#dahliiawrites

Ever since Wanda and Natasha forced you onto maternity leave, you’ve had a sickening amount of time to yourself. Instead of taking your place beside them at the company, you stayed at home meal prepping their lunches, cleaning, and making dinner.  

Everything you once found fun or relaxing became boring after the first month. Especially after the two of them started meal prepping for you instead, getting a firm handle on both your dietary restrictions and fleeting cravings. Next was Wanda starting to insist more on going out for dinner. Then it was Natasha hiring private cleaning services.  

Rather than there being time between tasks, there was just time. There was nothing to do. So, you decided to fill that space in another way.  

Shopping.  

You figured it was the one activity they couldn’t stop you from doing if it was all for the baby and you—mostly you at this stage. You were prepared to endure nagging when you checked the time and noticed you’d be getting home later than your wives.  

Part of you was expecting a suggestion to do online shopping instead, hire a personal shopper who had your measurements down pat, or let them pick everything up before coming home to you. Wanda sure did love dressing you.  

Instead, you came home to a kind of quiet that left you skeptical of their intentions. Not quiet in the way there was no chatter, just quiet in the way there was no fuss or sweet words steering you towards the “right” choices.  

It was shocking. 

Earlier this week, Natasha was stressed out of her mind when you joined her on your usual run about the park. You figured, if you couldn’t join them at the office, might as well enjoy the ritual before work. Not only did she jog half the usual pace, she cut the route short altogether. She turned back home a mile in.  

None of your cursing changed her mind. You both cleared this routine with your doctor weeks ago, but Natasha would always turn around the second your breathing lost its usual rhythm. 

You’ve been making her walk the mile with you since. And though she thinks you’re not aware, you hear her visit the home gym forty-five minutes before your alarm goes off every morning.  

You know she’s using the treadmill.  

Upon walking in, you found Natasha rushing across the foyer to meet you at the door. Before your bags could touch the ground, there was a kiss upon your cheek and fists around the handles of your totes.  

“Go sit in the mudroom. I’ll put these in the living room. Wanda wants a haul after dinner malysh.” From the aroma alone, you could nearly taste the steak at the entryway.  

“Of course she does.” You sighed out.  

That was another thing. You weren’t allowed to take your own shoes off anymore. You grunted while bent over, three weeks ago, and the two of them had taken it with the utmost seriousness. It was almost terrifying how adamant they were about tying your shoes.  

Eventually you learned to stick with sandals for most of your outings. Thinking you’d be home before them, but knowing how much you’d be on your feet, you chose your favorite sneakers today.  

Leave it to Natasha to assess you from head to toe in a heartbeat.   

Your redhead was back within seconds, eager to attend to you. Her adoring eyes fell over you again as she reached towards you to smooth out your hair. She rubbed and brushed gently over your head before bending down for a real kiss.  

Natasha’s palm rested over your ear as she pressed her lips onto yours. It was tender. And while all you tasted was home, all she got was a hint that you’d indulged in mall food before getting back.  

You pulled away, decided you weren't finished, and leaned back in to peck at her lips. “You’re ruining my appetite.” Natasha smirked and caught your bottom lip between hers, sucking it softly. The two of you fell back into an easy rhythm. You wanted to deepen it, open wider for her, hoping to slide your tongue in her mouth. But before you could go for it, she was drawing away from you.  

“I think those cinnamon pretzel bites already did the job, malyshka.” You pouted at her, annoyed by how easily she figured it out even after you took care of washing the treat down on the drive home.  

“I only had like five Natty.” You rolled your eyes, making a more than obvious effort to lose eye contact.  

You could see the way she raised her eyebrows at you before kneeling. “Right.” You faced her again, following her movements as she rolled up your pants' leg.  

“I did.” 

“Tell that to Wanda.” You were quiet for a moment as she started to undo your shoelaces.  

“You think I can brush my teeth before we get to the kitchen?” There was a fifty percent chance she’d kiss you before dinner and find out the same way Natasha did, but you were hoping that a chaste peck and chatting her up could distract her enough later.  

“Baby, your receipt’s in the Rosie’s Boutique bag.” She slid your right sneaker off.  

“Maybe I could trash it then?” You wondered.  

Natasha pats your calf before getting up to store your shoes away. “I’ll throw it out in my office. It’ll be our secret.”  

You kicked your leg out and rubbed your feet up and down her leg, slightly dragging her sweats with the movement, giggling as you spoke. “Mm, you’re so good to me.” She shakes her head, amused by your actions, as she closes the mudroom cabinet.  

You bit your lip at the sight of your slightly swollen ankles, hoping Natasha wouldn’t say anything to you about them, or worse, to Wanda.  

She’s back on her knees again, and you watch as she lightly massages them. Unbothered by the dampness, she brushed her thumbs over the indents your socks had pressed into your skin. She slid your house shoes from underneath the seat and slipped them onto your feet with a breath of finality.  

Natasha pulls you from the bench and back through the formal entry way, ready to make good on her promise to you. She leaves you standing in the hall as she runs to snatch up the evidence. She returns with a small smile on her face, waving the receipt at you, then slipping it in her pocket. 

“Keep her company while I wrap up this email for Maria. I’ll be right down.” Natasha kisses your forehead.  

A hum vibrates in your throat, and you turn to leave, but not before pinching her ass and rushing away; ultimately, fearing her retaliation. “You better be.”  

A couple turns later and you’re greeted with the homely sight of your lover hovering over the island stove, two pans on the eye and a cutting board nearby. Seeing her in the kitchen always gave you a rush of warmth, loving how she seemed so at peace in the space. Every time you saw her standing there, it brought you back to the first time she saw the kitchen after the rebuild. Even as her wife, you’re not sure you ever saw her look more in love.  

Your arms wrap around her midsection with swiftness. You stand somewhat to the side of her, knowing this was as close as you could get to her with your bump growing larger by the day.  

“Hi draga mea, we missed you today,” she turns and pecks your lips “talk to me while I finish with the asparagus, will you?” You hummed and found a stool nearby, ready to tell her all about the deals you got on items for the nursery and how your new earrings match perfectly with your anniversary bracelet from them.  

