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spnae · 1 year

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Chapter 8 Ghosts and Stalkers

“What the hell?” Buffy gasped, when she turned on the light in their bedroom. Everything from Buffy’s dresser drawers had been tossed around the room like confetti.

“Bloody hell,” Spike swore as he picked up one of Buffy’s bras off the floor.

Buffy straightened herself and looked sternly around the room, “Alright Casper! That’s it! What the hell did I ever do to you?”

They waited a minute looking around the room, and— nothing. Aside from the mess, nothing seemed unusual. Spike started picking up Buffy’s things, putting them in neat little piles on their bed, “I don’t know how you wanna arrange this stuff, Love,” he paused looking around, “You know, something like this… I think something must’ve pissed our ghost off. Trouble is, what?”

Buffy joined him and started putting things away, “Clearly she has something against me. Have you noticed none of this is yours?”

He straightened up with a shrug, “Seems our ghost has a fixation.”

“Joy…”

It wasn’t until they had nearly everything put away that Buffy noticed Spike’s poetry journal sitting out amongst the last of her items on the loveseat. The book was laying open haphazardly to a page on which Spike had drawn a picture of Buffy. The picture had been torn in half, “Well whatever is going on, she is starting to piss me off. I liked that picture,” Buffy grumbled.

“I can always draw another one, Love,” Spike looked around the room again and sighed dramatically, “I think that’s the last of it.”

“I’m getting ready for bed. Hopefully our ghost is too pooped to spook after all this,” she muttered, frowning at the room.

“One could hope… I’ve still got plans for you.”

She took a few steps towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck, “What kind of plans?”

“Three guesses…”

Buffy ran a hand down the front of his jeans, “Pretty sure I only need one,” she purred.

“You feeling up to it?”

“If we take it nice and easy,” she added as she reached for the light switch.

The two of them started kissing tenderly. Buffy opened her mouth to deepen the kiss. Spike let out a moan of approval as she ran her hands under his shirt, practically ripping it off of him. He went to grab her at the waist but stopped himself.

“What’s wrong?” she panted.

“I was going to throw you down on the bed but I don’t want to hurt you.”

She paused, then smirked, “I have an idea, but you’re going to have to lose those,” she said, gesturing to his pants.

Spike scrambled to comply, “Thought you’d never ask.”

Buffy pushed him up against the side of the large fireplace, trailing rough kisses along his neck, chest, and stomach. She continued down until she found the prize she’d been looking for and took his cock into her mouth. She worked her mouth over the length of his shaft taking him deeply. The tip of his cock nearly gagging her as he hit the back of her throat. Buffy focused on breathing through it, taking him further down her throat. She cupped his sack in her hand, applying pressure. Spike gasped as she did so. Without stopping, Buffy started removing her own clothes as best she could. She took a moment to catch her breath when she took off her shirt, she gave him a few more licks along his shaft, sucking the tip each time before withdrawing from him.

“Bed, now,” she gasped. Buffy stood up facing him. They kissed passionately as they made their way over to the bed.

As soon as she felt the back of her legs touch the bed Buffy laid back onto it, “Now, Spike!” She begged. But Spike just smirked. Instead of entering her soaked folds, he knelt down between her legs to pay back the favor. He licked a path up her slit, taking the bead of her clit into his mouth and sucking on it, making Buffy arc her head back, crying out in ecstasy. She dug her fingers into his hair as she felt herself getting close to the edge and pulled him up towards her. Spike complied feverishly kissing a trail up her body to her neck, pausing only to suck on one of her breasts before sliding his cock into her. He worked his way in slowly, careful not to put too much of his weight on her ribs. Buffy wrapped her leg around him, digging her heel into his ass and pulling him deeper into her with a growl of pleasure.

Spike increased his pace slightly and Buffy let out a moan, “Oh God, Spike! I need you!”

He thrust into her deeply, colliding with a bundle of nerves deep inside her and pairing it with a rough kiss she accepted in kind. It was impossible to tell where he ended and she began.

“I love you,” he murmured.

Buffy let out a little gasp, “William, I need you, kiss me…” she moaned as their lips met again. As they held the kiss, Spike twisted himself holding Buffy to him as they rolled to Buffy’s left side, “Hold me,” she whispered.

“I’m never letting you go, you’re mine,” he growled, kissing her again.

Buffy screamed in delight as she felt the first wave wash over her, “Spike!!!”

He rolled Buffy back onto her back. Buffy ran her leg over the back of his thigh. He sucked and nipped at her neck, driving hard into her and making her body quiver with the sensation.

Spike pumped into her with long fluid strokes, speeding up as she ran her fingernails down his back. Spike growled into a kiss. Buffy screamed again as Spike reached his own climax spilling into her with a pulsating force, sending her over the edge once again.

He paused letting Buffy catch her breath then started gliding inside of her once again quickly picking up speed. “Oh god Spike, what— ahh!”

Buffy gripped his arms digging her nails into his skin as he drove into her harder and faster, determined to make her cum again. Spike kept up the pace as he reached for one of her nipples, squeezing until he pushed her over the edge for the final time.

Spike kissed her one last time before collapsing down on the bed next to her. “God I missed that,”

“Come here,” Buffy moaned playfully.

“Again?”

“No, I just wanna feel you next to me.”

“You won’t get any complaints here, you want to get under the covers?”

“Do I have to move?” She joked.

“I got this, Pet,” he said grinning as he got up, pulled the covers back as far as possible. Buffy giggled as he picked her up. He laid her back down on the bed and pressed himself to her ensuring as much contact as possible. He pulled the covers over the two of them. Buffy adjusted so she was laying on her left side with her back pressing into Spike. She loved feeling his cool skin pressed against her.

Spike started running his fingers lightly along her arm and down her side tracing her curves with his fingers. “How do you feel?” He murmured into her ear.

“Like the man I love just gave me three intense orgasms.”

He brought his hand back up to gently caress her arm, he brushed her breast as his hand went to her ribs. “How do they feel?”

“Alright.” Buffy said, relaxing into the feel of his hand on her.

“Is that right?” His hand ran down between her legs and she relaxed allowing him access as he massaged her already sensitive area. She let out a little gasp as he continued rubbing her gently. As he sped up she moaned in delight.

“God, I love that sound,”

Buffy moaned again, on purpose this time, spurring him on. She could feel him hardening as she pressed into him, “William—“

“ENOUGH!” Came a shrieking voice. “William should have been mine! You’ve ruined him!!! Ruined!!!” The voice of a hysterical girl screamed.

Spike threw back the covers and they both sat up looking around. The wispy figure of the girl was once again standing by the desk, this time looking more like Ophelia in the fourth act.

“Spike…”

“I see her too— don’t—“

“Lies!” The ghost streaked again “You could have been mine! You should have been mine! Sweet sensitive William…” with the last words she faded away to nothing.

“You want to explain?” Buffy asked reproachfully.

Spike sputtered, “I- I… I don’t know her. I don’t think I know her…” he looked at her horror struck.

Buffy softened her tone, “She’s calling you ‘William’, do you think you could have known her when you were alive?”

“I- oh come on now… it’s not like I was some kind of a lady’s man. I didn’t really- hang on a tick…” Spike got up and hastily pulled on his boxers and t-shirt, then he strode over to the light switch, “Shield your eyes, Love.”

Buffy did so as he flipped on the light and went to the roll top desk. “You said you saw her here the last time too, yeah?”

“Yeah, I did.” Now Buffy got out of bed, she grabbed her underwear and a nightgown, throwing it on as she walked over to Spike and the desk “What are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure… I sort of have trouble remembering a lot of things from my life. Not like it’s all a blank or anything, just bits are a little jumbled. Remember when we got here and I said the place seemed familiar?”

“Yeah.”

“What if the reason I was having such a hard time placing it was because I was here when I was alive? Before the more extensive renovations were done.”

“Meaning everything is completely different…” she nodded, looking around the room, “Ok let’s run with that. What’s this part about her thinking you should have been her’s?”

“No idea…”

“Super freaky ghost lady has the hots for my man and some serious jealousy problems with me, I want to know what to do about it.”

Spike opened the desk and started rummaging through it. Aside from a stationary set and a few extra pens it was relatively empty. “There’s got to be something here,” Spike growled. He slammed a fist down on top of the desk and a little door on the side fell open, “Bloody hell… knew there had to be something!” He grinned.

Buffy watched as Spike fished inside the desk and pulled out a small stack of old envelopes and a very small thin book that could easily fit inside a pocket. Spike took up the little book.

The light in the room flickered, “Getting warm, am I?” He flicked it open. “What the…” inside he found his own neat writing, “Bloody hell…” he whispered.

“What is it?”

Without speaking, Spike handed the tiny book over to her. She also recognized his handwriting instantly, the poems inside were short and simple. Rudimentary really, but there was a sweetness in them as well. “How did-“

“I’m not sure. I had a bunch of those tiny things, used ‘em like notepads… must have dropped it or-“ he trailed off as he picked up the first of the letters and started to read:

Dearest William,

I am simply overwrought. I have not received responses to my first two letters. I know you have been in contact with my brother. Walter thinks I'm being silly, writing to you at all after uncle's ball. Perhaps I am being too forward. I can't imagine what you must think of me. I'm certain you must know I felt something stir within me the night we danced. You must have felt it too. I've kept the poetry you dropped for me on the dance floor. Though we only just met, I know they must have been for me…

Spike stopped reading, "Bloody hell…"

The second and third letters were very similar. With the exception that they got gradually more intense. The fourth one however was completely different.

My Sweet William,

As I'm sure you know I have been visiting with my uncle for my health. I do enjoy the views here. The doctors say I'm addled but I know I'm simply in love. Staying here in the very place we shared our first dance has brought you closer to me.

My dear William, you will never believe what that horrible Walter is saying! He keeps insisting you have gone missing, presumed dead! They say your poor sweet mother is gone too. My heart simply can not bare the shock. I'm certain he must be lying. He would say anything to keep me from you.

As your friend I can't imagine why. I do know Walter must be the reason I haven't received any reply from you. My dear sweet William, I really must hear from you the very moment this reaches you in London. If I do not hear from you. If you truly are gone, I am certain I must do myself an injury. I must see you. I simply can't bear living in a world without you, my dearest William.

Forever yours, in love,

Eliza

"Bloody hell…"

"You keep saying that," Buffy said irritatedly.

Keeping the envelopes in his hand, he thrust the letters at her, "I huhh… I never knew it had gotten so bad. Her brother was tampering with her mail alright. I asked him to…" the lights flickered again. "I only asked you to dance the first time because he asked me to! The second time was just to be nice. Never thought you'd go off your nut!" The lights flickered again and the painting above the fireplace slammed against the wall."Oh sod off you nutter! I'm not even the same guy you met at that stupid ball anyway and it's not because of Buffy so lay off! In case it's escaped your notice, I'm a sodding vampire!" The lights flickered again. "Bloody brilliant."

"I think it's story time Spike, what do you know?"

"Yeah, Love, I remember the girl. Barely, but I do."

A wailing sound ripped through the castle.

"Spike, Honey…" Buffy said softly.

"Yeah alright. The uncle of an old schoolmate owned this place back in the day. Guy threw a big party, a ball. Mother and I hadn't really been out in public much since my father died, so Walter insisted his uncle invite us. We came. Had a tedious evening and were back in London before we knew it."

"So what happened at the ball?"

"Nothing really. Walter comes up to me. Says his little sis's dance card is empty, could I ask her to dance. So I did, as a favor to him. Later on I see the girl doin the wallflower bit so I figure, why not ask for a second dance?" He looked around the room and growled, "Didn't realize you'd think we were bloody betrothed! Yah loon!" He yelled to the room. He tore the envelopes still in his hand in half then, half again. He kept on tearing; the lights flickering with each rip of paper, "Oh go moan somewhere else, Myrtle…" he mumbled tossing the bits of paper into the unlit fireplace. "Anyway, apparently that was my mistake… that and I must have dropped my sodding notebook!" He yelled again.

Buffy covered his hand with hers, "Go on…"

Spike took a deep breath, "Mum and I were back in London, maybe a week or two, before I got a letter from the girl. She's going on about the evening and what all… What you got to understand here, Love, is that I was a by-the-book society type back then. Trying desperately to fit in. A young girl like that, writing to a man like me, was taboo. I did what any decent guy would. I told her brother." Spike shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "I ah, I got one more letter a couple weeks after that. Could tell she wasn't right, but I didn't know how bad it was. Didn't want a scandal. Mother hadn't been well since we left Scotland. She'd become housebound by then. So naturally I told Walter she'd written to me again. Asked him to put an end to it, and keep an eye on the girl. She didn't seem well. Apparently she just kept writing and good old Walter just intercepted them and took her back to Scotland when she didn't stop. Look at the date on that last one, that's over three months after I met Dru. We weren't even in London anymore. She probably stayed in Faith's room, and her brother stowed her letters in the desk there."

"Which explains why she didn't bother anyone else, and why she hates me so much."

"Just imagine how she'd have felt if you hadn't got hurt. We'd probably been shagging most of the time. God I miss Paris."Buffy punched him in the arm.

"Ouch…" he rubbed his arm but grinned, "Alright, so how do we get rid of Eliza the crazy ghost?" The windows rattled and the dresser drawers shook.

"Try explaining you're dead?" Buffy shrugged.

"How's that one for ya Eliza? You do realize what I meant when I said I'm a vampire right?" he changed his face for her, "Been a vampire for a long time now. Before you even wrote that last letter."

"I can see you, you have a soul" Eliza’s disembodied voice hissed.

"You're right, he does" Buffy spoke up, "Why don't you tell her why you're unique among vampires, Honey."

"I went and got my soul back. I fought for it, for her, for love. What I want to know is how you can see my soul. I've been a ghost, that wasn't one of the perks. So what were ya, huhh? Maybe a Seer?"

There was a loud shriek, as some of Buffy's things started to fly out of the dresser and the wardrobe doors slammed, "Hey! We just cleaned up your last mess!" She yelled at the ghost as she rushed over to her dresser.

"I never asked for a bloody stalker!" Spike grumbled as he helped Buffy.

"Well on the up side, I guess you know what it's like now," Buffy huffed as she fought to tuck her things back into the drawer, "You did get pretty stalkery…" she said to Spike, "that whole shrine thing… and Buffy-Bot, I mean seriously... Why I'm I with you again?" She teased as she continued to fight with the dresser.

"Oh very funny, Slayer," Spike huffed.

The bottom drawer shot out, suddenly knocking Buffy hard in the shins, "Ouch! That's it!"

Spike helped Buffy to her feet, "You alright?"

"Fine, this bitch has got to go. Giles?" She suggested.

"Sure, seeing as I got nothing. Bird's not gonna listen to reason that's for sure. I never even responded to any of her letters and she was still obsessed…"

With that, things started flying out of both Buffy and Spike's dresser drawers. Spike caught a pair of jeans in the face. "Thanks! Could use these!" He yelled. He held them up triumphantly just as a pillow hit him in the back of the head.

Buffy scanned the room and had managed to grab the yoga capris she had been wearing earlier when the rest of the throw pillows started to fly around the room. Ducking with their arms over their heads, they ran for the door. They yanked it open together, slamming it behind them in the hall. Faith came out holding a small ax, "What the hell is going on?"

"Spike's old stalker…" Buffy gasped, pulling her yoga pants on under the little nightgown.

Faith dropped her arm carrying the ax and set it down, "You want to repeat that?"

The door started to rattle as though someone was trying to get through, "Giles, now. Talk later." Spike said just as he realized he had a pair of Buffy's jeans instead of his. He swore as he threw them down on the floor.

Faith looked at the jeans and back up at him, smirking at his boxers. These ones were printed with beer bottles and shot glasses. "Fine, I'm in… damn, and here I thought you two were just making up for lost time."

"Started out that way," Spike said ruefully as they made their way down one floor.

As they ran through the library Buffy gaped at Faith, "You seriously thought ALL of that was us?"

"Well how was I to know our shy little ghost was Spike's crazy ex?" Faith retorted as they crossed through the training room.

"She bloody well was not my ex- bugger all!" He growled and headed up the second staircase to Giles's room.

Spike reached the door first and knocked loudly, Buffy stepped in front of him just as Giles opened the door, "What's this all about?" Giles asked groggily. He was dressed for bed and his hair was tussled.

"Our ghost is wrecking our room,"

"Bitch is insane… stuff flying all over the sodding place," Spike huffed as he pushed past Giles. He sat down in a chair holding his head in his hands still only wearing a t-shirt and boxers.

Giles hitched a thumb over his shoulder at him and gave Buffy a quizzical look as she and Faith followed Spike into the spacious room. "We'll explain everything," Buffy responded.

"I just don’t understand how this could have happened—“ Spike groused.

"Don't you dare start that," Buffy said, perching on the arm of Spike's chair.

"I just mean, I know I did everything I was supposed to do. And yet the girl still killed herself because I didn't respond to her letters. Instead I asked her brother to stop her from sending more…"

"It’s, not your fault!" Buffy argued.

"What's this about?" Giles asked.

Buffy launched into the story of Eliza and her obsession with Spike.

Giles frowned, cleaning his glasses, "Have you anything to add, Spike?"

"No, that about covers it… not much to it. I didn't even know she had kept writing after that second one. I just figured Walter talked her round, made her realize I'd only meant to be nice." Spike sighed as he scratched the back of his neck.

Giles replaced his glasses, "Anything you could be forgetting from the ball? It was a long time ago, could you have possibly said something that she may have misinterpreted as an advance or interest?"

Spike shook his head in frustration, "I highly doubt it. I was a proper little ponce, always trying to do the right thing. I was there with my mum for Pete's sake. I imagine I thanked her for the dance, probably said some overly polite toft and that was it."

"What about the notebook?" Buffy remembered excitedly, "You dropped your notebook!"

"Oh right, it was in with the letters. The daft little bird wrote about it in one of them, saying I'd left it for her. I bloody well didn't, must've dropped the damn thing and she picked it up."

"Anything significant in there?" Giles asked.

Buffy shrugged, she shot a quick look at Spike and turned back to Giles, "Not really, it was mostly incomplete ideas. The few full poems I saw were pretty unremarkable, nothing like what he's been writing lately," she said, giving Spike's shoulder a squeeze.

"In that case I agree with Buffy, you did everything a man in your position could have done per social norms of the time." Giles said with a nod.

"Sodding rules…" Spike grumbled.

Giles shifted his body into a more comfortable position, "Yes, quite. So what seems to be the trouble?"

"Like we said when we came in; she’s wrecking the place, stuff flying everywhere."

Buffy leaned forward, “It’s not just mine now either, she's just as pissed at Spike now too."

"I wonder what set her off,” Faith mused.

"Oh we think we know," Buffy shifted guilty, Spike smirked.

"Ahh yes, no need to go into that then,” Giles said quickly.

"The question is how do we stop it?" Buffy asked.

Giles thought for a moment, "We could try a general removal spell, however without a witch… if she has grown stronger, we might need to weaken her first somehow."

Spike stood up and snapped his fingers, "That's it, Rupert. When I was a ghost the only thing I had was my will. That's how ghosts manipulate things. Emotion, passion, anger… The only way I beat the Reaper was because I had enough willpower to do it."

Giles waved a dismissive hand, "Now isn't the time for poetry."

"That wasn't poetry. I was being literal; he called himself the Reaper. Git was sending souls to hell in his place, tried to send yours truly. It's a long story. What I'm saying is poetry is exactly what we need right now, don't you get it? That's how we break her will."

"By reading her some of your newer poetry… He might be right, it's worth a shot. Spike can read to her, try to wear her down and then you, Faith, and I perform the spell. Easy as pie."

"Only one problem," Spike interjected.

"That is?" Giles inquired.

"Those poems are personal, I never intended anyone to read them except maybe Buffy. You're practically her father… it's—" Spike cut off looking sheepish.

