#nothing against John Mayer

[starsexplodeatnight]

Cod Guys x Reader!

~First time you’re intimate~

Minors do not engage! You are not fucking wanted here! Go be a kid while you still can! You’ll have 30 chasing at your heels before you know it.

I always start with Price:

3 months into your relationship

M’fucker puts on divorced dad rock. Because he’s not had a lot of time for romance in the past- er decade or so- shut up. He’s a bit… rusty? No, his moves are solid. He’s just a bit of a time capsule from when he was in his twenties and Mr smooth.

What do you mean ‘Hinders’ Lips of an Angel is ‘divorced dad rock’ what the hell’s that mean?

He’ll have planned this sweet, romantic, night for the both of you. He made dinner, look at him: he’s a provider. You try not to laugh but, it’s cute how he’s trying and in a way? He’s succeeding.

Just because you’re onto his tricks doesn’t mean they’re not working.

Then, he puts on his ‘mood music’ he used to put on in the past when he was romancing the ~ladies~ and oh- your lips purse in your best attempt at not giggling. He’s being so cute and you don’t want to pop his bubble.

He sees it though, as he hands you a glass of wine. “Somethin’ wrong bird?” His confidence is there, a little smirk. He wants to know what’s so funny. You shake your head, eyes cast to the side, as you take a sip of wine.

“Mmmmm- nothing, nothing.” He chuckles and sits down next to you, still acting so smooth. “Come on, out with it luv.” And he leans in close.

He’s so handsome…

Then ‘Let her cry’ by Hootie and the Blowfish comes on and you nearly shoot wine out your nose, turning away from him, choking as you try not to laugh.

He, surprised, helps you calm down, patting your back to help you as you cough. “What’s the matter with you? You makin’ fun of me luv?” He cooed, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. You’re embarrassed with yourself. “Oh John… this is so sweet, very romantic.”

“But?” “You need to turn off the divorced dad rock sweet pea, I’m so sorry.” You say with an apologetic wince. “Divorce dad rock? I-“ He looks at his speakers, then back at you. “The bloody hell is that?”

“Nothing we need to discuss right now.” And you reach over, turning it off yourself. He shook his head, “s’long as you’re happy luv.” And he leans in, pressing his nose against yours as he gives you a sweet kiss. Simultaneously pushing you back to lay against the couch….

Next is Soap!:

This dork is smooth, it’s not fair.

Rough housing after you two come home from a cute dinner date, he’s got you by the waist from behind. He’s giving your neck those dramatic kisses, that are so fucking ticklish. You two are so giggly and stupid and you! And neither of you are even drunk… just… happy.

Both of you pause, his chest against your back as you both try and breathe. Get air back in your lungs…. His face tucks in your neck, both of you staring off into space. Both thinking about the same thing but both waiting for the other to say something first.

It’s been about 1 month of dating and you’d both hadn’t done anything yet, just getting to know each other before anything sexual happened. And it’s been *fun.*

He starts the kisses on your neck again, a lot less dramatic and much more sensual. His arms still locked ‘round your waist.

“S’this okay?” You melt a bit into his arms. “Yes.”

He groans, breathing in deeply and gave your ass a deep strong hump that completely jolts you forward. That made your face so fucking hot.

He puts on ‘your body is a wonderland’ by John Mayer and unlike Price? It works. He’s just- it works! It’s cheesy but, unlike Price who’s trying to have a deep, romantic, moment and chose wrong. Soap is giggly, playful and cheeky during sex.

He’s only ‘serious’ when he’s not in a good headspace, like after a long grueling mission… the rest of the time?it’s so giggly and stupid.

Gaz my darling!:

It’s a curated experience that makes you feel like a princess…. With an impending feeling of being the princess of a porn flick.

Because! As romantic, sweet and charming as he is: he’s still a cheeky fucking shit. Boyish charming and sexy aren’t supposed to mix! … right!?

When you two talk about taking the next step and having sex? He grins his pretty grin and bites his lip before kissing your cheek and darting off to ‘plan’

“Wear something pretty luv’” He called to tell you. The look on his face when you do show up dressed all pretty? You’d think you’d hung the stars in the sky…

Hands you flowers, said he got them from this sweet shop his Captain’s wife works at. They’re beautiful… so much thought and care…

That’s what happens the entire night. So much thought and care and effort has been put into this that it makes you teary eyed. He orders for you at the restaurant, orders something from the pastry case to take home and god-

You get back to your apartment and, it’s lit up with fairy lights. He doesn’t do the typical roses and candles, no. Fairy lights, diffuser with warm vanilla and champagne- yeah it’s time to be sweet on him. You’d think he was going to propose or something!!!

Partners give and take. He romanced the hell out of you and made you feel special? Your turn now. He’s going to take everything you give him, even if he’s trembling.

“Love you Kyle.” “Love you too lovie…”

Classical covers of pop songs in the back… it’s romantic and sweet not too giggly not too serious…

Ghost!:

As much as much as Mr Big and Bad wants to pound your ass into the mattress and crack the wall with your headboard? He… he has issues lovie.

He takes the longest to have sex. Why? His trauma. One second he’s horny as hell rabbiting his hips into your butt then the other he does NOT feel like being touched. He feels bad, feels like he’s cheating you out of something but… how can he apologize for something out of his control?

You two have a talk about it because Simon, as much as he hates talking? He doesn’t want to lose a sweetie like you so he grunts out a few words to explain himself. You piece it together and well, what kind of partner would you be if you didn’t have his best interests at heart.

You understand. This man has trudged through hell over broken glass with no shoes. You can handle yourself in private moments until he’s worked through his problems. As long as he promises to work on them. No more dragging his feet in hesitation.

He needs to work on himself, the thought of being able to take that step with you? That helps. He doesn’t tell his therapist that even when the therapist asks him why he’s suddenly taking this seriously and booking appointments properly instead of going to just the mandatory monthly.

He waits until you’re having fun one night, he can hear the ‘bzzz’ of the toy and he creeps in the room. Lays on the bed on his belly between your legs and takes it away from you. Sets it aside. “This okay?”

Oh, it’s more than okay.

The kids in your preschool ask you why you’re limping. Oh look! Uh- we’re finger painting today!

Another one for inappropriate music choice except he doesn’t change it. He tries to nail you to the beat of ‘in the end’ by Linkin Park… he takes you up on your challenge and says yeah? I can change your mind!

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

part 15 - we’re all misunderstood

"Me and all my friends, we're all misunderstood. They say we stand for nothing and there's no way we ever could." -Waiting On The World To Change by John Mayer

Masterlist Part 14

The Watchtower was a marvel of engineering and fortitude, constantly in orbit above Earth among the star-studded void of space.

Just a quick glance out of the meeting hall window had proved to the Regent that her little brother would love it here. He’d inherited the innovative side of Fentonworks more than she, so the combination of one of his obsessions and tech to fiddle with was a dream come true. 

(She’d inherited the ruthlessness of Maddie Fenton.) 

Batman, the Dark Knight her little brother had trusted and the father of her soulmate, tapped away at a tablet in hand before turning his focus to her at ease form, hands clasped behind her back. Wonder Woman stood at her side and Superman at the other. A flanking maneuver it seemed. 

The Regent would’ve been offended if they didn’t consider her a threat, despite her willingness to discuss war prevention between the Infinite Realms and the Living Realm. Her armor alone was meant to be intimidating at first appearance, but it was the woman sealed into it that gave off the vibes of ‘Approach with caution’. She was a Warrior, not a pacifist,and everything she presented about herself was meant to signify that. 

However, the Regent was trained by the Ancient of Peace and would demand a peaceful resolution to a crisis rather than conflict, even if the Liminal had no desire for a battle against the Justice League. 

Constantine was a familiar presence in the room. The Laughing Magician had a soft spot for her little brother, but she felt the claim she had of his soul. It was cracked and missing so many pieces, but it was still a good one. The Sad Trenchcoat Man might’ve been a career drunk and conman, but that didn’t mean he was unnecessarily bad. 

He wouldn’t be here if he was. 

The man in question spoke first, much to the obvious surprise of those present, “How’s Phantom?” 

Her helmet turned to face him down where he sat a few feet away, an unopened flask resting on his thigh, “He is fine. Would you like me to pass on a message?” 

Constantine seemed to relax for a moment before shaking his head, “Nah, the kid bugs me enough.” 

“Regent.” Batman interrupted. “We would appreciate it if you could answer some questions we have regarding some disturbing files we received from Phantom.” 

The Liminal nodded, “I suspected as much. I cannot speak much on behalf of the King or others not present, but I will answer what I can truthfully.” 

“Thank you, My Lady, for your willingness to discuss such things with us.” Wonder Woman offered with sincerity in her words. 

The Regent shook her helmeted head, “I’d rather peace than be across from one another on the battlefield, Princess.” 

“Wisely so.” 

The Knight tapped on his tablet again, a projection of one of the Ghost Files documents spreading across the wall behind the Bat, the man in question returning his attention to her. 

“Why does the King require a Regent?” 

If Bruce was being honest, which he was, he’d rather be anywhere else than here in the Watchtower about to helm peace talks between the Infinite Realms and Earth. He’d rather be eating dinner with his children, questioning Phantom about Jason’s whereabouts, or even on patrol- anywhere but here. 

It wasn���t even the presence of the armored woman who’d answered in place of the King Constantine had been asked to summon, rather Bruce wanted nothing to do with the Death Energy he felt in lapses radiating from the Regent that felt… cleaner than that of what Ra’s Al Ghul or Talia had. 

Bruce wanted answers. 

But he also wanted to be anywhere but here. 

He supposed it was his self-preservation instincts trying to get him away from the being that’s been summoned, he had no choice but to stay though. 

“The King is too young.” The Regent replied evenly, hands clasped in front of her stomach, much like Diana would when trying to demonstrate that she’s prepared to draw her sword at a given moment. “There is still much for him to learn and experience before he is ready for the Crown.” 

Batman hummed, even though Constantine spluttered in shock- “A kid defeated Pariah Dark in single combat?” 

“Yes.” 

“There are some questions that we would like to have recorded for the record, would you be amenable to this?” Batman interrupts, “We would also discuss public use.” 

Regent nods, helmet tinting a darker green as the Watchtower lights slant across it for a brief moment. “I accept, though there are some answers that are not mine to give.” The woman takes a breath, “I cannot give the identity of the King without his permission, nor can I discuss how or when he died.”

“Is there a particular reason why?” Superman asks. “It is considered taboo to ask a ghost anything related to their death because it can cause them to relieve it.” A pause, “Ghosts, or Ecto-Entites, are a fighting-based culture. They are beings of varying intelligence, thoughts, and emotions- sentient and sapient, much like humans and aliens. Capable of great things, both good and evil.” 

Bruce processed those words, a pit of horror forming in his chest. How many times has this woman said those exact words, hoping for them to be heard? They were eloquent, with the formality that hinted at diplomatic training, but with so much hope that it almost physically hurt. 

Capable of great things, both good and evil. 

Wasn’t that the choice Bruce made every time he put on the cowl? Anytime one of his kids got hurt and he felt such rage in his bones? He made the choice every day to do good and while it may not be great in the broader scale of things, it was to somebody somewhere. That was what it meant to be alive, to have free will, to exist. 

Now he finally understood why Phantom gave him the Ghost Files. 

He needed this. This confrontation of what it means to exist outside of Bats and Birds, the cowl and the mask, as a being. Would Bruce have listened had he not seen the Files? If he hadn’t seen the inhumanity committed upon the inhuman? What evil would he have perpetuated had he refused to listen? 

(Tim might think he had been the only one to watch the video of Danny Fenton’s death.)

(He was wrong.)(What if he hadn’t heard the wail?)(What if he hadn’t seen the rebirth of Fenton to Phantom?) 

With all the bloodshed the GIW had on their collective hands, they would not go quietly. 

The Regent had emphasized their zealot tendencies, hypocritical ideology perpetuated by the Drs. Fentons and somewhat lackluster training, but exceedingly advanced technology geared explicitly towards Ecto-Entities in her testimony to the Justice League in the hours that followed. Several examples from the Ghost Files were explained and expanded on, including the destruction of the Casper High Gym which resulted in the death of a faculty member and the maiming of a student. Evidence of the town roads being utterly demolished, what looks like the aftermath of war being the norm for the citizens as they try to go about their daily lives. 

