The Tales of a Little Tiger Series: WandaNat x Reader/Little Reader in process
Chapter 1: Where It All Began
Chapter 2: A Little Bump on the Head
Chapter 3: Two Mama's Are Better Than One
Chapter 4: Who Would Attack a Little Tiger and a Spider?
Chapter 5: Fractured Reality
Chapter 6: Who's Y/n's Favorite Aunt?
Chapter 7: Wandering Tiger
Chapter 8: 'Twas the Night
Chapter 9: Christmas Bundle
Chapter 10: Christmas Wrapped Up
Chapter 11: Grandma & Grandpa
Chapter 12: A Babbling Tiger
Chapter 13: This Little Light of Mine
Chapter 14: To Learn Means We Must Also Fall
Chapter 15: It's a Wild One
Chapter 16: Fevered Magic
Chapter 17: A Whole New World
Chapter 18: Home Seems So Far Away
Chapter 19: Finding Home Again
Chapter 20: A Growing Family
Chapter 21: A Little Tiger's Cousin
Chapter 22: Terrible Two's
Chapter 23: A Little Star in a Daycare
Chapter 24: Tiny Roars and Big Hearts
WandaNat x Reader Works in Progress:
Ghosted:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
One Bite at a Time (TW: Eating Disorder):
Chapter 1
WandaNat x Reader Completed Short Stories:
By Your Side
Home is With You
Tilted
Completed Works: Little Reader x WandaNat
A Soul for a Soul (TW: Character Death):
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7: Epilogue
Follower Requested Stories: Complete and in Progress
To Bring Her Home
Chapter 1
Authors Note: Thank you for reading my stories and for being super supportive on here and on Archive of our own. I will do my best to update this Master-List.
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Summary: (A Once Upon a Time / Rizzoli & Isles Crossover )
Detective Maleficent Mills thought she was chasing monsters—until she rescued a regressed ten-year-old girl from the ruins of a trafficking ring and brought her home to the quiet life she shares with her wife, Mayor Regina Mills. But when the child, Emma, begins to remember the horrors she survived—and the sister she lost
As Mal, Regina, and Emma try to rebuild something resembling family, the team at Boston PD races to bring down the man behind it all—Gold. With Jane Rizzoli Isles leading the charge and testimony from the bravest little survivor, the battle for justice becomes personal… and no one is walking away unchanged.
The rain hit the pavement in steady, stinging sheets—an unrelenting Boston downpour that painted the city in wet shadows and a grim, metallic sheen. Flashing police lights reflected off the slick surface of the warehouse lot, washing the scene in red and blue strobe.
Detective Maleficent Mills—Mal to those who knew better than to use her full name—stepped beneath the crime scene tape, her boots crunching glass and gravel. The hem of her black trench coat flared in the wind, and the scent of blood, wet rust, and rot hit her the second she crossed into the chaos.
“Detective Mills, thank you for coming so quickly.”
Chief Korsak, grizzled and grave, stepped forward, his hand extended. He wore fatigue like a uniform—deep lines etched into his face, his eyes bloodshot and underslept.
“You can call me Mal.” She shook his hand, a firm grip that still carried warmth. “My sergeant said it was urgent.”
Korsak nodded grimly and gestured toward the looming brick building. “I requested you. This has Gold’s name written all over it.”
Mal’s jaw tightened. She didn’t need to ask which Gold. She’d been tracking the trafficking network for over a year now—rumors of children, missing teens, littles snatched from system cracks. Girls who weren’t just used but discarded.
Mal’s shoulders squared, her spine snapping into rigid precision. Her features smoothed out into a mask of controlled steel. “Age?”
“She appears around ten, but…” Korsak hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “We think she’s a classified little. Headspace fluctuating between one and three.”
That stopped her.
“A trauma regression?”
“Possibly.” He sighed and led her toward the ambulance stationed under a halogen lamp, its red lights casting ghostly glows across the pavement. “Or maybe that’s how she’s always been. We pulled her file. She was in the foster system under a known recruiter. Jefferson.”
Mal’s heart dropped. The name was familiar—in all the worst ways. She’d questioned Jefferson once and never forgot how smugly he folded his arms and smiled when she couldn’t prove a thing.
Korsak lowered his voice. “She doesn’t speak much. Cries when touched. We haven’t figured out where to place her yet.”
Mal stopped beside the open doors of the ambulance. Inside, bundled in a too-thin blanket, was the smallest ten-year-old she’d ever seen. Her blonde hair was stringy and matted, her skin nearly translucent under the harsh white light. Wrists and ankles wrapped in blood-speckled gauze. Eyes wide and glazed with terror.
She was sucking her thumb like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.
Mal’s throat burned. She didn’t care that there were officers watching, or that the crime scene still pulsed with activity around them.
“I want to take her,” she said quietly. “My wife and I… We’re licensed caregivers. Regina’s qualified in that age range.”
“I’m not letting her go back into the system,” Mal said, her voice firm and clear. “Not after what she’s survived.”
There was a long pause. Rain slapped the metal of the ambulance, and inside, Emma whimpered softly.
Korsak handed over a folder—thick, tattered at the edges. “Her name’s Emma Swan.”
Mal held the file like it was a fragile thing, a paper life hanging by a thread.
The EMT stepped back as Mal leaned into the vehicle. She knelt beside the girl, slowly lowering herself to Emma’s eye level, voice soft enough to stroke air.
“Hello. Emma.”
The girl didn’t look up, but her thumb stilled against her mouth.
“My name is Maleficent, but that’s a mouthful, isn’t it? You can call me Mal.”
Emma’s eyes flicked toward her. Barely. But it was enough.
“I’m here to help you. The people who hurt you won’t ever touch you again. I promise.”
She watched the girl’s gaze flit to her badge, and she realized that some part of Emma understood what that meant. Safety. Maybe not trust. But something.
“You’re going to come stay with me and my wife for a while. We want to keep you safe. Do you feel okay coming with me?”
Emma didn’t speak. But she gave the smallest of nods, a tremble riding her shoulders. She kept her thumb in her mouth but inched closer—millimeters at a time.
It was all Mal needed.
A few feet away, Korsak had already pulled up his unmarked cruiser. “I had a booster seat installed. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best we could do on short notice.”
Mal stepped back from the ambulance, her coat already soaked through. Gently, she slid her arms under the child’s fragile body, lifting her with infinite care.
Emma whimpered—small, sharp—and flinched at the contact.
“I know, sweetheart,” Mal whispered as she rocked slightly to soothe her. “I’m sorry. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”
The buckle clicked around her. Emma’s arms were too thin, her skin mottled with bruises, but she didn’t scream. She didn’t fight.
She just shrank into herself, and Mal sat beside her in the back seat.
“I’m not tying you up, love. Just making sure you’re safe while we drive.”
She fastened her own seatbelt, showing Emma how it worked—softly, slowly. She turned her body just enough to keep Emma in view, not crowding her. The girl clung to the purple blanket Korsak had dug from a lost-and-found bin.
As the cruiser moved away from the warehouse, Mal reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. With one hand, she tapped Regina’s contact.
The call rang once. Twice.
“Mal?” Regina’s voice, rich and smooth even through a speaker, calmed something knotted inside her chest.
“I’m on my way home,” Mal said. Her tone was tired, but steady. “We’ve got a guest. Her name’s Emma. She’s a little. Headspace one to three.”
A pause. Then Regina’s voice softened even more. “I’ll prepare the nursery. Just come home safe.”
Mal looked over at Emma, who had finally closed her eyes again. She didn’t look asleep—just exhausted enough to give in.
“She’s so small, Gina.”
“I’ll make sure everything’s warm when you arrive.”
By the time they reached Mal’s car, the rain had slowed to a whisper. Korsak parked close, shielding the car door with his own umbrella as Mal transferred Emma into the seat Regina had insisted on buying months ago—“just in case,” she’d said, a hopeful dream under her words.
Emma stirred, but didn’t wake. Mal tucked the soft purple blanket tighter around her tiny form and kissed her temple before moving to the front seat.
She turned on the baby monitor, angling the small lens toward the car seat so she could keep an eye on her. As she pulled away from the curb, Mal reached out and lightly touched the folder resting on the passenger seat.
Emma Swan.
Ten years old. Malnourished. Foster system ping-ponged since infancy. Marked as a “difficult case.”
No. Not difficult. Failed by every adult she’d ever trusted.
But that ended tonight.
The car rolled silently through Boston’s quieter neighborhoods, the rain now just a mist clinging to the windows. Streetlamps cast golden halos in the fog. Maleficent stole glances at the rear-view monitor, where Emma remained still—too still for a child, even one asleep.
She didn’t make a sound, didn’t stir. Just held her blanket tight and occasionally moved her thumb to her mouth. It wasn’t self-soothing. It was survival.
The house came into view like a lighthouse in a storm—warm light glowing from inside, gentle shadows dancing behind gauzy curtains. Mal parked and slipped out of the car, circling to the back door.
“Alright, little one,” she murmured as she unbuckled Emma. The seatbelt clicked, and Emma flinched awake. For a moment, terror flared in her eyes.
“No, no, it’s okay,” Mal whispered, lifting her gently into her arms. “It’s just me. We’re home now.”
Emma didn’t speak, but she tucked her head beneath Mal’s chin, clutching her blanket. Her whole body trembled with exhaustion.
The front door opened before Mal even reached the steps.
Regina stood barefoot in the doorway, wrapped in a soft charcoal robe over a navy camisole and leggings. Her hair was loosely pulled back, and her dark eyes locked onto Emma the moment Mal stepped into the porch light.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Regina whispered, her voice catching.
“She’s out of it,” Mal said, stepping inside. “But conscious. Korsak confirmed ten bodies. Emma was the only one left alive.”
Regina’s expression flickered with sorrow and rage. She stepped forward, instinctively reaching for the child. “May I?”
Mal nodded, transferring Emma slowly into her wife’s arms.
Regina cradled her like she weighed nothing, despite the girl being ten. She made a soft, comforting sound in the back of her throat as she rocked gently side to side. “She’s so light.”
“She’s barely forty-five pounds,” Mal said, removing her coat. “Korsak said she’s been with Jefferson. Emma hasn’t spoken much—just nods and whimpers.”
“I’ve got the nursery ready,” Regina said, heading down the hallway. “Everything’s clean, and the diapering station is stocked.”
Mal followed, watching as Regina moved with practiced calm. The woman radiated warmth. In another life, she could have been a therapist or a teacher. But caregiving was her calling—and every inch of her home reflected that.
The nursery door opened on a softly lit room. Painted with pale lavender and adorned with shelves of plush animals, sensory toys, and a reading nook, it was more than child-friendly—it was little friendly. Calming. Gentle. Safe.
Regina laid Emma on the changing table with care, whispering soothing words as she examined her.
“I’ll call Katherine tomorrow morning,” Mal said, leaning against the doorframe. “She can assess the injuries and help with any medical records.”
Regina peeled back the blanket and let out a slow, shaky breath. “God. Her wrists are—”
“Raw,” Mal finished. “She’s been restrained. Ankles, too.”
Regina’s fingers trembled for just a second before she stilled them. “I’ll clean everything again tonight just to be safe. No scents, no antiseptics. I’ll keep everything unscented for now—anything too strong might overwhelm her.”
Mal nodded, heart swelling as she watched her wife work. Regina wasn’t just comforting the girl. She was claiming her, in the soft, silent way caregivers did—with warmth and protection instead of words.
Regina hummed softly as she opened a drawer and pulled out a fresh pink sleeper printed with tiny strawberries. She turned back toward the table. “She’s damp. I’ll change her into a diaper and this sleeper. It should fit her frame. She’ll sleep more comfortably.”
“Do you think she knows where she is?”
“I think she knows she’s not in hell anymore,” Regina said, unfastening the medical bandages carefully.
Emma stirred with a faint whimper as Regina began to change her. Her eyes fluttered open and locked onto Regina’s face. There was fear at first—then confusion. And then something else.
Trust.
“It’s okay, little one,” Regina murmured. “I’m just going to clean you up. You did nothing wrong. You’re safe now.”
Emma gave a tiny, reluctant nod.
Once changed and cleaned, Regina picked her up again, cradling her against her chest. Emma sank into the warmth with a tiny sigh, her limbs too tired to resist.
Mal stepped forward, brushing a damp curl from the girl’s forehead. “She’s still in shock. But she’s responsive.”
“She’ll need a bath tomorrow,” Regina whispered. “A proper one. And food. We’ll start slow. Liquids first.”
“She’ll need therapy too.”
Regina looked up at Mal. “She needs love first. The rest can come later.”
