill. Don't be slow. She waits. Nobody waits. Eventually, carefully, you walk forward. You look inside. Liquid. Orange. You look at her. She picks up the spoon. Takes a bite. Swallows. Then offers it. Not poison. Probably. You take the spoon. Your hand shakes.
The liquid touches your tongue. Warm. You freeze. Warm. Your eyes lift. Natasha watches. No anger. No order Just watching. You take another bite. And another. Your hands move faster. Too fast. You nearly choke.
"Hey." You stop immediately. Heart pounding. Natasha lifts both hands. “No trouble.”
She points to herself. Then slowly mimes breathing. "In."Out. "In." Out. You stare. She does it again. Eventually uou copy. In. Out. Again. Again. Your breathing slows.
She nods slightly. "Good."
You don't know the word. But it sounds pleased. You eat again. Slower. The warmth spreads through your stomach. You didn't know food could be warm. You finish every drop.
Silence. Natasha reaches out. You flinch violently. Her hand stops immediately. She doesn't touch you. Instead, she points. "Bowl." Then herself. "Natasha."
Then the bowl again. You look between them. Bowl. Natasha..Bowl. Something clicks. Words. Things have sounds.
You look at the bowl. "...Buh." Natasha goes completely still. You blink. "Buh."
Silence. A smile. Small. So small you almost miss it. "Bowl," she says softly. You stare at her mouth. "Bowl."
You look at the object again. "...Bowl."
The smile gets bigger. "Yeah."
You don't know that word.But she sounds...happy. Because of you. Nobody has ever sounded happy because of you before.You look at the bowl. Then at Natasha. Then very carefully you point. “Na...sha.”
Natasha leaves the room eventually. Not far. Just outside the door. You wait. And wait. Nobody comes back. The room stays quiet. Wrong. You stand. Pace once. Twice. The bed is still there. The chair. The window. Still wrong. The door is open. You stare at it. Open doors are traps. Open doors mean tests. You don't step through it. Footsteps. You immediately straighten.
Natasha appears carrying something folded in her arms. She stops when she sees you standing exactly where she left you. "You've been here this whole time?"
You don't understand. She looks at the untouched room. At you. Then she lifts what she's carrying. Clothes. "These are for you." For. You don't know that word.
She walks in slowly and places them on the bed. "Yours." You stare. Yours? Nothing is yours. Not beds. Not clothes. Not food. Not even names. She points at the shirt. "Yours." Then points at herself. "Mine." Then back to the shirt. "Yours."
You blink. Your hand lifts slowly. You touch the fabric. Soft. You pull your hand back immediately, wiping it on your rough thin HYDRA uniform. Natasha waits. Nobody waits. You touch it again. Soft. Your brows pull together.
Natasha's mouth twitches. "I know. Soft."
You look at her. Then at the shirt. Then, very carefully. "Mine?"
Silence. Natasha goes completely still Then she smiles. "Yeah." Her voice sounds warm again. "Yours."
________________________________________
One day, Natasha tells you she has a meeting. You don't know that word. “Natasha...uh...go...soon.” Your brows furrow again, sitting up slightly on the floor. She sighs. “Show something.”
Natasha smile. You freeze. Smiles usually meant someone had done well. Doing well usually meant harder training tomorrow. She continues, pulling a piece of paper and a crayon out of a drawer. “Paper. Crayon.” She trails the crayon over the paper, leaving a blue mark behind. “Draw.” She slides the paper and crayon towards you. “Crayon...in drawer.” She finishes, patting the open drawer as she stands up for her meeting.
You don't know how long it's been when Natasha returns. You straighten immediately as you hear her footsteps come towards the open doorway. She looks down at you, then at the paper. You'd drawn something. Kindof. A single, heavy, angry blue line down the paper. “That's nice, kid,” she tells you softly. You don't really understand the words, but her voice sounds nice. Not angry like the white coat people. “Is that...you?”
You frown at her, head tilting to one side. She points at the line, then you. “That..you?”
You copy her, pointing at the line then yourself. “Tha..t...” Then at your chest.
“Me.”
Natasha goes quiet. “That's you?” You nod once.
The blue line cuts straight down the page, hard enough that the crayon nearly tore through it. Natasha looks at it for a long time. “Okay,” she says softly. "Then tell me about you.”
Natasha looks at the page again.
The blue line runs from the very top to the bottom. No curves. No breaks.
Just one long mark. “That's you?” she asks again. You nod.
She sits down on the floor instead of the chair. ”Okay.” Silence. You watch her carefully. She points at the line. “Happy?” You stare. The word means nothing.
She pauses, then tries something else. She smiles exaggeratedly and points at herself. “Happy.” Then she frowns and points at herself again. “Sad.” Then crosses her arms and makes an annoyed face. “Angry.” You watch her like she's performing a magic trick. She points at the line again. “What?”
You look down. The blue line stares back. After a long moment, you put the crayon down and straighten your back. “Me.”
Natasha blinks. “Just…you?”
You nod once. Something in her face changes. Because that's all you know. Not happy. Not sad. Not angry. Just there. You.
She slowly pulls another sheet of paper over. She draws a stick figure with a smile. “Happy.” Another with tears. "Sad.” Another with sharp eyebrows. “Angry.”
You stare. The drawings are terrible. You look up at her. She looks strangely proud of herself. Slowly, you point at the angry one. Natasha pauses. “Angry?” You nod. Then point at yourself. She goes quiet. “You're angry?”
You nod again. Of course you are. You're angry all the time. You just never knew it had a name.
“I was angry too,” she tells you. “So is Bruce. All the time. Most of us are, y'know.” She clears her throat, sitting down against your bed. “I was made into a weapon. Like you.”
You blink. Nobody ever puts you in a sentence with someone else. Especially not for this. Only to compare. “They're doing so much better. Step it up if you even care about doing well.”
Natasha blinks. “Yeah.”
You point between the two of you again.
“Same?”
She looks at you for a long moment. Different ages. Different scars. Different rooms they'd been broken in.
After the first few days, Bruce starts to log what happens each day, so they can be sure that they're doing the best thing for you, and that you're improving.
'Week 1' Bruce writes. 'The kid has learnt a few more words, though she only really speaks to Natasha. She can say Natasha's name properly now, and well as basic words like yes, no, me, and food. No chance of a med check yet as she flinches if anyone even comes close to her, even Natasha. In addition, she doesn't understand choices yet, and I wouldn't want to examine her without her go-ahead because it could ruin her relationship with Natasha. Natasha has told me that she started drawing. I have some of them here with me, they're mostly just lines, but Natasha drew some emotions on her page and the kid seemed to get the hang of them too.'
Bruce looks up, staring at the drawings for a moment. 'The kid says a blue line represents her. I hope someday she'll learn a better sense of self. I think she understands the difference between a nice and angry voice, although if someone was pretending to be nice I'm not sure she'd notice. Natasha believes the kid still believes she's owned, and only feels comforted by Natasha's voice or being in the room with her.'
“Hey, Bruce,” Natasha greets from the lab doorway.
“Nat,” Bruce replies. “How is she?”
“Asleep,” she tells him. “On the floor, by the door.”
Bruce sighs. “I thought as much. Poor girl.”
________________________________________
'Week 2' Bruce writes again. 'Natasha has started teaching her more phonetics.'
“Buh,” Natasha says quietly. knelt in front of you. “Buh.”
“Buh...buh.”
“Good, kid. That's good.” She leans forward to high five you in reward out of instinct, but snatched her hand back when you flinch.
'She's still flinching. Nothing much has changed there, honestly. I'm hoping to see small improvements by next week. She's also learning that she has a choice, yes or no, though she doesn't use them often, and so far only with Nat. She understands happy and sad now, and Natasha is teaching her to draw shapes and colours.'
Natasha holds up two crayons. "Blue or red?" You stare at them for a long time. Choices still feel like tests. "You can pick either one," Natasha says softly. Another long pause. Slowly, you reach for the blue crayon. Natasha smiles. "Blue it is."
'Still, she feels safest in a room with Nat. I think, at this point, that she wouldn't mind leaving her room if Natasha was there too. She's making incredible progress with social cues for what she's been through. She understands already that a smile means happy and tears mean sad. I'm also quiet impressed with her new understanding of ownership.'
“Tony, don't,” Natasha tells him.
“Come on, Nat,” he replies, that easy smirk on his face. “Lemme borrow a crayon, kid.” He asks, holding his hand out.
“Mine.” you reply, holding them to your chest.
'Finally, she has moved away from sleeping by the door. However she still sleeps on the floor just next to the bed. She handcuffs herself to the frame. We're not sure where she got these from, but she treats them as hers and not even Natasha can get them from her.'
________________________________________
'Its the end of week 3 of the kids recovery now. I believe this is a significant point in her recovery from HYDRA. Natasha has now taught her all the phonetics and I believe she remembers them well, and using gestures less too? Only slightly, but it's small steps that matter.'
“This one?” Natasha asks, holding up a card with the letter C.
“Cuh.”
“And this?”
“Guh.”
“Perfext.”
'As I hoped, her flinching has also improved considerably. For the most part, she no longer flinches when being moved around, only when touched. And she's getting better at choosing between things, and having preferences on food and clothes.'
“Strawberries, or pancakes?” Natasha asks.
“...puh...cake.”
“Pancakes?”
You nod. “Yes.”
Natasha places the pancake plates in front of you, before walking past to get two shirts from the drawers. You don't flinch at all. Natahsa heart swells.
'She's also started drawing her cell, and her as a stickman. She still lablels it as home, at least I think that's what it says, but it's the little things really. I decided to test my theory from ast week, that the kid would feel okay to go anywhere in the Tower with Natasha, and thankfully it was mostly correct. She wouldn't leave the main floor because of the lift or go in the lab, but it proves that Natasha is providing a real safety that she's always needed. I think they're good for each other.'
“Hey, kid,” Tony calls from the couch. “Didn't think you'd miss my awesomeness enough to leave your room.”
Your hands hover over Natasha sleeves, your frame hidden slightly behind hers. You follow her as she moves towards an empty couch, waiting a minute before sitting on the floor by her feet.
'So she really does feel comfortable almost anywhere with Natasha. That's important. And a final big improvement is that she's now sleeping on her bed! She still cuffs herself to the frame, but I think thats more how she feels safe when Natasha can't be there.'
________________________________________
'Its officially been a month of trying to rehabilitate and teach the kid. I say it every week, but significant improvements have been made. While she still understands more words than she knows, she's talking more, and holding conversations for a few back and forths. Though she still flinches when touched, and isn't a massive fan of being touched.'
“Hey kid. I'm leaving in a bit, but I'll be back soon.”
“Natasha...go? Back?”
“Yeah, that's right,” Natasha confirms.
“Puh...romise?”
“Promise,” Natasha replies, holding out her pinky. You tilt your head. “Its a pinky promise. So you know I'll come back.”
“Pinky...back?” you ask, holding your pinky out halfway too.
“Yeah,” Natasha moves hers closer to yours, but you move back too. So she does an 'air pinky promise.' “Thats okay. Well do an air pinky promise. Only for us.”
'Incredibly, she's started showing appropriate emotional response to events.'
“What shirt today?” Natasha asks, holding a black one with a band on it, or a red sweater from one of Clint's kids.
“Want...blue,” you tell her.
Natasha sighs. “I know, kid. But we don't have blue today. Its being washed.”
“Nuh...oh! Want...blue!” you tell her again, eyebrows furrowing heavily on your forehead.
'Shes also learnt to show how she's feeling through her drawings. So far, I've only seen emotions in the drawings of her tine at HYDRA, nothing current, but I consider it a win.' He writes, looking down at the recent picture you'd drew. Something close to a needle and syringe, with a sad stickman next to it.
