PAWIE

You didn’t go very far, because she made you promise you would be around in case she needed you. You had a feeling she probably wouldn’t, but it’s not like you’ve ever been able to say no to her anyway. So you smiled as you agreed, and placed a soft kiss on her cheek before walking away. 

To give her space, you said. It’s more like you wanted space for yourself. 

This sunny afternoon would be a watershed, would flood all of life as you know it. Your routine, your plans, your dreams. Everything would change. And you had the feeling it would not be for the better. Well, not for you, at least. You wanted to say you’re not scared, but you’re terrified. That’s why you couldn’t stay with her up there, and why your feet found it hard to obey you when one of the guards came to get you.

Going up that elevator seems more time-consuming than going down it. But oddly enough, when the doors finally open, you wish they didn’t. You wished you would just go up and up forever, trapped in that metallic box, unable to cope with the whole situation. 

But you walk anyway, being guided through those corridors that remind you of the ones in the Avengers Compound. From a time when you were in a very similar situation as you are today. A sadistic joke of the universe, laughing at your pounding head and your broken heart. 

You try to convince yourself that maybe you're just overthinking things, as you always used to do. Maybe things would work out in the end. Maybe you could find a way to live through this. Despite the growing feeling inside your chest that everything would go wrong, maybe it wasn't quite like that.

What you see when you turn down the last corridor, however, makes all your maybes fade away, your stomach twisting and turning inside you. Because there they are, as many times before. His hands on her cheeks and her eyes fixed on his, with that glow they always had, the glow that let anyone know that she would always be his, no matter what. 

The guard who had been leading you says goodbye with a short bow before leaving, and you follow him with your gaze a little longer than you would if you weren't so desperate for an excuse not to look at the scene in front of you. But your eyes are drawn to it anyway, and soon after you do, he sees you too.

“Y/n.” Greet the robotic voice of the synthezoid brought back to life. And you force a smile, putting your hands in your pockets as you force your leaden feet to walk up to the pair. "Vision." You greet back in a husky voice, Wanda's gaze seeking yours by his side. But you refuse to look, especially since she hasn't even made any mention of moving away from him after you arrived. 

“You’re not gonna go around eating brains, are you?” You manage to joke then, because you’re pretty sure you’d start crying if you didn’t busy yourself with something else, and the taller one lets out a short chuckle. “Well, I don’t eat at all, so…” He jokes back, and all you can do is laugh through your nose, nodding slowly. 

There’s an awkward silence then, when your eyes finally meet Wanda’s, but only for the tiniest of seconds, finding on her green irises your ruin. Vision, who wasn’t oblivious to the whole interaction, clears his synthetic throat. “Listen, Wanda told me about the two of you.”

“We don’t have to talk about it-” You say, moving your hands dismissively, but the robot shakes his head. “I’d like to.” He says kindly, not being intimidated by your clenched jaw to keep talking. “I just wanted to say that, although I’m happy to be back, I feel like I must apologize for… Well, you know.”

“It’s okay, buddy. You were always the one she wanted. Not me.” You tell him with a sad shrug. Wanda was about to say something then, but you were sure you wouldn’t be able to hear anything she could possibly have to say to you. So you rush to say, “I should get going now, I don't want to bother you guys.”

You turn your back before they can even begin to contradict you, your hurried steps taking you all the way back to the elevator from which you came. your eyes burn and your throat aches, but you refuse to cry now, not in front of all these people. Maybe you would do it in your car. The one you had shared with Wanda to get here and which she would never get into again…

“Y/n!” The voice of said woman interrupts your thoughts as soon as you reach the last corridor. You stop walking, keeping your back to her as her footsteps approach, trying to gather the strength to turn toward her. To your misfortune, the redhead's silence lets you know that she would wait for you to look at her to speak. So, reluctantly, you do so. 

“That’s not true.” She tells, her eyes filled with tears - because she was getting him back or because she was losing you, you wouldn't be able to tell. You frown, not understanding what she means. So the redhead sighs before explaining, “I love you. I swear I do. I just…”

“You just love him more.” You complete her answer for her, your lips pressed into a sad smile as she sobs, nodding in confirmation. “I’m sorry.” She asks in a pleading tone, but you just shrug, your sight blurred by tears. “Don’t be. It’s nobody’s fault.”

“I know it’s selfish, but… I wanted to keep in touch.” The redhead asks with a short, embarrassed laugh. The tears streaming down her cheeks make you want to run to her immediately, to take her in your arms and protect her from everything. But you couldn't do that now. And never again. 

“I don’t think we’ll ever see each other again, Wanda.” You let her know, and have to look away when her expression squirms in hurt. “I-I can’t, it’s… It hurts too much.” Your tears finally fall this time, and you wipe them away harshly before you look at her again, clearing your throat before you say, “I hope you understand.”

“I do.” That sounds like a lie to you, but you won't insist, and it's good enough for you that she won't either. It makes it easier - or rather, less impossible. Her tears run harder then, and before you can do anything about it, she’s talking, “Can I hug you goodbye? Just… One last time.”

Your hesitation is evident on your face and in your whole posture. But Wanda waits patiently, her fingers twirling the rings on her hands in the way she does when she is nervous. And once again you are unable to deny her anything, nodding slowly in confirmation. 

Before you even open your arms, Wanda has hers around your middle, her face in the crook of your neck, her tears wetting your skin and making your own finally roll from your eyes. You hug her back hesitantly, feeling your entire body aching at the touch of hers - the feeling that used to make you feel so at peace, so many times before this one.

You’re the first to pull away, because you know she wouldn’t and because the only way to make the pain stop is if you finally leave. But even with the distance between your bodies, you still remain close, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear like you’ve done so many times before. The redhead leans into your touch, like all the others, but this time you grimace in sorrow, your heart completely shattered.  

“I love you so much.” You whisper among sniffles, your voice broken. And the moment she opens her mouth to reply, you close your eyes, shaking your head. “Don’t.” You ask, your red eyes opening slowly. “Please, just… Don’t say it. Please.” 

Wanda swallows drily at your request. She wanted to tell you that she loves you, to make you understand that she meant everything that she did and said during your relationship, that it was real. But she can’t, because she knows it will only make it harder. Because he’s back, and no matter how much she loves you, her feelings for him are still stronger. You know that all too well. There’s no point in hiding it. So the redhead just nods slowly in confirmation, and you show her your appreciation with the tiniest smile she’s ever seen on your face. 

You allow yourself to look at her one more second before pulling away for good and walking towards the open elevator. There are no other words to say to her. You don’t wanna say goodbye. Even though that’s exactly what you’re doing, you can’t say it. And neither can she, watching you intently with her green eyes, puffy from crying. 

Her eyes remain on yours until the heavy metal doors close between the two of you. And when they finally do, the both of you collapse on the ground, crying hard at the image that would be your last memory of each other until your very last breath. 

───── ⋅ ✮ ⋅ ─────

Wanda let out a low, sleepy moan as Y/N’s lips brushed against her neck, each kiss slow and unhurried, meant more to savor than to provoke. Their hand caressed the curve of her side beneath the sheets, their touch warm and featherlight, tracing idle patterns over her skin.

“Mm…” she sighed, her lips curling into a faint smile. “You’re supposed to be up already.”

Y/N hummed against her skin, the sound sending a small shiver through her. “I know,” they murmured, the words muffled as they continued to trail kisses along her jaw. “But you make it very hard to leave.”

Wanda laughed softly, her fingers instinctively finding their hair. “You said that yesterday too,” she teased, her voice still thick with sleep. “And the day before.”

“Then maybe you should take that as proof,” Y/N replied, lifting their head just enough to meet her eyes. Morning light glinted off their tousled hair, and the affection in their expression was enough to make her chest ache. “I’d rather stay here than do anything else.”

She smiled, brushing her thumb across their cheek. “You have duties, my love. The council will start to wonder if you’ve been kidnapped.”

Y/N smirked, leaning down to steal another quick kiss. “They can wait a little longer.”

“Y/N,” Wanda chided softly, though there was no true sternness in her tone. Her fingers trailed down the back of their neck, a tender motion that betrayed her own reluctance. “Go before they send someone knocking again.”

Y/N groaned quietly, dropping their forehead against her shoulder. “You’re cruel,” they mumbled, though their laughter betrayed the affection behind the words.

“Someone has to make sure you still do your duties before your father gets mad,” she replied, smiling into their hair. “And besides, I’ll be here when you’re done.”

That made them pause. Slowly, they lifted their head again, their eyes softening in that way that always made her heart skip. “Promise?”

Wanda’s lips curved. “Promise,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to their temple.

For a moment longer, neither of them moved. Y/N’s hand lingered at her waist, thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against her skin as if memorizing her warmth before finally pulling away. They sighed, sitting up and stretching, the morning light spilling across the bed.

When Y/N looked down, Wanda was still lying beneath the tangled sheets, bare in the soft glow of dawn. Her cheeks warmed instantly under their gaze. It wasn’t a look of hunger, but of quiet admiration — reverence, even.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she murmured, tugging the sheet a little higher over her chest, though the smile on her lips betrayed her amusement.

Y/N tilted their head, a teasing glint in their eyes. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to memorize me again,” Wanda said, her voice softer now, full of affection.

“Maybe I am,” Y/N replied, their tone gentle but sincere. “It’s hard not to.”

Her blush deepened, and she shook her head with a quiet laugh, trying to hide how the warmth of their words spread through her chest. “You really should go,” she reminded them, her smile turning tender.

Y/N reached out once more, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I will,” they said softly. “Just… after one more moment.”

They leaned down to kiss her again — slow, steady, and filled with unspoken promise.

---

Y/N’s POV

The corridors of the west wing were quieter in the morning. The sun had only just climbed high enough to touch the marble floors, and the distant sound of guards changing post echoed faintly through the halls. 

Y/N stepped into the council chamber with their shoulders squared and their expression composed, though the soft warmth of Wanda’s kiss still lingered faintly on their lips.

The room was already half-filled when they arrived.

The councilors rose briefly in acknowledgement, their chairs scraping softly against the stone floor. Sunlight pooled through the tall windows behind them, streaking across the long table where maps and scrolls had been arranged for the morning’s discussion.

King Alaric sat at the head of the table.

Even seated, his presence dominated the room — the straight spine, the ringed fingers tapping impatiently, the eyes sharp enough to cut stone. He didn’t look tired. He never seemed to. Power kept him awake more than any elixir could.

Y/N bowed his head respectfully before taking their place to His Majesty’s right.

Alaric gave Y/N a single glance, quick and assessing.

“You’re late.”

A murmur passed through the council, subtle but unmistakable.

Y/N kept his voice steady. “Only by a moment, Your Majesty.”

“Hm.” The king’s gaze lingered—a warning, but nothing more. Not today. “Then let us begin.”

The Master of External Affairs, Lord Renwick, cleared his throat before unrolling the first parchment.

“Tensions at the eastern border have risen again,” he announced, reading directly from the report. “The Eastern Kingdom’s scouts crossed into our territory three days past. Not far, but far enough to be considered a breach.”

A low ripple moved through the table.

Y/N’s jaw tightened. That border had been a problem for the past few months — a constant push and pull, a silent test of boundaries. But lately, it had grown bolder.

Renwick continued, “Additionally, merchants report that Eastern patrols have been delaying caravans along the river crossings, demanding tariffs not agreed upon in the treaty.”

King Alaric scoffed loudly, leaning back in his chair.

“Of course they are. The Eastern king grows arrogant with every passing season. Ever since his daughter returned from her diplomatic tour, he’s been acting as if he owns half the continent.”

Y/N folded his hands atop the table, voice calm. “This is the third provocation in two months.”

“Fourth,” Renwick corrected gently. “If we include the dismantled watchtower.”

Murmurs again. A few councilors shook their heads.

Y/N frowned. “And you’re certain it was sabotage?”

Renwick nodded. “The supports were cut cleanly. Not weather, not decay.”

King Alaric’s eyes gleamed, sharp and eager — too eager.

“As I have said before,” he declared, rising slightly from his seat, “the Eastern Kingdom understands only strength. Words do nothing. Treaties mean nothing. They test us because they believe we are tolerant enough to endure it.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

Here it was. The speech he’d been preparing for weeks.

He continued, voice swelling to fill the chamber, “We should send a host to the border. A full regiment. Let them see the steel they seem so eager to provoke. Let them be reminded of their place before this escalates further.”

Several councilors nodded.

Others hesitated.

Lord Marrow, an older man with silver hair and a perpetually worried expression, cleared his throat.

“With respect, Your Majesty… sending a military force could be interpreted as an act of aggression. It may escalate the situation rather than resolve it.”

Lord Marrow had barely finished speaking when the temperature in the room seemed to drop.

King Alaric’s head snapped toward him with a crack of movement, his glare slicing through the chamber like a thrown blade.

“Interpreted as an act of aggression?” Alaric’s voice boomed, echoing off the stone pillars. “It is aggression, you simpering fool! That is precisely the point!”

Lord Marrow flinched, though he tried not to show it. Several other councilors stiffened, eyes lowering immediately, as if the king’s rage itself might burn them if they met it.

Alaric rose from his seat so abruptly that his chair screeched across the floor.

“Do you imagine,” he snarled, advancing a step, “that the Eastern King lies awake at night contemplating interpretations? That he cares for courtesy or compromise?” His lip curled with disdain. “He understands force. He respects it. He kneels to it.”

Marrow swallowed, opening his mouth to speak, but Alaric’s finger jabbed toward him like a spear.

“You—of all people—will not stand in this chamber and lecture me on diplomacy. Not when your last brilliant ‘peace accord’ cost us three months and gained us nothing but a burned trade outpost!”

A few councilors winced.

Lord Marrow paled, bowing his head. “Your Majesty… I only meant—”

“You meant,” Alaric thundered, “to question your king. To question my judgment. To question my power.”

A chilling silence swallowed the room.

No one breathed too loudly.

No one dared shift in their seat.

Marrow bowed deeper. “Forgive me, Your Majesty.”

Alaric scoffed, turning sharply away from him with a flare of his cloak.

“Next time you feel the urge to doubt my decisions,” the king said coldly, “bite your tongue. Better to bleed in your mouth than embarrass yourself in this chamber again.”

Lord Marrow lowered his gaze further, humiliated.

Y/N felt his jaw tighten.

Alaric thrived on this — dominance, humiliation, control. He wielded fear like a second crown, and his council had grown far too accustomed to bowing under it.

The king returned to his seat, settling with a derisive huff.

“Now,” Alaric said, voice still sharp, “unless someone else wishes to waste my time with cowardice—proceed.”

Y/N’s hands closed slowly into fists under the table.

Because this was only getting worse.

And if the Eastern Kingdom really was provoking them…

Alaric would burn the borderlands to ash before he ever admitted restraint.

---

When the final reports were read and the last signatures marked, King Alaric stood, signaling the end of the council session. The councilors bowed and began to file out, murmuring among themselves as they discussed troop allocations.

Two battalions were to be stationed near the eastern borders by week’s end — not enough to declare open aggression, but enough to “remind” the Eastern Kingdom that Alaric’s patience had limits. The decision left a knot in Y/N’s stomach.

“Everyone dismissed,” Alaric said sharply.

Then his gaze flicked to Y/N. “You stay.”

The air shifted.

The councilors seemed to move faster after that, eager to escape the tightening tension between father and son. The heavy doors closed behind the last of them with a low thud.

Y/N straightened, meeting Alaric’s stare.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Alaric rose slowly from his seat and circled the table with a predator’s calm, hands clasped behind his back. When he finally stopped beside Y/N, his shadow fell over him.

“You’ve been… distracted,” he said at last, his tone deceptively mild. “In the council, in your routines, in your studies of statecraft. You are not subtle.”

Y/N held his gaze. “I’ve handled all assigned responsibilities—”

“No.” Alaric cut him off with a slice of his hand. “You have completed them. Barely. And with half your mind elsewhere.” His eyes narrowed. “Her.”

Y/N didn’t need clarification.

“Wanda,” Alaric said, voice dripping with disdain. “The little princess who has somehow bewitched my son into believing that lying in bed past dawn is a royal duty.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

Alaric stepped closer.

“I brought her here,” he reminded coldly. “I arranged her marriage to you. I did all of this with a purpose.”

His voice dropped, low and razor-sharp.

“She is here to secure our dynasty. To give you an heir. Not to play at being your wife.”

Y/N’s fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

“She is my wife,” Y/N said quietly but firmly.

Alaric scoffed. “She is a tool. A vessel. A political tether to keep her kingdom bound to mine.” His lip curled. “I will not have you mooning over her like a lovesick child when there are matters of war at hand.”

Y/N’s voice came out colder than he expected. “Wanda is not the reason for the Eastern Kingdom’s actions.”

“But she is the reason you fail to see clearly,” Alaric shot back, stepping even closer, his breath grazing the side of Y/N’s temple. “You let her soften you. You speak in council like someone afraid of upsetting her delicate feelings.”

Y/N flinched internally — not from fear of him, but from the ugliness of the insinuation.

Alaric leaned in, voice dropping to a low, poisonous whisper.

“Do not forget why she’s here,” he said. “Her womb, and the alliance it brings, are the only valuable things about her.”

Something inside Y/N snapped taut.

His voice was steady—too steady.

“If you ever speak about Wanda like that again,” Y/N said softly, “you will regret it.”

Alaric froze.

For a heartbeat, the chamber was utterly silent.

Then—

CRACK.

His fist collided with Y/N’s face so violently the sound echoed off the stone walls. The force sent Y/N stumbling back a step, vision flashing white, copper flooding his tongue as blood streamed from his nose.

The king’s chest heaved.

His fury was a living thing.

“How dare you,” Alaric hissed, his voice shaking with rage he rarely lost control of. “How dare you raise your voice to me.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Slowly — deliberately — he straightened.

Y/N’s boots planted firmly, shoulders squared, chin lifting despite the blood dripping down his lip and onto his collar. He wiped nothing. He hid nothing.

Y/N met his father’s fury with a steadiness that only enraged King Alaric more.

“You taught me to be like you,” Y/N said, voice low but unbroken. “You taught me that power is shown by standing firm. By not bending. By claiming what is yours.”

Alaric’s nostrils flared.

Y/N stepped forward, the faint tremor of pain never touching his voice.

“Wanda is mine. My wife. And even if it is you…”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, blazing.

“…I will not allow you to talk about what is mine like that.”

Alaric’s expression twisted — shock, fury, disbelief battling across his features. No one — no one — had ever spoken to him in such a way. Not a councilor. Not a general. Not even the queen, back when she lived.

But Y/N continued, because stopping now would be weakness — and weakness was the only thing Alaric despised more than defiance.

“Isn’t that what you taught me?” Y/N said quietly. “To protect what belongs to me. To show dominance. To never allow disrespect.”

Alaric stepped forward until they were nearly chest to chest, his breath hot with fury. “Do not twist my lessons against me.”

“I don’t need to twist anything,” Y/N replied. “I learned them exactly as you intended.”

Alaric’s pupils narrowed, flickering with something ugly and sharp — not fear, but recognition.

He saw it.

The very steel he had hammered into Y/N since childhood —

obedience through grit,

strength through pain,

dominance through presence —

now staring him dead in the eye.

A weapon he forged.

A weapon he no longer controlled.

Alaric stepped back once, breath sharp, jaw clenched so tightly it looked ready to shatter. His voice dropped to a low, poisonous whisper that slid across the chamber like smoke.

“Very well,” he said. “You want to stand like a king? Then stand.”

His gaze glittered with cold calculation, something cruelly triumphant curling at the edges. He wasn’t done. He wanted to break Y/N — or bend him.

“But understand this, boy.”

His words were slow, deliberate, dripping with venom.

“I am still the king. And you are my heir because I said so. Do not forget that your crown exists only at my pleasure.”

Y/N’s breathing deepened, but he didn’t look away.

Alaric stepped closer again, voice dropping even lower.

“I tolerated your cursed body until now,” he hissed. “Your mother begged me for that mercy, and I granted it. A mistake I am reconsidering.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened — a small, almost imperceptible reaction — but Alaric saw it.

He smirked.

“If you fail to give me an heir,” Alaric continued, each word a blade, “I will do the job myself. Wanda’s womb is not yours alone—it belongs to Virelia. To the throne. To me.”

The air went still.

So still it felt like the space between heartbeats.

Y/N’s blood roared in his ears, nose still dripping red onto the floor, but his stance never wavered. Not an inch.

Alaric’s smile was thin and cruel.

“Pray you understand your place,” he finished softly, “before I decide to carve you a new one.”

He turned sharply and strode toward the doors without waiting for a response.

The chamber doors slammed behind him so hard they rattled the iron sconces.

Y/N stood alone in the echoing silence —

breathing,

bleeding,

and burning with a fury that tasted like iron.

He would use Wanda.

Threaten her.

Claim ownership of her body and her future and their unborn children.

No.

No, Y/N thought, lifting their chin and wiping nothing from his face.

If Alaric wanted a king…

He would get one.

Just not the one he expected.

---

The door to Wanda and Y/N’s chambers creaked softly as Y/N pushed it open, careful not to startle her. Their face still throbbed, every heartbeat pulsing sharply through the forming bruise beneath their eye. Dried blood traced a dark line from their nose down to the corner of their mouth.

They hadn’t gone to the healers.

They came here.

Where they needed to be.

Wanda was seated near the window, arranged in the soft morning sunlight that painted her in gold. She was stitching something — one of the handkerchiefs she’d taken to embroidering — but her hands stilled instantly when she saw them.

Her breath caught.

“Y/N…?”

The cloth slipped from her fingers.

She stood so quickly her chair scraped against the stone floor. She crossed the distance in an instant, her hands already reaching for their face before she seemed to think better of touching the bruise directly.

“Who did this?” she whispered, eyes wide and horrified. “What happened?”

Y/N exhaled slowly, their gaze softening just at the sight of her.

“Nothing,” they murmured. “It’s fine.”

Wanda’s brows furrowed, fierce and disbelieving.

“Don’t lie to me.” Her voice was still soft, but it trembled with anger. With worry. “This is not ‘fine.’ Someone hurt you.”

Y/N looked away.

Not from shame — but from the difficulty of saying aloud what had happened.

Wanda gently cupped their jaw on the uninjured side and guided their eyes back to hers.

“Y/N,” she said quietly, “tell me.”

Silence stretched.

Finally, Y/N spoke.

“His Majesty,” they said softly.

Wanda’s breath hitched. For a moment she didn’t move at all, her hands hovering just short of Y/N’s cheeks, as if afraid touching them would make the injury worse. The thin trickle of blood beneath Y/N’s nose was unmistakable now — stark against their skin, proof of exactly what had happened.

Her eyes darted over them, frantic, searching.

“…Did Lina do something again?” she whispered, dread coiling through every syllable.

Y/N shook their head once.

“No. Not her.”

Wanda’s throat bobbed, and she hesitated — then gently guided Y/N to sit on the edge of the bed, her own knees sinking to the floor so she could look up at them, hands trembling as she cupped their jaw. She tilted their face, trying to see if the bleeding had stopped.

“Then who?” she breathed, even though she already feared the answer.

Y/N blinked slowly, exhaling through their nose — or trying to, wincing when the motion stung. Wanda’s fingers immediately steadied them.

“I… stood up to him,” they finally whispered.

Wanda froze.

Y/N didn’t answer. They didn’t need to.

Her lips parted with a shaky breath — shock first, then fear, then something hot and fierce burning beneath it.

“You stood up to him,” she repeated, like she had to say it aloud to believe it. Her eyes flicked again to the blood under their nose. “And he did this?”

Y/N swallowed hard.

“It’s nothing. He’s done worse before.”

Wanda’s expression cracked — pain, rage, and horror twisting together.

“That doesn’t make it nothing,” she murmured, thumb brushing carefully beneath their nose, catching a fresh streak of red. Her hands trembled so violently she had to steady them against Y/N’s jaw.

For a heartbeat, she couldn’t breathe.

Then—

“What did he say, Y/N?” she whispered. “What made him hit you this time?”

Y/N leaned back slightly, letting Wanda’s hands hover over their face, catching the drips of blood with careful fingers. Their own hands rested lightly on hers, steadying her as much as she steadied them.

“He…” Y/N exhaled slowly, wincing as the movement jostled their nose. “He said… I’m distracted. That I’ve been letting you… soften me. That I’m unfit to be heir. That you’re here to be a vessel. That if I fail to give him an heir…”

Their voice faltered, but only for a moment. Wanda’s eyes widened, and she gripped their shoulders lightly, grounding them both.

“He threatened you,” she whispered. “He… he actually—”

“I didn’t flinch,” Y/N said quietly, voice firm despite the blood and the ache. “I stood my ground. Told him… told him you’re mine. That you’re my wife. Even if he’s the king, I won’t let him speak about you like that.”

Wanda’s breath hitched, her hands still trembling over Y/N’s cheeks. Her palms were warm, gentle — so at odds with the cold brutality of the hall they had just walked out of.

“You… you said that?” she whispered again, as if she needed to hear it twice to believe it.

Y/N nodded once, jaw tight, leaning slightly into her touch as though anchoring themselves to her. “Yes. I hate even thinking about calling you an object,” they murmured, voice low, roughened by both anger and shame. “But that’s the only way he would understand. The only language he listens to. The only way to make him see he can’t control you… or me.”

Wanda’s lips parted, emotions colliding — fury, fear, tenderness, disbelief.

But before she could speak, Y/N reached up and gently wrapped their fingers around her wrist, steady but soft.

“There’s something else,” they said. “From today on… I want Ser Rogers or Ser Barnes with you at all times.”

Wanda blinked. “With me? Why?”

Y/N’s jaw flexed again, a flash of something dark and protective cutting through their expression.

“Because I don’t trust him,” they said bluntly. “Not anymore. Not with the way he spoke. Not with the way he…”

Their fingers tightened slightly around Wanda’s wrist — not to restrain, but as if holding on to the last thread of control they had left.

“If he’s willing to hit me,” Y/N continued, voice low and steady, “it’s fine. I can take it. I’ve lived my whole life taking it. But not you.”

The words dropped like stones into the quiet room.

Wanda froze, breath caught in her throat.

“I cannot have that happen,” Y/N whispered. “Not you, not Lina.”

At the mention of Lina, Wanda’s eyes softened painfully. She swallowed, thumb sweeping once more beneath Y/N’s bleeding nose — gentler than anyone had ever touched them.

“Y/N…” she breathed, voice cracking at the edges.

But Y/N shook their head. “I mean it. I will endure anything he throws at me. But I will never allow his violence to reach either of you.”

Wanda’s throat tightened as she looked at them — bruised, bleeding, steady as a mountain, and still somehow thinking only of her and a girl they had no obligation to care about, yet did anyway.

Her chest ached with something fierce and overwhelming.

Without thinking, Wanda lifted both hands to cradle Y/N’s face fully, pulling them closer. Her touch was warm, grounding, and soft — a stark contrast to the harshness of the morning.

“You protect us,” she whispered. “Then let us protect you too.”

Y/N’s jaw softened slightly, leaning into her hands. Their own hands rested on her wrists, steady but relaxed, allowing her to guide them.

“Then… let me take care of you first,” Wanda murmured, voice low but firm. She tilted her head, examining the fresh bruise under their eye and the blood trickling from their nose. “You shouldn’t have to stay like this.”

Y/N shook their head, trying to dismiss it. “It’s nothing. I don’t need—”

Wanda interrupted gently, pressing a hand to their chest. “Stop pretending. You were hit. Your nose is bleeding. You’re hurt.”

Her fingers moved carefully to dab at the blood with a clean cloth she fetched from the side table. The soft fabric met their skin, and Y/N flinched slightly, though they said nothing. Wanda’s touch was precise, soothing — deliberate.

“You should call the healer,” she said, brushing the hair back from their forehead.

“I don’t need them,” Y/N murmured, voice tight but steady. “It’s just a nosebleed and a bruise.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, and touched their lip gently. “You’re stubborn as ever. Fine… but I’m calling them anyway.”

Before Y/N could protest further, she made her way to the door, pulling it open. “It’s daytime. They’re awake. I don’t care if you say no.”

Y/N let out a soft groan, leaning back into the bench. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m your wife,” Wanda replied, returning to their side with a small smirk. “This is my job.”

Moments later, a quiet knock came at the door, followed by the familiar voice of the healer, summoned despite Y/N’s protests. Wanda guided Y/N gently into a sitting position, her hands steady and comforting as she prepared them for inspection.

Y/N’s eyes softened at her care, at the tenderness that belied the harsh world outside their chambers. Even with Alaric’s shadow looming over them, here — in this sunlit room, with Wanda tending to their bleeding nose and bruised face — they felt something like safety again.

And they knew they would endure anything for her, just as she would endure for them.

---

Later That Day — Y/N’s Study

The study was quiet, save for the faint scratching of quill against parchment as Y/N went over reports and border intelligence. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows, casting long rectangles of gold across the polished floor. Their bruised face and bloodied nose had mostly healed under Wanda’s careful tending, but the ache lingered and the bruise was still there — a reminder of the morning’s confrontation.

Two familiar footsteps echoed against the stone floors. Y/N looked up to see Ser Rogers and Ser Barnes standing in the doorway, brows knitted and jaws tight upon seeing the bruise in Y/N's face.

Y/N’s eyes softened at the sight of their two oldest friends, though they kept their posture straight, refusing to show too much weakness.

Rogers stepped forward first, his usual calm replaced with a barely contained fury. “Again,” he muttered under his breath, voice low but sharp. “He hit you again.”

Barnes’ fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening. “We’ve seen it too many times growing up, and it never gets easier. Every time that man thinks he can break you, it’s like watching fire consume what we care about.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, wincing as the movement sent a small ache through their jaw. They leveled a steady gaze at Barnes.

“Barnes… be careful with what you say. We don’t know who’s listening,” Y/N said quietly, voice firm but controlled.

Both Ser Rogers and Ser Barnes immediately gritted their teeth, the fury still burning behind their eyes, but they bowed slightly in respect.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” Rogers said, voice low, controlled.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” Barnes echoed, clenching his fists again but restraining the impulse to continue venting.

Y/N let the silence stretch for a beat before cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

“I didn’t call you here to talk about my father,” they said, eyes locking on both men. “I called you here to tell you this: you are to stay with Wanda. At all times. She does not leave her chambers alone. She does not go anywhere without one of you by her side. Do you understand me?”

Rogers and Barnes exchanged a brief glance, the unspoken bond of years evident in the look, before both nodded sharply.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Rogers said.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Barnes repeated, voice steady, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his ongoing anger at Alaric.

Y/N inclined their head slightly, satisfied. “Good. Make no mistake — she is to be protected at all costs. If anyone so much as breathes wrong in her direction, they will answer to you both. And to me.”

Both men’s expressions hardened into grim determination. They would protect Wanda. They would protect Y/N. And they would make sure that no one — not even King Alaric — would touch what was theirs.

---

Y/N leaned back in their chair, quill idly tapping against the parchment as they scanned the latest report from the eastern borders. The words blurred slightly, their mind distracted by the weight of the morning’s confrontation with Alaric. King Alaric had already commanded the troops to station at the border, and Y/N’s chest tightened at the thought. All they could hope now was that the presence of soldiers wouldn’t spiral into another war — another wave of bloodshed for a kingdom that had already seen too much.

Their fingers absently traced the edge of the desk, eyes narrowing in thought. The Eastern Kingdom had been restless for months, pushing at the borders with raids and provocations. And now, with Alaric’s heavy hand at the helm, tensions were poised to erupt. Y/N had spent hours poring over troop movements, reports, and diplomatic correspondences, trying to find a solution that didn’t end with more lives lost.

A soft, familiar knock interrupted their thoughts.

“Y/N?” Wanda’s voice floated through the doorway, light but insistent.

Y/N looked up to see her standing there, sunlight catching the copper strands in her hair. Her expression was half amusement, half exasperation.

“Why are you still here?” she said, stepping inside. “It's almost supper time"

Y/N rubbed at their temple, letting out a weary sigh. “I’m… finishing reports. There’s still so much to go through. The eastern border situation… His Majesty’s orders… I can’t just leave it.”

Wanda stepped closer, hands brushing gently against their shoulders. “And I’m telling you, that’s enough for now,” she said softly, tilting their chin so their eyes met hers. “You’ve been cooped up in here all afternoon. You need a break.”

Y/N’s gaze lingered on her, torn between duty and the warmth of her presence. “I… can’t just ignore it. If the border escalates…”

“You won’t ignore it,” Wanda interrupted, a teasing lilt in her voice. “You’ll deal with it tomorrow. Right now, you’re coming with me. End of discussion.”

Y/N tried to protest, opening their mouth, but Wanda’s smile widened as she took their hand, guiding them gently toward the door. “I’m serious. You’re staying with me until supper. No arguments.”

A reluctant smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. “Fine,” they murmured, letting themselves be led away. “But only because you’re persistent.”

Wanda laughed softly, the sound warm and grounding. “Good. That’s exactly why I’m here.”

And with that, Y/N allowed themselves to leave the study, the weight of the day’s worries temporarily easing as they followed Wanda through the sunlit corridors toward their chambers.

---

Y/N and Wanda’s Chambers

The corridors were quiet as Y/N and Wanda returned to their chambers, the fading light from the late afternoon filtering softly through the high windows.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Y/N shrugged out their jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a quiet thud. Without hesitation, they stepped close, their hands reaching around Wanda from behind. The warmth of their body pressed against her back, snug and grounding, and Wanda felt a familiar shiver of anticipation run down her spine.

Y/N rested their chin lightly on her shoulder, their lips brushing the nape of her neck.

The warmth of Y/N’s body pressed against her back was grounding, but Wanda’s mind drifted, thinking of the bruise still blooming under their eye. Slowly, she turned in their arms, bringing her hands up to cradle their face. Her thumb traced the dark mark with gentle care, and before Y/N could speak, she pressed a soft, lingering kiss to their lips.

“Let me help you relax,” she whispered, her voice low and coaxing. “Forget all the problems for now. Just focus on me… and one problem.”

Y/N blinked, curiosity flickering through the ache in their jaw. “One problem?”

Wanda’s lips curved into a mischievous smile, her eyes sparkling with playful heat. “The problem that you are wearing too many clothes.”

The teasing hit Y/N like a spark. Their eyes darkened instantly with heat, and the playful energy in her voice sharpened into something more demanding. Without hesitation, they lowered their head, capturing her lips in a deep, consuming kiss that swept away every lingering thought of council, border troubles, and Alaric’s threats.

Wanda responded immediately, wrapping her arms tightly around their neck, pressing them closer until there was no space left between them. The kiss started slow, savoring the sweetness of her, but it quickly deepened, urgent and fervent, a silent conversation only they could understand.

When Y/N pulled back just enough, their lips brushed along her jawline, down to the sensitive curve of her neck, whispering against her ear. “I’m completely addicted to you,” they confessed, voice rough with desire.

Wanda tilted her head back, fingers tightening in their hair, eyes dark with invitation. “Stop talking,” she murmured, breathless.

Obediently, Y/N’s hands slid from her waist, moving decisively to the laces of her gown. The soft rustle of fabric against skin, the deliberate, slow tug of silk… every movement was electric, each touch an unspoken promise.

When the gown finally loosened, Y/N pressed a trail of warm, reverent kisses down her chest. Wanda shivered, tilting into their touch, allowing herself to revel in the quiet worship and the sharp ache of anticipation it stirred.

“Although I want to take this slow… It’s almost supper time. So we need to rush a bit,” Wanda murmured, voice husky but insistent, leaning further into their devotion, savoring each careful, deliberate touch.

“Says the one who makes time stop every time I touch her,” Y/N countered, their fingers slipping beneath the dress, seeking the bare skin of her hip. They nudged the gown over her shoulders, letting it pool around her feet like a forgotten crimson tide.

Wanda shivered, not from the cool air, but from the sudden rush of vulnerability and desire. She stepped out of the garment and pressed herself against Y/N's chest, her skin on their clothes, thrilling in the friction.

Y/N took a deep, shaky breath, their eyes tracing the contours of her body in the fading light. That look of quiet admiration—of reverence—was back, but intensified, edged now with clear, restrained hunger.

Wanda reached out, her hands going to the buttons of their shirt, unfastening them with surprising speed, her smile a beautiful, mischievous curve. “If we don’t have time to be slow, then perhaps we should be… thorough,” she suggested, pushing the shirt open and running her palms over the bandages, tugging it down before pressing her hands to Y/N’s abs and leaning forward to kiss the scar in the middle of their chest.

Y/N groaned, a low, yielding sound that she felt deep in her own core. They leaned their forehead against hers, closing their eyes for a moment to simply bask in the heat and intimacy of her touch.

“Thorough,” Y/N repeated, pulling back just enough to look at her, their voice a low, husky commitment. “A promise I fully intend to keep.”

Y/N’s hands slid down to her hips, cupping her firmly before lifting her effortlessly and setting her on the edge of the large, soft bed. They didn't move away; instead, they caged her in, placing their hands on the mattress on either side of her hips, their face close enough that she could feel the faint brush of their lashes against her cheekbone.

"I need you to look at me, Wands,” Y/N murmured, the tone deep and serious, the last vestige of courtly reserve melting away.

Wanda’s breath hitched. She reached up, hooking her fingers around the collar of their shirt—the one she had so efficiently unbuttoned—and tugged, pulling Y/N down for a hard, demanding kiss. It was an answer, a silent confirmation that her focus, her desire, was completely and utterly on them.

Y/N responded with a deep, immediate hunger that bordered on desperation. When they finally parted, their eyes were glazed, and their breathing was heavy.

"You're a wicked thing," Y/N whispered, their lips brushing her jawline as they sought the tender skin beneath her ear.

"Only for you," Wanda confessed, wrapping her legs around their waist, drawing them even closer, seeking the heat and weight of their body against hers.

Y/N's hands found the delicate edge of her chemise. With a slow, deliberate movement that was both punishing and exquisite, they eased the silk up, watching the way her eyes darkened as the fabric gave way. The garment was tossed aside, and Y/N finally allowed themselves to press fully against her, skin to skin, heat to heat.

A sound escaped Wanda's throat that was half gasp and half plea. "Y/N, please," she murmured, the formality of their name softened into a desperate request.

Y/N smiled against her neck, a victorious, utterly devoted grin. "Say what you need, my love," they challenged, their hand already moving, tracing a line of fire down her side.

"Just... you," she managed, threading her fingers through their hair once more, guiding their lips back to hers.

Y/N groaned, a deep, guttural sound, and obeyed the silent command, meeting her lips with a raw, consuming hunger that stole the air from her lungs. Their kiss was demanding, a fierce, protective declaration that obliterated the distance of the day.

But the moment was too urgent, the need too sharp to sustain the languid pace. Y/N pulled back abruptly, breaking the kiss with a ragged breath. Their eyes were dark and locked onto hers, burning with an unrestrained desire.

"Wanda," they breathed, the sound thick with urgency.

Wanda watched, breathless, as Y/N quickly rose just enough to unbuckle their leather belt, the faint clink of the buckle echoing in the quiet room, followed by the soft sound of metal sliding through loops. They discarded the heavy outer garments swiftly. And they removed their shirt and the bandages that Wanda tagged down. Then, without a moment's hesitation, they turned their full attention back to her.

Their hands were gentle but decisive as they moved to the delicate silk of her remaining undergarment. They lifted her hips slightly, their touch featherlight but firm, easing the fabric down her thighs and then off entirely.

Y/N paused, kneeling on the bed before her, their gaze reverent and consuming, tracing the exposed curves of her body. The low light of the afternoon sun caught the contours of her skin, and in Y/N’s eyes, Wanda saw only devotion and absolute, focused intention.

"My love,” Y/N murmured, their voice husky with emotion. They leaned forward, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to the delicate skin of her inner thigh, a promise of everything that was about to unfold.

Wanda’s fingers threaded into their hair, her hips arching slightly on the mattress. The sound that escaped her lips was a low, desperate invitation, and Y/N needed no further urging.

Y/N lowered their head, their breath a warm, tantalizing promise against her. Wanda’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening in Y/N’s hair as they began a slow, deliberate exploration. They lingered at the most sensitive curve, their tongue tracing a possessive, tender line before the real work began.

Wanda gasped, a startled, pleasured sound that was instantly muffled by the soft sounds of the intimate act. A deep tremor ran through her body, a fierce, sudden pleasure that stole her breath and shattered her composure.

Y/N settled in, focused and thorough, the intense concentration on their face mirroring the profound pleasure they were delivering. Every movement was tailored to her rising need, a delicate balance of teasing restraint and deep, satisfying pressure.

Wanda could only whimper, her head falling back against the pillow. The pleasure was too sharp, too immediate to allow for thought. She felt the blood rush, the delicate, electric tension coiling tight in her stomach. Her world narrowed to the glorious sensation, the quiet devotion of her love between her thighs.

She arched higher, her hips lifting instinctively, wordlessly begging for more. Her hands left Y/N's hair to find the sheets, gripping it tightly, trying to ground herself in the exquisite reality of the moment.

The rhythm quickened, deepening into a relentless, glorious focus. Y/N knew exactly where to touch, exactly how to tease; they had learned her body so well for the past week, charting every valley and peak of her pleasure with devout attention.

Wanda could take it no more. The sustained tension was too exquisite, too much to bear alone. A sharp cry escaped her throat, and she released the sheets, her fingers finding the tousled hair at the back of Y/N’s head. She gave a firm, desperate tug, pulling their face up toward hers.

“I need you… Now," she pleaded, her voice a rough, undeniable demand.

Y/N met her halfway, their lips colliding in a fierce, open-mouthed kiss that tasted of urgent, shared need. While their mouths devoured each other, Wanda’s hand snuck between them, finding Y/N's hard and ready cock. Her touch was possessive and guiding. She pulled their tip to the hot, slick edge of her core.

The shift in touch, the sudden change in focus, sent a jolt of raw electricity through both of them. Y/N broke the kiss with a ragged gasp, their eyes fluttering shut as Wanda gently but firmly maneuvered them, guiding their tip to the perfect, agonizingly sensitive spot.

With a final, desperate sigh, Y/N sunk down, going deep making Wanda gasp again, this time with satisfied finality.

"Y/N," Wanda managed, clinging to them as Y/N began to move, slow and deliberate, building the pleasure again, not rushing, but savoring the shared intimacy.

Y/N leaned down, burying their face in the curve of Wanda's neck and shoulder. Their lips found the tender skin just below her collarbone, nibbling and sucking gently, leaving faint, warm marks in their wake. It was a gesture of possessive affection, staking a claim on this private moment.

Their hips moved with a growing confidence, the deliberate pace deepening, targeting the most profound, sensitive parts of her. Each thrust was measured, powerful, and deeply satisfying, eliciting short, sharp gasps from Wanda. She felt the pressure building instantly, the residual pleasure of her almost climax amplifying the new sensations.

Wanda wrapped her legs tighter around their waist, urging Y/N to deepen the connection, to take them entirely. The sensation of being completely filled was grounding, overwhelming, and utterly consuming.

"That's it," she gasped, her fingers digging gently into the muscles of their back as Y/N hit a particularly sweet spot. "Don't stop."

Y/N’s breath hitched against her skin, their own pleasure evident in the way their muscles coiled and strained. They pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, their gaze heavy with shared need, before plunging back in, the deep, rhythmic strokes becoming a conversation that needed no words.

The room faded to a haze of soft light and heavy breathing. Wanda’s vision blurred with rising sensation, and she focused solely on the feel of Y/N's body moving within and against hers, their hips pressing together with a soft slap, slap that punctuated the increasing speed and intensity.

Y/N shifted slightly, finding a new angle that stole the breath right out of her lungs, and Wanda cried out their name again, a long, drawn-out plea. The world began to spin—a gorgeous, dizzying rush toward the edge.

Y/N groaned, their own control fracturing under the strain, and with a few final, breathtakingly deep thrusts, they drove them both over the edge.

The climax hit Wanda hard and fast, a violent, all-encompassing shudder that radiated outward from their point of connection. Y/N moaned over her, their hips twitching, their final, ragged cry muffled against her neck as they surrendered fully.

Y/N hugged Wanda through their climax. Their hips still connected as they both try to slow their breathing. 

When they were both calmer, Y/N their face away from Wanda’s neck and kiss her lips softly before shifting to pull out from her so they can lay beside her. They brushed a stray lock of hair from Wanda’s cheek before pulling her gently towards them. The silence that followed wasn’t empty — it was full of steady heartbeats, the faint rustle of fabric, and the soft rhythm of Wanda’s breathing.

For a while, neither spoke. Wanda’s fingers drew slow, thoughtful patterns over their skin, the rise and fall of Y/N’s chest gradually settling beneath her cheek. The earlier urgency had dissolved, replaced by the warm hum of closeness — something quieter, deeper, something that made Wanda’s eyes flutter shut in contentment.

Y/N’s arm tightened around her, just enough to draw her a little closer. “You’re quiet,” they murmured, their voice still low and slightly ragged from the intensity they’d both shared.

Wanda smiled against their skin, pressing a soft kiss to their collarbone. “Just… appreciating,” she whispered.

Y/N let out a soft, breathy laugh — the kind that made Wanda’s heart lift. “Appreciating what? The fact that we are going to be late for supper?”

Wanda tilted her head up, her cheek brushing their chest as she looked at them with a small, playful smirk. “Supper can wait,” she said simply. “This was more important.”

Y/N's thumb stroked over the faint bruise beneath their eye — the one Wanda had kissed earlier, the one she had tried not to fuss over too much. Wanda's expression darkened slightly as her gaze traced it again, tenderness shifting into something protective.

“It still hurts, doesn’t it?” she asked quietly.

Y/N shrugged, but Wanda could feel the subtle tension in their body. “I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not the point,” Wanda murmured, her hand rising to cradle their jaw delicately so they wouldn’t look away. “You shouldn’t have to be used to this.”

For a moment, neither spoke — the air filled only with Wanda’s slow exhale and the gentle slide of her thumb across their cheekbone.

Y/N turned into her touch, brushing a kiss to her palm. “I’m fine, Wands,” they said softly. “Especially now.”

Wanda let the worry ease from her face but didn’t drop her hand. Instead, she shifted closer, draping her body half over theirs and tucking herself into the familiar curve of their side.