Wanting to give you something to do, your wife tasks you with pouring water for each of you. Usually, on a night like this, wine was the go-to. But with your predicament, it’d be a few more months before you could enjoy alcohol again.  

Soon, Natasha was joining both of you and plating dinner for everyone. The food was steaming. Wanda carries her own plate, and yours, to the dining table while Nat sets her meal down, pulls out your seat, and grabs cutlery from the kitchen.  

Your plates weren’t full for long. 

A bowl of ice cream, two cookies, a chopped-up cucumber drenched in sriracha and sesame oil (courtesy of the Russian who insists you stay away from knives), a cup of tea, and two sad Disney movies later you were sat waiting on your ottoman as one of your wives drew the bath and the other handled dishes. 

You rested against the foot of the bed, hand rubbing over your belly as you fought to keep your eyes open. Eating so much had worn you out, and now sleep was calling your name. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to get up again without Natasha’s help.  

“Oh god, I’m stuffed.” You whine out.  

Your wife walks in the room, drying her hands with a small towel. There’s no doubt she’d already tested the water for you. “Honestly, I’d be scared if you weren’t.” You grunted at her words and closed your eyes.  

“Don’t fall asleep on me, it’s almost ready.” She laughs. “Do you want the chamomile or the lavender, krasotka?”  

You had no energy to choose.  

“Could you decide? I want you in there with me.” That was all you knew.  

“We’ll do a blend tonight.” You nod and watch her disappear into the on suite once more.  

Soon she’s reentering the bedroom and dragging you to the bathtub.  

Natasha helps you undress quietly. It’s a ritual you wouldn’t give up for the world. You rest your hands on her shoulders as she helps you step out of your pants and underwear, grateful for all the ways she provides you with stability.  

She proceeds to remove her clothing as you wait beside her, watching with, now, awake eyes. They trail over her form, taking in the scars of childhood, her curves, the freckles littered across her skin, and the goosebumps from standing bare.  

She helps you into the water, one hand holding tightly onto your arm and the other supporting your back as you sit inside. Natasha joins you in no time. She settles in behind you, arms sitting loosely around your sides, legs encapsulating your own.  

The two of you sit skin-to-skin, enjoying the dimly lit bathroom, evenly heated water, and a kind of serenity enhanced by the perfectly measured essential oils.  

“I’m so happy Wanda decided on the heated tub during the remodel. I think this is my favorite part of the night.” Natasha was silent behind you. You giggle before turning to look back at her; her eyes closed as her head lay against the edge of the bath. She’d tell you she wasn’t sleeping if you asked, “just resting” instead.   

“I’m starting to think you drawing a bath every night is definitely more for you than it is for me.” You pinch her lower thigh, drawing a performative hiss from your wife.  

“So what? Now it’s criminal for me to need to hold my girl after a long day at work?” She kisses the side of your head.  

You deadpan. “We cuddle almost every night, Natasha.”  

“We don’t cuddle naked every night.” Her tone was full of grievance, as though it was criminal you weren’t always nude for her past 7pm.  

“Just about.” There was no more giggling, just loud, unrestrained, laughter after you said those words. 

You feel her chest jump against your back as she begins to laugh along with you. Then, it was quiet for a moment.  

“I miss you when you’re at work—both of you. I miss being at work. I thought I’d enjoy leave, but there’s way too much nothing to do.” Natasha chuckles at that.  

“We don’t want you stressed—we talked about this.” Wanda spoke from the doorway. She pads over to both of you and settles on the rug adjacent to the tub.  

You turn to look at her, not having heard her enter the bedroom. “I know, trust me, I do. But I just feel useless. I miss doing something as simple as bringing files to your office, in heels, or cleaning the bathroom on weekends.”  

“Celine does look good on you.” You flicked water on Wanda’s face and pouted.  

“I’m being serious. You guys don’t even let me carry groceries in from the garage anymore.”  

“Malyshka, you are not useless. You are creating life. You deserve this. We want to take care of you. We need to take care of you.” You feel Natasha’s hands splay out atop your own and across your stomach, your bump looking especially precious to her in that moment. Wanda’s hands join yours there; the three of you interconnected in a single moment.  

“I think, in a way, we feel on the outside of things. You’re carrying twins for us. Your body is changing every day and the least we can do for you is give you peace of mind. So no, we don’t want you handling harsh chemicals, no we don’t want your feet swollen into designer heels for nine hours a day, and no we don’t need you hauling bags into the house. You are the one doing all the heavy lifting between us. And you may not see it that way, or acknowledge it, but we do. And we admire you for it.”  

Natasha’s fingers lace with yours, creating a ripple effect. You all squeeze each other’s hands tightly. “We love you for it.”  

Wanda nods in agreement and speaks. 

“We do. It’s not that we see you as fragile or incapable now. We see you as stronger than ever. Doing what we do for you gives us a chance to match that strength.”  

“We want this journey to be as safe for you as possible. We’d do anything to make sure you and the girls come out of this healthy.” Natasha peppers kisses along your right shoulder while Wanda brings your intertwined hands out of the water and presses her lips long and hard against the back of your palm.  

“I understand. I appreciate both of you. I just…miss my old routine.” 

“And you’ll get back to some version of it, we promise. But for now, we just want you to relax. And while Natasha and I are beyond excited to see the twins, once they come, none of us will be able to enjoy our usual lifestyle. So much is going to change, my love. Let’s enjoy the slow period while we can.” Your lip quirks up at that.  

The way the two of them always manage to speak to you so gently made you swoon. No matter how irritated you were with the slower routine, at the end of the day, it was always these two taking care of you.  

Every annoyance was washed away by their patient explanations and getting you to see their perspective of things. While it didn’t dissolve all you felt, watching your old life slip from your grasp, you were content to be reminded that this wasn’t forever.  

“Let us take care of you.”  

You expect to find warm affection in Wanda’s eyes, and you do, but along with it is a look you know all too well. “I feel like that means something really different right now.” You whisper.  

“Maybe.” Natasha mumbles against your skin.  

You knew they’d be plotting something at some point this evening.  

