#Happy Tree Friends glitter

[emo-gals-4life]

Here is candycore nutty everyone!

[sweetybaty]

Flippaky HD GIF just dropped

[meguaaaaaaa]

2 aus

[theradicalace]

the amount i think about him in a dress probably says something about me i think

[gojoscinnamonroll]

wanna let him unwrap me & get on top of him by the fireplace..

cw: mdni + ageless blogs dni !! afab reader x choso kamo, reader and choso live together, mentions of marriage & children, lots of smooches, smut!!! , lingerie, everything is consented, p in v unprotected sexxxx, riding, missionary, switch! choso hehe, pet names, oral, breeding kink, swearing/profanity, creampies

a/n: HAPPY DECEMBER AND HOLIDAYS MY CUTIES!! ^_^ wc: 1.6k

“hm? a bow v-string panty? how cute.” you thought to yourself as you were in a lingerie boutique while out shopping with your friends, utahime and shoko, at the mall for presents for your lovers and family. you originally weren’t planning on stopping by for lingerie since you were out shopping for your loved ones' gifts but you remembered how you were needing some new underwear so you decided to stroll in for a moment since you were already out blowing money.

“oooh, are you gonna buy that to wear for your little cho cho?” shoko snickered.

your face flushed into a darker shade of pink than the blush you were already wearing from her remark. “sho, i love you but please shut up.” you mumbled, turning away from embarrassment.

“yeah shoko, shut it you weirdo.” utahime rolled her eyes in disgust. but you couldn’t help to anticipate that maybe this would be a cute little naughty surprise for your bashful boyfriend to add onto his christmas gifts. so you quickly grabbed the red pair and hid it under the rest of the undergarments you were already planning to purchase to head the register to check out. (and when the cashier had asked if you wanted to also purchase the matching bow bra that ties in the front, you definitely said yes.)

later that night when you got home from your shopping spree and started to put all your purchases away, you couldn't help but stare at the matching lingerie you had laying out on the dresser and imagine how your boyfriend choso will react. you heard choso walking in and hurriedly try to hide the underwear so that the surprise wouldn’t be ruined.

"hello baby, how was the mall? got any christmas shopping done?" pulling you in for a hug with a kiss to your forehead as he sets down some hot chocolate he made for you. "I did! I can't wait for you to see what I got you!" giving him a glittering smile.

"ooh! ooh ooh, is it that new gaming headset or the new game that just came out?" choso asked jumping up and down like a kid in a candy store. "noooo you silly!! I can't tell you, you have to wait until christmas! anyways, i'm going to go get dinner started." you held his cheek and kissed him walking away.

boy, was he in for a treat.

────

december 25th, 7am -

that morning, you had woken up earlier than usual to place the last few presents under the tree and get started on breakfast, being careful not to wake choso— the present you had for him waiting under the silk ivory robe you had on while getting the fireplace ready since it was a little chilly in your shared home. you heard the shuffling of footsteps coming from upstairs and your heart began to thump in excitement and nervousness.

as choso was heading downstairs, he stopped in his tracks absolutely starstruck at the sight before him— his gorgeous girlfriend under the tree, staring back at him like an angel.

“merry christmas, cho.” you purred while sitting on your heels.

“w- what is this baby?” he stammered with crimson tint to his cheeks. his heart jumping, (and so was something else) and the butterflies in his stomach fluttering as if he was falling in love with you all over again. you knew your boyfriend liked what he saw because it was obvious in those chestnut brown, doe eyes of his. “it’s your gifts!” playing dumb as you handed him the present with the game and new headphones he kept asking you for the last 3 months prior. “go ahead, open it!” clapping your hands in joy, but your smile faded as he set the gift to the side.

“that’s not what i’m talking about… i’m talking about..” he stopped to adore you, the way your pillowy breasts sat pretty in the bow-tied bra, and the way your panties hugged your hips, all while giving him an innocent look as if you don’t know what your doing to him. still sitting before him, he kneeled down to your level.

“this.” he lightly grazed his fingers over the big red bow on the front of your bra. “oh!-” still playing dumb. “it’s my new underwear! do you like it?” batting your eyelashes at him.

and with how he was eyeing you down, he might as well just have been drooling a puddle on the floor.

“y-yeah, i.. i do..” choso breathed out. you gently pulled him in to capture his lips with yours, him whining into the kiss. as the two of you pressed lips against each other and shared each other’s breath, you gently pushed him back just right in front of the fireplace to climb on top of him.

“fuck..” he moaned breathlessly in between kisses, “this is the best present i’ve gotten already.” you paused to admire his handsome face and leaned in, “well santa told me how much of a good boy you’ve been this year.” cooing in his ear as his gaze fall onto the pretty bow tied in between the valley of your breasts.

“can i untie this?” looking up at you through his long eyelashes.

“of course you can cho, i’m a present just like you said.” with those words, he began to unwrap the bow on your bra and gently caress your breasts once untied. his lips made their way to clasp around your nipples and drew circles with his tongue while his other hand began running up and down your soft body as you started grinding against the hard on in his pajamas— your poor boyfriend becoming overstimulated from the feeling because he started whimpering into your breasts.

“how bad do you want it?” you whispered sultrily into his ear, “i want it bad, now please. please baby i need it.” he begged with dilated pupils and a raspy voice.

you lifted your hips up a little to assist him in removing his bottoms and moved your floss of an underwear to the side to slowly sink down on his pulsating and achy cock. he let out the nastiest, pornographic and needy moan once you got all of him into you.

“mmp, you feel so f- fuck! so fucking good” he whined out. the sight below you so heavenly as you watch choso slowly become a wreck– his long dark hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, his eyes rolling back as you continue to bounce on him.

“gonna cum for me already, handsome?” tantalizing your poor lover. “b-baby, please slow down i don’t wanna cum yet, oh s-shit” but it was too late. he’s just too in love with you and the way you feel around him to control himself, tears falling from his eyes from how good you were pleasuring him but also because of how embarrassed he was that he came undone too quickly.

“it’s okay cho, i-” cradling him, but your breath hitched from surprise because he flipped you over to switch positions with you, him now being the one on top.

“i’m not done yet, you’re gonna take this cock for me princess.” he babbled, as if a light in his head had switched. he slipped the rest of your lingerie off, lining his swollen tip against your leaking slit before slowly burying himself inside as you let out a moan that was like music to his ears. once he bottomed out into you, he started thrusting in and out like a dog in heat.

“this is what you wanted right? to tease me? hah- cmon pretty, you can take it.” he was splitting you open so deliciously that you started seeing stars and began clenching around him like a vice.

“ch- cho please, s- slow down, you're too big” you choked out as you gripped onto his biceps and wrapped your thighs around his waist.

“look at me or i’ll stop.” he gently grabbed your chin, and you looked back up at him with glazed eyes. “you’re so pretty baby… i’m gonna marry you mmh- then i’m gonna give you babies that are pretty just like you.” gasping and looking into your eyes as he kept hitting that spot in you that was pushing you over the edge.

he felt too good. way too fucking good. you felt like you were getting sent into another world even. you and your cunt becoming a sloppy mess before him, lewd noises coming from the both of you, drool spilling from the side of your lips, your juices squirting all over his chiseled abs and maybe even onto the rug. but at this point, you were too cockdrunk too care. you could feel every vein of his gliding against your velvet walls as his swollen tip kept hitting your sweet spot.

"f-fuck, oh my g-" your voice trembling and eyes rolling back as you feel your orgasm approaching. " 'm gonna c-cum!" writhing under him as your climax washes over you and sucks him in.

"y-your so tight wifey.. please let me cum in you please, I need to ngh!" his release painting your insides as he slams his hips into you one last final time, and it's almost taking everything in him not to propose to you while still being balls deep inside of you still.

as he slides his glistening dick out from you, some of his seed spill out, reminding him how much he has filled you up. and don't worry... he’s not letting one drop go to waste. he holds your thighs open to push the mess back in with his fingers.

once he gets you all cleaned up, he picks you up in bridal style. “that was the best christmas gift ever!" as he brushes the hair out of your face and gives you a loving and warm kiss on your flustered cheek.

"choooo!" you giggled, "don’t forget you still have to open the other gift i got you!!"

reblogs & likes are very much appreciated! pls don't copy or steal my works <3

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere Fairy/Fae x F! Human Reader

A/N: I had so much fun researching Beltane for this.

TW: Breeding kink, non-con, dub-con, spanking

Kofi: Ko-fi.com/cherie47467

You hated that he managed to trap you in his world. But, what you hated even more is that for a whole year, you had tried to escape this place before breeding day arrived. Instead, you're hiding in a closet, hoping your forced husband doesn't find you.

Damn! Why did I have to step into that fairy circle?!

It would've been fine under any other circumstance, but with the fae population declining, the current monarchy had decided to follow their old traditions again in an attempt to raise the rate of children being born before they went extinct. Which meant you were one of the many human women trapped in the fairy world.

"Sundrop, where are you? We need to get going and leave for the Beltane festival," Rae says, walking into the room, his aquamarine wings and golden skin glittering in the light. "Sundrop?"

You keep your head down, hoping he won't notice your hiding spot, only for the doors to open.

"There you are, Sugarplum. I thought you were over hiding from me. Anyway, I brought you the cute white uniform that the human women wear," Rae states, his purple eyes shining as he pulls you up and unbuttons your pajamas. "I'm going to hold back until it's our turn to jump the fire, but you can play with your little human friends at the Maypole."

Your uniform was a short, white, and lacy babydoll negligee that barely covered your ass and white lingerie. It felt nauseating to see Rae look so happy seeing you in such an outfit.

"You look amazing. You'll look so beautiful next to the other women," Rae muses, gently taking your hand and guiding you outside.

You sigh as you walk outside and see the rest of the human women with their partners wandering around as the festivities start. That's when you see your best friend making a flower crown. You sit next to her and start making a flower crown.

"So, how is it with Rae?" She asks, attaching more flowers to her crown.

"I tried hiding from him today. He found me like all the other times," You say, accepting the crown B/F/N gives you. "I know there's a way out of here. We just need to know where."

"Y/N, we've been here for a year already. It's breeding day, and at this point, they're going to fuck us. We're going to get pregnant and be stuck here forever. We might as well enjoy the festivities," B/F/N replies, finishing her flower crown.

"We can at least try."

You finish your flower crown and place it upon your head as you go with the others to the Maypole. You grab a ribbon and begin to run around with the other women. Your feet are covered in wet grass, and for once, you feel joy as you run around wrapping your ribbon around the pole. As the last of the ribbons are wrapped around the pole, your partners, pregnant women, and other fae cheer.

"You looked like you enjoyed yourself, Sundrop," Rae says, kissing your hand. "I brought some food for you. Do you want to eat it-"

"I'll eat later. I have to go to the bathroom," You say, walking away from your husband.

After walking out of the bathroom, you meet your best friend again and smile at her. You see the open woods nearby, and as the sun begins to fall, your chance for freedom begins to slip away. You grab your best friend's hand, taking off into the woods. Your feet are covered in dirt as you jump over thorns and bushes full of shiny berries. That's when you see a tree with a glowing base, and you hope that's your ticket out. The dark night covers the forest, making everything look less mystical.

"We're almost there!" B/F/N exclaims, holding your hand tighter.

You feel your body stop moving, then, you're flying backward until you hit something hard.

"I'm sorry my Sundrop influenced such bad behavior for your mate. I'll make sure to discipline her properly after we jump the bonfire," Rae says, turning to a tall, buff man with light blue hair, blue skin, and silver wings.

"Don't feel so bad. I'll be disciplining mine as well," He says, carrying your best friend away.

The two of you return to the village and line up with all the other pairs. With every couple that jumped the bonfire, they scurried off to their homes, ready to breed. As you got closer to the bonfire, the flames seemed like they were growing higher and higher as you neared the moans and mumbles of the other fae and human pairs in their nearby homes. Everything seemed to be closing in until you saw your best friend leap over the bonfire with her mate. He carries her to the noble fae housing where you live, and you see the look of utter defeat on her face. Then, it's your turn, and your heart drops as you're high in the sky as your husband holds you in his arms, the flames drying the mud on the soles of your feet.

When he lands on the ground, he flutters off to his quarters, his hands gripping your ass like there's no tomorrow. The halls are filled with moans and screams, and all you can think about is how your husband is going to discipline you. He locks the door, then places you on the bed.

"Your feet are so dirty. I don't want anything but me staining our sheets on our first breeding session," Rae says, wiping your feet with a moist washcloth.

You don't respond, and once he's done, you pull your feet away. You hear Rae sigh as he sits on the bed, then you feel him take your hands.

"Be good, and don't move while you're over my lap," Rae states, holding your back down with his forearm so your stomach is on his thighs. "I'm sorry I've been such a bad mate. If I had disciplined you more, you wouldn't have acted out tonight and dragged your dear friend into your bad behavior. Well, tonight, I'm going to fix that mistake for good."

Rae starts to knead your ass, sighing as his hands roam and grope your butt as if he's making a difficult decision. You feel a sharp sting on your left cheek, making your legs kick into the air.

"Ow!" You scream, making Rae frustrated.

"Didn't I tell you not to move? Gods, you're such a piece of work!" Rae rants, spanking you harder than before. "Don't move, or else your punishment will get worse!"

You sniffle and hold your legs as still as possible while Rae continues your punishment. He moves your negligee up a bit more, and he spanks you harder and faster.

"Do you know how embarrassing it was to lose my mate right before the bonfire? Do you know how humiliating it was to have someone else's partner tell me that you had run off with his mate into the woods? How dare you embarrass me like this! What part of there's no going back home without me do you not understand?!" Rae shouts, the intensity and speed of the spankings increasing with every word.

His hands leave you a tearful mess, sobs coming out of your mouth every couple of seconds. Eventually, he stops and you feel him lean over your back.

"I'm sorry, Sundrop, but I had to. You were out of control, and I had to punish you," Rae whispers, kissing and nibbling on your ear. "I'm almost done, so do me a favor and count for me."

Rae spanks your ass again, but this time he rubs the spot he hit almost as if to comfort you.

"One," You whimper, gripping the bed sheets.

"Good girl, you're taking it so well," Rae praises, stroking your neck and back.

Rae hits you again, and you say two.

"Three!"

Smack!

"Keep going."

Smack!

"Four!"

Smack!

"Five!"

"You're almost there, Sundrop."

Smack!

"Six!"

Smack!

"Seven!"

Smack!

"Eight!"

Smack!

"Nine!"

"One more to go, Sundrop, and you're done."

SMACK!

"T-Ten!"

"You did it. You got through your punishment," Rae says, rubbing your red ass. "All you needed was a firm but gentle hand to discipline you. Now you receive your reward."

Rae rubs your clothed pussy with fingers, enjoying the feeling of your moistness. His fingers circle your lips, occasionally pressing your clit, until he slips two fingers inside your panties, fingering you at a steady pace. You cover your mouth to prevent moans from slipping out, making Rae slap your ass again.

"Remove your hand from your mouth, or else I will tie your hands to the headboard," Rae states, fingering you faster.

"Ah-ah..yes-s, Rae," You moan, removing your hand from your mouth and placing them on the bed sheets. "Shit, I'm-"

"Good girl. Ah, I'm so happy you're finally starting to submit to me," Rae replies, taking your panties off and pulling out his cum covered fingers. "Now then, shall we get to the main event and have a successful breeding day?"

"Wait-" You exclaim, only to have your person stripped naked within seconds.

Rae strips his loose white clothing and pulls out his golden cock. Its aquamarine tip has precum flowing out, and it's twitching with anticipation. Your husband pulls open your legs and bends them until you're in a mating press. He quickly inserts himself, shivering from pure delight.

"I've saved myself for this day ever since you became mine one year ago, and now I can finally release all my seed into you," Rae moans, thrusting his dick into you. "Ha...ah...ahh...gods, your pussy is so good."

You hold your legs in the mating press position, moaning just like all the other fae and human mates in the noble hall. You don't know if it was fae magic, the magic of the holiday, or something they put into the food and drinks, but you feel like an animal in heat. You moan as Rae moves inside you, his golden skin shining with sweat.

"Faster, Rae!" You moan, feeling a coil of pleasure form in your stomach.

Rae uses his inhuman speed and thrusts his hips so fast it feels like he's rearranging your guts. His purple eyes roll into his head while his folded wings shake as he feels his orgasm nearing.

"Oh..fuck...I'm going to breed you so well-" Rae moans, his orgasm bursting through his body and causing his wings to unfold and burst open.

You feel Rae cum inside you and cum on his dick, your toes curling at the feeling.

"Oh...oh my..." Rae softly moans, spurting a year's worth of semen into you while slowly thrusting to ride out his orgasm. "You look so lovely beneath me."

Rae loudly gasps, and he falls on top of you, his wings drooping to his sides. You relax your legs and wipe a wet piece of hair from your face. Eventually, your husband comes to, his wings lightly fluttering, and puts a sweaty hand on your cheek.

"Happy Breeding Day, my Sundrop," Rae coos, pulling out of you and placing some sort of small cloth over your vaginal hole to keep his sperm from spilling out.

Rae kisses your lips, sweat rolling down both of your faces. He grabs the drinks you two got from the festival, smirking at you.

"You didn't think we were done, did you, Sundrop? Everyone breeds till we all fall silent with exhaustion. We don't care whether that's tonight or well into the next morning. So drink, and enjoy the most pleasurable hours of your life," Rae says, drinking from a cup.

You smile feeling your thighs close and rub together with anticipation of his next move. He takes another sip and kisses you, letting the drink go down your throat. Your legs wrap around his waist and the two of you become another sex-crazy couple within the village.

[levanswrites]

underneath the tree

pairing: steve rogers x agent!reader

summary: Everything is where it should be: a giant pot of mulled wine simmering quietly on the stove, colorful bags of icing and sugary sprinkles strewn all over the cookie decorating station. Even an old-timey record player crackles softly in the corner, one you’d thrifted on a whim in hopes of teasing a certain someone about it.

Except that certain someone wasn’t… here. 

warnings: fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, first kiss, light angst

word count: 2.7k

a/n: hey friends, this one’s a holiday special w/ pure fluff (and a pinch of angst b/c who am i without it?) feedback is always welcome! thanks for reading and happy holidays 🎄✨

“Santa’s… Favorite… Ho.” 

The words glitter in bold, obnoxious cursive, smack dab across the chest of your favorite red-haired assassin. 

“Good one, Romanoff.”  You smirk, biting back a laugh as she levels you with a deadpan stare, betrayed by the faint twitch at the corner of her crimson lips.  

Your very first time hosting a Christmas Party. 

Or, as Nat lovingly dubbed it—a ’Derelict’s Christmas.’ 

It’s a tradition you’re determined to start this year, for anyone on the team without family during the holidays—a way to make sure no one spends this time of year alone.

And, naturally, another opportunity to humiliate your coworkers. 

The rules were simple: everyone had to show up in the ugliest, most eye-searing sweater they could find. No exceptions.

And I mean ugly, Nat. A basic red sweater is not ugly. 

Even Bucky’s adhered to your law, donning a laid-back penguin wearing sunglasses, sprawled beneath the words ‘Chill Vibes Only.’ A festive tinsel garland spirals around his left arm, which will undoubtedly be the subject of jokes he won’t live down until well after New Years.

Wait, does this make you the Winter Wonderland Soldier?

As you glance around your living room, soft, warm light dances off the mismatched decorations adorning the walls—the kind you’d spent all week setting up—and you can’t help but feel a distinct melancholic warmth reserved for this time of the year.

Everything is where it should be: a giant pot of mulled wine simmering quietly on the stove, colorful bags of icing and sugary sprinkles strewn all over the cookie decorating station. Even an old-timey record player crackles softly in the corner, one you’d thrifted on a whim in hopes of teasing a certain someone about it.

Except that certain someone wasn’t… here. 

Your eyes flick to the door for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes.

No luck. 

You try to tell yourself it’s just traffic, that he’ll walk through any second. But the party flows on, cruelly indifferent—drinks flowing, laughter bubbling—Sam’s already made his second sappy toast of the night and is well on his way to a third. With each passing minute, the excitement in your chest grows heavy, twisting into disappointment.

Sure, he’s probably got a million other things to do. Even on Christmas. 

But when you’d brought up your little soiree, he’d agreed with a gentle nod of his head, and smiled in that boyish way that made your heart flutter.

Sounds fun, I’ll be there.  

It’s not like him to just leave you hanging. But when there’s no work emergency and everyone else is here, it’s hard not to take it personally. 

Your mind feels exhausted, steaming like a train running low on fuel, huffing its way to its final station, desperate to come up with more excuses. You’ve run out of them about two drinks ago.

You’re about to prepare your third, slumped against the kitchen island with a cutting board under you, when a quiet voice cuts through your haze.

“Not feelin’ the holiday spirit?”

You start at the interruption, the lime in your hand slipping from your fingers and tumbling away, rolling off the cutting board with a soft thump.

“Jesus, Barnes, give a girl a warning.”

You abandon your knife with a quiet sigh, eyes following the trail of red and green tinsel up Bucky’s arm as he steps in closer.

Lips twitching in something like amusement, he leans casually against the counter, gaze flicking pointedly toward your apartment entrance before drifting back to you.

“Noticed you’ve been staring at that door all night.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. You force a roll of your eyes, dismissing his observation with a shrug. But your fingers hesitate over the cutting board, the lime mocking you from its spot against the cool backsplash. 

“I’m not—” You cut yourself off, the words tasting too defensive.  

A heavier sigh slips from you when you reach for your glass instead.

“It’s just not like him, you know?” You mutter, swirling the last sip in your glass before downing it. Your lips come up sticky-sweet from the rim when you mumble, more to yourself than him.

“I mean, sure, he’s busy, but…” You trail off, meeting Bucky’s gaze to find that the teasing glint was gone, replaced with something softer, unreadable. The shift unsettles you, and your stomach twists.

“What?” The word comes out sharper than you intended.

He tilts his head, as if weighing his words, and the silence grows heavy—a non-answer wrapped in a knowing look. Brows furrowed, you wait, trying to decipher his hesitation. 

It’s another long beat before he sighs, lifting himself off the counter, and taps his fingers absently against the edge. 

His eyes dart to the side, glancing briefly over the room. “He… didn’t want me to tell anyone.” 

Your fingers tighten instinctively around the stem of your glass, teeth scraping over the remnants of sugar sticking to your bottom lip. 

“About what?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Steve’s…” His gaze flicks to yours, softening, “He’s probably over at New York-Presbyterian.”

Your stomach drops, fingers slipping around the glass as you reach for the countertop. The train jolts back to life, racing faster than ever, the wheels screeching as each thought barrels forward, colliding with the next in a blur of frantic speed.

The hospital?Why, was he hurt?What happened?How had you not heard?

