synopsis: wanda and natasha decide to include you into their relationship to spice up their sex life. natasha assured you it would be fun, but failed to mention wanda’s own hesitancy.
PARTS
part one, part two, part three, part four, part five
summary — when rain dampens your mood and brings out the softest of you, natasha keeps you safe while you wait for wanda to come home from work
warning(s) — established relationships, polyamorous relationships, implied age gap, mentioned d/s dynamics, little!r, cuddles, stuffed animals, fluff, comfort, soft kisses, gentle words, mommy kink, daddy kink, pouting, whining, overall just a soft good time
authors note — this was oringally supposed to be pretty wanda heavy but… daddy nat just speaks to the soul sometimes
The pattering of raindrops had been a constant throughout the last couple of days. From the moment you woke up, to the very last second before your eyes closed, barring a few sparing hours in between, rain drops dampened the ground and your clothes. Wanda had forewarned you both attentively and affectionately, pulling you into her arms one morning at the counter during breakfast and telling you all about the expected showers that would soften the flowerbeds out back. The rain always made you soft, always opened up a small part of your heart that's otherwise closed off without guidance and sweet nothings. Natasha had been expecting the crash, the release of all your strength and energy, but you’d surprised her. Somehow, you’d surprised her after so many years together.
You’d pushed through the first three days of unrelenting rain with a pep in your step that was both valiant and endearing. She’s always gone before you crawl out of bed, already halfway into her commute by the time Wanda rouses you from sleep with a gentle hand rubbing up your goosebump covered back, but she’s home before you, a mug of coffee in her hands as she sits on the sofa and waits for you to come inside. She’d laughed every day at your crumpled and frizzy hair, damp from the shower that had only begun to fall harder in the last twenty minutes before you came home from work. She always directed you up to the bathroom, a watchful eye analyzing your behaviors and subconscious ticks until she’d assured herself you were still drifting steadily in the sea, no sign of ripe currents or drowning in sight. It never takes more than half an hour for you to climb into the shower, rinse your body and the rain from your skin, and get all comfy into a set of pajamas that she’d either bought for you on a whim, or clothes you’d stolen from beneath Wanda’s nose on laundry day.
For three days, you’d held it together. For three days, Natasha secretly wished you’d let it all come apart so that she could hold you tight and unapologetically for a while — just being the bandaid that comforts a wound before it heals on its own. Because you can do this alone. The softness, the delicacy, but you don’t have to. You’ve not had to bear the face of vulnerability alone since you’d met them, and that first rain shower had opened up overhead out of nowhere on the streets of Manhattan in the dead of springtime. That feels so long ago now; like a lifetime far removed from the one you’re living in currently.
Wanda had supported long chestnut locks at the time, always meticulously curled over her shoulders if they weren’t confined to a ponytail that swung down the middle of her spine with commanding authority. Natasha had been blonde, a stark bottle blonde color that washed out her complexion more than you realized at the time. You hadn’t known her any other way at that point. But now you do. Now you know the fiery red that grows from her crown and tickles your cheeks when she nuzzles your neck with a passive tenderness that melts your heart made from ice.
You’re not made of ice. You’re the warmest person they know; both Wanda and Natasha agree on that fact, but you think life had been cold without them before. In the present, you’re far enough removed from those nights of all encompassing isolation and loneliness to know that real warmth, true warmth, blooms even in their absence.
Even when you climbed down the stairs, hair properly wet and conditioned with an avocado extract serum, there wasn’t longing in your heart for Wanda. You glanced around at the pictures on the wall, some of Wanda and Natasha before they’d met you, a happy college couple on different paths, but so connected that nobody would know one was in school for Speech Language Pathology and the other for Architecture. Some of all three of you scattered around the continental US. The picture of Wanda holding you tight, arms looped around your waist, cheeky smile on her lips as she grinned at Natasha who affectionately stood on a cliffs peak to capture your contrasting beauty before a gleaming winter sunrise. You didn’t miss her with an ache in your bones, but with one glance at your dripping appearance Natasha knew the softness was settling in, and with it came the unfathomable longing for a body that wasn’t yet home to reap the warmth from.
“Idi syuda, oshibka.” A rough, calloused, ringed hand patted the cushions beside her curled up body, the mug of coffee she’d balanced on her knee caps now abandoned on the coffee table, only a few droplets left to slurp if caffeine was that necessary. It was an hour ago, when Natasha had been alone with her thoughts and only the memory of you, but you’re more than enough for her now. Holding you is enough to convince her to spend a couple more hours of the day with her dazzling green eyes alert and open. She’d sacrifice sleep for you any day, and she has before. Now is no different.
