Archive of Our Own

The living room was wrapped in a soft hush. Only the low lamp in the corner was on, casting a warm amber glow that softened the edges of the room, blending with the gentle flicker of the television. The air was warm, thick with shared body heat and the faint, comforting scent of cocoa and buttered popcorn. It felt like the kind of warmth that sank into your bones rather than just your skin.

You were curled into them on the sofa, the shape of the three of you fitting together as though it had always been meant to be this way. Saying you were between Wanda and Natasha would not quite capture it, because you were resting fully on top of Wanda, your body aligned with hers, your head tucked against her chest, where her heartbeat was slow and reassuring. Her legs lay draped over Natasha’s lap, which meant yours did too, a quiet tangle of limbs that no one bothered to unravel.

Wanda’s hand drifted through your hair, fingers combing and smoothing, pausing occasionally to lightly scratch your scalp before resuming their gentle rhythm. Natasha’s palm was warm as it worked over your leg, her thumb pressing and easing, patiently coaxing your muscles to soften. Her other arm lay stretched out beside her, resting along Wanda’s side, her fingers tracing slow, absent-minded circles.

Elf played softly on the screen. You had admitted earlier that you had never seen it, the confession leaving your mouth before you had grasped quite what it would mean for Wanda. Her reaction had been instant and dramatic, genuine horror crossing her face before she promptly dragged both you and Natasha towards the sofa. 

She had reappeared moments later armed with hot chocolate and an unnecessary amount of popcorn, declaring she would not allow you to miss out any longer. 

However, as you watched, sleep crept in quietly. You fought it in small, stubborn ways, blinking slower, forcing yourself to stay aware of the film playing in front of you, but your body betrayed you anyway. 

You surfaced slowly to the faintest touch, a gentle tap against you, careful enough not to startle. A familiar voice followed, soft and close, spoken like a secret meant only for you. “zlatíčko (darling)”.

You responded with a quiet, unhappy noise, brows knitting as you turned your face further into Wanda’s chest. Your eyes stayed firmly shut, lashes pressed together as if refusing to wake might somehow work. 

“Sleepy,” you murmured, the word thick and drowsy, before rubbing your head against her without thinking, a slow, instinctive nuzzle that asked for nothing more than to be allowed to stay right there.

Wanda let out a small breath, her hand resuming its gentle movement through your hair. “Come on, baby,” she said softly, coaxing rather than insisting. “You already missed Elf, we need to get some dinner, and then we can watch The Polar Express.”

You huffed again, faint and stubborn, your body still heavy and unwilling to move.

Natasha laughed quietly, the sound warm with fondness. “Kroshka (little crumb)” she said, teasing. “You are not getting away with sleeping. Wanda has a very important mission. She needs to show you the wonders of Christmas movies.”

“I hate Christmas,” you muttered, the words tumbling out lazily, unfiltered by sleep and said without the weight you might have given them if you were fully awake.

Everything paused, Wanda’s hand stilled in your hair, before she finally spoke, “You what?” she asked, surprise clear in her voice, followed quickly by something softer, sadder. “You hate it? Why didn’t you tell me?”

That change was enough to pull you fully back into yourself. Your eyes opened at once, guilt hitting hard as you lifted your head slightly, searching her face. “No, no,” you said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was joking. I’m just tired and grumpy, that’s all.”

The words rushed out as you tried to fix it, heart suddenly pounding, sleep gone completely. You watched her carefully, already regretting the careless honesty of a moment you had not even been fully awake for.

“No. Don’t do that,” Wanda scolded softly, her voice steady beneath your cheek where you rested against her chest. Her fingers drifted through your hair, grounding you even as your chest tightened. “Tell us… Do you really hate it?”

The question landed heavier than you expected. Your throat constricted and your eyes pricked, tears threatening to spill. You couldn’t tell if it was guilt, shame, or the memories clawing their way back uninvited. Probably all of it at once, twisting together until your ribs ached. 

“I just…” Your voice broke before you could steady it. Your fingers clenched into the sofa cushion beneath Wanda’s side, knuckles whitening as though holding onto the fabric could stop the weight pressing down on your chest. “I think Christmas… it could be nice,” you whispered, voice tentative, fragile. “If people were kind. If it was actually fun. But…” Your throat tightened further. “…that just isn’t how it is.”

Your breath hitched, small and uneven. “Someone’s always drunk. Or angry. Or looking for something to explode over. And I just…” You swallowed hard, jaw tight. “…I end up picking up the pieces. Cleaning. Mediating. Putting people to bed.” A hollow laugh escaped you, small and broken. “By the end, I’m just… exhausted. Every year.” You nuzzled your face a little deeper into Wanda’s chest, feeling the warmth seep through the fabric. “Christmas just… sucks.”

Natasha’s hand pressed a little more firmly against your leg, her own breath catching in the quiet, betraying the tension she was holding back. When she spoke, her voice was low and steady, each word carrying weight and care. “You know… It doesn’t have to be like that.”

Your gaze flicked to her. “They won’t change,” you stated, voice tight. Your fingers twisted the edge of Wanda’s sweater, kneading the fabric as if you could anchor yourself through the motion. “They never do. I’ve waited for that my whole life.”

“That’s not what she meant,” Wanda replied gently. Her hand slowed in your hair, fingers spreading protectively at the back of your head before resuming their soothing rhythm. Her other arm tightened just a fraction beneath you, holding you closer without shifting you. “She meant…” Wanda hesitated, breath warm where it brushed your temple. “…you don’t have to go. You could stay here. With us. Kate and Yelena will be here too.”

You froze, your body curling further into the gentle press of Wanda beneath you, feeling the slow, steady weight of Natasha’s hand on your leg. The image rose in your mind: warm, safe, quiet and utterly unbearable in how badly you wanted it.

“I—” Your voice cracked, and you dragged your hands up to your face, pressing your palms against your eyes, but didn’t move away from them. You let yourself rest there, legs tangled over Natasha’s, chest pressed into Wanda’s, as if that closeness could shield you. 

“I can’t… I can’t just not go,” you admitted. “They expect me. I organise everything… make sure it works.” Your shoulders tensed, pressing against Wanda’s chest as if trying to absorb some of the weight. “If I don’t go…” You swallowed, choking on the thought. “…there probably won’t even be a Christmas.”

“They are adults,” Natasha said quietly, firm without being harsh. Her thumb pressed slow, deliberate circles into your leg, grounding. “They can cope. I know it feels like it’s your responsibility, but it isn’t. And after what your mother did and said last time… I don’t want you walking back into that.”

“But if I don’t go,” you whispered, chin tucked against Wanda’s chest, eyes glistening, “…it’ll be my fault if everything falls apart. I… I don’t want to disappoint them.” Your voice trembled, cracking under the weight of years spent holding it all in. Your face pressed deeper into her, shoulders tight, legs curled in closer, your whole body betraying the anxiety and tension you carried like armour. “It’s always been my job… That’s been made very clear.”

“Sweetheart…” Wanda murmured, “I can see you are upset… that you’re already bracing yourself for it…” She paused, breathing warm against your temple. “And that tells me that you don’t want to go. And you’re allowed to listen to that.”

Your throat ached, and your chest felt like it might crack, but you nodded faintly, curling closer into Wanda, shoulders brushing her warmth. “I don't want to ruin their Christmas”

“Mhm,” Wanda hummed softly, arm tightening beneath you, drawing you fully into her embrace. “We understand. But it sounds like they’ve been ruining yours.”