“No, no, he’s not—” Bucky cuts in quickly, raising a hand to stave off your growing panic. The wince on his face softens into a small, apologetic laugh,

“He’s fine. Just…volunteering for the kids. Does it every year.”  

You blink, the rush of thoughts screeching to a sudden halt.

“He’s…”

It takes all of two seconds for the realization to register, your body moving before your mind can catch up. The glass is abandoned on the counter as you scramble for the nearest coat, not caring whose it is, and rush for the door.

The pediatric ward offers a welcome reprieve from the usual maze of sterile corridors���paper snowflakes and crayon drawings adorning the walls, giant inflatable snowmen standing guard at the entrances to patient rooms. A small Christmas tree, twinkling with homemade ornaments and tinsel, stands next to the nurse’s station. 

Your desperate steps falter when you spot him in the corner of the ward, sat cross-legged over a rug in a makeshift play area, surrounded by a small circle of children. The Captain America outfit stands out amongst the sterile blues and whites—and it’s not the usual tactical gear he wears on covert missions, muted tones and coarse to the touch. 

No, its the spandex version of his uniform, that ridiculously colorful suit he’d worn to punch Hitler on stage every night. Soft patches of red, white, and blue that fit snugly around his shoulders, but hang a little loose over the rest of his frame.

He’s reading from a tiny children’s book, splayed open in one hand, while the other steadies a little boy in a hospital gown perched on top of his shoulders. The boy’s eyes are wide, glued to the page as Steve gently rocks him side to side.

You hesitate, pulse quickening, letting his soft, steady voice wash over you for a moment—a rhythmic murmur that envelops the quiet corner of the ward. 

It’s not until he finishes the book that he realizes you’re standing there.

Soft blue eyes crinkle at the edges when he frowns, starting to uncross his legs.

"Hey, uh… guys, new mission,” He’s still a little unsure when he sets the book down, gaze still on you. “…whoever can help me clean up the blocks gets to pick the next game, okay?” He clears his throat, smiling back at the eager group as they scramble off to the toy bins in the corner. He gently lowers the boy from his shoulders, letting the little one rush off to join the others. 

You move forward, feet shuffling against the soft foam padding of the floor. As Steve meets you halfway, you clutch the sleeves of your sweater tightly, heart hammering.

“Hi.” He breathes out, surprise still evident in the small dip between his brows, though it gives way to a gentle smile. 

“Hey.” Your words come out choked, something unmistakably tightening in your chest. 

“How did you…” His eyes flit down to the loud pattern on your sweater, then behind you at the clock. His gaze lingers there for a moment, eyes fluttering shut in disbelief. 

“Shoot. I’m sorry, I had no idea it got this late. I was going to—”

“—Steve.” Your voice cracks, thick and watery—frustration, sadness, guilt, longing, all tangled with a deep, aching incredulity. 

And goddamn it, why was the tip of your nose prickling?

You take another step toward him, now close enough to notice the tiny details of his uniform—the delicate lines of stitching, the faded patch of white over his chest. And as your eyes trail over the frayed seams, you can’t help but lift a hand, the tip of your index tracing a gentle line against the end of a loose thread, pressing it down and watching it pop back up. It’s all you can do to keep from collapsing into his arms, or punching him square in the chest. 

“It’s been sitting in my closet too long,” he murmurs, the low timbre vibrating against your palm, “Figured I’d take it out for a spin.”

Your eyes snap up, and the air that escapes your nose is somewhere between a snort and a desperate cry because you know you’re fucked. 

Utterly ruined by this ridiculous, stupid, dumb man standing in front of you. 

And when he tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, trapping the soft pink flesh in quiet hesitation, the spring finally snaps. 

Brows furrowed, he's halfway into offering some kind of reassurance—maybe another damn apology—when you rise on your tiptoes, yanking him down by the loose collar of his uniform.

And then it’s nothing but the heady sensation of his lips flush against yours, a little stiff but warm and alive just the same. His broad hands find their way to the small of your back, the pressure against your lips growing firmer as he bends down, pulling you in closer. You’re gripping his uniform so tight your knuckles have turned white, but you refuse to let go even when he pulls back, his breath warm and steady against your skin. 

His gaze is soft, searching, and you become acutely aware of the hot sting rising behind your eyes, the bruising grip on his collar the only thing holding you together. You wonder if he feels it too, the weight of so much time lost and longing unspoken, rushing to fill the space between you. 

Then he smiles—a quiet, unguarded thing that tugs at the corners of his lips and lights up his eyes.

And just like that, the weight in your chest slips away as if it was never there.

His gaze flits down to your lips, eyelids fluttering tenderly as he starts to lean back in, only to be stopped short by a ripple of delighted gasps from about three feet below.

“Look, look, they’re kissing!”  

“Steve is that your girrrlfriend?"

A gaggle of children ambushes you two—a surprise strike from all sides with no escape route. Squeals of joy pierce the air as tiny hands grasp at Steve’s uniform, tugging at his sleeves, pulling at his boot. It's a full-on siege, and you’re caught squarely in the middle. Steve looks back at you, brows raised in defeat.

“Oh my god, she’s toootally his girlfriend!”

“Cap-tain America sitting on a tree,” A loud chorus of singing erupts. “K-I-S-S-I-N—“

“Okay, okay, guys–“ He’s got the biggest, dumbest grin on his face when he raises a hand to try and quiet the noise, the other still resting on your waist. 

He’s blushing something fierce, redder than a Christmas stocking, and hell, if your cheeks aren’t warming up too. 

The nurse on duty eventually settles down the noise, gently ushering the children out of the play area and leading them to their rooms. You watch warily as the kids shuffle out, stuffed animals raised in the air as they wave goodbye.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“No, we should’ve wrapped up a while ago.” Steve smiles sheepishly, his cheeks flushed as he ruffles the back of his neck. “It’s late.”

“Right.”

Silence stretches between you, deafeningly loud without all the tiny agents crowding your space. 

He steps forward, hand still curled around his nape, and you resist the urge to kiss him again. 

“Do you… wanna grab some hot chocolate?”

You sit idly in the waiting area, observing the ease on Steve’s face as he chats with the nursing staff, thanking them before heading back toward you with two plastic cups in hand.

The seat beside you creaks under his weight, and you go to cradle the warmth in both hands with a quiet smile. Your eyes drift over to the lights wrapped around the Christmas tree near the nurse’s station, shining brightly—and with it, the familiar knot tightening in your chest.

“Every year, huh?”

“Yeah,” He nods in your periphery, “The kids seem to like it.”

Your lips quirk up in a sideways smile, “Yeah, I bet.”

A beat, then: “Did Bucky tell you?”

You nod, and his smile widens, his gaze dropping to the floor as his leg bounces ever so slightly. The shiny red of his boots gleams against the linoleum, as he taps once, twice.

“I’m sorry I missed the party.” 

You track the rhythm of the tree lights as they blink—on, off, alternating between bulbs then flashing all at once—and he’s still apologizing. 

“I was looking forward to going.”

“Steve, it’s…” you sigh, brows furrowing at the absurdity of his apology, only for a new ridiculous thought to take its place. You blink, then, nose crinkling in amusement as you swivel around in your seat. 

“Wait, were you, planning on showing up in that?”

He laughs, the sound breaking out so warm and easy. “That bad, huh?”

You gaze incredulously for a long, deliberate beat.

“You know what? I’m actually glad you didn’t come tonight. I mean, for your sake.”

Quiet laughter bubbles up in your chest, a smile tugging at your lips as you turn your gaze back forward. But in the silence that follows, a thread of bitterness winds its way back through your thoughts.

"You know," you murmur, eyes drifting to the neatly stacked parcels beneath the tree, "you’re always helping out, doing things for everyone else." A warm, fuzzy feeling hums low in your stomach—though you're not entirely sure if it’s from all the cocktails you’ve had tonight.

You sigh, your head lolling onto one shoulder as you turn to meet his gaze. 

“…does Santa ever get anything for Captain America?”

He blinks, a quiet tilt of his head followed by a slow, knowing smile.

“Well,” the chair creaks again when he leans back, stretching out his legs with a satisfied breath. “He did this year.” 

At the puzzled furrow of your brow, he shrugs, eyes dropping down to the narrow strip of linoleum between you two.

Then, a gentle tap of his ridiculous, shiny boot against your foot.

When your gaze snaps back to his, he’s wearing that same boyish grin again, wide and stupid and far too charming for its own good.

You can’t decide if it makes you want to shove him, or punch him, or kiss him—or maybe do all three just to get it out of your system—because yeah, you’re completely done for.

Utterly ruined in ways you never saw coming, and it’s all his fault.

And if he leans in for another kiss, and you let him pull you in with a shaky breath and a smile that feels like surrender—

Well, that’ll have to be between you, him, and the giant inflatable snowman keeping guard just two feet away. 

(It’s not until you’ve both finished your hot chocolate, and shared just as many kisses as laughs, that you glance down at your phone to notice Sam’s text: 

bird boy 1 hour ago

yo di u take my fcking coat??)

[finelinefae]

my darling

synopsis: a love triangle

word count: 10.8k

contains: angst angst angst, love triangle, mfm, best friends to lovers, boarding school, violence, unrequited love,

a/n: i wrote this for wattpad during the My Policeman era. I wanted to post it here after re-reading it. I remember this being one of the first pieces of fanfic i felt super proud of !! warning it is pretty sad

. . .

Then — 1996

Dear Diary,

Today we moved into our new home in Halton. It’s small, quaint, and quiet—very quiet. The kind of place where everyone seems set in their routines, the same patterns repeating every day. I already miss London. Mum says this will be good for us, though. Good to get away from the drama. Good to get away from Dad.

The house isn’t as big as our old one. I have to share a room with Delilah now, but it’s fine—I’ll be off to boarding school by the end of the summer. Mum says I’ll enjoy it since she went to the same school at my age, but I think she’s just trying to make me feel better. Who actually enjoys living at school?

It’s a three-hour drive from Halton, which feels like a world away. I’m nervous, excited, sad, and happy all at once. The feelings are so overwhelming they all blur together into something I can only describe as... heavy. Like my life is a snow globe someone’s just shaken up, glitter falling everywhere. It looks magical at first, but the reality is you’re stuck cleaning it up for weeks, finding it in the oddest places long after.

I miss my dog. I never got to say goodbye.

Dad cried when we left. I’ve never seen him cry before. He told me it wasn’t goodbye, just a "see you later." Mum always says Dad’s a good liar, but I don’t think he was lying this time. Maybe it was the tears—they don’t suit him.

-

Dear Diary,

Today I moved into my dorm at Southend Park School.

Mum was annoyed we had to wake up before seven to pack the car and drive me down, even though this was all her idea. She’s probably just tired—or maybe something else. I have a suspicion she’s met someone. I’m not sure how she moved on from Dad so quickly. Did she ever really love him?

My dorm has six girls, including me. I’ve mostly been talking to Ellis, who’s in the room next door. She’s fourteen, older than the rest of us, but only because her birthday is the 1st of September. Today’s the third, so her advantage is technical, but she likes to remind us.

Being alone here scares me, but it’s nothing new. Delilah always had loads of friends, and Dad was always working. Mum was usually out socializing, too.

Mum cried as we finished unpacking, promising she’d pick me up for half-term or that I could come home anytime. But I don’t want to go home. I hate it there.

Tomorrow is a full day of inductions, and I’m worried about making friends. Southend Park is a mixed school, and boys make me nervous. I’d rather have no friends at all than feel like I have to pretend to be someone I’m not.

I still feel like I’m picking up glitter from months ago. I wonder when it will finally stop.

-

Dear Diary,

I made two friends. You’ll never guess—they’re boys!

Their names are Harry and Dylan. They’re both thirteen, like me, but they feel older somehow. They even live in the same dorm and invited me over this weekend.

We met during lunch in the courtyard. I was sitting alone when Dylan walked up first, chatting easily and cracking jokes. Harry followed behind, much quieter. Dylan has blond hair and a small scar on his eyebrow from climbing trees back in Morston. Harry’s hair is thick and curly—I wanted to touch it but stopped myself because, well, that would’ve been weird.

Harry didn’t say much at first, though I noticed him glancing at me. When I met his gaze, he blushed and looked down at his extra-polished school shoes.

We didn’t talk much again until the end of the day, on the way back to the dorms. That’s when we compared timetables and realized we share four classes, including English Literature. It’s just Harry and me in that one, though.

I never thought I’d be friends with boys, but I like it. It feels different from being friends with girls—less pressure to act outgoing or girly. I hope we stay friends. I like them both a lot.

. . .

Then — 2000

“Hey, Harry,” Y/N called, running across the field toward the headmaster’s office where Harry stood, focused on his Nokia flip phone.

Harry glanced up, his expression softening when he saw her. He tucked the phone into his pocket and waved her over. Despite the end-of-day chaos, both were still dressed in their school uniforms. “Hey, baby.” He greeted her with a quick kiss, pulling her closer and wrapping an arm around her waist. He loved how perfectly she fit against him, as though they were made for each other.

“What’s going on? Aren’t we meeting Dylan to go to Ellis’ dorm?” Y/N asked, frowning slightly as she looked around for their other best friend.

Harry smirked, shaking his head. “We are, but Dylan got caught passing notes to Casey Becker in geometry. He’s stuck with thirty minutes in the headmaster’s office to make amends.”

Y/N chuckled, her laugh warm and familiar. “Again? He’s going to get himself expelled if he’s not careful.” She slid her hands under Harry’s blazer, warming them against his torso.

Harry brushed a strand of hair from her face, letting his thumb linger on her cheekbone. “How was your day?” he murmured, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.

“It was fine,” Y/N replied. “I scored three points in netball, and Tessa Riley gave me daggers in the changing room.” She giggled, leaning into him.

Harry smiled, pride gleaming in his eyes. “That’s m’girl.” He bent down and kissed her forehead gently.

“Oh, please, don’t make me sick,” a familiar voice drawled, breaking the moment.

“Hi, Dylan.” Y/N turned to see him strolling down the stone steps, his blazer slung over his shoulder and a cigarette dangling between his fingers. She leaned back against Harry, crossing her arms.

“Hello, my darling Y/N,” Dylan teased, his tone playful as he lit the cigarette with practiced ease.

“Seriously, Dylan?” Harry said, narrowing his eyes. “Do you really need another detention?”

“Don’t you smoke, Styles?” Dylan shot back, grinning. “Besides, Mary would love to see me again after our chat earlier. She’s got a soft spot for me.” He smirked, wiping his thumb across the corner of his mouth.

Y/N rolled her eyes, stepping away from Harry’s warmth. She was long used to Dylan’s antics—four and a half years of friendship had left little room for surprises.

The three of them had been inseparable since their first days at Southend Park Boarding School. Despite their differences in personality, they were like a family unit, supporting one another through the highs and lows of adolescence.

Dylan, the loudest of the trio, was notorious for his sharp wit and knack for trouble. Teachers despaired over his behavior, but students were drawn to his charm—especially the girls, who fell for his rebellious streak and the ever-present cigarette.

Harry, by contrast, was the golden boy: smart, polite, and beloved by staff. He balanced his role as student ambassador with captaining the football team, a position that made him one of the most popular boys in school. Dylan teasingly called him a “teacher’s pet,” but Harry wore the label without shame.

Y/N was the quietest of the three, rarely seeking the spotlight. She volunteered in the school library every Tuesday and spent her free time with her dorm mates. Still, Harry and Dylan were fiercely protective of her, and she often marveled at how lucky she was to have them.

The trio walked out of the school gates toward the housing blocks, their shadows stretching long in the late afternoon sun. Harry carried Y/N’s backpack on one shoulder, his free hand clasping hers. Dylan trailed behind, typing on his phone with an unlit cigarette between his teeth.

“Ellis doesn’t want you bringing anything to the party this time, Dylan,” Y/N warned, glancing over her shoulder. “You know what happened last time. If you pull that again, you’re getting kicked out of school.”

“My darling Y/N,” Dylan began with exaggerated sincerity, pausing for effect, “only for you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile.

When they reached her dorm, Y/N kissed Harry on the cheek and took her bag from his shoulder. “I’ll see you both later?” she asked, her eyes bright.

Dylan saluted her without looking up from his phone, while Harry smiled warmly. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too, Harry,” she replied before disappearing inside.

Harry and Dylan walked in silence toward their dorm. The tension was palpable, Dylan unusually quiet as Harry’s mind churned with unspoken thoughts.

“We’re going to have to tell her at some point,” Dylan murmured, his voice low as the setting sun bathed the path in a golden glow.

Harry’s heart tightened. “No, we don’t.”

“Harry—”

“Shut up, Dylan. Nothing happened.” Harry’s voice was sharp, cutting Dylan off before he could continue.

They stopped, staring at each other, the air between them heavy. Harry’s frustration burned in his eyes, while Dylan’s sadness hung like a weight on his shoulders.

“I love her,” Harry finally said, his voice trembling. “I’ll never love anyone else as much as I love Y/N.”

Without another word, he turned and stormed into their dormitory, leaving Dylan alone on the pavement. Dylan exhaled shakily, the ache in his chest unbearable.

. . .

Then — 1998

Dear Diary,

It’s been a month since my fifteenth birthday, and Harry finally asked me out on a date. It feels like a dream, the kind where everything is so perfect you fear waking up to find it never happened.

To be honest, I think I’m already in love with him. He’s always been so kind to me, much more than Dylan. Harry carries my bag to class when I have netball, and sometimes, during English Literature, I catch him staring at me. There’s something about the way his gaze lingers that makes me feel seen.

In art class, he taught me how to use watercolors for the first time, his thumb brushing against mine as he guided me. Little moments like that remind me how much I care for him—so much that the thought of being without him feels unbearable. Is that dramatic? Probably. But I can’t help it if it’s true.

Even when I’m talking to Ellis during lunch or before bed, my mind wanders back to Harry—his smile, his eyes, the way he laughs at my jokes even when they aren’t funny, and how he hugs me differently from everyone else.

It feels strange to be fifteen and falling so deeply. What do I know about love at this age? How much further can I fall?

I think I’m going to love him forever. I hope he loves me forever too.

-

Dear Diary,

Harry kissed me today. My first kiss—with the boy I love most in the entire world.

I knew it was going to happen. We’d just finished dinner in the dining hall when he asked if I wanted to take a walk in the gardens. Dylan wanted to come along, but Harry shook his head, saying he wanted it to be just the two of us.

I felt a twinge of guilt when I looked back and saw Dylan standing there, his expression heavy as he watched us leave. He kept staring at Harry, even as we walked past the window overlooking the gardens.

Harry brought me to the tulips because he knows they’re my favorite. He said my braid looked pretty today, and that’s when I knew—I truly, completely loved him. It was the worst braid I’ve ever done, but he still thought it was beautiful.

We sat on a swinging bench, listening to birds returning to their nests. When he said my name, it sounded magical, like it had been made for his lips alone. I turned to look at him, and that’s when he leaned in and kissed me.

It felt like a scene from a movie.

No one ever tells you what it’s like to kiss someone for the first time. The way their breath mingles with yours, the world fading away as you close your eyes and step into a place so tender it consumes you. It makes you wonder if you’ve ever been truly loved before.

We only stopped because we heard a rustling in the bushes. We looked around but didn’t find anything, so Harry walked me back to my dorm. He kissed me again outside the door, and I floated through the rest of the night, humming to myself as I got ready for bed.

But when I think back to that moment, I could swear I saw a tuft of blond hair sticking out from behind a bush.

. . .

Now — 2000

Y/N sat cross-legged in front of the mirror on Ellis’ floor, carefully applying mascara as Fiona Apple played softly in the background. Ellis sat nearby, painting her nails a deep red.

“I’m just saying,” Ellis began, waving the brush for emphasis, “you and Harry have been dating for two years, and you haven’t done the deed yet?”

Y/N flushed at the mention of sex, shifting uncomfortably. She hated talking about it, even with Harry. Maybe it was because she didn’t know much about it or because she’d never had a safe space to ask questions, but every time the topic came up—whether in conversation or during truth or dare—she wanted to run for cover.

“We’re waiting for the right time,” Y/N said evenly, her voice robotic as she repeated the well-rehearsed answer.

“The right time?” Ellis scoffed. “I’ve never seen a couple more in love—it’s nauseating.”

Y/N hesitated, her mind drifting to moments when she’d wanted to take things further with Harry. But he always stopped before it went too far. Sometimes it made her feel like she wasn’t enough—pretty enough, desirable enough—but then he’d kiss her softly and remind her how beautiful she was, stroking her cheek as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “We’ve done... things, but not that.”

“Is Harry religious or something?” Ellis asked, narrowing her eyes.

“No, I don’t think so,” Y/N replied with a frown. “He’s never mentioned it.”

“Maybe he’s waiting until marriage,” Ellis mused.

The thought of marrying Harry made Y/N’s heart swell. She’d dreamed of it ever since their first kiss in the gardens—walking down the aisle in a white dress, Harry waiting for her at the end, tears in his eyes. Maybe they’d both cry.

“I don’t mind waiting,” Y/N said, her voice soft but certain. “I love him enough to wait as long as he needs me to.”

Ellis groaned, grabbing a bottle of vodka from her bedside table. “You can’t say stuff like that when I haven’t had a single drink.” She poured herself a shot and downed it in one go. “Okay, continue.”

Y/N laughed and turned back to her reflection, humming Queen’s Love of My Life as her thoughts drifted back to Harry.

. . .

Then — 1998

Dear Harry,

Today we went to the beach—the three of us. Me, you, and Y/N. I know in most situations it’s you, Y/N, then me, but in these letters, it will always be me and you.

We’d been planning this trip for weeks. It’s a three-hour drive to the coast from school, and Y/N had been complaining about the journey the entire time. I didn’t mind. Is it wrong of me to want to sit next to you on a bus full of people not one of them knowing who we are for three whole hours? Our knees touching for three whole hours? Sand on your feet and your hair salty from the sea, inhaling your scent and wanting your hand to touch my thigh for three whole hours?

When we got there, the morning was overcast, but by the time we hit the sand, the sun broke through the clouds. It was perfect. The light caught your skin, making it glisten, and your eyes shone with that impossible sea-glass green. I wanted to look into them forever, but you were too busy looking at Y/N.

I tried to catch your attention—touching your shoulder as I passed by, reaching for the beach bag at the same time as you, brushing my fingers against yours. But it didn’t matter. You only had eyes for her, and I only had eyes for you.

When you kissed her in the gardens, a part of me died. I had been pining for you for so long, silently hoping you’d see me, but it was always her. I felt stupid, running miles afterward, the wind howling in my ears: You fool, you idiot, how could he ever love you?

I didn’t want to feel this way, Harry. I tried to bury it, to pretend it wasn’t real, but when I met you, everything I’d hidden about myself unraveled.

