#john mayer edge of desire | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ginnsbaker · 9 months

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In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (13/22)

Chapter summary: It's your birthday, and it's also the day you're forced to confront your true feelings

Chapter word count: 11k+ | Warnings: Angst, Mild Smut (somno) | Ship: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader

Author's note: Since the beginning of Part II is set in autumn season, I chose October 25 as R's birthday. Which makes her a Scorpio. Things will pick up quickly after this. Enjoy :) P.S. I kept playing "Edge of Desire" by John Mayer throughout my editing

AO3 | Masterlist

Next chapter: Fourteen

Thirteen

You’re woken up by a throbbing between your legs, coupled with wet sounds coming from that very place. Glancing downward, you notice the comforter has shifted, your legs are spread as far as they could go with your underwear still caught in your ankles, Wanda’s hair tickling the insides of your thighs as she flicks her tongue up and down against your hardening nub. Her fingers buried knuckle-deep in your cunt, trying to coax an orgasm from you in a very ungodly way at such an ungodly hour.

You had not anticipated waking up like this on your birthday, given how insatiable Wanda was with you last night. Now, as your senses fully return to you, you realize just how close she has already brought you to the edge.

“I want–God, I need your… Wanda, please,” you utter breathily, words rapidly eluding you as Wanda enters you with a third finger.

“What was that baby?” she asks in the same, breathless way.

You mumble a series of incoherent sounds, a blend of low grunts and sharp sighs, which elicit a grin from Wanda as she playfully nips at your hip, leaving a purple bruise in its wake.

“Do you want more?”

You nod frantically, mouth open but no words coming out as you buck your hips, trying to pull Wanda’s fingers deeper inside of you.

“More what?” Wanda taunts, slowing her thrusts to an agonizingly slow pace.

Your only reply comes in the form of a moan.

“Use your words, baby,” she murmurs, eyes locked with yours as her free hand snakes down between her own legs to touch herself. "Come on, you can do it,” she urges, her voice low and sultry, causing a fresh wave of wetness to spill down your opening.

"I... I want your..." you struggle to say, Wanda's relentless stimulation leaving you unable to articulate your desires.

“Mouth? Another finger? My… fist?” You shudder at the last option, eyes squeezing shut at the image of Wanda’s entire hand fitting inside your pussy. There’s nothing but reverie in Wanda’s eyes–even when she has the upperhand, the look she’s giving you is almost simpering.

“Y-Your cock,” you manage to get out through your hedonistic haze, kicking off your panties to open yourself up more for her. “Please, Wands, baby… I want your cock.” A moan escapes Wanda's lips, and before you know it, all the sensations you were feeling come to a halt as she moves away from you to reach for the drawer beside your bed. You take advantage of this time to catch your breath, your fingers clutching the sheets to prevent yourself from toppling over the edge even as Wanda has stopped touching you.

A few more seconds later, Wanda is back hovering over your trembling frame with a flesh-colored strap secured around her hips. She wastes no time to line up her cock against your entrance, dipping in just the head before pulling out grazing it upwards to your aching clit, collecting and spreading your wetness.

"Please..." you sob, a tear sliding down your cheek as you beg her to stop teasing you.

Wanda smirks, clearly enjoying the power she has on you. She starts pushing her cock inside you again, her hands grabbing your ass as she tilts your pelvis upwards. And then, she spreads your thighs further apart, the sheer effort to maintain the stretch increasingly becoming difficult. But the moment Wanda pushes the entire length of her cock into you in one, swift motion, every single thought flies out the window, leaving only an animalistic instinct that has you shamelessly meeting Wanda in every push and pull.

"Fuck, Y/N," Wanda exhales, her breath mingling with yours as she gazes into your heavy-lidded eyes. She gets lost in the dark pools of your irises, the pleasure swirling in them reflecting back at her. The speed of Wanda’s thrusts rapidly increases, and you can hear the slapping of skin as she fucks into you with a vigour of a mad woman.

“I love you,” Wanda professes, the coil in her stomach tightening, the base of the strap hitting her clit in the most delicious way. “I love you so fucking much.”

“L-Love you too…” you whisper back, gasping the words desperately as you chase your own release.

“Are you close?” Wanda asks, fighting off her impending orgasm so you can come together.

You nod furiously before grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her into a sloppy kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and need and want. All it takes is a few more thrusts and you’re both coming, screams muffled by each other’s mouths. Wanda showers your face with gentle kisses as you bask in the afterglow, jogging her hips weakly until the tremors subside. Once she senses that you’ve calmed down, she lifts her hips slightly, biting her lip at the sticky mess on both of your thighs. But before she can withdraw from you, your hands immediately come up to her ass to pull her back in, both of you moaning at the contact.

"Just stay with me," you mumble, nuzzling her cheek with affection. For now, all you want is to be as close to her as possible.

"Happy 26th, my love," Wanda whispers in your ear, sucking your earlobe into her mouth and it’s enough to ignite the fire in your belly once again.

“Were you planning on killing me on my birthday, woman?” you teasingly retort. “That was a top ten… of all time.”

Her laughter fills the air, sending delightful tremors through your sweaty neck where she’s currently seeking refuge. You take this opportunity to roll her onto her back while she’s still inside of you, making Wanda gasp in surprise.

You position yourself astride her hips, beginning to bounce gently on her lap. With a mischievous grin, you ask, "Want to aim for a top five?"

***

"It's Y/N's birthday tomorrow," Wanda tells Calliope, her smile reflecting sheer happiness at her gratitude for the day that you were born. But a desperate sense of longing taints it.

Calliope looks on pensively as she rests her chin on the back of her hand, supporting herself on one side of the armchair. "That must be difficult for you," she says softly. "Birthdays can hold a lot of emotional weight, particularly when there have been significant changes in our lives."

Wanda absentmindedly nods, playing with the ears of the stuffed bear that her therapist recently introduced her to. Wanda fondly calls him Mr. Lemon, attributing the name to its vibrant yellow color.

It won’t be a morning where she’d wake up extra early to prepare you a special breakfast on your special day, which you would ignore in favor of having her first, loving on her, until Wanda would find herself squirming from your touch, too sensitive from your hungry attention–

(And of course, she remembers the one exception–your 26th birthday where she had been the one to wake you up with sex, and she still blushes to this day at the detailed memory of it.)

–then she would tease you, claiming that it feels more like her own birthday, reveling in your endless affection. And you would always respond by saying that this is exactly how you want to celebrate your birthdays–each of them, until the very last one.

As Wanda delves into these wistful recollections, her mind effortlessly paints a vivid portrait of a parallel existence, a life that is now out of reach. She didn’t realize that yearning for the unattainable could be just as painful as revisiting the past.

Calliope listens to her, empathic and attentive. Despite their previous discussion on forgiveness, it’s clear that Wanda continues to struggle with it.

