Fool's Gold (Part I)
Prompt: You have been kidnapped by a cult preparing to sacrifice you to their god. Problems? You're immortal, the god they worship is a close friend of yours and the entire cult was the result of a prank you forgot you pulled centuries ago.
Tags: wanda x reader, gn!reader, gods!au, loose mythology, situationship, slow-burn, reader has brown eyes, reader is asian but feel free to ignore that ngl, reader is an idiot, wanda is also an idiot, idiots in love, graphic description of injuries (sorry…), kinda body horror (again, sorry…), some suicide ideation (r) | 9.4k words
A/N: sooo i've been writing this on and off for 5 months. i really liked how this turned out so i hope yall do too. this is part 1! there should be 2 more parts i think.
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 2
All things considered, you should have seen this coming. What comes around, goes around indeed. It took hundreds of years of running and feeling like your grief would consume you, but the past does have a way of catching up to anyone. Gods and godlings included.
A girl comes close to you and grabs your face, angling it towards the light, fingers forcefully opening your eyes wider. "Brown eyes, molten gold in the light," she mumbles to herself, then turns back to speak to the others in the room. "Just like that passage in the book."
A pleased murmur passes through the room. A man steps up. Their leader, you suppose. "Then let us begin."
Despite the centuries that have passed, you remember the chant that they recite. You wrote it yourself.
It was a love letter, the first of many, that you have written for her. Although she initially did not perceive it as one, with the way you have posed it as a fictitious story to entertain. Successful in concealing the true meaning between the words, of your feelings for her.
It starts like so–
On the first day of the turning of the century When the sun meets the horizon Molten gold eyes will gaze upon the abyss And the abyss shall gaze back
You have human eyes. The only visible thing you have inherited from your mother's humanity. Once you have ascended to godhood, it is also the only glaring difference you have compared to your godly peers. You have, understandably, a love-hate relationship with them.
Brown eyes. Ordinary. Boring. If they would not come back good as new, you'd have plucked them out ages ago.
That was until you met Wanda – kind-hearted Wanda who, when you introduced yourself on that fateful sunny day, complimented you for them. "Your eyes look like melted gold in the sun, Y/N."
You blink the memory away.
Tugging against the binding on your arms proves useless as the ropes don't give way and only rubs your wrist raw. You could easily break them with your strength but looking around the room, you realize this is probably the most exciting thing happening to you over the course of your long exile in the mortal plane.
It's not like they can kill you anyway. And they would actually be doing you a favor if they could. You don't count on it. There were dark, dark times when you thought if you tried hard enough, did some unspeakable horror to yourself, your immortality would fail you.
"Your devotion," the abyss starts, "Prove it to me,"
Godlings that only boast for one godly parentage are not necessarily shunned, you notice. You reason out that since the major gods are fickle in nature and have no qualms with spreading their godly seeds, it would be hypocritical of them if they did, anyway.
However, you do notice that you and your fellow half gods all share the same inferiority complex, although each of you differ on how you cope with it.
As for yourself, you try to stay unnoticed and keep out of anything troublesome.
But for all the shenanigans you have found yourself in the last few months, trouble might as well have been your middle name.
There was the time when some kids were practicing their lightning powers at the park and you were spending the day away under the shade of a maple tree and for some inexplicable reason, it was like you were a lightning rod. Needless to say, your clothes were charred and your hair was singed. You waved the group's worries away, claiming that they were only small zaps anyway.
But then a huge lightning strike blew you a few meters away and the sound of your body dropping on the ground had you gasping in pain. You're technically immortal but pain incurred is still very much the same pain felt if a human gets hit by lightning or if they get thrown meters away on the ground.
You were trying really hard to hold the tears in when someone floats beside your limp body.
"We're so sorry, are you okay?" the woman asks.
It might be the backdrop of the sun overhead, or the possible concussion you got from your head slamming on the pavement, or, and this is the most likely reason, you're just really gay, but the sound that comes out of your mouth is a cross between a groan and a smile and something stupid.
"Am I dead? Because if you're the angel picking up my soul then yes I'm okay, and I will go with you wherever you want…"
You can't quite make out the woman's features but you know she's beautiful. The surprised laugh she lets out confirms it.
Then the excruciating pain of your bones rearranging themselves, your muscles and skin stitching themselves together makes you swear like a sailor. When your body finishes healing itself, which is just body horror if you're being honest, you take a few lungfuls of air before sitting up.
You look up to the woman next to you and realize it's Wanda.
Wanda who's doing her best in not meeting your eyes, who's biting her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing fully.
The sudden rush of blood on your head makes you dizzy from embarrassment. But then again you're used to being the silly person in the group.
"So…" you trail off, waiting for Wanda to look at you. When she does, you grin awkwardly. "I guess I'm not dead."
Thankfully, she joins in, smiling, "and I guess I'm not the angel picking up your soul."
She stands and helps you up.
"They should invent immortal clothes or like, clothes that fix themselves when it gets ruined," you gesture at yourself.
"I can help with that," Wanda says.
For a hot, excruciating second, your mind plummets down to the gutter. You immediately think she could definitely help you with your clothes. Always. She could take them off right now, actually.
Before you can make the inappropriate joke and get yourself possibly arrested for harassment, Wanda waves her hand and your clothes are as pristine as if they came straight off from the store's rack.