The day wasn’t without its drama. Y/N, distracted, stepped into the road thinking the approaching van was the bus. You moved so fast, grabbing her and pulling her back before the van could hit her. I watched the terror flash across your face, the way you held her afterward as she cried. You kissed her forehead, comforted her, showed her the kind of love I’d only ever dreamed of.

And I hated her for it.

I feel terrible admitting this because I do love Y/N. I truly do. But most days, I hate her, and only because she has you.

When we finally got to the beach, the three of us ran toward the waves, shedding our clothes as we went, laughing like we were carefree children. For a moment, we were. We left our troubles behind in the sand.

You swung Y/N over your shoulder as you splashed into the water, and I couldn’t help but admire the way your muscles flexed. You were a work of art, Harry, something meant to be admired in a gallery. And I was nothing more than an observer, longing for what I could never have.

Later, Y/N went to get ice cream. Before she left, she asked for your order, and I already knew what you’d say—mint chocolate chip. The way she looked surprised made me feel smug for a second, but that quickly disappeared when she said it was her favorite too.

While she was gone, I felt a cramp in my shoulder. “Let me,” you murmured, and before I could answer, your fingertips ghosted over my shoulder, pressing into the tight muscle.

I couldn’t breathe, Harry. You were so close, your breath warm against my neck. For a split second, I thought if I just turned my head, I could kiss you.

I’ll never forget that moment for as long as I live. Even if you do.

. . .

Now — 2000

Dylan and Harry were in their dorm room, preparing for the party. Harry stood in front of the mirror, anxiously gelling his hair back.

“I think I’m going to do it,” Harry said suddenly, turning to face Dylan. “I’m going to go all the way with Y/N.”

Dylan froze, his heart sinking. He lit a cigarette, trying to appear nonchalant as he perched on the windowsill. “Really? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” His voice betrayed him, tinged with irritation and jealousy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m just saying, are you sure it’s the right time to sleep with her? After... what happened?”

Harry’s expression darkened. “Nothing happened. It was a mistake.”

“You keep saying that,” Dylan said, standing now, his voice rising. “Like you’re trying to gaslight me into thinking I imagined it. But I’ve imagined kissing you enough times to know what’s real and what’s not.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching. “I was drunk, and you took advantage of me.”

The words hit Dylan like a slap, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Don’t try that with me, Harry. It might work in your petty arguments with Y/N, but it won’t work on me. You’re the one twisting the truth to fit your narrative.”

“I don’t care what you think,” Harry snapped. “I only care about Y/N. And if you can’t handle that, maybe you need to step away—from both of us.”

“Step away?” Dylan said incredulously, his voice breaking. “You want me to walk away from the only two people who’ve ever cared about me? You want me to walk away from you?”

Harry hesitated, guilt flickering across his face. “You know how I feel about Y/N. I love her. I’m in love with her. Even if I felt something for you, it would never compare.”

“You’re lying,” Dylan whispered, his eyes glassy. “If you loved her so much, you wouldn’t have kissed me in the first place.”

“You don’t know anything!” Harry exploded, his voice shaking with fury. “Do you know what would happen if someone found out? What it would do to Y/N? To us? I felt nothing! It was a mistake!”

“Harry—”

“No,” Harry cut him off. “Whatever feelings you have, whatever intentions, you need to get over them.”

“That’s not as easy as you think—”

“You have to.” Harry’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument. Dylan stared at him, shattered, as Harry turned and stormed out.

He left Dylan standing there, broken, feeling like Harry had taken his very soul with him.

. . .

Then — 1999

Dear Harry,

We’ve been assigned as partners in media class, and now we have to make a music video. Naturally, you asked Y/N if she’d star in it. You told her she was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen and that she’d be perfect for it. She blushed, of course, and said yes. Then you kissed her—so long and so deeply that I had to look away.

I imagined myself in her place, wondering what it would be like to kiss you in public, to have the world see how much I adored you. If it were allowed, I don’t think I’d ever stop kissing you.

Today, we filmed the music video. You wanted it to feel like a coming-of-age story. I’d wanted something more abstract, but I agreed to your ideas, nodding eagerly at every suggestion, whether it was brilliant or terrible.

We filmed in the gardens—my least favorite place in the entire school. That’s where you kissed Y/N for the first time, and if I could erase that night from my memory, I would in a heartbeat.

The sun was shining as you whispered into Y/N’s ear while I set up the camera. I tried to block out the sound of your laughter, the sight of her hand on your shoulder.

“Are we ready?” I called, my voice louder than I intended. You straightened up immediately.

“Dylan, why don’t you be in the video with me?” Y/N smiled warmly. She had that rare ability to make everyone feel seen, like she was radiating sunshine. It was impossible not to smile back.

“My darling, you know I’m not nearly as perfect as you,” I teased, watching her blush.

I don’t even remember when I started calling her “my darling.” The first time, I remember catching the flash of jealousy in your eyes. I liked that. I liked seeing you react to me, even if it wasn’t in the way I wanted. You’re used to it now, but sometimes, when I say it, I still see a flicker of something in your gaze.

The music video took all day to shoot. Every time Y/N nailed a scene, you rewarded her with a kiss. I worked hard too, Harry. Shouldn’t I have been rewarded in some way?

When Y/N left for her library shift that evening, it was just the two of us. You wanted to capture the soft glow of the sunset, so we stayed behind to get more footage.

“My mother wants me to go into politics,” you said as we sat cross-legged on the grass, the camera between us. “But I’d love to do this—be a director. I’ve always wanted to be an artist of some kind. It’s a silly dream, but I think about it all the time.”

I could imagine it. You had a way of leading people, commanding attention without being arrogant. You cared so deeply—for the art, for the people—that it would probably destroy you someday.

“It’s not silly,” I said. “It’s never silly to dream. My God, Harry, we only live once. Might as well do everything we can to feel something in the little time we have.”

You looked at me then, really looked at me. For the first time, I thought you might be feeling a fraction of what I felt every day. “I’ve never told anyone that before. Not even Y/N knows.”

“It’ll be our secret,” I whispered. And for a moment, I could’ve sworn you glanced at my lips.

Then, just as quickly, you diverted the topic. Grabbing the camera, you aimed it at me lying in the grass. “Looks like Y/N’s not the only model anymore,” you teased.

I tried to act indifferent, but I would’ve stayed there all night if it meant seeing you laugh like that.

It makes me wonder, Harry—do you know how much power you have over your friends? Do you know that you have two people who worship the ground you walk on? How does it feel to be desired? How does it feel to have a choice in who you love?

. . .

Now — 2000

“You’re here!” Y/N beamed, running into Harry’s arms and wrapping her hands around his neck.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, kissing her temple before setting her down.

The party was already in full swing. Students from across campus had crammed into Ellis’ dorm, the air thick with music, laughter, and the faint smell of alcohol.

“Hi, Dylan,” Y/N greeted, pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re dressed pretty smart. Planning on impressing anyone tonight?”

“Only you, darling,” Dylan replied, forcing a wink and a smirk despite the ache in his chest. Harry’s words from earlier still rang in his ears, but he pushed them aside.

Harry’s eyes darted to the cup in Y/N’s hand. “Have you been drinking?” he asked, his tone light but concerned.

“It’s water,” she whispered with a smile. Harry relaxed. She wasn’t much of a drinker, and he knew that.

“You look so pretty,” he said, marvelling at her dress. It was the one she wore for special occasions—one he had once told her was his favourite. A pang of guilt pricked at his heart as she looked back at him, her doe eyes filled with love.

“Come dance with me!” she said, pulling him toward the living room. “Both of you! My boys!”

Harry and Dylan followed her to the dance floor. The song Love My Way blared through the speakers, and Y/N moved between them, carefree and radiant.

At first, Harry danced with her, his focus entirely on Y/N. But then his gaze shifted to Dylan, who was swaying along with the music. Something unspoken passed between them, an invisible thread pulling them closer.

Harry laughed when Dylan moved towards him and for a moment they had forgotten everything around them. Dylan was just Dylan and Harry was just Harry, two boys who felt something they weren’t allowed to feel in the eyes of everyone else.

Harry was so close, their faces almost touching and for a moment Dylan thought they might kiss. But the blissful moment was broken as Harry stepped away, shaking his head, “N-No.” He whispered, “No, No, No.” He shook his head, his eyes frantic in search of Y/N.

“O-Oh, Harry,” Y/N yelped as he grabbed hold of her hand and lead her out of Ellis’ dorm and over to her own, three doors down from where the party was happening.

“What are you doing? Are you okay?” She cups his face in her hands and he exhales, trying to regain composure. This was the girl he loved, the only girl he could ever love and being in her hands felt like home. Didn’t it?

“Y-Y/N, I-I think I’m ready.” He presses his forehead against hers, kissing her bottom lip. “I’m ready.”

Her lips part in shock. She hadn’t been expecting this tonight and she wasn’t sure where Harry’s sudden desperation was coming from. He kissed down her neck as she tried to speak to him, “H-Harry, a-are you sure?” He nodded, his mouth leaving open mouthed kisses on her shoulder.

“I love you Y/N.” He looked into her eyes and she saw the sincerity behind them but also a hint of something else that she couldn’t quite place.

He started to peel her clothing off, his fingertips gently brushing against her soft skin. She tried to steady her breathing but her chest caved in and out as the oxygen in the room seemed to be escaping as he moved down her body. “Harry,” She whispered and he could hear the desperation in her voice. She reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers together.

Y/N was stripped down to her bra and underwear. This was the most skin she had revealed to anybody but she trusted Harry with everything in her, he was her best friend. He blew warm air over the thin material of her bra and her nipples hardened, an overwhelming sense of desire and lust flooding her insides. It was so new and overwhelming, her hands shaking as she ran her fingers through his hair and tugged on the roots.

“Baby,” He whispered, his hands cupping her thighs as he pressed kisses down her body.

“Harry, wait.” She murmured, his eyes looking up from where he was laying between her legs, “You’re still dressed.” She sat up and tugged on the hem of his sweater.

He laughed softly, as she struggled to pull the sweater over his head. She marvelled at the sound and kissed the tip of his nose. He pulled her onto his lap and she grinded her hips against his, “God look at you.” He whispered. “Don’t leave me Y/N. You can never leave me.”

“I’m never going to.” She said it like it was a promise.

His hands hooked the straps of her bra and he gently pulled them down, her breath hitching as the pad of his thumb brushed against the side of her breast. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in tightly, his face burying into the crook of her neck as he inhaled her.

This was going to be perfect, she thought, nothing could go wrong.

She grinded her hips against him again, a groan eliciting from his lip and a name escaping past the lips he had kissed her with so many times.

“Dylan.” Y/N froze. Her blood ran cold, and she pulled away as though Harry’s touch burned her.

“What did you say?” She pulled away, suddenly being naked in front of him didn’t feel right, being in a space alone with him didn’t feel right, everything she had ever felt for him before this moment didn’t feel right.

“Y/N,” He reached for her but she slipped away from him, slipped out of his touch, a touch she begged for just moments ago.

Harry’s heart no longer existed, wherever it was it had abandoned him and left him here in this terrible moment to fend for himself. He felt his eyes well up with tears as he watched Y/N try to pick up her discarded clothes. This wasn’t how it was meant to be, she was suppose to be picking up his clothes after a night making love to each other.

“Y-You said his name.” Y/N whimpered, she was panicking and Harry could do nothing but watch.

“Baby I-”

“NO.” She spat, “You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.”

Harry watched as she turned around and clutched at her head, her knees buckling as she fell to the ground. She sobbed and sobbed, his hear wrenching at the sound of it. He had never heard a sound so painful in his life and he wanted to die in this very moment.

“No, No, No, No.” She sobbed, her shoulders shaking.

“Y/N please just let me explain.” Harry tried, crouching down in front of her and trying to place a hand on her now clothed shoulder.

“NO.” She pushed him away and leaped back, her back hitting the wall.

Harry was broken. He was truly broken. This was something well out of his reach in fixing and nothing he could do or say could make up for the fact that he had hurt the two people he loved and cherished the most in this world, in the span of one night.

“Get out of my room!” She began to scream, “Get out of here!”

A knock at the door shattered the silence.

“Hey, you guys in there?” Dylan’s voice called from the hallway.

Before Harry could respond, Y/N lunged for the door, anger blazing in her eyes.

“Get out of my room!” she screamed, her voice raw with betrayal.

Harry caught her before she reached Dylan, her fists pounding against his chest. “I’m broken,” she whimpered, her strength fading. “You broke me.”

And for the first time, Harry knew what it felt like to be utterly powerless.

. . .

Then — 2000

Dear Diary,

You know those secrets so big they feel like they could swallow you whole? The kind you promise never to tell a soul for as long as you live? At first, they consume you, taking over every thought and breath. But over time, they settle into the corners of your mind, a quiet part of you that only stirs when something triggers it.

Well, today I made one of those secrets.

It was a Tuesday, the day I volunteer in the library after school. There’s something peaceful about wandering the empty halls when no one else is around—a stark contrast to the chaos between periods. Mrs. Ableton asked me to deliver a stack of books to the English Literature cupboard. Our copies of The Catcher in the Rye were practically falling apart, so we’d ordered replacements.

As I walked through the hall, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye near the classroom where Harry and I have English together. Curious, I paused, almost dropping the books in my hands.

Harry was leaning against a desk, and Dylan stood in front of him. At first, I thought nothing of it and smiled, reaching for the door handle to make myself known. But then Dylan stepped closer, touched Harry’s hand, and kissed him.

I froze.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The same lips that had kissed mine were now kissing the lips of my best friend.

I wanted to cry, but I was too shocked to do anything but stand there, watching. A part of me hoped I was trapped in a nightmare—that I’d wake up, call Harry, and laugh about how silly it all was. But when Dylan pulled back, Harry grabbed his arm and kissed him again.

That time, I couldn’t watch.

I backed away, the tears finally falling. My mind raced as I searched for somewhere—anywhere—I could cry louder, scream even, because this wasn’t something I could cry about quietly.

Harry was mine. But he was also Dylan’s.

By the time I went to bed, I’d convinced myself I would confront them. I’d tell them I saw what happened and ask if we could move on, pretend it never happened. But as the hours stretched on, I realized I didn’t want to speak about it. Talking about it would mean reliving it, over and over.

I didn’t want to remember.

I just wanted Harry.

So, this is a secret I’ll take to my grave. I’ll never tell a soul I watched Harry kiss Dylan in a way he never kissed me.

Even if it breaks me.

. . .

Now — 2000

“What happened?” Dylan asked. They were back in his dorm now, Harry pacing the room like a caged animal.

“She knows,” Harry muttered, his fingers pulling at his hair—a habit whenever he was upset. “She knows about us, what we did.”

Dylan collapsed onto the bed, his face pale. “How?”

Harry stopped and turned to him, shame written all over his face. “I said your name.”

Dylan’s shoulders sagged, and he buried his face in his hands. Images of Y/N, broken and sobbing on her bedroom floor, flashed through his mind. She had begged them to fix her, but they were the ones who broke her.

“It’s fine,” Harry rambled, his voice shaking. “I-I’ll give her some time, however long she needs. Then I’ll explain. I’ll explain it was a misunderstanding.”

“Harry,” Dylan said gently, standing to take Harry’s hands in his own. “I don’t think there’s enough time in the world for Y/N to get over this.”

Harry’s breath hitched, and a sob escaped him as he crumpled into Dylan’s arms. Dylan ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, resting his cheek against Harry’s head. “It’s okay, love,” he whispered. “Everything will be alright.”

“I hurt her so bad, Dylan,” Harry cried. “I love her, and I hurt her.”

“She was always going to find out,” Dylan said softly, the truth cutting deeper than any lie.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” Harry whispered.

Dylan sighed. “Why do you always talk about how things are meant to be? You act like your life was mapped out before you left the womb. Was it ‘meant to be’ that the three of us became inseparable? That you fell in love with both of us because you care so deeply? That I fell in love with you because you see art in everything? None of this was ‘meant to be,’ Harry. It just happened. And now we deal with it.”

Harry pulled back, tears streaking his face. “You still love me? Even after I pushed you away?”

Dylan smiled sadly, wiping a tear from Harry’s cheek. “I love you despite everything.”

Harry’s lips ghosted over Dylan’s, and for a moment, it felt like all their pain had been lifted. “Dylan,” Harry whispered, his voice trembling as he said the name again and again, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You can say my name as much as you want, love,” Dylan murmured. “I’ll always be here.”

. . .

Three weeks passed and the friends were no longer talking to each other, instead they acted as though they didn’t know each other as they passed each other in the hallway.

Harry had to try and not flinch when he saw Y/N scurry pass him, her eyes red and bloodshot as Ellis comforted her, glaring at Harry as they did. He wanted to speak to her but he was never given the chance to, rightly so considering what he had done to her.

Dylan and Harry, mostly Harry, thought it would best to keep their distance for a while. It killed them both to not be around each other but for the sake of their friendship with Y/N, they shared small moments of brief eye contact and touches throughout the day. Neither of them knew what was to come for the both of them but this limbo was enough for now.

Dylan ate lunch alone and as he did, he listened to the conversations of everyone around him. He wondered what it felt like for them to go about their day feeling like they belong in their own skin and not feel ashamed over who they love. He had never felt so alienated and so out of touch with himself.

He had been given an after school detention for an hour with Mr Henley after calling him sexist in front of the class. No one was around when he left the classroom until he saw a group of girls walking across the field.

At the end of the line was Y/N, wearing her netball uniform.

She must have caught sight of him because the next thing he knew, she was walking up to him. He had to check behind him to see he was seeing correctly.

“Hi Dylan,” She keeps her distance for reasons unknown to him but being around her again made him relax, he missed the friendship he shared right at the very beginning when they were thirteen and picking each other up from class to go to the sweet shop after school.

“Hey Y/N.” He offers her a smile.

“How are you doing?” He didn’t miss the way she gripped her bag like she was trying to stop herself from saying anything she really wanted to.

“I feel like I should be asking you that.” Y/N huffs, “I’ve had better days.” “Y/N-”

“Just tell me this,” She starts, “H-How long?”

Dylan decided he would be as honest and as straight to the point as he could be, it was what she deserved at least.

“Y/N the only thing we did was kiss one time. Harry stopped it because he’s in love with you.”

“And you’re in love with him.”

“Y-Yes.”

Y/N laughs incredulously, “We could never just be three best friends could we? It was always going to be complicated.”

“We could still be best friends Y/N.”

“But it’s not the same now is it?” She bit back and Dylan realised he needed to be careful with what he said. “Is he sad?”

“Terribly. Sometimes I hear him crying in his room at night.”

A silence fell between them which was strange. Y/N and Dylan has always had a brother-sister relationship, Dylan was always one to tease Y/N and make her laugh but right now it seemed all he was doing was making her upset.

“I’m moving schools.” Y/N confessed, “At the end of the term, I’m moving to Bridgewater. Mum’s moving in with her fiancee, and she wants me to be closer.”

“When were you going to tell us?” Dylan was shocked.

“I was given the choice. I could stay here or move to another school but if I stayed I’d have to stay at my dad’s during the holidays and I’m not in the mood to be lectured during my time away from school.”

Dylan didn’t know what to say, he couldn’t fathom the three of them not being together for such a long period of time. “I know what you’re thinking. I know I need to tell him but if we are going to have a shot at being friends again, I need to be away from you both.”

“Y/N,” Dylan shakes his head, “It doesn’t have to be like this,”

“You know I saw you when you kissed each other in the English Literature classroom?” She confessed, Dylan’s lips parting. “He kissed you in a way that he never kissed me. Everytime we kissed afterwards all I could think about was how different it was, how I desperately wanted him to kiss me the way I had seen him kiss you. I used to write in my diary about how I would die if I didn’t have him near me. I thought he would be the end of me but I didn’t realise you would be too.”

“I know he loves you Dylan and... I’m happy for you but I’m not selfless enough to stand beside you both and watch you fall in love when I so desperately love him too.”

“Y/N,” Dylan reaches out for her hand and takes it, “I’m sorry.” “I know Dylan, I know.”

. . .

Now — 2000

Harry’s leg wouldn’t stop jittering as he sat outside the school library on a Tuesday evening. He’d been waiting for this moment for weeks, replaying it over and over in his mind. He had spent countless hours rehearsing his apology to Y/N until it became a permanent loop in his thoughts.

When the library door swung open, he shot up immediately, brushing down his school trousers and running a hand through his hair. Y/N stepped out, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and her backpack slung over her shoulder.

She looked better than she had in weeks, and Harry’s heart ached at the sight of her. He would have carried her bag for her if they were still together.

Her expression changed when she saw him, her voice barely above a whisper. “H-Harry.”

“I came,” he said quickly, the words tumbling out. “I-I couldn’t believe it when I got your text. I’d have waited here for hours if you hadn’t shown up.”

Her face softened briefly, but she walked past him. “Follow me,” she said simply.

He trailed behind her as she led him to the gardens—the place where they’d shared their first kiss and filmed the music video for his and Dylan’s project. It was a space filled with memories of the three of them: Y/N doing homework, Dylan reading, and Harry strumming his guitar.

They sat down on the swinging bench, a familiar seat now heavy with unspoken tension. Harry noticed she kept her distance, and though every fiber of his being wanted to pull her close, he knew it wasn’t the right time.

“Who gave you those?” Harry finally asked, nodding at the flowers in her hand. A flicker of hope crossed his face.

“Debbie,” she said, referring to the school librarian. “It’s my last day working at the library.”

“You quit?” Harry frowned, his gaze flicking from the flowers to her face.

Y/N inhaled deeply before speaking. “I’m leaving, Harry.”

The wind seemed to leave him. “N-No,” he stammered, shaking his head. “You—you can’t. You can’t just leave. I won’t let you—”

“Harry,” she interrupted, reaching for his hand and holding it gently in her lap. “It’s what’s best.”

“How can you say that?” he asked, trying to pull his hand away, though her warmth made it impossible. “How can you say it’s what’s best? The three of us—we’re supposed to be together.”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked at him. He looked thinner, more tired than she’d ever seen him, but she couldn’t help him—not anymore.

“Y/N, the thing with Dylan...” Harry began, his voice cracking. “I-I never meant for it to happen. We were just alone, I was stressed, and my emotions got the better of me. But I don’t feel the same way about him as I do about you.”

She shook her head softly. “Maybe that’s true, but not in the way you think. Dylan has always been there for you, Harry, in ways I never could. The way you look at him... it’s like he hung the stars in the sky just for you, like he tilted the sun so it would never blind you but still brighten your world.

“Maybe you do love me,” she continued, her voice trembling, “but love isn’t just about taking care of someone. It’s not carrying my backpack because it’s too heavy or doing my homework when I’m too tired after netball. Love is about being vulnerable. It’s about being taken care of, about laughing and crying and feeling like your heart is burning, and nothing can put it out.

“Now tell me, Harry. Did you ever feel that way with me? Were you ever vulnerable with me?”