She had prepared to discuss all the above, and gone through various questions she’d been expecting from the League, but she had steadfastly avoided thoughts of the GIW’s unethical experimentation. Naturally, the League began this particular section with the Files’ opened to what Danny, Tucker, and Sam had included, a warning issued to all present that what they were about to watch was grotesque and to leave the room if they felt unable to hold the contents of their stomachs. 

The Regent was an older sister, a daughter, a leader, and a warrior- but she was still only able to take so much. (She hadn’t known the Fentons recorded Danny’s Phantom’s vivisection.)

(She hadn’t known they called each other sweetie and fudge-kins while digging in his chest cavity.)

Fury was a familiar enemy and friend in equal breaths, existing in the space between her ribs and her heart, trapped by a cage of bone and will. 

Fury echoed by her mirror image that entered the camera frame, sword first and merciless as she gutted Jack Fenton. 

(Regret was nowhere to be found.)(Shame had no place here.)

“By Realms Law 2127 subsection 32f paragraph 3: liminals, mortals, all in between may be promptly judged and or executed on grounds of threat to End a protector spirit or child. May also be decreed as battlefield law when faced with a sufficiently armed opponent and or external force.” The Regent recited monotonously. “Drs. Fenton also could have been tried for Invasion by opening the portal, but Phantom was able to give them a pardon.” 

“On what grounds?” Wonder Woman questioned, “He is a protector spirit, yes?” 

“Yes, which allowed the previous Law to be enacted and legal. By him acting within Amity Park and using Fenton tech to catch Ghosts, he gave them a pardon by an unspoken alliance.” 

“An alliance they broke,” Batman this time was clearly angry too in his clenched fists were any indication, “when they vivisected Phantom.”

“Yes.” The Regent continued, “Make no mistake, I uphold the Realms Law to the best of my abilities and expect my subjects and my council to do the same. We are a people and people have societies, societies have structures and without that, we would be no better than what the GIW claims us to be.” 

“Well spoken, My Lady.” Wonder Woman complemented, clearly taken by the Regent’s speech. 

“This is all gory and horrifying, but we still haven’t talked about preventing a bloody war.” 

While he’d been quietly observing the meeting, minor mutterings here and there, Constantine remained the only Dark member present. The Regent was somewhat fond of the Sad Man, even without having ownership over his soul (or the majority of shards) he would remain a fond memory for the Nightingales. 

 “My Lady,” the Magician belatedly addressed her, clearly having recalled to whom exactly he was speaking. 

“Constantine,” Batman warned, “we’ll get to that.” 

“Indeed we shall. In fact,” the Regent twirled a hand in a graceful motion “the Anti-Acto Acts is the main point of contention on the docket and allows that,” now she thrust a pointed finger at the Files’ section on ‘experimentation’, “to be legal.” 

“It’s been discussed, previously, to bring these laws before the UN with a censored version of the Ghost Files.” 

The Regent nodded almost immediately, “If you can, yes, but I would recommend leaking some of the data for the public to judge.” 

“Amity Park, for instance?” Superman asked, “Let the public choose a side and put pressure on the UN.” 

“Perhaps.” WW nodded, “Though there is likely chance that blame will be shifted onto the Ghosts solely for the damage.” 

“We can show the footage of the attacks that caused them.” Batman interjected, “As well as the videos of Phantom protecting Amity’s citizens at risk to himself.” 

The Regent agreed, “There are also videos of teenagers practicing drills for Ghost and Ghost Hunter attacks.” 

“What about sitting for an interview for a newspaper?” Superman suggested, “I can get a reputable reporter to conduct it.” 

“That can be done.” 

The Regent felt a slight tug on her Proto-Core, a shiver down her spine to follow- her little brother was trying to summon her back to him. Nothing urgent, not with just a slight tug, not an emergency. 

It had been quite a while here anyway and she missed her boys. 

“I’m afraid I am being summoned for a council meeting.” The Regent announced, “If I am needed again-“ 

She took a breath before turning to Batman, “You May summon me, Dark Knight, through your Lady’s Claim.” 

A friendly handshake with Superman, “Have your reporter meet me in the Ridge next Friday during the Witching Hours.” 

A clasping of arms with Wonder Woman, Warrior to warrior, “When this is settled, I would ask for a spar, Princess.” 

And the Regent was gone in a torrent of icy green-tinted mist. 

A/N:

Happy new year!

I can't believe it's 2024 already! Feels like I just got used to writing 2023.

As always, thanks to the wonderful beta @meditating-cat, who also let me who use them as a sounding board for ideas for the Regent earlier. I cannot wait to write those ideas, let me tell you.

As always, if you have any song suggestions please feel free to share and check out the masterlist for the rest of the series. It's always updated afterwards!

Thanks for reading!

[melkintoyou]

James Joint

pairing: mark x fem!reader

genre: fluff, smut, friends to lovers, stoner mark, established relationship, not suitable for minors

word count: 1,152

Summary: a summer afternoon spent with your boyfriend of four months as you slowly fall more in love

“don’t say a word.. just come over and lie here with me..”  John Mayer blared through the speakers as you sat on your boyfriend’s lap, trying to roll a joint. He swayed you both to the music. Your back into the comfort of his chest.

The room was lit bright from the golden hour, as the sun was setting. The mixture of warm sun rays and Mark's hands caressing your thighs under your dress made you highly content. 

“whatchu know about John Mayer!?” He giggled into your ear and leaving a kiss behind it. 

“Yes Mark.. you put me on..” You rolled your eyes as you sealed the joint with your tongue. 

“DONE!” You admire your work. “You like?!” You ask for your boyfriend’s approval, after him teaching you to roll for weeks now.

“Yes baby, well done” he handed you a lighter with a grin, as you turned to face him. 

Maybe it was the first hot day of the year, maybe it was your boyfriends hands desperately caressing your body or maybe it was the feel of his heart beating against your back. Something was in the air this evening.

It has been exactly 4 months since you and Mark have made things official. Each day spent with him felt like coming home after a long day. It all started with him asking you, if you had wanted a brownie from his work place one day. Then he asked again. Then again, the next day and the day after that.. Some days you didn’t even want a brownie but he continued to ask and you kept saying yes. 

He would come over almost every day with the brownie and you both spent hours just talking and laughing. Until one day you just kissed him. Shocked at first, he pulled back. “Are you sure?” He asked. 

“If we do this, you know we can never go back to being friends.. you know that right?” Sincerity in his voice. 

“I’ve never been more sure about anything else” you pulled him back into a kiss and rest was history. 

Fast forward to four months, here, now in this room. You were content. This relationship felt like a big sigh of relief from the intensity of the world and you were happy. 

“I wanna try something” he said taking in a drag. “Open your mouth” his lips hovered over yours as you tried your hardest not to melt into his mouth. He chuckled, “so needy baby.. patience.” 

You opened your mouth and fought against your instinct to kiss him. He blew the smoke into your mouth and you inhaled. “Good girl.. just like that” his voice now, lower and raspier.

He continued to do this a couple times before handing you the joint and picking you up, walking over to the bed. Laying you on the bed, he hovered over you. Taking in your features and your frame before granting you the kiss you so desperately wanted. The taste of smoke, mixed with his sweet tongue sent tingles down your spine. You got so lost into the kiss, as if the whole world had melted with your lips connecting. Nothing else mattered. 

“I want you to keep smoking” he looked into your eyes before placing soft kisses along your jaw, down to your neck whilst his hand grazed his fingers along your nipple. 

Weed made your senses work at a 1000 and you unfolded under his touch. It felt like electric shocks across your body as your underwear pooled with arousal. He slowly pulled your dress down to free your breasts, taking one in his mouth and continuing playing with the other nipple. It was getting hard to focus on the joint as your head was close to empty. 

Noticing your reaction, he chuckled to himself. “Don’t go weak on me now baby” leaving kisses across your stomach as he made his way between your legs. Moving your panties to the side, you saw his jaw drop and eyes dark, clouded with lust. He ran his fingers across your folds. “Fuck..” 

“So wet for me” he said in awe of you. Mark began to leave wet kisses along your inner thighs, making you ache for his mouth every second. He looked so majestic as the sun light hit the side of his face. Highlighting one side of his body and leaving the other side in shade. This moment felt like a painting. Unable to form words, you moaned. He licked a strip across from the bottom of your pussy to the top until he reached the clit. 

“baby.. im under your curse” the song now playing Curse by The Internet from your playlist. Mark was taking his time, giving attention to your clit making your breath get caught at the back of your throat. “ba.. I..” unable to form words you let out a moan. “Mm?” He hummed against your heat, making your mind go crazy from the vibration. He looked up at you and stopped. “Yes baby?” His face glistened from your arousal in the sun. His smile looked beautiful as ever. 

“I love this song” you finally formed a coherent sentence. “It reminds me of you” you blushed, feeling your face get hot. He inserted two fingers inside you. 

“Yeah?” His face soft but eyes determine to make you reach climax. He slowly started to pump his fingers inside you. “Is this our song?” 

You felt frustration from the absence of his tongue on your clit and pushed his head back down. “Yes..” 

He started sucking on your clit with fingers still inside you, making you see stars. He stopped and looked up again. Now, teasing you. “So what part of the song is your favourite?” He asked, furrowing his brows as if he’s genuinely curious. 

“Shhhh” you pushed his head back down again.

“Oh you want me to shut the fuck up?” He sucked on your clit one more time, gaining another moan from you. “You want me to shut up and eat your pussy baby?” 

These words went straight to your brain making your synapsis short circuit. “Uh huh” last coherent response he got from you before he grabbed your thigh to pull you closer and made circles around your clit. Fingers finding your g-spot at the same time, making you moan uncontrollably. 

“Is this the spot baby?” He giggled against your heat, no chance of slowing down. “Cum for me baby” and with that, you released all over his hands and face. Joint lost, somewhere in the abyss. Only his name and moans rolled off your tongue as he let you ride your high. He came up smiling to your face, evidently proud of himself. You grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into a messy kiss, your spit and arousal mixing into one, making you dizzy. 

“I love tasting myself on you” you moaned into the kiss. 

[ginnsbaker]

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.

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife | @justagurlwholikes

[cazzyf1]

John Watson on the racers he knew - from Motorsports magazine

Ronnie Peterson:

Ronnie, first of all, was a good friend. He was an exceptionally quick racing driver, and one of his great skills was he could jump into anything and drive it quickly. He wasn't as adept at developing a car. Ronnie's skill was phenomenal car control, balance, natural speed, but most of all he was a genuinely lovely person. Lots of drivers have lost their lives and I've never been upset. But Ronnie's death upset me. I still feel it now.

Jody Scheckter

James Hunt called him Jonathan Livingston Seagull, after a book which is an allegorical fable about a seagull with ambitions beyond flying and scavenging with the flock. I met Jody when he came across in the early 1970s and he was wild. A high level of driver ability. In 1973 at the French GP he and Fittipaldi had a collision. He was a loose cannon then, a little like Riccardo Patrese a few years later. But following Watkins Glen that year he was transformed after being one of the drivers who stopped at the scene of François Cevert's fatal accident. What he saw had a seminal change on his outlook and philosophy of being a racing driver. He said later that it brought home to him that the sport he loved could kill. Jody wasn't someone I had much to do with in the paddock, but I'm not sure he had much to do with anybody.

Bernie Ecclestone

He made a profound impact on me, not necessarily as a team leader, but he's a pragmatic and lateral thinking person. Again, Watkins Glen 1973 and Cevert's accident... a wonderful, beautiful gut lost his life and it felt disrespectful to jump back in the car and go back out. That's what I believed, how I was brought up. And Bernie said, "Get in that car, you're here to race. Whatever happened to François it's over and what you are doing is not going to make any difference." It helped me throughout the rest of my career, when a driver was injured or killed. I was able to erect a kind of barrier around myself. It enabled me to put up a blinder to however awful or ugly it may have been, to get back into the car and race. At Niki's accident at the Nürburgring in 1976, I was one of the early cars through and I had him lying with his head on my thighs, looking into his fave and comforting him as best I could. Then I had to jump back into Mt car and do a Grand Prix. I never gave it a second thought. That was the influence Bernie had on me, to detach emotion from what is your job. If you can't do it, get out. Later I had the same thing with Gilles Villeneuve at Zolder. I saw his body in the catch-fencing. I looked in his eyes and the lights had gone out. I got back in the car, drove back to the pits, told Teddy Mayer and John Hogan, and went for a coffee. Nothing. If a psychologist heard me say that, they would claim there is something wrong with me, to have that high level of detachment. But soilders, firefighters, the police - they need such mechanisms. You have to find what works best for you. That was Bernie's influence on me.