“I know,” you whispered, eyes stinging. “I just… I feel guilty even thinking about it.”

Natasha spoke again, her voice calm and steady, carrying quiet certainty that left no room for doubt. “You don’t have to go,” she said gently. “You can stay here… with us. We’ll give you the Christmas you deserve. Let us take care of you this time. And they… they can have the Christmas they choose.”

Your chest tightened, breath catching in your throat as the weight of longing and fear pressed through you. Wanda’s fingers found yours, lacing together briefly, her thumb brushing slow, comforting circles over your hand. “Only if that’s what you want,” she murmured, voice soft, steady. “No one’s forcing you to stay. We just want you to know… you’re allowed to choose something different.”

You swallowed hard, eyes stinging, heart hammering against your ribs. Your mind wrestled with itself, one part aching to stay here, with them, wrapped in warmth and care, the other tugging insistently toward your family, toward duty. 

And yet… somehow, one side had already won, though even you felt the shock of it. “…I think,” your voice trembled, fragile, “…I… don’t want to go,” you admitted at last, words spilling free. “…I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Wanda let out a soft, relieved sigh, her lips brushing the top of your head. “Then stay,” she murmured, voice low and warm. “Let us show you what Christmas should be, hm?”

You nodded, a shuddering breath escaping as the words finally settled in. “Okay… I’ll stay here,” you whispered, a warmth of excitement blooming through your chest, even as that familiar pang of guilt lingered in the pit of your stomach.

Wanda squeezed you so tightly that you thought you might stop breathing, her energy bubbling over as she practically sang out, “We are going to make this the best! So many presents, all the Christmas movies and songs, my special Christmas cookies!”

Natasha’s lips curved into a smile. “Don’t let her overwhelm you,” she teased, though her voice carried the same quiet certainty and protection that had steadied you through everything. “Just… take it all in at your own pace.”

You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of their bodies and the soft, steady assurance of their voices wash over you. The anxiety, the dread, the weight of obligation, it all seemed to lift, dissolving into the quiet intimacy of the three of you on the sofa. 

You allowed yourself to imagine a Christmas that didn’t hurt, a Christmas filled with soft warmth, quiet laughter, and the kind of care that didn’t demand anything but your presence. 

—

The moment your eyes fluttered open on Christmas morning, you knew Wanda was watching you. You didn’t even get the chance to stretch before she proved it.

“Yay! You’re awake! Merry Christmas!” she exclaimed, delight ringing bright and unmistakable in her voice, before leaning in and pressing a flurry of kisses across your cheeks and nose.

You laughed helplessly, the sound bubbling out of you as you squirmed beneath her affection. “Merry Christmas, Wands,” you said breathlessly, eyes crinkling. “You’re… very cheery this morning.”

A quiet huff of amusement sounded behind you as Natasha shifted. Strong arms slid around your middle, drawing you back until your spine fit neatly against her chest, her body moulding around yours like it had been waiting for you to wake up. Her voice was low, warm, and thoroughly fond as she spoke into your shoulder.

“Yeah,” Natasha chuckled, lips brushing your skin in a soft kiss. “She’s going to be like this allll day. I suggest you make your peace with it now.”

A quiet laugh slipped out of you, breath warm and shaky against Wanda’s chest. It felt strange, the sound of it, lighter than you were used to on Christmas morning. Your mind drifted, unbidden, to the mornings you knew too well: waking with tension already coiled in your stomach, bracing yourself before your feet even touched the floor. The contrast was almost dizzying.

“God,” you said softly, more to yourself than either of them, “this is already such a change from normal.”

“Mhm,” Natasha replied, that familiar dry edge threading through her voice. “That’s the idea.”

You huffed faintly, the sound more fond than irritated. Any clever retort you might have had slipped away, your thoughts blurring under the steady comfort of their bodies around you. 

Wanda was warm and solid beneath you, her heartbeat a slow, grounding rhythm under your cheek, while Natasha’s arms held you with an easy certainty that made it hard to remember how to stay tense. Being like this always softened you, made everything feel slightly unreal, like you were allowed to rest for once.

You were just starting to sink into that quiet when Wanda shifted beneath you, excitement buzzing through her like static. “Okay! Breakfast and present time!” she announced, bright and unstoppable.

Natasha laughed, low and affectionate, tightening her hold on you just enough to keep you in place. “Give her a second, Wands. She’s barely conscious.”

“I don’t care,” Wanda was already halfway out from under you, her grin audible in her voice. “Kate and Yelena will be here soon, and I want this part to be just us.” She finished with a carefully crafted pout, one you both knew was entirely strategic.

“Wanda,” Natasha warned, though the word lacked any real firmness, her tone already betraying her.

You felt a smile spread across your face, slow and genuine, warmth blooming in your chest. Underneath it, though, something still twisted, a faint ache of guilt, the echo of wondering what was happening back there without you. It sat low in your stomach, not sharp enough to ruin the moment, but present all the same.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, lifting your head just enough to look between them. “Really. I’m excited.” And you were, the word felt almost fragile in your mouth, but true. “Let’s go.”

You all disentangled yourselves from the bed, Wanda grinning as she handed you and Natasha the matching pyjamas she had insisted on the night before. She made a pointed show of it too, clearly pleased with herself, despite the fact that she had barely let you keep them on for more than ten minutes before declaring that Christmas Eve sex was non-negotiable.

They were soft blue cotton, patterned with little snowmen clutching presents in a cheerful, repeating loop, ridiculously festive and far more comfortable than they had any right to be. 

Natasha had, of course, put on a whole performance about being far too cool for matching pyjamas, insisting she was only indulging Wanda and you. No one had believed her then, and this morning she didn’t even bother pretending. There was no protest, no sarcasm, just a quiet, affectionate look aimed at the both of you as she pulled hers back on, lips tugged into something soft and fond.

—

It was only once you reached the kitchen, once Wanda had cheerfully shooed you and Natasha towards the table while she claimed the space for herself, that the knot in your stomach tightened again. 

The warmth of the moment dimmed just a fraction, replaced by an old, well-worn dread. You knew this moment. You had lived it too many times. Sit down, I’ve got it,  until later, when it turned into resentment, into accusations about how no one ever helped, how she had to do everything herself.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up. You slipped out of your chair and edged towards her, shoulders drawn in, head slightly bowed without you even realising you were doing it. “Can I… can I help?” you asked quietly, voice soft with nerves.

“No, sweetheart!” Wanda exclaimed, barely glancing at you, already measuring out flour. “Go sit with Natasha! I’m making your favourite pancakes!”

Your chest constricted, nerves coiling. “Please?” you tried again, soft, almost pleading. “I don’t want you to… get upset. I don’t mind helping, I promise.”

Wanda stopped and finally turned to you, taking in the way you hesitated. “Baby?” she asked gently, voice warm and grounding. “When have I ever been upset cooking for you? You know I love this. You get good food, I get to do what I love. That’s it.”

Heat rushed to your face, embarrassment sharp and sudden. You shook your head, the comparison to your mother that you hadn’t meant to make suddenly feeling unfair, cruel even. “I… I’m sorry,” you mumbled, already turning back towards the table.