Harry’s heart cracked. He opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words.

“Please, Y/N,” he whimpered, his voice breaking. “I can’t be without you.”

“You have Dylan,” she said, trying to be the bigger person even though it shattered her inside. “It was never going to be me, Harry. Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me you don’t have feelings for him?”

Harry looked down at the ground, his silence all the confirmation she needed.

Her heart broke all over again, but she forced herself to stay strong. “Why do you have to go?” he asked, tears streaming down his face.

“Because, Harry,” she said gently, “what good would it do for the three of us if I stayed? You need to find out who you are, and so do I. Before me, it was you and Dylan. Now, it will end that way - with you and Dylan.”

“And what about you?” he asked desperately. “What will you do? Where will you go?”

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But I’m grateful for what I’ve had. You and Dylan will always be a part of me. I hope one day we’ll forget this pain, and everything will be okay again.”

She reached out, brushing his hair back the way she used to. “I love you, Harry. I love you so much, I feel like I could burst.”

“I love you too,” he murmured. For the first time, he meant it in a way that felt true—not as a lover, but as a best friend.

“Be brave,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And tell him you love him.”

Harry nodded as the tears fell freely, clinging to her like a child who didn’t want to let go.

She was going to love him forever. She now knew he wouldn’t.

. . .

“She’s gone,” Dylan said softly from the doorway of Harry’s bedroom.

Harry sat at his desk, a pen still in his hand though it hovered, unmoving, above the page. “Was she alright?” he murmured.

“She was better than we probably thought,” Dylan admitted, realizing how much they’d underestimated Y/N’s strength. They’d always thought it was their job to protect her, but she’d always been stronger than the two of them combined.

“Right,” Harry muttered, his voice hollow.

Dylan moved to sit on the bed, the springs creaking under his weight. “I was thinking we could have the leftover soup for dinner instead of going to the dining hall.”

“I’m not hungry,” Harry replied—a rare admission from someone who was always hungry.

Dylan frowned. “How long are you going to wallow in this? Can’t you see we’re both trying to do the right thing for your benefit?”

Harry turned to him, anger flashing in his eyes. “And what exactly are you doing?”

“I’ve been keeping my distance,” Dylan snapped. “Acting like we’re strangers when we’re the complete opposite. Do you know how much it kills me to not be near you? To have to hide from myself?”

Harry stood abruptly. “And you think I’m not struggling? You think I haven’t been grappling with everything I feel?”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit!” Dylan shouted, standing to meet Harry’s gaze. “You had someone who loved you for two whole years. You have everything, Harry—loving parents, the best grades, popularity. And you act like it’s all been taken from you because I kissed you!”

“Y/N is gone because of us!” Harry yelled back.

“No,” Dylan said fiercely, his voice rising. “She’s gone because of you! Because you’re too afraid to be honest about who you are! Because you care too much about what everyone else thinks. That’s why she’s gone!”

Their faces were inches apart, their anger radiating in the small space between them.

“How dare you? Can’t you see this is difficult for me to accept?” Harry shouted, his voice trembling with anger and frustration.

“What is?” Dylan snapped back, stepping closer. “What is so difficult, Harry? What’s so hard that you have to sit in the dark and ignore the only two people who’ve ever truly cared about you? Huh? What is it? Tell me. TELL ME.”

“I am in love with you!” Harry yelled, the words ripping out of him like they had been clawing to escape for years. “I am a fool, and I am in love with you.”

Dylan froze, stunned. His breath caught in his throat as the weight of Harry’s confession settled over him. The words he had dreamed of hearing for years hung in the air between them, impossible to ignore.

“What?” Dylan managed, his voice barely a whisper.

“I have loved you since the moment I met you,” Harry said, his voice softer now but no less raw. “And it’s been killing me every day since. I think of you—daily, nightly, every moment in between—and it tears me apart. Kissing you was the bravest thing I’ve ever done, and denying it afterward made me a coward. But here I am now, standing in front of you, a man stupidly, hopelessly in love with his best friend.”

Harry’s eyes were red and glassy, the weight of years of unspoken emotion etched into his every feature.

Dylan stared at him, speechless. He had imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was real, the depth of Harry’s vulnerability left him breathless.

“Kiss me,” Dylan whispered, his voice breaking. “Kiss me.”

Harry didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, cupping Dylan’s face in his hands as though it had been crafted to fit perfectly in his palms. Then he kissed him—fervent and unrestrained, pouring every ounce of his love and longing into that singular moment.

Dylan’s world ignited. A piece of him that had been dormant for years finally came alive. His heart and mind, long at odds, now burned in harmony as Harry’s lips moved against his. He felt consumed, but in the most beautiful way, as if he could lose himself in Harry forever and never once regret it.

“I love you too, Harry,” Dylan whispered when they finally parted, their foreheads resting together.

“I bloody well hope so,” Harry murmured, a small laugh escaping his lips as tears spilled down his cheeks.

. . .

Now

Dear Harry,

I’d like to tell you a story that will more than likely make you happy.

One day, I was sat in a café, only a twenty-minute walk away from Southend Park School, which is closed down now and turned into a factory to fix airplanes. I bought my usual order of a decaf cappuccino and a slice of toffee apple cake. On this particular day, they added more sugar to my cappuccino, so I knew it would be a good day.

Across from me, a woman sat, her dog lying down at her feet as she read The Catcher in the Rye whilst sipping on a fruit tea. I didn’t think much of it, but I found it interesting the way she would read something and then shakily jot something down in the little notebook on the table.

Anyway, I had originally come to the café so I could write about our trip to Brighton. You were still complaining about the sand in your clothes just last night despite the fact that Brighton has no sand.

“It’s alright, love,” I comforted you, helping you put your pyjamas on.

“It bothers me, Dylan.” You responded, coughing into your handkerchief.

We don’t leave our small bungalow very often because you don’t like to leave the dogs and I don’t like change, but this trip to Brighton was one we had been planning for a year or so, so we didn’t really have much choice in the matter.

We spent a lot of time sat on the beach in the evenings whilst we were there, a blanket wrapped around the both of us as we fed the seagulls. I remember you saying you liked the sound of the ocean because it made you feel like we were seventeen again, running into the ocean without a care in the world.

You then proceeded to mention how worried you are about our Y/N, “I hope she’s doing alright, our Y/N.” You said and then went back to talking about a programme you watched the night before.

You had always worried about Y/N in the years after she left, always asking where she was or what she was up to despite the fact we never got in contact with her again. I also wonder whether or not she is okay, and I knew that if I were to see her again, I would thank her for allowing us the space to fall in love.

It was awfully difficult those months after we kissed in your bedroom. We were constantly berated by people we had never spoken to before, and I knew it bothered you for a while, but we overcame it just like we did every other obstacle in our lives... together.

Anyway, as I continued to write about our trip, the door to the café opened again and three middle-aged people walked over to the elderly lady in the corner. “Come on Mum, we’ve got to say goodbye to Dad now,” the man spoke to her, and she swatted him away. Something about that small action gave me a strong sense of déjà vu.

“Give me a moment,” the woman responded, and the three children sat at the table in the chairs around her.

Eventually, they managed to get her standing up. One of them placed her coat around her shoulders, and another handed her her walking stick. When she turned to look at me, I saw a familiar set of eyes looking straight at me.

The three people aiding her walked to the door and held it open for her. As she was about to step out the door, her walking stick fell out of her shaky hands and right at my feet. I quickly picked it up and handed it to her, her face brightening at the sight of me.

“Thank you.” Her voice still sounded the same all that time ago.

“No... Thank you, my darling.”

[kikiiidym]

How would PJO and HOO boys react if you told them you're pregnant?

Percy Jackson :

“You’re… you’re serious? Like, for real?”

The sea-green eyes widen like crashing waves. For a second, Percy forgets how to breathe. Then—he blinks, laughs, and suddenly he’s pulling you into his arms, almost spinning you off the ground.

“I’m gonna be a dad? Holy crap—I’m gonna be a dad!”

There’s a flash of panic under the joy, a storm behind the smile, but he leans into it, presses his forehead against yours, and whispers, “I’m scared. But I want this—with you.”

Grover Underwood :

Cue the tears. So many happy tears.

He gasps, little goat ears twitching in surprise. “You’re—pregnant?!” Then the realization hits—and he just bursts into joyful sobbing.

“This is the most beautiful moment I’ve ever experienced—and I once watched a patch of wildflowers bloom in under two seconds!”

Grover drops to his knees, places his hands gently on your stomach, eyes misty. “Hey, little one. I’m your satyr dad-friend. I promise to keep you safe, teach you about trees, and love your amazing mom with all my heart.”

Connor Stoll :

“You’re pranking me, aren’t you? …Wait. You’re not.”

Connor’s face scrunches up in classic suspicion the second you say, “I’m pregnant.”

He squints. “Is this payback for the glitter bomb incident? Because if it is, I respect it, but also—WAIT, are you serious?”

When he realizes you’re not joking, his mouth falls open. For once in his life, Connor Stoll is speechless.

Then? The smile comes. Wide. Wild. Ridiculous. And somehow soft around the edges.

“I’m gonna be a dad? Like, a real one? That’s… insane. And awesome. And a little terrifying.”

He presses his forehead to yours and laughs under his breath. “Looks like someone’s finally gonna out-prank me. Better start hiding the whoopee cushions now.”

Travis Stoll :

“Well, there goes our sleep schedule forever—AND I COULDN’T BE HAPPIER.”

Travis drops whatever’s in his hands (probably something illegal or half-exploded) and runs over like you just said you won the lottery.

“WE’RE HAVING A KID?!”

He shouts it across the camp like an excited camp counselor. People start clapping. Some are crying. Connor’s already planning baby’s first prank.

Travis hugs you tightly, then drops to his knees to talk to your stomach: “Hi, tiny human. I’m your dad. I’m a bit of a disaster, but I make great pancakes. Also, you already won the lottery because your mom’s the best.”

Then he looks up, softer than you’ve ever seen him: “I promise I’ll be the kind of dad who always makes you laugh—even when life gets scary. Just like my mom tried to do for me.”

Luke Castellan :

His eyes widen, and something shifts in them—like light breaking through years of shadow.

“You’re… we’re having a baby?” His voice is stunned. “After everything I’ve done… you still chose me?”

He walks over, takes your hand carefully, reverently, like it’s made of starlight.

“I’ll protect you both. I swear it. No gods, no monsters—nothing touches this family.”

Then, quieter: “Maybe this is my second chance.”

Will Solace :

Will’s golden eyebrows lift, and he goes completely still.

“You’re pregnant?”

You nod, and for a second, his healer instincts kick in—checking your pulse, asking if you’ve had nausea, if you’re eating well—before he stops, blinks, and fully processes it.

“Oh my gods,” he breathes, a slow, amazed smile blooming across his face. “We’re having a baby.”

Then, he just hugs you—gently, warmly, protectively. His voice is full of awe. “That little soul is going to grow up surrounded by so much light.”

Nico Di Angelo (req):

He freezes—completely.

At first, Nico just stares at you, face unreadable. Silence hangs like a shadow. You start to worry—did you break him?

Then he looks down at his hands. “I never thought... I’d get to have something like this.” His voice is quiet, raw.

“Something good. Something alive.”

He steps forward slowly, touches your hand like you might disappear. “I don’t know how to be a father,” he murmurs. “But I want to try. With you.”

And then, for the first time in what feels like forever, he smiles.

Jason Grace :

The stoic Roman exterior cracks—and the softest boy peeks out.

He’s sitting, reviewing paperwork for Camp Jupiter, when you tell him. His pen stops mid-sentence.

“You’re…pregnant?”

You nod.

He stands slowly, walks toward you, and falls to his knees. One hand touches your stomach. The other touches his own heart.

“I never thought I’d get to have something normal—something beautiful.” He looks up at you with a fierce, reverent love.

“I’ll be the kind of father who earns this blessing. Every day.”

Frank Zhang :

Total deer-in-headlights moment—but pure tenderness follows.

Frank chokes on his tea. “What? PREGNANT?!”

He turns beet red, literally drops his cup, and then just stares at you in stunned silence. Then:

“I mean—I’m happy! I’m SO happy! I just—wow—I didn’t expect… me? A dad?”

His arms wrap around you in this big, warm, slightly awkward bear hug, holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

“I’ll protect you. And the baby. Always. Even if I have to turn into a lion every single day.”

Leo Valdez :

Cue the nervous rambling—and the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

“Okay, okay, okay—so like, tiny human, half you, half me, maybe with fire powers? That’s wild. That’s—wait, you’re serious, right? This isn’t some kind of weird demigod prank?”

When you nod, he freezes… and then suddenly yells, “YES!” into the air like he just beat an evil dragon with a wrench. He starts pacing, ideas already swirling.

“Okay, I’m building the baby the safest, coolest crib ever. Like—floating. And fireproof. And maybe plays calming lullabies? Wait, is that a thing?”

You laugh, and Leo just stares at you with awe. “You're growing our future, tesoro… That's magic.”

Octavian : (EUGHHH)

“Are you telling me… we created a legacy?”

When you tell him, Octavian freezes mid-sentence—he was probably ranting about political reform or inspecting an offering to Jupiter. His eyes widen, blue and calculating, scanning your expression to confirm you’re serious.

Then?

The world falls silent.

His voice lowers, thoughtful and trembling at the edges. “A child. Our child. Born of power. Born of prophecy.”

He moves toward you with a strange reverence, like you’ve suddenly become holy. His hand hesitantly grazes your stomach, eyes unreadable.

“I was never meant to build an empire alone,” he says quietly. “This child… they’ll carry my name. My strength. But with your heart.”

For a moment, the mask of control drops—and you see something raw and rare: fear. Hope. Humanity.

“I swear,” he whispers, “they won’t be alone like I was.”

Then the cold confidence slides back into place as he smirks faintly. “Also—if anyone tries to put my kid in a Praetor election, I’m burning the Senate down.”

[peachyprophets-blog]

The first snow that falls

Kiros x Stray! Lioness! Reader

Description: you were separated from your family as a lion cub and grew up as a stray, and yet you somehow survived. Until you met a white lion, to your surprise because you have white fur yourself...

A/N: This is my first Lion King one shot, I love the movie Mufasa so much that I just had to write this story. How did you like it? Comments, likes and reposts are always welcome.

°•○☆○•°♡°•○☆○•°♡°•○☆○•°♡°•○☆○•°♡°•

"I can hardly remember how it happened," came the voice of a lioness whose fur glittered like snow in the sun. She closed her eyes and laid her head on her paws as she tried to remember.

-          The night it happened -

The wind announced the storm with a howl, the trees bent in the storm and the rain fell heavily from the sky, quenching the thirst of the plants. A cub ran with its mother into a cave to find safety from the storm, but the storm raged so strong that rocks from the shelter separated the cub from its mother. The cub rolled down the slope and landed in the flowing river. It had problems staying on the surface of the water and called desperately for its mother, but its mother could not reach it because she was crushed between the rocks. The current carried it far away from its home, and by the time it reached a shore several days had passed. When the cub looked around, it was all alone, with no one who could hear it or take it to its mother. Thus began the years of loneliness, years she wandered alone through the valleys in the hope of finding her mother again. But more years passed and the young lioness' hope faded. She grew up alone, without family or friends to be by her side. She became suspicious of other lions and refused any invitation to join other prides, she was simply afraid of losing someone again like she had lost her mother.

-          End of flashback -

One of the lionesses raised her head, her eyes fixed on the young lioness who was lost in her past. "Was your mother also a white lioness?" she asked the young lioness with curiosity. The lioness shook her head and opened her eyes. "No." was her answer, she was somewhat reserved. "I was born that way, I don't know why." She said before closing her eyes again and sighing softly, "but the other lions always avoided me and my mother until I lost my mother in a storm." She felt the curious glances of the other lionesses who were just waiting for her to tell them how she found this pack.  

-          Day of the encounter -

The young lioness roamed the fields of the valley and set out to find new prey. When she had chosen an antelope, she suddenly noticed the strange scent of a male lion. When she raised her head she saw him. His fur was also white, like her fur, but she felt his power. He was big and strong, his gaze was intense and the lioness knew not to mess with him. She ducked more into the thick grass and felt her body touch the ground as she tried to hide. "You're breathing too loudly, I discovered you a long time ago," came the deep voice of the white lion as he slowly walked towards the young lioness. Out of fear of him, she did not dare raise her voice. "You don't have to be afraid of me, nobody will hurt you." His voice was firm and full of self-confidence, his eyes were anchored to those of the young lioness. The young lioness slowly stood up, her gaze not leaving the lion in front of her for a second. "Who are you and where is your pack?" asked the mysterious lion as he looked at her. "(Y/N), I don't have a pack anymore, that time is long gone," she answered. The lion's eyes lit up briefly. "No pack? That's unusual," he stated. But the lioness had already piqued his interest too much for him to just let her go. "Come and join my pack." He offered, knowing that no one would refuse his offer to join his pack, but when she answered him he couldn't trust his ears. "No," she answered him, her (E/C) went cold, and it seemed as if she was reluctant to join other lions. "I'm happy with my life, and besides, I don't even know your name. I could follow you like a naive child and then get torn to pieces," she continued, and it seemed that her initial fear was replaced by strong distrust. The lion was surprised, but his interest in her grew nonetheless. "My name is Kiros and don't worry, I don't do that to lions who are just like me," he promised and came towards her, he rubbed his head lightly against hers and a quiet but deep growl escaped him. "You can go anytime, but get to know the others first," he whispered in her ear. The lioness knew that she had no other option than to accept the offer, so she went with him and got to know the others in his pack.

-          End of flashback -

The lionesses giggled quietly, several years had passed since she had joined the pack. Some of the lionesses moved away to make room for the lion, who lay down next to the her and leaned his head against hers. A deep purr could be heard from both lions. "I'm glad you stayed, my queen," he said softly as he snuggled his head closer to yours and watched your body completely, in which his cub was growing, a prince who was soon to be born.

°•○☆○•°♡°•○☆○•°♡°•○☆○•°♡°•○☆○•°♡°•

-Peachyprophet

[psformybss]

Tiny Heartbeats & Big Reactions

series masterlist

warnings: pregnancy reveal, soft family moments, chaotic joy, happy tears, emotional hugs, found family, fluff, overwhelming love

════════════════

The living room still smelled faintly like cinnamon and pine, even with the fire long out and the stockings tucked away. Wrapping paper littered the corners—soft remnants of a morning they’d never forget. Her fingers played absently with the ribbon that had come off Jodi’s gift, nerves building in her chest despite knowing what was about to happen.

Almost everything had been unwrapped. Cozy sweaters, framed photos, a custom ornament with their last name etched into the glass. Just one thing left.

She shifted beside Drew on the couch, brushing her hand against his. He caught it instantly, fingers curling around hers with the kind of quiet steadiness she always loved him for.

“Okay,” she said, voice a little too bright. “We’ve got one more.”

Drew stood first, grabbing the stack from under the tree—two silver-wrapped boxes for their parents, three envelopes for Brooke, Mackayla, and Logan. Each label was hand-written, the tags carefully tied. She’d triple-checked them that morning. Open together, they said.

“Why do I feel like we’re being set up?” Mackayla joked, already eyeing her envelope suspiciously.

Logan raised a brow. “Because we are.”

Brooke gave her a look. “If this is one of those prank videos—”

“No glitter,” Drew promised. “No jumpscares. I swear.”

“Just trust us,” she said softly, barely able to keep the nerves out of her voice. “Please.”

There was a beat of silence, then the sound of tearing paper and crinkling tissue paper filled the room.

Jodi gasped.

Todd stared at the sonogram, his hand still frozen mid-lift.

Her mom sat completely still for a second longer, then slowly brought the envelope to her chest like it might vanish if she looked away.

Inside each box and envelope was the same thing: a black-and-white sonogram image, perfectly centered above soft gray letters on a tiny white onesie that read: Coming Soon.

Jodi was the first to react, eyes filled with tears as she crossed the room and pulled her into a hug so tight it made her breath catch.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You’re really pregnant?”

She nodded, blinking fast. “Yeah.”

Drew wrapped an arm around her waist as Todd came forward, clapping a steady hand on his son’s shoulder. “That’s big news,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “That’s real big news.”

Her mom, quiet until now, stepped in front of her and gently touched her cheek. “You’re going to be a mother,” she said, eyes shining. “And I’m going to be a grandma.”

Brooke shrieked and grabbed the onesie from Jodi’s hands, spinning it around. “Is this why you skipped wine at Thanksgiving?”

Mackayla was already halfway to tears. “Liliana’s getting a cousin? Are you kidding me? This is the best Christmas ever.”

Logan grinned. “Okay but like—dibs on being the favorite uncle. I already got the charm.”

The rest of the morning became a blur of questions and laughter, tears and pancakes, more hugs than she could count. Jodi started talking nursery paint colors, and Drew’s dad suggested baby names with such earnestness it made her eyes well again.

⸻

It had been two weeks since the Christmas reveal, and tonight they were telling their closest friends.

The house was already buzzing when they arrived, full of warm food smells and overlapping voices. It was one of those mid-winter, post-holiday dinners where everyone wore mismatched socks and brought whatever dish they felt like making. JD had a pot of chili going. Madelyn brought cornbread. Rudy showed up with an entire pie that might’ve been store-bought, but no one cared.

She stood in the kitchen for a second before anyone noticed her, watching as Chase fought with the corkscrew and Madison teased him for using it upside down. The fridge door was covered in magnets and leftover takeout menus, including one from a waffle place Drew swore by.

She stepped closer, heart racing, and quietly pulled a photo from her coat pocket.

A newer sonogram. The one from last week—clearer now, unmistakable.

She swapped out one of the grocery lists and pinned the photo with a soft gray card underneath it.

Coming Soon.

Then she stepped back and walked over to Drew, who was mid-laugh with JD.

It didn’t take long.

“Wait,” Carlacia called from the kitchen, staring at the fridge. “Is this… real?”

Madelyn crossed over and squinted. “That’s a baby.”

JD looked up. “Who’s pregnant?”

They turned slowly.

She felt Drew squeeze her hand beside her.

“We are,” she said, cheeks flushing, heart full. “We’re pregnant.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“You’re what?” Madison shrieked, practically launching across the table. “Are you serious?!”

“You’re gonna be parents?” Chase yelled. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“We wanted to wait until everything was okay,” Drew said, glancing down at her. “We’re three months in now.”

“You’re in the second trimester?” Madelyn gasped. “Oh my God. How have you been feeling? Are you sick? Are you eating enough?”

Carlacia threw a pillow at Drew. “Have you been cooking for her?”

“She’s been fine,” Drew said, laughing. “I’ve been trying. She won’t let me near the stove.”

Austin stepped forward, quiet and smiling. “Do you know the gender yet?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. Couple more weeks.”