'Natasha says the kid is feeling more safe alone in her own room, which is great, and that she noticed the kid hiding some of her favourite things under her pillow. Like her crayons and paper, and sometimes the cuffs. Unfortunately, food too. Like she's afraid it'll still be taken away. Amazingly, she's starting to find comfort being in a room with other people as long as Natasha walks past every so often. Actually, she's sat in the lab with me now. This is the first time she's felt safe to come in mine or Tony's lab, I assume due to past traumas at HYDRA. Though Natasha has to stay with us at all times, I'm impressed with this advancement.'
“Natasha?” you ask quietly, rubbing your eyes.
“Hm?”
“Want...buh..tonight.”
Natasha frowns. “I'm not sure what that is, kid. Can you point at one?”
Your arm reaches out slightly, pointing at a blanket she was sitting on, made for Bruce's cold, late night sessions.
“A blanket? I think we can get you one of those to sleep with, kid.”
________________________________________
'This week, the kid has started talking to more people. While she did briefly talk to the rest of the team with Natasha present, now she has branched out to talking to some SHEILD agents, Pepper, Maria and even Fury. She still flinches at loud noises, which is why I believe she talks to Thor the least (though he has become significantly quieter since she started leaving her room). However, Natasha has been able to make the first proper contact with the kid. By simply announcing before touching her hands or her hair, Natasha was allowed to touch the kid without flinching.'
“Hey, kid. You know, your hairs getting pretty knotty already, huh?”
“...knot...y?”
“You don't like brushing it, right? What if we did a plait, like this?” She asks, showing you her own plait.
“Plait..?”
“Yeah. It'll stop it getting knotty as easily. But..I'll have to touch you, okay?” She asks, sitting down infront of you.
“...okay...plait.” You spin around, turning your back to her.
Natasha carefully runs her fingers through the ends, before gathering all the hair from around you neck. You don't flinch, at least not visibly. Your hands clench a little against the floor, but..you didn't flinch.
'Shes also began to ask for what she wants, and using manners when prompted.'
“Cereal or toast?” Natasha asks.
You look between the bread and the cereal box. “Have pan..cake?”
“Yoy got a problem with the basics, huh, kid?” Tony asks, pressing a hand to his heart dramatically.
“Whats the special word, kid?”
Your brows furrow again, deep in concentration. “Fank...you?”
“Good manners, but not quite. The other one. Puh...” Natasha helps.
“Puh...puh...please?”
'Natasha has also been introducing new emotions like fear, worry, lonely and excited. This was a relatively new introduction, so I don't really have anything to say on this yet. However, she also feels comfortable in the Tower alone. Natasha has noticed she's started exploring at night.'
Its dark. You stand in your doorway. Then take one step. Then another. Nobody shouts.
At the end of the hall was another room. Bigger. Strange. Counters. Cupboards. A table. You step inside. A bowl sit on the counter. Bowl. You touch it. Cold. A different bowl sits beside it. Bigger. You touch that one too. A noise makes you jump. You spin around. Natasha stands in the doorway, hair messy, grey shirt hanging loose. She blinks. You stare back. Silence. Then she looks around the kitchen.
“You came all the way here?” You dont understand. Her eyes soften. “You left your room.” You look towards the hallway. Then back at her. She smiles a little. “You exploring, kid?”
You look at the bowl. Then at her. Slowly, you nod. Something warm appears in her face. “Okay,” she says softly. “Then let's explore.”
She walks inside and opens the fridge. Light spills across both of you. You take one step closer.
'Amazingly, the kid also recognises simple cause and effect. For example, if someone's crying, then they need comfort. Smiling, someone's happy and she can ask why. She's also started copying social behaviours. Like Nat waved at Tony before a mission earlier, and the kid waved too. I find it incredible how quickly she's learned these things despite her being so much older than the typical learning age for these things. She's also begun seeking Nat for comfort.'
You sniffle slightly, approaching Natasha's room. She's on the phone, you can hear her talking something in another language, slightly familiar to you. She doesn't notice you come in. You reach up, tugging her sleeve. She smiles down at you, hanging up the phone after a minute.
“Whats up, kid?”
“Tony an'...an' Pepper...loud,” you tell her, wiping your nose on your sleeve.
“And that's scary, huh?” she asks. You nod. “Wanna tell me about it?”
'She has also learned the difference between giving something and having it taken.'
Natasha sits on the floor beside the bed, reading something on her tablet. You sit opposite her with your crayons spread carefully between your legs. Blue. Red. Green. Yellow. Yours. You look at them. Then at Natasha. She looks tired. You look back at the crayons. Slowly, you pick up the blue one. Your favourite. You hold it out.
Natasha blinks. “For me?” You don't know the words. You push it a little closer. Her expression changes. She takes it carefully, like it might break. “Thanks, kid.”
You watch. She has it now. You wait. One second. Two. Three. Your shoulders get tighter.
Natasha notices immediately. She looks at the crayon. Then at you. “Oh.” She holds it up. “Mine?”
You frown. The word feels wrong. The blue crayon is yours. But she has it. You don't understand how both things can be true.
Natasha thinks for a moment. Then she draws a tiny smiley face on a piece of paper. She holds the crayon out. “Back.”
You stare. The blue crayon sits in her hand. Waiting. Slowly, you take it. Nothing happens. She didn't keep it. She didn't hide it. She didn't say you can't have it anymore. You look at the crayon. Then at her. Then back again.
“You…gave,” Natasha says softly, pointing at you. Then she points at herself. “I had.” Then she points back at you and the crayon. “Still yours.”
You blink. Slowly, you hold the crayon against your chest. “Mine,” you say.
Natasha smiles. “Yeah. Yours.”
You look at her for a long moment. Then, very carefully, you old out the red crayon too.
'Althogh unfortunately, the kid also had a nightmare the other night that prevented her from sleeping alone. Thankfully, she panicked her way to Nat's room where I assume she felt safe and hopefully slept again. This sleeping arrangement has been going on for days. The kid won't sleep in her own room, and won't sleep in Nat's room without Natasha with her or watching.'
________________________________________
'This is the final week of my monitoring. She's made incredible progress from the first week. She can now start and hold conversations, ask and answer simple questions and understand jokes.'
“Hey, kid,” Clint opens. “Knock knock.”
“Now you say 'whos there?'” Natasha tells you quietly.
“Whos..there?”
“Interrupting cow.”
“Interrupting cow, who?” Natasha prompts.
“Inter...cow wh—”
“MOOOOO,” Clint interrupts loudly. You snicker slightly. Not quiet a laugh, but close.
'Addirionaly, we've been able to take her through a basic and slow med check. Luckily, all was okay really. The main issue was that we noticed a few nutrition-based issues, and a bruised rip that was likely broken and not healed properly. It wouldn't have been possible without Nat's connection to the kid. She can also now explain why she's feeling a certain way.'
Natasha sits next to you on a bed in medical. Bruce prepares a needle and syringe on the trolley. He explained that he needed to take a blood sample to make sure you weren't suffering any nutritional or blood issues. “You okay?” Natasha asks, noting your eyes darting around the room.
“Scared,” you tell her after a moment.
She raises a brow, resting her hand gently on your shoulder. You flinch slightly this time. “How come?”
“No like...needle.”
'The kid has also started exploring more of the tower alone and doesn't expect punishment. Thanks to Clint and Tony, she's starting to understand sarcasm. Finally, she's sleeping in her own bed again, under blankets and with a pillow. Generally, she doesn't even use the handcuffs either.'
You walk into the common room, sitting next to Natasha on the couch. “Whats up, sweetheart?”
“Natasha... take this...please,” you ask, holding out the handcuffs. “Keep safe. If bad come back...need.”
She swallows, her throat tightening. Natasha nods, looking down at them. “You got it, kid.”
You nod in response, your head falling against her shoulder slightly. “Plait hair...'gain tonight?”
“If you want,” Natasha says carefully, barely daring to breathe incase she scares you away. This was the first time you'd initiated close, proper contact like this.
“Draw..this,” you tell her, pulling a paper from your pocket. Then turn the paper around. Two stick figures. One with red hair. One holding her hand.
“Me,” you say, pointing at one.
Natasha smiles. “And this one?”
You point at the other. “Mine.” You look at her. “Help...write Y/N?”
“Whos Y/N?”
“You Natasha..me Y/N.”
“I like that, Y/N,” she replies, running a hand over the hair she was definitely going to have to plait later. “Love you kid.”
Summary: After Wanda is blipped, you develop cancer, another thing on Natasha's plate. Years later, you are the one to go with Clint to Vormir, to save your mother.
Word count: ≈4800
Warnings: talks of death, cancer, technically a suicide (🤨)
Reading time: ≈20 mins
Req by: Grammar anon!!
Type: Oneshot
a/n - grammar anon is infact responsible for this. not me.
“Mama, can we make cookies again?” you ask, bouncing on the balls of your feet.
Natasha clears her throat, looking up from wherever her gaze had been fixed.“Sorry, baby...maybe later.”
You nod. You expected that answer.It was the same one Mama always gave now. She barely moved off the couch, her gaze always fixed just in the distance.
________________________________________
The first time you cach Mama crying, you are eleven years old. Not because she wanted you to. Natasha Romanoff didn't cry in front of people. Not really. Certainly not in front of her daughter. You get up for a glass of water at two in the morning and find her sitting alone in the kitchen.
The apartment is dark except for the light above the stove. She hasn't heard you. Or maybe she had. Maybe she just doesn't have the energy to pretend this time. A photograph sit on the table in front of her.mom. You know that picture by heart. Wanda laughing at something outside the frame, red hair falling across her face.
It had been three months since the Snap.Three months since half the universe disappeared. Three months since your mother vanished into dust in front of both of you. Natasha stares at the photo for a long time. Then she wipes her eyes and stands. Like it never happened. Like she hasn't just fallen apart. Like she wasn't carrying the weight of the entire world on her shoulders.
The next morning, she make pancakes. She smiles. She asks about school. She kisses your forehead before leaving for another Avengers meeting. And nobody would have ever guessed she'd cried herself to sleep the night before. Except you. You notice. You always notice.
And over the next three years, you watched her do it again. And again. And again. Until one day you make yourself a promise. If there ever came a chance to bring Mom home, you'd take it. No matter what it cost.
Because that's all it's been. Three years, before the next soul-crushing event happens to Natasha. It had started with your headaches, maybe a bit more than usually, then her usually perfect daughter became irritable, angry, the opposite of usual.
Somehow, before Natasha knows it, she's spending days at a time in hospital with you during diagnosises and treatments and medications. And somewhere between “Mama I've got a headache again” and the trip to hospital, Natasha realises she could lose everything in an instant. Wanda blipped, and her daughter with an incurable disease that got better and worse, never stable.
After months and months of treatment, the hospital declares you stable enough to live at home again. When Natasha feels you're healthy enough to not be hovered around 24/7, you start making videos. Not for social media or YouTube, just...little daily vlogs that your mother could look back on.
Birthdays, Christmas, Halloween, even just a test you had that day, or something special that happened. Sometimes, it was about everything. Sometimes, nothing.
________________________________________
Two years later, when Scott Lang returns and tells Tony they can save everyone, Natasha is immediately on board. She needs her wife, and she needs her as soon as possible. She needs her to see you at least one last time.
You're helping the team organise who goes to get which Infinity Stone. Discussing how, if you get to New York at the right time you've got three there. How Nebula mentions Thanos returning from Vormir without a daughter. No one else seems to pick up on that. But you do.
Gamora died on Vormir, you think, theories spinning in your poundig head. Someone has to die on Vormir. The realization settles like ice in your veins. Gamora died on Vormir. Thanos came back alone. A soul for a soul. Someone has to die. You stop listening to the argument happening around the table.
