i feel myself falling further down your priorities, and i still make excuses for you constantly. i wonder how many things you think about before you get to me.
i do not give permission for my work to be copied or translated on other sites. plagiarism is a crime!!
note: i wrote this two months ago (it just turned two months today) and it’s been collecting dust on the side, so this is me finally letting it out of jail.
main m.list || whispers of heartache m.list
Y/N didn’t remember when waiting became second nature.
It wasn’t one moment — it was dozens of small ones stitched together. Moments where she sat with her phone in her hands, thumb hovering, heart already bracing itself for disappointment before it arrived.
She waited in cafés until the drinks went cold.
She waited in her room with the lights on, dressed up for nothing.
She waited through the night, refreshing messages that never came.
And every time, she told herself the same thing:
Wanda didn’t mean it.
Wanda is busy.
Wanda loves me — she just doesn’t show it in the way I need.
Y/N became very good at convincing herself that this is love.
She learned it in fragments — in unread messages, in calls that rang too long before cutting off, in “I’ll call you later” that never turned into calls.
She learned it in the way Wanda would smile at her with half her attention already somewhere else, already reaching for something that wasn’t her.
At first, it didn’t feel like neglect.
It felt like patience.
Wanda was busy. Wanda was important. Wanda had responsibilities, people who needed her, worlds that seemed to demand her all at once. Y/N told herself that loving someone like Wanda meant understanding that you would never be first — and that being understanding was proof of how deeply she loved.
So she made excuses.
She’s tired.
She didn’t mean to forget.
She’ll text when things calm down.
She’s just overwhelmed.
Every time Wanda didn’t answer, Y/N folded herself smaller. She muted the ache. She swallowed the disappointment before it could reach her throat. She told herself that wanting more would be selfish.
── .✦
The worst part wasn’t the absence.
It was how Wanda returned.
Always casual. Always calm. Always untouched by the damage she left behind.
Like Y/N was something she could put down and pick up whenever it was convenient.
“Hey. Sorry, things got crazy.”
And Y/N would smile through the phone she held too tightly.
“It’s okay. I get it.”
She always got it.
She got how Wanda prioritized missions, meetings, crises that weren’t hers.
She got how Wanda’s grief mattered more than her loneliness.
She got how Wanda’s silence was something she had to endure if she wanted to stay.
What Y/N didn’t get — not at first — was how invisible she had become in her own relationship.
── .✦
It started small.
Missed dates. Forgotten plans. Conversations cut short because someone else needed Wanda more. Y/N would dress up anyway, sit on the edge of her bed anyway, check her phone anyway.
Every time, she waited.
And every time Wanda didn’t show, Y/N told herself it didn’t hurt that much.
But it did.
It hurt in quiet ways — the kind that don’t scream, the kind that settle deep into your bones. The kind that make you question whether you’re asking for too much simply by wanting to be chosen.
There was the night Wanda promised to call.
“I just need an hour,” Wanda had said. “Okay?”
Y/N had nodded, smiling even though Wanda couldn’t see it. “Yeah. I’ll wait.”
An hour turned into two.
By the third, Y/N had curled into herself on the couch, phone pressed to her chest like it might hear her heart begging.
She didn’t call.
She didn’t text.
The next morning, there was a message.
“Sorry. Fell asleep.”
Y/N stared at the screen for a long time before typing:
“It’s okay. I figured you were tired.”
She deleted the second message she wanted to send.
It hurt.
There was also the time Wanda canceled their anniversary dinner.
Something “urgent” came up. Something that couldn’t wait.
Y/N stood in front of the mirror that night, makeup already smudging, dress clinging to her body like it still believed it had somewhere to go.
She undressed slowly, like she was taking off hope piece by piece.
When Wanda finally came home, hours later, she kissed Y/N’s cheek distractedly.
“I’ll make it up to you,” she said.
Y/N smiled.
She didn’t say that Wanda never did.
── .✦
Sometimes, Wanda wouldn’t disappear completely. She would reply with one-word answers. She would read messages and leave them hanging. She would promise to talk “later,” then vanish into silence.