She already suspects Wanda's response before she even asks, "Have you thought about wishing her a happy birthday?"

With a shake of her head and a soft, "No," Wanda confirms her suspicion.

Calliope's intuition was spot-on. "Why haven't you?" she probes.

“I basically ruined her life,” Wanda says matter-of-factly. “I don't want to upset her on her special day by reminding her of my existence and the pain I caused."

And there it is–the profound remorse and guilt that still haunted her. Calliope gently suggests another way to look at things.

"Wanda, I understand your concerns and your desire to protect Y/N’s happiness, but have you thought about the possibility that reaching out on her birthday might bring some closure or healing for both of you?" she says, watching Wanda’s reaction.

"But how can I bring healing when I'm the one who caused the pain?" she questions, letting out a hollow laugh.

“Healing isn't simple, Wanda. It's about facing our mistakes, owning up to them, and showing real regret. By sending a birthday message, you can show her how you've matured and changed. It might not lead to her forgiving you right away or a quick fix, but it can be a big step towards personal development and empathy.”

Wanda considers this for a moment. Things between you have been rather peaceful and ordinary. But the depth of your connection has never gone deeper than the superficial level. It resembles the kind of relationship she has with her doorman or her most loyal customers–polite exchanges, pleasant conversations, but lacking the depth and substance she desires. Not even the topic of Sparky could be considered personal, as she can talk about her dog with just about anyone she encounters on the street. The only relief she finds is in the fact that you no longer recoil at the sight of her or emit heavy sighs that betray your wariness of her.

Other than those things, Wanda has no clue where she stands.

"Would she even want to hear from me?" Wanda questions, her voice wavering. “I mean, we have a lot of great memories from her birthdays. I just don’t want to remind her of the things we lost and unintentionally spoil her day.”

Calliope responds with a soothing smile, but her words reveal a more complex reality. "Only Y/N knows her own feelings, but we should keep in mind that healing and forgiving are very personal journeys.”

She takes a brief pause, letting her words settle before proceeding."If you do decide to reach out, consider doing so from a place of genuine care and understanding. Let Y/N know that you acknowledge the significance of the day and the memories you once shared, without placing expectations or unintentionally burdening her. Ultimately, the choice rests with you, and whatever decision you make, trust that it comes from a place of self-awareness."

“I’ll think about it,” Wanda says quietly, lips lightly pressed together, deep in contemplation.

***

It’s your ex-wife’s dark, green eyes that you see, staring up at you as she pleasures you with her mouth before you’re abruptly sucked into the waking world. Your face burns with the guilt of having dreamed about Wanda, moreso when you find that the sensation in your core is real.

Except the mop of hair between your legs is blonde instead of brown.

Yelena’s eyes are closed tightly in concentration, her pink tongue darting out of her mouth, licking up and down your slit in a languid manner.

“Y-Yelena… what–” Your words die on your throat as her lips closes around your clit and begins sucking on it. You perform your role, moaning at the parts that warrant them.

“Tell me what you need,” Yelena says after some time, pulling back slightly to blow on your engorged nub. You have no idea how long she’s been down there, but you can tell it’s been longer than Yelena had intended when you notice how swollen her lips have gotten and how her chin is dripping with your wetness.

Despite the tell-tale signs that you’re close, you don’t feel anywhere near the precipice of an orgasm.

You can do this. You can squeeze one out just for her. God you want to come, just so no one ends up being embarrassed.

“Put your fingers in me,” you instruct quietly. Yelena follows them right away, pushing her middle and forefinger and then curling them up slightly for good measure. “Yes, just like that. Then just… maybe massage your tongue on my clit, clockwise…”

Yelena blushes at your specific directions, but she pushes down her insecurity, needing to get you off first as soon as possible.

“Faster,” you gasp. Yelena rubs you with the flat of her tongue harder while her fingers piston in and out of you at breakneck pace.

In the end, your orgasm is more like a surrender than a triumph. But in that moment, you feel a surge of gratitude, relieved that you don't have to explain to your girlfriend that you had an inappropriate dream about your ex-wife and that’s why coming was the last thing on your mind this morning.

As you catch your breath, Yelena slowly crawls up to you, resting her cheek on your clothed chest and looking at you with concern.

“Was that okay? I mean, that has always been a fantasy of mine, but it just occurred to me that we didn’t really talk about–”

You caress her lips with the pad of your thumb, interrupting her with a tender gesture.

“You were great,” you assure her, your lips twitching into a slight smile. Your words are genuine. Even if the pleasure hadn't been as intense as usual, you appreciated her early morning efforts to make you feel desired on your birthday. "But I agree. For any future similar experiences, we should definitely talk about it first.”

Yelena whispers an apology, her voice barely holding up against her worry. Her gaze is locked onto yours, seeking forgiveness, even as you reassure her.

Feeling her need for comfort, you gently coax, "Come here," your voice soft as a feather as you tenderly tilt her chin upwards. This enables your lips to find hers in a tender kiss, one that is meant to express your gratitude more than words could. Yelena responds ardently to the kiss, reciprocating the sentiment behind it.

"Happy 30th, baby," Yelena whispers, and as she pulls away, a sense of déjà vu creeps up your spine, the familiarity of her words tugging at your memory.

It’s the most silly thing, but in the rush of daily life, you had somehow forgotten that today is your birthday. You keep this realization to yourself, not wanting to dampen the moment or make Yelena feel any sense of disappointment.

“Thank you,” you say, pressing your forehead against hers. Wrapped in each other's arms, you finally allow yourself to fully relax. “For everything.” you add as an afterthought.

"Don't thank me just yet. Your day is only just beginning," she mumbles, punctuating her words with a wink.

“What do you have in mind?” You shift, wrapping an arm around her so she can nestle into you even more snugly. The room is still dark, with the blinds effectively blocking out any indication of whether the sun is up.

Grinning, Yelena says, "It's a secret," before she buries her face into your chest, seeking more rest.

***

“You can open them now.”

Upon her cue, you open your eyes. In front of you is a jigsaw puzzle neatly framed–a puzzle that sends a wave of nostalgia coursing through you. It's the first puzzle you ever completed with your late father, a cherished memory that you believed was forever lost to time. The surprise leaves you speechless; you couldn't have guessed that this would be the gift your wife had in store for your 27th birthday.

“H-How did you…?” you stammer out. To your knowledge, the puzzle had disappeared long before your high school years, mistakenly donated to a bookstore during a house move when you had to clear out your room.

Wanda’s eyes flicker in excitement as she recounts the story. “I asked your mom where she donated it, and she actually had already forgotten the name of the bookstore. Luckily, she remembers what it looks like, so I just had to look at every bookstore in your previous address on Google Maps, and voila!”