“I like you like this,” she whispered. “When you’re not pretending to be invincible.”

Y/N huffed a soft laugh, their fingers sliding into her hair with slow, absent affection. “And I like you like this,” they replied, kissing her teasingly.

Wanda exhaled, long and soft, sinking into them completely — trusting their body, their warmth, their steady arms around her. Y/N’s fingers traced patterns across her back now, slow and soothing, the motions grounding both of them.

After a long, peaceful silence, Wanda smiled lazily against their skin.

“You know,” she murmured, voice soft, “we really are going to be late to supper.”

Y/N tilted their head just enough to press a small kiss into her hair. “Let them wait.”

Wanda lifted her head, meeting their eyes with a slow, tender smile — the kind that always made Y/N feel like the world was suddenly gentler.

“Just a few more minutes?” she asked softly.

Y/N’s answer was immediate, their hand sliding up her back to cup the back of her head, guiding her down into another soft kiss.

“As long as you want.”

---

Lily’s POV

Lily stood stiffly outside Their Highnesses’ chamber door, hands folded neatly in front of her, though her posture was far more tense than she wished it to be. From inside the room drifted the unmistakable sound of giggling — soft, breathy, intimate.

Her face burned a deep red.

She was no fool. She knew exactly what kind of laughter that was. The same kind she’d heard echo faintly behind this door two nights prior. And again the morning before that.

Saints preserve me, she thought, pressing her lips together, torn between amusement and mortification.

It was nearly supper time. She had to knock. But God above — she didn’t want to.

Gathering her courage, Lily lifted her knuckles and gave a gentle, respectful tap.

“…Your Highnesses?” she called, her voice wavering only slightly. “It’s almost supper time. I—I came to help Princess Wanda get ready.”

For a moment there was nothing.

Then came a soft, muffled thud — no, a slap — followed by a whispered sound she absolutely pretended not to interpret.

Lily’s blush deepened.

Seconds later, Y/N’s voice came through the door, slightly breathless:

“W-Wait! Just a moment!”

Lily stared forward, rigid as a post, trying desperately not to imagine what prompted that shakiness.

A few minutes later — though to Lily, it felt like she aged an entire year — the door finally opened.

Y/N stepped out, buttoning their jacket in a hurry, hair tousled from wandering hands, ears red enough to rival the royal crest. Lily couldn’t help but briefly glance up at their face — and gasped softly.

A purple bloom darkened beneath their eye, still fresh enough to sting.

“Your Highness—” she began, concern overtaking her embarrassment.

But Y/N was already stepping past her.

“Wanda is ready for you to enter,” they said quickly, avoiding the topic entirely. With a curt nod, they started down the hallway.

Lily watched them go, torn between worry and understanding. She had seen that bruise developing earlier, when she had brought their midday tea. She had hoped it was better.

Turning back to the door, she took a steadying breath.

The moment she stepped inside, the scent hit her like a warm, scented wave.

Thick. Heavy. Intimate.

Oh dear.

The air practically shimmered with it — the unmistakable, lingering scent of sex. It clung to the curtains, the bed, the very stones of the room. Her cheeks flamed so fiercely she feared she might faint.

At the center of the unmade bed sat Princess Wanda.

Princess Wanda was usually composed, but now she was… disheveled. Her chemise had slipped off one shoulder, exposing a hint of flushed skin. Her hair, usually braided or pinned, cascaded loosely around her in a rumpled, radiant mess. Her lips were slightly swollen, her cheeks tinted rose.

When Wanda looked up at her, she wore a small, soft smile — sheepish, but undeniably pleased.

“I hope we didn’t keep you waiting,” she said, breath still a touch uneven.

Lily swallowed, clasping her hands tighter.

“Not at all, Your Highness,” she managed, though her voice cracked halfway. “Supper… supper can wait.”

---

Dining Hall

Supper was unusually silent.

The long dining hall, typically filled with conversation or King Alaric’s booming voice, felt colder than usual. The servants moved quietly along the walls, clearly sensing the heavy tension that lingered in the air.

Y/N entered first with Wanda at their side. Once again, Y/N wore a calm mask — composed, almost unreadable. Only the faint purple bruise beneath their eye disrupted that perfection, a stark reminder of the morning.

Lina, already seated on a tall carved chair, swung her legs lightly. She spotted them and immediately brightened.

“Brother!” she chirped, but the word froze in her throat when her eyes landed on the bruise.

Her small hands flew to her mouth.

“Y/N—your face—!”

Y/N shot her a single sharp look.

Not cruel. Not angry.

Just a quiet, pleading warning.

Lina lips wobbled, but she nodded once, swallowing her questions, eyes wide and glistening.

Wanda stepped forward and gently brushed a hand over Lina’s hair as she took her seat, offering the girl a soft, reassuring smile.

King Alaric entered last.

The faint scrape of his boots against the stone made Y/N’s shoulders stiffen, though their expression never changed. Wanda’s fingers brushed Y/N’s under the table in silent support, and Y/N’s hand curled around hers instantly.

The servants set the dishes — roasted pheasant, buttered roots, warm bread — but no one reached for them.

Alaric sat at the head of the table, his gaze sweeping over his children and Wanda.

They all began to eat, though the scrape of knives and the crackle of the fire were louder than any voice at the table.

No one dared break the silence.

Not when Y/N’s bruise shadowed the left side of their face.

Not when Alaric’s eyes lingered too long on Wanda’s hand in Y/N’s.

Not when little Lina kept glancing up at her sibling with trembling lips.

And so supper ended the way it began — in silence, heavy and suffocating.

When the servants stepped forward to clear the plates, Y/N pushed back their chair and rose smoothly. They gave Wanda a subtle nod — stand with me.

She did, without hesitation.

Y/N bowed their head faintly. “Your Majesty. We shall take our leave. Princess Wanda and I have other duties to comply.”

Wanda offered a polite bow of her own. Alaric only raised a brow, but said nothing. They turned toward the doors.

“Lina,” Y/N said quietly, pausing in the doorway.

The little girl blinked, startled. “Brother…” She scrambled to stand and gave a small bow to the king. “May I be excused, Papa?”

Alaric flicked his hand dismissively.

The moment the hall doors shut behind them, Lina rushed forward and hugged Y/N’s legs, burying her face against them.

A tiny, choked sniffle escaped her.

“Oh, Lina…” Wanda murmured softly, heart aching.

Y/N’s expression gentled instantly. They bent, sliding an arm under the little girl and lifting her easily. Lina clung to them, small fingers knotted in the fabric of their jacket.

“Hey,” Y/N whispered, brushing her hair back. “None of that. I’m alright. Truly.”

But she only shook her head against their shoulder, a quiet sob escaping.

Y/N held her a little tighter, then began walking down the corridor, their steps slow and steady. Wanda stayed close beside them, her hand resting at the small of Y/N’s back in silent support.

The castle was quiet around them — torches flickering, tapestries rustling faintly as they passed.

“You don’t have to be brave all the time, you know,” Wanda whispered, her eyes soft as she watched Y/N cradle their sister.

Y/N didn’t respond, but their fingers stroked Lina’s back in a slow, soothing rhythm.

---

Lina’s Chambers

Lina’s chambers were lit by a single lantern, its golden glow flickering over the plush cushions and the small bed tucked against the wall. Y/N gently lowered her onto the mattress, brushing back her hair with slow, careful fingers.

Lina still wouldn’t let go of their coat.

“Lina,” Y/N murmured softly, kneeling beside the bed, “look at me.”

The little girl lifted her head, eyes puffy and damp.

“I’m fine,” Y/N repeated gently. “The bruise doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“That’s not—” Lina’s voice cracked. She rubbed at her eyes with small fists. “That’s not why I… I was scared. You looked sad.”

Wanda’s breath caught quietly from where she stood near the door.

Y/N’s shoulders softened.

Sad.

Not hurt.

Not angry.

Sad.

They leaned forward and pressed their forehead lightly to Lina’s.

“There is nothing in this world you need to worry about when it comes to me,” they whispered. “I’ll always come back to you. Always.”

Lina sniffled, clinging to their wrists.

“Was it... was it Papa who did this to you?” she asked in a tiny voice as her hand touch the bruise on Y/N's face gently. "Why does he always do this to you?"

Y/N’s chest tightened at her words, but they forced a calm, soft expression. They lifted a hand to gently cover Lina’s small one, guiding it away from the fading bruise.

“No, Lina,” Y/N said softly, voice steady. “It’s alright. Yes… it was Papa, but it’s not your fault, and it’s not because of you. He… sometimes acts out in ways that aren’t right. That’s all you need to know.”

Lina’s bottom lip trembled, her small fingers still clutching at Y/N’s jacket sleeve.

“But… why? Why does he always—?” she began, voice breaking.

Y/N shook their head slowly, brushing her hair back from her face. “Some people… they try to show power in ways that hurt others. But it doesn’t change me. It doesn’t change how much I care for you, Lina, or how much I will protect you. Always. I promise.”

Lina’s wide eyes glistened, and a tiny sniffle escaped her. Slowly, she let Y/N hug her close again, wrapping her arms around their neck.

“You’re really strong, Y/N,” she whispered, her voice muffled in their chest.

“I have to be,” Y/N murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “But you… you give me reason to be strong. You and Wanda both. That’s enough.”

Lina finally let herself relax, curling into their embrace as Y/N held her a little longer, the warm lamplight bathing the three of them in a soft, golden glow.

“Now,” Y/N whispered, lifting her slightly and tucking the blankets around her, “it’s time to rest. Tomorrow is a new day, and I’ll be here when you wake.”

Lina’s eyelids drooped, the tension finally leaving her small body, and Y/N rested a hand lightly on her hair, watching until her breathing evened into soft, steady sleep.

Wanda, standing quietly at the bedside, reached out to squeeze Y/N’s shoulder, a silent affirmation that she’d been there, too, and that they weren’t alone.

Y/N gave a small, tired smile and whispered back, “Never alone. Not as long as we’re together.”

Then, slowly, they turned toward Wanda, offering their hand to guide her down the quiet corridor, back toward the privacy and warmth of her own chambers.

---

Y/N and Wanda’s Chambers

Back in their chambers, Y/N moved to the edge of the bed, shrugging off their outer garments and boots. The soft rustle of fabric echoed slightly in the quiet room. They were left in only their pants and inner tunic. Y/N unbutton their tunic to remove the bandages around their chest.

Carefully, almost instinctively, they scratched a small, irritated patch under their right breast.

Wanda’s voice cut softly through the air, warm and concerned. “Did you tie the bandages tight again?”

Y/N shook their head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of their lips. “I was in a rush. I… didn’t pay attention.”

Wanda’s lips pouted just slightly, though the gesture didn’t hide the worry in her eyes. She moved toward her dresser, intending to retrieve a soothing cream, her fingers brushing across the drawer handles.

Y/N followed, curious, stopping right behind her as their arm circle around Wanda’s waist. As Wanda opened a drawer, a small pile of letters slipped into view alongside a familiar jewelry box — something Y/N immediately recognized. Without thinking, Y/N reached for it.

But before Y/N could open the box, Wanda’s hand reach out, grabbing the box and shoving it back into the drawer. Her eyes flicked toward Y/N, but she didn’t notice the letters spilling slightly from the edge of the drawer.

“Later,” Wanda said softly but firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “First, let me see where you were scratching.”

Before Y/N could respond, Wanda’s hands took theirs, tugging them gently but insistently toward the bed. The warmth of her touch was grounding, familiar, and commanding all at once.

Y/N let themselves be guided, letting out a quiet sigh of relief as Wanda pushed them gently onto the soft mattress. “You’re impossible,” she murmured, a mixture of affection and mock scolding in her tone.

“I try,” Y/N replied, voice low, eyes catching the fading sunlight that spilled across the bed.

Wanda leaned closer, pressing a tender kiss just above the spot under their breast, her touch gentle but purposeful. “You won’t be leaving this to chance again,” she said, voice soft, almost a whisper. “I’ll make sure you take care of yourself… and let me take care of you, too.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a small, tired smile as Wanda’s hands worked over the irritated skin. The day’s tension, the lingering ache of Alaric’s words, and even the earlier excitement with her all melted away under the quiet intimacy of her care.

And somewhere, hidden in that same drawer, the letters waited — a secret Y/N hadn’t yet noticed, but one that pulsed faintly with a story of its own.

Wanda’s focus, however, was entirely on them, and Y/N didn’t mind. Not now. Not when she was here, hands warm against their skin, and her soft voice whispered over them like a protective spell.

“Relax,” she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of their chest. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time all day, Y/N let themselves truly feel it.

---

Being an Avenger is pretty cool, all things considered. You get your own room in a giant high-tech tower, you have access to a gym that would make Olympians weep, and sometimes, you even get to save the world.

But the best part? Wanda Maximoff. Or, as you like to call her, your future wife.

She doesn’t know that last bit yet. In fact, every time you call her “beloved” or attempt to serenade her in the common room with a Bluetooth speaker and bad 2000s R&B, she rolls her eyes so hard you worry they’ll get stuck.

But that’s just part of her charm.

“She’s so mean to you,” Peter said once, watching Wanda mutter something in Sokovian and storm out of the kitchen after you offered her a single daisy you definitely stole from a planter downtown.

“Peter,” you replied, deadly serious, “that’s just how she flirts.”

He blinked. “She called you an idiot.”

“Exactly. A term of endearment.”

He stared for a long moment. “You’re not well.”

⸻

You are well. You’re doing great, actually.

Your last mission went flawlessly, and you only got stabbed once. Steve even patted you on the back when you made it back to the jet. That’s basically a medal. You’ve been hitting the gym, your combat scores are higher than ever, and Natasha told you she’d stop babysitting you on recon missions.

And yet… the one thing you haven’t been able to win?

Wanda Maximoff.

You’re twenty-one. Technically. Recently. You had a whole party in the common room. Sam made fun of you for putting up streamers. Wanda said she couldn’t believe they let babies into the Avengers now. You told her she could spank you for being naughty if she wanted.

She left the party.

You consider that one a draw.

Still, your efforts haven’t been entirely in vain. You’ve noticed the way she looks at you sometimes — when you’re sweaty and flushed after training, or when you come back from missions with blood on your face and a crooked grin. There’s something hungry in her eyes. She hides it well, but you’ve gotten good at catching it.

You just haven’t figured out how to get her to act on it.

Not yet.

⸻

It’s a Tuesday when you corner her in the kitchen again. She’s in leggings and an oversized hoodie, stirring tea with one hand and scrolling through her phone with the other. Her hair’s pulled into a loose bun. She looks tired.

You decide this is the perfect moment to try again.

“Morning, gorgeous,” you say with your best grin, sliding up beside her. “Have I told you today that I would walk through fire for you?”

She doesn’t look up. “You said that yesterday.”

“And the day before that,” you nod. “But I mean it more today.”

She finally glances at you, unimpressed. “You realise if you walked through fire you’d die, right?”

“Worth it. If you were watching.”

She snorts. It’s not a laugh, exactly, but it’s close enough that your heart does a little backflip.

“Y/N,” she says with that exasperated tone you’ve memorised down to the syllable. “You are a child.”

You fake a gasp, clutching your heart. “I’ll have you know I’m a grown woman. I’ve paid taxes. I’ve voted. I’ve seen things.”

“Like a toddler who’s been to the dentist,” she mutters.

“I’m twenty-one!” you say, spinning in front of her dramatically. “That is fully adult. Legally. Emotionally. Physically. Emotionally again.”

Her eyes linger on you a moment too long, especially on your bare arms. You flex just slightly.

“I could bench press you,” you add helpfully.

“You say that like it’s sexy,” she deadpans, taking a sip of her tea.

“It is sexy.”

“It’s disturbing.” But there’s colour in her cheeks now, the faintest smirk at the corner of her mouth.

You count it as a win.

⸻

It’s Natasha who corners you a few days later while you’re stretching after sparring.

“You’re obsessed,” she says.

You glance up at her from the floor. “With Wanda? Obviously.”

“She’s not going to date you.”

You scoff. “Jealous?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “You are an infant. You still eat dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.”

“They’re protein-rich.”

“She’s fifteen years older than you.”

“Fourteen and a half.”

“She raised her twin brother after their parents died.”

You pause. “Okay, that one’s harder to counter.”

Natasha crosses her arms. “She calls you an idiot daily.”

“Affectionately!”

She gives you a look.

You sigh, resting your head back on the mat. “Fine. Maybe she’s not in love with me yet. But she will be.”

“Kid—”

“Look,” you interrupt, serious now. “She’s alone. You see it, too. She keeps everyone at arm’s length because she’s scared of what it would mean if she let someone in. But I’m not scared of her. I want to be that person. I love her.”

Natasha studies you for a long, long moment. And then, slowly, she nods. “Just… don’t break your own heart.”

You smile, but it’s softer now. “Too late.”

⸻

Two weeks later, Wanda nearly dies.

You’re there. You see the blast before she does, shoving her behind you with a half-scream, half-snarl. The force knocks you back. Your ears ring. Blood’s in your mouth, your ribs screaming as you hit the ground hard, shielding her with your body.

When you come to, she’s kneeling over you, hands glowing red, eyes wild with terror.

“Sweetheart,” she’s saying. “Baby, wake up.”

You blink groggily. “Did it work? Did we kiss?”

She nearly strangles you.

But her hands are still shaking when she helps you stand.

⸻

After that, something changes.

She doesn’t say yes. Not immediately. Not even close.

But she stops insulting you every time you flirt. Sometimes she just gives you a look. Sometimes she smirks.

She brings you tea after training one day. You stare at the cup like she’s handed you a diamond.

“You like ginger, right?” she mutters, not meeting your eyes.

You do. You love ginger. You love her.

“Wanda,” you whisper, eyes wide with mock-seriousness. “This is a sign.”

“It’s tea.”

“It’s love.”

“It’s a hot beverage and I regret everything.”

But she doesn’t take it back.

⸻

The next time you try to kiss her, you’re sitting on the couch, watching reruns of Friends. She laughs at something Chandler says, and you turn your head so fast you nearly hit her with your nose.

“Don’t,” she says immediately, narrowing her eyes.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t kiss me.”

“Why not?”

“You’re you.”

“I am,” you agree, inching closer. “And you love it.”

She sighs, exasperated but fond. “You are relentless.”

“I’m in love.”

“You’re twenty-one.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“There was no question.”

“There was a vibe.”

She groans and stands up, heading to the kitchen.

You follow. “Come on, Wands. One kiss. Just to see.”

“I’m not going to prison because of you.”

“It wouldn’t be prison. It’d be… sexy jail.”

“You need help.”

“You need me.”

She doesn’t answer. But her ears are pink.

⸻

The moment it finally happens is stupid and perfect.

You’ve just finished a mission in Prague. It was messy. Cold. Your uniform is torn, and you’re limping slightly. But you’re grinning, blood on your cheek, because she’s safe and the world hasn’t ended.

She storms up to you before anyone else can say a word, fists clenched, eyes blazing. “You almost died.”

You blink. “Hi to you, too.”

“Do you think this is a game?”

“No—”

“I saw that explosion. I thought—” she cuts off, voice catching.

And then, before you can say anything else, she grabs your face and kisses you.

Hard. Fierce. Terrified.

Your heart nearly bursts out of your chest.

When she pulls back, you’re breathless, wide-eyed, grinning like an idiot.

“I knew you loved me,” you say.

She groans. “I hate you.”

“You kissed me.”

“You were bleeding.”

“It was a love kiss.”

She turns and walks away. You follow, still grinning. She doesn’t stop you.

⸻

Three weeks later you still flirt outrageously. She still calls you an idiot at least once a day.

Peter tells you it’s going to your head. Natasha glares every time she catches you feeding Wanda strawberries in the kitchen.

But she kisses you now.

And sometimes, when you’re both curled up on the couch, she runs her fingers through your hair and whispers things in Sokovian you don’t understand — but they sound like love.

You don’t say it out loud, but you knew it all along. Hell may not be frozen, but her heart is definitely yours.

DAY ZERO

I didn’t think coming back here would feel like this.

The Avengers Tower used to hum with life — laughter echoing through corridors, coffee machines sputtering in the early hours, Steve yelling at Tony to stop messing with the thermostat. Now, it’s just wind through broken windows and the smell of dust and death.

We came here for equipment — some of Stark’s old biotech, anything we could use to help find a cure. There’s a group of us: me, Brad, Coulson, that medic from Jersey, and two kids we picked up along the way. We’re all desperate enough to try anything.

I wasn’t ready to see what I saw inside.

Wanda and Natasha.

My girlfriends. My girls. The two people I used to come home to every night, now… monsters. They were among the first infected, right after the virus spread through the East Coast. I thought they’d died quickly, that maybe it was painless. I prayed for that.

But when I saw them — moving, hunting, aware — I knew this wasn’t death. This was something crueler.

The others screamed. Tried to fight. There was no point. You can’t fight them. They moved like they used to — coordinated, sharp, unstoppable. Natasha took out Brad before he could even raise his gun. Wanda pinned Coulson to the wall and… god.

The rest of the group fled. I didn’t. I couldn’t.

When Wanda’s red-glowing eyes met mine, she froze. Natasha too. They didn’t attack. They just stared, heads tilted slightly — that same silent communication they used to have between them. Then Wanda reached for me. Not fast, not violent. Just… slow. Like she was asking permission.

I didn’t run.

They pulled me deeper into the tower, away from the exits. The door slammed behind us, metal twisting under Wanda’s power. Everyone else got away. I didn’t even call after them.

Now, it’s just me. And them.

⸻

DAY ONE

I found an old Stark tablet. Still works. Figured I’d start documenting… whatever this is.

It’s day one of being stuck inside Avengers Tower with my undead ex-girlfriends.

They haven’t eaten me yet, which is an improvement on most relationships I’ve had.

Natasha paces a lot. Same silent grace, same cold calculation in her eyes, but it’s… off. Her movements are jerky sometimes, like she’s remembering how to be human but her body forgot. Wanda lingers. She watches me.

There’s something in her stare that feels almost familiar. Like she’s still in there, behind the hunger.

I sleep in one of the safer rooms — or what I think is safe. I can hear them outside at night, slow footsteps, soft growls. But they never come in.

Not once.

⸻

DAY THREE

I left the room this morning.

Natasha was sitting in the lounge area, head tilted up towards the cracked skylight, light falling across her face. She looked… peaceful. Like she was remembering what sunlight felt like. Wanda was sitting on the floor nearby, tracing something in the dust with her finger.

When I got closer, I realised it was my name.

They both looked up when I made a sound, but didn’t attack. Wanda stood first, her head twitching slightly, lips parting like she was trying to speak but couldn’t form the words. Then she stepped toward me — slow, deliberate — and touched my arm.

Cold skin. But gentle.

It’s like they remember me.

⸻

DAY FIVE

They follow me around now.

Wherever I go, they’re not far behind. Wanda tends to keep closer; Natasha circles the perimeter like she’s on guard duty. I think they’re protecting me. From what, I’m not sure. Maybe from themselves.

I’ve started talking to them. Out loud. It feels stupid, but it helps.

“Do you remember?” I asked Wanda today. “Do you know who I am?”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. Then she pointed at her chest, then at me. Over and over again.

Her mouth opened, a soft rasp escaping — like my name caught somewhere in her throat.

I don’t think they’re gone. Not completely.

⸻

DAY SEVEN

I’m teaching them sign language.

I used to know a little, back before everything went to hell — we all learned it for missions where silence mattered. Simple stuff: yes, no, danger, safe, food. They watch my hands carefully. Wanda’s quicker at picking it up; her movements are smoother, more deliberate. Natasha takes longer, but her eyes never leave my fingers.

When Wanda signed you safe today, I nearly cried.

Later, I saw Natasha glaring out of a shattered window at the city below. There were walkers in the streets. She turned back, made a small hand motion I hadn’t taught her — two fingers tapping her temple, then pointing at me.

I think it meant stay here.

They’re not just acting on instinct. They’re thinking.

⸻

DAY TEN

They don’t let me hurt myself.

Not that I was trying to — but when I nicked my arm on some broken glass, they both panicked. Wanda shoved me back against the wall, her hands glowing faintly red, sealing the cut before I could even flinch. Natasha growled lowly, pacing, eyes darting to the blood.

But she didn’t attack. She left the room instead.

When she came back, she had a rag — torn from her old uniform — and tied it around my arm.

Her fingers brushed mine, and for a second, I swear she smiled. Not a full smile. Just a flicker.

I whispered her name. “Natasha…”

She blinked. Once. Then looked away.

⸻

DAY FIFTEEN

I dreamt about before — the three of us in bed, Wanda’s laughter filling the room, Natasha pretending to be annoyed at our morning cuddles. I woke up crying, and before I could stop myself, I called out for them.

They came running.

Wanda crouched beside me, her cold hand on my cheek, trying to wipe away the tears she couldn’t understand. Natasha knelt behind her, head bowed slightly, her breath ragged.

I don’t think they sleep. But they stay near me while I do. Like they’re guarding me from nightmares.

⸻

DAY TWENTY

There’s no cure. Not yet. Not that I could find.

But maybe this is the cure — or the closest thing to it. Proof that the virus doesn’t erase who they were. That love, somehow, can survive even this.

They’re not monsters. They’re echoes.

Wanda sits beside me as I type this. Natasha’s sharpening an old knife, though she doesn’t need it — it’s just habit. Something her body remembers doing.

I taught them one more sign today: love.

They both repeated it back to me.

And for a moment — just a flicker — their eyes softened.

⸻

DAY TWENTY-THREE

I caught Wanda trying to braid my hair this morning.

I woke up to cold fingers brushing the back of my neck, and when I turned around, she just blinked at me and tilted her head like I’d interrupted her. Then she backed off, hands twitching like she didn’t understand why she’d done it.

I don’t know what’s more terrifying — that she’s remembering things, or that I’m starting to get used to it.

⸻

DAY TWENTY-SEVEN

It’s weird what you start to miss.

Coffee. Music. Actual human conversation that isn’t just me talking to the dead.

So, I decided to play music today — found an old portable speaker in one of Tony’s offices that miraculously still works. I played Crimson and Clover because Natasha used to hum it in the shower.

Wanda froze as soon as it started playing. Natasha turned her head like she recognised the sound. And then, slowly, Wanda moved toward me — swaying slightly. Like she was dancing.

She reached out her hand.

And I swear, for a second, I saw something like love behind those pale, dying eyes.

⸻

DAY THIRTY-ONE

Blog update: Natasha walked into a wall today.

Like, full-force. No hesitation. Straight into it.

I don’t know what she was doing — maybe she saw something, or maybe she just… forgot walls exist? Either way, she glared at the wall like it insulted her entire bloodline.

Then Wanda made this weird noise — a low sound that, if she were alive, would’ve been a laugh. I started laughing too. And Natasha just stared at both of us like we were the problem.

It was the best five minutes I’ve had in months.

⸻

DAY THIRTY-EIGHT

They talk to each other.

I noticed it last night when I couldn’t sleep. Their voices were low, guttural, almost like growls and clicks — but rhythmic. There was… structure. Communication.

I couldn’t make out words, but the tone felt familiar. Like the way Natasha used to mumble in Russian when she thought no one was listening.

Wanda would respond with soft, breathy sounds — little hums and broken syllables. They’d pause, look at me, then continue.

I think they’re aware I can hear them.

⸻

DAY FOURTY

I caught Natasha holding Wanda’s hand.

They were sitting in the wrecked common room, near what used to be the bar. Wanda was staring at the sky through a hole in the ceiling, and Natasha just… reached out. Fingers brushing hers like a reflex.

It wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t instinct. It was love.

I had to walk away before they noticed me crying.

⸻

DAY FOURTY-NINE

Okay, I know I said they don’t sleep, but — I think they rest.

I woke up at 3AM and found them sitting on the floor by the bed. Not watching me this time — just still. Wanda’s head leaned on Natasha’s shoulder. Both motionless, eyes dim, breathing slow.

It was peaceful. Almost human.

So, I whispered, “Goodnight.”

Wanda’s eyes flicked open, just slightly. Her lips moved.

One word.

“Stay.”

It was quiet, cracked, almost a sigh — but it was there.

I didn’t sleep after that.

⸻

DAY FIFTY-SIX

I’m starting to understand them.

Not the sounds — not exactly. It’s more… intuition. Like I can feel what they’re trying to say. When Wanda hums low, it means “safe.” When Natasha grunts sharply, it means “stop.”

Sometimes I respond out loud. Sometimes they seem to get it.

Wanda pointed at me today, then signed family.

I didn’t correct her.

⸻

DAY SIXTY

I tried making them food.

Not that they eat it — but I wanted to see what they’d do. I found a can of soup that somehow didn’t smell like death and heated it over a small fire. When I set it in front of them, they just… stared.

Then Wanda picked up the spoon. Slowly. Delicately. She lifted it to her lips, didn’t even flinch at the heat, then placed it back down.

And smiled.

It was small, broken, but real.

Natasha tapped her finger twice against the table — her old way of saying good job.

I nearly lost it.

⸻

DAY SIXTY-FOUR

They’re changing. Or maybe I am.

I don’t flinch when they move anymore. I don’t feel scared when Wanda touches me, or when Natasha brushes past me. I’ve stopped seeing them as monsters.

We’ve settled into this strange rhythm.

Natasha stands guard at the door when I sleep. Wanda hums to herself while I write. Sometimes they even follow my routines — cleaning, pacing, pretending we’re still alive.

Maybe this is what survival looks like now.

Not living. Just remembering how.

⸻

DAY SEVENTY-FIVE

The tablet’s nearly dead. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep this going.

But if anyone finds this — if anyone ever makes it back here — you need to know something.

Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff aren’t gone.

They remember. They protect. They feel. They talk to each other, even if it’s not in words we understand. And sometimes — just sometimes — I think they even laugh.

Today, Wanda tried to braid my hair again. Natasha pretended not to care, but signed pretty when she thought I wasn’t looking.

I signed back love.

They both repeated it. Perfectly.

For a moment, their eyes softened — a flicker of the women I used to know.

Maybe this is the cure. Not medicine. Not science. Just… connection.

I’m not leaving the tower. Not yet. Not ever, probably.

Because for the first time since the world ended, I’m not alone.

And maybe neither are they.

⸻

DAY 94

I can’t remember what month it is anymore.

The tower looks different in summer — or what I think is summer. The light hits the glass at just the right angle in the mornings, flooding everything with gold. Wanda likes it. She sits by the windows, eyes half-closed, soaking in warmth she can’t feel.

Natasha doesn’t. She stays in the shade, still wrapped in that torn jacket like she’s cold. I think the light reminds her she’s not human anymore.

I talk more now. Not to anyone alive — just to them. Sometimes I ramble about nothing, just to hear my own voice. Sometimes I tell them stories from before: missions, movie nights, the time Wanda got drunk on Asgardian wine and tried to arm-wrestle Thor.

Natasha always tilts her head when I talk about that one. Like she’s trying to picture it.

⸻

DAY 102

I decided to try giving them both showers today.

You’d think that’s the weirdest thing to attempt in the apocalypse, but honestly, the smell was getting unbearable.

Wanda went first — surprisingly cooperative. She just stood there under the freezing water, blinking up at me while I scrubbed dried blood from her hair. It ran pink down the drain.

She made this tiny noise when I worked shampoo through her curls — a hum, maybe pleasure, maybe confusion. When I was done, she signed pretty? and I said, “Always.”

Natasha… took more convincing. I think she remembered that showers meant vulnerability. She stood there fully clothed for ten minutes until I sighed and just hosed her down like a stubborn cat.

Halfway through, she made this sharp clicking sound — annoyance, definitely annoyance — and shoved my shoulder. I almost fell over laughing.

Wanda laughed too, this choked, rasping sound that wasn’t quite human but close enough to make my chest ache.

They smell marginally less like corpses now. Progress.

⸻

DAY 118

Routine has become religion.

Wake up. Check the windows. Feed the fire. Talk to the girls. Write something down so I don’t forget I can write.

Sometimes we play games. I taught Wanda how to play noughts and crosses with chalk on the wall. She cheats constantly, using her powers to shift the marks when she thinks I’m not looking.

Natasha pretends not to care, but the moment Wanda wins, she scratches out the grid and signs again.

I could live like this forever, I think. It’s horrible — peaceful and horrible.

⸻

DAY 131

I found one of Tony’s old cameras today.

Wanda let me take her picture. She tilted her head at the sound of the shutter, eyes glowing faintly red. When the photo printed, she stared at it for a long time, then pointed at it and signed alive.

I didn’t know what to say.

Natasha looked at the photo too, then touched Wanda’s shoulder. Her fingers lingered — a memory of tenderness, maybe.

Sometimes I think they’re remembering more than I realise.

⸻

DAY 145

It rained today — proper rain, heavy and clean.

We stood on the balcony and just watched it. Wanda reached her hand out to feel the drops, smiling faintly. Natasha stayed back, arms crossed, eyes darting to me.

Then, slowly, she stepped out too. She raised her face toward the sky, let the rain soak her hair. For a second she looked like herself again.

I almost told her she was beautiful. Then I remembered she already knows.

⸻

DAY 163

I’ve started talking to the city.

When I’m on the balcony, I whisper into the streets below. “Hello?” “Anyone out there?” Just to pretend the world can hear me.

Yesterday, Wanda started whispering too. Not words — just sounds, echoes of mine. She mimicked my tone perfectly.

Natasha didn’t say anything, but later that night, I found her sitting beside the old comms console, tapping random buttons.

Maybe she misses the noise.

⸻

DAY 176

Static.

It took me a moment to realise where it came from — the comms console. I thought it was dead, but there it was: faint crackling, a voice half-buried inside.

“…north perimeter secure… supplies low… repeat, survivors en route…”

I froze.

Wanda jerked upright, head snapping toward the sound. Natasha was in the doorway before I even moved, eyes sharp, posture tense.

I whispered, “It’s people.”

The static hissed back like the tower itself was breathing.

⸻

DAY 179

The signal fades in and out, but I’ve started to catch pieces of it.

“…testing stage… serum still unstable…”

“…need live hosts—non-aggressive preferable…”

“…possible breakthrough…”

That last phrase nearly stopped my heart.

Wanda heard it too. She stared at the speaker, fingers twitching. Natasha touched her arm, signing something fast — too quick for me to catch. They looked frightened.

I haven’t told them what the words meant. Not yet.

⸻

DAY 186

I’ve started answering the voices.

It feels like talking to ghosts. They can’t hear me — I don’t think so, anyway — but I still press the button and speak.

“My name’s Y/N. If anyone can hear this… I’m alive. I’m in the tower.”

Wanda watches every time. Natasha doesn’t stop me, but she stands between me and the window, eyes on the skyline like she’s guarding me from something she can’t see.

⸻

DAY 192

The voices changed today.

They were clearer, closer. Someone mentioned the tower by name. Then I heard my own — Y/N.

I nearly dropped the transmitter.

“Say again,” I shouted into the mic. “Say that again!”

There was a pause. Then:

“Y/N? You’re— you’re alive? Where the hell have you been?”

Maria Hill. I’d know that voice anywhere.

I couldn’t speak for a second. Then I said, “Here. With them.”

Silence.

“You mean—”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Wanda. Natasha. They’re not gone.”

⸻

DAY 200

They want to come here. They think they have a cure.

They said they need a controlled subject — one of the ‘less aggressive infected.’ I laughed when she said it, this hollow, hysterical sound.

“I’ve got two,” I told her. “And they’re family.”

Wanda’s pacing now. She doesn’t like the word cure. Natasha hasn’t left her side, eyes darting between us like she’s already preparing for a fight.

I signed help? to Wanda. She hesitated, then signed back danger.

Natasha nodded.

I think they understand what’s coming.

⸻

DAY 209

They’re still talking over the radio — arrangements, safety protocols, scientific nonsense I half-understand.

Wanda spends most of her time near the window again, staring at the city. Natasha sharpens a knife she doesn’t need. Neither of them sleep.

Sometimes Wanda signs hope. Sometimes no. I don’t know which one to believe.

⸻

DAY 213

I couldn’t sleep. I sat up and watched them sitting together by the fire — Wanda tracing invisible shapes in the air, Natasha pretending not to notice.

Then Wanda turned to her and signed something. I couldn’t catch it, but it made Natasha laugh. Laugh. A short, sharp sound that was more human than anything I’ve heard in months.

I cried quietly so they wouldn’t see.

⸻

DAY 220

The team’s coming in three days.

I told Maria I’d stay here through the trial. She didn’t argue.

When I turned off the radio, Wanda signed choice?

I nodded. “Yes.”

Natasha stood up slowly, stepped toward me, and whispered — voice low, cracked, the second word I’ve heard her speak since all this began:

“Soon.”

⸻

DAY 222

The sun’s setting. The air smells like rain.

They’re both quiet tonight. Wanda’s resting her head on Natasha’s shoulder. Natasha’s watching the window like she’s waiting for something.

One of them has to go first.

I don’t know if I’m saving them, or killing them.

⸻

DAY 223

They’re here.

I woke up to the sound of engines — real, living engines — breaking through the silence that’s swallowed this city for months.

Wanda felt it before I did. She was standing at the window, red eyes glowing faintly, hands twitching with energy that made the glass hum. Natasha was already armed, knife in one hand, the other pressed against Wanda’s wrist as if to say wait.

When the first voice echoed from below — “This is Commander Hill of the S.H.I.E.L.D. survivor team! We’re coming in peacefully!” — Wanda’s eyes went redder.

She didn’t hear peace. She heard threat.

I ran to the window. “Wanda! They’re friends—”

But it was too late. The air crackled.

⸻

The doors blew open ten minutes later.

Maria led four people inside — hazmat suits, rifles, steady but terrified. They were expecting a lab. Instead, they got gods turned monsters.

Wanda came first, a blur of scarlet, teeth bared, a sound like static pouring from her throat. The team fired without thinking — bullets sparking uselessly against her shield.

Natasha hit them from the side, moving faster than a corpse ever should. The first man screamed; the second barely managed to reload.

“STOP!” I shouted. “Stop, please! They won’t hurt me—”

Maria’s voice cut through the chaos: “Y/N, move!”

“No! They’re— they’re still in there!”

Wanda froze at the sound of my voice. Then, slowly, she turned.

Her expression — if you could call it that — shifted. Her jaw unclenched. Her eyes softened by degrees.

Natasha hesitated too. Her knife lowered an inch.

For a moment, no one breathed.

Then I stepped forward, between the two worlds. “They won’t attack if you don’t.”

Maria lowered her gun first. The others followed.

The tension cracked, thin as glass.

⸻

DAY 224

The lab smells like bleach and rust. I’d forgotten what medicine smelled like.

They set up everything in what used to be Tony’s research bay — the machines still mostly intact, blinking faintly as if relieved to be touched again.

Natasha hates the smell. She paces along the glass walls like a caged wolf. Wanda hasn’t stopped watching the scientists.

Every time someone approaches me, Natasha’s head snaps up. She signs danger so many times I’ve lost count.

Maria tried speaking to her earlier — gentle, careful, like talking to a wild animal. Wanda tilted her head, said nothing, then turned away.

The plan is simple, they say: inject one of them with the prototype serum. The antibodies should react, isolate the viral cells, and start rebuilding neural pathways. But the process takes time. They’ll have to keep the subject in cryostasis for at least a week to control the fever.

They asked me who should go first.

I haven’t answered yet.

⸻

DAY 225

We decided on Natasha.

Wanda didn’t like it — the moment Maria approached with the syringe, she stepped in front of Natasha, hands glowing, mouth open in a voiceless snarl.

“Wanda,” I said softly. “Please. Let them.”

She turned to me, expression fractured between rage and fear. Then she slowly stepped aside.

Natasha looked at me. No words, just that same silent question in her eyes: trust?

I nodded. “Always.”

The injection went in clean. Her body jerked once, muscles locking tight, veins flaring black and then red beneath the skin. I almost screamed.

Maria barked orders, the team restraining her as she convulsed, her back arching against the metal table.

Wanda lunged. I grabbed her arm, shouting her name until her powers fizzled into smoke.

When it was over, Natasha was barely breathing.

“Get her in,” Maria ordered.

They wheeled her to the cryochamber — a sleek, frost-bitten coffin, humming with cold blue light.

The door hissed shut. Steam curled up like breath.

⸻

DAY 228

It’s been three days.

The serum is working — maybe. The readings shift constantly. Maria says her heart rate is stabilising, but the infection’s fighting back hard.

Wanda hasn’t left the lab once. She sits by the glass, palm pressed to the chamber, watching Natasha float in that frozen mist.

She hums sometimes — that low, eerie sound that used to mean she was thinking. Now it’s something else. A prayer, maybe.

I sleep on the floor beside her. I dream of thawing ice and red eyes turning green again.

⸻

DAY 232

The fever spiked.

Maria said it might happen — that the serum and the virus would clash before the healing starts. But it’s worse than they expected. The cryochamber’s ice is melting from the inside.

Wanda’s powers react every time Natasha twitches. The lights flicker. The machines stutter.

I begged her to stop, to trust the process. She just looked at me and signed hurt.

I didn’t know if she meant Natasha, or herself.

⸻

DAY 235

She’s stabilising.

The black veins have faded. There’s colour in her face again — faint, but real. Maria ran a scan earlier and said the virus is retreating from the neural tissue. The brainwaves look… human.

When she said it, Wanda smiled. Just for a second, but I saw it.

She pressed her forehead to the glass. Natasha twitched in response — not violently this time, but softly, like she recognised the touch.

Maria whispered, “It’s working.”

I almost don’t believe her.

⸻

DAY 239

The lab feels alive again.

Machines beep in rhythm. The air’s warm from the generators. Wanda’s calmer — she even helped once, her powers steadying the failing circuits when a fuse blew. The scientists stared at her like they were watching God fix their mistakes.

I’ve stopped counting the hours. I just sit there with her, watching frost cling to the cryochamber glass, and I think — maybe this isn’t the end.

⸻

DAY 243

She woke up.

Barely. Just for a second.

Her eyes fluttered open — not red. Not glowing. Just… green. Faint, fragile, human.

She looked right at me through the glass. Her lips moved. I couldn’t hear what she said, but Wanda could.

She gasped.

Then the chamber hissed, the frost sealing her back under. Maria said she needed more time, that they had to lower her core temperature again to prevent relapse.

Wanda hasn’t moved since.

⸻

DAY 250

Seven days.

Maria says they can attempt the thaw tomorrow. That Natasha’s body has accepted the antibodies and the infection’s dormant.

Wanda keeps signing tomorrow over and over again, like if she stops, the world might forget.

I keep thinking about what happens if it works. About what comes after.

Because if Natasha wakes up human, what does that make Wanda?

⸻

DAY 251

They’re bringing her out now.

The cryochamber hisses open, fog spilling across the floor.

Wanda stands at my side, her hand brushing mine. The scientists step back, waiting.

I don’t breathe.

And then — a cough.

A weak, raspy sound that makes my knees give out.

Natasha’s eyes open, slow and heavy.

Green.

Alive.

“Y/N,” she whispers. Her voice is cracked but real.

Wanda falls to her knees beside her, hands trembling, face breaking open with something that almost looks like joy.

I can’t move. I just stare, shaking, crying, laughing all at once.

Maria lowers her weapon, whispering, “Oh my god…”

For the first time since the world ended, I believe in something again.

⸻

DAY 252

She’s really here.

Natasha Romanoff — alive. Human.

I keep saying it in my head like it’ll stop feeling like a dream. She’s still pale, still covered in scars that might never fade, but her eyes are clear again. Her breath fogs in the cold air. Her pulse beats steady under my fingers.

The scientists hover nearby, whispering data. I ignore them.

She looks at me like she’s seeing the sun for the first time.

“Y/N,” she croaks. “You look terrible.”

I laugh — it comes out half a sob. “You died, and that’s your first comment?”

Her mouth twitches — almost a smile.

Then Wanda moves, and everything stops.

⸻

Wanda’s crouched by the door, red eyes bright in the sterile light. She doesn’t move closer, doesn’t speak. Just watches.

Natasha notices her. For a moment, neither of them blink.

Something passes between them — something I can’t read. A memory, maybe.

Natasha’s lips part, but the words die there.

“Wanda,” I whisper, motioning her closer. “She’s okay. She’s— she’s cured.”

Wanda tilts her head. Her eyes flick to Natasha, then to me, then to the cryochamber still hissing faintly behind her.

She signs one word. Different.

I shake my head. “No. Not different. She’s herself.”

Wanda’s face twists, something between confusion and heartbreak. Then she signs gone.

“No. You’re wrong.”

She looks at Natasha again — who, to her credit, holds her gaze, even though she looks exhausted and fragile and so very human.

Finally, Wanda turns and leaves the room.

⸻

DAY 253

Wanda hasn’t come back inside.

I found her on the roof this morning, sitting where the wind hits hardest, watching the ruined city. She looks smaller now.

I sat beside her. She didn’t look at me.

“You’re angry,” I said.

She signed scared.

“Of what?”

She pointed down — to the tower, the people, the machines. Then she pointed to her own chest.

I nodded. “I know. But it worked, Wanda. You saw her.”

She shook her head, slowly. Not me.

I wanted to tell her that wasn’t true — that she was still here, still my Wanda, still the woman who hummed under the rain and laughed when Natasha walked into a wall. But she wouldn’t look at me.

When I reached for her hand, she pulled away.

⸻

DAY 254

Natasha’s recovering faster than anyone expected.

She can walk now — shakily, but still. Maria says her neural scans are almost normal. It’s incredible, really. The cure worked.

But she’s not the same. None of us are.

She doesn’t remember everything. Bits and pieces come through — flashes of the infection, of wandering the tower, of me. When she talks about it, she goes quiet, her voice soft and low.

“I could see you,” she said today. “I couldn’t reach you. But I could see you.”

That was the first time she cried.

Wanda was in the doorway, watching. She turned and left again before Natasha could see her.

⸻

DAY 256

The tower feels too big now.

Natasha and I sleep in one of the old guest rooms. Wanda still haunts the lab, refusing to let anyone near her.

The scientists want to test her — take samples, run scans — but I told them no. She’s not a specimen. She’s her.

Natasha agreed.