Ghosting, Y/N learned, didn’t always mean leaving forever.
Sometimes it meant leaving just long enough to remind you that you could be abandoned at any moment.
And fighting Wanda?
That was terrifying.
Because every argument ended the same way.
Wanda would shut down.
Wanda would leave.
Wanda would disappear for a day… two… sometimes more.
And then she’d come back like nothing happened.
“Can we not do this right now? I was busy and I'm really exhausted.”
“I needed space.”
“I didn’t want to say something I’d regret.”
And Y/N would apologize — even when she didn’t know what she was apologizing for.
Because she knew the pattern.
If she pushed too hard, Wanda would vanish again.
So Y/N learned to stay quiet.
Until the night she couldn’t.
They were supposed to meet. Nothing fancy. Just dinner. Just them.
Y/N sat at the table alone, phone facedown because she was tired of watching it betray her. She counted the minutes anyway. Ten. Twenty. Forty.
An hour passed.
Then her phone buzzed.
“Something came up. I can’t make it.”
No explanation. No apology. Just another thing before her.
That was when something inside Y/N finally broke.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just… completely.
When Wanda finally came to see her days later — calm, collected, acting like the distance hadn’t nearly swallowed Y/N whole — Y/N didn’t sit down. She didn’t smile. She didn’t soften herself.
The confrontation didn’t happen in a dramatic explosion.
It happened quietly — which somehow made it worse.
They were standing in Y/N’s apartment. Wanda had just finished explaining why she hadn’t answered her messages for two days.
The apartment felt too small for the amount of silence inside it.
Wanda stood near the door, arms crossed — defensive, guarded, already halfway gone even though she was physically there.
“I needed space,” Wanda repeated. “You know how things get.”
Y/N stared at her.
For a long moment, she didn’t speak. And that silence was more dangerous than any scream.
She stood there, shaking.
“Do you even hear yourself?” Y/N asked quietly.
Wanda frowned. “What?”
That one word — careless, almost annoyed — cracked something open.
“What?” Y/N repeated, letting out a hollow laugh. “That’s your response? That's all you have? Do you even know what this does to me?” Y/N asked quietly.
Wanda frowned, confused. “What are you talking about?”
And that hurt more than anything else.
“I didn’t want to fight,” Wanda said. “I needed time to cool off.”
Y/N felt something snap — not loudly, but completely.
“And what about me?” Y/N’s voice trembled, but she didn’t stop. “Did you think about me while you were cooling off? Did you think about what two days of silence does to someone who already feels like they’re too much?”
Wanda exhaled sharply. “You’re overreacting.”
That did it.
Y/N’s composure shattered.
“No,” she said, her voice rising for the first time. “No, I am so tired of you saying that.”
Tears spilled freely now, but she didn’t wipe them away.
“It’s always about you,” she continued, her chest heaving. “Your feelings. Your pain. Your space. Your triggers. Your exhaustion. Everything revolves around you.”
Wanda stiffened.
“It’s always just about you,” Y/N repeated, shaking her head. “Not me. Not us. Just you.”
“That’s not true—”
“Why is it always about you?” Y/N cut her off, stepping closer. “Do you ever stop? Do you ever pause and think, ‘how is she feeling?’”
Wanda opened her mouth but nothing came out.
“Do you even try to think about what I feel,” Y/N pressed, voice cracking, “every time you prioritize everyone else over me?”
Her hands were trembling violently now.
“Every time something happens, I’m the one that gets pushed aside. I'm the one who get tossed in the trash. I'm the first thing you abandoned. I’m the one that gets the silence. I’m the one you run from.”
“I don’t run—”
“You ghost me like I never mattered!” Y/N cried. “Like I was just… optional.”
The word hung there.
Optional.
“I know I hurt you sometimes,” she said quickly, words spilling now, desperate and unfiltered. “I know I mess up. And I’m sorry for that. I really am.”
Her voice cracked.