“Just like that?” you ask, your fingers tenderly tracing the puzzle's features through the glass that protects it. Your eyes moisten as you welcome a flood of good memories with your father.

"Well, not exactly," Wanda clarifies, a hint of amusement in her voice. "It made quite a journey, even ended up in another state. It's a long story, but I tracked it down. I was fortunate to not have to spend a lot to get it back from its current owner. It turns out it's a limited edition puzzle. But when I shared your story, they were moved by it and agreed to let it go."

When your father died, your mother was in so much grief that she tried to burn everything that reminded him of her. It was one of the worst fights you’ve had with her, and you managed to only save a couple of family photo albums that you now keep in a storage rental. The fact that Wanda has not only tracked down the puzzle but also painstakingly assembled the 1000 pieces herself in order to frame it leaves you utterly speechless.

You can’t begin to fathom how in love you are with this woman. You find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from her, the gift momentarily forgotten.

“What?” Wanda tilts her head at you curiously after you’ve been staring at her for a long time.

“I love you, Wanda.” you say, and you feel how different this proclamation is from the thousands that came before.

A tender smile forms on Wanda’s lips as she responds, “I love you, too.”

You shake your head, feeling a bit silly as you continue, “No, like… I love you–forever.”

Wanda chuckles, and says, "I was kind of hoping you'd say that, considering we're married."

You laugh along with her before your expression turns serious once again. “No. I mean, come what may, I think I will love you always. Like, if you suddenly die tomorrow, I would grieve til the end of time and then some. But I’ll be content having known a love like ours for the rest of my life.”

"That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me, even if it's a little dark," Wanda jokes softly, her heart pounding in secret. "I'll love you until my knees give out and you have to carry me, until every strand of hair on my head turns gray, and then some."

You lean in, capturing her lips in a sweet kiss, and then you brush your nose against hers repeatedly until she starts giggling. In that instant, you realize that if you could, you’d marry her over and over again.

***

Agatha is on the verge of contacting the NYPD when she discovers the stainless shutter partially lifted. She's scheduled to unlock Second Chances today, but evidently, someone else has already taken on the task.

Someone who could potentially be robbing Wanda's cafe at this very moment.

Bracing herself for any potential threats, Agatha cautiously nears the main entrance, striving to minimize any sound she makes. Abruptly, she spots a shadow darting inside, instantly triggering a surge of adrenaline in her system. Acting swiftly, Agatha smacks the shutter with her fist, aiming to startle and warn the trespasser.

To her astonishment, it's Wanda who lets out a terrified scream, brandishing a spatula as if it's a weapon.

"Jesus Christ, Wanda! You scared me!" Agatha blurts out, her hand reflexively clutching her rapidly rising and falling chest. "I thought I was the one opening up today."

Wanda grins sheepishly as she continues with her task, mixing something in the kitchen. "I woke up early and couldn't go back to sleep," she confesses with slight unease.

Something clicks in Agatha’s head. She really wouldn’t call it a special talent, but she has a knack for remembering people's birthdays once she learns them.

"Oh. I think I know what day it is," Agatha says, placing her bag on the counter.

"It's Saturday, right?" Wanda replies, trying to act casual.

"Not the day of the week. The date. I believe a certain someone is celebrating their birthday today. You're baking her a cake right now, aren't you?"

Caught in the act, Wanda confesses with a faint smile, "You got me."

"Do you plan to give that to her later?"

Wanda shakes her head, her smile dimming slightly. "I'm making this for everyone here. It's just a little something for everyone to enjoy."

Even though she can no longer celebrate your birthday with you, she's found a sense of comfort in remembering it in her own manner.

"Everyone except Y/N," Agatha mumbles under her breath.

"What did you say?" Wanda asks, catching the tail end of Agatha's whisper.

"Just thinking out loud," Agatha dismisses with a casual wave of her hand. “Need a hand with that?”

***

"Is a blindfold really necessary?" you ask, propped against the car window of Yelena’s rental. Yelena’s hand keeps reaching over to give yours a reassuring squeeze. She had been quite persistent this morning, hurrying you through breakfast and practically shoving you into the shower. Her main objective had been clear: to keep you away from any potential distractions, like getting lost in the endless abyss of social media.

“I don’t want you getting ideas for my surprise.” she says, her tone playful.

Surprises. Truthfully, you could do without any more surprises. After all, a surprising event last year had completely overturned your life.

"Would you at least tell me where we're going?" you question, hoping for a sliver of insight.

“Not a chance.”

"Please, Yelena. We're not breaking any laws, are we?” You’d say anything at this point to coax a response out of her.

The car suddenly jerks to a stop. It might be due to your statement, but having ridden with Yelena before, you know she’s never been the most delicate driver when it comes to the brakes.

Yelena decides to play along, if only to entertain you through the traffic delay. "If I said yes, would you have any ideas where it could be?" she asks, curious to see your reaction.

"Is it some clandestine fight club?"

Bursting out in laughter, Yelena replies, "Good guess, but no."

You have to admit, you feel a tad let down.

"Are we going to a covert assignment of yours? Some of those tend to be on the shady side, right?" you probe further, considering whether your daring girlfriend might have arranged something unorthodox.

"I'd never put you in harm's way," Yelena reassures you.

“You did not just confirm your work is dangerous like Nat’s.”

"No, I didn't," Yelena retorts quickly. "Any other wild guesses?" she proposes, trying to deflect the conversation.

“Come on, just tell me.” you whine.

"No can do," Yelena grins, finally navigating through the traffic bottleneck.

After a short while, the car begins to decelerate. You discern that you've turned into a narrow lane as the car's parking sensor starts to emit intermittent beeps, signifying Yelena is parking.

With a deep breath, you step out of the car, still blindfolded, and trust Yelena to guide you further. The walk isn't too far, and you can hear the sound of your surroundings changing as you move.

"You're not going to pull a horror movie plot on me, right? Kidnapping me only to reveal your sinister plan all along?"

Yelena snorts in response, and you can almost hear the roll of her eyes. “At least not this year.” she retorts, tightening her hold around your waist. Her touch conveys more comfort and reassurance than any words could.

Finally, a door opens, and you step inside. The air is dense with an indistinct ambiance, which your blindfolded eyes cannot interpret. Then, the sound of Natasha's voice reaches you; its flat, disinterested tone unmistakably belongs to her. “You didn’t have to blindfold her, Lena.” Natasha remarks with a bored drawl.

At that, the cloth falls away from your eyes to reveal the friends and family that your girlfriend has gathered for your birthday. The room doesn't erupt into the usual 'surprise!', instead, a warm, if a little disorganized, chorus of "happy birthday" greets you. As they rise from their seats to surround you, you hardly have time to identify everyone present.

Natasha is the first to approach, her arms wrapping around you in a quick hug. "Don't hog all the cake," she teases.