Before you could get far, Wanda’s arms looped around your waist, drawing you back to her before cupping your cheeks. “I know what you’re expecting, what you’re waiting for,” she explained. “But it won’t happen here. I promise you.”

Your breath hitched. You let her hold you, the warmth of her hands steadying the whirlwind in your chest. “Okay,” you whispered, still cautious, still aware of the guilt and anxiety simmering low.

“You can help if it makes you feel better, though,” Wanda said after a pause, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I always love having my little helper in the kitchen.”

A shaky laugh bubbled out, and you nodded, feeling a slow, warm relief settle over you. Helping out gave you a small anchor, a quiet way to hold onto some control, just in case things did unravel later.

You slipped into the rhythm of breakfast, Wanda handing you little tasks with a bright smile, while Natasha joined in too, turning up the music, washing dishes, moving with an easy confidence that made everything feel lighter. 

It was the kind of morning that seemed to wrap you up and hold you steady. When you all sat down to eat together, a slow sense of calm began to settle in your chest, easing the lingering tension as you let yourself accept this new, gentle normal.

By the time presents rolled around, your nerves had eased enough to let a flutter of excitement in. You stepped into the living room and saw the tree surrounded by towers of neatly wrapped gifts. 

At first, you didn’t think many would be for you. But as you began opening them, a wave of disbelief hit you. The second you finished one, Natasha was already handing you another, grinning in a way that made your chest ache with affection.

There were thoughtful gifts for college: a sleek new laptop, fancy pens, notebooks, each one clearly chosen by Natasha, clearly evident in the way she looked at you. Then came the clothes, mountains of them, each piece unmistakably chosen by Wanda. She talked you through every item, explaining why she thought you’d like it, and kept reassuring you that if anything didn’t fit or feel right, she could take you to pick something else. But you didn’t need to, you loved everything. 

And then there were the smaller, utterly personal gifts, reflecting the books, shows, and games you loved. Each one carried that quiet, unmistakable care of someone who truly knew you, who had listened and remembered every little thing that made you, you.

You sat back, utterly speechless, your hands lingering over the piles of new things. You had never received so many before, and never gifts that felt so deliberate, so personal. Not random trinkets or polite gestures, each one was chosen with thought, with care, with love that made your chest tighten in a way that was almost too much to bear.

A soft, shaky laugh escaped you, and Wanda’s hand slid into yours, warm and grounding, her thumb brushing gentle, soothing circles over your knuckles. “Do you like them?” she asked, voice light and teasing.

“I… I can’t believe it,” you admitted, voice catching, eyes wide as your heart raced. “It’s… It’s too much. You didn’t have to do all this for me…” Your gaze flicked between them, taking in Natasha’s quiet, proud expression and Wanda’s impossibly bright smile, and the tears you’d been holding back all morning threatened to spill.

“You deserve it,” Natasha said softly from her spot beside you, her hand still resting lightly on your leg. Her tone was firm but tender, and the quiet certainty in her presence pressed into you like a warm shield. “Nothing is too much for our little one. Hell, we probably would’ve kept going if we weren’t worried about where you’d put everything!”

“You’re both so…” you started, but the words tangled on your tongue, your voice faltering as emotion threatened to overwhelm you. “I… I love you both so much. Thank you… for all of this.” Your lips trembled, and the tears spilled over, blurring the edges of your vision.

“We love you too, maličká (little one),” Wanda murmured, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. Her hands cupped your face gently, thumbs brushing your tears. “But those better be happy tears.”

“They are absolutely happy tears,” you managed to stammer out, your voice thick, breath hitching as you tried to steady yourself. “I… I don’t even know what I did to deserve either of you. On that note though…” You pushed yourself up, eager to shift the focus and hide the mess of feelings curling in your chest. “I got you both gifts too!”

“Hey! We told you no presents!” Natasha declared, her voice soft but amused, a playful scold that couldn’t mask the curiosity twinkling in her eyes.

“They’re only small things!” You darted across the room, up to the spare bedroom, rummaging quickly for their gifts, and returned a few moments later, plopping the carefully wrapped parcels into each of their laps. 

Your heart hammered in your chest, a mix of nervous anticipation and bubbling excitement, as Natasha carefully lifted the edges of the wrapping paper. The soft crinkle of it seemed louder than it should have been in the quiet of the living room, and your stomach twisted with every slow motion of her hands. 

Finally, the paper fell away, revealing a sleek black box. She ran her fingers lightly over its surface, almost reverently, before opening it, and when the fountain pen nestled inside came into view, her eyes widened.

A soft laugh slipped from her lips, warm and surprised, and she looked at you with that look, the one that made your pulse spike, and simultaneously made you want to melt into the floor.

Wanda, noticing the look, leaned forward, curiosity flashing across her face. “What?” she asked, voice teasing.

You smirked, shrugging, but Natasha wasn’t about to let the moment pass. “You know my very fancy fountain pen,” she began, turning it over in her hands, the black lacquer catching the light. “The one I’ve had forever. The one that writes just perfectly, like it knows exactly how I think.” Wanda nodded, grinning, remembering the little rituals Natasha had with her pens.

“Well… when this one was in my office…” Natasha’s tone dropped just enough to make you shiver. “…someone… and by someone, I mean me, may have sat on it. While she was riding my strap. And, well… it snapped.”

Wanda gasped, then broke into uncontrollable laughter. “Oh my god! You must’ve been devastated! Sometimes I thought you loved that pen more than me!”

“She definitely was,” you admitted, cheeks warming as you recalled how much Natasha had mourned the pen’s demise. But your grin widened as you leaned closer, lifting the box a little. “But I found the exact same model, and it’s engraved. Look!”

Natasha leaned in, her fingers brushing over the pen. In gold, elegant lettering along the black barrel, it read Professor Romanoff. 

“God,” she breathed, voice soft, almost reverent. “This is beautiful, baby. Thank you.”

Then her eyes flicked to the cap. Barely noticeable unless you were paying attention, etched delicately on the cap in fine, subtle lettering with no colour was the word daddy.

“Oh, you little shit,” Natasha breathed, a mixture of amusement and something deeper threading her tone as she jabbed your side, tickling you just enough to make your laugh shatter into the room.

You grinned up at her, your voice carrying an innocence that was only partially real. “I just wanted you to think about me while you’re marking, daddy.”

Her chuckle was low and dangerous, rumbling against your ear as she shifted closer, pressing her body lightly against yours. Her hand found yours, curling your fingers around hers with a possessive warmth. “As if I don’t already spend half that time thinking about bending you over my desk,” she said, her voice a quiet, heated rumble that made your stomach twist.

Wanda groaned dramatically. “You shouldn’t be doing any of that there! You could get caught!” she exclaimed, though the giggle that followed betrayed how little she truly minded.

“Don’t worry,” Natasha said, eyes flashing with mischief as she leaned closer again, smirking at you with that familiar, dangerous grin. “We know exactly how to keep you quiet, don’t we?”

Heat crept up your neck, your cheeks flaming as your mind betrayed you, drifting to all the inventive ways Natasha had managed to silence you before. You squirmed slightly, half from embarrassment and half from the tingles running through your body at the thought.

“I actually can’t with the two of you,” she breathed, shaking her head with a laugh. Her tone shifted, however, back to the bright, cheerful excitement you loved. “Anyway! Onto my presents?”

