Summary: you try to help pay. Natasha doesn't let you
Word count: ≈1200
Warnings: fluff, slight sexual implies
Reading time: ≈10 mins
Type: Oneshot
a/n
promo - join the scarlett johansson fan discord server
The front door clicks shut behind Natasha Romanoff, the rhythmic click of her heels coming to a stop just inside the doorway. You meet her quickly, pressing a kiss to her lips. She smiles as she watches you stand on your tiptoes to reach her.
“You're home early,” you comment, arms wrapped loosely around her neck.
She hums, holding your waist. “Mm...guys finished up early, so I thought I'd take you to dinner.”
“Dinner? Where?”
“It's the little Italian restaurant.”
“What do I where?”
“It's not too fancy, but it's not jeans-type either,” Natasha replies, smiling. She knew you hadn't been out together in ages, and she knows she's been staying at work longer than she should've been. “Come on, get off me. We both need to get changed.”
You sigh, untangling yourself from her before turning to walk back up the stairs as Natasha follows you.
Natasha doesn't change her style much, just swaps her navy tailored pants for black ones, her shirt for a white, thick strapped tank top and a black blazer draped over her shoulders. She never changed her earrings or her jewellery, though her wedding ring was always the only thing on her left hand.
You change into something a little nicer than your previous "eat leftovers on the couch" outfit, adding jewellery around your wedding ring where necessary.
Natasha locks the front door behind you both, quickly sidestepping Infront of you to open the passenger side door of her black Audi for you. She pushes the door shut with little effort before climbing in the driver's side, turning the key in the ignition. Her hand doesn't leave your thigh as she drives.
Once she stops the engine, you let her walk around the car to collect you, because Natasha Romanoff treats you like a princess. You both follow the waitress to a quiet booth in the corner, sitting down opposite each other.
She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Happy?”
You nod. “I'm glad you finished early. We haven't spent time together in ages.”
She grimaces slightly, reaching across to bring your hand up, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles. “Sorry, sweetheart. We can spend all tonight together.”
You smile, squeezing her hand. “I love you.”
She smiles back just before two menus are slid onto the table by the waitress. “Can I bring any drinks first?”
“Red wine, thanks.”
“Peach Bellini,” you tell the woman. She nods, walking back behind the bar.
“That's not wine.”
“It has alcohol in it,” you tell her.
She snorts. “Barely.”
You stick your tongue out at her, a childish gesture. “You're just jealous mine comes with fruit.”
Natasha sighs, shaking her head lovingly. “What are you fancying? Same as usual?”
“Always. You?”
“I might try a Papperdelle beef Ragu this time.”
“Ooh...that does sound good..”
Natasha smiles again, taking a sip of red wine immediately as it arrives. The waitress asks, “Are you ready to order, or still deciding?” with that typical, over polite, tired custome service smile.
“I'll have the beef Ragu, and she'll have the seafood linguini.”
“And garlic bread for the table, please,” you tell the waitress, her pen scratching across her notepad. “Thank you.”
The waitress smiles before leaving, you and your wife alone again.
“For the table?” Natasha questions.
“Yeah. For both of us.”
She just hums in response, smiling, before reaching across the table for your Bellini, taking a sip.
“Hey, you've got your wine.”
“Mm...but I wanted yours.”
You huff, rolling your eyes. “At least ask next time.”
“Don't roll your eyes at me,” Natasha murmurs lowly across the table, one eyebrow raised. You roll them again, just to be annoying. “You wanna be a brat, rolling your eyes? Oh, sweetheart...they'll be rolling tonight.”
Unfortunately, your food arrives just as your cheeks flush a hot pink, the waitress sliding your usual linguini in front of you, Natasha's Ragu in front of her and the garlic bread between you. “Enjoy your meal.”
“Thank you,” you reply, embarrassingly shy now.
“Someone's gone shy,” Natasha hums.
“Shut up,” you mutter, biting into a piece of garlic bread. Natasha takes a bite of her beef Ragu. “Good?”
She hums. “It's alright. Not as good as you though.”
The casual way she said things like that was always what caught you off guard, like she was talking about the weather instead of how you taste or how she'll make your eyes roll back.
You clear your throat. “Yeah. Mines good too.” Natasha reaches over her plate to grab a piece of garlic bread, just as you lean over with your fork to grab a forkfull of her Ragu. “Mm..it is good.”
The food disappears quickly between you two, sharing each others meals and drinks because that's what married people do, according to Natasha.
The tiramisu you ordered, which ended up being shared because Natasha decided that she actually did want dessert, was equally delicious, and the bill was soon being slid onto the table in place of the plates. You reach into your pocket, pulling out a $50 bill and sliding it towards her.