But last night, I caught her looking at the cryochamber. That quiet, tactical stare she always had before a mission.

When she saw me, she said, “She won’t come back to us until she chooses to.”

I asked, “And if she doesn’t?”

Natasha didn’t answer.

⸻

DAY 260

Wanda’s getting worse.

The infection’s flaring again — the red in her eyes burns brighter every day, and the hum of her powers shakes the walls when she’s upset.

Maria’s team is scared of her. They stay out of the lab entirely now.

I visit her anyway. I sit near the doorway and talk while she pretends not to listen. I tell her about Natasha’s recovery, about how we found an old garden on the terrace with actual green growing through the cracks.

She never responds, but sometimes, when I turn to leave, I hear her whisper something too quiet to catch.

I think it’s my name.

⸻

DAY 264

Natasha insisted on seeing her.

I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen. “She needs to hear me,” she said.

So we went.

Wanda was curled against the wall, knees to her chest, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

The moment Natasha stepped inside, the air went still.

Wanda’s powers flared, just enough to make the floor vibrate — not an attack, more like a reflex. Natasha didn’t flinch.

“It’s me,” she said softly. “It’s over.”

Wanda’s eyes flickered — confusion, disbelief, anger.

Then she signed gone.

Natasha nodded. “I was. But I came back.”

Wanda’s hand trembled. Me?

Natasha took a slow step closer. “If you want to.”

The air crackled red and white around them, power against heartbeat. For a second, I thought Wanda would lash out. Instead, she sank to her knees.

I caught the words before they slipped away — her voice breaking through the static: “Don’t leave.”

Natasha fell to her knees too. “Then come with me.”

⸻

DAY 267

Wanda’s letting them prepare the chamber.

It’s quiet in the lab — no humming, no red mist, just the sound of machinery and breath. She stands beside the cryotank, eyes dull but calm, watching the frost coil inside.

I asked her if she’s sure.

She nodded, signing home.

When Maria slid the needle into her arm, she didn’t even flinch.

Natasha stood behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder. I stayed in front, trying to keep my smile steady.

The serum went in — bright, blue, merciless. Wanda’s body shuddered once, then twice, her powers flashing weakly before fading.

She looked at me.

Her lips moved. “Love.”

Then she went still.

The chamber sealed shut.

⸻

DAY 268

The frost is thick now, curling over the glass like fog on a winter morning.

Natasha sits beside it, hand pressed to the glass. I sleep nearby again, though I don’t really sleep at all.

Maria says if the cure works the same way, we’ll know within a week.

The days feel endless. The city outside is quiet again.

I keep writing, because if I stop, it’ll feel like waiting for a funeral.

But it’s not, I tell myself. Not this time.

This time, it’s a beginning.

⸻

DAY 275

Her eyes opened this morning.

They weren’t red.

They were green — the soft, human kind that used to look at me like I was the only person left in the universe.

She looked around slowly, confused, then saw Natasha, then me.

When she smiled, it was small but real.

I reached out, and she whispered, “Home.”

⸻

DAY 280

She’s awake.

She’s awake.

Wanda’s lying in the same cryochamber Natasha was in weeks ago, wrapped in a blanket too big for her, hair still damp with frost. Her eyes are the soft green I’d forgotten I missed.

The first thing she did when she saw me was reach out, touch my face, and whisper, “Warm.”

I nearly collapsed.

Natasha was standing behind me, her hand trembling on my shoulder. She smiled — not that sharp, confident smile she used to wear on missions, but something small and quiet, the kind that says, it’s finally over.

Maria cried too. None of us pretended not to.

⸻

DAY 282

The tower feels different.

It doesn’t hum anymore. It breathes.

Wanda spends most of her time on the balcony now, letting sunlight hit her face. She’s weak — it’ll take weeks before she’s strong again — but she smiles easily, and her laugh sounds like wind through the glass.

Natasha’s still protective, hovering nearby like a shadow. Every time Wanda coughs, Natasha’s eyes flick to the lab door like she’s ready for war.

I get it. I keep expecting it to all vanish too.

⸻

DAY 286

We started cleaning the tower today.

It sounds small, but it feels monumental. We swept up the ashes from the lab floor, scrubbed the walls where the infection once burned through wiring. Wanda used her powers to light the rooms again — little flickers of red, gentle now, more human than before.

Natasha found an old radio, fixed the static, and turned it on.

Music. Real music. I didn’t even realise how much I’d missed it until I heard the faint crackle of some ancient pop song drifting through the hallways.

We danced, all three of us — awkward, slow, clumsy, but alive.

For a few minutes, the world felt almost normal.

⸻

DAY 290

Maria and the others are leaving tomorrow.

They want to find more survivors, rebuild somewhere safe. They’ve asked us to come with them, but none of us said yes.

This tower — our home, our prison, our grave — it’s the only place that ever felt ours.

Natasha says she’ll help them remotely, use what’s left of Stark’s tech to keep contact. Wanda just said, “Too many ghosts outside.”

I think she’s right.

⸻

DAY 293

The others left at sunrise.

It’s just us now. The city below looks endless — quiet and broken but still standing.

We planted herbs on the balcony today, in old metal pots. Basil, thyme, rosemary. Wanda said the smell makes her remember dinners in the compound kitchen, when everything still made sense.

Natasha leaned against the railing and said, “This might be the closest thing to peace we’ll ever get.”

I said, “Then let’s not waste it.”

⸻

DAY 298

I found my old journal — the one from before all of this, before the apocalypse, before the infection.

The last line reads: Dinner with Wanda and Nat tonight. Don’t forget wine.

I read it out loud and laughed until I cried.

Wanda took it gently from me and signed new start.

Natasha nodded. “New rules, too.”

I asked what she meant.

She smirked. “You’re cooking this time.”

⸻

DAY 305

Wanda’s hands are steadier now. She can control her powers again — small things first: levitating a mug, warming her own tea, fixing broken glass.

She said it feels different, like something’s changed deep inside. “Quieter,” she said. “Like I can think again.”

Natasha still has scars that light doesn’t quite touch. She says she doesn’t want them gone. “They remind me I made it back.”

Sometimes at night, when the wind rattles the windows, they both reach for me — one on either side — and for the first time since the world fell apart, I don’t feel afraid.

⸻

DAY 312

We’ve started sleeping in the living quarters again. The old Avengers logo above the entrance has rusted, half fallen, but it still feels like home.

I found an old whiteboard in Tony’s office and started using it to keep track of small things — water, food, weather, moods. Wanda added doodles: hearts, suns, little stick figures of us.

Natasha added “Training at 0700.” Some things never change.

⸻

DAY 320

Wanda had a nightmare last night.

She woke up screaming, power flaring bright red. The lights blew out instantly.

I grabbed her hands, trying to calm her, but she was shaking so violently I thought she might tear the whole tower down.

Natasha wrapped her arms around her from behind, whispering, “You’re safe. You’re here. You’re home.”

After a while, the light dimmed.

Wanda cried into her shoulder and whispered, “I didn’t want to forget you.”

Natasha kissed the top of her head. “You didn’t.”

⸻

DAY 330

The herbs are growing. Real green in a grey world.

I’ve started cooking again — actual food, not just tins and scraps. Wanda says my pasta still tastes like glue, but she eats it anyway. Natasha pretends not to agree.

We sit on the balcony every night, watching the sun fall behind the broken skyline. The city hums faintly — generators from far away, maybe, or just the sound of the earth trying to live again.

Sometimes I think about everyone we lost. Sometimes I think about who we’ve become.

And sometimes, I just listen to them breathe beside me and think that, against every law of life and death, we got our ending.

⸻

DAY 333

I don’t know how long this peace will last. Maybe weeks, maybe years. Maybe the world will never be what it was, but maybe it doesn’t have to be.

Natasha says we’ll rebuild. Wanda says she wants to paint again.

I said I’ll keep writing.

This isn’t survival anymore. It’s living. Strange, imperfect, fragile living.

And somehow, that’s enough.

⸻

FINAL ENTRY

If anyone ever finds this — the journals, the recordings, the fragments of what we were — know this:

Love doesn’t die. It just waits.

Even through infection. Even through the end of the world.

The dead remember.

And sometimes, if you’re lucky, they come home.

✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧

Masterlist

What you were doing right now was a risk and you knew that, but desperate times called for desperate measures. You couldn’t handle seeing the suffering that was sweeping through your village. It started with a few people, the elderly mostly, coming down with a strange illness that turned them into husks of themselves, giving them a slow and painful end. Then it spread further, to the children, until finally anybody was susceptible to this blight that cursed your people. With each day more and more perished and you watched helplessly, fretting for the day when you or, worse in your mind, a loved one came down with this mysterious disease. 

And then that dreaded day did come. Your older brother, a person who embodied your entire world, the one person that made sure you had food on the table as a child and a roof over your head, fell ill. You saw the signs as soon as they started, the coughing, the specks of blood on his handkerchief he tried so hard to hide, the dulling of his once vibrant eyes. He pushed himself, still working in the lumberyards until he finally collapsed and from that day on you were either at the apothecary giving people temporary reprieves for this ailment’s nasty side effects, but never able to provide any of them with a cure, or you were at his bed side, hand feeding him and praying each day that his eyes won’t finally close for good. 

You felt helpless, no matter how hard you tried to find a fix for this nothing was working. All you were was an apothecary apprentice, not yet ready to manage your own shop, just now practicing making your own elixirs and poultices. However, the woman guiding you seemed to have given up long ago on combating this blight. So, you stayed awake day and night, reading through old books and trying to find anything that might mention this affliction that has cursed your people. 

It was a long shot, really, the thing that brought you out to the woods. In your desperate attempt, you had pulled dusty books from the back of the apothecary’s small library. In it, you found a string of illnesses that have similar, but not entirely the same, symptoms. The book was in bad shape, with a worn black leather binding that looked like it hadn’t been touched in the entirety of the time both you and your teacher had been alive. Either way, it claimed that a specific plant, one you had sworn you’d seen in parts of the forest, would be the best method to fight off the fever that was rapidly taking out the entire population. So, after reading as much as you could about what it took to develop an elixir, you found yourself wandering into the forest at daybreak and now here you were, starting to tip toe your way into a part of the woods that you absolutely shouldn’t be in.

You had heard the stories, you knew the parts of the woods that were off limits to you. And as you scoured the forest floor for a delicate flower, whose petals were as red as blood, but with a stem so vibrantly purple it looked like it would line the walls of every royal’s castle, you found yourself running closer and closer to the one place you absolutely should not be. For there, a witch lived. 

Everyone knew her cabin lay on the outskirts of the forest, but close enough the whole village could see the plumes of strange crimson smoke that poured from her chimney and loomed over the town. Everyone knew, if you followed the smoke you’d find her cottage, an unassuming place from afar. However, the closer you got the more strange it became. Shrubs made of only thorns, bigger than any found elsewhere, began to line the way to her door. Behind her cottage, where the streams met, lie a small body of water, lined on one side with rocks and a small water fall, that glowed and sparked as if the water itself was alive. It was a pool of both beauty and oddity. One to avoid, yet men still made their way to her. It was always those who made desperate bargains for their starving families, or lonely wives begged for potions to make miracles, or bored youth dared their peers to brave going to the door. But all in all, it was a place you were always warned to avoid. 

But now, you were two steps away from entering her territory. It only caused you a slight pause; then you took those two steps. For, there over the unspoken line of the witch’s property was a glimpse of blood red nearly hidden in the brush. It was as if the sun broke through the trees just to shine upon the very flower you needed. Or, really you needed its strange thorns and its twisted roots. Without much hesitation, you crept through the brush until you could reach out for the flower. Your fingers caressed the petal, moving down until you could ghost them over the thorn, pushing away the foliage of the neighboring plants to confirm, in your utter relief, that it was the exact one that book had described. 

One elixir would not be enough for a town whose people were dropping like flies. So after plucking the flower, as carefully as possible, from the place in which it was rooted, your eyes scanned for more. To your surprise, suddenly, you saw many. The only drawback was with each new one you spotted, it got further and further into the witches’ part of the wood. Closer to her cottage, where the strange smoke ever poured out above the trees. 

When you plucked another, soon you saw two more in the distance, and then another two and and another two, until you were practically in the witch’s backyard. However, you hoped that the tangle of thorns and the dark looming trees kept you hidden. You didn’t dare edge near where the streams met, for you heard other stories about the strangeness of those waters and it frightened you to your core. 

As the last rays of sun disappeared, it was as if the woods got eerily still. For some reason, you thought you had way more daylight left, but maybe you were too preoccupied with your desperate need to find this hopeful fix that you didn’t accurately track the time. It was already difficult to see the sun, when the further you got into the woods, the thicker the trees were. Knowing what your brother told you as you grew, about especially staying out of the forest when the sun began to set, part of you thought you had enough and you should turn around and begin your work on crafting a tonic to cure your ailing village. But still, a louder voice in your head convinced you that you had no idea how much of these strange plants you may need to cure every single one of the sick that remained. So, you continued to gather, knowing it was necessary for the survival of all you ever knew and held dear, your concentration on the plants never wavering. 

That was, until a twig snapped in the distance, echoing through the silent forest. 

Your whole body went rigid and you leaned back up from where you had been plucking the plants with caution. The sound, you were sure, had come from behind you, so careful not to make your own sounds, you turned your body slowly. 

There, behind a tangle of twisted thorns, glowing red eyes were staring back at you. 

It could’ve been any number of dangerous creatures, but immediately you knew what was behind them. You had heard the stories, remembered the rumors. The description of her always mentioned the way her deep, scarlet eyes could simply stare at a man and make him go mad. That is why you knew, in that moment, that what stood in the shadows, stalking you, could be none other than the very Witch of the Woods that you had so carefully avoided up until this very moment in your life. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you called out to the eyes still staring at you, “I realize this is your property and I have no business to be here.” 

“That’s right,” a low voice broke the silence beyond the brush, “so why are you?” 

“I needed a specific plant and it seems it only grows on this side of the forest.” You couldn’t keep your hands from trembling as you spoke, not knowing what to expect from this ill fated encounter. “You see, there is a sickness plaguing the village.”

“And you thought to take my property to help those pathetic beggars?” The figure finally stepped out from the shadows, moonlight shining down just enough for you to get a good look at who you were dealing with. 

Your eyes widened as you finally, for the first time in your life, saw the witch everyone so feared. Men described her as a monster, but what was in front of you did not seem as such. While her presence still terrified you, her beauty struck you as entirely surprising. Without helping yourself, your eyes flicked to her hands that were crossed over her chest. There were finger tips, black as coal just as the stories told, but not crooked or shaped as some sort of monstrous talons. 

The witch stood there while you took her in, her own face shifting from anger into curiosity as she watched you try to make sense of what was in front of you. She took a step forward and when she did that, that was what snapped you out of your inquisitive stare. 

“I- yes!” You stuttered as you clutched at the satchel on your shoulder. “I suppose it is your property. I am truly sorry,” you bowed your head, surprising yourself by taking your eyes off the supposedly dangerous being that was slowly creeping towards you. “Might there be anything I can exchange for what I’ve gathered?” 

The witch didn’t say anything, but instead took another few steps until she was right in front of you. When you tipped your head back up, her face was unreadable and the stillness of the forest began to feel suffocating. 

“I um…” you shifted your shoulder, pulling the satchel to your chest and rummaging through it with trembling hands. “I found this in another part of the woods, near the brook. It’s not from your property and I think it has value…” your hands finally touched the small pouch that you had tucked in there. In your desperate search, as you scoured the forest for the plant you needed, you had stumbled upon a different flower. One you had not recognized, nor had you seen it in any of the books you read in your efforts to cure the blight. You don’t know why you plucked it, but you had, thinking its beauty may brighten your brother in his sickbed. As your fingertips brushed against its stem, delicately placed in the small pouch, you thanked the gods for thinking of even taking in the first place. Maybe it would be the one thing to appease the witch, even momentarily.  

Trying your best to move delicately while your hands shook was difficult, yet you managed to pull out the strange flower with care. “It’s not much, but I can find more.” You weren’t sure that was true, never had you seen such a crystal blue flower that seemed to twinkle in different angles. Your eyes went back to the witch’s staring, unwavering in front of you. Extending your arm to the witch, you revealed the shimmering blue flower resting on the palm of your hand.  “I was going to use this to… well, never mind what I was going to use it for. It can be yours, if you’d like it.” You outstretched your hand even more to the witch. She remained silent, her eyes dragging ever-so-slowly down to the flowers resting in your hand. 

When her eyes returned to your face, you swore the red hue in them had faded a little and you couldn’t help but search her eyes, the curiosity returning to your own. “I’ll take it,” the witch finally responded, outstretching her own hand and covering yours with hers before she carefully wrapped her fingers around the stem of the flower. 

Her touch, while not ice cold like the stories had warned, still made you shiver and you didn’t understand why. Maybe it was the way her eyes never left yours when she took it from you, or the way the intensity of her glare felt like it bore into your own mind. Either way, you didn’t dare look away or move a muscle. 

When her hand retracted, her eyes finally left yours to inspect the flower. “You are correct, this is of great value to me,” she murmured as her charcoal finger tips stroked the petals with care. “However, it is nowhere near the equivalent of what you have taken from my land.” 

“Oh,” your eyes finally shifted away from her face as you contemplated what else you could offer her in this moment. “I can give something more to you, but it may have to be at a later date.”

“You will have to,” the witch suddenly snapped her eyes back to you as she spoke. “I expect proper payment for the trespass and acquisition of what’s mine.” 

“O-of course,” you stutter, your palms sweating as you took in the seriousness of her tone. “I promise to repay you...” You would have to get creative, trying to find proper payment. While you had promised her more of that flower, you were almost sure it would be an impossible feat to find such a rarity as that. Even if you didn’t understand what it was. Something told you, she understood that whatever form of payment she expected, it would be different than more of that mysterious flower. Maybe she expected monetary compensation? Although, if it was coin she wanted, you definitely didn’t have that. “I can come at first light with whatever repayment you see fit.” That was still a bluff, but maybe you could figure out something.

“No,” the witch husked, stepping so close to you that you felt her hot puffs of breath as she slowly took a deep breath in and exhaled. “I will retrieve my payment when the time comes.” 

Your eyebrows scrunched at that. The wording was strange but maybe she knew from your appearance that coin was something you’d have to earn and save in order to repay her. Or worse, maybe she knew what promises you did just try to make were a bluff. Either way, it sounded as if she would give you time to acquire the payment she expected. You had never heard stories of the witch coming into the village, but then again it would make sense if she did. She couldn’t possibly provide everything for herself. 

You stared at her, eyes filled with confusion and for a moment she simply stared back, utterly unreadable. Then after a moment, her hand reached forward, as if to touch your face. You stayed perfectly still. Her finger brushed your cheek. “Thank you,” her lips twisted into a smile that made your blood run cold as she spoke, “for the beautiful gift.” The way she said the last word was curious to say the least. Your whole body shuttered at that simple utterance. She stepped back, her smile growing wider for a moment. You heard a small chuckle escape her lips and then in a flash, red smoke swirled in front of you one minute. The next, you were alone in the moonlight. 

—————————-

Weeks had passed and the witch hadn’t come to collect as she had said she would. You had carefully set aside coin when you could in case she asked for a large amount. It was a struggle, especially when your brother still was bedridden in his process of recuperation. To make matters worse, the illness was still sweeping the village and growing with each day. People were getting desperate. The flower you collected from the witch’s territory had cured some, but when one person recovered, two more fell ill. 

It had done exactly what you hoped it would, actually. It had fought off the fevers and you were successful in securing your brother’s recovery. However, it wasn’t enough. You were running low and you couldn’t stomach the idea of going back to the witch’s home. If she had yet to collect your debt, you truly did not want to accrue more. Each day that the witch hadn’t shown herself was a day filled with relief for you, still having not yet shaken the dark look in her eyes the moment she took the strange flower you offered from her. But, even in your relief of having not seen her yet again, you were getting more and more jumpy with each passing day. You’ve heard so many stories of the witch, yet none of them mentioned the strange nightmares that now plagued your dreams after seeing her face to face.

And by strange, they were absolutely bizarre. Nonsensical flashes of imagery, swirls of red, her voice speaking to you (at least you thought it was to you) in a language you had no familiarity with. One that sounded as ancient as the old gods. Yet, in these flashes, in these words, came a strange feeling, one that wasn’t all that unpleasant. It was as if these dreams played on your curious nature, beckoning you to go back to the woods, to catch a glimpse of the witch again. To feel her warm fingers leave goosebumps on your skin as she trailed them over your skin once more. With the fear of seeing her, these dreams made you almost wish that you would. Your mind was both conflicted in your attempt to cure your village and the strange pull you were feeling at the very essence of your being to return to the woods and stand in front of the dangerous witch once more.

You fought those feelings tooth and nail every day in silence. Not a soul knew of this encounter that you had shared with the Witch of the Woods and any time anyone questioned you about the strange plant you had returned with to cure those suffering from the fever, they got a vague answer of a location in the forest that was in the exact opposite direction of the cottage. 

But then, even if you were winning your battle to ignore your urge and stay in the village where you were needed, your temptation finally did come to you.

You heard the commotion from the shop rather than really seeing her at first. It was the crowds of people running towards the center of the village and shouts of panic that echoed outside the apothecary’s door that piqued your curiosity. You didn’t need to see to know exactly what was causing that public outcry for you to know the source, though. The feeling in your stomach, a mixture of dread and excitement, similar to the feeling you had felt that day when she was near gave you a hint at what had just arrived.

Moving as if in a trance, your shaking legs took you to the door.  Your hand turned the knob and, against your better judgement, you peaked outside.

In all her brilliance, she was there. You could see her looming over the crowd. How was it that she was taller than every single person in the village? Was it a trick of her magic that made her tower over them? She had yet to see you, your head barely peaking from the doorway, but still your feet found themselves stepping outside.

If it was because you were afraid of what was to come or because you had a singular ounce of preservation sense left in you, your body at least remained at the back of the crowd. You watched as the witch scanned the mass of bodies, her eyes swirling with red, a matching red smoke playing at her feet. 

The crowd were, for the most part still, their bodies shaking slightly as they looked up at the mysterious woman hovering above them. She didn’t speak, she waited, until finally a man stepped up. The mayor of the town was ill, you had known that because you had attempted to treat him. It wasn’t fever he was failing with, it was one of the more brutal symptoms. But this man who stepped forward in the crowd, you recognized as someone who worked closely with the head of your town. Someone the village trusted, someone who in this time played as the mayor’s second in command and was respected for the work he had done. 

The crowd grew even more silent as the man looked upon the witch. “What brings you here?” his eyes didn’t seem to waver as he stared at the witch. However, hers never met his, instead she scoffed.

“That is not the question you want to ask me,” She replied, finally her eyes, a darker shade than they once were, turned towards him. 

He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. The stillness of the crowd felt suffocating. “Have you brought this illness upon us, Devil?” His voice was filled with false confidence as he uttered his true question. 

Blood red eyes flared as they looked in the direction of the accusation. “No!” Her voice boomed. “But I can rid you of it.”

“Then do so,” a woman cried within the crowd. “Please! I have already lost one child to this blight.”

“It will not be for free,” the witch warned. 

“We’ll pay anything!” Voices shouted in the crowd. 

“Name your price!” 

“Whatever it takes!” 

You remained frozen, hiding at the back of the crowd as it grew restless, your eyes fixed on the witch. 

“My price,” her voice echoed over them, “is simple. Give me the girl and your village shall be free of this plague.”

Questions flooded through the crowd. Murmurs of who she could mean or what exactly she wanted left the lips of nearly everyone in the mob before her. You stood glued to your spot, your frightened eyes watching as things unfolded before you. The pull in the pit of your stomach grew and twisted. As her words rang through the crowd, repeated with the questions of who and where this girl should be, they spun around your head like a whirlwind. You knew exactly who she was talking about, even if you didn’t want to admit it to yourself. All you had hoped is that she didn’t see you in the back and that no one in the crowd would think to accuse you of being the one she seeked. 

That hope didn’t last long. To your horror, as if in slow motion, you watched as the witch outstretched her hand. Her pitch-black finger pointed and moved over the crowd as all in the mob before her fell silent again. Only a single gasp could be heard as a woman you had known as the baker’s wife turned to where the witch was pointing, finally realizing who this mystery girl was. With a sickening gulp, your eyes finally moved from the witch to the crowd, all now staring right to where the witch was pointing. Right to you. 

“Her,” the witch confirmed as her eyes finally fell to you. “Hand her to me and your sick will be healed.” 

—---------------------------------------

What happened next was chaos. Everything that transpired from the moment the witch pointed to you until now was a blur of angry shouting, hands tugging at you, until finally your body had been forced to the front of the mob–and in a result, into the witch's clutches. 

The next series of events felt fragmented, but had led you to where you were now. You were perched on a lavish bed in what you assumed was the cottage you had been standing outside of weeks ago. How you got here, you weren’t entirely sure you understood. Once the mob had shoved your body towards the witch, her arms clasped around your chest and held you tight. You weren’t sure if you should’ve been thankful that she had caught you before you had fallen head first onto the cobblestone or if you should be cursing the gods for the fact that a village you worked so hard to save handed you over without a moment’s hesitation to the one thing they feared most. Or, maybe second most after seeing how this blight had decimated a small portion of the population…

Either way, once you felt the Witch’s arms clasp around your waist and pull you to her chest, in a matter of seconds a rumbling laugh echoed through the town, the source of which you were sure was the red-headed witch that had you in her grasp. She boomed out a thank you to the towns folks and promised an end to the plague, all while locking you tightly against her. Even if you wanted to struggle, the iron grip she had on you mixed with the fear you felt being in her clutches, had you frozen, glued to her chest. And after a moment, the red smoke picked up like a storm brewing in the wind, filling all your senses, until you finally blinked, coughed, and you were exactly where you are now. 

Except, you think you’ve been sitting on this bed for maybe about two hours now. Watching, the only part of you moving is your eyes, as Wanda moves about what you’re assuming is her own home, gathering things you didn’t recognize. Her attention is barely on you other than the brief moment she pushed your shoulders to peel your body off of her. 

It occurred to you, maybe far too late, that you should start defending yourself in some way. So after an hour or more of silence you finally clear your throat to speak. “What um… what is it that you want?” 

Wanda doesn’t even stop in her tracks, filing through small bottles of odd little trinkets on shelves, but her eyes do flick to you briefly. “I got what I wanted.” Her tone was so flippant and didn’t answer a single thing for you.

“But from me… what do you want from me?” You clarified, your hands trembling at your sides as you looked up at her from where you were perched on the edge of her bed.

She paused this time, her whole body turning towards you and let out a small laugh, dry and humorless. “You don’t know?”

You blinked and slowly, hesitantly, shook your head. 

“Do you not know what it was that you gave me? The promise you made?” She took a few steps towards you and it took everything in you not to crawl away in fear. 

“I said I would repay you, but taking me from the village– It– I fear all my coin is back in my home.” 

“That’s not the promise I meant.”

Your eyebrows scrunched and she stalked ever forward until you were scooting back on the bed. You weren’t fast enough to scurry away, however, and suddenly she was leaning over you. Her hands fell to either side of you on the bed and you shrunk back as she got into your personal space. “You gave me a promise,” she repeated her eyes filled with a searing seriousness that made you shiver. “The flower you presented to me, you had no idea what you were giving away? The magnitude of what it symbolized?” 

Your blood ran cold as your memory flashed back to the beautiful flower. Something so insignificant to you when you plugged it from a clearing in the woods. But now, as you ran through the memory over and over in your mind, you saw the strangeness that surrounded it. When you were looking for the plants needed for the tonic, your mind didn’t focus on anything but them. But when you saw that flower you had stopped, the woods had gone quiet, the sun had shown through the trees directly onto its glimmering petals. You weren’t one to pluck such beauty unless necessary. So why, at that moment, did you so badly want to take it? Your excuse was to give it to your brother, but in reality you just wanted to have your hands wrapped around the stem, your fingers brushing against each delicate petal. And when the witch had caught you plucking away her property, it felt as if it was the rightest thing in the world to give that mystifying flower to her and only her. 

“I placed that myself,” the witch drawled. “Only to appear at the most opportune of time. Only to be picked by specific hands and you…” she took a deep breath and leaned closer, her black finger tips reaching up and grabbing you by the chin. “You took it without so much as a second thought.”

“I– I did not know,” you stuttered, wincing as her fingers squeezed slightly against your jaw. “I am so, so sorry.” 

“Sorry?” She chuckled, leaning back, but never releasing her hold on you. “What an odd thing to say when you’ve promised yourself to someone for all eternity. Shouldn’t the correct response be a thank you? I have agreed to accept your promise of eternity.”

Your eyes grew wide and you tried with all your might to turn your head away, but quickly her hand squeezed so tight she forced your face to look right back at her. You hissed in pain as she leaned closer yet again, a twisted smile upon her face. 

“I don’t understand,” you whined as the witch’s eyes began to swirl with red yet again. 

“You see,” she continued, “where I am from, a world far from this, we have a custom. Beings like me, beings who are… cursed, must wait for someone pure of heart to come, offer themselves to us with this particular item, a magical item, and then they are ours.”

So many questions battled to escape your lips, but you knew there was more. As much as you didn’t want to hear how stupid you were for sealing your fate without even knowing it, you knew you needed to learn more. 

“And then what happens?”

The witch licked her lips before leaning in as close as she could without actually touching your lips. Her breath came out in hot, ragged puffs, her eyes slipped close for a second before opening again and showing a glowing red. “Then, my pet, creatures like me are free to do whatever they please. You have no idea the gift you have blessed me with, the power that will return to me.”

“What… what will happen to me?”

“You,” her lips trembled with delight as she pondered her next words, “will be mine to corrupt.” 

A gasp made its way to your lips but was cut off by the firm placement of her lips onto yours. Your eyes nearly fell out of your skull as you felt the hand on your chin tighten, her thumb tugging down slightly so you were forced to part your lips for her. Never have you felt this, never had you even been kissed. But now, this witch–this creature as she stated–was stealing this experience from you just as she had claimed she had stolen you from your life. 

The worst part was, after a moment of feeling her lips against yours, it wasn’t this horrendous moment you thought it would be. Instead, it felt as if you had drunk too much wine and your head was spinning. Your eyes slipped closed and you felt the witch’s other hand snake around your body. It was at that moment that you realized you were pushed more onto the bed than before and she was now hovering over you, pulling your body until your chest met her own.

That’s also when you began to realize exactly what was happening and who it was that was stealing this kiss from you. Your body went ridge and you tried to push on her shoulders. That only made her kiss you harder. Without much thought your teeth clamped down onto her bottom lip and finally she released you with a low growl. 

You looked up at the witch, eyes swirling, blood trickling from her mouth. Instead of a snarl for the attack you just landed on her lips, her twisted grin was back.

“Pure as you might me,” she purred, “you still surprise me.”

She pushed herself off the bed, leaving you there, curled in on yourself, panting and trembling. It was as if this moment never happened, her back turned from you yet again to go back to work at whatever it was she was concocting. 

You just laid there, watching her as long as you could. But after a while, your eyes grew tired and your head lulled back. 

When you opened them again, you noticed that the sun no longer showed through the cracks in the cottage windows and the witch was now sitting in a wooden rocking chair across the room, a book open on her lap. An enticing aroma filled the air and you realized, as your mouth watered, that you had yet to eat today. 

The witch noticed as you sat up and your head snapped back to where she sat in the corner of the room when you heard her book slam shut. 

“Finally,” the witch complained, “you’re a fragile mortal.”

“And you… are not?”

“Not what? Mortal?” The witch’s eyes remained locked with yours and you were just thankful she remained seated. 

You nodded in response.

“Well you call me a witch, do you not?” Your stomach dropped as she finally stood up. But to your relief, she didn’t stalk closer as she did before. “Although, I have watched as your kind has exterminated countless mortals, deeming them an evil witch too. Therefore, I suppose, I am not that, nor am I mortal.”

“What are you then?” Your voice felt hoarse as you propped yourself up on shaking limbs. 

“Little one, there is not a word in your language that makes you understand just what manner of creature stands in front of you. Some have called me a god, your people call me a witch, others a queen. There have been many names for me.” 

“And what is yours? Your name, I mean?”

The witch only looked over to you, her hands busy with a pot over on the table across from you. 

“You may call me Wanda, but I request that you tell me yours now in exchange.”

“It’s (Y/N),” you heard yourself say before you could stop yourself. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you heard the old teachings of your late parents echoing that names held power to the mysterious beings that dwelled in the forest. Then again, she gave hers so willingly. Wanda, what a simple name for a being that you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. She could’ve lied, she could’ve given you a fake name, but as your mind ran over each syllable internally, you somehow knew she offered you this truthfully.

“Here,” Wanda was in front of you before you even noticed, handing a wooden bowl full of what looked like stew and what you were now realizing was the source of the delicious aroma that had woken you. “Mortals must have food to keep their strength. Eat, you will need it.”

For the second time, without thinking, you didn’t hesitate to do as she asked. This food could be full of any number of poisons or concoctions, but it smelled so delicious you didn’t stop yourself. Plus, it sounded–to your utter dread–like she planned to keep you for a while, so why would she kill you now?

To your relief the rest of the night was silent. Wanda went back to reading in her corner of the room as you finished the bowl. When you were done, wordlessly she stood up and plucked it from your hands. Your eyes lingered on the ink black tips of her fingers and you knew she noticed, yet she said nothing, offering you no information to what might cause this slight difference that sets her apart as something other than human, other than like you.

You remained on the bed for the night, your eyes watching Wanda as she continued to page through her book, every once in a while standing up to check something on her shelves of strange trinkets and items. You had assumed maybe these were items she may use to concoct one of her infamous magic potions that people come back with from the village. Maybe, if you looked closer you’d find ingredients not unlike the ones found in the apothecary, but you didn’t dare get up and closer to where she sat.

As the night hours stretched on, you found yourself lulling back to sleep again. It wasn’t until you felt a shift in the bed did you jolt upright from your slumber. 

“What are you doing?!” You nearly gasped as you scrambled as fast as you could away from the body that was crawling next to you on the bed.

“I don’t need as much rest as a mortal, but I do like to dream,” Wanda deadpanned. 

“We’re to share a bed?” you clutched at the blankets underneath you, your eyes wide with panic.

“Why would we not?”

“I do not know you,” you scrambled. “It is indecent to share a bed!”

“You do not know me,” Wanda repeated with a growl, “yet, you are now mine. So, it is within my every right to share a bed with what belongs to me.”

You gulped, your face twisting into one of panic again.

“What you have promised me,” Wanda hissed as she leaned closer to you, “is not unlike a marriage between you mortals, only with more power, more magic.” 

You shivered as you watched Wanda crawl ever closer to where you stayed rooted to the edge of the bed.

“You are not simply mine because I took you,” she continued. “You’re mine because the moment you gave me the item needed to release me from this curse, you took it on yourself. Where once I was bound to the land, my body and soul trapped here, you freed me and in return bound yourself body and soul to me.” 

Her hand came up to your face, her pitch black knuckles brushing gently on your cheek. It took everything in you to stop from shivering. “So, we will be sharing a lot more than a bed.” 

You swallowed hard at that. If this is to be something of a marriage, whether you liked it or not, you knew something of the things that happened in a marital bed. You were not prepared for that, you did not know this woman before you. In all honesty, things like marriage and courting were distant thoughts in your mind as an adult. It was a silly dream you had to be whisked away by a brilliant prince or a dazzling knight when you were a child, but when you had lost your parents and watched as your brother struggled to provide for the both of you, that dream died. Instead, you were focused on your apprenticeship at the apothecary, hoping one day to take over and provide for your brother in the way he did for you. 

But now here you were, Wanda’s body so close to yours, her eyes getting that red glimmer again as her fingers began to play with a strand of your hair. “Does it scare you, pet?” she cooed as her hand tangled into your hair and forced you to lean closer to you. “When I kissed you today, was that your first?”

“Yes…” you shivered. 

Her other hand reached up to trace her fingertips along your lips. “And when I take you, it will be your first?”

“Of course,” you said with both anger and dread.

Wanda leaned in, her lips brushing against your cheek this time before moving to your ear. “You're a surprising thing,” she whispered. “But I will not take from you again unless you give yourself to me willingly.” 

Your head turned in shock at her words. A surprising act of kindness from a being who could overpower you so easily.

“But just know,” Wanda licked her lips as her fingers yet again traced over your own. “One day, sooner than you expect, you will give yourself to me. And this kindness of mine only remains, if my patience is not tested.” 

You gulped at those words. Wanda pulled back from you all at once and you were left just staring at her. “Tonight,” Wanda looked back at you. “We rest. I’m sure that is an acceptable reason to share the bed for you?”

All you could do was nod and watch as Wanda extinguished the candles throughout the cottage with a flick of the wrist.

That night, your eyes remained open as you lay perfectly still next to the sleeping form of this unknown creature you now knew as Wanda. There was a large part of you that wanted to sob and scream, an even larger part that wanted to sneak out and run, but you did neither. Instead, you watched, wordlessly, as Wanda’s face remained calm, soft even, in the moonlight. 

At some point, in the late hours of the night, you too fell asleep again. This time, dreaming the same dreams you’d been plagued with before your capture. Only now with more clear imagery. Moments flashed in your sleeping mind, moments with Wanda. Your bodies intertwined, dark clouds of smoke surrounding the both of you, but in these clear visions, rather than the fear you expected, all you felt was warmth.

—--------------------------------------------

Weeks went by and you were surprised at how easily it came to you to fall into a rhythm of living as Wanda’s captor. Where you definitely were aware of the restraints figuratively placed upon you, she gave you everything you needed. She fed you, she provided you with clothes much nicer than the ones you had left behind in the village, and she informed you that the strange glow of the pond behind her cottage was just a result of the plantlife that grew within it, crushing your fears and providing you with a beautiful place to bath under the stars each evening. 

Of course, she also let you know that if you did try to run there would be consequences to your actions. Something she didn’t go into detail about but you understood that the capability of her rage was endless, and you did not want to test that. Yet still, you found yourself longing to go back to your village. You wanted to know if she made good on her promise, if there were still those that suffered the plague. Your heart would twist at the thought of your brother, all alone, still recovering from the plague and regaining his strength.

You wondered if he knew what the village did, if he knew they handed you over. Part of you wondered if he was okay with that, in order to save himself from the plague. While he was better from the elixirs you made for him, the path to recover was still a long one for him before you left. The struggle he went through just to take one small step from the brink of death was already a lot for his body. Maybe he was okay with his only sister, a source of burden for most of his life, to be gone from his care. 

At least that’s what you told yourself when you wondered why you had yet to see his face outside of Wanda’s door, demanding for your return. Although, maybe it was a blessing that he didn’t show. You had seen Wanda’s rage in these weeks, at least peaks of it. Every once in a while a villager from a neighboring town would show up at her door, sometimes they would test her patience just a little too much or demand what they had no right to demand from her. She would send them scream and if they pushed their luck. It was the silence that fell throughout the woods that really made your skin crawl, when they pushed her too far and the screams would abruptly stop. 

But, you also got chances to see her be kind. Quickly, you realized when mothers or children showed up at her door, it was easy to sway her to provide a solution. She kept most of the magic she performed hidden from you, but what you did see, you understood, had the power to change the course of people’s lives. If a child had a serious ailment, she could cure it better than any of the poultices or tonics you’ve made ever could. It had you, in those moments, in awe of her.

Not to mention the surprising gentleness she showed you. It was a test for her and you could tell. She was used to taking what she wanted, but she had to hold herself back when it came to you. She never stole another kiss from you, never forced herself upon you. When you slept, she stayed on one side of the bed and never crossed over to yours. Of course, there were small touches here and there. Her hand would press to the small of your back when a knock came at the door, urging you to go out back while she attended to business. Or a hand would brush hair from your face when you came in after bathing. Things like that were starting to form a different image of Wanda in your mind. One that complicated the image of the evil monster she herself tried to imprint into your brain.

In moments like that it was almost as if she cared for you. That the tie that you unwittingly forced upon yourself and to Wanda went both ways, that she was yours just as much as you were hers. It was silly thinking, but as the weeks stretched on that feeling just got harder and harder to ignore.

Until finally, something had to break.

A family had come to her door this time and you had been out back, tasked with picking some roots specific for something Wanda needed. You didn’t question it, you were happy to be out of the cottage, even if it meant you couldn’t stray that far from her land. Except, as the day's breeze swept through the trees, you found yourself wandering, your mind on all that has changed in what you think might be around the past three months now. Time felt different with Wanda, so keeping track was difficult.

Your hands brushed against the soft leaves of plants as you walked, your eyes still scanning for similar root to what Wanda requested, but also plucking small flowers here and there. Maybe it was childish, but you thought they might brighten her eyes if you showed her flowers you found beautiful.

When a twig snapped in the distance, you thought yourself still close enough to the cottage that no one would dare wander around, unless on the specific path that leads to her front door. It wasn’t until a man, armed with a bow, stood right in front of you did your feet halt in their tracks.

“Are you the witch that lives in the cottage?” he motioned with his notched arrow to your new home.

“No,” you said, your hands coming up slowly. “I am not a witch.” 

“I watched you leave from there. You live with her then?”

You swallowed and nodded. “What is it that you want?” 

“What are you to the witch?” He ignored, stepping closer as you stepped back. 

You couldn’t answer that question easily. Her captor? Yes, maybe. Her companion? That seemed like it didn’t quite fit. Her wife? You were unsure, but the way Wanda talked of the binding between you two, it seemed as though you were, even if there were parts to that union that had yet to occur. 

“What are you to the witch, I said!” He repeated and you startled.

“I– Well… I am her helper!” It was all you could think of. “I am tasked with gathering ingredients for her.”

“Does she care for you?”

“What?”

“The demon took everything from me!” His voice was harsh. “I had a wife! Useless as she could be, she was still mine and one day she says she visited your witch, gained what she needed for a better life, drank some blasted potion and vanished before my eyes! The witch took her, I know she did! So I ask again, does she care for you? Are you important to her?” This wasn’t an innocent question and something in your mind told you that if you answered yes, it would be trouble, but if you answered no, he would not believe your words. So instead, your eyes scanned the woods, trying to find anything to distract him.

Your only thought was to take the handful of flowers you had stuffed in your satchel, throw it smack at his face, and turn to run. Luckily for you, it worked in stunning him for a moment, but he was running right behind you a moment later. You heard him call for you to wait, but you refused to stop, your feet trying as best as they could to carry you back to the cottage. 

A root stuck from the ground and your ankle tangled around it before you could make it back onto Wanda’s property line, causing you to fall hard onto the forest floor. There was pain as you tried to scramble back to your feet but the man was back on you, his arrow once more trained between your eyes.

“Run once more and I release my arrow.” 

You twisted to look up at him, struggling to catch your breath.

“You are to bring me to the witch,” he demanded. “And I will put an end to her.” 

It felt like ice running through your veins as he seethed out his demand and for whatever reason you could not understand, the last thing you wanted to do was lead her into danger.

“You might as well kill me,” you snarled back at him. Why was it that the thought of being her demise, even as her own prisoner, made your blood run cold? Never did you think you’d defend her, but now suddenly you’re willing to die for her. 

“I will give you one more chance,” the man barked, “bring me to the witch and I will let you live.”

“If you kill me,” you spat, “she will tear you apart for taking what’s hers.”

His eyes grew wide for a moment at the realization that you stood firm in protecting Wanda. His stance shifted and your eyes narrowed as you watched him ready the bow, pulling back even further to make sure his arrow would fly true. 

But when you blinked, right as he began to release, the arrow never came. Instead a plume of smoke formed in front of you and in an instant, the bow was on the ground, the arrow had never reached its target, and there was a sickening squelch of sound before an even louder thud hit the ground in front of you.

Your eyes took a moment to understand what had actually occurred. Standing in the middle of the smoke, as it dissipated was a seething mess of red hair. You couldn’t see Wanda’s eyes, but you could imagine the blood red rage that swirled around them. Her whole body was trembling and in her hand was a jagged knife, blood dripping from its sharp edge. 

The man was on the ground at Wanda’s feet. She had slit his throat.

The woods were silent again, save for the ragged breathing of Wanda as she stood, her body towering over your assailant. 

After a moment, she doesn’t turn to you, but she says, “you wandered too far, pet.” Her voice is filled with contempt. You shiver at the anger that is found in them. 

“I… I didn’t mean to,” you stammer as you struggle to get up onto your feet. “I wanted to bring you flowers and I just didn’t pay attention to where I was.”

She didn’t say anything to that, her body still shaking with rage as she stood over the man’s corpse. 

It wasn’t until she heard your hiss of pain did her head snap back to look at you. Her eyes were wild with anger, but in them too was concern. “The cretin hurt you,” she seethed. 

“No,” you stumbled. “I tripped trying to run back to the cottage.”

“But it was because of this mongrel.” Her eyes darkened. “I shouldn’t have given him a quick death. I should’ve made him watch as I–”

“You’re hurt!” You didn’t let her finish, partly because it frightened you to know in what depth her mind could go when it came to these dark fantasies, but also in part because you felt genuine concern when you saw the signs of crimson ooze from her side.

“The arrow nicked me,” Wanda’s demeanor changed from rage to annoyance. “I will be fine.”

You stood up fully this time, stumbling slightly on your now sore ankle. Wanda steadied you with a firm hand on your elbow as you stood in front of her. “Still,” you mumbled as your hands brushed the fabric of her clothes back to see the wound. “We must treat it.”

Wanda didn’t say anything to that, her eyes watching you as you began to rummage in your satchel for a rag and dab at the bleeding cut. 

“Let’s go back to the cottage,” you mumbled, “I can bandage you from there.” 

Wanda nodded, her hand never leaving your elbow as she walked the two of you back.

—----------------------------------------------

“You told me the pool wasn’t magic,” you huffed as you stood at the banks of it. 

“Would you have bathed in it otherwise?” Wanda deadpanned as she slipped the rest of her clothing off and began to step in. “It heals, that is all.” 

You had tried to insist on bandaging her wound once you returned to the cottage and Wanda had entertained that thought for a moment, but as soon as the sun set and the glow of the moon showed over the water’s surface, she had removed all the bandage and insisted on going for a swim. 