“You want it to?” An eager nod answers her question. In a split second, Wanda is on her knees and pulling your face close to hers. Her thumb brushes across your helix before coming to a rest right below your jaw. She feels the way it works as you open up for her.  

There’s no hesitation, only heat. Her tongue pushes into your mouth, eager to wrap around your own. To drag the tip of it across the roof of your mouth and feel you shiver—like you always do. It was intoxicating, to be dragged into this space by her, by either of them, and to sit in a haze as they have their way with you.  

The pregnancy only made you more submissive, if possible, and they relished your obedience and surrender. But the best part was how sensitive you became under their care. 

Natasha squeezes your hip and you moan into Wanda’s mouth. You’d never been as vocal as you were now, and the two of them loved to grip onto you wherever they could—waiting to hear the way you responded to their teasing touches.  

Both women wasted no time getting you on your knees. You face Wanda entirely, Natasha holding you up from behind, making sure you don’t slip and keeping your legs open for the two of them. She’s careful not to push her weight into you, keeping your belly from pressing hard against the wall of the tub.  

Still, you start to feel annoyed at the barrier between you and Wanda, the tub’s edge and how, not, naked she was. Before you could whine about it, her hands were rushing up the front of your body, fervently, seeking a place to rest.  

One hand drags down from your head to your hip, the other going to wrap around one of your breasts. You choke back a whimper as she pulls at a nipple, rolling it between her forefinger and thumb.  

“I bet we could make you fall apart for us just like this draga. Won’t even have to touch that little cunt of yours.” Your heart jumps, and the building ache between your thighs become unbearable at the very thought of climaxing without either of their fingers inside you.  

Your mouth falls open, unable to properly respond. Only her name comes out. “Wands...”  

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You nodded bashfully.  

“Oh sweetheart, we’ve taught you better than that. Haven’t we, Natalia?”  

Natasha’s touch was softer, not lacking passion, just slower, not hesitant, only intent. Her mouth sucked at the skin right under your ear, one of the spots that’d make you fall into her, just right, when she wanted to see you unravel. She was completely caught up in you, her ears only perking at the sounds of your breathless moans and pants, her body entirely attuned to the way you squirmed between them.  

“Don’t tell me you need to be retrained too. Both of you, I want to hear you.” Natasha raises her head, partially dazed by the heat of the moment. Her skin flushed further at being called out.  

A synchronized yes answers her.  

You turned away from Wanda to look at Natasha. Your wife’s hands fell just under where you craved her and just above where you needed her.  

Out the corner of your eye, you see Wanda begin to pull away. She ties her hair up quickly before getting her hands back on you. Your breath hitches as she dips her head lower and lower. Going from soft kisses and suckling across your sternum to having her teeth scratch lightly against the peaks of your breasts. Natasha watches your chest rise and fall. She feels arousal build at the sight of Wanda flicking her tongue over you and drawing in as much as she could fill her mouth with.  

“Need you too. Please ‘Tasha.” Your hips rocked into her front.  

“You up for the challenge, detka?” Instead of speaking, you take one of Natasha’s hands, bringing it to brush against the nipple Wanda had yet to touch.  

It was enough of an answer for her.  

Your head falls back onto her shoulder as she starts to massage you gingerly, knowing the softness of it all would keep you right where she wanted. Her hand was full of you.  

As Natasha switches between thumbing over your nipple and letting the pads of her fingers circle them. Wanda’s letting her nails skim over your spit covered tit, drawing back whenever your moans heighten in pitch, then nipping at them when Natasha holds both steady for her.  

The two work in tandem. Wanda swirling her tongue around the tips while Natasha restrained herself from manhandling the flesh between her fingers. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, tingles spread from the bottom of your spine to the base of your neck, and you attempted to push yourself further into Wanda’s mouth. 

You tried to cover your moans, but your wife was quick enough to restrain you. Your wrist was brought back down to your side.  

“Uh-uh, we wanna hear all your pretty sounds.” Natasha’s voice was deep and full of warning, only adding to the buildup.  

The noises you wanted to mask came spilling out as Wanda dragged her tongue heavily across your chest. They came out messy and long. Your breathing turned erratic, your gut tightened, and your back arched as she worked you. The steam around you had each of you glistening with sweat. Instead of your muscles being relaxed by an evening soak, they were now drawn taut by the effort of keeping up with the women embracing you.  

“Look at what she’s doing to you, malysh.” Natasha commanded. “Already got you on that edge, huh?”  

“Please I—Fuck!”  

You could barely hold eye contact with her. Those deep green eyes that glinted, almost sinisterly, when she had you on the precipice. When she knew she could take it all away from you. You could only pray she wouldn’t.  

“Faster. Wanda. Need it.” She hummed over your skin. Any other night, she’d never take a demand from you. She expected pretty pleas at all times, play or not, she gave you what she wanted you to have.  

Natasha went from looking over your shoulder, admiring your wife on her knees, a sight she doesn't get often, to leaving hickeys up and down the span of your neck. You hissed when she bit down, moaned when her heated tongue smoothed over the mark, smiled when she kissed you and whispered in your ear.  

“So perfect for us. The sooner you cum, the faster I clean up your little mess down here, krasotka.” She palms your ass, spreading you apart, exposing you, and letting the air graze against your most sensitive area.  

You were dripping by now, aching for either of them to slide a finger between your folds, over your clit, to dance around your opening, all before stretching you open. You could feel the way your arousal trickled down your thighs, not taking long before it dribbled into the fragrant water below.  

Natasha sucks your earlobe into her mouth, teeth grazing it, as Wanda’s tongue flits around your areola, and you cry out for the both of them in a single breath.  

You clenched around nothing, feeling a pleasant wave of warmth wash over you from your chest to your core. The feeling was euphoric; you had only ever come once from nipple stimulation alone. Natasha and Wanda have been vying to get you there since.  

The night it happened led to their longest session with you. The state you entered following that wave of ecstasy was the highest they’d ever brought you to. It was addictive to watch as your eyes glaze over, to have you cling to them, to hear the most unrestrained sounds fall out of your mouth as they fucked you.  

Your hands clutch Wanda’s shoulders as she laps over your nipples for the last time, feeling especially overstimulated even through the carefulness of her motions.  