They placed her in the crib together, gently tucking the purple blanket around her. Emma had her thumb in her mouth again, eyes closed, but her expression had softened. Less panicked. Almost peaceful.
The nursery camera monitor lit up on the side table with a soft chime. Regina adjusted the angle and nodded. “We’ll keep it on through the night.”
“She didn’t speak,” Mal said as they walked down the hallway. “Just nodded when I asked if she’d come with me.”
“She doesn’t need to speak tonight,” Regina replied. “She needs to rest.”
Mal followed her into the kitchen, where Regina poured them both chamomile tea. The scent was calming, like everything else about her.
They sat at the small breakfast table, sipping in silence for a long while.
“How are you?” Regina asked eventually.
Mal scrubbed a hand down her face. “Angry. Sick. She’s ten, Gina. Ten. And I could see the shape of every bone under her skin.”
Regina reached across the table, taking her hand. “We’ll help her. Like we always said we would.”
Mal swallowed hard. “I didn’t expect it to be tonight.”
“I did,” Regina said softly. “Not because of a case. Just… I had a feeling.”
They finished their tea in quiet comfort. In the monitor, Emma didn’t move. Her breathing remained steady. Regina checked it three times anyway.
At 3:14 a.m., a soft cry pulled them from sleep.
Regina was up first, moving down the hallway with practiced ease. Mal followed, bleary-eyed but alert.
Emma was curled up in the crib, her cheeks wet with tears. The blanket was damp beneath her.
“Oh, baby,” Regina murmured, reaching down. “You had an accident, huh?”
Emma whimpered and curled away.
“You’re not in trouble,” Regina promised, lifting her gently. “Let’s get you dry and comfy, okay?”
She carried the girl to the changing table again, humming lowly. Mal stood nearby, watching the soft ritual unfold—each motion full of reassurance.
“You’re wearing a diaper now,” Regina said gently as she worked. “And that’s okay. Diapers help us stay dry when our bodies feel scared. You’re not bad. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Emma didn’t respond. But her breathing calmed. She didn’t flinch at the cold cream this time. She even let Regina dress her in another sleeper—this one blue with stars.
“There we go,” Regina said, pressing a kiss to the girl’s forehead. “All fresh.”
Mal stepped forward, brushing a thumb along Emma’s cheek. “Still hungry, love?”
Emma blinked once. Her stomach gave a tiny gurgle.
Regina smiled. “I’ll warm a bottle.”
They settled in the glider, Regina holding Emma in her arms with the bottle in hand. Mal knelt beside them, close enough to stroke Emma’s hair. The room glowed with soft night-light hues—lavender and moonlight.
Emma latched to the bottle slowly, carefully, and then more hungrily. The warm formula soothed her. Her body relaxed, one small hand clutching Regina’s robe.
“She’s strong,” Mal whispered.
“She’s still here,” Regina replied. “That’s strength enough.”
Emma finished the bottle and let out a soft burp as Regina gently patted her back. Her eyes drooped again, and this time, when she closed them, it looked like real sleep—not unconsciousness.
Mal kissed Regina’s cheek. “You’re magic.”
Regina leaned into her. “No. Just practiced.”
They laid Emma back into the crib. She turned slightly, curling into the blanket with a contented sigh.
Regina stayed another few minutes, watching her.
When they finally returned to their bedroom, Mal pulled her wife into a long embrace.
“She’s ours now, isn’t she?” Mal asked.
Regina’s smile was sad and hopeful. “She always was.”
The house was quiet when dawn slipped through the curtains, casting thin golden stripes across the hardwood floor. The nursery monitor glowed softly on the nightstand next to Mal’s side of the bed, displaying a still image: Emma, asleep on her side, one thumb in her mouth, the other curled into her blanket like it was armor.
Mal lay on her back, eyes open. She hadn’t slept—not really. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the warehouse. The blood. The broken wrists. The hollow faces of the ten girls they hadn’t been able to save.
She turned her head to find Regina already watching her.
“I didn’t hear you wake,” Mal whispered.
“I didn’t sleep,” Regina said simply. “I couldn’t.”
Mal rolled toward her, wrapping an arm over her waist. “She’s still sleeping.”
“She’ll wake soon. Her stomach will demand it.”
Mal pressed a kiss to her wife’s collarbone. “You okay?”
Regina didn’t answer right away. Her dark eyes lingered on the monitor. “I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t gone last night. If someone else had taken her in. If she’d slipped through the cracks again.”
“She didn’t,” Mal said firmly. “You’ve got her now. She’s safe.”
Regina blinked once, then nodded, almost imperceptibly. “I just want her to know it.”
By the time Emma stirred, Regina had already warmed a new bottle and laid out soft cotton clothes on the dresser—clothes small enough to fit Emma’s malnourished frame.
She stood over the crib with practiced ease. “Good morning, sweetheart.”
Emma blinked up at her, dazed. Her expression fluttered between confusion and fear.
Regina reached in and smoothed a lock of blonde hair from the girl’s brow. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re in your own bed, remember?”
Emma sat up slowly. Her sleeper clung to her in the back—wet again. She looked down at it, frowning, lip trembling.
“Hey, none of that,” Regina said gently. “We’ve got clean clothes right here. And I’ll bet you’re hungry, huh?”
Emma hesitated, then gave the smallest nod.
“I thought so.”
Changing her was easier this time. Regina worked quickly, cleaning and powdering her with sure, gentle hands. Emma didn’t speak, but she didn’t flinch either.
Mal appeared in the doorway with a soft “Morning,” her voice honey-smooth. She leaned against the frame and watched the quiet miracle unfolding before her eyes—Emma allowing someone to care for her.
Once changed and dressed in a pale green shirt and leggings with little cartoon clouds, Emma was scooped into Regina’s arms and carried to the kitchen, where sunlight now spilled across the table.
Mal handed Regina the bottle. Emma looked at it with suspicion, but after a quiet nod from Regina, she took it.
It was still strange—watching a ten-year-old drink from a bottle—but neither woman commented on it. They both knew better.
Emma didn’t stop until the last drop was gone.
By midmorning, Katherine arrived—a tall, silver-haired woman in her early fifties with a no-nonsense demeanor and a surprisingly warm smile.
“Good to see you, Regina,” she said, stepping inside and shaking out her umbrella. “And you, Mal. I came as fast as I could.”
Regina led her to the nursery, where Emma sat cross-legged on the floor with a stuffed dragon in her lap.
“Hi there,” Katherine said as she knelt in front of the girl. “My name’s Katherine. I’m a healer. That means I help people feel better when they’re hurt. Would it be okay if I looked at your arms and legs?”
Emma gave her a long, wary look. Then, slowly, she nodded.
“Good girl,” Regina said, kneeling behind Emma to offer her support.
The exam took thirty minutes. Katherine murmured gentle encouragements the entire time. She applied new wraps, checked bruises, noted scars. When she finished, she looked at Mal and Regina with quiet gravity.
“She’s severely underweight. Probably hasn’t had consistent nutrition in over a year. Wrist ligatures suggest weeks—maybe longer—of restraint. The bruising on her ribs isn’t new, but it wasn’t treated either.”
Mal’s hands clenched into fists at her sides.
“I’ll leave some ointments for the rashes. You’re doing everything right,” Katherine said, patting Regina’s shoulder. “But she’ll need emotional healing too.”
“We’re ready for that,” Regina said softly.
After Katherine left, they gave Emma space to explore.
She walked quietly through the house, clutching the dragon. Regina watched her from a distance, noting how she trailed her fingers across furniture, stopped to stare at framed pictures, and jumped at the sound of the kettle whistle.
Mal came up beside Regina and rested a hand on her back.
“She’s casing the place,” Mal said softly.
“She’s learning the shape of safety,” Regina corrected. “She’s never known one.”
Emma stopped at the bookshelf in the living room. Her small fingers hovered over the spines of picture books. Finally, she pulled out one with a green cover: The Dragon’s Nest.
“You want to read, sweetheart?” Regina asked, stepping closer. Emma nodded again. No words, but the answer was there.
Regina knelt and held out her hand. “Come sit with me, then.”
Emma walked to her. Slowly, but deliberately.
That afternoon, Emma napped again. The monitor remained on. Regina sat curled in a blanket on the couch, book in her lap. Mal paced the kitchen, silent.
“Mal,” Regina said after a long moment. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t stop thinking about the others. The ones who didn’t make it.”
“I know,” Regina replied gently.
“I keep seeing them. And I keep thinking… what if we’d found her too late?”
“But we didn’t.”
Mal leaned against the wall, dragging a hand through her hair. “I’ve never felt rage like that. Not even on the job. And now she’s here and safe and I should be relieved but I’m not.”
Regina crossed the room and wrapped her arms around her wife. “You’re still in the fire.”
“I don’t know how to come out.”
“You don’t have to,” Regina whispered. “I’ll wait right here for you.”
That night, the house was still. Emma had eaten a soft dinner—apple sauce, yogurt, and warm milk. She’d even let Regina braid her hair, just a single plait to keep it out of her face.
But at 2:33 a.m., the first scream shattered the silence.
Mal and Regina bolted upright. The scream had come from the nursery—high and strangled and full of pure, animal fear.
They rushed down the hall together.
Emma was thrashing in the crib, caught in a dream too dark to escape. She sobbed and kicked, her hands clawing the air.
“Emma!” Regina called, her voice sharp but gentle. “Sweetheart, wake up! It’s okay—it’s me!”
Emma didn’t wake.
Regina climbed into the crib, wrapping her arms around the small body. Mal watched in awe and panic as her wife held the girl through the storm.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s just a dream. You’re not there anymore. You’re safe.”
It took minutes. Long ones. But finally, Emma went limp in Regina’s arms, her sobs reducing to whimpers.
Regina rocked her, whispering low nonsense sounds. The kind only littles understood.
Mal stepped forward and brushed a tear from Emma’s cheek.
“I’m here too, little one. You’re not alone.”
Emma cracked one eye open. Her mouth moved. Then…
“…Gina,” she whispered.
Regina froze.
Then her arms tightened. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m here.”
The sun rose gray and dull the next morning, but inside the house, something new flickered between the walls.
Emma sat curled into Regina’s lap in the nursery glider, a blanket draped over both of them. She hadn’t let go since the night terror. Every few minutes, she whispered “Gina” like it was a spell she wasn’t ready to stop casting.
Regina responded each time, without fail. “I’m here, little one. I’m not going anywhere.”
Mal stood in the doorway, watching her wife hold the child like she’d done it a thousand times before.
She wanted to stay. She wanted to be the one to make pancakes and read stories today. But there was a lead that couldn’t wait.
She stepped into the room, crouched beside the glider, and brushed Emma’s cheek with a knuckle.
“I have to go to work for a bit, love. But I’ll be back before you finish your lunch, okay?”
Emma looked up at her, eyes wide.
“I promise,” Mal said, and tapped the tip of the girl’s nose gently. “You be good for Gina.”
Emma nodded, clinging tighter to Regina’s robe.
Two hours later, Mal stood outside an abandoned diner on the East End, arms crossed, breath fogging in the morning air.
Jefferson was already there, waiting beside a rusted-out sedan like he hadn’t trafficked a dozen girls through his fake foster pipeline.
“Detective,” he said coolly. “How charming to be summoned.”
“Cut the crap,” Mal said. “Ten girls died under your watch. And I found the one you missed.”
He blinked, his mask slipping just a little. “You don’t have anything on me.”
“I have Emma Swan,” Mal said. “And I have every file you ever falsified. We just didn’t have the right victim to talk. But she will. Eventually.”
“You don’t have the guts to take me down without her testimony.”
Mal stepped in close. Her voice was low. Dangerous. “Try me. And if you so much as breathe in her direction again, I will burn down every system that’s protected you until there’s nothing left but ash.”
Jefferson didn’t speak again. He didn’t need to. His eyes gave away the fear. Mal turned and walked away without looking back.
Back at home, Regina sat on the couch with a stack of picture books, reading one aloud while Emma lay across her lap, head resting on a soft pillow.
“…And the dragon said, ‘This nest is mine now, but there’s room for one more.’ So the little fox curled beside her, and they watched the stars together.”
Emma’s breathing had evened out. She wasn’t quite asleep, but she was calm—enthralled.
Regina closed the book and set it aside. “That’s one of my favorites,” she said softly. “I used to read it to myself when I was scared.”
Emma stirred. Her thumb came away from her mouth. “Why scared?”
Regina’s breath caught. It was the first full sentence Emma had spoken.
She ran a hand gently through the girl’s hair. “Because I was little once too. And there were times when the world didn’t feel very kind.”