She unwrapped it quickly, and the first gift was revealed: a personalised apron that read “Mommy”, decorated with cuffs, whips, and other kinky little items in a playful, cartoonish pattern. Wanda’s cheeks flushed pink with amusement, and she held it up with a flourish. “Do you have any idea how cheeky this is?” she asked, mock-scolding as she stood to show it off.

“Cheeky?” A teasing smirk was tugging at your lips. “It’s just a present for my mommy.”

She raised an eyebrow, voice dripping with playful menace. “Hmm… a very naughty one. And I hope you know, I am wearing this when Kate and Yelena come over,” she warned, clearly trying to bait you into embarrassment just to see your reaction.

You leaned back slightly, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “Good… they helped me pick it,” you shot back, your tone teasing, confident, the warmth and laughter between you crackling like electricity.

Wanda’s eyes sparkled, amusement and affection warring across her face. “Oh, you’re feeling cheeky today, hm?” she murmured, shaking her head but smiling. “I’m sure they bring out the brat in you.”

“Nooo,” you lied, the word dragging, and entirely unconvincing. “I’m your good girl.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, though her grin never faltered. “Sure you are,” she teased, her grin unwavering. “Anyway! Next present!”

As Wanda tore the wrapping away, her hands paused mid-motion, and she gasped, eyes widening. “Oh my god!” she breathed, staring down at the books you’d gotten her. The next two in the series she’d been devouring, long out of stock and impossible to find.

“You… how?!” she whispered, incredulity mixing with delight.

You tapped your nose playfully. “I have my ways,” you joked with a grin, though she didn’t question further, she simply swept you up in a hug, arms tight around your torso, breath warm against your neck.

“You’re too sweet, you know that?” she whispered into your hair, squeezing you as though she could keep you close forever. “I thought I’d have to wait forever for these!”

You felt a swell of pride, chest warm, a little smug smile curling across your face. You weren’t always confident with gifts, but seeing her reaction made every effort worth it.

“And… last one,” you declared, holding up the final package. “But this one’s kind of for both of you.”

Together they peeled back the paper, revealing a carefully crafted photo album. Your heart hammered as they lifted the cover, eyes softening at the sight. You had gone through both their phones, collecting snapshots from every angle: selfies of all three of you together, moments of cooking, quiet cuddles, hands brushing, late-night walks in the park.

They flipped through the pages, pausing on each photo. Tears pooled in their eyes, reflections of their love for you mirrored in the soft catches of their breaths. When they reached the end, empty spaces awaited, and a small note in your handwriting peeked out: For all the memories we will make.

Wanda’s lips trembled as she pressed the album to her chest. “This is perfect,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “God… I can’t wait to fill this with you both.”

Natasha’s hand found yours across the page, thumb brushing soothing circles against your knuckles. Her eyes glimmered with a quiet, fierce pride. “You did good, baby,” she praised. “Better than you even know.”

—

Later that afternoon, the sound of the door opening was followed almost immediately by raised voices and laughter as Yelena and Kate burst in, arms full of gift bags and wrapped presents. They barely made it two steps inside before Kate was already talking a mile a minute and Yelena was demanding a drink, gifts rustling between them as they ushered their way into the living room.

You all settled in together, knees brushing, as the new presents were passed around. It was loud and chaotic in the best way. Wrapping paper piled up on the floor, mugs were abandoned half-finished, and the room buzzed with overlapping conversations and laughter. 

Yelena told stories you had never heard before, dramatic and wildly exaggerated, Kate chiming in to correct her when she went just a bit too far. Natasha rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite hide her smile, and Wanda laughed freely, leaning into your side as though this had always been how things were meant to be.

Dinner became its own event. Natasha carved the turkey with surgical precision, while Yelena tried sneaking mashed potatoes onto your plate when no one was looking. Kate attempted a stealth stuffing heist from the serving dish, only to be caught by Wanda, who playfully scolded her and stuffed a bite into her own mouth. You laughed so hard your stomach ached, realising the table looked like a full-blown food battlefield.

Then it was time for games. You cycled through a few different ones, each more chaotic than the last. Voices grew louder, accusations flew across the room, and alliances formed and dissolved in seconds, each one barely surviving a single turn.

Pictionary was the first to devolve completely. Yelena, for reasons you couldn’t quite fathom, had absolutely zero artistic ability. Her “drawings” were just illegible scribbles, usually resulting in her scrawling the word down instead in an attempt to claim a point, which never worked despite her protests. 

Kate laughed so hard she could barely hold the pen; her sketches wobbled across the board in glorious, unrecognisable chaos, and she would howl when anyone tried to guess.

Natasha’s drawings, by contrast, were terrifyingly precise. Every line was deliberate, every angle perfect, and everyone groaned in frustration when they realised just how skilled she was. 

Wanda’s hints, meanwhile, were deliberately mischievous. She’d lean over, whispering hints that made you guess absurdly ridiculous words, all while stifling her giggles. You found yourself laughing so hard you were crying, your stomach twisting and aching with happiness.

Then came Monopoly. That’s when Natasha’s quiet, calculating menace revealed itself. She moved with eerie calm, a predator among prey, coaxing everyone into selling their properties for next to nothing with nothing more than a single raised eyebrow or a sly, subtle smirk.

“This is cheating,” Yelena declared dramatically, arms crossed, eyes narrowing at the board. “This is psychological warfare. Entirely unfair.”

“You’re just bad at capitalism,” Natasha replied smoothly, without even looking up. “Get good, kid.”

“I have a successful business! I am great at capitalism!” Yelena insisted, flailing her hands like the world was collapsing around her.

Kate groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Yelena, that is not the flex you think it is. Now stop being a sore loser.”

“I am not a sore loser,” Yelena shot back. “I am a victim! A victim of manipulation, treachery, and betrayal!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a soft, incredulous laugh that turned into giggles. “You’ve played with her for years, aren’t you at least a little immune? I mean, I have an excuse for losing, but you don’t.”

Wanda elbowed you playfully. “Yelena never learns. She goes full dramatic every single time. Just wait until she flips the board in frustration.”

Kate leaned over conspiratorially, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Honestly, I think she flips the board just so I’ll punish her later.”

Your face heated as a mischievous idea struck you. “Maybe I should flip it first and see what Wanda and Nat do.”

“You dare,” Wanda hissed, her eyes narrowing, but her tone was playful, not serious.

“I won’t! I promise!” you squeaked, holding your hands up in surrender, though your heart raced with excitement at the idea.

By the time the game ended, the room was a whirlwind of laughter and chaos. Yelena had staged a dramatic collapse across the couch, Kate was wiping tears from her eyes while giggling, Wanda was laughing so hard she had to hold onto your arm for support, and you were curled up between Natasha and Wanda, your chest aching with happiness and warmth.

Amid the noise and the teasing, the chaos and the ridiculous arguments, you realised something with perfect clarity: these were your people. Natasha, Wanda, Kate, Yelena, they were your family. 

They loved you for who you were, not who they wanted you to be. They didn’t demand, or expect, or threaten to take that love away. You didn’t have to earn your place here, and you knew, without a shred of doubt, that you were exactly where you belonged.

—

Eventually, the evening wound down. Kate and Yelena were bundled into coats and scarves, still laughing as they headed out the door, promising to message when they got home. 

You headed upstairs with Natasha and Wanda. There was a lightness in your chest you didn’t recognise at first, until it clicked that this was what it felt like to end Christmas happy. Not relieved. Not drained. Happy.