That also when she insisted you did too, something you both had never done together. But when she revealed that the small quarry where the streams met behind her cottage did in fact have magical properties, that was when you allowed yourself to follow Wanda curiously outside towards it. 

“Healing is all it does?”

“Yes, but only under moonlight” Wanda said, her body now fully nude but submerged in the water. “And you’re hurt too, so remove your clothing and get in.”

Your face flushed as she watched you expectantly. With shaking hands, you removed your clothes slowly, Wanda’s eyes shining in the moonlight, but never once leaving your body. 

Your feet slowly dipped into the pool of water as if it were the first time you’ve ever enjoyed bathing under the stars here and once your ankles were fully submerged, the ache you felt in them and the small sting from the various cuts you received from your fall, all disappeared. 

When you were fully submerged, you couldn’t stop yourself from covering your chest as Wanda waded towards you. The look in her eye was one you’d seen many times in the past few months. It was one that told you Wanda was hungry, but she was trying her best not to give into it. 

“Here,” Wanda murmured as she took one of your hands that was wrapped around your own chest. “Feel.” She pressed the hand to her side where the jagged cut had been, it was all but vanished. There was a small hint of raised skin where it once was, as if it was an old scar. “It’s gone now, see?”

Your hand remained on her naked side for a moment, your eyes trying their best to see through the water with the help of the moonlight while Wanda’s remained glued to you. She was breathing slightly harder than usual and you could tell the close proximity to her while the two of you were in such a state was greatly affecting her.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” you mumbled as your fingers continued to trace, not just where the cut was anymore, but forwards, tracing the muscle of her abdomen. “I’m sorry that you got hurt, because of it.”

“All is forgiven, little one,” she reassured, her voice sounding slightly strained.

“I just wanted to bring you something beautiful,” you said more to yourself than to her as your eyes slowly dragged up her naked form in the moonlight.

Wanda stretched a hand forward slowly, her fingers brushing against your cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are a curious little thing,” she whispered. “Bringing me flowers when the gift I want remains right at my finger tips but yet to be given.”

There was a pause. Your eyes locked and you understood exactly what she meant. You knew what she wanted before she even said it. And as if a moth to the flame, you closed the distance.

Your arms encircled her waist in the water, your naked forms pressing to each other. You titled your head up, and knowing your exact intentions, Wanda leant down until your lips found each other in a second, this time much sweeter kiss. 

Her hands fell to your hips, pulling you impossibly closer until you were unsure of where you ended and she began. The way she kissed you back was slow this time, deliberate and savoring in the moment. 

You two remained interlocked together for a moment, kissing with a languid lust that made your head swim, until finally it was her who pulled back.

“Careful,” Wanda husked, “I am close to my limit and you are tempting me to take what I’ve been waiting for.” 

You took a deep breath, your hands running up and down Wanda’s sides in a way that made her shiver this time. It was a reaction that you revelled in. It was all you needed to make up your mind.

“Then take what you’ve been wanting, Wanda,” you breathed. 

Wanda blinked and for a moment, her ever steadfast gaze wavered and was replaced with one of surprise and hesitation. But that lasted a mere second before being replaced with both an excitement and a hunger that shone in the light of the stars. 

Her hands pulled your body back to her own, kissing you this time with a little more fervor as she waded the both of you back onto the opposite side of the pool, to its rocky outcrop. When her tongue licked along your lips, this time you willingly parted them for her and when hers brushed against your own you weren’t sure if it was you or her who moaned into the kiss. 

Wanda’s hands moved down your body as she kissed you until you felt them grab at your hips and, with a squeak that was muffled by the way Wanda was capturing your lips, she hoisted you up, forcing you to hook your legs around her waist. Twisting the two of you, with this new hold on you, in two seconds she pressed you to the cool rock at the water’s edge. Her lips finally leaving yours to kiss at your neck.

Your eyes screwed shut at all of these new sensations. To feel Wanda’s naked body in between your own legs, nothing between either of you, just bare flesh, had your head reeling. And then the way she was kissing your neck, leaving long, slowly licks and nips in places that had you shivering and felt more sensitive than you ever expected. It was all overwhelming. Your body was already trembling, and you just hoped that Wanda didn’t notice.

When Wanda’s hands went to your breasts and began to toy with your nipples, you couldn’t stop the whimper that fell from your lips, only for it to be met with a chuckle from Wanda. “You are devine, my love,” Wanda murmured against your skin as she nipped at a newly discovered sensitive spot that made your heart race faster and your hands tremble as they clawed onto Wanda’s back. “I have waited far too long to feel your skin on mine like this.” Her fingers pinched and played with your nipples in a way that sent unfamiliar heat between your legs. Everything that was happening, it felt both torturously slow and overwhelmingly fast all at once. 

“Wanda..” you breathed out as your body began to rock into Wanda’s, trying to find some sort of release for the building feeling that was making your head swim.

“I know, pet,” Wanda cooed. “I will give you what you have wanted too.” One of her hands went back to wrap around your waist, steadying you between the rock and her body as her other began to snake down your stomach until she reached between your legs.

You jumped at the gentle brush of her fingertips under the water when they found your clit. But with an encouraging hum from Wanda, your body relaxed again as she began to make light circles around it.

The feeling of her fingers between your legs was something unimaginable to you, but in the best way possible. Your lips found Wanda’s again as she started to apply more pressure and you felt that same pressure begin to build, reaching a peak you weren’t sure you quite understood. All you knew was that it felt incredible and the more it went on, the harder it was to kiss Wanda at the same time. But when she stopped, your lips tore from hers and a whine fell from your mouth.

You saw Wanda smirk in the moonlight before feeling those fingers dip down further, tracing your entrance. “From tonight onward,” Wanda purred, “you are mine in every sense.” With that you felt two of her finger tips push into you. Your head fell forward onto her shoulder as they pushed further, until they were up to the knuckle.

“Yours,” you whined into her shoulder, not fully aware of what you were even affirming, “in every way.” Your hips began to grind into Wanda’s own body until finally she moved her fingers, pulling them out before pumping them slowly back in.

She was gentle with you in a way that even surprised herself, but she knew this was what your first time had to be like. Her fingers stroked inside of you in a steady pace, curling up to press on a spot that had you crying out her name. Her free hand came up to tangle in your hair when you began to move better in time with her fingers on your own.

“That’s it, pet,” she cooed as her fingers began to quicken inside of you, pumping at a pace that made it almost difficult for your own body to follow. The way you were grinding, your legs still hooked around Wanda, your hands clawing at her back, had Wanda utterly enthralled. With the help of the water and the way she had you pressed against the rock wall of the pond’s edge, it allowed for you to continue to get off on her own fingers while she curled them inside you and made sure to press at just the right place at just the right times. 

Moans were filling the air and you thanked the gods that Wanda lived so far from civilization, because otherwise this would be a scandal that swept through the village. Every neighbor would’ve been sure to hear the way you moaned Wanda’s name and cried for her to keep going. The feeling that was building when Wanda was playing with your clit was returning as well, growing ever closer as Wanda began to pump her fingers with a little more roughness, a little more possessiveness to it. Your whole body felt like it was trembling and with each stroke of Wanda’s fingers inside of you, white hot pleasure was being sent to your core. It only took a few more moments, Wanda’s hand tugging and tangling in your hair as your body moved faster against her own, before you fell over that edge with a low moan. 

Wanda talked you through it too, mumbling soft things into your ear in a way you had never heard her talk before. Telling you that you were beautiful, that you did perfectly, that you were cherished. It was almost as if she loved you, in the way she was petting your hair as your body pressed limply against hers when you came down. 

The both of you were breathing hard, Wanda’s fingers were no longer inside of you, and instead her hands were wrapped around body as she pushed off the wall and waded the both of you towards the banks of the pond. 

“Now you know what you have fought against all this time,” Wanda whispered as her body emerged from the water, her hands still holding you to her as if you were just as weightless in the water as you were outside of it. “This is what you have missed each night you have denied me, my love. And now that you are mine, you shall deny me no more.”

Your head stayed resting on her shoulder. Wanda had maneuvered you until she was cradling you in her arms. Both your bodies dripped as she walked you to the cottage. 

“Tonight, you must rest,” Wanda pressed a kiss to your forehead as she opened the door to the back of the cottage with nothing more than a simple point of her finger. “Tomorrow is a new day for us, pet.”

There held in those words a lot more meaning than you could comprehend in this moment. If you had looked up, as Wanda carried you to the bed, you would yet again see the powerful blood red swirl in her eyes. If you had looked up, when Wanda placed you gingerly in the bed, you would’ve seen the twist in her smile once more. If you had looked up right before Wanda blew out every candle in the cottage, you would’ve noticed the inky black of her fingers spread up to her forearms. 

But tomorrow would be a new day, and much more was to come.

taglist: @geekyandgay98 @desperate-gay @high--power @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @natashamaximoff69 @natashasilverfox @lovelyy-moonlight @jareguiromanoff @dj-bynum3718 @noahrex @simpforlizzie @taivantaylor @mrsmothermaximoff @beggingonmykneesforher @dorabledewdropp @belovasecho @umadirectioner @natsnerd @natsknife

Wanda was just beginning to tell her about a new book she’d started reading when a familiar voice interrupted from behind the hedges.

“Now this looks suspiciously like a secret meeting,” Y/N said, stepping into view with a teasing grin. His cloak was half-fastened, his hair slightly disheveled — telltale signs that he’d left his duties in haste.

“Brother!” Lina squealed, jumping up from her seat.

Wanda turned, raising an amused brow. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the council hall right now?”

“Supposed to,” Y/N admitted shamelessly, walking over. “But then I remembered two of my favorite girls were enjoying tea without me. Couldn’t let that happen, could I?”

Before Wanda could scold him, he bent down and pressed a quick kiss to her lips — gentle, familiar, and utterly unbothered by the way her cheeks instantly flushed pink. Lina giggled, covering her mouth with both hands.

“You always do that!” the little girl laughed.

Y/N grinned, then turned to her. “Do what?”

“That!” she said, pointing accusingly before he swooped down and kissed her cheek, too. Lina squealed again as Y/N’s hands darted to her sides, tickling mercilessly until she was shrieking with laughter.

“Y-Y/N, stop! I’ll spill the tea!”

Wanda laughed softly, watching the scene with warmth blooming in her chest. It had been a long time since she’d seen both of them this carefree.

When Y/N finally let Lina go, she flopped dramatically onto the grass, still giggling. He stood tall again, brushing off his cloak, and turned to Wanda with that boyish grin of his — the one that could melt her annoyance in an instant.

“You’re so naughty,” she said, trying to sound stern but failing as her lips curved into a smile.

“Maybe,” he said, reaching out to take her hand and kiss her knuckles. “But you love me anyway.”

Wanda rolled her eyes but didn’t pull her hand back. “You do realize His Majesty is going to be furious when he finds out you ran off again?”

“I’ll take my chances,” Y/N said lightly, sitting beside her on the bench and pouring himself a cup of tea. “It’s worth the trouble.”

Lina climbed back into her chair, cheeks flushed from laughter, and looked between them.

Wanda gave him a knowing look as Y/N reached across the table, shamelessly swiping one of the cookies from the plate before she could stop him.

“Y/N,” she said, half scolding, half amused.

“What?” he replied with mock innocence, taking a bite. “I’m just ensuring these aren’t poisoned. Safety first, my love.”

Lina burst into laughter, clutching her teacup with both hands. “You always say that when you steal cookies!”

He grinned, eyes sparkling. “And it’s always worked, hasn’t it?”

Wanda shook her head, hiding her smile behind her teacup. For a few moments, it felt peaceful again — just laughter and sunlight, just the three of them beneath the late queen’s garden trees.

But the peace didn’t last long.

A voice called from the garden’s archway, polite but firm. “Your Highness.”

Y/N froze mid-bite and slowly turned. Ser Rogers stood there, tall and composed in his armor, though his expression carried that familiar look of long-suffering patience.

“Ser Rogers,” Y/N said flatly, lowering the cookie. “You dare step into my mother’s garden without permission?”

The knight sighed quietly, clearly used to this routine. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but the council is asking for you. Again. And it’s nearly time for sword training.”

“I was never here,” Y/N muttered, sinking back in his seat as if that would make him invisible.

Rogers raised an unimpressed brow. “Your chair, Your Highness, has a rather noticeable occupant.”

Lina giggled again, and even Wanda had to bite her lip to keep from laughing outright.

“Traitors, all of you,” Y/N grumbled good-naturedly as he stood, brushing off his cloak.

“You’ll be late if you keep pretending to sulk,” Wanda teased.

He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to her hair before turning toward the knight. “Fine, fine. But only because you look like you’ll faint if I don’t.”

“I’ll consider it an honor,” Rogers said dryly, stepping aside to let him pass.

Y/N looked back once more — at Wanda smiling softly up at him, at Lina waving both hands — and the faintest sigh left his lips. “I’ll be back before supper,” he promised.

“You’d better,” Wanda said. “Or I’ll send Ser Rogers after you again.”

Rogers smirked faintly. “That’s a threat I’ll happily enforce, My Lady.”

Y/N shot him a glare over his shoulder as he walked away, muttering, “I liked you better when you were scared of me.”

Wanda and Lina’s laughter followed him all the way down the garden path.

As Y/N’s figure disappeared down the garden path, the sound of his boots fading into the courtyard beyond, Wanda let out a quiet sigh and settled back into her chair. Lina was still giggling, covering her mouth as if trying to hide it, though her bright eyes betrayed her amusement.

“You two are so silly,” she said between laughs. “Y/N always acts so serious around everyone else, but with you he’s different.”

Wanda smiled, setting her cup down gently. “He’s been different lately, hasn’t he?”

Lina nodded eagerly, her braids bouncing. “Yes! He laughs more now.”

That warmth bloomed in Wanda’s chest — soft and bittersweet. She looked toward the archway where Y/N had gone, her mind still replaying the easy grin he’d worn earlier, the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at her. For all his strength and stature, there was a tenderness in him that she knew few had ever seen.

“Do you think he’s happy?” Lina asked suddenly, tilting her head.

Wanda blinked, taken off guard by the question. “I think…” she began slowly, “he’s learning how to be…”

Lina looked thoughtful at that, then smiled — the kind of smile only a little sister could give, full of faith and love. “You make him happy,” she said simply.

Wanda’s cheeks flushed softly. “I hope so,” she admitted. “He deserves that, at least.”

They stayed like that for a while, enjoying the gentle hum of the garden — the rustle of leaves, the chirp of birds, the faint laughter of servants passing in the distance. Eventually, when the teapot had gone cold and the cookies were nearly gone, Lina was called away by her tutor.

Wanda walked her to the path, watching as the little girl ran off, her laughter echoing faintly down the corridor. When she turned back toward the empty garden, the stillness settled around her again.

Her gaze fell to the seat Y/N had occupied earlier — his cup half-finished, crumbs still left on his plate. She reached out, brushing her fingers over the rim of the cup, and smiled faintly to herself.

It’s been eight months since she had first stepped foot into Virelia’s palace, and she had seen Y/N in many forms — the composed prince, the quiet scholar, the careful husband — but lately, she was seeing the real person beneath it all. The one who teased his sister, stole cookies, smiled at her like she was the only thing that made sense in his world.

And she loved that person more than she’d ever thought possible.

She whispered softly to the wind, as if sending the words after him:

“Come back soon, my love.”

Little did she know, at that very moment, in the training yard across the palace, Y/N was trying — and failing — to focus on sword drills, his mind still replaying the way Wanda had smiled up at him in the garden.

---

As Wanda turned the corner of the marble corridor, her steps slowed at the sight of King Alaric standing ahead — tall, imposing, with his usual air of arrogance. His cold blue eyes traveled over her like she was something to be assessed, not respected.

“Your Grace,” Wanda greeted softly, bowing her head out of courtesy.

The king’s lips curved, but there was no kindness in it. “Ah, Lady Wanda. You seem to be enjoying your stay rather… thoroughly,” he said, voice dripping with mockery. “Tea in my late wife’s garden, laughter echoing through the halls — quite the charming sight.”

Her fingers tightened slightly against her skirts. “It’s a lovely place. I’m honored that your son allows me and his sister to visit it.”

“Of course,” Alaric murmured, stepping closer — too close. “My son is generous to a fault. Always giving away what should be guarded. Always soft with those who learn how to please him.”

Wanda’s breath hitched, her body tensing as she met his gaze. “If you have something to say, Your Majesty, please do.”

The king chuckled, leaning in just enough that she could smell the sharp scent of wine on his breath. “I wonder what it is you give him, Lady Wanda. To make him so… distracted. I’ve never seen him this enamored — not with diplomacy, not with his duties, not with anyone.”

Her pulse quickened, but she kept her composure. “He is your son. If he has found happiness, that should please you.”

“Please me?” Alaric sneered. “A foreign woman whispering into my heir’s ear — do you think I’m pleased by that?”

Wanda swallowed hard, her chin lifting just slightly. “I think he is a better man than you will ever understand.”

For a moment, silence fell. Then, Alaric’s smirk returned — dark and cruel. “Careful, Lady Wanda. You’re in my palace. My mercy keeps you here.”

Her eyes didn’t waver, though her heart was pounding. “Then I’ll thank you for it… while it lasts.”

He stepped aside with a low hum, eyes lingering far too long before he finally turned his back to her.

Wanda walked away, her breath trembling, but her steps steady. Once she reached the safety of her chambers, she pressed her hands to her chest, whispering as if to banish the chill his words left behind:

“Come back soon, Y/N…”

---

Later that evening, the long table in the royal dining hall felt strangely peaceful without the King’s presence. His chair at the head of the table remained empty, and the absence of his heavy stare made it easier for everyone to breathe — especially Wanda.

Y/N, sitting beside her, noticed the faint calm in her shoulders as the servants cleared away the last of the dishes. “You’re smiling again,” he said quietly, leaning close enough that only she could hear.

She looked up at him, eyes soft. “Am I?”

He nodded, teasing gently, “It’s nice. You should do it more often — at least when I’m around.”

Her lips curved. “I smile plenty when you’re around. You just don’t notice because you’re too busy stealing cookies from Lina’s plate.”

Y/N grinned, his laughter low and warm, echoing softly in the hall. Across the table, Lina rolled her eyes with the exaggerated annoyance of a little sister used to their banter. “You two are hopeless,” she declared, though her smile betrayed her fondness.

When supper ended, Y/N offered his hand to Wanda, and together they walked with Lina through the lamplit corridors back toward her chambers. The castle was quieter now, the soft sound of footsteps on marble blending with the distant hum of guards changing posts.

At Lina’s door, Wanda knelt to hug her goodnight. The girl wrapped her arms tightly around her neck, whispering, “Goodnight, Sister Wanda.”

“Goodnight, little one,” Wanda said, kissing her forehead.

Y/N tousled Lina’s hair affectionately. “Sleep well, troublemaker. Don’t let the maids catch you sneaking pastries again.”

Lina gasped. “You promised you wouldn’t tell!”

“I didn’t,” Y/N said with a smirk, “but I might.”

Her playful glare made both adults laugh before she closed the door behind her.

Then, as the laughter faded, the quiet of the corridor settled between them. Y/N turned toward Wanda, his expression softening. “Come,” he said, offering his hand again. “Let’s get you to bed before you fall asleep in the hall.”

Wanda chuckled, slipping her hand into his. “And what about you, my prince? Don’t you have training at sunrise?”

“I do,” he admitted, leading her toward their shared chambers, “but for now, I’d rather spend what’s left of tonight with you.”

As they entered their room, the flickering firelight greeted them — soft, golden, intimate. Wanda exhaled, letting the day’s unease melt away.

For the first time that night, she truly felt safe.

---

At night

Wanda’s fingers drew slow, soothing circles over the center of Y/N’s chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall beneath her palm. The warmth of Y/N skin grounded her, a quiet reminder that she was here — alive, safe, hers. The firelight flickered across the room, painting soft shadows over Y/N face as her eyes fluttered shut.

Y/N had taken the bandages off earlier before coming to bed. It still amazed Wanda how naturally she did it now — how much trust there was in the simple act.

Her gaze lingered on Y/N profile, her heart tightening with tenderness as her thoughts drifted.

It had only been two months since Wanda learned the truth, Y/N had begun to open up to her in ways she hadn’t dared hope for. In the quiet moments — when the palace was asleep and they lay tangled together like this — Y/N spoke to her in pieces, soft confessions that broke and rebuilt her heart all at once.

She told Wanda about her childhood. How, when she was little, everyone thought she was just a boy because that’s what they saw — but deep down, she had always felt like something else too. A girl, somehow. Both, yet neither. She hadn’t had words for it back then. Only feelings. Only confusion.

And when she’d told her father — when she’d tried, with a child’s innocent honesty, to explain that she didn’t understand why she felt different — King Alaric had beaten her.

She was three.

Wanda’s breath caught quietly, remembering the way Y/N’s voice had trembled when she said it. The way her eyes had gone distant, as if reliving every strike.

Y/N told her that was when her training began — brutal lessons meant to turn her into the perfect heir, the obedient prince. And every time the King raised his hand, Y/N’s mother would step between them. She’d take the blows instead, shielding her child without hesitation.

Wanda remembered how Y/N’s voice had broken when she said, “I swore I’d protect her after that… but I couldn’t. She died giving birth to Lina.”

A lump rose in her throat now. She blinked back tears, resting her cheek against Y/N’s chest as if to keep her close enough that the pain couldn’t reach her anymore.

Y/N stirred faintly, half-asleep, her arm tightening around Wanda.

“Wanda,” Y/N murmured, voice rough with drowsiness.

Wanda looked up, brushing her lips against Y/N collarbone. “Sleep,” she whispered. “You’re safe.”

Y/N hummed softly, the sound low and warm in her chest. Then she shifted, turning toward Wanda, the sheets rustling quietly between them. Y/N’s nose brushed against hers in a gentle nuzzle, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“Can’t sleep?” Y/N asked.

Wanda’s heart fluttered. She smiled, her breath mingling with Y/N’s. “Just thinking,” she whispered.

Y/N opened her eyes slightly — heavy-lidded, soft with affection. “About?” she asked, pulling Wanda a little closer, her hand sliding around Wanda’s waist.

Her fingers found their way to Y/N’s cheek, Wanda’s thumb tracing the faint line of her jaw. “You,” she said simply. And before she could respond, Wanda closed the distance, pressing her lips to Y/N.

The kiss started tender — unhurried, sweet. But when Y/N’s hand moved up Wanda’s back, and her fingers tangled in Y/N’s hair, something deeper stirred between them. Their breathing quickened, lips parting and finding each other again with more urgency.

Y/N’s body reacted before her mind could catch up — the way Wanda’s warmth pressed against her, the way Wanda sighed softly into her mouth — it was overwhelming. Too much, too soon.

Y/N broke the kiss, breath uneven, her forehead resting against Wanda’s.

“Wanda…” she whispered, eyes squeezed shut. Her voice trembled with restraint. “We should stop.”

Wanda blinked, still dazed from the heat of the moment. “Why?” she asked softly, not in protest but in concern — sensing the conflict in Y/N.

Y/N pulled back just enough to look at her, Y/N hand cupping her cheek tenderly. “Because if I don’t, I might forget everything I promised you,” she said quietly. “And I’ll never do anything you’re not ready for.”

Wanda’s breath caught. The sincerity in Y/N’s voice made her heart race, but so did something else — the warmth between them, the tension that hadn’t faded, only deepened. Her cheeks flushed, and for a moment, she couldn’t look away from Y/N’s eyes.

She could feel Y/N — the steady, restrained tremor of Y/N’s body, the heat of Y/N’s skin, and the unmistakable hardness pressing faintly against her thigh even as Y/N tried to pull her hips back, giving Wanda space. That tiny act of control, that instinct to protect her even now, only made her chest tighten with emotion.

Her fingers slid into Y/N’s hair, curling at the nape of Y/N’s neck, drawing her just a little closer until their foreheads touched. Wanda’s voice was barely a whisper, trembling but sure.

“What if I am?”

Y/N froze — her breath catching, her body going utterly still. Then the color rose sharply to her cheeks, painting them deep red. Her lips parted, but no sound came out at first; she could only stare at Wanda, eyes wide with shock and something like awe.

“Wanda…” Y/N managed at last, her voice rough, uncertain. Her throat worked as she swallowed hard, struggling to find words while her heart pounded so loud she was sure Wanda could hear it.

She smiled shyly, eyes soft but unflinching, her thumb brushing over Y/N’s jaw. “You’re always so careful with me,” she murmured. “But I trust you.”

Y/N’s resolve wavered, torn between the fire in Wanda’s words and the promise she’d made — not to rush, not to take without certainty. Her hand trembled as she cupped Wanda’s face again, her breath unsteady.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” Y/N whispered, her forehead pressing against Wanda’s.

Wanda’s breath trembled, her eyes never leaving Y/N’s. For a long moment, neither of them moved — caught between longing and restraint, between what they felt and what they knew.

Then Y/N slowly shook her head, the faintest, aching smile curving her lips. “No,” she whispered, voice barely more than air. “Not yet.”

Y/N pressed her forehead to Wanda’s, their noses brushing as her hand slid to the back of Y/N’s neck, holding her there gently. Y/N’s heart was racing; Wanda could feel it beneath her palm, pounding against Y/N’s ribs.

“I want you to be sure,” Y/N murmured, closing her eyes as if the effort of control itself hurt. “When it happens… I want it to be right. Not because we got lost in the moment.”

Wanda’s chest tightened at the tenderness in Y/N’s words — the way she spoke as if every part of Wanda mattered. Her fingers loosened in Y/N’s hair, then she tilted Y/N’s head down and kissed her softly. A whisper of a kiss, warm and lingering, full of quiet promise.

“I understand,” she said against Y/N’s lips. “And I’ll wait… until you’re ready too.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, relief and love tangled together in that sound. She rested her forehead against Wanda’s again, eyes fluttering open just enough to meet her gaze. “You make it very hard to be patient,” she admitted with a small, sheepish grin.

Wanda giggled softly, brushing her thumb over Y/N’s bottom lip. “Then it’s a good thing you’re very stubborn.”

Y/N chuckled lowly, the tension melting into something gentler, and she pulled Wanda into his arms. Wanda nestled against Y/N’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat beneath her ear. Y/N’s hand came to rest on her back, tracing slow, calming circles.

“Sleep,” Y/N murmured. “Before I forget how to think.”

She smiled against Y/N, closing her eyes. “Goodnight, my prince.”

Y/N pressed a kiss to her hair, whispering just as sleep began to take them both.

“Goodnight, my heart.”

---

The next morning, Wanda found herself blushing every time her eyes met Y/N’s.

She couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said the night before — those quiet, trembling words she hadn’t planned to say. What if I am?

She hadn’t even known she meant them until they were out of her mouth.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know love before. She had loved Jarvis — in her own way. He had been kind, gentle, someone she had grown up with and trusted. But that love was calm, familiar… never burning. It never made her heart race or her skin tingle from a single touch.

What she felt for Y/N was different. Deeper. Wilder. Real.

She loved Y/N — she already knew that. She loved him?…her?…them so much in the way she missed them when they left for council meetings, or how her heart always softened when they smiled at their little sister.

But what she’d realized last night — as they held her like she was something fragile and sacred — was that she wanted to be theirs completely.

Not because she had to. Not because it was expected of her as Y/N’s wife.

But because she wanted to.

She wanted to feel Y/N’s touch, their warmth, their heartbeat against hers — to give herself to them fully, with trust and love and no fear between to two of them.

As she watched Y/N now, dressed for duty, hair slightly tousled, smiling softly as they poured her tea first, her chest tightened with a rush of emotion so strong it almost hurt.

She wasn’t just ready to be with Y/N.

She was ready to belong to Y/N — in every way that mattered.

---

A Week Later

As the day went on, Wanda began to notice a different kind of energy in the palace — a restless hum that filled every corridor. Servants hurried past with arms full of linens and polished silverware, florists carried baskets of blooms through the great hall, and even the guards had exchanged their usual attire for their more formal uniforms.

It was clear something grand was being prepared.

By the time afternoon came, Wanda was seated by the window with a cup of tea when Lily entered, a soft smile on her face and a tray balanced perfectly in her hands.

“My lady,” Lily said as she set the tray down, “the royal dresser will be arriving shortly to show you the designs for the new gowns.”

Wanda looked up, blinking in mild confusion. “New gowns?” she asked. “For what occasion?”

Lily tilted her head slightly, as though surprised by the question. “For the celebration, of course.”

“The celebration?” Wanda repeated, her brows furrowing.

Lily hesitated, realizing her lady truly didn’t know. “His Highness’s birthday, my lady. The Crown Prince’s. The festivities will take place in three days.”

Wanda’s lips parted slightly. “Y/N’s birthday?” she whispered.

“Yes,” Lily said with a small nod, setting the tray down on the table as she began pouring Wanda’s tea. “Every year, the celebration is… grand. The biggest event of the season, some might say.”

She straightened, her expression growing a touch more animated as she went on. “All the nobles from the provinces will be arriving — dukes, lords, their families, even foreign dignitaries. The palace hosts a great ball, and the capital itself turns festive. The commoners hold their own merriments in the streets — music, dances, stalls with food and lanterns. It’s as if the entire kingdom celebrates His Highness’s birth.”

Wanda blinked, surprised. “All that for him?”

Lily’s smile faltered just a little. “Well… it is meant to honor him, yes. But truthfully, my lady, it’s also meant to remind everyone of the King’s strength — of the royal family’s prosperity. The crown spares no expense for this day.”

Wanda’s lips pressed together, her thoughts flickering back to Y/N — to the quiet, selfless person who never once mentioned their own birthday. It was difficult to imagine them enjoying such a spectacle when they so clearly despised their father’s games.

Lily continued, lowering her voice a bit as she poured more tea. “The whole palace will be filled with guests. The preparations take days — flowers from the southern gardens, silk from the east, musicians from across the realm. His Majesty insists on perfection.”

Wanda gave a faint nod, her fingers tightening around her cup. “I see…” she murmured, though her tone was distant.

Lily looked at her curiously. “Has His Highness not mentioned it to you, my lady?”

Wanda forced a small smile. “No,” she admitted softly. “He hasn’t.”

Lily’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh. I—perhaps he wished to surprise you?”

Wanda smiled again, this time more gently, though her heart ached a little. “Perhaps,” she said, though she knew better.

They didn’t tell me because they don’t see it as something to celebrate.

As Lily bowed and left to fetch the royal dresser, Wanda sat back in her chair, the hum of activity echoing faintly through the hallways beyond.

Four days.

Four days until the palace would be filled with laughter and music — and Y/N would be forced to stand beside the man who had stolen every reason they had to smile.

She glanced toward the gardens, the soft wind carrying the scent of roses through the open window.

“If it’s meant to be their day,” she whispered to herself, “then I’ll make sure it truly is.”

---

That evening, when the palace quieted and the last rays of sunlight spilled across the corridors, Wanda found Y/N sitting by the window of their chambers. Y/N was half-dressed down from their formal clothes, sleeves rolled up — just them, relaxed and unguarded for once.

She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe with a playful frown. “So,” she began, voice teasing but edged with mock irritation, “is there something you forgot to tell me?”

Y/N looked up, puzzled for a second. “Hmm?”

“Your birthday,” she said, narrowing her eyes just enough to make her point clear.

Realization dawned, and a small, sheepish smile tugged at their lips. “Ah… that.”

“Yes, that,” Wanda huffed, stepping closer, pretending to scold them. “Everyone in the palace seems to know except me. There are servants scrubbing every corner, the cooks are already planning feasts, and Lily nearly fainted when I said I didn’t know what was going on.”

Y/N chuckled softly, leaning back in their chair. “It’s nothing, Wanda.”

“Nothing?” she repeated, raising a brow. “They’re preparing for days, and you say it’s nothing?”

They shrugged lightly, trying to brush it off. “It’s just another event. My father likes to make it grand — to remind everyone of the crown’s strength.”

She tilted her head, still mock-offended but now curious. “So, not even a word to your wife?”

Their smile faltered for a second, replaced by a softer look. “I didn’t think it mattered,” they admitted quietly. “It’s never really been my day.”

Her expression softened at that. She stepped closer, resting a hand on their shoulder. “It matters to me,” she said, voice gentle now. “You matter to me.”

Y/N looked up at her then — truly looked — and their faint smile returned, tinged with warmth and something unspoken.

“Well,” she said, letting her fingers trace lightly along their collar. “Since it’s your nothing, I suppose I’ll just have to make it something.”

They chuckled, shaking their head, the tension in their shoulders easing. “I don’t doubt you will.”

---

Two days later, Wanda had already chosen her dress for the celebration. And now she sat across from Y/N, spooning a bit of honey into her tea while they lazily buttered a slice of bread.

“I’m going out today,” she said casually, glancing up at them through her lashes.

Y/N raised a brow, swallowing their bite. “Out? Where to?”

“Into the capital,” Wanda replied, taking a sip of her tea. “Lina and I thought we might do a little shopping.”

At that, Y/N’s expression brightened immediately. “Then I’ll come with you,” they said, already pushing their chair back. “It’s been a while since I—”

“No.”

They blinked. “No?”

Wanda smiled sweetly, setting her cup down. “You’re not coming.”

Y/N leaned forward slightly, pretending to be offended. “And why not, my lady?”

“Because,” she said, arching a brow, “it’s for your birthday. And I can’t very well buy your gift with you hovering around.”

Realization hit them, and the teasing grin tugged at the corners of their mouth. “Ah… so that’s your plan.”

“It’s a good plan,” she replied, feigning a stern look. “And you’re going to ruin it if you come.”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking their head in defeat. “Fine, fine. But you’ll at least take someone with you.”

“I will,” Wanda said, rising from her seat. “Ser Barnes will accompany Lina and me. You trust him, don’t you?”

“I do,” they admitted, though they still gave her a mildly pouty look.

“Good.” She walked around the table, resting her hands on their shoulders before leaning down to press a kiss to their lips — soft and quick, but full of warmth. “Try not to miss me too much,” she teased.

Y/N caught her hand before she could step away, their thumb brushing over her fingers. “I already do,” they murmured with a smile.

She laughed softly, heart fluttering, before gently pulling free. “Then I’ll bring you something you’ll love,” she promised, her eyes glinting playfully.

They tilted their head, watching her as she gathered her cloak. “You already have.”

---

Y/N walked with them through the palace courtyard, the morning air still cool and crisp. The carriage waited at the end of the stone path, polished to perfection, the royal crest gleaming in the sunlight.

Wanda was already helping Lina up the small step when Y/N reached them, their cloak brushing against the gravel. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” they asked, trying once more, a hopeful glint in their eyes.

Wanda turned to face them from the carriage door, her smile patient but teasing. “Positive,” she said. “If you come, you’ll see what I’m buying — and that ruins the entire point.”

They sighed, running a hand through their hair in mock defeat. “You’re cruel, my lady.”

“Only to you,” she replied, her grin widening.

They crouched a little to meet Lina’s gaze inside the carriage. “And you, little one — behave for your sister-in-law, alright?”

Lina puffed her chest proudly. “I will! I’ll make sure she doesn’t get lost in the market!”

That made both Wanda and Y/N laugh. “Good,” Y/N said, reaching out to pinch her cheek lightly. “You’re my brave little guard, then.”

Then their tone shifted, soft but serious, as they turned toward the knight standing beside the carriage. “Ser Barnes,” Y/N said firmly, their princely tone slipping into place. “You stay with them at all times. Do not leave their side for any reason.”

Ser Barnes placed a fist over his chest and bowed his head. “You have my word, Your Highness.”

Wanda rolled her eyes fondly. “You’re acting like we’re going to war, not shopping.”

“Sometimes the markets are a battlefield,” Y/N said with a small smirk, stepping closer to her.

She laughed, but her smile softened when they reached up and brushed their thumb against her jaw. “Be safe,” they murmured.

“I will,” she promised.

They pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before stepping back as the footman closed the carriage door. As the horses started to move, Wanda leaned out the window for one last look. Y/N stood there, hands behind their back, watching the carriage roll away — their usual calm expression betraying the faintest trace of longing.

---

The city was alive that morning — the streets bustling with laughter, vendors calling out their wares, and the scent of baked bread and wildflowers drifting through the air. It was one of those rare, golden days when the capital felt almost peaceful.

Lina clung to Wanda’s hand as they stepped down from the carriage, her eyes wide with excitement. “It’s so busy! Look, Wanda! They’re selling ribbons! And sweets!”

Wanda chuckled softly, adjusting her hood as she glanced around. “We’ll see everything, little one. But first, we need to visit the jeweler, alright?”

“Alright!” Lina said eagerly, skipping a few steps ahead until Ser Barnes gently reminded her to stay close.

The jeweler’s shop was nestled between a flower stall and a tailor’s. Its windows sparkled with tiny displays of gemstones that caught the morning sun. Inside, the air smelled faintly of polished wood and lavender oil.

The shopkeeper, a plump woman with kind eyes, immediately recognized them and bowed low. “Your Highness, Princess Lina — what an honor.”

“Please,” Wanda said gently. “No formalities today. I’m here to find something… special.”

The woman smiled knowingly. “For His Highness, then?”

Wanda’s cheeks warmed, but she nodded. “Yes. His birthday is near.”

Lina leaned against the counter, her eyes sparkling. “Something shiny, maybe? He likes simple things, but he deserves something beautiful.”

Wanda looked at her with a fond smile. “You’re right. Something simple, but meaningful.”

After browsing trays of rings, brooches, and cufflinks, her eyes finally landed on a brooch. It was elegant — a silver crest shaped like a hawk in flight, resembling the symbol of Virelia, with a tiny ruby at its heart. Strong, but refined.

“This one,” she whispered.

The shopkeeper nodded approvingly. “A perfect choice for our prince. It can be inscribed, if you wish.”

Wanda hesitated, her thumb brushing over the metal. “Yes… could you inscribe it with the words ‘To the heart that protects mine’?”

The woman smiled softly. “Beautiful.”

While the pendant was being prepared, Lina tugged at Wanda’s sleeve. “Can we get him something from me too?”

Wanda knelt to her level. “Of course. What would you like to give him?”

Lina thought for a moment, tapping her chin with a tiny finger before gasping. “A quill! He likes to write in his books!”

Wanda grinned. “Perfect idea.”

And so their next stop was the stationery shop — where Lina proudly picked out a quill with a deep blue feather and gold detailing.

By midday, their carriage was filled with little parcels — a pendant, a quill, and a few extra items Wanda couldn’t resist picking up: new gloves for Y/N, a small book of poetry she thought they’d love, and sweets for Lina.

As they rode back toward the palace, Lina leaned against Wanda’s arm, nibbling on a piece of honey biscuit. “He’s going to love it,” she said sleepily.

Wanda smiled, brushing a strand of hair from the child’s forehead. “I hope so,” she murmured. “He deserves something made from love, not duty.”

Ser Barnes, riding beside the carriage, caught the soft expression on her face through the window — and smiled quietly to himself.

---

When the carriage finally rolled through the palace gates, Wanda could already see Y/N waiting for them near the grand steps. Their arms were crossed, the faintest trace of a pout on their lips, though their eyes softened the moment they saw her.

“You’re back,” they said, stepping forward to open the carriage door themself. They offered their hand to Wanda first, then helped Lina down. “Did you two have fun conspiring without me?”

Lina giggled, clutching her small parcel tightly behind her back. “Maybe!” she chirped, eyes twinkling.

Wanda smiled, slipping her hand into theirs as she stepped down. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Y/N raised a brow, pretending to be suspicious. “That sounds dangerous.”

“It’s not dangerous,” Lina said quickly, puffing up proudly. “It’s a surprise!”

Y/N blinked and looked between them. “Ah, I see. So even my little sister is keeping secrets from me now.”

Wanda only grinned, tugging them gently toward the doors. “You’ll survive the suspense, I’m sure.”

They laughed softly, shaking their head. “We’ll see about that.”

---

That night, the two of them lay in bed together, the candlelight flickering softly across the room. The day’s warmth lingered between them — Wanda’s head resting on their shoulder, Y/N’s arm draped protectively around her.

For a while, neither spoke. It was the kind of quiet that felt full rather than empty — filled with small breaths, the gentle rhythm of the rain outside, and the soft beat of Y/N’s heart beneath her ear.

Then, breaking the silence, Y/N tilted their head slightly. “So,” they began, voice low and teasing, “are you going to tell me what you and Lina bought today?”

Wanda smiled against their chest, eyes still closed. “No.”

They blinked. “No?”

“It’s a secret,” she said simply, the corners of her lips curling into a smirk. “You’ll find out on your birthday.”

Y/N let out a soft huff that sounded half like a sigh, half like a laugh. “You’re going to drive me insane,” they murmured.

“Maybe that’s part of the gift,” she teased.

They chuckled quietly, then tilted her chin up with gentle fingers, their touch feather-light. Their eyes met — hers amused, theirs warm with affection. For a heartbeat, the world around them felt perfectly still.

Then Y/N leaned down and kissed her.

It wasn’t hurried or demanding — just soft, tender, lingering long enough for Wanda’s breath to catch. Her hand found their jaw, thumb brushing against their skin as she smiled into the kiss.

When they finally parted, she whispered, voice barely above a murmur, “You’ll just have to be patient, my prince.”

They rested their forehead against hers, their smile small and full of quiet adoration. Their breath brushed her lips as they whispered back, “For you,” — their voice low, steady, full of something deeper than they could ever name — “I can do anything.”

Wanda’s heart fluttered at the words, warmth spreading through her chest as she gazed at them. She reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from their face, and whispered fondly, “Careful, Y/N. I might start believing you can.”

They chuckled quietly, pressing one last kiss to her forehead before murmuring, “Then I’ll just have to prove it.”

---

The morning of Y/N’s birthday dawned soft and golden, sunlight spilling through the tall arched windows of their chambers. The warmth of it stretched across the silken sheets, tracing over Wanda’s face as she stirred awake to the faint sound of birds outside.

When she opened her eyes, Y/N was already awake — propped on one elbow beside her, watching her with a tender, half-sleepy smile. Their hair was tousled, and the faint morning light made their features look even softer than usual.

“Good morning,” they murmured, their voice low and warm.

Wanda smiled, her own voice still thick with sleep. “Happy birthday, my love.”

Y/N’s smile widened, shy but full of quiet joy. “Thank you,” they said softly, leaning down to kiss her — slow and gentle, the kind of kiss that felt like home.

They lingered like that for a while, exchanging lazy kisses and quiet laughter before finally pulling themselves out of bed. Breakfast had been brought to their chambers: warm bread, fruit, and a bowl of Y/N’s favorite stew — something the kitchen staff had been preparing since dawn.

They ate together near the window, the morning air drifting in through the slightly parted curtains. Wanda poured them tea, and Y/N, with a teasing grin, insisted on feeding her small bites of fruit.

“You’re in a good mood,” she said, amused, brushing a crumb from their lip.

Y/N’s hand stilled midair, their heart giving a soft, unexpected flutter at her words.

They smiled at her — not the polite, princely smile they often wore for others, but the real one, the quiet one that reached their eyes. “Because this year,” they said gently, their voice carrying that familiar warmth that always melted her, “I have you.”

Her lips parted slightly, caught between a breath and a laugh. “You make it sound like I’m a gift,” she teased, though her voice trembled with something softer.

“You are,” Y/N said simply. No hesitation. No teasing in return. Just truth.

Wanda’s cheeks warmed, her eyes dropping briefly to her cup of tea before lifting again to meet theirs. The affection there — raw and unguarded — made her chest tighten.

She leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to their lips, whispering, “Then I hope I’m a gift you’ll never grow tired of.”

Y/N smiled against her lips, murmuring, “Never.”

They groaned softly when Wanda pulled back from their kiss, their hand still resting at her waist. “So,” they murmured, eyes gleaming with playful curiosity, “when do I finally get to see my gift?”

Wanda’s lips curved into a secretive smile. “Tonight,” she said, brushing her thumb along their jaw. “After the celebration.”

“Tonight?” they repeated, feigning disappointment. “You’re really going to make me wait all day?”

Her laughter was soft and melodic, the kind that always managed to ease something heavy inside them. “Patience, my prince,” she teased, leaning in to kiss their cheek before she reached for her tea again.

But their quiet bubble shattered a moment later when someone knocked at the door.

“Your Grace?” Lily’s voice came from the other side of the door. “May I begin preparing you for the day?”

Wanda sighed, exchanging a knowing look with Y/N. “Of course, Lily,” she said kindly.

Y/N stood, straightening the cuffs of their shirt with a quiet sigh of their own. “Duty calls, it seems,” they murmured, casting her one last smile.

She reached out and tugged lightly at their sleeve. “I’ll see you later.”

Y/N bent down, pressing a fleeting kiss to her forehead. “You’d better,” they said softly before leaving the chambers, the faintest hint of excitement — and longing — in their eyes.

---

Lily and another maid worked quietly around Wanda, their practiced hands moving with delicate precision. The air was filled with the soft scent of rosewater and lavender as they helped her bathe and slip into her gown. Her hair was brushed smooth, then styled into elegant waves, small jeweled pins glinting between strands.

“Almost finished, Your Highness,” Lily murmured, adjusting the final pin.

Just as she stepped back to admire the result, there came a knock at the door. Wanda’s head lifted immediately — she didn’t need to be told who it was.

“Come in,” Lily said, glancing toward the entrance.

The door opened, and Y/N stepped in.

Wanda’s breath caught.

His hair was neatly styled back, revealing the sharp lines of his face, and his attire — dark blue and gold with a regal white cape draped over one shoulder — made him look every bit the prince he was. The intricate embroidery shimmered faintly under the light, each detail echoing quiet strength and grace.

Wanda could feel her heartbeat echoing in her chest, far too loud, far too quick.

He didn’t say anything at first — his expression calm, controlled, a perfect mask for the sake of propriety with the maids present. But his eyes… his eyes gave him away. There was a flicker of warmth, pride, and something deeper that made her pulse stutter.

Lily glanced between them and smiled knowingly. “We’ll just tidy the table, Your Grace,” she said softly, gesturing for the other maid to follow her out, though she took her time doing so.