"There, good as new."
Not knowing what else to say, you thank her.
"Carve out your heart, Make it beat for me,"
Over the course of the millennia, there were multiple times when you sat down and attempted to trace at which point you fell in love with Wanda. And for more times than you can count, your self reflection leads you to that moment: you – concussed, arms twisted out of their sockets, trying to flirt with her; and her – beautiful, radiant, divine, giggling at your antics.
But nowadays, the thought of her is enough to send you into a melancholy tizzy.
Which is kind of ironic, when you find yourself kidnapped by what seems like a cult worshipping Wanda. You have never been that much of a fan of the universe always making a joke at your expense.
But then you close your eyes and you see Wanda, smiling and laughing. You feel the happiness shared between the two of you. And for one single second, you are transported back to simpler times when it feels like everything is all right in the world. When all you had to do was wake up and put one foot in front of the other and wonder if you'd be lucky enough to come across Wanda.
Maybe you never stood a chance. Falling in love with her seemed like it was written in the stars, like it was fate. Always meant to be. And maybe you never really fought against it, anyway. How could you, when you died in your youth, never having experienced love and heartbreak and everything in between.
Wanda was, for all intents and purposes, your very first love.
You realize now, tied up on this sacrificial altar with your love letter being read aloud to you, that it wasn't just the eyes where you're different from your godly peers. It was also your heart. Naïve and stubborn and never really followed what's best for you, with it being so taken with unattainable Wanda. Unlike the other gods, whose hearts are both capricious and fickle with the lovers they take.
You spent countless days craning your neck in hopes of catching a glimpse of Wanda, after that time when you got mauled by lightning.
At first you deluded yourself that you only wanted to thank her for checking on you and repairing your clothes, as you forgot to do so at the time. You have created this elaborate plan in your head on how you would go about thanking her by inviting her for coffee, or tea, or any drink she prefers. A small yet loud part of you screams that you're asking Wanda on a date. A part that you try hard to ignore lest your flimsy courage falls apart and fails you before you even get to try.
It's at a ballet concert where you see Wanda, an event that your new friend Yelena has invited you to. You were standing in a corner, back plastered on the wall, trying to make yourself as small and invincible as possible. The hall was packed to the point you had to wonder if all the gods and godlings and servants arrived to watch Natasha's performance. You give up looking for Yelena in the sea of bodies in front of you. The cacophony of a packed hall talking on top of each other were slowly but surely triggering your anxiety, hurtling you towards a panic attack.
You hear her melodious laughter first before you see her, the sound washing away the tightness in your chest and clearing away the fog that was overtaking your head.
You weren't staring, not really. It was barely a minute when you caught sight of her, your gaze trained on her side profile. But Wanda suddenly turns in your direction as if aware of your presence, locking eyes with you.
For some inexplicable reason, you didn't break the connection and turned away. An action that until today, haunts you. If only you ducked down or looked the other way or did anything other than stay locked in place, maybe you would have saved yourself from heartbreak.
But the past is in the past, and your actions that time were the start of your undoing.
Wanda gave you a small smile, it was really just an upward quirk of the corner of her lips and you smiled back in return. Full, wanting, happy.
At this, Wanda's small, polite smile turned genuine and she started walking towards you, never breaking eye contact.
"Hello," she greets you when she reaches your side.
"Hello," you echo back, unable to form words with how empty your brain feels. You scramble for anything to say, coming up empty.
Wanda just smiles at you indulgently, nodding a little. You're sure she can hear your heart beating, with how hard it's thudding against your ribcage. As if it wants to show Wanda just how happy it's to be near her.
"Are you a fan of ballet?" Wanda asks.
"I'm not sure, actually," you answer, scratching your neck. "I never saw it before, when I was alive, I mean. So this is my first time being able to watch."
"Decided to come watch a performance, then?"
"Not really, no. My friend invited me," you inwardly cringe, hearing yourself. You didn't want to be off putting or seem like a barbarian unable to appreciate what you deem to be high-class art. "How about you, are you a fan?"
"You could say that," Wanda says, eyes glinting under the glow of the chandelier. "I should thank your friend for inviting you, then."
The doors to the concert hall opens and the crowd starts inside. You're distracted by the movement when you ask, "Oh, what for?"
You're startled when an arm loops in with your right, holding your bicep, and leads you towards the entrance. "Because I get to be the one introducing you to the art."
The place was enormous and you're sure its beauty is unparalleled. But all your attention is being kept by the feel of Wanda's palm at home on the crook of your elbow. Her warmth seeped on the material of your blazer.
When you realize that she's dragging you towards the boxes, panic courses through you. That's definitely off-limits. Especially to you, a minor godling of a small, drying out river in the middle of nowhere. You clear your throat and gather what courage is left in you. As much as you want to spend the evening with Wanda, you don't want any trouble.
"Wanda," you call out to her.
She looks at you, cocking her brow in lieu of a question.
"I should go to my seat," you clarify.
"You can sit with me, I don't mind."
With her disarming, genuine smile, you keep your mouth shut after mumbling, "If you're sure…"
Deciding to enjoy the moment instead of worrying about how you'd fare tomorrow, you happily let Wanda lead you.
When you reach her box, there's already a man sitting inside.