Buffy cleared her throat, "So read one of the less, you know…intimate, ones. What about the 'Spark' one?"

Spike shifted uncomfortably, "It's… it's not very… it's short for starters… it's personal…"

"It's a good place to start. If it works, it works. Remember, this was your idea."

"Worth a shot," Faith yawned unapologetically, "Let's do this so we can all get some sleep."

"Faith, the book we need should be on the shelf behind you just there, the green. Ahh yes," he said as she handed it to him. He opened the book to the page, running a finger down the text, "Right, we should have everything here. I'll gather the supplies."

The room was a wreck when they returned but at least nothing was moving. Eliza seemed to have tired herself out. One good thing was that since they had been traveling, neither Buffy or Spike really had much to throw around and most of the weapons they had with them were in the training room.

Faith had gone upstairs to check on the girls who were thankfully in bed. By the time she got back into the room Giles and Buffy almost had everything set up. Spike bounced on his heels nervously with his poetry journal in his hand. To Giles' great relief, Spike had taken a moment to put on a pair of pants. Spike pulled out the small notebook he had dropped so many years ago. He looked it over again. If he thought his most recent work was maudlin at best then these were pure garbage. He scoffed as he looked them over. Then he had another idea.

"Rupert?"

Giles looked up from the book he was looking over, "Humm?"

"Think it's possible she might have attached herself to this stuff?" Spike asked as he picked up the letters and the little notebook.

"If they were significant enough, then yes."

He held up the final letter, "This one is pretty much a suicide note, and this is the notebook I dropped, she got so attached to. Burning them should do the trick, yeah?"

"If she is in fact using one of these as an anchor then yes, it would certainly help break her hold on this plain."

He walked over to turn on the gas fireplace and the flames rose. Spike watched the flames as they caught the envelopes he'd thrown in earlier and threw the letters in on top, "Right then. Buffy? You see my lighter about?"

Buffy looked around, but Faith was faster, "Over there B, behind you," Buffy nodded her thanks and went to get it then tossed it over to Spike.

"Cheers, Love," he shoved both the notebook and the lighter in his back pocket.

"Alright now, everyone knows what they're doing? Yes?"

Buffy and Faith nodded from opposite sides of the room. Faith was nearest the door while Buffy stood between the two dressers. Giles took up a spot between the now empty wardrobe and the bed directly across from the fireplace. Spike stood in the center of the room between the bed and the sitting area.

He huffed "My cue then," he said softly, then in a louder voice he addressed the ghost, "Eliza, you around? You got an idea of what my mates and I are up to?"

The painting above the mantle gave a feeble knock against the wall.Spike nodded, "There's a lot here I still don't quite understand. Like how you could have taken two dances and a dropped notebook so far out of context to believe there was actually something between us. Those poems you found were never for you. They weren't for anyone..."

"Why are you lying?" Eliza whailed.

"I'm really not. You remember those little ditty's you picked up?"

Eliza materialized in between him and the sitting area. She wasn't just a see through wisp of a ghost now. Now that she was more solid and closer to him he could see her more clearly. Her blue eyes bulged slightly making them look almost too large for her thin face. Her very long blonde hair laid in a lank braid over her shoulder partially concealing her neck. As she turned he could see the shadow of ligature marks around her throat as though she must have hanged herself.

"I have each precious word memorized," she answered wistfully.

"Those weren't even finished poems, they were ideas and scribbling. I can prove it to you," he held up his red poetry journal, "May I?"

"Oh please William, I'd love to hear more." Eliza nodded.

"I'm not so sure you will, Eliza. You see, everything in this book here that's even remotely meaningful is about or for that woman over there," he pointed over to Buffy with the journal, "I'm here in this castle for her, not you. I didn't even know you were here. I'm making a life with her. These poems in my hand are for her, they are about her!"

Eliza glared towards Buffy and turned her attention back to Spike, “William?” Her voice sounded oddly distant.

Giles gave Buffy and Faith a nod to light their candles and the herbs he'd given them, before doing the same himself. He gave Buffy another nod gesturing towards Spike to start reading. While Giles started chanting.

Spike started to pace until he caught Buffy's eye, "You know what Eliza, I'm just going to read one. This is for you Buffy…" he opened his journal to the poem Buffy had suggested.

"It's not a flame, rather a spark,

I carry for my love in this dark.

Endless days and desolate nights;

Devoid of my love to make it right.

A spark of life, a flame that burns,

For her soul next to mine I yearn.

The spark that burns in the light,

Only for her, does my soul burn bright." Spike finished with a sigh.

"That was beautiful, William…" she said weakly.

"I don't know about 'beautiful' but it's definitely for her. I never wrote so much as a syllable for you, Eliza," he held up the tiny notebook and lit it on fire then threw it through Eliza and into the fireplace. There was a gasping wail that went through the room, but otherwise nothing was disturbed.

"I'd say that did something," Faith said.

Eliza's eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. Giles started reciting the incantation louder. The candle flames shot up a few inches and somehow withstood the sudden gust of wind that blew around the room like a small tornado. Eliza screamed as the wind settled around and turned into a bright light.

Spike watched as she screamed soundlessly. Her mouth formed the syllables of his name. She screamed as the light grew brighter around her. It seemed to transform her somehow. Suddenly she stopped screaming, her arms fell to her sides. The light grew brighter still and just as Giles finished the incantation, everything stopped. The brilliant light surrounding Eliza evaporated into nothing, taking her along with it.

Spike turned towards Buffy, he held his arms out. She looked around the room, "I told you that poem was a good place to start. Good thinking on the notebook," she said, going to him.

"I need a bloody drink…" Spike groaned.

"Here, here!" Giles agreed, "Well done, Spike."

"Gee, eh, cheers, Rupert," Spike said skeptically, but pleased with the compliment.

Faith pulled out a fresh bottle of whiskey and four glasses, pouring each of them a shot, "To expelling crazy ass ghost,"

"Cheers," Spike intoned.

"Cheers," the others echoed.

Buffy set her glass down and looked around the room, "Why do these things always have to make such a mess of everything?"

Spike snorted, "Keeps life interesting don't it…" he poured himself another drink and downed it, "Chin-up, Love, we'll get it sorted."

"Again…"

***

An hour later Buffy collapsed onto the bed gingerly. They had got nearly everything cleaned up but there was still work to do. Spike looked up at her, “We don’t have to finish this tonight, Love. It’s been a long one. Hell even I’m knackered.” He pulled aside the curtain a few inches, “No wonder too. Sun will be up in another hour or so.”

“That’s only because it comes up super early here.”

Spike set down the last of his things in a small pile on one of the chairs. He walked over to his side of the bed pulling off his shirt as he went, “Come on, Slayer, I know you’ve got plans with Faith today. A little rest is better than none,” he pulled the covers down and climbed into bed, patting the space next to him.

Buffy eyed the spot on the bed then looked around the room, “You’ve convinced me,” she said as she crawled in next to him. He wrapped an arm around her as she pressed close to him feeling safe. “Spike?”

“Hum?”

“I love you…” she murmured sleepily.

“Love you too.”

#buffy the vampire slayer #buffy fanfic #fanfic #spuffy #bound #buffy x spike #spike x buffy #fanfiction

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superstition13 · 3 years

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So I have a University assignment due at midnight, which I have absolutely zero motivation to do, but it did inspire this little piece.

Distractions

//AKA Dabi Distracts You From Your Work 💙

Dabi x Female Reader (NSFW)

Genre: smut, porn with very little plot involved, fluff

Includes: biting, unprotected sex, hair pulling, cock warming, teasing, pet names, fingering, crying (pleasure), after care, Dabi’s piercings

You can’t tell me that Dabi isn’t the type of guy who would gladly use sex as a means of distracting you from your work

Especially if he feels as though you’re paying too much attention to it and not him

And if you’re a university student, he would definitely fuck your brains out instead of letting you finish an assignment that he knew you had due

Maybe you make the mistake of letting him sit in your desk chair while you sit on his lap, so at least you can be close to him

He’d start off with his chin resting on his shoulder and his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, but it wouldn’t take long for his hands to begin to wander

One hand would drift down to your inner thigh, and begin tracing feather light patterns along the exposed skin he found there with the tips of his fingers, teasingly close to where you really want him to touch you

Meanwhile, his other hand has slipped under your shirt and is now toying with your nipples

And while all this is going on, you’re still desperately trying your best to concentrate, but it’s becoming increasingly harder for you to focus on typing out an essay when your boyfriend’s hands are doing sinful things to your body

It’s when he starts trailing his lips along your neck, nipping, sucking, and leaving tiny bruises behind that you give in to his touches

Dabi’s hand leaves its place on your thigh and his thumb hooks around the waist band of the skimpy pair of gym shorts you’d decided to wear around the house that day

You raise your hips, just enough for him to slide them down to your knees, where they fall and drop to the floor

He pops open the button on his jeans, and you swear you can feel yourself getting just that little bit wetter at the loud sound his zipper makes in the otherwise quiet apartment

His hands go to your hips, and he lowers you onto his achingly hard cock

A small gasp escapes your lips, you’d been careful not to brush up against his dick while you were working, not wanting to encourage Dabi’s teasing

You’d known he was horny, obviously, but you hadn’t realised how hard he truly was

The two of you moan when he’s fully sheathed inside your heat

You expect him to start bouncing you up and down on his cock, but when he doesn’t you figure he wants you to be the one taking charge

Instead, his hands tighten around you warningly, and he keeps you seated firmly in his lap

“Don’t you have something to do, princess?”

“But I thought-”

“You thought wrong angel.”

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice, knowing full well that if you turn your head to look at him, you’ll see one on his face

“Consider this your punishment for ignoring me.”

Part of you can’t believe Dabi is making you finish your assignment instead of fucking you, especially when his cock is buried inside you

Another part of you can totally believe it, knowing all too well what a tease your boyfriend can be

He sits back and begins drawing lazy circles around your throbbing clit

Somehow, you manage to type out a paragraph, and you think that maybe you can do this

Until Dabi decides to flex beneath you, the seemingly innocent movement making his dick twitch inside of you, driving you crazy from the stimulation

You could have tears rolling down your cheeks as you beg him to bend you over your desk and just fuck you already

Instead, he’d have the audacity to coo softly in your ear:

“Come on baby girl, I thought you needed to concentrate?”

But the moment you finish that assignment and submit it to your Professor, he’s pulling out of you and standing up so fast that the chair he’d been sitting on falls over backwards

He quickly manages to get rid of the few articles of clothing the two of you have left between you

Before you know it, Dabi has you bent over the desk, one hand tangled in your hair and the other at your hip in a grip so tight that it's bound to leave bruises. He thrusts into you rapidly, setting a brutal pace. The sounds of skin on skin slapping together, and the obscene noise your cunt makes as he fucks into you fills the air of the studio apartment you share with him.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for you to cum around Dabi’s cock, already pent up and overflowing from almost an hour's worth of Dabi teasing you. Your thighs are glistening as you let go, screaming his name so loudly that your neighbours are sure to file another noise complaint against the two of you come the evening. He releases his grip on your hair, trailing his fingers down your body until they rest between your thighs, and begin to draw circles around your clit once more. Gone are the slow, teasing touches from earlier his only focus is on making you scream out his name out for a second time before he cums. Dabi leans forward, his chest pressing flush against yours back, practically laying on top of you as he rails you without mercy. You realise that you can feel the cold metal of his nipple piercings pressing into your back, and the mental image it conjures makes you clench around him. Dabi lets out a soft groan, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Fuck sweetheart, you have no idea how good you feel wrapped around me,” he pants, his voice breathy as it caresses your neck. “So good and tight for me, fuck. Come again angel, one more time, I wanna hear you scream my name.”

“God Dabi, yes! Yes! Yes!” You whine, trailing off into a hiss at one particularly hard thrust. “Right there baby, I’m so close, fuck!”

Without missing a beat, he shifts himself slightly, angling his cock in a way that Dabi knew would have you seeing stars and hurtling over that precipice you were dangling from. You were convinced you could feel the tip of him pounding against your cervix, dragging deliciously against your walls in all his pierced glory as he brushed past that sweet spot hidden inside of you with each and every punishing thrust. This new angle, abusing your g-spot while his fingers danced over clit, your nipples being teased as they were dragged and pushed across the surface of your desk; All of it was proving to be too much for you. That coil deep inside of you winding tighter and tighter, rendering you all but incoherent. Your tipping point however, was when your boyfriend sunk his teeth into the junction of your shoulder and neck. It wasn't quite hard enough to break the skin, but you knew without a doubt that he would leave one hell of a mark. The pain from his teeth sends pleasure arcing through your body like waves of electricity, going straight to your pussy, causing that tightly wound coil to snap as you threw yourself from the edge you had been hanging onto for dear life.

"Fuck Dabi, I'm coming, FUCK!" You sobbed, cheeks feeling suspiciously wet. The way your pussy fluttered around him was exactly what Dabi needed to find his own release, his pace becoming more and more erratic as he continued to thrust into you, working you both through the shared orgasm. Your name left Dabi’s mouth in a loud moan that was practically pornographic. He came inside of you, painting your walls with his seed, your combined release already beginning to seep out of you from the sheer amount of cum he was pumping into your cunt.

Eventually, his thrusts come to a halt. Your face was pressed uncomfortably against your desk, and you were pretty sure there was a pen trapped beneath you, but at that moment you didn't quite have it in yourself to care. Your mind was pleasantly fogged over from the post orgasm haze, and had someone asked for your name in that given moment, it probably would have taken you a few minutes to recall.

The first thing you became aware of, was Dabi pressing a series of gentle kisses to your neck, paying particular attention to the large bite mark he had left in the heat of the moment. It throbbed slightly, but not unpleasantly so, soothed by the delicate pressure of his lips. Slowly, he pulled out, a small noise of displeasure escaping you at the sudden emptiness you felt with the absence of his cock. He pulled you up, and guided you gently over to the bed where the two of you collapsed together. His arms encircled your waist, gathering you up against his chest. Fingers began to play with your hair as your awareness slowly began to return, Dabi's lips now pressed gently to the top of your head.

"That was..." you trailed off, still slightly breathless.

"Yeah." He agreed, tracing patterns along your skin.

"I'm going to need a shower," you winced, feeling his cum already beginning to dry on you. You already dreaded the idea of getting up to leave the bed, knowing that by the time you did, your limbs would be feeling like jelly and there would surely be an ache settled between your thighs.

"Not yet," your boyfriend breathed. "I'll get up and get us a towel in a minute. Just, lie here with me for now, okay?"

"Okay," you murmured against him, not needing too much convincing.

"Maybe I should help you with your work more often, princess," he suggested, but was met with no reply. Dabi craned his neck to look down at you, only to realise that you had managed to fall asleep in his embrace.

Here’s that tag you asked for lovely, hope you enjoyed my first attempt at writing smut.

@simpforsadbois 💜

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sluttyten · 4 years

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Traces of You

Poly Orgy Series: Part 6

Poly Series Chapter Index

summary: there’s so much love to go around, quiet moments and hot nights, the press of skin on skin, whispered promises and I love yous, and under it all just the constant beating of a heart loved.

length: 23,764

tags/warnings: pregnancy mentions, breeding/impreg kink, smut, poly, multiple partners, some rough sex, impregnation/breeding kink, mentions of piss play and period sex, exhibitionism, it’s a lot of smut and a bit of romance, I’m not even going to try to tag everything

Mark’s fingers are calloused, rough where they trace from your navel up your stomach to your chest and still higher to the hollow of your throat. You swallow under his touch and feel Mark smile, his mouth pressed gently to your shoulder.

“G’morning,” Mark mumbles, “I wondered how long you were going to sleep.”

Last night you just slept in Mark’s bed, twisted tightly in his sheets with him, too tired and worn down to be able to deal with any of the others. Mark had already been dozing in his bed and you knew that he wouldn’t try to chat your ear off, wouldn’t argue when you crawled into his bed. So you’d stripped beside his bed, then climbed in, your back to his chest, and his arms around your waist.

“Wanna sleep forever.” You sigh and attempt to twist around in Mark’s arms, but he squeezes tighter, keeping you in place.

“Stay here,” Mark whispers, “with me. Forget the others. Just us.”

You glance around the room that he shares with Yuta and Doyoung, but both of their beds are empty. You could stay here in bed with Mark. Yesterday was a shitty day all around, and you maybe had snapped a little at some of the boys when you walked in, so facing them today seems less than ideal.

You roll your hips back against him. Mark groans against your shoulder, his fingers twitching against your throat, and the other hand dips lower in between your legs. You twist your head, hiding your soft gasp of pleasure in the sheets of his bed.

His fingers explore, brushing past your clit, diving deeper, finding where you’re just growing wet. Gentle strokes of his fingers to stir that heat inside you, and you can feel him growing hard against your thigh, the subtle rolling of your hips and his.

When his fingers finally slide inside you, you whine and reach for Mark’s hand resting against your throat. He laced his fingers with yours even as he presses the fingers of his other hand knuckle-deep inside you. His lips brush your skin, stoking that heat higher and higher, and you bite your lip trying to hold in the sounds you want to make.

You want to savor this moment with Mark, and so often, intimate moments with one boy are interrupted by the arrival of one or more of your boyfriends upon the sound of your pleasure echoing through the walls.

Mark grinds against you, his dick hard now to an obvious bulge against you.

You squeeze his hand, gasping when he rubs his calloused fingers over that spot inside you that sends sparks over your skin. “Mm, Mark, just get inside me.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand, only withdraws his fingers from your pussy to fumble with his sleep pants, pushing them down to pull his dick out. You hear him spit into his hand, a quiet moan as he rubs his spit-slick hand over himself, and then he presses his tip against your opening, and then he fills you up.

Mark pushes in slow, savoring the feel of you stretching around him. “Aw, shit, baby,” he moans. “When was the last time you got fucked? You’re tight.”

You reach back to swat at him. “Shut up. You’re just used to having me in the middle of an orgy.” But it has been a little while since you last had sex. Even with as many boys as you’ve got in your life, since you all got back together, the focus has been more on romance than just sex. The jealousy brought about by sex is what ruined it all the first time.

Mark’s hands slide over your body, gripping, touching, holding you closer as he pulls back, then thrusts back in, taking up a steady rhythm that curls delicious heat through you.

A moan breaks through your lips, loud in the silence. You immediately bite your lip again, and Mark brings your joined hands up to your lips, slightly muffling your sounds against skin.

But it seems to be too late.

The door to the room opens and you cast a wary glance toward that growing crack of light.

Johnny appears first, and a thinner shadow slips through after, and as they draw nearer you make out Ten stepping along behind Johnny.

“Well, look, she’s not sleeping at all,” Ten says. His voice grows from a whisper to a regular speaking tone as both of the intruders see that you’re naked (not uncommon, to be truthful, you often sleep in the nude when you’re with your boyfriends) and that Mark’s hands grip your body, his body pressed tight against yours, hips drawing back and dipping forward.

“What do you want?” Mark groans, struggling to still his thrusts even as he feels you clench hungrily around him.

“We came to see if she was still pissed with all of us,” Johnny says, crouching down in front of you. “Are you?”

You bite your lip, struggling to hold in a moan as Mark’s hips jolt forward. You shake your head, forcing out the words, “No, Johnny. I just needed a bit of sleep.”

“And Marky’s dick?” Ten laughs.

“Yeah.” You gasp, fingers gripping the edge of the bed, arcing back against Mark, feeling him hit deeper inside you. “Oh God,” you moan, this time without restraint.

Johnny leans closer then, his lips capture yours for a brief kiss before he shushes you, strokes your cheek.

Mark keeps thrusting, his movements growing sloppier. You can tell he’s turned on by Johnny and Ten watching. Your gaze flicks toward Ten, toward where his hand has drifted to the front of his pants, readjusting his hardening length.