Wanda’s fingers fidgeted against the folds of her dress. “You look…” she started, her voice softer than she meant, “…beautiful.”

Y/N’s mouth twitched — the faintest curve, the ghost of a smile meant only for her. “So do you,” he murmured, voice low and full of meaning.

Something inside Wanda shifted — a warmth that started in her chest and spread outward, quick and consuming. For weeks, she had been certain of what she wanted, but now, seeing him like this — regal, composed, impossibly handsome — it struck her with a force she hadn’t expected.

Every inch of him called to her. The calm strength in his posture, the quiet tenderness in his eyes that only she was allowed to see. It made her heart race and her breath catch.

She wanted him — not just to hold or to kiss, but to finally bridge the quiet ache that had been growing between them. And she knew, with an unshakable certainty, that she was ready.

Y/N tilted his head slightly, studying her expression. “What is it?” he asked softly.

“Nothing,” she said too quickly, though her cheeks betrayed her, flushed with warmth. She smiled, a little shy, a little flustered, her voice barely a whisper. “Just… you.”

And though they both knew the maids could return any second, neither moved for a long, suspended moment — caught between duty and the quiet, burning pull that neither could resist for much longer.

Then, the moment broke — soft as a candle flicker.

The door opened quietly, and Lily stepped inside, her hands careful as she carried a velvet tray. Resting upon it were two crowns — gleaming gold and silver filigree, inlaid with sapphires and pearls. They caught the morning light like fire.

“The crowns, Your Highness,” Lily said with a respectful bow. “His Majesty insisted they be worn for the opening of the celebration.”

Wanda’s heart gave a small, involuntary twist. She knew what it meant — another show of power. Another reminder that this day, no matter how it had begun between them, wasn’t truly Y/N’s.

Y/N’s jaw tightened slightly, though his voice remained calm. “Of course, he did,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone.

Lily hesitated only a second before stepping closer, gently lifting the smaller crown from the tray. She placed it atop Wanda’s head, adjusting it until it sat perfectly among the intricate braids she had just finished.

Y/N watched her — his expression unreadable, but his eyes softened when they met Wanda’s again.

When Lily moved to set the other crown upon his head, Wanda noticed how still he stood, shoulders squared beneath the weight of royal expectation.

For a moment, she wanted to reach out, to take his hand — to remind him that, even in this world of control and ceremony, there was one thing that was truly his: her.

But she only smiled faintly, her voice quiet. “You wear it well, my prince.”

He looked at her, the faintest trace of warmth returning to his eyes. “It’s lighter knowing you wear one too,” he said softly.

---

The grand hall was a sea of light and color.

Hundreds of candles glowed from golden chandeliers, their warm light glinting off the crystal goblets and polished marble floors. Velvet banners in royal blue and silver — the colors of the kingdom — hung from the high arches, and the scent of blooming roses and fine wine filled the air.

Music swelled from the far end of the room, where a string ensemble played a soft waltz. Nobles in their finest attire turned as the heavy double doors opened. The herald’s voice rang clear:

“His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Y/N Dragna of Virelia Kingdom. And Her Highness, Crown Princess Wanda Dragna of Virelia Kingdom.”

The moment they stepped inside, all conversations ceased. All eyes turned toward them.

Y/N walked tall and regal, his hand resting lightly over Wanda’s as they descended the marble steps. His navy uniform gleamed with gold embroidery and jewels, his hair catching the light — every inch the prince the kingdom wanted to see.

The celebration unfolded in a dazzling show of opulence — chandeliers ablaze with light, golden drapes framing the ballroom, and a sea of nobles gathered from every corner of Virelia and beyond. The air shimmered with perfume and chatter, violins humming in graceful harmony as servants moved between guests with trays of wine and sugared fruit.

From his high throne, King Alaric stood and raised a jeweled goblet.

“My son,” he proclaimed, his voice carrying across the marble hall, “the crown prince, and heir to this great kingdom. Today, we celebrate his twentieth year.”

The nobles rose, glasses lifted high.

“Happy Birthday, Crown Prince Y/N Dragna!” they shouted in unison, the sound echoing through the vaulted chamber.

Y/N inclined his head with practiced grace, his expression calm — almost distant. But his hand, hidden between the folds of his cloak, never left Wanda’s. His thumb traced slow circles on her skin, a silent tether grounding him in the midst of spectacle.

Before the nobles could begin their long parade of greetings, a smaller, softer voice piped up from the front of the dais.

“Brother!”

Lina, dressed in a pale pink gown dotted with tiny pearls, curtsied as she had been taught — her little hands trembling slightly as she tried to be formal. Her dark curls were crowned with a tiny wreath of flowers, her eyes shining with pride.

Y/N’s face softened immediately, warmth flickering through his controlled expression. “Come here, little one.”

The nobles chuckled fondly as Lina hurried up the steps, skirts gathered in her fists. She stopped before the dais, standing tall for her six years.

“Your Majesty,” she said, glancing nervously toward her father, “Your Highness.” Then her eyes darted back to Y/N — and she whispered, “Happy birthday.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a real smile this time. “Thank you, Lina.”

Alaric gave a dismissive nod, his jeweled hand flicking through the air as though brushing away a fly. “Proceed,” he commanded, his tone clipped and regal.

Immediately, the herald at the foot of the dais raised his staff and struck it against the marble floor — three sharp echoes signaling the start of the procession.

One by one, the nobles of Virelia began their slow advance toward the throne. The air filled with the rustle of heavy silks, the gleam of jewels, and the low hum of rehearsed flattery.

The first to approach was Lord Rennick of Eastvale, a man whose pride was as weighty as his belly. Two servants followed behind him, struggling to carry a large chest gilded in bronze and engraved with the Dragna crest. He bowed deeply, his voice booming with oily reverence.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness,” he began, addressing first Alaric and then Y/N. “Eastvale extends its loyalty and prosperity to the Crown. Inside this chest, you will find the rarest sapphires from our mines — a humble token of devotion to the future of our great kingdom.”

Alaric’s lips curved faintly, pleased by the display of wealth. Y/N only inclined his head, his polite smile perfectly measured. “Your generosity honors the realm, Lord Rennick,” he said smoothly, though his tone carried none of his father’s hunger for riches.

Next came Lady Mirelle of the Southern Coast, draped in sea-green silk that shimmered like water. Her gift was a pair of white horses from the coastal stables — their manes braided with silver ribbons. “For the royal carriage,” she said with a coy smile, eyes lingering on Y/N for a moment too long. “Strong and loyal creatures, just as our Crown Prince surely is.”

Y/N managed not to grimace, offering another courteous nod. Wanda, seated beside him, caught the woman’s tone instantly — her jaw tightening in the faintest twitch.

Then came nobles from allied territories — dukes, lords, and foreign dignitaries, each bearing a display meant to outshine the last: gold-encrusted chalices, rare spices from distant lands, scrolls of allegiance sealed with wax.

Their words all blurred into one.

“May your reign be long and prosperous.”

“Virelia’s strength is unmatched, my prince.”

“A token of our undying loyalty.”

Each phrase was as hollow as the last.

Behind his calm exterior, Y/N’s stomach churned. These weren’t gifts — they were transactions, each one a bid for favor, a reminder that even on his own birthday, he was a pawn in his father’s theater of power.

Still, he endured it all with grace, his hand brushing Wanda’s every so often, grounding himself in her presence. She met his touch quietly, her expression poised yet warm, her gaze softening each time his fingers found hers.

At the highest throne, Alaric reclined with satisfaction — the corner of his mouth twitching as he accepted bow after bow, his eyes gleaming with the pleasure of control.

The music swelled, the lights brightened, and the hall echoed with polished voices and the clinking of gold. The kingdom’s elite danced their carefully practiced steps, unaware — or uncaring — that for the young prince sitting beside his wife, the grandeur felt more like a cage than a celebration.

The final nobles made their approach, each presenting their elaborate gifts with polished smiles and practiced flattery. The last chest, the most ornate of all, was set before the throne with a ceremonious flourish. Alaric’s eyes gleamed, satisfied at the display, while Y/N offered his usual courteous nod, hiding the weight of fatigue behind a polite smile.

At last, the procession ended. The rustle of silk and the shuffle of feet faded into the gentle hum of conversation, and the musicians shifted seamlessly into the opening strains of the ball. Candles glimmered in the chandeliers above, casting a soft glow over the polished marble floor as the first couples took to the dance. The room had transformed — from a hall of formal obeisance to a glittering sea of movement and music, swirling gowns and glinting shoes catching every flicker of light.

Y/N let out a quiet sigh, barely audible above the gentle melody, and leaned back slightly in his seat. His gaze found Wanda instantly. She was poised and radiant, a picture of calm elegance amid the whirl of nobles and glittering finery, and yet her eyes held a spark that seemed only meant for him.

A faint, almost wistful smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He stood, smoothing the folds of his uniform, the subtle weight of his crown a reminder of the duties he bore even in this fleeting moment. With a graceful bow, he extended his hand toward her.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, voice low, meant for her alone, a subtle warmth threading through the formal tone.

Wanda’s smile softened, her fingers brushing lightly against his before slipping into his hand. “You may,” she replied, a teasing lift in her tone that made the corner of his mouth twitch in response.

Y/N led her to the center of the hall, and the orchestra swelled as the first notes of a waltz wrapped around them. As they moved together, Y/N’s hand rested gently at her waist while she let hers glide along his shoulder. Their steps were measured, elegant, but there was an unspoken ease between them, a quiet intimacy that made the dance feel like their own world.

The nobles’ chatter dimmed as heads turned. Many offered polite bows and smiles as the crown prince and his wife took the floor. Some ladies whispered behind delicate fans, and Wanda’s eyes caught a few glances that lingered too long — envious, almost sharp. They weren’t looking at Y/N — they were looking at her, at the effortless grace with which she moved, the subtle spark in her eyes, the way her hand rested in Y/N’s as though claiming her place beside him. Wanda met a few of those gazes, raising her chin slightly, her smile polite but unwavering, letting them see that she was unbothered, untouchable, and entirely his.

Y/N noticed, too, and a faint warmth brushed across his cheeks. Not from vanity — from pride. She was his, and no whispered envy in the grand hall could change that.

They glided across the floor, the rhythm of the waltz pulling them together and apart in perfect harmony. Each turn, each pivot was smooth, practiced yet effortless, and the crowd watched, captivated by the sight of the young prince and his wife. Mothers nudged daughters, whispering lessons about composure and elegance, while young nobles stared with wide-eyed awe, hoping to emulate such poise one day.

Wanda’s gaze never left Y/N’s face. She noticed the subtle tilt of his lips as he focused on her, the warmth in his eyes that contrasted with the formal mask he wore for the rest of the court. With each step, she felt the quiet power of their bond, a tether that held them above the expectations, above the jealousy, above the grandeur that threatened to swallow them.

As the music swelled to its crescendo, Y/N twirled her lightly, fingers brushing along her back, and she spun with a soft laugh escaping her lips. The room seemed to hold its breath, the nobles caught between awe and envy, the candles reflecting off their swirling forms. For a fleeting, perfect moment, the ball wasn’t about crowns, or gifts, or flattery — it was about them, and the quiet triumph of a dance shared in unspoken understanding.

When the music softened again, he drew her close, forehead resting against hers, breath mingling in the soft candlelight. Wanda’s smile was tender, proud, and triumphant. The whispers of envy around the hall couldn’t touch her — she was where she belonged, and Y/N’s hand over hers was all the proof she needed.

---

As the music faded and the applause filled the grand hall, Y/N gave Wanda’s hand a gentle squeeze before leading her back toward their seats. Yet before they could reach them, a group of nobles approached — eager, smiling, and already talking over one another.

“Your Highness, your dance was truly splendid—”

“I must say, Your Grace, I’ve never seen such grace in movement—”

“You and Her Highness are quite the pair, if I may—”

Y/N smiled with quiet restraint, offering polite nods and small words of thanks. He had learned long ago how to navigate these moments — to be courteous, to seem approachable, yet to keep himself guarded. Still, it didn’t stop the stream of nobles, advisors, and ambitious young lords from pressing forward, each one trying to catch his attention with a compliment, a rumor, or a calculated question.

Wanda stayed beside him for a while, hand resting lightly on his arm, but she soon noticed Lina tugging gently at her gown. The little girl looked up at her with wide eyes, cheeks rosy from excitement.

“Can we see the sweets now?” she whispered hopefully.

Wanda chuckled softly. “Of course, dear one. Let’s see what they’ve prepared for you.”

They moved toward the long banquet table, where trays of fruit tarts and honey-glazed biscuits awaited. Wanda helped Lina pick her favorite, smiling as the child beamed up at her. From their spot by the window, Wanda could still see Y/N surrounded by people — nobles, courtiers, and a few young ladies who were far too bold for her liking.

One of them, dressed in pale gold, leaned closer than necessary, laughing at something Y/N said. Another brushed her curls back in a way that was too deliberate, eyes fixed on him as if she could will his attention her way.

Wanda felt her stomach twist. She told herself she shouldn’t be jealous — not when she knew better than anyone how Y/N truly was. But still, seeing them hover so close, their painted smiles and fluttering lashes, stirred something hot and possessive in her chest.

Y/N, ever polite, didn’t notice. Or perhaps he did and simply didn’t care to respond. He stood as he always did — calm, regal, distant. Yet Wanda knew him well enough to see the faint tension in his jaw, the way his eyes softened whenever they flicked toward her, searching for her in the crowd.

Still, the sight made her lips press into a thin line. She looked down at Lina, who was nibbling a small tart, utterly oblivious to the silent battle of glances across the ballroom.

“Lina,” Wanda said softly, kneeling beside her. “Would you do something for me?”

The little girl tilted her head, curious. “What is it?”

“Go ask your brother to dance with you,” Wanda said with a gentle smile, smoothing a strand of hair from her face. “I think he’d like that.”

Lina’s eyes sparkled. “Really? Me?”

Wanda nodded. “You’re the only one who can steal him away.”

With a delighted giggle, Lina hurried off, her small shoes tapping against the marble floor as she crossed the hall. The crowd parted easily for her — no one dared stop the young princess. She tugged on Y/N’s sleeve, and when he looked down, her voice rang clear and sweet:

“Brother! Dance with me, please?”

A ripple of surprise moved through the gathered nobles. The prince, known for his cold reserve and stoic composure, blinked in surprise — and then laughed, the sound soft and warm, catching several by surprise. He bent down and offered his hand to his little sister.

“How could I refuse?” he said, smiling fondly.

As the music began again, Y/N led Lina to the center of the hall, his hand steady around her small one. The orchestra played a gentler melody this time, and the two began to sway — Y/N guiding her carefully, making sure her tiny steps matched his. The entire hall seemed to melt at the sight.

Wanda stood watching, the jealousy easing from her heart, replaced by something warmer, fonder. The whispers around her confirmed what she already saw in their faces: surprise.

“So gentle…”

“I never thought—”

“He’s nothing like the king…”

For all their assumptions, the nobles now saw something they hadn’t before — not the cold, distant heir they imagined, but a man capable of tenderness. Wanda smiled to herself, pride swelling quietly in her chest.

Lina’s laughter echoed through the hall as Y/N twirled her carefully, his usually guarded expression softened with affection. And when his eyes lifted again, they found Wanda’s across the room. He smiled — small, subtle, but entirely for her.

She returned it, her jealousy now long forgotten. After all, none of those women could ever touch what she had — because when Y/N smiled like that, there was no doubt in the world who truly held his heart.

---

Later

When the last guests had finally departed and the echo of music faded from the grand hall, the palace settled into a soft hush. Maids moved quietly through the corridors, collecting empty goblets and extinguishing candles. The faint scent of wine, perfume, and wax still lingered in the air — a gentle reminder of the evening’s splendor.

Wanda had long since retired to their chambers, the weight of her gown replaced by the comfort of a silk nightdress. Her hair was loose, tumbling softly over her shoulders as she sat by the window, the moonlight painting her skin in pale silver. From where she sat, she could still faintly hear the distant bustle of the staff cleaning the last remnants of celebration.

The door opened quietly, and Y/N stepped inside. They were already dressed for the night — dark sleepwear loose over their frame, their hair slightly tousled, the regal composure of the evening now replaced by something softer, calmer. Despite the long night, there was a spark of warmth in their eyes when they saw her.

Wanda turned at the sound, smiling faintly. “You look tired,” she murmured.

They chuckled under their breath, closing the door behind them. “Tired, yes. But happy.” They crossed the room to her, gaze softening as they stopped in front of her. “Though I believe there’s still one thing missing.”

She arched an eyebrow, amused. “Oh?”

“My gift,” they said simply, that small, teasing smirk tugging at the corner of their mouth.

Wanda laughed quietly and shook her head. “You truly are impatient.”

“I’ve been told so,” Y/N said, voice light. “But I’ll remind you it is my birthday.”

Rolling her eyes playfully, Wanda moved toward the small table beside their bed. From one of the drawers, she pulled out a small velvet box wrapped with a thin silver ribbon. Her fingers lingered on it for a moment before she turned and held it out to them.

“It’s nothing grand,” she said softly, almost hesitant. “But… I thought of you when I saw it.”

Y/N took the box carefully, as though it were something fragile. Undoing the ribbon, they lifted the lid — and froze for a moment. Inside rested a brooch made of silver, shaped like a hawk in mid-flight. Its wings were finely detailed, each feather carefully crafted, and at the heart of the bird glimmered a tiny ruby — small, but vivid and deep in color.

For a long moment, Y/N only stared at it. Then, slowly, their lips curved into a tender smile.

“It’s…” they began softly, their voice almost reverent. “It’s like… our Kingdoms combined.”

Wanda nodded, her voice quiet. “Yes. The hawk for your house, and the ruby for mine. The jeweler said it represents strength and loyalty… and I thought it suited you.”

Y/N’s chest tightened at her words. They brushed their thumb over the brooch, tracing the smooth metal and the glimmering gem. The piece was elegant yet simple — and somehow, it felt more meaningful than any treasure they’d received that day.

They looked up at her, their expression unguarded now. “This… Wanda, this is perfect.”

A soft blush colored her cheeks. “I wasn’t sure you’d like it.”

They shook their head immediately. “Like it? I’ll treasure it.” Their voice dropped, quieter, sincere. “This is the first gift you’ve ever given me. I’ll keep it always.”

Her eyes softened, warmth blooming in her chest at the quiet certainty in their tone. Y/N closed the box gently, still holding it in one hand as they reached out with the other to cup her cheek.

“Thank you,” they whispered, their thumb brushing her skin. “Truly.”

Wanda smiled, leaning into their touch. “Happy birthday, my love.”

They smiled back, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to her lips — slow, grateful, full of quiet affection. The kind of kiss that spoke more than words ever could, melting away the weight of the day until only the warmth between them remained.

When they parted, Wanda’s breath brushed softly against their lips. “I have another gift,” she whispered, her voice low and warm.

Y/N blinked, a curious smile tugging at their mouth. “Another one?”

She only nodded, her eyes glimmering in the dim light. Without a word, she took their hand and gently pulled them toward the bed. They followed easily, still holding her gaze as she lay back against the soft sheets, her hair spilling like dark silk across the pillow. Y/N braced their hands on either side of her, the quiet rhythm of their breathing filling the space between them.

Wanda reached up, her fingers tracing their jaw tenderly before resting against their chest. Her eyes searched theirs, soft yet sure, her voice barely above a whisper as she said —

“Make love to me.”

---

Then there was Wanda. You could write poetry and songs about the love you felt for her. But you couldn’t let him die.

Pepper told you first that she was pregnant. It may have had to do with you finding the test in the trash, but you were so happy. And you cried when you held Morgan for the first time. So, you ignored the ache in your body and stood up. “FRIDAY,” you mumbled. “How are we looking? Do we have enough juice for one more show stopper?” The AI was silent.

“The odds of you surviving are low, Miss. Stark.” You nodded.

“I’ll miss you the most.”

“I somehow doubt that.” The AI let out a dry laugh. You bounced on the heels of your feet. In and out. In and out. It was easy. You’ve pickpocketed people on the streets before, even though that was many years ago. How hard could it be? It was like riding a bike!

“FRIDAY,” you said. “Initiate thrusters” The AI followed your order as you ran towards the fight. It took you no time to get over to the titan. Thanos raised his free hand to land a punch on Tony, but you grabbed his fist. It was a little embarrassing how easily he was able to throw you off, but you rushed him again.

No matter the fight against Loki, Ultron, and your father in Germany. You never knew when to quit. With his attention split, Tony managed a few hits. You saw your chance and used the last of the power in your suit to grab onto the gauntlet with the stones. When he flung you off, you went easily and ignored the shouts of Pepper.

The landing knocked the wind out of. But you coughed and looked at the stones in your hand. Your suit created a gauntlet, and each stone fell into place. With a shaky breath, you pushed yourself up to your feet, feeling the power of the stones run through your body. Thanos looked at your dad. “I am inevitable,” he snapped his fingers, but nothing happened. He stared at the empty gantlet, and his head snapped to Tony. Similar to the titan, his own gantlet was empty.

“Hey dickhead,” Pepper always hated it when you swore. The titan turned to look at you. “Looking for these,” you fell to your knees, but kept your arm up.

“Bug,” Tony called out, but you kept your eyes on Thanos. You felt the eyes of the Avengers. Through the pain, you felt her. A slight pinch at the back of your mind, and you held onto it. I love you. I love you. I’m sorry. You hoped she would understand.

“You miscalculated.” Your voice shook from the power that was rushing through you. “People tend to underestimate me,” you snapped your fingers and were blinded by a piercing light. Once the light disappeared and your eyes adjusted, you stumbled backwards against the debris. You watched Thanos and his army turn to dust and get carried away by the wind. Peter was the first to appear in front of you.

“Spider,” you wheezed. Each breath you took burned your lungs. He fractionally looked you over as he looked for a place to hold onto or stop your wounds. Tears were pooling in his eyes.

“You,” his voice shook, and whatever he was going to say, he changed his mind. “You saved us,” he turned to look over his shoulder and saw Tony and Pepper running over to you. “Just stay around for a little longer, okay?”

“Promise,” he moved back to make space for them. “Hi,” you managed. It was getting harder to keep your eyes open. The adrenaline that replaced the power from the stones was wearing off. Every nerve end was burning. Tony placed his hand over the arc reactor in your suit.

“FRIDAY?” He asked. It felt like an entirety as you raised your hand to place it atop his.

“Life functions critically, sir,” the AI said sadly. A range of emotions passed through his eyes: anger, sadness, maybe even disbelief.

“Why’d you do it?” He questioned.

“Morgan,” you whispered. “I-,” you hissed in pain and felt Pepper’s hand join the pile on your chest and on the other side of your neck that wasn’t burned. “So much time. She needs you.” Tony opened and closed his mouth but nodded and leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“My little soldier,” you looked at Pepper. You wished you could wipe the tears from her cheeks. “You made me so proud to be your mom,” she smiled and used her thumb to push away one of your tears. “Rest, sweetheart.”

“We love you,” you forced yourself to look at Tony. The words were trapped on the tip of your tongue. But you felt so tired, so weak. Over Tony’s shoulder, you locked eyes with Wanda; she was frozen to her spot next to Clint.

Come here, you said. Please. Her feet began to move. One step right after another, they seemed to drag across the battlefield until she stood on the other side of Tony. Your father glanced at the Sokovian and used his free hand to bring her into a hug. You knew he would take care of her. Wanda forced a smile; her lips wobbled, but she held back her tears. She gave you a slight nod and kissed your cheek.

“I’ll see you again, my love,” she mumbled. You managed to nod your head and squeezed Tony and Pepper’s hands, then there was nothing.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Tony decided to put Morgan to bed after the long day they had. It helped that his youngest was attached to his hip before, during, and after the funeral. A funeral for you, Natasha, Vision, and every Avenger who lost their life in the final battle. It took place on the river’s edge, outside the cabin you helped him design, where he surprised Pepper. If he thought hard enough, he could see you underneath a tree, reading a book or working on a modification for a suit. “I love you,” he said to Morgan and tucked her in. “I love you so much, little miss.” Tony kissed her forehead. It was one of his many regrets with you. He never told you that enough. You were his first kid, and you taught him how to be a dad.

“I love you too,” Morgan whispered. She was oddly quiet all day. Tony ran his hand over her hair and stood up. “Daddy,” her quiet voice stopped him as he was about to leave her room.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Morgan turned on her side to look at him.

“Sissy isn’t coming home, right?” Tony let out a shaky breath. He kept it under control all day. When every member of the team came up to offer their condolences, he bit his cheek and buried it all down. Now, Morgan was going to be his breaking point. He turned back to her bed and sat down.

“No, honey,” he said. “Sissy got hurt fighting the bad guys.” The girl frowned. Pepper and Tony tried to explain the concept of death to her. But he wasn’t sure how to do that to a 4-year-old. Maybe, when she was older, he would tell her how her big sister saved the world and how she grew up with a father because you took his place. Her lips started to wobble. “But,” he said. “She will always be with you. Right here,” he placed a hand on her heart.

Morgan took her hand and placed it on top of his. It felt too similar to your final moments. “Daddy,” Morgan looked concerned, and before he could ask what was wrong, she got out from underneath the covers and climbed into his lap. She gave him the biggest hug she could muster. “It’s okay to cry, daddy. Sissy said it makes us stronger.”

Even when you were gone, you were still trying to make everything better.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Once Morgan was asleep, Tony found Pepper in your room. She was sitting on the foot of the bed with a stuffed animal in her hand. It was dirty, part of its right ear was falling off, but it was well-loved. The bunny was the first thing the couple bought you. Fourteen years later, you still had it. “Is she finally asleep?” Pepper asked, not bothering to look up.

“Yes,” he answered. “Do you want me to go?” The question got her to look at him. Even from the doorway, Tony could see the dried tears on her cheeks.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” She questioned. “I thought you needed time and space to grieve, and I was willing to give you that. But,” her voice cracked. “Every time I come near you, you busy yourself with something else.” Tony couldn’t look at her anymore. He stared at the circular rug on the floor, but that proved to be a mistake, too. Over the past 5 years, Tony would find you, Morgan, and Pepper sitting on the ground having a girls’ day. If Tony tried to join, Morgan would jump up and push him out the door. Telling him, he wasn’t invited because he was a smelly boy. Tony was always outnumbered.

Now there was one less girl in his life. How could he tell Pepper that it was supposed to be him? He confronted Strange at the funeral and demanded what went wrong. The sorcerer said to him that the stone didn’t predict that you would take his spot. According to Strange, you weren’t supposed to be at the final fight. But you were there because you refused to listen to them when they told you to stay at the cabin with Morgan and Happy.

“I don’t think you’d want to be around me once you found out the truth.” He admitted. He heard Pepper stand up and close the distance between them. He desperately wanted to step back and maintain distance. But he was a weak man. Pepper gently placed her hand on his cheek and forced him to look at her.

“What truth?” She questioned. Tony thought about lying. It seemed better than the fallout, but Pepper was patient with him and watched as he dealt with the internal turmoil.

“Five years ago, Strange looked at every possible outcome of us winning. He only saw 1. In that timeline, I was supposed to die.” Pepper’s face fell. “Somehow she created a timeline that the stone didn’t even predict.” She was quiet as she took in what he said, but she kept her hands on his face.

“So I was supposed to lose someone I love no matter what,” she said. “How is that fair?” It wasn’t. Nothing about this life was fair. It was cruel and unforgiving. Her eyes softened. “Tony,” she whispered. “This isn’t your fault.” Tony scuffed and pushed her away. He ventured into your room. Everything was the same: the bed unmade, the desk covered in drawings and notebooks, and the small trinkets you crafted on your bookshelves. You fought tooth and nail with Pepper to keep it clean. In your words, the guests weren’t going to eat in your room, so why should you clean it?

“Our daughter is dead because she beat me. Because she was better than me. Because I couldn’t walk away from the fight.” You found him in the living room after Steve and Natasha left and helped him figure out the time heist. “Now, she’s gone.” Everything crumbled. Every wall he built came down. “I don’t wanna say goodbye cause this one means forever.” He was falling before he realized it, but Pepper caught him and gently lowered him to the ground. Tony’s grip on Pepper tightened. At another time, he would be worried that he was hurting her, but he needed to desperately hold onto her to know she was alive and safe. Alive and safe. He hadn’t filed to protect her like he had to you.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“She’s asleep,” Clint looked up at the stairs as Laura came walking down them. Her hands were rubbing together as if she were cold. But Clint knew she wasn’t. She was trying to distract herself. “I don’t know for how long, but it’s better than nothing.” Clint nodded as he took another whiskey glass from the cabinet and filled it halfway for her. Laura took it with a grateful smile and put the glass to her lips. “Today sucked ass.” She admitted.

Clint scuffed and finished the rest of his drink. It was Nate’s idea to invite Wanda back to their home after the funeral. His youngest took a liking to the girl, and they were attached at the hip. Maybe they found comfort in each other’s grief. Nate lost Natasha, and Wanda lost you.

The archer retired before he saw the relationship between you and Wanda form. He caught glimpses of it when he was helping Steve protect Bucky in Germany, and you were doing everything in your power to protect her and go against your father.

Clint thought Tony was insane for having you around the tower and fighting the same fights. But you were more than capable. Now you were gone. That was harder for Clint to understand. After he retired and settled down in Iowa, you never forgot about him or his family. For every birthday or holiday, presents would be at their door.

He remembered finding you in the vents of the tower, or kicking their ass in some video game, or cuddling up against Natasha during a movie night. He could only hope you were both together—happy, safe, and causing chaos. The thought made him smile. “Clint,” he looked at his wife. Slowly, Laura reached for his face and wiped away his tears. He wasn’t sure when he started crying. Laura smiled at him, full of love that he wasn’t sure if he deserved.

Somehow, he survived. Time and time again, he lived while others died around him. He could watch helplessly as Natasha kicked off the side of Vormir. He could do nothing while you bested Thanos and Tony and saved the world. Even a young speedster took the hit for him. How was he deserving of it?

“I don’t know what to do,” he said. “It hurts.” Laura nodded, cupping both sides of his face. She brought him into a gentle hug. Laura held him carefully, like he was fragile, loved, and worthy of being saved.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

As the door closed, Wanda opened her eyes. From a young age, she would pretend to fall asleep to trick her mom. She hadn’t had to pretend in years, but she knew Laura wouldn’t leave unless she were asleep. Wanda turned onto her back to stare up at the ceiling, which was foreign to her.

Sleeping in a new place wasn’t new to her. For the past two years, she lived in random cities and slept in uncomfortable beds. But she was able to sleep because she knew you were out there. Her fingers would glow red, and she would feel your presence. No matter the distance, she could feel you.

Now the red of her magic glowed in the Barton guest room, and she felt nothing. Not your usual warmth or the steady beat of your heart, you were gone. And she was alone between the heavens and the embers. Wanda was desperately trying to hold onto someone who was dead and gone. It hurt so bad because her heart was broken into a million different pieces.

You were gone.

Natasha died for one of the stones.

And she killed her best friend, which meant nothing in the end.

All this power, and it wasn’t very helpful if she couldn’t save the people she loved.

Wanda curled around the pillow, biting into the fabric to muffle her tears. On the battlefield, when she saw you take your final breath, she did not cry. At the funeral, no tears were shed, even when Pepper pulled her to the side to give her a box filled with your things. For the past 5 years, she was gone; you wrote her letters on Christmas, birthdays, Valentine’s Day, and any anniversary. Some letters were simply written on days you just missed her. Along with those letters were one of your sweatshirts and a few other trinkets. She wore your sweatshirt now, sprayed with your perfume, and it tricked her mind that you were here.

Tears soaked into the pillowcase. Her body trembled, and she gasped for air between each sob. Her mind wouldn’t stop replaying every last moment with you. The last time you hugged or kissed her. Your smile. The sound of your voice. The last time you told her you loved her.

Everything was spiraling out of control. She desperately wanted to be mad at you for leaving her, but a part of her understood. If given the chance, she would give her life for her brother, her parents, Vision, and you. She bit down on her lip as she felt her powers pulsing.

Suddenly, arms wrapped around her and hugged her tightly. “Sh,” it was Laura’s voice. “I know, I know, but I need you to breathe with me.” Wanda shook her head.

Each breath hurts. Each breath was a reminder she was here and you were gone. “I know,” Laura said again. “I know it hurts, but you aren’t alone.” Through her own pain, she could hear the pain in Laura’s voice. She wasn’t the only one to lose someone in this battle. Her sobs turned into hiccups, and she followed the movement of Laura’s breath. Wanda turned onto her back to look at Laura.

There were others there. Clint and his three kids were standing in the doorway. “What-,” her voice sounded rough. Her accent was thicker. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Laura reassured her. “Nothing at all.” But it was hard for Wanda to believe her. She looked at her hands and saw the lingering effects of her powers. She flinched away from Laura, but the mother of three held onto her. “No,” she said firmly. “Don’t hide yourself or push us away.”

“But I could have hurt you.”

“But you didn’t,” Wanda looked at Clint. “It stopped as soon as Laura hugged you.” Wanda wanted to ask more, but Nate entered the room and climbed onto the bed. He made himself comfortable between her and his mom. The youngest Barton yawned, rubbed his eyes, and twisted the fabric of Wanda’s shirt in his hands.

“I kind of liked it,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “I saw Auntie Nat.” The room felt heavy from the boy’s confession. “She said we were going to be okay.” At the moment, Wanda wasn’t sure if that was true. But this wasn’t the first time she had to mourn someone she loved. She survived then, and she could do it again.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You expected there to be more than this. A sense of profound peace, well-being, or tranquility. Some people describe their near-death experience as traveling through a dark tunnel or a passage. May reported feeling as if they were floating above their own body. Maybe you would see someone from your family who has passed before you. But you got nothing.

Instead, you get endless walking. There were no pearly white gates that offered you salvation or paradise. You walked under a sun that never set or provided no heat. You walked barefoot on the grass. Your injuries were healed from the final battle, and you wore a tracksuit that you had worn a lot at the cabin.

You felt no pain, no heat from the sun, or the wind when it blew through. With nothing to do, you just walked. You had no idea how much time had passed or what you were supposed to do. Sighing, you placed your hands in your pockets and looked up to the sky. It was your only source of comfort. The sky helped when you lived on the street. Provided comfort when you watched Pepper and Tony fight. The sky reminded you of Wanda now, and she was blipped for 5 years. The sky was vast, unending, and beautiful.

On the horizon, you saw a figure. You picked up the pace. As you got closer, you saw red hair that was cut to their shoulders. You could recognize that hair from anywhere. “Natasha!” You called out. She remained still. Maybe she couldn’t hear you. You ran faster, slipping slightly on the grass. You braced for the collision, but it never came. Instead, there was a moment of weightlessness as if your mass no longer existed. The first time you were here, you felt cold —not a breeze, but a deep, internal chill that radiated through your bones. You phased through Natasha, and she was gone.

Your heart was bearing against your ribs. You were grasping for air. What was going on?

Then you saw another figure on the horizon. This time, you took off running without hesitation. As you got closer, you saw god flickering under the sun. It was a cape. “Viz!” You called out. Similar to what happened with Natasha, you faded through the man. When you spun around, Loki was standing there. You reached for the god, but he faded through your fingers.

“This isn’t funny!” You yelled.

“No, it isn’t.” You jumped and fell to the ground, startled by the appearance of another voice. In front of you was a young girl. Her hair was long, braided, and bleached blonde, and her dress was white. The most striking part was her eyes, which were emerald green.

“Are you real?” You asked.

“Technically,” she smiled and offered you her hand. Slowly, you took it, and she helped you to your feet. “I have to say,” she began, walking in a direction. You followed without a word. “It’s an honor to be in your presence.”

“Uh, thanks,” you rubbed your hands together. “I’m sorry, but who are you? Are you an angel?” The girl laughed.

“No, I’m not an angel because you aren’t dead,” that stopped you in your tracks. You weren’t dead. But logically, you knew you weren’t alive. The girl looked over her shoulder. “Come on, friend, I’ll explain.” You kept walking and followed the girl as she went under a white arched way covered with vines and flowers into a fenced-off area. There were fruit trees and a fountain in the corner. The centerpiece of it all was a table, decorated with a pink tablecloth and a bouquet. You saw teapots and plates of food. The girl pulled out a seat for you. Carefully, you sat down and prepared a cup of tea. “It has been a while since I had a guest.” She placed the cup in front of you. “Are you hungry? I have scones, cupcakes, and little cucumber sandwiches.”

“I’m okay, thank you,” she smiled. You took a sip of the tea. It was Kalmyk, one of Wanda’s favorites, because she said it reminded her of home.

“To answer your question,” she sat down at the head of the table. “I have many names and many titles, but I prefer Ora.”

“Ora,” you repeated. “I’m-,”

“Oh, I know who you are.” Ora dunked a cookie into her tea and took a bite. “You are the young girl who beat me, and I don’t get beaten very often,” you frowned. “Actually, I’ve never been beaten.”

“I don’t understand.” You admitted. Ora smiled. It made you feel a little uneasy.

“You weren’t supposed to be there,” she explained. There was a pause as she took a sip of her tea. “Every outcome, every possibility, every timeline, you stayed at that cabin.” Her smile remained, but the mood shifted. “Instead of you, I would be having tea with your father.” So you were right. That fight between Tony and Thanos was going to kill Tony.

“Are you,” you paused. “Angry with me?” Ora froze, mid-bite of a cucumber sandwich.

“Of course not, silly,” she finished the sandwich in one big bite. “I just want to know how you did it. How were you powerful enough to beat the Time Stone? The Big Band created us to control every aspect of existence.” You stared at the girl in front of you and went over what she said to you. You’ve only seen the stones up close twice—the first when the team returned after the time Heist and Bruce placed them in the gulanet The second was the fight against Thanos. But you’ve seen the color of her eyes before. They eerily matched the color of the Time Stone.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I’m just normal me.”

“Just normal you,” she mocked. “Wouldn’t be able to create a new timeline where I didn’t even see it happen.”

You opened and closed your mouth. You weren’t special. Sure, you were good in science and math, and you were able to take a punch and punch back harder. The only reason you were able to be there was that Pepper and Tony gave you a chance. “I don’t know,” you said again. “I love my dad, Morgan, and Pepper. The world loves my dad, and I don’t know they were ready to say goodbye to him yet.” Ora tilted her head side to side as she thought about it.

“And what of your love for Wanda Maximoff? If you lived, you would still be there to love her, to hold her, to protect her.” You tried to swallow, but your throat went dry. You loved Wanda so much. You remembered when you first met her. She was terrified, sick with grief, but so full of light and love.

“I would hope she would understand,” you finally were able to say. “I think if anyone would understand why I did it she would.” Late-night conversations often turned to her brother and parents. She said if she could get back to save them or take their spot, she would. Ora’s smile became softer.

“Love,” she smiled. “A powerful emotion. Powerful enough to change timelines and create new ones.” She took another sip of her tea and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “If you are done, then we can continue.” Ora stood up from her chair, slowly the tea party disappeared, and you stood in the empty field once again. With a quick turn, Ora began to walk away.

“Wait,” you called after her. “I’m not following you until you answer my question.” Ora stopped walking, but her back was to you.

“I feel as if I did answer them. You aren’t dead. You know who I am. What more could you want?” You sighed, looking away from her and to the horizon. There were a hundred and one questions that raced through your head. You were in the presence of one of the infinity stones.

“Why do you allow it to happen?” You asked. “How can you sit here and watch death after death?” You clapped your hands together. “We are just pawns to you. We mean nothing to you. Our lives are just a form of entertainment, but every death has a lasting impact.” Ora appeared in front of you in the blink of an eye. Her hands gripped your forearms tightly, nails piercing into your skin.

“Who said I don’t care?” She asked. “Who said each death I witness doesn’t affect me?” She pushed you back, and you stumbled but stayed on your feet. “Your world isn’t the only one I look over.” She took a step forward, and you took one back. “I have watched all of you die over and over again. And each time it hurts.” The air around you both shifted. It grew tense. The wind stopped blowing, and finally, clouds covered the sun. You looked up when thunder echoed in the valley. Even Ora looked surprised by the sudden change in the weather.

But there was a deep anger shimmering inside your chest. You turned your attention back to Ora. “Then change it,” you said. “Fix it! I would rather be in a timeline where Natasha can retire and move in with Maria, Clint doesn’t lose 5 years with his kids, and Vision doesn’t die for nothing, and he can figure out the mystery of human existence. Or Loki could be alive and living with his brother.” This time, it was you who stepped forward, and Ora took a step back. “And I would be alive with Wanda and maybe meeting her brother. How,” Another round of thunder echoed, but you ignored it. “Is it fair that my family has to sacrifice their lives while you sit there with your stupid cucumber sandwiches and bad tea?” You threw your arms to the side, and a bolt of lightning struck the ground next to you. Ora huffed, shaking her head.

“For someone claiming they are normal, you have a lot of power in his domain,” you chest was heaving. As you took a few calming breaths, the clouds disappeared.

“I’m doing this.”

“It appears so,” Ora crossed her arms and circled you. “If that’s what you truly want, I think we can arrange it.” Your eyes followed her.

“What do you mean?” You questioned.

“I wanted to test your ability to influence the time stone.” She stopped walking and stood in front of you. “But I want you to understand you can not save them all. Some may die to get the reality you want.” She raised her right hand.

“Wait,” her hand paused. ‘What are you doing?”

“Sending you back,” Ora smiled. “Just like you wanted.” The girl tapped the center of your forehead. Your stomach lurched, like you stepped off a cliff, and suddenly the ground gave way. Your body tore through something invisible but thick, like being pulled through honey and lightning at once.

There was no up. No down. Only motion and memories collapsing together. Until…

“Hey kid,” you froze, hands still in the cake that was left out and frosting on your face. You blinked a few times and lifted your head to stare at a much younger version of Tony Stark. She really did it. She sent you back to the very beginning when your fate was sealed with the Avengers. “You know,” Tony continued. “There is better food in the fridge.”

You swallowed the sweet treat. “Mr. Stark, I-i I’m sorry,” you stuttered. “I saw the party was over and-”

“And you decided to break in to help yourself to the leftovers.” He threw a hand towel at you.

“I’m hungry,” you said, looking down at the dirty clothes you were wearing. “I haven’t eaten in 2 days.” This expression softened slightly.

“Clean yourself up,” he said. “I’m impressed you were able to bypass my security.” You shrugged.

“I got lucky.” He narrowed his eyes at you.

Her knees did not bruise, her voice did not grow hoarse, and her hands bore no marks despite clawing at the unyielding surface day after day. This place denied pain, denied the marks of time, denied her even the physical proof of her suffering. But the ache inside—her grief, her longing—was eternal.

Vision had stopped visiting. At first, he came often, his voice calm, insistent, offering her companionship, trying to pull her away from the gate. But Wanda refused him every time, her words sharper, her heart harder, her grief untouchable.

The last time he came, his tone had shifted. Bitter. Cold.

“I should have known,” he said, standing over her, his arms folded tight. “All those years I waited for you… wasted. I should have chosen differently. There was a girl in the Junction, kind, gentle… she would have loved me. She would have chosen me. But I waited for you. Believed in you. And this—” his hand swept toward her crumpled figure, unwavering and desperate before the gate, “—this is what I get.”

Wanda hadn’t looked at him then. Couldn’t. Her body remained flawless, untouched by time, but her spirit trembled with fresh sobs, her voice barely a whisper. “Go. Just go.”

And he had.

Since then, the recreated world had grown quieter still. Vision never returned. The guards remained, silent and unyielding. And Wanda—she stayed, clinging to the gate with every shred of strength she had left, the weight of eternity pressing heavier with each passing moment.

Her whispers of Y/N’s name became prayers, broken confessions to a love now out of reach. The gate never answered.

But Wanda never moved. She refused to let go.

---

Wanda had lost track of everything. Time had slipped from her like sand through trembling fingers. Days, hours, moments—she couldn’t tell anymore. She sat before the glowing gate, her back against the cold stone, her knees pulled up tightly as though holding herself together. Her thoughts blurred in and out, the only steady thread the image of Y/N’s smile, Y/N’s hands, Y/N’s voice calling her home.

The guards had watched her silently for what could have been an eternity. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t begged, hadn’t raged. She just stayed.

At last, one of them stepped forward. His voice was calm, firm, carrying the weight of something older than the walls themselves.

“You’ve lingered long,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face. “Do you truly wish to go back to the Junction?”

Wanda blinked, her throat dry. “Yes,” she whispered. Her voice cracked, but she didn’t falter. “I made a mistake. I chose a shadow over my truth. I need to go back. To Y/N.”

The guard’s expression did not soften. “If you leave this place, you cannot return. The choice is final. There will be no Vision waiting for you should regret take root again.”

Her heart twisted, but she nodded. “I understand.”

“And if you return to the Junction,” the guard continued, his tone edged with gravity, “there is no guarantee. No certainty that the one you love will accept you for eternity. Do you understand this as well?”

For a moment, pain flickered across her face. The thought of Y/N turning away, of her children fading into memory—it threatened to shatter her. But she drew in a long breath, steadying herself.

“I understand,” she said softly. “But even if she never chooses me again, I still choose her. Always her.”

The guard studied her for a long, heavy silence. Then, at last, he inclined his head. “We cannot open the gate for you. That decision is not ours to make. But if the gate finds your heart true, if your reasons are worthy, it may open of its own accord.”

He gestured toward the glowing barrier. “Place your hand upon it. Speak not to us, but to it. Let it see what lies within your soul.”

Wanda’s breath trembled as she rose to her feet. For the first time in what felt like endless days, her body felt steady. She stepped toward the radiant gate, her heart hammering against her ribs, and raised her hand.

Her palm touched the light. It was warm, alive, humming beneath her skin like a heartbeat that wasn’t her own. For an instant, she thought she felt it recoil, as if weighing her soul, testing the truth of her presence.

And then, like a whisper from the depths of eternity itself, a voice slid into the air around her. Soft. Unyielding. Eternal.

“Who do you belong to?”

The words struck her like lightning. Wanda’s breath caught in her throat, tears stinging her eyes. Her lips trembled, but the answer was already there—burning in her chest, unshakable, undeniable.

