I … Wow …

I … wow …

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 | n.romanoff

you visit the strip club downtown with your co-workers to let off some steam, but it seems like you've caught the eye of none other than the 'black widow'.

🖤 pairing: sub!stripper!natasha x fem!cop!reader

🖤 word count: 3145

🖤 note: SMUT (18+), this one been marinating in my drafts like im preserving wine

main m.list | AO3

You don’t know why you let your co-workers drag you to a strip club on a Friday night, but you’re sure as hell not complaining.

There are plenty of women, everywhere. Women in bikinis, women in stockings, women in thigh garters. You're in wonderland, honestly.

Hey, cops needed to let off some steam too, okay?

The cheers and hoots surround your table as Carol gets a lap dance by a brunette stripper. The blonde woman is blushing – you didn’t know she could do that – but she’s having the time of her life.

As Carol slides a bill between the stripper's tits with no lack of embarrassment, you laugh and get up to go get another drink.

It wasn't an overly rare occasion for you to be letting loose, but it was infrequent enough that your co-workers quite physically hauled you to this adult entertainment facility after a particularly taxing case.

ULTRAVIOLET was the most popular strip club in Queens, New York City. They served both men and women, with sparkling reviews about customer service and atmospheric aesthetics.

Carol, Valkyrie, and Maria would simply not shut up about the 'Black Widow', who was supposedly the sexiest, most stunning stripper any of them had ever laid their eyes on.

"She fuckin' looked at me in the eye," Valkyrie had moaned on a Monday morning, speaking of this stripper they so revered. "I can't look at anyone the same no more."

You were about to make a quick-witted retort about Valkyrie’s dramatization of mere eye contact, but Maria had only nodded solemnly in agreement and you had to admit you didn’t take Maria’s judgment lightly.

Aside from the talk about the Black Widow, you were hit with the novelty of the strip club once you stepped foot within.

As the Commanding Officer of the New York City Police Department, 104th Precinct, the boundless freeness of this place was quite a sight to behold. What with the heavy music, and the beer-tinged scent of the air, and nude women – the sensory overload did wonders to take your mind off work.

"You here alone?"

You spin on the barstool at the sound of a sultry voice. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping to the floor at the sight of a breathtakingly gorgeous woman.

Scantily clad in matching sequined undergarments and fishnet stockings, stands a redheaded woman leaning against the bar counter, looking at you with magnificent green eyes.

"I'm not alone- I mean, not in that way, because I'm just here with friends. Well, co-workers, but they're my friends as well-"

Splendid job, Deputy Inspector Y/N L/N, you say internally. You can look in the eye of murderers and terrorists, but one look at a pretty woman and you're fuckin' gone.

"You're cute," the lady interrupts with a small tilt of her head, saving you from digging your own grave further.

You swallow harshly, feeling her manicured nails trace the curvature of your bicep.

"Just cute?" you ask, trying not to sound too hopeful. Her fingers move down to the collar of your white shirt, fiddling with the fabric. Call it stupidity, but you feel the urge to reciprocate the contact. You move your hands to her hips.

The lady smirks. "Hm, maybe not just cute. But I think you need to show me."

The redhead hasn't broken eye-contact all the while. Your eyes feel like they're burning. You slide your left hand down to the hem of her panties, and tug slightly. When her panties snap against her skin, she jolts with the impact.

You smirk with victory, pulling her in by her waist so your mouth is pressed against her skin. "I'll show you," you murmur, kissing the warm with a fervour you didn't know you possessed.

The woman's breath hitches and she pulls your head closer. You accept the invitation, beginning to leave a hickey on the sensitive spot of her neck.

After a few moments of your concentrated work on her neck, the woman finally lets out a sigh-turned-moan of pleasure, and you nearly pass out from how sexy it is.

She tugs your head away and pulls you in by the collar for a kiss. Your eyelids flutter close.

Your quavering breaths meet in a frantic harmony, and you want to explore her mouth, but she ends it as quickly as it begins.

"What's your name?" the redhead asks, warm breath on your lips. "Y/N," you say hoarsely, trying and failing not to sound like you were left high and dry.

You slide your hands to the bare skin of her torso, silently delighting in the way it raises goosebumps. You need to get more of her, feel more of her. "Do I get to know your name?" you ask.

The lights in the strip club suddenly dim, and the music takes on a far more sensual tone.