“Is this why you were upset last night?” Johnny asks. “Were you needy for cock? I knew hangry was an emotion, but were you horngry?”

“Wouldn’t that just be horny and hungry?” Ten asks.

Johnny rolls his eyes. “No.”

“I’m horngry,” Ten says with a mischievous grin. “But I mean my definition. Before coming in here I was just hungry. Maybe I’m still just hungry.” His eyes zero in on where you’ve shifted your legs apart, where the sight of Mark’s dick disappearing inside your pussy is visible.

Whether Johnny reads Ten’s mind or whether he just wants a better view of your body all stretched out and flushed with pleasure, Johnny reaches out and pushes Mark flat into his back, you ending up on top of him, your back to his chest, your legs fallen to either side of his as Mark groans and thrusts up into you now.

Now Ten licks his lips, looking hungrily at you. And then he settles on the edge of the bed and leans in, his hands on your hips as his breath brushes over your clit, quickly followed by the warm, wet heat of his tongue.

You cry out, unsure whether to drive your hips down onto Mark’s cock, or to try and feel more of Ten’s attention on your clit, but it seems it doesn’t matter as Ten chases the taste of you, the sound of your pleasure, moving as you move with each of Mark’s upward thrusts.

Johnny still kneels beside the bed, stroking your hair, watching you in delight. Occasionally he leans in to kiss you, sometimes chaste, sometimes kissing you deeply, but you moan and groan and lick hungrily, wanting more. And he seems to get that.

“Hungry?” Johnny asks. Ten lifts his head momentarily from between your legs, his mouth wet from your wetness and his own saliva, but it’s not him that Johnny addresses. He’s looking down at you, and he stands, revealing to you the hand he has circling around his thick cock sticking out from atop his pants.

Mark swears from beneath you and Ten kitten licks at your clit while still watching as you eagerly open your mouth, as Johnny steps in, as you unhinge your jaw to take Johnny’s girth.

When you woke up moments ago, this isn’t at all how you imagined you’d be beginning your day. A foursome before breakfast? Surprisingly not unheard of in your polyamorous relationship, but certainly not a common occurrence.

You swallow and gag around Johnny, but he cradles the back of your head, and you look up at him as he looks down at you. For a moment it’s just you and Johnny and you forget Mark shallowly thrusting into your, Ten flicking his tongue against your clit. But Ten bites at your inner thigh, expanding your worldview once more to include the two of them.

“Nothing sweeter than an orgy in the morning!” Ten sing-songs as he pulls his mouth away from you. “Our pretty partner sucking you off well, John? Her pussy tight, Mark?” His hands massage your thighs, holding them apart as he blows on your clit and you whimper around Johnny, your legs aching to close.

Johnny groans, holding your head as he thrusts slowly between your lips. He likes it like this, even thrusts down your throat, not wanting to abuse your throat, just to feel you around him perfectly.

“You know she is, Ten.” Mark groans, his voice tight and tense as he nears his orgasm. His hands come up to your chest, palming your breasts, his hips bouncing off the bed to crash against your ass, driving his cock inside you.

Ten draws your gaze when he scoots up, kissing his way from your abdomen toward your chest, he nudges Mark’s hands away, and gets to nipping lightly at your breasts, then moving higher to your throat, and then he skips from your throat to right beside your face, dropping a kiss to Johnny’s exposed hip.

Johnny grunts, and Ten smiles at him, but Johnny pushes him away, dipping his head toward your lower half, indicating that Ten get back to fulfilling his oral fixation with you.

Feeling Ten kiss his way back down your body and then so quickly suck your clit back between his lips, pushes you, all at once, into an orgasm.

You shiver and shake, clenching around Mark.

He clutches at your thighs, swearing softly “oh shit, fuck, you’re just—“ and he can’t seem to control himself anymore, thrusting quickly and unevenly, his cock slipping out of you to just hump against you, hitting Ten’s chin as the elder of the two continues teasing your clit, elongating your orgasm.

Ten backs off for just a moment, helpfully pushing Mark back inside you, before he returns to happily licking you out.

Mark cums in a mess between your legs, his cock spilling out of you, shooting white stripes against the underside of Ten’s chin, over your thighs. His hips rock and you whine around Johnny, knotting your fingers in Ten’s hair.

Mark falls limp beneath you. You can feel his heart raging against your back.

Ten’s mouth wanders lower, his tongue dipping inside you, sucking your inner labia into his mouth in such a way that your thighs twitch and attempt to close around his head.

You whine. Johnny pulls back, leaving your jaw aching, your lips feeling bruised.

“No more.” You brush your hand over the top of Ten’s head, pushing his hair back. “Too much.”

Ten draws back without another word from you. He licks his lips, and moves toward Johnny.

Selfishly you move too, slipping to the side of Mark, and he sighs, draping an arm over your hips as you sit up. You open your mouth and reach for Johnny’s dick again. He gets the message.

You hold your mouth open, tongue sticking out, your hand jerking Johnny off into your tongue. Ten finally pulls his dick out, touching himself until you lift your free hand to touch him too.

Johnny cums first, thick and bitter on your tongue. You try to hold it all there, but when Ten cums as well a moment later, adding to the mess of cum on your tongue, it spills over dripping from the corners of your mouth, down your chin.

Ten’s barely finished cumming when he moves back and presses in to kiss you, sharing the cum on your tongue, and then cleaning what’s spilled. His wandering lips taste the cum on your cheeks and chin, and you tilt his head to the side so you can lick at Mark’s cum drying beneath Ten’s chin.

He slumps against you when you’re both nearly clean, and he draws your mouth back to his, just lazily kissing away the last remnants of semen from your mouth.

“Breakfast of champions,” you sigh, wiping at the corners of your mouth as Ten breaks the kiss. He pushes off the bed, pulling his shorts back into place, and starting toward the door. Johnny moves to follow. You twist in Mark’s arms, kiss his cheek, and say, “We should go actually eat breakfast.”

Mark’s fingers lace with yours again, and his eyes linger on yours, and his voice echoes in your mind from earlier. Stay. Later, you think, you’ll come back later and spend the rest of the day with Mark, but for now you’re hungry and Johnny’s standing in the doorway waiting for you.

Jaehyun absentmindedly traces the hickey the size of Australia on the side of your throat. You’re sitting together on the sofa, watching a drama with Doyoung and Jaemin and several others who come and go. You’re comfortable, tucked into his side like this, but it’s also distracting with the way that he circles his finger along the outline of the hickey.

It’s not from him, for one thing.

Lucas did it when you’d showered together after working out together a few days before. The mark was still obvious, and each time any of the boys drew attention to it, you felt a tingle of excitement course through you.

By this point, with Jaehyun constantly paying attention to it, you were admittedly wet and throbbing. But Jaehyun’s a tease so you just know that if you let him know what his touch did to you he would either continue doing it with no promise of anything further, or he would stop and leave you unfulfilled.

So you sit there squirming, your insides burning.

At one point you catch Doyoung’s eye. He looks between you and Jaehyun, and he smirks then turns his attention back to the drama.

You drop your head onto Jaehyun’s shoulder and sigh, tempted to just bury your face against the juncture of his neck and shoulder, to kiss at his throat, leave a mark there on him just like the one he’s apparently obsessed with on you.

It’s a long ten minutes later when Jaehyun finally sits up, shifting you from his shoulder. You look at him. He looks back at you and asks, “I’m done. Wanna come with me?”

You don’t know where he’s going, but he takes your hand and you let him lead you.

Hendery, YangYang, and Lucas are all sitting in the kitchen together. Hendery’s making something to eat while the other two seem to be arguing with each other. Taeil sits tucked in the back corner of the kitchen, headphones in as he stares at his phone and nibbles at something.

Jaehyun keeps leading you, and when you step out the back door into their house’s small yard, he leads you over to a bench set against the wall.

The stone is still warm from the day’s sunlight even as the chill of the night air settles on your skin from every other side.

Once more, you rest your head on Jaehyun’s shoulder, wrap your arm through his. “Why’d we come out here? Are we stargazing?”

Jaehyun’s hand rests on your thigh, and he drums his fingers there. “Mm, not quite. I could feel you getting all squirmy in there. Thought you could use some fresh air.”

You tilt your head back to look up at him.

Jaehyun’s head is tilted back against the house’s wall, his eyes closed.

“You know I was only squirmy because I’m horny, right?” You clarify. Jaehyun hums in acknowledgment, but doesn’t open his eyes or move his hand on your thigh. “Like, fuck, Jaehyun you kept touching me, and all I want is to have your fingers inside me.” You reach down for his hand, trying to push it toward the crack between your thighs.

He shakes your hand off and you whine.

“So needy all the time,” he teases. “I heard about you and Lucas. Did he not fuck you well enough?”

“That was days ago,” you insist. “I want you, Jaehyun, why do you always have to do this?” You pout, thinking about all the times you’ve tried to fuck him and how Jaehyun only does it when he wants to, which is far less often than the others. He’s too often satisfied with just getting himself off or just watching, even though you know he gets jealous of the others. You might have thirteen other guys constantly willing to give it to you, but sometimes you just want Jaehyun.

He chuckles and cups your cheek in his hand. “Am I neglecting you?”

You nod.

Jaehyun’s smile is so soft and adoring as he leans fully back, and pats his lap. “Come on then.”

Jaehyun touches you like you’re fragile, his fingertips light on your body when he dips them under your clothes, resting his hands lightly on your hips as you drape your arms over his shoulders.

“Kiss me,” you tell him, holding your mouth just shy of his, hoping to make him come to you.

Jaehyun does, closing that small distance, his lips soft and warm, his kiss sweet. You sink into him, moaning as he pulls you closer by the hips.

You think you could probably kiss Jaehyun for hours, you love just making out with him. Except that you were already so horny before you came out here, so moist between the legs that you wonder if you’re soaking through your panties and pants yet.

You do like it sweet, but right now you’d prefer him being a little rougher.

You push at his shoulders.

Jaehyun grunts, bites your bottom lip as he pulls back from the kiss. “What? What do you want now?”

“Fuck me,” you pout, rolling your hips in his lap.

Jaehyun licks his lips, dips forward to kiss you again, and then he pushes you gently backwards to get you off his lap. You stand and Jaehyun stands as well, then gestures toward the bench for you. “Kneel.”

You kneel on the bench, facing the back wall of the house, and when Jaehyun grabs your pants and drags them down, you gasp and put your hands against the wall. The cool night air meets your heated skin, and you feel so exposed and it’s so new.

You’ve fucked them in all sorts of pairings and positions, messed around at the company building, in a grocery store bathroom, but you don’t think you’ve ever properly had sex with one of them outdoors in the open. And you’re surprised that Jaehyun is the first to do it, usually a bit more reserved when you’re together.

But his hand comes down on your ass without hesitation now, the smack of his palm against your skin echoes through the night and you gasp again. His fingers trail down between your legs, and when he finds you soaking wet, the damp heat of your pussy swallowing his fingers easily, Jaehyun swears under his breath.

“What part of this turns you on the most?” He asks, slicking his fingers up with your wetness. “That we’re doing this out here? That it’s me?”

You shift your hips, trying to get his fingers to enter you again, to hit deep inside you. But he pulls his hand away and smacks it down on your ass again. You know what he wants to hear: that it’s the fact that you’re doing this with him that has you so wet, that just being with Jaehyun has you soaking wet.

So that’s what you tell him.

“You!” You moan, your voice cracking through the night. Jaehyun gropes at your ass and you lean back into his touch. You kinda want him to fill you up in both places, in your ass and your pussy.

Jaehyun presses forward, a hand sliding over your hip and then around and down to dip his fingers to swirl at your clit. His hips press forward too, and you whine when you feel his bare cock against your ass, hot and hard, every inch of him sending a flare of lust through you that has your hips jolting with want.

“You want me? Want me to fuck you now?” Jaehyun murmurs, tracing circles on your clit, shifting against your back so his erection fits against the cleft of your ass. “God, sweetheart, want me to put a baby in you?”

Your belly swells with heat that liquefies and gathers there at the apex of your thighs. Jaehyun’s other hand moves around, pressed flat against your belly.

This definitely isn’t the first time he’s mentioned this to you. And you’ve encouraged it before, and you’ve thought realistically about the implications of this kink of his.

Jaehyun would be a great dad. Any baby of his would be adorable and sweet.

You moan and push your ass back, squirming some more, hoping he gets the message.

Jaehyun enters you in one smooth thrust, pressing your forward so your body rocks against the wall.

Neither of you is quiet, that’s something you learned long ago. Jaehyun’s vocal in bed, and you don’t usually see any reason to keep quiet either, so right now, as he fucks you out in the open of their small yard, you forget to close your mouth, bite your tongue. All the sounds pour out, mixing with Jaehyun’s.

“Keep it down out there!” Someone calls from an open window upstairs.

You laugh and drop your head onto Jaehyun’s shoulder. His own laugh is music to your ears.

You bite your lip, though, trying to hold in your sounds, as Jaehyun rolls his hips, grips onto yours, alternating between slow smooth thrusts and brutal fucks that you know will leave you with bruises on your knees and soreness of your hips tomorrow.

“Mm, oh, gonna look so sexy, sweetheart,” Jaehyun moans, pressing the words into your hair. “All round and big with a baby. And your tits, shit.” His hand leaves your clit to attend to your breasts, weighing one in his hand before twisting the nipple.

You can imagine it too. A big belly and boobs bouncing with each thrust. The intimacy of fucking while pregnant. Of carrying his baby. You get a strange thrill, thinking of Jaehyun as a father, cooing at a baby in his arms, telling the child stories, singing the baby lullabies as he rocks it to sleep, Jaehyun falling asleep with his baby curled up on his chest.

But you think of the others, of the curl of Johnny’s hand against your waist, of Doyoung’s broad shoulders, of Hendery’s eager lips ready to worship your body. Could you give them all up for Jaehyun’s fantasy?

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You’ve been down that rabbit hole before and it didn’t end well.

You just want to get lost in this moment. In the feel of Jaehyun inside you, the pleasure building into a sweet climax for both of you. Your nails scrape against the wall of the house, and Jaehyun’s arms tighten around you, pulling you tighter back against him as his moans take a guttural turn, his dick twitches, and you feel the familiar burst of his load filling your pussy, how he keeps fucking you, a hand pressing you forward, pulling your hips back so he can thrust into you at just the right angle, so he can see how your ass looks and how some of his cum leaks out with each thrust.

Your eyes roll and your orgasm snaps through you suddenly, tingling from your fingers to your toes and you gasp his name, “Jaehyun!”

He fits against you now, his mouth drops to your throat, lips hot and stinging as he starts to leave his own mark on your throat to rival Lucas’s. You can’t even moan, the sound coming out something like a gurgle. Jaehyun moans, rocking his hips forward, pushing his load in deeper and deeper as if maybe if he pushes it deep enough his kink for seeing you pregnant might come true.

You don’t have the heart to remind him that you are on birth control. That you have been on it for months, protecting yourself and the fourteen of them from an unwanted pregnancy like this.

“You know I love you,” Jaehyun murmurs, as he slows his movements and then stops, but he doesn’t pull out yet. He keeps his voice low as if, even though you’re outside, he’s afraid that the others will overhear him. As if making a love confession, although he’s told you many times now, is still something secret, something to keep from the others despite having heard it from several of them.

“I love you too,” you tell him, dropping your head back to rest against his shoulder. And you sigh, repeating, “I love you too.”

You already know today is going to be shit for several reasons. One, you woke up that morning with a splitting headache that medicine had only slightly helped, so you’d been guzzling water all morning praying that you were just dehydrated and that would fix it. Two, drinking all that water meant that you desperately had to piss, and by the time you went to the bathroom, you realized you’d also started your period and now your panties were an absolute mess. Third, it was storming. Fourth, you’d argued with Taeyong and Jaehyun yesterday. Fifth, your day at work had just been very busy with hardly a moment of respite, so by the time you were leaving for the day, your body was aching and cramping and you were rained on and you still had a goddamn headache.

All you wanted to do was go home, but your phone was blowing up with messages from the group chat with your boyfriends.

You silenced it, not in the mood at all to do anything except go home, shower, pop some more medicine, and curl up in bed to sleep for the next twelve hours.

That plan was immediately derailed when you got home and found two damp shapes sitting outside your door. Yuta and Ten.

Even with their hoods pulled up over their heads, and even standing under the overhang of your building the rain was blowing sideways, soaking them both through.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, stepping between them to jam your key into the lock. “Get inside, you’ll both catch colds.”

Their shoes squeak and squeal agains the entryway. Jackets slop against the wall as they leave them on the hooks beside the door. You drop your keys and purse and umbrella there and just keep walking, raking your fingers through your hair, hoping that maybe it’ll ease the headache that’s slowly ramping back up to its full power. You hear the low voices behind you, but you don’t look back at them until you’re in the kitchen, swallowing down a glass of water with two pills.

“Are you okay?” Yuta asks, his voice gentle, curious, worried. He moves silently up beside you, a cautious hand hovering an inch from your back. “Everyone was trying to message you earlier.”

You press the glass to your cheek, loving the cool feel of it against your skin, and you sink down onto your elbows at the sink, closing your eyes. “It’s just been a long day, Yuta. I just wanted to come home, so I haven’t even read the messages.”

The counter beside you pops a little. The glass is plucked from your hand.

You open your eyes and see Ten has lifted himself up into your kitchen counter. He presses a cool hand to your cheek in place of the glass, then moves it to your forehead. You bat it away. “I’m not sick. Stop.”

Both of them stay where they are even as you take a few steps back. You glance toward your bedroom.

Thunder rumbles outside, and in the silence you can hear the harsh spray of the rain against the windows of your apartment. Somewhere in another unit a baby cries and you hear a door slam somewhere else. Your head throbs.

Ten slides off the counter. He doesn’t stop even when you groan and try to protest, he just takes your hand and walks you toward your room. You hear Yuta following. He leads you through your room into your bathroom, and here you put a hand up to stop them both.

“You’ve had a shit day, that much is obvious.” Ten says. “Let us take care of you. That’s what we’re here for.”

“Yeah.” Yuta comes up behind you. His hands glide over your shoulders, pulling your jacket down your arms. His fingers deftly unfasten your pants. He kisses your shoulder. “A nice warm shower, some cuddling.”

You relax into their ministrations, as they slowly pulling your belt from the loops, drag your shirt up your torso and over your head, push your pants down and help you step out of them.

That’s when Yuta pauses and kisses your hip. You open your eyes and see that he’s knelt down in order to help you step out of your pants, and that he’s got a clear line of sight now to the stain spread across your panties. “Oh, baby, we can take care of you.”

You huff, wanting to tell him not to call you a baby, not now. You don’t want to feel like a helpless little creature that they think they need to take care of.

Ten opens his mouth as if to ask Yuta what he’s taken that nurturing tone for, and then he notices as well. A sudden wave of embarrassment comes over you, and you cover your face with your hands. You know you shouldn’t be embarrassed by this. Menstruation is a perfectly normal thing that happens every month to you. They’ve all been around you when you were on your period before. Yuta had actually once before fingered you when you were on your period. Ten and Xiaojun and Kun had all gone out together once to by you some emergency pads when you were at the company building with them. They’d ended up messing up, but it was okay; blessedly the members of Red Velvet had walked in while you were trying to talk the boys through which pads to buy, and Irene had been a goddess in disguise as she had one that you could use.

You know they all know and understand about your period, but there’s just something about your already shitty day and now two of your boyfriends taking pity on you because they see that your panties are bloody.

“Hey.” Ten tugs at your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face. “Don’t be embarrassed. Why are you embarrassed?”

“I just am.” You sigh, lifting your gaze to the ceiling as you feel foolish tears starting to rise in your eyes.

Yuta moves away from you, and you hear him start the shower. Ten still holds your hands. “We’ve been here before, babe. And don’t forget that both Yuta and I have sisters. We know about periods.” He kisses your hand. “Relax. You’ve had quite a day, so just shower, relax. What do you want to eat? We’ll order in.”