“Y/N,” she said. Her voice was raw, shaking. “I belong to Y/N.”

The gate pulsed, glowing brighter, but the voice pressed again, deeper this time.

“Once more. Who do you belong to?”

Wanda’s hands clenched against the light, her whole body trembling. Memories surged through her—Y/N’s laughter as they danced in the kitchen, the soft weight of their children in her arms, the warmth of nights spent tangled together in quiet love. Her heart cracked open, spilling everything she had buried, everything she had almost abandoned.

“To Y/N!” she cried, her voice breaking. “I always have! My life, my love, my soul—it’s hers! My home is with her, my eternity is with her! Not with this… not with shadows, not with illusions! I was wrong, I was so wrong—but my heart never left her! I belong to Y/N!”

The light of the gate surged, spilling across her skin, flooding the air like dawn breaking through an endless night. The hum grew louder, vibrating through her bones, until it felt like her very soul was being lifted from the ground.

She pressed her forehead to the gate, tears streaming down her face, whispering through the sobs, “Please… let me go back to her. To our children. To our life. I don’t care if she doesn’t want me anymore—I still choose her. I’ll always choose her.”

For a heartbeat, the light stilled. The air hung heavy, silent. And then, slowly, the radiant barrier began to shift, its glow folding inward like a curtain being drawn aside.

The guards stepped back, their unreadable eyes catching the shimmer of the opening. One of them spoke softly, almost reverently.

“The gate has heard you. Your truth is enough.”

Before her, the opening widened into a blinding brilliance, the path back to the Junction unfurling before her eyes.

Her heart thundered. Her hands shook. And yet, for the first time since stepping into this false eternity, Wanda felt the weight of her soul lift.

She took one trembling step forward—back toward Y/N.

The brilliance of the gate dissolved behind her, and suddenly Wanda found herself swallowed by shadow. The air was heavy, damp, pressing close around her as though the path itself wanted to hold her back.

Ahead stretched a corridor of endless doors. Some small as cupboard panels, others towering like cathedral arches. Some gilded in gold, others rotted and splintered, some warped into strange, impossible shapes. Each one loomed before her, blocking her way, demanding effort.

She pressed her hand to the first—cold and iron-bound—and shoved. It resisted, groaning like a thing alive, but after what felt like minutes of strain, it gave way, spilling her forward into more darkness.

Again and again, she pushed. A door carved with stars, one covered in vines that clung to her arms like claws, another so tiny she had to drop to her knees and crawl through. Each one drained her, her breath ragged, her limbs heavy.

Still, she did not stop.

For Y/N. For my children. For home.

By the time she forced the last door open—a simple wooden one, worn and familiar like the kind that had once guarded their little home —Wanda’s hands shook, her body trembling.

And then, at last, light.

She stumbled onto the main platform of the Junction. The sprawling, eternal city unfurled around her in radiant hues, the place where souls lived, loved, and waited. Her knees nearly buckled in relief, tears spilling hot and fast down her cheeks.

She was back.

Her chest burned with urgency, with fear, with desperate hope. She had no time to waste. Y/N—her Y/N—was somewhere here.

Wanda’s feet carried her before her mind could catch up. She ran, faster than she had ever run, her breath tearing through her throat as she wove through the glowing streets of the Junction. Past gardens that shimmered with otherworldly light, past rivers that ran like liquid starlight, past faces of souls she barely recognized.

Only one place mattered.

The apartments where souls stayed while deciding their eternity loomed ahead. Her chest tightened as she neared the one she had shared with Y/N before she had ever stepped toward Vision. Her heart thudded in her ears, a wild, desperate rhythm.

And then she saw her. Y/N—stepping out of the room, just as radiant, just as alive as she had remembered.

“Y/N!” Wanda screamed, her voice breaking, and ran faster.

Y/N turned at the sound, confusion crossing her features. But before she could say anything, Wanda collided with her, throwing her arms around Y/N’s neck, clinging like she would never let go.

“Wanda…?” Y/N breathed, startled, her hands hesitating on Wanda’s back, then holding her tightly as realization dawned.

Wanda pressed herself closer, her lips finding Y/N’s in a desperate, hungry kiss. A kiss that spoke of decades of longing, of absence, of survival without the other. She kissed her like she was starved—like she needed Y/N just to exist, like the world itself might unravel if she let go.

Y/N’s arms tightened around her, grounding her, holding her, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Wanda’s heart began to settle, beating in sync with the love she had never stopped carrying.

Pulling back just slightly, her forehead resting against Y/N’s, Wanda’s tears spilled freely. “I… I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, voice trembling with raw emotion. “I was wrong… I should have stayed… I should have—”

A voice cut through the fragile bubble of reunion, calling from inside the apartment.

“Y/N?”

Both women froze. Wanda’s gaze snapped toward the doorway to find someone behind Y/N coming out of the apartment. A woman in her mid-twenties, fiery red hair catching the soft glow of the Junction’s lights. Her eyes were sharp, but curious, scanning the scene with cautious interest.

“Natasha,” Y/N murmured remembering the woman was there.

Wanda blinked, her sobs momentarily forgotten, confusion and caution threading through her frantic relief. Her arms tightened around Y/N instinctively, as if to shield what was hers, while her mind scrambled.

Natasha’s expression softened slightly, though her posture remained alert. “You must be Wanda…” She glanced between Wanda and Y/N, realization dawning.

Wanda’s pulse quickened. Whoever this Natasha was, she could feel the tension radiating from Y/N. Yet in the same instant, her body froze, rooted to the spot. Hurt blossomed in her chest, sharp and unrelenting. Who was this woman? Did Y/N… had she moved on? Was Wanda too late?

Her arms still clung to Y/N, but a tremor of doubt ran through her, twisting her stomach. Every heartbeat screamed that she had fought through an eternity just to find her, only to be confronted with the fear that maybe, in her absence, Y/N had already chosen someone else.

Wanda swallowed hard, her tears still flowing, but now laced with anxiety. Her stomach twisted painfully, every heartbeat screaming that she had fought through an eternity just to find Y/N, only to be confronted with the fear that maybe, in her absence, Y/N had already chosen someone else.

Her hands trembled as tears continued to stream down her face, laced now with a raw, anxious fear. Y/N’s eyes darted between Wanda—still clinging to her—and the figure of Natasha, who was stepping out of the room, caught in the sudden tension.

“I… I’m sorry, Nat,” Y/N said softly, her voice steady but gentle, “can we… reschedule?”

Natasha’s gaze shifted to Wanda, then back to Y/N. She gave a small, understanding nod, a quiet acknowledgment of the situation, before stepping away without a word, leaving the two of them alone.

Once Natasha was gone, Wanda’s tears fell harder, her voice trembling as she clung to Y/N. “Please… tell me I’m not too late,” she pleaded, her words cracking under the weight of fear and longing.

Y/N brushed Wanda’s tears away gently, her hands firm but tender against her face. “Come on,” she whispered, her voice steady.

She guided Wanda inside the apartment, letting her step through the threshold as she closed the door behind them. The room was familiar—every corner, every soft shadow, every lingering scent of Y/N—but it carried a strange weight now.

“It’s been a long time, Wands…” Y/N murmured, her tone quiet, almost unreadable.

Wanda’s throat tightened as she tried to steady her breathing. “I know… I know it’s been fifty years. I took too long.” Her voice wavered as tears filled her eyes again. “But it wasn’t like that for me. In eternity, time… it’s different. I swear, Y/N, for me it was only months. Six, maybe. I lost track but—” She reached for Y/N’s hand desperately, needing her to believe.

Y/N’s eyes softened, though her jaw clenched as if holding back the storm of everything she had endured. She let out a slow, heavy breath. “Wanda… it hasn’t been fifty years.” Her thumb brushed over Wanda’s trembling fingers. “It’s been ninety-eight.”

The words hit Wanda like a blow, stealing the air from her lungs. Ninety-eight years. Nearly a century lost. Her lips parted, but no sound came out—only a broken sob as she crumpled against Y/N, clutching her as though she could pull back the years with sheer will.

Wanda’s knees nearly gave out, but Y/N caught her, steadying her against the door. Wanda buried her face into Y/N’s chest, sobs wracking through her as the weight of those years crashed over her.

“Ninety-eight…” she choked, the number tasting like ash in her mouth. “I—I never meant to… I thought I’d come back sooner. I thought…” Her hands clutched at Y/N’s shirt as though afraid she might vanish too. “I didn’t know it would cost us this much.”

Y/N held her, but her embrace was steadier than desperate, her warmth laced with caution. For Wanda, only months had passed—but for Y/N, it had been almost a century.

Finally, Y/N pulled back just enough to meet Wanda’s tear-filled gaze. Her voice was low, trembling with something between anger and heartbreak. “Wanda… once you choose eternity, you can’t come back. That’s the rule. I know it. You knew it.” Her eyes glistened as she swallowed hard. “So when you walked away with him… I thought I lost you forever.”

Wanda’s breath caught, her chest tightening as fresh guilt flooded her. “I didn’t know—I thought… I thought I still had a chance to see. To understand. But I was wrong, Y/N. I was so wrong.” Her voice cracked as she cupped Y/N’s face, desperate for her to believe. “I don’t want eternity without you. I don’t want anything without you.”

Y/N searched her eyes, the storm in her expression betraying just how deeply Wanda’s choice had scarred her. For Wanda, the wound was still raw, but for Y/N, it had been carved into her soul for nearly a century.

“Then how are you here now?” Y/N whispered, almost broken. “How did you even make it back, Wands?”

Wanda’s hands trembled as she held Y/N’s face, her tears spilling faster. “The gate,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “It wouldn’t let me through at first. I begged, I screamed, I waited until I lost track of days, until I thought I’d wither away there. And then… the guards came. They asked me one question.”

Her lips quivered as she forced the words out. “They asked me who I belonged to.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she didn’t speak, her gaze locked on Wanda’s.

“I said your name,” Wanda continued, her voice breaking, raw with truth. “Not once. Not twice. Over and over until my throat tore. I told them everything—every laugh, every night, every kiss, every dream we built together. I told them about our children, about our life, about you. And the gate… it opened. It only opened because my soul knew, because my heart has always been yours.”

She pressed her forehead desperately against Y/N’s, her sobs wracking through her body. “I don’t want eternity, not if it’s without you. I want you. I want the life we had, the love we shared. That’s all I’ll ever want. Please, Y/N… please tell me I’m not too late.”

Y/N’s hands hovered at Wanda’s waist, torn between pulling her closer and pushing her away. Her jaw clenched as her heart warred with the century of hurt Wanda had left behind.

“It’s been ninety-eight years, Wands,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking. “Ninety-eight years I lived with the choice you made. Do you have any idea how long that feels?”

Wanda’s sobs quieted, but her arms stayed firm around Y/N. “Then hate me. Be angry at me. I deserve it. But don’t let me go. Not now. Not when I finally found my way back to you.”

They were interrupted by the sound of the knock on the door. Y/N’s body tensed, but before either could move, the door creaked open and a familiar voice carried in.

“Hey, Ma! Still home? I thought you were going out with Natas—”

The voice cut off abruptly.

Wanda’s heart stopped.

Standing in the doorway was a young man with sandy-brown hair and Y/N’s eyes, his expression frozen in shock. His gaze darted between them—his mother holding Wanda in her arms, Wanda’s tear-stained face buried against her.

“Mom?!” Tommy’s voice cracked, half disbelieving, half horrified.

Wanda’s knees nearly buckled. Her hand flew to her mouth as she stared, breathless. Her son. Her son.

Y/N instinctively stepped in front of Wanda, as if to shield her from the intensity of the moment, but Tommy had already taken a step into the apartment, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Y-You—” Tommy’s voice trembled as his eyes filled. “You’re supposed to be gone. You chose—”

“Tommy…” Wanda whispered, reaching toward him, her hand trembling. “Oh my sweet boy…”

Wanda didn’t hesitate—her feet carried her forward before her mind could catch up. She threw her arms around Tommy, clutching him as if letting go would mean losing him again. Her sobs wracked her chest, muffled against his shoulder.

“Tommy… my baby, my boy… I’m so sorry,” she choked out, her fingers gripping the back of his shirt. “I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”

Tommy stiffened in her embrace. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, torn between pushing her away and holding her back. His breath hitched, his jaw tight as he stared over her shoulder at Y/N, his voice strained and sharp.

“How are you even here?” he demanded, his tone low but laced with anger. “You left. I heard you chose to leave. You chose someone else…”

Wanda’s sobs only grew, but she clung tighter, shaking her head fiercely. “I made a mistake, Tommy. I’m so sorry… I thought I needed to see what was on the other side. I thought I owed it to myself… but I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. All I’ve ever wanted was you, your brother and sister, and your mother. My family. I never should have left. Please… forgive me.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched as he stood rigid in her arms, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His eyes shimmered with something raw—anger, confusion, hurt—all tangled together. Slowly, almost reluctantly, his hands lifted and rested on her arms, not quite an embrace but not a rejection either.

“You don’t get it, Mom,” he said finally, his voice trembling with restrained emotion. “You weren’t gone for a little while. You were gone for almost a century. We had to watch Ma suffer without you.” His throat tightened, and his voice cracked. “And now you just show up here and say you’re sorry?”

Tommy’s words cut through Wanda like a blade, each one sharp and merciless. Her tears streamed faster, her hands clutching at him desperately as if she could anchor herself to him, as if touch alone could undo the years of absence.

But before Tommy could unleash the storm fully building in his chest, Y/N’s voice rang out, firm and steady.

“Tommy.”

The single word stopped him cold. His mother’s sobs filled the silence, but Y/N’s tone carried a weight that commanded attention. Tommy’s fists curled at his sides, his chest heaving as he turned his gaze toward Y/N.

She stood with her arms folded, eyes unwavering, her expression torn between authority and quiet sadness. “That’s enough.”

Tommy’s jaw worked, his anger still simmering, but he knew better than to push when Y/N’s voice dropped into that tone. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, and looked away, blinking rapidly against the burning in his eyes.

Wanda loosened her hold just slightly, glancing up at Y/N with tear-streaked cheeks, her lips trembling. “Y/N…” she whispered, her voice fragile, pleading for Y/N to understand, to stand by her even now.

Y/N’s eyes softened as she looked between them, but her voice carried no room for argument. “Tommy… go. Give us some time.”

Tommy snapped his gaze back to her, disbelief flashing in his expression. “Ma—”

“Not now,” Y/N cut in firmly, though her tone was calm, steady. “Later, we’ll all sit down. You, me, your sister, your brother… and your mom. But right now, she and I need to talk.”

Tommy’s lips pressed into a tight line, his jaw tense. His anger hadn’t faded—it burned hot and restless—but he knew that tone, knew when Y/N’s word was final. He glanced at Wanda, at the tears streaking her face, and for just a heartbeat, his expression cracked, hurt showing through the fury.

Then he turned away sharply. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. He headed for the door, his footsteps heavy, and paused only once with his hand on the knob. Without looking back, he said, “Don’t expect it to be easy.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Wanda trembling in Y/N’s arms, her breath shuddering, the silence heavy but not empty.

Wanda’s sobs shook through her whole frame, her fingers clutching at Y/N’s shirt like she was afraid to let go. Her voice broke as she whispered again, desperate, raw, “Please… just tell me… did you move on? Did I lose you?”

Y/N exhaled slowly, the weight of her question heavy in the quiet room. She didn’t answer right away, instead bending down and sliding an arm beneath Wanda’s knees, the other cradling her back. With effortless strength, she lifted her, holding her close as if Wanda were fragile glass about to shatter.

Wanda’s tear-streaked face pressed into her shoulder, her sobs muffled against Y/N’s skin as Y/N carried her through the room. She walked with slow, steady steps until they reached the bed.

Carefully, Y/N lowered her onto the mattress, sitting her there with gentle hands. She brushed a damp strand of hair from Wanda’s cheek, her thumb lingering on her skin as she finally spoke, her tone low and steady.

“Wanda…” She sighed, searching her face, her eyes, every broken edge she could see spilling out of her. “You need to try to calm down first. Breathe. Maybe lie back, close your eyes, just rest for a little while. We’ll talk after, okay? Just… let yourself relax.”

But Wanda shook her head fiercely, tears clinging to her lashes. “No. No, I can’t. I can’t sleep, I can’t rest, not until I know—” Her voice cracked, her sob rising into the space between them. “Tell me if you moved on. Please… I need to know.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, her own breath catching. Slowly, she cupped Wanda’s face in both hands, firm but infinitely gentle, grounding her in the warmth of her palms. “Listen to me,” she said softly, but with conviction. “I love you. More than anything, more than anyone. That hasn’t changed. It won’t. After you calm down and give yourself a little rest, we’ll talk. I promise. But right now…” her thumbs brushed Wanda’s damp cheeks, “right now I just need you to breathe. For me.”

Wanda’s resistance finally broke, her trembling hands fisting into Y/N’s shirt as she collapsed against her chest. A choked whimper left her lips, muffled by the curve of Y/N’s shoulder.

“I love you too,” she whispered, over and over, as if afraid the words would slip away if she didn’t hold onto them. Her voice was raw, fragile, threaded with desperation.

Y/N wrapped her arms around her tightly, rocking her just slightly, her hand moving in slow circles across Wanda’s back. “Shh… I’ve got you,” she murmured, kissing the crown of her head. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

Bit by bit, Wanda’s trembling began to ease. Her sobs softened into ragged breaths, her weight growing heavier in Y/N’s embrace as exhaustion finally claimed her. Still clinging to Y/N, she murmured one last, broken, “I love you…” before her body slackened and her breathing settled into the rhythm of sleep.

Y/N held her a moment longer, studying the tear-streaked face nestled against her, her chest aching with both love and sorrow. Then, carefully, she eased Wanda down onto the pillows, brushing one last kiss to her forehead and pulling the blanket over her.

---

Y/N’s POV

I sat there, unable to move, my eyes locked on the rise and fall of her chest. Wanda’s face, finally at peace after the storm, looked almost like it used to—soft, vulnerable, mine. My hand hovered, then gave in, brushing gently across her cheek. She didn’t stir, only leaned into the touch as if even in sleep she still sought me.

God, I missed her.

Every day without her had carved something out of me, a hollow ache that nothing and no one could fill. I’d told myself I was strong enough, that for the kids I had to be. But now, with her here, asleep in our bed, that façade cracked. The truth was, I had been starving for her—her laugh, her warmth, the way she looked at me as though I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

My thumb traced the line of her jaw, memorizing her all over again. “My Wanda…” I whispered, barely audible, afraid even the air might steal her away again.

Leaning back slightly, I kept my vigil, my fingers drifting over her cheek whenever the urge became too much.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda’s eyes blinked open, her lashes heavy as though she had been asleep for days rather than hours. For a moment, the stillness around her felt too perfect, too silent. She reached out instinctively, seeking Y/N’s warmth beside her—only to find the sheets cold and untouched.

Her breath hitched. Panic rushed through her chest like a flood. Had she dreamed it? Had her desperate, grief-soaked heart imagined her return?

But then her gaze swept the room, and she froze. This was Y/N’s place in the junction. The room seemed familiar yet infused with a timeless stillness, as if it belonged both to her past and to something beyond.

Her eyes caught on the walls and shelves. Dozens of pictures. Too many to count. And every single one was of her. Wanda smiling, Wanda laughing, Wanda holding their children when they were young. Her breath broke, a sob caught in her throat. Y/N had kept her alive here—through memory, through love—surrounding herself with the fragments of what was lost.

On the nightstand, a book lay open, its edges worn from countless touches. Wanda reached for it with trembling hands. The moment her fingers brushed the cover, a soft hum filled the room, and then—light.

Her hands trembled as the book pulsed with light again. The air shimmered, bending, and then the apartment around her melted away.

Wanda gasped.

She was standing in the middle of a memory — one of their memories.

It was their apartment, warm and golden with lamplight, and she saw herself curled up on the couch with Y/N. Her head rested against Y/N’s chest, while Y/N’s arms wrapped around her protectively, their hands absently tracing shapes along her arm.

“You’re my whole world, Wanda,” Y/N’s voice echoed, tender and certain. “Even if death tried to pull us apart, I’d still find you. Always.”

In the memory, Wanda lifted her head, laughing softly, brushing her lips against Y/N’s jaw. “You say that like you’d chase me through forever.”

“I would,” Y/N whispered against her hair. “I will.”

Wanda’s throat constricted. She staggered closer, wanting to throw herself into the memory, into Y/N’s arms, but her hands passed through the air like smoke. Her other self — smiling, alive, happy — leaned in to kiss Y/N, slow and tender, and Wanda could only watch as her heart splintered.

Tears streaked down her cheeks. She pressed a trembling hand to her lips, whispering brokenly into the fading glow:

“I should never have left… I should never have doubted.”

The light dimmed, the memory dissolving until the apartment returned, quiet and heavy once more. The book lay in her lap, its cover glowing faintly, as if waiting for her to open it again.

But Wanda could barely breathe, her chest tight with longing and regret.

Because Y/N’s words from the memory still rang in her ears.

I’d chase you through forever.

As the memory dissolved into nothingness, Wanda’s tears still clung stubbornly to her lashes. She pressed the book to her chest, breathing in raggedly, when suddenly—

The apartment door swung open with a loud thud.

“Mom?”

Her heart stuttered at the sound of that voice. She turned, eyes wide, and there he was.

Billy.

He stood in the doorway, his appearance unmistakably in his early twenties, his black hoodie hanging loose over skinny jeans, eyeliner smudged around his piercing eyes. His hair was longer, styled in a way only his “emo era” would allow.

Wanda blinked at him, a watery laugh breaking through her tears. “Oh… Billy,” she breathed, covering her mouth with her hand. “You—” She laughed again, shaking her head in disbelief. “Of all the times of your life, why would you choose that time?”

He smirked, though his voice cracked with emotion as he stepped inside. “What? It was a look, Mom.”

She laughed harder, the sound trembling with joy and sorrow all at once. “I remember this so vividly… You wouldn’t smile for family pictures, and you used to sit in your room blasting music, swearing no one understood you.”

Billy’s lips twitched into a grin, but it faltered as tears shimmered in his eyes. “Guess some things don’t change, huh?”

Wanda’s body moved before her mind could catch up—she rushed forward and threw her arms around him, clutching him like she would never let go again. “My Billy…” she whispered, kissing his temple through his messy hair. “Oh, my sweet boy. Look at you.”

For a moment, Billy stiffened, overwhelmed, but then his arms wrapped around her tightly. He buried his face against her shoulder, his voice muffled and raw.

“I missed you, Mom.”

Wanda held him tighter, her heart swelling with every heartbeat that pressed against hers. He was warm, solid, real. Her Billy.

She pulled back just enough to cup his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing away the tears on his cheeks. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, her smile trembling. “Even in your emo phase.”

Billy laughed through his tears, shaking his head. “Don’t say that. You’ll embarrass me forever.”

“Forever is exactly what we have now,” Wanda teased softly, her voice breaking on the last word as she leaned her forehead against his. “And I’m never letting go again.”

He grinned, crooked and genuine, the kind of smile she hadn’t seen in what felt like lifetimes. “Good. ‘Cause I was starting to think you’d never show up. But… you did. You found your way back.”

Wanda’s chest tightened, but this time it wasn’t with grief—it was with gratitude, with love so vast she thought she might burst. She pulled him back into her arms, rocking him gently like she used to when he was little.

“I’ll always find my way back to you,” she murmured into his hair, closing her eyes. “Always.”

And in that small apartment in the Junction, for the first time since stepping through the gate, Wanda felt whole again.

---

Billy didn’t let go of her hand even once, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles as if grounding himself in the reality of her presence. Wanda drank him in.

They sat together on the couch, the silence between them stretching, warm and tender. Finally, Billy drew in a slow breath. “You probably want to know what happened… after.”

Wanda nodded, her heart aching at the careful way he said it. She squeezed his hand, silently urging him to go on.

“When I died,” Billy began softly, his gaze dropping to their joined hands, “it wasn’t scary. Not really. Teddy was there—right beside me. I could feel him holding me, whispering that it was okay, that he’d see me again soon. And he was right. Two years later, he joined me here in the Junction.” His lips curved into a sad smile. “We found each other again, and it felt like no time had passed at all.”

Tears welled in Wanda’s eyes, though she smiled faintly, picturing her son’s happiness. “I’m glad,” she whispered, her voice catching. “I’m glad he was with you.”

Billy nodded, though the smile faded as his eyes grew heavier. “But I… I couldn’t move on to eternity. Not yet. Not without mama. Not without Tommy and Lyla.” His throat worked, and he let out a shaky breath.

Wanda’s chest constricted, her grip on his hand tightening. “Billy…”

His voice grew quieter, tinged with hurt. “And when I got here, Tommy and mama were already waiting. But you were not… I looked everywhere for you. I asked mama and Tommy, but mama wouldn’t tell, and Tommy said he already tried with her but he couldn’t find out. I thought—no, I knew—you’d be waiting. That you’d be here to welcome me. But you weren’t. And it… it crushed me.” His eyes shimmered as he finally looked up, tears breaking through. “Mama kept going. Strong, like she always is. But I could see it, every day—the way she was breaking inside. The way she looked at your pictures, like you would come out of it.”

Wanda broke then, her tears spilling freely, her hand flying to her mouth as if to hold back the sob threatening to tear from her chest. “Oh my god…”

Billy shook his head, his own tears falling now. “Tommy and I couldn’t stand it. We went to an afterlife coordinator to ask. We had to know why. Why weren’t you with us? Why weren’t you with her?”

He drew in a trembling breath. “And they told us. That you’d chosen someone else. That you had chosen eternity… with Vision… your first husband.”

The name hit her like a slap, shame and regret flooding her all over again. She opened her mouth, but no words came, only broken gasps between her tears.

Billy’s voice wavered, a mix of sorrow and something close to anger. “Do you have any idea what that did to her? To all of us? She never said it out loud, but I saw it. I saw the way her eyes dulled, how her smile faded. How she tried to keep going for us, for Lyla and Tommy—but inside, she was wrecked. You left her, Mom. You left us.”

Wanda couldn’t hold back the sob now. She leaned forward, clutching both of Billy’s hands as if she could anchor herself to him. “I know,” she cried, her voice raw. “I know, Billy. I thought—I thought I had to see it through. That maybe it was what I was meant to do. But I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. Every second without you, without your mama, it tore me apart. And then… when I realized what I had done, I would have given anything to undo it. Anything to come back.”

Her son’s tears slowed, though his chest still rose and fell with emotion. He studied her, his eyes searching for truth. “Then why? Why did you choose him?”

Wanda bowed her head, her sobs quieter now, her voice shaking. “Because I was afraid. Afraid that I hadn’t given Vision enough. Afraid that part of me belonged somewhere else. But the moment I stepped into that eternity, I knew—I knew I didn’t belong there. My home, my life, my love… it’s with Y/N. With all of you.”

Billy’s jaw tightened, but the pain in his eyes softened, just slightly. He let out a heavy exhale, his thumb brushing over her hand again. “You hurt her, Mom. You hurt all of us…”

The door swung open quietly, and Y/N stepped inside, flanked by Tommy and Lyla. Wanda’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected to see all three of them at once, and the sight of her family, whole and present, sent her emotions into overdrive.

Lyla was the first to reach her, moving swiftly across the room. Her arms wrapped around Wanda in a tight embrace, burying her face against Wanda’s shoulder. “We’ve missed you so much,” she whispered, her voice muffled but fierce with emotion. Wanda could feel the tremor of Lyla’s own restrained sobs through the hug, and it made her chest ache in a way only a mother could understand.

Wanda clung to Lyla, holding her as tightly as she had held Billy moments ago, letting the tears fall freely now without shame. “I’ve missed you,” Wanda sobbed, her voice cracking. “All of you. Every day… every moment I wasn’t here, I thought of you. I thought of all of you.”

Y/N’s hand stayed gently on Wanda’s back, guiding her back from the intensity of the hug. “Come on,” Y/N said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Let’s go eat something. We don’t need to, but… it’ll feel nice. Like old times.”

Wanda sniffled, nodding, still holding onto Lyla’s hand as they followed Y/N out of the apartment. Billy and Tommy flanked them, Tommy’s arms crossed, his expression still a little tight, but there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes.

The Junction shimmered around them in its gentle afterlife glow, streets and buildings familiar yet softened, quieter than memory, like a comforting dream. They walked side by side, taking turns laughing softly and speaking in quiet murmurs, as if afraid to break the fragile sense of reunion.

When they arrived at a small, warmly lit restaurant, the kind of place they used to go when alive, Wanda felt a strange, deep relief settle over her. It smelled like bread, coffee, and a faint trace of lavender—small touches that made it feel alive in a way the afterlife rarely did.

They sat at a corner table, the four of them fitting together as they had always done. Plates appeared before them as if by magic—heaping with food that didn’t satiate hunger but seemed to nourish the soul—and Wanda laughed softly at the absurdity of it, pressing a hand to her chest.

“So,” Y/N began, leaning slightly toward Wanda, her tone gentle, “no rules. No one’s in a rush. Just… us. Eat, talk, laugh… like we used to.”

Wanda’s eyes welled again, but this time with warmth. “I… I never thought I’d get to do this again,” she whispered, taking a bite and savoring it in a way that felt almost sacred.

Billy and Lyla exchanged a glance, both smiling faintly, before starting to eat themselves. Tommy sat a little stiffly, but gradually relaxed as he watched Wanda laughing at something Y/N whispered to her, the tension in his shoulders easing.

The conversation flowed slowly at first, filled with awkward pauses and gentle teasing, memories of old jokes and shared moments spilling between them. They spoke of little things—places they’d gone when alive, silly fights over what movie to watch, the taste of Wanda’s favorite desserts, Y/N’s peculiar obsession with arranging flowers just so, Lyla’s tendency to hide snacks, and Billy’s emo phase antics, which made Wanda laugh so hard she nearly cried.

Tommy still held a bit of quiet sourness, the sting of years she hadn’t been there still evident, but even he began to let his guard down as the warmth of being together suffused the table. He grumbled occasionally, but it was punctuated with a small, reluctant smile whenever Wanda laughed or Y/N nudged him playfully.

For Wanda, the simple act of eating together, of sharing space and conversation, felt like reclaiming pieces of a life she had thought lost forever. She realized that while the afterlife didn’t require food, or sleep, or any of the mortal necessities, these rituals—these tiny, human joys—were what truly made a family.

By the time they left the restaurant, their laughter lingering like a soft melody, the tension in Wanda’s chest had eased just slightly. She knew there would be more apologies, more explanations, and more moments to mend. But for now, with Y/N at her side, with her children close, and the Junction stretching ahead like a canvas of second chances, she felt—finally—like she was home.

—

Wanda’s steps faltered as they entered the apartment, the quiet settling around them like a warm blanket. The kids waved goodbye, promising to see her again soon, and with that, Y/N gently guided Wanda inside. The door clicked softly behind them, leaving just the two of them in the familiar space that felt impossibly alive with memory.

They paused in the center of the room, eyes locking without a word. The weight of decades, the distance of time, and the relief of reunion pressed silently between them. Y/N finally spoke, her voice low and steady. “You can take the bed. I’ll stay on the couch for a while.”

Wanda blinked, a pang stabbing her heart. “No… I mean, you can stay in the bed too. We were married for over sixty years, Y/N. It… it doesn’t feel right—”

Y/N shook her head gently, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll take the couch. I promise I’ll be fine.”

Wanda’s chest tightened, but she nodded, letting it go—for now. She stepped closer, her trembling hands reaching for Y/N. “Can I… can I hug you?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate, opening her arms. Wanda melted into her, burying her face against Y/N’s shoulder, tears still prickling at her eyes. Y/N’s arms wrapped around her back, strong and steady, holding her close. The quiet intimacy of the embrace, the rhythm of two hearts that had survived centuries apart, filled the room with warmth.

After a long moment, Wanda drew in a shaky breath, summoning the courage to voice the question that had been gnawing at her since she first saw Natasha. “Y/N… what about Natasha?”

Y/N’s hands lingered on her waist, grounding her. “She’s… just a friend,” she said softly, though Wanda could hear the subtle tension in her voice.

But Wanda lifted her eyes to meet Y/N’s. Her gaze didn’t waver—searching, questioning, insistent. She knew—knew —that Y/N was hiding something. The quiet, the way her shoulders tensed, the brief hesitation before she spoke—none of it escaped Wanda’s notice.

Y/N sighed deeply, leaning her forehead against Wanda’s. She chuckled softly, a sound full of warmth and familiarity. “I almost forgot how persistent you can be.”

Their breath mingled, and for a long moment, the weight of unspoken truths hung between them. Finally, Y/N spoke, her voice a soft confession. “I met Natasha here… in the Junction, about thirty years ago. We became friends first, and then, ten years ago, she… she asked me if I wanted to spend eternity with her.”

Wanda’s breath caught, her heart thudding painfully. “And what did you say?”

Y/N’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, her eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “What do you think I told her, Wands?”

Wanda blinked, her throat tight, her hands tightening slightly around Y/N’s waist. “I… I don’t know… that you’d think about it?”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “No. I told her… my eternity has always been with you. Always. No one else. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—choose anyone else over you.”

Wanda’s chest tightened, tears spilling faster as she heard the tremor beneath Y/N’s voice. “Even when I wasn’t there… even when I left… you never—”

“I never stopped,” Y/N whispered, cutting her off softly, pressing her forehead to Wanda’s. Her voice was low, tender, like a promise spoken in the quiet. “You’re my home, Wanda. My life. My everything…”

For a moment, the words hung between them like a lifeline, warm and steady. Then Y/N’s expression shifted. She pulled back just enough to look into Wanda’s eyes, her lips curving into a mock frown. “But I am mad at you…” she said, her tone light but edged with something deeper. “Mad at you for leaving me… for choosing him…”

Wanda’s breath caught. The teasing mask faltered just enough for her to see it—a flicker of real hurt passing through Y/N’s eyes before she tried to smother it.

Wanda cupped Y/N’s face with trembling hands, her thumbs brushing the corners of her jaw. “I know…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I know I hurt you. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was wrong. I’ve been wrong every second since I left.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into Wanda’s touch even as that flash of pain lingered behind her lashes. She exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself, her hands still firm at Wanda’s waist. “I wanted to hate you for it,” she admitted quietly. “But I couldn’t. Even when I tried.”

Wanda’s heart cracked at the honesty, at the shadow in Y/N’s gaze. “I’ll spend the rest of my eternity making it up to you,” she said softly, almost a plea.

Y/N opened her eyes, meeting hers again, something softer and sadder flickering there. “We’ll see, Wands…” she murmured. “We’ll see.”

---

Y/N’s POV

I stirred my coffee slowly, letting the warmth seep into my hands. Nat and I had been talking about trivial things—who had been assigned to which corner of the Junction, a few memories we’d laughed over—but there was a pause, a silence that felt heavier than usual.

Finally, Nat spoke, her tone light but tinged with a trace of resignation. “She’s back… so now it’s confirmed. I really don’t have a chance.”

I let out a small sigh, calling her name gently, but before I could continue, Nat waved me off. “No, really. I’ve known from the start,” she said softly, almost tenderly. “I understood from the beginning… how big Wanda is for you. And you made it perfectly clear—we’re just friends.”

Her words were steady, but I could see the faint shadow of disappointment in her eyes. I swallowed, feeling a pang of guilt. “Nat… I—”

She held up a hand, cutting me off. “Don’t apologize. I just… I needed to say it out loud, I guess. But I want to ask—can we still be friends? Can we still go out sometimes while we’re here in the Junction?”

I smiled, a genuine warmth lifting through me. “Of course. Always.”

Nat’s lips curved into a small, relieved smile. “Then… can we finally go to that bar we were supposed to?” she asked, a playful glint in her eyes.

I chuckled softly, shaking my head. “You mean the one we kept postponing because of… everything else?”

She shrugged, grinning. “Exactly that one. No grand emergencies, no afterlife drama, just us sitting there, maybe laughing too loud and ordering too many drinks.”

The thought made me laugh aloud. It felt surreal to even imagine it—me, Nat, carefree in a world that was technically afterlife, yet somehow still full of little joys. “Alright,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “I promise we’ll go this time.”

Nat’s grin widened, her eyes softening with something lighter than I’d seen in a long while. “Good. I’ll hold you to that. Don’t think being dead gets you out of it.”

I smirked into my coffee cup. “Guess I can’t argue with that logic.”

For a moment, silence settled between us, not heavy, just comfortable. The kind that came with understanding—two people who didn’t need to fill every gap with words. I found myself grateful for that, for her.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda stayed where she was, curled up on the couch, her fingers absently tracing patterns against the fabric of the cushion. The stillness of the apartment wrapped around her like a blanket, though it couldn’t quite soothe the restless ache in her chest. She knew where Y/N had gone—Natasha.

The name alone tugged at something sharp inside her. Wanda pressed her lips together, trying to will the feeling away. She didn’t have the right to feel this way, not after everything, not after the choices she had made that had cost them so much. Y/N had every right to spend time with Natasha, to laugh with her, to seek out the comfort of a friend.

And yet, as the minutes stretched into an hour, Wanda’s mind wandered. She pictured them sitting together, leaning close in conversation, Y/N smiling that rare, unguarded smile that had always made Wanda’s heart stop. She hated herself for it—for the twist of jealousy curling low in her stomach, for how much she still wanted that smile to belong only to her.

The sound of the door unlocking pulled her from her thoughts. Her heart gave a traitorous flutter as Y/N stepped inside, brushing off the cool air from outside. Their eyes met briefly, and Wanda forced herself to smile, soft and casual, though it felt fragile around the edges.

“Hey,” Y/N said, voice warm, as if nothing had shifted at all.

Wanda nodded, her throat tight. “Hey.”

She told herself it was enough—that just having Y/N here, close, safe, should have been enough. But the ache of jealousy lingered, quiet and persistent, no matter how hard she tried to bury it.

Wanda sank a little deeper into the couch, hugging her knees, trying to make herself small. Every movement Y/N made—the way she kicked off her shoes, the soft hum as she moved around the apartment, the faint scent of her hair—twisted Wanda’s heart in quiet, relentless knots. She told herself it was ridiculous. Y/N had just come back from seeing a friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And yet… the thought of Natasha, of Y/N laughing with her, leaning close, sharing some unspoken moment Wanda wasn’t part of, burned. She tried to focus on her relief, on the fact that Y/N was back, that she was here, safe, whole. But the quiet twinge of jealousy nestled stubbornly at the base of her ribs. She knew Y/N could sense it—could feel the tension radiating off her—but didn’t press, didn’t question, didn’t let it change the warmth of their reunion. That silent awareness, that gentle patience, made Wanda’s heart ache with both love and guilt.

She watched Y/N settle into the apartment, small, ordinary gestures that once would have seemed mundane, now unbearable in their intimacy. Wanda’s fingers twitched as she tried to control the pull in her chest, the desperate need to claim Y/N again, to be her first and only focus.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a shaky breath, reminding herself that she had no right to anything but presence—for now. Y/N was here, and that was enough. And yet, even as she clung to that thought, the quiet ache of wanting more lingered, stubborn and unspoken, tucked deep beneath the relief, beneath the love, beneath everything.

---

The following days stretched endlessly, a blur of quiet moments and racing thoughts. Wanda moved through the apartment almost on autopilot, her mind looping over the same question: what should she do?

Every time Y/N was in the room, her chest tightened. She longed to close the distance, to throw herself into Y/N’s arms, to feel the warmth she had craved for what felt like an eternity. She wanted to kiss her, to press the words I love you directly onto her lips, to show her everything she had carried in the lonely months of waiting.

And yet… fear rooted her to the spot. Fear that Y/N would pull back, that her love, her desperation, might be too much after all these years apart. Fear that she might misstep, that the fragile, renewed trust between them could shatter. She paced the apartment more than she moved toward Y/N, circling the couch, the kitchen, the small sunlit corner by the window, always stopping just short of the warmth she craved.

At night, she lay awake on the bed, staring at the ceiling, imagining Y/N beside her, imagining the softness of her hand in hers, imagining the quiet laughter they could share. Her mind begged her to act, to bridge the gap, but her body trembled with hesitation, tangled in memories of mistakes, of choices made, of the time lost.

Even the smallest interactions—Y/N reaching for a cup, brushing her hair back, humming softly while tidying—sent Wanda’s heart leaping. Every mundane gesture felt magnified, a reminder of what she had almost lost and now had again.

She hated the indecision, hated the way it made her feel small and helpless in front of the one person who had always made her feel whole. And yet, a tiny voice whispered, a cautious, trembling hope: Soon. Soon we’ll be ok.

Until then, Wanda lingered at the edge of Y/N’s world, caught between yearning and fear, every heartbeat a quiet, desperate prayer that she could somehow find the right moment to let her soul speak.

---

But on top of everything, there was Natasha. Y/N would leave to see her, sometimes for an hour, sometimes longer, and Wanda would stay behind in the quiet apartment. She told herself she had no right to feel anything about it—that Y/N had lived here for decades without her, that friendships had been built in the space Wanda had left behind.

But the ache wouldn’t go away. Each time the door closed behind Y/N, a hollow pang spread through Wanda’s chest. She hated it. She hated the gnawing jealousy, the twisting thought of Y/N’s laughter belonging to someone else, even in something as innocent as friendship.

And then it struck her, sharp and bitter. *Is this how she felt?* Was this what Y/N endured when Wanda chose to chase echoes of her past, clinging to memories of Vision instead of standing firmly at Y/N’s side? The realization hit like a stone in her stomach. It wasn’t fair—what she had done to Y/N back then, how blind she had been to the pain her choices might have caused.

Now the roles were reversed, and Wanda despised it. The waiting. The not knowing. The silence stretching between them like a chasm.

She hated it because she understood.

And the worst part—the part that made her chest burn—was knowing that she had no one to blame but herself.

The days bled together in the Junction, though Wanda could feel each one pressing down on her chest. She would linger in the apartment, drifting from room to room, her gaze catching on the framed photographs Y/N had placed everywhere. Pieces of their life together, frozen in time. Reminders of what she had left behind.

And yet, every time Y/N walked out that door, the warmth of those memories turned cold. Wanda would sit on the edge of the bed, twisting her fingers together, ears straining for the faintest sound that might tell her Y/N had come back. But the silence always stretched too long, feeding her thoughts until they soured.

She tried to convince herself it was nothing—just Y/N visiting a friend. That was all. But the image of Natasha’s smile lingered, uninvited, and Wanda’s heart coiled tight with something ugly. She despised it. She despised herself for feeling it.

Because she knew this pain. She recognized the shape of it. It was the same hollow ache Y/N must have carried when Wanda had chosen her memories of Vision, when she had clung to something that was never meant to last. Back then, Wanda hadn’t thought of what it cost Y/N—hadn’t wanted to. Now, she couldn’t escape it.

Every jealous pang was mirrored by guilt, the kind that gnawed at her bones. She had no right to this feeling, not after what she had done. Y/N had never once turned her away, never stopped loving her, never given her reason to doubt. And still, Wanda sat here, waiting, resenting, aching.

It was a cycle she couldn’t break: jealousy flaring hot, guilt cooling it to ash, only for it to reignite the moment Y/N’s footsteps faded down the hall again.

And Wanda swallowed it all in silence. Because how could she voice it? How could she admit that after everything—after her choice, after her absence—she was jealous of someone who had been there when she wasn’t?

She had no right. But that didn’t stop her heart from breaking all the same.

---

Then one day, Wanda was standing by the doorway, her heart thudding softly against her ribs. Y/N sat by the window, a book open in her hands, the late light spilling over her hair in a soft gold that made her look almost ethereal. For a long moment, Wanda just watched—the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the quiet steadiness that had always grounded her.

Her hands trembled before she even realized she was moving. Slowly, as if approaching a fragile dream that might vanish if she made a sound, she crossed the room. Y/N glanced up briefly, offering a small, familiar smile before her eyes drifted back to the page. That smile alone nearly undid Wanda.

Without a word, she reached Y/N and lowered herself onto her lap, straddling her thighs. Y/N froze for only a heartbeat, the book slipping shut between her fingers, before Wanda’s arms came up around her neck, burying her face against the familiar curve of Y/N’s shoulder.

It wasn’t desire—it was something far more fragile. Wanda’s chest ached as she pressed closer, breathing in that faint, warm scent she’d missed more than life itself. She remembered the last time she’d done this—in the wrong eternity, with the wrong person. Vision had thought it was sexual. But what she’d wanted… what she’d always wanted… was this. Her Y/N.

Y/N didn’t ask. She didn’t tense or pull away. She simply wrapped her arms around Wanda, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other resting low on her back, holding her steady. The motion was instinctive—muscle memory from a love that had spanned lifetimes.

A quiet breath trembled out of Wanda. The tears she had been holding in for days finally welled up, dampening Y/N’s collar. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words barely audible against her skin.

Y/N said nothing. She only held her tighter, her thumb tracing small, soothing circles along Wanda’s spine. And in that silence—warm, familiar, infinite—Wanda felt something inside her begin to ease. The fear, the jealousy, the guilt… all of it softened under Y/N’s touch.

It was home.

Just like it had always been.

Y/N’s thumb kept tracing slow circles on Wanda’s back, grounding them both in the silence. The sound of the Junction outside the window was distant, softened—almost like the world itself was giving them space.

After a long while, Y/N tilted her head slightly, her voice breaking the quiet in that low, gentle tone Wanda had missed more than she could ever say.

“What’s on your mind?”

Wanda didn’t answer right away. Her lips trembled against Y/N’s skin, and her fingers clutched the fabric of Y/N’s shirt as if she were afraid it would all dissolve if she let go. Finally, she breathed out, barely above a whisper, “Everything… and nothing.”

Y/N gave a small hum, a sound of quiet understanding, but she didn’t push. She knew Wanda well enough to recognize when she was circling her feelings—when she wanted to speak but didn’t know how to start.

Wanda drew back just enough to look at her, eyes red and wet, lashes sticking together. “I keep thinking,” she began softly, “about how you must’ve felt… when I was gone. When I chose wrong. I can’t stop seeing it—your face, waiting at that door, hoping I’d walk through it.” Her voice cracked. “And I didn’t.”