Emma blinked slowly. “Bad dreams?”
“Sometimes,” Regina said. “But then I met someone who helped me feel safe.”
Emma shifted just enough to peer up at her. “Mal?”
Regina smiled. “Yes. Mal.”
Emma was quiet for a long time after that. But she didn’t look away.
Mal returned before noon, her jaw tight and eyes stormy. Regina met her at the door.
“Well?”
“He knows he’s done,” Mal said. “He just doesn’t know when it’ll hit him.”
“And Emma?”
“She’s the key. But I’m not rushing her. We build her up. We make her strong. Then we give her the choice.”
Regina nodded. “She spoke to me today.”
Mal blinked. “She did?”
“Asked why I was scared when I was little. Said your name.”
Mal’s expression softened, some of the day’s weight falling off her shoulders. “That’s… that’s everything.”
“She trusts you. She just doesn’t know how to show it yet.”
That night, they bathed Emma together. Regina knelt by the tub, gently washing her hair, while Mal sat beside her with a towel ready.
Emma giggled once when Mal tickled her knee under the water. It was faint. But it was real.
They dressed her in fuzzy pajamas and tucked her into bed. Regina kissed her forehead, then Mal did the same.
As they turned to leave, Emma whispered, “Wait.”
They both froze.
“Can… can I have a hug?”
It was the first time she asked for contact. The first time her voice held no fear.
Regina blinked hard. “Of course, sweetheart.”
She scooped her into a hug first. Mal followed. The three of them stood in the soft glow of the nursery lamp, tangled together. A makeshift family born of fire and wreckage and something stronger.
Love.
Later, Mal and Regina sat together on the couch, Emma’s monitor glowing quietly beside them.
“I think we’re going to keep her,” Regina said, voice thick.
Mal wrapped an arm around her. “I think she’s already ours.”
Hello there, just wanted to say, I love your work, it's soooo good.
I was wondering if I could give you a possible idea for a new fic?
The red room has a 'little program'.
So what if Natasha's a little and Yelena and reader manage to free their sister
(reader was on the mission in Ohio too, possibly the middle child) ?
Thought the roles could be reversed and Yelena and Clint and reader were best friends and work at shield together / avengers ?
I don't know, something like that.
No pressure at all, just delete this if you think it's rubbish 😊👍
To Bring Her Home: Chapter One
There’s a folder on my desk marked “Asset N-205.” It’s supposed to be a file, a mission. But to me, it’s a person. A sister. Natasha.
I’ve read it a dozen times, even though I know every sentence by heart. The words blur into something colder each time—like they’re trying to bleach her away. Trying to reduce her to a tool. Just a malfunctioning Red Room asset that needs retrieval. Containment. Correction.
I slam the folder shut.
“Careful,” comes a soft drawl behind me. Yelena. She leans in the doorway with her arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “If you break Barton’s table, he’ll make you fix it.”
I don’t smile.
Yelena’s teasing fades when her eyes catch the file’s edge. She steps inside, quiet. The click of her boots on the floor is the only sound for a moment.
“You read it again,” she says.
“Yeah.” My voice is rough. “They confirmed she’s alive. And… they confirmed she’s one of the Littles.”
Yelena sucks in a breath through her teeth, and I know she hadn’t let herself believe that part yet. Neither had I, not really. The Red Room’s Littles Program was something I’d heard whispered in mission debriefs and post-op trauma reports—like ghost stories. Children—young women—trained to fight in regressed states. Easier to condition, easier to control. Lethal because they didn’t question orders. Because they didn’t know they had a choice.
My fists tighten.
She was the youngest. They took her when she was six. I was nine. Yelena was eleven. They told us she was dead.
“She’s not dead,” I whisper.
“No,” Yelena says. Her jaw clenches. “But she isn’t free.”
We fly out that night.
It’s not official. Fury gave us the green light, but no one's calling this a sanctioned op. Clint meets us at the jet with his quiver slung across his back and a storm in his eyes. “You ready for this?” he asks.
I nod. “Are you?”
He hesitates. “I don’t know. But I owe her. I owe you.”
Yelena steps into the cockpit. “Then shut up and buckle in.”
The Red Room isn’t a place you find on a map. It’s a ghost program. Mobile, shifting, like smoke. But Clint’s intel is good, and Yelena has contacts who still owe her their lives. We find the facility in the ice-blasted wastes of eastern Siberia. Underground, of course. Red Room tradition.
“Thermals show three levels below ground,” Clint murmurs as we hover in place, scanning the perimeter from the jet. “Three guards at the top entrance. Twenty-two more spread across the levels.”
“And Natasha?” I ask.
He zooms in. “Thermal shows a small body in the southwest chamber. Alone. Still. She hasn’t moved in an hour.”
I swallow hard.
“What are the odds that’s not her?” I ask.
Yelena answers. “Zero.”
We rappel down just before dawn.
Yelena and I enter from the west while Clint circles to the north. The place smells sterile—like bleach and blood. The halls are lined with red-tinted lights and echo with faint whispers through old ventilation shafts. I grip my knife tighter.
Yelena signals at a security camera up ahead. I flip my EMP clip and hurl it. The lights short-circuit with a crackle.
We breach the first level in seconds. Three guards drop. Tranquilizer darts in the neck. I pull the keycard from the last one’s belt and swipe us through to the lower levels.
Clint’s voice crackles in our earpieces. “Mainframe down. You’re clear to move to Level 3.”
We run.
Level 3 is colder. Not just the temperature. It’s quiet in a different way. Heavy. Watching.
I spot a glass door ahead and a dark room beyond it. One small bed. A set of restraints.
A girl curled in the center.
Hair dyed black.
Knees tucked to her chest.
She’s rocking slightly.
“Natasha?” My voice catches.
She lifts her head. Green eyes. Huge and glassy. Her lip trembles.
“Are you a dream?” she whispers.
Yelena’s already breaking the lock. “No, detka,” she says. “We’re your sisters.”
The door swings open and I rush inside.
Natasha flinches back.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, crouching down. I hold my hands out, palms up. “No touching. I promise. I just… I’m here.”
She stares at my hands like they’re made of fire.
“Do you have bear?” she asks quietly. “They said I can’t leave without bear.”
Yelena’s voice wavers. “Yes, we brought your bear.”
We didn’t. But I lie. “He’s on the jet. Waiting for you.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “You remembered…”
Getting her out isn’t easy. The Red Room always has failsafes.
As soon as we unbuckle her restraints, alarms go off.
Clint shouts, “They’re on to us!”
Natasha presses her hands to her ears and screams. The sound is high and raw—like a child in pain.
Yelena scoops her up in her arms. “Go! I’ve got her!”
We run. Bullets spark behind us. Clint covers our flank, and we sprint through the last corridor. Just as the steel blast door starts to close, I slide under it, grabbing Yelena’s elbow to help pull her through.
We don’t stop running until the jet seals behind us and Clint shouts, “We’re airborne!”
Natasha is curled in Yelena’s lap, shaking.
“Is she…” I start.
“Regressed,” Yelena says. “Deeply.”
Natasha blinks up at us. “Can I have juice?”
It shatters something in me.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Of course you can.”
We land in New York just before sunrise and take her straight to a safehouse Fury had prepped. Bruce arrives quietly a few hours later. He takes blood samples, runs scans. His face darkens with each result.
“They’ve flooded her with a synthetic neuro-suppressant,” he tells us. “Designed to regress cognitive development and keep her in a controllable mental state. But… I think I can build something to counter it.”
We let her rest in the meantime.
She sleeps on a beanbag chair surrounded by soft pillows and fairy lights.
Clings to a worn bear Clint found and named Ivan.
Sometimes she calls Yelena “Sissy.”
Sometimes she curls into my lap without speaking.
It breaks my heart every time.
Two days later, Bruce returns with a syringe.
“It’s not perfect,” he warns. “But it might help her find her way back.”
Yelena holds Natasha in her lap, whispering to her gently as Bruce injects the antidote.
She flinches.
And then… she starts to come back.
Not all at once. Not clearly. But her eyes flicker. Her tone deepens. Her voice steadies.
She says my name.
She says Yelena’s.
“You came back for me,” she whispers, tears streaming down her cheeks.
And we hold her, all three of us, wrapped in something ancient and unspoken. Blood. Memory. Love.
The days that follow are filled with fragments.
She remembers pieces.
The darkness. The manipulation. The feel of hands that weren’t gentle. The echo of voices that told her crying was weakness and love was a lie.
She remembers us, too.
And slowly, she returns.
She makes her own tea one morning.
Tries on adult clothes.
Draws little pictures of us and sticks them to the fridge with shaky hands.
But it’s not linear.
One hour, she’s present.
The next, she’s five again, sobbing under the table when a bird hits the window.
But every time she drifts… she finds her way back a little faster.
She starts asking questions.
“Did I… hurt people?”
Yelena and I sit on either side of her.
“You were a weapon,” I say softly. “But you are not your past.”
“I don’t know who I am.”
“You’re Natasha,” Yelena says. “Our sister. You’re brave. You’re funny. You love pancakes, and you used to cry when your books had sad endings. You’re more than what they made you.”
She doesn’t answer.
But she lets us braid her hair that night.
Lets us hold her when the dreams come.
Lets herself cry without apologizing.
And I think, maybe that’s the bravest thing of all.
On the fourteenth day, she stands barefoot on the porch at sunrise, looking up at the sky.
“I don’t think I ever saw the stars before,” she whispers.
“They were always there,” I say. “You just couldn’t see them.”
She turns to me, something new in her eyes.
Strength.
Resolve.
“I’m ready to learn who I am… not as a weapon. Not as a Little. But as me.”
Summary: Natasha visits Y/N’s cozy, artistic apartment, where she’s warmly welcomed by their loyal cat, Charlie. Moved by the safe, comforting space Y/N has created, Natasha begins to reflect on her own empty, impersonal apartment. Later, Y/N visits Avengers Tower, overwhelmed by its cold, sterile atmosphere. Seeing Natasha’s lonely living space firsthand, Y/N encourages her to believe she deserves a home that feels warm and safe too. Their bond deepens with this shared vulnerability.
(Natasha’s POV)
Natasha adjusted the strap of her leather jacket as she stood in front of Y/N’s apartment door. She wasn’t exactly nervous—no, Black Widow didn’t get nervous—but something about this felt... different.
Maybe it was because this wasn’t a mission. There was no enemy to interrogate or intel to gather. No hidden exit strategy prepared in the back of her mind. This was personal.
And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done personal without screwing it up.
She exhaled softly and knocked on the door before she could second-guess herself.
A few moments passed before she heard the soft scuffle of feet on the other side, followed by the sound of locks clicking open—two, then a chain being slid aside.
The door creaked open to reveal Y/N, bundled in an oversized sweatshirt that looked several sizes too big but impossibly soft. Their expression lit up immediately at the sight of her, and something in Natasha’s chest eased.
“You made it,” Y/N said, stepping aside to let her in.
“Of course I did,” Natasha replied, allowing herself a small smile as she crossed the threshold. “Would’ve been rude to turn down the first friend I’ve made in… well, let’s just say a long time.”
The warmth of Y/N’s apartment hit her instantly. Not just the literal warmth—though the heater hummed steadily in the background—but the atmosphere.
The space was small but cozy, with an undeniable sense of life. The walls were adorned with art—some framed, others simply pinned or taped up in a beautiful kind of organized chaos. Sketches, watercolor landscapes, abstract bursts of color, and carefully drawn character designs lined every available surface. There were shelves filled with books organized by color, rows of tiny potted plants thriving under grow lights, and strings of fairy lights casting a soft, golden glow.
It was the kind of home Natasha had never known growing up. Lived-in. Loved.
“Wow,” Natasha murmured as she took it all in. “This is… you weren’t kidding when you said you were into art.”
Y/N’s cheeks flushed slightly, and they tucked their hands into their sleeves. “It’s kind of my safe space,” they admitted. “Helps me when things get overwhelming.”
Natasha nodded, her gaze tracing over the dozens of small details that made the space feel like a living, breathing part of Y/N’s world.
And then—just as she was about to ask a question—a small, soft mrow sounded from somewhere near the couch.
She turned her head just in time to see a fluffy gray-and-white cat cautiously approach, tail held high but eyes wide with curiosity.
“Ah. And this must be the famous loyal companion you mentioned.” Natasha crouched slowly, keeping her movements calm and deliberate. “What’s their name?”
