Feverish Dreams [ Brushed Away ] [ w.m. + n.r. ] [ blurb ]
Authors Note: This is a small bulrblette I wanted to write since I’m super invested in this universe now. This is set sometime into the series but I haven’t really set up where, other than that R has an established relationship with Wanda and Natasha that goes somewhat beyond what we’ve so far seen them agree to in Part One. It’s just meant to be a cutesy little thing anyway. Enjoy.
Update: so like. this turned out to have dug deeper into Natasha’s psyche than I had initially planned. it doesn’t require any warnings, but she’s very centric here and this shows a lot of what her dynamic is with you so have fun with that lmfao.
MASTERLIST
More From the AICDILY-Universe: PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR
Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader x Natasha Romanoff
Summary: You fail to answer Natasha and Wanda’s phone calls and texts the entire day, making them wonder if this is an act of attitude that you’re trying to set up for a scene. Natasha comes home with the mean side of herself she knows you enjoy, but finds that you’re not up for games after all.
Content Warnings: Sick!Reader so, fevers, coughing, congestion, etc etc. General under the weather ickiness, miscommunication, Natasha centric, hints of an attempt at mean!daddy Natasha that soon becomes very soft!daddy Natasha, soft!mommy Wanda, caretaking, so much fluff, overall just fucking soft
Word Count: ~4.8k+ "blurb" lol
It started off early — just as you kissed the soft, lightly scented and pink cheeks of Wanda as she was setting to head off this morning.
Natasha was already gone, having woken you with sweet kisses and murmured how much she hated to go. She didn’t really try to keep you awake, because you had drifted back off not long after.
Now Wanda wanted to get to the office earlier than she usually went in; paperwork had to be done and she would prefer to allow America some days where she could come in at a decent time instead of early.
This meant that Wanda would be making the drive even earlier in order to get there at the time she wanted to.
You pulled back and the scent that you associated with Wanda, with structure, with Mommy . . . This morning it burned in your nostrils and scored your throat like a warning.
The irritation to your lingered even as you managed to clear your throat, the threat of a cough stalking at the base of your chest.
You did your best to ignore it until you could fetch your tea from the stovetop — currently boiling, of course.
Wanda nearly lost her mind when she first saw what kind of tea [ from the grocery store down the street from your old apartment, a large brand that you knew wasn’t the greatest ] you partook in and introduced you to tea from her home country.
You didn’t realize she had come back into your space until soft, warm lips pressed against your forehead and remained there for a few seconds. When the businesswoman pulls back and runs a hand through your hair, she peers down at you with a gentle smile.
“Your schedule on the app is blank today,” she commented, tone curious but not firm in the sense you usually knew Wanda would have been if she suspected something was amiss, “Don’t you usually have clinic shifts on Thursdays?”
“I started cutting down my hours now that I’ve met all my requirements and that this clinic wants to keep me on permanently,” you admitted to her, blinking. “I thought I told you? I’m sorry. Um — my NAVLE exam is coming up and now that I have a secure position I want to mostly study.”
“You told me the clinic was interested in keeping you after you got your license,” Wanda replied, still stroking your hair. You leaned into the touch and it soothed the weird ache in your entire upper body just for a few moments. “So it’s a study day. Remember to take breaks, baby.”
“I will.”
“You will . . .?”
“I will, Mommy,” you correct, eyes snapping open and seeing that she was smirking at you, eyes sparkling in a mischievous manner.
“Good girl.” She gave you one more kiss, on the lips this time, but then she did really have to go. You saw her out the door and when she was pulling out from the large driveway, you exhaled a shaky, shuddering breath.
Only the whistling of the kettle on the stovetop got your focus back onto what you had been doing before Wanda had walked down the stairs.
Seymour had days. Days of wanting to just go out in the gigantic backyard and lay in the sun, sprawled out while you used the patio furniture to supervise and study at the same time.
Today . . . Today was not one of those days.
Today was his chosen day of chaos and satanic-drawn stubbornness.
He did not come to the back door where you waited with one of your heavily marked textbooks in your arm, foot holding the beautiful door open.
He almost glared at you from his spot near the living room archway, that particular archway opening to the hallway that directly opened toward the grand entryway and front door.
“Please,” you pled to the canine, head craning backwards in rising realization. “Seymour come on, man.”