Her hands moved to cup Y/N’s jaw, desperate and tender all at once. “I hate that I did that to you. I hate that I left you alone for so long.”

Y/N met her gaze, quiet, steady. There was no anger there—only a deep sadness that had learned how to live in her eyes. She reached up, covering Wanda’s hands with her own. “You don’t have to apologize, Wanda,” she murmured. “You made a choice. And I made one too—to keep loving you, even when you weren’t here.”

Wanda’s breath hitched, tears spilling freely again. “How can you still love me after everything?”

Y/N smiled faintly, brushing her thumb across Wanda’s cheek. “Because I don’t know how not to.”

Wanda’s heart broke open all over again. She leaned in, her forehead pressing against Y/N’s, her voice a trembling whisper. “Then let me make it right this time. Please. Just… let me love you again.”

Y/N didn’t speak at first—she just breathed, slow and steady, their foreheads still touching. The warmth between them pulsed softly, like the quiet rhythm of something ancient and unbroken.

Then, she nodded. Once. Small, deliberate, but full of meaning.

Wanda’s breath hitched, her lips parting in a silent gasp, as if that single motion had cracked open the dam she’d been holding back for so long. Her hands trembled where they rested against Y/N’s face, fingers brushing against familiar skin she had ached for over what felt like lifetimes.

Y/N’s hands stayed at Wanda’s waist, grounding her, gentle yet sure. Her voice came low, steady—barely above a whisper. “One step at a time, alright?”

Wanda nodded quickly, her tears spilling over again as she pressed closer, her forehead still resting against Y/N’s. “I can do that,” she murmured, her voice trembling with both relief and longing. “As long as it’s with you.”

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, breathing her in. The scent, the closeness, the fragile trust rebuilding itself between them—it was everything she had dreamed of and feared she’d never feel again.

She pulled Wanda just a little closer, enough that their hearts lined up, steady and synced. “Then we’ll start here,” she whispered.

Wanda smiled through her tears, her lips brushing softly against Y/N’s cheek in a trembling, reverent touch. “Here,” she echoed.

And for the first time since her return, everything felt right again.

---

The days after that first, fragile reunion were a gentle unraveling of time. Wanda and Y/N began to move through the Junction with a new purpose—one that felt like healing stitched together with laughter, memory, and love.

They visited the places they had cherished together, both in life and in the moments they had imagined but never reached. Small cafés they had once lingered in, tucked-away corners of the Junction where the sunlight hit just right, parks where they had tossed coins into fountains, silently wishing for more time together. Each place was alive with echoes of themselves, past and present, and every step they took felt like reclaiming pieces of a life almost lost.

Their memories became playgrounds. Dates they had once had—or always wanted to have—were relived with careful precision: the quiet thrill of a first dinner together, the reckless delight of a shared ice cream cone on a hot day, long walks under the Junction’s glowing street lamps, whispering promises they’d once only dared to dream aloud.

They laughed more than they had in centuries, their hands intertwined, fingers tracing the familiar lines and scars of a love that had endured even absence. Wanda marveled at how Y/N’s smile still caught her breath, while Y/N marveled at how soft Wanda’s presence could feel after decades of longing.

And then, the places they had never visited in life became new adventures. They wandered through markets they had imagined, dipped their feet into rivers they had dreamed of, and gazed at sunsets from hills that had always seemed just out of reach. With every shared experience, Wanda felt her guilt and jealousy melt away, replaced by the quiet confidence of belonging.

At night, they would return to their apartment, curling together on the couch or bed, recounting the day’s small triumphs and discoveries. The Junction, in all its shimmering afterlife beauty, became a canvas for their love—a place where past and future, memory and desire, could coexist.

Step by step, memory by memory, they were rebuilding not just a life, but eternity together.

---

The slow, steady rhythm of their reunited lives began to include their children as well. Billy and Lyla had already embraced Wanda, but Tommy had remained guarded, his anger and hurt tempered only by love for his mother. Still, over time, the warmth of Wanda’s presence and the steady joy he saw in Y/N began to chip away at the walls he had built.

Days were spent wandering through the Junction as a family—laughing, teasing, and sharing memories that belonged both to the past and the life they were now reclaiming. Wanda watched Tommy hesitate at first, holding back, yet gradually letting himself relax when she joined in a silly game or shared a joke. He saw the way Y/N’s hand rested gently on Wanda’s back, the subtle exchanges of love and care that reminded him of the bond that had never truly broken.

One evening, as the three of them sat together watching the soft glow of the Junction’s lights reflecting in the rivers of memory, Tommy finally leaned against Wanda’s shoulder without a word. It was small, almost imperceptible, but the gesture spoke volumes. He was letting her back in, letting her love be part of their family again.

And slowly, he laughed with them. He argued playfully, teased them mercilessly, and yet lingered close, watching the way Wanda and Y/N moved through the space with a tenderness he had almost forgotten. It was as if he was rediscovering a mother he had loved all his life, alongside the woman who had always been the anchor for their family.

Tommy’s walls crumbled not because he forgot the hurt, but because he could see how fiercely Wanda loved his Ma, how deeply she belonged to them all. And in that, he found it easier to forgive, easier to embrace the family whole again, and easier to let the past settle gently behind them.

At last, they were truly together—not just as parents and children, but as a family healed by time, by love, and by the courage to return.

---

But Y/N still went out with Nat. And that still bothered Wanda.

Wanda sat on the couch, fingers curling into the soft fabric of the cushion, her chest tight. The apartment felt too quiet without Y/N’s presence, too still without the warmth of her shoulder to lean against. She knew Y/N had gone out with Nat, and part of her wanted to tell herself it didn’t matter—that it was harmless, just casual friends enjoying themselves.

But the truth was, it *did* matter. Her stomach knotted at the thought, a little pang of jealousy she had no right to feel. After all, Y/N had always made her own choices, and she had come back to *her*. Yet knowing Y/N was laughing somewhere, walking beside someone else—even if it was just a friend—stirred a quiet, gnawing ache.

Wanda hugged a pillow to her chest, burying her face against it. She hated that she felt this way. She hated that her insecurities, her guilt for ever leaving, were twisting into something possessive. And she hated that she couldn’t say anything without feeling ridiculous.

What if Y/N liked being out with Nat? What if Nat really did hold a piece of Y/N’s heart, even if Y/N had chosen her? Wanda’s mind ran in circles, spiraling between worst-case scenarios and self-reassurances that felt hollow.

She stayed there, silent and tense, until finally, her body ached from the weight of her own thoughts. And when Y/N returned later, cheerful and flushed from the night out, Wanda forced a smile, hiding the turmoil that still churned quietly inside her. She would let herself be happy—for now—because Y/N had come back. But the jealousy, the longing, the quiet worry… it was still there, like a shadow she couldn’t quite shake.

Hours passed, and Wanda spiraled deeper, replaying every mistake, every selfish step that had led them here. Her chest felt heavy, each breath sharper than the last, when finally the door creaked open.

Y/N stumbled inside. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes warm and hazy, her grin loose with intoxication. Wanda blinked, startled. “You’re… drunk?”

Y/N chuckled, swaying slightly as she toed off her shoes. “Didn’t know it was possible either,” she slurred softly, her voice thick and endearing. “Only lasts for an hour or two, apparently. But it’s real. And wow.” She laughed at herself, then turned toward Wanda.

And just like that, Wanda’s breath hitched. Because Y/N was looking at her—not at the floor, not at the couch, not at the past they both carried—but at *her*. With all the love in the world shining through her drunken haze. The same love that had once been hers entirely, the same love she had thought she’d lost forever.

Wanda forgot how Y/N became when she was drunk. All unfiltered affection, no walls, no hesitation—just raw, undeniable love. And standing there, trapped in that gaze, Wanda felt her heart race.

Y/N stumbled forward a little, laughing softly at herself before reaching out, one hand brushing Wanda’s cheek. “I… missed you,” she slurred, the words warm and unsteady. “Missed this—missed you. All of you.”

Wanda’s chest tightened, tears pricking her eyes. She couldn’t stop herself; she stepped closer, closing the gap, letting Y/N lean into her as she cupped the other’s face with trembling hands. “I missed you too,” Wanda whispered, her voice breaking, “more than I can even—”

Y/N laughed again, a shaky, affectionate sound, pressing her forehead to Wanda’s. “I know,” she murmured, voice soft. “I know you did. I feel it. I feel you.”

Wanda’s breath hitched at the sudden, tender pressure of Y/N’s lips against hers. She couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped, a mixture of relief, longing, and the raw ache of years spent apart. Her hands tightened around Y/N’s face, holding her close as if anchoring herself to the present, to the warmth that had always been hers.

Y/N deepened the kiss, unsteady but full of affection, letting it linger with all the words they’d never said, all the years lost between them. Wanda trembled, heart hammering, a shiver running down her spine as she pressed herself closer, needing every bit of Y/N she could reach.

Pulling back just enough to breathe, Y/N rested her forehead against Wanda’s, her lips brushing softly over her temple. “I… I feel you,” she whispered again, voice thick with emotion. “All of you… finally back where you belong.”

Wanda let out a shaky laugh, tears spilling freely, and murmured, “I’m never leaving again.”

Y/N smiled, a drunken, tender grin, pressing another quick kiss to Wanda’s lips. “Good,” she murmured. “Because I didn’t think I could stand another century without you.”

Wanda’s hands traced the familiar curves of Y/N’s body, fingers trembling as if they might dissolve if she held back. Every touch, every whisper, was a reclamation of the years lost, a desperate affirmation that they were here, together, now.

Y/N guided her gently at first, letting Wanda lead, letting her set the pace of their reunion. The apartment was filled with quiet gasps and soft murmurs, the afterlife’s stillness amplifying every heartbeat, every brush of skin, every stolen breath.

Wanda pressed close, forehead against Y/N’s, lips brushing, tasting, memorizing again. There was no rush, no need for anything but the closeness of each other, the safety and love that had always defined them.

Y/N’s hands tangled in Wanda’s hair, pulling her closer, grounding her, whispering her name like a prayer. “Mine,” Y/N murmured between kisses. “Always mine.”

And Wanda responded with a cry, a shiver, a surrender—pouring centuries of longing, guilt, and love into every movement, every sigh. They moved together as they had in countless memories and countless dreams: slow, tender, urgent, and consuming.

In the afterlife, time felt irrelevant; only the warmth of each other, the shared heartbeat, and the reclaiming of everything they’d lost mattered. When they finally collapsed into each other, slick and spent, their bodies still entwined, Wanda felt a peace she hadn’t known she could reach.

Y/N stroked her hair, brushing a damp strand from her face. “I’m here,” she whispered, voice soft and steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Wanda buried her face against Y/N’s chest, letting herself finally breathe. “Never again,” she whispered back, voice muffled, tears slipping freely. “Never again.”

And in the quiet aftermath, their hands laced, hearts still racing, they simply held each other, letting the afterlife witness what had always been true: their love, unbroken and eternal.

---

Wanda and Y/N fell back into the rhythm of their lives with a comforting ease, as though the decades apart had been nothing more than a long, cruel pause. Their afternoons and nights blurred together in quiet intimacy, laughter, and warmth. Making love became a part of their routine again—not out of necessity, but out of desire, affection, and the shared understanding of how fragile time could be. Each touch, each kiss, each whispered word was a reclamation of what had been lost, a reaffirmation that they belonged to each other.

It felt young and reckless at times, like teenagers discovering each other all over again, and yet layered with the depth and history of a love that had weathered centuries. They found joy in simple gestures: lying together in silence, sharing coffee by the window, holding hands while wandering through recreated memories or new adventures in the Junction.

Wanda even warmed up to Nat over time. What had once made her uneasy—Y/N’s friendship with someone else—softened into acceptance. Nat was kind, loyal, and genuinely happy for them. Wanda realized that she could trust Y/N and that Nat posed no threat, only a companionship that had endured years in the afterlife. The three of them shared quiet meals, laughter, and casual conversations, the awkward tension of the past fading like a shadow at sunrise.

In these days, in these small, tender moments, Wanda felt a sense of peace she had never thought possible. Her love for Y/N burned brighter than ever, untainted by regret or fear, and the warmth of family—Y/N, Billy, Tommy, Lyla, and even Nat—surrounded her like a shield. Life in the Junction had its own rhythm, one that was both timeless and fleeting, but for Wanda and Y/N, it finally felt like home.

---

Then, one day—five years after Wanda’s return to the Junction—an afterlife coordinator appeared at their apartment, calm but insistent. “Y/N, Wanda… it’s time,” they said softly. “Since you’ve chosen each other for eternity, you are meant to leave this place and step fully into your eternal existence.”

Y/N and Wanda exchanged a glance, the weight of the years they had spent together reflected in each other’s eyes. But neither moved. Y/N shook her head firmly. “We… we can’t,” she said, her voice steady. Wanda’s hand found hers instinctively, gripping tightly.

“We are each other’s eternity,” Wanda added, her tone unwavering, “but our children—they are our eternity too. We cannot leave them behind. They are part of what makes this love whole.”

The coordinator hesitated, tilting their head, trying to convey understanding. “The system… it wasn’t designed for this. Eternity is meant to be for individuals. Families are… secondary.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened, a quiet fire in her eyes. “Then your system is wrong,” she said firmly. “Love isn’t just two people. It’s everything they hold dear. Their lives, their children, their shared history. We are not leaving, because leaving would mean abandoning the most important part of our eternity.”

The coordinator sighed, a mixture of frustration and awe in their expression, realizing there was no protocol for a defiance like this. Wanda leaned into Y/N, resting her head on her shoulder. “We’ve found our eternity here, in each other, yes—but also in our family. This is where we belong.”

And so they stayed. Defiant, unyielding, and fiercely human in the afterlife. Together, not just as lovers, but as mothers, as family, as the guardians of a love that refused to be constrained by rules or systems. The Junction, with all its memories and wonders, became theirs—not merely a waiting place, but a home for the eternity they had chosen for themselves and for the family they refused to leave behind.

---

Centuries passed, and slowly, the stubborn love of one family began to ripple outward. Other souls, seeing the way Wanda and Y/N had refused to abandon their children, began to question the rules that governed the afterlife. They saw that eternity could be more than solitary, that love could—and should—include family.

The system, once rigid and unyielding, evolved. Policies changed, structures adapted, and finally, families were allowed to step into eternity together. The world itself reshaped to reflect the lives and loves that refused to be separated. And so, at long last, Wanda, Y/N, and their children—Tommy, Billy alongside his husband, Lyla with her spouse and children—entered a shared eternity.

Their eternity took the form of the sun-drenched hills and vineyards of Tuscany, rolling fields and cypress-lined roads stretching to the horizon, warm light spilling into every corner of their new life. It was a paradise that mirrored their love: open, vibrant, and alive with possibility.

Natasha and her partner were welcome visitors, friends bound by decades of shared time and trust, able to come and go as they pleased, adding laughter and warmth without threatening the delicate balance of Wanda and Y/N’s family.

Here, centuries after Wanda had first returned to the Junction, the family thrived. Children and grandchildren ran through sunlit vineyards, voices carrying over the hills. The scent of fresh bread and roasted coffee filled the air. Y/N and Wanda, hand in hand, could sit together on the terrace, watching their family flourish and knowing that every choice, every act of defiance, every tear shed in longing had led them here.

At last, eternity was not a rule to follow—it was a life to live, together, and in it, they were truly home.

-The End-

---

Wanda’s gaze dropped instinctively to Y/N’s chest. What she saw didn’t make sense—not at first. The faint curve of soft skin where there shouldn’t have been any, the subtle but unmistakable shape of a woman’s chest. Small, but undeniable.

Her first thought was disbelief—her mind scrambling for an explanation that didn’t exist. No… that can’t be. Everything about Y/N had always spoken of strength, control, balance.

But this… this was something else. It’s not like he is a little chubby. Y/N is strong, lean, built like a warrior. Wanda could see his strong muscles.

Her eyes moved lower—hesitant, uncertain—her mind trying to piece together what she was seeing, what she remembered. The mornings when she’d woken pressed against him, feeling his warmth, his breath against her skin… and sometimes, that telltale hardness that made her blush and turn away.

So how could this be?

Wanda’s chest tightened painfully. Confusion mixed with dawning realization, a storm of emotions she couldn’t name swirling inside her. Was Y/N hiding this because he thought she’d see him differently? Because the world would?

Her thoughts halted abruptly when Y/N let out a faint groan, his brow furrowing in pain. The sound jolted her back to the moment, and she immediately leaned forward, her hand hovering over his face.

“Y/N?” she whispered, voice trembling as she brushed a few damp strands of hair from his forehead. His skin was still burning hot, his breathing shallow and uneven.

He didn’t wake.

The worry surged stronger than the confusion, swallowing it whole. Whatever this was, whatever truth he had been hiding—it didn’t change the fact that he was suffering now, and she loved him.

“Shh… it’s all right,” she murmured, voice cracking as she dipped the cloth into the basin again and gently wiped his chest, this time with even greater care. “You’re safe, Y/N… I promise. You’re safe.”

Her hands trembled as she worked, her mind still spinning, but her touch remained steady—gentle, protective.

When she was done, she reached for a clean, loose tunic—one that wouldn’t cling too tightly to his skin—and carefully slipped it over him. She lingered for a moment, fingers brushing the fabric above his heart, eyes soft with unspoken emotion.

“I don’t understand yet,” she whispered to the quiet room, “but I will. I swear I will.”

She sat beside him through the night, one hand resting lightly over his, watching every rise and fall of his chest as if it were the most fragile thing in the world.

---

The morning light was dim, filtered through the thin curtains of Y/N’s old chambers. It fell in pale stripes across the floor, touching the edge of the bed where Y/N stirred. Her head throbbed dully, and a deep ache spread through every joint, every muscle — the kind that made even breathing feel like effort.

A soft groan escaped her as she pushed herself upright, the motion sending a ripple of weakness through her body. The sheets clung to her skin, still faintly damp from fever. For a moment, her mind drifted hazily, caught between fragments of dreams and flashes of memory — the burning heat, the dizzying blur of voices, and then… nothing.

She blinked slowly, the room coming into focus: familiar walls, familiar furniture. Her old chambers. The ones she hadn’t used since his marriage. Why am I here?

Y/N rubbed at her temple, trying to chase the pounding behind her eyes. But when her hand brushed over the fabric of her tunic, a sudden, sharp awareness jolted through her. The cloth felt wrong. Softer. Lighter.

She froze.

Her gaze darted downward — and in an instant, her breath hitched. Her clothes… were different. This wasn’t what she’d been wearing before she slept. Her heart began to pound violently in her chest as she grasped at the hem of the tunic and pulled it open.

No bandages.

Her bare chest met her gaze, exposed and unbound. Her stomach twisted. No… no, no, no. She pressed a trembling hand against her sternum, as if by sheer will she could make the missing bandages appear again.

Someone had removed them.

A surge of panic flooded her — cold, suffocating. Her mind spun with horror. Who saw? Who knows? Her breath quickened, turning shallow, uneven. She looked around frantically, scanning the room — the table by the bed, the wash basin, the folded cloths. Everything was in order, but that only made the dread worse.

She swung her legs over the bed, intending to stand, to find whoever had done this — but the motion sent a sharp wave of dizziness through her, forcing her to clutch the edge of the mattress. Her heart was racing now, pounding so loudly she could hear it in her ears.

And then — the faint click of the door.

Y/N’s head snapped toward the sound, eyes wide.

The door creaked open slowly, and Wanda stepped inside, balancing a tray carefully in her hands. The scent of warm broth and fresh bread filled the air, gentle and homey — but to Y/N, it might as well have been the sound of thunder.

His breath caught in his throat. He could feel his pulse hammering in every vein.

“Y/N,” Wanda said softly, her voice warm with relief when she saw him awake. “You’re up.”

He didn’t answer. His fingers moved instinctively, fumbling with the tunic, yanking it closed in one swift, desperate motion. He clutched the fabric to his chest as though it were armor, his knuckles white.

Wanda’s brow creased, confusion flickering in her eyes at his reaction. “Hey,” she murmured gently, setting the tray down on the table beside the bed. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”

But Y/N’s breathing had quickened — shallow, uneven. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, the terror clawing up his throat. He couldn’t meet her eyes. Couldn’t bear to. His mind screamed with one thought, one dreadful certainty —

She knows.

He turned away sharply, trying to steady his breathing, but his heart wouldn’t calm. His fingers gripped the fabric tighter.

“Y/N?” Wanda’s voice was quiet now, cautious, full of worry. She took a slow step closer, not wanting to startle him. “You’re trembling…”

Her words only made his chest tighten further. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her — not when every heartbeat felt like a countdown to the truth he’d spent his entire life hiding.

Y/N’s hands were shaking. He could feel the tremor travel up his arms, down to his chest where his heartbeat thundered so violently it almost hurt.

She knows.

The thought clawed at his mind, over and over again, louder each time. She knows. She saw. The bandages were gone. She had to be the one who did it.

His breath hitched, coming too fast now — shallow, sharp gasps that wouldn’t steady no matter how hard he tried. His vision swam for a moment, spots of light flickering at the edges as panic took hold.

She’s going to hate me.

He pressed a trembling hand over his mouth, trying to silence the ragged sound of his breathing. She’ll look at me the way he did. Like I’m broken. Like I’m wrong.

King Alaric’s voice echoed through his skull like a curse he could never escape —

“If anybody ever learns the truth, they will feel disgusted of you.”

The memory twisted like a blade in his gut. He could almost feel the weight of his father’s hand gripping his chin, forcing him to meet that cold, hateful gaze. The same disgust he had seen since he was a child.

And now Wanda…

No. No, no, no. He couldn’t lose her. Not her. Not after everything they had built — every moment of laughter, every night of warmth. She was the one place that felt safe, the one person who looked at him like he wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

But now she knew. And she would look at him differently — she would pity him, recoil from him. Maybe even fear him.

He swallowed hard, his throat painfully dry. The air in the room felt too thin, too heavy all at once. His mind spiraled faster, words crashing over one another until all that was left was panic and shame.

She touched me. She saw. She must have felt—

Y/N’s hand went to his chest again, clutching the fabric tightly. He couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t even hear Wanda’s footsteps at first — soft, cautious, crossing the floor toward him. Her voice was gentle, almost frightened.

“Y/N…?”

The sound made him flinch. He turned away sharply, his body stiff, eyes fixed on the floor. “Don’t—” His voice broke before he could finish. He swallowed hard, trying again. “Don’t look at me.”

Wanda froze. “What?”

“Please,” he whispered, still not looking up. His shoulders trembled. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” she asked, her voice barely above a breath.

“Like I’m—” His words caught in his throat, strangled by fear and shame. “Like I’m wrong. Like I’m something that shouldn’t exist.”

Wanda’s heart lurched painfully. She took another small step forward, seeing the terror written in every line of his body — the way his fingers clutched his tunic, the tremor in his breath, the way his voice fractured when he spoke.

“Y/N,” she said softly, her tone breaking with emotion.

He still didn’t move. His voice was shaking when he whispered, “You’re disgusted, aren’t you? You must be.”

The room went silent. Even the air seemed to still.

He couldn’t see her expression — he didn’t want to — because if she looked at him the way his father always did, he knew he’d never recover from it. He would rather she hated him outright than see pity or revulsion in her eyes.

Because that would mean King Alaric was right.

That he really was a monster. A curse.

Y/N flinched as Wanda moved closer — his whole body tense, ready to pull away, ready for whatever rejection would come next. He didn’t expect her to touch him.

Her hand came up slowly, deliberately, giving him time to recoil if he wanted to. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t. His breath hitched when her fingers brushed his cheek — warm, careful, trembling slightly.

Then she leaned in and pressed her lips gently against his skin.

The kiss was so soft, so fleeting, that he almost thought he imagined it. But the warmth lingered, spreading through his chest, breaking through the icy panic that had consumed him moments ago.

Y/N froze, every muscle locking in place. His mind went blank — the storm of fear, shame, and self-loathing abruptly silenced by that single, impossible act of tenderness.

When she pulled back, her face was close enough that he could see the faint curve of a smile — not one of pity or horror, but something quiet, steady… kind.

He blinked, unsure if his mind was playing tricks on him.

“Wanda…?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

She just smiled a little more and gestured to the tray in her hands. “I brought soup for you,” she said softly, as if the world hadn’t just cracked open between them. “You need to eat something, or you’ll only get weaker.”

Her tone was calm — normal, almost — and it disarmed him completely.

He stared at her, wide-eyed, unable to comprehend how she could look at him like that after what she’d seen. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

Wanda carefully set the tray down beside him, her movements gentle and unhurried. Then she met his eyes again and said quietly, “You don’t have to hide, Y/N.”

Something in him broke at that.

He lowered his gaze, unable to speak, his throat tightening painfully. For the first time in years, the warmth spreading through his chest wasn’t from shame burning in him — it was from her kindness, her quiet acceptance.

And for a moment, he dared to believe that maybe she didn’t see a monster after all.

Y/N’s throat tightened until it hurt to breathe. He stared at his trembling hands, clutching the blanket as though it might anchor him in place. Her words—you don’t have to hide—echoed in his head like a whisper from another life, a world where he wasn’t cursed, where his existence didn’t have to be a secret.

But this wasn’t that world.

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that the look in her eyes wasn’t just pity disguised as kindness. Yet all he could think of was Alaric’s voice — cold, sharp, absolute.

His chest constricted painfully.

“Wanda…” he managed, his voice cracking. “You— you shouldn’t be here.”

She tilted her head, brows knitting softly. “Why not?”

“Because…” His voice broke, and he clenched his jaw, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have seen that. You weren’t supposed to. I didn’t want—”

Her hand found his again. He tensed, but she didn’t let go. Her fingers were warm, grounding, her thumb brushing lightly against the back of his hand.

“Did you really think that would change how I see you?” she asked gently.

Y/N looked at her then, really looked, searching her eyes for any trace of disgust, any flicker of the revulsion he had been taught to expect. But there was nothing—only concern, and a strange kind of sadness that made his heart ache.

“I…” He swallowed hard. “I thought you’d hate me.”

Her expression softened further. She shook her head slowly. “Oh, Y/N…”

He flinched when she reached up to touch his cheek again, but this time he didn’t pull away.

“There’s nothing about you that could make me hate you,” she whispered. “Nothing.”

He wanted to believe her. Saints, he wanted to. But years of fear and shame didn’t vanish with a few kind words. His eyes burned as he tried to hold back the tears, but one slipped free anyway, tracing down his cheek.

Wanda brushed it away with her thumb. “You’ve carried this alone for too long,” she murmured. “Let me stay, please. You don’t have to face it alone anymore.”

Y/N stared at her, his lips parting slightly, but no words came. He just sat there — trembling, breathing unevenly — as the weight of her kindness began to break through the wall he’d spent years building.

And for the first time since he could remember, he felt something other than fear.

He felt seen.

Wanda gently lifted the tray from the bedside table and set it across Y/N’s lap. The scent of warm broth filled the air — simple, comforting — and for a moment, it grounded them both in the quiet stillness of the room.

Y/N looked down, avoiding her gaze, his hands resting stiffly at his sides. He still looked pale, his dark hair clinging to his forehead from the remnants of fever.

“You should eat something,” Wanda said softly, dipping the spoon into the bowl. “You haven’t eaten in two days.”

“I can feed myself,” Y/N murmured, his voice faint and rough.

“I know,” she replied with a small, patient smile. “But let me do it. Please.”

He hesitated — pride and shame warring inside him — before finally nodding, the smallest of gestures. Wanda lifted the spoon and blew lightly on it before bringing it toward his lips.

Y/N didn’t meet her eyes, but he opened his mouth obediently, swallowing the first sip. His throat worked as he tried to clear the tightness there. She gave him another spoonful, and then another, each one slow and careful.

The silence between them wasn’t heavy — it was fragile, like something that might break if either of them spoke too loudly.

Wanda’s gaze lingered on him, on the way his lashes trembled, on how his shoulders seemed to curl inward like he was trying to make himself smaller. Her heart ached.

When she lifted another spoonful, Y/N finally whispered, “You shouldn’t… you shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why not?”

He swallowed again, looking away. “Because you’ll see me differently now.”

Wanda paused, her hand hovering midair. Then she set the spoon back into the bowl and reached up, brushing her fingers along his jaw.

“I do see you differently,” she said softly.

His eyes flicked up at her, wide and fearful.

“I see someone stronger than I ever imagined,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “Someone who’s carried pain alone for too long and still manages to be kind, to love, to live.”

Her thumb traced the edge of his cheek as she leaned closer. “That’s all I see, Y/N.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. His eyes glistened again, and this time he didn’t look away. He didn’t speak either — he just sat there, letting her feed him the rest of the soup in silence, each spoonful carrying more tenderness than words ever could.

When the bowl was finally empty, Wanda set it aside quietly and reached for the cloth she had placed on the nightstand. She dipped it into the basin of cool water and began to dab gently at Y/N’s neck, brushing away the fine sheen of sweat that still clung to his skin.

“You’re still warm,” she murmured, her touch feather-light. “You should rest more.”

Y/N sat stiffly, uncertain how to respond. His heartbeat was still pounding in his chest, every second stretching longer than the last. The way she acted — calm, soft, unchanged — made his mind whirl even more.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “You… saw, didn’t you?” he whispered.

Wanda’s hand froze midair, the damp cloth still pressed to his collarbone. Her eyes lifted to his — hesitant but steady.

“I did,” she said gently.

Y/N’s breath hitched, his body stiffening as if he were bracing for a blow. Before he could say anything, Wanda spoke again — her voice soft, careful, laced with regret.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, setting the cloth aside. “I shouldn’t have removed your clothes without asking. But you were burning with fever, and your tunic was drenched. I had to change you or it would have gotten worse.”

Her fingers fidgeted nervously in her lap, eyes darting away for a moment before returning to his. “I didn’t mean to—” she hesitated, her throat tightening, “—to see what you didn’t want me to.”

Y/N’s shoulders slumped slightly. His hands trembled where they rested atop the blanket. “You shouldn’t have had to,” he whispered hoarsely.

Wanda studied his face — the shame, the panic, the exhaustion carved deep into his features — and for a moment, she couldn’t find her voice. When she finally did, it came out barely above a whisper.

“Y/N… are you—” she paused, choosing her words with care, “—a girl?”

He didn’t answer right away. His breath grew uneven, his gaze falling to his lap as if the question itself carried weight he could barely bear. Silence hung between them, thick and fragile.

“I don’t know,” he said at last, the words breaking something raw open in him. His voice trembled, threaded with something between confusion and sorrow. “I don’t know anymore.”

Wanda’s brows furrowed slightly, but she stayed still, listening.

“When I was born… everybody thought I was a boy. Just a normal boy…” he continued quietly, “But I always felt different,” he swallow. “His Majesty told me I was a boy. That’s what I had to be. That’s what I’ve always had to be.” His fingers tightened around the blanket until his knuckles turned white. “He said no one could ever know. That if they did, they’d see me as something unnatural. A curse.”

He swallowed hard, voice cracking on the next words. “So I believed him. I tried to believe him. But sometimes I look at myself and I—” His voice faltered, and he shut his eyes tightly, fighting the tremor in his chest. “I just don’t know anymore.”

He drew in a shaky breath, trying to find the strength to keep going. “I have…” He hesitated, his throat tightening, shame pressing heavy against his ribs. “I have what a man has. But I also—” His hand moved unconsciously toward his chest, fingers curling against the fabric of his tunic. “I have these too. They just… grew…”

His words faded into silence, the air between them growing unbearably heavy. Y/N’s gaze dropped to his lap, fingers tightening around the blanket as if it could shield him from what was coming. He could feel his pulse pounding in his throat, every breath a struggle.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he whispered finally, voice raw and small. “You don’t have to say it.”

Wanda blinked, startled. “Y/N—”

He shook his head quickly, his hair falling into his eyes as he forced out the words, trembling. “You’re disgusted. You should be. I’ve lied to you—let you think I was something I’m not. I should’ve told you, but I was afraid. Afraid that if you knew, you’d—” His breath hitched, his voice breaking. “You’d look at me the way His Majesty does.”

He swallowed hard, the confession tearing out of him like a wound reopening. “I thought if I just hid it long enough… if I acted like I was normal, maybe you’d never have to know. Maybe I could just keep you a little longer before you saw what I really am.”

The last words came out almost inaudibly, his hands shaking as he pressed them over his eyes, as if to stop the tears threatening to fall. “I don’t want to lose you, Wanda,” he whispered. “Not you too.”

Wanda’s heart clenched at the sound of his voice — the sheer, broken fear laced through every word. She reached out, slowly, carefully, until her fingers brushed his trembling hands.

“Y/N,” she whispered, but he flinched, lowering his head further. He couldn’t bear to look at her — not when he was certain her eyes would hold that same disgust his father’s always had.

But then Wanda’s hands moved gently to his face, coaxing him to look up. Her thumbs brushed away the wetness on his cheeks before he even realized he was crying.

“Look at me,” she said softly, her voice trembling, but steady enough to reach him.

Reluctantly, he obeyed — his eyes red, glassy, and full of quiet despair.

And what he saw there — in her gaze — was not disgust. Not even pity. Only sorrow, and something deeper still: tenderness.

“Oh, Y/N…” she breathed, her voice breaking. “Why would you ever think I’d hate you for that?”

His lips parted, but no sound came. He couldn’t understand. He wanted to, but his mind couldn’t process the gentleness in her tone.

“You don’t understand,” he rasped. “It’s not normal. I’m not normal. I’m partially a girl. My father—”

“I don’t care what your father said,” she interrupted softly, her hand finding the back of his neck, grounding him. “He’s wrong. He’s always been wrong.”

Y/N shook his head weakly. “You don’t know what it’s like. To grow up being told you’re a mistake. That you’re unnatural. That if anyone ever found out, they’d look at you like you’re—”

“Stop,” Wanda whispered, her voice trembling as she pressed her forehead to his. “Stop hurting yourself with his words. You’re not a mistake, Y/N.”

He froze, every muscle in his body tense, her closeness disarming him.

“You’re you,” she said, tears glimmering in her eyes. “You’re kind, and brave, and stubborn, and sometimes too hard on yourself. But you are not a monster.”

Her voice broke, barely a breath. “You never were.”

For a moment, the only sound was Y/N’s shaky breathing. Then his composure finally gave way — his hand clutching at her sleeve as he let out a quiet, strangled sob, the years of shame and fear spilling out all at once.

Wanda wrapped her arms around him without hesitation, holding him tightly against her chest. “You’re safe,” she murmured again and again, her fingers threading through his hair as if trying to soothe away every cruel word he had ever heard. “You’re safe with me.”

And for the first time in his life, Y/N believed it — even if just for a moment.

---

Morning light filtered softly through the curtains, washing the room in a gentle golden glow. The fever had finally pulled Y/N back into sleep, his breathing slow but still uneven. Wanda sat at the edge of the bed, the untouched tray of soup cooling beside her.

Her eyes traced his face — the faint shadows under his eyes, the damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, the way his body still looked tense even in rest. He had fallen asleep after speaking, exhaustion finally overtaking him, but the fear he’d carried lingered in the air like a ghost.

Wanda’s heart ached. The way he had spoken — voice trembling, afraid, broken — it haunted her. She could still see his expression when he confessed the truth, when he looked at her as if bracing for disgust, for rejection.

Her gaze drifted lower, to the faint outline of the scar visible through his slightly open tunic. It ran from the middle of his chest and curved faintly across one side, brushing the swell of his breast. Wanda’s chest tightened painfully. That mark wasn’t just a wound — it was a story, one he hadn’t been ready to tell her.

She didn’t know if it was inflicted by his father or by Y/N himself in some desperate moment of self-hatred. Either possibility made her stomach twist.

She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his hair, careful not to wake him. He looked so fragile now, stripped of the steady composure he always wore — the same composure he used to hide everything beneath polite smiles and calm words.

Leaning closer, she whispered softly, her voice trembling with tenderness,

“I’ll wait until you’re ready, my love. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

Her thumb brushed gently along his temple, and she lingered there, watching as the sunlight crept slowly across the bed. Y/N murmured something faintly in his sleep, brow softening just a little, and Wanda smiled through the heaviness in her chest.

She would protect him — from his father, from the whispers, from his own fears — no matter what it took.

And as she sat by his side that morning, Wanda silently vowed: he would never have to hide from her again.

---

Y/N’s POV

Hours slipped by quietly, the sunlight shifting from gold to soft afternoon hues. When Y/N stirred again, the fog in his mind had lifted slightly. His body still ached, but the fever’s heaviness had loosened its hold. He blinked slowly, adjusting to the dim, tranquil light of the room.

The first thing he noticed was the gentle weight on his arm — warm, steady, and familiar. He turned his head, and his breath caught.

Wanda was asleep, her head resting lightly against his forearm, strands of auburn hair falling over her face. One hand loosely held his wrist, as if even in sleep she refused to let him drift too far. The sight hit him harder than he expected — this quiet devotion, this proof that she had stayed.

His chest tightened with something deep and bittersweet. She shouldn’t be there. Not after what she’d seen, what she knew now. Yet… she hadn’t left.

Carefully, he shifted, his free hand rising to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. The touch was featherlight, reverent. Her eyelashes fluttered slightly, but she didn’t wake — just leaned a little closer to his arm, murmuring his name in her sleep.

Y/N froze for a heartbeat, then exhaled shakily, a small, helpless smile tugging at his lips. “You stayed,” he whispered under his breath, the words barely audible.

His hand lingered on her hair, tracing soft, absent circles along the crown of her head. The simple contact grounded him more than anything else could. For the first time since waking the day before, the storm in his chest quieted.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring — whether she would still look at him the same when they spoke again, whether his secret would change what they had — but right now, with her sleeping beside him, none of that mattered.

He lowered his head slightly, pressing a trembling kiss to the top of her hair. “Thank you,” he murmured softly, voice rough with emotion. “For not leaving me.”

And as Wanda stirred faintly at the sound of his voice, her hand tightening gently around his wrist, Y/N felt something fragile but undeniable bloom in his chest — hope.

---

Wanda’s POV

When Wanda slowly blinked awake, the room was filled with soft morning light, filtered through the thin curtains. Her body felt heavy, warm — and for a brief, disoriented moment, she thought she was still dreaming.

It wasn’t until she sat up and felt the softness of the bed beneath her that she realized something had changed. The blanket had been pulled over her shoulders, tucked in with quiet care. She frowned slightly, glancing around — and then she saw him.

Y/N was sitting in a chair beside the bed, fully dressed, his hair set up neatly. He looked better — less pale, his eyes clearer — though there was still a lingering weariness about him. His hands rested on his knees, fingers fidgeting slightly as he noticed she was awake.

“Hey,” Wanda said softly, her voice still husky from sleep. “You should be lying down.”

Y/N shook his head, offering a small, tentative smile. “I’ve had enough of lying down for a while.” He paused, gaze dropping for a moment before lifting back to hers. “I, uh… wanted to say thank you. For taking care of me.”

Wanda’s brows softened. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“I do,” he insisted quietly. His tone was gentle, but his eyes held a weight that made her chest ache. “You stayed. You helped me when you didn’t have to. Even after—” He stopped himself, lips pressing together, the unspoken words hanging between them.

Wanda rose slowly, the blanket slipping from her shoulders. She crossed the small space until she stood in front of him, her expression calm but full of warmth.

“Y/N,” she said, her voice steady but kind. “I stayed because I wanted to. Because I care about you. You don’t need to thank me for that.”

He looked up at her then, truly looked — searching for any hint of pity or disgust in her eyes. But there was none. Only the same quiet affection that had been there before, maybe even a little stronger now.

Something in him loosened at that, and his shoulders finally eased. He let out a slow breath and nodded faintly. “Still,” he murmured. “It means more than I can say.”

Wanda’s smile softened, her hand reaching out instinctively before she hesitated midair — uncertain if he’d welcome the touch. But Y/N didn’t pull away. If anything, the faint tension in his posture melted a little more when her fingers brushed his arm.

“I was worried about you,” she admitted quietly. “You were burning up, Y/N. I thought…” She trailed off, shaking her head as if to push away the memory. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

His breath caught — not because of her words, but because of the way she said them: raw, trembling, full of feeling. No one had ever looked at him like that before. No one had ever feared losing him like that before.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “For worrying you.”

“Don’t be,” Wanda replied gently. “Just promise me you’ll stop trying to bear everything alone.”

Y/N looked at her, startled by the certainty in her tone. Her eyes were steady — not accusing, not pleading, but full of quiet strength, the kind that made it impossible to hide behind walls or excuses.

He blinked slowly, unsure how to respond. “Bear everything alone?” he echoed, almost as if he didn’t believe she could see that far into him.

Wanda nodded. “You do it all the time,” she said softly. “You smile when you’re hurting, you say you’re fine when you’re not. You think if you just keep moving, no one will notice how much you’re breaking inside.”

Her words struck deeper than he expected, leaving a lump in his throat. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out — only a shaky breath.

“I…” His voice cracked, and he looked away, fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. “I didn’t think anyone saw that.”

“I did,” Wanda said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m your wife.”

The words hung between them — simple, yet heavy with warmth and meaning. Y/N’s breath hitched, his heart stumbling in his chest as Wanda’s lips curved into a small, shy smile. Her cheeks were tinged pink, but her gaze never wavered.

She looked at him like that title meant more than duty, more than the vows spoken before the court. Like it was something real, something she chose.

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the quiet sincerity shining in her eyes. For a heartbeat, he forgot how to breathe. “Wanda…” he whispered, her name leaving his lips like a prayer he didn’t know he was saying.

Her smile grew just a little, soft and teasing now. “So maybe,” she said gently, “you could start letting your wife take care of you once in a while.”

Her words lingered in the air — tender, disarming — and before Y/N could think of a reply, Wanda leaned forward. Her hand lifted, fingers brushing gently along his jaw, tilting his face toward her.

He froze, breath caught in his throat, his heart hammering so hard it almost hurt. And then her lips pressed softly against his.

It wasn’t a desperate kiss, or even a long one — just warm, slow, full of quiet emotion. The kind of kiss that spoke of care, not pity; of choice, not obligation. When she pulled back, her forehead rested lightly against his, and he could feel her breath trembling against his lips.

“I don’t care what you are, Y/N,” she whispered. “You’re you. The one who makes me feel safe, the one I fell in love with. That’s all that matters to me.”

Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut, her throat tightening as she struggled to find words.

“Wanda…” Y/N murmured, her voice barely holding steady. “Even if I am half a girl?.”

She smiled faintly, thumb brushing Y/N’s cheek. “That just make you perfect,” Wanda whispered, her voice soft and certain.

---

King’s Study

Y/N’s POV

“How dare you let her in your chambers when you were sick!?” King Alaric’s voice thundered through the marble hall, each word laced with venom. “I told you—no one can know about your curse!”

Y/N stood before him, hands clenched tightly behind his back, head bowed. His pulse roared in his ears. Every syllable from His Majesty felt like acid on an open wound, and though his face remained unreadable, something hot and violent was burning in his chest.

“She didn’t see anything,” Y/N said evenly, forcing calm into his voice. “Wanda only brought food and medicine. She was just doing her duty as my wife.”

Alaric’s eyes narrowed, his anger twisting into a cruel sneer. “Her duty as a wife?” he repeated, voice sharp and scathing. “If she truly wants to do her duty, she should be giving you an heir, not playing nursemaid!”

Y/N’s jaw tightened so hard it hurt. His nails dug into his palms behind his back. He could feel the heat rising to his face — not from shame this time, but from barely restrained rage.

“That’s my fault, Your Majesty,” he said through gritted teeth, the words tight and controlled. “I’ve been busy. We haven’t had much time.”

It was a lie, and it tasted bitter on his tongue. But if it kept Wanda safe — kept her out of Alaric’s cruelty — then he’d swallow every lie in the world.

Alaric scoffed, stepping closer until Y/N could feel his breath. “Then make time,” he hissed. “If the kingdom starts to question why there’s no heir, they’ll start questioning you. And if they ever learn the truth—” His tone turned razor-sharp. “—it won’t just be your disgrace that ruins us. It’ll drag her down too.”

Y/N’s fists trembled behind his back. He could feel the fury threatening to break through, the urge to shout, to strike, to finally make him stop. But instead, he swallowed hard, lowering his head just enough to hide the fire in his eyes.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he forced out, voice tight with the effort of control.

Inside, though, he was boiling — not with fear this time, but with hatred.

---

Y/N slammed the door behind him harder than he meant to. The sound echoed through the chamber, startling Wanda from where she sat near the fire. He stood there for a moment, shoulders tense, fists clenched at his sides, breathing unevenly. The anger still burned hot under his skin — his father’s words replaying again and again like poison he couldn’t spit out.

“Y/N?” Wanda said softly, rising from her seat. “What happened?”

He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, turning away, moving toward the washstand as if rinsing his hands could wash away the feeling of Alaric’s voice crawling beneath his skin.

“Don’t,” she said firmly, stepping closer. “Don’t do that again.”

He froze, his back still to her.

“Do what?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Hide,” she said simply. “Pretend you’re fine when you’re not. I can see it in your eyes, Y/N. You’re angry.”

He let out a low, bitter laugh, one without joy. “Angry doesn’t begin to cover it.”

“Then talk to me,” she said, her tone softening as she reached for him. “You don’t have to protect me from everything.”

He turned to her slowly, the mask cracking just enough for her to see the exhaustion underneath. His jaw tightened, his hands still trembling slightly from holding back everything he wanted to scream.

“He said you shouldn’t have come when I was sick,” Y/N muttered. “That no one was allowed to see me. That if anyone knew…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “And then he said—” He stopped himself again, his expression twisting with disgust.

Wanda frowned, stepping closer until she could place a hand on his arm. “He said what?”

Y/N swallowed hard, meeting her eyes at last. “That if you want to do your duty as my wife, you should be giving me an heir.”

Wanda’s lips parted in quiet shock before her expression hardened into disbelief and anger of her own. “He said that?”

Y/N nodded, his throat tight. “He did.”

Wanda’s eyes widened slightly, a rush of color rising to her cheeks before she could stop it. The mention of that — of heirs, of things so intimate and tender — sent an involuntary warmth to her face. She looked away for a heartbeat, caught between embarrassment and anger, before meeting his gaze again.