Rudy was grinning ear to ear. “Holy hell. Drew Starkey’s gonna be someone’s dad. That’s wild.”

“She’s gonna be the best mom,” JD added. “Like no contest.”

“Wait—when’s your due date?” Madison asked, already pulling out her phone.

“Late June,” Drew said. “Just in time to ruin your summer plans.”

“Excuse me,” she said, laughing. “I’ll be over here growing a whole human, thank you very much.”

Everyone burst out laughing.

But behind the teasing, there was something else—something softer. A kind of awe. The kind of joy that settles into the bones, warm and slow.

Later, after dessert and drinks and far too many belly rubs for someone not even showing yet, she found herself standing in the corner of the living room, watching the people they loved most laughing around a table. Her hand drifted instinctively to her stomach.

Drew came up beside her, slipping his arm around her waist and resting his hand just below hers.

“You okay?” he murmured.

She nodded. “More than okay.”

They stood like that for a moment, just breathing in the noise, the warmth, the sheer weight of this new life they were stepping into.

It was real now.

Louder. Brighter.

And just beginning.

taglist: @maybankslover

[c00lwips]

runaway princess

an / hi again! another clark kent post because why not? also, timeline? what timeline? don't ask me questions because I don't know either :)!

word count / ~2k

warnings / none / fluff

The first time Clark truly noticed how beautiful you were was during prom night. Lana's friends wave goodbye and as she's distracted, you use the opportunity to slip away. The shimmering blue of your skirts crashes like against your legs, violently whipping in the air as you run. Clark watches from his loft, curiosity nipping at the heels of concern. Lana lingers on the porch before going into the blue house but Clark is too distracted to have noticed, watching you disappear within thin woods.

He doesn't know what pulls him to follow you. It's a tight ache in his chest and nagging feeling at the back of his mind. It's late and you don't know the area that well. You can get lost or worse, hurt with no one around to help.

You're Lana's friend, she cares about you, so he's doing this to keep her happy...right? Your heart is wildly beating against your ribs, lungs burning by how sharply your pulling in air through small gasps. The ends of your heels dig into the flat earth and the sheer shawl nestled in the crooks of your arms grazes your skin before slipping through you arms, fluttering through the open sky.

You don't care or seem to notice.

The air is suffocating and staying here any longer brings devastating dread in the pit of your stomach and back of your throat. To caught up in a whirlwind of emotions, you don't notice Clark tailing behind from a distance. The lights of Lana's house — and Clarks — are pin pricks through the trees, your legs giving out at the top of a clearing. The hill nearly plateaus and you fall against the long grass with shuddering breaths. Arms spread out, legs tangled in layers of fabric, and you've kicked off your heels.

The night air is cool and stark against the heat of your skin. Goosebumps litter your arms, the halter top of your dress feels tight around your neck, chest heaving against the cinched bra. Back flat against the earth, all you can see is the night sky. Stars glitter against an inky back drop and it's startling, how many there are. Thousands of glimmering lights, burning gas, glowing even after they've collapsed billions of lightyears away. They've shinned although time, witnessed planets form and collapse, the creation of life and beginning of humanity. They'll be there long after you and everything around you is gone.

Your melancholy eased in an oddly comforting way. The crickets and the wind rustling through long stocks of corn and grass are the only sounds grounding you. A cool, gentle breeze chilling your heated skin. That's why when Clark calls your name a few feet to your right, a heel flies towards his face at a startling speed.

The heel nearly gets him in the face but reflexes kick in before it can touch him. "Clark!" You cry out in exasperation and disbelief, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Being a dummy for target practice, apparently," he smiles, and it's alarming how charming he is. A huff leaves your chest without your permission and Clark hesitantly settles down next to you, treating you like a startled calf. He's sitting with his elbows resting against his knees, fiddling with the heel in his hands, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. "Didn't your Mom ever tell you not to sneak up on a woman?"

"Well, you're in the middle of a field at night. I don't think the rules apply here." The back of your hand swats his arm and a silence settles between them.

The moon illuminates every highlight of your face, catching fly aways in a silver glow. This is the first time he's ever seen you with makeup and he's filled with guilt and shame for only realizing now just how pretty you are.

You're not beautiful in the way Lana is, constantly fawned over and adored. Your beauty is quiet, subtle in the face he didn't recognize at first. It's just who you are, how you will always be, and it gently washes over him like stepping into a cool creek during stifling summers day. Graceful, simple in an all consuming wave of an epiphany. You've always been gorgeous, he's just been to blind — and stupid — to notice.

Clark's vision allows him to see each long black lash flutter with every blink, brushing lightly against your skin. Baby blue and shimmering white eyeshadow coats your eyes. The cold nips your cheeks, giving your light blush a deeper hue. Your lip gloss is slightly worn but he can still see the slight shine. The breeze carries the flavor of strawberries from the gloss, and he wonders how it would taste.

Woah...what?

Clark snaps to attention, eyes nearly straining by how hard he's looking at the stars but internally, he's freaking the fuck out. He's reeling as to why he's so hung up on how enchanting you look in the moonlight. He knows Chloe is cute and Lois is as pretty as she is annoying, but he's never thought of them like this.

He loves Lana, so why can't he stop looking at you in the corner of his eye?

He's not blinking and you can feel his eyes boring into you. Clark isn't as subtle as he thinks. Fingers curl into the grass and dirt, grounding yourself for the impending conversation.

"Are you gonna stare at me more or ask something?" The bite comes out a little meaner than you intended but the reaction is still the same.

Clark's eyes shoot up towards the stars again, his cheeks flushing redder than you've ever seen before, "I wasn't-I mean I was but I-!" Words tumble out without a single thought behind them and it's driving him insane. Beside him, you blink owlishly, heart stuttering to life before jumping into overdrive.

No...this isn't the same reaction. It's bashful yet enduring, and really, really cute. This is how Lana sees him all the time? And she hasn't even considered it?

You don't even think twice about the implication you've made.

Clark bites his tongue, forcibly stopping himself from talking anymore, but the frantic thumps within your chest are distracting him from the simmering embarrassment.

"I mean, I saw you running into the woods like a runaway princess. I wanted to make sure you're okay." His voice losses steam near the end, nearly a whispering breath. Sitting up, you're looking him in the eyes with a dazed shine, and it's hard to think when the stars are reflecting against yours like shimmering diamonds.

Goosebumps raise against your skin and Clark watches it happen in real time. Tucking your knees into your chest, you wrap your arms around them. Instincts take over and he shrugs off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Crickets fill the silence and his cheeks burn the longer you don't speak. A long piece of grass twirls back and forth between your gloved fingers, the pale blue satin ending before your elbows.

"I miss my Mom." The admission is quiet, barely a whisper. "I miss my cat, and my friends." Clark releases a silent breath he didn't realize he was holding, shoulders dropping in an unconscious attempt to make himself smaller.

Your fingers curl into the side of the jacket Clark gave you, pulling it closer around yourself. The fuzzy collar rests against the nape of your neck, tickling the tips of your ears, blocking the chill that wisps through the clearing. Your hair is still pulled up, styled and laced with pearls, held in place by an unholy amount of bobby pins and hair spray. You're honestly too tired to put in the effort to undo it. Nell had put so much time and work into it, it would be a shame to take it out now.

"I would too," Clark finally responds, unsure of what to say or how to comfort. "Uprooting your life like you did is never easy."

The silence that lingers between them isn't uncomfortable, like Clark was afraid of, but settles into a comfortable air. You tuck your knees under your chin, cheek squishing against the bone, gazing at him with a weight he can't recognize.

A deep sigh parts your lips before you can catch it, "I forget people just...know what's my whole life story. I guess I know how Lana feels." Clarks silence encourages you to continue, "Lana's Mom went to college with mine. They were roommates, best friends, considered each other family. Laura and Lewis were my god parents, before everything happened."

Clark's presence is warm, like the jacket across your shoulders, and honest to god, you don't know why you continue talking, "I honestly don't even know why I'm here. Nell isn't my godmother, she never had to take on the responsibility of another kid, but she did. I feel like-like I'm not supposed to be here and every second I am is a contradictory to my being."

Embarrassment immediately layers onto the shame of laying out your inner most feelings to your cute, awkward neighbor. "'m sorry, I shouldn't've dump all of that on you like that." The fabric of your dress rustles as you begin to clamber to your feet, needing to escape, but Clark's hand grabs yours quicker than you can process. "No, no, don't be," He hastily reassures, "I feel the same way."

That catches your attention and Clark seems to realize by how his ears burn scarlet, mouth opening and closing but no words come out. "-I-I mean, I'm adopted, so there're times when I think about what my life could've been life if I wasn't. What it could be if I wasn't here. I ask those same questions all the time."

A strange, new feelings unfurls at the bottom of your stomach. Heavy yet igniting your nerves alight with excitement. It stems from where Clarks fingers gently encase your wrist, skin terrifyingly warm and soft for farmers hands. Thoughts race through your mind and you don't know if you want him to keep holding your hand or pull away, but Clark makes the decision for you. Taking your silence as being uncomfortable, he lets go, yanking his hand away as if you're made of those damned meteor rocks.

He doesn't know what he's doing. He's never this flustered or uncoordinated except for when he's near Lana, and that's because he's in love with her. Why is he acting like this...with you?

Something changes that night. Neither of you know what, but it's there. Lingering between the two of you like salt water taffy, clinging in the back of your minds.

Something is wrong with Clark Kent and it seems everyone has noticed except you. After that night in the clearing, Clark's world axis began to shift. Slow, barely a fraction, maybe an inch, before fiercely nosediving.

First, it's Clark's parents, Martha then Jonathan. At dinner, the mention of Lana is slowly weeded out of sentences, flowered with the new girls name, Chloe's "new friend," who also just happens to live next store. Suddenly, the outdoor chores are being done before they can even get the time to do it. Clark tends to the animals where — oh, would you look at that — the same girl is feeding the horse, learning how to take care of them from Lana and Nell.

Second is Chloe and Pete. Clark is less subtle then he thinks, which is not at all. He won't. stop. talking. Chloe didn't know Clark could even say another girls name as much as Lanas but here we are, a whole month since Clark deemed you two friends, and he doesn't know how to hold a conversation without mentioning you. And Pete. Poor, poor, Pete. He's never spoken to you, but he knows too much that it feels almost invasive because Clark can't stop yapping. It doesn't take long for the duo to realize whatever you're doing, Clark's doing, and soon enough it's seeping into their group activities and The Torch.

"She's from the city, but won't say which one." Clark sighs, watching you down the hall. "Really?" Chloe smarts, raises her eyebrows, and shares a look with Pete, who's already shaking his head. "Yeah," his eyes never leave you from where you stand at your locker. "From her accent and dialect, I think it's Gotham." "Dude." "What?" Clark shuffles from foot to foot, readjusting the strap of his backpack. "You're studying her dialect?"

Third is Lex. Clark outright tells him, eyes flashing as he says your name, "She's taken over my mind. I can't sleep without dreaming about her. I can't eat without thinking about how it would taste if I was sharing it with her. Every morning I wake up and the first thing I think is how I can see her that day. I don't know what's wrong with me." Well, Lex does, and he's plotting on how to get Clark to see it too. Who exactly is this girl that has taken over his friends life? He'll find out.

Then, it's Lana. She doesn't see Clark as often anymore, and when they do talk he's looking at her clearer. He's relaxed, grown into himself, and it looks good on him. Their conversations flow smoother and Whitney isn't a topic he's afraid of consoling her on anymore. He's there when she needs him, and it's perfect. She finds herself enjoying seeing this side of him.

Finally, it's Clark. There is no second or third or fourth time he notices how beautiful you are because it's continuous, endless in its infinite times. He's haunted by the small glances he peaks of you soaking in the sun while he does chores. Glancing constantly at your locker, especially while you're there. The conversation he snooped overheard between You and Lana about athletes causes two footballs to be popped during practice. No place is safe, and it's getting out of hand.

There's nothing he can do but standing back and watch and it's consuming him whole. Hyperaware of your heartbeat, the smell of your perfume lingering in the air, the way he feels like he can run from continent to continent by a simple smile and wave.

He likes you. A lot. It's not love, but infatuation and a less then innocent crush are a close second. It's disrupted his life, his way of thinking and how he perceives himself. All his life, all he's ever wanted was Lana, and somehow you've changed everything within a month that he's believed in since he was a child.

He doesn't find himself resistant like he first was. You've settled into his life, his heart and mind, and Clark slowly embraces it. Now, he's just got to find a way to tell you, which is easier said than done.

a/n just to clarify if anyone who was confused by what the insinuation was; it's that Clark has to like or be in love with reader for him to be stuttering and blushing like that.

I really like how this came out. I'm thinking of doing a part two but please let me know if you'd like it!

as always, thank you for reading!

divider by @/aquazero

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Soulmate(s) | Part 4

Genre: smut, angst, fluff

Word Count: 9.4k

Summary: In a world where you get the name of your soulmate tattooed on your skin the night you turn 21, there should be no reason to even think about fucking around with anyone else. Why would you when you know that the perfect person who is made just for you is somewhere out there waiting for you to find them? 

So how the hell did you end up messing around with your two best friends and what are you going to do if neither of them ends up being your soulmate or worse, what if one of them is your soulmate?

Warnings: fem!reader, soulmates au, this is not a light fic, there will be backstabbing and manipulation, dom!gyu, (not so) dry humping, pussyjob, anal, sexual coercion, cumming all over oc again, the guys are kinda assholes, very sweet moments but also super questionable moments

________________________

The night air was slightly cool—not the kind that had you freezing but the kind that gave you an excuse to tug the blanket tighter around your shoulders and lean into Soobin’s side for warmth. The two of you sat on the hood of his car, parked at your favorite hilltop spot, the city lights below glittering like a sea of stars. It was quiet, save for the soft rustle of trees and the distant hum of the city far beneath you. Up here, it felt like you existed outside of time and place. 

Soobin shifts slightly beside you, adjusting the blanket, before glancing around the empty hilltop with suspicion. “You know,” He says, lowering his voice a little, “This is exactly how couples get murdered in documentaries.”

You snap your head towards him, eyes wide. “What?”

He nods solemnly. “Think about it. Secluded hilltop. Car parked in the dark. A young couple cozy under a blanket. Classic serial killer setup.”

You clutch the blanket tighter around you, ignoring how your heart flutters at him calling you a couple. God, how down bad are you? “Soobin! Why would you say that right now?”

He grins, happy he got the response he wanted from you.  “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll save you.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Really? You would fight off a serial killer? 

“First of all, ouch.” He frowns, giving you a playful shove, then declares, “Who said anything about fighting? I’ll sacrifice myself. I’ll scream dramatically and fall off the hood so the serial killer can attack me while you run.”

“Oh my God,” You burst out laughing at how even in his fantasy, the only way he can save you is by making himself the bait. “You’re such a loser.”

“Wrong,” He says, wagging a finger at you. “I’m a hero. That’s different.”

You giggle, leaning back into his side. “So you’ve just accepted you’d be the emotional damage backstory for the final girl?”

“Why not? It's kinda feminist if you think about it.” He props his chin with his fingers thoughtfully, nodding to himself.

You roll your eyes at him, but then an idea pops into your head and you give him an evil smirk. “How do you know I’m not the serial killer? Maybe I planned this whole date out to get you here so I can kill you and throw your body off the cliff.”

“Ohhh, I love a plot twist.” He grins, clapping his hands together, but then his expression quickly turns into a hesitant frown. “You’re not really though, right?”

You shrug, “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

He leans away, mock-horrified. “I knew the blanket sharing was a trap.”

“Too late.” You pounce on him, digging your fingers into his sides and tickling him mercilessly, his loud burst of tortured laughter splitting open the quiet night but you don’t care, there was no one here to judge you and no one to stop you from lingering in this precious bubble a little longer—the bubble where you and Soobin are a normal couple on a normal date and not two parts of a forbidden threeway that is bound to leave at least one of you completely shattered.

“No—stop!” He wheezes, squirming under your grip, his hands scrambling to catch yours. “You're supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side.” You laugh at your own pun, grinning so hard your cheeks ache.

He finally manages to grab your wrists, pinning them to your sides as he catches his breath. “Oh my god,” He groans, “That was so lame. Who’s the loser now?”

“Still you.” You shrug, a lazy grin plastered on your face. “Always.” 

He huffs and kisses you all over your face. “Well, you’re letting this loser kiss you, what does that make you?” 

“Charitable.” You tell him, not missing a beat, and he groans again, kissing you on the lips to shut you up. You let him, feeling your smiles mold together as you kiss. 

Eventually, he pulls back and stretches out beside you, his legs kicking out lazily, the soles of his shoes scuffing the roof of the car but he doesn’t care. It was a beat up old thing anyway, barely still functioning. 

Quiet settles over you for a few moments, calm blissful silence, before Soobin speaks again. “Do you ever think about leaving the city?” 

You blink, caught off guard. “Like… for good?”

He nods slowly, his gaze fixed on the skyline. “Yeah. Just… disappearing somewhere quieter.”

“I don’t know,” You say with a light-hearted laugh, not taking him seriously. “How am I supposed to survive without my city life perks? The endless coffee shops. The spontaneous 2AM takeout. The Wi-Fi that doesn’t die if you sneeze too hard.”

Soobin snorts. “God forbid you go a day without your overpriced oat milk lattes.”

“Exactly,” You chuckle, still running with the joke you think you're sharing. “What am I supposed to do in a village? Milk the actual oat?”

Soobin hums, not laughing at your lame joke. Instead, he keeps his gaze fixed ahead, seriousness overtaking his usually unassuming features. 

You clear your throat, finally registering the shift in the mood, and tilt your head back to look at the stars, confessing, “I think about it sometimes. Going somewhere with less noise. Less pressure.”

“Like a tiny town with a coffee shop run by someone’s grandma,” He says, a smile tugging at his lips, happy you’re indulging his strange little fantasy. “She’d make the best apple pie you’ve ever tasted, but goddamn would her coffee go down like battery acid.”

You snort out a laugh, glad he's joking again but a little hesitant to let your guard down just yet. “We’d still spend our days gulping down that awful coffee—because, a) we’d have no choice since hers is the only coffee shop in the entire town, and b) because she'd be the best person to get the town's latest spicy gossip from. Like how Mr. Kim’s been pretending to go to work for six months after getting laid off just to keep his unemployment a secret from his girlfriend, or how the high school principal has been catfishing his own wife to try to catch her cheating.”

“And she definitely keeps a notebook,” Soobin adds, laughing loudly as he imagines it. “Not even a subtle one. It would be hot pink and labeled ‘Stuff God Needs to Know.’”

But his laughter stops too abruptly, plunging you both back into silence. But this time it doesn't feel easy. it doesn’t feel comfortable as his smile fades and his eyes stare into the distance. “No one would know us there. They wouldn’t know if we were soulmates or not.”

The comment hangs in the air for a beat too long, and you keep your gaze upward, scared of what you might see in his. “Would you really want that?”

“I don’t know. No marks? No system telling you who you're supposed to love? Doesn’t that sound kind of freeing?” He asks and you hesitate, “Maybe.” 

Your heart is thudding in your chest. You don’t know where he’s going with this. Of course, you had thought about it before, a world with no soulmate marks, a world where you were left to choose your own life partner—everyone has, whether they would admit it or not but you haven’t settled on whether that would be better or worse. 

Yes, you have your reservations about the soulmate system. You aren’t exactly thrilled about the lack of free will on who you will love and are supposed to end up with, and everyone knows a pairing or two in their lives that have been a head scratcher, but in all actuality, can you really be trusted to make the right choice about the most important decision in your life when your dumb choices have led you to where you are right now—stuck in a perilous relationship between your two best friends? 

As if Soobin can hear your internal dilemma, and as if he’s made it his mission to make it even worse, he continues, “Do you think the soulmate thing makes love more real… or less?”

“You’re scaring me a little bit. Where is this coming from?” You chuckle nervously, avoiding answering the question because you're afraid of where that train of thought might lead you. 

You really were not prepared to have this conversation—least of all with Soobin. You never even thought he had all these doubts about the system, but you suppose you’ve been so in your head about the whole thing that you’ve been missing the boys spiraling out too. 

“I’m just thinking.” He shrugs casually as if he's not debating the pillars of your existence. 

“About what?” 

“About how soulmates make people lazy.”

“Lazy?” You repeat, not understanding.

“Yeah,” He nods, a frown set on his face, “Like, they stop trying. They think the name on their wrist is the end all be all. Like love will just work out because fate says so.”

You nod slowly. “I guess.” 

Just like your fake gossip implied, relationships still fail despite the soulmate system because people are people, and people are greedy and selfish and evil. They would hurt the one person who was made for them just to satisfy their own selfish desires. 

Soobin is quiet for a moment, then he turns to you, “What if the name you find on your skin isn’t the name of the person who you truly… love?” 

You hadn’t thought about it that way. All you were worried about is how you’d feel if the boys are soulmates and you were cast out or how you might basically be forced to fall in love with a stranger you knew nothing about. You did not think about the possibility of getting the “wrong” name on you.

You don’t know what to say to that. The idea scares you more than the fictional serial killer waiting to pounce on you. Damn Soobin for fucking with your brain even more than it’s already fucked.  “I don’t know…”

“Sometimes I think it'd be easier to just choose.” He tells you, being brave for the both of you. 

You stare at him, brows raised. “You think so?” 

He nods, but you can’t understand the thought process that led him to that conclusion. You can’t imagine being able to choose between him and Beomgyu, and you wonder if he's already made his decision. 

As if Soobin can hear you, he asks, “Who would you choose?” 

You hold your breath, brain short–circuiting. How could you possibly choose between the two? Being with Soobin feels like breathing easier, like life just makes sense. But with Beomgyu love feels wild and frantic, like you’re living in full color for the first time. 

How could you ever pick between the one who steadies your heart and the one who sets it racing? How do you even begin to choose between the one who makes you feel safe and the one who makes you feel alive?

Safety or chaos. Burning steady or blazing bright.

“That’s a dangerous question.” You finally say and Soobin smiles faintly, not quite reaching his eyes. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

He turns away again, clearing his throat and changing the topic. “This is nice,” Soobin murmurs, his arm shifting so it wraps more securely around you. “We don’t get many nights like this anymore.”

You’re still tense from your conversation, and you keep your eyes forward, watching how the city pulses chaotically in the distance, and you wonder if there are others out there who are having these same conversations with their loved one or if you are just an anomaly–if you've messed around too much and fucked your own future. “I know. It feels like we’re the only people in the world.”

He glances down at you, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “If we were, I think you’d get sick of me in, like, three days.”

You snort, relaxing a bit as you shift back into light banter. “Three’s generous.”

Soobin laughs. “Okay, fine. One and a half.”

You turn your head, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Nah. I think I could tolerate you for maybe a whole week.”

“That’s true love right there.” He says, again giving you pause. 