The woman slides out of your grasp like sand falling through your fingertips, and you're left with the ghost of her burning embrace. Your question remains unanswered.

"Let's give it up for our next dancer," the bar owner says into his mic, and the noise dramatically fades away. "The Black Widow!"

Blue and violet lights dance in your vision as the woman who had kissed you just moments before, approaches the stage, hips swaying in time to the music.

Your eyes narrow, and you down the bourbon in one shot. You'd need it.

When the beat drops, The Black Widow throws her head back and she begins to move.

God, it's criminally sensual, the way she danced, unlike anything you'd ever seen before. You couldn't put into words the allure she possessed.

The redheaded woman runs a hand over her own skin, dipping into every curve, as the music crescendos, and you know you're not the only patron with their heart thrumming in their chest.

When she begins twirling on the pole, you see men clearing out a month's paycheck for this divine woman, and honestly? You don't blame them.

Money gets flung onto the stage and catcalls get yelled as perhaps the most erotic scene unfolds before your very eyes.

When The Black Widow lifts up a thigh to show off her tight stockings, you're unable to hold back any longer, drawn to the stage like a moth to a flame.

Sitting back down into your original seat, leaving the empty glass of bourbon behind, all else fades away. Your world stumbles on its axis as the woman makes her way over to you, running a hand through her luscious locks of hair.

Your mouth dries up as The Black Widow turns around in front of you and fully bends over, exposing the delicious curve of her ass. You sink back into your seat, bringing two fingers to your lips in silent contemplation. Internally, you're fighting the goddamned World War II with your libido.

She's still swaying in beat to the music, and spins around as the sound of a saxophone starts playing. The last thing you see is a playful wink from the gorgeous woman before an ample asset of tits covers your vision.

Fuck, you're not going to survive.

Your nose quite literally gets buried between her tits as the woman climbs onto you. You would pay to see your co-workers' faces right now. How would you ever face them at work again?

“Get it, Y/N!” you hear Maria call in the distance, and a shrill whistle follows.

You smirk against the pair of tits in your face, inhaling the scent of her perfume, and her sweat, and simlply her. You let the stripper work her magic.

After a few more minutes of your paradise, she pulls away, skin flushed.

You regard her with a darkened gaze, pulling out your wallet. You stuff a bill in the side of her thong, making sure to snap the fabric in the same spot as you had previously.

The woman's face flickers in recognition. She shakes her head, then dips her head down to whisper in your ear.

"11pm. Room 8. Private session. Don't be late."

Like it was planned, the music comes to an end. The redhead doesn't wait for your response before she gets off your lap, raising her arm in acknowledgement of the roaring cheers. Her hips sway as she walks away from you, and you don’t even pretend that your eyes are glued to her curves.

Money gets thrown onto the stage once again, all in hopes of earning a fraction of what you had just experienced.

"Holy shit, Y/N, what was that?" Carol yells at you over the noise, slapping your back. You shrug plainly with a stupid smug smirk as Valkyrie whines in jealousy.

Oh, you were so fucking ready for 11pm.

"A private, fuckin' session for Deputy Inspector Y/N fucking L/N. Who would'a thought," Carol slurs, banging a shot glass onto the round table.

You roll your eyes at Carol's dramatization. It wasn't as if your status as Commanding Officer steered women away from you – in fact, some of them were quite into it.

But for your prevalently horny friends who had women over just about every week, you were considered starved of sweet pussy and were in dire need of quenching that thirst.

So when you broke the news that the most sought-after stripper in the most famous strip club in Queens, had just offered you a private session, lo and behold the chaos that ensued.

"Shit, girl, I would get down on my knees for that lady. You are one lucky bastard," Valkyrie adds in, ruffling your hair as you grumble.

"You'd get down on your knees for any woman, actually," Maria says, the usually composed woman more laid back in the environment of the strip club. Or maybe it was the alcohol.

Valkyrie lets out an aggrieved noise, sitting up to whack Maria's arm, but in her drunken state she misses and slaps Carol's drink out of her hands.

"Oi!" The blonde cries out indignantly, looking at the drink that had splattered onto her clothing.

Carol grabs Maria's martini out of her hands and throws it at Valkyrie in retaliation.

Before you know it, your three idiot friends have gotten temporarily suspended from the strip club for 'causing a ruckus'.

Just like that, and the clock ticks down to eleven o’clock.