Sometimes it is nice to feel a little pampered.

Yuta tests the water to make sure it’s warm enough, and then Ten retreats from the bathroom, already looking to order food. Yuta stays as you pull your panties down at last and step quickly into the shower.

A moment later, he follows. He holds out his hand as you lift the shampoo bottle.

You let him shampoo your hair, his fingertips massaging your scalp, his gaze gentle on your face and following the path of the suds down your body. He kisses you occasionally, little surprise pecks to your lips, grimacing when he gets a taste of shampoo. You feel your muscles grow less tense with every moment longer you spend in the shower with Yuta. The headache shrinks, your cramps ease, the aches from the stresses of the day fade under the magic of Yuta’s touch.

It’s not long before his wandering hands have you turned on. His fingers caressing the shape of your breasts, his body against yours.

“Yuta.” You sigh his name, and his touch traces down from your navel to your clit, and you feel yourself relaxing further with each new wave of pleasure that pulses through you. You weave your fingers through his hair, and bring his mouth down to yours. Yuta grins into the kiss, circling his fingers on your clit, securing an arm against your lower back as you shiver closer to him.

Every move he makes pushes your day toward being a little better. Each kiss and low sound of pleasure that rumbles his chest, each second that he keeps his fingers busy with your clit. He doesn’t even seem to mind that you’re on your period, not that it had really stopped him the last time. Yuta just backs you against the shower wall, kissing you even as the shower’s spray soaks him full in the face, just so he can taste the moans fresh from your mouth as he lifts your thigh up to his hip, as he thrusts smoothly into you and still keeps at your clit.

You’ve always loved the way Yuta makes you feel when it’s just the two of you. He pays such special attention, so in tune with your needs, giving you exactly what you need even if you aren’t aware of what you need in the moment. So now as he thrusts gently into you, kissing you softly and moving down to mouth at your throat (the bruises from Jaehyun and Lucas are still fading), you begin to fall apart, an orgasm rocking through you, the sweet release relaxing you utterly.

Yuta steps away after that, leaving a lingering kiss on your lips while his hand drifts down to take care of himself. When you attempt to protest, reaching for him to draw him back toward you, he shakes his head. “I don’t want to give you too much. You’re probably sensitive right now, aren’t you?”

He’s probably right, but just because your vagina and whole abdominal region and everything are more sensitive than normal right now at the beginning of your period, it doesn’t mean that you want your boyfriend to have to jerk off instead of being inside you.

“It’s fine, baby,” he kisses you again. “I’ll finish up in here. Go dry off, see what Ten’s up to.”

You pout, but he gives you a pointed look.

“Finally!” Ten says, rolling across your bed into an upright position as you come out of the bathroom. “Food’s on its way. But it’ll probably be, like, an hour.”

You walk over to your closet, pull on sweats and a baggy shirt, then crawl onto your bed with Ten. He lies down in front of you, both of you curled on your sides, face to face. He holds your hand.

Lightning flashes, making your room bright for an instant before the world dims again, leaving your room illuminated only by the light coming from in your bathroom. Thunder rumbles lowly outside, rattling the window of your bedroom. The shower’s still running and under the sound of the shower and the rain, you hear Yuta moan, a lovely distant sound.

Ten kisses your hand. “I could hear you both, you know. You weren’t very loud, honestly, but I swear I have an extra sense dedicated to hearing your sounds of pleasure.”

“It just happened. We didn’t mean to leave you out.” You say, reaching up with your other hand to caress Ten’s cheek. “I wish you would’ve stayed in there. I like it when the two of you....”

Ten dips forward and kisses you before you can complete the sentence. “It’s fine. I don’t think I’m much into blood during sex.”

You’re still positioned like that when Yuta emerges from your bathroom, toweling his hair dry, his pants slung low on his hips. He joins you both on the bed, ends up passing out before the food arrives, and you and Ten eat without him.

You completely forget about your phone and all the unread messages from the others, forget about everything but right then, right there in your apartment with Ten and Yuta.

There’s just something so delightfully simple and pleasant about sunlight on bare skin, a cool breeze, and your toes in the water.

Xiaojun hums happily beside you, the melody something you’ve been hearing a lot of over the last couple weeks, each of the boys singing and humming snippets of the song they’re all recording. His head is pillowed on his arms behind his head, sunglasses hide his eyes, and his feet splash in the water as well.

You lean back on your palms, tilt your face up to the sun.

A day trip to the beach was exactly what you’d needed.

You weren’t sure who had bribed their manager, but here you were at the beach, sitting on the end of a small dock that shot out into the water. Somewhere behind you were Hendery, Taeyong, and WinWin.

You startle a little when you feel a fingertip tracing down the ridges of your spine. Xiaojun laughs under his breath and mutters an apology. You slide down beside him, tipping onto your side and resting your head on his chest. His heartbeat picks up under your ear, and you smile.

Things are usually like this with Xiaojun. Not a lot of talking, just peaceful quiet, gentle touches. Sometimes less gentle touches.

His hand glides down your spine, fingertips dipping beneath the top edge of the bikini bottoms you’re wearing.

Distantly you hear a shout from Hendery, Taeyong’s cackling laughter and a shout from WinWin also. You don’t look up from Xiaojun’s chest, but he huffs out a laugh, his fingertips still stroking lower and lower. You sigh, feeling the heat blooming across your skin.

There’s no one else around, just the five of you. Their manager’s not even around, he left like half an hour ago to go grab food and a drink, promised he’d be back later.

Xiaojun’s heart rate speeds up.

His hand cups your ass inside your bikini.

You sit up, sliding over him, straddling his lap, and sitting up tall. Xiaojun brings his other hand up to your thigh, stroking and drawing shapes on your skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells you, his voice full of awe, his eyes squinted against the sunlight that peers around you. The full halo effect.

A cool breeze tickles your back but the heat in your core grows hotter, and you shiver, shifting your hips in Xiaojun’s lap. He groans pleasantly, gripping your hip and your thigh. You do it again.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his voice tight.

You just smile, lean down, and the moment your lips brush his throat, Xiaojun’s head tilts back and his lips part to let out a soft moan. “I want to make you feel good, Xiaojun.”

Xiaojun only shows the slightest hesitance, any sign of it vanishing as you kiss his throat and sneak a hand between your bodies to slip his growing erection out of his shorts, sliding against the crotch of your bikini bottoms.

Xiaojun mutters something in Cantonese.

You sit up straight to admire your handiwork, a pretty flowery mark left by your lips on the sensitive skin of his neck. Xiaojun’s gaze falls from your lips to settle on your cleavage, each rise and fall of your chest holding his interest.

You reach behind you, tugging your bottoms aside, and you guide him against you, his tip fitting easily inside your pussy.

It’s almost Pavlovian at this point that when you’re with the boys you get desperately wet, ready to fuck at a moments notice. Not that you let that on to them. But it does happen and come in use for moments like this when the innocence of a moment changes over in an instant to sexual.

You settle back on Xiaojun, sinking him fully inside you. His fingertips bite into flesh, he licks his lips, eyes wandering down to where your body meets his, the sight unluckily obscured by the material of your bikini, though all it takes is you lifting up on your knees just a little for him to catch a glimpse. He swears again in Cantonese.

You drop back down, rolling your hips, enjoying the sight of Xiaojun trying to bite back the sounds of his pleasure as you fuck yourself on his cock out here in the open, fully bathed in sunlight on the end of this dock. You lift your gaze from him momentarily, searching for the others. You don’t have to look for long.

Hendery and Taeyong are curled around a stray cat, playing with it. WinWin is much closer, hovering at the beginning of this short dock, his eyes fixed on you and Xiaojun.

Xiaojun grunts and bucks up into you impatiently. You drop a hand to his chest, feel his heart racing under your palm.

WinWin doesn’t look away and neither do you as you start riding Xiaojun again, your nails scraping lightly against his chest, your soaked pussy gliding up and down his length. WinWin watches silently, slowly (ever so slowly) approaching.

“You’re insatiable, fucking like this where anyone can see.” He drops down beside the two of you, sinking back onto his elbows. “You couldn’t at least wait until we were back in the car?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Xiaojun gets off on the thrill of doing this outside, don’t you?” You know you’re enjoying the public aspect of this. There’s a strange energy buzzing under your skin, feeling the sunlight and the open air on your body. Xiaojun moans and nods. You lean in and drop a quick kiss to his mouth.

“Filthy,” WinWin teases.

And then his fingers come up to caress your neck. You lean into his touch, the tenderness of the motion paired with the degradation of his speech. And then you realize.

You feel the pluck, the unraveling, the tickle as the bow tying up your top comes undone, slipping from around your neck and down your chest.

“Oh hell yes,” Xiaojun sighs as your tits are exposed to his eyes. His nails drag in tingling trails from your hips, over your belly and your thighs as you sit back, dropping your head back, exposing your body to the sunlight. Xiaojun’s fingers slip into the front of your bottoms, tugging the material aside, revealing at last the pretty sight of your clit, and your wetness glistening and his cock disappearing inside you as you thrust down onto him.

WinWin pushes himself upright, hand returning to the back of your neck, fingers twisting in your hair, and he drags your mouth toward his crashing together in a kiss that tastes like salt and sunlight and sin.

“What if someone sees?” You ask as WinWin’s mouth drags away from yours, hot kisses burning along your jaw, down your throat. “We could get in serious trouble....”

“No one’s going to see, angel,” Xiaojun groans. His fingers dig into your skin, hard enough that you know there will be some bruising later. “No one’s been around all day.”

And you know it’s true. This isn’t the most public beach. Since you arrived earlier, there’s been maybe two or three people that passed by. And you’re out on the dock, if anyone dares to look close enough at what you’re doing, then there’s nothing much you can do about it.

WinWin claims your mouth again, his hand glides down your spine, fingers light enough as to inspire a shiver and a moan. Xiaojun murmurs something in Cantonese, his grip digging in almost painfully, but your core flares and clenches around him. His thumb circles your clit, and at the same moment WinWin’s wandering hand dips down the back of your bikini, a finger presses against your second entrance.

You gasp into the kiss, and WinWin smiles, pressing a small kiss to your mouth. “You like that? Filthy girl, you like being fucked and fingered here out in the open on the beach. Got your chest out, both holes filled. Dirty.”

His fingertip eases in, and you choke on a moan, Xiaojun starting to babble a bit in a combination of several languages that you can’t even comprehend.

Your ass is still slick, stretched from messing around with Johnny early that morning. He’d woken you with his tongue and his fingers, paying special attention to your ass, leaving kisses and light bites to the backs of your thighs. Even now you can feel the ghost of his touch burning against your skin even as you’re pressed between two others.

A second finger enters you, and you collapse forward over Xiaojun, your orgasm quakes through you. Both Xiaojun and WinWin fill you with gentle strokes; Xiaojun rocking his hips up, WinWin crooking his fingers, and Xiaojun moans low and long as he cums inside you.

He doesn’t even entirely wait until he’s finished before he’s pulling you up by your thighs and ass. WinWin swears at him as he tugs you away from his fingers, but he shuffles forward even as Xiaojun guides you forward until your dripping pussy is hovering over his face, and then he succinctly brings you down onto his tongue.

In the same moment WinWin moves your bottoms to the side, and snubs his tip against your ass. He holds there, leaning in to touch his lips to the back of your neck, and he whispers, “You good?”

You look around for a second at the beach. It’s still as empty as before. Hendery and Taeyong have, however, stopped playing and now stand at the mouth of the dock watching. The cool ocean breeze teases your skin, your sensitive nipples, rakes its fingers through your hair. You shiver.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You gasp, moving your hips with each lap of Xiaojun’s tongue, your fingers dig into his hair, nails scraping lightly over his scalp.

Over the months since this renewed relationship, since Xiaojun and Hendery joined in, you’ve had the luck to learn that Xiaojun is extremely talented with his tongue, WinWin’s only rival in that regard, although he will often and eagerly eat you out, unlike WinWin who chooses to do so only on certain scattered occasions.

WinWin pushes in deeper.

The boards a few feet away creak and you look up to see Hendery. His hand cups your chin, lifting your face so he can see your eyes, and his thumb swipes along your bottom lip. The bulge in the front of his shorts is obvious.

“Can I fuck you too?” Hendery’s voice is strained, especially as you moan and Xiaojun echoes the sound still licking you up.

“Please, please!” You beg.

WinWin’s fingers lace with Xiaojun’s at your hips, each of his thrusts moving you against Xiaojun’s mouth. And then Hendery’s bumping against your chin, but you pull back, lifting up a hand to circle at the base of his cock.

You love the way that Hendery always melts into your touch, so pliant and needy. He wants to be a rough fuck, but among all of your boyfriends, Hendery is so soft. He would probably submit to you if you tried, but you’re always so pleased with being the submissive one.

Hendery’s cock is pretty, a decent length, pink-tipped, always blushing softly when you pay attention to him. Now is no different. Your focus is torn between the three of them -- but Hendery’s cock is holding your focus the most, your hand around him, you flick your tongue out to taste his weeping tip.

Xiaojun gasps, pushing at your thighs. You tense against WinWin, and he pauses, backing away enough that you can move from Xiaojun’s face.

The boy beneath you has lips glistening and swollen from you rubbing against his mouth. He looks dazed, and he squirms out from beneath you, licking at his lips. “So sweet.”

Hendery crashes back into you, kneeling down in front of you, his mouth crushed against yours. WinWin dips his hips forward against you again, hands on your ass, spreading your cheeks apart so he can see your tight hole swallowing him up. Your hand moves down Hendery’s body, and when you wrap your hand around his cock, he shudders, his breath catching in the kiss.

You like how Hendery fits in your hand, so perfectly, and he gasps again, shivering as you pay special attention to the tip, your other hand dipping low to touch his balls, and with that you feel him hitting his climax, perhaps quicker than you expected. His cock twitches in your hand, and you feel the warm heat of his load shooting over your belly.

“That was quick,” WinWin teases from behind you, still thrusting at his own pace. Your knees ache.

Hendery flips him off, but moves back, falling back onto his hands and ass. He tucks himself away. “Alright, how long will you last? Huh?”

You can hear the grin in WinWin’s voice as he says, “You want to see?”

He pulls out of you, leaving your ass gaping, your body feeling suddenly so empty. You turn, and WinWin nods his head, his hands gently pressing you onto your back, the sun-warmed dock hot against your skin for a moment until you forget about it when WinWin grabs your thighs, pulling them apart just a bit wider, fingers skimming up your inner thigh, then he pulls your bikini bottoms aside even more.

You look up at him, see him haloed by sunlight as you’d likely appeared to Xiaojun earlier.

And then he’s inside you, a long smooth thrust that feels so damn good. Your body shifts over the boards of the dock, the dry wood pricking against your skin.

“I swear, if I go home with a splinter in my ass, I’m breaking up with you, Dong Sicheng.”

He chuckles, kissing along the line of your throat. “You’ll be fine.”

“God, that’s so fucking hot,” Xiaojun sighs, and you twist your head to see him still sitting there, splayed out in the sunlight, soft dick out, lips still wet from your pussy. He just looks at your tits, at how they bounce as WinWin thrusts into you. You wink at him, then turn your attention back to the man inside you.

WinWin’s face is drawn into focus as he lowers himself onto his elbows over you, his bottom lip caught under his teeth. You loop your arms under his, your hands on his back, nails scratching along the perfect skin of his shoulders, and that just draws a hiss from him, a sharper thrust.

“Fuck, WinWin,” you gasp.

It feels intimate, even out in the open with three others watching you from feet away. But it could be just the two of you, his face right before yours, his body pressed against your in all the ways, WinWin encompassing you entirely. Your body buzzes with a sweet energy, heat zipping under your skin, blushing over you.

He gathers you in his arms, thrusting into you with new speed. Your breasts press to his chest, your nails dig into his back, the boards of the dock prick your shoulders, but all of that dims in comparison to feeling WinWin cum for you, inside you. The warm spurts of him emptying himself, the half-swallowed sounds of pleasure he doesn’t allow himself to make.

He sinks down over you and you don’t cum again, but the nice buzzy feeling that rolls through you is good enough.

After another moment of this, you feel his lips on your shoulder, soft kisses, and then suddenly he pushes upright, and flips backwards off the end of the dock into the deeper water at the end. The splash soaks over you, and you sit up, laughing and looking down at the froth of the water where he’s just disappeared. Xiaojun and Hendery come closer too, looking over the edge of the dock, as WinWin surfaces.

He pushes his hair back from his face, treading water.

“Feeling reenergized?” You ask.

He nods, and swims for the ladder on the side, tugging himself up, and he sits down beside you, shakes his head and runs his fingers back through his hair. He looks happy, relaxed.

You look around at all of them. They all look happy and relaxed, bare-faced, and natural. Even Taeyong, who you feel ashamed to admit that you forgot about in the lust-driven moments before. He smiles lazily, watching the four of you.

“Hey! Are you all ready?” Comes the distant shout of their manager from a spot where the beach turns into paved road.

Xiaojun twists to look, wiping at his mouth, tugging his shorts back into place, making himself look like he didn’t just have sex. Hendery ducks in quickly to press a final kiss to your lips before turning and jogging toward their manager. WinWin lingers, tugging your bikini back into place, his hands lingering on your breasts, caressing your skin, his lips at the nape of your neck as he ties the bow perfectly.

Taeyong stands just a few feet away, leaning against a post, arms folded. You pout at him even as WinWin slips his hand into yours and starts walking with you. You reach out to Taeyong as you pass, and he grins his precious crooked grin, eyes sparkling in a way that makes your belly flop, his hand slips into yours also.

“Sorry you weren’t involved in that,” you apologize.

Taeyong scoffs. “Don’t worry about it. You know you don’t always have to take every single one of us just because we’re there, right? I feel like we’ve definitely had this discussion before.”

“Because we have,” WinWin says. He kisses the side of your head, unknots his fingers from yours. “It’s just as nice to watch you as it is to be with you.”

The three of you trudge across the sand, pausing only to gather your towels and the bag you’d brought along, and then you all pile back into the van. Their manager looks you all over, his gaze settling on you for just a second longer before he looks ahead at the road and starts up the van.

While the others arrange themselves inside, you and Taeyong stand outside, listening to the Chinese members bickering with each other. You rest your head on Taeyong’s shoulder, and you whisper quietly to him, “I do still want you. Like, I’m not entirely satisfied until you’re all satisfied.”

Taeyong waits until the van’s lurched into motion, until Hendery’s commandeered the AUX cord, and then he buries his fingers inside you in the backseat, your head pillowed on his shoulder, his fingers gentle and so good, carrying you into one weak orgasm and then another, before your thighs close around his hand and you press a whine into his skin.

He kisses your head. “Trust me, baby, I’m satisfied,” he whispers, and he slides his hand from your lap, wiping his fingers off on the sandy towel at his feet.

Maybe you and Jungwoo and Doyoung had gotten into the secret stash of wine Johnny kept in his room. Maybe.

And maybe a little wine drunk and in very good moods, you were having an impromptu dance party down in the living room.

Doyoung laughed from the sofa, still cradling his glass of wine, watching as you and Jungwoo danced together. Jungwoo was shirtless, wearing just a pair of boxer shorts. You weren’t dressed in much more--only a tshirt you’d borrowed from Ten and a pair of tiny shorts underneath.

Jungwoo was feeling himself, giggling and bursting into loud laughter, wiggling and waving his body to the music. You tried to mirror his moves, but more often than not you were collapsing into laughter, only just able to stay up on your own two feet.

You’ve just stepped forward to grab onto Jungwoo’s waist, pulling your bodies together so you can rise onto your toes to kiss him, when the door to the house opens and Johnny walks inside. At first he thinks nothing of you and Jungwoo dancing together in the living room, thinks nothing of Doyoung watching you both with a big grin. It’s not until his eyes land on the wine that he pauses.