Natasha sees it immediately. “Sweetheart.”
“Natasha,” you reply, batting your lashes innocently.
“What's that for?”
“The bill.”
“Y/N.”
“Nat.”
“No.”
“I can help pay,” you tell her.
"You can," Natasha agrees. You brighten. "Just not tonight."
You groan. "Natasha."
"Y/N."
"That's not fair."
"It is when I invited you."
You fold your arms. "We're married."
"Correct."
"Our money is basically the same money."
"Also correct."
"Then why won't you let me pay?"
Natasha considers this. Then she takes your note out of the folder. You smile triumphantly.Only for her to slide it back across the table. With two extra hundred-pound notes tucked underneath it. You stare. "Natasha." She raises an eyebrow. "Natasha."
"What?"
"Why is there more money now?"
"I improved your contribution."
You look horrified. "You added four hundred dollars!"
"Two hundred."
"That's still ridiculous!"
Natasha shrugs. Across the table, the waitress is trying very hard not to laugh. "Take it back."
"No."
"Nat,” you half-whine.
"No."
"That's not how paying works."
"It is for me."
You push the notes toward her. She pushes them back. You push them again. She pushes them back again. The waitress finally gives up pretending she can't hear. "Should I come back in a minute?"
"Please," you say immediately.
"No," Natasha says at the same time.
The waitress snorts and walks away. You drop your head into your hands. "You're impossible."
"Yet you married me."
"Unfortunately."
Natasha's smile softens. "Keep it."
"I don't need it."
"You wanted to pay."
"Yeah, not profit,” you mutter.
She reaches across the table and takes your hand. "Buy yourself something nice."
You narrow your eyes suspiciously. "Is this your way of spoiling me again?"
"Maybe."
"Natasha."
"Maybe."
You try not to smile. You fail. Natasha looks entirely too pleased with herself.
A few minutes later, when you stand to leave, she slips an arm around your waist and guides you toward the door. "I'm paying next time."
"Of course you are."
You stop walking. "Really?"
"No."
"Natasha!" Her laugh follows you all the way to the car.
Summary: After your mother leaves you, your father is forced to take you into work with him. Natasha quickly realises your use within her company.
Word count: ≈3000
Warnings: mentions of illegal weapons exchange, mafia
Reading time: ≈18 mins
Type: Oneshot
promo - join the scarlett johansson fan discord server
“Daddy, where are we going?” you ask, his hand tight around yours.
“You're gonna stay at my work today. Mommy's...too busy to look after you today,” he lies.
“Hmm...okay, daddy.” you reply happily, skipping along beside him with no care of the dark corridors, or the men in dark suits that kept walking past.
“Here, we're gonna double check with my boss if it's okay for you to stay, alright? She can be a little scary sometimes, okay?” he warns you, raising a fist to knock on the large dark oak door.
“Enter.” you hear a woman's voice from inside.
Your dad pushes the door open, the office room inside just as dark as the corridors. The office looked too big. Everything in it was tall. Tall windows. Tall shelves. A tall black desk that looked wider than your entire bedroom at home. Even the ceilings felt giant, disappearing high above your head where soft golden lights glowed warmly.
It smelled nice though. Like coffee and fancy perfume and something woodsy you couldn’t name. You stood just inside the doorway, your shoes sinking slightly into the soft dark carpet while your eyes wandered everywhere at once.
The windows were the first thing you noticed. They stretched from the floor all the way to the ceiling, showing the whole city below like tiny toy buildings. Cars crawled through the streets like ants, their headlights blinking in little lines far beneath you. Rain tapped softly against the glass.
Then the desk. It was shiny and dark, so clean it barely looked used. No piles of paper. No mess. Just a little lamp, a glass bottle with brown liquid inside, and one pen sitting perfectly straight like somebody measured it with a ruler.
Behind the desk sat Natasha. She looked small compared to the room somehow, even though everybody else always seemed smaller around her.
One leg crossed over the other. Red hair glowing softly beneath the lights. Black rings on her fingers tapping once against the arm of her chair while she listened to someone talking on the phone in Russian. You didn’t understand the words. Only the tone. Quiet. Calm. The kind of calm that made grown men nervous.
The shelves behind her were filled with books you couldn’t read and little statues and boxes with locks on them. One shelf had a chess board set up halfway through a game, pieces frozen in the middle like someone had walked away and never came back. The whole room was quiet except for rain and Natasha’s voice. No clocks ticking. No people talking outside. Nothing. It felt like the office was holding its breath.