“He said that?” she repeated, her voice softer this time, but still laced with disbelief. The blush lingered even as her eyes darkened with indignation. “That’s— that’s not his place.”

Y/N gave a short, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “It’s never been his place, but that’s never stopped him before.”

Wanda stepped closer, her hand hovering before resting gently against his arm. “You know… that isn’t something he gets to demand,” she said quietly, the color still high in her cheeks but her tone firm. “That’s ours. Between us. No one else’s.”

Wanda’s eyes softened, though a faint crease appeared between her brows. “You don’t have to protect me from words like his,” she murmured. “I can handle it.”

Y/N gave a small shake of his head, his hand brushing hers in a quiet reassurance. “It’s not about protecting you,” he said softly. “It’s about making sure you never feel cornered by something you didn’t choose.”

Her gaze lifted to his, and he offered a faint, weary smile. “Just like I told you on our first night,” he continued gently, “I won’t touch you. Not unless you want it. I’ll never do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Wanda’s breath caught, a strange mixture of relief and tenderness washing over her. There was something in the way he said it — not defensive, not distant, but sincere, almost aching.

He glanced aside, rubbing the back of his neck with a quiet sigh. “Besides,” he added, trying for a lighter tone, “I told His Majesty that I’m far too busy for that kind of duty right now.”

That earned him a small, breathy laugh from Wanda, her tension easing just a little. She stepped closer still, her fingers brushing his sleeve. “Busy, hm? And yet somehow you still find time to worry about me.”

Y/N’s lips twitched into a faint smile, the edge of his anger fading under her warmth. “Some things,” he said softly, “are worth making time for.”

Wanda’s hand slid up his arm and settled at his shoulder before she gently tugged him toward their bed. “Come,” she said softly but firmly, her tone leaving no room for protest. “You need to rest. You just got better — don’t make me worry all over again.”

Y/N opened his mouth to argue, but one look at her — the faint worry in her eyes, the gentle determination in her voice — made him sigh and obey. He let her guide him to sit on the edge of the bed, his movements slower than usual, his exhaustion still lingering beneath the surface.

Wanda’s fingers moved to his jacket, undoing the buttons one by one before slipping it off his shoulders. He didn’t resist, only watched her silently, something fragile flickering behind his eyes. When she finally looked up again, her gaze softened at the sight of the familiar white bandages beneath his tunic.

Without a word, she lifted her hands, cupping his cheeks — her thumbs brushing lightly across his skin, grounding him. “Y/N,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “Can I…?”

Her eyes flicked down to the bandages, then back to his face. “Can I remove them?” she asked, careful, almost pleading. “Only if you let me. I don’t want you to feel trapped in them anymore.”

For a moment, Y/N didn’t speak. His throat worked, eyes darting away as his hands fidgeted in his lap. The air between them thickened with unspoken fear and longing — his instinct to hide warring against the fragile trust he’d begun to place in her.

Then, slowly, his gaze returned to hers, searching — and what he found there wasn’t pity, only quiet love and patience. His lips parted, his voice faint and trembling.

“…You can,” he whispered at last.

Wanda gave him a small, tender smile — the kind that made Y/N’s heart ache in the best and worst ways. Without saying a word, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. It was soft, unhurried, full of quiet love. There was no hesitation, no fear — only warmth and the kind of gentle certainty that made Y/N’s chest tighten painfully.

When she pulled back, her voice came out as a whisper against his lips. “Let me take care of you, please?”

Y/N hesitated, caught between fear and trust, then nodded faintly — a barely-there motion, but enough.

Wanda’s fingers moved with care, sliding up to the edge of his tunic. She kept her eyes on him the entire time, watching for any sign of discomfort. “If you want me to stop,” she murmured, “you just say it, and I will.”

He gave another small nod, though his breath hitched as her fingers started to unbutton his tunic. And when her fingers brushed the first edge of the bandages beneath his tunic, he wanted to look away. She began to unwind them, slow and steady, her touch as delicate as a whisper.

The fabric pulled lightly against his skin where it stuck from the sweat and long hours of wear. He winced, muscles twitching under her careful touch. Wanda immediately soothed him — a quiet murmur, a thumb brushing along his arm, grounding him. “It’s alright… I’ve got you.”

Layer by layer, she worked. Each strip loosened the weight he’d carried for years — the fabric’s tight pressure, the pain, the fear of being seen.

When the final length of bandage slipped away, Y/N’s body went still. Her instinct was to turn, to hide — shame rising in her throat like a tide. “Don’t look,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Please, don’t…”

But Wanda only leaned closer.

“Y/N,” she said softly, one hand lifting to cradle Y/N’s jaw, her thumb brushing gently against Y/N’s skin. Her touch was steady, her expression heartbreakingly gentle. “I’m not gonna look if you don’t want me to,” she promised, her voice warm and quiet. “I just want you to feel comfortable.”

She pressed a tender kiss to Y/N’s lips — short, soft, and full of reassurance — before she button up Y/N’s tunic again. Once done, she stand and gently tug at Y/N’s arm. “Lay back,” she murmured. “You need to rest.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, uncertain, but the sincerity in Wanda’s voice melted the last bit of tension from her shoulders. Slowly, she did as Wanda asked, leaning back against the pillows.

Wanda climbed onto the bed beside Y/N, careful not to jostle her healing body. She slipped into Y/N arms with ease, her movements natural, protective. Her head came to rest over Y/N chest, right where her heart beat steady and strong beneath her ear.

“You’ve done enough for one day,” she whispered, her voice already softening with the calm that settled over them. “Just rest now, my love. I’m here.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, the last of her resistance fading away. Her arm came up around Wanda almost instinctively, holding her close. And for the first time in a long while, Y/N let herself believe that maybe — just maybe — she didn’t have to face everything alone.

---

A week passed since that night, and the fragile trust between them had blossomed into something deeper, quieter — something that no one else in the castle could see.

Every evening followed a gentle rhythm now. Wanda would light the small lantern by their bedside, its glow painting the room in gold and amber. Y/N would sit quietly on the edge of the bed, her tunic loosened, and Wanda would carefully unwind the bandages from Y/N’s chest. Wanda’s fingers were soft and patient, never hurried, her touch a silent promise that she saw Y/N — truly saw her — and that Wanda never would look away.

Each time, Y/N’s body tensed a little less. Each time, Wanda’s smile grew warmer, her gaze softer.

Wanda loved those moments. The way Y/N would close his eyes and breathe out when the last of the bandage slipped free. The way she’d let Wanda rest her hand against Y/N’s bare chest afterward, just for a second, before they lay down together. It felt intimate, sacred — a ritual that belonged to them alone.

She found herself loving Y/N more with every passing day — not just for her strength, or the gentleness that hid beneath it, but for the trust Y/N gave her, piece by piece. And though Y/N still carried her quiet fears, Wanda could see how she was slowly learning to let Wanda in.

At night, when they finally lay side by side, Wanda would trace her fingers lightly over Y/N’s arm or chest, resting her head against Y/N as her breathing steadied. Wanda didn’t need grand gestures or words. The small things — Y/N’s warmth, Y/N’s heartbeat, Y/N’s growing ease — were enough to fill her heart completely.

---

Morning sunlight spilled gently through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold. The faint chirping of birds outside was the only sound that filled the quiet chamber — until Wanda stirred, her lashes fluttering open.

The first thing she saw was Y/N. She was still half asleep beside Wanda, lying on her back with one arm draped loosely over Wanda’s waist. Y/N’s hair was a little messy, the morning light catching on it in warm tones. Her face was peaceful — so different from the tense, guarded expression she often wore around others.

Wanda smiled.

She shifted slightly, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on Y/N’s chest before leaning in to press a gentle kiss just above Y/N’s heart.

Y/N stirred at the touch, letting out a faint, sleepy hum. Her eyes opened halfway, still hazy with sleep, but the moment she saw Wanda, the corners of her lips curved into a small, tender smile.

“Morning…” Y/N murmured, her voice low and rough.

“Morning,” Wanda whispered back, her voice full of warmth. She leaned up, brushing her nose softly against Y/N’s before pressing her lips to Y/N’s — a slow, tender kiss that deepened when Y/N cupped Wanda’s cheek in return.

When they finally pulled back, Wanda’s cheeks were pink, and Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“You’re adorable when you blush,” Y/N teased, her thumb brushing over Wanda’s lower lip.

Wanda smiled, pretending to pout as she hid her face against Y/N’s neck. “Then stop making me blush.”

“Can’t help it,” Y/N said, her voice a gentle rumble against Wanda’s ear. “You make it too easy.”

She giggled — soft, melodic — and Y/N could feel the vibration of Wanda’s laughter against her skin. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Wanda just lay there, tracing circles on Y/N’s chest, and Y/N’s hand moved slowly up and down Wanda’s back.

It was the kind of morning they never got to have before — quiet, safe, full of warmth instead of worry.

And when Wanda finally tilted her head up again to meet Y/N’s gaze, she kissed Wanda once more — not out of passion, but pure affection. A kiss that said everything all at once.

Wanda smiled against Y/N’s lips, whispering, “I could get used to waking up like this.”

Y/N looked at her softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Then you should.”

Wanda’s heart swelled at Y/N’s words. There was no hesitation in them — no trace of the guarded, uncertain man she’d first met. Just warmth. Just truth.

She propped herself up on one elbow, her fingers brushing through Y/N’s hair, tucking away a loose strand that fell into Y/N’s eyes. “You know,” she said with a small grin, “you’re different in the mornings.”

“Oh?” Y/N raised an eyebrow, her voice still soft and rough from sleep. “How so?”

“You smile more,” she teased, dragging her fingertips over Y/N’s jaw. “And you talk less. Which is quite nice, actually.”

Y/N huffed out a laugh, pretending to be offended. “So I’m only good when I’m half-asleep?”

“Exactly.” Wanda grinned and leaned down to kiss her again — playful this time, a quick peck that made Y/N chase after her lips when she pulled back.

“Cruel,” Y/N murmured, her hand finding Wanda’s waist. “You can’t start something like that and then stop.”

She laughed quietly, letting her forehead rest against Y/N’s. “Maybe I just like watching you pout.”

Y/N pretended to sigh dramatically, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” Wanda whispered, brushing her thumb across Y/N’s cheek.

Y/N looked at Wanda for a moment — really looked. Her messy morning hair, the faint smile tugging at her lips, the affection in her eyes that didn’t waver even under his gaze. Y/N exhaled slowly, a mix of awe and gratitude in her chest.

“I do,” she said simply. “More than I ever thought I could.”

Wanda’s eyes softened. She leaned down again, her lips hovering just above Y/N’s. “Then show me,” she whispered.

Y/N smiled faintly — a tender, genuine smile — before she met Wanda’s lips once more, the kiss deepening into something sweet and slow. Not rushed, not hungry. Just right.

When they finally broke apart, Wanda rested her head on Y/N’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. Y/N fingers ran absently through Wanda’s hair as they both lay there in comfortable silence.

Outside, the morning light brightened, and the world began to stir — but in their little corner of it, time felt like it had stopped.

“Let’s stay like this a bit longer,” Wanda murmured, eyes fluttering closed again.

Y/N smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “As long as you want.”

---

The peace of that morning lingered well into the day. Wanda and Y/N eventually rose, sharing a quiet breakfast by the window where sunlight streamed in through the sheer curtains. The kingdom outside carried on as usual — distant voices, the soft clatter of servants beginning their daily tasks — but in their chambers, it still felt like a world apart.

Later that afternoon, Y/N was summoned to the training grounds. Though still recovering from his recent fever, he insisted on resuming his duties, claiming he couldn’t let his soldiers grow complacent. Wanda didn’t argue — she simply gave him a look that said be careful before watching him leave.

Hours passed before he returned.

Wanda was reading by the fireplace when the door opened, and she looked up to find Y/N stepping in — hair damp with sweat, tunic slightly loosened at the collar, exhaustion softening his usually sharp posture. But there was a small smile on his face as his gaze found hers.

“You worked too hard again,” Wanda said, setting her book aside.

He chuckled faintly, pulling off his gloves. “Perhaps. But they needed it. The younger ones are getting careless.”

She stood, walking over to him with that same mix of affection and exasperation she always had when he pushed himself too far. Her hands came up to his shoulders, firm but gentle. “And what about you? You still have a fever last week.”

“I’m fine,” he murmured, though his voice betrayed the fatigue behind it. “Nothing a bit of rest can’t fix.”

Wanda sighed but didn’t press further. Instead, she reached up and undid the clasp of his cloak, helping him out of it. When she saw the sweat dampening his tunic, she frowned softly. “You’re soaked again. Sit down. I’ll get a towel.”

Y/N caught her hand before she could move away. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” she said simply, looking into his eyes.

Something about her tone — quiet, steady, undeniably tender — made his chest tighten. He let her go, watching as she disappeared into the adjoining room.

When she returned, she knelt in front of him and began to dab the sweat from his face and neck. He stayed still, the warmth of her closeness calming something deep inside him. Her touch wasn’t rushed, wasn’t dutiful. It was care, pure and uncomplicated.

After a long silence, Wanda finally spoke. “You always act like you have to prove yourself to everyone,” she said softly, wringing the towel before setting it aside. “But you don’t, Y/N. Not to me.”

He looked down at her, a small, conflicted smile forming. “Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

“Then let me help you break them,” she murmured.

Before he could reply, she leaned up and kissed him — soft, slow, lingering just long enough to steal his breath.

When they parted, she rested her forehead against his. “Rest now,” she whispered. “Let the world wait for you for once.”

Y/N smiled faintly, his hand finding hers. “Only if you stay,” he said.

“I wasn’t planning to go anywhere,” she replied, her voice warm as sunlight.

As the fire crackled behind them, Wanda led him toward the bed once more — not as a command, but as a quiet promise that he didn’t have to carry everything alone anymore.

You were staring out to The Hudson River, the approaching winter nipping at your cheeks. Your jacket certainly does nothing to keep you warm. You felt bare and cold, not only physically, but emotionally as you waited for Wanda to arrive.

“You came,” you hear a voice breathe from behind and you turn to look at Wanda, breath catching in your throat. She looked like an angel under the lamp post. God, she truly was beautiful.

“Of course I came. I’d always show up for you, I hope you know that,” you say softly and Wanda’s eyes begin to fill with tears as she makes her way closer to you.

“Y/N,” she whispers softly, heart breaking in her chest.

“I’m sorry,” you say, turning back to face the river as she finds a place beside you. Her gloved hands gripping the railing that is in front of you both like it’s a lifeline, and maybe, just maybe it is.

“No, it’s- it’s okay.” She begins, taking a deep shaky breath. “I just- I wish you didn’t love me as much as you did. I mean, you should hate me, I know I hate myself,” Wanda chuckles wryly.

“I could never hate you, Wanda,” you begin, turning to face the slightly older woman. Staring intently into the beautiful green eyes you love, removing a strand of hair from her face.

Leaning up on her toes, Wanda grips the front of your jacket in a tight fist and closes the gap between you two and kissing you passionately.

You know it’s the last time.

“I forgot how good you felt on my lips,” you whisper, eyes closed as you hold her to your chest. “Selfishly, I hope you always remember me.” You say and you feel the redhead shiver. You don’t know if it’s the effect of your words or the freezing cold.

You suspect it’s a bit of both as you move back quickly to take your jacket off, and place it over her frame.

“Hey, no, please take your jacket back, you’ll get sick,” Wanda says with urgency as she begins to remove your jacket.

“I'd catch a million colds if it means it keeps you warm,” you say with a soft smile, your hands stopping her movements.

“I know you would,” Wanda smiles sadly. “God, I wish it was you,” she whispers, and you feel your heart break all over again once you remember why you’re both really here.

“I know,” you whisper back, trying to smile through your tears to avoid causing the woman you love any more pain.

“It’s just- we have a history. He’s the father of my children,” Wanda says, eyes filled with agony, “the boys, they love you, but they’re too young to understand. They really want us to work, Vision wants us to work,” she says, stopping just before she finishes her sentence. Taking a breath before delivering her final blow. “I want us to work,” she says slowly, as if to prepare you for more heart break.

You inhale deeply, biting the inside of your cheek as you nod.

You knew this was a possibility when you met her, you had a great year.

But you also thought you had more time.

“Okay,” you say, voice hoarse with emotions. “Well, I just hope you had a great year with me,” you smile tearily, truly grateful you met Wanda no matter the immense heartbreak you were feeling. “You truly gave me one of the best of my life.”

“I did, I love that I met you, that I got you for one whole year,” she begins, her hands cupping your cheeks softly, thumbs catching the stray tears that make it past your eyes. “I loved you- no, I love you with my entire being. I don’t think it’ll ever be easy letting you go. But I have to. I can’t string you along like this, you deserve to see what’s out there for you, find someone who is more deserving of your love than I am,” she whispers.

And you shake your head, “no, I only want you-“ you begin, causing the red head to pull you down and kiss you on the lips softly to shut you up.

“No, you deserve better,” she says with conviction as she pulls away, a fire in her green eyes. “You will find someone Y/N, someone that loves you without reservations, someone that isn’t me.” She says sternly, removing her hands from your face and you nod slowly.

Turning to look back to the river you see small patches of frozen ice and it feels just like your situation.

Frozen, broken and out of place.

It was late, you knew you were going to miss the last train.

“Did you need a ride home?” Wanda asks cautiously as if reading your mind, and you chuckle softly. “What?” The redhead asks, tilting her head in confusion, she was so cute, you breathe.

“Nothing,” you shake your head slowly, sadly. “But no, I’m fine, I think I’ll walk home,” you say as your eyes take in the stars in the night sky.

“It almost 2am, it’s too dangerous, please let me take you home,” Wanda pleads and you decline politely.

You spent a lot of time trying to convince yourself that your secret was necessary. It was for your own safety. The lies you told were out of need for survival.

The truth was that you had been lying for so long that you almost started to fall for it. The image you had crafted for yourself, felt real, natural even. You could live in it comfortably. However there were little things that made you crack.

The most notable trigger being power imbalance.

The life that you had now fostered was drastically different from the one that was originally bestowed upon you. Brick by brick you placed a wall between the old version of yourself and the new person you became.

It was supposed to be a fresh start, a heroic endeavor. A life of your own that you could finally be proud of.

It wasn’t anything like you had in the past and you were grateful for that.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing important,” you answer the witch.

She narrows her eyes, “You're distracted. I told you that you didn't have to help me find her, if you didn't want to.”

“Wanda, don't be like that. We're going to find her, even if you refuse to tell me why we're seeking her out.”

She turns her attention ahead of her, “It's too complicated to explain.”

You can't help the bored expression that crosses your features, “That sounds like a prerequisite for anything dealing with Agatha.”

Wanda Maximoff is your former teammate. You saved the world together more times than you could count with the Avengers.

After the group disbanded due to fundamental differences, you all went your separate ways. Most of the group continued to do hero work, yourself included. Wanda, however, disappeared for awhile.

The next time you saw her, she was different. She had finally accessed her true potential. From your understanding Agatha helped Wanda discover that she was in fact the Scarlet Witch.

It's what the red head said in loose terms. She came to you looking for help finding Agatha. Wanda said they had unceremoniously parted ways, but she needed to locate the other witch.

She said her magic wasn't leading her in the right direction, she needed a tracking expert to help her the old fashioned way.

You agreed to help for two reasons. The first being that she was your friend. The second was that you wanted to meet Agatha Harkness.

You were familiar with her work as Wanda was not the first person to have told you about the witch killer.

“Are you sure we're headed in the right direction?”

Wanda stops walking as you find yourselves at the base of a mountain. The trail continues upward around the edge of the rocky structure.

You kneel down, placing your fingers in the dirt. Your eyes scan the mountain for anything that suggests a person could be here. It's not all for show, only in part. The truth is you can sense the witch's magic emanating from here.

“You see that?” You point far up to the left side of the mountain. “Looks like a cave entrance.”

Wanda hums, “How do you do it?”

You dust your hand off on your pants as you stand up, “It's a part of my job.”

She takes your hand in her's, “We're not walking up there.”

In an instant you find yourself on the side of the mountain. You're at the cave entrance, the inside is completely dark.

You make it a few steps in before Wanda casts some light around you both. From this angle it looks just as a cave should. There's nothing special about the stalagmites and stalactites in the structure.

“I can feel her here,” Wanda’s voice echoes through the cave.

You watch her carefully as she begins to summon her magic. The red tendrils illuminate her fingers just enough for you to see how black they are. It's as if she's dipped them in ink.

You say nothing as the red swirls begin forming a path to a certain stalagmite sticking up from the cave floor. Wanda follows her magic, her hand tentatively wraps around the rock. Then she pulls it towards her.

Something shifts in the cave. The wall to your right begins to open up. Once it's completely open, you're impressed by what you see. Inside it looks like an ordinary living room.

Wanda struts past you into the room. You follow after her. The cave wall closes behind the both of you, but Wanda doesn’t seem to care.

“Agatha Harkness, show yourself,” Wanda calls out into the room.

“She's not home right now. Can I take a message?”

You know that voice.

You turn slowly, coming face to face with Lady Death.

She's unable to hide the surprise on her face as she looks at you. The expression doesn't last long as Wanda interrupts.

“Who the fuck are you?”

You take a step away from Rio, in Wanda’s direction.

Rio looks at the red head, “I am her wife. Who might you be?”

You feel the energy in the air rise exponentially. Wanda's fingers twitch and you can see little sparks of her magic flying from her fingertips.

Rio’s magic is better contained, but can tell she's also preparing for a battle.

You attempt to control the situation by slipping your hand in Wanda’s, “Let’s all calm down a bit.”

Your thumb slides gently across the back of Wanda's hand, hoping to calm her some. You lock eyes with Rio, who immediately drops her defensive stance.

“I hate that this dreadful cave makes me actually miss the suburbs. Why on Earth did I let you drag me to this…”

The woman’s speech dies upon looking at the situation. Her eyes move from Rio, to Wanda, and then finally to you.

“Agatha,” Wanda says her name, removing her hand from your grasp.

“Wanda, what are you doing here? Why did you find me?”

Wanda crosses the room, her sole focus on the woman with wild curls, “Can we talk in private?”

Agatha looks as if she wants to say no, but relents, “Very well.”

“Hey, hold on. I brought you here like you asked me too. Tracked her down with no questions asked and you're still hiding something from me,” your irritation starts to shine through a little as you speak to Wanda.

“Is she disposable or do you want to keep her?” Agatha asks the witch.

You can’t help the scoff that falls from your lips, “I'm not scared of you.”

“Then you must not know who I am,” she fires back.

That stirs something inside you. Something that you have to force back down.

Wanda diffuses the tension, “I need to talk to her first then I promise to tell you everything.”

“You making me that same promise beloved?” Rio directs her question at Agatha.

The witch killer rolls her eyes, “Sure.”

Agatha gives you another glance. You see her jaw twitch before she gives Wanda her attention. With a flick of her wrist, the two vanish in a cloud of purple smoke.

That leaves you and Rio alone in the room.

Death eyes you curiously, “It's been a while.”

You sigh, “It has.”

“She your girlfriend?”

You meet her gaze, “No, just a friend.”

“Seems like something more.”

You suck your teeth, “You're married.”

She raises her hands in surrender, “You got me there. What are you doing here sweetheart?”

You feel your defenses drop, “I don't know, Rio. Wanda is my friend, she asked for help finding Agatha. I didn't know you'd be here.”

“Does she know?”

Your gaze hardens, “You are the only one who knows. I'd like to keep it that way.”

“You aren't going to be able to build a relationship off a lie. Trust me, I know.”

You step into her space. The two of you are face to face. It's not the closest you've ever been.

“I never lied to you. I didn’t even know how to lie until you taught me,” your voice is laced with vulnerability.

She drops her facade, “I wasn't talking about you.”

“Agatha?”

Rio stays silent, her head bows slightly.

Your hand moves from memory tilting her chin back, “Has she hurt you?”

Rio’s mouth opens slightly before closing. She takes a step back from you, shaking her head.

“Not in any way I haven't hurt her.”

Nothing is further discussed before Agatha and Wanda reappear.

“Talk to your pet, so we can hurry up and figure this out,” Agatha says to Wanda.

You feel the irritation flare up in you again, “I'm nobody's pet.”

She waves her hand dismissively, “Whatever.”

You can't help yourself when you grab hold of her wrist. She glares at you, but it doesn't scare you.

“I won't be disrespected, understand?”

Agatha wants to say something snarky back, but she's stopped by the overwhelming sense of power she feels under your touch. The force makes her shutter involuntarily. You let her go when you see it.

Wanda takes the hand you used to grab Agatha and drags you into another room.

“What was that about?”

You deflect, “What is this about Wanda? What's going on?”

Wanda runs her hand through her hair, “Agatha gave me this book when we parted ways. It's called the Darkhold and I was using it to practice magic, but I lost the book.”

You knew about the Darkhold. Losing it wasn't ideal, but it wasn't the end of the world. No one on this plane would be able to do anything near what Wanda was capable of with the book.

“It's just a book, no big deal.”

Wanda crosses her arms over chest, “It is a big deal because I'm losing control of my powers. I came to Agatha looking for answers, but without the Darkhold it'll take longer to find a solution.”

Your eyes widen, “And if you don't find a solution?”

“I'll be consumed by darkness and then seek to consume the world.”

“Fuck.”

Wanda lets out a defeated breath, “Yeah.”

The tone in her voice anchors you to the present. You take in her body language, her demeanor. She's seconds away from losing all her composure.

You wrap your arms around her. You hold her tight against you, “We're going to figure this out, okay? I'm not going to let that happen to you.”

She relaxes in your hold. Wanda doesn’t cry, but her voice cracks as she speaks again, “I'm scared.”

“It's okay to be scared.”

She moves back, just enough to look at you, “I'm not going to force you to stay and help me. I already dragged you here. So if you want to go-”

“If you think I'm leaving your fate in the hands of Death and Agatha Harkness, you must not know me very well.”

That gets her to crack a smile, “Agatha isn't that bad.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Is this where you fill me in on your complicated back story?”

Wanda sighs, fidgeting with her sleeves, “We um we dated for a while.”

“You… dated.”

“Yep.”

The gears begin to turn in your head, “Didn’t Rio say that they're married.”

Wanda frowns, “She did, but I didn’t know they were married. I've never met her before.”

“Death has always been an elusive figure.”

Wanda shakes her head, “Agatha didn't want to be found.”

You nod, “You can’t outrun death. She should know that.”

“Don't give her so much credit, kid,” Agatha enters the room, Rio behind her.

Your face scrunches up when she calls you kid, but you don't argue any further. It's better than pet.

“At least someone is taking me seriously,” Rio winks at you.

Agatha looks unamused, “Happy for you.”

That draws a small laugh from you, “You guys really are married.”

Agatha rolls her eyes, “Married, yes. Romantically involved, no.”

“Not yet, but we always find our way back to each other my love.”

You hold Rio’s gaze, “You think it works like that?”

Your words catch Rio off guard. She knows the undertones of your question. She thinks to look away from you, but she doesn't, “I do.”

Agatha looks at Rio and yourself, “You two know each other.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You send the green witch a pointed look.

She throws her hands up, “I thought we were lying.”

Wanda interjects, voice laced with confusion, “How is that possible?”

“It's not important, but yes we are acquainted.”

Agatha laughs, “You've got to be kidding me. You might as well have said you were roommates.”

“Shut up,” Rio says face growing redder by the minute.

“You… dated Death?”

Your eyes were locked onto the floor, “Shouldn't we be focusing on saving you.”

“Don't worry your pretty little head pet, I'll save her. But this is far more entertaining at the moment.”

You find yourself face to face with Agatha. The smile on her lips is unfaltering. She's amused by the anger in your features.

“I've told you, I'm no one's pet.”

“She's feisty Rio, I see why you liked her.”

The restraint you had earlier is at it’s breaking point. You could see yourself fighting the witch in front of you. It could all be so simple.

Wanda gets between the two of you. Her hands are on your chest pushing you away from the witch. You let her, but you keep your eyes on Agatha.

Rio pulls Agatha aside, her tone low and serious, “You have no idea who you're dealing with. If you keep pissing her off you're going to find out.”

Agatha bats her eyelashes, “I thought you liked that about me.”

“Agatha I'm serious.”

Her smirk starts to slip from her face, “You know something about her.”

“I know everything about her. So heed my warning.”

On the other side of the room Wanda is working to tamper your anger.

“I don't understand how someone like you would date someone like her,” you grit out.

“There’s more to her,” Wanda says softly.

Your eyes are drawn to her fingers. They're charcoal in color, the darkness travels down her hand, threatening to engulf her arms.

“More to me,” Wanda speaks again.

You finally meet her eyes, “Dark magic doesn't make you evil or some kind of monster. In the same way that light magic doesn't make you good. All magic has the power to harm, but it also has the power to heal. Light and dark are simply tricks of the mind.”

She sighs, “I wish I could believe you.”

“It's the truth.”

She frowns, “How could it be when I can see the darkness claiming my body? I love you, but I came to Agatha because she's an expert. I need her.”

It stings when she says it. Her words are full of implications. The one that sticks out is that she needs Agatha, not you. It’s not her fault that she doesn't know your full power. The burning truth that you keep under lock and key.

You could tell her now. Agatha was not needed. You could fix this for her, but at what cost? The questions would come, and you wouldn't be able to lie to Wanda.

Your past would be out in the open, where you couldn't ignore it.

So even though you hate admitting it to yourself, you need Agatha too. You need Agatha to save Wanda because if you have to reveal your secret, you could lose her.

“Okay, but if she calls me that again I will take action.”

You can see slight relief wash over the red head's face, “It won't happen again.”

Agatha clears her throat gathering your attention. Her expression is bored as she addresses you, “Sorry.”

Rio stands behind her like a parent who has forced their child to apologize.

You take a deep breath, “Good enough.”

Rio clasps her hands together, “Perfect now let's find a cure for the witch of the hour.”

The first chunk of time is spent in silence as you all look through Agatha’s spell books to try to find something useful.

You can't help but be impressed by her notation. You'd think she'd be more disorganized or chaotic, but the work in these books is truly remarkable.

“Ok I have to ask. How are you getting through the notes so fast?” Wanda breaks the silence, directing a question at you.

You shrug, “They're pretty straight forward. They make sense to me.”

“Exactly, but you should be more confused. It should read as gibberish to you. I'm only like 20 pages into the first book and you've already started on the second.”

Agatha chimes in, “I know you're sensitive so I'm just going to say that she has a point.”

“Fine, I don't understand why it matters, but don't you think I'd know a little bit about magic if I dated the physical embodiment of death.”

It wasn't a full lie, but not necessarily the truth either. There were things Rio showed you that helped you get a better understanding of the moral implications of using magic.

“That makes sense,” Wanda says.

“But is it the truth?” Agatha counters.

Your gaze hardens, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know a liar when I see one. If you were running around with Rio, then you can't be some cookie cutter goody two shoes. Which makes me wonder how you even got to be on a super hero team?”

“The team had a billionaire, a former assassin, and ex-Hydra. My past wasn't relevant to the job.”

Wanda shifts in her spot next to you, “I don't think I've heard you talk about anything before you joined the team.”

“I had no reason too it's-”

“Not important,” the red head finishes your sentence.

Agatha starts again, “Listen Wanda, she's not being honest with you.”

Rio furrows her brow, “Since when do you care about honesty?”

“So now you're defending your ex?”

“Well you're defending yours,” Rio shoots back at her.

Agatha starts to scowl, “Well it's none of your business because we aren't together.”

“You're the one who brought up ex's in the first place.”

“ENOUGH!”

When Wanda yells a wave of black clouds travel around the room. Her eyes glow red and her chest heaves. She makes a noise somewhere between a groan and growl.

You see the black tint climb past her wrist and fully onto her arms.

Agatha is up in seconds, “Shit shit shit shit.”

You also spring into action. Wanda is hunched over in her seat. Her hands on her stomach as she breathes unsteadily. Her gaze is cast down.

Agatha reaches out to her but you smack her hand away.

“Are you crazy? Don't you feel that her magic hasn't settled yet.”

“Of course I feel it, that's why I'm trying to settle it,” she argues with you.

She goes for it again but you block her path this time, “If you attempt to mix your magic with her chaotic power there is a good chance her instinct will take over and she will drain you.”

The annoyance on Agatha’s face disappears slightly as she realizes that you are right.

Rio takes a knee in front of Wanda's chair. Agatha begins to fret about the distance, “Rio, she's not stable.”

“Her magic works in a different way. She's The Green Witch.”

The two of you watch with baited breath as Rio’s magic forms in a sphere moving through Wanda. You can feel the air shift tremendously. The tension is washed away in favor of something serene.

It's as if you were watching a stream flow in the woods. Everything feels calm.

Wanda’s breath evens and her body stops shaking. When she lifts her head, she looks utterly exhausted. Her eyes are their normal color which is a good sign.

“She needs rest. You two stay here.”

There is no protest from you or Agatha as Rio helps Wanda to bed.

“I get that you care about her. I don’t get why you’re lying to her,” Agatha says, when you're alone.

“For years you let others believe the witch's road was real. Why not dispel the rumors?”

Agatha didn't get angry, “Because it benefited me.”

“And?”

“And the truth was too ugly.”

You take a seat in the chair Wanda had been in, “Looks like you do understand.”

“I felt it earlier when you grabbed me.”

You didn't flinch, “Felt what?”

“I have never felt anything so powerful in my life. Not Rio and not Wanda, something larger and nearly infinite.”

You try to dismiss her, “Do I look like I carry that kind of energy inside of me?”

Agatha stands over you now, “I don't know. What I do know is that Rio warned me about you. If she's warning me, then I know there's something deeper to you.”

“And if there is?”

Agatha makes a bold move gripping your chin in her hand. She tilts your face up to meet her eyes.

“I'd wonder why you weren't using it to save Wanda.”

She releases her grip on you.

“She seems confident in you.”

Agatha tilts her head, “Jealous?”

You shake your head, “Expectant. The clock is ticking.”

She goes back to her seat on the couch across the room. She regathers her notes, hoping to find something useful. You do the same.

“What if we remove the dark magic from her system?” Agatha says.

“Wouldn't that drain her life force?”

“Come look,” she beckons you over.

You take a seat beside her looking at the notes.

“In most situations when magic is drained it kills the user. However, Wanda could be different. It is possible she has her own powers as well as another set of powers for the Scarlet Witch. I think I remember seeing something about it in the Darkhold.”

You think as far back as you can. You’re trying to chase a long forgotten memory. Once you find it your eyes open.

“You're right,” your voice echoes when you speak.

Agatha stares at you, “Your eyes are golden.”

You quickly shake your head and clear your throat, “You're right. They are 2 separate sources of power. You should be able to separate them without killing her.”

“First of all, how are you so sure? Second, are we skipping over your eyes?”

You place your hand on Agatha's, “Could you just trust me?”

Agatha stays silent for a moment. She weighs her options. Her gaze jumps from your hand to your eyes, “How sure are you?”

“I have no doubts.”

She relents, “Fine. Anything else mysteriously helpful you have to offer?”

You lean closer to her to better see the notebook in her hands. Your eyes scan it diligently. Nothing else catches your attention.

“Well aren't you two close,” Rio re-enters the room.

Neither you or Agatha move.

“We think we found out how we're going to help Wanda.”

Rio strides over, making space for herself to sit between the two of you. She basically moves you over so that she has a clear view of the book in Agatha’s hand.

“Was that necessary?” You ask Death.

She doesn't look at you, “Since when have you known me to live only for necessities.”

“Never,” you let out a chuckle.

Agatha watches the interaction, finally bringing herself to comment on the relationship again, “How long have you known each other?”

You both answer, “Long time.”

Agatha shuts the notebook in Rio’s face. There’s an underlying discomfort that she's trying to hide in her expression.

“It can't possibly be longer than we've known each other,” she gestures to Rio.

Rio looks to you for guidance in her answer.

“I had known Rio for years before she even ran into you,” you answer honestly.

“That doesn't make sense. How are you still alive if that's the case?”

She stands abruptly, her attention fully on Rio. Her body begins to tremble with anger. Magic starts to buzz at the edge of her fingers.

“I have no role in this, Agatha.” Rio speaks calmly.

Agatha's voice breaks, “You’re Death. How come you haven't taken her. Is she that special to you? More special than-”

“NEVER!” Rio’s voice booms as she stands to meet Agatha’s stature. “Never insinuate something like that again. I had no choice in that matter the same as I have no choice in this one.”

You don't let the tension rise any further, “Death cannot touch me unless I let her. You spoke earlier about my power, it keeps me alive. I can get hurt; bones broken, deep cuts, comatose, but I will only die when I decide it's time.”

“What are you?” Agatha questions.

You look at her and she gasps. She had taken note of your golden irises previously, but this time the entirety of your eyes were golden.

“In my past life, I was a monster. Something that only knew of selfishness and apathy.” The gold fades from your eyes, only leaving behind a look of disgust. “I am not that anymore and I will never be that again.”

The anger has vanished from their faces. All that's left is hurt. Both women look defeated. You wonder if you should give them a moment.

“I'm sorry that I jumped to conclusions. I just… it's the first thing that came to mind,” Agatha apologizes to Rio.

Rio keeps her eyes down, “Agatha I would've done anything to keep him here with you. Every time you get the chance you throw it in my face like I got some sick joy from it. I loved him too. I would give anything to see him run, and play, and grow because I loved our son.”

Agatha reaches out for her, “Rio…”

Death throws a hand up and in a puff green smoke, she's vanished.

Once again the room is heavy.

“Join Wanda upstairs, we'll figure this out in the morning.”

You think about denying her offer. A part of feels as though she shouldn't be alone even if it is what she wants. In the end you listen to her, not wanting to weigh her down any more.

“Goodnight Agatha.”

You find the room with Wanda in it easily. There's only one bed, but it wouldn't be the first time you've shared.

You make quick work of freshening up before you actually get into the bed. Wanda stirs briefly, just enough to put her arm around you. You move further into her hold before letting sleep overtake you.

Agatha stays in the living room. She knows Rio well enough to know that the older witch will return.

Agatha lets her head rest in her hands the stress of the day getting to her. The wife she's separated from, the ex-girlfriend that she let go, and a new mystery woman who's claiming immortality.

She shouldn't be dwelling on the past. Her new objective is to save Wanda. Yet every time she closes her eyes, her brain shows her the past.

Sometimes it's her and Wanda in Westview. Agatha just happened to be there when Wanda first arrived. The more experienced witch had contained Wanda’s spell on that first day.

She saw her at the empty plot and could feel the unstable magic coming from the broken woman. Agatha took her in and maybe at first it was to steal Wanda’s power. However it only took a few weeks for that plan to go out of the window.

All Agatha wanted to do was to help Wanda feel like herself again. In truth Agatha was unsure if she did that. Wanda left before the covenless witch could ask.

Other times when Agatha closed her eyes she was much younger; a youthful rosy tint to her cheeks. Rio’s hand in her’s as they walked through the forest. The air was chilly but they had each other to keep warm.

They spent many nights staring up at the stars, talking about things that made life seem lighter than it was. Rio didn't speak of her job and Agatha kept her cons to herself.

When their backs were in the grass they got to shed their titles. It was never Death and The Witch Killer, only Rio and Agatha.

Then Nicky happened.

When Agatha lifts her head out of her hands she's met with a pair of warm brown eyes.

“It's late,” Rio says.

Agatha’s hand twitches, she wants to reach out again. Instead she interlocks her fingers together.

“I'm sorry.”

Rio simply nods, “I know.”

“I always think that one day it'll hurt less, but it never does. Maybe with other things, but never with him,” Agatha let herself be vulnerable.

Rio stands and extends her hand towards Agatha, “It haunts me every day. No matter how many other souls I take. The tragedy of everyday life will never affect me as much as losing Nicky.”

Agatha takes Rio’s hand, allowing the green witch to help her up. The rest of the interaction is wordless. Rio leads Agatha to her bedroom. They usually slept in different rooms, but with guests they'd have to share. Maybe earlier in the night Agatha would've protested, but now she doesn't want Rio to leave.

Agatha lays first. Rio attempts to move towards the sofa in the room, but Agatha tugs her back into the bed. Rio blinks a few times but decides to keep the silence.

She situates her front against Agatha’s back. Rio slings an arm over Agatha, careful not to push her luck.

Agatha lets out a relieved sigh, relaxing into Rio’s arms.

In the next few days the four of you develop a rhythm. You begin gathering the materials to perform the separation.

The bickering had turned into playful banter. It was a welcome change of pace.

“You know they both keep asking me about you,” Rio says to you.

You're all in Agatha’s spacious witch den. Agatha and Wanda are across the room going through the steps of the separation ritual.

“Rio,” you say firmly.

She only looks back at you, “I know you care about Wanda. I can see that you're coming around to Agatha too.”

“Rio, the world is in danger. Wanda's life hangs in the balance. Now isn't the time.”

Rio's eyes bore into yours, “When will you stop running from your past.”

“Don't.”

She only takes a step closer to you, “You might not be that person anymore, but that was still you. Not owning up to what you have done, just because you turned over a new leaf, is cowardly.”

Your jaw twitches, “I confronted my past all those years ago. How often must I relive it? And who are you to tell me about owning up to my past, like you're some expert on taking responsibility?”

“It comes with the job.”

You scoff at her, “Enlighten me then Lady Death, what happened with us?”

“I also want to know what happened between you two,” Agatha tunes into the conversation.

“Me too,” Wanda adds on.

Rio crosses her arms over her chest. She leans back against one of Agatha’s shelves. Her gaze shifts before settling on you.

“I broke up with you so that you could have a fresh start at life. It's impossible to move forward in life with Death looming over you.”

You hold back a scoff, “That's it?”

“What else were you expecting?”

You feel a plethora of emotions hearing this. Some sadness, some anger, even some disappointment.

“I was expecting more. I know there's more to it,” you tell her.

Her gaze hits the floor, her posture tightens, “How could I ever have known if you actually loved me or if you were just grateful for what I had done for you?”

It stings when she says it. You feel tears well behind your eyes, but you don't let them fall.

“That's not fair.”

Her eyes are watery when they meet yours, “And who taught you fairness?”

You break the contact.

“I need some air.”

Your feet carry you out of the room. You exit the entire cave. The wind crashes against your skin. The harsh breeze mixed with the already impending tears causes them to fall.

“Fuck,” you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes.

Your back rests against the wall of the mountain. You allow yourself to slide down it until you're sitting on the floor.

The thing you hated most about what Rio said was that you understood it. You knew that you loved her, there was no doubt on your part. However the world you knew before her held no space for love. It wasn’t something you valued until she showed you.

Before you met Rio, you were inhumane. You had lived without care for others. Beyond that you had taken lives, more than you could count. The only reason you had even crossed paths with Death was because you had begun ending worlds across timelines.

You lived only for yourself. Whatever dared to get in the way of what you wanted, you destroyed. There was no one in your life to tell you any different. There was no one to correct your behavior.

Then you met Rio. She taught you empathy and remorse. She gave you perspective on your power and the responsibility that came with it. Lady Death put emotions into your soul. No one knows how long you walked the Earth feeling nothing at all.

She helped lay all the foundations of the person you were to become. Piece by piece she dismantled the monster. Her most prevalent tools were gentleness and patience. How could you not fall for her?

“Hey.”

“I just need a minute, Wanda.”

“I can tell that you loved her.”

Your head lolls back against rocks so that you're looking up at her, “How can you tell?”

“She’s not the only one who knows you, Y/n. Your past is an important part of you, but she hasn't been in your life recently,” she moves to sit beside you. She keeps her head straight ahead, “It's the way you react to her ”

Your brow furrows, “What do you mean?”

“You've been tense since the day I met you. You rarely drop your guard even when there’s no apparent danger. As soon as you saw her here, I could see your entire body relax. It's like she took the tension out of your shoulders and put some hope in your eyes. The only time you act like that is-”

She stops herself. You turn your head away from her. Her expression is neutral despite the emotion that was dripping from her voice. You know what she was going to say. It's not anything that either of you have ever addressed.

“When it's just us,” you finish her thought.

“Yeah,” it's a whisper from her.

You sigh, “We're doing this now?”

She still hasn't looked at you, “I could die.”

“You won't.”

There's no room to argue in her tone, “This can go wrong any step of the way. If you don't want to talk about it, I'm not going to force you.”

She starts to get up, but you place your hand on her thigh, halting her movements.

“I'm sorry, I'm just… I haven't done anything like this in a long time. Wanda you mean a lot to me and I don't want to fuck this up.”

Her hand lies on top of yours, “There are a lot of factors.”

“You mean our ex's.”

She nods, “Yes, because you still love Rio.”

“You still love Agatha,” you add.

She doesn't deny it, “And I'm almost certain that they still love each other.”

“So what are our options here?”

Her head goes to lay on your shoulder, “We tell them or we don't.”

Your eyebrows scrunch up, “We haven’t even talked about us yet. We can't tell them what we don't know.”

“I already know how I feel about you. A part of me has always known. After we disbanded the team… I ran. Vision sacrificed himself and there was no bringing him back. I knew you'd try to comfort me, but I didn't want your comfort then because I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” You breathe out.

“Afraid of how fast I would move on. I was scared that having you around would make me forget him. I wouldn’t be able to hold onto the feeling of loss and I needed to, at least for awhile.” She pauses to chuckle, “And it didn't even matter because I ran right to Agatha.”

You begin to speak, “It hurt when you left, but I understood. My feelings at the time were inappropriate, they had been for a long time. I never wanted to get in the way of what you had with Vision. He was a good man and he had earned the right to be with you.”

“I had a feeling, and there were times where I beat myself up because I felt like I was leading you on.”

You shake your head, “You weren’t. I never thought that I would actually get a chance. I didn't deserve it and I still don't think I do.”

Wanda blows out a harsh breath, “How can you see all the darkness crawling up my fingers and think I'm too good for you?”

You don't stop the lonely tear that falls from your left eye, “There’s so much that you don't know about me, Wanda.”

“Then tell me,” she said, staring at the side of your face.

You only hang your head, “I cannot wash away the sins that I have committed.”

“You can claim them, instead of running from them.”