The panic that you kept down by your 'you only live once' mantra, comes back in full force at the sight of him. There's a growing pit in your stomach. Your mind races a mile a minute with every thought becoming worse than the last. You settle that the worst thing to happen right now would be getting stuck as a third wheel during the show.
Even though it's stupid, considering you're a god yourself, you start praying for anyone to open up the earth beneath your feet and swallow you whole.
"Where did you go, сестра?"
You hear the man say, head tilting at the unfamiliar word.
"Remember the godling I told you about?" Wanda looks at you, the mischievous glint in her eyes worrying you immensely. "The one who called me an angel."
Yeah, you were right to be worried. The blood rushing to your head was enough to make you lightheaded. With your face burning bright red, you indignantly say, "I'm totally blaming that on the concussion."
Your hands creep up to cover your face, essentially trapping Wanda's palm on your arm.
The blonde man laughs, standing up beside Wanda, his arm looping around her shoulders. Peeking between your fingers, you note that they share some similarities. Outside of the now obvious physical ones, the way they stand and hold themselves are eerily similar. It's like they're cut from the same cloth.
"Y/N," Wanda calls out, pulling your hands away from your face. "This is Pietro, my twin."
So, that's why. They are indeed cut from the same cloth.
You give Pietro what you hope is a winning smile, eager to be on amicable terms with Wanda's twin brother. "Hello, it's nice to meet you, Pietro."
He gathers you in an enthusiastic embrace, slapping your back. It feels like he's trying to break your spine.
"It is, indeed," he agrees. "If I have to spend another night with Wanda talking about you without introducing me, I'd have taken matters into my own hands and found you myself."
"Wanda talks about me?" you ask, looking at Wanda. You couldn't stop the grin creeping up on your lips.
"Pietro's exaggerating," she says, turning to his brother and shoving him playfully. "Shut up."
You watch them in delight. Being an only child with a single mother was a lonely and isolating experience. Familial bond was something you've always treasured.
"Come on, the show's gonna start soon," Wanda takes your hand again, tugging you to sit beside her on the plush couch.
A server appears out of thin air, cradling a tray with three champagne flutes. Wanda takes the two glasses, offering the other to you which you happily accept. You look at the server, thanking them quietly.
Pietro engages you with small talk, asking you all sorts of things. About your heritage, your current responsibilities and territory you preside over. In hindsight, it felt like an interrogation if you were being honest to yourself.
Wanda lets you and Pietro talk until the lights dim and she shushes you both with a stern look. Pietro grins, looking just as chastised as you.
Once the venue was draped in darkness and the stage light flashed, your breath was caught. You have never considered yourself as an art connoisseur, though you did enjoy going through museums when you were still alive, but you're sure that what you saw was entirely out of this world. Which is, of course, on par with where you are and who you're with.
It was almost enough to distract you from the fact that Wanda is flushed on your side. And you're maybe considering personal space was something only humans ever considered.
Nevertheless, it was an entirely magical experience. Both the show and Wanda's close presence.
And before long, it's over and Pietro bids you and Wanda farewell.
You wonder if this is your cue to go your separate way. The thought didn’t have the chance to form fully in your mind when Wanda took hold of your hand once more. "So, how was it?"
"I've never seen something so beautiful," you answer breathlessly. "I wouldn't mind getting seduced by Natasha's Black Swan actually."
Wanda laughs, "Natasha would love to hear that."
"I bet," you jokingly agree.
When you notice Wanda's taking you on the opposite side of the exit, but actually deeper inside the theatre, you tentatively say, "please, don't tell me you're close with Natasha."
"And if I am?"
"Kill me, please."
You know that as a minor god, you don't have the strength to overpower Wanda by any means if it's a battle of attrition. But you're physically stronger than her, you think. So if you somehow catch her by surprise, you believe you could break free from her grip.
You're planning your exit when Wanda announces, "we're here."
Then unceremoniously opens the door with the sign, Natasha's Dressing Room.
"Gouge out your golden eyes, For you need not see any other,"
It didn't take you long to realize that Wanda is a very jealous and prideful god. She tries to tone it down, to not make it as obvious to you. But you've watched her ever since she complimented your eyes that she couldn't fool you even if she tried.
She gets easily cranky and pouty and jealous over you and your wandering attention. She likes it when you hold her hand or loop hers on your arm. She doesn't admit when she's upset but she will sulk. She's honest to a fault when something you do or say makes her happy.
Overall, Wanda's attitude towards you was not helping quell down your massive crush on her.
You never thought about having more with her, however. Fully content with what you have at the moment.
Outside of your meager responsibilities and Wanda's big ones, you find yourself spending all of your time waiting for her. It sounds miserable when said out loud, but you didn't care. Besides, it's not like you're only twiddling your thumbs on the sidelines.
With your blooming friendship with Wanda, you meet and befriend other gods outside of Yelena.
You get to know Natasha, who apparently is in the same family as Yelena. When you recall that night with your friend, she bursts out laughing and only when she stopped did you realize that you would have met Natasha whether or not Wanda had introduced you.
Natasha is somewhat of a sore, delicate spot. On one hand, she's a good friend of Wanda; on the other, she scares you. Her eyes, seafoam green in color, looks at you like she knows your deepest, darkest secret. Her knowing smile whenever she catches you with Wanda.