Niki Lauda

The Niki of the 1970s was very driven, very focused and very ambitious. He had a vision of where he wanted to be and how to get there. When he drove for March initially it wasn't a particularly good car, then he jumped ship to BRM and did an extremely good job. Monaco in 1973, he was outstanding. But he saw through Louis Stanley and realised the team was essentially going nowhere. He needed to move on to a better place, and he's done enough to attack Ferrari's interest. He formed relationships with key people in the team who become 'your' people. He did that with Mauro Forghieri and Luca Di Montezemolo and might have won the world title in 1974, but was going through a process of learning how to get there. By 1975, with the car he then had, he had done all his learning.

James Hunt

James was a pure animal, a pure athlete. He turned out to have a lot of skill, probably against many people's expectations. I saw him first in 1973 in the March at Monaco where he did a brilliant job. He was a bit of a contradiction in many respects because he seemed to have all the ability and skill, and a huge amount of intelligence as well which is fundamental. He was also a caged animal that needed to be controlled and some teams, principally McLaren, saw how to do that, holding him back and the lighting the blue touch paper and letting him go. What Teddy Mayer realised in 1976 was, don't let James screw around with the car, just get a good balance and throw rubber at it. James was like a lion trying to eat you alive. Bang, out he'd go and he'd deliver incredible laps. The other thing about James, in spite of his off track behaviour, he was a fit guy who played a lot of sports at very high level as an amateur. He was mercurial in that second half of the 1976 season. OK, he had a very good car in a very good team, but he dragged out every last ounce of performance from that car.

[jalwyn21]

She wants to punish him for daring to exist without her, after her.

I think that's the thing that really turned me off of Taylor completely. It's one thing for her to sing about bad relationships (even if she doesn't hold herself accountable) but to actively want to punish someone that she once claimed to love and has done nothing to even defend himself and someone she knows doesn't have the power and influence she does is actually sickening. And it's obvious that the power imbalance is what's motivating her to keep doing this because she actually did tell fans to stop harassing John Mayer (even if it was vague, people knew what she meant) when he spoke out. Same with Calvin Harris. As soon as he struck out against her, she stopped talking about him. And even Tom Hiddleston because not only does he have a massive fanbase, she knows she really doesn't have a leg to stand on with that one. The only other person that has had the same type of backlash is Jake Gyllenhaal and even then, he has a large fandom and he made it clear he's not having it. Idk, maybe she really does feel burned by Joe but I have a very hard time believing she didn't play a major role in their breakup. If it really was a case of two people simply growing apart then that takes two. And if there was emotional abuse or manipulation happening then well we know from Taylor's own music who the one doing that was. Revenge is one thing but to me, if someone is willing to cross major lines (like exploiting someone's trauma) for the sake of revenge then at that point that person no longer deserves sympathy

This, but I'll just add something.. I despise the "she is singing about her feelings and her story" narrative. 🙄

She’s not only singing about her own feelings and her own story! It's also the story of the man she dated and she is now writing about. It's her narrative, her side of the story. But then her narrative becomes fact, and that is not right! 🤔

Imagine a billionaire singer unilaterally deciding how to tell what is also your story to the entire world. Her side of it, anyway.... I would feel sick, honestly. Was ts singing about Joe's anxiety and his cascade ocean wave blues just her story to tell? 🙄

Let this sink in..

[squanchys-standup]

I think TS' biggest danger is that she is just a cipher for what anyone wants her to be. Her aesthetic, identity, values, squad, boyfriends swap out like the 'paper doll' clothes John Mayer accused her of adopting in his song. The white supremacists thought she was one of theirs. LGBTQ+ folks thought she was one of theirs. Conservatives like Harrison Butker AND liberals have all thought she was one of theirs. She wants to be a Kennedy, British, now a football wife. She wants to be politically active and then never talk about it again. She supports women's social causes but only when the woman in question is her. She's totally 'sane' but co-opts stories of historical and ongoing psychiatric abuse against those lacking her privilege. She's a deep ~tortured~ artist but floods the market with variants and tries to sabotage other artists and manipulate the charts in a way that is anathema to producing quality work. She writes her own songs except when having a better artist like Liz Rose in the credits generates the hit of her career. THE DANGER IS SHE IS NOTHING AND EVERYTHING. oh and she'll never be a decent actress sorry tay x

“When it comes to politics and activism, Swift's true beliefs have always been opaque. The star exceeds at always being one foot in and one foot out, saying just enough to support a cause (and receive praise for it) but never enough to follow through on any of them.”

- kelly pau

this is a quote i’m including in my video and yeah. you hit the nail right on the head my friend. and said it very well! i sure do appreciate the insight.

blessed be

[meaningtotellyou]

just saw a tiktok of a man telling other men to pretend to be against john mayer to get girls. i feel sick and disgusted by that like glad you find supporting woman as nothing but trying to satisfy your disgusting incel self

men are so fucking disgusting that’s why i hate all these guys on tiktok just lip syncing her songs like shut up

[going-faster]

Assista a "John Mayer - Edge of Desire (Live at the Hollywood Bowl, August 22, 2010)" no YouTube

"It’s a sunday night, a night never to be trusted for emotions. So, a lot of you guys are gonna head home and either receive texts in the dead of night or actually compose them that are not going to be fully representative of how you feel for the rest of the day, for the rest of your week. Then you’ll be reaching out, and if you’re not reaching out you’ll have someone else reaching out to you. And your friends, and your brain, and your morals, and your conscience have all trained you not to respond. But I’m gonna go against the brain and I’m going to suggest that the next time you get a message from the one you love, the only person in the world you love and can’t talk to, that you respond. And you just write back when they ask you if you’re up, and you’re up, just write back, “Yup, come on over.” Cause life is just too short to keep playing the game. Cause if you really want somebody, you’ll figure it out later. Otherwise, you’ll be laying in bed with a Blackberry on your chest staring at it, doing nothing for the rest of the night, hoping that it goes, “PRRR, PRRR, PRRR”. If you love someone, if you love somebody. Say, “don’t say a word, just come over”.

[rachelminetti]

room for squares, 9.18.2001

i have a few john mayer related rituals i (sometimes) keep up with over the year, but none as sacred as this one. why do i have john mayer rituals? probably in some attempt to tether myself to myself. i wrap my years around it, i measure time against it, i keep my clocks in sync with it. so every year on september 18th i listen to room for squares, start to finish, followed up with some favorite live versions. this is the week when i no longer wonder when summer will wrap itself up, when the humidity disperses and i want to be home by 7. my hands are starting to show signs of age this year, my sentimentality has waned, renewal feels less likely, more daunting. 

but this tradition persists, i reconnect, i let the new year begin. this album has been given the gift of context, 22 years to settle in as an early 2000s soft-pop-rock-coffeehouse-easy listening delight. it is by no means my favorite album of his, i do not think it is a masterpiece, and this is the only time of the year i listen to it in full. but it is a great comfort and there are some stellar live renditions of its songs, exemplary of their time, their longevity and lack thereof. so, here are some of my favorite versions of each song, dug up from my personal john mayer archive. 

no such thing, live sometime in 2001.they listen to phish, but they can’t find the answers. added to my library sometime before 12/26/2012 (the day i got my MacBook, lost date-added data for most of my music up to that point), probably ripped it from the youtube link above. my library would be nothing without clipconverter, mystupidmouth, that giant torrent, and, of course, the internet archive. you’ll get a lot from this version: long, fun intro, alternate lyrics, an everything she does is magic tease – all wrapped up into a 9 minute, pretty solid recording. essential listening for those looking to dip their toes into the world of live JM.

why georgia, go anywhere intro. i have no idea how i found a download of this, i can only find the lyrics online. it’s been in my library prior to 2012, i must’ve downloaded from mystupidmouth. it’s a different version than the portable intro that’s easier to come across. after about 30 minutes of trying to track it down, i’m led to believe that it is from 9.06.02, thanks to a reply from Humming6ird on this post. going to spend another 10-15 minutes trying to track down a download, we’ll see if i’m successful. side note: cool to stumble upon an old self while tracking this down, i’m all over this page. ok, no luck. it’ll find me one day.

my stupid mouth, probably 2002-2003. i’ve had this labeled in my library as (Soundstage 2005) but i think that that is very wrong. great improv intro to a song i’ve never cared for. this is like level 2 deep cut live john mayer.  

ybiaw, 3/11/23. there’s nothing worthwhile about this song, so here’s a link to a nice transition from HOME LIFE earlier this year. 

neon, live 9.24.05 with the trio. 10/10 must hear version of this song. now this really is one of his masterpieces, take some time and listen to its versatility over the years. i was also going to share a version from what i thought was from 05.18.00 but i cannot find confirmation anywhere that this actually exists. it’s wonderful and i have no idea where i downloaded it from in 2021. oh well.

city love, i don’t really care for this song so here’s a trio video of covered in rain. 

83, live 3.26.04. this whole show is great – early version of don’t trust myself and a back to you closer, can’t lose here. this song very much feels like early fall, light and crisp. “83 was the vibraslap.” 

3x5, yet another mislabeled live version in my library. downloaded BMB (before MacBook). well, here’s a nice one from july 7, 2003. full show video available, always nice. 

love song for no one, i was going to link the one i have from 3.29.00 (terrible recording, live at the 40 watt in athens), but, of course, i have no idea how i even have my hands on that. it starts with tell me what to say, so it’s a real deep cut. here’s one from eddie’s attic in 1999, same vibe. 

back to you, live any given thursday. bring back back to you! bring back FULL BAND back to you! an all time favorite, one of my atlanta songs. here’s a link to any given soundcheck. 

great indoors, i was going to link a mysterious undated 2003 version with a lovely intro, but of course i cannot find it. this one from tower records on 6.31.01 holds up nicely. 

not myself, a lovely version from THE eddie’s attic shows in 2005. it will all come around again…

[estrellami-1]

Hello sweet star baby 😇🌞😘 seeing that you missed me was such a sweet thing to wake up to 🙈💜 thank you love 🥰

I wish I could invite you over, I have to cut the lawn in a little bit and it would be so much more fun if you could come over and keep me company 😅

I am absolutely no where near good enough for any sort of chess test yet lol I am very much still being taught by the kiddie chess app but I’m having fun with it

How did your performance go?

What kind of music do you like?

That does sound like a great day, I hope today went just as well 💜💜💜💜💜

My darling Hope, of course!! Honestly the highlight of my day is getting a notification saying you sent me an ask 😂❤️

Haha I would absolutely do so. Sit in the middle of the lawn in a lawn chair and wolf whistle at you while sipping sweet tea 😉😂

No jk I would help. …….maybe 😂

Ah yeah that’s fair 😂 thankfully once you learn what moves each piece makes, it’s kinda easy… as long as you’re not playing against a super advanced player! 😂 or at least that’s how it was for me, idk.

It went well, thanks for asking!! It was a little challenging at first lol, sound check was a bit chaotic but we got there in the end and I’m really happy with how it ended up going. And I was invited back! There’s nothing next week but the week after, on the 30th, there’s an extended worship night, so we’ll do 5 instead of the 3 we did tonight! 😊

Honestly my music taste is… very varied. Lol I recently got into Metallica and my favorite song is “Enter Sandman”, I like Harry James and old-timey big band stuff, and I’ve been obsessed with Taylor Swift since Fearless! 😂 my childhood was filled with U2, Maroon 5 and Switchfoot. Later on it was John Mayer (though that was mostly just listening by proxy (is that the correct term?); my brother was obsessed with him for a while), OneRepublic, Adele… honestly basically top 100s in like 2012-2015 😂 name a song from then (and with that criteria) and there’s a good chance I’ve heard it or even have it on a playlist somewhere! 😂

How about you? What kind of music do you like?