A snuffle and oddly sounding grunt — a protest and a demand all in one. You lifted your head and saw him staring hard at you, unblinking, waiting.
You would not let him win. You were tired, your body was hurting, you felt like —
Seymour won.
You must have been a sight — hair thrown up tragically, still in your joggers and Natasha’s STARK INDUSTRIES hoodie, being dragged along by the happiest French bulldog alive right now.
He stopped at every landmark he possibly could — “we’ve seen this gnome five times this week, buddy” — and made sure to let Wanda and Natasha’s neighbors know that he was awake and freed from the confines of the house.
He pranced on the leash as you walked him on the trails behind the houses once the sidewalk on the Main Street ended, then returned to the sidewalk and walked him home.
Your luck wasn’t any better when he saw the end of the driveway come into view because his ass immediately parked under an oak tree five feet from the property.
“Dude,” you said, tone cracking as you stared at his bulging tummy as his back legs sprawled out under him. He was in the comfy position, ready to stay put in rebellion to your decision making. “Seymour, please.”
You ended up scooping the dog into your arms and carrying him up the driveway — your body wasn’t going to be able to handle playing his games today and this was your only option other than leaving him out there.
Your lungs burned by the time you dropped him on the front porch and leaned your forehead against the cool glass, trying to catch your breath.
Your energy levels today were shot, along with your well-regarded patience and steadiness. You saw it clearly even if Wanda didn’t this morning. You were feeling poorly and you had to get control over it before it got worse.
When you got sick, you got sick hard.
Your immune system wasn’t always the strongest and even under Wanda and Natasha’s [ mostly Wanda’s ] cooking and nutritional habits that started extending to you, your tendency to catch ailments from other people was unfortunately still a hard punch to the face.
Seymour huffed, leaning against your calf and snorting as though he had made the trek himself up the drive. It irritated and endeared you all in one — but the irritation was fleeting and you weren’t used to it with him.
You needed a nap.
You unclipped Seymour’s leash once you kicked the door closed behind you and he waddled off in the direction of the kitchen, likely to gobble some water up to drool over onto you later.
Fine, whatever. You’re welcome.
You forget about your half-finished mug of tea and the soapy kettle in the sink, going straight to the stairs and making the climb that lead to bedroom you’d only recently started sharing with Wanda and Natasha.
You slip under the cool sheets, pull them up, and nothing else comes but sleep.
Natasha Romanoff has been described, over the years, in so many unique ways with so many words that she’s lost track after a while.
Sometimes they were compliments that had a tinge of fear behind them, others were insults wrapped in pretty wrapping paper — either way Natasha was an expert at reading between lines and looking into dark corners. None of it was a match for her impenetrable mask, the face she wore anytime she left the privacy of her home.
Nothing got past her defenses — except for Wanda and, more recently, you. Though you weren’t even under the impression you had that power to her knowledge.
“Moya lyubov,” Wanda answered, the lilt of her accent leaking through the car’s Bluetooth speaker. “You never call at two in the afternoon.”
“Jesus,” Natasha says, slowing to a stop at a red light, “I can’t even call my wife anymore.”
Wanda laughed. “So sensitive. I’m sorry, it is just unusual to see you call and not text this early in the day. I love hearing your voice, though.”
Natasha rolled her eyes knowing Wanda wouldn’t be able to see it; had she been there to do so, Natasha wouldn’t have even let the thought of rolling her eyes cross her mind. You’d ended up over Wanda’s lap many times over such a small but infuriating action and Natasha has seen enough of her wife’s hard, unrelenting stares and felt the prods of her sharp tongue to the point that she knew better.
“Are you okay?” Wanda asked when silence prevailed.
“Our Solnyshko isn’t answering my messages,” Natasha says as she releases pressure off the break the second the light turns from red to green. The drive home was decent considering she wasn’t leaving at rush hour; Tony had even given her a look of shock when she announced she was taking the rest of the day to herself.
“Hmm, I noticed that as well,” Wanda replied, w neutral. Natasha knew better, though. Wanda was either very concerned or very frustrated at your lack of communication today.
They didn’t expect you to text them every five minutes or even every hour — even they knew that would be somewhat ridiculous. But they always required at least one or two updates on how you’re doing throughout the day if they’re not with you — what you’ve gotten done, what you’re doing, if you’ve eaten. It was apart of the dynamic that Wanda relished the most in, the constant care she was able to put into you through those little things.