“Charlie,” Y/N said with a fond smile, kneeling beside Natasha. “He’s usually a little shy around new people, but… well, he knows when someone’s important.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Important, huh?” She held out her hand, palm open and low to the ground. Charlie crept forward cautiously, giving her fingers a few tentative sniffs before—much to Y/N’s surprise—he leaned in and headbutted Natasha’s hand.
“Oh, wow. He never does that this quickly.”
Natasha chuckled, gently scratching behind the cat’s ears. “Guess we’ve got something in common. We’re both good at sensing who’s worth our time.”
Charlie gave a satisfied purr and promptly climbed into Natasha’s lap as if he’d decided she belonged to him now.
Y/N looked at the sight with wide eyes, then started laughing softly. “I think you’ve just been adopted.”
Natasha ran her fingers through the soft fur, the repetitive motion strangely calming. “I’ve had worse missions,” she teased, glancing up at Y/N with a small, genuine smile.
They sat there for a while—Natasha cross-legged on the floor with a happily purring Charlie settled in her lap, and Y/N sitting nearby, their eyes soft with something almost like relief.
“Can I ask you something?” Natasha said after a moment, her fingers idly tracing circles along the cat’s back.
Y/N nodded.
“Why this place?” she asked, glancing around again. “Most people just decorate to make it look good. But this…” She gestured toward the warm lights, the carefully curated shelves of books and art supplies, the soft textures of blankets and cushions. “This feels like it’s for something.”
Y/N smiled faintly, pulling their knees up to their chest. “It’s for me,” they admitted. “For the days when I can’t leave. When everything outside feels too loud, and my head won’t stop buzzing. It’s… it’s my safe place. Everything in here makes sense to me, even when nothing else does.”
Natasha felt something heavy settle low in her chest.
She didn’t have a place like that. Not really. Her apartment was neat, minimal, efficient. But it didn’t feel.
“This is the first time I’ve ever really wanted to stay somewhere,” Y/N continued, their voice soft but steady. “For the longest time, I thought I’d never have a space that felt like home. But I built this. Little by little. For me.”
Natasha swallowed hard, suddenly overwhelmed by how alien that concept was to her.
A space that was purely for comfort. For safety.
She glanced down at Charlie, still purring contentedly in her lap.
And for the first time in a very long time, she thought that maybe… she’d like to have something like this too.
It had been a few days since Natasha visited your apartment, and the memory of that night still warmed you in quiet moments. You caught yourself smiling every time you saw the spot on the couch where she’d sat, Charlie curled contentedly in her lap as if he’d known her forever.
So when Natasha texted you—Want a tour of my world?—you weren’t entirely sure if your racing heart was excitement or anxiety. Probably both.
Now, standing in the towering lobby of Avengers Tower, you were certain it was both.
You hugged your arms tightly across your chest, the towering glass walls and sleek steel beams making you feel small and exposed. Everything here was polished to perfection—cold marble floors, sharp architectural lines, and minimalist decor that seemed almost sterile.
It was the complete opposite of your cozy, chaotic little apartment.
Before your mind could spiral too far down that path, you heard familiar footsteps behind you.
“Hey,” Natasha called gently, her voice cutting through the ambient hum of the lobby.
You turned to find her walking toward you, dressed in casual jeans and a leather jacket, her red hair pulled back into a loose braid. She looked softer out of her tactical gear, but the confident way she moved still made it feel like she owned every space she stepped into.
“Ready for the grand tour?” she asked, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart hammered painfully in your chest. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
She led you through security—an experience that made you hyper-aware of every movement, every sound. The low hum of electronic scanners, the quiet murmur of guards communicating through headsets—it all pressed against your senses like an approaching storm.
But Natasha noticed.
She slowed her pace, kept a careful distance, and every few minutes she glanced back at you to check in. She didn’t need to say anything; it was all there in her eyes.
I’ve got you. You’re safe.
By the time you reached the private levels of the tower, the chaos of the main floors faded behind thick security doors. Natasha guided you into the elevator and pressed her palm against a biometric scanner.
The doors closed, and for the first time since you arrived, the oppressive weight of the building lifted just a little.
“Not as bad as you thought?” Natasha asked gently, her shoulder leaning against the wall of the elevator.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Still kind of feels like I walked onto the set of a futuristic movie,” you admitted with a faint smile.
Natasha chuckled. “That’s about right. But I promise the best part is the view.”
The elevator chimed softly before opening to reveal a floor with massive floor-to-ceiling windows. The city stretched out before you, glittering under the afternoon sun.
You walked slowly toward the glass, your fingers curling against your palms to keep from reaching out to touch it.
“Wow…” you whispered.
Natasha stood beside you, arms crossed loosely over her chest as she looked out at the city she’d dedicated her life to protecting.
“This is my favorite spot,” she admitted. “When it gets too loud… I come here.”
You glanced at her, surprised. “Even here? With all this space?”
She nodded, her lips pulling into a small, tired smile. “Doesn’t matter how big the place is. Sometimes it’s loud even when it’s quiet.”
You understood that all too well.
The tour continued after that—Natasha showing you the training rooms, the tech labs (where she made you swear not to let Tony talk you into trying any “experimental devices”), and even the rooftop landing pad where the Quinjet usually rested.
But the part that stuck with you most wasn’t any of the impressive technology or stunning views.
It was when she hesitated in front of one last door.
“My apartment’s just down this hall,” she said, her voice lower now. “I, uh… figured I’d show you. But just… fair warning—it’s not much.”
You followed her down the hallway, noting how the walls here were blank. No photos. No personal touches.
She unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let you in first.
And instantly, you felt the difference.
The space was clean—too clean. Sparsely furnished. Functional. There was a couch that looked barely used, a bookshelf with only a handful of items on it, and a small kitchen area with spotless counters.
No art. No plants. No cozy throw blankets or cluttered corners filled with things that brought comfort.
It felt like a place someone stayed out of necessity, not because they wanted to.
Your heart ached quietly in your chest.
“This is…” you began carefully, not wanting to offend.
“Empty?” Natasha finished for you, her voice flat but not defensive.
You nodded, chewing on your bottom lip. “A little.”
She leaned against the doorframe, her eyes distant as she looked over the space.
“I guess I never really thought about making it feel like home,” she admitted. “Didn’t think I deserved something like that. And when you’ve spent your life living out of duffel bags and safe houses, it just… doesn’t feel important.”
You turned to her, your voice soft but sure. “You do deserve that. A space that’s yours. One that feels safe and warm.”
She met your gaze, something raw and vulnerable flickering behind her usually unreadable expression.
“Maybe you could help me figure out how,” she said quietly.
The vulnerability in her voice shook you more than anything else had that day.
You smiled gently. “I’d like that,” you whispered. “I think Charlie would too.”
And for the first time, you saw it—that tiny, flickering light in her eyes that hinted at hope.
In this chapter, Y/N and Natasha begin to open up to each other about their personal struggles with loneliness and the difficulty of forming real, lasting connections. Despite their vastly different lives, they discover a shared experience of masking their true selves to meet others’ expectations—Y/N because of the challenges of being autistic in a neurotypical world, and Natasha because of her years of espionage and trauma.
Through raw and vulnerable conversation, Y/N admits the pain of feeling invisible and not “enough” for lasting friendships, while Natasha confesses that despite being surrounded by people, she still feels painfully alone behind the mask she’s worn all her life. The chapter ends on a hopeful note as they both offer each other a chance to drop their masks and start a genuine friendship—one built on understanding, patience, and acceptance.
The rain had stopped completely by the time the first light of dawn crept through the half-closed blinds in Natasha’s apartment. You sat on the couch, Natasha across from you in that same armchair, both of you cradling mugs of lukewarm tea. The emotional intensity of the night had settled into something softer now—quiet, almost peaceful.
You shifted slightly, discomfort lingering in your bruised and battered hands despite the blanket Natasha had wrapped around your shoulders.
She broke the silence first. “Do you struggle to make friends?” Her voice was gentle but curious, probing only as far as you were comfortable. “What makes you think they aren’t your friends? Maybe it was… a misunderstanding?”
You wanted to believe that. You really did. But you also knew better.
You nodded slowly, eyes fixed on a loose thread in the blanket. “I mean… there are people who care, I guess. People who check in sometimes. But it’s… shallow. We don’t talk enough to really call it friendship. Not the kind that lasts, anyway.”
Your throat tightened painfully. You weren’t sure why you were saying this—why the words felt so easy to spill here when they’d been locked away for so long. Maybe it was because Natasha looked at you like she saw the whole picture, not just the pieces you managed to show the world.
“If something happened to me…” You swallowed hard. “No one would really notice. I mean, my cat would.”
You let out a bitter, breathy laugh, but it broke apart halfway through. Your cat—your sweet, loyal shadow—had saved you more times than you could count. When the nights got too dark and the weight too heavy, their tiny face and warm body curled beside you had reminded you there was at least one being in the world that needed you.
Natasha’s expression softened. She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees. “I know how that feels,” she admitted quietly. “And I know how it probably sounds, coming from me. I’m surrounded by people who care about me… who’ve told me they love me.”
Her voice drifted off, and for a moment, the weight of her own loneliness seemed to pull her under.
“But I push them away,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared that if I let them close, they’ll get hurt because of me. Or worse… they’ll figure out I’m not really worth the effort.”
You turned your head, studying her carefully. That was a thought you’d carried your entire life—that you were too complicated, too intense, too much. That you came with warning labels and disclaimers no one wanted to read.
You recognized that self-loathing in her eyes.
“Maybe…” You hesitated, heart hammering nervously against your ribs. “Maybe we could be lonely… together?”
The words hung between you like a fragile offering, trembling in the space of new beginnings.
Natasha blinked, and then—slowly—she smiled. A small, genuine thing that made her face look younger, softer, less guarded.
“I think I’d like that,” she said. Then her expression turned sheepish, a hand running through her damp red hair. “Probably should’ve started by asking your name, huh? Terrible spy etiquette.”
A soft laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. “Y/N,” you managed, still feeling a little raw but somehow lighter. “See? I’m already failing at Socializing 101. Forgot the most basic rule—introduce yourself.”
Natasha chuckled, and for a moment, it felt easy. Simple.
She reached out a hand toward you in greeting, then immediately froze as she remembered your injuries.
You tried to return the gesture anyway, but as soon as your bruised knuckles made contact, you hissed and yanked your hand back, face twisting in pain.
“Damn it,” you muttered through gritted teeth.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Natasha said quickly, her hands retreating back to her lap. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about your hands.”
Her concern was genuine, and the fact that she immediately respected your boundaries eased the embarrassment a little.
“Can I… take a look?” she asked gently. “I won’t touch unless you’re okay with it.”
You bit your lip, warring with your discomfort. Touch wasn’t easy for you—it wasn’t about rudeness or coldness. It was sensory overload, anxiety, the loss of control over your own space. But Natasha was careful, patient.
You gave a small nod, and she moved closer, slow and deliberate, as if approaching a frightened animal.
She crouched in front of you, hands open and still. “Whenever you’re ready.”
You hesitated before slowly offering her one injured hand, trembling slightly. She examined it carefully, never gripping too tightly, her fingers brushing gently against your wrist rather than your hand itself.
“Looks like you fractured at least one knuckle,” she murmured, her voice soft and clinical. “And these cuts need to be cleaned. You’re lucky nothing’s broken worse.”
You swallowed hard, blinking back tears that had nothing to do with the pain.
“Do you want me to bandage them?” she asked again, her tone neutral but waiting for your consent. “Or… if you have a preferred way to take care of injuries, just tell me. I’m not offended either way.”
Your chest tightened at the sheer patience in her voice. No one had ever asked before. People usually told you what should be done, ignored your discomfort, or worse, criticized you for being difficult.
“I… I think I’d like it if you helped,” you admitted, voice trembling.
Her smile was soft, understanding, as she stood and retrieved the first-aid kit. When she sat back down, she moved through the process slowly, narrating each step before she did it.
“I’m going to clean the wounds first. It’ll sting, but I’ll be gentle. You can tell me to stop anytime.”
You nodded, biting your lip as she carefully cleaned and wrapped each hand. Her movements were precise but never rough, and she made sure to give you breaks whenever she saw your breathing change.
By the time she was done, you were trembling again—but this time from exhaustion, not fear.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
Natasha looked at you for a long moment before she spoke again. “You know… you don’t lack empathy, Y/N. I’ve met plenty of people who couldn’t handle half of what you’ve lived through and still care this much.”
The silence between you and Natasha stretched, but it wasn’t the kind that pressed painfully against your chest or made your skin itch with discomfort. This was… companionable. Quiet in the way a warm blanket settles over you when you’re too tired to keep fighting the cold.