You stare at him, waiting for an explanation, and he turns fully to you, spelling it out.

“I love you,” He confesses, quiet but deadly. Though he has said those words before, this was far from the usual casual declaration. It was heavy, raw—it felt like it had been sitting on his chest for too long. "I love you both."

Your world feels like it stopped for a moment. You look at him, really look at him, and realize just how much he was carrying, just how much was tangled between the three of you. The love he spoke of wasn’t clean or simple—it wasn’t the kind of love that felt easy. It was the kind that wrapped around your heart and made it hard to breathe. The kind that hurt, and you are all suffering from it. 

He looks as if he is waiting for you to reply but all you can do is try to swallow down the lump in your throat. The city, the lights, even the night sky seem so muted now, their beauty fleeing from the intense moment. “Soobin…” You start, but the words don't come. What could you say? I love you too? I am sorry that I let this stupid relationship happen? 

His eyes meet yours, and you can see the sorrow behind them. "I don't want things to be this way," He says, his voice a little broken. "But... I love you both. And I don’t know how to make this any better."

A silence settles between you, thick and suffocating. The three of you have messed with something dangerous, something that has the power to tear you apart. 

“I love you too.” You finally admit, but the words don't fill you with the warm fuzzy feeling it's supposed to. Instead it fills you with apprehension, because loving the two of them can only end in heartbreak. 

He looks at you but you can't face him anymore so you just turn and stare out at the city in front of you, no longer finding the view beautiful. 

“I think we should head back.” He finally says, and you nod. 

_________________

The night was well on its way, but Beomgyu’s energy was only just beginning to peak as he pulls you into the norebang, his cheeks flushed with the warmth of alcohol and the carefree joy only a few drinks could bring. His grin is wide, and the dim lights make his eyes sparkle in a way that is both intoxicating and endearing.

"Let’s sing!" Beomgyu slurs, his arm thrown around your shoulder as he leads you toward the karaoke booth, already pulling up a song.

You watch him grab the microphone eagerly, practically bounding with energy as if he's preparing to perform in front of a sold-out stadium. 

The song's iconic playful intro starts, followed by 

Apateu, apateuApateu, apateuApateu, apateuUh, uh-huh, uh-huh

Beomgyu launches into the first verse, way too excited already.  “Kissy face, kissy face, sent to your phone, but I’m trynna kiss your lips for real. Uh-huh, uh-huh!”

He points at you, and even that small movement causes him to stagger a bit. You can’t help but laugh—he was such a fucking mess, but damn was he adorable, pouring his heart into every word as if it was a heartfelt ballad instead of a stupid pop song.

Red hearts, red hearts

That's what I'm on, yeah

Come give me somethin' I can feel, oh-oh, oh

"Don’t you want me like I want you, baby... Don’t you need me like I need you now!” Beomgyu screeches, clearly not hitting any of the right notes. Not that either of you care. 

You can’t keep from giggling at his antics, knowing he's hamming it up for you and that makes your stupid heart flutter more than it probably would have if he had taken you out on a romantic dinner date. Because you know he is doing this just to make you smile. You can see it from the way he keeps sneaking glances at you every time he does something silly, eyes gleaming when he sees your smile, his happiness lighting up the dingy room.

Halfway through the chorus, Beomgyu pulls you towards him, thrusting the microphone in your face and shouting over the music. “All you gotta do is just meet me at the—”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already reaching for it, because you know there’s no saying no to Beomgyu when he’s like this—not that you would ever want to. 

Apateu, apateuApateu, apateuApateu, apateuUh, uh-huh, uh-huh

You shout out, your voice softer, less drunk, a stark contrast to his screeching. Still, he beams, happy you’re joining in on his theatrics. He leans into you, slinging an arm loosely around your shoulders, singing wildly off-key while you try to stay somewhat on beat.

The two of you make a ridiculous duo—him screaming his parts passionately while you giggle through yours. But somehow, it works—maybe not for the other patrons who could probably still hear you through the walls, but for you. Your mismatched energy, the chaotic harmony—it’s ridiculous and fun and so very Beomgyu.

By the end of the song, you’re just as loud and off-key as him, and he’s looking at you like you’re giving him the world rather than trauma induced deafness.

Despite his drunkenness, his arm is steady around you, tugging you into him until he can rest his forehead against yours. He stares at you, his eyes soft, his expression fond. “I love you,” He says, the words spilling out so easily, like they were the most natural thing in the world to him. 

You blink, heart stuttering in your chest at the sudden sobriety and earnestness in his voice. But before you could speak, Beomgyu suddenly throws his arms into the air and shouts his way through the ending, “Apateu, apateu. Apateu, apateu. Apateu, apateu. Uh, uh-huh, uh-huh!” He leaps up, nearly losing his balance in the process, and you burst into laughter, the sound bubbling out of you uncontrollably.

“You’re ridiculous,” You regard him fondly as the song finally ends.

But the night doesn’t stop after that. If anything, Beomgyu’s chaotic declaration of love is just the start. He keeps singing, hopping from one song to another and forcing you to join him. Not that it took much convincing, you love seeing Beomgyu so happy and in his element, laughing so hard at his improvised dance moves that your cheeks become sore and your sides hurt.

At some point, he challenges you to a dance-off, loses spectacularly, then claims it was because his “shoes were too slippery.” You caught it all on your phone in blurry, joy-filled memories that you already knew you’d rewatch on sadder days to bring yourself comfort and joy.

But eventually, the night starts winding down. His voice grows hoarse from shouting, his eyelids heavy from sleep, and his words slow from fatigue. He yawns, flopping down with a tired sigh.

“Okay,” You say, crouching in front of him, smiling at the way he is trying to stay awake. “Time to go.”

Beomgyu pouts but doesn’t protest. You help him to his feet, slinging his arm over your shoulder as he leans more of his weight on you than is necessary—though you suspect that has less to do with exhaustion and more to do with his clinginess.

_________________

“You smell nice,” He mumbles into your shoulder as you unlock your front door.

“You smell like cheap beer and regret.” You reply, laughing.

“You still love me,” He says, half-asleep, and your heart skips a beat. You’ve heard it from him many times by now, yet it always manages to get to your stupid heart.

Still, you hesitate to say it back because every time you do, it hurts you more and more. Beomgyu, however, is nothing if not insistent, and he pushes you against the door, his forehead resting against yours as his drunken eyes stare at you pleadingly, looking more sober than he has the entire night. “Will you say it back?”

“Beomgyu…”

“Come on, please.”

You sigh, giving into him as you always do. “I love you too.” 

He smiles lazily and lets you go. You guide him inside, steadying him as he kicks off his shoes. 

“Come on,” You murmur, brushing his hair back from his face. “Let’s get you to bed, baby.”

He doesn’t protest, just humming in agreement, letting you lead him to your room. You help him change then get him into bed, and as soon as you slide in beside him, he wraps himself around you— one arm draped over your waist and his face buried in the crook of your neck.

His breathing slows almost immediately, his grip loosening just slightly, enough for you to shift and look at him but not enough to be able to pull away without waking him up. You watch the way his long lashes tickle his cheeks, lips parted slightly, face soft and unguarded in sleep.  

You stay like that, not moving, watching him in the dim light filtering through the curtains. The chaos of earlier seeming far away now—replaced by a quiet intimacy that only gets broken by Soobin's return.

“Is he out for the night?” Soobin asks, stepping into the room.

“Yeah, completely gone,” You reply with a soft laugh, glancing down at Beomgyu, who was still curled against your side. “I think I’m stuck here until morning with this human weighted blanket.”

Soobin laughs, running a hand through his hair as he leans against the wall. “That’s what you get for indulging him. You know he doesn’t know how to stop once he starts.”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Trust me, I figured that out about one minute into his APT performance.”

His eyebrows quirk up at that. “He made you sing it with him, didn’t he?”

“Oh, he demanded it,” You say, shaking your head. “He was completely off-key, screaming the norebang down and acting like we were headlining a sold-out show. He even tried to harmonize. With himself.”

Soobin burst out laughing, clearly picturing the whole scene in his mind. “God, I love him, but he has absolutely no shame.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” You say, smiling down at Beomgyu’s peaceful face, now far removed from the chaos he’d unleashed earlier. “It was a hot mess. But it was fun.”

Soobin is quiet after that and when you look back at him, you see that his smile is a little tight, a little strained, and you imagine you see in it the same worry and yearning you hold when you look at them together—the happiness to see them happy but the jealousness that it's not because of you. 

“What about you? How’s your day been?” You clear your throat as you watch Soobin make his way further into the room.

Soobin groans at that, borrowing a page out of Beomgyu's book of theatrics as he starts changing into his pajamas . “Don’t even get me started. I have that stupid economics test in a few days, and I don’t even know where to begin studying. Professor Lee is an actual spawn of the devil. Like a walking demon in a cardigan.”

You laugh as he rubs his face in frustration, your own hand massaging through Beomgyu’s soft hair, the motion bringing you more comfort than it brings the sleeping man. “That bad, huh?”

“Yes, that bad. Her tests are impossible and when you ask her for help, she just gives you that condescending smile—you know the one—and goes, ‘It’s all in the syllabus,’ like that means anything. Yeah, I know it’s in the damn syllabus but I am surprised that you do because you haven’t bothered to maybe do your fucking job and teach the damn thing.”

“Wow, you’re pissed pissed.” You giggle, leaning your head back as Beomgyu nuzzles closer into your neck, tightening his grip around your waist, your conversation with Soobin probably disturbing his sleep. “But hey, it’s almost the weekend. You’ll survive.”

“I’m not so sure,” He mutters bitterly. “If I mysteriously vanish, you’ll probably find my dead body in the library under a pile of unfinished papers.”

You smirk. “Noted. I’ll make sure to send her your tape after your death.”

Soobin chuckles, and regards the bed, raising an eyebrow. “Room for one more?”

You pretend to consider. “Only if you promise not to bring professor Lee into bed with us. I'm not into the professor/student trope.”

“Wow, selfish much. You’re not being a very supportive girlfriend.” He says the term so casually as if he’d been calling you that for years. He does not notice the way you tense up, just holding his hands up in mock surrender, “Deal.”

Soobin pads over, climbing in carefully so as not to disturb Beomgyu and settles on your other side. Yet the sleeping man still senses it, wrapping himself tighter around you.

“God, this is nice,” He murmurs, relaxing back against the pillows. “Me. You. The space heater.” He jokes, nodding toward Beomgyu, and you laugh nervously.

You all fall into a silence after that and Soobin too eventually goes to sleep, leaving only you awake with both boys at your side—Beomgyu’s arms wrapped securely around your waist while Soobin rested his head against your chest. The three of you lay there—messy and tangled, but together. At least for now.

But deep down, you know this can’t last. The cracks are already starting to form—small, hairline fractures hiding beneath the surface, and soon enough, at least one of you is bound to break.

____________

You were supposed to be relaxing. Just a dumb night in with an even dumber drama playing in the background, the three of you curled up together like always.

Somehow, it had spiraled into an argument.

“I’m obviously the male lead,” Beomgyu argues, tossing popcorn into his already full mouth. “No one can deny it. I’ve got the charm, the looks, the wit—come on.”

“You got wit? I'm surprised you even know what the word means.” Soobin snorts, kicking lightly at Beomgyu’s foot. “You’re totally the second lead. The loud one who gets friend-zoned in episode three while the girl falls hopelessly in love with me.”

Beomgyu gasps, holding his hand to his heart like he’s been fatally wounded. “Baby,” He cries dramatically, turning to you, “Back me up! Which one of us would be the male lead?”

You freeze. It sounds harmless enough, right? A stupid, meaningless question from two boys with massive egos. But something about the way they look at you—waiting, expectant—makes your throat tighten like it knows you shouldn’t answer that question. It hides something deeper, like your answer would mean more than just who hypothetically would get the final kiss in a drama.

You shift awkwardly, heart picking up speed. “Uh… Soobin?”

There is a beat of silence, then Beomgyu leans back against the couch, arms crossed, a pout forming on his face while victory flashes across Soobin’s own face. He tilts his chin up a little, clearly proud that he’s been picked. It pisses Beomgyu off, who scoffs and tosses a pillow at him, hitting him square in the face. 

But then—because you hate the way Beomgyu’s smile has fallen, because you hate seeing either of them hurt—you rush to fix it, stumbling over yourself, “He just looks more like the typical male lead. Come on, you know I always root for the second lead anyway.”

You try to say it lightly, jokingly–a way to ease the tension. But clearly that was the wrong thing to say because Beomgyu’s expression doesn’t soften, and Soobin, who had just been basking in his little victory, frowns, his smile sliding right off his face. 

Great. Now they were both mad at you.

Beomgyu barks out a humorless laugh. “Right. Because second place is so great.”

You flinch. “I’m just saying that I like—”

“The second lead. We get it.” Soobin repeats, voice low.

The mood in the room completely shifts, all playfulness gone. It was so unfair. They put you between a rock and a hard place. No matter what you answered, you would have been screwed either way. 

“No, that’s not—” You try, panicking now. “I just meant—”

But it was too late. They weren’t listening anymore.

“Whatever. It’s a BL drama anyway. Not like you were the lead to begin with.” Beomgyu says, his voice light, mock-casual. You blink at him, stunned, but Beomgyu just smiles at you like he hadn’t just gutted you clean.

Soobin shifts uncomfortably beside you, but doesn't say anything. His own hurt preventing him from soothing yours. 

You swallow hard, looking down at your hands.

The TV keeps playing in the background, the characters’ voices filling the room, but none of you are paying attention anymore. Because this wasn’t just about the stupid drama. It was about you. About who you’d picked—and who you hadn’t.

The drama didn't matter anymore. You've all already seen how this story was going to end.

___________

You were still waiting—still holding onto the possibility that maybe, maybe one of them could be yours. But even though the boys kept pushing, you’ve not gone all the way yet because that would cross the final invisible line you were never meant to cross. Sex meant something even if it seemed like it didn’t to them. You believed that if you were going to have sex with anyone, it should be with the person whose name would be etched on your skin.

So when you walked in on them and saw them tangled up together like that–Soobin’s body covering Beomgyu who was on his hands and knees, both of them completely nude, allowing you to clearly see the older boy’s cock thrusting in and out of Beomgyu’s hole… it killed you. Because how could they do that with each other, if they thought you might be the one?

And maybe it wasn’t meant to hurt you. Maybe it wasn’t even meant to mean anything. But in this world, it means everything. It means soulmate. And they have seemingly given themselves to each other already.

“What…” You say, your throat closing up around the rest of your words. 

The boys quickly separate. They cover up as if it would conceal their betrayal from your eyes.  

“Is this what you do without me?” You ask, voice cold. 

Beomgyu's eyes widen, and he shakes his head vehemently. “No. This is the first time. I swear.” 

“Well, don't let me interrupt then.” You turn on your heel to leave, feeling like you might cry if you stayed any longer but the boys quickly speak up to try to keep you there. 

“No wait!” Soobin shouts out, followed by Beomgyu's “Baby, come on, it's not that that big of a deal.”

You turn on him, furious glare pinning him down. “Not that big of a deal? You’re fucking!” 

In a rare display of self preservation, Beomgyu shrinks back, shutting up, but to your surprise, it is Soobin who chooses to speak out, blurting, “Because we actually want each other.”

“What?” You hiss, turning your narrowed eyes towards him, daring him to say out loud what you think he's implying.

But Soobin doesn't back down. It's as if he and Beomgyu switched bodies because he stands unshaken under your fury and unkindly tells you,  “He has shown me that he wants me. He is not holding back on me.” 

You scoff, trying to hide how his words absolutely kill you. You could maybe expect this from Beomgyu, he was always pushing and pushing, always wanting more than he had any right to, but Soobin? If Soobin too would do this, then why are you even here? They clearly don’t care about how any of this would make you feel. Maybe this is their way to get you to step back so they don't have to outright tell you that they've chosen each other and break it off with you. 

“Well, have at it.” You fight back the tears, trying to appear unaffected, and once again move to leave, your mind already wondering how it's going to put your heart back together.

But then Beomgyu speaks up again. “Come on, baby, you don't have to be like that. You can fuck us too.” He tells you like that solves everything, reaching out to try to pull you towards them. 

“I don't want to fuck you!” You shout, shoving his hand away and making him flinch. He looks at you,  hurt, as if he doesn’t understand why you would reject them. It drives you crazy. “This is the one thing that we were supposed to leave for our soulmate. If you're both fucking each other then I guess you've made up your mind on who that person is.” 

“Don't be ridiculous. It doesn’t mean anything.” Beomgyu tries to brush it off, but it just makes you even angrier. “It means plenty!”

“And your rejection means plenty too. The only reason we have fucked each other and not you is because you won't let us. We've given ourselves to each other fully but you're still holding back on us.” Soobin repeats, making sure his point gets through to you. 

You gape at him, dumbfounded. “So the only way for me to prove my love to you is to let you fuck me?”

“That's not what I meant.” He frowns as if you were putting words into his mouth when this is exactly what his words imply. “All I’m saying is…you're stingy with your love.”

“Stingy?” You shout, feeling yourself losing your mind. This is what this kind of relationship does to a person. This is why you should have saved your heart and body for your soulmate. “I have pushed myself over and over again beyond what I am comfortable with in order to make you both happy. Every day I risk completely shattering my heart for you, and you call that stingy?”

“We’ve both done the same and more. Why are you acting like we have nothing to lose?” He retorts sharply, not having any sympathy for you. “We've let go. Why can't you?” 

“It’s not easy for me,” Your words stumble over each other. You feel so lost. You started this relationship because you felt lost about your future in this soulmate system and now that you’re in this relationship, you feel more lost than ever. You were too rebellious to wait for the soulmate system and too cowardly to give yourself to the lovers you have chosen.

Soobin doesn't give you any grace for how much you're suffering. If anything, his gaze hardens, and he leans in closer, daring you to contradict him. “Well, maybe you don’t really love us at all. Not the way we love you.”

“That's ridiculous.” You protest, shaking your head at him in denial. You love them. You love them both so much that you don't know what to do with yourself. You're scared dead of losing either of them that you have to hold back or you'd lose yourself too. 

“Is it?” It's not Soobin who asks but Beomgyu, his doubt landing across your face like a slap.

They both look at you, challenging you to prove yourself to them but you can't. You're not as strong as them. You’re not as reckless. 

“I can’t deal with this.” You mutter, and turn to leave, this time not letting Soobin's harsh remark keep you back. 

“Yeah, run. That's all you know how to do.” 

You flinch, fighting to keep your tears in until you're out of their sight. 

_______________

You know you shouldn’t blame Beomgyu, but you do. Maybe it’s not fair, because it’s not his fault, but that doesn’t stop the bitterness from rising up in the back of your throat whenever you see Soobin touching him, looking for his attention, favoring him, giving him what he holds back from you in… fear? retaliation? 

Though Soobin has not pulled away from you completely since your confrontation, it’s clear that things have changed between you. You’ve reached an impasse–you still being unable to give yourself to them fully and him not feeling safe giving himself to you in return.  

Only Beomgyu gets to have the best of both worlds, and he is not shy about flaunting it. It’s almost like he enjoys throwing it in your face. He’s never said it outright, but the message is always there, laced into his every teasing word and lingering touch—he has something you don’t. He gets to kiss and touch and love Soobin, and he gets to be kissed and touched and loved by Soobin unconditionally. He doesn’t have to deal with the weird distance and awkwardness that now discolour your own relationship with the older boy and it's almost like he’s holding it over your head, making sure you remember that he's the favorite.  

“You want to win him back,” He says, lips brushing against your ear as he hands you something soft and delicate in pale pink lace, “you gotta make his dick happy, baby.”  

You jeer at him, calling him ridiculous, but he only smiles wider, pressing the babydoll he has bought you into your hands.  

“Just try it on,” He says, eyes glinting. “Let’s make him see what he's missing.”

The promise of that makes your heart ache. You want it. You want Soobin to want you again. And so you do it. You try it on for him. Let him pose you—ass pushed out, lips parted, lace clinging to parts of you that felt too exposed under his gaze.  

He tells you it’s just for Soobin, but you can see the way his eyes eat you up, taking pictures of you in dirty poses that he tells you will make Soobin go crazy. 

But he lets his hands wander, brushing against your lips, your breasts, your thighs. And you wonder who this is really for.  

“You’re gonna drive him crazy,” Beomgyu whispers, that same craziness flickering in his eyes. “I know I am.”  

And in that moment, it doesn’t feel like it’s about Soobin at all.  Because Beomgyu’s always playing some game you can’t quite name. One where he wins every time.  

“God, I wish I could feel your pussy around me. Need you so bad.” He puts the camera down to let his hands freely wander, and something ugly stirs without you––a dangerous mix of jealousy and insecurity that prompts you to say.

“Do you want it more than you want his ass?” You ask, lowering your voice to try to hide the vulnerability underneath.

“Baby…” Beomgyu looks at you, unsure, but his tone is still soft. Still careful.

“Come on, Beommie.” You tilt your head, forcing a bitter smile. “Say it. Say you want my pussy.”

“I want it,” He admits easily, eyes locked on you. “I want you.”

“More than him.” You need at least one of them to want you more than the other. You need to feel like you’re still in this. That you haven't given parts of you out to them for nothing.

There’s a pause. Just a second. But it’s long enough to feel like a crack through the center of your chest.

You scoff, pushing him away, the rejection biting at you just as coldly as the chill in the air.  Neither of them will chose you.

But Beomgyu panics the second you pull back. “No—wait,” He says, voice suddenly higher, desperate. “I do want you more. I do. I need you.”

You search his face, not sure if it's the truth or just desperation—if he wants you or if he’s just looking to get off. But for now, you choose to believe it.

“More than him?” You ask again, voice a little shakier now, knowing you can't handle one more rejection. 

Thankfully Beomgyu gives in, nodding quickly. “More than him.”

You let out a sigh of relief and pull him back towards you, kissing him roughly as you pour out all your frustration, fear and love into it. He reciprocates enthusiastically, opening his mouth and letting you push your tongue in, moaning loudly even around your tongue. 

“Then hump me like a good little puppy.” You tell him when you pull away, and Beomgyu's stares you down, pupils already blown wide in his hungry eyes. 

“You like seeing me go crazy for you, don't you?” He hisses but obeys, rutting desperately against you, searching for any pleasure you’re willing to give him.

“Yes. You look so pretty when you’re desperate.” You admit shamelessly, feeling safe saying it when he's so willing to be pathetic for you. “Don't pretend you don't like it when I boss you around.”

“I won't. Just as long as you don't pretend you don't want my cock stuffed inside you.” He takes it up a notch, always ready to push beyond your limits.

“Beomgyu…”

“Come on, say it. Say you want my cock.” He insists, but you can’t really blame him. You've just demanded the same thing of him.

“I want your cock.” You relent and he bites his lips, his hips picking up the pace as he stares at you as if waiting to hear more from you. 

