Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?
Camping
Wandanat x hybrid!puppy!reader
Summary: Wanda and Natasha have been looking for a pet for some time, but they've had no luck until they meet you, will you be a good fit for their lives?
Word Count: 3.2K
Warnings: Hybrid AU (human with animal traits), light animal behavior themes, use of pet names/titles (e.g. “Daddy”), mild fear and emotional distress, implied past trauma (Bumble’s protective instincts), wolf encounter, light scolding/disciplinary tone, comfort/reassurance, human-animal interaction depicted with hybrid characters.
Authors Notes: This was a request from my little woof~ You can find the request here!
“Okay Tasha, you have everything for the two of you, right?” Wanda’s voice floated through the house, a mix of worry and affection. She’d been double-checking the list for the third time now, fluttering around like a nervous mother hen. You had been trailing the two of them all morning—your nails clicking against the hardwood, ears perked, head tilting at words like tent, river, and trail snacks. You weren’t entirely sure what “camping” meant, but the way your owners moved with purpose had your tail wagging all the same. Something exciting was happening. And you were going.
Natasha—Daddy—stood near the front door with a hiking pack slung over one shoulder, calm as ever. Her sunglasses were already perched on her head, and a cooler waited by her boots. She gave a short nod as Wanda approached her with a folded flannel in hand.
“I’ve got everything. Tent, food, water, bug spray, the meds kit, her blanket, even that weird little toy she sleeps with,” Natasha said, nodding toward you with the smallest of smirks.
Wanda didn’t look convinced. She turned sharply and you almost bumped into her knees trying to stop fast enough. Dropping your rear to the floor, you blinked up at her obediently, tail sweeping the floor with fast, hopeful thumps.
“Okay, Bumble,” she said, squatting down and holding your face between her hands. Her warm thumb stroked over your cheek, and you leaned into it. “You listen to Natasha, okay?”
“Yes! Listen to Daddy!” you said quickly, a little breathless with excitement. Your voice was light and eager, like it didn’t know how to contain itself. You didn’t even realize you were vibrating in place, tail lashing side to side with joy.
Wanda giggled and kissed your forehead. “Good girl.”
Behind her, Natasha chuckled. “We’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. I’ll keep her safe.”
“I know, I just…” Wanda stood, brushing invisible lint from Natasha’s jacket. “It’s her first time really out like this, away from both of us. And there’s bears out there.”
“I have a knife,” Natasha deadpanned.
“And a hybrid who’s afraid of the vacuum,” Wanda countered.
Natasha gave her a crooked grin, then leaned in to kiss her. “We’ll be fine. Go enjoy the quiet house while you have it.”
You watched the kiss curiously, ears twitching. Then Natasha patted her thigh and you jumped up on all fours ready, tail wagging again. “Let’s go, pup.”
You barked once and followed her out the door, casting one last look over your shoulder at Wanda, who smiled softly, waving from the porch with both hands.
You didn’t know what camping was yet—but with Daddy by your side, you were sure it was going to be your favorite thing.
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You couldn’t believe your luck.
From the moment Natasha opened the passenger side door and patted the seat, your brain short-circuited with pure joy. You paused on the sidewalk, blinking up at her in disbelief, as if this were some sort of test.
“The front seat’s for you this time, pup,” she said, tossing her bag in the back and sliding into the driver’s side.
You scrambled up immediately, clumsily bracing your hands on the edge of the seat and hauling yourself up. Your tail thumped wildly against the upholstery, ears perked so high they practically touched the roof. You turned in a quick circle—once, twice—before sitting tall, knees tucked to your chest, tail wagging over the console.
You glanced at Natasha as she buckled in. She shot you a quick side-smile.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it. You’re only up here ‘cause it’s just us,” she said, pulling her sunglasses down over her eyes.
You didn’t say anything. You were too busy glowing. Front seat. The front seat. You had never been allowed here before. This was sacred territory. Wanda had always clicked her tongue and steered you toward the back, mumbling something about dog hair and seat safety. But now? Now you were queen of the world.
Your nails tapped lightly against the center console as you shifted, leaning closer to the window. When the car started moving, you gasped. The rush of air! The view! You pressed your nose to the glass, watching the world zip past in a blur of green trees and open sky.
Natasha chuckled lowly, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over briefly to scratch behind your ears. “Not bad, huh?”