"...we'll split into teams—"
"...New York gives us three Stones—"
"...Morag and Vormir are close together—"
Your eyes drift toward Natasha.
She's talking to Steve, arms folded across her chest, focused entirely on the mission. Not on herself. Never on herself. And suddenly you know exactly what's going to happen. Because if somebody has to die for the Soul Stone...Natasha Romanoff will volunteer. She'll smile. She'll tell everyone it's okay. And she'll leave you behind. Just like Mom did. No. No, absolutely not.
You spent five years watching her survive Wanda's absence. You watched her cry when she thought nobody could see. You watched her sit beside hospital beds and pretend she wasn't terrified. You watched her carry the entire world while quietly breaking apart underneath it. She wasn't dying on Vormir. Not while you were still breathing. Not while there was another option. Not while you still had time.
The meeting continues around you. Nobody notices your silence. Nobody notices the way your hands tremble. Nobody notices the decision you've just made. Except maybe Nebula. For half a second, her eyes meet yours. And something in her expression says she knows. Not everything. Just enough.
Later that night, you find Natasha sitting alone in the compound kitchen. Some things never change. She's nursing a cup of coffee despite the late hour. You slide into the chair beside her. "Can't sleep?"
Natasha hums. "Could ask you the same thing."
You smile weakly. The cancer had taken a lot from you. Your hair wasn't as thick anymore. Your face was thinner. There were dark circles under your eyes that never seemed to disappear completely. But Natasha still looked at you the same way she always had Like you were her entire world. "You excited?" she asks.
"About?"
"Seeing Mom again."
The words hurt. Because Natasha sounds hopeful. Genuinely hopeful. Like she's already imagining it. Wanda coming home. The three of you together again..Family.
Your throat tightens. "Yeah," you whisper.
Natasha reaches over and squeezes your hand. "She's going to be so proud of you."
You look away before she can see your eyes start to sting. Because that's the problem. You aren't doing this for Wanda. Not really. You're doing it for both of them. And if everything goes right, neither of them will ever know.
The next morning, you start changing the teams. Subtle at first. Small suggestions. Tiny adjustments.
Until eventually Steve is staring at the mission board. "Wait." His finger traces across the names. "Why are Clint and Y/N going to Vormir?"
You answer before Natasha can. "Because I'm the strongest person here." Several Avengers immediately laugh. You point at Thor. "I beat him."
Thor raises a finger. "You cheated."
"I used strategy."
"You dropped a forklift on me."
"Strategy."
Thor lowers his hand. Natasha rolls her eyes. "You are absolutely not going to another planet with Barton."
"Why?"
"Because you're sick."
"I'm stable."
"Y/N."
"I'm stable."
Natasha's expression hardens. The same expression that usually ends arguments immediately. Unfortunately for her, she'd trained you herself. You learned stubbornness from the best.
Steve clears his throat. "Actually..." Natasha turns. Steve immediately regrets speaking. "...she kind of has a point."
"Steve."
"She's one of our strongest fighters."
"Steve."
"And Barton is probably the safest person she could be paired with."
Natasha looks ready to throw the Captain America shield into the sun. Across the room, Clint quietly mouths "Good luck." Steve glares at him. Traitor.
That night, before the mission begins, you record another video. The last one.
________________________________________
It's early. You know that. Earlier than you had to be awake by. But you need to do something, make something for your Mom and Mama. Not another video, just...something.
'Hi Mama.'
Your hand is shaky.
'If it worked, then Mom is here with you too. I hope she is.'
You think for a minute, then simply leave it with, 'Look on my laptop. Password is 79326. I love you so so so SO much. Love you forever, your daughter Y/N' followed by seven kisses and a love heart.
It feels impossibly light in your hands. Just paper. Just words.Just a goodbye. You fold the paper, placing it inside a small envelope and placing that on your desk, titled 'To Mommy and Mama.'
Tears prick your eyes slightly, you saueeze them shut tight. This was your decision. You made this choice, you can't cry about it now.
The Fancy Platform Thingamajig, at least that's what you'd called it, even if Tony had nearly had a heart attack when you said it, hums around you. The rest of the team fusses with the equipment, but Natasha hovers around you.
“You got your medicine?” She asks.
“Yes.”
“Water?”
“Yes.”
“The emergency contact?”
You smile. “Mama, we're literally time travelling.”
“Not an answer.”
You laugh. God, you're going to miss her. And for a second...you almost consider changing it. Telling Steve that actually going to a different planet seems rough in your condition. But you can't. You can't let Mama die for Mom to come back. Because you won't be here long anyway. And then Mom would be alone. The thoughts nearly break you.
Natasha notices immediately. “What?”
“Nithing.”
“Detka.”
You throw your arms around her before you can stop yourself, burying your face in the crook of her neck,just like when you were a kid. She hugs you back. Tight, so tight.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” you squeeze harder. “I love you.”
Natasha smiles against your thinning hair. “I love you more.”
You nearly tell her. Nearly. But if you do, she won't let you go. So instead you step back and grin. "Don't die."
Natasha snorts. "That's my line."
________________________________________
Vormir is cold. Not just chilly, that deapseated, bone cold. Like something that not even another set of clothes would fix.
A man with a red face and black, billowing cloak floats towards you both. “What you seek, lies in front of you. In order to gain the stone, you must lose that in which you love. An everlasting exchange. A soul..for a soul.”
Clint finally looks at you, meeting the eyes that had already been staring at him. He steps forward, pulling you against him. “I loved being your Uncle Clint.”
You push back slightly. “What?”
“I've done bad things, kid. You don't know...I—”
“And I don't judge people on their worst mistakes.”
“Kid...maybe you should.”
“You didn't judge my Mama.”
“You're a pain in my ass.” He starts to walk towards the ledge. “Tell my family I love them.”
“Tell them yourself,” you mutter, holding him back with the magic Mom had trained you in.
“What the hell?” He shouts, straining against the magics pull. You shoot forward, running past him, magic stopping just a few feet before the edge. An arrow hits beside you, ticking down before it explodes and knocks you out of the way. “I'm not letting you do that, kid.”
He sprints as you fight to get up, then lunge at him, pinning him against the rocks of Vormir. “I do this and you get your family back.”
“And what about your family, Y/N?”
You think for a moment, before hissing back, your voice cracking slightly. “I was dying anyway.”
“I can't let you do this, kid—”
“You're not 'letting me', I'm doing this myself. And Mama will know it.”
His hands reach up to grab you, maybe to flip you round so he's pinning you, allowing him to make the jump, but your quick reflexes allow you to shoot a Widows Bite. Not at him, never at him, just next to him. Just close enough to hold him long enough.
You run, sprinting closer and closer to the edge before a sudden impact hits your side. You don't know what it is, but you stumble with a grunt, falling slightly which allows Clint to run ahead of you. “Crap,” you mutter, pushing yourself up again, running. Clint still reaches the edge first, his body hovering in the air for a moment before gravity starts to drag him down, you shout, quickly leaping after him.
Your body suspends in midair briefly, before gravity makes you plumet too. Clint isn't too far below. Your arms reach out, wrapping around him. One arm reaches up, shooting a grapple at the long walls of Vormir. Wind blows in your ear. Clint's on the grapple, his hand snatching around your wrist.
“Clint, let go of me!” You hiss up at him, your bodies hitting against the wall slightly as the grapple swings. Your fingers shake visibly. The wind continues to sway the grapple line.
Clint's grip tightened around your wrist. Then he felt it. The tremor. The weakness. Not fear, not eeally. Cancer. The disease eating away at you even now. "Y/N..."
"Don't."
"Kid—"
”Please.” You whisper. “Its me. it has to be. I'm the logical play.”
“No.”
“Let me go,” you whisper, your shaky fingers starting to slip through his hand. “il die anyway. Please...let it be on my terms.”
“No...please. Natasha needs—” Clint begins, his eyes brimming with tears.
“I knew Mama would come here. And I knew she'd die.” Tears mix with the freezing wind against your cheeks.
“And you still came?”
“I...I couldn't handle knowing that Mom would come back, and Mama would be gone and I'd be...worse and then she'd be alone.”
“Kid—”
Your hand slips a little further through his. “Please, Clint. Let me go.”
For a moment neither of you spoke.
Then Clint understood. Understood why you'd manipulated the teams. Why you'd fought him. hy you'd come.You weren't saving the universe. You were saving Natasha. The same way Natasha had spent years saving everyone else.
Clint looked at you. Really looked at you. At the daughter Natasha and Wanda had raised. At the kid who had somehow become brave enough to sacrifice everything. Just like her mothers. And Clint realized something horrible. If positions were reversed? Natasha would've done exactly the same thing. So would Wanda. Which meant there was absolutely no talking you out of it. Your fingers slipped another inch. The grapple groaned. Time was running out.
Then there was a loss of warmth around your fingers. Cold air rushed past. Clint's hand disappeared above you. For a moment, everything was strangely peaceful. No hospitals. No treatments. No headaches. Just silence.
You thought about Mama.
The way she'd laugh when Mom stole food off her plate. The way she'd always pretend not to cry during sad movies. The way she'd spent five years looking at an empty side of the bed.
You thought about Mom.
About coming home from school and finding her in the kitchen dancing with Natasha. About the way she'd call you detka even though she wasn't the Russian one.
About every video sitting safely on your laptop. Every birthday. Every Christmas. Every ordinary Tuesday. Waiting for her.
"Love you, Mama," you whispered into the wind. Then—noting.
________________________________________
Natasha doesn't know how long it's been since they finished the time travel mission. Since they all returned with their stones — but not her daughter. How Clint had immediately dropped to his knees and appologised.
She doesn't know how long it's been since Tony snapped his fingers, since Wanda returned, since yours and Tony's funerals. She doesn't know how long it's been since she hasn't cried herself to sleep.
Neither know how long it's been since they heard your voice, your laugh. Natasha knows she told Wanda everything. About the Blip, about the cancer, about the Time Heist, about your sacrifice.
Maybe it's been days, maybe weeks maybe months. But Natasha and Wanda finally feel ready to go into your room. Untouched, exactly how you left it that morning.
Your bed unmade, pens and coloured pencils strewn messily across your desk. Makeup left across the vanity. Dirty clothes and shoes on the floor, the wardrobe doors left open. Your glass of water still left on your nightstand from that night. Pictures, both drawn and photographed, taped across each wall. Some with Wanda really there, some without, some where she'd clearly been edited in. Medicines left throughout the room, each one more necessary than the last.
“Oh,” Wanda gasps quietly, her fingers tracing the nearest edited picture on the wall. Natasha taps her and points at the desk, where the brown envelope sits carefully placed between pens and highlighters. 'To Mommy and Mama'
Natasha recognises your handwriting immediately, her hands barely grazing the delicate corners. Like she didn't want to touch anything in case it erased you.
'Hi Mama.If it worked, then Mom is here with you too. I hope she is. Look on my laptop. Password is 79326. I love you so so so SO much. Love you forever, your daughter Y/N MWAH xxxxxxx ♡︎'
Natasha reads it allowed, her voice shaking. Wanda is first to move, her hand reaching for the power button of your laptop, the fans whirring to.life after not being used. The screensaver appears, lighting up Wanda's face. It's a picture of the three of you sat in the garden of a safehouse. Except Wanda isn't meant to be there. She was dust. But you'd edited the family together so well that even she almost believed it was real.
Natasha reads out your pin number again as Wanda relays it into the computer, the loading wheel appearing briefly before the laptop allows them in. Another picture now, this one real. Of the three of you eating icecream in Central Park, blossom trees on either side of you. Natasha's carrying you, you yourself only being young then.
Wanda lets out a small sob, her eyes tearing up. Her daughter, her little girl, her world, gone. You were her everything. Natasha's everything. Gone, saved Wanda, saved Natasha, the world, and gone.