It’s 11pm, and you're overly aware of your police badge at your belt and your gun in your holster.

Or at least, you were, until Natasha swung one leg across your lap and sat herself down with an unspoken grace, effectively sitting on your lap. In the privacy of the enclosed room, you unashamedly stare down at her cleavage, eyes several hues darker than they were before.

“See something you like?” Natasha asks breathily, running her hands over her full breasts, pushing them up to elicit a reaction from you.

The moving lights in the dark room cast shadows, and when you back look up with a sinful smirk and half-lidded eyes, Natasha swears she feels herself get wet.

All the air in your lungs dissipates when Natasha begins grinding on your thigh in beat to the music, hips moving skilfully in the sexiest fashion imaginable.

Fuck, this woman was going to be your demise.

Your hands feel like they’re on fire as you watch her put on a show, simply aching to move and touch. Natasha trails her fingertips down your tensed arms, running over the curve of your biceps. She smirks at the goosebumps it raises, her hands dwelling to the edge of your pants.

Your breath catches as her fingers find the outline of your police badge tucked underneath your shirt. The Black Widow looks up at you, expression a no-tell. “You on duty?”

“Nope.”

“Is that why you’ve got a gun in your belt?”

“Nah, that one’s just for pretty girls like you,” you respond slowly, hands tentatively going to rest on her thighs. When the smirk reappears on the stripper's face, you relax and let your shoulders untense.

“If you say so, officer,” she comments huskily, leaning forward to nip at your earlobe. The shiver runs through your bones.

You’re about to counter with a quick retort of your own before Natasha begins grinding on that bulge in your pants, treating your gun like it was a strap.

“Shit,” you say breathlessly, hands burning at being unable to touch. Behind your back, your nails were digging into your palms so hard you swore you had already drawn blood.

Fuck, it was torture.

Her pretty moans and breathy whines ring in your ears as she moves her hips roughly, a torment to your demise.

After a while, you come to the realisation that you can feel how wet Natasha is through her undergarments, soaked from having just dry-humped your thigh.

“Fuck me,” she says, and your throat dries up. “What?” you ask, dazedly, still staring at her bouncing tits in front of your face.

“I said, fuck me,” Natasha repeats, head tilting to the side, halting all her movements so you would look at her.

You splutter. “But the sign said–”

“What can I say, officer, you wanna make me break the rules.”

That’s all the confirmation you need before your hands can finally touch her, finally, meeting and warm skin and sweat droplets and everything you’d ever wanted.

You let out a huff of amusement as Natasha wraps her pretty lips around your fingers and sucks, making lewd noises with her tongue. Your ears burn, now, having been tainted with the beautiful symphony of this woman’s pleasure.

“You’re very naughty,” you comment, your other hand slipping under her top to reach her full breasts. Palming at the mounds in your hand, you face moves to the bare skin of her collarbone and begin kissing it.

“Don’t make marks,” Natasha says breathlessly, when you let your teeth nick the soft skin there, and there’s a pit of desire in your stomach that growls in frustration, but you know you have to respect her wishes and instead move your mouth down to her chest.

Natasha doesn’t remember when you slipped off her bra, but she isn’t complaining about your haste and instead throws her head back when your mouth latches onto her breasts.

“Mhm, that feels good,” she moans, weaving her fingers through your hair and scratching at your scalp. You hum in acknowledgement against her flushed skin, your tongue paying special attention to her hardened buds.

When both your hands move to the underside of her thighs and lift her up, Natasha lets out an embarrassing squeak at the sudden change of position. But as you lay her down on the sofa with your body weight pressing into hers, those whimpers turn into filthy moans.

You stall for a moment, hovering above her with your silver necklace dangling right above her face. She looks so pretty like this, her hair all splayed out, the sheen of sweat on her skin making her look tantalizing.

Natasha catches your swinging necklace between her teeth, winking seductively at you, and you’re snapped out of your moment, a laugh taking over.

“Have I told you that you’re incredibly bad?” you say, in between kisses scattered between her breasts, down her sternum and to her stomach.

“You- you have,” Natasha replies with some difficulty, as your kisses get lower and lower. “Maybe you should punish me for it, officer;”

She shuts up when you slowly spread open her thighs, revealing the dripping heat that is Natasha’s cunt. You maintain eye contact with her as you lower your mouth to her pussy, her lust-filled stare making your head spin.

When your tongue meets her cunt, it was game over.

