The Avengers compound was quiet that afternoon, a rare moment of peace. But inside Wanda’s room, things were a little more complicated.

You sat in Wanda’s lap, small and curled up against her, your cheek resting against her shoulder as she gently fed you small bites of your snack. Her soft voice hummed sweet words, her fingers rubbing slow, calming circles on your back.

“You’re doing so good, malyshka,” she praised, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head as she guided another bite to your lips.

You nibbled at it, feeling warm and safe in her arms, but the peace didn’t last long.

Natasha, bouncing with playful energy, stood a few feet away, watching you with a mischievous grin. Even when she was regressed, she was still Natasha—always playful, always looking for a reaction.

“You’re so teeny,” she teased, rocking on her heels. “So tiny. Baby, baby, baby.”

Your small fingers tightened around Wanda’s sweater as your face scrunched up in frustration. You weren’t in the mood for Natasha’s taunts, and the way she kept giggling only made your bottom lip wobble.

Wanda noticed immediately.

“Natasha.” she warned, her tone gentle but firm.

But Natasha just giggled louder. “Baby can’t even eat by herself.”

That was too much.

With a frustrated noise, you swiped a small hand toward Natasha, trying to hit her. It wasn’t hard—just a tiny, clumsy swing—but before you could make contact, Wanda caught your wrist in her warm, steady grip.

“No, detka,” Wanda whispered, pulling you closer. “No hitting.”