The mouse hovers over a file 'For Mommy and Mama.' Natasha double clicks on it. The file loads, loads...then more files appear. Each one labelled and organised with care.
"Christmas"
"Birthdays"
"Normal days"
"Other holidays"
"Nothing happened today ☹️"
"Exciting stuff!"
"For Mommy and Mama. Watch this"
Wanda points at the Christmas folder. Natasha doubles clicks on it, her eyes shining. The folder expands again with more files, video files, each one labelled.
Christmas Eve 2018. Christmas 2018. Christmas Eve 2019. Christmas 2019. Two for every year up until 2022. Maybe there would've been another, for 2023.
Natasha clicks on the first Christmas video.
'Hi Mama. If you're watching this then I didn't get better from the cancer.' You clear your voice on the recording. Wanda sits down in your desk chair, Natasha still hovering above her, her jaw tight. 'Today was the first Christmas without Mom, so...um..yeah. I really miss her. I hope...one day we can reverse the Blip, so I can see her again. Uh...we had Christmas dinner with the team and...everyone came and we tried to play some games and stuff, but I got tired pretty quick. Um...Mama got me presents..and the team. I like them. Bruce got me a book, so I'm reading that tonight, and Clint got me a bow and arrow. He's been trying to convince me to be his protoge for ages. It also had a load of terrible dad jokes. Thor got me a giant teddy of a Panda. I'm not really sure why, but...I love him and I called him Patchy. Steve got me a sketchbook and some pencils. He said it might help with everything. Tony bought me some expensive car for when I'm old enough. Mama told him it was too much and that I'm only 10, but he said it wasn't enough. And Mama got me a necklace and some makeup and a new hoodie and a picturebook. But, um...I have to get in the shower, so...bye.'
Wanda is frozen in your chair, both women's eyes glued to the screen. Natasha clicks to a new folder.
“Nothing happened today"
26/08/18, 8/09/18, 13/10/18. All different dates, all different boring days you had from 2018 to 2022. Natasha clicks on the first one.
'Mmm...hey.' your voice comes through the speakers again. You're practically laid on your desk, voice half asleep. 'Nothing happened today. Mm...I had maths. That was pretty rubbish. We had assembly. The chairs are uncomfortable. They hurt my ass. Mama burnt toast this morning. She blambed the toaster, but...it seemed pretty innocent to me. I dunno. Tony made it so it's probably Tony's fault. 'm tired. 'kay...bye.'
Wanda's crying before the video even hits 30 seconds. Because that's the stuff she missed. Not birtdays or Christmass, just regular days. Days when Natasha burnt toast and blambed an inanimate object for it. Days when your ass hurt from assembly and you complained about maths. Those were the days she missed. The days parents think are meaningless until there gone. The though alone nearly shatters her.
Then another video.
"Exciting stuff!"
More dates, spread out across five years.
Natasha clicks on the most recent one.
'Hey hey! I got 96% on my history test. My teacher said she was really proud with how much I improved from last time. Cuz I didn't try last time and I got 28%. Mama said she'd take me for ice-cream, and Clint said I had 'nerd behaviour'. Which is rich coming from someone who still uses the crying laughing emoji.'
Natasha laughs despite herself, tears flowing down her cheeks anyway. Then she cries harder, because she remembers that day, how you came home so excited to tell her, and got ice-cream still holding the same energy, and then crashed almost the second you got back to the car.
Then another one.
'Hi! Mama took me out on her motorcycle today. We went to, like, the top of this hill through these woods, and we watched the sunset over that lake that I don't know the name of. And we had a picnic. I don't really know where she got it from cuz she didn't bring, like, a bag or anything? Dunno. The food just kinda appeared. It was good though. Like Mom used to make. If we can bring her back we can take her up there sometime too and watch the sunset with her.'
Wanda buries her face in her hands, sobbing. Her daughter, her kind, smart, beutiful daughter, who only ever cared to have Wanda there too. Who missed her mother so purely and just wanted her back. Natasha's hand finds her wife's shoulder, rubbing it gently.
"Nat, she-" Wanda begins, before her voice shagters, her head falling into Wanda's side as her sobs grow heavier.
"I know," Nat murmurs, blinking back tears of her own. She moves anyway, the mouse moving to the final folder.
'For Mommy and Mama. Watch this'
Natasha hovers over the single video in there. 'love you im sorry"
She double clicks it immediately.
You're in the Time Heist suit. Clearly this was recorded the morning of, Natasha thinks.
The screen flickers. For a second you're just staring into the camera awkwardly.Then you wave."Hi." Your smile is small. Nervous. "Um...this is weird."
Wanda lets out a broken laugh. On screen, you glance down at something in your lap before looking back up. "Okay. So."
You clear your throat. "If you're watching this, then Mom's back." Wanda immediately breaks. Natasha's hand grabs hers. You smile softly at the camera. "Hi, Mom." Your voice cracks a little. "I missed you." Wanda presses a hand over her mouth.
"I made loads of videos. Like...loads. Because I didn't know if we'd get you back." You shrug. "And if we did, I didn't want you to miss everything." A small laugh. "I know that's impossible. But I tried." The smile grows slightly.
"You missed Christmases and birthdays and school and all the boring stuff." You point at the camera. "And I know parents always say the boring stuff is actually important." Natasha lets out a choked laugh. "I didn't really believe that." A pause. "Now I do." You glance away for a second.
"When I got sick..." Your words falter. "I think Mama got scared." Natasha squeezes her eyes shut.
"She never said it." A tiny smile. "Because she's Mama." That earns another wet laugh from Wanda. "But I knew."
You fiddle with the sleeve of the Time Heist suit. "I knew she was scared." Silence. "I started making videos because I thought maybe one day you'd need them."
Wanda is openly crying now.
"And then Scott came back." Your expression changes. Becomes more serious. More determined. "And Nebula said something."
Natasha already knows where this is going. You continue anyway.
"Thanos returned from Vormir without a daughter." Your eyes lower. "And I figured it out." The room becomes silent. Even through the screen. "I knew somebody had to die." A shaky breath. "And I knew it was Mama."
Natasha's tears finally fall. Because she knows exactly what you're going to say.
"You would've done it." Your smile is sad. "You would've smiled and told everyone it was okay." Another pause. "You would've left us. And then I would've left Mom too."
Natasha bows her head. Wanda turns toward her immediately. One hand reaching for her wife.
On screen, you continue. "I couldn't let that happen." Your voice cracks. "I couldn't." A tear slips down your cheek.
"I spent five years watching Mama miss you." You look directly into the camera"And I couldn't let you come back and miss her too."
Wanda sobs. Actually sobs. Because suddenly she understands. This wasn't about saving the universe. This wasn't about heroics. This was about family. You wipe your eyes. "And I have something else to tell you." A nervous laugh. "Please don't be mad."
Natasha immediately mutters: "No."
Wanda almost laughs through her tears. You smile. "I have divination powers."
Both women freeze. "I never told anybody." You scratch the back of your neck. "Sorry." A beat. "I saw Vormir.".Silence. "I saw Mama die. That's...how I knew to send her to New York instead."
Natasha goes completely still. "I saw it a few weeks ago. I just didn't know what it was." Another shaky breath. "And I knew from diagnosis..." Your voice becomes quieter.
Wanda squeezes Natasha's hand harder.
"I knew there wasn't really going to be a happy ending for me." A long pause. "Im nkt scared." The lie is obvious. You know it. They know it. Still, you continue. "I just..." Your eyes shine. "I didn't want either of you to be alone."
Natasha completely breaks at that. Because that's the most you thing imaginable. Not worrying about yourself. Worrying about them. Always them. You smile again. Soft. Warm. The same smile Natasha saw every day. The same smile Wanda spent five years missing.
"So I picked." A shrug. "One life for two." You laugh weakly. "When you put it like that, it sounds pretty obvious."
Wanda shakes her head furiously. "No."
But you can't hear her. You're weeks away. A recording. A memory. You lean forward toward the camera.
"If I got it right..." Your smile grows. "Then you're both sitting together right now." Neither woman can breathe. "Maybe holding hands."
Wanda immediately grabs Natasha's hand tighter. "And if that's true..." Your eyes shine. "Then it worked."
Silence. Then the biggest smile yet. The smile of someone who got exactly what they wanted. "I love you, Mom." You point at the camera. "I love you, Mama." A second point. "I loved being your daughter."
Wanda's entire body shakes. Natasha is crying silently beside her. "And before you get all sad-" You narrow your eyes. "Don't." The exact look Natasha used to give people. "Seriously." A sniffle. "You both deserve to be happy." You smile. "That's all I ever wanted."
A pause. nThen one final grin "Oh." You point again. "And Mama?" Natasha looks up. "Mom totally would've loved the sunset spot."
Wanda completely loses it. Falling into Natasha's shoulder. Because of course that's your final thought. Not death. Not cancer. Not sacrifice. The picnic. The sunset. The family. The things that mattered. On screen, you blow a kiss. "Love you forever. Bye bitches!"
Another kiss. Then another. And another. Until the screen finally freezes. And for the first time, the room is silent.
Over weeks, both women watch the videos daily. Wanda sits wrapped in Natasha's arms at two in the morning watching random clips. A seven-minute video about a maths test. A three-minute rant about Clint using emojis. A recording of you complaining because someone stole your favourite pen. A twenty-second clip of "Mama burnt toast again." And Wanda would be laughing and crying at the same time.
Because she felt like she needed to catch up on the five years of her daughters life she'd missed.
Because that was her world.
Both of there worlds.
(i dont remember who made this header but creds to them. if anyone knows please comment)
WAIT I THINK I FINALLY HAVE AN IDEA FOR MAMA WANDA!! R is a toddler who calls Wanda mama (ofc) and Natasha mommy. She’s very attached to Wanda and likes to fall asleep in her arms and be breastfed. But Natasha’s trying to break that and have R sleep in her own room even though Wanda is against the idea. After Natasha is unsuccessful in getting her to sleep, Wanda puts R to sleep the way she likes. And then in the middle of the night, Natasha takes R out of Wanda’s arms while she’s asleep to put her in her own room. After Natasha gets into bed, Wanda wakes up and is like “where’s my baby??” and gets mad at Natasha for taking her without her knowing. And then R goes back to being in Wanda’s arms!!
I want R to be Wanda’s biological daughter but it’s okay if you don’t want to write that!! Also please use pictures with Wanda with brown hair or any pics of Lizzie with brown hair!! I’m the anon who loved your fic ‘Does mother know best?’ if you remember!!
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Pairing: biomom!Wanda x mom!Natasha x toddler!fem!reader
Summary: When Natasha decides their twoyear old is ready to sleep in her own room, Wanda reluctantly agrees to try. but one night of crying proves the toddler isn't ready yet, forcing both mothers to find a gentler middle ground
Word count: ≈1300
Warnings: fluff
Reading time: ≈8 mins
Req by: anon
Type: Oneshot
a/n- i know this isn't exactly the ending in your request but i hope it's still okay 🥹
promo: join the scarlett johansson fan discord server !
tag list: @tigerlillyruiz , @libbyofc
Your eyes grow heavy in your mama's arms, head tucked against her chest. Wanda leans her head back against the headrest, pulling the duvet further up the bed. Her hand pushes stray hairs out of your face, smoothing the curve of your cheeks. Next to her, the bed sinks a little as Natasha turns over, head buried in the pillow. Even in sleep, her face doesn't relax. Not the way it used to, anyway.
Natasha had understood Wanda's clingy behaviour towards their daughter at first. It had been something they'd worked hard to make happen, and after the scare of losing the child in pregnancy, both of them had clung to the newborn immediately. But now, as a two year old, Natasha knows you should have more independence, not still being sharing a bed with your parents. Every pediatrician , every parenting book she'd read had agreed that toddlers needed their own room, their own space to sleep and play in alone sometimes. Wanda seemed to disagree with every one of them.