You turned toward her, eyes wide and sparkling, and gave a soft, breathy sound of agreement before returning to the window. Your tail never stopped moving, swaying with the gentle rhythm of the road.
And when Natasha reached down to turn up the music—some steady, low-beat rock that thrummed in your chest—you leaned over just enough to rest your head on her thigh, letting out a happy sigh.
You didn’t know where you were going, but for once, it didn’t matter. You were in the front seat. With Daddy. And life was so good.
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The car door creaked open, and before Natasha could even tell you to wait, you were already wriggling out with a huff of excitement, hitting the ground with your hands first, then your feet. Grass and pine needles crunched beneath you as you stared wide-eyed at the scene ahead—towering trees, a canopy of green, sunlight breaking through in dappled patches. It was quiet. Still. The air smelled like dirt and leaves and woodsmoke from a nearby site.
You turned to Natasha, your mouth parting in a question, but she was already circling to the back of the car, popping the trunk.
“C’mere, Bumble,” she called, her voice steady but warm. “We’ve got work to do.”
You padded closer on all fours, tail swaying, head cocked. She pulled out a folded bundle of fabric first—a tent—and a couple of long metal poles. You blinked at it, uncertain.
“This is our shelter,” Natasha said, holding up the bundle. “Keeps us dry if it rains. Keeps bugs out. Watch, I'll show you.”
You sat back on your heels, resting your hands on your thighs, eyes fixed on her as she laid everything out with the kind of precision you always admired in her. She explained each piece—how the poles connected with little snaps, how the tent had to be staked into the ground just so. She gave you tasks: hold this corner, press down here, bring me that hammer.
And you did. Happily. Eagerly. Anything to please her. Your tail wagged constantly, brushing over the soft dirt as you mimicked her movements.
“See? Not so hard,” Natasha said as the tent finally stood tall, taut and secure. She ruffled your hair. “You’re good at this.”
You beamed up at her, panting just slightly from exertion and the heat, and leaned into her hand.
Next came the fire pit. Natasha cleared a space, circled it with stones, and showed you how to gather the right kind of wood—dry twigs, not too thick, plus some leaves for kindling. You watched, nose twitching at the smoky smell of the old charred wood in the pit, while she explained how to build a fire safely.
“You don’t touch this part, okay?” she said, pointing at the lighter before tucking it into her jacket pocket. “This is mine. You just help me feed it.”
You nodded seriously.
She lit the fire, and the sudden bloom of warmth and light made your ears perk. But what really caught your attention were the tiny flickers of ash that lifted into the air, twisting and dancing like tiny gray bugs. Your eyes tracked them, body tense—prey.
You lunged, snapping at one as it floated near, catching nothing but air and letting out a startled huff. Natasha laughed, reaching out to hold your shoulder steady.
“Bumble, no—those are ashes, not snacks.”
You looked up, confused, then tried again when another one drifted low. This time, she caught your chin gently and made you look at her.
“Hey,” she said with a small smirk. “No biting the fire.”
You whined softly, ears pinning back, but the warmth in her eyes kept your tail wagging.
By the time the campsite was set, the sun had shifted to mid-afternoon. A breeze whispered through the trees, rustling the tent, and you lay on your side by the fire ring, panting, watching as Natasha finally plopped down on a log bench with her thermos.
“You did good today, Bumble,” she said, glancing over at you with the faintest smile.
Your tail thumped against the dirt.
You might not have understood everything this “camping” was about yet—but if it meant spending the whole day close to Daddy, learning from her, helping her, earning her quiet praise?
You could stay out here forever.
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The woods had gone quiet in the late afternoon—soft and golden, the fire crackling low beside Natasha as she scribbled something into her little notebook, lips pursed in focus. You lay near her feet, half-dozing, your head resting on your arms, tail occasionally flicking across the pine needles.
It was peaceful.
Until you heard something.
Your ears twitched—just a subtle sound at first, but different. Not the breeze, not the birds. A high, soft whine. Barely there, like the rustle of something trying not to be heard.
Your head lifted.
Natasha didn’t react, still hunched over her notebook, so you didn’t bark or whine. You simply stood and tilted your ears, angling them until you caught it again. Closer now.
Sniff.
It was faint, earthy, unfamiliar. A mix of wet moss and something wild.