Your dad's hand still held yours tightly, and as the woman puts the phone down, your dad pulls you further in. “Good morning, Ms Romanoff,” your dad greets, bowing his head slightly.
Natasha nods in return. “Morning.” She glances down at you. Her face doesn't change. “I see we have company.”
“Hi,” you reply shyly with a wave.
Natasha’s eyes linger on you for a second too long. Not annoyed. Not even surprised, really. Interested. Which is somehow worse.
Your father clears his throat nervously beside you, talking quietly, like he didn't want you to know. “I’m sorry, Ms Romanoff. My wife left this morning and I didn’t exactly have childcare arranged and—”
“She left?” Natasha interrupts calmly.
Your father visibly hesitates. “Temporary situation.” Even you know that’s not true. Natasha knows it too.
Her gaze flicks back to you. Tiny backpack. Velcro shoes slightly unbuckled. One sock folded lower than the other. You smile at her anyway, because adults liked smiles. Usually. “You brought your child to a mafia headquarters,” Natasha says flatly.
Your dad swallows. “Just for today.”
Silence.
Rain taps softly against the giant windows behind her while Natasha leans back slightly in her chair. The black rings on her fingers catch the warm office light as she studies you carefully. “What’s your name?” You tell her shyly.
Natasha nods once. “And how old are you?”You hold up five fingers proudly. “Hm.” Her expression doesn’t soften exactly, but something shifts faintly behind her eyes. “Can you read?”
Your father blinks. “What?”
“I asked the child.”
You puff your chest slightly. “A little bit.”
Natasha gestures toward the chessboard sitting on the shelf behind her. “Do you know what that is?”
“A game.”
“What kind of game?”
You think very seriously for a moment. “…the horsey one goes like this.” You wave your hand in a crooked L-shape through the air. A quiet sound escapes Natasha’s nose. Not quite a laugh.
Your father looks more confused by the second. Natasha stands then. Tall. Sharp black suit. Red hair spilling over one shoulder. The entire room somehow straightens with her, like even the furniture knows she’s important. You stare openly.
She walks around the desk slowly before crouching in front of you instead. Expensive perfume. Cold rings. Calm eyes. Scary, your dad said. But not really. “Do you know what your father does here?” she asks.
Your dad immediately panics. “Ms Romanoff—”
“He talks to angry people on the phone,” you answer proudly before he can stop you. “And he types really fast. And...and some other stuff.”
Natasha hums softly. Honest. Observant. Comfortable around dangerous environments already. Interesting. Very interesting. Her eyes flick upward toward your father. “You said your wife left today?”
“…yes.”
“And there’s no family?”
“No.”
“No nanny?”
“I can’t exactly hire one on this notice.”
Natasha goes quiet again. Then she looks back at you. You’re staring at one of the locked boxes on her bookshelf now, curiosity written all over your face. “Do you know why people like children?” Natasha asks suddenly.
You blink at her. “'Cause we’re little?”
A real laugh almost appears this time. “Partly.” Her fingers tap once against her knee. “People underestimate children. They ignore them. Stop noticing them after a while.”
Your father looks increasingly alarmed now. “Ms Romanoff…”
Natasha ignores him completely. “You know what that means?” she asks you. You shake your head. “It means children hear things.” Your father pales instantly. Natasha finally stands again smoothly before walking back toward her desk. “The child stays.”
Relief floods your father’s face immediately. “Thank you, Ms Romanoff, I swear she’ll stay quiet—”
“She won’t.” He stops. Natasha picks up the glass bottle from her desk, pouring amber liquid slowly into a crystal tumbler. “Quiet children are noticeable. People remember them.” Her eyes flick toward you over the rim of the glass. “Friendly children disappear into rooms.”
You beam proudly despite having no idea what that means. Your father, however, looks like he’s about to faint. “Ms Romanoff… respectfully… what exactly are you suggesting?”
Natasha finally smiles. Small. Dangerous. “Oh,” she says calmly, “I think your daughter is going to be very useful to me.”
“Mhm I can colour really goodly!” you announce happily.
“Thank you, Ms Romanoff, it won't happen again.”
“If the child is truly as useful to me as I think they will be...you can bring the child anytime.” She replies. “You may go.”
Your father looks moments away from cardiac arrest as you carefully pick up the knight between both hands. “Ms Romanoff, I really don’t think—”
“You think I’m going to recruit your child into organized crime?” Natasha asks dryly.
“…aren’t you?”
Natasha takes a slow sip of her drink instead of answering immediately. Honestly? Maybe.
Not now. Not directly. But children were useful. Invisible. People talked freely around them. Guards ignored them. Politicians smiled at them while accidentally saying too much. And this one? Observant.Comfortable. Unafraid. Natasha gestures toward the chair near her desk. “Sit.”