And if Natasha was being honest with herself, she missed the feeling of Wanda falling asleep cuddled against her, rather than having a toddler permanently stuck between them.
Even as Wanda's eyes close as she drifts off to sleep, slipping under the covers fully and turning onto her side, her arms never left you, only loosening enough to ensure you were laid safely and breathing.
________________________________________
Natasha is already in the kitchen making breakfast when Wanda wakes up, you still tucked under her chin. She coos at you, brushing hairs from your face. “Morning, baby. Oh, look at you, big girl already awake, hm?”
“Mama,” you reply quietly, hiding your face deeper into her chest. You were always shy in the mornings. Wanda yawns, wrapping her arms around you as she picks you up, sliding out of the bed.
“Why don't we go find mommy? I think she's already making brekkie,” Wanda murmurs, carrying you down the stairs. “Morning, Nat,” she says quietly, pecking her girlfriend on the lips.
“Wands,” Natasha sighs, placing the cereal box down. “We need to talk about...Y/N.”
“What about her?” Wanda asks carefully, placing you down in your high chair. Your little hands bang on the high chairs tray, eager for breakfast. Natasha places a bowl of warm porridge down in front of you, your tiny platic-rubber baby spoon poking over the lip. She sits in the chair next to you, using the spoon to grab a tiny spoonful to blow on, before bringing it to your mouth. Your little hand meets hers on the handle easily, and she lets go, letting you eat it independently.
“She needs more independence, Wanda,” Natasha sighs.
“Independence? She's still a baby,” Wanda protests. “If anything happens she'll still cry for us anyway.”
“She's two, Wanda. She's growing up, she needs to do things by herself more,” Natasha replies. “She needs to sleep in her own room, use a spoon by herself,” she points to you, eating your porridge independently with most spoonfuls making it into your mouth. “I know its hard but she can't sleep in our bed forever.”
“She sleeps through the night with me. Why fix something that isn't broken?” Wanda asks. Natasha sighs. Although she could see some validity in Wanda's explanation, it didn't hold fully. Just because it's fixed now, it might break when you were six and want to sleep alone but can't, because you had your mama there your whole life.
And Natasha was very clear in putting that point forwards. “And what happens when she's six, and wants to sleep in her own bed, but can't sleep because her Mama was next to her for her whole life.”
“Natasha, I—”
“Please, Wanda. Just one night.” Natasha urges. Wanda's jaw clenches, her tongue pressing into her cheek.
“Fine. One night.”
________________________________________
Natasha carries you into your room as Wanda brushes her teeth in the bathroom. Your teddies sit strewn along both your floor and your cot. She stands you up on the floor, replacing your clothes for your favourite nightie. “How you feeling, sweetheart?” Natasha asks, letting you hold her shoulders for balance as she slips your socks off.
“I'm 'kay, mommy,” you reply nodding seriously at her.
“Good. You're my brave little princess, aren't you?” she murmurs, smoothing your hair back from your face, the wispy strands springing right back. “Two years and we still never managed to train your hair,” she whispers, carrying you to the cot. She lays you down gently, watching you curl up to the bunny teddy like your life depended on it. She clips your dummy onto the bottom of your nightie, just in case. Both women had slowly been weaning you off it for the past few months, only allowing it at nap time. Now, you were almost perfect without it, but Natasha liked to have it in your reach just in case. Self-soothing was a skill Natasha thought would be particularly useful, and if you currently still needed a dummy to try, that was okay.
Natasha presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, while Wanda hurries in after, fussing and making sure you were comfortable in the cot. “Wands...she'll be okay,” Natasha tells her gently, catching her eye.
“Yeah...yeah,” Wanda breathes.
“Night, sweetheart. Sleep good, okay?” Natasha says quietly, flicking the light off as she guides Wanda out of the room, your nightlight the only thing lighting the way.
Your eyes dart around the room, the usual warmth you feel absent. You clutch the bunny closer to your chest, little hands dragging the blanket further up. It was too big, and too empty. The dollhouse doesn't make noises like the bedroom TV does, the room eerie queit around you. Tears start to well in your eyes, falling onto the bunny's ear.
Two little hands fumble for the dummy clipped on your nightie, tugging it up to your mouth. Tears only stream harder, little whimpers muffled behind the dummy. Then the dummy falls from your mouth, loud, crying sobs audible throughout the house.
Wanda practically leaps from the bed, before Natasha follows after her, grabbing her arm. “Hey. Just...give her a second. Please. If she's still crying in a minute, we can check on her.”
Wanda looks in Natasha's eyes, nothing but love for you and her visible. “Fine. One minute. And if she's still crying, we're not standing here like plantpots.”
Natasha nods, waiting just outside your closed door. Twenty seconds passes. Still crying. Thirty seconds. No signs of stopping. 45 seconds. You sound out of breath. 55 seconds. Nope, being out of breath didn't stop you. The second Wanda hits 60 seconds, she pushes your door open, moving to pick you up from the cot. “I know, sweetheart, I know,” she murmurs, bouncing you in her arms, one hand rubbing up and down your back. Natasha moves behind her, her hand moving to replace Wanda's down your back.
Natasha sighs, her eyes fixed on your eyes peaking above Wanda's shoulder, wet and teary. “You were right. Maybe she's not ready for this yet. I rushed her, and now she's crying.”
Wanda looks halfway over her shoulder at Natasha. “I was wrong too. She's not a newborn anymore. She's bigger and she's growing and she needs more independence.”
“Tomorrow...maybe we move her cot into our room, and...read a bedtime story,” Natasha suggests. “And...then we try bedtime stories in her room after a bit.”
Summary: After Wanda is blipped, you develop cancer, another thing on Natasha's plate. Years later, you are the one to go with Clint to Vormir, to save your mother. Steve returns the stones to their homes.
Word count: ≈1700
Warnings: talks of death, cancer, technically a suicide (🤨)
Reading time: ≈10 mins
Req by: @marvelogic (original by Grammar Anon)
Type: Oneshot
a/n - Mama = Natasha, Mom = Wanda
tag list: @tigerlillyruiz
Steve stands on the Quantum Platform, armed with Mjolnir and the Infinity Stones. Banner had promised that all the stones would be returned to their original times to prevent dangerous alternate timelines from forming.
The Platform flashes around him, taking him back in time to New York, 2012. Two stones were collected here, he knew that. Firstly, the Time Stone was an easy return to the Ancient One. He assumes the others can only be that easy as well. Thankfully, returning the Mind Stone wasn't too hard either, as he already knows the password, Hail HYDRA, to return to scepter to SHIELDs double agents, Rumlow and Sitwell.
Unfortunately, it couldn't all be that easy. The Space Stone has to be returned as the Tesseract to the 70s, at Camp Lehigh, where Steve knows he's highly likely to get recognised. He doesn't know how long it truly takes him to return the Tesseract without being caught, having to avoid Howard Stark and Hank Pym, among others. He feels the relief instantly when he's able to move on to the next stone.
Relief doesn't last long though, as returning the Reality Stone to Asgard in 2013 is no easier of a task. Steve knows he has to inject the liquid back into Jane Foster without being caught by Frigga or Asgardians guards. Steve quickly realises that there is a lot of close calls when he got sloppy, and by the time he's finished he knows that's not his best work.
Steve finds Morag significantly easier. With Star Lord still knocked out, and the guards not having arrived, he's able to simply place the orb back in its temple, quickly travelling to Vormir before Star Lord wakes up again.
Vormir was always going to be the painful one. Steve knew that. With the loss of you off the same cliff, he wasn't exactly prepared to see your body, still there, laying at the bottom. Impossibly small against the dark sone floor, dried red standing out against it. Hair resting wispily against the stone, laying over your shoulder, even in death. Steve feels a tear roll down his cheek. You were too young for everything, losing your mom, getting cancer, and then sacrificing yourself for everyone. “You were just a kid,” he murmurs, backing away from the edge.
It wasn't long of Steve's staring off the cliff before Red Skull, an old nemesis appears. “I brought the Soul Stone,” he tells the apparition quietly. It felt wrong to speak any louder here. Like it would disrupt the peace, the silence and tragedy of your death. Red Skull retrieves the stone from Steve.
He waits for a moment, taking it all in. The wind whistling, the cool chill biting at his cheeks, the jagged rocks on either side of him, even at the top. He can only imagine what you and Clint had experienced that day. He only hoped you got what you had wanted, that you knew your sacrifice hadn't been in vain. That you knew your mothers were together again.
He turns, starting to walk back down, when a bright light shines behind him. He turns back, covering his face with an arm, squinting into the brightness. "What...?"
He moves forwards with caution, free hand held out in front of him like a brace. He sees a figure lying on the floor in front of him. "Hello? Who's there?"
The figure rolls half way suddenly, from their back to their side, one arm holding them up slightly. They cough, clouds of dust against the bright light. It couldn't be...
Steve doesn't move. The figure pushes itself upright, wincing and coughing. His breath catches. “Y/N?”
Slowly, you look up, confused. “...Uncle Steve?” Relief floods your face. “Did it work?”
Steve freezes. “What?”
“Mom. Did we get Mom back?” Silence. “Steve, are my moms together?”
“Yes, Y/N. They're together.”
“Take me home.” You reply. “I need my moms. I need them to be okay.”
“Can we...do that? I thought-” Steve trails off, shaking his head. You weren't a hallucination meant to torture him and his grief? He looks to Red Skull.
“A soul for a soul,” is his only reply. “The debt has been repaid.”
Steve hooks an arm around your shoulders, helping you walk a little in your...freshly alive form. “You okay?”
“I just wanna get home.”
Steve laughs once. A horrible, broken sound. Then he's pulling you into a hug before he can stop himself. “Kid...” His voice cracks. “You scared the hell out of all of us.”
Steve helps you down the mountain, Halfway down he fronws. Steve stops walking. You turn. “What?”
His eyes narrow. Because your skin isn't pale anymore. There aren't dark circles under your eyes. You're standing without leaning on him. For years every photograph of you had looked tired. Sick. Now you just looked fifteen. “And— your breathing.”
You blink. “What about it?”
Steve stops again. Because there isn't any wheezing. No cough. No exhaustion. No weakness.“...my chest doesn't hurt.”
Steve's eyes shine. He had spent years unconsciously walking slower beside you. Waiting when you got tired. Carrying things you insisted you could carry yourself. And now he'd walked halfway down a mountain before realizing you weren't struggling to keep up.
On the teams end, the Quantum Platform lights up again, a soft whirring sound as Steve reappears seconds later on the platform. Through the light, squinting, Natasha can see another figure with him. Her smile fades. “Steve?”
The figure beside him steps forward. Small. Familiar. Impossible. Natasha stops breathing. “Holy shit...” You stare at her through the fading light. “Oh my god...” she gasos, hand flying to her mouth. “No. No way.”
“Mama...” you whisper. Natasha barely had chance to blink before you're around her, leaping from the platform into her arms, feet off the ground as her arms wrap around you. Tears fall against her shoulder, your face buried in the crook of her neck as your legs wrap around her waist.
Natasha doesn't let go, like she's afraid you'll disappear if she does. After months of watching through every recording, every edited photo, every voice note about your day, and now you're here. Back with your family where you belong. Warm, breathing, fingers tangled in the back of her jumper just like when you were a scared kid.
“I'm sorry, Mama...” you whisper, tears darkening the shoulder of her jumper.
She buries her face in your hair, one hand smoothing the back. No strands come out in her fingers. “Dont do that again. Ever. You're not allowed to scare me anymore.”