You were all a little buzzed, not drunk, just pleasantly hazy, the edges of the world softened. Natasha dropped onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh, sprawling out like she hadn’t a single care left in the world. You smiled at the sight, about to follow her, when Wanda caught your hand.

Her fingers curled around yours, gentle but deliberate. She leaned in close, lips brushing your ear as she whispered, “Come with me.”

Your stomach flipped. You nodded immediately, letting her guide you into the next room. She shut the door softly behind you, turning back with that unmistakable, mischievous little smirk, the one that always made your pulse pick up.

She crossed to the wardrobe and pulled out a small bag, glancing back at you as if gauging your reaction. “I’ve been saving this,” she purred, though her eyes were bright with excitement.

When she tipped the contents out onto the bed, your breath stuttered. Red fabric. Soft, festive, trimmed with white fluff. Your cheeks warmed instantly, heat spreading right down your neck as you took it in. 

Your laugh came out soft and uncertain, more of a breath than a sound. You clasped your hands together without realising, nerves fluttering in your stomach. Lingerie had always made you feel strange, more exposed than bare skin ever had. 

It felt like it asked something of you, confidence you weren’t sure you possessed, especially standing next to someone like Wanda, who wore her body like it was second nature.

“It’s… really pretty,” you responded, even as your gaze lingered on the fabric rather than meeting her eyes.

Wanda noticed immediately. She crossed the room in two quiet steps, setting the lingerie aside before cupping your face, thumbs warm against your cheeks.

“Hey,” she soothed softly, her voice gentle and careful. “You don’t have to wear it if it makes you uncomfortable. I just thought it might be a fun surprise for Nat…” Her smile softened, losing any hint of teasing. “…but there’s no pressure, baby. It’s okay either way.”

Something tight and aching in your chest finally loosened. You nodded slowly, swallowing around the tangle of nerves and excitement blooming there, your breath a little unsteady. “No… no, I’ll try,” you said quietly. “But no promises.”

“That’s more than enough for me,” Wanda replied, warmth curling through her tone before it dipped into something steadier, more assured. “How about you let me help you get changed, hm?”

You nodded without thinking, then caught the raised eyebrow she gave you, playful but expectant. Heat creeping up your neck. “Yes, please,” you corrected softly.

She smiled and leaned in to kiss you. It was soft and unhurried, all warmth and reassurance, the kind of kiss that made your shoulders drop and your breathing slow. You melted into it, letting the familiar comfort of her taste and the solid line of her body anchor you. Her hands traced down your back, grounding, present, and little by little, the buzzing worry dulled.

Time slipped strangely after that. Clothes disappeared gently until you were bare beneath her touch. She helped you into the lingerie with careful hands, murmuring praise under her breath as she adjusted it, the soft fabric warm against your skin, the white fluff brushing lightly enough to tickle.

When she stepped back, her gaze moved over you slowly, darkening with unmistakable want, and despite that, your instincts flared. Your arms lifted slightly, a reflexive attempt to shield yourself as the old discomfort stirred again.

“No,” Wanda whispered instantly, firm but not harsh. She closed the distance again, catching your wrists and guiding them down. “None of that.”

She kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, as if she was grounding you through the contact alone. When she pulled back, she guided you gently towards the full-length mirror, turning you so your back rested against her front.

You did everything you could to avoid looking, staring at the wall, at her reflection instead of your own, even squeezing your eyes shut, but she wasn't going to let you get away with that. 

“Look at yourself, baby,” she ordered, her voice velvet-soft against your ear. “See what we see.”

Wanda stayed close enough that you could feel her warmth through the thin layer of air between you. It pressed in around you, subtle but unmistakable, like standing too near a fire. Her presence alone made your skin prickle, nerves lighting up one by one as if your body had already decided it was paying attention before your mind caught up.

You could feel her breathing first. Each steady inhale against your back made you acutely aware of how uneven your own breaths had become. 

Her fingers brushed your arm. Just the pads of them, grazing the sensitive inside of your forearm. It sent a shiver through you immediately, sharp and electric, your shoulders tensing before you could stop yourself. 

“There,” she murmured softly, satisfaction warming her voice. “That’s it. Feel me, good girl.”

Her hand travelled slowly, deliberately, mapping you out inch by inch. Over your arm, across your shoulder, down your side. She didn’t rush past anything. Every place she touched, she lingered on, just long enough for the sensation to bloom, to settle into your skin, before moving on. 

When her palm finally settled on your stomach, it grounded you completely. Not tight, not restraining, just firm enough that you felt held. The simple weight of her hand made your knees feel faintly weak.

You leaned back without meaning to, drawn to her warmth like instinct, and she let you, like she knew exactly where you would settle anyway. The curve of her body fit easily against yours, her presence solid and reassuring.

Her lips brushed the shell of your ear, so light it made your breath catch in your throat. You could feel the ghost of her mouth there long after she moved away, your skin buzzing where she’d nearly kissed you.

“You’re doing beautifully,” she whispered, and the praise slid straight through you, warm and heavy, loosening something tight in your chest.

Her mouth traced a slow path down your neck then. Each kiss was soft, careful, placed with intention rather than hunger. She pressed her lips there, held them for a moment, then moved on, leaving you aching in her wake. 

When she reached that sensitive spot beneath your jaw, she lingered, her mouth insistent enough to leave a mark, enough to make your thoughts scatter completely.

Your knees wobbled, just slightly, and her hand at your stomach tightened a fraction, waiting for you to steady before her fingers began to move again, slow strokes along your side, up and down, a rhythm that lulled and teased all at once. 

Your eyes slipped shut without you even realising, surrendering to the sensation, to her steady presence behind you.

“No,” she urged quietly, but firmly as her fingers tipped your chin up, guiding rather than forcing, and you obeyed immediately, lashes fluttering open as your gaze found the mirror again. 

The sight made your stomach flip. You looked warm, undone already, colour high in your cheeks, lips parted as you breathed through the growing ache inside you.

Wanda watched your face in the reflection, not missing the way your eyes darkened as you took yourself in. “See? You're all flushed, trembling. Every little gasp, every shiver, every tremble… so beautiful. Do you see it? That’s how Natasha and I see you.”

Her hand drifted lower, centimetre by careful centimetre. The anticipation coiled tight in your stomach, every nerve ending screaming as you waited for her to touch you where you wanted her most. When she finally did, it wasn’t with movement, or pressure, or relief.

Her fingers had slipped just inside the fabric of your panties, resting lightly on your clit, but not moving, not giving you what you wanted, and it was excruciating. Every nerve in your body seemed to hum, every breath caught in your throat. Your hips jerked forward instinctively, searching for friction, desperate for even the slightest pressure.

She gave a soft, breathy laugh behind you, the sound low and intimate. “So needy,” she muttered, not a question, more an observation said with fond amusement. Her voice carried warmth rather than judgement, like she was savouring the way your body reacted to her so honestly.

Her fingers pressed just a fraction more before she traced slow, careful circles, unhurried and deliberate, letting the sensation bloom gradually instead of all at once. It sent a slow shiver through you, heat spreading outward.

You felt it everywhere. In the way your shoulders drew in slightly. In the way your thighs tensed. In the way your hips betrayed you with the smallest forward roll, seeking more without you meaning to. Your hands curled uselessly at your sides, knuckles tight, like your body didn’t know where to put all that feeling.