You stared down at your freshly bandaged hands resting in your lap. The stark white gauze against your skin made everything feel more real, like the storm—both the one in the sky and the one inside your mind—had finally passed.
“Can I ask you something?” you said softly, breaking the quiet.
Natasha nodded, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp as ever. “Anything.”
“Why do you feel so alone?” you asked. “You’re… well, you’re you. Strong. Confident. People adore you. You have the Avengers. Your sister. Friends.” You paused, your throat tightening. “How can someone like you still feel… like this?”
For a long moment, Natasha didn’t answer. She stared at her own hands, her fingers curling and uncurling slowly, as if the question had physically touched something deep inside her.
When she finally spoke, her voice was rawer than you’d ever heard it.
“Because the version of me that people adore…” She exhaled sharply through her nose, a humorless sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “That version isn’t really me. It’s the mask I wear. The one I learned to put on when I was a child and never really took off.”
You felt your breath catch, your chest tightening with painful familiarity. Masking. Always masking.
“I was trained to be whatever people wanted me to be,” she continued, her eyes distant now, staring at something far beyond the walls of her apartment. “A daughter. A soldier. A weapon. I’ve spent most of my life performing. Smiling when I wanted to scream. Charming people I wanted to run from. Standing in rooms full of people and feeling like I’m suffocating.”
Her eyes flicked back to yours, and for the first time, you saw the full weight she carried behind those sharp green eyes.
“I don’t know how to just… be. Without the mask. Without the mission.” Her lips twisted into something caught between a smirk and a grimace. “And the few times I’ve tried to let people in, it’s ended badly. People get hurt. Or they leave when they see the real me.”
The vulnerability in her voice hit you like a punch to the chest.
“Sounds familiar,” you murmured.
Natasha tilted her head, encouraging you to continue.
“I’ve spent my whole life wondering if people even like the real me,” you confessed, staring at the floor. “I’ve masked so much, tried so hard to follow the unspoken rules, to say the right things, to act the right way… and when it doesn’t work, when people leave anyway, I start thinking maybe the real me isn’t worth knowing.”
Your throat burned as the words tumbled out, words you hadn’t even admitted fully to yourself before.
“Maybe I’m just… too much. Too intense. Too sensitive. People say I’m selfish when I go nonverbal. That I’m rude when I don’t want to be touched. That I talk too much about my special interests or I don’t talk enough and seem cold. It’s like… no matter what I do, it’s wrong.”
You realized you were gripping the blanket tightly in your fists, your bandaged knuckles turning white.
Natasha reached over, slowly, and placed her hand palm-up on the couch between you. Not touching—just offering.
“Maybe the problem isn’t you,” she said quietly. “Maybe the problem is that no one ever bothered to learn your language. They just expected you to speak theirs.”
The simple truth of that hit you harder than any storm.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet her eyes. “And what about you?” you asked. “If you’re always wearing a mask… what would happen if you took it off?”
Natasha looked away again, her jaw working as she considered that.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m not sure there’s anything under it anymore.”
Your heart ached for her. For all the years she’d spent surviving instead of living. For the way the world demanded perfection from both of you, and when it couldn’t get that, it turned its back.
“Then maybe we figure it out together,” you whispered.
Her eyes snapped back to yours, surprised by the offer in your voice.
“You said it last night,” you reminded her. “We don’t have to be alone in this. And… you’ve already seen me at my worst. That’s gotta count for something, right?”
A real smile broke across her face then, small but genuine. “It definitely does.”
You shifted closer, just slightly, closing the distance between you on the couch. Natasha’s hand was still resting palm-up, and this time, you carefully placed your fingers over hers.
It wasn’t much. But it was a start.
And sometimes, the smallest beginnings led to the most unexpected places.
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The Tales of a Little Tiger- Chapter 24: Tiny Roars and Big Hearts
Summary: Y/N spends time with her family and America meets her grandparents for the first time.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for being patient with me and this story. I had severe writer's block and to be honest I was really struggling with my mental health. Thankfully I was able to get help and now I'm back to writing. This chapter is a little short but I hope the fluffy content puts a smile on your face.
Giggly squeals filled the air as you sat on the soft, plush tiger-print rug of your nursery, right between your Babu and Dedu. With a dramatic flair, Alexei made loud “BOOM!” sounds as he stacked and then sent a tower of colorful blocks crashing to the floor. Your little eyes sparkled with wonder, and you clapped your chubby hands with delight.
“Again, Dedu! Again!” you squealed, your voice full of excitement as you eagerly knocked over your own tiny tower with a joyful, “Rawr!”
Alexei held his hands up dramatically. “Did you see that, Melina? Our little tiger is a force of nature!”
Melina chuckled, smoothing back your curls and beaming at you with pride. “A brilliant little scientist too! She’s already mastered cause and effect… and gravity!” she announced as if you’d just won a Nobel Prize.
At that moment, your mama Natasha stepped into the room, her sharp eyes instantly softening at the sight of you in the middle of what looked like a tiny construction zone. Wanda followed close behind, a loving smile lighting up her face.
“Look at our little tiger queen ruling her jungle!” Natasha teased gently, kneeling to press a kiss to the top of your head.
“We’re not making messes, we’re making discoveries,” Melina said proudly, gesturing at the chaos around you like it was a masterpiece.
Spotting Wanda by the door, you immediately lit up and crawled over as fast as your little knees would carry you. “Up, Mama!” you demanded with tiny outstretched arms.
Wanda’s heart melted. She crouched to gather you up, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks as she rocked you gently. “Up it is, my sweet girl,” she murmured, thrilled by every new word you were learning.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and your head whipped toward the sound. “Mama! Door?” you asked, your wide eyes full of curiosity as you wriggled in Wanda’s arms to see who it could be.
Wanda laughed softly, carrying you downstairs. When she opened the door, there stood Kate, Yelena, Lucky wagging his tail excitedly, and America standing shyly beside them.
“Come in, come in! I completely forgot you were bringing America to meet her Babu and Dedu!” Wanda said warmly, stepping aside.
Upstairs, America hesitated at the doorway, hiding behind Kate’s legs when she spotted Melina and Alexei.
Kate knelt down to her daughter’s level, brushing America’s hair back gently. “It’s okay, sweetheart. These are your grandma and grandpa. Y/n calls them Babu and Dedu. Can you say hello?”
Melina, always quick to help a shy child feel safe, picked up a soft dinosaur plush and held it out. “Hello, little one. I heard you like dinosaurs… do you want to tell me which is your favorite?”
America peeked out, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the toy. “I like stegosauruses! They were as long as a school bus!” she declared excitedly, carefully taking the plush dinosaur from Melina.
Melina laughed softly. “You’re right! That’s very impressive. You must be a dinosaur expert.”
You and Alexei, never ones to miss a chance for fun, ran over roaring like dinosaurs yourselves. “Rawr!” you both shouted, stomping your little feet. America giggled and joined in, her earlier shyness forgotten.
The house was filled with warm chatter and the smell of delicious food. You and America sat side by side in your high chairs, giggling as you snuck dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets off your plates and dropped them to Lucky, who waited below like the clever snack hunter he was.
Yelena caught you in the act and shook her head with a playful sigh. “Malen’kiy, Lucky has his own food. You’re going to spoil him!”
America looked up innocently. “But Mama, he likes them!”
Before Lucky could score any more treats, Kate put his leash on him and led him outside to play. You immediately burst into tiny dramatic tears.
“Want Lucky!” you wailed, wriggling in frustration as you fought with the high chair buckle that simply refused to set you free.
Yelena wiped the ketchup off your cheeks with a fond smile. “Oh no, Auntie Kate is such a meanie, isn’t she?” she teased softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
The adults all laughed warmly, watching you try with fierce determination to free yourself.
Natasha smirked proudly as she leaned back in her chair. “She’s definitely my daughter,” she said, and Wanda just laughed, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.
“Ours,” Wanda corrected with a loving smile, watching her two favorite girls—one tiny and dramatic, the other stubborn and fierce—with her heart full.
And even though you were pouting, your tiger tail pajama pants and ketchup-smeared cheeks made it all too adorable to take seriously. You were their wild little tiger, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.
A Soul for a Soul- Chapter 7: Epilogue, The Final Goodbye
Summary: Wanda and Natasha find closure in losing their daughter.
SIX MONTHS LATER – NEPAL
The air atop the mountain is thin, cold, and unnervingly still. The ancient monastery stands quietly against the jagged cliffs, its prayer flags fluttering weakly in the wind.
Natasha tightens her grip on Wanda’s hand as they step into the courtyard, their boots crunching against the worn stones.
The path to this place wasn’t easy. Not physically, and certainly not emotionally. But the possibility—the hope—of finding some semblance of peace had pulled them here.
Wanda glances at Natasha. “Are you sure about this?”
Natasha swallows hard and nods. “We have to try. For her.”
They approach the center of the courtyard, where Wong and a few remaining Masters of the Mystic Arts wait.
“You understand this journey is dangerous,” Wong warns gently. “What you’re asking… no living soul should walk that path lightly.”
“We’re not afraid,” Wanda says quietly, her red magic already glowing faintly at her fingertips.
Wong nods solemnly and begins to chant, his hands moving in practiced, fluid motions. A portal begins to form, but this is no ordinary portal. The air shifts, heavy with ancient power. The world around them darkens, the colors fading into silvery greys and muted whites.
The Veil between life and death parts before them.
Natasha exhales shakily, looking at Wanda.
“Together?”
Wanda gives her a soft, tearful smile and threads their fingers together.
An endless, tranquil field bathed in a warm, golden light stretches out before them. The sky glows with a constant, soft sunset. Time feels irrelevant here—both eternal and fleeting.
The air carries a gentle hum, like the universe itself is breathing peacefully.
And then, across the field, they see her.
Y/N.
She stands atop a small hill, bathed in the golden light, her form radiant and impossibly beautiful. She looks just as she did the day she left them—young, vibrant, and whole. Her smile is soft, her eyes full of a calm, infinite peace.
“Mom? Mama?” she calls gently, her voice carrying perfectly across the distance.
Natasha’s knees buckle, but Wanda holds her up as they both start running—faster than either thought possible—up the hill toward their daughter.
When they reach her, Y/N throws her arms around them, solid and warm despite the fact that she’s no longer of their world.
Tears spill freely down Natasha’s face as she clings to her daughter.
“Sweetheart… my baby girl…” Natasha whispers, her voice breaking.
Wanda cups Y/N’s face in trembling hands, pressing kisses to her forehead, her cheeks.
“I thought I’d never hold you again,” Wanda sobs.
Y/N pulls back just enough to look at them both, her small hands resting on their cheeks.
“You don’t have to be sad,” she says softly. Her voice is clear, full of a wisdom far beyond her years. “I’m okay. I’m at peace.”
Natasha shakes her head through her tears. “But we—we didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
Y/N smiles, her thumbs gently wiping away their tears.
“You don’t have to. I knew, Mama. I felt how much you loved me. I always knew.”
Wanda’s lips tremble. “We love you so much, sweet girl. Every second, every breath… we miss you.”
Y/N takes their hands in hers and places them over her heart.
“I’m always with you. In here.”
The sky above brightens, and Y/N steps back slightly, her figure beginning to glow even brighter, as if the world itself is gently calling her home.
“I have to go now,” she whispers.
Natasha chokes on a sob. “No, no, just a little longer—please!”
Y/N gives them both one last radiant smile.
“I love you, Mom. I love you, Mama. Don’t be sad forever, okay? You gave me the best life. And I’m happy. I’m really happy.”
With a final wave, her form slowly drifts upward, becoming part of the golden light that surrounds them.
A Soul for a Soul- Chapter 6: A World Saved... Hearts Shattered
Summary: The memorial of Tony Stark and Y/N.
TIME SKIP – ONE WEEK LATER
The Compound lies in ruins, but today it stands as sacred ground. The aftermath of the final battle left scars on the earth and the people who fought for it. Amid the broken stone and twisted metal, a platform has been set up overlooking the peaceful lake beyond the compound.
Rows of chairs stretch across the grass, filled with heroes and civilians alike. Today, they gather not as Avengers or politicians, not as gods or soldiers—but as mourners, as friends, as family.
A soft breeze ripples across the water as the sun glistens high above, almost as if the heavens themselves were offering their quiet farewell.
Two memorials stand side by side at the front of the gathering.
One bears the name Anthony Edward Stark, beneath an arc reactor engraved with the words “Proof That Tony Stark Has a Heart.”
The second… the second is smaller, built from pieces of polished stone shaped into a delicate heart.
Y/N Maximoff-Romanoff.