It terrifies you. If Natasha knows the feelings you harbor for her friend, then she has the power to break your delicate relationship with Wanda. You never want her to know. How would she even take it? With the incriminating truth that your feelings for her had colored every interaction and conversation between the two of you?
It doesn't help that Natasha takes every chance she gets to talk to you. It doesn't matter what you were doing, or what she's doing. If she sees you in her periphery, she's bound to come drag you away.
It's in one such occasion that you see Wanda truly angry.
In the land of the gods, there's always some party or event happening.
Wanda's not a social creature. Not by a long shot. It's one of the many, many things you love about her. But she's more extroverted when compared to you. This time, she's dragged you to attend Thor's party.
An hour after you both have arrived at the venue, Wanda has excused herself to look for her twin brother, promising that she won't take long and asking you to stay put.
What she doesn't know, however, is that you've never been very good at following instructions.
You felt the walls closing in on the corner Wanda has left you at, and so you have decided to go outside looking for fresh air. That's when you found yourself in front of a sprawling garden maze just outside of the Asgardian's palace. The hedges were thick and tall and enchanting.
When you come into your senses, you're inside the labyrinth and very much lost. You try not to panic, but when you reach, what is impossibly, your 30th dead-end – you feel your hands get clammy; your breath coming in short, loud gasps.
As a river god, you never had any authority over the air or the skies, so flying over the hedges is out of the question. Your feet are, and always will be, planted on the ground. Looking around, you don't find any other way of getting out of the maze other than finding the elusive exit.
You're about to reach the level of desperation that would give you the courage to scream for help, when you hear footsteps and someone whistling. Relief floods your veins and then you're scrambling towards the sound, unseeing and uncaring for your surroundings, like a bloodhound tracking the scent of prey. It was no wonder that you crashed towards the person you heard, toppling over them.
You only get a few seconds to realize that it's Natasha whom you've crashed into then register the compromising position you both are in. Natasha, on her back, clutching your arm. You, on your fours on top of her, your hands planted on the sides of her head.
Then the next second, you're being blasted away by Wanda's red magic.
Your limp body is quite literally hanging on a tree branch, cuts and bruises already starting to heal. She floats in front of you, glowing in her magic. A scowl and an unreadable expression you've never seen painting her face. Wanda's stormy eyes trained on you, like she's waiting for you to explain.
You don't know what she wants to hear from you or what needs to be explained. But even if you do, you can't. Not with your jaw dislocated from when you banged it on the tree trunk.
Wanda tilts her head, raising her brow slightly, like an unspoken 'Well?' in response to your silence. You're not going to lie, but you felt a shiver run down your spine. A shameful and heady mix of arousal and fear.
When you feel your jaw reattaching itself on your skull, you sheepishly wave and smile at her. You clear your throat, offering a quiet, "hello."
"I thought I told you to stay put." Wanda grits, jaw clenched.
"You did, didn't you," you agree, nervously scratching the healing scrape on your cheekbone.
Wanda sighs, flicking her hand towards you, her magic wrapping around you before she drops you unceremoniously drops you on the lawn beside Natasha. "You on top of Nat is a very far place from where I left you, wouldn't you say?"
Natasha snickers lowly under her breath and you whip your head to look at her, incredulous. Here you were, scared and honestly, a little bit horny, in the face of Wanda's anger. And Natasha's laughing.
"It's going to sound really unbelievable," you start, sitting up on your knees, looking thoroughly scolded. "But it was really an accident."
"You're right,"
A hopeful spark blooms inside you–
"I call bullshit," Wanda says.
– which promptly gets extinguished.
Pouting, you petulantly say, "It's the truth." Gesturing towards Natasha's way, you continue, "Ask Nat."
Natasha rolls around the grass until she's sprawled out like a starfish. "Yeah, ask me, Wands." Her tone is all but downright mocking and teasing and so very Natasha-like.
An uncomfortable silence permeates the air. It passes for a minute, or two, then Wanda's flying away.
You don't get why Wanda's upset, much more why she's seemingly upset at you. But you're on your feet immediately, eyes trained on her swiftly receding form.
You lose sight of her not long after you're outside of the palace gates, but with the direction she disappeared at, you know where to go. That one place here that's sacred to her, the place she told you in secret. When you were both drunk with affection for each other. Or, to be accurately realistic, when you were drunk with affection towards Wanda and she's indulging your whims about playing 20 questions. When she caught onto the fact that you've been asking her increasingly ridiculous questions, she laughed, carefree and boisterously. The sound gripping and squeezing your heart inside your ribcage until it pops free and lodges on your throat.
For your last question, you asked, 'now tell me something you never told anyone.'
Wanda took your hand and just like how you'd let her do ever since, you let her lead you anywhere she wanted to. 'If I tell you, you have to promise never to tell anyone. Else, I'm going to curse you.'
Then she took you inside the forest, pointing out the trees and plants and insects and animals you pass by, sharing little anecdotes here and there. Until you both reached a secluded clearing filled with wildflowers and surrounded by a calm lake.
You see Wanda standing in the middle, staring at the sparkling surface of the water, reflecting the glow of the full moon. You watch her silently for a bit, always awed by the way her stillness seems to be peaceful, contemplative. So unlike your stillness where your muscles are clenched and tight with tension.