“Fuck,” Natasha moans, already unable to continue looking at you in the eye, hands moving to grip the cushion of the sofa. Her thighs clamp around your head, and you’re suffocating, but in a way that feels so good you could die in bliss.

You lap at her dripping cunt like you were starving, like you would die without it. Natasha’s moans get louder. You move your mouth in rocking motions, pushing your tongue further in with each thrust.

“More,” she gasps out, and you quicken your pace, fingertips digging bruises into her plush thighs. In retrospect, you don’t remember how long you stay there, ravenously eating her out like your life depended on it.

When you feel her breathing get faster and more shallow, breathy little whines that get louder and louder, and you know she’s about to cum.

Instead of gently bringing her to a high, you internally say fuck it and decide that if this was the one chance you had, with the most sought-after stripper in Queens, you were going to make it an unforgettable one.

You move your mouth up to wrap your lips around her swollen, throbbing clit, and you suck on it, hard. In tandem with that, you easily slide two fingers in, curling them inside her to hit that sweet spot. Natasha positively screams, and you swear it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Her orgasm floods the lower half of your face and your fingers, and the little mewls of your name Natasha lets out as she comes down from her high is one you’d always remember.

Finally, you emerge from between Natasha’s thighs. Slowly, you kiss up her stomach and her breasts, up the way you came down from, and you meet Natasha’s blissed out face.

You take a moment to take in her tousled hair, her swollen kissable-pink lips, her smudged makeup, her shallow gasps for air, and the pure lust in her eyes.

Just like that, and another jolt of arousal hits you. Before you can act on it, Natasha pulls you into a messy kiss, hot and sweaty.

“You look so fucking good-” Natasha says in between the frantic meeting of your mouths. “With my cum all over your jaw.”

You bite back a growl at her words, wanting to let her know just how exactly good you can make her cum. Natasha catches your hand that slides down to her wet cunt, before bringing it up and placing a kiss on your fingertips. “Our time is up,” she whispers, nodding to the clock behind you that now reads 11.31pm. “One private session lasts 30 minutes.”

This woman was going to be the death of you.

You turn back to The Black Widow with dilated pupils, slowly reaching into your pocket for that leather Saint Laurent wallet, and the ghost of a smirk on your lips.

In the wee hours of twilight the next day, you leave the strip club with your wallet emptied, a searing cramp in your hand, and the memory of an unforgettable woman whose real name you hadn’t even known.

Boy, you had one hell of a story to tell your friends.

i think i'm not gonna taglists anymore, sorry yall. there's just so many usernames and i have to constantly update it :(

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Room Chapter 1

Mama!Natasha Romanoff x Daughter!Wanda Maximoff

Masterlist | General Masterlist

W/c: 3.9k

Summary: Held captive in an enclosed space for years, Former Avenger Natasha Romanoff devises a plan on her daughter’s fifth birthday to set them free

Warnings: sexual assault, kidnapping, violence, language, children conceived through sexual assault, angst, mentions of suicide, murder (just a lot of pain)

Note: Bringing this over from A03 for those that want to read

There was a shift in the comfortable silence that surrounded her peaceful slumber. The familiar buzzing of the refrigerator in a corner stopped just as she reached a peace that wasn't quite peace. She could hear the lock of a door and heavy footsteps trailing away. The solid crunch of leaves, or maybe snow, smashed against her eardrums as she waited for the silence to meet her again. Wide-eyed and alert she didn't dare move her face from under the covers. Didn't dare make a sound as the silence of the room captured her again. In the darkness of the night, she could just make out the shapes of furniture in her space. A room. She couldn’t quite tell these days if that’s what it was. Taking a shuddering breath, she pushes against the mattress with her hands just barely touching the springs through the thinness of the material.

He’s gone. Her left foot touches the ice-cold concrete below her. Then her right. Flexing her toes, she tries to ignore the dull ache between her legs. She tries not to scream out at the pain shooting up her spine. She doesn’t want to think about that now. There’s only one thing on her mind as she stands to her feet. The wardrobe leans against a wall just inches from the bed with only a nightstand keeping them apart. She tries her fingers along the faded wood feeling for the slight opening she’d left. Natasha pulls the door open gently and grabs what’s inside. It takes a minute to get a proper grip but she does lifting with what little strength she has and hoists the tiny figure into her arms. Chubby fingers grab at her before settling with a shushing sound to her ear. Natasha transfers the child onto the bed in a position closest to the wall. It groans under their weight. Long hairs tickle her bare arms nuzzling closer to her.