Beneath it, the inscription reads:
“A soul too bright for this world. She gave her life so others could live. Forever our daughter. Forever our hero.”
The sight of it brings fresh tears to Wanda’s eyes as she clutches Natasha’s hand.
Natasha stands beside her, head bowed, dressed in her formal tactical uniform with a simple black armband stitched with a red hourglass—an old Black Widow symbol—this time, worn for mourning.
Wanda wears black, her long sleeves covering the faint burns on her arms from the final fight. Her eyes haven’t known rest since she returned. The grief still lives there, raw and endless.
Morgan Stark sits in Pepper’s lap nearby, holding a small bouquet of wildflowers. Too young to understand the full weight of today but old enough to know that something precious has been lost.
Steve steps forward to the podium first. His voice is steady, but his eyes betray his heartbreak.
“We stand here today… because of them,” he begins, his voice thick with emotion. “Because Tony Stark believed in a better world. And because Y/N… a child who should have had her whole life ahead of her… made the most selfless choice any of us could imagine. She gave us all another chance.”
He looks out at the crowd, his eyes landing on Wanda and Natasha, his voice barely holding together.
“She wasn’t just a hero. She was family. And we will never forget her.”
Bruce steps up next, his massive green form subdued as his voice rumbles low.
“I spent my whole life believing that strength was measured by how big you could be… how much you could fight. But Y/N—she showed us all that real strength comes from the heart.”
Thor says a few words after that, his normally booming voice soft, laced with regret that he couldn’t stop this fate.
Finally, Natasha and Wanda rise together.
Natasha speaks first, her voice quiet but resolute.
“Y/N was our light. Our joy. She had this way of walking into a room and making everything brighter, even when the world felt dark.” Her lip trembles. “She was… fearless. And that fearlessness… that’s why we’re all standing here, alive and free.”
Natasha can’t go on. She steps back, her hand covering her mouth to stifle a sob.
Wanda takes a shaky breath and steps forward, her red-rimmed eyes glistening with fresh tears.
“Our daughter believed that love was the greatest power in the universe,” Wanda says, her voice cracking but strong enough to be heard. “And in the end, it was love that saved us all.”
She looks down at the small memorial stone, her fingers brushing the carved heart.
“We love you, Y/N. And we will carry you with us… always.”
A long moment of silence follows before Morgan Stark toddles forward, placing her tiny bouquet of flowers at the base of Y/N’s memorial.
“I love you, too,” Morgan says softly before retreating back to Pepper’s side.
The sound of the lake lapping against the shore fills the silence, and as if on cue, dozens of flower petals are released into the water, drifting gently away with the current.
Tony Stark.
Y/N Maximoff-Romanoff.
Heroes. Legends. Family.
Their sacrifice written in the very fabric of this new world.
Wanda and Natasha sit together by the water’s edge, Y/N’s memorial just behind them. They don’t speak. Words feel too small for the ocean of grief between them.
Natasha wraps an arm around Wanda’s shoulders and presses a gentle kiss to her temple.
“We’ll keep living for her,” Natasha whispers, her voice raw but certain.
Wanda leans into her, her gaze lost in the setting sun.
“Do you think she’s… at peace?” Wanda asks softly.
Natasha closes her eyes, a tear slipping free.
“I think… wherever she is, she knows she saved the world. And she knows how much we love her.”
The lake reflects the final light of the day, a golden path stretching toward the horizon—endless, like their love for the daughter they lost.
And in that moment, with grief still heavy but hope flickering faintly, they sit together and remember.
A Soul for a Soul- Chapter 5: The Price of the Soul
Summary: Tony brings everyone back and Wanda returns only to find out that she was too late and her daughter paid the ultimate price in saving the world.
Author's Note: Some parts are not accurate to the movie and I wrote a bit differently to fit my story line. Thank you for reading.
“And I am Iron Man”
The faint hum of energy pulses through the air as Tony snaps his fingers wearing the gauntlet. Outside, the world holds its breath.
In an instant, Wanda Maximoff feels the rush of life crash back into her body. Her knees buckle, and she gasps for air as the blinding sunlight replaces the cold, endless darkness she was trapped in just moments ago.
Her heart pounds in her chest. Her mind reels.
She’s back.
But before she can gather her bearings, the pain in her chest flares again—sharper, heavier.
“Y/N…” she whispers, a dreadful sense of wrongness flooding her.
Her feet are moving before she knows it, sprinting through the destroyed halls of the Compound. The place is in ruins, smoke rising from the battlefield outside. Her breath catches as she turns a corner and nearly collapses again when she sees—
“Natasha!”
Natasha is sitting alone by the shattered remnants of a staircase, her face hidden in her hands, shoulders trembling.
“Nat!” Wanda rushes to her, falling to her knees in front of her wife.
At the sound of Wanda’s voice, Natasha lifts her head. Her face is pale and streaked with dried tears. Her lips part, but no words come.
Wanda cups Natasha’s face, her own tears falling freely now.
“I’m here, baby. I’m here,” Wanda chokes out between sobs, pulling Natasha into her arms. “I’m okay. I’m here. Where’s Y/N? Where’s our girl?”
At those words, Natasha goes rigid in Wanda’s arms.
Wanda feels it immediately—the hollow stillness, the absence of hope.
“Nat?” Wanda pulls back, her heart pounding so loudly she can barely hear her own voice. “Where’s Y/N?”
Natasha’s lips tremble. Her hands reach for Wanda’s, clutching them tightly as if trying to hold her together by sheer force.
“Wanda…” Natasha swallows, her voice breaking apart. “I—I’m so sorry…”
A sob breaks free from Wanda’s throat before she even hears the words.
“No… no, don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it, Natasha.”
Natasha crumples against her, her voice raw and full of agony.
“She’s gone… Wanda, she’s gone.”
Wanda shakes her head violently. “No. No, she’s not. You’re wrong! She—she’s just hiding, right? She’s hiding like we taught her. I’ll find her, Nat. I’ll find her!”
Natasha grabs her wrists, forcing her to stay still.
“She followed us… to Vormir.” Natasha’s voice trembles with each word. “We didn’t know—she stowed away. And when it came time to… to make the sacrifice… she didn’t hesitate. She jumped, Wanda. She jumped before we could stop her.”
Wanda’s scream echoes across the Compound, a raw, heart-shattering wail of grief and denial. Her magic explodes outward in a violent surge, red energy cracking through the air and shattering what little glass remained in the broken windows.
“No! NO! You were supposed to protect her! You promised me!” Wanda beats against Natasha’s chest with her fists, her sobs choking her words.
“I know, I know—God, Wanda, I tried! I tried to save her! I tried to trade my life for hers, but she wouldn’t let me!” Natasha cries out, holding Wanda through the storm of her pain.
Wanda collapses fully against her wife, the weight of the universe pressing down on her chest.
“Our baby… our baby is gone…” she whispers through ragged sobs, her fingers clutching at Natasha’s suit like a child lost in a nightmare.
Natasha rocks her gently, her own tears falling into Wanda’s hair.
The Compound is eerily quiet now, the aftermath of the final battle leaving everyone hollow and raw.
Wanda sits alone in what used to be Y/N’s room. Her trembling fingers trace the spine of one of your favorite storybooks, the little doodles you’d drawn in the margins bringing fresh tears to her already swollen eyes.
She picks up your favorite stuffed animal from the bed and presses it to her chest, breathing in the faintest trace of your scent.
Natasha stands in the doorway, her eyes red and exhausted.
“She was so brave,” Nat whispers. “She knew exactly what she was doing. And she did it… to save us. To save you.”
Wanda turns her head slightly, her voice nothing more than a whisper.
“I don’t want to be saved if it means losing her.”
Natasha steps into the room, kneeling beside her wife.
“We’ll find a way to live through this,” she murmurs, her voice cracking under the weight of her own doubt. “We have to. For her.”
Wanda leans into her, their broken hearts beating together in the deafening silence of grief.
Outside the shattered Compound, the sun begins to rise—a new day dawning over a world forever changed.
But for Natasha and Wanda, it’s a sunrise without their daughter.
Summary: Clint and Natasha return and the team learns that Y/N has sacrificed herself for the soul stone.
AVENGERS COMPOUND
The pencil finally clatters to a stop on the conference table.
WHOOSH!
Clint and Natasha materialize alongside the others, their faces pale and hollow. The vibrant chaos of the Compound seems distant, muffled by the deafening weight of what’s just transpired.
“Did we get them all?” Bruce—Smart Hulk—asks, his massive green hands trembling slightly as he surveys the room.
But neither Clint nor Natasha can answer. They drop to their knees, the air ripped from their lungs as reality crashes down.
“What’s wrong? Clint… Nat? Are you okay?” Steve rushes to them, his voice tight with concern, already fearing the answer.
Natasha’s head slowly lifts. Her eyes are glassy, red-rimmed, her lips trembling as she forces out the words.
“She’s gone…”
Silence. An unnatural, terrifying silence falls over the room.
Bruce’s brows knit together in confusion. “Who’s gone?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he mentally counts every head in the room.
Clint’s hands shake as he holds out the Soul Stone, glowing ominously in his palm. He presses it into Steve’s hand like it burns him to touch it. His jaw clenches, his voice breaking.
“Y/N… She followed us. She… she sacrificed herself for the stone. It should have been me!” Clint yells, slamming a fist against his chest with a guttural cry of anguish.
Steve’s knees nearly buckle as the words hit him.
Tony frantically pulls out his phone, his fingers trembling. “No. No. That’s impossible. Y/N is with Pepper. I’ll call her right now—she’s fine. She’s fine!” His voice rises in panic as he dials.
The phone connects on speaker.
“Hey, Tony,” Pepper’s voice comes through, laced with confusion and a growing sense of worry. “I’ve been looking for Y/N. Is she in Nat’s room? I can’t find her anywhere.”
Tony’s heart shatters. His eyes blur with tears as he tries to steady his voice.
“Hey, Pep… Plans have changed. I’ll call you back.”
Before she can ask anything, he ends the call. His shoulders sag under the weight of the truth.
Natasha stands on shaky legs. Her face is pale, haunted.
“I… I need some air,” she chokes out before stumbling toward the exit.
One by one, the others follow her outside. No one speaks for a long time. The crashing waves against the shoreline are the only sound, carrying away their collective grief.
Tony is the first to speak, breaking the suffocating silence.
“Did Y/N have any other family?” His voice is rough, almost a whisper.
Natasha stares out at the water, her knuckles white as she grips the railing.
“Other than us… no,” she says hoarsely.
Thor paces restlessly before spinning around. His eyes burn with frustration.
“Why are you doing this?”
Tony wipes at his face, his defenses rising. “What? I’m just asking a question.”
“Why are we talking like she’s dead?!” Thor shouts. “We have the stones. We can bring her back! Don’t you see? This doesn’t have to be the end!”
Natasha flinches, her heart breaking all over again. Clint clenches his jaw, his fists shaking at his sides.
“We can’t,” Clint growls, his voice barely contained.
Thor steps forward, incredulous. “What are you talking about? Of course we can!”
Clint whirls around, eyes blazing with grief and fury.
“It can’t be done! You think I wouldn’t tear the universe apart to undo this if I could?! The red floating guy—he told us. It can’t be undone!”
Thor’s fists curl, his godly pride refusing to accept it.
“No offense, Barton, but you’re a very… earthly being. Magic, gods, the impossible—it’s what we deal with. You’re telling me we can’t fix this?”
Clint’s voice rises, breaking with raw emotion.
“Then why isn’t she here, Thor?! Why isn’t she standing next to us right now?!”
Silence.
And then, with a roar of pent-up grief, Bruce picks up the bench beside him and hurls it into the water. It skips once, twice, before vanishing beneath the waves.
“She’s not coming back,” Clint whispers. “We have to make it worth it… or it’s all for nothing.”
Steve, his own eyes wet, nods. “We will. For her.”
Natasha staggers into her quarters, her legs barely carrying her to the bed. Her eyes fall to your sweater, folded neatly next to her pillow.
Her breath catches.
She picks it up, pressing it to her face. The faint scent of you still lingers, and the dam finally breaks. Silent sobs wrack her body as she clutches the fabric to her chest.
How was she supposed to tell Wanda? How could she tell her wife that their daughter—their bright, beautiful, fearless daughter—was gone?
How do you tell someone that their heart has been ripped from their chest… and there’s no bringing it back?
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Chapter 23: The Tales of a Little Tiger- A Little Star in Daycare
Summary: America goes to daycare for the first time. Wanda and Natasha discuss the possibility of y/n being autistic and having sensory processing disorder.