You padded away on all fours, slow and cautious, slipping just off the trail until the tall grass brushed your shoulders and the scent grew stronger. You ducked beneath a branch, pushed your nose into a thicket—
And suddenly—
Boop.
Your snoot bumped another one.
You froze. So did it.
A tiny little creature blinked up at you, its nose trembling, ears low. Gray-brown, just like yours but shaggier, rougher. A pup. Small. Frightened. Shaking.
It let out a soft, pitiful whine.
You leaned in and sniffed again. It smelled wrong. Wild. Unclean in a way that made you tense—but also small. Helpless. Alone. That protective instinct that had always burned beneath your ribs roared up like fire.
So, before you could think about it too hard, you reached forward and gently grabbed it with your mouth by the scruff, kind of like how you’d seen Wanda carry toys to the laundry. Its body went limp. It didn’t fight.
You turned and padded back to camp, tail held high in quiet pride.
When you emerged from the brush and dropped the squirming pup carefully at Natasha’s boots, tail wagging slowly, head tilted just a bit to say Look what I found!—
Her reaction was... not what you expected.
“BUMBLE!”
You flinched as she shot up from the log, eyes wide in pure horror.
“No! Stop! BAD GIRL!”
You instantly shrank back, curling your body protectively around the pup, letting out a soft whimper as your ears flattened.
But you didn’t leave it.
You couldn’t.
The little thing pressed into your belly, whining quietly, and you responded by licking the side of its face with a soft whuff, tail low but still wagging. You didn’t understand what was wrong—but it was scared, and so were you, and that meant you needed each other.
Natasha ran a hand through her hair, pacing once before crouching down near you, keeping her voice low but panicked. “Bumble, baby, that’s not a dog. That’s a wolf. A wild animal. You can’t just—oh my god. We have to find its pack, or—shit, its mother could be close.”
You looked up at her, eyes wide and confused, your tongue slipping out as you gave the pup another kiss. It squeaked, pressing closer to your warmth.
“…Oh no,” Natasha muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “She’s already attached.”
You didn’t understand all the words. But the tone? That you understood.
So you whined, low in your throat, curling your body around the pup like a nest. You weren’t letting it go. Not yet.
Not until you were sure it was okay.
The little pup stayed curled in your arms, warm and trembling. You nosed at its scruff gently, feeling the soft puffs of breath against your skin. It had stopped whining now—maybe because it felt safe. Because you were warm. Because you wouldn’t let anything near it.
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Natasha had stopped pacing.
She was sitting now, watching, jaw tight, arms on her knees. Every few seconds her eyes flicked to the trees, sharp and alert, scanning for movement. For danger.
Then it came.
A distant, bone-deep howl.
Low. Long. Echoing over the hills like a call from the earth itself. You lifted your head sharply, ears flicking to attention. The pup jolted too—but not in fear.
In recognition.
It squirmed in your hold. Not to get away—just to get higher, closer to the noise. And then it did something strange. It howled back. A high, uneven wail. Lonely, but loud.
You felt something stir deep in your chest.
You’d never done it before. Not really. But it felt natural. Right.
You raised your head, opened your mouth—
And you howled.
Not quite like the pup. Not quite like the wolf that had called.
But something in between. Raw and wild and full of ache.
“Bumble—” Natasha’s voice was strained now. “No. No no no—baby, don’t—”
She stood, fast, reaching for you, but you were already on your feet. The pup squeaked and scrambled up onto your back, and you dropped into a run before she could catch you.
“Bumble!” she yelled.
But the trees swallowed her voice.
Your paws—no, your feet—pounded the ground, strong and certain, following a scent you didn’t even know you could track. The pup clung to you, small claws gripping your shirt. Another howl—closer now. More desperate.
You howled back again, heart beating wildly.
You didn’t know if you were scared or sure. You didn’t know what was waiting at the end of the trail. But the pup needed you. Something had pulled it to you—had pulled you to it.
And you weren’t going to let it be alone again.
“Bumble!”
You heard Natasha behind you—branches snapping, her boots pounding the dirt, her voice sharp with fear.
But you couldn’t stop.
The wolf pup whimpered and dug its little claws into your shirt tighter. It could feel it too—her. She was close. So close you could smell the scent of wild earth and warm fur in the air.