Wanda pulls back with a triumphant look on her face, watching you go limp in Natasha’s arms. Her thumbs rub circles into the sides of your hips as she watches you twitch, your bottom half searching for the same stimulation.  

Her hands leave to hold your face, her fingers pushing back strands of damp baby hair before your cheeks rest in her palms.  

“My beautiful, beautiful girl.” She kisses your forehead. “We‘re so proud of you sweetheart.” You whine at her tone, her praise, and her smile widens. She bites down on her lip, shooting a look to Natasha before standing on slightly shaking legs, her knees weak from kneeling too long. 

They had you in the perfect state for them. Blissed out and pliant, soaked, ready for whatever came next, willing to take everything they could give you.   

“Let’s take you to bed. We’ll get you all comfortable so Natty can do something about this, my love. Yeah?” Wanda’s palm slid over your folds, collecting your arousal and spreading it over her fingers, as she spoke.

She reaches out to take your hands while Natasha lifts you up. They work together in getting you to dry your feet on the rug, not wanting you to slip on the tile as they aided you to the bedroom. 

The three of you spend the rest of the night tangled up in one another, both of them mindful of your physical limitations, but stretching you out every way they desired. Natasha was the first one to knock out, leaving you and Wanda cuddled up in the center of the bed, Nat’s limbs hanging off the side, sheet barely drawn over her naked form.  

You two spoke gently to each other, not wanting to wake her up, but wanting this quiet, soft, moment to last even a minute longer.  

“I was thinking of going to mommy yoga downtown. It’s low impact. Plus, I can do a majority of their classes up until my due date. They have lessons for every trimester. What do you think, Wands?” You turned your head towards the wife that was barely hanging on to consciousness, the other breathing deeply behind you.  

“I think we already do enough mommy yoga, iubi.” She muttered drowsily.  

Wanda was lucky to be an enhanced individual. She knows that now.  

It was hard to be ignorant of all the advantages when she suffered truly little downsides of pregnancy. A low chant here, a flick of the hand there, and any pain she had was gone.  

Regardless, she felt the luckiest when it came to using her magic for you and Natasha. 

The way she’d conjure exquisite toys to use on either of you, the times she’d synch her peaks with you, all the nights she’d fill you both with enough energy for another round, every time she could feel how close to that edge you were and stop it with a single thought, she loved it all.  

If she had to guess, Natasha’s favorite night in bed was the very evening she gave her something real. A night she could spill into Wanda. The night that resulted in her, sitting like this, pregnant. 

But you, their good girl, always went starry-eyed at the sight of her full breasts. It was adorable the way your mouth would water for her, the softness that would set in on your features, a mind that broke at the thought of milking her dry, a mind that prepared itself to kneel and beg and enter a perfect state of compliance.  

She missed it.  

As of late, the three of you were rushing to get things done around the home. The nesting and anxiety took over at the sight of Wanda growing rounder. Along with the task of planning a gender reveal party, none of you could think about sex when long days of building furniture and toys, shopping for clothing, picking the right shade for the nursery, and finding the decorations for your theme had you all winded. The end of one project always spurred thoughts on the next.  

But now she wanted it. It took little convincing from Natasha to spell her breasts full of magic-induced milk. It was all for you. And the show was all for them.  

You hadn’t noticed the difference at first. Your brain endlessly filled with ideas of where to install Tony’s specially made baby monitor. You were sure the crib would change places about four more times before Wanda’s water broke, and maybe three after, so there had to be a spot in the room that could capture most, if not all, angles. The other would latch right onto the edges of the crib, but as a family with enemies, every corner had to be covered.  

Wanda and Natasha took note of the distracted look in your eyes as Modern Family played on. Your favorite episode was streaming, and yet you laughed at none of the jokes and lip-synched none of the lines. For Wanda, you were too far away from her. She needed you—badly.  

The added weight on her chest had her soaked. But every time she looked your way, she could tell your mind was on everything but the way her tits spilled out her tank top. She didn’t need her powers to understand that.  

Natasha herself was getting impatient. Her fingers twitched at the thought of stretching you out and pounding inside of Wanda. Her desire for both of you was a bottomless pit. And most of all, she wanted to watch you in her wife’s arms, getting high off Wanda’s magic infused milk, your tummy getting oh so full of her.  

The worst part was how clueless you were. They couldn’t even count the number of times they’d let their hands linger on your body for longer than necessary. You didn’t mind how lewd the kisses had become before dinner or their short and thin loungewear. There was so much that’d went over your head tonight.  

Wanda just had to remind herself that the reward of turning off your brain would taste so much sweeter after all the failed initiations of foreplay.  

Her tone was deceptively innocent as she started. “Baby, why don’t you come over here for us? Mommy wants you to hold her, could you do that for me?”  

Your head snapped over to Wanda instantly. A shy smile rushed onto your face at her words. You nodded silently and got up from the armchair, making your way closer to the two women across from you.  

Wanda sat up from her relaxed position, allowing you the space to settle down behind her. The two of you now lay cuddled up on the L-shaped sectional, your legs on the outside of hers, your hands situating themselves, naturally, over her pregnant belly. Natasha sat beside you two, her hand immediately landing on your thigh, a gentle thumb rubbing over the skin there.  

The three of you continued your watch quietly. Your palms started to circle Wanda’s stomach softly, and you lay a sweet kiss to the back of her head. Your mind quiets and you start engaging with the show, your lips moving alongside the characters and your laughs falling after one-liners you’d heard a thousand times before.  

The skin beneath Natasha’s hand heated up considerably with her working over the area. Her motions got slightly wider, and your mind got increasingly quieter. This was working for them. Your wives exchange a private look before Wanda makes the first move.   

The witch in front of you snatches up the hands on her lower belly and drags them further upward. Closer to where she wanted you. Though she hoped you’d get there on your own, she knew her little girl was a bit too dumb to understand she needed you now. Still, she’d give you time.  

Or at least until the next episode begins.  

You pecked at her shoulder and grabbed Natasha’s hand, holding it loosely, and unknowingly stopping her right before she started creeping closer to your core.  