You climb into it immediately, legs dangling far above the floor while your father stands there awkwardly like he still isn’t sure if he should leave or call somebody.
Natasha opens one of her desk drawers, pulling out a thick folder before sliding it toward you. Inside are photographs. Buildings. Faces. Maps. You blink down at them curiously. Your father looks horrified. “Ms Romanoff—”
“Relax.” Natasha doesn’t even look at him. “The child can’t exactly decipher money laundering routes.”
“She can hear you.”
“And?”
You’re already pointing at one of the photographs. “That man looks mean.”
Natasha’s eyes flick toward the picture.
One of her business rivals. Interesting. “Why?”
“He got angry eyebrows.”
“…angry eyebrows,” Natasha repeats. You nod very seriously.
Natasha leans back slowly in her chair again, studying you in silence now while your father shifts nervously beside the door. Children noticed things adults trained themselves to ignore. Tone. Body language. Fear. Instinct. And instinct couldn’t really be taught.
“You will pick them up at six.”
“Yes, Ms Romanoff,” your dad replies after a minute, the door shutting behind him.
“Not like this man,” you tell her, pointing at another picture.
“How come?”
“He looks scary, and...his eyes, I think.”
Natasha’s fingers tap slowly against the crystal glass in her hand while you continue sorting through the photographs with complete seriousness. “That one looks sad,” you announce.
Natasha glances down at the picture. A senator currently under investigation for skimming money through shell charities. “He embezzled from children’s hospitals.”
You gasp softly. “That’s mean.”
“Yes,” Natasha agrees calmly. “Very.”
You point at another photo next. “This one’s pretending.”
That gets her attention. “Pretending what?”
“To be nice.” You squint harder at the picture. “His smile doesn’t match his eyes.”
Silence settles across the office for a moment. Natasha studies you carefully now. Not just amused anymore. Evaluating. Because adults lied with words. Children noticed the face underneath them. Interesting. Very interesting.
Your first “job” happens three weeks later. Nobody calls it that around you, of course.
Natasha simply crouches in front of you one afternoon while one of her men buttons your tiny coat wrong because his hands are too big. “I need your help today,” she says.
You brighten immediately. “Like colouring?”
“Not exactly.”
You tilt your head. Natasha smooths a strand of hair away from your face with surprising gentleness. “You’re going to get a little lost for me.”
“…on purpose?”
“On purpose.”
That sounds exciting. Your father looks significantly less excited standing near the office door. “Ms Romanoff, I really don’t think—”
“The child will be perfectly safe.” That somehow does not comfort him. Natasha ignores his concern entirely, focusing on you instead. “Do you remember what I told you?”
You nod proudly. “People don’t notice kids.”
“Good.” Her mouth twitches faintly. “And what do you do if somebody asks where your parents are?”
You recite carefully, “I can’t find my daddy.”
“Very good.” Your father looks physically ill now.
The rival mob’s restaurant smells like cigar smoke and expensive food. You stand outside for exactly thirty seconds before the nerves hit.
Because Natasha’s men aren’t beside you anymore. The building is huge. The men at the door look scary. And suddenly this doesn’t feel like a game. One of the guards notices you almost immediately. “…kid?”
Your bottom lip wobbles before you can stop it. “I can’t find my daddy,” you whisper. Oh. Oh, you’re really crying now.
Real tears spill down your cheeks fast enough that even you seem surprised by them. Your chest hurts suddenly. Everything feels too loud. Too big. The guards exchange awkward looks instantly. “Well shit,” one mutters.
“I lost him,” you hiccup.
The larger guard crouches awkwardly in front of you like he’s handling a bomb. “Hey, hey, it’s okay…” Which only makes you cry harder.
Inside, Natasha would’ve been impressed. Nothing sold a performance better than reality. Within minutes you’re sitting inside the restaurant wrapped in somebody’s oversized suit jacket while mobsters awkwardly attempt to calm you down with orange juice and breadsticks. It works a little. Mostly because you’re distracted. Adults really do ignore children after a while. Especially crying ones.
“Whens the shipment coming through?”
“It can't come through Jersey anymore. Customs flagged two containers last time.”
“Use the Canadian route. We paid six million for the hardware already.”
“Then transport them in charity trucks. Noone searches medical equipment.”
You sit swinging your legs beneath the chair quietly while eating free bread. Nobody lowers their voices around you anymore. Interesting.
One man even pats your head absentmindedly while arguing about weapons inventory. Another complains about “the redheaded psycho” watching ports.
You memorize everything because Natasha likes when you remember things. Eventually one of the older men sighs heavily. “We should probably take the kid somewhere.”