“But what about the times you hurt me? what about all the ways you hurt me?”
Wanda opened her mouth.
Y/N didn’t let her speak.
“How about all those nights I stayed awake wondering if you were ever coming back?” Y/N continued, tears streaming freely now. “How about all the times I swallowed my feelings because I knew if I brought them up, you’d leave again?”
“That’s not fair—” Wanda tried.
“No,” Y/N said sharply. “What’s not fair is making me feel like I have to beg for basic decency.”
Her hands were shaking violently.
“I made myself small for you,” she whispered. “I pushed aside my problems, my pain, my needs — everything — just so I wouldn’t be another thing you had to deal with.”
Her voice dropped, shattered.
“I kept it all inside because fighting with you is scary. It was never safe.”
Wanda froze.
“Do you know what it feels like,” Y/N went on, sobbing now, “to be terrified of speaking up in your own relationship? To know that if I say the wrong thing, you’ll disappear?”
Silence pressed in around them.
“You always ghost me,” Y/N said hoarsely. “You leave for days. And then you come back like nothing happened, like I didn’t spend that time breaking apart.”
She pressed a hand over her heart.
“I don’t deserve that,” she said. “I don’t deserve to be punished with silence.”
Wanda looked shaken now. “I never meant to—”
“I don’t care what you meant,” Y/N interrupted. “Intentions don’t erase damage.”
Her voice was barely audible.
“I don’t deserve that,” Y/N said. “And you know it too.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper, raw and aching.
“I don’t deserve to be ghosted in my own relationship.”
Her chest felt like it was collapsing inward.
“I made one mistake,” she whispered, her voice suddenly small but sharp. “One mistake. I said one wrong thing. I've done something once. And in return?”
She looked at Wanda like she didn’t recognize her anymore.
“All you did was hurt me in every way imaginable.”
Wanda’s face fell. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“But you did,” Y/N shot back. “Over and over again.”
Her breathing was uneven now.
“You punish me with silence. You withdraw affection. You make me feel like I have to earn my place back every time you’re upset.”
“That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair,” Y/N said, her voice breaking into something raw and jagged, “is loving someone who makes you feel disposable.”
The word disposable seemed to echo.
“I started shrinking myself for you,” Y/N admitted, sobbing openly now. “I stopped bringing up my feelings because I was scared you’d disappear again.”
Wanda looked shaken. “You don’t have to be scared of me.”
“I am,” Y/N whispered.
That hit harder than any scream.
“I’m scared to upset you. I’m scared to need you. I’m scared to say the wrong thing because you always leave.”
She pressed her hand to her chest as if trying to hold herself together.
“Do you know what it feels like to beg silently for your own girlfriend to choose you?” she asked, voice trembling violently. “To check your phone every five minutes? To stare at the ceiling wondering if this is the moment she decides you’re too much?”
Wanda’s eyes glossed over.
“I waited for you,” Y/N continued. “I defended you. I made excuses for you. I told everyone you just needed time, that you were dealing with things.”
Her lips quivered.
“But who was there when I was dealing with things?”
Silence.
“I don’t remember the last time you chose me first,” she said softly. “I don’t remember the last time I felt secure.”
Wanda stepped forward. “Y/N, I love you.”
Y/N let out a broken sound — something between a laugh and a sob.
“Love isn’t supposed to feel like this.”
Her voice dropped to almost nothing.
“Love isn’t supposed to make me question my worth every other day.”
Wanda’s voice cracked. “I didn’t know you felt this way.”
“That’s the problem,” Y/N replied. “You didn’t know. Because you didn’t ask.”
The words weren’t shouted.
They were devastated.
Silence swallowed the room.
For the first time, Wanda didn’t have an excuse ready.
And Y/N realized something terrifying and freeing all at once — she had spent so long counting how many things came before her… that she forgot to ask why she wasn’t enough to be chosen first even once.
“I needed you,” Y/N said. “Not perfection. Not grand gestures. Just consistency. Just reassurance. Just… not silence.”