Once again yes today went well even if I only got 3 1/2 hours of sleep 😅😂❤️ and the same to you, of course, darling! ❤️

[thegreatimpersonator]

okay for example, the narrative people have of her never being able to move on, constantly ‘using’ her exes and being immature... that’s all her fans. i’ve mentioned this before, but every time this women does anything, people automatically bring up one of her exes and how whatever she is doing is somehow related to them. when all too well 10 minute version was released, jake gyllenhaal was in the news for weeks. fans brought him into the conversation, never taylor, and fans made up entire lore about their relationship simple because they had decided the song was about him. when the lavender haze video was announced, fans thought she was ‘being petty’ because john mayer happened to announce his tour that same morning... he was immediately brought up even though he has nothing to do with the song. did some people actually think taylor waited until the exact moment he announced a tour and then in the moment decided to announce the video? was she waiting by her computer and had his notifications on? because that's the image some fans painted. 

the idea some people have of her lyrics not being deep or that they’re corny is fully because some fans get way too investigative into her lyrics in order to prove some idea they have of her life. tell me why i saw a viral tik tok of a fan going through every line in the bridge to coney island and having the names of her rumored exes on screen to prove that every line is a reference to every ex. a song shouldn’t have a fbi-level investigative journey to be able to be proven good. why does that matter? how does that help anyone? taylor writes these songs about her life, sure, but why do they only continue to be only about her life once they are released?

there is that famous joni mitchell quote about a good song makes you see yourself in it and a bad song makes you see the writer in it, but i think that could be applied to listeners as well. a bad way to consume art is to only consume it through the lens of the creator and not for yourself. once you absorb art, it is yours. by hearing a song by taylor and only focusing on how it relates to her is disrespectful to the work itself. when you’re doing that, you’re not analyzing art, you’re analyzing gossip. that exact gossip is what taylor has been so adamant about not liking for years and why she has distance herself so much from her writing. there’s a reason she doesn't do those ‘hidden messages’ in her lyric books anymore, why she barely gives interviews, why she’s so private about her relationships now, etc. she no longer wants to give breadcrumbs to her life, she no longer ants to provide ‘clues’ that can be used against her work later. she no longer wants to feed this idea that these songs are only about her and incentivize people digging through her personal life to be able to find meaning in the songs. but because she doesn't do that anymore, people have taken it upon themselves and overanalyze everything, even when it’s ~not that deep~. 

the reason she has been viewed as ‘obsessive and crazy’ is because the loudest parts of her fandom have become that. the reason her work and creativity is being disrespected is because those people are actively disrespecting it. 

just came to the devastating conclusion that swifties are basically the creators of most of the reasons people have to dislike taylor exist in the first place

[captainsourwolf]

okay hear me out.

everyone knows about link’s crush on john mayer. it’s no secret, he happily told everyone on camera his crush is the singer. nobody is surprised of course, least of all rhett, because rhett is the one that gets to hold his hand and love him and fuck him and kiss him and do all the things john mayer just wishes he could fucking do with link neal.

which okay, maybe rhett’s a little jealous sometimes. but he can’t help it. john mayer gets brought up and link’s eyes light up, this spot on his throat that ticks when his pulse rate spikes starts jumpin’, he gets this weirdly euphoric look on his face because he gets to talk about his stupid crush. the last time he reacted like that to rhett was when they were in college and he thought he was being smooth hiding his feelings.

okay so rhett is a lot jealous. sue him.

one day at the creative house he walks in and link’s playing an old john mayer cd and rhett’s blood instantly boils. he follows the source straight into link’s office where link is bebopping his head along to some stupid song about something stupid and rhett clenches a fist before he can even stop himself.

“link,” rhett would huff when he’s ignored only to feel bad a second later. he’s had crushes before. he remembers what it feels like.

but this different. this is link getting weirdly giddy when the other man is brought up, this is him bringing the singer up any chance he gets, it’s link acting like a teenager experiencing his first boner because someone made him feel all tingly.

rhett hates it. supremely. with everything in him.

which is why he can’t be blamed when he slaps his hand on link’s dumb boom box he just had to have and effectively stops john mayer’s crooning. link jumps in surprise and finally notices rhett has entered the room.

“hey—! i was listening to that!” but he isn’t angry, just peeved, cheeks flushing a bit when he glares at rhett and gets up to turn it back on.

rhett is taller and bigger so he blocks the boom box and crosses his arms.

“maybe im tired of listening to john mayer all the time,” rhett snips and link huffs and his mouth pops open into a perfect ring and he looks a bit murderous for a second if rhett’s bring totally honest. “your crush is cute, but come on, do we gotta listen to him all the time?”

link gets all huffy again and throws his hands in the air. “it’s not a crush, shut up, man,” he grumbles. but the spot on the back of his neck that gives him away all the time flares up and he reaches up to scrub at it.

“you loooooove him?” rhett teases. he can do that. he can tease, even if it means reverting back to when he was a high schooler that thought the way to a girl’s heart was through jokes and rude comments. he grins a little when link looks away, to the side and down, rubbing that spot even harder.

“shuddup, rhett.” there’s no venom to it, just a bit of amusement and embarrassment to go with the pinkness rising up his neck.

“you wanna hold his hand and swoon over him while he sings to you?”

link’s blush disappears under the collar of his—surprisingly enough—john mayer sweatshirt. the one that’s cream colored and splashed with pinks and blues, and looks soft against his skin.

“rhett—“

rhett grins a cheeky little grin and leans against the table the boom box is on.

“want him to wine and dine you? show you a good time?”

link’s tells are starting to pop out: shifting on his feet, scrubbing his neck, pushing at his glasses, fidgeting with his wedding ring. rhett is hitting every button and it sends a thrill through him knowing he’s making link a bit hot under the collar.

and of course that’s when he notices the blush deepen when he says “show you a good time” and the subtle way link is trying to adjust his pants. rhett swallows and licks his lips and thinks he could have some fun with this. he is jealous after all. get link hot, get him off, remind him rhett is the one he should be blushing for.

“want john mayer to kiss you, link?” rhett shoves away from his perch and stalks towards him. link licks his lips and looks down at the floor, shuffles his feet.

“you don’t—“ link shrugs and huffs. “you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

rhett bumps link’s chest he gets so close. dips down and kisses his hot cheek, his ear, tugs on it with his teeth a little.

“you wanna fuck him?” rhett whispers and tugs again. link whimpers a little, a tiny thing rhett almost doesn’t hear. when he registers that’s what he heard, he rears back enough to see link’s cheeks ruddy and hot and giving him away. rhett swallows, shuffles closer, feels an unmistakable bulge pressing into his leg.

link is hard. the realization makes the jealousy burn in rhett’s gut.

“do you want him to fuck you?” rhett murmurs and that’s the clencher. link’s cheeks turn tomato red and it disappears down his neck into that silly sweatshirt and his cock twitches on rhett’s hip.

link swallows so hard his throat clicks and he shoves rhett back, hardly far enough to put any space between them, but still. he glares up at rhett with no heat, digs fists into rhett’s shirt, yanks him down into a kiss that’s more bite than anything.

they don’t do things half-assed that’s for sure. link is naked and bent over his desk in no time, rhett naked and two fingers deep with spit and lube they keep hidden in the desk and leaning over link’s backside to get at his ear. breath hot and damp and making link shiver.

“wonder how good it’d feel to have john mayer’s fingers up your ass, baby? think his are as thick as mine?” link moans so loud rhett feels it in chest. his dick twitches at the sound.

link is a needy whiny mess. looks fucked out already spread out on his own desk, back heaving, cock dripping a sticky trail on his thigh and the floor. rhett can see his eyes where he’s leaning close, can see how dopey and unfocused they are just from rhett finger fucking him and talking about another man. the jealousy only makes him harder, makes him get a little rough with it, crooking his fingers just right to make link jerk and moan.

rhett pulls his fingers free and link whines and chases the feeling. he’s on his knees behind link biting an ass cheek and dragging his thumb over link’s stretched hole, teasing and kind of all over the place, not really knowing what he wants to do just that he wants to do it. so he makes link turn over, gets his mouth on a thigh, on a hip, on his balls, at the base of his cock.

“such a good singer, must have a nice mouth, too. surely he does.” link’s head thunks on the desk and he whines again, raises his hips to try and get rhett’s mouth on him. “think he can suck a cock with that nice mouth?”

“rhett—“

rhett licks him from root to tip, sloppy and messy, precum and spit wetting his beard, shining up his lips.

“want him to suck you off, link? fuck his mouth the way you do mine?” rhett gets a weak kick to his thigh and fingers winding in his hair. link leans up, on his free elbow, peers down at rhett all fucked out and horny and desperate. he growls and yanks rhett’s head back to look at him, at his flushed and sweaty face and his perky nips, taut belly, his cock throbbing and wet. “admit it,” rhett huffs a laugh and digs his fingers into link’s thighs.

“what if i do?” link admits, voice too rough around the edges.

that just won’t do.

rhett growls this time and shoves link’s hand off his head then stands, fits himself between link’s thighs. they stare at each other a moment, link smirking in challenge, rhett glaring. he roughly grabs link around the knees, hikes his legs up till he’s resting his calves on rhett’s sweaty shoulders. he drags his cock along rhett’s, the tease, and moans, smirk widening when rhett chokes a little.

“come on, then, fuck me, rhett, bet john mayer—“ it’s enough for rhett clamp a hand over his mouth, use the other one to slick himself up and line up and slip the head of his cock in link’s tight hole. link’s clipped off moan and the way he shudders it out makes rhett’s head spin.

again, they don’t do things half-assed, ever. rhett gives him his time to adjust, barely enough, and fucks into him messy and quick. link licks his palm and bites at the meat of his hand but rhett doesn’t budge. he keeps his hand there and pulls out and thrusts back in, starting up a steady rhythm. doesn’t take long to build a pace that punches the air out of link’s lungs.

link’s legs slip and wind around rhett’s waist. he yanks rhett forward and down, brow knitting when rhett’s cock hits deeper, smoother. rhett finally removes his hand and winds it through link’s hair and presses their chests together.

this close he can see the thin ring of blue left, the freckle beside his eye, the sweat beading on his upper lip. he tilts link’s head back and bites at his throat, takes his time sucking a bruise into the delicate skin over his jugular. he soothes it then goes back in for more and fucks link harder, making the desk rattle and groan under their combined weight and pace.

“this good enough?” rhett asks, having to stop and catch his breath before he can continue speaking. he starts a slow grind, barely out and right back in, making sure link feels it when he shoves his cock deep and presses his pelvis right up against link’s ass. “could he do it better?” the legs around his waist tighten.

“want that crooner to fuck you like this?” link’s breathing changes, hitches a little around his throat, and he’s scrambling to get his fingers in rhett’s hair, on rhett’s body. they slip on his back and end up around his waist, back in his hair, down again to his belly before finally giving up and squeezing around rhett’s neck. “want him to screw you against your desk all nice and slow? or get you on your belly and hold your head down and make you feel it?”

link gasps and rhett is done with the grinding, the slow pace, and sits back, holding onto link’s thighs. link can’t get a grip on anything in time and nearly bangs into the wall behind him, moaning loud and strangled, and reaching for rhett.

it’s always a punishing pace when they’re like this. rhett can’t help it. he likes to watch link fall apart like this, a sweaty mess, mouth open around choked off and desperate sounds, back arching as rhett fucks him. and he likes it when link finally blissfully falls apart.

rhett watches link’s face contort, his brows knitting so tight he’ll have a headache later, hands searching for something to hold onto. he’s almost there and he hasn’t even been touched since rhett got him up here. rhett loves it when he’s so horny for it that he cums untouched.

this time there’s an edge to it, a sting, and rhett can’t help himself from catching link’s eye, watching when he finally focuses enough to catch on.

“he fuck you better than i can, baby?”

and link loses it, jizzes all over himself in thick spurts, seemingly never ending as rhett screws him through it and he keeps cumming, speechless with it. he clenches around rhett’s cock, still a tease even when he’s just blown his load so hard he’s probably seeing stars. rhett likes that part, too.

link starts muttering little yeah’s and come on’s, fighting the over sensitivity and squeezing around rhett’s dick to milk it out of him. doesn’t take much, he was already about there, so when link sits up and drags fingers through the mess and reaches between them to feel where rhett’s fucking him and slick him up, that does him in. his hips stutter and he moans and folds in on himself, nearly loses his footing and takes link with him.

after a moment he finds he’s got his face buried in link’s neck, breathing evening out, mouth still hanging loose in satisfaction. link’s got him held up with an arm around his back, other propping himself up on the desk so he doesn’t fall.

takes a second but he gets himself together enough to unstick himself from link’s body. his dick slips out and with it a trickle of his release. link’s quiet moan and the way his ass clenches makes him chuckle and use his middle finger to plug it back in.

“it’s so gross when you do that.”

“you love it,” rhett laughs again and link flutters around him, sighing in resignation.

his blush is back. rhett sees it traveling from his cheeks to his neck to his chest. he’s embarassed, probably a little turned on still if the way his dick gives a valiant effort at twitching is anything to go by. but overall he’s spent and he lays back.

it’s quiet for a moment as rhett just waits for link to chill, to get himself together enough to face rhett’s amused stare. when he finally looks he has this softness there, in his eyes and around his mouth, only for rhett.