“Police?”
“No cops.”
“Foster services then.”
You sniff dramatically on cue. The older man softens immediately. “Hey, hey, kid… we’re helping you.” You nod miserably.
The foster center smells like crayons and disinfectant. You hate it instantly. Too bright. Too loud. Too many strangers.
A tired woman behind the desk kneels in front of you gently. “Do you know your phone number, sweetheart?” You shake your head. “Address?”Another shake.
Truthfully, Natasha told you not to answer too many questions. You curl tighter into the plastic chair instead, clutching the stuffed rabbit somebody gave you twenty minutes ago.
You wonder briefly if Natasha forgot you. Then the front doors open. Black coat. Red hair. Sharp eyes scanning the room once before landing on you. Natasha. Relief hits so hard your tiny body practically launches out of the chair.
“Mama!”
The entire room freezes. Natasha catches you effortlessly as you crash into her, one arm wrapping securely around your back. Her expensive coat smells like snow and perfume and safety now. “Oh, there you are,” she murmurs smoothly into your hair.
The social worker blinks rapidly. “You’re her mother?”
Natasha doesn’t hesitate once. “Guardian.”
Close enough. “She never gave us a name.”
Natasha sighs softly like she’s exhausted rather than running one of the largest criminal organizations in the city. “She wanders off when she’s upset.”
You hide your face dramatically against her shoulder. The social worker melts immediately. “Well, she’s been very brave.”
“I know.”
Natasha rubs a hand slowly up and down your back while signing paperwork with the other. Calm. Controlled. Perfect.
Nobody notices the subtle nod one of the workers near the door gives her. Nobody notices the black car waiting outside. Nobody notices this entire situation was orchestrated hours ago. Except you.
Back at Natasha's office, the world is quiet again. Calm. “Tell me everything.”
“They was talking about...Canadian.” you reply.
“Canada? What about it?” she asks.
“I think...about the ships.”
Natasha pauses for a second, thinking. “The shipping routes?”
You nod. “And...they paid six for the ware.”
“How many 'six'?”
“Lots of six. A bajillion six!”
Natasha stares at you for a long moment. Then, slowly, she smiles. Not the sharp, dangerous kind she gives everyone else. Something quieter. Almost proud. “A bajillion six,” she repeats thoughtfully, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. “Very expensive hardware.”
You nod seriously from where you sit curled sideways in the chair, still clutching the stuffed rabbit from the foster center. One of its ears droops sadly over your arm. “And charity trucks.”
Natasha’s eyes sharpen instantly. “What about them?”
“They said nobody checks them.”
The room goes still.
One of the men standing near the office door straightens subtly. Another glances toward Natasha, waiting. Your father looks like he might actually throw up.Because that’s it. That’s the shipment route they’d been trying to find for months. And you found it by crying over breadsticks.
Natasha leans back in her chair slowly, studying you with a look your father can’t quite decipher anymore. Not amusement now. Not curiosity. Calculation. “You remembered all that?” your father asks weakly.
You look confused. “I got good listening ears.”
Natasha snorts softly through her nose before setting her glass down. “Clearly.”
One of her men steps forward carefully. “Boss… if the shipment’s moving through medical trucks—”
“I know.” Natasha lifts a hand slightly, silencing him instantly. Her gaze never leaves you. “What else did they say?”
You think hard, swinging your legs beneath the chair. “One man smelled weird.”
“…helpful.”
“He had angry eyebrows too.”
Natasha’s mouth twitches faintly. “Did angry eyebrows have a name?”
You gasp suddenly. “Tony!”
The room stills again.
Your father blinks rapidly. “You remembered his name?”
“He yelled a lot.” you explain simply. “And he called you a psycho.”
A dangerous little smile appears on Natasha’s face now. “Did he?”
You nod enthusiastically. “But I thinked he was scared of you.”
That smile grows. Cold. Pleased. “Smart man.”
Your father rubs both hands down his face tiredly. “Ms Romanoff, with respect… this is insane.”
Natasha finally looks at him. “No,” she says calmly. “What’s insane is that your daughter walked into a rival operation, extracted information, and walked back out unharmed before dinner.”
“She’s five!”
“Yes.” Natasha’s eyes flick back toward you again. “Which is why nobody saw her coming.”
You smile proudly despite not fully understanding. Natasha gestures toward the untouched pastries sitting near the edge of her desk. “You hungry?”
You nod immediately. “Take whichever one you want.”
You scramble off the chair happily, immediately grabbing the chocolate-covered pastry twice the size of your hand. Natasha watches you carefully while you settle back into the chair with it. Crumbs instantly scatter across your coat. Your father looks horrified. “Don’t eat over Ms Romanoff’s desk—”
“It’s fine.”