So maybe she’d have to force a commercial break. Nothing she hasn’t done before.  

You groaned as an advertisement started to blare from the TV, the increased sound worked your nerves instantly as it fell on the best part of the episode.  

“‘Tasha, I thought we subscribed to the ‘No Ads’ version of this.” You whined out.  

“I’ll check on it tonight, detka.” She replied, already knowing the exact source of the issue sat comfortably in your arms.  

Wanda huffed in front of you. Her irritation spiked within half a second. Worried, you begin to ask a series of questions, all of them she shook her head to. She didn’t need a snack, she wasn’t cold, nor did she want a glass of water, you couldn’t figure out what she needed.  

“Feeling sore?” You guessed. 

Finally, she saw a way for this to work. “I think so, could you keep rubbing me sweetheart? Only, here.” She plopped your hands atop her chest, stealing one from Natasha’s grip, and sighed in relief.  

As soon as your hands started moving, the show resumed. You continued your ministrations mindlessly, and Natasha’s hand returned to your leg, only higher this time.  

Wanda’s head fell back onto your shoulder as you worked her up. Her legs crossed between yours inconspicuously, and she sighed, clenching her thighs together as the fire in her stomach grew. Natasha would be lying if she said she wasn’t jealous. How couldn’t she be envious of either of you? One fell into the trap of the other, holding her wife just the way she wanted, and the other laid, completely relaxed, into the delicate hands of their best girl.  

She needed to find a way to speed this up. But Wanda was already on it.  

She reveled in the way you pawed her. Your touch had the perfect pressure, it landed in all the right places, massaged her so carefully. And you did it all without knowing just how much she craved you. It turned her on knowing how oblivious you were.  

Her head grew lighter as your hands struggled to hold all of her. You didn’t even know how full she was for you. Her nipples perked up beneath the fabric. The sensation of the tank top, and the lack of a bra, brought her pleasure to new heights.  

You felt her top grow slightly damp as your fingers splayed across her chest and slid across the peaks of her breasts. “Wanda?”  

You squeezed the fabric beneath your fingers and subsequently, the most sensitive area of her bust. In that moment, Wanda wasn’t sure whether or not you were playing dumb.   

Her voice came out strained, carrying a trace of annoyance. “Did I tell you to stop?”  

“No...” You were cautious.  

Wanda’s head turned towards you, and you met her eyes. Your lips were dangerously close to hers from the position she’d taken on your shoulder.  

Natasha was the one to remind you first. “No, what?” Now you’d caught up to them.  

“No, mommy. You didn’t tell me to stop.”  

“There’s my good girl.” She kisses your jaw and your hands get back to moving. One slides under your witch’s tank, ready to play with her properly.  

“Our good girl.” Natasha whispers as she takes the other and drags it between her legs.  

The woman was turned towards the both of you now, on display, and aching for something to fill her. She pulled her shorts to the side, her cunt weeping, skin there flushed and waiting for you to so much as graze her. Her own fingers spread her folds apart, baring herself to you entirely. She holds herself open and watches with parted lips as you let your forefinger draw around the lips swollen from arousal.  

You never got tired of this. Your fingers pull harshly at the nipple between them. Wanda’s breath hitches near your ear. Both you and her stare, fully entranced, by Natasha. The pad of your finger brushes over her clit, and you’re sure you hear her swallow back a whimper.  

“Go ahead sweetheart, give daddy what she wants.” Wanda orders you.  

While your eyes had turned away from her, one of Wanda’s hands occupied the space beside yours. It tugged at her peaks, a small bit of the area damp from the milk that’d leaked out. Her breath became labored as she watched you enter Natasha.  

A groan fell from both their lips, one at the sight, the other at the feeling.  

“That’s it detka.” She bit her lip as she looked down, chest heaving as you thrust inside her at a steady pace.  

The obscene sounds coming from your fingers being drawn in had you hooked. You pushed deeper and tried to find a balance between the women in front of you. One hand tweaked a hardened nipple, you grazed over the very tips of them, letting the lightness of the motion push Wanda closer to orgasm. The other hand stretched Natasha out, fingers scissoring, curling, twisting.  

You drove them insane.  

Natasha’s hand, previously keeping her steady on the couch, jumps just above your own.  

“Fuck! Yes, malysh. Faster.” Natasha groaned from her spot next to you.  

Your fingers began to piston out of her, her own rubbing tight circles around her clit as the heat built up. You could feel her clench around you, and you grew wetter at the feeling her dragging you in, not wanting to let go.  

Despite the awkward angle, you sped up even more, eager to see her spill onto your hand. You wanted to hear her praise, to hear her telling you how you “got daddy off so well”. You needed it.  

Your palmed Wanda’s breast at the mere thought, your rougher actions making her throb. Her mouth opened wider, a breathless moan escaping as you played with her. Her other hand drew lightly across a pebbled nipple; she couldn’t wait to have your mouth wrapped around them. She twisted it between her fingers and gasped as she began to leak more. Your mouth watered once you felt the warmth of it on your skin.  

Wanda watched you salivate. Her eyes glowed with satisfaction as they flitted over your features. You were ready for her. It was that realization alone that pushed her over the edge. She came with a cry and her magic sparked about the room.  

Natasha followed soon after. With her own fingers pinching at her swollen clit, and your fingers plunging in and out of her, she’d completely fell apart. You slowed your pace, allowing her the space to come down slowly.  

Her shirt had risen above her navel. You stared as she breathed heavily, the sweat glistening, drops of it soaking into the band of her shorts.  

You had yet to take your hand away from her when Wanda spoke. “Let mommy have a taste, draga.”  

Gently, you pull your hand away from Natasha. She blows a quiet breath out as she gets used to the feeling of being empty again. You hold your fingers to Wanda's lips, and she takes them eagerly. Her tongue swirls over your fingers, separates them inside her mouth, sucks them thoroughly before letting them go with a pop.  

She gestures for Natasha, and she moves with swiftness, getting up and hovering over you to kiss Wanda. One hand on the arm rest to your side, keeping her upright, the other at the base of Wanda’s neck. Wanda presses her tongue into Nat’s mouth, and you find yourself uncomfortably aware of the fact that you haven’t come yet. You whine, feeling left out, wanting to taste her just as much.  