“That’s my good girl,” Wanda whispered softly, her words coating you like silk. “So pretty… so desperate.” Her voice wrapped around you, grounding and consuming at the same time, pulling your attention entirely to the sensation of her and the way she was looking at you.

A soft sound slipped from your throat before you could stop it, needy and unguarded. “Mommy…” you breathed, not quite begging yet, just reaching.

“I know… I know what you need,” she cooed, her voice soft, low, almost a caress. “But Daddy deserves to see this too, doesn’t she? To see you like this, all dressed up and needy…” Her fingers continued for a moment longer before slowly pulling back, leaving a sharp ache where she had been.

You reached instinctively, hoping to bring it back, but she stepped back just enough to keep you wanting, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

“Let Mommy get changed first,” she instructed, the kind of command that made your body obey without question. “Then we’ll go see Daddy, hm?” Her eyes swept over you, lingering on the tremor in your hands, the flush in your cheeks. “Stay right there… look pretty for me while I do.”

You sank into her instruction without hesitation, body rigid with anticipation, chest tight. Each inhale was sharp, each exhale shallow, as if the air itself were too heavy. 

When she stepped out in her matching set, the effect was instantaneous and overwhelming. The sight of her, so confident, so teasing, made your pulse hammer in your ears. 

Every detail of her drew your attention, sharp and impossible to look away from: the soft red fabric hugging her curves, the mischievous tilt of her head, the way her eyes sparkled as she caught your stare. 

“Like what you see, maličká (little one)?” Wanda’s voice was low, teasing, yet anchored with warmth, a promise you couldn’t resist.

You could only nod, words catching in your throat, your eyes tracing every inch of her with a mix of awe and helpless desire. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, not trusting yourself to keep them to yourself.

She lifted a finger slowly, curling it in the air, and your legs moved before your mind could protest. “Come closer,” she coaxed, her tone soft but commanding, dragging you forward.

She caught the motion of your hands, and her smirk deepened, no doubt amused and approving at your restraint. But she didn’t mention it. Instead, she held out her hand, “Let’s go see Nat, shall we?”

Without hesitation, you let her pull you along, your body light, your mind dizzy with the mixture of anticipation and trust. You followed her like a puppy, eager to go anywhere she led, ready for whatever she had planned next.

—

Wanda entered the bedroom first, her pace unbroken, her grip on your hand steady and sure. She didn’t hesitate or slow, guiding you several steps inside before stopping with quiet precision, placing you exactly where she wanted you. 

Natasha looked up at once. The change in her was immediate. The relaxed sprawl she’d been lounging in tightened into something attentive. Her eyes moved over Wanda first, familiar and appreciative, before shifting to you. 

A slow breath left her, something dark and unmistakably pleased settling behind her gaze as she took in the scene you made together.

“Well,” Natasha murmured as she sat up fully, her tone low with amusement. “I should have known you’d have something planned.”

Wanda smiled at that, soft and knowing. She gave your hand one last squeeze before letting it fall. “I thought you might appreciate it,” she teased. “You’ve always had a thing for lingerie… and she’s never worn anything like this for you before.”

Natasha’s attention returned to you at once, lingering in a way that felt almost tangible. Heat crept up your spine under the weight of it. When her gaze lifted again, it was to Wanda, her mouth curving with quiet satisfaction. “You’re right,” she drawled. “I do. And the two of you look incredible.”

She rose from the bed then, closing the distance with deliberate ease. “Though,” she added, eyes flicking back to you, “it looks like I missed some of the fun.”

You nodded without thinking, aware even as you did that the comment wasn’t truly meant for you. Natasha’s smile softened as she leaned in, pressing a brief, warm kiss to your forehead.

Wanda’s hand settled on your back as she answered, “She was a little shy at first. So I reminded her how beautiful she is. Had her watch herself in the mirror as I worked her up.” Her tone held quiet pride as she glanced at you. “She’s stunning like that, don’t you think?”

“A vision,” Natasha agreed, her voice dipping lower as her hands traced slowly down your sides, unhurried and appreciative. The warmth of her touch pulled a soft shiver from you, your body tipping into it without conscious thought. 

She noticed immediately, of course, the corner of her mouth curving with quiet satisfaction. “And very needy too,” she added gently. “Aren’t you, printsessa (princess)?”

The sound you made in response was nothing but a needy little whine. You nodded, lips pushing into a small pout before you could stop yourself. “She didn’t let me finish,” you complained softly, the words tumbling out on their own.

Natasha let out a low laugh, rich with amusement. “No?” she said, glancing sidelong at Wanda. “You mean to tell me Mommy worked you up and then stopped?” Her tone was mock-scandalised, eyes glinting with something far too knowing. “How terribly cruel of her.”

Wanda didn’t look the least bit apologetic. She only smiled, calm and self-assured. “I wanted you to have her like that,” she replied smoothly. “This was for you, after all.”

Natasha’s expression softened at that, something warm and sincere breaking through the teasing edge. “God,” she murmured, shaking her head faintly, “what did I do to deserve you both?” She stepped in close to Wanda then, hands coming up to frame her face. “Thank you, moya lyubov' (my love).”

The kiss they shared first was slow and intense, each movement full of heat, like they were savouring every second. You watched, heart hammering in your chest, the sight of them together sending an electric shiver through you. 

When they finally parted, both of them slightly breathless, there was a charged, unspoken understanding passing silently between them in that brief pause, a tension that made your stomach twist with anticipation.

Wanda moved in first, circling behind you, her fingers found your waist, keeping you steady as her mouth traced the line of your neck. Her kisses were sometimes feather-light, brushing against your pulse like a whisper, and other times firmer, pressing into your skin with deliberate insistence. She nipped gently, sucking here and there, leaving marks you knew would bloom in time, and you welcomed every one.

Her hands were unrelenting, one sliding along your side while the other cupped your chest over the lingerie. Your breath hitched again and again, caught somewhere between need and awe, each shiver making her chuckle softly in your ear.

Then Natasha stepped in front of you, her hands coming up to frame your jaw. When her lips met yours, it was nothing like Wanda’s teasing warmth, this was confident, consuming, unrelenting. 

Her kiss demanded your attention. Every press of her lips, every subtle slide and sweep of her tongue against yours pulled you in completely. 

She was overwhelming in the most thrilling way, her presence grounding and electrifying all at once. You could feel the pressure of her body, and it left your knees weak even as you stood upright, suspended between them.

When Natasha finally pulled back, resting her forehead against yours, it felt like the sudden release of pressure after being held under. You sucked in a shaky breath, chest heaving, your body still trembling in her hands. 

You were painfully aware of everything at once: their warmth, their closeness, the places they had just touched. Your muscles were drawn tight, humming, your whole body caught in the sensation.

You needed more. Desperately. But the words refused to come. Your mind felt foggy, overwhelmed, too focused on every lingering touch and echoing sensation to form anything coherent. Instead, a soft, broken whine slipped free, thin and helpless.

Natasha pulled back just enough to look at you properly, her gaze slow and intent, taking you in. Beneath the smirk was that familiar, assessing edge, subtle but unmistakable; she was checking you were okay.  

“You’re okay, baby,” she soothed, her voice carrying that faintly condescending lilt that made your stomach twist. “Is this all a bit too much?” Her thumb brushed lightly against your jaw. “That head of yours all empty?”