A frown creeps up onto your lips, one that's earnest and the truest reflection of how sensitive your soul is in this moment as raindrops race down the windows that give you the perfect sight of a somewhat empty driveway, Wanda’s car still not pulled in behind yours. You know what she’s saying to you, the words register in your head like they’re your native language, ‘Come here, bug’, but it’s not your native language, and she knows you have a harder time processing her commands when your head is so fuzzy and your face is so flush and you’re so soft, but she says it anyways because she knows that it gets you down deeper, she knows that confusing you ensures she receives the most wholesome of cuddles.
“Hi, Daddy.” You mumble, a flush on your cheeks as you stumble toward her. The room feels warmer, but the rain feels heavier, and it’s something you’ve never quite understood, but they don’t need words to understand the way you work. They just let it happen and learn from the process of loving you, a simple pleasure you’d never had the opportunity of knowing until them. You wouldn't have it any other way. You wouldn’t have wanted to learn this love from anyone else, let alone lose it to find them.
“Daddy, huh. Feeling a little soft? A little small?” Natasha asks, and but the quiver in your bottom lip, she knows she’s struck a nerve; hit the nail on its head.
“Soft. Not small.” You argue weakly, preparing to sink into her embrace before rough palms stop you, holding loosely onto your hips and allowing calloused thumbs to sweep along your skin that she seeks out beneath the pink color of your pajamas. Cotton shorts that leave so little to the imagination but sway around your thighs when you step, and a thin camisole that confirms to the stiffness of your nipples, goosebumps all down your arms and legs as you stand in the open, assaulted by the air conditioner that works on overtime to combat the July heat and humidity outside.
“Grab Liho before you get comfy.” She directs you, and its a moment of true indecision that has you standing like a statue in front of her. You want Liho. You always want Liho when you get like this. You want his soft fur, and his gentle weight, and his body between your arm and your chest. But you want her just as bad. You want her arms around you, and her lips on your head, and her hands on your body. You want her. You want your Daddy. You want your Mommy. You want the rain to stop. You don’t want to be wet and cold anymore. You don’t want to be standing all on your own in this big house, feeling so so small as you shift your gaze between Natasha in a set of dark brown joggers and the picture of Wanda on the wall. She looks younger than, even though it’d only been a year ago. She’s grown wiser, older. It’s an unstoppable thing. Time. But it haunts you, and it grips your soul with something cold, reminding you of the days when you’d been only an icicle in a storm, slowly melting, slowly cracking, just ever so slowly nearing a catastrophe fall to the ground that left you shattered in millions of irreparable pieces.
“Don’t want Liho! Want you! Want Mommy!” You articulate your wants clearly, so clearly that Natasha smiles at your whining rather than frowning, a smirk of amusement settling in after the initial shock of your outburst settled. You’d picked up a thing or two from her, and she always finds it so endearing to watch your little brain work overtime trying to remember how to effectively articulate your sentences, no matter how short and choppy they are.
“You want Liho, baby bug. Go get him for Daddy, and then we can all wait for Mommy together.” She cocks her head toward the staircase, and you whine again, but drag your feet up the stairs and toward the bedroom where Liho resides in the center of your made bed, always added to the collection of pillows stacked against the headboard before he falls to the floor in the middle of the night on days when he’s just an after thought. You feel bad about that now, all the nights he’s spent on the floor, and your footsteps quicken as you climb, drowning out Natasha’s amused laughter as she shakes her head and brings the mug to the sink while you’re away, knowing Wanda will have a heart attack if she sees it on the coffee table without a coaster beneath it.
When you return, Liho cuddled up close to your chest and his paw in your hand, Natasha is only just sitting down again, and you ambush her with all the control you can manage over your heavy body until she laughs affectionately and settles the both of you into the couch. Her hands tangle into your hair without second thought, working out the knots and kinks that have formed since you climbed out of the shower, and moments later she lays a kiss to your forehead that allows you to forget about everything else that’s happened all day. No stress from work, no heavy pressure on your heart from the unrelenting rain, no loud thoughts. Nothing. Just her, and the ache for your Mommy. For Wanda.
“Mommy.” You mumble against her neck, tucked so closely into her that she’s considering whether you’re in her skin, rubbing up against her bones and the blood vessels that she occasionally pops and breaks during her workouts. It’s been a while since that’s happened. Wanda evidently laid into her pretty successfully the last time she came home bloody and wincing.
“Mommy’s on her way. Why don’t you rest your eyes for me until she gets here. I’ll make sure Liho wakes you up as soon as her car pulls into the driveway.” She muses softly, brushing strands of damp hair out of your face until she has a clear shot of your eyes. Your breathtaking eyes that she can't get enough of, especially when they're glassy and unfocused but trying so hard to see her clearly. Only her. Just her.