You give it to him, moaning out as you press your lips to his ear, giving him what he wants—what he needs. “Want to feel you lose it. Want your hot cum on me.”

“Yeah?” He pants, looking wild. “You want it? Want my cum in you?”

“Yes,” You shudder, clutching onto his shirt as his cock drags along your barely covered pussy. “Give it to me. Fill me up with your cum.”

“God, you sound like a slut.” He is breath hitches as he slides his cock under your now ruined lace panties so he can enjoy the friction from both your panties and your pussy against his swollen cock. “Does my pretty slut want my cum now?”

“Yes.” You moan eagerly, not ashamed of how wet you've become. Not when his own cock is dripping with need. “Let go for me, baby. Let me take care of you.”

He comes undone at your command, repeating your name like a prayer. His release spills over your skin, hot and messy, and for a moment, you think that’s it—that for a moment you’ve won. That you've satisfied one of them.

He pushes his sweaty hair back and exhales, almost laughing as he looks at the mess he made. But then he pulls your panties to the side while his other hand holds his cock and brushes it over your pussy, the head catching against your entrance for a moment. “God I really wanna put it in.”

“You can't!” You panic, trying and failing to close your legs around his hips, and he hums in disappointment. “There you go, rejecting us again.”

Your heart pumps painfully in your chest at his underhanded comment. “That's unfair. You know why I can’t let you do that. My soulmate–”

“Will be one of us.” He finishes your sentence and you huff indignantly. “Maybe, but not who. I want to save myself for my soulmate.”

“Why?” He asks as if you're being unreasonable. "Me and Soobin have agreed that we won’t get upset about it if one of us ends up being your soulmate.” 

You scoff, incensed. “So you’ve both decided what to do with my body? Do I not get a say?”

“You’re twisting my words, baby.” He whines, rutting his cock against your pussy again. “We just wanna feel you. All of you… just wanna be buried in your cunt.” 

“I am not gonna let you have my pussy, Beomgyu.” You stand firm despite the embarrassing way your pussy was dripping around his cock, the wet sounds of his member sliding easily along your slit ringing loudly in your ears. 

“Hmm, how about just your ass then.” He bargains, using some of your juices on his finger to rub over your asshole teasingly. 

“Beomgyu…” You hesitate, feeling yourself flutter at the ghost of his touch. Maybe you can do that… it wouldn't actually be giving your virginity away, right? You would still have something saved for your soulmate…

“Come on, this is not so bad, right?” He coaxes, his lips hot against your neck and his middle finger dipping into your hole ever so slightly. “Just let me in.”

You shudder, feeling yourself clench around his finger and your pussy drip even more. 

“No.” You shake your head, trying to clear it from the doubt he's brewing and the corrupting touch of his pleasure.

“Fine.” He frowns, pulling back, and suddenly you feel cold. 

“Where are you going?” You sit up, chewing on your lip nervously. 

“Soobin’ll probably let me use his ass.” He tells you casually, like it’s nothing. Like you’re not still there, covered in the proof of how much he claimed to need you.

“You just came all over me.” You say weakly, feeling your heart sink.

“I know, but…” He pauses, letting the thought linger. It's not enough, is what he wants to say. “I need to feel a tight hole around my cock.”

Your hands shoot out and pull him back between your legs, hissing at him to conceal your pain, “Fuck you, Beomgyu.” 

“I'm sorry, but—” He starts as if whatever he's gonna say will make his treatment of you hurt any less. 

“Just do it. You can have my ass.” You say in a small voice but he hears it. You feel him go rigid above for a fraction of a second before he pulls back and eagerly kisses you, not waiting for any doubt to set in. “Thank you, baby. I’ll make it feel so good, I swear.” He promises, carefully pushing his finger in, coaxing you to relax as he peppers sweet kisses all over your face.

“That’s it, baby. Just relax for me. I got you.” 

It’s easier than you expected, the slide of his finger into you, and before you know it he has it up to the knuckle inside your ass. 

He pulls back to gather more of your juices before sticking his finger in again, doing this over and over until it easily slips in every time, before he introduces another finger and repeats the same process again. 

You did not expect this to feel pleasurable, but the way he curls his fingers inside you pushes them against the wall of your pussy, making you shiver and almost feel like his fingers are fucking it instead. 

“You’re doing so good for me. You’re such a good girl.” He purrs, hypnotised by the image of your hole taking his fingers so easily. He reaches his other hand around his cock to give it a few tugs, sucking in a harsh breath at the pleasure. “Fuck, I can’t wait any longer.” 

He pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his cock. “Can I?”  He asks and you nod slightly, but that’s enough for him. He pushes forward, easing his cock inside of you, the length of it filling you up quickly.

“Fuck!” He groans, his head dropping to rest against your forehead as he takes a moment to let you adjust to him and let himself adjust to the feeling of you surrounding him. “You’re so hot and tight. I feel like I am already close, god damn.”

You blush, your heart fluttering at how easily you’ve affected him even though you’ve barely done anything. He just wanted you that bad. He’s watching you like he can’t look away, like you're so precious he’s afraid if his gaze wanders for a second, you’d slip away. 

You hate that you had to do this in order to satisfy him but you also hadn’t expected it to feel like this—not so intense, not so consuming. The stretch, the pressure, the way his body presses against yours—it’s all dizzying, overwhelming in the best and worst ways. 

“You feel like you were made for me,” He whispers the words like it’s a secret meant only for you to hear and you hold your breath because—is it? Is that a confession? You can’t make sense of any of it. It feels like the boys share a secret you’re not in on. You don’t know who they truly want. You don’t know who you truly want. “I can’t—God, I can’t believe this is real.”

Your hands grip his arms, unsure whether you're grounding him or yourself. His praise echoes around in your head, knocking out all sense and rationality. 

You don’t speak—you don’t trust yourself to. Your lips part in a quiet gasp instead, and that’s enough for him. 

His breath stutters against your skin as he begins to move, slow at first, like he’s still trying to memorize the shape of you around him. Each motion is careful, restrained, but you can feel the tension rippling beneath it—he’s holding back, and it’s taking everything in him to do so.

You can feel it under your fingers, the desperation, the longing. You can hear it so clearly in his words. “You’re perfect. I want to stay like this forever.”

But something about his words feel wrong. A flicker of doubt threatens to snuff out the warmth building between your bodies. Because forever—that word isn’t his to give. Not when he’s already given himself away to Soobin. 

Still, you cling to him. Because for now, he’s here. For now, you can pretend he’s yours.

Your hands slide up his arms to wrap around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss, needing something to anchor you to the moment to stop your mind from spiraling. He groans softly against your mouth, hips stuttering for a second as he bites your lower lip.

“God, you’re driving me insane,” He croaks, voice hoarse. “You feel too good... too good to stop.”

And you don’t want him to stop. Not yet. Not while he’s whispering things like that into your mouth, not while his hands are all over you like he can’t bear to not touch you. 

But despite the mind-numbing heat of it all, there’s still that damn doubt pressing at the edges of your mind—soft but insistent. Because despite all his needy proclamations, he still gave himself to Soobin just as easily as he has given himself to you. 

Is this all a game to him? A way to ensure that he wins either way?  

“You’re mine,” He looks at you like he means it, and you wonder how it could ever be a lie. Is it really possible that he's playing you both so well? “Say you’re mine.”

You hesitate, and that upsets Beomgyu. Suddenly, he switches up, staring at you with his big brown eyes he drives his cock inside you in slow, languid strokes, stoking the fire in your belly. “Please, I just want to pretend to be normal for a moment. I want to pretend I finally have a soulmate and that we love each other.”

Still, you remain silent.

He swallows hard, and with one hand, he cups your face, watching, waiting.  “Please, let me have you,” he says, breath trembling. “Even if just for now.”

“Okay.” You say in a small voice, your fingers digging into his back, grounding yourself in him as you arch into his movements, letting the rhythm build, slow and steady, drawing out everything you’ve been holding in. He kisses you again, more urgently this time, like he's trying to drown out every other name, every other memory with just you.

“Say it, please.” He pleads when he pulls back, looking like he might cry if you don't. 

“I'm yours.” You tell him, voice shuddering under the pressure. You don't know if giving into him is right, but the happiness on his face when you do almost makes it feel like it's worth it. 

“God, I love you. You’re so good for me,” He groans, hips stuttering. “You always are.”

And for just a moment, you let yourself believe it. That this is love. That you're his. That maybe, maybe, he is yours too.

“I need you.” Your breath hitches, chest rising rapidly beneath him as you give in—cracking under the weight of your longing and the lie you want so badly to believe. “More, please.”

Beomgyu lets out a shaky exhale, relief and hunger bleeding into one as he presses forward, kissing you like he’s starved for it—reveling in your surrender. His hips begin to move with more urgency, the restraint he’d been clinging to unraveling in an instant.

“Thank you,” He breathes against your mouth, hips quickly picking up speed until the loud, filthy sounds of flesh smacking against flesh fills the room. “God, you’re perfect—so perfect.”

You can’t hold your moans back, not when his cock is filling you to the brim again and again, leaving no room for thought or doubt. His hands are everywhere—caressing your breasts, your hips, your thighs—lighting every inch of your skin on fire, marking it all with his touch, his name. 

And when you think you can’t take anymore, he slides one hand between your legs, stroking your clit with seemingly practiced ease, syncing with each deep thrust until every muscle in your body is coiled tight, ready for release.

“You’re clenching so hard around me.” He moans at the way you react, his head falling to rest against your forehead again, not taking his eyes off you for a second. He has no right to look this handsome right now with his face flushed, sweat dripping down his face and his jaw hanging open in need. And yet he does. He looks so heartbreakingly beautiful and it’s not fair. “You make me so fucking close, baby.”

His pace picks up even more, harder, messier, his control slipping with every thrust. “You wanted this, right? You want me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” You gasp, hands tangling in his hair as you feel your orgasm approaching, his thrusts angled just right so you can feel his cock hitting the wall of your pussy again and again. “I do—Beomgyu, I—”

But the rest of your sentence falls away as the pressure inside you snaps, and your orgasm floods through your body, making you shudder and shake under him, around him. 

“Fuck, baby, did you just cum for me? Good girl. You’re my good girl.” He chokes out, voice breaking, eyes wild and locked on you. “I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come. Gonna fill you up with my cum just like you wanted.” 

With a loud cry, he finally cums, painting your insides with his hot seed as his mouth continues to spew filth at you, his brain going dumb with pleasure. 

“Fuck…” He groans as his hips give a few last, weak thrusts before his body relaxes, all but collapsing on top of you, his body so suffocatingly close as his hand brushes your own wet hair out of your face so he can see it clearly. “I love you. I love you so much.” 

He says it so tenderly, so unreservedly, as if you’re the only person in the world he has ever said this to… but you know that’s not true. You know he has said those same words to Soobin too. 

And the ugly thoughts creep back in—overtaking your brain that is no longer under the influence of lust. Is this how he is with Soobin when you’re not there? Does he touch him like this? Does he beg for him like this? Does he make him feel like he’s the only one for him too?

Because you can feel it now—how easy it is to lose yourself in him—in his words, his hands, his desperation. He makes you want to give yourself to him completely, and that scares you. 

Because if he can do that to you so effortlessly… then maybe he has done it to Soobin too. Maybe Soobin finds it easy to believe him just like you do. Maybe Beomgyu is playing you both so he increases his chances of getting his happy ending.  

And that thought hurts more than anything. Because you’ve given him so much. Because he’s there, cock still buried inside you, his body trembling from the high you just shared—and you don’t even know if he’s really yours.

______________

A/N: only one more chapter to go. please let me know your thoughts and where do you see this ending and what exactly are the boys up to

as always

[tarotbyjam24]

Pick a pile :Describing you through poems

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Disclaimer: this is general reading . It may or may not resonate . If reading doesn't resonate let it fly and choose another pile or simply there were no messages for you through this reading 😊 Take the reading lightly as nothing's set in stone until you believe so 🕊️

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pile 1 pile 2 pile 3

Pile एक

A WALK

A meadow smiling in the sun,

Cows knee cleep in the stream, An elm tree waving in the wind, A silvery birch's gleam, A long white road, a rustic bridge, A brooklet gliding through, And with the sunlight on Your hair, Coming toward me-You.

DEATH

By Clarence E. Flynn

WHY do you fear me? I am your friend.

I but guide trav'lers Rounding the bend-Lead them to freedom From time and age, Help them start writing On a new page....

Seek for me never, Keep your course true-When I am needed In come to you, Then I will show you Roads without end-Why do you fear me? I am your friend.

Pile दो

i write when

i write when my heart gets too heavy to hold i write about my scars new and old. i write when i have a lot to share, but to hear it out, no one has time to spare. i write when i feel as lonely as one could be, when not tears, but the well dressed smile is what one could see.

i write when thoughts in my

mind begin to sink.

i write to share whatever i think.

i write, not with thr desire of being known, but to know the voice within my soul.

~bhoomika

I Sit Beside The Fire and Think by JRR Tolkien

I sit beside the fire and think Of all that I have seen Of meadow flowers and butterflies In summers that have been

Of yellow leaves and gossamer In autumns that there were With morning mist and silver sun And wind upon my hair

I sit beside the fire and think Of how the world will be When winter comes without a spring That I shall ever see

For still there are so many things That I have never seen In every wood in every spring There is a different green

I sit beside the fire and think Of people long ago And people that will see a world That I shall never know

But all the while I sit and think Of times there were before I listen for returning feet And voices at the door

Pile तीन

Beauty

I like simple pleasures, Like wet hair & Clean sheets.. Pomegranate sourness, & the sweetness of ripe peach..

I like contradictions, Like rainbows after rain.. The glittering eyes of happiness, after days of pain..

A cup of hot tea, during a storm.. Living wildly and out of the norm.. I like good hearts, good art, the warmth of the sun.. The days you gave your self power, When you had none..

I like solitude, serenity, The thoughts in my mind.. And how in every tragic thing, Beauty I can find..

-Alethea Spark

Each of us are given a white canvas Some may be smaller than others. But the fact remains that it is pure, With not a single drop of colour.

As the days go by, the amount of strokes grow, With different colours and shapes. Some may be sharp and jagged And others smooth and clean.

You cant erase it or start over, But you can always cover it with a better strokes. You may even give up and want to stop at times, But you keep trying so desperately

And in the end, you can step back and look at what you have created And see that it was beautiful all along.

A masterpiece painted by you.

- C.

I hope you liked the reading . Thank you so much for letting me read for you . Wishing you best ahead . 🎀Bless you and have a nice day🌸🐰

Loads of love , jam ✨

Exchanges : open , collabs for paps : open

[eringobragh420]

¡! ❞ can you hold me? (5/5)

➺ pairing — damian priest ♥︎ f!reader ➺ summary — damian’s fiancée receives a head injury during a match resulting in amnesia. ➺ links — one. two. three. four. five. ➺ words — 4.2k ➺ warnings — nsfw. oral (m and f receiving), daddy kink, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, cum 18+ ➺ notes — spanish translations at the end of the story provided by google translate. ➺ taglist — if you’d like to be added, please click here! 

➺ MASTERLIST ➺ DAMIAN PRIEST MASTERLIST

DAY FIVE — CHRISTMAS DAY

You stretched—the kind of stretch one takes after a satisfying evening followed by much needed restful sleep—smile slowly creeping across your lips. Still half-asleep, you rolled over, attracted to warmth and comfort, and you felt a rather large hand slide from where it had been resting on your belly to your side as you moved into the new position. Your head rested on a firm bicep, and you smelled deodorant and the aroma of Damian, and you remembered what he’d done for you the night before, triggering your need to again be as close as possible to him.

“You gonna sleep all day, sweetheart?” Damian softly asked. You nodded, eyes closed, and Damian’s smile widened. His thumb caressed near the bottom of your ribs. “But it’s Christmas.”

He meant well, you knew that, but as you’d fallen asleep on Christmas Eve, after Damian had made you come with his fingers, you’d considered the holiday. It didn’t mean much to you, if anything. You weren’t looking forward to spending time with family and friends because you couldn’t remember any of them, you felt no excitement to open presents or watch Damian open his because you didn’t know if any of them would bear any meaning for you. 

“Bah-humbug,” you rasped, pressing your face into Damian’s warm chest. His chuckle rumbled against you as his hand slowly slid from your side to your back. Now you most certainly did not want to get out of bed. Maybe you could convince him to use his fingers ag—

“Grumble, grumble, complain,” he growled, teasing you, and you smiled, nuzzling your forehead into a faded tattoo. “Come on.” He tenderly patted your back. “I think Santa came last night.”

“That makes two of us,” you mumbled.

One of your eyes popped open as Damian guffawed, untangling himself from you, rolling over, and he sat up, tossing his legs over the side of the bed. He’d donned a pair of red boxer briefs sprinkled with tiny Christmas trees on them before he’d fallen asleep last night, and you snickered as you watched him stand. The giggle died on your lips, though, when he stretched, every toned muscle rippling throughout his perfect body, tattoos dancing, and you thought again about asking, or at least implying, that the two of you stay in bed and make out, and oh, by the way, would you wanna—

“You were a very good girl this year, mi vida,” Damian said, pulling on a t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts he’d hung over the back of a decorative chair the night before. He turned back to you and placed his fists on the bed beside you, the mattress sinking as he leaned closer to you. “I think you really wanna see what Santa brought you.”

Sighing, you tossed the covers aside and sat up yourself, realizing Damian wasn’t going to let you stay in bed any longer. Standing, you waited—watching closely—as Damian pulled his unruly hair into a high bun before he turned to you and extended his hand. You looked at his hand, imagining that middle finger pumping inside you and the thumb on your clit, and you had an inclination to just jump on his hand and see if his fingers landed inside you, but reason prevailed, and you were able to stop yourself just short of liftoff. Instead, you placed your tiny hand within his, his fingers wrapping around yours, and his smile was so sweet and happy and utterly contagious.

Damian led you downstairs to the living room, kissing the back of your hand before instructing you to take a seat on the plush couch. So many colorful and glittering gifts were under the tree, and you were relieved when Damian only grabbed a few—the rest of the gifts were for various family and friends. As nervous as you were to open the presents from Damian—what if the old you would have liked what he got you, but the new you didn’t?—you were even more nervous you might have to be present to distribute those gifts to people you didn’t know. Setting three boxes at your feet, he set the same amount at his, and you assumed the number had been agreed upon by the both of you before you’d gone shopping. Maybe you’d done it every year. 

“Is there a certain order …?” you asked. He handed you the biggest box first, and instructed you to open yours, then he would open one of his.

Taking a deep breath, you gently ripped at the impressively wrapped gift, glancing anxiously at Damian, and he tilted his head, smiling. He laid a long arm across the back of the couch, his hand heavy, yet gentle, on your shoulder, and his touch was both comforting and … knowing? You suddenly felt confused, but alert, like you were so close to remembering something important, but you couldn’t find it in your scattered brain. Choosing to ignore it, you removed the paper, and opened the box to find a Louis Vuitton tote. Eyes widening, you pulled the bag from the box, inspected it a moment front and back, and then looked back at Damian. 

“I love it,” you whispered, incredulous. 

Damian exhaled, eyes closing for the briefest moment, but he quickly recovered, shining that winning smile. “Good,” he replied, squeezing your shoulder. “You told me which one you wanted, but not which color …” 

“It’s perfect.”

Holding the bag to your chest like someone might steal it from you, you watched as Damian picked up one of his boxes, thankfully not asking you which one he should open first. He tore into the snowman wrapping paper like an ape, tossed the trash behind him, and the Nike logo on the box pretty much gave away what was inside. He pulled one shoe out, marveling at it, and gushed about how much he loved them and couldn’t believe you’d been able to locate them. You shrugged, having no answer, but his excitement was just as contagious as his smile, and you giggled as he fist pumped while putting the shoe back in the box.

Damian handed you the next gift—a pair of black heels from Jimmy Choo—which you also loved. Damian opened a rather fancy watch that he seemed overly excited about—like Randy from A Christmas Story when he got a Zeppelin—but you giggled at his childlike wonder. The last present he gave to you was much smaller than the rest, so you treated it more delicately than you had the others. This time, Damian opened his final gift as you opened yours, but he was paying far more attention to you and your reaction to what he’d gotten for you. The removal of the wrapping paper revealed a deep blue velvet box, and you suspected jewelry would be hidden within, and that gave you pause. You’d loved the other gifts, so you weren’t worried about loving this one just as much, but would you react the way Damian was hoping for? You lifted the lid, gasping at the gorgeous bracelet nestled amongst satin the same color as the box. You touched the single, tiny charm, smiling, and you weren’t sure what possessed you to do it, but you brought the golden bow and arrow—the tip of the arrow a sparkling diamond—to your lips. 

“Can I put it on you?” Damian asked, disrupting your love affair with your new piece of jewelry. You sniffed, eyes becoming misty as you nodded and handed the box to him. He set aside some sort of combat weapon you’d gotten for him and clasped the beautiful bracelet around your wrist before kissing your pulse point. 

“It’s … it’s really beautiful,” you stammered. You fingered the charm, watching the diamond sparkle.

You turned your hand this way and that, grinning as the light caught the bracelet at different angles. Your brows came together, wrist rotation slowing as you stared at the back of your left hand. Something was missing. Something important. “Aren’t we engaged?” you asked, looking at Damian.

His eyes lifted, wide with sudden worry. “Of course,” he said. Why would she suddenly be doubting they were engaged, he wondered, heart pounding. “You’ve got your dress, we have a venue and about three hundred people coming …” 

“Where’s my engagement ring?” you interrupted. Damian’s mouth clamped shut, pillowy lips rubbing together. “I can’t remember you or our relationship, but I’ve learned enough to know you’d never propose without a ring, and even if you did, I’d have one by now … right?” 

Damian smiled, nodding. “You’re right,” he said. “You have a ring. I’ll be right back.” He hopped over the back of the couch, and you giggled. You turned the bracelet over again to watch the little bow and arrow dangle and the tiny diamond catch the sun as it peeked through the curtains. When Damian returned, he was carrying a small, teal box, and anyone who had ever shopped for engagement rings knew the Tiffany’s teal. You gulped. “I didn’t want to bring it up so you wouldn’t feel obligated to wear it if you weren’t comfortable with it.”

He looked at you a moment, approaching you still seated on the couch, and your breath hitched as he descended to one knee. He opened the box, having never guessed in a million years he would get to present you with the engagement ring you’d adored so much a second time, and your eyes rounded at, not only the size of the diamond, but it was your favorite cut, your favorite metal, and your favorite person was offering it to you. Favorite person? Suddenly you couldn’t catch your breath. Something was there, right there in your fucking brain, and you almost had it. 

“Put it on me,” you whispered, words laced with desperation.