“Ma?” A tiny voice whispers.

“Shh, go back to sleep.” She whispers back. Climbing into the bed and pulling the child to her again she pulls the blanket just to their shoulders. She waits with bated breath for the girl to stir again but she never does. Natasha feels safer. As safe as she could in this hell hole.

Letting the sounds of her child's breathing lull her to sleep for a brief second she wonders if life will always be like this.

It’s the child who wakes first just a couple of hours later. Her eyes blink open quickly as she lifts her head to look over to her mother. With an excited whisper, she brushes her hair out of her face and pokes a finger into Natasha’s face.

“Ma, I’m five,” She smiles to no one in particular. It’s her birthday. She’s finally five. That’s a big number. Natasha smiles before opening her eyes. No matter how much she doesn't feel happy, there's a reason to be happy. The child smiling brightly at her brings her a sort of joy.

“You are,” She rasps, pulling her into a hug.

“I’m so old now,” The girl exclaims, relishing in the feeling of her mother against her.

“You’re such a big girl now, Myshka,” Natasha says into her hair.

“Yeah,” She agrees.

Guess it was time to get their morning started.

Natasha busies herself making their breakfast as the child greets her favorite things in their room. There’s a cheeriness that Natasha herself can't reach as she pours the boiling water into a bowl for each of them for instant oatmeal.

“Good morning, lamp.” The little girl touches each thing she sees. Clad in only a t-shirt and underwear she doesn't feel the cold breeze in the room. “Goodmorning, Dollie, good morning egg-snake.”She reaches under the bed to pull her craft out. They did that together a few months ago when Old Nick decided to bring them a Sunday treat. There’s a small plant on the nightstand she places it next to. The clink of the bowls grabs her attention and she comes to stand next to her mother. “Mama, I’m five now. So big right?”

“Yes, Myshka.” Natasha sighs. She drops a spoon into both bowls and guides the girl to her seat. She’d never sit down otherwise. Natasha takes her time opening a small ziplock bag and taking out the chewable vitamins. Two. She presses them into the child’s waiting hands. “Take your vitamins.” She instructs before pulling another small bag into view. Her own vitamins taste just as bad if not worse than the ones she’s had before. She doesn’t know exactly what they are but Old Nick promised her they were good for her. That they would help the both of them. She can’t say she trusts him but there’s no other choice.

Natasha takes a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth hoping that her actions would be followed. They are. She tries to hide the small groan as the pain inside of her mouth shoots through her. She was having a lot of pain these days. Green eyes look over at her curiously.

“Is it bad tooth again?”

“Yeah,” She nods. “It’s fine. Pain only makes you stronger.”

“That’s right. Just like Captain America.” The young girl nods in agreement. Natasha wants to roll her eyes at the mention of him. Her former teammate. Her former partner. One of The Avengers. She’d been one herself Once Upon a Time. One of the best if you ask her. She regrets letting her child watch that special on Avengers a year ago. How was she to know the girl would become obsessed with the team? America’s Greatest Heroes. It tasted bitter on her tongue. It was physically ailing for her to hear about them and how they moved on. As if nothing happened. As if nothing happened to her.

She gripped her spoon a little harder as she thought of the many times she’d watched the news and saw glimpses of their faces. Tony wasn’t seen as much anymore. He opted to live a life by the lake in upstate New York with Pepper and his daughter. Steve was rumored to be dating Sharon Carter. She remembers briefly the time she’d encouraged him to ask the woman out. He had been so adamant about being too busy to date. Guess that had gone out of the window. They even had a new person on the team. One they called Captain Marvel. Carol Danvers. She was good. If circumstances were different Natasha thought they might have been friends. That’s all over now though. If anything the mere thought is despicable. It disgusts her to think about them. She feels a bit jealousy every time she sees their faces on the small TV screen in the corner of their room.

How could she not? They never came looking for her. Never found her. Here she was six years in this place and there wasn’t even a mention of her. Not anymore. They didn’t know a damn thing and weren’t looking to. She’s suffered alone. Here in this god-forsaken place, she wasn’t an Avenger or an ex-KGB assassin or a former Red Room spy. She was just Natasha. Just weak and plain Natasha. Before here, before this room, before Old Nick, she would have broken someone’s nose at the thought of calling her weak. This room had broken her in more ways than one. Now she didn’t have a clue who she was.