“you know you’re the only one,” he states it simply, quietly, pink in his cheeks flaring up for a moment.

rhett gathers him into a hug and kisses his temple.

“as if id ever believe john mayer could fuck you as good as me,” he whispers.

“oh my god. i hate you.”

rhett shakes his head, knowing better.

“nah, you love me.”

[poursomesunaonme]

chapter three

pairing: jean kirstein x fem!reader

summary: with another month gone by, jean’s condition worsens. you finally decide to address the issue, but this doesn’t bode well with your husband. leaving your relationship in a questionable state, he departs for paradis to alleviate the building tension.

cw: pregnancy & symptoms, angst (about jean)/not a lot of comfort, vomit, pining, verbal fight, some fluff, more guest appearances (to make up for sad)!, but it’s mostly just rumination and sadness

wc: 6,688

author’s note: i am so sorry for this, apologies in advance; i was crying writing it:’) this is the beginning of a whole lot of angst and not a lot of comfort, so the next two chapters are gonna be reaaaaally rough. thank yall for sticking with me, though:)

songs for the chapter: “slow dancing a burning room” by john mayer, “transatlanticism” by death cab for cutie

extended notes💫

series navigation

chapter two -> chapter three -> chapter four

Sharp raps of the knife sounded against the cutting board as the blade sliced through juicy, colorful skin to prepare the vegetables for a warm stew. The pungent scent that the wounds in the flesh emitted soothed the nausea that had been plaguing you that day. The chunks of peppers and carrots tumbled from your hand into the boiling water before you started on the next batch.

The house was quiet around you, the kids at Léa’s for a few hours until you finished doing a well-deserved and thorough clean-up of the house and cooked dinner for everyone. A particularly violent bout of morning sickness had overtaken you that day, and in turn was exacerbated by the ongoing anxiety about Jean’s mental state.

Most of the day you had spent tidying up the house, wrangling your children as needed while you went. Every so often, nausea would overcome you, your feet flying to the nearest bathroom to unleash whatever stomach contents were present. But by the time that the dinner preparations had to be made, there was nothing left. Bits of salt still clung to your cheeks, ephemeral glimpses of those countless times spent convulsing over a toilet.

You had all but thrown your kids at Léa, begging her for just a few minutes alone. Everything had been so overwhelming; and everything ached. The daunting task of cleaning the house seemed impossible despite the affinity that you had for it. Every movement of any limb sent dull throbs of pain throughout your body; it was that lovely time of pregnancy again. And your heart, the poor thing had taken more beatings than the devil’s wife.

The force and speed that drove the blade through the vegetables nearly had you chopping off your own fingertips as the thoughts that swirled in your mind threatened to cut your tether to sanity. Your hands shook as you dropped the knife, fingers tangling into hair instead. Nausea coiled and uncoiled within your gut, the familiar, sickening feeling moseyed in perfectly at the wrong moment.

The padded echo of your footsteps sounded around the kitchen as the distance between the boiling pot and your trembling frame increased by a few feet. The comforting certainty of the bump on your front found the palms of your hands while you cupped the small soul in an effort to steady yourself.

The last round of sickness indicated that your stomach was empty with a whole load of straight bile. Pushing through deep breaths, the skin of your throat was raw and still stung from the acidity. After fumbling around in the kitchen for a few moments, you had made yourself a glass of water and took a sip before getting back to preparing dinner.

Golden light from the window shone into the kitchen, illuminating the dust motes that floated through the air aimlessly, casting the atmosphere into a dreamy haze as your imagination ran rampant, fueled by a desperate desire for normalcy. Jean sauntered through the door, the impact of the wood slamming against the frame harmonizing with the warm greeting that floated through the house before settling into your ears.

The first stop on his homecoming tour would be the living room, where Marco occupied himself with blocks and Sasha lay, enthralled with the mobile that swirled around and around above her wandering eyes. He would attempt to make the action as inconspicuous as possible, but the crackling candy wrappers would attract your attention to the treats that your husband was giving his child (which he should have known that you didn’t mind). Marco would start chattering incessantly about his day at Jean’s inquiry, all while the patriarch scooped up the baby and cradled her against his chest.

But despite Jean’s preoccupations with his children, the desire to see his wife would far outweigh the motivation to do anything else.

Jean would stroll into the kitchen, the sight of you leaving him breathless as his eyes crawled over you hungrily. How majestic you looked in your comfy clothes and comely apron, how your hair tumbled out of whatever style you had tried to put it in to keep it out of your face as you cooked dinner. How your dexterous hands prepared the meal out of love for your family.

And your husband would come up behind you, slowly approaching despite your awareness of his presence. Slender, corded arms would snake around your waist while a nose dipped into your collarbone in tandem with lips colliding with the rigidity of your shoulders. Words floated across skin like ashes flitted through the sky before dissipating in the air, the sighed and soft “i miss you” telling of a long and hard day without a wife to keep the poor man company.

The bump that had been steadily growing over the previous weeks was plush underneath the hands that formed a protective barrier over it. A few moments ticked by as you leaned backward, spine pressing into Jean’s chest; eyes closed in a brief glimpse of marital bliss, swaying slowly in the kitchen.

And Jean would kneel down in front of you like a disciple, planting devout kisses to the skin that separated him and his baby, whispering things indiscernible to your ears. Nearly prostrate in the presence of his third child, you mused that the man had never looked so small.

And once the ministrations had been delivered to his little Sprout, Jean would straighten up, towering over you while his hazel eyes caught your gaze and refused to let go. Lithe fingers would thread through yours, palms sliding against palms, guiding your hands to clasp at the back of his neck. The skin of your waist warmed underneath his touch as his grip settled on the perfect spot. And, with periodic stirs to the simmering stew, Jean would hum a song. Keeping time with soft pats to your lower back, he would guide you in a serendipitously sloppy, inconceivably intimate dance in the kitchen. And it would be perfect.

But the sun set beneath the buildings, rays of light disappearing from the kitchen. The atmosphere darkened with the rest of the mood as Jean walked through the door, effectively squashing the vision that had played through your mind. The smile dissipated from your face without a trace as the last of the vegetables joined the rest of the stew, warranting a healthy stir before turning off the heat.

The house spat back out in reverberations the footsteps kicked up by Jean’s soles, lacking children that usually drowned out the mundane and domesticated sounds that usually echoed throughout the walls. There were no hidden candy exchanges, no retelling in great, childish detail of days; and most of all, Jean wasn’t the carefree, dedicated man that he had been in the idyllic vision.

His presence silently flickered by you as if he were an incorporeal being wandering the house, without so much as a brush of a hand, before taking a seat at the dining table. The newspaper that you had already skimmed unfolded before him as he maintained a strenuous silence that was interjected occasionally by a faint rustling of pages.

The lack of any semblance of action between your two bodies spoke volumes in and of itself as neither party attempted to strike up conversation. There shouldn’t have been that level of tension, of unexpressed sorrow, building up in the house that was supposed to be a shelter. There shouldn’t have been insurmountable barriers rising above the two of you, walls remaining unscathed as the person on either side had lost the will to fight.

You continued to stir dinner before putting a top on the pot, allowing the stew to simmer. Your own arms found purchase around your frame as the severity of where the relationship had gone finally dawned on you, and you could palpably feel Jean slipping through the cracks in your fingers. Oblivious to the turmoil that boiled in your veins, Jean continued to read the newspaper quietly.

A deep breath entered your lungs as you questioned yourself if this would really be the end all be all, the straw that broke the camel’s back; if the two of you were doomed to this for the rest of your lives, a love story written in the stars, broken down over time to the melancholy scene of two people trapped by obligation. Of course, you didn’t want that; you wanted anything but that.

Clenching your fists and mustering up a smile that would fake people out unless they looked close enough, you turned around to face Jean, who didn’t acknowledge your movements. Pushing past the action that stung your heart, a question formulated on your lips, about to be expelled before your husband beat you in the icebreaker.

“Where are the kids?” he asked. A scoff threatened to bully its way through your lips at his inquiry, at how it was beyond your comprehension that he could inflict that obscene amount of trauma on Marco and leave it completely unaddressed. As if a red hot stone were thrown into a bowl of water, so did the question make your blood bubble and boil angrily. However, composure was easily grasped for you today, suppressing the licks of flame that flickered in your belly.

“At Léa’s,” you answered coolly. No response was uttered from his lips. The crackling of the paper gave the indication that he was done with the conversation. As you watched over the pot, the consultations with Léa and Annie concerning Jean and a counselor intruded upon your already volatile mental state. There were certainly enough opportunities to address the issue with your husband; however, having the courage to do so was a completely different story.

The grim remembrance that Jean and the ambassadors were leaving the upcoming week reminded you that time was of the essence with this operation. If the seed wasn’t planted in Jean’s subconscious before the voyage, you knew that you wouldn’t have the fortitude to do so as the time for Sprout’s birth neared. But that was when you realized that you had inadvertently created an opening for the conversation to happen, having sent the kids to Léa; the house was quiet, lacking the wary atmosphere of censoring speech for children’s ears.

With a rueful sigh, you acknowledged that if it had been any normal time, the two of you would’ve taken advantage of having a childless house, exactly as you had done on the night of your fifth anniversary.

But this wasn’t a normal time. And so you took a step into the gale, wincing as the wind nipped at your vulnerable body.

“How are you, Jean?”

The question echoed throughout the empty house as Jean took a few moments to marinate the thoughts that would factor into his answer. It was so quiet that you could hear him breathing over the gentle bubbling of the stew.

With a deep sigh, he answered you. “I’m not too sure nowadays.”

That much was painfully apparent. You longed to run to him, to grasp him in your arms, to pull him so tight that the both of you would be afraid that his eyes would pop out of his skull. You wanted to reach a hand into his brain and rip out whatever parasite, whatever illness had begun to take root there. But you couldn’t.

Instead, you let out a shuddering breath at the revelation from the horse’s mouth. Your legs carried you to the table, where you wearily took a seat and really and truly studied his face for the first time in a few weeks. Jean’s eyes had sunken in, the whole countenance eerily similar to that of whenever he first came back to Paradis from Marley. Back then, he had looked exhausted, burdened, and hopeless; but after he had seen you, it all had dissipated.

The only difference was that at that moment he had you, yet he was still miserable.

There were light years, galaxies’ worth of distance between you. And neither of you had a clue on how to close it. Which was why you asked, “do you think you could figure that out with someone else?”

He stiffened in the chair, brows furrowing to form an angry V. He turned to you, mouth ajar. The change in expression was enough to send your body screaming to shy away from him. But you held your ground as he spoke. “Now just what are you implying?”

“I’m saying that you could go talk to someone,” you said, maintaining a strong contact with him. The hazel in the eyes that burned into yours darkened into an angry molten gold, threatening to sear holes in your retinas. The hostility nearly took you off guard, how you had only offered for him to seek help, yet he was ready to jump down your throat.

“Do you think I can’t figure this out on my own?” he asked, incredulous. Before you had a chance to stop it, a bitter laugh escaped your lips, followed by scathing words that threatened to shatter the marriage that held the house together.

“No, Jean, I know that you can’t. That much is apparent since our own son is afraid to be alone with you.”

You even shocked yourself with the caustic remarks, but somehow, you completely lacked remorse. Jean’s face went completely white, eyes widened in anguish. The corners of his lips turned downward into a pained frown, his entire visage contorting with a grimace as the harsh statements clawed their way through his brain.

Silence reigned over the room.

“Y/N, why-”

“You need to get help, Jean,” you interrupted, not willing to give up your speaking privileges after holding in the feelings for so long. Your body propelled itself upwards as you walked back towards the pot to check on how dinner was cooking. “We have a baby on the way, and if things with Paradis hit the fan, I’m not gonna know what to do.”

He shot up after you, the chair rocking with the force of his movements behind him, walking to meet you. Fighting the urge to step away, as was the regrettable reflex, your feet planted firmly on the ground. He reached out a hand but you refused to take it, so he set it on your shoulder instead.

“It’ll be fine,” he tried to assure you, the hope that he tried to imbue in the statement barely lacing a word. “I can take care of it.”

“Will it really be fine, Jean?” you whispered and turned back to the pot that boiled docilely. Jean gave up on trying to converse with you after that, retiring to the bedroom for some rest before dinner.