Laughing, you retort, "Three slices aren't too many."

A smirk tugs at her lips as she quips, "Not if you cut the cake into four pieces, you goof."

You shoot her a mock glare, which quickly melts into a smile. "Thanks for being here, Nat."

“It’s my third favorite day.” Natasha reasons fondly, having previously stated that her favorite days are Christmas, Yelena’s birthday and yours–in that particular order. As soon as she steps out of your embrace, another person takes their moment with you.

"Happy birthday, bud," Clint, the owner of this house in Staten Island, envelops you in a tight hug, his biceps squeezing your shoulders a bit too firmly. Despite him being primarily Natasha's friend, the two of you have shared enough meaningful conversations for you to regard him as a friend of your own.

"Great to see you, Clint. Thanks," you respond as you return his hug.

The real surprise, however, comes from seeing Scott as part of Yelena's plan. "Hey there, rockstar!" he greets you with a high-five instead of the usual hug, adding to the sense of novelty in the celebration.

“Scott!” You can't help but exclaim, pulling him into a spontaneous hug. He seems surprised at first, but then his arm circles around you in response, returning the unexpected show of affection.

"I heard you're doing really well at Stark Industries," he says proudly. "I always knew you had it in you."

"Wait, how did you know about that?" you question.

"They called me for a recommendation," he reveals with a smile.

The news that Scott played a role in securing your job prompts you to lunge back at him for another quick hug. “Finally, we can now start drinking!” he exclaims with a jovial pat on your back before making a beeline for the fridge to grab a cold beer.

The final guest to approach you is none other than your own mother. You sneak a glance at Yelena, her grin wide as she watches your surprised expression.

"Forgot to tell me about your new sweetheart, did you?" your mother gently teases, diverting her gaze from you to Yelena. "She's absolutely stunning and delightful. Happy birthday, my darling!"

Even though you’re not sure what to make of it, hearing your mother subtly hint at you that she likes Yelena gives you a sense of relief. But at the same time, it also makes you wonder what Yelena has that she never found in Wanda; how she went ahead and warmed up instantly to a month-old flame, but never to the woman who had been an integral part of your life for over a decade.

"Thanks, mom," you murmur, allowing her to plant kisses on both of your cheeks. She then mentions a pie she's working on in the kitchen before leaving you alone with Yelena. The rest of the group disperses, busying themselves with the dinner plans, except Scott, who contentedly sips his beer while puffing on a joint.

"How on earth did you manage to bring all these folks together?" you wonder, leading Yelena by the hand into a quieter bedroom. Yelena responds by draping her arms over your shoulders, as your hands find their place on her hips. This would probably be the moment you two will have alone for the next several hours, and she intends to savor each second of it.

Looking up at you through her dark, enticing lashes, she jests, “Ever heard of ‘preparation’? You might want to give it a go.” Her playful words are swiftly followed by her leaning in to steal a passionate kiss from you. For a brief spell, you just hold each other, appreciating the dear friends who've taken out time to celebrate your special day.

"Thank you," you whisper, planting a tender kiss on her nose.

"So, what do you make of all this? Your friends, your mom–all of them gathered here?" she asks.

Your answer comes in the form of a heavy sigh.

A medley of personalities under a single roof? It’s going to be a long day.

Dinner is served promptly at five in the afternoon, filling the air with the delightful aroma of home-cooked meals. The dining table is adorned with an array of dishes, a feast fit for a special occasion. The tantalizing scent of smoky barbecue, succulent steaks, and freshly caught lobsters wafts through the room, whetting everyone's appetite.

Seated around the table, sharing stories and laughter are the people who mean the most to you, even as you’d occasionally stare blankly at an empty chair, trying not to imagine a specific person sitting on it.

And then, when you least expect it, Natasha raises her glass, a sly smile on her lips. "To our incredibly lucky friend, who managed to survive another year without getting themselves into too much trouble. Happy birthday, I guess."

The room erupts in a languorous laughter, glasses clinking together as everyone joins in the toast, and then Scott, already nursing a buzz since around the time you arrived, suggests that your girlfriend give you a toast as well. Both you and Yelena blush at that, and then your mother claps eagerly, prompting Yelena to stand up, your steady gaze the only thing that’s tethering her as she prepares to give her message.

“Fate has a funny way of bringing people back together," Yelena starts her speech, a bit nervous addressing you with everyone, including your mother, watching. “Especially when you thought you’ve lost your chance with someone for good. Years ago, life took us down different roads, and we went our separate ways before college. We only reconnected last year, and I could have never guessed then where we would be now."

"Today, on this most special day, I raise my toast to second chances,” Yelena proclaims, her voice growing steadier with each word. “To the persistence of love that withstands the passage of time, the might of forgiveness, and the firm belief that two hearts meant to be together will always find their way back to each other.”

Tears prickle at the back of your eyes, threatening to fall. Second chances. Those words seem to hold so much more meaning now. They encapsulate both an idea and a reality–a reality crafted by the person pleading for this chance the most. In that moment, you realize that second chances are not merely given—they are earned, fought for, and nurtured. They require courage, vulnerability, and a willingness to embrace the unknown. It's a tender interplay between the echoes of the past and the whispers of tomorrow, a nuanced shift between clutching the remnants of what once was and boldly striding towards what could be.

"To Y/N, the one who holds my heart, thank you for coming back into my life and giving us this opportunity to be together again." Yelena concludes. As the clapping dies down, she strides towards you, her hand tenderly caressing your cheek. “Happy birthday,” she whispers.

You mouth the words, "Thank you," the syllables forming on your lips with an almost reverent hush. She gives you a blinding smile, opting to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, aware of her sister's presence and feeling a touch self-conscious to kiss you where she really wants to.

With the conversations shifting to lighter subjects and laughter filling the air, Clint's voice cuts through the lively chatter to share something with the group. His statement catches everyone's attention, and they turn their focus to him.

"You guys know I own a small practice in Brooklyn, right?"

Everybody nods except for your mother, who is meeting these people for the first time, with the exception of Natasha.

Caught in his reverie, Clint pushes on. "I believe I've bumped into Wanda a few times in the same building," he reflects. "Although, I don't think she has noticed me." Suddenly, he seems to recall the sensitive nature of the topic, his gaze flitting over to you and then Yelena, perhaps prompted by the pointed glare Natasha sends his way. He adds hastily, "No hard feelings about mentioning her, right? Just an observation, that's all."

Yelena locks eyes with you, as if letting be the judge of that. "It's okay," you tell Clint before taking a generous sip of your wine.

With your permission, he presses for more information. “I've seen her going to Dr. Calliope William's clinic,” he reveals. “The doc is a renowned psychiatrist and therapist who used to specialize in treating celebrities with substance abuse issues. But she's been relatively low-profile lately.”