“Daddy, me too.” You tug at the bottom of her shirt.  

Natasha separates from her wife, a string of spit connecting the two of them together. Your eyes follow it until it breaks.  

“Want you and mommy.” Then you remember. “Please?”  

“Oh malyshka, you don’t know how long we’ve been waiting to hear you say those words.”  

Natasha sits back down, facing you once more, and leans in. You attempt to meet her halfway, limited by Wanda resting against your chest, and her face lingers centimeters from yours. You hated it when she teased you like this. She inches forward, brushing her lips against yours.  

“I—” 

Finally, she gives in, cutting you off, unable to deny you and your pleading eyes any longer. You sigh into her mouth and relax back into the couch, her hand wraps around your throat possessively. She gives a light squeeze there and you gasp. The kiss was short. You could barely grasp the flavor of her, but you hold onto the hints of a salty, slightly sweet, and heady taste of her essence. She nibbles on your bottom lip before backing off and speaking.  

“Mommy has something special for you tonight. Have you noticed yet?” The smile that stretched across her face was tantalizing.  

You nod, excited again by what else this night entailed.  

There was a shift in the atmosphere, the two of them now ready to take care of you the way they’ve been craving. The three of you shuffle, get yourself together, and head to the primary suite.  

You stand at the edge of the bed as they throw half the pillows to the ground and shed their clothes. You do the same, dropping them near the nightstand.  

“Come here, draga.”  

Wanda’s resting on her side, furthest away from you. She pats to the spot in the middle, gesturing for you to settle down. Natasha sits at the end of the bed, waiting for you to comply. You do so with ease.  

You lay on your back right beside Wanda. She narrows the space between you both 

“Natty’s gonna clean you right up, sweetheart. Then I’ll give you what we’ve all been waiting for, how does that sound?”   

You nod enthusiastically. “Good, mommy.”  

“Spread your legs for ‘Tasha. Yes, there we go.” She smooths your hair back and tucks it behind your ears.  

Natasha moves closer. She marks her way down your neck, scatters kisses across your clavicle, and down your abdomen, all before pausing where you needed her most. She doesn’t waste time teasing.  

You suck in a large breath as she dives in. Natasha thumbs at your clit and sucks puffy lips into her mouth. You tremble as she spreads you out further, tongue flicking rapidly over your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips raise up off the bed. You’re not sure if they’re chasing her or pulling away.  

Wanda hushes you. “It’s okay draga, let daddy make you feel good.” 

Natasha wasn’t polite, she wasn’t neat either. She devoured you—sloppy. A combination of her saliva and your arousal covered her lips and chin. She continued, her cheeks hollowing out as she sucked you in. Her tongue fucked into you at a brutal pace.  

You gasp out and nearly shoot up, but Wanda holds you down. She whispers words of praise, tells you to take it, that you should be grateful Natasha wasn’t making you beg for it.  

“Let go when you need to baby, we’re right here.” You were gushing for her before you even hit that peak, the comforter under you growing damp.  

Natasha slips two fingers into your wet heat, knowing how close you were to coming apart, wanting you to fall over that edge for her. Your moans increase as her rhythm gives you no time to take proper breaths. Still, you hold it in, your muscles tense up and your back arches as you feel the tension reach its breaking point. A hum over your swollen clit does you in, and you come undone. Your cunt clenches around her, fingers stilling as she helps you ride it out. But her jaw never stops working, lapping you up gently, avoiding overstimulation as you calm down. 

She cleans you up tenderly, placing a small kiss to your clit and thigh before she can bear to pull herself away. Truthfully, she wasn‘t done with you but decides on mercy for now, knowing the night wasn’t close to over. This was just a break in the program. She watches the way your lids start to fall shut, and a smug smile grows on her face. They were used to the exhaustion that came after they worked you up. They also knew it wouldn’t last more than an hour.  

They began to move quietly, pulling back covers to tuck you in under. They get you on your side and scoot you closer to Wanda’s chest, allowing you to latch onto her comfortably. It didn’t take long before you felt sweetness coat your tongue. You gulp it down greedily.  

Wanda always made it a special experience for you, using different enchantments to get you high, build your arousal, send you to sleep, or heighten your pleasure. Tonight’s milk was especially calming.  

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders as you suckled. Chasing a feeling of euphoria, you draw more of her into your mouth, letting the milk pool into it before gulping it down.  

You try to be careful, knowing how sensitive she’d be after earlier’s stimulation, but end up tugging on a nipple with your lips, pulling back with a smack. You squeeze around her and watch it leak, lapping it up before latching on again. You repeat the action, letting her watch as it dribbles into your mouth, tongue out and eyes soft. 

Natasha wraps an arm around your waist. “Slow down, detka. She’s not going anywhere.”  

The news of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon’s death brought a chilling silence upon the entirety of Dragonstone. Not a maid dares to whisper in the halls, no laughs slipped through the cracks of scullery doors, the guards, always stoic, stood grim. Joy was hard to find with the ongoing war between the usurpers and your Queen, but this was a tension no one had the authority to break.  

The images of your Queen, on her knees, shaking the body of the boy you raised, haunted you every day that has passed. You suddenly found yourself without purpose for the crown.  

Your own children had fallen into a slump from the death of their kind friend. Their spoons lifted from their bowls twice before dropping, unable to settle their stomachs and accept the loss.  

Your son, the newest and youngest addition to the Queensguard, has had to endure your pleas for him to manage his figure. His strength could not wane at times like this. But your words could never reach him. Your daughter, Princess Baela’s handmaid, fell ill within the first week of the crown’s devastating loss. The light in her eyes grew dim along with her uniform dresses now engulfing her.  

Day after day, your strength left you. You could only eat enough to see your son off in the early morning, care for your young daughter, and visit the fallen prince’s bedchambers.  

It hadn’t changed since you’d last seen him. His bed was made to perfection, courtesy of you awaiting his return. There was wood stacked on the hearth, curtains drawn back, and floor tiles unmarked by his rough shoes. The only thing in disarray was his desk. It stood there, letters askew and blank parchment waiting for ink to color it. His chair was still pulled out. There was no one left to sit in it.  