Her shoulders slumped.
“I don’t deserve to feel like I’m fighting for scraps of your attention.”
Wanda reached for her.
Y/N stepped back.
And that distance — that small step — felt bigger than anything else that night.
“I’m so tired,” Y/N whispered. “I’m tired of loving you louder than you love me.”
That was the moment something shifted.
Not anger.
Not screaming.
Just exhaustion.
And somehow, that hurt the most.
That was when Wanda finally looked like she understood.
And that was when Y/N realized it might already be too late.
After that night, Y/N stopped waiting.
She didn’t text first.
She didn’t check her phone every five minutes.
She didn’t make excuses.
And Wanda felt the absence immediately.
Because when someone who has always waited finally stops… the silence becomes deafening.
Summary: Wanda had died and woke up in a place called junction. There she needs to choose where and who she will spend her eternity with. The decision was supposed to be simple. But what happens when the past she thought she forgot had waited for her for seventy-two years?
Word Count: 13k+
Warnings: Angst, Fluff, mention of smut
A/N: I didn’t know how to end. Hope everyone likes it 😅 (Btw, I love Lizzie in this photo so much! 😍)
Main Masterlist
Part 1
---
Another month passed. The streets of the recreated town carried on in their strange, stagnant stillness, but Wanda’s world had shrunk to the glowing gate. She no longer counted the days. Only the aching rhythm of her heart remained, pulsing out Y/N’s name like a mantra.
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.
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.
I was so certain that a story where R would get with someone else would make an amazing, angsty ending to this story, but I am so happy to have been proven wrong. You wrote the ending(?) to this so incredibly beautifully. I was, and am really happy to have been able to read part 2 to this. Thank you for making it a reality.
Thank you for reading the part 2. And I am so sorry I didn’t write your request for this one. I had other ideas already. But I would love to write something in the future if you have other ideas ☺️
Summary: Wanda had died and woke up in a place called junction. There she needs to choose where and who she will spend her eternity with. The decision was supposed to be simple. But what happens when the past she thought she forgot had waited for her for seventy-two years?
Word Count: 13k+
Warnings: Angst, Fluff, mention of smut
A/N: I didn’t know how to end. Hope everyone likes it 😅 (Btw, I love Lizzie in this photo so much! 😍)
Main Masterlist
Part 1
---
Another month passed. The streets of the recreated town carried on in their strange, stagnant stillness, but Wanda’s world had shrunk to the glowing gate. She no longer counted the days. Only the aching rhythm of her heart remained, pulsing out Y/N’s name like a mantra.
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.
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 bar was alive in the way Friday nights always are. Loud. Warm. Unapologetically chaotic. Bass thumping faintly through old wooden floors, laughter rolling like cheap champagne, conversations blending into one long, messy wave of noise.
I’d spent the last fifteen minutes sitting at the far end of the counter with a near-empty glass of ginger ale, desperately pretending I wasn’t dying inside. Spoiler: I was.
“You should’ve seen me,” I muttered, dragging both hands down my face dramatically.
Across from me, behind the counter, Lucas was shaking a cocktail with the ease of a man who’d seen me make a fool of myself one too many times.
“I did see you,” he deadpanned. “Half the bar saw you.”
“Exactly,” I sighed, pointing a tragic finger at him. “It was a performance. An art piece. A tragedy.”
[Rewind – 6:15 PM]
I’d spotted her at one of the corner tables, a woman with sharp cheekbones, soft lips, and the kind of posture that screamed I don’t need you, but you may try. I had spent the last three days psyching myself up to talk to someone new. And there she was: alone, swirling her drink like a Bond girl in a black turtleneck.
I didn’t even have a plan. Just my dumb, overly caffeinated brain that whispered, say something cool.
“Hi,” I said. Or maybe croaked. Probably croaked.
She lifted her gaze like a queen glancing at a peasant. Her eyebrow did that perfect little arch people with confidence are born with.
“I just wanted to say… you have a very serious face,” I blurted out.
She blinked. “That’s… not a compliment.”