America clung to her mama Yelena as they walked into what looked like a classroom.
With the help of Tony and Bruce she was now three years old and in the body of a three year old. It was the age she had chosen for herself.
“What do you think of your new preschool classroom?” Yelena asked America as she kneeled in front of her little.
“Want to stay with you and mommy.” America said as she felt tears fill her eyes.
Yelena wiped away the tears that had fallen down her little’s face. “Aww, my love. It’s only for a few hours everyday. You will have lots of fun. Peter is in your class and y/n is in the toddler class down the hall.” She said trying her best to reassure America.
Kate walked into the classroom, she frowned when she saw America crying in Yelena’s arms. “Everything okay?” She asked as she rubbed her little girl’s back.
“No leave.” America sobbed into her mama’s shoulder. Ever since she had transitioned into a full little, she had developed separation anxiety with Yelena and Kate.
Kate took America into her arms and did her best to soothe her little one. “It’s okay. We will always come and get you. It’s just for a few hours so me and mama can work.”
After a while America seemed to calm down. She sucked on her thumb as she saw Peter run into the classroom along with other children.
Peter ran up to Yelena and hugged her excitedly. “Is America gonna be in my class?!”
Yelena smiled and nodded her head, “yes. She’s a little scared. Do you think you can help her not be so scared?”
Peter nodded his head as he wanted to help in any way that he could. He walked over to Kate and America, “it’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna have lots of fun!” He said excitedly as he took America’s small hand into his.
America let go of her mommy and followed Peter to some shelves full of toys. She giggled and cheered up as they started to play together.
Kate and Yelena both became emotional as they watched their little girl play with the other children.
When it came time for parents to pick up their children, Kate and Yelena were the first to arrive. While they waited they paid a visit to your classroom.
You walked up to Yelena first and raised your little arms up wanting to be picked up. “Nena!” You babbled as you still couldn’t say your aunt Yelena’s name correctly; yet you had mastered saying Lucky’s name perfectly fine.
“You’re getting so big, y/n!” Yelena said as she chuckled when she picked you up.
“She’s now a tiger cub.” Kate said as she kissed your forehead. “I can’t believe that she’s already two years old.”
Natasha and Wanda walked into the toddler classroom and smiled when they saw Yelena and Kate holding you in their arms.
“It’s nice to see you here. Was today America’s first day? Did you cry sestra?” Natasha teased Yelena.
”Oh, be quiet! We all know that you cried when it was y/n’s first day.” Yelena teased back before saying, “and yes. Kate and I both cried.”
Everyone laughed but it was all in good fun.
You reached your arms out to Natasha who gladly took you in her arms.
While Natasha and Wanda signed you out and talked to your teacher Kate and Yelena walked down the hall to pick up America and see how their little’s first day of daycare had gone.
America looked up from her coloring sheet and a big smile formed on her face when she saw her mama and mommy standing at the door talking to her teacher. She got up and ran to them.
“Mama! Mommy!” She said excitedly as she ran to both of them. They welcomed her in their arms and held her tightly.
“Hello, my little star. How was your day?” Yelena asked as she couldn’t stop smiling when she felt her little girl run into her arms.
“Had fun, Mama. Peter and me played all day!” America said happily as she smiled big.
Kate also couldn’t stop smiling as she listened to America talk about her day. “That’s wonderful, sweet girl. Sounds like you had a great first day!”
America nodded her head as she showed off her artwork and the crafts that she had made with Peter. She still had some blue paint on her hands and face. Needless to say her first day was a success.
Wanda and Natasha cooked dinner together as you played in the living room with your stuffed tiger and some of your toys.
It was storming outside and you started to cry when you heard a loud clap of thunder.
Wanda rushed to you and picked you up. “It’s alright y/n. You’re safe, it was just the thunder.” She comforts you as she shows you that it’s raining outside through the window.
Your little hands are still covering your ears and you’re still having a hard time calming down despite being in your mama’s arms.
Natasha wrapped her arms around you and Wanda. She felt her caregiver pheromones kick in which combined with Wanda’s was able to soothe you. “It’s okay, malen’kiy.”
Once you had calmed down, your mama Wanda strapped you into your high chair and placed your dinner on your tray; she handed you a plastic spoon and attempted to teach you how to feed yourself.
You babbled as you tried to scoop some food onto your spoon by yourself. You were very independent and were in a phase where you wanted to do everything on your own.
Wanda laughed when you kept trying to do it on your own. “Y/n, are you sure you don’t want mama to help you?”
You shook your head no stubbornly as you managed to get some food into your mouth. You clapped your little hands triumphantly.
Wanda and Natasha both smiled and laughed as they watched you feed yourself as they ate their own dinner.
Once you were asleep in your toddler bed cuddling your tiger, your mama’s both leaned down and kissed your forehead. You looked so happy and content tucked in under your favorite blanket.
Natasha wrapped her arms around her girlfriend sensing that something was on her mind, “what’s wrong, my love?” She asked gently.
“I just can’t stop thinking about y/n and how she was crying when she heard the thunderstorm. I’ve noticed that ever since she was a baby that she doesn’t like loud noises and certain sensory interactions bother her.” Wanda said as she watched you sleep.
Natasha nodded her head in understanding, “I’ve noticed the same thing. I know at our last checkup Cho mentioned that y/n might have sensory processing disorder and might be autistic as well. Which if she is isn’t a problem; it just means that her brain works a little differently and we may need to look into what accommodations we can provide for y/n.”
Wanda relaxed in her girlfriend’s embrace as she felt heard and validated for her worries and concerns. “You’re right. If y/n is neurodivergent then that’s perfectly okay. We will do everything we can to make our little tiger’s life the best it can be.”
“It might be a little early to do testing but I’ll contact Cho in the morning and see if we can at least discuss our concerns with her.” Nat said as she placed a soft kiss on Wanda's head.
Chapter 22: The Tales of a Little Tiger- Terrible Two's
Summary: A cute fluffy chapter where Natasha learns what it's like to take care of a two year old while Wanda is away on a work trip. Peter and y/n have a playdate.
You were now two years old and had entered your terrible twos. Your favorite word was “no” and you loved pushing your mama’s buttons.
“Y/n, let’s get dressed so we can go see Peter and uncle Tony.” Natasha said as she chased you around as you giggled.
“No.” You said as you giggled as you ran from your mama. You let out loud giggles when she caught you and kissed your tummy.
“I caught you, my little tiger!” Nat said as she caught you. She carried you to the bathroom, “can you try to use the potty for mama?” She asked as she placed you on your pink training potty.
You still wore diapers at bedtime but ever since you had turned two years old your mama’s let you wear princess pull up diapers and they placed you on a big girl potty. If you did good then sometimes they would give you a special treat. You sat on the potty and concentrated real hard and you smiled when you heard yourself tinkle in the potty. You clapped your hands at your achievement.
“Great job, Y/n!” Nat said excitedly as she helped you put on your pull up. She then helped you wash your hands. “After you get dressed you can have a treat.”
Your mama dressed you into a cute outfit and braided your hair. She also helped you put on your shoes and once you were dressed she gave you a small lollipop.
You sat on the couch playing on your tablet as your mama grabbed your backpack and finished getting ready.
“Alright, let’s go to the car. You can bring your tablet.” Nat said as she held out her hand to you as she waited for you.
As you sat in your car seat you sucked on your lollipop and played on your tablet. You were pretty smart for your age and your Babu and Dedu had talked your mama’s into getting you a tablet with educational games and videos installed.
Natasha smiled as she drove. She could hear you singing and trying to say the alphabet and count. She couldn’t get over how fast you had grown in a year.
Peter ran up to hug you when he saw you walk out of the elevator. “Y/n! Daddy got me a new toy! Do you want to see?” He asked excitedly.
You smiled big as you held onto Peter’s hand and ran with him to his playroom. You loved playing with Peter because he always had the best toys. Your mama Wanda was always careful with what toys you were allowed to play with. Your eyes grew big when Peter showed you an electric car. “Car!” You said excitedly as you pointed to it.
Peter giggled as he opened the passenger side door, “come on get in!” He said as he helped you get in and then he got on the drivers side. He started to drive the car around the apartment.
“Hey buddy, not too fast!” Tony said as he called out to Peter. He smiled as he heard you giggling as Peter drove.
“Really Tony? An electric car. Wanda is going to kill me for letting Y/n get in a car with a four year old driver.” Nat said as she shook her head and laughed.
Tony shrugged his shoulders, “Wanda doesn’t have to know and besides the kid is a great driver. He’s got good hand eye coordination.”
Nat agreed with Tony as she couldn’t stop smiling watching Peter drive his electric car all around the apartment. She turned to Tony, “Yelena and Kate want to know if there is a way that you can age down their little, America?”
Tony sat down on the couch in front of Natasha, “sure that shouldn’t be a problem. How is the kid settling in? I’m assuming things are going well if they’ve already decided to age her down to her headspace age.”
“She’s settled in really well with Yelena and Kate, and of course Lucky loves her. America has had a rough life with losing her real mother’s and I think a lot of healing can come from giving her a fresh start. She’s so much happier and relaxed when she’s in her little headspace.” Nat says as she takes a sip of her coffee.
Just as Tony is about to respond he jumps up at the sound of the electric car thudding into a wall and the sound of you crying. “Bambi, what happened?” He asked Peter as he ran into the playroom.
Peter looked scared as he looked at you crying and then at his daddy and auntie Nat. “Sorry daddy. Didn’t mean to.”
Nat quickly picked you up and tried to comfort you. She noticed a giant bump forming on your forehead. Yep. Wanda was definitely going to kill her. “It’s okay baby. Let’s go put some ice on your owie.”
“It’s okay Bambi, you’re not in trouble. Accidents happen. Why don’t you go pick out a movie and I’ll make us all some popcorn.” Tony said as he comforted his son and hugged him.
“Okay daddy!” Peter said excitedly as he wiped away his tears. He was glad that his daddy wasn’t mad at him.
You fussed in your mama’s arms as she tried to hold an ice pack to your forehead. “No!” You yelled as you pushed the ice pack away.
“No ma’am, we don’t yell at mama like that. I know it’s cold but it will help you feel better.” Nat said firmly as she held the ice pack to your head. She pulled out a sippy cup filled with breastmilk and handed it to you hoping that it would help calm you down.
“Tanks mama.” You said as you slowly started to calm down. You started to drink your mama Wanda’s breastmilk as it made you feel safe.
Nat carried you to the living room where Tony and Peter sat waiting with a big bucket of buttery popcorn. She smiled when you sat next to Peter and gave him a hug. “So, what movie are we watching?”
“Lilo and Stitch!” Peter said happily as he pointed to the giant flatscreen tv.
Everyone ate popcorn and enjoyed the movie. Nat kept a careful eye on you to make sure that you didn’t have a concussion and she relaxed a little when she saw that the bump had gone down a little.
By the end of the movie you and Peter had fallen asleep and were cuddled on the couch together. Tony smiled and took a picture of the two of you with his phone, the sight was simply too precious.
When Wanda got home she could hear you giggling in the bathroom as Natasha was giving you a bath. She smiled as she put her luggage by the door. “I’m home!”
You squealed happily when you saw your mama Wanda walk into the bathroom. “Mama home!” You missed your mama Wanda and you were so happy that you tried to climb out of your bubble bath.
“Oh my baby, what happened to your head?” Wanda asked as she got on her knees by the tub and hugged you not even bothered that you were soaking wet. She gave Natasha a ‘what the hell happened’ look.
“Car! Ouchie!” You said as you pointed to your head and tried to explain what happened to your mama.
Wanda felt anxious as she looked at you and then turned to Natasha, “did you get into a car accident? Why didn’t you call me?”
“It wasn’t technically a car accident. I mean it was but not our car. Tony got Peter an electric car and Y/n was riding with Peter and they ran into a wall.” Nat explained as she rinsed you off and then grabbed your tiger towel and wrapped you up so that Wanda could pick you up.
“You let a four year old drive our daughter around in an electric car?” Wanda said in disbelief as she picked you up out of the tub. She was upset that you had gotten hurt, she was very protective over you.
Wanda placed you in a diaper and dressed you into your pajamas. She kissed your forehead as she gave you a sippy cup full of her breast milk. “I missed you, my little tiger.” She said as she rocked you in the rocking chair in your room.
Your eyes became heavy as you drank your milk and breathed in your mama Wanda’s scent. You had missed being in her arms.
Nat walked in and smiled when she saw Wanda tuck you into your toddler bed. “She’s growing up so fast.”
