New beginnings (Natasha/you age regression)

5

You spend the majority of the day curled up on the couch in front of the tv. You didn't make a peep, not even the slightest of sounds. Natasha, although concerned, doesn't ask you why. She simply leaves you be; brings you to the kitchen at meal times and spoon feeds you whatever she'd cook before bringing you right back to the couch.

When evening falls and the sun dips back behind the clouds, Natasha, for the third time today, guides you by the hand into the kitchen. You eye the bowls of pasta sat on the table with slight trepidation, your stomach grumbling with hunger and your heart pounding in fear.

"Sit down honey." Natasha gently coaxes as she slips hands hands beneath your armpits and eases you down onto the chair. You allow her to manoeuvre you, nervous eyes meeting her own. Natasha hoped you'd start eating you self, but with the way your hands remain frozen at your sides, she knew it was unlikely.

Natasha, after watching you today, had come to the conclusion that you weren't any normal eighteen year old. You seemed younger, both physically and mentally. It should have been obvious from the start, especially with the bed wetting and the lack of self care knowledge, but Natasha was good at living in denial.

There was something else there also. Something inside that would occasionally appear in your eyes, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. Initially, she had no plans on finding out because you living here wasn't meant to be a permanent solution, but as the hours pass, the thought of putting you back out onto the street made her stomach clench uncomfortably.

With a quiet sigh, she puts down her own spoon and picks up yours, scooping up a small spoonful of pasta before bringing it to your lips. You eye her warily, your eyes suddenly shiny with unshed tears. At the sight, something inside of Natasha seems to click, and after setting the spoon back down, she scoots her own chair forward slightly, hesitates only briefly before sliding her hands beneath your arms and tugging you sideways onto her lap.

You freeze initially, but no sooner can Natasha begin to apologise and put you back onto your own chair, you fall against her chest and bring your hand up to clutch the material of her shirt. Natasha expects to feel uncomfortable at holding you so intimately, but she doesn't. There was just a desperate want to give you the comfort it was obvious you had been longing for.

With one arm remaining secure around your body, Natasha once again holds the spoonful of pasta to your mouth. When your lips part allowing her to feed you, she couldn't help but smile.

"Good girl," she quietly praises, the words slipping from her lips without warning. It causes her to freeze for a second, because where on earth had that come from? Deciding not to second guess herself for once in her life, she merely shrugs and continues to feed both you and herself.

Your cheeks immediately warm with simultaneous embarrassment and awe. No one had ever called you a good girl before. Not ever. It fills your tummy with butterflies, and you couldn't help but let the corners of your lips quirk up into a timid smile.

Soon, both bowls were empty, and now that her other arm was free, she decides to wrap that around you too. You seem to melt into her more at the action, and surprisingly, not an ounce of regret or uncomfortableness fills her body. Holding you felt...nice, in a way she hadn't really expected, and she even finds herself pressing her lips against the top of your head.

"Would you like to watch a movie?" She asks after a few moments of silence, her voice a mere murmur.

You peak up from your hiding place, "W-with you?" You ask almost unsurely, and Natasha nods her head.

"Of course. What sounds good?" She eases your from her lap and takes your hand instead, leading you back through to the living room where the tv show you'd been watching was paused.