Then you're barreling towards her like rushing flood water coming down a river. You grab her waist with one hand, your other cradling the back of her head, twisting your body so that it's your back hitting the ground.
Wanda's surprised gasp and the way she clutches at you is worth the seemingly endless rant she goes into about safety and the multiple versions of 'I could have reacted differently!'
Before Wanda gets another wind in her for another rant, you cut in, "Will you tell me why you're angry at me?"
"I'm not," Wanda denies quickly, unconvincingly.
You snort, "And I'm the god of the Pacific."
Wanda sighs defeatedly, "I'm not angry at you."
"Why are you angry at Nat, then?" you frown, trying to recall if the two have butt heads in recent memory but coming up empty. "Did you two have a fight that I didn't know about?"
"No."
You wait for her to continue, or at least explain what she meant, but when she defiantly keeps her mouth shut, you let out a long, suffering sigh. You plop down on the ground, taking her with you. "Alright, keep your secrets, Miss I'm not angry but I will blast you with my mean chaos magic."
Wanda laughs and curls around you.
You try to ignore her warmth, try to ignore the way your heart seems to be obsessed about beating outside of your chest. But then Wanda nuzzles closer to you and you decide to stop overthinking about it. Instead, to enjoy the feel of the woman you love tucked on your side like she always belonged there. And she did.
Only if you could tell her that.
"Come, lay in the darkness Feel my embrace,"
Your first century in exile, all you could do was remember. In your waking moments, in your dreams. You could never stop yourself from yearning to be back in that place. Back with Wanda and the friends you have made. You felt like the longing would snap your bones with how much grief you have on your shoulders.
You've wandered the earth not unlike a lost soul, aimless and unseeing.
But then you emerge out of a forest that's older than you and come across a festival in a small seaside town. It was a festival for the gods and you saw some of your former peers mingling with humans. Laughing and dancing and singing among them.
Bitterness makes you grit your teeth. Hatred coursing through your veins. The audacity of these pompous gods, their hypocrisy. When you were punished for apparently consorting with these mortals. As if your godhood is all you have. As if you could deny your humanity when you are half human yourself.
You spend the better half of that century loathing and cursing them in your breath, wishing nothing but pain and suffering for your banishers. You keep Wanda closer to your heart, half denying her involvement in your exile, half trying to forget she ever existed.
You hated the way she made you feel back then, hated the way she makes you feel, even after so long. But you could never lie to yourself and deny that thoughts of her comforted you. That there is still a part of you that would give up everything just to see her again. A part of you that still believes home is in her arms.
By the fourth or maybe the fifth century – you have long since stopped counting – you simply gave up. When you realized that you have been mourning your life as a god, and mostly your life with Wanda, longer than you have had them, you were struck by this unending sadness. And so in an act of self-preservation, you let go of the hatred and the longing that has plagued you for so long.
Love, though? The love you've had for Wanda – you had never learned how to let go, your hand still clutching it tightly to your chest. Moving on from Wanda was such a foreign concept to you that the first time it crossed your mind, you physically recoiled. Even just the thought of it felt like you were betraying Wanda, yourself, and what the two of you have shared.
You left it festering in a dark corner of your heart, never to be unearthed. Or so you thought.
Maybe getting yourself shit-faced drunk was not your brightest idea. But then again, you've been hurting for so long that the promise of blacking out for a night was a temptation that you simply could not pass up. When you think about it, now that you're sober and remembering your days in that divine land, you should have realized it was a trap. It's not every day that alcohol from that place finds itself in mortal hands.
And now you're here, nursing a splitting headache with your heart getting rendered open by these clowns wearing stupid cult robes and making you recall every moment you spent loving Wanda.
The beginning of the end, if you can even call it that, was a lost mortal child that somehow found his way in a spirit festival. He's maybe no older than ten, but you're not sure. Human years have all but lost their meaning to you when you ascended.
The spirit festival was organized by the non-human residents of the mountain for their errant god who has woken up from his millennia long hibernation and they've invited all of the gods and spirits they could to celebrate his return. And for the first time since you've been friends with Wanda, it was you who was invited and not her, being an Eastern godling and all.
You were too happy to finally not be the plus one, to even think twice about attending. Although you love the fact that it was you who Wanda always takes to celebrations and events, you've longed to be the one doing the inviting. Not only that, but you were also excited to share a piece of the culture you grew up in.
You were a nervous wreck the whole week when you received the invitation. You knew Wanda took notice of your sudden flighty behavior, her worried glances giving her concern away. She asked every time, of course, but she eventually stopped when your excuses became more ridiculous than the last. You were immensely thankful that she stopped asking because you're sure another one or two of her pouts, you'd have given away the surprise.
You knew you were being ridiculous, planning an elaborate surprise to ask her out to join you. There were multiple times that you stopped and asked yourself if you were asking for her hand in marriage and not a night out in a random mountain on the other side of the world.
You stuttered and stumbled on your words and you're sure you made a fool of yourself when you finally asked her. But her giggly 'yes' was worth the embarrassment clawing at your cheeks a thousand times over.