“But—”
“It’s a desk,” Natasha says flatly. “Not sacred ground.”
You beam at her around a mouthful of pastry. Natasha reaches forward without thinking, brushing chocolate from the corner of your cheek with her thumb. The movement surprises everyone in the room. Including her.She pauses for half a second afterward. Then continues like nothing happened. “You did well today.”
Your entire face lights up instantly. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Can I help again?”
Your father makes a strangled noise. Natasha ignores it entirely. “We’ll see.”
That answer alone is enough to make you kick your feet happily beneath the chair. Natasha watches the reaction quietly. Strange. She’s handled politicians, assassins, billionaires, entire criminal empires without blinking. Yet somehow one tiny grin from a child feels dangerously rewarding. One of the men near the door clears his throat carefully. “Boss… should we move on the Canadian shipment?”
Natasha’s gaze hardens instantly. Business again. Cold again. “No.”
The room stills. “No?”
“They think they’re invisible.” Natasha picks up her glass once more. “Let them keep thinking that.” Her eyes drift briefly toward you again. “For now.”
You yawn suddenly, nearly dropping the pastry in the process. It’s late. Your tiny body finally catching up to the exhausting day. Natasha notices immediately. “Tired?”
You shake your head automatically while actively falling asleep sitting upright. Natasha huffs the faintest laugh before standing. “Take the car downstairs,” she tells your father. “My driver will bring you home.”
“That really isn’t necessary—”
“It wasn’t a request.”
Your father immediately shuts up. Natasha walks around the desk then pauses beside your chair. For a second, your father genuinely thinks she’s about to hand you back politely and return to work. Instead, Natasha bends slightly and lifts you effortlessly into her arms.
You barely wake, instinctively curling against her shoulder with a sleepy hum. Pastry still clutched in one hand. The room goes silent. Because Natasha Romanoff does not carry things gently. Natasha Romanoff breaks things gently.
Yet here she is adjusting your tiny body carefully against her coat so your head doesn’t bump her shoulder. One hand supporting your back automatically. Your father stares. “Ms Romanoff…”
Natasha looks down at you once. Tiny. Warm. Trusting her completely already. Dangerous feeling. Then she glances back toward him. Calm. Certain. “Your daughter,” Natasha says quietly, “will be incredibly useful.”
Summary: After making a mistake on a mission, Natasha takes to the gym for days straight to "improve". Wanda can't get her to come sleep, so she enlists you to help her.
Word count: ≈950
Warnings: fluff, overexertion
Reading time: ≈ 8 mins
Type: drabble
a/n - i got inspo from a post but i can't find it
tag list: @tigerlillyruiz , @libbyofc
a/n - join the scarlett johansson fan server on discord! {X}
The sound of the punching bag echoes around the gym, Natasha's hands beating it repeatedly. The wraps around her hands are dirty now, her shirt damp around the edges with the sweat that glistens on her skin.
“Nat,” Wanda mutters from the doorway. “You need to sleep.”
“No time, Wanda. I need to be more prepared for the next mission.”
Wanda sighs, rolling her eyes. They'd had this same argument last night. Natasha had made a mistake on yesterday's mission which caused a civilian casualty. Since then, she had been determined to "improve" herself. She was sure it was more punishment for making a mistake, but she wasn't going to call Natasha out on that. “Nat, please. It's been two days. Just come to bed. You can't get better here if you ignore everything else.”
“I'm not even tired, Wanda! I can be better!” she snaps.
Wanda watches Natasha's punch miss the center of the bag entirely. Natasha corrects immediately, hitting it again harder. But she never missed. Not when she was rested.Wanda steps back out of the doorway. “...whatever you say, Nat.”
The sound of echoing punches only increases after Wanda steps out, Natasha's ponytail bouncing behind her head.
Wanda wanders through the tower, her mind spinning for another plan to get Natasha to rest. Then you float through her mind. She knocks on the door to your room.
“Come in!” you call.
Wanda shuts the door behind her. “Hey, kid. You busy?”
“Physics homework,” you roll your eyes. “So no. Why?”
“I need a favour,” she tells you, sitting on the edge of your bed. “Natasha won't sleep, but she'll listen to a teenager.”
“So...?” you prompt, pen already set down on the desk, physics homework forgotten .
“I need you to act tired.”
“Act? Like yawn or...” you cut yourself off. Wanda raises an eyebrow. “Forget it, I haven't slept properly since finals started.”