You pushed through one last thicket, your hair catching on twigs, your breath coming hard—
And then you stopped.
There, standing in a clearing bathed in pale moonlight, was her.
The wolf.
Massive, sleek, and silver-gray. Her fur shimmered with the same strange lilac hue you’d seen in the pup’s eyes. Her chest rose and fell slowly, but her eyes were locked on you—piercing, wary, and fierce.
You froze, slowly lowering yourself to all fours, letting the pup slip from your back and tumble gently onto the soft ground. The little thing scrambled up, took one shaky step, then another, and whimpered once.
That sound shattered the wolf’s stillness.
Her body shifted, her ears twitched, and then—
She bounded forward in two graceful leaps.
You barked—a short, sharp warning.
She stopped.
You could feel Natasha finally catch up behind you. She skidded to a halt, breathless, voice caught in her throat. “Bumble… don’t move,” she whispered.
But you weren’t scared.
You lowered your head, tail still, and gave a small yip. Not aggressive—just… asking.
The wolf huffed, muscles tense, but her gaze darted to the pup now wagging its tail and crying soft happy yips of its own. You yipped again. One low, one high.
Safe.
Found.
Yours.
The wolf blinked once.
Then her pup barked—tiny, high-pitched, and full of joy.
And the mother relaxed.
She stepped forward, brushing her snout gently over her pup, licking its ears and neck and nudging it close to her side. Her tail lifted and curled around it, protective, maternal, strong.
You stayed still, watching, every hair on your arms and neck standing straight.
And then she looked at you again.
Not with fear.
Not with threat.
But with something… older. Something like recognition.
She studied you—your ears, your tail, the silent language that passed between hybrid and beast. And for a long moment, it was just the two of you, breathing the same air under the same sky.
Then, without a sound, she turned.
The pup followed, still wobbly on its legs but glowing with purpose. Together they stalked back into the trees, fading into the night like ghosts.
“Daddy, that was so scary but so fun! I helped them!” you chirped, bounding ahead of her on all fours, tail wagging like crazy. Every few leaps you turned to look back at her, eyes wide with excitement, panting through your grin. The trees felt lighter now, the air crisp and proud in your lungs. You did something good—you helped.
But Natasha didn’t share your bounce.
“Do not ever do that again.” Her voice cut through your joy like a firm hand to the chest. You stopped mid-bound, landing in a crouch, ears flicking back at the tone. It was that training tone. The one she used when you chewed something you shouldn’t or got too mouthy.
She walked past you without stopping, not even looking down as she said it again, quieter this time but no less sharp, “Not ever again, Bumble.”
Your chest sank a little as you followed her, slower now. You weren’t in trouble—not really—but you knew that voice. It meant worried, even if she’d never admit it.
You crept closer, brushing against her thigh until she sighed and her hand dropped to your hair, fingers threading through it absentmindedly.
“Could’ve lost you,” she muttered. “I would've lost my mind. What would I have told Wanda?”
“M’sorry, Daddy…” you murmured, voice barely more than a breath, hoarse and small. “It was instinct to protect. Didn’t mean to worry…”
Natasha didn’t say anything right away. She sat down heavily on the log near the fire, the quiet pop of the flames the only sound between you. You curled up at her feet, your limbs folding in tight, ears tucked back, tail wrapping around yourself like a blanket.
The heat of the fire kissed your skin, low but steady, casting long shadows that danced gently across the clearing. You peeked up at her—her jaw was tight, hands braced on her knees, eyes locked on the embers like they held all the answers.
Then slowly, one hand left her knee and slid down, knuckles brushing your shoulder before settling in your hair. She didn't pet you. Just held you there. Grounded you.
“I know, Bumble…” she finally said, voice quieter than usual, rougher. “I know you didn’t mean to scare me.”
She ran her fingers through your hair once, twice.
“You did good,” she added after a moment. “But I need you to let me keep you safe too. That’s my job, yeah?”
You gave a soft whine and nodded, leaning your head against her leg, your nose tucked under her knee like you were trying to disappear into her.
“I’ll always come back, Daddy. Promise.”
“I know,” she said, and this time her hand moved with more purpose, stroking your head slowly. “Just… maybe let me talk to the wild animals next time, okay?”
You gave a tired little huff of a laugh. “Okay, Daddy.”