Angry tears burned down your cheeks as you finished up the final preparations for dinner, adding a garnish to the stew and setting the table. Out of everything you had wanted to ask your husband, all you wanted to know was why.

Why was this happening? Why did he refuse to acknowledge it? Why would he put Marco and Sasha and Sprout in harm’s way? Why wouldn’t he say anything to you about his inner turmoil? And why did he reject any kind of help when the disease was tearing him apart from the inside out?

Jean was your husband, your everything, and you didn’t want this trial to be the dealbreaker in a romance that had been written in the stars since you were children. Surely, the two of you had gotten through much worse; hell, you had no way of communicating for three years.

But upon dwelling on it, was that really better than having almost three children and having no sense of vulnerability?

Before you could blink, Léa walked through the door, the two children in tow. She handed you Sasha as Marco attached himself to your leg, already spouting off all the information that he could recall about his day. Wiping the tears from your eyes inconspicuously, you met Léa’s gaze with a knowing smile in regard to Marco’s chattiness.

Jean, upon hearing the arrival of his mother and children, came down from the bedroom. The urge to snap at him or make some snarky comment jumped into your throat, the feelings attempting to drag the words out of your lungs themselves. So instead, you decided to ignore your husband. Not speaking to him would be infinitely better than screaming expletives at him in front of his mother and your children.

So this made the meal itself painfully awkward, but thankfully Léa stayed to eat. She was the perfect buffer, recognizing the tension that buzzed in the air; and already knowing how you felt about the issue, she maintained the integrity of your special relationship, keeping conversation light around the table.

And after dinner was finished, you continued the silent treatment, not even bothering to look at or speak to Jean as you barred him from putting his own children to sleep. At that point, he gave up fighting, retreating to the bedroom with a heavy sigh.

You wanted to relent, you ached to relent; however, it couldn’t go on unexcused anymore. The methods had been harsh, but any other delivery would have given Jean the wiggle room to disregard how his state was affecting the family. And you would certainly not have that.

Wordlessly, you laid Sasha in the crib and padded back to the bed. Curling up on the very edge of the mattress, threatening to tumble off at any point in the night, you laid awake, completely devoid of Jean’s warmth.

The day had finally arrived for the ambassadors to embark on their journey to Paradis. The sun shone brightly in your eyes as the eyelids protecting them creaked open, urging you awake. Groaning, you let out a stretch, grateful that Sasha had awakened you earlier that morning to eat and would consequently sleep late.

But as your limbs attempted to extend, you found that they were blocked by a pair of arms surrounding you.

With the increase in self-awareness as your body awakened, you felt the familiar warmth of Jean’s frame against your back. The hard casing of anger that formed around your heart cracked in half, relief escaping your body through a deep sigh. The contact was so normal, but at the same time was terrifyingly unexpected. The dual faceted issue brought tears to your eyes, that you couldn’t even enjoy a soft morning cuddle without being riddled with anxiety.

But as a pearly drop of sadness fell from your lashes, you suppressed the fear factor and allowed yourself to experience the old tender feelings, albeit in a different light. Jean was leaving that day, with no indication of when he would return or under what circumstances. And most importantly, you didn’t want him to leave angry, or be angry yourself, even if that meant compromising the boundaries that you had previously constructed.

You squirmed against the constraints surrounding you, turning over to face Jean. While you were adjusting, a soft obstacle met your feet as they pushed the comforter to make moving easier. Peering over the mound of your and Jean’s bodies, you found that Marco was curled up at the foot of the bed, fast asleep.

Clicking your teeth and deciding not to disturb your toddler with reckless movements, Jean’s breath fanned onto yours when you finally arrived to face him. Even with your eyes closed, his gaze was so palpably trained upon you. But you ignored it, snuggling in closer to him, letting the scent of musk and mahogany flood your nostrils, allowing his warmth to wash over you, both your scars and his pressing together so intimately.

And everything felt normal.

In the warm glow of the rising sun, there was nothing wrong with your family. Jean was content holding you there in his arms, his lips pressed into your scalp. There was nothing amiss with his health, he was strong and bold as usual. And with Paradis, there were no problems there. Everything was as it should have been, there in that euphoric silence.

After a few more minutes of unadulterated bliss, Jean rolled out of bed, away from your pining. With a huff, you sat up, watching as he went to the bathroom to get ready. The suitcase full of his things was packed neatly next to his dresser.

Marco began to stir with Jean’s departure, eyes cracking open blearily. Upon seeing you, he crawled underneath the covers to snuggle against your warm frame. Hands tangled in his light brown hair, you let him doze off as you waited for either Jean to be ready or Sasha to wake up screaming.

Of course, Sasha would never miss her cue. You were slipping out from underneath Marco’s tiny grasp in no time, rushing to fetch your daughter before she woke up the whole neighborhood. Jean was taking a while to get the rest of his things put together with the undecided length of the trip.

Sasha was burped and changed into her day clothes and Marco sent to pick out an outfit before Jean was finally ready to go. He padded out of the bathroom, sleek leather shoes clacking against the floorboards. The suit that he wore cut to his frame perfectly as he stood in the doorway, unsure of how to address you. It had been much easier to hold you close to him in silence.

His coat hung over his arm, the ends of the shirt barely tucked into his pants while the buttons remained undone. You couldn’t help the smirk that toyed with the corners of your lips, how the simple gesture hearkened you back to a brighter time when that act was the pinnacle of your mornings together.

Sauntering over to him, you watched as his face visibly relaxed at your attitude. It seemed that he had been bracing for a knock-down drag-out fight to punctuate his departure from Marley. But neither of you wanted such a thing; and so the game of pretend was how you settled.

Wordlessly, your nimble fingers wove the buttons through the slits in the opposite seam of the shirt, marveling at the soft skin that peeked out underneath it. Every once in a while, a heavy breath would fan over your skin whenever your fingertips would brush over the puckered scars that adorned Jean’s chest.

Once you were finished, you gazed up at him, finding an expression of melancholy contentment on his face. Not willing to toy with it, you asked if he could make sure that Marco had his day clothes on.

While he went to secure your son, you yourself put together a simple blouse and skirt combination, wrapping a silk scarf over your head to protect your hair from the wild sea winds that would inevitably plague your scalp. Sasha babbled happily as you situated her against your chest in her sash, peeking out of the door to hear Jean and Marco’s voices coming from downstairs.

You had attempted to drag Jean’s suitcase down the stairs when the sound of your struggles met his ears and he rushed to help you. He took it graciously, then took a hold of your hand as the normal-looking family you made departed from your home to pick up Léa on the way to meet the other ambassadors in the main square.

Armin was the first to catch wind of your approach, waving amicably at the sight of your family. Marco mirrored his enthusiasm, running up to greet the ambassadors sweetly. Connie’s mother, Anya, along with Gabi, Falco, Levi, and Onyankapon also accompanied the group as they set off in the direction of the docks.

“So do you all have a plan of attack?” Onyankapon broke the heavy silence that had settled over the group almost immediately. Holding your breath, you hoped that the ambassadors had at least put a strategy together that would allow for them to have a sense of structure to guide their diplomacy.

“Right now, we’re going to focus on meeting with the council either with or without Historia present,” Pieck answered after barely a moment of pause, the quickness of the reply putting your heart immediately at ease. “And depending on how that goes, we might have to hold a public forum with however many people we can, for as long as we can. But especially by the end of the trip, we’re hoping that some countries that we’ve sent word to will join us and maybe draft a renewal of the treaty.”

With the little to no experience that you had in politics, it sounded like a wonderful plan. All of the problems that they had previously discussed at dinner were addressed in the list, so what could possibly go wrong?

“And how is Historia predicting this to go?” Levi, ever the realist, chimed in. The ambassadors exchanged glances, as if daring somebody else to drop the bomb after they had set their friends’ mind at ease with the thoughtful plan. The silence brought the reality crashing down again that the outlook for the mission was dim.

“To be honest, she’s trying her best to keep Paradis from falling apart at the seams,” Armin admitted. “So, in theory, we have no idea what will happen.”

Surprised at his bleak outlook, the soft smile that had budded under the sunshine on your face faltered, wilting at the thought that the mission would fail, that your world would fall apart around you. And Armin was usually the one who was the most confident in their abilities.

“To think that everything we went through… it all fell apart in only five years,” Levi muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and refusing to say another word. You felt deeply for the retired captain, knowing that out of all the people present in the group, he had experienced the brunt of the hundred years of Titan warfare, being humanity’s strongest soldier. Everyone that he had ever cared about, all of his comrades, those people who had hope for a bright future - they were all gone.

And to make matters worse, the captain had a taste of completing the overarching, near-impossible mission for the last five years. Despite living with handicaps, having to be helped to enjoy the little things in life as opposed to his previously independent existence, he had known what his comrades were fighting for. But it threatened to disappear from below him.

You laid a hand on Levi’s shoulder, preparing for him to wince at the contact, but he didn’t. In fact, his unmarred hand settled upon yours, squeezing it gently. A light smile tugged at the corners of your lips at the captain’s affection. Onyankapon watched the exchange from behind Levi’s wheelchair as he guided the captain to the dock.

“Don’t say that, we haven’t even tried yet,” Connie reminded his friends, not willing their morale to be crushed before even setting foot on the island. The glum expressions lightened minutely at the man’s uncurbed enthusiasm. And you, nowhere in your heart did you desire for the ambassadors to lack the confidence they needed to complete the mission. The integrity of your family hinged upon the mission coming to fruition.

“I know that you all will do everything in your power to make this work, just like you always do,” you encouraged, taking Jean’s hand in yours to punctuate the belief. If anything, the statement was geared towards him and his illness, but the ambassadors took your statement to heart, wide smiles spreading across their faces.

Stealing a glance at Jean, you found that his head was tilted in your direction. Strands of hair blew gently around his face, beautiful caramel eyes sparkling in the sunshine. The depths shone with a love that was still echoing your name, despite the darkness that tried to claim them. With a sad, wistful smile, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing kisses to your knuckles.

You needed to make it work.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Armin said, flashing a bright smile. You nodded to him, free hand rubbing Sasha’s back as she cooed against your bosom. The sea breeze blew faintly through the buildings as the group approached the dock. Salt began to burn your eyes, and paired with the blazing sun, tears formed along your waterline in no time. But you knew that the elements wouldn’t be the only reason why you would shed tears that day.

Silence grew over the group as everyone winded through the busy market that connected to the port. Nobody wanted to break it for fear of upsetting the fragile balance of hope and despair that you had carefully created. Marco had been running and weaving in between the members of the group before Gabi snatched him up, setting the toddler on her hip before he disappeared into the crowds and got lost.

The shade of the buildings dissipated as you reached the port, the ship waiting for their last few passengers to board. Making sure that they had everything they needed, the ambassadors bumbled around for a few moments, checking their bags and purses. When all was said and done, the group gathered together, preparing to give their goodbyes.

“We’ll be sending word just in case we have to stay later,” Armin told those that the ambassadors were leaving behind, to which you nodded, hoping to the stars above that it wouldn’t be the case.

“You guys are the best, don’t worry about it!” Gabi told them, bouncing Marco gently. He beamed brightly, nodding furiously in agreement to Gabi’s statement.

“I’ve seen what you kids can do in every aspect of life,” Levi commented, “I have no doubt that you can handle this.”

The old Scouts were nearly moved to tears at Levi’s uncharacteristic affection, however, wetness was spilling down your face with the kind words. The structured layout of the group broke down as hugs and kisses were exchanged. After briefly embracing your close friends, Gabi handed Marco off to your husband, and your little family set themselves aside to bid their patriarch goodbye.

“Be safe,” you whispered, cupping Jean’s face in your shaking hands. His arms hesitantly circled your waist, closing the distance between you. “I love you, Jean.”

The same magnetism that pulled your hearts together still moved, still drew your lips together like the tide to the moon. Jean’s hands drifted up your spine to cup your neck, drawing you into a kiss.

You knew that your Jean was still there, buried underneath the layers of misery and hopelessness. The skin he had taken on would soon be shed, and your Jean would stand before you like he never left. You knew he was there. He was there.

His touch was still the same, albeit he was less confident, not holding you tightly as he usually did. But his hands still settled on the same places, those grooves in your body that had eroded over time to the ministrations of his affection.

You knew he was there. He drew closer with every second, aching to kiss you to prove that he was still present. That there was a hope for your family to heal. That he still loved you with every ounce of his being.