“So, Wanda is her patient?” Natasha asks for confirmation.

“That’s right, although I never took Wanda for an addict.” comes Clint’s reply.

Though it’s the first time you’re hearing this, you're quick to dispel any misconceptions about your ex-wife. "She's not an addict," you state unequivocally.

Scott steps in. “Well, you haven't been in contact with her for a while. She could've slipped into that lifestyle without you knowing.”

Yelena clears her throat and then smiles wryly and says, “Actually, Y/N, has seen her recently.”

Natasha’s question slices through the atmosphere, sharp and demanding. “How recently?”

“Last week,” you admit. “And the week before that.”

Upon hearing your admission, Natasha noticeably squirms in her chair, avoiding meeting anyone's gaze. "I need some air," she mutters, quickly excusing herself as she dashes outside.

Noting Natasha's distressed reaction to your revelation, you rise from your seat, gesturing for Yelena to stay put, as you follow after Natasha.

This isn't exactly how you envisioned your birthday unfolding–then again, when you woke up this morning, you hadn't even remembered it was your birthday in the first place.

Stepping out into the brisk evening air, a shudder ripples through you. Natasha stands by the bonfire, her arms hugging her torso, the fire's enchanting light casting deep shadows on her tensed features.

“You haven't been entirely truthful with me, have you?” she asks, her gaze set on the flickering flames which paint the night in warm hues.

"Nat–"

“You could've told me when I came by your office. But instead, I have to hear it now, from my own sister of all people,” she articulates, her voice steady yet laced with sorrow. “And she seems fine with it, which I find hard to comprehend.”

“What are you insinuating?” you ask, annoyance seeping into your voice as you rake a hand through your hair. “I'm not doing anything that could hurt her. I have been straightforward with her from the onset–”

"If you genuinely believe you're not doing anything wrong, then you would've told me that you're still in touch with Wanda.” Natasha reasons, her gaze piercing as she drives home her point.

You open your mouth hotly, prepared to defend yourself, but Natasha raises a hand to cut you off before you can even begin.

"Because I can't think of any other reason why you would keep it from me–your best friend," Natasha declares.

“Natasha, I–” you really don’t know how to end this sentence, mostly because you’re not ready to admit that Natasha’s right. Natasha has always had an uncanny ability to see through your facades, to understand you even when you don't fully understand yourself.

In the end, you decide to lay it all out, starting from the beginning. You recount the moment when Wanda unexpectedly appeared at your apartment, only to be met by Yelena. You explain how you received a call from Vision, asking for your help to bring Wanda home. You tell her about Sparky’s delicate condition, the sole reason why Wanda sought you out. You explain your desire to have a civil relationship with Wanda, free from resentment, and your intention to move forward without completely cutting her out of your life.

Yet, Natasha just sneers at the last bit.

"Look, I get that you still have difficulty saying no to people and upsetting them because you’re such a fucking pushover sometimes," Natasha begins, her harsh tone making you wince. "But I know you better than anyone, and I can see that you still have feelings for her."

You attempt to cut in, but Natasha doesn't let up. "No, let me finish," she insists. "I've seen you go through this before. You're always trying to find a way to keep people in your life, even when it's not healthy for you or for them."

Her words hit you hard, and despite the obvious discomfort and hurt look on your face, Natasha continues, her tone compassionate yet insistent, "Sometimes, in order to truly move on and find happiness, you need to cut off certain people from your life. It's not easy, and it may hurt in the short term, but it's necessary for your own well-being and for the sake of your current relationship."

A lump forms in your gut as Natasha's words sink in. Deep down, you know she may have a point, yet accepting it feels like a difficult pill to swallow. You value her opinion and know that she only wants the best for you, even if it's hard to hear.

"I understand that it's not an easy decision to make," Natasha adds, her tone softening. "But I don't want to see you hurt Yelena or yourself in the process. You deserve a fresh start. You can’t be living in the present with one foot in the past."

“The world isn’t black or white, Nat. You seriously can’t mean that the only way I can move on is to hurt someone’s feelings.”

"I know you have a big heart, and that's one of the things I love about you," she says earnestly. “But if you hurt my sister because of Wanda, I can’t promise you that this won’t come between us.”

Once again, your mouth opens to say something, but the words continue to elude you.

“I know that’s a lot to take in and I should go. I really do wish you a happy birthday.” Following that, Natasha heads back inside only to say goodbye to everyone.

Your mother finds you in one of the bedrooms, gazing out the window while Yelena and Clint busy themselves clearing the table and washing the dishes after dinner. Meanwhile, Scott has already dozed off in the living room, clearly done for the night.

“You have the same look you had at your dad's funeral,” she says to you, as she steps in and gently closes the door behind her.

You offer a weak smile at your mother’s lack of filter.

“Thank you for being here, mom,” you say, your steps laden as you approach your mother, who stands uncertainly next to a petite, pink children's wardrobe. It's only then that you recognize you've strayed into one of Clint's daughter's rooms. There's an undeniable innocence to the space, a sense of tranquility that pulls you back to a time when life was simpler, and your family hadn't been burdened by impacts of your father's passing and the subtle strain it has put on your relationship with your mother over the years.

You envelop her in a hug. She feels so tiny and fragile in your arms, so different from the woman whose anger you used to cower from, whose opinion always intimidated you as a teenager–who used to carry you home when you’ve exhausted yourself in the playground near where you grew up.

Life seems like a long, winding road when you look at it from a child's perspective. And sometimes it stays that way even as an adult, with various distractions vying for your attention. But in reality, while there are still many years left in you, you may very well be nearing the end of your time with some of the most important people in your life. Your mother, at 60 years old, stands before you. Taking into account the current average human lifespan, she probably has about 30 summers left–and among those remaining summers, it's uncertain which ones you'll be fortunate enough to fully share with her. Even if it's just a single day per summer, that amounts to a mere 30 precious days left with her. You're approaching the endgame.

In your mind, you can't appreciate Yelena enough for involving your mother in this intimate gathering.

"She's quite determined, that girl," your mother exhales on your shoulder. "I can see that she's good for you."

"She is," you respond with a faint smile.

"But why does it seem like it's not enough?"

“What do you mean? It’s been a long day. Nat and I got into a heated argument–”

“This doesn't seem like Natasha's doing at all, dear. Every time I've seen you appear as though the world is closing in on you, it's always been because of her.”

Wanda.

Taken aback, you retreat, needing room to digest her words. Your jaw tightens as you counter, "That's a very unfair assumption you're making."

Your mother gently suggests, "It's merely an observation–"

“You don’t get to tell me what I feel–not when you never gave Wanda the chance you’re giving to Yelena now. Don’t pretend now that you knew anything about how important Wanda is–was to me.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think–”

"Of course it matters!" The words exploding from your mouth would likely echo downstairs, if not for the loud music that Clint turned on to mask Scott’s snores.