The two of you were strolling through the food and game stalls, the festival masks slung over your arm that wasn't looped in with Wanda's, when you saw the child hiding behind a tree, just a few feet away from the main street. One look at him and you knew he didn't belong here, that somehow he passed through the veil and got lost in the spirit plane.
You could have left him to fend for himself. Could have left him to his fate, knowing that if a spirit with malevolent alignment caught sight of him, he would probably be eaten.
But then again, you've fully accepted that trouble is your middle name.
You tugged Wanda away from the bustling crowd and to the side, "I'm going to do something stupid and you can tell me to stop, and I will."
Wanda just tilts her head at you, silently urging you to explain.
You point towards the child, still hiding behind the tree. "That's a human child."
"Oh," is all Wanda says. She's not unfamiliar with this. Nature spirits, especially those that do live with humans, have complicated relationships with them. Unlike gods who never had to be afraid of these puny mortals, spirits had reasons to be hostile against them.
"I'm going to get him to safety," you declare. "And before you disagree, let me explain–"
"I won't," Wanda cuts in.
"–I will never forget my mother–" you interrupt yourself, "Wait, what?"
Wanda smiles at you, soft and amused and affectionate, "I said I won't disagree, nor will I stop you."
You squint your eyes at her, half joking, half suspicious, "Why?"
"Because I know you and I love how you never forget your human roots, I think it's endearing."
It was you this time who could only say, "Oh."
Your mind is still reeling with her answer, dissecting and turning it all sorts of ways inside your head. Did she mean that she loves, loves you. Or did she only mean that she loves the way you are. A depressing, anxiety-ridden part of you supplies that she loves you in the same way that other gods love their monsters and freaks, like trophies they showcase and display in their houses.
You shake your head at that, appalled that there was a part of you who thinks that of Wanda.
Only when you stopped fighting against the voices in your head did you realize that Wanda's been leading you towards the human child – who was now looking at you both curiously.
Wanda crouches down to his level, greeting him, "Hello, are you lost, sweetheart?"
He looks at her, then to you, before answering Wanda with a small nod of his head.
"That's okay," she reassures him, "Do you remember where your home is?"
He shakes his head, tears shining in his eyes.
You purse your lip, you could see the other spirits and creatures taking notice of the child. You knew you had to get him far away from this place or risk fighting off those who would like to hurt him.
You take a step closer to him, offering him a kind smile, "I'm Y/N, and she's Wanda. We can help you find your home if you tell us your name."
"Shang-chi," he says.
"Alright, Shang-chi," you say, "let's get you home, yeah?"
He leaves his hiding place from behind the tree and takes your hand. You try to mask your surprise but let him hold you. Wanda smiles at you, standing up and takes his other hand.
"Do you know any human settlements near here?" you hear Wanda's voice inside your head.
"No," you admit, "but there should be some close since he was able to wander in."
"Try to connect to a river or any body of water in this mountain," Wanda suggests.
Following her suggestion, you concentrate and reach deep inside yourself, imagining your river connecting with another river, or a lake, or even a puddle. Once you found a connection with one, you traced the line until you felt stagnant underground water in a well.
You nod gratefully towards Wanda, "Found a well."
She looks at you proudly and your heart flutters. Before you get sidetracked, you turn towards the child who has been humming contently to himself and swinging your hand along with Wanda's to the beat. "Does your village have a well?"
"How d'you know?" he asks, "are you from there as well?"
"You could say that."
The journey was quiet, comfortable. It's just like the late-night walks you and Wanda go through when her responsibilities go on until it's dark out.
That is until she decides to send your mind in a halt.
"It's like we're on a walk with our kid, don't you think?"
You stare at her, wide-eyed.
Wanda, as always, revels in the ways she could make you squirm. She winks at you.
Once you get your heart to beat normally, you huff.
You like the idea of it immensely. You never really thought about starting a family with Wanda. All of your dreams and fantasies and delusions end with being able to hear her say I love you back.
You're somehow both proud and disappointed in yourself. Proud that your delusions never reached that level of pathetic and creepy. Disappointed that you were never able to dream about having a mini combination of you and Wanda running around a house you share with the love of your godly life.
While lost in both the shame and satisfaction about dreaming that kind of life with Wanda, you reach the village gates before long. Shang-chi waves at you and Wanda before he runs towards the direction of his house.
The two of you remain just outside the forest line, silent. Your thoughts grind to a halt, the image of that family dissipating like smoke in the air. Wanda grabs your hand, interlacing her fingers with yours. The action was enough to spur you into action, heart frantic, "You need to deny that you helped me."
Wanda looks at you like you grew another head, brows furrowed, "What, no."
"You have to tell them you tried to stop me but I was too stubborn."
"I won't."
"Wanda, please," you clutch her hands closer to your chest. You're not past kneeling and begging for her to agree with you.
"Y/N, I decided to interfere with you."
"But I don't want you to be punished," you say quietly, guilt and apprehension coursing through you.
The gods, and godlings, are free to do whatever they want. Except to interfere with mortal lives. After countless wars and deaths and destruction caused by gods meddling with mortal affairs, it was collectively agreed upon that any god found to have broken that single rule will be punished.
You knew about it. In that one glance when you saw the child cowering behind that tree, you knew you'd doomed yourself. You couldn't help it. Just like how the first humanity thrived beside rivers, it's in your very nature to help them.