Natasha had long since stopped worrying that it was too controlling — you had set your limits to how much hovering they’d be allowed outside of the house and so far they’d kept a very strict respect to those boundaries.
This was the first time you hadn’t answered them at all, even if it was just a thumbs up emoji when you were busier.
Natasha was split between two parts of herself that had the tendency, most annoyingly, to appear when it came to you and the way you interacted with her.
One half of her — Natasha Romanoff, beloved reality TV show watcher and despiser of dramas even though she sat through them with you — was concerned by your breaking of routine.
Abnormality outside of your profession did not seek you out — it avoided you and you avoided it likewise.
“Am I talking to Natasha or Daddy, right now, I wonder?” Wanda asked through the speaker. Her tone didn’t bother to hide the amusement that dominated her tone. Natasha could imagine the grin on her face and it enraged her more.
“Yes,” Natasha answered petulantly.
A soft chuckle reverberated through the vehicle.
Natasha gripped the steering wheel in one hand and stepped on the gas a little harder, free hand reaching up to rub at the side of her face.
But the Daddy side of Natasha was less inclined to think anything was wrong — rather, Daddy was in the process of coming to the conclusion that you may be doing this on purpose.
“Do I go in guns blazing, Wands?”
“I mean, you could, but maybe you could also approach her and see if it’s purposeful?” Wanda offered back. “You could do it via Daddy so that if it is a setup then you can just easily transition into the scene.”
“I’m so glad I married the smartest woman ever.”
Wanda snorted. “Your GPA is higher than mine.”
“By two numbers, but that doesn’t matter. I got a smart wife, you got an older woman.”
“Like, seven years. Maximum.”
“You’re ruining my fun,” Natasha muttered as the trees became more and the highway filtered into less traffic, and the roads one-way.
“I love you. Let me know what our girl’s getting up to,” Wanda demanded.
“Yes, Mommy,” the blonde and red haired woman purred as she pressed the red button on the screen, ending the call.
The house was quiet. So quiet that not even Seymour came to greet her when she got home and loudly dropped the keys into the bowl next to the door in the large mudroom attached to the garage.
She was slipping off her shoes and glanced towards the open door that stepped up into the rest of the house; but still Natasha was greeted with no bright smile and the panting of her beloved dog following after you.
Usually the sound of either herself or Wanda closing the door sent both the dog and you down the stairs or from whatever room you were habituating, and if that didn’t then the keys hitting the decorative porcelain bowl that Eleanor Bishop gifted them did.
She trudged her way up the small steps into the hallway and checked the kitchen first, considering it was closest. But that was barebones empty with no signs of recent life.
Natasha set her stuff on the kitchen counter, eyes scanning Seymour’s untouched food.
The woman frowned and continued her inspection of the surroundings and leaned over the counter, noting that the teapot was left soaking in the sink instead of drying on the rack like she usually found it after use.
She checked the back deck [ empty ], and peered down the railing to see if you were by the pool despite the summer starting to break and give way to a chilly New York fall more and more as the days passed. You weren’t there either.
Natasha’s conflicting emotions only rattled in her chest more severely as she unbuttoned the cuff-links to her dress jacket, heading back inside the house and worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Solnyshko?” Natasha called out as she trekked through the rest of the house and started toward the stairs.
Nothing — she knew you had to be home. Your recently purchased car was in the garage. Unless Kate and Yelena or Ava had come and snagged you and you hadn’t told your dominants.
Natasha stopped at the bottom of the grand staircase and undid her heels, sliding her feet out of the shoes and dangling them from her hands.
She debated her options in that moment she took to let the relieving ache ebb from her ankles; slide into the persona she almost never wore as much as Wanda chose to use her own and be Mommy.
Natasha didn’t hide that she was connected to you in different ways than Wanda was with you. She knew you loved Daddy, but differently than she loved Mommy. You loved Natasha and Wanda in deeply puzzling ways that were unique to themselves and you that never made any of you feel like the relationship was suffering.
So the matter of who to be troubled her greatly as she toed the bottom step and gazed upwards. Daddy or Nat?