You nodded, glassy-eyed, lips parted as you dragged in another breath, another small whine spilling out before you could stop it. Natasha’s smile deepened. “Come on,” she coaxed softly. “As much as I love your pretty sounds, I want to hear you tell me. Show me you can.”

Your thoughts swam. You couldn’t even remember the question, which only seemed to prove her point. You tried to speak, but nothing came, frustration and need tangling tight in your chest.

Behind you, Wanda stilled. Her teasing fingers eased, her kisses slowing, giving you space to breathe, to settle, to find your footing again. That gentleness was what finally let the words form, fragile and halting as they were.

“Please…” you whispered, voice trembling, breath shaky. “I… I need—” Your chest tightened, pulse hammering, and Natasha’s raised eyebrow pinned you in place. You forced yourself to finish the words. “Please… just… touch me. Please, Daddy.”

The air seemed to thrum around you, the admission raw and open, every inch of your body humming with need and anticipation. Your words hung between them, making your heartbeat echo painfully in your ears.

“I will, Kotenok (kitten). I promise,” Natasha responded, voice low and reverent, almost breathless. The usual steel in her tone softened, leaving a quiet awe behind her words. “God… I love it when you get like this.”

Behind you, Wanda gave a quiet, fond laugh. “Should we lay her down?” she suggested gently. “She’s barely holding herself up.” Her tone was teasing, affectionate. “Poor thing’s completely gone.”

Natasha’s gaze flicked to you, lingering, taking in every shiver, every twitch, every inch of tension in your posture. “Not a problem,” she answered, reaching for your hand and drawing you closer. Wanda’s palms pressed into your hips, steadying you, guiding you, keeping you upright when your legs threatened to buckle. 

“How do you want her?” Wanda asked Natasha, curiosity threading her voice. Her gaze flicked to you briefly, clearly enjoying the way your body responded to every word, every touch.

The way they spoke about you, as though the choice didn’t belong to you at all, sent a sharp thrill through your chest. Like you were something to be arranged, handled, and played with exactly as they pleased.

Natasha’s eyes lingered on yours for a moment, then shifted to Wanda, calculating, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You said this was for me,” she asked slowly, savouring the thought.

Wanda’s gaze sparkled, her lips quirking into a teasing grin. “Yes. For you,” she replied, tone teasing but curious still.

“Then I want her on my face,” Natasha demanded, her tone firm, a command that left no room for debate. Her hand slid along your side, tracing the curve of your body with deliberate slowness, making your skin heat under her touch. She leaned slightly toward Wanda, drawing her closer with a subtle but possessive pull. “And I want you on my strap.”

Her gaze swept over you both then, lingering on the lingerie that clung to every curve so perfectly. “And not a single piece comes off,” she continued, her voice low and assured. “I want to look at you both like this as long as I can.”

You might’ve commented on Natasha’s blatant kink for the lingerie if your mind weren’t already fried, but instead, you just stood there, trembling with need. The only words you could latch onto, the only thing that made your pulse race with anticipation, were “I want her on my face.” You knew exactly what that meant, and exactly what you were about to get.

Natasha settled onto the bed, and you instinctively moved forward, clambering on top of her until she caught you with a firm grip. “Turn around,” she ordered. “I want to watch Mommy.”

You obeyed, shifting so your back faced the headboard, hovering just above her face, your knees still trembling, and your heart hammering as if you had run for hours. The feeling of her breath on your thighs made you squirm slightly, caught between the ache of anticipation and the need to wait for her permission.

Wanda knelt before Natasha, fingers sliding over the waistband of her pants, slowly undoing buttons and zipping them down. Each movement was measured, letting you see the smallest, most intimate motions as she worked, drawing out the tension. 

Her hands lingered over Natasha’s hips and thighs, brushing and teasing before peeling away the fabric entirely, followed by the careful removal of her underwear.

Then, almost ceremoniously, Wanda grabbed the strap, sliding it slowly up Natasha’s legs. Every motion was a display, sensual and deliberate, her eyes occasionally flicking up to meet yours, making it impossible to look away. 

And when Wanda lowered her head, lips wrapping around the strap, your stomach twisted in response. The slow descent, the teasing pull back, it made you squirm, the sight almost too intense to bear. 

Natasha’s low, soft hums in response to the way it rubbed against her clit sent another shiver through you, each one teasing the heat pooling between your thighs. Your gaze stayed glued to Wanda as she meticulously prepared the strap.

You noticed the way her eyes fluttered closed each time she lowered down, and the way the strap was covered in the faint glint of her spit as she came back up. The focus, the grace, the control, she was utterly magnetic, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

When Wanda finally deemed it ready, she moved gracefully, pulling her panties aside and lowering herself onto the strap. A shaky, breathy sound slipped past her lips, low and ragged, and your stomach tightened as if you were feeling it yourself. 

Then Natasha’s hands shifted, pulling your own lingerie just enough to gain access to your soaking wet folds before she guided you down onto her face. Her mouth met you instantly, her tongue warm and insistent as her hands gripped your thighs firmly, keeping you in place, forcing you to press against her exactly as she wanted.

Wanda moved in front of you, her body grinding in slow, deliberate arcs, her hands braced behind her on Natasha's thighs for support, forcing her chest to arch toward you as she whispered, “Touch me, baby.” 

You obeyed instinctively, reaching out and tracing your hands across her chest before dipping into the fabric and taking her breasts into your hands, squeezing and rubbing your thumbs over her nipples just like she had taught you. “Yes… that’s it, good girl,” her voice was thick with approval, sending another bolt of heat racing through you.

You felt a flood of wetness at the praise, and clearly Natasha did too because she groaned beneath you, her hands then gripping tighter, guiding your hips with precise pressure. 

Every motion, every grind, was perfectly in time with Wanda’s movements, the angle perfect so your cllit was rubbing just right while her tongue was buried inside you. Your body shook, muscles taut, moans spilling out unrestrained as the sensations piled up.

Then Wanda leaned forward, lips finding yours in a slow, teasing kiss. You melted into her, swallowing each other’s desperate sounds as your bodies moved together. You felt your entire world narrowing down to the two of them, to the friction, the heat, the sounds, and the edge that seemed to be building impossibly higher. 

They kept a steady rhythm, each movement calculated to drive you higher. Wanda alternated between kissing you and teasing with her hands, sometimes feather-light brushes that made your skin tingle, other times sharper pinches to your chest through the fabric of your lingerie that made you gasp and writhe. Every time she did, Natasha’s grip tightened impossibly around your thighs, holding you down, attempting to stop the squirming and keep you in her hold. 

When Wanda lifted herself off the strap and then sank back down in slow, exaggerated movements, her head thrown back, moans spilling freely, it was more than you could bear. Every movement of her body, every tremor, every gasp pressed into you, and you couldn't help but grind even faster against Natasha’s face. 

Your eyes stayed glued to Wanda, watching her ride with abandon, the heat of her movements, the rise and fall of her chest, the curve of her body, all of it searing into your senses. Every gasp, every moan, every subtle hum from Natasha beneath you pulsed through your body, a rhythm that had you quivering and right on the edge.

“I… I’m gonna—” you stammered, breath catching sharply, body trembling. “Please…”

Natasha’s low chuckle rumbled beneath you, vibrating through every nerve, sending another surge of heat coursing through your body. “Only if Mommy’s ready,” she answered, her voice muffled by your position, but every syllable coiling your desperation even tighter.