But now, the fact that you've doomed Wanda as well, eats at you.
Wanda bites her lip, looking around. You don't need telepathic powers to know what goes through her mind. She's probably trying to think of ways to go around the law, to get past the punishment awaiting you both back in that divine land.
And you don't need it to know by the slump of her shoulders, by her downcast eyes, that she arrived at the same conclusion as you – there's no scenario that you both will be forgiven.
You try hard to convince her, turning her supposed affection with you against her, "I can't live knowing that I've doomed you, Wanda. I can't."
"Y/N…" She looks at you, searching your face for something. Anything.
You meet her gaze with as much conviction you could muster.
"If I agree to this, it will break my heart," she whispers.
"I know."
"And yet, you still ask me for it? Even knowing that I will bleed for it for the rest of my life?"
You bite your lip hard enough to break skin.
It's not in your nature to be cruel. Especially to her. But you do, just this once. "You'll get over it."
Wanda's gone before you were able to register the sting of her palm across your cheek. And your heart breaks, and bleeds, and your tears silently fall.
You don't know if hours pass or if the minutes just felt like hours, but you go back to your house while the moon is still hanging in the sky. You fall face first on your mattress and let sleep take you.
You're awoken by the loud pounding against your door and they didn't give you the time to make yourself presentable before you're dragged towards the Supreme God who's sporting both an angry and disappointed frown on his face.
"What were you thinking?"
It's with a defeated sigh that you answer him, "I guess I wasn't thinking at all."
"You know the one law we all abide in."
"I know."
"If I forgive you, all the gods will follow your footsteps. They will think to themselves that the rule is bendable. And we can't have that."
"I know," you repeat. You subtly look around, trying to find the familiar face from the few gathered gods in the room.
You don't know if you should feel happy that Wanda's not here or sad that she isn't.
"For your crime, I strip you of your territory and responsibilities. Rejoice," his voice booms, echoes around the room and into your heart, "You can now live with the mortals you would risk your position here to be with."
Without your responsibilities, you lose your right to exist in the same plane as them. A blinding white light consumes you.
When you blink away the spots dancing in your vision, you don't recognize where you are, just that you are somewhere in the mortal world. You don't feel your divinity anymore, or your powers. All you know at this moment is that you're no longer a godling, but you're not human either.
With your heartbreak fresh inside you, you picked a direction and started walking until you reached the woods. And then you keep walking until you collapse.
You sleep to the ghost of Wanda's warmth curled on your side, her arm loosely draped over your torso.
"Offer these to me, And I shall rise again."
You don't scream when they slam a hammer to your chest, breaking your ribs. You don't curse or cry when they cut you open and rip your heart out of its place. You simply watch them place it on the fire.
If they're surprised to see that you're still breathing without a heart, they don't show it.
The man, their leader, doesn't blink twice before he gouges out your eyes with the ceremonial dagger.
You don't see it but you know he places your eyes on the fire, too.
What a waste of meat, you think deprecatingly to yourself. They could have made a pretty penny if they sold that to a research institute or a museum. When will mortals ever see a lone beating heart, or a pair of detached eyes that move as if they are still seeing.
Without your divine authority, you don't heal as fast as you used to, but you're still as immortal as you were back then. Healing is just a more gross affair. The exposed wound will remain as an exposed wound – stinking and attracting things you would rather not name or recall. The flesh will regenerate at the same pace as a snail.
You kind of wish they'd throw you to the fire as well. That would at least shave off a hundred years of being bored out of your mind since you'd be busy regenerating every particle of your body.
But alas, there is no rest for the wicked indeed.
An unnatural coldness descends upon the room, and even without any seeing eyes, you know a darkness out of this world covers every surface.
"Hello, Y/N," you hear Wanda say.
The other will answer, have answered,
You were never a poet, back when you were alive, but you did have a hobby of writing. It's how you pass the time on the rare times when Wanda's busy, Natasha hasn't found the time to terrorize you, and Yelena's spending time with her lover.
You also never really thought that your stories will ever be popular amongst your peers. You write about silly things, some essays about fancy ideas here and there. They were supposed to be for your eyes only, at first. Using it as an outlet for your feelings about a certain woman. You still don't believe you will ever tell her you love her, but you weave subtle love confessions in between the script of your short stories.
Then you got too absorbed in writing that you were late to an outing with Wanda. And then you had experienced an excruciatingly embarrassing thing of having to explain how the time got away from you because you're busy making two characters kiss after putting them in a blender.
Wanda's eyes lit up in mischievous glint at that and she had pestered you about it for days on end.
It didn't take long until you caved in, of course. You only lasted a few days against the onslaught of her pouty, puppy dog eyes. She promised to never let anyone else read the stack of papers she triumphantly received from your reluctant hands.
You should have known that promise was moot since she shares her home with her twin brother who never learned the meaning of the words personal space.
You found Pietro lounging on your couch one day, a familiar bound sheet in his hands. "I need the next part," he solemnly says.
"Is that my–"
"Do you have the next part written? I need to borrow it. Please tell me if they make up after the fight. I bet Wanda they do and I need to prove that I'm the more clever twin."
You hear Pietro speaking but you don't register the words. You go to the kitchen to run the coffee machine instead.
And because Wanda's twin brother has a big mouth, it didn't take a week until you had a few gods asking you about your stories.
