Where the Water Ends
Chapter Thirteen: “You can stay, if you want”
Summary: Your relationship with Wanda and Natasha begins to blossom in the best way possible
A/N: sorry for the long wait for this chapter, but I promise the next chapter will be worth this while.
Since that night, something shifted.
You didn’t talk about it. Not at first. There was no dramatic conversation or labels or expectations. Just a softness that lingered like a scent on your skin. A warmth that didn’t disappear when the sun came up.
Since that night, you began sleeping in Wanda and Natasha’s bed more often.
At first, it was quiet. Hesitant. You’d pause outside their door, heart thudding, waiting to be told it was okay. You always were. Wanda would answer with a gentle smile and sleepy eyes. Natasha would lift the blanket without a word, already making space for you between them.
No pressure. No conditions. Just quiet acceptance.
Wanda started keeping a spare pillow for you.
Natasha began reaching for your hand in her sleep.
⸻
This morning began like every other.
Natasha had risen early, like she always did, already dressed in a tank top and sweatpants, her hair pulled back, face flushed from a light workout. Wanda stirred only after the smell of coffee drifted through the shared space—stretching with a soft groan, her wrist blindly searching for you under the covers before she even opened her eyes.
You were tucked between them, half-awake, warmed by their presence, hair mussed and eyes still heavy from sleep.
Wanda rolled toward you and kissed your cheek. Just once. Soft. Simple. Like it was nothing new.
“Morning, littlefin,” she whispered, her voice drowsy.
Natasha leaned over from behind and pressed a kiss into the space just below your ear, warm lips brushing your pulse point. “You drooled on my shirt,” she said with a grin.
You laughed—quiet and embarrassed—but you didn’t pull away. Not this time.
You had breakfast together in the kitchen, sunlight spilling through the tower windows. Wanda sat on the counter, feet swinging slightly, stealing spoonfuls from your bowl when she thought you weren’t looking. Natasha leaned back in her chair, sipping black coffee and watching the two of you with that half-smile she always wore when she was trying not to look too fond.
They kissed you between bites.
Wanda’s was sticky with strawberry jam. Natasha’s tasted like espresso.
Neither of them made a big deal out of it.
Neither did you.
It just happened—naturally, sweetly—like it had been happening forever.
Lunch was the same. You found yourself in the kitchen again, this time squished between the two of them at the counter while something simmered on the stove. Natasha wrapped an arm around your waist while she stirred, and Wanda leaned into your shoulder, pressing soft, absent kisses to your skin like she couldn’t help herself.
The whole day felt like a heartbeat—slow and steady and close.
And then came the evening.
⸻
The sun had long set, and the rain outside had slowed to a gentle, steady hush against the tower windows. The movie flickered quietly in the background, its low sound forgotten. The real story was happening here, on the couch.
Wanda’s head was nestled against your shoulder, her hand brushing lazy circles into your thigh through the soft fabric of your sweats. Natasha was close on your other side, her arm behind you on the cushions, fingers occasionally grazing your lower back, warm and absentminded.
You couldn’t breathe right.
Not because you were uncomfortable, but because you weren’t sure how this had become your life—how you’d ended up surrounded by this much quiet affection. How their touches had stopped feeling borrowed and started feeling like they belonged.
Wanda shifted first.
She sat up slowly, her knees tucking beneath her, legs folded beside you. Her hand stayed on your thigh, grounding you.
Then she looked at you. Not just at you—into you.
Her eyes flicked from your eyes to your lips, then back again. The triangle. That unmistakable look of someone about to kiss you, but letting you know it first. Her gaze lingered just long enough to send your stomach into a slow, fluttering spin.
Your breath hitched.
And that’s when she spoke.
“You’re beautiful,” she murmured, soft and sure, like it was just a fact—not something to be argued with.
Your cheeks flushed instantly. That deep, glowing warmth bloomed beneath your skin. You didn’t know where to look. Her eyes, her mouth, her fingers now curling around your knee… it was too much and not enough all at once.
You didn’t move. Not away, not toward her. Just… still. Waiting. Floating.
Wanda leaned in—slowly, giving you time to change your mind.
You didn’t.
Her lips met yours, warm and plush, like satin and syrup all at once. The kiss was delicate at first, unhurried, a question more than an answer. Her hand moved to your waist, steadying you.
You tilted slightly into her. You couldn’t help it.
And then—just when your lips parted and you let out the smallest, breathiest sigh—
Natasha’s hand curled under your chin.
She didn’t say a word, just tilted your head gently, guiding you toward her. The loss of Wanda’s mouth made your skin ache, but then Natasha’s lips met yours, and the ache changed shape.
Her kiss was deeper. Slower. Confident.
Not possessive, but intentional.
Her fingers held your chin like she was scared you’d disappear if she let go.
Your hands had found their way onto both their thighs at some point, fingers curled into fabric for something to hold onto. You felt drunk on them—on the taste of Wanda’s cherry chapstick still lingering on your lips, on the way Natasha’s tongue just barely brushed yours before pulling away, teasing, only to kiss you again seconds later.
You were breathless.
Dizzy.
Wanda pressed closer again, her hand on the back of your neck now, her thumb stroking slow circles there. She kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then your jaw. Everywhere soft. Everywhere safe.
Then you felt Natasha’s lips return—lower, under your ear, where your pulse fluttered.
It wasn’t just kissing.
It was being held in the space between them, held so gently, like you were something breakable that they wanted to protect and worship.
Every time your breath caught, one of them would slow down. Every time your hands trembled, one of them would press a kiss to your temple or brush hair out of your eyes.
They didn’t want to rush you.
They just wanted you.
When it all slowed—when kisses turned to small touches and soft exhales, when you curled up again between them on the couch with flushed cheeks and a heart pounding like a drum—Natasha pulled a blanket over your shoulders.
Wanda leaned down and kissed your nose.
“I hope you know,” she whispered, her voice like velvet, “you’re allowed to want this. You’re allowed to want us.”
You didn’t trust yourself to speak.
But the way your head rested on Natasha’s shoulder, the way your fingers found Wanda’s again and didn’t let go—said enough for now.
[Masterlist]