Wanda smiled as she looked up, “she really is. Look, I’m sorry that I got so upset earlier. I just hate seeing her get hurt; but that’s part of a child’s development. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I can’t put her inside a bubble.” Wanda said as she walked over to her girlfriend Nat and wrapped her arms around her.
Nat leaned down and kissed Wanda on the lips. “I’m so glad that you are home; and I feel the same as you. Sometimes I wish we could put her in a bubble. Also our daughter is very fond of the word ‘no’.” Natasha said as she let out a quiet chuckle.
This is a WandaNat x reader/little reader story centered around the reader healing from past ptsd childhood trauma.
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I’ve posted my “The Tales of a Little Tiger” story onto Wattpad as well. I’d appreciate if you can give me a follow on that platform as well. I will be updating the story on Wattpad, Ao3, and on here.
The Tales of a Little Tiger: Chapter 21- A Little Tiger's Cousin
Summary: Y/n's family grows as Yelena and Kate take on America as their little.
You walked happily playing with your toys under the careful eye of your mama Nat. She clapped when you would stop and dance to the music coming from the radio.
“Your aunties Yelena and Kate are coming over with America.” Nat said to you excitedly as she tickled your belly. She smiled warmly when she got you to giggle cutely.
Your eyes lit up when you turned at the sound of the door opening and saw America walk in. You walked on wobbly legs over to her and babbled excitedly.
America smiled big at seeing you walk up to her, “Y/n!” She reached down and picked you up and gave you a big hug. She didn’t realize how much she had missed you.
“America, why don’t you go play with y/n while we help Wanda with dinner?” Yelena suggested as she showed America where your playroom was located.
“Okay ma… Yelena.” America corrected herself as she agreed. It had only been a week of her staying with Kate and Yelena; it was much too soon for her to call the two women her mothers. Sometimes she allowed herself to daydream of what it would be like if they did become her moms. Of course no one could ever replace her biological parents. She was still getting used to dropping into her little headspace and sometimes she felt stupid for wanting to call her caregivers mama and mommy.
Yelena gave a gentle smile as she caught America’s slip of almost calling her mama. It warmed her heart that already America felt safe enough to see them as motherly figures. “Thank you, malen'kiy.”
“So how are things with America?” Nat asked Kate and Yelena as they all helped Wanda set the kitchen table.
Kate’s eyes lit up at the mention of America, “it’s been absolutely amazing! She is so sweet and settling well in our home. We’re still working on getting her room perfect. Lucky also loves her, he follows her everywhere and he is so protective of her.” She lowers her voice to a whisper, “when she’s in a little headspace sometimes she will slip up and call us mama and mommy. It’s so freaking adorable.”
Yelena smiles warmly as she watches Kate talk about their little with so much love and adoration. “It’s still too soon to call ourselves that; so when she slips up we just go with the flow. We don’t want to pressure her into anything. We want her to feel comfortable, especially since it’s still fresh for her to lose her mothers.” Yelena explains in a low voice.
Wanda smiled approvingly, “I’m so proud of both of you. It sounds to me that you are both doing a wonderful job of being her caregivers. It’s so important to communicate with your little one especially when they are in their grown headspace. If she already feels comfortable to call you motherly titles, then I would suggest asking her about it. She may feel embarrassed or unsure on how to transition into calling you mama or mommy.”
“That’s how y/n was at first. Y/n used to get embarrassed about everything when she first started to drop. It took a lot of reassurance and repetition for her to feel comfortable with us taking full care of her needs. America is older, so it will be easier to communicate with her. I’m also so proud of you both.” Nat said as she hugged her sister and soon to be sister in-law.
America felt herself drop to four years old as she played with you and all of your toys. “Roar!” She said as she played with some plastic dinosaurs on the floor next to you. She laughed when you picked up a plastic tiger and roared back.
Wanda walked into the playroom and chuckled seeing the two of you lost in a make believe world of dinosaurs and tigers. She knelt down on the floor, “girls, it’s dinner time.”
You made grabby hands towards your mama when you heard her voice. “Mama.”
America held onto the Stegosaurus dinosaur she was playing with. It was her favorite dinosaur and she didn’t want to put the toy away.
Wanda noticed the girl struggling with herself, “malen'kiy, you can bring the dinosaur with you to the table.”
America’s eyes lit up as she got up and followed Wanda to the dining room. She ran up to Kate excitedly, “mommy, look!” She said as she showed the green and blue dinosaur to her caregiver.
“Oh wow! That’s a big strong dinosaur! Is it your favorite?” Kate asked as she noticed the pure joy and excitement in her little one’s voice and mannerisms.
Yelena helped make a plate for America as the girl talked about dinosaurs and all her favorite animals. She placed the plate of food in front of her little, “here you go, malen'kiy. Little girls need to eat so they can grow big and strong like dinosaurs.”
Everyone ate happily chatting about different topics. You babbled happily as you also wanted to take part in the conversation.
Yelena noticed America was falling asleep at the dinner table, “I think we should get going. It’s past this one’s bedtime.” She chuckled as she went over to her little one and picked her up. “Sestras, thank you for dinner. It was amazing.”
America sucked on her thumb as she relaxed in Yelena’s arms. She felt loved by her caregivers as well as their family. She felt lucky to have aunts and you as her cousin. Her eyes grew heavy as she dreamt of a life surrounded by family.
Wanda and Natasha said their goodbyes to Kate and Yelena. They both chuckled when they saw that you also had fallen asleep in your high chair.
Natasha unclipped you from your high chair and carried you to your nursery. She changed your diaper and wiped your body clean from the spaghetti sauce that covered your skin.
Once you were dressed in a clean onesie your mama placed you in your crib and turned on your night light. You sucked on your pacifier as you drifted into a peaceful slumber.
“Sweet dreams, my malen'kiy.” Natasha said as she turned off the light and closed the door.
Yelena woke up at the sound of crying coming from down the hall. She looked next to her and saw that Kate was still fast asleep. Carefully she crawled out of bed and headed towards America’s room, her heart breaking when she saw the girl tossing and turning in bed.
“America, darling. It’s okay, you are safe.” The blonde spoke calmly and quietly as she gently woke up America.
America wiped at her tear stained face and shot up out of bed. Her chest was beating fast as her body shook in fear. She felt in between ages and she didn’t know how to feel the moment she noticed Yelena her caregiver was in the room with her. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”
Yelena nodded, “it’s okay though. There’s nothing to apologize for. Do you want to talk about your dream?”
“I…I don’t know. I feel so many things and I don’t even know how to be myself anymore. It’s stupid!” America shouted as her fists clenched tightly. She was frustrated with her emotions.
Yelena listened to America, “you’ve been through so much. Your feelings aren’t stupid they are valid. If you want I can help you sort through how you feel? You don’t have to figure everything out on your own sweet girl.”
America nodded her head as she felt like she was dropping. She looked up at Yelena with tears shining in her eyes, “I feel stupid because I want you and Kate to be my moms. Little me and big me want it… but it’s so soon. What if you and Kate don’t want us in that way?” She pauses as tears fall down her face, “Is it wrong for me to want parents and a family? Would my real moms be disappointed in me for wanting to be adopted?”
The blonde moved closer to her little one and made eye contact, “first of all you are not stupid for wanting these things. Kate and I want you to be ours. We want you to be our daughter, but we’ve just been patient. We want what’s best for you and we never want to pressure you to do anything you don’t want to do.” Yelena says gently yet firmly. She takes America’s shaking hands into her own, “It’s not wrong for you to want a family and I think your moms would want you to be taken care of and have a safe home. That’s what Kate and I want for you… we want to be a safe home for you. Sweet girl, it’s only been a week but I promise that we already love you.”
America threw herself in Yelena’s arms as she cried. “You really want me?” America felt relief wash over her as the fear of rejection left her. “I love you too… mama.”
Yelena held on tightly to America as she rocked the girl in her arms. “Malen'kiy, of course we want you. We love you more than you know.” Her heart melted at being called mama while America was in between headspaces. She smiled when she looked up and saw Kate crying happy tears from the doorway.
Kate had heard the whole conversation and it warmed her heart when she heard that America had wanted to become part of their family. It had been hard to be patient and not rush anything; but now she knew that even outside of a little headspace that America felt safe and desired to be adopted into their family.
When America saw Kate standing in the doorway she got out of bed and ran to hug her. “Will you be my mommy too?”
“Oh sweetheart, of course I will be your mommy too.” Kate said as she hugged America and ran her fingers through the girl’s hair soothingly. Her heart felt full and complete as she held her little one in her arms. “You are safe and you are loved.”
Lucky came in wagging his tail. He licked America’s face excitedly which caused her to laugh and giggle. It was like he was saying that he loved her as his sister.
Yelena and Kate held each other as they watched their little one play with Lucky and they couldn’t be happier.
can you believe that we have fanfiction. that we have websites dedicated to fanfiction. that there is a place that you can go and read tens, hundreds, thousands and thousands of pieces of writing that strangers have made. people who are not "writers". people who come home at the end of the day and have feelings and say, i am going to put that into words. i am going to share those words. short, long, sweet, sad, horny, funny, wonderful words. we are all just human and we all love to make and remake and share that with others. can you believe that.
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all your stuffed animals love you. they're not sad if they're in a box, or on the floor, or not held/played with as much. they understand. they know that you might need another stuffie more, or that you don't have enough space. they're just happy to be with you, and if you ever give them away, they'll be happy there too. stuffies are for comfort. they understand. they love you too. it's okay.
You know what drives me nuts about the way people treated Regina Mills?
1. If she was a king not a queen, and she plundered villages in the name of the kingdom, they’d have called her powerful and assertive. She ran the kingdom itself better than Leopold ever did.
2. She was not the cause of Emma’s bad childhood, because Snow and Charming didn’t lose Emma the day they put her in the wardrobe - they lost her the day snow gave her name to Rumple. The dark curse was coming, even if Regina decided not to cast it Rumple would have found someone else (likely Zelena) and Emma would have been written into it still because of Snow and Charming. Also, they could have chosen to live a cursed life but with Emma by their side, they didn’t have to send her away to become the saviour. They chose Emma saving their kingdom over themselves saving Emma. Blue lied, Gepetto bribed, and Jimeny kept his ‘morally sound’ mouth shut. Emma’s fate was sealed, whether Regina cast the curse or not.
3. She was so lonely, scared, and hurting - and they all acted like she was meant to be so grateful. (TW for forced marriage and SA in this one! Read with caution) The EF characters were all there to watch it happen, and Emma and Henry studied that story book too. At what point did it not stand out to anyone that the king was (even by the pictures in the story book) an old man complete with grey hair, and he was marrying a newly 18 year old girl for the sole purpose of her being a replacement second-rate version of Eva. Not a woman, a GIRL. She was SOLD to him. She was magically locked in the castle, spent years all alone while forcing a smile on her face while she was trapped inside her prison of hell - and everyone acted like she was supposed to be grateful for it?! The proposal itself was as a reward for saving a life. She wasn’t power-hungry, she intended to be a stable boy’s wife on the run. Some jewels and a crown were NOT an equal consolation prize for her grieving, sorrow, or virginity. Her thirst for power in the EQ years was a result of her having absolutely none in her ‘marriage’ (her captivity).
4. The faries (especially Blue) knew how awful Cora was treating Regina. (TW Hints to Child Abuse) They could have saved her as a little girl, but they were too scared/pathetic to. Rumple set her life of torture in motion many many years before she was even born. Her destiny was a life of pain, and no one cared enough to help. Even her father who meant everything to her stood by.
5. Emma and Henry in season 1. Don’t get me wrong I’m SwanQueen till I die. But Emma had no right whatsoever to Henry that first season. She acted like his adoption meant absolutely nothing, like those 10 years Regina raised Henry with love and care and devotion while she (by her own choice!) didn’t - were worthless. I could write an entire other post on this. But Emma also had no idea storybrooke wasn’t a normal town, so as far as she was aware she knew she was committing felony kidnapping. With a prison record. I mean how can she possibly think that was better for him, than with his mother who everyone including his teacher confirmed never harmed him. Regina was the adoptive mother Emma used to DREAM of when she was in the system, which is exactly where Henry could have ended up and she damn well knew it. Yes Regina was strict, probably too strict while trying to hold desperately onto him. But every time Henry (who was a little brat in season 1 let’s be honest) said Emma was his real mother (despite her giving him up), ran away to be with Emma, lied to Regina, called her Evil (when she’d never done anything ‘evil’ in front of him or to him) it literally felt like he ripped her heart out of her chest. She didn’t deserve that. At all. She loved that boy with everything in her. He was her true love, that never changed.