He opens his mouth, and you quickly slip away from Jungwoo, dancing over to Johnny with a pretty grin on your face, invitingly reaching out for him. “Johnny,” you sing his name, “Come dance. We got into your wine, but only because there was none anywhere else, and it’s rainy and we didn’t want to go out, and we promised we weren’t going to drink it all and we’ll replace it.” You twist your arms around his neck, bounce on your toes and lay on all of your charm. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.” Johnny’s hand rests against the small of your back. “Kinda wish you’d invited me to the party.”

“You can still come.” You sway. “Have a drink. Relax. Dance. Even Doyoung’s dancing with us.”

You break away from Johnny, slipping and sliding across the floor, nearly careening into Doyoung’s lap, but he reaches up and catches you before you even fall. You take his hands and tug, pulling Doyoung up onto his feet, dragging him to dance with you and Jungwoo. Johnny settles down into Doyoung’s abandoned spot, takes the glass of wine (also formerly Doyoung’s) and finishes it in one go.

Johnny grabs the phone, switches the music, the beat of the new song is sexier, and you grin, twist your arms around Doyoung’s neck as you sway to the beat. Jungwoo slides up behind you, his hands on your waist, grinding against you.

Johnny pours himself another glass of wine, just observing.

Doyoung whines a little under his breath when you kiss at the exposed section of his chest where his shirt’s fallen open, and he tries to draw back from you, his gaze flicking to the other two. You don’t know when he got so shy.

All the noise finally draws the attention of some of the others who’d been upstairs, and you watch as Mark comes down the stairs, looking at this collection of you all before he tromps the rest of the way down to join in. Johnny changes the music again, everyone pours themselves another drink, and you keep dancing.

You dance until a sleepy-eyed Chenle peers over the edge of the stairs, yawning, and asks for you all to quiet down.

Doyoung buries giggles in his hand, Mark barks out a laugh and ends up face-planting onto the sofa. Both of them are drunk, and it takes Johnny covering Doyoung’s mouth with his hand to get the younger of the two to stop laughing.

“I’m going to take them to bed,” Johnny tells you. “Don’t drink the rest of the wine.” He tugs Doyoung and Mark onto their feet, pulls Doyoung’s arm around his shoulders, and guides both Doyoung and Mark up the stairs to their bedroom.

Jungwoo steps closer to you again, pushes his hair back off his face, but it just flops back into his eyes. He looks tired, but still flushed from the exertion of the dancing and from the wine racing through his blood.

The house has grown quiet around you. It no longer feels right to be noisy, so the next time you speak, it’s in a whisper.

“Are you hungry?” You start to walk toward the kitchen, pausing to wait for Jungwoo’s answer.

He nods. “What are you going to make?”

You try to keep quiet as you dig through their cabinets and the fridge, looking for something for the two of you to snack on. After several minutes, you settle on ice cream, which you and Jungwoo share, digging it out of the container which you hold between yourselves as you sit on the floor back in the living room, the lights all turned off, but the TV is on, though the volume is so low that you can’t hear it hardly at all. It’s mostly just providing light.

The sweetness of the ice cream hits the spot, exactly what you’d been craving. But then you need something salty to balance it out, and Jungwoo leaves you there, and when he reappears he’s got a bag of potato chips, which he shares with you.

But soon you’ve had enough, can barely keep your eyes open.

“I’m going to bed.” You lean over and kiss him goodnight, push to your feet, and wobble unbalanced toward the stairs.

“Goodnight!” Jungwoo’s whisper carries across the room. He looks at the TV and raises the volume a little bit.

You can still hear the TV, just barely audible, when you reach the top floor, when you step into Taeil’s room. He’s already asleep, but he stirs when the door opens, light streaking across the room.

“Hmm?” He squints at you.

“Sorry, it’s just me.” You tell him. You tiptoe across the room, crawl into bed, picking your way across the vast expanse of this bed (overlarge when it’s just the two of you in it), and at last you curl up beside Taeil. He yawns and sinks back into his pillow, eyes already closed, breath level, back asleep.

You wish you could fall asleep so easily. Even though you were tired downstairs, your heavy eyes trying to fall shut, now that you’re here in the soft warmth and comfort of the bed in the wonderfully dark room, you’re more wide awake than ever.

Maybe it’s the sugar from the ice cream. Maybe it’s the faint glow that you can barely catch except out of the corner of your eye, radiating from the glow-in-the-dark dildo that Ten bought a few weeks back. But you can’t sleep and your mind races.

Two rooms over you hear the dull murmur of voices, and you know it’s probably Jaehyun and Johnny. Taeyong’s been out all night. Jungwoo’s still downstairs. Doyoung and Mark didn’t look like they would last long when Johnny lugged them upstairs, and Yuta had gone to bed hours ago with a headache. Everyone else’s rooms were on the other two floors, and the members of WayV weren’t even home at all. Downstairs you can hear the voices of some of the Dream members.

You feel the space all around you, so empty even with Taeil’s body heat right there beside you. You remember the times that all the spaces of this bed were filled with bodies. The time that the twelve of your boyfriends (because it was before Xiaojun and Hendery were a part of this) slept in the bed and on the floor, all of them hanging around because they just wanted to be close to you.

You’d managed to fall asleep then, but you’d been exhausted from the sex.

Now you toss and turn.

Taeil mumbles something one time when you turn over, his hand drifting over toward you as if to comfort you, but his fingers just barely brush your thigh.

You sigh.

In the darkness, you lie there with your eyes open, and before your eyes memories surface, mixing with fantasies, playing out before your eyes like twisted daydreams painted on the ceiling. Memories in this bed.

Taeil waking you with open-mouthed kisses, rolling you under him when neither of you were fully awake. Johnny letting you stuff him into a pair of your panties and paint his lips with lipstick again, letting you hump him until he came in the panties, then riding him until he cried from the overstimulation, before he made you swear not to tell the others about it.

You remembered Taeyong making out with Ten, both of them rolling around in the sheets with you and Kun. Yuta and WinWin and Lucas fucking you between them, taking all three of them inside you at once, so that you legitimately couldn’t walk for the rest of that day and then part of the next one. You remember a time when, left alone together all day, Doyoung had sadistically tied you to the bed, giving you water to drink and drink and drink until you felt ready to burst, and he teased you with a vibrator he’d borrowed from Yuta’s collection, only untying you when you were crying and had let a few drops of piss spill; he didn’t want you to dirty the bed, just wanted to see you desperate for it.

Jaehyun, Jungwoo, Mark, Xiaojun, Hendery. Fantasies with all of them. The pleasure blurs together, the different scenarios twist in your mind until you can’t remember if it was Jaehyun that dressed you up in a little schoolgirl outfit and had you beg him for forgiveness since you were such a slut, or if that was Mark or Hendery.

All you know is that before long, you’re not only restless, you’re horny.

You groan. Taeil stirs again, once more reaching a comforting hand that lands on your thigh. High on your thigh.

You want to touch yourself, but it seems silly to just get off on your own fingers when there’s various boys in this house that you know would gladly get you off right then and there.

“Taeil?” You whisper, just testing.

He huffs, but doesn’t really give much more of a response.

You consider taking his hand, guiding it higher, inside your shorts, using his fingers to get yourself off. But that doesn’t seem right. Not with him. You know Johnny wouldn’t mind, nor would Doyoung. But Taeil always seem to savor watching you get off, loves the sight of you growing close to orgasm almost more than the act of giving you an orgasm.

Just as you’re getting desperate, thinking of pulling yourself from bed to see if Jaehyun and Johnny are still awake and would fuck you, the door of the room opens quietly.

All of the lights outside in the house have been extinguished, so you can’t really see which of the boys is coming inside, not until he’s sliding into bed, not until he’s almost right in front of you.

You can smell the potato chips on his breath. Not the most appealing scent honestly, but you didn’t brush your teeth before falling into this bed either, so you’re sure your breath smells just as bad.

“Jungwoo,” you whine, “I can’t sleep. And I’ve been thinking and thinking, and now I’m horny. Taeil’s asleep.”

“And what do you want me to do about that?” Jungwoo asks with a teasing lilt, just as quietly so as to not disturb Taeil. “Maybe I’m tired. Maybe I just came in here to get a good sleep without Johnny and Jaehyun keeping me awake with their music.”

You whine, grasping his hand, pulling it between your legs like you’d wanted to do with Taeil. Playfully, he pulls his hand away again. Desperate, you squirm, pushing your shorts down, kicking them off to the foot of the bed, and you spread your legs, again trying to bring Jungwoo’s hand to your pussy. He kisses your forehead.

You think he’s about to tell you to knock it off, that he really just wants to sleep, but within a second you’re nearly blinded by a white light, the sudden illumination of his phone’s flashlight.

Taeil groans and rolls over so his back is to you, but still seems to be deep asleep. Jungwoo dims the brightness just a little as he pushes the covers down enough that your bare, wet pussy is visible to the room.

Feeling his gaze on you makes you feel so good, you abandon the hesitation of touching yourself earlier, and you move your fingers down through your wetness.

Jungwoo hums, pleased. “Should I take a video of you like this? Send it to the others to show them what they’re really missing? Huh?” His voice is very playful, subtly dominant. He’s not really asking you for permission, he’s probably already filming, and you love that. A thrill zips through your bones at the thought of Jungwoo filming you masturbating, of Jungwoo sending it to the others, showing them what they could have had.

“Go on.” Jungwoo tells you. “Touch yourself.”

So you really do, rubbing your fingers against your pussy, plunging them inside you, dragging your fingers over your clit. Jungwoo shifts beside you, holding the phone on you, moving the phone closer when you plunge your middle two fingers inside you. A moan spills from your lips.

“Shh,” Jungwoo kisses you quiet again. “Don’t wake up Taeil hyung.”

You just spread your legs a little more, and Jungwoo holds the phone steady on you. Your palm brushes against your clit with each deep thrust of your fingers, and it doesn’t take you long before you’re cumming, hips lifting off the bed, teeth digging into your bottom lip, your chest heaving.

Jungwoo hasn’t yet finished filming when you reach over grab the phone from him, turn the camera on him, and you say, “Come on, your turn, Jungwoo.”

He looks at your for a few moments but then he reaches down, palming his bulge, rolling his hips up into his hand, the waistband of his boxers drawing lower and lower with each roll of his hips. When the tip of his cock is fully exposed, Jungwoo pushes the elastic band down below his balls, exposing his dick to the camera’s light. You and the camera watch as Jungwoo runs his hand over his length.

You watch and then distractedly reach out to touch his chest, his abs, trail a finger along his cock. He pumps his hand slowly, alternating between looking at you and looking at the back of his eyelids, because as the pleasure builds his eyes flutter shut. You love watching him like this, the flush of pink that spreads over his chest and his cheeks, the way that his arms and his chest flex, his cock dripping against his belly.

“Mm, I’m gonna cum,” Jungwoo groans.

You move, straddling him quickly, and the very instant that you guide Jungwoo’s cock inside you, he cums. You ride him as he continues cumming, filling you with his load, and when you drop the phone from loosening fingers, Jungwoo picks it up and points it at you.

You slip backward off his cock, filling your pussy with your fingers again, his cum squishing out between your fingers, and you drop your head back, fingering yourself with Jungwoo’s cum. This time when you cum, your whole body twitches, thighs closing around your hand, but Jungwoo pushes your legs apart again, bringing the phone closer so the camera can really get a look at the mess of your cum and his between your legs.

“I think the others will like this,” Jungwoo says. “You’re so hot, baby.”

You sink back down into the bed, onto your side, and curl up against Jungwoo’s shoulder, both of you gazing into the brightness of the phone screen as Jungwoo scrolls through the video as a quick rewatch, and then as you watch him add it into the groupchat for all your other boyfriends to see, just as he’d said he would.

And then he tosses his phone aside. You hear it bounce and tumble off the edge of the bed onto the floor, but then the room is dark, and you tug the shirt you’re wearing back down to cover all your bits, Jungwoo brings the sheets up to cover your both, and then you try, once more, to fall asleep.

But it’s still difficult to sleep. You could hear Jungwoo struggling to sleep also, both of you laying there in quiet, until Jungwoo breaks the silence.

“Do you want to hear a secret?” Jungwoo whispers to you in the pitch blackness of the large bedroom on the top floor.

Taeil’s asleep on your other side, his quiet breathing was previously the only sound to be heard in the room. Although occasionally competitive cries of the Dream members could be heard carrying up from downstairs.

You curl toward Jungwoo. “What secret?”

His hand, warm palm and gentle-fingered, touches your cheek, brushing loose strands of hair away from your neck and cheek. His pinky grazes your throat. For a long few moments, he doesn’t say a word, he just looks at you in the dark, not that either of you can see much of each other. Very little light seeps into the room, so each of you is barely more than a black shape in the bed. But Jungwoo looks at you as if he can see every inch of you in beautiful, radiant light.

And with the way that he’s touching you, maybe he can. Mapping out your body through touch.

You bring a hand to his face, fingertips against his cheek. “What’s the secret?”

“I love you,” Jungwoo tells you, his voice entirely soft and quiet, no louder than the sound of skin brushing over the sheets.

“Is that a secret?” You ask, pressing your forehead to his.

“I really, really love you.”

You push your fingers through the back of Jungwoo’s hair. “I really, really love you too.”

He presses his face into the place between your neck and your shoulder, his lips on your throat, and you let him kiss and suck lightly until you just drift off to sleep.

When you wake the next morning, there’s a weight on your chest. When you open your eyes, you find that it’s Taeil’s head.

You’re alone together in the bed. The sheets are rumpled where Jungwoo had slept. Now, morning light streams through the window, filling the room with a gray light, providing enough that when you look at Taeil you can make out all the tiny details, his eyelashes, the shadow of stubble on his upper lip, and when you touch a finger so gently to his eyelid, Taeil smiles.

“Good morning,” you whisper.

“Morning.” His voice is a rasp of sleep, but you know he’s been awake for a little while. “I wondered how long you were going to sleep.”

“You were out last night,” you murmur, running your fingers through Taeil’s hair.

“I know.” He turns his face against your skin, pressing a kiss. “I saw the video, courtesy of Jungwoo, of course. I don’t know how I slept through that. Why didn’t you wake me?”

Tapping a fingertip against his nose, you say, “You were sleeping. I was going to wake you, but then Jungwoo came in.”

“I’m not sleeping now.” He lifts his head and grins at you.

You laugh, touch your fingers to his cheek, push him away. “All of you boys are so horny.”

“Oh, we are?” Taeil slides up, hovering over you. “As if you don’t start dripping the moment we touch you? As if you don’t cry and beg and whine for cock, open your every hole to us?”

You know he’s right, but you don’t want to admit it. So instead you kiss him. Taeil melts against you, softens the kiss, and you feel him press against you, though when he enters you, you wrinkle your nose a little because you feel a bit gross from the feel of Jungwoo’s dried cum on your thighs.

You open up for Taeil when he licks inside your mouth.

It’s very gentle and lazy when he fits inside you. Just lazy morning sex, slow kissing and bodies rolling together. You whisper to each other, sweet nothings, moans and praises, and Taeil’s mouth fixes to your chest, pulling sighs of his name from your lips.

He cums when you do, maybe a second before, but it’s really together, Taeil flooding your body with the warmth and pleasure. And he kisses you afterwards as he rocks his hips shallowly inside you, getting the most out of your orgasms there.

You press your hands to his cheeks, holding his mouth against yours, loving the simplicity and the loveliness of the moment.

“I love you,” you sigh.

Taeil presses his forehead to yours and tells you just the same.

A loud burst of noise from downstairs draws your attention away from this little world with Taeil. You look at the bedroom door which is opened just a crack, and more noise spills in.

Taeil turns your face back to him, fingertips light on your jaw. He kisses you briefly but sweetly. “We should probably go see what that’s about.”

You have to dig out your shorts from where they’d become buried at the very foot of the bed, wiggle into them, and then you and Taeil head downstairs. And you freeze on the stairs looking at the chaos of having what appears to be most members of NCT gathered in the living room. Taeil quickly goes to join the number, and you just watch on from above, hesitant to join in.

The WayV members must have just returned. You see their bags piled just inside the house, still dressed like they’ve been traveling. Some of the Dreamies are still in pajamas, hair all sleep-mussed. Jaemin sits curled on the sofa beside Doyoung and Jaehyun, drinking coffee while Doyoung sits there looking like he would much rather still be in bed.

When you do drift down the stairs, that’s where you sit, squeezing yourself between Jaehyun and Doyoung. Jaemin looks at you, raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say a word as he turns back to look up at Haechan.

Jaehyun smiles and presses a hand to the top of your head, moving it down, trying to smooth your hair. “You have sex hair,” he explains. “Also there’s a massive hickey on your throat.” He touches it. “Is that from Jungwoo or Taeil hyung?”

You flush, embarrassed, but rest your head back on Jaehyun’s shoulder, choosing not to answer him.

He keeps his fingers on your neck, stroking the marks left by Jungwoo and Taeil. Across the room, Lucas catches your eye before his gaze drops to Jaehyun’s fingers and the hickey beneath. And then his attention slowly pans over to Jungwoo, then he turns back to Kun and says something that you can’t hear.

Your stomach growls then, loud enough to catch Jaehyun, Doyoung, Jaemin, and Mark’s attention. You sink into Jaehyun and cover your stomach as if to muffle the sound. But then it comes again, louder.

“Hungry?” Jaehyun teases, covering your hand with his.

“Maybe a little.” You mumble, pushing off of his lap. You can feel multiple sets of eyes following you to the kitchen. Yuta’s standing in there, AirPods in, scrubbing at a pan with an irritated look on his face, but when you come to stand beside him, he flashes a smile at you, and takes one AirPod out, offering it to you. You stand side-by-side for a while, listening together to his music while you prepare some food for yourself and enjoy it.

Some of the others come into join you too. It’s a roar of noise and laughter, overlapping stories, calls for your attention, your boyfriends offering you food while others steal some from right in front of you, and Johnny offers to make mimosas, but you pass on the offer and just take orange juice. It’s apparently bottomless mimosas, because before long Taeyong’s giggling into his glass, a blush high on his cheeks, Ten’s handling it a bit better, but Johnny’s already pouring him another glass, filling your orange juice glass up for about the fifth time as well.

Xiaojun walks into the room, and when you glance over at him, you catch a glimpse of the time in the display on the microwave. It’s already noon. You jump up to leave the room.

“Woah, where are you going, Cinderella?” Johnny asks, taking your hand, trying to pull you back into his lap.

You pull your hand away. “I'll be right back.”

“Okay, hurry.” He lifts his hand to thumb at the hickeys on your throat and collarbones. You kiss his hand before hurrying away.

When you reach Taeil’s room upstairs, you dig through your bag, searching, but before you find what you’re looking for, you’re interrupted.

You don’t hear anyone come into the room, don’t realize you’re not alone until a pair of strong arms wraps around your waist, lifting you up and spinning you around. When the man holding you laughs, you realize it’s Lucas.

You squirm until he puts you down, but even then, he continues touching you, tracing his fingers around the marks left on your throat, everyone’s obsession for the day.

"I’ve been thinking about you since I woke up.” Lucas tells you. “That video... shit, it was hot. All of it.”

You spin to face him, lift onto your tip toes and purse your lips at him. “What have you been thinking about? Show me?”

Lucas does. He pushes you backwards and you land on your back on the bed, bouncing slightly before he’s over you, roughly pulling down your shorts, and you lift your hips to help a little, but that just gives Lucas the opportunity to reach under you, take hold of your hips, and flip you over onto your belly. He doesn’t wait for you to settle, his fingers dig into your ass as he pulls your cheeks apart, and when he spits between your legs, you hide your face against your arms folded under your head.

That’s hot as hell.