Damian’s brows furrowed, but he did as he was told—removing the ring from its velvety home, taking your hand in his, and he slid the diamond effortlessly into place where it hugged your finger, almost as if it had missed you. You smiled, touching it, remembering Damian stuttering through a proposal on the beach in Puerto Rico.

Wait.

The fight you’d had on the way back to the hotel about how fast he’d been driving.

Your eyes closed.

The fight only led to him pulling over and fucking the complaining out of you on the side of the road.

You sucked in a breath.

“Your tattoo is stupid.” 

“Your tattoo is stupider.” 

“Mine’s actually the best.” 

“Yeah, well, mine’s the prettiest.”

The wedding dress you’d chosen clung to your curves perfectly, the train sparkled, the veil tucked into your hair. Damian’s gonna love this … especially when he finds out I’m not wearing any panties.

Damian.

Damian.

Your eyes shot open, and Damian was there, watching you curiously. Your fiancé. Damian Priest. You remembered when and where you met, you remembered your first date and your first fuck and your first fight and your first Christmas, and fuck, you remembered everything! All of it! 

“Damian,” you whispered, grabbing at his hands, his arms, shoulders, until you came to the floor on your knees. Damian tried catching you, unsure of what was happening or how to react. You cupped his face. “Papi.”

Damian’s body twitched as he eyed you closely. His hands came up to your face next, your noses grazing. “Oh, my god,” he whispered, every bit on the verge of tears as you were. “Querida.” You nodded, because you knew what it meant, and you knew what it meant when he said it. His arms suddenly came tightly around your waist, nearly squeezing the life out of you, and you did the same to his neck. “Fuck, you know I can’t ever let you go now, right?” he asked, only half teasing. 

You sniffed, a single tear streaking down your cheek, nodding. Memories were still playing one after another, your brain taking each one and filing it in its appropriate cabinet, which were mostly labeled never fucking forgot any of this ever again. “Sounds good to me,” you said, and then you felt him tuck his face into your neck, his hot breath ghosting along your skin, and your nipples were suddenly small pebbles, and your heart skipped a beat or two and— 

Damian pushed you away with both hands on your face so his lips could claim yours. The kissing from the night before had been hot, but this kiss was a goddamn atomic bomb, because you remembered the love you had for this man, felt it to your core, and you were suddenly dizzy and just a little lightheaded. It was like falling in love with Damian Priest all over again, like being on a rollercoaster that was only corkscrews, like debuting to a thunderous pop on the main roster of the WWE.

Damian whispered your name, pausing the kiss only to declare, “I need you.” His hands slid teasingly from your cheeks to your neck, shoulders, arms, landing heavily on your hips. “If it’s not the right time—” 

“It is,” you interrupted, lifting your shirt over your head, dropping it dramatically beside the two of you—Damian’s eyes followed the garment with an arched eyebrow before he slid his gaze to your bare breasts, tilting his head, inhaling deeply. He removed his own shirt, your eyes examining him much the same way he’d done you, and you gasped when he suddenly stood, towering over you a hell of a lot more than he normally did. You grinned, reaching for the waistband of his shorts, but he had other plans. 

He grabbed one of your arms, hooking it around his neck, and he hoisted you gracefully off the floor and over his shoulder. He smacked your ass, the bottoms of your cheeks hanging out of the shorts you’d slept in, and you squealed, kicking your legs. “We are not having reunion sex on the floor in the living room,” he said, carrying you effortlessly up the stairs, even taking two at a time, as he made his way to the bedroom you shared. You hadn’t actually planned on fucking him on the floor—there was a comfortable couch nearby with cushions the width of a twin bed—but you let him manhandle you because it had been, what, five days since you’d been manhandled? The manual stimulation the night before hadn’t counted, not with how caring and slow and intentional Damian had been.

You were tossed on the bed, bouncing, snickering, and Damian stole several moments to watch you smile, to watch your tits jiggle, massaging a growing lump in his shorts. Your eyes became slits, focused on Damian’s big hand passing over his even bigger cock, witnessing it grow and strain, almost able to feel it stretching you and filling you and satisfying you like no man had ever done before. Dying to join in, you removed your shorts and panties, though you kept your legs mostly together even as you slipped a few fingers within your dampening folds, Damian only able to get a peek of the action. The fingers of Damian’s free hand grazed your knee, his thumb on the inside applying gentle pressure, and you spread your legs for him, biting your lip, cheeks heating up as he watched you touch yourself—one of his very favorite pastimes. 

“Can I taste you?” he rumbled, thumb caressing your skin, hand slipping within his shorts and briefs, eyes briefly closing when he wrapped his fingers around his cock, giving it a few satisfying strokes. He wasn’t sure why he asked, especially since you’d always told him it didn’t matter what you were doing—if he wanted a snack, you would always be more than happy to oblige. But what if now wasn’t the time for the … normal sex? What if you weren’t ready, and the awkwardness from the night prior happened again? He didn’t want you to think he’d simply been waiting for you to remember who you were and who he was simply so he could fuck you stupid. Would you ever think that? And why the hell was he overthinking so much? 

Your brows furrowed. “Of course,” you softly replied, sliding back on the mattress as Damian crawled forward. “And if I ever say no, take me back to the hospital because my brain is broken again.”

Damian chuckled, continuing to crawl up your body, pressing his full, perfect lips to yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, but something felt different, off. Any other time, not only would he not have asked permission, his face would have been buried in your pussy before you even knew what was happening, not making a beeline for a make out session.

Disconnecting your lips, you placed a hand on his cheek, and your eyes met. “Are you okay?” you whispered.

“Yeah, I just …” he trailed off, positive that any explanation he gave about his sudden apprehension would make no sense at all, or worse … give you the impression that he didn’t want to have sex at all.

You tilted his chin up, an action he’d done to you many times, and when his eyes met yours, you were punched in the gut by the turmoil—he was confused, hesitant, turned on, and utterly at the mercy of his own negative thoughts. Placing a hand on his warm, bare chest, over his heart, you found the organ beating so fast it was vibrating. Smiling softly, you pressed a tender kiss to Damian’s lips, but it did nothing to slow his heart rate, though you weren’t sure it would have under any other circumstances—you made his heart pound on the regular, he’d told you, and you remembered him telling you. Like you suddenly remembered everything your fiancé had done for you (and because of you—he still had a meeting with WWE about pushing the guy at the airport) up until this point. He’d cared for you, he’d been so patient and understanding, all the while no doubt worrying about whether or not you’d ever remember him. You couldn’t imagine the stress he must have been under. How much had he actually slept in the past five days?

Your smile grew as you kissed his cheeks, his eyes, forehead, nose, and you felt him relax. “I know what you need,” you whispered. You pressed on his chest, and after a moment, he understood and rolled onto his back. “You can taste me this way,” you said, hushed, sliding along the sheets and blankets until your head was facing his feet. “Because I think it’s only fair I get a taste of my own.” He wouldn’t have allowed you to do what you really wanted to do, which was to have him lay back and enjoy a long, slow, wet blowjob, and then you would swallow what would have to be a huge load—unless he’d found the time and desire to jerk off in the last five days. Maybe he did last night, after he made me come and after I fell asleep?—which would be followed by a Christmas morning nap. Well, you supposed he might have agreed to you swallowing, as well as the nap, but certainly not the part where he was the only one receiving pleasure. Jesus, why were you overthinking this?

“You gonna sit on my face or not?” Damian wanted to know, instantly snapping you from your reverie. Giggling and blushing—blushing because, even though you’d been in this position hundreds of times, you still felt just a twinge of embarrassment, of insecurity, every time—you straddled your fiancé’s face, eyes fluttering as he kissed your thighs, the stubble from his beard causing your entire body to quake. And then his tongue was exactly where it belonged: licking along your bare folds before slipping between them, flattening, and you threw your head back as he did things to your pussy no one else had ever been able to do. He smacked your ass, not nearly as hard as he was known to, but you smirked and squeaked just the same, using one hand to untie his shorts, tug them loose and down, and you pulled his thick cock free from the Christmas tree briefs. You spit on the head, and Damian grunted, sucking and nibbling on your clit like it was his final meal as you spread your saliva along his shaft with a few quick strokes before engulfing the head in your hot mouth.

Damian kept one hand on the back of your head, merely encouraging, until you intentionally gagged yourself, forcing his dick as far down your throat as you could, coughing, spluttering, barely able to come up for air before he pushed your face back down again. As you fought for sweet oxygen, Damian’s other hand squeezed your ass, shoving his tongue into your gushing, pulsing hole. Your face hot, tears streaking your cheeks, your fiancé’s cock lodged in your neck, your hips still rolled, pressing down, riding Damian’s face much the same way he was doing yours. 

Suddenly he lifted your hips with one hand, the other grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking you off his dick. Strings of spit and precum and drool bridged your lips to Damian’s rigid cock, and you worked on disconnecting the mess and wiping at your face as he maneuvered you off him. “Ain’t no way I’m not comin’ in that pussy,” he growled.

Before he could manhandle you once again into whatever position he desired, you spun around and straddled his hips, flattening your palms on his chest. He was a bit shocked, and rightly so, as up until this point, he’d been the dominant one in the relationship. And this wasn’t you being necessarily dominant—you were simply being proactive in making sure Damian did as little work as possible. He held onto your wrists as you raised your hips, rocking your clit along his head before slowly descending, allowing yourself only seconds to adjust to his size. Maybe a perk from all this would be your pussy having had an opportunity to tighten up without its daily pounding from a very proportionate six foot five Puerto Rican man. 

“Fuck,” Damian shouted, and you grinned, though you’d never know if your hypothesis had been correct or if he’d just really missed being inside you.

”Little gatita missed her Papi,” you purred, enunciating the Spanish words, biting your lip, eyes fluttering as you swiveled your hips to get every last bit of him inside you.

Damian pressed his head into the pillow, hips thrusting, lifting you as if you weighed nothing, somehow going deeper, kissing your cervix, and your nails dug into his pecs. “Come on, querida,” he said, and you knew he would never agree or admit to it, but it sure sounded a hell of a lot like begging. “Ride Papi.”

Transferring most of your weight to your hands on his chest, your hips bounced, jaw dropped, and you did exactly as you’d been instructed. Sweat was beading around your hairline at the back of your neck, your lungs were tight from your labored breathing, but you could feel that familiar, delicious ache deep in your cunt. You watched Damian with a small grin, biting your lip, as his blown pupils were laser focused on your pussy and the glistening trail it left behind every time you lifted your hips. His brows were knitted together, lips pursed, and you actually had to fight the laughter bubbling in your throat at how utterly determined he was not to come. He wanted to impress you with his stamina and willpower, you knew that much, and you suspected he was probably savoring the moment, making it last as long as possible. Maybe next time, you thought. You’ve waited long enough. 

“You gonna gimme me that nut, Papi?” you panted.

His eyes rose to yours, and you were no longer in control of the fucking, your entire body jolting with each pump of Damian’s cock. “That what you want?” he grunted. 

“Fuck yeah,” you breathed, eyes closing, that ache getting stronger, spreading further. “It’s been too long. I need your cum inside me.” 

“Been too long,” he mocked breathlessly. “You’re gonna be so fuckin’ full …” 

“Give it to me, Papi,” you begged, cunt squeezing Damian’s pulsing cock as you gushed all over it. “I want all of it.”

Your fiancé made good on his promise—unloading so much inside your pussy that it started leaking out before he’d even pulled out. Hand on the back of your head, he pulled you down for a kiss, massaging his lips along yours in that delightful Damian way. “I love you so much,” he mumbled against your mouth. 

“I love you more,” you grinned, pulling away enough so you could look at each other comfortably. “It should take, what, five minutes for you to be ready for round two?” 

“Five minutes,” Damian chuckled, shaking his head, rolling his eyes. 

“Well, if it helps at all, I’m gonna go try on my heels.” You carefully raised yourself off Damian, his half-hard cock smacking his abdomen lewdly once your pussy released it, and you crawled out of bed. 

“Just naked? You’re just gonna try the heels on naked?” Damian asked after you. 

“Kind of,” you replied, glancing at him over your bare shoulder. “I’ll be wearing your cum.”

Damian’s eyes darkened. “It’s like that?”

You winked, continuing out of the bedroom, a millisecond passing before you heard Damian’s heavy footsteps following quickly behind.

➺ Mi vida — My life ➺ Papi — Daddy ➺ Querida — Beloved/term of endearment ➺ Gatita — Kitten

[dadsbongos]

dirty 30... or 40.

1.9 k words / warnings - (first time) anal, age gap/age diff kink, jimmy's your asshole ex, kinda rushed but like stfu

summary - it's curly's birthday! and a surprise guest (jimmy's pretty ex) gives him a surprise present!

“My dad died at forty, man,” the redhead in front of him mumbles. Plump lips stained red with wine and hair mussed in all the places she’s been wringing her fingers through it. Her eyes are a little drifty, empty behind the color and caked mascara, “But you’re in way better shape. So, you’re fine… I think. You don’t have cancer, right?”

Curly clears his throat, shakes his head to both refuse the accusation and try spotting any of his actual friends, “I don’t think I do.”

Jimmy is across the room, standing in the open patio door with his back to the room. An unlit cigarette bit between his molars and a black lighter in the hand he’s using to point out the glass frame. His cheeks are red, surely not from the single beer he’s had, and his face is pinched toward a scowl. He’s getting in a fight.

Perfect.

“Ah,” Curly beams down at the woman, a friend’s friend’s sister he thinks. Fresh out of a divorce. Pretty. One year older than him. Lovely, drunk, off putting, “My friend needs me. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Usually the last two are more his type, but tonight just isn’t his.

She nods and waves him off with the sweetest little, “happy birthday!” he’s heard all night.

Easily cutting across his tiled kitchen through the spread of his friends and family, Curly flocks where everyone else is already staring: troublemaker Jimmy raising his voice at an unseen woman in the backyard. Music filters in through the open doorway, not nearly loud enough to cover the murmuring of people wondering why the man was even invited. Which Curly supposes is fair -he tends to avoid bringing Jimmy to his formal birthday gatherings because everyone showing up is either from work or related to him.

But for some reason, the morning after Curly’s real birthday party with his friends Jimmy insisted upon making an appearance. Said he’d smoke the whole way through, but he’d stick it out.

Right as he’s brushing back stressed blonde waves and gearing up to drone out the classic hey what’s going on? he sees exactly what’s going on. From over Jimmy’s shoulder, he gets a view of the entire grassy block making up his backyard. Cousins and their older kids clog towards the pool, a few aunts lingering by his orange trees, but all the way to the right is his target. All the way to the right, at the very side of his house is a cracking wood gate door hung on rusty, squeaky hinges.

A hand is on that door, it trails around the edge and around to slide its metal bar lock into place before joining the other hand in cradling a yellow polka dot box. A purple glitter ribbon crinkles into the bust of your shirt, shiny flecks decorating your cleavage.

Once his eyes tread up your neck, he spots the beaten pout slithered over your face. Gaze honed on Jimmy -- which redirects his own attention toward Jimmy, the entire reason he’d toddled over this way.

“Get your hooker ass the fuck outta here!” Jimmy doesn’t give you the benefit of anyone’s doubt, either, he fishes you directly out of the crowd with the tip of his lighter. Silver glinting beneath the warm sun, “Bitch, if you- !”

“Don’t pretend we were strangers,” Curly steps past Jimmy, slightly jostling the man with his broader shoulders. Thick stature leaking out at his friend’s side and pouring onto the cement, he waves you over, “It’s been awhile! Glad you could find the place alright.”

Then Jimmy stabs an elbow into Curly’s side, hissing, “You fuckin’ invite this cunt?”

“No,” dismissively, Curly shrugs while watching you slink over. Heels stapling lime green astroturf into the ground as you do, “But what’s the hurt?”

“Bitch,” Jimmy scoffs, reaching behind the both of them to slam the glass door shut. Staunchly avoiding eye contact with you by craning his neck downward, cigarette drooping between his front teeth while he fiddles to light it.

“Good to see you again, Curly,” you all but purr, pushing the box in hand beneath your chest to give him a biiiig birthday hug, “I’m glad Jimmy hasn’t killed you yet.”

“Shoulda fried your ass,” is all the man says.

Curly laughs when he really shouldn’t and ticks his head towards the door, “Want to come inside?”

“How nice,” it’s clear you’re saying that loud enough for Jimmy to hear, “Of course, I do.”

To ease his friend even a little, Curly lingers at the glass door and quietly offers, “Jim’ wanna come inside?”

Jimmy shakes his head stiffly, sucking almost half the life from his cigarette in one breath.

“It’s been awhile, how’ve you been?” he guides you into the kitchen and pops the fridge. Snaking a hand deep into the back for one of those fruity seltzers he knows you drink (Jimmy hates them all and made you chug his entire beer in apology for buying them one night, Curly thinks that’s why he remembers this about you).

Your face, still round with unlived life and sweetness, brightens seeing the crisp white can in Curly’s hand, exchanging gift for gift as you answer, “Pretty good… Nothing crazy. How about you? What’s old age feel like?”

“Old age,” Curly rolls his eyes, twiddling the showy bow you tied, “Jimmy’s older than me, you know?”

“What do you think I called him?”

“‘Babe.’” jimmy hates pet names unless he’s the one giving them.

“You’re so cute,” you slide into his side, expertly dragging one tassel of ribbon to undo the knot. Skin flush against his, your warmth mingling until he can’t surely state where personal space ends and begins, “I meant that. Differently.”

Once the bow is done away, you lift the top of the box to expose a single piece of paper scrawled over with a pink glitter pen and heart stickers.

“I thought it’d be funnier this way, but uhh, happy birthday!” you have to double check Jimmy’s still outside before kissing Curly’s stubbled cheek. A dewy stain left behind, smelling of pure sugar, “You said you liked your ladies direct, right?”

‘ONE FREE COUPON FOR: BIRTHDAY SEX!’

Curly feels winded. Grasp on the box tightening. He blinks down at the scraplet before locking onto you.

Soft and sweet, despite it all. A reprieve from his own bullshit as much as an untouchable boundary. Maybe even more forbidden, actually.

Con: Jimmy had to buy your drinks for you when you two first got together, and that was only a couple years ago.

Con: You’re strangers outside of Jimmy.

Con: You’re Jimmy’s fucking ex.

Con: You’re almost half his age.

Con: You’re Jimmy’s ex.

Con: half his age

Con: jim’s ex

Con: age

Con: ex

pro: you’re absolutely throwing yourself at him.

“You think that’s a good idea?” Curly can’t really look you in the eye so he focuses on the patch of skin between your brow bones. Weirdly, that too is pretty to him.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” you shrug, so disconcerted with taboos and trivialities just like his cousins’ kids, “We’re both single, right? Not like anybody’s getting their feelings hurt.”

“Jim’ would- !”

“Jim’ would kill me if I toasted you,” you’re not sure why they’re friends but you don’t have the energy to ask, especially if it means it’s about to lead you to the holy grail of men, “Forget about him for a second, it’s your birthday.”

Sexual liberty, anti-puritanism, pleasure principle and all that bullshit -- kids these days are all hopped on hormones and fight those causes daily just for the right to fuck as they please (jesus he should stop saying ‘kid’). Sometimes social impurities are set in place for a reason.

But this is your choice, isn’t it?

Besides, you dated Jimmy. How much worse could Curly be for you?

“Break up was pretty ugly,” Curly hisses like this hurts him, and for all you know it probably does. His knuckles are whitening as he holds the (practically empty) box, “He wouldn’t even tell me about it.”

“Do you actually give a shit? Or do you just want me to go home?” you take the box away and make to turn out the door.

Not even a second passes before Curly scrambles after you, after the box. One hand on the corner and one hand on your shoulder as he blushes and pants, “Well- I- well- you know?”

“No clue, Grant.”

You beam up at him, all teeth glowing beneath rosy lips.

“You’re terrible,” Curly steers you towards the stairs, shaking his head the entire time, “You’ll get me killed.”

“Relax, it’s your birthday -you can do whatever you want!”

Like having sex right upstairs from the party composed of all your family and work friends.

“How’re you doing…? Hah -shit- can I move?”

“Uhhh… go slow, please?” you bat lashes up at him, one cheek smushed against the pillow and voice so high and pathetic and pleading.

Curly nods, a loose coil of flaxen hair bouncing in front of his forehead, “Yeah, yeah, of course- of course,” he’s mumbling to himself, mostly, every working braincell dizzying out at the tightness of your ass around him. He slides out one squelching, lubed centimeter before sliding back in, “Don’t wanna hurt you, baby.”

You squeal between pinched teeth, brows knitting up at Curly, “Careful!”

Sighing through his nose, Curly has to swallow down that entitled little ‘it’s my fucking birthday’ he wants to spit on your flaming cheek. Instead he just forces a ditzy, gold-hearted chuckle, “I didn’t believe you at first… about not letting Jimmy fuck you in the ass.”

Pouting, you reach up and claw the back of his neck to yank Curly’s lips against yours, “Don’t bring him up now!”

“But you really are tight,” he grunts, bruising your thigh in his hand -- taking out the urge to restlessly hump your ass in that vicious grip. The other hand slides between your molten thighs until he can swirl leisurely circles into your swollen clit.

A ragged mewl slithers through your throat right into Curly’s mouth as he repeats the tedious little pushes and pulls before he can glide smoothly into your ass. Pitchy whines wheeze after, hardly muffled by the man’s rosy lips. Shiny with mingling spit and swears. When his cock can finally urge past that cinching ring of muscle and you gasp, Curly can only quietly chuckle and nose at your cheek,

“What’s that, baby? What’re you whimpering ‘bout, huh?”

Letting your head hang back, nearly thunking against his darkwood headboard, you shudder and blubber out between ‘ah, huh, mm, uh’s, “So- full- Grant… so fuckin’ big…”

Some sick urge crawls over him before he can choke it down, "Bigger than him?"

You squeal, "Fuck, yes!"

Surging forward, Curly digs pearly canines into your exposed throat -- unsuccessfully attempting to mute his own moans into your skin. Only retreating far back enough to whisper into your hot ear, “Yeah? You like it?” your fucked out needy nod isn’t enough, he needs: “Say it, baby, tell me how much you love me in your ass.”

Fuck the party downstairs, if the music isn't loud enough they can just leave. And Jimmy could croak for throwing away a diamond slut like you.

“I love it!” you warble, breathe sharp, “So good, Grant- thank you!”

“‘Thank you,’” he laughs, sucking each bite in your neck until he’s sure it’ll be stained there tomorrow morning. Fingers dipping into your cunt as syrupy slick gushes out, middle and ring finger crooking toward the pouch of your stomach while his thumb continues to ply your bundle of nerves, “Cum for me, honey, c’mon, it’s my birthday.”

If he wasn’t digging you out with his cock then maybe you’d be able to cackle at how pathetically he whines.

And the best present of all is Jimmy’s controversially young ex letting him fuck her pretty little ass.