And then your lips touched.

The cold ruggedness of his lips met yours, and every inch of your body screamed at you to pull back from the stranger that you were kissing. There was no emotion behind it, nothing that would serve as a tether to the marriage that you had been fighting tooth and nail to preserve. The hellish observation of the unfamiliarity of your husband seized you, your eyes flying open to find that he was staring right back at you. And his eyes glazed over with a film of tears.

It was like kissing a corpse.

Tears spilled from your eyes as you jerked your head downward, not willing to prolong the contact that effectively wrent your heart in two. The hands that cupped his face fell to steady themselves on his arms instead, clutching the muscles for some semblance of balance.

And suddenly, something fluttered in your stomach.

Eyes widening, at first you thought that it was just a figment of your imagination, the strange tickling feeling that brushed against the inside of your abdomen. But as it happened a second time, the familiarity of the sensation seized you as everything clicked in your mind.

With one hand to your stomach, the other to Jean’s chest, with eyes widened and an uncharacteristically luminous smile, you announced the thing that you would hold onto for dear life, “the baby’s kicking!”

Despite the ambassadors’ growing impatience with how long your and Jean’s goodbye was taking, the worry dissipated into joy as everyone spent a few more minutes on the dock, taking turns holding your stomach to feel the miracle that was growing within it. And Sprout loved to show off; they kicked for every single person.

And the last to say goodbye was Jean, who pressed a long kiss to your tummy before whispering something to the unborn child. Straightening up, he gave you an empty kiss on the forehead before saying goodbye to Sasha and Marco. Your son, after a bit of hesitation to approach his father, was soon crying in his arms, begging him not to leave.

Gabi quickly relieved him, prying the child off his father before placing him on her shoulders with the promise that he would have the best view of the ship taking sail. This assuaged the poor toddler’s sadness, his sniffles ebbing away into occasional hiccups.

The ambassadors shuffled together, giving their tickets to the officers who facilitated the boarding process. With only a few glances backwards, they boarded without incident, dragging their baggage up the ramp.

They remained on the side of the ship that faced the dock, leaning over the railing to wave as the ship’s engines fired up. Black smoke poured from the funnels, coal burning brazenly out of sight. The pungent smell clogged the air, blackening your lungs with each inhale.

Despite your coughing, you couldn’t help but admire how the setting sun framed the ambassadors as they joked around on the deck. Connie had stolen Pieck’s scarf and was waving it around. The silk fabric fluttered in the air, flitting around the man’s frame as he bid dramatic farewells over the railing. The force of his performance nearly sent him careening into the water below.

The sailors had already finished untying the knots that held the ship to the dock, already finished pulling in the planks that were the last way of reaching Jean. And with the boat beginning its journey east, your husband was taken farther and farther away from your sweet embrace.

Tears streamed down your face, surrounded by your found family that waved goodbye to their friends around you. You were acutely aware of Sasha squirming against your chest, at Marco’s shrill calls to his daddy and uncles and aunties. You could feel Léa’s heartbreak too, knowing that you weren’t alone in the pain of Jean slipping through your fingers.

The group stayed at the dock and watched the boat disappear beneath the horizon, but that amount of time didn’t hearken a stop to your tears. Gabi noticed how the sorrow plagued you, turning to you as Marco slid off her shoulders and into Levi’s lap.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Gabi asked. Her big brown eyes shone with an empathy that you didn’t think the girl had the capacity of embodying. The relationship between the two of you was close enough for you to open up to her, seeing as she always loved to talk about the dates that Falco took her on.

“I’m just worried about him,” you sighed, using a handkerchief to blot the tears and snot away from your face. The group shuffled around, beginning the trek back to their respective homes.

“Why?”

You found that the words to express accurately the turmoil and fear that Jean’s behavior had instilled in you still wouldn’t formulate themselves in your mind. With a huffing sigh, you ddi the best to explain the predicament.

“The stress of trying so desperately to keep things from falling apart is really affecting him… and I’m just afraid that soon, I won’t be able to recognize him anymore.”

Sprout’s kicking was enough to draw your attention from the sorrow that settled into your heart. From then on, they became your new hyperfixation, distracting you when all seemed hopeless. Those signs of life were the only things keeping you airborne.

On the way home, your children were passed around like hot potatoes as Levi, to everyone’s surprise, asked if he could hold Sasha. You were more than happy to oblige, helping him don the sash in case he wanted to give his arms a rest. But instead, he gazed into the eyes of your daughter cradled against his chest, searching for signs of her namesake.

Marco was thrown (at times, quite literally) between Gabi and Falco as they entertained and distracted him with games, knowing that the moment he realized that his father was gone, he would throw a fit. You and Léa walked side by side, both plagued by anxiety regarding the beloved Jean.

Going about the illness was territory completely unexplored by you. You had no clue how to navigate the problem, how to talk to him about it, how to support him. Hell, the amount of stress that it put you under heightened the reactions that you had to certain events, probably exacerbating the pressure on him.

The scathing conversation that the two of you had the previous week echoed in your mind. How the words flew like daggers straight into his ears, how his face had fallen, how he had attempted to reach out to you. But you beat him down.

Regret, for the first time, surged up within you. As much as you were grateful at having expressed your fears to him, the relationship was all but in tatters in the wake of that one conversation. But, crazy enough as it was, you didn’t want this to be the end of a relationship that had taken so long to come to fruition. You didn’t want this to be the end of you and your beloved Jean.

But that kiss, that empty, sad excuse for a sign of affection, had delivered a blow to the pitiful attempt of hope you tried to have. It was the last thing that you thought that maybe could show you that the relationship was worth saving.

You knew that Jean was still there. His eyes still shone with that sweet affection that he held for you, the light of his life. But the film of despair that had started to spread across those bright caramel irises, that proved to you that the illness would stop at nothing to claim him.

But what would the parasite devour first? His love for you? His love for his children? Or his own heart?

Fear seized you, claws sinking into your heart dully as you arrived at your house. You heard from far away how Falco and Gabi offered to help with your children, which you accepted absentmindedly. You crossed the threshold into your empty house, heart reeling from the beating it had taken.

Was this really the end for you and Jean?

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[nancydrewwouldnever]

But minka was problematic she was using chris for clout and dumped him in those beginning times for someone better until he got CA and she did cheat (if you lived in la at the time and in the industry you would know this). Sure he agreed to pap walks we have now seen that he has no qualms with doing so but a lot of those times it was her own doing. Lets not forget her stalkerish ways (see LC and Chris pap date and john mayer even made an open letter about her because he didnt name her but at the time it was written all signs pointed to her). Speaking of stalking she has been said to do this with old co workers when she was working in a medical office which btw she lied about being a damn nurse when she wasnt even a rn. Also her entitled bratty behavior especially in regards to the service industry shes had fits on airplanes and at starbucks she tried to negate it but again the hw streets dont forget. Furthermore she tried to sell her own underage sex tape like girl thats child pornography thats gross idgaf thats its her own thats gross and illegal. Also her incessant lying about her past trying to victimize herself just to then turn around and say nothing happened thats problematic especially for people who have been in those situations. And last but not least her shitty words against her mom when she died saying it was her fault she died and yet now is having the audacity to try and act like she has any respect for her mom with her book of lies. Theres so much more but in the end she was manipulative and entitled.

Like I said, people will disagree.

[lallyloo]

Jealousy

(So @imincognitohere and I were talking about EB recs, and porn, and how Link’s entire porn collection would consist of a dark haired guy with glasses and a John Mayer lookalike. Then we imagined Rhett finding Link’s JM porn collection and crying, and then just railing Link. And now we’re here.)

*

He’s not really supposed to be on Link’s laptop, but Link’s running behind and Rhett really needs the May 2022 Ear Biscuits schedule now.

He silently curses himself for not keeping the schedule on his own laptop, or even his phone, but Link’s the one who types during planning sessions and they’re always together, so it’s never mattered before.

But today Link’s stuck in traffic on the way to the creative house, and Stevie’s trying to book their first guest in nearly two years, and Rhett needs the info now.

And they have each other’s passwords for this very reason.

So Rhett waits for the sign-in screen to appear, and he types Link’s password.

RaisinCRUNCH1984!

And he’s in.

 The desktop is just a line of neatly organized folders against a backdrop of some douche playing guitar.

Rhett stares at the douche for a second.

He knows his name is John Mayer.

But in Rhett’s mind he’s just ‘douche’.

Link’s crazy about his music but Rhett’s not, and the guy seems like a tool anyway.

And why does Link need him on his desktop? Why not Christy? Or the kids? Or hell, why not him and Rhett? Would that be too much? No.

And sure, Rhett’s desktop is a silhouetted photo of himself in Death Valley, but that’s neither here nor there. It was a great trip, and it’s a great photo, and it’s not just some random musician guy.

Rhett tears his gaze away from the background and scans the labels on the desktop folders, stopping when his eyes hit one called ‘May’. It seems to be the most obvious choice, likely full of schedule info, brainstorming, personal appointment times, etc.

To Rhett’s surprise, the files inside seem to have much more random names than the desktop folders.

It doesn’t seem like Link at all, and Rhett is a bit flummoxed as he reads down the list of random letters and numbers jumbled together.

He settles on a file called 324_eB_32_MMdrmfanta.

He’s in such a hurry he doesn’t pay attention to the file type, and Rhett realizes it’s a mistake as soon as he clicks it.

It’s not a list of dates or information. It’s not a schedule.

It’s a video.

And it looks like porn.

There’s a room. An office maybe? The camera pans and there’s a desk and a chair and a window.. and a bed. Yep, it’s porn.

The camera pans to socked feet, and up bare legs, over a little red speedo, to a bare chest, up to the face of someone who looks a bit like a younger Link.

Dark hair, blue eyes, glasses.

There’s a knocking sound in the video, someone at the door, and Rhett is curious to see who might walk in. It’ll be a blonde woman, he assumes. A Christy lookalike.

“Link you dirty dog..”

He’s invested now, curious to see what kind of fantasies Link is into. He knows Link and Christy’s relationship has its ups and downs, and Link’s blue balls have been an ongoing joke for years, and maybe he’s invading their privacy a bit by watching this video.. But it’s not actually Link and Christy. It’s just porn. Just a fantasy Link has. And they’ve talked about fantasies before. Hell, Rhett told him about the first time he ever jerked off. Watching a little porn video is nothing.

The guy with the glasses heads for the door and Rhett is enraptured as the scene unfolds – slipping off the chain lock, a hand on the doorknob, turning it slowly. Rhett wonders what the woman’s going to be wearing. What she’s going to say. What they’re going to do. How they’re going to fuck.

On screen, the door opens and Rhett pulls back a bit, surprised, when he realizes there’s a man on the other side of it. Another brunette, with longer hair – not as long as Rhett’s, but longer than Link’s. And flowy. The guy’s kinda pretty.

Huh. Maybe it’s a threesome video? Two guys and a girl? The guy with the glasses looks surprised but pleased, and Rhett stares at the screen, wondering when the girl will show up.

The other guy says something Rhett doesn’t register, and then he steps into the room, wraps the glasses guy up in his arms, and shoves his tongue down his throat.

The unmistakable sound of a porn sax overdub echoes through Link’s office, and Rhett pulls himself out of it. He clicks through the video, skipping ahead, his eyes growing wide as he gets quick glimpses of erections, blow jobs, sloppy kisses, a finger in a butthole, AND IS THAT HIS TONGUE?? And fucking, so much fucking, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Rhett skips to the end to see the long-haired guy trailing his tongue over the glasses guy’s dick, licking up every messy drop of cum.

And. Oh.

The girl never showed up.

Rhett closes the video.

So Link watches porn. Gay porn.

And he’s never told him.

Rhett can’t help but feel a little confused. And a little jealous.

Why hasn’t Link told him? Why haven’t they talked about it?

Does Link like guys?

Rhett’s never been into guys. Not once, like ever.

Well, sure, he’s thought about Link once in awhile. What it might be like to touch him. Kiss him. Maybe more.

But that doesn’t count. Because it’s Link.

It’s Link!

Rhett’s not into guys. Link doesn’t count.

And if Link is into guys he clearly doesn’t want to tell Rhett yet. And that’s fine.

Isn’t it?

Rhett is a little hurt, but he’s alright with letting Link tell him in his own time. That’s what best friends are for. They’re cool and they’re understanding and they’re patient. And Rhett is all of those things.

He closes the folder, and his eyes fall to the desktop again.

To that douche.