She pulls back to look at you, one hand cupping your face. No exhaustion. No pale skin. No trembling hands. No cough. No shadows beneath your eyes. Just her kid. Healthy. Fifteen. Alive.
“Natasha?” Another voice asks. Warm, loving, familiar in a way you hadn't heard in years. Your whole body goes still, legs dropping from around Natasha, looking up from her shoulder. “Oh my— Y/N?”
“...Mom?”
Wanda freezes a few feet away. Everyone, Clint, Natasha, Steve, had told her that her daughter had died bringing her back. That in the time she'd been dust, her daughter had developed cancer and died by sacrifice. And now here she was, wrapped around Natasha. Surely this was some kind of awful joke. “Nat, is it really...?”
Wanda takes one step forward. Then another. Her eyes never leave yours. “Y/N?”
Your lip trembles. “Mom.”
Wanda makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. The next second she's running, her arms pressing you tightly against her. “You reckless idiot...” she murmurs into your scalp, arms wrapped almost too tight around you.
Wanda pulls back suddenly. Her hands move to your face. Then your hair. Then your shoulders. Confused. “Wait.” Everyone freezes. Wanda stares at you. “I thought you said she had cancer?”
Wanda stares at you. Then at Steve. Then back at you. “Natasha said you was sick.”
“She was,” Bruce says quietly.
Wanda's eyes move back to yours. “Y/N...”
Natasha already knows. She knows because she spent years memorizing every symptom. Every cough. Every bad day. Every hospital visit.Every scan. And none of them are there.You look down at yourself. Your hands. Your arms. You take a careful breath. Then another. No pain. No tightness. No exhaustion. Nothing.“..it's gone.”
Silence. “What?” Natasha asks.
Tears suddenly spring to your eyes. “It's gone.”
Natasha laughs. Once. A tiny, disbelieving sound. Then her face crumples. “Don't joke about that.„
“I'm not.”
“Kid...”
“I'm not.”
Bruce is already moving forward. He checks your breathing, your eyes your pulse. “She's healthier than before,” he murmurs.
________________________________________
“I'm gonna get you!” you pant, chasing Morgan around Clint's field, Cooper, Lila and Nathanisl playing too. Morgan and Nathaniel squeak and giggle as they run away from you, Cooper and Lila's longer legs.
The adults smile happily from a picnic blanket a few feet away. “Be careful, Y/N! Don't wear yourself out!” Natasha calls instinctively.
“Nat,” Wanda hits her shoulder. “Bruce said she's fine.”
She sighs. “I know, I just...I can't imagine her playing like this anymore. It feels unsafe.”
She watches you sprint across the field. Sprint.Actually sprint. Not stopping halfway. Not coughing. Not holding your ribs. Not pretending you were fine. Just running, chasing Morgan and Nathaniel. Natasha feels tears sting her eyes before she can stop them.
That night, for the first time in years, Natasha wakes up because someone climbed into bed between her and Wanda. “Seriously?” Natasha mumbles.
“I died,”you mumble into Wanda's shoulder.
“Fair point.”
Wanda laughs quietly and pulls you closer. Natasha wraps an arm around both of you. Nobody moves. Nobody leaves. And for the first time in a very long time, the family is whole again.
This will probably sound crazy.…but can you do Kelly from We Bought a Zoo and female reader, where they get a new shipment of tigers 🐅 that have been rescued from poachers but are too injuredto be released into the wild. Reader ends up being a shifter who was caught and trapped in her animal form. a kid that turns into a cub that she takes in as her own
-😎
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Pairing: Kelly Foster x GN!kid!shifter!reader
Summary: After accepting a transfer of new injured tigers to the zoo, Kelly is responsible for caring for them. She quickly connects with a young cub, who makes Kelly think she's crazy.
a/n - im not the best at shifting 😞 first time so we roll. i actually did tiger research for this 🫠 i think this changes between past and present tense like all the time but it's fine, im inconsistent
promo: join the scarlett johansson fan discord server!
Arrival days were always stressful for Kelly. She had to balance the current animals care, while preparing an enclosure for the new animals, organise the delivery for outside of visitor hours. And when the animals were injured from poachers or dealers, it only made everything more stressful. She has to schedule the vet, ensure the temporary enclosure was far enough away from the other animals to prevent disease spread, help the animals recover from being hunted, passed around or otherwise harmed.
For this set of tigers, it had been two months of quarantine at an off-site facility for everyone's safety, handled by vets and zookeepers who specialised in starting the rehabilitation of trafficked tigers.
Kelly was out of breath, having spent the last three hours after visitation checking the tigers new enclosure. Ensuring it was away enough from the centre, but would still get some visitors, the fences and gates were strdy, climbing frames were safe, water was drinkable and outdoor food was reachable. She had made deep, big beds of straw inside each individual private bedroom, separated by two mesh fences. She made sure the vet kit was up to date, the inside water bowls worked, the meat was perfect and the place was clean, even ensuring each bedroom had its own individual play toy, as well as the usual outdoor enrichment. She had even covered most of the enclosure windows up with coverings, limiting the amount of people that the tigers would be able to see, and hanging posters insisting visitors to not yell, bang or use flash cameras.
Everything seemed perfect, and yet Kelly was still stressed. Like at any moment, something could go horribly wrong, or maybe the tigers would hate it here. That was something she wouldn't be able to cope with, knowing an animal disliked the place it lived. But the second the tigers started arriving, she steeled her face and put on a smile.
Kelly had been warned that some tigers would arrive awake and in crates, while others were unconscious and being carried from the truck to the enclosure by zoo staff. Everything inside was perfectly set up with the best transfer system for their zoo. A garage like door which allowed the forklift to place the crate inside, and then pushed by multiple zookeepers to lock it into the new inside enclosure. It couldn't go wrong. In theory, anyway. In practise was a bit more 50/50.
As the tigers begin to near the building, Kelly opened the doors to each tiger bedroom, waiting for the first tiger delivery. The first crate comes clattering in, Kelly moving around it easily to ensure it's fully secured before lifting the locked flap. Inside, the tiger chuffs slightly, and it hangs back for a few minutes. Then another. Before a single, delicate paw reaches out onto the straw bed, immediately spinning around to eat the trough of meat in the corner. The crate backs away, and Kelly quickly locks the door.
Two anesthesiad tigers are carried in shortly after by multiple zookeepers, placed gently into their seperate straw beds. Finally, a second crate arrives. the forklift places it down against the final bed. She can hear something inside, small, high-pitched whines, the little roads of something that was still learning how to be. The flap opens, and for several minutes nothing walks out.
She peers through the ventilation gaps in the crate roof. She can't see anything. “Jordy!” she waves at the forklift operator. “Leave this one here. I'll get one of the staff to remove it later.”
They give a thumbs up through the windscreen, disengaging the forklift before backing out of the building. Kelly sits next to the crate, trying to get a look at the tiger, until she sees two amber eyes staring back at her. “You're a cub,” she murmurs. “Why didn't anyone mention that?”
Against her better judgement, Kelly steps one leg into the bed, then the other, settling herself in the far corner. A simple tactic with shy or scared animals was to just sit with them, quietly, and pretend you have no interest in them. The cub continues to hide at the back of the crate, it's small body hidden by the darkness. Kelly leans back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling, then down at the straw bed beneath her.
After twenty minutes of sitting in silence with no results, she tries coaxing the cub out by ripping off pieces of the meat and placing them in a trail leading outside the crate. The tiny tiger didn't even blink. It just pressed itself farther into the back corner until Kelly wondered whether it thought disappearing was actually possible.
After a minute, she sighs, leaning her head back, eyes focused on the roof. “What did they do to you, little one?” she murmurs to herself, eyes closing slightly, until she hears the wuiestest swallowing ever. “There you go...eat when you feel safe.”
The little thing chuffs slightly as it sniffs the meat, tiny canines tearing it apart. A little face comes further into view, amber eyes shining in the warm light, a pink nose twitching it's whiskers with each new piece of meat. In the next enclosure, the anesthetic tiger starts to tense, it's paws starting to curl. “Looks like our girls waking up, huh?”
The little cub chuffs a little. “You like when I talk?” she asks, the cub fully visible in the light now. One ear had a chip in it, the body still slightly underweight and undermuscled despite the first rehab setting. “Your file said you were almost a year old, but...you're far too small for that.”
Kelly continues talking, watching you continue to stumble closer and closer to her, your little nose sniffing everything in site on your way. You couldn't be a year old. Tigers were almost fully grown by then, and you looked barely a few months old. Definitely not old enough to be separated from your mother. “You're clumsy,” she smiles, peeling a piece of straw as she watches you almost face plant the straw bed. “That's okay. I was a clumsy kid too.”
She leans her head back against the wall again, talking aimlessly with her eyes closed. “I never thought we'd be in a position to accept abused animals at the zoo again,” she murmurs. “After everything...not getting paid, moving back in with my mom, I never thought the zoo would have this opportunity again, you know? It was stressful, losing my apartment, and not knowing if we would be able to keep looking after the animals.” She continues. “You're the first set, really...the first of many, hopefully, so you're the tri—”
Kelly cuts herself off, listening to the breathy huffing sounds emitting from the corner.She glances over from the corner of her eye, eyes running over the orange and black ball. One paw sticks out from the rest of your body, like it had been kneading the straw down but you fell asleep midway through. “Seriously? You fell asleep? I don't know whether to be insulted by that or not.”
She looks at you for a minute longer, eyes closed, curled up in the corner, before standing up, straw sticking to her jeans. “Guess I'll leave you in peace then, hm?” Kelly steps one leg back over the fence, only stopping when a soft whine is let out behind her. Two amber sleep-softened eyes stare back at her, looking more understanding than any tiger should've. She sighs. “You don't want me to go, do you?”
You don't move. Dont paw at the door or cry. Instead, you simply watch her stand with an expression Kelly can't quite place. It feels...expectant. Like you understood what she was doing even before she sat down again. “Smart cub, huh..”
________________________________________
By day three, you still won't venture outside your bed. Not when the adult tigers are outside, not when it's just Kelly out there. You always sat tucked in your corner, only venturing around your bed when no one was watching.
“You know,” Kelly murmurs, scrubbing your meat trough clean. “There's a whole pond out there. I put floating toys in it,” she tells you absentmindedly. You don't move from your corner, two amber eyes continuing to blink back at her. “You're not impressed.” You chuff. She almost laughs. “Its like you know what I'm saying.”
It became routine. Kelly would come early every morning, sit in your bed and talk to you about something. Her mother, her dating life, yesterday's zoo events, a movie shed watched. She still wasn't sure why, it wasn't like you could understand her. But in the moment, God it felt like you could. The other tigers didn't care. They ate, paced, slept. But you would prick your ears at her, head tilting like you understood.
“And then she just...I don't know. She hasn't texted me back since we had dinner, and...” she sighs, trailing off. Your half lidded eyes open again, looking up at her. Waiting. You chuff impatiently. “Alright, I get it you impatient kitty. I don't know if we were right for each other anyway, but she could've said something, y'know?”
Kelly rubs a hand over her face before laughing quietly to herself. “So now I'm taking relationship advice from a tiger.” You blink once. Then let out another tiny, impatient chuff. “Oh, don't look at me like that.” Another chuff. “I know, I know. I should probably stop waiting around for someone who clearly isn't interested.”
Your ears perk forward. “Yeah?” You give the smallest nod, or at least that's what it looked like. Kelly stops. “...No.” She frowns. “You didn't just nod.”
You immediately look away, pretending to inspect a piece of straw with incredible interest.
“Hm.” Kelly narrows her eyes. “I imagined it.” She begins to scrub the trough again. “You definitely didn't nod.”