“You're a lifesaver, kid. Literally. Natasha might die if she doesn't sleep,” Wanda comments, ruffling your hair. Wanda leaves your room looking entirely too pleased with herself.
“You know this is manipulation, right?” you call after her.
“Absolutely.”
“That's messed up.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she hums. “You get a tenner if this works.”
Ten minutes later, you wander into the gym. “Hey, Nat.”
Natasha stops punching the bag breifly, turning to face you. “Whats up, kid?”
“I'm tired,” you yawn, arms stretching above your head.
Natasha sighs. “Then you should be in bed.”
“Funny. Wanda said the same thing to you.”
Natasha narrows her eyes immediately.“Wanda sent you.” You shrug. “Traitor.”
“You're literally limping.”
“I am not.”
“Nat, you just punched the air.”
Natasha sighs, unwrapping her hands. “Come on,” she murmurs, her arm around your shoulders as she leads you out of the gym. Her hands guid you to the couch, where she drapes a blanket over both of you, clicking through movies on the TV. “What you thinking? Horror?”
“Yeah, screams are easy to fall asleep to,” you reply sarcastically.
Natasha rubs at one eye while scrolling through movies. She shakes her head, pulling you closer. “Exhausted and still being a sarcastic pain in my ass.”
“Whatever. I'm practically asleep anyway.”
Natasha sighs, settling deeper into the couch, letting you rest against her. You yawn again, settling against her chest. It catches on, and Natasha quickly yawns too. “You're that tired?”
“Very.”
“You slept until eleven.”
“...that feels unrelated,” you mutter.
Natasha clicks the horror movie on, rubbing her eyes. “You better not have nightmares, kid.”
“God, you're so annoying. I'm 16, not 6.”
Wanda appears in the doorway. “Oh good, you're resting.”
Natasha points at you immediately, eyes heavy. “The kid is exhausted.”
Wanda looks at your completely awake face. You look at Wanda. Wanda looks at you. “Uhhuh,” Wanda says.
Natasha narrows her eyes slightly. “What?”
“Nothing.”
You immediately avoid eye contact. Natasha points between the two of you. “You're both being weird.”
“I'm always weird,” you reply.
Wanda settles into the armchair opposite the couch, looking entirely too pleased with herself. Natasha ignores it, pulling the blanket higher around your shoulders. “Did you eat dinner?”
“Yes.”
“A real dinner?”
You hesitate. Natasha groans. “You had cereal.”
“It had vitamins.”
“It had marshmallows.”
“Those are basically vitamins.”
Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose before reaching for her phone. “I'm ordering food.”
Wanda bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself laughing. Twenty minutes later, Natasha has somehow acquired hot chocolate, takeout, another blanket, and a pillow for your head. You haven't moved once. Neither has she. The horror movie has long since stopped being watched. “Nat,” Wanda says gently.
“Mhm?”
“You look tired.”
“I'm fine.”
You glance up. Natasha's eyes are half closed. “Nat.”
“Fine.”
“Nat,” Wanda repeats.
“Wanda.”
“Nat.”
“I'm literally resting right now.”
Wanda blinks. You blink. Natasha blinks. Then her expression slowly shifts. “Oh.” The room goes quiet. “Oh, you two are evil.”
Wanda immediately starts laughing. You point accusingly at Natasha. “You fell for it.”
“You manipulated me” she mutters.
“You're the spy,” you reply, sticking your tongue out.
“You helped.”
“I got bribed.”
Natasha looks at Wanda. “You bribed the teenager?”
“It cost me a tenner.”
“You sold me out for ten dollars?”
You shrug. “Inflation.”
Natasha stares at you for a long moment before shaking her head. “Both of you are terrible.”
“Are you getting up?” Wanda asks sweetly.
Natasha looks down. You are asleep. Actually asleep this time. Your head is tucked under her chin, one hand still wrapped around the sleeve of her shirt. Natasha immediately lowers her voice. “No.”
Wanda smirks. “No?”
“No.”
“Because you're resting?”
“Because if I move, the kid wakes up.”
Wanda's smile softens. “Sure, Nat.”
Natasha rolls her eyes, but her arm tightens around you anyway. Five minutes later, Wanda notices Natasha's breathing even out. The movie continues playing quietly in the background. After two days, Natasha is asleep.
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.
promo - join the scarlett johansson fan discord server
“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: living under Red Room control for your whole life, your new life begins after Natasha rescues you. At your new school, someone takes an interest in you.
Word count:≈900
Warnings: fluff
Reading time: ≈10 mins
Type: drabble
a/n - if even a single person saw the avengers game reference my life is complete
promo - join the scarlett johansson fan discord server
You hear your fellow classmates complain about school often. How it was so hard, hell on earth, and like a prison and the food sucked and the dress code wasn't good. You had realised quickly that none of them truly experienced hell.