She’s tried everything she could to break out of here but it all proved worthless. She’s tried fighting, picking the locks, sending messages in her trash, hell she’s even tried to break the skylight above their heads right now. None of it proved anything but the fact that she was stuck here. She didn’t know who had taken her or how she was taken. The entire ordeal is a blur to her.

She's on a mission. It was an easy in and out. She’d been on a level 6 multiple times before. She was keeping a steady communication with Steve and Maria Hill. There wasn’t anything to fear or worry about. She had completed the mission or so she thought. It’s a little unclear to her. Why were they there in the first place? Fury had given them leads to a new Hydra safehouse on his radar. It was supposed to be a quick raid. One minute she’s kicking some serious ass and the next she’d been knocked unconscious and woke up here.

In the beginning, she’d been handcuffed to the bed. A method she was all too familiar with from her days in The Red Room. Then he would come in. Old Nick. He would come in and make conversation with her. She was never very receptive to his play at friendliness. That was his angle. Get her to trust him. She was violent with him. Doing everything in her power to break him. She would find out who he was working with or working for if it was the last thing she did. He didn’t stutter once, only becoming increasingly hostile towards her.

One time, she was feeling particularly angry and had broken free of the cuffs only to be met with electrocution. Something she’d had similar to her Widow Bites. Only this didn’t immobilize her. It knocked her out. Left her in an almost catatonic state. He would push and push and push until finally, she stopped fighting. She stopped resisting. He would come as often or as little as he liked. He would take what he wanted and leave.

If there was an organization backing him she wouldn’t know. All she saw was him. All she could see sometimes when she looked at the little face in front of her was him.

No. Wanda was hers. Wanda was good. She is good. There was no fight left in her but for the little one in front of her, she would do whatever she could.

So she would make her birthday as fun as possible. Working with what she had was a strong suit.

“Hey, do you know what we’re going to do today?” Natasha set her spoon down. She wasn’t as hungry as she thought.

“What?” Wanda tilted her head. “More egg-snake?”

“No,” Natasha smiled. “We’re going to bake a birthday cake.”

“A cake?” Wanda gasped, sitting just a tiny bit straighter. “A real cake? Like from TV? Cuz’ I’m five?”

“Yep.” Natasha couldn’t help but share in her excitement. Wanda was good. She’s always been good. “It will have sprinkles and everything. We can start on it as soon as you’re done with your oatmeal.”

“Wow.” Wanda hurriedly got back to her meal scooping spoonfuls of oatmeal into her mouth. She couldn’t wait to make a real live birthday cake. She’d never had one before.

The rest of their morning went as planned. She helped Wanda to brush her teeth. Two minutes. Thirty seconds on each side. Then it was time to pick out their clothes. They didn’t have much. Just what Old Nick would bring them for a Sunday treat. She found the first clean shirt available and helped Wanda out of her old ones. She listened to the chattering of the five-year-old as she raised her arms.

“Mama, do you think my cake can be red, blue, and white?” Wanda’s voice was muffled as the shirt was pulled onto her head. “Like Captain America?”

“I don’t know, Myshka.” Natasha passed her a pair of pants. Wanda was always firm in her choice to do this part herself.

“Well, I hope so.” Wanda almost falls to the floor as she attempts to put a leg into the jeans. Natasha’s steadying hand prevents her from doing so. Wanda pushes a stray hair out of her face as she sucks in her belly and uses both hands to button her pants. Raising her hands again, she smiles. “See, Mama, I did it.”

“You did it.” Natasha bops her nose. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I think it’s because I’m five and I get superpowers.” Wanda grinned. Natasha knew it was just Wanda being a child but the idea of her having superpowers felt all too real. It felt all too haunting. Too much of a reminder of the life she was missing.

With a pat on Wanda’s head, she moved to the other side of the room. Their bowls were tossed into the sink. Natasha flipped the nozzle to the tap water and began to scrub them. She could hear the click of the TV being turned on and the Dora the Explorer theme song reached her ears. Wanda would be distracted if only for a little. She went about her day scrubbing the floors and keeping her area clean. Not once did Wanda turn to her to ask a question. The mini redhead is too enthralled by the actions on the screen.