Atop the desk, right in the corner, sat a wooden dragon figure. You recognized it as something Arius had carved in his youth. He had given it to Jacaerys as gift on his ninth name-day. You pick it up and let your thumb glide over the scales, the texture grounding you in the moment.  

You heard the door groan and your heart trembled. There was only one person it could be. You hurriedly turned around to greet her, ready to lower yourself in her presence. She stops you with a raised hand.  

The Queen enters the space fully, closing the doors herself. You watch as she walks around the room, stopping here and there to stare thoughtfully at his things. Her hair catches the light that streams in from his chamber windows, and your breath quickens. Her head turns your way, as though hearing it. You can’t help but think of how dragon-like her features had become. Her heart was hardened by loss, and her eyes set ablaze by it, her jaw sharpened with age, and her movement had refined through maturity.  

Finally, she makes her way towards you.  

“There are rumors you tend to his room every day, what is it that you do?” She looks around, everything the same as he’d left it. Only now, you stand near his desk with a hand wrapped around a wooden carving.  

“I have no instructions, your grace. I follow only the words of two—your words are my only command.” You catch yourself too late, something you realize as her face drops.  

“I ask, what is it that you do?” She repeats, an edge to her voice this time. You place the wooden carving back on the surface in front of you and decide to speak wholeheartedly.  

“I stand here, and I wait for his return. I wait for him to ask that I bring him to Arius. I wait to fetch his teas, to watch over his lessons beside Lucerys, I wait to draw his bath and wait for a voice, his voice, that says he has finished. My Queen, I stand still in hopes I do not lose sight of his ghost. I see his figure after every corner I round, and yet I cannot hold onto the mere image. So, if you were to ask me again, what it is I do, your grace, it is nothing.” 

You feel your throat constrict. Regardless, you swallow your cries down. You were not his mother. How dare you cry in the face of the woman who carried him.  

Still, a tear falls. You lower your head, turning away not a given with your position. Rhaenyra sucks in a breath and steps closer. 

The silence between the two of you thickens by the second. Eventually, she’s right by your side, observing the carving you’d held onto earlier. Taking the moment, while her back is turned, to wipe your tears, you raise your head again and watch her.  

“In his passing...have you told your children?” She asks, hands now planted firmly on his desk.  

“I have noticed Arius thinning considerably, and I hear Amarra has fallen ill and cannot tend to Baela. Have you told the children?” Her voice firms at the end, urging you to answer her.  

“I cannot bring myself to do it, your grace. If they knew the life I had robbed them of—a family they could not touch—would it not be enough to loathe me? With their state, I find it best they never know.” You feel the guilt swell as you admit it.  

You finish. “It was enough that your boys were kind to them.” 

Rhaenyra turns at that, watering eyes meeting your own.  

“Do you, in turn, loathe me? I allowed them finery and gifts above their station, lessons of noblemen and highborn women, food and chambers any servant would envy...Was it enough in exchange for the life they should have known? I have placed a wall between your children and my own, knowing they share blood. I have trusted you to hold secrets that could mark the end of this war, a secret that could turn lords and houses against me. Does it not sit heavy, that I have asked this of you?” You could hear the anxiety creeping in as she questioned you.  

“I could never loathe you, your grace. I am loyal only to you. Nothing you ask of me could ever weigh more than the crown you are meant to carry.” You answer her earnestly.  

“So, it is because I am your Queen?”  

“No.” You huffed out, peeved that after all these years not once had she known your heart after stealing it.   

She accepts your short reply.  

Then, tears were falling. In seconds you are brought back to the day she received the news her mother had died in childbirth, when you stood behind her and watched as Alicent clutched her hand and dismissed you. It was the only time you had personally attended her during a mourning period.  

“I find it a comfort that you are here now. I could not bring myself to enter his chambers only to stand alone amongst what’s left of his life.” You hear the way her voice shakes as she speaks, and you feel yourself starting to choke up once more.  

You’d become so used to the Queen putting up a wall, in recent years, holding her back straight and speaking with a determined voice in front of her most loyal followers. It was unusual—the sight of her. You hoped you did not have to see her break at the end of this war. Hoped she would lose no more children.  

“If I may, your grace?” Rhaenyra raises her eyebrows, allowing you to continue. “You will never be alone in this loss. You were not when Lucerys came to pass. And you are not now. I will always be here, Rhaenyra. Just as when we were young. You bid me to come, and I will be at your side. I just question whether my person is what you truly need in this moment.” She flinches at her boy’s name and allows you to refer to her familiarly.  

“I believe that you are now the only person alive that understands the pain I have suffered—do suffer. My Jace is—” She sobs out her last words and falls to the ground. Her palms smack at her thighs through her dress as she attempts to catch her breath through a tightening throat and stuffed nose.  

“Rhaenyra!” Your cries fall alongside hers as you carefully lower yourself to the ground in front of her, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her into your chest.  

Her tears start to soak the shoulder of your dress, and you rub across her back, wanting to console her but knowing this pain wasn’t one that could simply be hugged away. It was a loss that would sit with the two of you for the rest of your days.  

“He is gone!” You begin to rock her from side to side and smooth down the hair atop her head. “I want my son. My precious boy.” 

“I would do anything to bring Jacaerys back to us. I would trade my very life for his, if given the chance.”  

It was the truth. Having raised the boy alongside your own children, you felt some claim towards him. Though you understood this was never a thought you’d be able to share with another, the love you’d held for him, even before his first breath, was immense.  

Before you could stop yourself, you begin to reminisce aloud. “I remember the day his Vermax first hatched. Little Jacaerys found so much joy in watching him stumble about the nursery floor. It was the first time I heard him laugh so heartily. I think of it often these days—all his firsts.”  

Rhaenyra tries to take a breath in before she bursts into tears again. You let her feel it. Your heart breaks for her as you embrace her. 

