Marvel Oneshots

A vision of us (Vision)

Vision's POV

I've read thousands of books, watched millions of hours of footage, and absorbed more information than most could fathom. Yet, in all my understanding of the human experience, nothing could have prepared me for the moment Y/N went into labor.

The day started peacefully enough. She was humming in the kitchen, her fingers tracing the familiar rhythm of our routine while I helped prepare breakfast. Her belly—swollen with our child—moved in a way that always filled me with a sense of wonder and disbelief. I couldn't quite grasp that we had created something so precious, so human, together.

As she moved to pour herself a glass of water, a sharp gasp escaped her lips, followed by the sound of the glass hitting the floor. It shattered into a million pieces, but I barely registered it. My focus was entirely on her. Her face was contorted in pain, one hand bracing herself on the counter, the other clutching her stomach.

"Y/N?" I said quickly, rushing to her side. "Are you alright?"

She breathed heavily through her nose, her eyes closing tightly as the wave of pain seemed to pass. "I... I think it's starting, Vision."

My eyes widened—starting? The realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. Labor. She was in labor. My systems immediately went into overdrive, processing every bit of information I had on childbirth and emergency protocols. But none of it could stop the cold panic settling in my chest.

"Are you sure?" I asked, though I knew the answer.

She nodded, letting out a small groan as another contraction rolled through her. "Definitely sure."

We'd prepared for this moment. I'd gone over every possible scenario, every contingency plan. But seeing her in pain, watching her struggle to breathe through it—it was far more overwhelming than I anticipated. My wife. The love of my life. I knew childbirth was a natural process, but that didn't stop the sense of helplessness gnawing at me.

"Alright," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the growing urgency in my system. "Let's get you to the hospital."

I scooped her up in my arms as carefully as I could, making sure she was comfortable before we headed out. Her breathing was shallow, but she managed a small, strained smile up at me. Even in this moment, she was so strong. I admired her strength, her courage, and it only made me want to protect her more.

The ride to the hospital was a blur. I held her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my fingers as she gripped mine tightly through each contraction. She stayed composed, even as the pain intensified, only giving me small, strained words of reassurance.

"It's okay," she murmured between breaths. "I'm okay."

But I wasn't so sure. My mind raced with possibilities, scenarios where something could go wrong, and I hated that I couldn't alleviate her pain. All I could do was offer my support, and while I knew it was what she needed, I wished there was more I could do.

When we arrived at the hospital, the nurses immediately took charge. They wheeled her into the delivery room, and though I remained at her side, I felt like I was witnessing it all from a distance. The beeping machines, the hurried voices of the medical team—it was all a flurry of action around us.

"Vision," Y/N's voice called to me softly, grounding me. I turned to her, and she was smiling despite the sheen of sweat on her brow, despite the pain. Her fingers reached out, and I took her hand in mine.

"I'm here," I said, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, feeling the gentle pulse of her heartbeat.

Hours passed, and with each contraction, I saw the strength in her waver, but she never broke. She was remarkable, more resilient than any hero I had ever known. I whispered words of encouragement, smoothing the hair from her damp forehead, feeling the magnitude of what was happening settle over me.

I marveled at her. She was bringing life into the world. Our life. Our child.

"Vision," she breathed out after a particularly intense contraction, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if I can..."

"You can," I whispered back, squeezing her hand. "You've already done so much. You are incredible, Y/N. Just a little more. I'm right here with you."

Her eyes, filled with love and trust, locked onto mine, and I felt a surge of emotion I hadn't anticipated. I would have traded anything to ease her pain, but I knew this was something only she could do. All I could offer was my unwavering presence.

The minutes seemed to stretch on endlessly, but eventually, the doctor's voice cut through the haze of beeping machines and hurried nurses.

"Y/N, one more push, and your baby will be here."

Her grip tightened around my hand, her face contorting with effort as she gave everything she had left. I held her gaze, offering silent encouragement as the seconds passed.

And then, the sound of a baby's cry filled the room.

Time seemed to stop. The moment was surreal—more beautiful than anything I had ever witnessed. The doctor gently placed the tiny, crying form onto Y/N's chest, and I watched as she cradled our child for the first time, her face lighting up with a mixture of exhaustion, joy, and awe.

I stood there, unable to speak, unable to fully process the magnitude of what I was seeing. This was our child. A part of her, a part of me.

"Vision," Y/N whispered, her eyes filled with tears as she looked up at me. "We did it."

My systems hummed with an unfamiliar warmth as I leaned down to kiss her forehead, my gaze moving to the small, wriggling bundle in her arms. The baby's tiny fingers stretched out, and I marveled at the perfection of it all—the life we had created together.

"We did," I murmured, my voice catching slightly as I brushed my hand across the baby's soft cheek. "You did."

Tears pricked at my eyes as I realized just how much I loved them both. My heart—if I had one—would be overflowing. Instead, it was my mind, my very essence that was consumed by this overwhelming sense of love and devotion.

In that moment, I knew that nothing in this world or any other could ever compare to this. To them. They were my everything.

"I love you," I whispered, gazing at Y/N and the beautiful child in her arms. "More than anything."

She smiled up at me, her face glowing with happiness and exhaustion, and I knew that this—our family—was the greatest gift I could ever receive.

4o