And that was how I started this cursed evening.
I tried to recover, really, I did. I explained something about how it wasn’t bad serious but, like, mysterious serious. She sipped her drink with the elegance of a woman who already decided I was not her type and said, very gently:
“Good luck with your night.”
Then she turned back to her phone.
I walked away like a soldier returning from war. Defeated. Head high but dignity left somewhere under her chair.
[6:45 PM – Back to the counter.]
“She said ‘good luck’,” I recited for the fourth time, waving my arms for dramatic flair. “GOOD. LUCK. That’s not even pity. That’s customer service.”
Lucas snorted. “You’re the reason we can’t have nice things.”
“I’m a disaster,” I continued, ignoring him completely. “But a charming one.”
I was gesturing with too much enthusiasm, recounting every humiliating second of the encounter like a TED Talk on Bad Decisions 101. My hand swung wider than my brain intended and—
CRASH.
Cold liquid splashed across the counter and onto someone’s sleeve. The glass wobbled, toppled, and rolled right onto the floor with a dull clink. My breath stopped in my throat.
I turned slowly. Like a cartoon character about to see the anvil above their head.
And then I saw her.
Big sunglasses. A soft hoodie. Baseball cap pulled low. She had a kind of casual ease that somehow made her stand out even more. Her jawline was sharp, her lips slightly parted in surprise, and her freshly ruined drink dripped down the counter like a crime scene.
“I— Oh my God— I’m so sorry!” I blurted, already reaching for napkins. “That was… that was not supposed to happen.”
She tilted her head slightly, and I caught a hint of amusement hiding behind those shades.
“Clearly,” she said, voice smooth. It wasn’t annoyed. Just… entertained.
I winced, cheeks burning.
“Next drink’s on the house,” I declared too confidently.
Lucas paused mid-pour, raised one eyebrow. “You don’t work here anymore, remember?”
The stranger’s brows lifted behind her glasses. I felt the heat rise from my neck all the way to my ears.
“I—” I turned back to Lucas. “I do now.”
I marched around the counter like I owned the place, grabbed an apron from the hook, tied it around my waist, and straightened up like this was always part of the plan.
“See?” I said with a sheepish grin. “Turns out I have bills to pay.”
[6:47 PM – Mopping up the crime scene.]
I crouched over the counter, rubbing the apron like it was a napkin, desperately trying to soak up the mess. Lucas sighed so hard I could hear it over the music. The stranger leaned back slightly on her stool, watching me with crossed arms.
“Is that… sanitary?” she asked.
“Absolutely not,” I admitted. “But it’s efficient.”
She let out a low laugh, short but genuine. A laugh that slid down my spine and made my heart skip a beat. There was something familiar in it, warm, rich, like something I’d heard somewhere else before.
I looked up, catching the corner of her smirk. Her sunglasses were still on, but I could tell she was enjoying the show.
“You’re not very good at this,” she remarked.
“Well, lucky for me, I’m great at being embarrassing,” I shot back before my brain could censor me.
That earned me another soft laugh, this one a little longer.
[6:49 PM – Lucas gives up.]
Lucas leaned against the shelves behind the bar, arms crossed, wearing the face of a man who’d already accepted the absurdity of the evening.
“You know,” he said, “this is exactly why you quit. Because you don’t know how to serve drinks without turning it into a personal rom-com.”
“Correction,” I replied, holding up a finger while still wiping the counter. “This is called natural charm.”
“Natural disaster,” he muttered.
I shot him a glare before turning back to the stranger.
“Seriously though, let me make it up to you,” I said, straightening up and pretending like I belonged behind the bar. “What was your drink?”
She paused for a second. Like she wasn’t sure if she should tell me. Then:
“Margarita.”
“Excellent choice,” I replied, even though I absolutely did not know how to make one properly.
I turned toward Lucas with pleading eyes. He rolled his in return, muttering something under his breath, then slid the shaker toward me. I started making the drink with the finesse of someone pretending to be on a cooking show. Shaky but determined.