You talk about his first name day, his first steps, the first time he tried to lift Lucerys in his arms, his first time picking up a sword, the day he got fitted for his riding gear, what it felt like seeing Rhaenyra teach him how to climb upon Vermax’s back, how wonderous a feeling it was to hear the alliances he secured in his mother’s name. She listened to it all, her breathing slowed, and her sniffling had nearly stopped.  

While you knew it would hurt to hear about her son who was no more, you believed there was comfort to be found in his memory.  

“Watching Arius become a part of the Queensguard reminded me of the days they spent in the training yards with Harwin. Looking over how your son jested with my own, how I’d stand aside as either of them bested the other, fetching cloths to cool them during the rare breaks they were allowed, I’ve committed every session to memory.”  

“Could you finally tell me what led to his and Jacaerys’s embarrassment in the Godswood? The two of them kept quiet on it for years. He begged me not to corner you. Was it truly so shameful?”  

You laugh warmly as you begin to recall the day Rhaenyra had mentioned. The boys were adamant about you not speaking a word of it. Unfortunately for them, you would never miss a chance to grant your Queen’s wish.  

“Let me accompany you back to your chambers, and I’ll tell you there.”  

You pull her to a stand and bend down to brush off the front of her dress. You use your sleeves to gently wipe away at her tear-stricken face. Her violet eyes were captivating as they scanned your features, you tried to avoid meeting her gaze, but it was too difficult. Your eyes fall to her lips, and you reluctantly look away before the focus on them becomes hard for her to ignore.  

The two of you take one last glance about the room before you’re pulling the doors open and offering an arm to her. You keep her steady as you walk her down corridors that would afford the most privacy. With the fragile state the Queen was in, the less people to interact with, the better.  

But of course, there was a final barrier between the both of you and the solitude her bedchambers would offer.  

Lady Mysaria.  

“I can assist the Queen into her chambers. You may be dismissed.” She reaches out her hand, ready for Rhaenyra to hold onto it.  

In a few words, you were back to the age of three-and-ten. Alicent had ran you away similarly after the death of the Queen Aemma. Being treated as though you could not offer Rhaenyra any true solace always left a bitter taste in your mouth.  

You start to remove your arm from Rhaenyra’s when she tugs you back to her side. The look on Mysaria’s face was anything but kind as she observed the closeness between you and the Queen. She eyed Rhaenyra intensely, initiating a silent conversation.  

“Mysaria, you may leave us.” She eventually decides. Her tone held both certainty and patience for the woman in front of you.   

“Your grace—” Mysaria’s eyebrows pull together with confusion. Neither of you understood her choice. Yes, you had started to reconnect, but surely you did not hold weight over the White Worm and her allure.  

“Please. And tell Daemon I require an hour to myself. We will continue our talks before we gather any members of the Black Council midday.” Mysaria nods and dips in place, stepping away from the door to allow you both inside.  

Your eyes never leave her back as she walks away unwillingly. She begins to turn the corner and pauses there. She peers at you with misdirected irritation before disappearing.  

You aid Rhaenyra inside her chambers and to the foot of her bed. She waits as you close the doors and return to her side. You know that, in order for proper rest, she should like to change into a dressing gown. But you didn’t know whether keeping your breath steady would be possible, so you hold it as she begins to undress.  

“Help me, here.” She points to her back.  

Your fingers shake as they work. Hesitantly grabbing at the fine fabrics and pulling them down, and away, from her body. When she is left in her small clothes, you turn to retrieve a white gown with a pearlescent bodice and velvet skirt.  

You lead her to the bed and make her stand back as you fold the covers towards the middle, set up pillows for a comfortable sit, and smooth the sheets down. She climbs into bed. You’re quick to make sure she’s snug and pulling the blankets over her legs, tucking them around her waist, then you’re off, moving about the room.  

“I do not know how I have gone on without you. You look after me with such great care.” She says, watching you bustle around her.  

It was astounding to see your mindfulness in action after so many years of not tending to her. You still remembered everything about her from the way she liked her pillows arranged to the angle she would request her curtains be drawn into. 

Wanting to see you at ease, she speaks again. “Sit with me. I feel your closeness is now the only thing keeping me afloat in this moment.”  

Rhaenyra pats the space beside her thigh, and you gather your dress to settle comfortably. From there, she makes you recount the silliest stories about Jace, including the ones with the twins and her younger boys.  

She finds her heart full in a way she hasn’t since the war for the Iron Throne started. The light in your eyes as you speak of your children together has her enraptured. You drew every scene out perfectly. It had always been a skill of yours to make her remember details lost to dreams and time. The Queen loved how quickly you assumed familiarity with her. She felt as though she were seven-and-ten again.  

She cuts you off in the middle of your story with a question that surprises her. It is not that she means to accuse you, only that you are unbelievably good to her. “What is it that keeps you from running? Have I not paid you enough for a return to Essos?” To you, the question of loyalty was absurd. 

“You were my friend, Rhaenyra! And though it is a time you seem to’ve forgotten, it is a moment I hold dear. I knew your heart, you held mine.” You set your gaze upon her with newfound boldness. “You hold it.”  

Her mouth opens, and before she can speak, you continue.  

“I have bore witness to your every misfortune, received your displaced anger in our youth, wiped your tears for the fortnight after dragonfyre consumed your mother and brother, read to you when you befriended me out of resentment for the Lady Alicent, I rid your bed of its sheets after your night with Ser Criston, I was the one to hold your robes before you wed Ser Laenor, you chose me to care for your heir. My life is you, Rhaenyra. Everything I have, and do, is because of you—for you. I could never walk away from you. I knew I was forever bound to follow you the very night you kissed me. Before you ever followed Daemon to that pleasure house, before you bedded your sworn shield, before Harwin. I recall feeling foolish back then, seeing you with the Lady Alicent too, and now when I see you with Lady Mysaria. I have no purpose without you. I was born to serve you. The only end I consider running to is one where I stand behind you.”  

Rhaenyra sat silent as she took in your confession, and though she already knows your answer, she asks you for confirmation. “Truly?”  

“I will forever stay by your side as whomever you want me to be, for as long as you will have me, my queen.” You promised her. 

She grabs your hand with a pleased smile on her face. “Then it is decided. You will accompany me for life.”