His thumb rubs between your legs, spreading the spit over your pussy and your ass. He spits again and then presses two fingers right inside you.

“Shit, Lucas!” You drag yourself up the bed a little. The sudden intrusion of his fingers isn’t necessarily unwelcome or anything, it was just a little uncomfortable. Your body wasn’t totally prepared for it.

But Lucas doesn’t let up, just begins scissoring his fingers inside you, and the next time you try to move, he reaches up and puts a hand on your shoulder. You go still even as he hooks his fingers inside you and lifts your hips off the bed.

There’s a sweet burn racing through your veins. So often the boys are gentle with you, even when you’re fucking several of them at once, none of them really get rough with you, and sometimes that’s exactly what you need.

Like now.

Lucas pulls his fingers out of you, and you cry out as the sting of his hand swings down against your ass. Your hips drop back to the mattress, your hands scratch across the sheets seeking for something to hold onto.

“So pretty like this,” Lucas groans. You hear the zip of his pants coming down. Your pussy throbs and your whole body is thrumming with desire. Your legs try to spread to invite him in more, but his thighs are still pinning you in place on either side. “God, bet your cunt is nice and wet, still got some of Taeil hyung and Jungwoo hyung’s cum inside you? Sopping wet, messy cunt open and ready for me?”

You whimper and try to lift your ass, but Lucas spanks you again. The shudder from his hand rattles through you, sending a wet lurch through your belly, blooming hot in your core.

Lucas grabs your hands, gathering them together behind your back. You hiss in pain at the twist, but it’s fine really, you like it. You don’t even mind when he presses down on your wrists into your lower back, just squirm as it compresses your belly, and suddenly you’re aware of the need inside you, more than just the lust.

His hand snaps against your ass once more, and then, in one smooth move, Lucas thrusts his cock inside you. A hard, rocky thrust, a rapid return a second later. Your toes curl and you moan loudly in pleasure, “Lucas!”

He presses low over you, as deep inside you as he can be, and his mouth is right beside your ear as he says, “Can you feel it, baby? That flutter in your belly? Johnny just kept filling your glass up, didn’t he? I thought you would stop him at some point, but you just kept drinking it all as if you knew I would follow you up here. Do you feel that need? Do you need to potty, baby girl?”

You hide your face in the sheets, but Lucas’s fingers curl in your hair, turning your head to the side so he can see your pretty face. You moan. “Yeah, I need to, Lucas.”

He rocks his hips again, and the tingle in your belly increases. “Well, I want you to hold it, okay? Hold it until you can’t anymore.” You nod. Lucas lifts away from your back, still rocking his hips against yours, filling you with his cock completely with each thrust. He braces one arm beside you, holding himself up, the other returns to your hands, caught between his belly and your lower back. He knots his fingers with yours even as he starts fucking you harder.

Each press of his cock inside you sends a tingle through your belly, you can feel your bladder growing tighter, the urge to pee stronger and stronger the closer Lucas drives you to your orgasm. Small whimpers and whines, cries of pleasure and pain and slight embarrassment fall from your lips. The sound of your pussy, so wet around him, squishing wetly with each thrust, sounds loud in the room.

“Fuck, babe, you’re clenching around me.” Lucas brings his hand down against your ass again.

And then he pulls out of you.

“Lucas!” You start to turn over, groaning, reaching to pull him back into you.

But you freeze. Lucas kneels up, tugs his shirt up over his head, and he reaches for your shirt too. The second you’re free of it, Lucas shoves you back onto your front, his fingers dive into your hair, and he tugs. Pain lances through your scalp, and you cry out.

That sound seems to encourage Lucas.

He fucks you with renewed vigor, the thrusts so harsh you can barely catch your breath, and it hurts so good, you just want to cum, to just touch your clit to get off a little faster, but Lucas has wrapped your wrists in his long fingers again.

Lucas loosens that hold for just a moment, sliding his hand under your stomach, and for a brief, happy moment, you think that maybe he’s heard your thoughts and he’s going to touch your clit. But instead he just presses his hand up over your bladder.

“Come on, babe. Let go for me.”

So, with his hand creating pressure on your bladder and his cock doing the same, your eyes roll, heat sweeps through your body, and with it, a release of tension all throughout your body.

You’re cumming and pissing, squirting over the sheets, clenching and fluttering around Lucas as his rough thrusting continues. His hand covers the back of your head, pressing your face into the bedsheets as you moan loud enough that everyone down on the ground floor of the house can probably hear you.

And then Lucas is cumming too, adding to all the sensations down there, your belly is so tight and warm and you feel full and gross and good. So good. He continues thrusting, your pussy overflows, the sheets are wet between your legs, and Lucas collapses over you, chest flat against your back, your hands joined with his crushed between your bodies.

You can’t catch your breath, even when you turn your face to the side. Your heart hammers in your chest, every inch of Lucas feels hot against your skin. The sheets feel soaked between your legs from yourself and Lucas. Thank God at some point Taeil had invested in a protective layer for his mattress, complaining that he wasn’t going to buy another mattress when this one got ruined by cum and sweat.

Lucas’s breath hits the back of your neck, his cock still weakly leaking inside you. Your eyes flutter shut. That was too much.

His fingers brush your cheek, your hairline, wiping back some of the sweaty strands of hair. His voice is gentle and quiet when he asks, “Are you okay? You did so good, babe. You’re wonderful.” He kisses the curve of your shoulder, and you lean into the press of his lips. “We made a little bit of a mess. Do you want to move?”

Lucas pushes up then on his hands, and you let out a breathy noise of displeasure when he pulls out of you, and you feel your pussy clenching, the mess inside leaking out to add to the disastrous sheets. Your legs tremble even as you’re just laying there.

“C’mon.” Lucas scoops you into his arms, carries you away from the bed, into the bathroom.

This part is familiar. Lucas and you have spent many times in a bathroom--in the shower, the bath, fucking in front of the mirror, satisfying his (and Doyoung’s) piss kink. But Lucas sits you now on the back edge of the large jacuzzi tub in Taeil’s bathroom. Your back leans up against the wall, helping balance you as Lucas steps away and disappears from the room for a handful of minutes. You can hear him stripping the sheets in the bedroom, hear him leave the room and tromp down the stairs to the laundry room on the floor below.

You look across the room and catch sight of yourself reflected in the mirror.

Your throat is a ravaged mess of hickies from Jungwoo and Taeil, and now from Lucas also. You look totally fucked out.

Lucas returns, climbing carefully into the jacuzzi so he can kneel between your legs. He’s gentle as he presses your knees apart, as he wipes at the mess on your thighs and leaking out of you. Lucas takes care of you now, at first quietly cleaning you up, but once the tub fills with warm water, he brings you down into the water to lean your back against his chest, and he speaks now, softly, and you talk until the steam ceases to rise from the surface of the water, and the tub cools.

You talk about an odd dream that Lucas had recently. You talk about a drama you’ve been watching. Lucas listens and offers advice as you complain about a few of your coworkers and the unfairness of your boss. Lucas talks about the upcoming schedule that’s going to keep all of the members busy, so busy that you already know you won’t be able to come over or hang out with any of them.

You hate to leave the house, to head back to your place, but you have to work the next morning, and you know if you stay at the house for much longer, you’ll be dragged into something that will make going into work in the morning nearly impossible. As it is, when you’re fully dressed once more so you can walk out the door, your legs still feel a little wobbly.

You go around and kiss each of your boyfriends goodbye and goodnight. Heading home feels so lonely, and there’s an odd tension in your belly as you pass through the door.

At the end of another long week, working long hours at work, suffering longer hours without getting the chance to see your boyfriends, all you wanted was to just relax with them.

When you get to the house, the Dreamies appear to be the only ones there. They’ve taken over the sofas and the kitchen, and they all wave when you walk in and greet you, but it’s Jisung that points upstairs and says, “Everyone’s out right now. Taeyong hyung just got back from the studio, though.”

You climb the stairs up to the top floor, and when you open the door into Taeyong’s room, you find that he’s slumped down in his bed, eyes drooping heavily as he scrolls through his phone. He startles a little when you walk inside, but then he scoots aside, clearing some room for you to fit beside him in the narrow bed.

You fit snugly into his side, resting your head on his shoulder, your arm draped over his stomach. You can tell Taeyong’s in a quieter, more pensive mood. He doesn’t really say anything at all to you, and you don’t mind. You just want to relax.

But it takes only a few more moments for you to realize that Taeyong’s seeking relaxation too, though relaxation of a different sort.

He shifts, hips rolling up just a little under the bedsheets, and one of his hands drifts down, resting over the sheets. It takes just another moment longer for you to realize his hand isn’t just resting there. He’s trying to subtly massage his erection. You tilt your head to look up at his face, and Taeyong murmurs something quiet that sounds sort of like an apology, though you don’t know why.

“Taeyong, do you want some help with that?” You ask as you start to scoot lower on the bed, start to move the sheets away from his body.

“No, you don’t have to. I’m just... I’ve been spending a lot of time at the studio lately, stressful stuff, but tonight I’m just tense and horny. It’s nothing I can’t take care of.”

He tries to get you to come back up to rest your head on his shoulder again, but you shake your head, and tell him, “I want to help.”

Taeyong drops his head back to the pillow. “Are you sure?”

“If I wasn’t sure,” you say, “would I be doing this?” You’ve pulled away the covers, and now your tuck your fingertips under the elastic band of his underwear. “None of you have ever made me do anything I didn’t want to. And right now, Taeyong, I just want to help you relax and cum.”

He opens his mouth as if to say something, but what it is you don’t find out. His words cut off with a gasp as you stroke your fingers over the bulge in the front of his underwear and drop a kiss to his stomach. His phone falls to the side as you kiss lower, as you draw his underwear down to reveal his tip.

The salty taste of his precum stains your tongue, and the sweet sounds he make fill your ears. You kiss the pretty pink head before parting your lips and taking Taeyong into your mouth.

“Fuck,” Taeyong groans. His hands fall to your hair, fingers pulling your hair gently back from your face, lacing through it to hold the hair back. You take him further, taking it slow, and Taeyong just strokes your hair, making such beautiful sounds when you swallow around him, when you start bobbing your head.

You suck him off with dedication and attention, forgetting everything but Taeyong’s cock. It feels nice, at the end of this long day, to just let your mind go a little numb, and to just suck dumbly on his cock.

So lost are you in it, that you don’t hear the soft knock on the door. You don’t register it until Taeyong’s speaking, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair.

You open your eyes and look up, but you don’t cease sucking. Doyoung stands amused in the doorway, his eyes on you. “Sorry for interrupting. It was nothing, I’ll leave you to it.” And he backs out of the room, but lingers for a moment with his hand on the door handle before he lets it fall shut behind him.

You pull off Taeyong then, pouting a little.

Taeyong reaches forward, rubs his thumb over your bottom lip, smearing some of the spit around. “You’re a mess. But still so pretty. How did I ever get lucky enough to have someone like you in my life?”

You smile and shrug. “Fate, I guess.”

Taeyong returns the smile. “Must be. Come here.”

He touches just underneath your chin with his finger, drawing you closer and closer into a kiss.

It’s a wet, somewhat sloppy kiss. It doesn’t last long before you’re breaking it to move back down to his lap. This time you hold yourself up on your elbows as you take Taeyong down in one push. Your nose dips into the hair around the base of his cock, and you swallow, trying your best to not choke around him.

When Taeyong touches you, just a hand light on the back of your neck, it’s not to guide you, just a reassuring touch for both of you, a way for you to be able to tell when he’s getting close based on the way that his fingers exert pressure there.

You jerk your fingers up to meet your lips, and Taeyong moans, biting at his lip in an effort to keep a little more quiet. But you want to hear him, so you slow down and lift your gaze to meet his heavily-lidded one. He gets the message, releasing his bottom lip, letting free his moans and swears.

“Fuck, baby.” He groans, and his hips jolt up into your mouth. “I want to cum. D’you want me to cum in your mouth, pretty girl?”

In answer, you open your mouth, holding out your tongue, and that’s what does it for him. Taeyong cums in stripes, and you manage to catch most of it on your tongue, tapping his tip against your bottom lip, and then just sucking once more at his tip just for good measure. He shivers then, sensitive, and you sit up and swallow for him.

You show off your tongue to him afterwards, and Taeyong’s hand, still placed on the back of your neck, tugs a little. You sink down beside him again, back to the position you were in earlier before you noticed his boner. Except now, you kiss him.

Instantly, Taeyong reaches for you, his hand trying to slide between your thighs.

“No.” You break the kiss, shaking your head. Taeyong’s hand pulls back just as quick as he’d started trying to touch you. He looks confused, so you explain, “I’m good. Really, Tae. I just want to relax. Today at work sucked. And I’ve missed you all.”

Taeyong pats your hair, and you lower your head once more to his shoulder. “Want to tell me about it?”

So you do just that. Taeyong listens patiently as you vent about your day, and then about the past few days. He listens until you drift off to sleep, and then he follows after.

You’re not really sure how much later it is when you wake, but it’s still nighttime. The room is completely dark. You can hear at least one of the other three Taeyong shares this room with is in the room, snoring. Taeyong’s rolled away from you in his sleep, now on his side facing away from you, which is fortunate so you don’t have to untangle yourself from him when you crawl out of bed to go get a drink.

The house is mostly quiet, although there is the faintest buzz of activity somewhere, but you can’t tell from what room or which floor even that it’s coming from. The living room is quiet although there are several boys asleep on the sofa’s, the TV is frozen on Netflix’s menu screen, the light filling the whole room, and revealing, as you step toward the kitchen, that you’re certainly not the only person in the house awake.

Kun’s standing there in the kitchen with his back to you, a hood pulled up, and big headphones on as he stirs his tea. You wouldn’t necessarily know it was him if it wasn’t for his humming.

You slide up behind him, slip your arms around his sides, and reach up to tug on his hoodie strings. He jumps and swears, and then starts whining in Chinese, and he pouts adorably as you extract yourself from around him. He turns to face you at last.

“What are you still doing up?” He asks, lifting the cup of tea to his lips.

“I just woke up again. I was with Taeyong, but I woke up thirsty. Why are you still up?” You skirt around him to grab a glass from the cabinet, and you fill it with water.

Kun looks so soft right then when you glance sideways at him. All soft in his overlarge hoodie and flannel sleep pants, wreathed in a halo of steam from his hot tea and the dim light coming from the living room. His face glows with some energy that you can’t identify, and his cheeks are a little rounder at the moment, and you hope he keeps the weight there, because you love it.

“I was working on something.” Kun sits his cup down between you. “Composing. But Lucas just came home with Hendery from God knows where. Why they can’t go be noisy in some other room, I don’t know. So I came down here for a break. Do you want to hear it?”

He pulls off his headphones, offering them to you.

You sip at your water as you wait for him to start playing his composition. It starts slowly, quietly, but quickly it mounts into a harmonious melody with so many different parts all revolving around this base that weaves constantly throughout the song. All of the other parts complement it perfectly, coming and going. You think it’s over as the music begins to fade, but when you reach up to remove the headphones, Kun reaches up to still your hands.

The music swells again, first one instrument returning and then another and another. It’s beautiful, and as you look into Kun’s eyes while listening, you can see the creative energy alive in his eyes, the story playing behind his eyes, and you think you get it. This composition, what it means to him.

All too soon, the music ends. Cut off suddenly, but it doesn’t sound like an end, just the point to which Kun has managed to reach.

His hands fall away from yours, and he smiles as he drinks in the expression on your face. You slip the headphones down around your neck, and Kun looks away at last, almost as if shy about what you might now say. So he reaches for his cup of tea and attempts to drown himself in it. As if that will keep you from attempting to articulate your thoughts on the composition.

“Kun, what the fuck?” Your voice is light, filled with awe, and you clasp one of his hands between both of yours.

He raises an eyebrow, drinking slowly from the cup.

“Kun, I don’t even know what to say. That was beautiful!” You bring his hand between yours up to your lips, and you kiss his fingers in a way that makes him laugh. “The talent! Seriously, Qian Kun, you’re my favorite composer. Beethoven, who? Blessed hands by the gods of music!” You give his fingers a few more kisses.

“Stop!” He laughs, but he doesn’t try to pull his hand away. He just smiles goofily at you dropping kisses over his hand. “And if you think my hands deserve kisses for creating it, then what should I give you for being the inspiration?”

He frees his hand from yours, and then suddenly he’s cupping your face between both of his hands, and he kisses you on the mouth. You stumble back, caught by surprise, and the edge of the countertop digs into your back.

Kun kisses you softly, short pecks to your lips, and softer praises are spoken between each kiss, until at last he says, “You’re my muse.”

And then he steps back, leaving you feeling chilly. You reach quickly for him before he can move too far away. You loop your hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, hook your ankles together behind his back, reel Kun back in so quickly that it’s his turn to stumble.

He catches himself with his hands pressed on either side of you to the cabinet just behind you. He laughs.

“You can’t just leave after saying something like that to me.” You say, “Not after kissing me like that either.”

“No?” Kun teases, leaning in again, his lips so devastatingly close but still not close enough. “What should I do then, my muse?”

You hold your breath, waiting for him to make the move.

When he touches you, you can almost hear his composition start playing in your head again. His fingertips light on your cheek, but blazing heat under your skin. The music crescendoes.

You tilt your chin, closing the few notes of space between you.

The kiss grows hotter and hotter, your skin burning beneath your clothes, and Kun seems to read your mind, seeking to remedy that as he reaches for the hem of your top and starts to lift it up.

You jerk your hands where they’re still gripping his hoodie, and you pull back from the kiss. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Kun trails kisses along your jaw. “Finding more inspiration, my muse.”

“We can’t have sex right here,” you whisper, glancing around him toward the living room, all aglow in the light of the Netflix menu screen. From right here you can see possibly Haechan asleep on the sofa. The last thing you want is for any of the boys in there to wake up and see you and Kun. Thus far you’ve managed to keep the sexual aspects of your relationship out of sight of the members that aren’t involved, and you’d like to keep it that way.

“Okay.” Kun kisses your neck. “Come upstairs with me?”

Someone in the living room stirs as you and Kun go by. You’re laughing and clinging to each other, and Kun keeps trying to kiss you even as you climb the stairs. It’s only when you’ve actually reached the room that he shares with Ten and Lucas that you finally let him really kiss you again.

Ten’s asleep in a strange position--one arm thrown over his eyes to block out the thin light of the stringlights they’ve hung up around the room, his legs bent up and one ankle folded over the other knee, but he’s clearly out for the night. Lucas and Hendery appear to have gone over to the other bedroom on this floor.

When Kun tumbles you into his bed, you laugh and squeal in delight, dragging Kun down into a kiss. Hands wander, clothes vanish. Even as you kiss him and thoroughly enjoy everything that’s happening, there’s a small guilty voice in the back of your mind, speaking Taeyong’s name and repeating his offer from just hours ago that you’d turned down.

But that was then. That was before your nap. Before you heard Kun’s composition.

You brush the thought away and fall entirely into these moments with Kun.

When you’re laid bare on his bed, Kun spreads kisses over the length of your body, murmuring praises and repeatedly calling you his muse, and that really and truly gets you so hot. Soon you’re squirming from a combination of his praises and the proximity of his kisses to your pussy.

You feel the traces of his lips burning over your breasts, down your stomach, over your thighs, and a different heat burns between your legs, the need for him there. But Kun resists the temptation of your soft sighs, the lifting of your hips.

He tuts at you, skirts his kisses sideways to your hip to trail back down to your thigh, skipping where you want him most.

“So cruel,” you hiss.

Kun shakes his head and nips lightly at your outer thigh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And then he sits back on his heels and looks down at you, your bare beautiful body under the golden glow of the string lights. “God, we’re really all so lucky to have you, you know?”