The next morning she arrives before sunrise. The other tigers had already wandered into the outdoor section, enjoying the cool morning air. You hadn't. As always. You were curled into your corner. Until the familiar footsteps echoed through the building. One amber eye opens. Then the other. Kelly smils.
“Morning.” A quiet chuff answers. “I brought something.” She held up a stuffed enrichment toy shaped vaguely like a boar. “It'll smell like spices after I fill it.”You eye it suspiciously. “...Yeah, I figured you'd judge my decorating.”
She tosses it gently into the bedding. It lands barely a metre away. You stare at it. Kelly stares at you. “...Well?” Nothing. “You know, normal cubs attack new toys.” Still nothing. “You are unbelievably stubborn.” Another little huff. Kelly laughs. “I swear you understand sarcasm.”
She finishes checking the enclosure before heading toward the gate. “I've got to help feed the lions.” She unlocks the service door. “I'll see you this afternoon.” She waits. “...Bye.”
A tiny, questioning whine echoes behind her. Kelly sighs dramatically. “I know.” She closes the gate again. “I know.” Walking back over, she settles against the wall like she's done every morning. “You've completely manipulated me.”
Your ears twitch. “I've got actual work to do.” You blink. “And yet...” She gestures around herself. “...here I am.” Kelly stays perfectly still. “That's it...”
You sniff the toy first. Then the fresh straw. Very cautiously, you approach her. She keep her hands folded in her lap. No sudden movements. No reaching. Just letting you decide. Your nose bumps gently against her welly. Kelly's breath catches “Hi...”
You sniff again before pressing your forehead against her knee for the briefest second. Then you step back. Kelly doesn't move. Her eyes hace gone suspiciously shiny. “You trust me?” A tiny rumbling purr vibrates through your chest. “Oh...” She laughs under her breath. “I really wasn't expecting today to make me emotional.”
From then on, things changed. Not quickly. Not dramatically. Just little by little. You begin waiting near the mesh whenever you heard her voice. You eat while she sat nearby instead of waiting until she left. Sometimes you'd follow her around the indoor bedroom while she cleaned, staying just out of arm's reach. It became the highlight of Kelly's mornings.
Everyone noticed.
"You've got yourself a shadow," Lily teases one afternoon as she watches the little tiger trail faithfully after Kelly. Kelly glances down. Sure enough, there you were, padding after her with little paws.
“I think they're just making sure I clean properly.”
Lily grins. “I think they've adopted you.”
Kelly laughs. “I think they're lonely. It can't be easy being the only cub.”
A week later, Kelly crouches to refill your water bowl. “You know...” she says quietly, “I've been thinking about names.” Your ears lift immediately. “The paperwork just says 'Cub.'” She frowns. “That's awful.” You watch her carefully. “I don't think you should stay Cub forever.”
She smiles softly. “I think you deserve a real name.” Your tail gives the tiniest flick. Kelly pretends not to notice. “I'll wait until you tell me what fits.” Another chuff. “There it is again.” She laughs. “That little opinionated noise.”
She reaches for the now-empty meat bucket. “I'll see you after lunch.”
She stands. Takes three steps. Then stops. Behind her comes the unmistakable sound of tiny paws hurrying across straw. Kelly turns just in time to see you sitting beside the mesh door, looking up at her with hopeful amber eyes. ”...You're going to make leaving impossible, aren't you?”
You answer with another soft, questioning chirp. Kelly smiles, resting her forehead lightly against the mesh. “I know, sweetheart.” The word slips out before she even thought about it.
For just a second, you lean your tiny paw against the fence opposite her head. Neither of you notice the older tiger in the next enclosure watching quietly, letting out a low, approving chuff, as if even she had decided that, somehow, the frightened little cub had finally found someone safe.
________________________________________
Kelly wakes late one night in her mother's home, an intense feeling hanging over her, something that tells her that she needs to get to the zoo. Without even a second of hesitation, she slides her boots on over her pajama bottoms, her coat on top of her shirt and climbs in her car with a yawn. The keys turn in the ignition with a click before she accelerates down the road, making it to the zoo carpark in record time.
She's out of the car almost before she's turned the engine off, opening the staff door. Kelly sits down at the desk, flicking through the camera feed. Black and white pictures of animals dens show briefly before moving on. Nothing out of the ordinary, until she sees the last one. The newest cameras, of the new tiger habitat. One adult tiger lazing around the outside area, two adults tigers in their dens. One empty looking den next to them. “No, no ,no...Where's the cub?” she murmurs, flicking back to the outdoor footage, eyes searching the screen desperately for any little movements. Nothing. Just the same adult tiger lazing around with the box toy. “Shit,” she hisses, shutting the feed down before sprinting out of the staff room.
Past the parrots, past the monkeys, the lions, the other tigers. All the way to the back of the zoo, where your enclosure sat. Through the windows, she can still see that same tiger chewing on the box. “Damnit,” she mutters, her fingers shaking as she unlocks the door. Inside, one sleeping tiger, two sleeping tigers, and an empty bed at the end. “Cub?” she calls. “Come on, sweetheart, where are you?”
Kelly climbs into your den, just incase you were hiding in the food trough. It had happened before with the lion cub. Nothing, just uneaten food. She crawls out of the flap leading outside, waiting briefly as the third tiger saunters back inside. She checks the box, the tire toy, even the far side of the pond. Anywhere a baby could've hidden if gotten stuck. “Come on, baby. Where are you?” she whispers, crawling back through your flap door. She exhales shakily, searching through your den a second time just incase.
Then she notices the spilt water on the floor. Wet pawprints which became tiny...footprints? Kelly's eyes follow the tracks, water droplets hanging off the mesh bars, increasingly dryer footprints leading away. “You guys had a midnight visitor, huh?” she says weakly, looking across at the three adult tigers. “Hello! I know you're here! Just give the cub back!” She shouts. Silence. “Hey!” She tries again. Nothing. Kelly sighs.
Instead, she stands up, climbing back out of the den. She follows the footprints through the dark building. Towards the straw bales, then towards the keeper room in the far corner. Kelly pushes the handle down, the door swinging open. Nothing. Just an apple core and a banana peel left on the counter. They were supposed to be for an enrichment play, though melons or pumpkins were more common, one of the other keepers had stashed smaller fruits to trial. Clearly someone had been in them.
The wet footprints leave the room too. Kelly opens the door again, her hand sticky with some sort of liquid after touching the handle. Juice from the apple,she hoped. The footprints lead back towards the tiger dens, slightly sticky residue shining in the dim light on the mesh bars of an adult tigers den. One that Rosie Mee had lovingly named Stripey, and it had caught on.
Stripey lay half-curled in her den, her back facing Kelly. “You seen a kid or a cub come through here, Stripes?” Kelly asks, slipping through the gate to her den. Stripey was friendly. Kelly had noticed that early on. Maybe it was because she'd been taught that otherwise was punishable. Either way, friendly was what she needed right now.
Stripey tucks her head halfway to her stomach, her tongue sticking out to lick at something curled against her stomach. “Stripey, did you borrow the cub?” she chides gently, stepping around the tiger. She stops suddenly, her mouth dropping open slightly. “Stripey, that's not— holy shit...”
Kelly crouches slightly, one hand reaching out towards a child's tiny body, curled up against Stripey's stomach. “No. No way. I— I'm losing it. I'm losing my mind,” she mutters, leaving the building completely, before counting to twenty in her head. “I should've brought coffee. Or alcohol.”
Once she reaches twenty, she sighs before walking back into the tiger building. Slipping past Stripey's gate. And still, a child laid there against her stomach, absorbing all the warmth from the adult tiger. Looking closer, the kid was only wearing a scratty pair of shorts and a holey, large shirt. “Well. I'm not hallucinating,” Kelly mutters under her breath. “Hey, hey kid.” She crouches, poking your calf. Two amber eyes snap open at her. “Shh, don't panic. You're alright. I just need you to slowly come to me.” Kelly crouches lower, one hand extended, palm up. “Hey. It's okay. You're not in trouble.”
Your amber eyes, the same amber eyes she's been looking at for weeks, stare back at her, wide and frozen. Stripey chuffs softly, nudging the kid's shoulder with her nose, like she's telling them it's alright. “I know,” Kelly says gently. “I know this is scary. But I've been sitting with you every morning for two weeks. I'm not gonna hurt you.”
A long, trembling pause. Then you moves. Not toward Kelly. You crawl out from under Stripey's paw, small limbs shaky, and sit up. The shirt hangs off one shoulder, feet are bare and dirty, look about four or five, but Kelly knows better than to trust that. Who knows how long you've been like this. “Can you walk?” Kelly asks. You nod once. Small. “Okay. I'm gonna take you inside. It's warm in there. There's blankets.”
Your gaze flicks to Stripey, then back to Kelly. Waiting for permission. “You can come back and see her tomorrow,” Kelly promises. “She's not going anywhere.”
That seems to be enough. You stand on unsteady legs, one hand reaching out to brush Stripey's fur one last time. Stripey rumbles a low purr. Then you turn and takes a step toward Kelly. Kelly doesn't reach for them. She just holds out her hand and waits. Small fingers close around hers.
The staff room is too bright after the dark enclosure. You flinch, shielding their eyes, and Kelly quickly flicks half the lights off. “Sorry. Should've warned you.”
She settles you on the old couch in the corner, the one with the faded floral pattern that's been there since before she took over. She grabs a blanket from the cupboard, the soft one she keeps for when she stays late, and drapes it around the your shoulders. You pull it tight immediately, disappearing into it like a shell. “Hungry?”
A hesitant nod. Kelly opens the mini-fridge. There's not much. a carton of milk, some string cheese, half a sandwich from yesterday. She grabs the milk and the cheese, pours a small cup, and sets it on the coffee table within your reach, stare at it.
“You don't have to eat it,” Kelly says, settling onto the opposite end of the couch. “It's just there if you want it.”
Silence. Your fingers peek out from the blanket, grab the cheese, and retreat back inside. A tiny nibbling sound follows. Kelly smiles to herself. “Good. That's good.”
She waits. Lets the quiet settle. The clock on the wall ticks. You finishe the cheese, then the milk, and slowly the tension in their shoulders starts to ease. “My name's Kelly,” she says softly. “Do you have a name?” You look at her for a long moment. Then shake your head. “No name at all?”
Another shake. Kelly's chest tightens. “Okay. That's okay. We can figure that out later.” She pauses. “Do you remember how you got here? To the zoo?”
Your face crumples slightly, pull the blanket higher, hiding half your face. But you nod. “Can you tell me?”
A long silence. Then a small voice, rough from disuse, barely a whisper. “Men. With nets.”
Kelly's hands still. “The poachers?”
A nod. “They kept me...cub.” your voice cracks. “Said I was easier to sell like this.”
Kelly has to take a breath before she answers. “How long?”
You shrugs. “Don't know. A long time.”
“They moved you around?”
Another nod. “Lots of cages. Until the people with the truck brought me here.”
Kelly thinks about the quarantine facility. The two months of rehab. The paperwork that just said 'Cub, estimated age 11 months.' No history. No origin. Just a commodity.
“Did anyone ever...” She stops. Chooses her words carefully. “Was anyone ever kind to you?”
Your eyes drift toward the window. Toward the direction of the tiger enclosure. Toward Stripey. “You,” they whisper. “And Stripey.”
Kelly's throat goes tight. “I'm glad.” She reaches out slowly, resting her hand on the couch cushion between them, palm up. An offer, not a demand. “You're safe here. Do you understand? No one's going to put you in a cage again.”
You stare at her hand. Then at her face. Searching for something, a lie, a catch, a reason not to trust. You must not find one, because slowly, carefully, a small hand moves across the cushion and settles in hers.
“'Kay,” they whisper.
Kelly squeezes gently. “Okay. If you want to stay here as a cub, you can. If you want to stay as a kid...my childhood bedroom is still set up.”