[6:52 PM – Recognition hits slowly.]
As I poured the drink into the salted glass, I finally looked at her properly. Her hair framed her face perfectly even though it was tucked into the hoodie. Her lips curled like she was hiding something. Or maybe someone.
“So… you just sit here looking cool and mysterious every Friday night?” I asked lightly.
“Something like that,” she said. Her voice was lower now, teasing. “And you just… knock over drinks for fun?”
“It’s a talent.”
She took off the sunglasses just enough for them to rest on the collar of her hoodie. And then it clicked.
I froze mid-shake.
No. No way. My brain scrambled to connect the dots, the laugh, the voice, the little smirk. I’d seen her face on screens, interviews, late-night clips that autoplayed when I should’ve been sleeping.
“Wait a minute,” I breathed out.
Her grin widened, slow and wicked.
“Took you long enough.”
[6:56 PM – The reveal.]
“You’re—” I stammered.
“Yeah,” she interrupted smoothly. “But don’t make it weird.”
“Too late.”
She chuckled and accepted the fresh margarita I handed over with shaking hands. Her fingers brushed mine for half a second. It was enough to make my heart skip a whole beat.
“Not bad,” she said after the first sip. “For someone who doesn’t work here.”
“Technically, I do now,” I replied. “It’s called reemployment by accident.”
[7:03 PM – The shift I didn’t sign up for.]
I ended up behind the counter for the next twenty minutes, pouring drinks under Lucas’s supervision while she sat there sipping hers like a living, breathing plot twist.
Every time I glanced her way, she was already looking. Not in a creepy way. More like she was… entertained.
“You’re very good at pretending you’re not flustered,” she said casually at one point.
“Oh no,” I admitted. “I’m very flustered. I just happen to be dramatic about it.”
She laughed again. That sound. It was going to ruin me.
[7:25 PM – A number on a napkin.]
Eventually, I took off the apron, surrendered the bar back to Lucas, and leaned on the counter like I belonged there.
She pulled a napkin toward her, scribbled something quickly, folded it, and pushed it toward me.
“For knocking over my drink,” she said with a small grin.
I unfolded it and nearly choked.
Her number.
“Are you sure you want to reward clumsiness?” I asked.
“You’re fun,” she replied simply. “And apparently good at giving free drinks.”
“Perks of employment,” I whispered back.
[7:34 PM – She walks away.]
She slipped the sunglasses back on, finished the last of her margarita, and slid off the stool with casual ease.
“What if I spill your next drink?” I asked, trying to sound brave.
“Then you’ll just have to make me another one,” she said over her shoulder.
And then she was gone, leaving the bar a little quieter, the air a little heavier, and my heart beating way too fast for someone who’d started this night crying over a failed flirt attempt with someone else.
Summary: Wanda came to your cafe for just a coffee, but left with something more.
Word Count: ~1000
Genre: fluff
A/N: didn't have time for writing since i started university again. But here i am, with my first fic of Wanda
It's late afternoon in October, soft light filtering through the cafe’s front windows, the faint smell of coffee beans, cinnamon and old books blending together. The shelves creak softly when someone walks by. There's indie music playing quietly in the background.
You are working on the counter, hair tucked back, sleeves rolled up, a small pencil behind the ear from helping customers with book recommendations. It's one of those cozy hybrid shops, part cafe, part bookstore, with handwritten menus and mismatched mugs.
The bell above the door chimed softly when Wanda stepped inside. Warm air washed over her, carrying the comforting scent of roasted coffee beans, cinnamon, and old paper. The place looked like something out of a dream, soft light string across bookshelves, a few people reading the windows while the rain tapped lightly against the glass.
She told herself she was only stopping by for a drink. That was the plan. Just a coffee, something to warm her hands before heading home. But then she saw you behind the counter.
And the plan fell apart instantly.
You looked up when she approached, offering that easy, welcoming smile that made her brain short-circuit.
“Hi there,” you said, voice soft but bright, “What can I get for you?”