You feel a warm flush, different from the heat coursing through the rest of your body, rising to your face. “Taeyong said something similar earlier. Which is crazy, to me. Do you know how long I’ve considered myself to be beyond lucky to have any of you in my life? And the fact that I’ve got all of you? It’s beyond anything that I ever imagined. And all because I got caught in a rainstorm one night and happened to be passing by at the exact moment that Mark came outside, that we happened to run into each other.”

“Fate,” Kun says.

“There’s a million billion moments that led me to be exactly right here.” You find yourself whispering these words, like they’re a secret, but they’re not. “Right here. With you.”

Kun nods, and he moves in closer, he sinks in between your legs, his hips line with yours. “You’re right. You could be with Taeyong still right now. You could be out with Jaehyun, or with Yuta or any of the others. But you’re here. You’re mine for now.”

You drape your arms around his neck. “Your muse.”

The passion that’s been bubbling through your veins since you listened to his song, rises again quick to the surface and takes you over. You crash together.

Kun kisses you ferociously for not nearly long enough, and then he’s pulling away, rolling you onto your belly. His lips close on your throat, his hands wander down your body, fingers tracing burning trails over your sensitive skin. You sigh his name, giggling when he brushes over a ticklish spot on your side. And then he does it again and you shriek and try to roll over, but Kun laughs and presses you flat, his hips dipping against yours, his cock tip prodding at your entrance.

Your laughter dissolves into a moan as you lift your hips to take him in, and Kun presses forward. His hands rest on either side of you, holding himself up as he thrusts slowly into you. You drop your cheek to the sheets, trying to hold in your moans, knowing that most of the rest of the house is trying to sleep.

But the way that Kun’s cock stretches you open, satisfying that burning lust that his music had first inspired inside you, you can’t keep quiet even when your teeth dig in sharply, tearing at the skin of your bottom lip. Soft gasps and a moan still burst out of you.

“Can you keep it down? Some people are trying to sleep, you perverts!” A pillow sails from Ten’s side of the room.

It lands harmlessly, flopping onto the floor beside the bed, but you do try to clamp your mouth shut.

“You can come join.” Kun says the words without even sparing a glance for Ten, who’s now awake. You, however, catch Ten’s eye. He does watch the pair of you, the way that Kun’s body moves above yours, his gaze roving hungrily down to your bottom. He props himself up on one elbow, resting his head on his hand, his other hand rests on his stomach, but he makes no move to come join in.

Feeling his gaze on you sparks something new.

You push up a bit, and Kun presses his hand between your shoulders, pinning you down as he rolls his hips forward. You twist, knocking his hand away. Kun backs off, but you don’t let him go far.

Putting a hand to his shoulder, you guide him around, get him beneath you, and then you straddle him backwards, both of you facing Ten on his bed. He cocks an eyebrow, but just watches more closely as Kun brings a hand around to your belly, another one up to your breasts. You reach down to hold his cock, and you lower yourself down on him.

Ten licks his lips, watching your pretty pussy envelop Kun’s cock.

“Fuck.” Kun grunts. His lips press against your shoulder. You thrust yourself down in his lap, impaling yourself on his cock again and again.

It makes your knees ache, but everything else is so worth it. The way Kun holds your body, touching you roughly and then softly, pinching your nipples before lightly trailing his fingers down the curves of your body to your hips, the way he holds your hips so tightly that you feel like you might bruise, but then his fingertip is teasing on your clit. You sink back against his chest, rolling your hips down on him, melting into the heat of Kun’s body, his hands, his lips on your neck, Ten’s gaze drinking you in.

Kun’s composition rages in your mind, louder and louder as you get closer. Your eyes flutter shut at some point, but you force them open when Kun moans, when Ten makes a muffled sound.

Ten’s hand is buried down the front of his shorts, jerking himself off, and from the look of it, he’s pretty close already.

“You feel so good, Kun. So big inside me.” You clench around Kun.

In response, he swats his fingers against your clit, which only makes you do it again. “Do you think, right now, Ten wishes he was me or you?” Kun asks the question just loud enough for Ten to hear.

“Maybe I wish I was just myself, wish I was in there with you, Kun.” Ten says with a roll of his eyes as he keeps touching himself, keeps watching as you ride Kun and Kun rubs your clit.

It’s been a while since you last had both Kun and Ten inside you at the same time, and the memory of it swells that tight knot of heat inside your belly. You remember them both spreading you wide around their erections as they made out with each other over your shoulder.

You fuck yourself more desperately down on Kun, and his fingers move faster on your clit.

The warbling moan that leaves your lips now is only muffled when Kun quickly brings his hand up to your lips, the other still busy at your clit.

He’s whispering something in your ear, something that you can’t quite understand over the pounding of your heart as your orgasm begins to pump through you, rising like the tide, and crashing through your veins.

“Kun!” You try to moan, but the sounds get tangled between his fingers. Your eyes roll, your body shuddering with all the pleasure it can take at the moment.

He doesn’t even wait for you to finish.

Kun’s arms completely circle your waist, holding you tightly as he roughly throws you under him, all without pulling out of your tight, sweet pussy. Your face is half-buried in the pillows, your knees are planted on the bed, your hips up in the air, held in his bruising grip as Kun absolutely fucking plows you. There’s no other way to put it. The bed frame creaks and groans, scrapes across the floor.

Your moans and cries of overstimulation are muffled in the sheets, you can feel saliva dripping from your open mouth, soaking the sheets, as another wave of sweet golden heat rushes over you again. Your climax shivers through you, your knees give out, and Kun goes with you. The pulse of your walls around him sends him into his own climax.

His cum is hot inside you, reaching deep inside as he keeps thrusting even afterwards, until he’s gone soft and his body is exhausted. When he pulls out, he just grabs the corner of his sheets to wipe himself off and to try to clean you up a bit as well.

Ten cums with a guttural moan, and he hides his face in his pillow as he goes through the throes of ecstasy. But in the aftermath, he sits up and wrinkles his nose, pulling his sticky fingers from inside his shorts as he walks out of the room to go wash off.

On the other hand, you can’t even consider moving.

“Happy?” Kun asks, slumping back down beside you, spooning you from behind. His lips are on your shoulder again. “If I knew you were going to react like all that, maybe I would’ve shown you that composition a long time ago.”

You smile. “Maybe you just caught me in the exact right mood. But it was beautiful, Kun. I can’t wait to hear the rest of it.”

He settles down comfortably, and you close your eyes, securely wrapped in Kun. He falls asleep before you do; his breathing evening out, his arm going slack against your waist. You hear Ten tiptoe back into the room, pausing only a moment to look down at you and Kun, and then he sinks back into his own bed. Moments later, everything is entirely silent again.

And your mind buzzes, keeping you awake. You’re not sure where this insomnia is coming from. Up until a few weeks ago, you’d been sleeping easily in bed with yours boys, but though you’ve been tiring yourself out with them in the daytime and the nighttime, when it comes to falling asleep you’ve been struggling more lately. Plus you feel like you’ve got heartburn.

You try to power through the uncomfortable feeling. You try to just sleep, but it’s no use.

Again, for the second time tonight, you slip out of one of your boyfriend’s beds. This time it’s truly late and everyone in the house is asleep. There’s not a single sound of a waking person, except the creaking of a floorboard beneath your feet as you climb down the stairs to get that glass of water you wanted earlier, and now you’re thirstier than before.

You drink it slowly as the discomfort of heartburn fades, noticing the way that the sky outside seems already to be turning from darkness to a deep blue. When you climb the stairs again, you keep climbing and you wander along the hallway until you hear a faint whirring sound coming from behind one of the doors.

Mark’s spread out across his bed, arms and legs flung wide, blankets falling off the bed completely. Yuta’s got his back turned toward you, deep asleep and beautiful as ever. The faint whirring sound comes from Doyoung’s humidifier, and as you step closer, he shifts his legs beneath the sheets, dragging them down the bed, revealing--to your astonishment--his entirely nude body. The breadth of his shoulders, the long line of his spine, his little ass, his perfect thighs and calves.

You’ve never known him to sleep naked before, normally one of the more modest boys. And then, a moment later, you make sense of it. His clothes are piled on the floor beside his bed. As are a few wadded up tissues.

When you take another step closer, he stirs a little, lifting his head and blearily squinting at you.

“It’s just me,” you whisper, placing your hand lightly on his back.

He mumbles something and drops his head back to the pillow. You think he’s probably already fallen back asleep, but you know he sleep-talks, so you decide to ask anyway, “Why are you naked? Were you jerking off?”

“You were busy,” Doyoung mumbles softly, his face still pressed into the pillow, his eyes still closed. “Sleep?”

You hum and sink down into the bed with him, pulling the covers back up over both of you, but half-tempted to bite or pat his perky little ass, just to see what he would do. But as you curl up in your third bed for the night, you think maybe this one is just right.

And it must do the trick. A few moments later, you’re out as the sun begins to peek just barely above the horizon.

Taeyong and Kun are both pouting when you come downstairs for breakfast around lunchtime. Both had expected you to be there in their beds when they woke up, but there you were snoozing in Doyoung’s bed even though he had to be up and out early for work.

Taeil lets out a loud, high-pitched laugh when Taeyong starts whining about it within clear earshot of where YangYang and Renjun are sitting.

“Don’t whine, Taeyongie,” Johnny sweeps into the room, dropping a kiss on your cheek. His hair is dripping wet from his shower, and Jaehyun walks into the room behind him, his hair damp, though from the smell coming off him you assume he just got home from the gym.

Jaehyun drapes his arm over your shoulders as he sits down beside you, only moving closer when you squirm and complain about the smell. “Do you wanna shower with me?” He suggests in a low whisper.

“Shower by yourself, Jaehyun.” Taeyong pouts, going so far as to fold his arms over his chest. “She’d probably just hop out halfway through and go shower with Jungwoo or Hendery or someone.”

You don’t go with Jaehyun when you do finally shove him away and insist he go shower off all his stinky sweat. He does however pull you into a long, lingering kiss before he goes, and then throws an obnoxious wink over at Taeyong.

Johnny just pats Taeyong’s shoulder to calm him down.

You have to leave and head in to work for a bit that afternoon, so the next time you see any of your boyfriends ends up being two days later when you meet up with Doyoung for plans that you made. A music festival he wanted to go to with you.

A manager had to tag along which did (as usual) make the experience a little less fun than if it was just the two of you, but you were pleased that soon after you arrived, the manager left to do her own thing, leaving you and Doyoung alone with just the limitation to meet her back at the car by ten minutes after the end of the last set on the main stage.

Also what was a bit annoying was that you were in total public, so you couldn’t be as obvious with Doyoung as you wanted to be. You couldn’t hold his hand. You couldn’t sit right beside him when he put out the picnic blanket. You kept a little distance from him until he finally got annoyed.

“Come here, it doesn’t hurt you to be close to me.” His fingers curl in the belt loops of your pants, and he tugs enough that you scoot an inch or two closer to him. “I don’t care if people look at us and say that we’re dating. If there are any fans around, let them see. Maybe it’ll wake some of them up to reality.”

So you sit close to him. You take pictures of each other. You get a video of him head-bopping along to the song being played. Doyoung takes a photo of you sitting there bathed in the warm pink glow of the sunset, and he declares that you’re absolutely the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You eat from the picnic basket that he packed for this. You enjoy the music and the company of each other.

When you tip your head over onto his shoulder, Doyoung reaches up to brush some of your hair back from your face. His touch lingers.

In the break between sets, when the sound of the crowd swells to fill in the quiet, Doyoung asks you, “Are you happy?”

“Very happy. This is fun, I never would’ve thought of coming here myself, so I’m glad you suggested it.” You flick your gaze up at his face, and notice that he’s already looking down at you with an unmistakably lovestruck expression. “Are you happy, Doyoung?”

He nods, at a loss for words. But you know. He loves you.

As the last set on the main stage draws closer, Doyoung finally has to pull away from you and stand, stretching his arms over his head. He’d been drinking cups of the special wine that they sell at this festival. You’d tried a sip of his earlier, but the taste was off or something, you didn’t like it one bit. But now he needed to go use the toilet, and though you were sure you were perfectly safe staying there on the blanket surrounded by the crowd, you didn’t like the idea really of Doyoung leaving you alone.

“Can I come with you?” You ask, reaching up to tug at his hand.

In the growing darkness of the festival after sunset, no one was paying either of you much attention at all, except that Doyoung’s height was blocking the view of the men sitting on the blankets behind the pair of you.

Doyoung tightens his hand around yours and pulls. “Come on.”

Most of the festival-goers are around the stages, though a few people wander to and from the bathrooms and the vendors selling food and drinks and other things. But when you reach the bathroom, just a small outbuilding with one entrance for the men’s bathroom, another for the women’s, and a single light in between them illuminating the area, there’s no one else around.

“I’ll be right back,” Doyoung promises, squeezing your hand, leaving you under the halo of orange light between the doors.

From far off, you can hear the music blending together. The wind whistles overhead, clouds dotting the dark blue sky with darker bluish gray puffs, and the moon peers out from behind one cloud, lining it in silver.

You shiver a bit, glancing around at how empty this area around the bathrooms is at the moment.

And then something snaps nearby, you glance toward it, see the dark shape of a person, and a sudden jolt of fear spikes through your heart.

Your mind flashes to the scary movies, thriller and suspense films, you’ve watched with Jungwoo and Lucas. Murder mysteries that you’d watched with Taeil. Every horrible thing is suddenly right there in your mind.

You bolt through the door of the men’s restroom before you can think twice.

Doyoung looks up when you tumble through the door, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I got scared.” You admit in a quiet voice, ducking your head to look at your feet. “Sorry.”

A loud bang echoes through the bathroom.

In the moment of time it takes for the sound to fade, you’ve already leapt across the room to Doyoung’s side. It takes you another moment to realize that it was just the sound of the women’s restroom’s door slamming closed.

“Are you alright? You’re really jumpy.” Doyoung finishes up and steps around you to the sink to wash his hands.

You follow him, sticking as close as his shadow, and when the wind shifts and whistles through a gap in the building, creating an ominous howling sound, you step even closer. You clutch at his shirt.

Doyoung coos at you, wraps his arms around you, gathering you to his chest. “Are you scared, sweetheart? You want to go back to the car? I can text our manager noona and have her meet us there.”

Standing as close as you are, you know he can probably feel your heartbeat pounding in your chest. You’re not really sure just what set you off to make you feel so scared. So what if you saw a dark person-shape coming toward you outside? You were standing in front of the public restrooms. It was probably just the woman who’d made the door slam a moment ago.

You shake your head.

“No, I don’t want to end this early. We should go back. Enjoy the last set.” But you don’t let up your death grip on his shirt, and you shiver against him.

Doyoung lifts his hand to your head, strokes your hair soothingly. “You’re cute like this, you know? Needy and clingy. Needing me to keep you safe from the things that go bump in the night.” He kisses the top of your head. “We should go back out there.” And he starts to step away, but you use your hand twisted in his shirt to get him to stay close.

You lean in, puckering your lips just a little.

“Cute,” Doyoung repeats. He gives you a peck. Then another. And on the third one, you want more. He stumbles back against the sink, his hands fallen to your hips, holding you against him. Doyoung opens his mouth to your kiss, succumbing to the lust always shallowly buried under the surface.

“Not here.” Doyoung groans. He backs you toward the toilet stalls, pushing you through the door, and then as Doyoung turns to quickly fasten the door shut, you make quick work of his belt and shove your hand down the front of his pants.

You love the sweet sound of Doyoung swearing as you fit your hand around him, jerking your hand on his half-hard cock, which only grows harder at your attention. You press your lips to his throat, and Doyoung swears again, his fingers moving to undo your pants, trying to push them down your legs.

“Mm, fuck, Doyoung.” You gasp when he gets your pants down just far enough that his hand can go between your thighs, fingers testing your entrance, finding you nice and wet.

You don’t bother pushing his pants down anymore, just unzipping them, pulling his cock out so you can see the nice pink tip and the veins along his length. Doyoung reconnects your lips, crushing his mouth to yours so roughly that his teeth clack against yours, and the pair of you moan.

Doyoung lifts your leg up to his hip, trying to work your pants off, trying to give him access to your pussy, but that’s obviously not going to work. The slight stretch to your jeans doesn’t stretch that far.

With a reluctant groan, Doyoung breaks the kiss.

And sinks to his knees.

With a lazy, blissful smile, you lace your fingers through his hair. “Kim Doyoung, are you about to lick me out in a dirty public restroom? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Oh, hush,” Doyoung murmurs. He pulls your jeans and panties down to your ankles, and you lift one foot free, but the other stays tangled in the fabric, and you’re too distracted to bother trying to free it because at that moment Doyoung’s hands caress your ass, guiding your hips forward to his mouth.

Doyoung gives your pussy long, languid licks. His warm tongue laps at your clit, his soft lips against your sensitive skin. You tug gently at his hair, encouraging him on, and Doyoung knows by now exactly what you like, so he dives in deeper, curling his tongue against your entrance, getting a good taste of you.

You can’t hold still when he gets really into it. Shifting your hips against his face, wanting more, needing more.

“Doyoung, Doyoung, oh, your tongue--” Your words cut off with a moan, a sound which Doyoung echoes, though his is muffled against your pussy. And when you look down you see that his hand is busy between his legs too.

While his tongue is nice, it’s his cock that you crave. You tug sharply at his hair. “Fuck me. Please.”

Doyoung pulls slowly away, continuing to give you small licks and kisses before he finally stands up.

Again he brings your leg up to his hip, and then he brings up the next. You don’t even care that your jeans are dangling from one ankle as you wrap your legs around Doyoung’s hips. Your back is braced against the wall of the toilet stall, and you reach up to curl your fingers over the top edge of the wall.

Doyoung sinks into you, burying his face against your neck, his lips pressed to the softness where your collarbone meets your throat. You squeeze your thighs against his hips, feeling so full and satisfied and good.

He doesn’t hold back.

There’s something so good about being fucked rough against a dirty toilet stall by one of the men you love. Your nails dig into the stall’s wall, which squeals and groans with each of Doyoung’s thrusts, your hips slamming back against it with enough force you know there will probably be a bruise there tomorrow. You kiss roughly as well, swallowing each others moans, tasting the pleasure from each others tongues.

The sound of the stall rattling is so loud that you almost don’t hear the door of the restroom swinging open, until there’s the raucous laughter of a group of men, laughing and talking among themselves.

Doyoung bites your bottom lip gently between his teeth. You try so hard not to make a sound, but he’s not exactly going easy on you. Even with the interruption. He keeps fucking you, your hips banging against the stall wall noisily.

“Dude!” One of the guys outside laughs. You can hear the others laughing too, but you don’t care. You’re too far gone, enjoying yourself too much. Doyoung doesn’t seem to mind too much either.

“Good for you man!” One of them calls.

The moment of slight exhibitionism involving actual strangers seems to affect Doyoung. He thrusts into you at a different angle, moving at a quicker pace. A moan breaks free from your lips and you loose one hand from the top of the stall to clutch at Doyoung’s shoulders, nails digging into his shoulder even through his shirt.

Your orgasm comes quickly.

Doyoung’s mouth moves to your throat, biting and sucking harshly at your skin as your pussy milks his cock, edging him toward his orgasm.

He stumbles back, nearly tripping over his own feet, and he comes down hard on the toilet seat. You loosen your legs from his hips, dropping your feet to the floor to be able to ride him now, both of your hands reaching for Doyoung’s hair as he continues to ravage your throat and your collarbones where the neck of your shirt slips lower.

His arms wrap around your waist, fingers bunching up the material of your shirt, wrinkling it all up. You’re certain you’ll both look like a fucked mess when you emerge from this stall, but for now....

“Shit, told myself we weren’t going to do this.” Doyoung mumbles. “Just a regular date. No sex. But you’re hard to resist, you know that?”

You rake your fingers through his hair, tug on it, and clench around him. “I know. I know that none of you can resist me when I’m here begging you to fuck me, to cum in me. Please, Doyoung.”