That none of them had ever been forced to physically harm other girls, or wear tight jumpsuits, or have cold food, the bare minimum you could give someone to remain fit and mostly healthy. That none of them had ever only had a total of three or four outfits to wear total, and only three different things to do with their hair.
One thing that was different, was relationships. Friends, romance, even just a teacher-student relationship. Sure, you all considred yourselves sisters within the confines of the Red Room, but at the end of the day it wasn't real. You weren't really sisters by blood, more like bonded through a shared hell-like life. But it was never said out loud, never recognised. You could have it used against you, a vulnerability. Something you have to kill.
Here, though, at this high school in New York, it was different. Girls walked in large groups, chattering down hallways. People kissed, laughed, held hands. They wouldn't last a day in the Red Room.
One girl, you realise, has taken a particular interest in you. She sits with you at lunch, helps with your homework since your learning is a little behind, laughs at anything you say.
So you decided to ask your big sister, who had experienced more of the world than you had. "Nat!" You call loudly, the apartment door clicking behind you.
"In the kitchen," Natasha replies.
You drop your backpack beside the couch and follow her voice. Natasha stands at the counter chopping vegetables, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. It still amazes you sometimes; the former Black Widow, one of the deadliest women in the world, making dinner. "School okay?" she asks.
You shrug. "Fine."
Natasha glances over her shoulder immediately. Fine usually meant something was bothering you. "What happened?"
You sit on one of the stools at the kitchen island, swinging your legs slightly. "There is a girl."
The knife stops mid-chop. Natasha slowly looks up. "A girl." You nod. "A problem girl?"
"No."
"A bully?"
"No."
Natasha sets the knife down completely now. "Okay. Tell me about the girl."
You think for a moment. "She sits with me at lunch." Natasha hums. "She helps me with homework." Another hum.
"She laughs at my jokes." Natasha's lips twitch. "Even when they're not funny."
"Maybe you're hilarious."
You ignore that. "She walks with me between classes."
"Mhm."
"She gave me one of her cookies yesterday." Natasha is openly smiling now. "She said she likes spending time with me."
The smile grows. "And?"
You frown. "And what?"
"That's it?"
"Yes."
Natasha stares. You stare back. Then Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose. "Oh, God."
"What?"
"She has a crush on you."
You blink. "A crush?"
"Yes."
You genuinely look confused. "No."
Natasha laughs. "Yes."
"No."
"Y/N."
"She is being friendly."
"She is flirting."
You fold your arms. "I know what friendship looks like."
Natasha raises an eyebrow. "You spent your first week at school convinced the librarian was adopting you because she remembered your name."
"She was very nice."
"She worked there."
You huff slightly. The concept still feels strange.
In the Red Room, nobody gave gifts because they liked you. Nobody spent time around you because they wanted to. Everything had a purpose. Everything was a test. A weakness. A weapon. Not... affection. Not because someone simply enjoyed being around you.
Natasha's expression softens immediately when she notices you growing quieter. "Hey."
You look up. "She likes me?"
"I think so."
"Why?"
The question comes out genuinely confused. Natasha pauses.Because that was the real issue. You still didn't understand why anyone would choose you. Not after everything. Not after the Red Room spent years teaching you that love was something people exploited.
"Because you're smart," Natasha says. You immediately make a face. "Because you're funny." You make the same face. "Because you're kind."
"That seems unlikely," you continue. "I've done...not good things."
Natasha's expression softens. "So have I." You look up. "That doesn't mean we're only the worst things we've ever done."
You almost smile. Natasha points a carrot at you. "There it is."
"What?"
"That thing."
"What thing?"
"The reason people like you."
You frown.
Natasha smiles. "You don't even realize you're lovable." The words hit harder than they should. For a moment, neither of you speak. Then Natasha reaches over and bumps your shoulder gently. "Do you like her?"
You think about it seriously. "She makes me feel... comfortable." Natasha nods. "She remembers things I tell her." Another nod. "And I like when she sits with me."
The smile on Natasha's face becomes almost impossible to hide. "Congratulations."
"For what?"
"I think you might have a crush too."
Your eyes widen. "Oh." A pause. "Oh no."
Natasha bursts out laughing. "Welcome to being a normal teenager, sestra."
And for once, despite how confusing it all is, the idea doesn't seem quite so terrifying. Because if there was one thing Natasha had taught you since rescuing you from the Red Room, it was that not every feeling was a weakness. Some of them were worth keeping.
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
promo - join the scarlett johansson fan discord server
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.