You didn’t even need to whine, Wanda answered for you, gasping, voice thick and urgent. “I’m ready,” she breathed, picking up her pace, gripping your shoulders to steady herself and gain leverage as she bounced up and down on the strap. 

“Good,” Natasha growled, her tone full of hunger. “Then give it to me, both of you. Cum for Daddy.”

Then she dove back in, consuming you like she was still absolutely starving for you. Her tongue alternated between dipping inside and licking and sucking at your clit in a way that left you absolutely writhing.

And then it happened, the coil snapped. Your release hit like a shockwave, shuddering through you in bursts, leaving you gasping and shaking. You would have collapsed forward if not for Wanda’s steady hands on your shoulders and Natasha’s firm grip around your thighs, holding you perfectly in place.

Wanda followed soon after, her release tearing from her in broken gasps, her body shuddering hard enough that you felt it through the bed. The sight alone sent another violent wave through you, your cunt clenching tight around Natasha’s tongue that was still inside you. 

Even as your muscles trembled and your legs threatened to buckle, neither of them slowed. Natasha’s tongue remained relentless, coaxing you higher even as your body screamed against the overstimulation. Your eyes flew open in panic as you felt your second climax building far too quickly. “I can’t. I can’t,” you stammered, voice barely more than a broken whine.

Wanda, who was also chasing her second climax, moved one hand from your shoulder to cup your face, leaning in to brush her lips against yours in a soft, grounding kiss before pulling back. “You can, and you will. If Daddy wants another from you, you’ll give it to her,” her voice so sweet and breathy despite the command she was giving.

Natasha shifted beneath you, humming low and approving, her hands coaxing your hips in tiny, irresistible movements, forcing you to grind against her again. “No… It’s too much, Mommy… fuck,” you gasped again, your body quivering. 

“That doesn’t sound like your safeword, zlatíčko (darling),” Wanda teased, a smirk playing across her lips. She knew you too well, she understood that it wasn’t really too much, it was just the overwhelming, delicious edge you were on. “Be a good girl and cum again, hm?”

You could only nod, surrendering entirely, letting the sensations guide you as you melted into the rhythm. Your eyes fluttered, tears threatening, breath hitching painfully, muscles trembling with overstimulation as Natasha’s mouth continued its relentless work. 

Finally, the edge shattered. It tore through you in a broken, shuddering release, a small, helpless sound spilling from your throat. Your chest heaved, your breath coming in ragged pulls, vision swimming as the aftershocks rolled through you.

Only then did Natasha slow before she tapped your thigh once, a quiet signal, grounding you enough to move.

You slid off her shakily and collapsed beside her on the bed. She pushed herself up just slightly, clearly aware that Wanda was still waiting, but her attention stayed on you for a moment longer. Her eyes swept over you, slow and assessing. You knew you must have looked utterly ruined. You certainly felt it, wrecked to the bone.

“You did so well, kotenok (kitten),” she murmured, voice low and warm. “Let Daddy help Mommy cum, yeah?”

It wasn’t a throwaway question. It was a check-in, an opening, a chance for you to say if you needed her now. You didn’t. You were spent, your head empty in the best way, floating somewhere soft and distant.

“Yeah,” you whispered. You sank back against the headboard, limbs heavy, eyes drooping as you settled in to watch, even as exhaustion pulled at you and blinking felt like work.

Natasha shifted further, easing herself into a more upright position. Every small movement dragged a sound from Wanda. Natasha’s hands found Wanda’s hips, steady and sure, guiding her movements, her mouth tracing up Wanda’s neck as she murmured encouragements too quiet for you to make out.

“Harder, Nat, please,” Wanda begged, and Natasha didn’t hesitate. She planted her feet firmly into the bed, using them as leverage as she drove upwards, setting a brutal, relentless pace. Each thrust resulting in a filthy wet sound, followed by the slap of her skin against Wanda's.

Wanda was screaming now, curses spilling from her mouth in every language she knew, voice cracking as the intensity mounted. Eventually the words dissolved entirely, reduced to open, wrecked moans that sounded almost obscene in their pleasure.

Natasha’s breath came out in rough, uneven bursts, each thrust drawing a low grunt from her chest as she drove Wanda closer and closer to the edge. Her hands slid higher, bracing beneath Wanda’s arms before settling firmly on her shoulders, pushing Wanda down with each up stroke. 

Wanda broke with a cry that echoed through the room, loud and unrestrained. She clutched at Natasha, sobbing, laughing, gasping all at once, completely undone as Natasha slowed the pace, working her through her climax before stopping completely.

“Beautiful, Wands,” Natasha praised, the words rounded by exhaustion and affection. She leaned in to brush a lingering kiss to Wanda’s lips before easing back against the pillows, one arm drawing Wanda down with her.

Wanda followed easily, shifting just enough to free the strap from inside her and get comfortable before settling fully into Natasha’s chest. Her shoulders dropped, her breathing evened, and a quiet, satisfied sound slipped from her as her eyes fluttered shut, her fingers curling loosely into Natasha’s shirt like she was anchoring herself there.

You stayed where you were, still perched slightly apart, watching the scene unfold with a soft, unfocused smile. Everything felt distant in the best way, your thoughts slow and syrupy, body heavy and warm. The room felt hushed now, filled only with the sound of their breathing and the faint rustle of sheets as they adjusted around each other.

For a long moment, you didn’t even consider moving. You were content just watching them, feeling the aftershocks ripple lazily through you, your limbs boneless, your mind pleasantly blank. 

“Pupsik (sweetie),” she coaxed, voice still rough around the edges but threaded with gentle amusement, “are you planning on staying over there admiring the view… or are you going to come here?”

The words cut through the haze slowly, giving you time to process them. You blinked, reality sliding back into focus bit by bit. “Oh…” you breathed, then nodded, a little clumsy as you shifted closer. “Yeah. Yeah.”

You tucked yourself into Natasha’s side, fitting into the space she made for you without hesitation. Her arm came around you immediately, firm and reassuring, pulling you in until you were pressed flush against her warmth. 

Wanda adjusted automatically too, one hand drifting to rest against your arm, fingers absentmindedly tracing there as if confirming you were real, that you were safe and close.

Natasha tipped her head down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, as if she were easing you back into yourself one gentle touch at a time. After a moment, she spoke, her voice quieter now, sincere beneath the warmth. “How do you feel about Christmas after today?”

You didn’t have to think about it. “I don’t think I ever want it to end,” you admitted softly. “The whole day’s been… perfect. Thank you. For all of it.”

Natasha’s smile turned lazy and content, the kind that only appeared when she was truly at ease. “That’s how Christmas should be,” she replied. “And that’s how it’s going to be, going forward.” Then her tone shifted, teasing creeping back in as her eyes flicked between you and Wanda. “Though I do think we should save those sets for next year too. I can’t get over how perfect you both look.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you blushed, and Wanda let out a quiet chuckle, still too comfortable to move. “If you like lingerie that much,” you teased, “maybe Wanda and I can plan a few more surprises for you.”

Natasha’s eyebrow lifted, amusement sparking in her eyes. “Careful,” she warned, “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, little one.”

A grin tugged at your lips, confidence buzzing pleasantly beneath your skin. “Oh, I intend to,” you replied, the words easy and certain, already half-lost in the ideas spinning through your mind of what you could do next.