“Okay, time for morning stretch and measure.” Natasha clapped her hands. Wanda scurried across the room closer to the door. The only door leading to the outside world. She leaned her head patiently against the wall and looked up. Natasha used a dull pencil to scratch Wanda’s height into the frame. She couldn't quite tell the exact numbers but there was some growth there.

“Mama, I am taller.” Wanda cheered. “I think it’s because I’m five now.”

“You are,” Natasha agreed. That’s how a lot of their conversations went. Wanda was more enthusiastic and fresh. Everything in life was new to her. It was all a wonder. Even getting taller. Their stretching went off without a hitch. Natasha was more of an instructor as she avoided overexerting herself after last night. After what he did. Wanda was compliant as she went into a downward dog. Her giggles were music to Natasha’s ears as she tried to keep her balance. Her long locks brushed the floor in a puddle of red. Finally, Natasha poked at her gently until she fell over.

“Mama, no fair.” Wanda smiled from her place. Her arms coming up to her chest as she pulled off the cutest pout one had ever seen.

“No fair?” Natasha raised a brow. “No fair is you using my own pout against me. I invented that pout.”

“Nuh-uh,” Wanda shook her head.

“I did,” Natasha challenged her. “Now do you want to argue further or do you want to make a cake?”

“Cake, cake, cake!” Wanda scrambled to her feet. She followed Natasha around their small kitchenette. Natasha gathered the ingredients from the fridge and set them all on the table. It wasn’t necessarily a homemade cake but they were working with what they had. She listened to every instruction given to her. Making a cake was so much fun. She was even allowed to crack the eggs into the bowl. Next was the butter. A solid block thick and creamy.

“Butter!” Wanda cheered as Natasha flipped over its container and allowed it to drop into the mix of eggs and the rest of the batter. She attempted to smash it down to mix but was met with a bit of resistance.

“Why don’t you handle some of that, baby.” She allowed Wanda to take the reins of mixing. In an attempt to play it off she stepped back and shook at her wrist. It had never been the same since she’d broken it in a fight with Nick. A lot of her body wasn’t the same anymore. Wanda was all too happy to take over. Once the batter was finally finished Natasha took over the baking part while Wanda worked to clean their dishes. She was an efficient helper and didn’t complain one bit.

Finally, after waiting what seemed like a billion years, the cake was ready. She waited in her seat with a hand over each eye as Natasha carried the cake over to her.

“Okay, Myshka, you can open now.” Natasha crouched down to be eye level. She used a small lighter with just a bit of fluid to light the dollar store candles on the cake. Wanda opened her eyes excitedly, wiggling just a tiny bit in her seat. She counted the candles slowly, her smile quickly fading away from her face.

“There’s five,” She whispered dejectedly.

“What’s that?”Natasha questioned. She wasn’t clear on the apparent shift in Wanda’s demeanor.

“There are not ten candles,” Wanda pointed to each one with a frown. “There has to be ten. For me, and for Pietro.” Oh. Natasha’s heart stopped for just a second. Pietro. Wanda’s twin. Her other child. She sometimes tries to forget that there were two of them. She’s surprised that Wanda remembers.

Natasha sighs. She’d been thirty-four weeks pregnant when she’d gone into labor. A miracle that she hadn’t known was possible and yet there she was. In the room all alone giving birth on the very same bed they sleep in now. After begging and pleading for Nick to take her to a hospital she’d given birth and delivered her babies on her own. Only expecting one, she was pleasantly surprised when she had given birth to a second. She remembers holding a wailing Wanda in her arms and feeling the need to push again. She took matters into her own hands and cut the umbilical cord with dull scissors in anticipation for the second baby. She would set aside a newborn Wanda as she bared down with her own scream. Only this time she wouldn’t be met with the soft wails of her second child. She was met with silence. Pietro, she decided to name him, was born still with his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Natasha remembers that day as if it were yesterday. How she attempted to feed one newborn and mourn the other at the same time.

She would carry and hold a still Pietro in her arms in an attempt to keep him warm for six hours. It was six hours before Old St. Nick visited her again. He would proceed to rip the baby from her arms with the broken promise of burying him somewhere safe. She still doesn’t know if he kept his promise.

So she moved through the next five years raising Wanda as best she could. She raised her as one half of a pair she didn’t know she could ever have. Some days Natasha would question it. How she’d been able to conceive and give birth to a child. Two children. The Red Room had made sure this wasn’t a problem. Or so she thought. Children weren’t even a thought in Natasha’s mind before being trapped here. Now being here with Wanda she couldn’t think of anything else. She kept Pietro’s memory alive for as long as she could for Wanda. Over time she stopped talking about him so much with the pain of his lifeless body still fresh in her mind.