With the familiar face.

Why does he suddenly seem so familiar?

Rhett stares at him for a moment and his blood runs cold.

The video.

The guy at the door with the stupid floppy hair.

Rhett quickly opens the folder again, choosing another file at random.

Cheesy porn music starts and Rhett watches another slightly geeky dark-haired guy with glasses flirt with a dark-haired flop. Rhett skips ahead quickly. There are blowjobs, and the flop is lifting the cute geeky guy, kissing him, spreading his cheeks as the glasses guy gasps–

Rhett closes that video, and clicks another one, and moans fill Link’s office as the video starts right in the middle of a fucking scene. Two guys. Another cute eyeglassed guy with dark hair, and some long-haired jerk. As Rhett watches, he catches sight of a guitar in the background and his face burns hot.

“Rhett?”

Rhett fumbles with the laptop, slamming it closed, but the video keeps playing and the moans of two guys echo through the room as Rhett turns towards the door.

“Link!”

Link looks furious.

“Dude, what’re you doing??”

“I was just looking for– ”

“You’re snooping on my laptop??” Link pushes past him and opens his computer, typing in his password.

“No! I wasn’t! I was just– ”

Link clicks the little x in the top corner of the video and the room falls quiet as he turns back to Rhett.

“That’s my private stuff.”

“I was looking for the Ear Biscuits schedule!”

“And you thought you’d just watch some of my porn while you were in there?”

“It said May! I thought it meant the month!”

“Well it doesn’t mean that!”

“I know that now!”

Link looks at him for a moment and then rolls his eyes. “It’s a stupid name. I’ll.. rename it.. and hide it, I guess.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“What if you need somethin’ else in the future?”

“Well I’ll know not to look in the John Mayer folder.”

Link makes a sound, something akin to a squawk. “What??”

“That’s what it is, right?”

“It’s– I mean, it’s..” Link stutters, unable to look at him. “NO.”

“Oh, come on.”

“It’s not.”

Rhett gestures to the laptop, which still sits open on the desk. “You’re tellin’ me all those dudes with the long hair don’t make you think of… him?”

Link doesn’t answer the question, he just frowns. “I should’a called it something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. PORN maybe?? THIS IS MY PORN RHETT DON’T LOOK AT IT?? Does it need to be that obvious?”

Rhett can’t help but laugh, “That wouldn’t help at all. You know it’d only make me more curious.”

“True.” Link says, and he’s smiling now at least. “So fine, I’ll call it something you won’t care about.”

“Like what?”

“Well I’m not gonna tell you, ya dummy.”

Rhett raises his hands in defeat, “fine, fine.”

The room is quiet for a moment as they look at each other, and Rhett can’t help it when his gaze moves from Link’s face down to the idiot on the screen.

He’s so smug. So full of himself. He writes stupid lyrics and people just swoon over him. Link swoons over him.

But Rhett writes lyrics too. And he sings. What’s wrong with his songs?

“What’s John Mayer got that I ain’t got?”

Link’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “WHAT?”

“I didn’t even know you liked guys,” Rhett says quietly, “and now you’re into HIM of all people.”

“What’s wrong with HIM?”

“Well, for starters, he’s a– ” Rhett stops himself from calling the guy a name. Yeah he’s a stupid dumb idiot who steals the affection of certain best friends, but Rhett doesn’t need to say that to Link. He doesn’t need to make him more upset. “He’s not.. ”

“I know you think he’s not cool,” Link rolls his eyes again. “I don’t care.”

“It’s not that.”

“Well what is it??”

“He’s not.. me.” Rhett can feel his face start to burn the moment the words are out of his mouth. It’s stupid. He’s stupid. What is this? What’s he even doing?

“Not you??” Link laughs. “Dude, don’t tell me you’re jealous of John Mayer now too.”

“Well, I wasn’t,” Rhett says, and Link shoots him a skeptical look. “I mean, maybe just a bit. But now...”

“Now what?”

“After I saw those videos..” Rhett chokes out. “Link, why’re you thinkin’ about him and not me?”

“Rhett, you’re not into guys!”

“And you are??” Rhett can’t seem to help the hysterical tone in his voice.

“Well, yeah, man.”

“Since when??”

“Since.. always, I think.”

“What about Christy?”

“Christy knows,” Link shrugs, “she’s okay with it.”

“Oh.”

Rhett thinks of his own wife and how she’d react if it were him.

Lately Jessie’s been more open-minded than anyone, more willing to learn and explore and grow. Would she be okay if he were.. if he liked..

And he already knows the answer – has heard her say a hundred times, a hundred ways, ‘we’re not who we used to be.. so whatever that means for you and Link, that’s fine by me. The four of us can figure it out.’

Rhett hadn’t questioned her at the time. Hadn’t realized what she meant.

“So, look, you found my porn,” Link is saying, “but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do about this whole jealousy thing you’ve got going on. I’m not gonna stop watching it just because your feelings are hurt.”

“But..”

“But what??” Link asks, exasperated.

“I want you to think of me.”

“Look,” Link sighs and takes off his glasses, rubbing a hand over his eyes, “I used to think of you..”

“When??”

Link shrugs. “Awhile ago. Years.”

“Why’d you stop??”

“Rhett, listen, I knew it was never gonna happen with you so I made myself stop.”

“And it’s gonna happen with John Mayer??”

“No,” Link laughs, “it’s just a.. just a stupid fantasy.”

“So let me be your fantasy.” Rhett hates himself the moment it’s out of his mouth – he’s never said anything more embarrassing – and Link just gives him an odd look.

“Dude..”

Rhett cringes, “I know.”

“I’m not gonna fantasize about my straight best friend.”

“But I want..”

“Rhett, WHAT.”

“I’m not into guys,” Rhett tries to explain, feeling like an idiot, “but I’m into you.”

“Well, I’m a guy.”

“I know, but you’re – ”

Link steps forward, and before Rhett can say anything more Link leans in and kisses him. It seems to be a test at first, gentle, and then Link slips his tongue out, pressing against Rhett’s lips, encouraging Rhett to open for him.

And Rhett does. He doesn’t even question it. His brain just screams, yes! Finally! And he’s kissing Link, soft and wet, and an ache shoots through his body, straight to his dick.

When Link pulls away, Rhett’s still got his eyes closed, his head tilted, with a smile plastered to his mouth.

“Did you like that?” Link asks.

“Yeahhh,” Rhett sighs dreamily.

“Then you’re into guys, you dummy. The percentage don’t matter.”

Rhett’s eyes snap open. “Okay, I’m into guys.”

Link looks at him, wide-eyed, and smiles. “So kiss me again then.”

Rhett does, taking hold of Link’s face and kissing him, and he knows he’s supposed to be doing something else. He came in this room for a reason. A file or something.

But none of that matters because he’s kissing Link and Link’s kissing him back, and as Rhett pushes Link up against the desk they bump the cable on Link’s laptop and it beeps to notify them that it’s come unplugged.

“Hold on,” Link mumbles, pulling away to plug the cable back in, and Rhett’s eyes are fixed to the photo on the desktop.

Stupid John Mayer douche.

He’ll never have Link.

“What’re you lookin’ at?”

Rhett glances up to find Link watching him curiously.

“What?”

“You’re staring at my laptop like you wanna murder it.”

“What,” Rhett sputters, “no I’m not.”

“You really are jealous, huh?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Link, I’m fine.”

“Guess I’ll just leave it open then,” Link smirks. “Since it’s not botherin’ you.”

Rhett reaches past him and slams the laptop shut. “No.”

Link laughs. “You’re like a jealous girlfriend.”

“Boyfriend.”

“Oh, you’re my boyfriend now?”

“Maybe,” Rhett says, and he’s dying. Literally dying. Link’s never going to let him live this down.

But Link kisses him again and suddenly Rhett doesn’t care. They’re kissing and Link is touching him. Link’s hands move down to unbutton his shirt, so Rhett grabs hold of Link’s shirt and tugs it up and over his head.

“What ones did you watch?”

“What what?”

“The videos, which ones.”

Rhett nearly chokes, looking away, and Link takes him by the chin and pulls his gaze back.

“You can tell me.”

“I don’t know,” Rhett admits, “I just skimmed a few.”

“Well what’d they do in them?”

“Blowjobs,” Rhett says, replaying the scenes in his mind, “lots of fingers everywhere. Fucking.”

“Fucking?”

“Yeah, tons of it.”

Link’s fingers slide down Rhett’s belly, stopping at his belt, and the buckle clinks as Link undoes it. “You wanna act it out?”

“Act it out??” Rhett feels like he might actually scream.

“Yeah.”

“DO I HAVE TO BE JOHN MAYER?”

“No!” Link laughs and shuts him up with another kiss. “Just be you, dummy.”

“You want me to– ” Rhett stammers, speaking against Link’s lips, “Want me to go to the door?”

“The door? Why?”

“To knock? Like in the video?”

Link laughs again, and at least Rhett’s managed that. If nothing else, he can always make Link laugh.

“You watched the dorm fantasy video?”

“I don’t know.”

“Guy studying? Red speedo?”

“Ohh, yeah, that one.”

“And how’d it end?”

Rhett’s eyes go wide. “Fucking.”

“Right,” Link says, smiling back at him. “So you wanna just skip to that?”

Rhett’s died. He’s a corpse.

But he manages to breathe out, “Yes.”

Link opens a drawer and tosses a bottle of lube on his desk, and he’s saying “come on, come on,” and Rhett’s brain finally returns to him, because if there’s one thing he’s good at it’s using his dick.

He’s not quite sure of the next step because he’s never done THIS. But Link walks him through the lube and the prep, and god, his ass is beautiful, and now Rhett gets to fuck it, and when Link’s hand slips over Rhett’s dick, slicking him up good, Rhett’s knees nearly give out.

Then Link’s turning away, still talking to him, teasing, asking, “You gonna fuck me better than John Mayer would?” and Rhett grips his hips and slides in slow, easing in deep, gasping at how tight Link is around him.

And Link groans,“Oh god.. fuck, you’re in..

And moans, “Rhett, do it.”

And Rhett does.

He fucks the hell out of Link.

Plows him into the desk.

Tries to fuck John Mayer right out of his mind.

Just rails him.

And Link keeps gasping, “Yeah, like that, yeah, Rhett, fuck me like that,” and when he breathes out “better than John Mayer ever could..” Rhett stops and grabs hold of him, turning him around, needing to see him, wanting Link to see who’s fucking him and giving it to him so good.

Link goes easily, seemingly happy about it, and when Link is bare-assed on the desk with his dick in his hand, Rhett hooks his arms under his knees and fucks in again.

“Tell me,” Rhett sputters as he fucks with everything he’s got.

“Tell you what?” Link is looking up at him, dazed, and they both know Link’s teasing.

“Tell me I’m better.”

“Better than who?”

“You know who,” Rhett grits out, and he’s going to come. Soon. Real soon. And he needs to hear it so bad. “HIM.”

“Oh..” Link grins, and his voice catches in his throat as he says, “John Mayer?”

Rhett can only nod, silently begging Link to give him what he needs.

“You’re better,” Link smiles up at him, his breath stuttering, and Rhett can feel him tighten around his cock. “You’re so good, Rhett, fuck, you fuck me better than anyone.”

“Yeah,” Rhett gasps, pulling Link’s knees up higher, fucking in tighter, harder, faster, and he nearly folds Link in half when he leans in to kiss him again.

And Link breathes against Rhett’s mouth, “No one fucks me like you..” and he comes, shooting hot between them, and Rhett groans and stills, coming hard inside Link.

“Fuck, yeah, so much better than him,” Link sighs, “You’re bigger too.”

And Rhett’s pretty sure he passes out.

When he comes to, he’s still holding onto Link, and he lets go slowly, easing his legs down.

“You alright?” Link’s asking, with a little worried expression on his face.

“Yeah,” Rhett says, “was I out long?”

“You were out??” Link sits up quickly, getting a better look at him.

“I think so,” Rhett shrugs, “I dunno. Maybe it was just too good.”

Link laughs, “Dude, stop.”

Rhett stares down at him, looking hurt.

“What, you’re sayin’ it wasn’t good?”

“Rhett– ”

And Rhett knows he’s teasing again, and he knows it was good, but Rhett pushes against his chest anyway, encouraging Link to lie back down on the desk.

And Rhett leans over and licks up every messy drop of cum from Link’s chest, and sucks his dick clean too.

He’s clearly better than John Mayer.

And he definitely likes guys. Especially Link.