Wanda blinked. Words. He needed words. She had many of those, normally. She’d faced cosmic beings, this shouldn’t be that hard. But you were smiling at her, and it was like her mind had been hexed.
“Hi,” she started, then paused. Okay, that’s a good start “I mean h-hello. Uh, I’d like a c-coffee.”
You tilted your head slightly, amused, “Sure. What kind?”
“Just... coffee,” she said, trying not to panic, “You know. The normal kind,” a small, awkward laugh escaped her, “With milk. Please. Or maybe tea. No... coffee’s fine. Definitely coffee. I love coffee.”
You grinned, “Alright. Any particular size?”
Wanda froze. Size. There were options, “A nice size,” she said before she could stop herself, “I mean... a normal one. Average. Medium! Medium's fine.”
Her cheeks burned as she looked down at the counter, wanting the earth to swallow her whole.
You bit back a laugh, scribbling down the order, “Medium coffee, got it,” you said gently, your tone kind rather than mocking.
As she fumbled for her wallet, Wanda could feel she was getting nervous, the more she stood there. The sleeve of her coat caught on the strap of her bag, and her phone nearly slipped from her hand.
“Careful,” you said softly, eyes flicking up to hers with a reassuring smile.
Wanda nodded quickly, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, “Yes. Sorry. I’m usually more… coordinated,” she muttered, trying to laugh it off.
“Don’t worry,” you said, still smiling, “Happens to everyone.”
She handed you a few bills, her fingers brushing yours for just a second. They were warm, featherlight, enough to make her heartbeat stutter. You turned to the register, the sound of coins clinking faintly beneath the soft hum of music and the whisper of turning pages from somewhere in the shop.
“Medium coffee with milk,” you repeated, just to be sure.
“Right,” Wanda said quickly, voice quieter now, as if she was afraid saying anything else might only make things worse.
You gave her one last smile before turning toward the espresso machine. Wanda exhaled slowly, trying to calm the flustered chaos spinning in her chest. She glanced around while she waited. The shelves of secondhand books, the cozy armchairs by the rain-streaked window, the golden light turning everything honey-colored. It was peaceful here. Safe. If her nerves weren’t screaming, she might have stayed longer.
Behind the counter, you worked quickly but with care, steaming milk, pouring the espresso, topping it off with a light swirl of foam. You hesitated for a moment, looking toward her. She stood near the window now, tracing her fingers along the spines of old novels, completely unaware of how endearing she looked in that soft autumn light.
You smiled to yourself. Then you picked up a pen and wrote something on her cup, a neat row of digits, followed by a little doodle of a heart.
“Here you go,” you said when she came back to the counter.
Wanda blinked, startled that the moment had come so soon. “Oh... thank you,” she murmured, carefully taking the cup from your hand.
“Have a nice day,” you added, your voice warm.
“You too,” she replied, offering a small, shy smile before turning toward the door. She could feel her cheeks still flushed. She took a few steps, her boots quiet against the wooden floor, the soft hum of music filling the cozy air.
I wasn’t until she glanced down at the cup. There were a name and numbers written under it. It took her a moment. It was your name and phone number. And a tiny heart beside them.
She froze.
For a moment, all she could do was stare. Her mind went perfectly blank. She blinked once, just to be sure she was seeing it right.
Then, slowly, she turned around.
Her eyes searched the counter and there you were. Wiping your hands on a towel, pretending to be busy yourself with the next order. But when Wanda’s gaze met yours, you didn’t look away. Instead, that same soft, knowing smile curved your lips.
And then you winked.
It was quick, almost teasing, but it send a rush of warmth straight through her chest. Wanda's breath caught. She felt her grow hot again.
She looked down at the cup once more, a quiet laugh slipping out before she could stop it.
The bell chimed as she stepped out, the sound of rain and laughter following her into the cool October air.
Maybe she will come more often now. Maybe she could pick a book next time, too.
IMAGINE PART I: “What Do You Mean We’re Married?” — Reneé Rapp x Reader
— Wife Reveal Gone Wrong.