“It has always mattered to me,” you continue, quietly now. “It mattered to me that the two people I love most in the world loved each other.” Your voice fades into a hushed tone, and the silence lingers, broken only by the sound of your breathing.

“I... I did love Wanda. How could I not? She brought so much happiness into your life. I just couldn't bring myself to like her," she says, defeatedly. Slowly, she makes her way to the window, standing in the very spot where you had previously stood. The view outside is truly enchanting—a moonlit scene painted in shades of blue, casting ethereal shadows that seem to belong only in fairytales.

If only life were as simple as a fairytale, where everyone could find their happy ending. Perhaps then, on your birthday, all your wishes would have a chance to come true.

“Why?” you ask.

Your mother looks over her shoulder with a questioning look.

"Why don't you like Wanda?" you press.

"You might think I'm being irrational," she warns.

“Try me.” you challenge, eager to hear whatever her reasons are.

With a sigh, she relents. "Well, I guess I've struggled with the notion that Wanda has provided all the love and support you need, leaving no space for me anymore. And for a while, it seemed that way."

“Mom–”

“It’s true, honey,” she continues. “When your father passed away… being left alone to raise a child was a burden. Your father had always been better than me. He knew how to communicate with you–basically everything there is about being a good parent. So, I relied heavily on him. But when he was gone, I felt utterly lost... I saw you as this enormous responsibility that he left in my care, and that's why, as you've noticed while growing up, I was often a bit angry.”

She pauses, shrinking away, letting the silence creep back in as she gathers her thoughts.

“You needed me all along. Just like you sought out your father, you looked for him in me, as if hoping to find a part of him that lives on. And surprisingly, instead of feeling burdened, it became my source of comfort. I became dependent on your dependence on me. I found joy in being needed and believed I could provide everything necessary for your happiness. Your happiness was your father’s priority. I definitely took a backseat when you were born. But then I learned why–because you’re the most wonderful thing to ever happen to us.

“And then Wanda came along, like a beacon.” she says. Wanda entered the picture long before your mother got to meet her. She effortlessly dominated your conversations, each call becoming an ode to her presence. Your decisions and availability always revolved around Wanda.

Your mother saw the danger in that because it meant that Wanda, while being the key to your happiness, was also your greatest undoing.

“I never abandoned you, mom.” you say, a soft, sad declaration.

"I know, sweetheart. My reservations about Wanda had nothing to do with you or your actions. It was the fear that if she ever broke your heart, it would change you in ways I couldn't bear to see. And now, I witness that change unfolding before my eyes. As your mother, it pains me to see my daughter living a half-life."

“I'm not... it's not what you think..." you try to protest, but your voice falters; something wet hits your hands on your lap, and it dawns on you that you've started crying.

“You’re not living. You’re surviving,” she softly reiterates. “You may not want to admit it right now, but as your mother, I want you to know that I see you. You never have to hide from me because I will always look at you with love and understanding, never with judgment."

“I don't know what to do," you whisper, covering your face with your hands, your fingers scratching at your scalp in frustration. You feel your mother settle beside you, her arm wrapping around your shoulders, offering a comforting presence.

"Because you love Yelena too?" she asks tentatively.

You nod. “I really do.”

***

In the afternoon, Second Chances radiates a serene atmosphere, bathed in the glowing, honey-hued light of the setting sun filtering through its windows. A scant number of patrons fill the snug interior, sipping their drinks in solitude, lost in their own personal spheres. Wanda is nestled at a corner table, with a piece of cake served on a dainty plate before her. It's the final slice of the birthday cake she had lovingly prepared for you, and she delights in each mouthful, luxuriating in the sweet caramel's contrast with the dark chocolate's bitterness.

As Wanda savors her final bite, Agatha approaches, her fingers already retrieving a pack of cigarettes from her sweater. "Hey, Wanda," she murmurs, gesturing towards the exit. "Fancy a smoke break? The crisp fall air might do us some good."

"I'd prefer a walk, actually. I quit smoking a while ago," Wanda proposes, already on her feet, carrying her plate and fork to the kitchen. With a nod of understanding, Agatha waits patiently by the entrance.

There’s only a few more hours before your birthday comes to an end. She clings to her phone, fingers hovering over the screen, drafting and redrafting messages that remain unsent. Time is slipping through her fingers, and uncertainty clouds her mind. Will you be available to read her words? Will she have the courage to press send?

Yet, the fear of rejection and the unknown continues to hold her back.

"How are you holding up?" Agatha's voice pierces the silence, yanking Wanda back to the present.

"Okay, I guess," Wanda responds, her hands and phone disappearing into her pockets for warmth.

"You can be yourself around me, you know? I'm no longer your boss," Agatha assures, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "In fact, the roles have reversed now, haven't they?"

Wanda closes her eyes, her face tilting skyward, as she lets out a quiet sigh, "I miss her. I miss us."

Agatha nods in understanding. Throughout the day, she's watched Wanda's forced cheerfulness, a thinly veiled attempt to hide her longing for something—someone—gone. Often, she'd see Wanda gazing at nothing in particular, her body present, but her soul evidently elsewhere.

She attempts to find words of comfort, but realizes that a shot of tequila would likely do a better job of it.

“Have you wished her a happy birthday yet?” Agatha gently asks.

"I've been trying to, but I can't seem to find the right words," Wanda admits.

“How about just ‘happy birthday’?”

A soft laugh escapes Wanda at this. It's bittersweet how everyone else can simply wish you with ease, while her own vocabulary falls short in expressing the depth of her feelings.

"I'm overthinking, I know," Wanda murmurs, her foot idly nudging a stone on the sidewalk.

Agatha’s eyes soften. “When you look at it, much of what makes us suffer happens inside here,” she says, tapping a finger to the side of her head. “Our fears are often our own creation.”

Wanda ponders on Agatha's words for a while, the weight of self-imposed expectations sinking in. She wishes she hadn't set such high expectations for herself and instead had embraced the simplicity of greeting you with a heartfelt "happy birthday" from the start.

Her heart sinks as she contemplates the missed opportunity. The moment feels like it has passed, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand. Texting you now would seem forced, as if she's just randomly remembered your birthday and is sending a trivial greeting like one you'd give to an acquaintance. But in reality, she had been thinking about your birthday since the beginning of October, carefully crafting and deleting messages, obsessing endlessly over a simple message.

As she walks with Agatha, the city lights flickering around them, Wanda wonders when she'll finally find the courage to tell you how much you still mean to her. She wants to tell you about the cake she baked for you, how it became an instant hit and customers are already requesting it to be added to the menu. She can almost see the joy in your eyes as you take your first bite, the taste as sweet as the memory.