She doesn't ask any more questions that night. You fall asleep on the couch within twenty minutes, exhausted in the way only small creatures who've been running for a long time can be. Kelly watches you for a while, the way your breathing evens out, the way one hand stays curled around the edge of the blanket.
Then she pulls out her phone and texts her mother. 'Something happened at the zoo at midnight. I'll probably just stay here until opening anyway. See you tonight, love you.'
Her mom, surprisingly, replies almost immediately. 'Everything okay?'
Kelly looks at the sleeping kid. At the too-big shirt. The dirty feet. The tiny hand that's still loosely holding hers, even in sleep. 'Yeah. All good.'
She puts the phone down and doesn't move for the rest of the night.
Summary: after surprising Natasha with your pregnancy on her birthday, she goes all out with baby proofing, protection and love.
Word count: ≈900
Warnings: fluff, mentions of past birth
Reading time: ≈5 mins
Type: drabble
Req by: @athenaeloise
tag list: @tigerlillyruiz
a/n - join the scarlett johansson fan server on discord! {X}
“Stop carrying heavy stuff!” She stands up from where she'd been on the floor, installing a babygate at the top of the stairs.
“Nat, it's a basket of laundry,” you reply, stopping in front of her.
She shakes her head. “Let me take it.”
“Babe—” you cut yourself off. Protesting was pointless, she'd been doing this since you told her. You're only 8 months along, you can still carry a laundry basket. “Babygate doesn't open!”
“Its not ready yet!” She calls back. Really, the gate didn't even need to be out of the box for another month or so, but Natasha started baby proofing the palce two month ago, and wasn't listening when you tried to stop her, saying that preparation was key.
“Also, where have the knives gone? I need them for dinner tonight and I can't find them.”
“Theyre on top of the fridge,” Natasha replies like that was completely normal.
You scoff, rolling your eyes sarcastically. “Yeah, course. That was the next place I was gonna check. Why?”
“The baby—”
You sigh, rubbing your face in your hands. “The baby won't be born nine feet tall!”
So far, the entire Tower has been baby proofed. The labs had been tightly locked, the medbay has been secured and every single cabinet had a lock on it, and the stairs had a babygate which would prevent a newborn blob from, apparently, sprinting down them at full speed. At first, Natasha had just pretended that you were being extra clumsy and needed soft edges. And after you shouted at Natasha about it in a hormone-spiked rage, she quickly announced that you were pregnant and expecting a baby.
Tony had immediately begun building baby gadgets, while Bruce had taken to explaining each individual part of pregnancy. Clint was delighted and had immediately called Laura to let you tell her and the kids the good news, Steve had hugged Natasha, ensuring her that she would be a great mother and he was always available if she needed help. Peter had jumped off the couch and almost launched himself on you, and Thor had bought another adult goat and it's baby. Clint now owns three goats he didn't want.
Later you reach for the kettle. Natasha appears from nowhere. “I'll do it.”
“...Nat.”
“It's hot.”
“I know.”
“You could burn yourself.”
“I've been making tea for fifteen years.”
“Not while pregnant.”
You sigh dramatically. “I miss carrying my own mugs.”
Natasha kisses your forehead. “I know.”
“...I also miss my knives.”
”They're still on the fridge,” she replies, pouring the boiled water into a mug.
You sigh, “you think I can reach those?”
Eight months became nine, then 41 weeks. Then calmly, at 3am, “Nat...” you shove her shoulder. “Nat!”
“What...what's happening?” she murmurs groggily.
“My water broke!” Silence. “Nat?”
She blinked once. Twice. Then every ounce of composure she'd spent months pretending to have disappeared. “Everybody up!”
Several hours later, after screaming, grunting, pain and you snapping relentlessly at Natasha, the hospital room is silent. The only sound is a tiny cry. Natasha forgets how to breathe.
The nurse smiles warmly as she lays your baby on your chest. The crying quiets almost instantly. Tears blur your vision as you look down. “...Hi,” you whisper. Ten tiny fingers. Ten tiny toes. Perfect. Natasha stands frozen beside the bed. “Nat?” you murmur.
She blinks rapidly. “...She's so little.”
The nurse laughs softly. “Babies usually are.”
Natasha ignores her, eyes fixed entirely on your daughter. “...Can I...?”
You smile tiredly. “Come here.”
She sits beside you carefully, as though moving too quickly might somehow break the moment. The nurse helps transfer the baby into Natasha's arms. The former Black Widow, one of the deadliest women in the world, immediately looks terrified. “Support her head,” the nurse reminds gently.
“I am.”
“You're doing great,” the nurse says quietly.
Natasha barely hears her. She just stares. “...Hey, малышка,” she whispers, her voice softer than you've ever heard it.
Your daughter yawns. Natasha's entire expression crumples. “She yawned.”
You laugh weakly. “She did.”
“Did you see that?”
“I was looking right at her.”
“It was adorable.”
“Nat...” you say softly.
“She's perfect.”
“I know.”
Natasha looks between the baby and you, tears finally escaping down her cheeks. “Thank you.”
You reach over, squeezing her hand. “Best birthday present?”
She laughs through the tears. “By a mile.”
The hospital door opens without warning. Tony wheels in what looks suspiciously like a miniature Iron Man suit. “Baby's first armour.”
“Absolutely not,” Natasha says immediately.
Bruce appears carrying six parenting books. Steve has a tiny Captain America onesie folded neatly over his arm. Clint walks in holding one of the goats. “Clint,” Natasha says slowly. “...Why is there a goat in our hospital room?”
“Emotional support.”
The goat bleats. Thor beams proudly. “The child has been blessed.”
You look over at Natasha. “...Think we should've baby-proofed the Avengers instead?”
Natasha smiles, never taking her eyes off the tiny bundle in her arms. “Definitely.”
Pairing: aunt!Wanda x autistic!reader (+appearances of Uncle Pietro)
Summary: You help your aunt Wanda how your brain works when everyone else says you're just difficult and rude.
Word count: ≈1000
Warnings: fluff
Reading time: ≈8 mins
Req by: Tumblr (bunny) anon
Type: drabble
a/n - this feels awful i hate the write. very sorry 😞 also i added pietro for the vibes of pietro
"Y/N?" No answer.
Wanda glances up from the recipe book balanced against the kitchen counter. "Detka?" Still nothing.
That isn't unusual. Sometimes you get so focused on whatever you were doing that the rest of the world simply stops existing. Wanda wipes her hands on a dish towel and follows the silence through the apartment.
She find you sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor. A puzzle is spread out around you in near-perfect organization. Edge pieces in one pile. Blue pieces in another. Green pieces sorted by shade. You stare at it intensely.
"Hey," Wanda says softly. You don't look up. Wanda crouches beside you. "You've been in here for three hours."
That gets your attention. Your head snaps up. "What?"
"Three hours."
You blink. "Oh."
A familiar feeling settles in Wanda's chest. "Did you eat lunch?" Silence. "Y/N?"
You frown. "I don't know."
Wanda already knows what that meant. No lunch. No water. Probably no bathroom break either. Not because you are trying to ignore those things. You genuinely hadn't noticed. Again.
"Okay," Wanda says gently. "Can you tell me how your body feels?"
You look down at the puzzle pieces scattered across the carpet. "...Normal?"
That answer was about as helpful as she expected. Wanda sit beside you properly this time, crossing her legs. "Any headache?"
You think about it. "A little."
"Thirsty?"
A pause. "...maybe."
"Hungry?"
Another pause. "I don't know."
Wanda smiles softly despite herself. That one usually meant yes. "You know, most people can answer those questions immediately."
You grimace. "I know."
There it was. The frustration. Not at her. At yourself.
Wanda reaches over and nudges your shoulder lightly. "Hey." You look up. "There's nothing wrong with needing to check."
You frown. "Check?"
"Close your eyes." You obey automatically. "Now," Wanda says "does your stomach feel empty?"
You sit quietly for several seconds. "...A little."
"Good. What about your throat?"
You swallow experimentally. "Oh."
"Dry?" You nod.
Wanda smiles. "See? You knew. It just takes a minute."
The tension in your shoulders eases slightly. Ever since you'd come to live with her, Wanda had started doing this. Not telling you what you felt. Helping you figure it out yourself.
Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't. Sometimes you'd insist you were completely fine before nearly passing out because you'd forgotten lunch existed.
Once Pietro had found you crying because of a paper cut, only to discover you'd accidentally walked around on a sprained ankle for two days without mentioning it. Bodies were confusing. Feelings were worse. Wanda seemed to understand both.
"Come on," she saus, standing and offering a hand. "Food first."
You glance mournfully at the half-finished puzzle. "I'll lose my place."
"No, you won't."
"I might."
"You sorted every single piece by colour."
"...that's fair."
Wanda laughs quietly as you finally take her hand. Halfway to the kitchen you suddenly stop. "What?"
You shift awkwardly. "I think I need the bathroom."
Wanda blinks. "Now?"
"...Yeah."
"How long have you needed the bathroom?"
You consider the question seriously. "I have absolutely no idea."
Wanda pinches the bridge of her nose. From somewhere in the apartment Pietro yelled, "AGAIN?"
You immediately point toward the living room. "See? He gets it."
"I do not get it," Pietro call back. "I fear it."
You sit at the kitchen table picking at your dinner while Wanda cooks. Not because you dislike it. At least...you don't think you dislike it. Maybe. The problem was that you can't tell.
Wanda notices eventually. She always notices eventually. "Everything okay?"
You shrug. "I think so."
"Hm."
That was never a reassuring response. Across from you, Pietro snorts into his drink.
"What?"
"You always say that."
You frown. "Say what?"
"'I think so.'"
"Because I think so."
Pietro points his fork at you dramatically. "And then three hours later we discover you are hungry, tired, sick, overwhelmed, angry, or have somehow forgotten you possess legs."
"I know I have legs."
"Do you?" You stare at him. Pietro stares back.
"...Fair."
"Thank you."
Wanda hides a smile behind her glass. You poke at your food again.
The feeling was back. The weird one. The one sitting in your chest. Not painful. Not pleasant. Just...there. You hate feelings like that. At least physical stuff had clues. Headaches hurt. Dry throats felt dry.
Feelings just showed up and expected you to figure them out. "Okay," Wanda says gently.
That gets your attention immediately. Because that was her voice. The one she used when she was helping. "Tell me about it."
You groan. "I don't know."
"That's okay."
"No, it isn't." The words came out sharper than you meant. Immediately guilt twisted in your stomach. Or maybe it wasn't guilt. See? Impossible.
Wanda sits beside you. "What happened today?"
You shrug. "Nothing."
"Nothing?"
You think. "...My teacher moved seats."
Wanda nods. "Okay."
"And Sophie sat with someone else at lunch." Another nod. "And gym was loud."
Wanda's expression softens. "Anything else?
You hesitate. "...The cafeteria changed the chicken nuggets."
Pietro blinks. "The nuggets?"
"They were different."
"Different how?"
You throw your hands into the air. "I DON'T KNOW, PIETRO. DIFFERENT."
Silence. Then Wanda seaks carefully. "Did you like the old ones?"
"...Yeah."
"And now they're gone?"
You pause. "...Yeah."
"And your friend sat somewhere else."
You nod. "And your seat got moved."
Another nod. "And gym was loud."
You nod again. The feeling in your chest suddenly seemed a little less mysterious. "Oh."
Wanda smiles softly. "Oh?"
You stare down at the table. "I think..." The words come slowly. Like fitting puzzle pieces together. "I think maybe today was bad."
Wanda reaches over and squeezes your hand. "Yeah, detka."
For some reason your eyes sting. Not because today was terrible. Not because you were in trouble. Just because somebody had finally helped the feeling make sense.And somehow that made it easier to carry.