Once you got over the embarrassment of having your stories read by gods that aren't Wanda, you had to admit that it was nice. The gods, if not persistent, are enthusiastic readers. Some of them even take up the pen, so to speak, to try their hand in creating this type of art form.
"When will you tell her you love her?" Natasha all but shouts as she suddenly barges inside your room.
You yelp and fall down from your bed. "What?"
She shakes the papers in her hands like it will answer your question.
You stand up and sit on your bed, twiddling your thumbs, deciding that playing it dumb would somehow magically stop Natasha from dismantling the flimsy wall you call hiding your feelings from Wanda. "Tell who that I what?"
"Tell Wanda you love her and save us from getting secondhand heartbreak from your stories!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," you deny.
Natasha brings up the paper she's holding, and starts reading aloud, "…those viridescent eyes I could perpetually get lost in–"
When you realize she's reading a passage from your story, you launch yourself at Natasha, effectively stopping her.
Natasha gives you a slow, smug smirk, too proud of herself. Before she could make a remark that you're sure to make you fluster, you beat her to it, "Shut up."
"So, when will you tell Wanda you love her?"
You sigh, going back to sit on the bed. "Never," you start, "I will never tell her."
"Why not," Natasha challenges.
"Just so."
"Well, I think you should tell her. Never is a long time for us gods."
Then just as sudden as her appearance was in your bedroom, she turns without another word and disappears down the hallway.
Natasha's words stayed with you ever since.
Wanda's spending the night in your home because, as you quote, "Pietro's insufferable. I can't stand to share the roof with him tonight."
You've shared the bed with Wanda countless of times already, but Natasha's words from before still bounce around your skull. Her knowing smile, as if she knows something you don't. And maybe she does, you suppose.
"What're you thinking about?" Wanda says, crunching her nose in mock disgust. "You're restless."
"Sorry," you say sheepishly.
Wanda tightens her embrace and prompts, "So…?"
Throwing caution to the wind, you decide for a half truth, half lie through omission. "I wrote my first poem."
"First?" she asks you to clarify, "You never wrote poems before this one?"
You nod.
"Can I see?" she looks at you like she wants to ask something else.
You disentangle your limbs from hers and get out of bed, rummaging on your desk. You cradle the piece of paper and offer it to Wanda, just like how you envision you would offer her your heart, your eternity.
On the first day of the turning of the century When the sun meets the horizon Molten gold eyes will gaze upon the abyss And the abyss shall gaze back "Your devotion," the abyss starts, "Prove it to me," "Carve out your heart, Make it beat for me," "Gouge out your golden eyes, For you need not see any other," "Come, lay in the darkness Feel my embrace," "Offer these to me, And I shall rise again." The other will answer, have answered, "I am yours from the beginning of time" "Just as you were mine"
When she's finished reading, she looks at you and you could swear her look drops to your lips once or twice. But then the moment breaks and she sighs before tugging you back to bed with her.
"I am yours from the beginning of time"
Your head whips toward the sound of her voice.
"Wanda?" you ask, unsure.
You feel her presence get closer to you, grotesque-looking most likely. Chest carved open, eye sockets empty.
You're about to call for her again but then you feel the threads of her magic weaving on your restraints. You sit upright and turn to the direction you assume she's in.
"What the hell are you doing?"
You couldn't keep the smile creeping up your face even if you tried, you say in jest, "Getting sacrificed?"
She flicks your forehead, "Stop being a smartass."
You catch her hand before it falls on her side, holding it reverently on your lap. "How did you find me?"
"A beating heart suddenly dropped in front of me, and when I was just done poking it, a pair of eyes followed. The sunrise hit them just right and you know I could never forget how the color of your eyes become molten gold at the right angle with the sun."
She dangles a pair of brown eyes in front of you, dropping them on your open palm. "Here, don't lose them next time."
You pop them back in without much fanfare. When you blink, you can see again.
And there she is, standing beside the stone altar. Looking all sorts of divine and exasperated and amused and underneath all of that devastating confidence, you glean a glimmer of hurt. She's just as beautiful as you remember her.
You watch a blush color her cheeks and you belatedly realize that you said that out loud. You don't find yourself caring, however. You could kiss her right now, actually.
You don't let the silence persist. You've had years upon years of it and you're sick of it. You start, "I'm sorry, Wanda. For back then."
Wanda flexes her fingers enclosed upon your hand, stares at them for a long while before she replies, "I'm sorry, too."
You both soak in the presence of each other, hundreds of years stretching between you.
You don't know where the swell of bravery comes from, but you find yourself with enough to finally tell her what you should have told her all those time ago.
"Wanda," you call out to her, you wait for her to look at you before you continue. "I love you. I always did. I'm sorry it took me so long to say."
She purses her lip, looking away. And you could feel your heart splinter, cracks forming on top of old wounds you've crudely mended with tapes and wires.
When she pulls her hand away, you swallow the sob threatening to burst from your throat.
"I– " Wanda starts, then stops. She peaks at you under her lashes, sighing. "Y/N…"
You hurry to reassure her, "It's okay, you don't have to answer. I just… I lived with regret about how I never had the courage to tell you. You deserve to know. And now you do." Taking a deep breath, you tell her one more time, "I love you."