It’s a normal morning.
Well... normal in the way anything can be when you and Reneé are nursing matching hangovers from “just two drinks” that mysteriously multiplied into tequila-fueled karaoke and crying over that one Phoebe Bridgers lyric neither of you will admit hits too hard.
You’re at a café. Sunlight’s pouring in through oversized windows. Reneé’s wearing a hoodie you’ve never seen before but is definitely yours, and you’re stirring iced coffee with a fork because you forgot to ask for a straw.
The waiter drops off the receipt.
You glance down at it casually.
Then blink.
Then blink again.
“Huh.”
Reneé looks up from her avocado toast. “What?”
You squint at the paper.
“They made a mistake. They put your last name next to my first name.”
You angle it toward her.
It reads:
Rapp and your first name next to it.
You laugh. “I guess they just assumed I was your wife or something.”
You’re still giggling into your cold brew when you realize Reneé isn’t laughing.
In fact—
She’s not reacting at all.
Just raising an eyebrow.
Setting her toast down.
Reaching for her drink with that annoyingly smug mouth twitch she gets when she’s about to drop a bomb.
“I mean,” she says casually, “we have been married since that trip in Vegas.”
You stop mid-sip.
“...What.”
She shrugs.
“The little chapel? That night we couldn’t find your phone and ended up crashing that bachelorette party on Fremont Street?”
You stare at her.
“That wasn’t real.”
“It was legally binding. I signed the certificate.”
“You joked about signing the certificate.”
“And then I did it.”
You blink.
“You married me while I was looking for my phone charger?”
“Romantic, right?”
“You’re joking.”
Reneé reaches into her bag. Pulls out a crumpled piece of paper with faint pink edges and a faded golden seal.
“I kept the receipt.”
Your eyes bug.
“That’s a marriage license.”
“A Rapp-ly ever after, baby.”
You slap your forehead.
“We were drunk!”
“We were in love.”
“We were singing Kesha at a taco stand.”
“Exactly.”
There is a full sixty seconds of pure, high-pitched, silent chaos screaming in your brain.
Then:
“...Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I forgot.”
“You forgot we were married?”
“Well, I remembered the other day when I saw it in my passport wallet, but I figured you’d bring it up eventually.”
“I thought it was a bit!”
“So did our officiant. Then he cried.”
“This is unhinged behavior.”
“You’re literally wearing my ring right now.”
You look down.
You are wearing a silver band you thought was hers.
“I thought you just left it in my bathroom!”
“No, babe. That’s your wedding band.”
You freeze.
The waiter comes back with the check and says, “Aww, are you two celebrating something?”
Reneé beams.
“Our anniversary.”
You kick her under the table.
Later that afternoon, you’re on her couch in total disbelief, holding the certificate in your hands.
“This looks official.”
“It is official.”
“There’s a witness.”
“The Elvis impersonator.”
You groan into a pillow.
Reneé climbs over you like a smug jungle cat and sits on your thighs.
“You love me.”
“I hate you.”
“You literally married me.”
“Under false pretenses.”
“You said ‘I do.’”
“I thought I was saying yes to another round of shots!”
She wiggles her eyebrows.
“Well, now you’re stuck with me.”
“Is it too late to annul?”
“We consummated it already.”
“RENEÉ.”
Eventually, when the laughter dies down and your heart’s finally stopped trying to leap out of your chest, she wraps her arms around your waist and presses a kiss behind your ear.
“I’m kidding. Sort of. Maybe.”
You freeze again.
“Sort of?”
“I mean… we didn’t actually file it with the county clerk.”
You exhale, half in relief, half in disappointment you didn’t know you were holding.
“So we’re not married?”
She shrugs, grinning.
“Not legally.”
“But...?”
She kisses your jaw.
“We could be.”
Silence.
Then:
“Give me a real ring next time,” you murmur, cheeks warm.
tangentwithtanner
gummygunk
prguitarman
areudirty
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
pixelskylines
stormborns
vaporwave