Wanda did offer sound advice: be ready as Daddy but don’t get too lost in the headspace just in case it wasn’t what you were planning.
She tapped her fingers against the handcrafted bannister before making her way up the stairs.
You awoke uncomfortably hot, clothes sticking like a too-loose second skin to your body.
You felt so hot but the shakes that wracked your body when you slowly regained consciousness had you burrowing deeper into the cocoon of body heat you had created around yourself.
Your phone was abandoned on the side table and if you had it in you to try and reach for it, you’d check the time. But your brain was mush and your eyes burned so you closed them again and shivered.
The next time you were awoken — you hadn’t fully comprehended you’d fallen back to sleep — it was to a cold hand sliding along your forehead and chilling the heat that had gathered there.
The husky voice was muffled but you knew it was Natasha. Daddy. You’d be able to know her by voice alone after months [ almost a year ] of getting to know her, letting the octaves seep into your bones and curl into your being.
“Daddy,” you murmured, eyes opening very slowly.
She was halfway undressed; shirt unbuttoned and untucked from the ironed dress pants. Her cuff links hung loosely from her wrists after having been abandoned after only being undone slightly.
Her hair was in soft waves down her shoulders and you wished you could bury your face in it. You imagined doing just that and nearly dozed back out.
Soft, cold fingers stroked along your forehead and startling you awake again. Natasha was now sitting near your hip on the edge of the bed, phone to her ear as her eyes wandered over you with undisguised concern.
“. . . Check her temperature. Yeah — yeah don’t rush, Wanda. I can handle her until you get home. I promise. Drive safe please. I love you too.”
You hummed and closed your eyes once more, but the shakes brought on by Natasha’s touching of your sensitive skin kept you from dozing off into sleep like you desired.
“How long have you been like this?”
“Uhh. Time?” you roll your head and look at Natasha blearily. Your lips were dry and you tried to wet them with your lips, but even your mouth was dry.
“Two in the afternoon,” she told you, hand moving to peel back the covers, “You didn’t answer any of my messages, or Wanda’s. Now I know why.”
A rush of realization crashed through you. “M’sorry . . . Didn’t do it on purpose. Not ignoring you or Mommy.”
“We know,” Natasha soothed, starting to run a hand up and down your burning hot arms as she leaned over you to help you into a sitting position. “We know that now. Daddy’s not mad.”
“Mommy?”
“Very worried,” the red-and-blonde haired woman promised, a small twitch threatening to upturn her lips. You would have tried to get it to break the facade if you didn’t feel like you were dying. “But not upset with you.”
You dropped your head backward against the headboard after your body was pushed into an upright position. The sheets, disturbed with your movements, shifted near the end of the bed until Seymour poked his head out next to you and stared.
“Ah,” Natasha said, “there you are. You’ve been taking care of our little one have you?”
Seymour shook himself out and stretched, toes expanding and a grunt being his only response to Natasha. Then he climbed over your sore and fevered body and jumped down from the bed, tottering out of the room.
“Best bedside service,” you slurred, eyes squinting, “but my insurance can’t afford him.”
“I pay for your insurance.”
“You can’t afford him either, Daddy.”
Natasha didn’t argue. “You’re probably right, baby.”
Natasha let you rest for a few minutes as she ran a hand through your damp hair, but it didn’t last.
She stood up and told you to stay while she collected some things from the master bathroom only a few feet away.
“Hurry up, got places to be,” you called weakly after only a few seconds. Truthfully you just wanted to go back to sleep for days like you did after exam seasons.
“You’re sick right now but Daddy can still spank that ass when you’re better, Solnyshko, so keep it up,” Natasha warned from the bathroom. Despite that warning, there was no bite to the words she spoke.
She came back out with arms full of various items, but the one that stuck out most was your water bottle you’d left forgotten earlier that morning after waking up.
“It still has ice in it,” she commented, eyebrow arching when she followed your eyes. “Which tells me you didn’t drink. Because you eat the ice once finish your water. Plus the bottle’s still full.”
“Detective Daddy over here,” you murmur under your breath but take the bottle when she offers it.
Natasha gives you a look and you wisely quiet down, taking sips from the still cold bottle and relishing in the way it soothed your sore throat.
It still didn’t put a damper on your intense shaking.