Your face screws up, a whine falling off your lips that melts her heart of stone just the slightest bit more, unveiling a diamond beneath the rough surface curated from years of unfair treatment. She’s stronger now, older. She’s not the same little girl she was, instead a beautiful capable woman that shows up for you when the world gets loud until it’s quiet. “Want you. Not Liho. Daddy wake me up.” You mumble sadly, digging your face into her.
”Yeah? You want Daddy to wake you up, sweet girl?” She huffs out a laugh, still combing her fingers through your hair. You manage a nod, your eyes closing as you sink into her chest. “Need to hear you say it. Need to hear my baby bug use her words. Her nice clear words that I know she’s so good at finding in that floaty little head.”
“Daddy wake me up.” You repeat, already halfway to sleep, but your fate is sealed when her hand slips farther up your back beneath the cami you wear, the thin spaghetti straps slipping off your shoulders but Natasha doesn’t bother to fix them as you settle fully against her.
“Alright, baby. Daddy will wake you up.” Natasha agrees, attempting to hide her pleased smile from your half open eyes.
She didn’t wake you up. When Wanda crept into the house an hour later, damp from the never ending rain with a scowl on her face because idiots in the office had delayed her leaving by half an hour, her rough demeanor melts into something tender as she spies the sight of Natasha holding her phone about your sleeping frame, undeniably answering emails that she can’t push off until later, but still soaking up every moment of your soft affection while she has it. Such a fickle thing, such a rare occurrence. Neither one of them like pushing you to this point when it’s not naturally found, but they will if you ask, not that you do. So these stolen moments mean the world to them. When Daddy and Mommy aren’t just terms thrown around in the bedroom when you want things from them outside of your control.
“She down?” Wanda asks, discarding her bag by the door in favor of closing the gap between her and Natasha.
“Not too far, but yeah. She’s not going to be happy with me when she finds out I didn't wake her up when your car pulled into the driveway.” Natasha muses, smiling fondly when Wanda leans down to place a kiss to your head, so gentle, so soft, trying so hard not to wake you prematurely when they both know you haven’t been sleeping well between the cracks of booming thunder. “She wanted you. Little eyes didn’t leave that picture from Mount Katahdin.”
Wanda smiles fondly, her eyes gleaming with affection. “She’ll get over it.” She addresses the earlier point made, even though she knows you most certainly will not get over it if you don’t want up in a deeper headspace. “I’ve missed you both today. Think you can get her upstairs without waking her up, or am I condemned to the corner of the couch until Princess opens her eyes and gives me a proper cuddle?”
“I’m not moving her. You’re condemned to the corner of the couch because I’m selfish and want bug cuddles.” Natasha raises a pointed eyebrow and Wanda laughs because as much as you're a Mommy’s girl in moods like this, Natasha finds you entirely endearing and adorable, obsessed with every little action and subconscious tick, like how you hold Liho tighter when you think he may just be slipping away from your chest in slumber.
“Whipped.” Wanda mutters, shaking her head, but she can’t argue that she’s not whipped, nor equally as selfish when you choose her over Natasha. It’s a running battle, a continuous war between the both of them over your love, and you don’t even realize, don’t even know. They keep away from you, condemned to stolen moments while you’re asleep or beneath your nose when they ask you so softly and kindly to fetch something for them solely because they know you want to feel useful, and they know you need something to do with your hands before you get yourself in trouble for touching things you're not supposed to — namely Natasha’s work files and Wanda’s briefcase.
“Yeah I am. For both of you actually.” Natasha smiles smugly, but curses beneath her breath in the same second as you wiggle against her chest, your eyes slowly creeping open at the sound of voices and her chest vibrating beneath yours.
“Mama?” You ask, eyes only partially open as you dig Liho’s paw into you eyes, the fluff of his main tickling your chin and Natasha’s forearm from how he’s pinned beneath the two of you. “Didn’t tell me.” You whine seconds later, seemingly realizing that Natasha had failed to wake you up like she said she would.
Wanda laughed amusedly, sinking into the couch opposite Natasha and holding her arms out for you. “Come here, my bug. Let Mama hold you. Let me feel you for a couple minutes. Daddy’s had her turn, it’s my turn, huh?”
“Mama’s turn.” You agree, throwing your body in the opposite direction and trusting her fully to catch you before you can fall off the edge of the couch. It’s not a far fall, you’d be fine if it happened, but Wanda doesn’t let it. She won't let it, she’ll never let it. You’re safe with her. With Mommy and with Daddy. Always.
annaxmalina
andulkaphoto
turnnoffyourmind