She wants to tell you about her journey with Calliope, wants to reminisce about your past birthdays, the shared laughter and inside jokes that have never lost their charm even after all these years.

She tries not to think about the last times, however. Or she’ll never stop grieving.

“I hate to sound like a cliche, but Wanda?” Agatha says.

“Yes?”

“Just fucking do it.” Agatha tells her, no nonsense.

Wanda nods, pressing her lips tightly together.

"Headed straight home after your shift?" Agatha asks once they wind up back to the cafe’s entrance.

Wanda shakes her head, her eyes wandering aimlessly in the distance. "No, I think I'm going to go for a run first. Clear my head."

“And then you’ll fucking do it?”

Wanda simply smiles.

***

“I'm sorry about Nat,” Yelena murmurs as you both finally arrive back home. The drive was filled with an uneasy silence, punctuated by sporadic remarks about the ever-worsening Manhattan traffic. "And I'm sorry that I probably triggered your fight.”

You let out a weary sigh, the exhaustion of the day seeping into your bones. “It’s not your fault,” you say. “It was going to happen sooner or later anyway. I think I’d be pissed at me too if I were in her shoes.”

Yelena makes a sound of agreement as she begins to undress, preparing for a much-needed shower to wash away the remnants of the day.

“Does it bother you?” you ask. “Me seeing Wanda all those times?”

“It does,” she admits, her gaze steady on you. “But I think I understand it’s hard for you to simply cut off someone who has been your constant for the last decade.

"I can't say it doesn't sting," she continues, her voice calm despite the depth of the admission. "I want you to be able to move forward, but I also know that it's not something you can do overnight. It takes time." she says and then disappears into the bathroom to start filling the tub.

You let out a sigh. You wish it were as easy as flipping a switch. "I don’t deserve you," you say, sincerity in your tone.

Yelena smiles at you and then says, “Don’t make that conclusion yet because I have one more surprise for you.”

"There's more?" you ask, your gaze flicking up to meet Yelena's in amazement.

From under the bed, Yelena hauls out a sizable box, causing you to laugh and wonder how long it’s been hiding there.

"What's this?" you question as she strides over to you, the box in hand.

"Go ahead and open it," she encourages. It's loosely wrapped in parchment paper, so it doesn't take you long to remove the lid.

The contents of the box halt you in your tracks. A memory from another time flashes before your eyes as you gaze, uncertain, at the identical puzzle that Wanda gifted you years ago, the puzzle you had worked on with your father.

"I know we already have a similar one hanging in our room," Yelena says, "But it's pretty worn out. I came across this copy accidentally and knew right away that it’ll be perfect. We can put this one together.”

It’s unexpected but thoughtful. And you feel like the universe is mocking you right now.

“Thank you,” you whisper to Yelena, drawing her in for a brief, tender kiss. Yelena hums happily against your lips.

“You’re welcome,” she says, and then disappears into the bathroom.

You sink into the couch to rest for a bit, undecided if you also want to join Yelena in the bath. In the meantime, you unlock your phone and navigate to your Facebook profile, curious to read the birthday wishes posted on your wall. You meticulously scan through each notification, hoping to spot a particular name—the person who had always been the first to celebrate your day and the last to share your joy as it wound down. Yet, as you sift through the comments and messages, both public and personal, her name is conspicuously missing.

Following that, you check your text messages. There's a standard birthday greeting from your credit card company, along with a slew of generic messages from different businesses that have somehow gotten hold of your information.

But, there's nothing from Wanda.

You tell yourself it's probably better this way.

Several minutes later, Yelena steps out of the bathroom, draped only in a towel. The sight of her kindles a warmth within your chest.

“Other than the thing with Nat, did you enjoy your birthday?” she asks.

“I did,” you reply honestly, walking towards her and gently pressing a sweet kiss on her neck. “But after eating so much, I feel like I need to burn off some calories. Would you mind if I went for a run?"

“It’s your birthday,” Yelena's smile brushes against your lips, somewhat relieved. “Do whatever you want for whatever time is left of it. I'll be here when you get back."

***

"Baby, I'm so sorry. I lost track of time, and just..." you call out to your wife as soon as you close the door behind you. Wanda steps out from the kitchen, cradling Sparky in her arms, her eyes swollen and glistening with fresh tears. Clearly, she has been crying for a while.

Wanda tries to respond, but her voice cracks, and only broken sobs escape her lips.

"Hey," you murmur, hastily discarding your belongings on the floor and instantly making your way to her side. "What's happened? Why are you crying?"

"I've been so worried. You weren't answering my calls. It’s a new town. And I want to be so mad at you right now, but it's your birthday, and I really, really hate you right now..." Her words fragment into disjointed sobs; her voice quivers the more she tries to articulate her feelings.

Gently, you take Sparky from her arms, setting him on the floor so that you can envelop Wanda in your arms unimpeded.

"I'm here now," you murmur into her hair as she nestles herself in your neck impossibly closer. Dinner reservations had been made months in advance to celebrate your 29th, but earlier today, a board meeting took an unexpected turn, forcing you to cancel on Wanda. She had been understanding, deciding to just cook your favorite meals instead. That conversation took place exactly eight hours ago, and since then, Wanda hadn't heard from you at all.

“You can’t do that. I can’t bear the thought of something bad happening to you, not on your birthday or any other day of the year," she sobs, her tears dampening the fabric of your shirt as she buries herself further into your embrace.

Guilt gnaws at you, sinking its teeth deeper with each passing moment. Lately, work has been demanding, occupying your time and energy, leaving you with little to spare for anything else–even Wanda. With Scott's mention of a potential promotion looming over your head, the pressure has only intensified.

Both of you had hoped that today, of all days, would be different, but it seemed you were swallowed up again – caught in the relentless tide of deadlines and emergency meetings.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm here now," you soothe, peppering her with tender kisses wherever your lips can reach.

You feel Wanda’s meek nod, and then she says, “Have you eaten at least? I can warm the food–”

“Later,” you say, holding her even tighter, as if trying to merge your souls together so you'll never have to be apart again. “Let’s just stay like this for a while.”

***

Running doesn’t clear Wanda’s head like it’s supposed to–like she’s expected it to.

As she runs through the sprawling expanse of Central Park, her thoughts race just as rapidly. The rhythmic pounding of her feet on the pavement fails to provide the clarity she had hoped for. Instead, each stride seems to bring her closer to the haunting words she had crafted but never sent to you. They dance before her eyes, tormenting her with their unsent weight, urging her to confront them.

Breathless and weary, Wanda slows her pace, finally acknowledging that literally running away from her wants will not trump them down. On the contrary, they amplify, persisting stubbornly until she finds herself reaching for the phone strapped to her arm, determined to compose the message she's been contemplating, but still uncertain of what to say to you.

Wanda patiently waits for her heart rate to return to normal as she types a tentative opener.