Your dominant was watching you with that same gaze she always does when she’s searching for something you’re not giving her immediately — then puts down some Nyquil and a thermometer on the side table, but kept the cold compress. “Can you do me a favor, baby?”
You blinked tiredly at her, still sipping at your water. You were thirsty and hadn’t realized it until Natasha had produced water for you.
“Here, under your tongue please?” She hands you the thermometer and you replace the water bottle with the metal tip of the object. You rubbed at your sore temples while you waited.
It kept going up and up — until finally — it beeped loudly and the screen turned bright red. You slipped it from under your tongue and winced.
“How bad?” Natasha asked cautiously, opening her hand to take the thermometer.
“102.3,” you bemoaned, slumping backwards. “Not surprised. I feel like I have that high of a fever.”
Natasha set it aside and ran her gaze over you again, before ripping the blankets clean off of you. “Up, please.”
“Nat,” you murmured, body curling in on itself — tighter, body shaking. “I’m cold.”
“You’re hotter than you’re cold,” she said firmly. This was followed by her leaning down and scooping you into her arms, ignoring the heat radiating off of you in waves like a space heater, and hoisting you up so she could get you to the bathroom. “You need a lukewarm bath at least, babygirl.”
You buried your face into her neck as the lights flickered back on. “Medicine?”
Natasha sat you down slowly, lowering you until you were situated on top of the toilet seat and said, “I’ll be right back with it. Stay here.”
“Oh, I’m so going to run a marathon in the seconds you’re gone.”
Natasha sighed loudly — on purpose, as for you to hear — and returned with the pills and water. She handed them over and hovered until she saw you swallow them with your water.
Then she turned to the large in floor tub, beginning to fiddle with the various shampoos and soaps.
“I don’t need to wash my hair today.”
“I’m not looking for your shampoo.”
You began to start further questioning her, the way she seemed locked in on this new mission of retrieving a particular product [ like a hound on a scent ], when the wails of Seymour started ripping through the silence that filled the house.
It pulled Nat away from her search and she stood up. But you drifted your tired eyes to her face and noticed she didn’t look confused; not in the slightest.
She relaxed into herself noticeably when the putter of small feet and confident steps turned the corner and in came Wanda, still looking as sharp as when you saw her off that morning.
Natasha leaned down to kiss your hot forehead and murmured, “Mommy’s home.”
Natasha had found what she was hunting down. It had been trapped behind tampons and pads in the cabinet closest to the toilet, “when it should have been in the cabinet with the bath products, Natasha,” Wanda scolded as she stroked your hair while you leaned into her.
So you pressed your head into the side of her flank as you were waiting for Natasha to fill the tub, the flowery scent of petals and bathbombs overwhelming your senses but clearing your congestion alongside the steam.
“My poor baby,” Wanda murmured, rings catching strands of your hair as she stroked. They didn’t snag and you didn’t really mind it. It felt like she was brushing your hair. “No wonder you were so quiet this morning, hm?”
“S’fine. Dunno what happened,” you replied into her jacket, nuzzling closer for comfort. “Took Seymour on a walk.”
“Did you, now.” It wasn’t worded like a question, and the stroking paused. “In this condition?”
“He was . . .” You sifted through the ashes of your destroyed brain for the proper words, and you hated how much mental energy it required to snag it. “He was persistent, didn’t want to do patio time.”
“Mm, so needy he is.” The scratching continued again, and you melted into it.
You don’t know how you ended up naked and pressed against Wanda’s chest in the bath, her fingertips light against your over sensitive skin in an attempt to wash the grime and sick away.
You didn’t know when Natasha had changed the sheets or when she had returned with sleep shorts and a tank top, helping you in both before scooping you up like she did before and carrying you silently to the freshly made bed.
You don’t know when your fever broke — but you remember flashes of being awoken to take medicine and drink water and sip broth that had a flavor only Wanda could’ve been attributed to. The taste of her home.
You could still put together fractured remnants of their voices; reading to you between delirium filled wakefulness, scratching your back, and you do remember the sweat when your fever broke that was followed by a chilled damp washcloth.
You woke up with your wits early after your fever broke and this body of yours still felt that ache bone deep.
But as you turned over and found Wanda on one side and Natasha on the other you knew that you would never have to experience that pain alone as long as they were there with you.
“It’s a blurb!” I screamed as I’m dragged to the padded rooms.