Here she was with her five-year-old opening wounds that were never really closed.

“Wanda, there wasn’t enough for ten candles,” She says gently. From the wobble of Wanda’s bottom lip, she could tell that if this situation went wrong there would be a huge problem.

“You said birthday,” Wanda moans. “That means me and Pietro. Candles for two. Not one.”

“Wanda,” She sighs. How in the world was she supposed to explain this to her? “It’s still a birthday cake for you. I think that we should celebrate and you can pretend that they’re for Pietro too. How does that sound?”

Wanda looks down then back up as if she has the brightest idea in the world. “You should ask Old Nick for more candles for Sunday treat.”

“Wanda, it’s Monday. We would have to wait six more days-”

“So,” Wanda pushes.

“Your cake would be old and we wouldn’t be able to eat it.” Natasha realizes that her attempts to reason with a five-year-old would be futile. “Why don’t we blow out the candles and try the cake?”

“No,” Wanda frowns. She doesn’t want to do it this way. Mama always used to tell her she and Pietro would share the same birthday. Even if he wasn’t here, why shouldn’t they share the same cake? There had to be ten candles. Then they could say goodbye. It’s how they did it in the movie on TV. When someone died they said goodbye or said a prayer or had a funeral even. Pietro didn’t get any of that. Why couldn’t they do it now?

“Come on, I know you’ll like it, Myshka, go on try it.” Natasha urges her again to try the cake.

Faster than she can react Wanda lashes out angrily “I said NO!” and the candles are blown out without either of them realizing how. Natasha takes a deep, deep breath. Wanda lets out a whimper and a whine. It wasn’t like Wanda to raise her voice. Tears of frustration pricked Natasha’s eyes as she pulled Wanda into her embrace.

“Wanda, Mama, doesn’t like it when you yell.” Natasha chastises. “I know you're frustrated but this isn’t how we act.” She feels Wanda nod against her.

“Next week, when I turn six, ask for more candles,” Wanda whispers brokenly.

“Next year,” She corrects her. Next year. She couldn’t imagine being in this place one more year. Looking up, she notices that the small piece of sky she can see through the skylight is clear. Next year will be different, she's sure of it.

Hours later she’s sitting in the tub with Wanda, the candles and the cake half-eaten and their crisis long forgotten. She doesn’t hide her naked body and neither does Wanda. She doesn’t know any different. She takes a bit of the soap from the edge of the tub and lathers it in her hands to wash Wanda’s hair. It’s not shampoo and it certainly isn’t the best soap but she’s clean. Wanda giggles as she swirls their clothes around in the suds of the water. It’s the only way they’ll get clean. It’s an odd thing to do but after having a bit of practice she doesn’t think twice about it.

They don’t get much in here. Natasha doesn’t know much about what’s out there. She allows herself to wonder again if Old Nick is working alone. If so, he’s pretty damn crafty. She wonders if he has some kind of camera set up to watch her. Watch them. She looks around the room. If there was anything she’d have found it. She’s searched the place so many times and found nothing. The slosh of water brings her back to reality as Wanda hisses.

“Soap in my eye,” She rubs furiously at them. She turns to Natasha for help.

“No, don’t rub,” With one of their articles of clothing, she takes it and helps to clean the soap from Wanda’s eye. “There, all better.” She says. Wanda’s wide green eyes meet hers.

“All better,” Wanda repeats.

The idea comes to Natasha when she and Wanda are cuddled in bed. Wanda is pressed against her with her face pressed into Natasha’s breast as she suckles gently. Realistically, Natasha knows she should be weaned by now. She knows breastfeeding a five-year-old is an insane amount of time. She’s not ready to lose the connection. She’s not ready to take away the one thing that always brings Wanda comfort. Not yet.

So as Wanda contently falls asleep at her breast releasing her nipple gently from her mouth Natasha comes up with a plan. They were getting out of here. One way or another they were getting out of here.

They would be free.

Pt 2.

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likemick

3 years ago

I just realized something about Dolores from Encanto. We all know that she has super hearing right …

That means she probably heard her younger cousins and siblings being conceived …

On another note she probably was the first to hear their heart beats.