Hey! Y/N!!!

She grimaces at the excessive use of exclamation points.

Hey, Y/N

But that doesn't feel quite right either. Doesn’t sound cheerful or celebratory at the very least.

Wanda shivers as a cool breeze sweeps over her, causing her drenched t-shirt to cling to her skin. She’d probably catch a cold faster than she can hit that send button.

Your legs are burdened, yet not as heavily as your heart. This birthday has turned out to be the most emotionally taxing event of your life, surpassing even the first one you faced after your father's passing. The physical weariness from your run does little to alleviate the thought that Wanda didn't reach out to you at all.

You start questioning why it hits you so hard—why receiving a message from her feels so crucial. As you search for answers within yourself, you're confronted with a disquieting realization: you don't want Wanda to get over you.

Or maybe it's not the fear of her moving on that you struggle with. Because that would be utterly selfish on your part (wouldn’t it?).

Maybe–just maybe–you don’t want to be forgotten. Not by someone who left an indelible mark on your life and had stripped away every piece of your identity. Someone who held your heart in her hand for more than a decade.

Being forgotten so easily makes you feel insignificant. And you’re shocked that it could even hurt more than her initial betrayal–that it could leave you questioning your own worth.

It’s pathetic that one text can unravel you this way.

Your footsteps gradually come to a halt as you walk away from the running path. And then as you approach a quiet intersection that’s dimly lit by a single, flickering lamp post, you find the very person you’ve been waiting for all day.

There, under the shelter of a Sugar Maple tree, stands Wanda. She’s anxiously nipping at her fingernails, caught up in something that’s unknown to you.

Central Park is a sprawling oasis, a world of its own within the bustling concrete jungle. Its vastness is almost overwhelming, with winding paths and hidden corners that seem to stretch endlessly. The chances of stumbling upon someone you know in this labyrinthine expanse are incredibly slim, like finding a needle in a haystack.

In spite of the odds, there you are, simultaneously existing in the same space. Watching Wanda pace and clutch her phone sends waves of amazement through you. That you've both somehow found each other in this vast park at this exact moment overwhelms you with incredulity—it's bordering on unnerving.

For now, you remain undetected. You quietly take in her every action, the soft furrows of her brow as she broods, the subtle parting and pressing of her lips as she attempts to vocalize her internal monologue.

It’s an endearing sight, and it’s only then that you realize how much you miss Wanda. Maybe not in the way that you miss her when you were married to her, but just her steady presence. There is a certain peace that comes with her being in your life, a feeling that is difficult to put into words.

Wanda, oblivious to your watchful gaze, finishes the final(she swears it) draft of her greeting to you.

Hey, Y/N! I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday! I hope you had an amazing time. I simply wish you happiness and good health–always. Thank you for being born and the privilege of knowing you.

It’s all she wants to say–except for one thing:

That she loves you and always will.

But it doesn’t need to be said. Not by her. Not right now. And Wanda figures that’s okay. If her love for you needs to survive on its own, she is more than willing to hold it close and let it burn brightly within her.

Love always has somewhere to go.

It's because of her love for you that Wanda will continue to nurture the Chrysanthemums she has at home. She will care for Sparky with all her heart and give him the love and attention he deserves. She will keep growing and striving to be the person you've always believed her to be.

And before she can retract what she's typed, her thumb accidentally presses the send button. Wanda's eyes widen in panic as she realizes what she has done. She quickly takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and willing herself to calm down. It's out there now, and whatever happens, whether you read it or not, she won’t have to think about it anymore. She surmises that, in itself, is a win.

The message lands in your inbox within seconds. Your forgetfulness to switch your phone to silent mode means its arrival resonates in the quiet, drawing Wanda's attention.However, by then, your intrigue has already taken over, causing you to miss the exact moment her gaze finds you, concealed in the dimness. The glow from your phone screen illuminates your face as you digest her message.

You go over the message repeatedly, with every word causing a wider smile to form on your face. By the time you decide that you’ve had your fill of Wanda’s text, she’s gotten close enough for you to catch the green in her eyes.

“Y/N?” Wanda blinks, questioning whether she's just imagining you.

“I got your message,” you say, laughing a little, the sound of it coming off a little watery. “I… thank you.”

Wanda instantly forgets what she has just written. All that matters is that you’re there in front of her, and you seem happy about what you’ve read.

"I’ve–"

"I–"

You both start talking at the same time, then stop, chuckling at the coincidental timing.

"I'll defer to the birthday girl," Wanda whispers with a playful smirk.

"I've missed you," the words leave your mouth before doubt can dissuade you. Wanda seems to freeze at your admission – she wasn't expecting to hear from you, let alone those three words.

Before Wanda could respond, she feels herself being drawn into your arms, your warmth seeping through her being. “Me too,” Wanda sighs against her will, as if she’s finally returned home.

Eventually, you both break away, wearing matching bashful smiles on your faces.

“I was wondering if you, maybe, want to get a bite to eat?” she asks.

The vigorous run made you a little hungry, and you’re not ready to let go of Wanda just yet.

“As long as it’s my treat.” you say.

Later, you find yourselves seated in a well-lit restaurant in the heart of Chinatown. Your conversation revolves around stories from your shared past, reminiscing about college and the friends you haven't seen in a while. You tease Wanda about only learning how to use a chopstick when she met you.

You ask about Wanda’s coffee shop, and express your genuine happiness for her to see it thriving. She shares random anecdotes about her customers, and you can't help but feel a sense of pride for Wanda and her ability to create not just a business, but a world of its own.

When Wanda inquires about your work at Stark Industries, you eagerly explain the current project you're managing. You throw around some financial terms that she might not understand. Still, Wanda's eyes light up with genuine interest as she absorbs your words. Even if she doesn't completely get the complexities of your job, she does see how passionate you are about it. The excitement you exhibit when discussing your work is infectious, and it makes her smile to see how much you enjoy what you do.

You and Wanda carefully skirt around discussions of the divorce or Yelena. Nonetheless, Wanda voices her joy at seeing you thrive in your work and new relationship–to which you merely respond with a restrained smile.

Throughout your evening together, a pair of envious eyes watches from afar. They hold a storm of jealousy and deep yearning, overshadowing the pure moment you and Wanda share.

Vision wonders if it’s too late for some kind of revenge.

***

You return to Yelena late in the evening.

"You seem in high spirits," Yelena observes, her tone barely audible as she busies herself tidying up the kitchen.

"It's probably the endorphins from the run," you respond, peeling off your shirt which has dried since your time with Wanda.

Yelena gives a knowing nod. "I can see that. You were gone for quite some time."

You hum noncommittally as you move towards the shower, not picking up on Yelena’s subtle hint, leaving her alone with her thoughts about how a simple run could bring you more joy than all the thoughtful surprises she'd planned for the day.