He nearly cums on command, holding you down on him as he floods your pussy with his load, filling your belly with heat; his thighs shake.

You sink into him, drop your head to his shoulder as Doyoung hugs you against him tightly.

Distantly you hear the music coming from the main stage. From the sound of it, the festival is drawing to a close, but neither you nor Doyoung move from this position.

When you finally show up back at the van, the manager is standing there nervously checking the time. But when she catches sight of the pair of you--your bruised throat, Doyoung’s messy hair, the rumpled state of both of your outfits--she rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Just get in the van.”

It’s just a few days later when Jaehyun makes you a dish of his mother’s. You’ve not been feeling well the last few days. Things have just been off. You think you caught some sort of flu or something at that festival because you’re feeling queasy and stuff. Plus your tailbone still hurts from banging into the stall wall.

You want to enjoy the recipe that Jaehyun spent time on for you specifically, but as you’re sitting there, your stomach turns, and you excuse yourself.

You seek refuge with Xiaojun. You find Mark is with him, both of them sitting on Xiaojun’s bed with guitars. Mark’s laughing wholeheartedly at something Xiaojun just said when you flop down on the bed, squirming around until you replace the guitar in Xiaojun’s lap with you head.

“Are you okay?” Mark asks, running his fingers over his guitar.

You shrug and pluck at the fraying edge of the rip in Xiaojun’s jeans. “I think I must be sick. I feel weird.”

“Doyoung hyung really fucked you that intensely, huh?” Mark teases. You feel his fingers lightly on your neck, touching the visible marks Doyoung left there. “Maybe you just need us to get your blood flowing again.” He wags his eyebrows suggestively.

Under your head you feel Xiaojun’s thigh tense. He touches your hair, traces a fingertip along your eyebrows, down your nose.

Mark’s touch sweeps down from your throat to your chest. He makes a move to cup and squeeze your tits.

“No, stop.” You swat his hands away. “I’m sorry, but I’m not really in the mood; my boobs hurt and I just feel like I’ve fucked every single one of your twice within the last week.” Which you pretty much have. You were incredibly horny earlier in the week, so you fucked most of them again and again. But now. You can’t even imagine it. “And I love you all, but God give me a break. Sorry.”

Xiaojun’s face softens, and Mark hesitantly reaches out to stroke the back of your hand before he pulls his hand back instead of touching you again.

Mark shakes his head and clears his throat, “Don’t apologize. You don’t need to feel sorry. I’m sorry. You just said you didn’t feel well. I shouldn’t have tried to push anything on you.”

“I just want to sleep for now.”

Xiaojun immediately moves, trying to get into a more comfortable position for him to cuddle with you. He fits against you nicely, all warm and comforting behind you. Mark apologizes again, kisses your forehead, and sinks down onto his side in front of you. Together the three of you take a nice nap.

And a few days later, you face a similar situation with Taeyong when he wakes you up in the big bed, lips on your skin, Taeyong already trying to pull your panties aside. Normally you’d be okay with that. You love when Taeyong or Doyoung (or any of them, but usually it’s those two) wake you up with sex, but once again, today you push him away. Not in the mood.

It’s a full week later when you’re snuggled up in Kun’s lap, straddling him, your head resting on his shoulder while you play with the strings of his hoodie. He’s focusing on his composition. His arms slipped around you so he can work. He’s got his headphones on so you can barely hear the music, but occasionally he’ll hum some of it.

Ten’s nearby on the bed, his arm draped over his eyes as he dozes on and off. Johnny is fully unconscious behind him, the iPad they’d been playing around on lying forgotten on the sheets.

When Kun begins rubbing his hand soothingly up and down your back, you let yourself fully relax against him, your eyes shutting; you could fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat and his humming under your ear.

But then his hand comes down on your bottom, a light slap, but it jolts you upright and back. You stare him in the eye.

Kun grins, his hand staying there cupped on your ass.

You frown.

“What?” Kun tugs his headphones down around his neck.

“I’m not in the mood for that.” You brush his hands off. “I was enjoying relaxing.”

Kun nods, touches his hand to your cheek. “Are you feeling okay?”

You hold back the urge to roll your eyes, pulling back from him. “What? Just because I’m not jumping at the opportunity to have sex means I’m sick?”

You move to climb backwards off his lap, and that’s when you notice Ten now awake on the bed, peering at the two of you curiously. You frown at him too, biting back an acidic, what?

But then Kun takes hold of your hand, thumb stroking over the back of it. “That’s not what I’m saying. You just seem like you’ve been different the past week or so. Are you okay?”

You sink back down onto his lap, still holding Ten’s gaze. “I don’t know. I think it’s just hormones, which is a horrible excuse, but my period’s going to start any day now.”

Ten sits up on the bed and looks at you sharply. “Aren’t you on birth control?”

After you realized that having sex with twelve to fourteen partners was going to be a regular thing, you’d definitely decided that you needed a good birth control plan, and your doctor had put you on a good one. You know that some birth control pills have side effects that mess with your hormones and make you break out or depressed or mess with you in some other way.

“Yeah?” You’re not sure why he’s asking that. You’ve been on the same one for months now. Why would you start reacting differently to it now?

Kun holds your hips, squeezing gently while you look at Ten. Ten who sits up on the edge of the bed and leans forward. “I know we’ve all had busy days and I know I’ve for sure lost track of time, but remind me again, your period is once a month, right?”

Suddenly there’s a tightness in your belly.

“Babe,” Ten says, keeping his voice soft. “I’m pretty sure you’re late. It was about, like, almost maybe two months ago when me and Yuta spent the night at your place. If you haven’t had your period since then....”

A heavy weight sinks through you.

Shit.

Never Enough <- Previous || Next -> Good Thing

#nct #nct smut #wayv smut #wayv #nct fanfic #wayv fanfic #poly smut

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gb-patch · 3 years

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Ask Answers (February 22nd, 2021)

Hello! Here’s another collection of anon ask answers all put together in one big post.

This might be strange considering how upbeat yall are about the fandoms for your games in general, but is there any particular trope or ship you WOULDN'T want us writing/drawing/etc. in relation to your stuff? (IE, any canon you don't want us 'overwriting' or something like that?)

Of course we would want the fan content people make to not be racist, sexist, homophobic, bigoted, harmful, etc. But in terms of generally doing non-canon pairings or adding in headcanons or stuff, we really don’t mind that. People are welcome to have fun and explore their own ideas.

for the 1.2 Android update was it meant to download as a separate app? I really want to keep my previous save files but they don't show up (also thank u for the updates I'm really excited to get back into the game!!)

We had to change the name of the file and unfortunately for some phones that meant it’s treated as a brand new game. I’m sorry your saves didn’t transfer over to the new version. You can try to look up your specific phone and see if there’s a way to access save files for games on your device and then transfer those saves over to the new build manually. It may or may not be possible.

I'm having some trouble figuring out how to get the update from Itichio without losing my save files? Is it the same game or a folder I can put in the properties? Sorry if this question is not worded well or if this isn't the avenue you'd want to take technical questions on

Are you using Android? If so, the above answer may apply to you. If you’re on PC or Mac, the save files will automatically still be included.

Hey. I really loved playing our life. It was a fun experience and I never thought I would like it this much. I do have a question, I am currently replaying the game and I am choosing choices I never chose at first. In step 2 during the road trip arc, I decided to ask Cove about what he liked to see on people. One of his response was anklets and black eyes. My MC have just happens to have black eyes. Do Cove say black eyes cuz my mc have it or it was just a coincidently programmed into the game?

He uses your eye color intentionally! If you changed your eye color he’d change what he said.

Will step 4 have 10 moments like steps 1-3?

Step 4 is only an epilogue. It plays like the openings/endings of the earlier Steps where it’s a bunch of scenes all in a row, there aren’t any individual Moments.

hi! who was/were the artist(s) for our life?

who is the artist for Our Life: Beginning and Always?

Main Sprite and CG Artist: Addrossi

Main Background Artist: Vui Huynh

Main Interface Artist: Winter Slice

Other artists who helped out can be seen in the credits of the game.

In the new ol, there are two main love interests... Would it be possible to pair them together or is that weird?

You can’t stay single and pair them together. If we are going to add all the extra content to have a route where the two LIs get together, it’d be a full poly route where them and the MC were all dating. And that’s not a for sure option yet because it’d add a lot of extra complications. But either way, in OL the relationships all gotta be about the MC, haha.

In OL2, there will be extra LIs in form of DLCs? Like Dexter and Baxter.

Maybe! We’ll see how it goes.

Since Cove will have 2 diff body types in s4, will the storyline and dialogs reflect this? Or all of it will be the same? Btw love the game and sorry for bad english. Hope this doesn't sound rude 😅

Some descriptions and pieces of dialog will change, but it won’t impact the story really. And you don’t need to apologize! It’s all good.

Will you ever release the transparent sprites of the Our Life characters?

Probably not, I’m afraid. They’ve got a lot of pieces and it’d just be kind of hard to deal with, aha.

Something I was curious about, what was your inspiration for making a game with so much customization?

Initially, the idea was just about having a romance where you actually grew up with the LI. But it was pretty stressful to try deciding how fast the relationship would progress with it taking place over such a long period of time and with no real storyline carrying it. People might not wanna play a game where the characters don’t get along as kids, but other people might not bother with a game where kids immediately liked each other. So the obvious answer came, just let the player pick themselves how it goes. From there we simply continued to add more flexibly with the MC due to the same thought process of wanting to make sure people were onboard with how their life was going.

What made you decide to change the artstyle for ol 2 so much? I of course respect all your decisions and will buy the shit out of everything related to ol 2, but i love the original style and i m honestly not a fan of the styles shown on patreon, despite me liking the painterly style in general. (I don t mind the style being changed, just that the examples shown so far all feel like there s something wrong with them.)

We’ve always used different art styles for each of our projects. They all have distinct looks from each other. It’s just nice to do something new. I’m glad you really like how the first game looks, though. And those samples were only general concepts, rather than the exact options being decided between. We wanted to see reactions to different options. The art style we’re going with won’t be exactly like those, though I personally like all of them. I think players are gonna enjoy the style Our Life: Now & Forever when it’s revealed.

Hey! Is it ok to ask what gender ourlife2 protagonist will be and if we'll be given the same opportunity to customize an MC? Totally understand if you're keeping this under wraps for now if u don't wanna say!

OL2 will have the same type of MC customization as OL1, but even more refined! So their gender will be up to you.

Hi! I happened upon Our Life on Steam by pure chance. It is such a great game, I am super excited about the DLC, and I just want you all to know that you are awesome! :D I have a question, and I'm sorry if it's been asked before. Do you have plans of making more games similar to Our Life, with customizable player character? The customizable player character was probably the one thing I personally have been desperate for in romance VNs. So glad there finally is one and would love to see more.

Thank you! And yep, we do have plans for more games like Our Life, most notably is another game in the franchise- Our Life: Now & Forever. We’ll also likely have other, non-OL, games with customizable MCs, though we may still have some games with set MCs in the future as well.

On the patreon dlc just curious but is it possible to play it without actually sleeping together/getting the nsfw content? I just want to spend more time with Cove

Yeah, you can still choose not to go that far. Though the event is shorter if you pass on the 18+ stuff.

At the beginning of Step 2, did Cove end up accidentally falling asleep in your bed? Or did he fall asleep on the floor?

He fell asleep sitting on the floor with his body/head leaning against the side of the bed.

This may seem like a weird question, but what exactly is the difference between "direct" and "relaxed" on the comfort scale?

Direct is blunter and more teasing, relaxed is lighthearted and goes with the flow.

can the MC have tattoos in step 3?

Not in Step 3, but you can in Step 4.

how would Cove react if he visited somewhere like North Carolina in winter where it can get in the 20s(F) at night sometimes?

He would be shocked and unprepared for what serious coldness is really like, haha. The poor beach baby would wanna go home.

Hello! I just joined the PATREON!! It’s amazing! I love your games! I have a question, approximately how much after will the nsfw be out? After or before the dlc 3 and step four? Sorry my English isn’t the best!❤️❤️❤️

Thanks so much! The NSFW DLC will be out after the Step 3 DLC but before Step 4. And you don’t need to apologize for that ^^.

This might be obvious but, will step 4 have dlcs? Also, where will the nsfw dlc happen? Won't bother me at all if it s in in our or his house but i do think it d be moderately funny

Step 4 will have the Cove Wedding DLC and the Derek and Baxter romance DLCs each add a lot of new content to Step 4, though they’re also partially set in Step 2 and Step 3 respectively. The NSFW DLC happens in Cove’s room.

I keep wondering what would've happened if Mr. Holden met Lizzie first instead of the MC. I can't see that turning out well somehow lol.

It wouldn’t have made a difference. He met the MC’s parents first and they told him about their two kids. He wanted the MC specifically to be Cove’s friend because the two were the same age.

Even though we have a way to go I'm really excited for OL 2! I was curious though, is the next main character going to be adopted again? I thought it was really clever to make the first main character adopted so when players are customizing, they can make them look how ever they like without worrying about pesky genetics. Just wondering!

The OL2 MC is not adopted. We wanted to go for a new dynamic. Instead their parents are their biological single mother who is partially customizable and an off-screen sperm donor father. So the mom will look generally like the MC and any other traits not from her can be assumed to come from whoever the father was.

—– —– —–

Thank you so much for all the asks ^^

FAQ If you prefer to just see the main posts without all the asks/reblogs, feel free to follow our side account instead: GB Patch Updates Blog

#our life #Our Life Beginnings & Always #ourlifeba #ask #gb patch #gb patch games #Our Life: Now & Forever

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hrina · 4 years

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In The Ring, Pt. II - Cross

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 7k REQUESTED: highly lol!

hi again! here’s PART 2 of boxer!harry :) thank u all for such a wonderful response on the first part, i can’t explain how much it means to me. i worked really hard on this chapter, so i hope u guys love it! if u do, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated, and i’ll probably ask for ur hand in marriage in return.

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

u can find the rest of this series on my masterlist, which is linked in my bio! my inbox is also there if you wanna spare a few thoughts about this part. love u guys sm, stay safe out there 💛💛💛

~*~

January 19, 2021

It’s ten at night, and you’re curled up in bed, scrolling through social media. You should be doing the assigned readings for your anatomy class, but you’re procrastinating. Besides, watching video after video of cute kittens peeking their furry little heads out of cardboard boxes is a much better way to pass the time.

Your relaxation period is interrupted when a notification banner descends from the top of your screen. It’s an unknown number, but the content of the message makes your eyes widen in surprise.

Hi. It’s Harry. I’m at the gym.

You tap on the text immediately, waiting with bated breath as you’re taken to a different app. You chew on your bottom lip for a moment, thumbs hovering over the screen before they begin to type.

Hey! I’ll be there in twenty minutes.

Harry’s reply is short, concise, to-the-point—just like him. Oddly enough, it makes you smile.

Okay. See you soon.

~*~

The first thing that Harry notices when you walk through the door is that you’re slightly out of breath. He’s standing in the middle of the ring, his eyes fixated on the opposite side of the room as you enter. Your hair is tied up in a high ponytail, and you’re wearing a pair of leggings and a tank top under your jacket. Your sneakers squeak against the floor as you stride over to him, fingers wiggling in a friendly wave.

“Hi!” you call out, shooting him a kind smile.

Harry leans against the ropes circling the ring, careful not to put too much of his weight on the barriers lest he flip over and fall to the floor. It’s happened once or twice, and each time, he ended up with a bruised tailbone afterward.

“Hi,” he replies.

You shrug your coat from your shoulders as you draw nearer. “How are you?” you ask, peering up at him curiously.

“Good, thanks,” he says. His fingers toy absentmindedly with the silver cross pendant dangling from his neck. “Er…did you run here?”

“What? Oh, no,” you answer with a breathless laugh. “I drove. But I was hurrying—I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

You’re so fucking sweet. He’s going to throw up.

“It’s alright.” He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

“Still,” you say, tightening your ponytail with both hands. “You’re going out of your way to do this for me. And while we’re on the subject of that—thank you, again. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Harry says. He slips between the ropes and hops down from the platform. “Shall we start?”

“We shall,” you agree, biting back a teasing smile. “Am I going up against you?”

Despite himself, Harry chuckles. He shakes his head. “Not yet. First, you need to learn the basics.”

“Basics,” you echo, nodding once. “Right.”

He leads you over to the side of the ring, where a pair of punching bags have been strung up near the wall. The arrangement is nothing special—twin leather bags, one brown and one black, filled with sand and stitched together with strong, coarse thread. Reflexively, you reach out, running your fingertips along the black bag and giving it a gentle push. It swings outward before returning back to you. Harry watches you closely, examining the gentle crease between your brows and the slight glaze that smooths over your pupils. He clears his throat quietly, and you seem to snap out of your trance.

“Do you know how to punch?” he asks.

You purse your lips, looking unsure of yourself. “Um…I think so.”

He nods. “Show me, then.”

The blow that you deliver to the bag is weak at best. Harry immediately notices a handful of things that you’re doing wrong. When you pull your arm back and peer up at him, he’s trying his hardest to hold back a smirk.

“What?” You frown.

“Nothing.” He snickers softly, shaking his head again. “It’s just…that was cute.”

“‘Cute’?” you parrot, narrowing your eyes. You scoff good-naturedly, stepping back and holding your arm out in invitation. “You do it, then.”

Harry’s lips twitch. “Gladly.”

The chain hanging from the ceiling rattles when his fist makes contact with the leather. The punching bag itself swings forward in an extraordinary arc before hurtling back in your direction. You gasp when Harry stops it with his palms. He grunts quietly, stilling it before turning around to face you. There’s a small smile playing on his lips, and he’s sure that his eyes are gleaming with a smug sparkle. You just cross your arms over your chest, gazing at him evenly with your chin held high.

“Fine,” you say. “Tell me what to do.”

Harry gets you situated back in front of the bag, standing beside you and studying your posture.

“First of all,” he starts, “you need to make sure that the position of your feet matches the position of your arms.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, shooting him a confused pout.

“Like this—,” Harry reaches for your shoulders before pausing, his fingers only inches away from your skin. “Er,” he clears his throat, fixing you with inquisitive eyes, “is it alright if I touch you?”

You nod wordlessly. Harry swallows down the lump in his throat as his hands close the distance between your bodies. He slants your torso to the side before reaching for your arms, bending them at the elbow so that your fingers—now curled into loose fists—are suspended in front of your face.

“If you’re angling yourself this way,” Harry starts, mimicking your stance, “you need to make sure that your right foot is leading you. But if you stand in the opposite direction—,” he changes sides, adopting a mirror image of his previous position, “—then it has to be your left foot. Got it?”

“Got it,” you say confidently. That same crease is digging into the space between your eyebrows; Harry aches to reach out and flatten it with the pad of his thumb.

“Also,” he says, delicately wrapping his fingers around your wrists, “when you punch, you can’t drop your other hand. Keep it up at all times—you need to guard your face.”

“Guard my face,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. “Okay, cool.”

You throw an experimental punch at the bag, and Harry doesn’t miss the shadow of pain that flashes across your features. His eyes trail down the length of your arm, lingering on your fist. Before you can deliver another blow, he stops you, catching your knuckles in the calloused valley of his palm and halting your movements.

“Keep your thumb on the outside,” he says, peeling your fingers open and freeing your thumb from beneath them. “You’ll break it, otherwise.”

He curls the digits back up, this time so that your hand is settled in the proper arrangement. He then steps back, jerking his head toward the bag and encouraging you to take another swing. “Try it, now.”

The third blow is better than the past two. You beam up at Harry when a promising smack! echoes through the air. He smiles reassuringly at you, nodding his head and tugging at the collar of his t-shirt. “Good. That’s a start.”

“Put me in, Coach,” you tease, bringing your fists up to your face and bouncing playfully on the balls of your feet. Your eyes shimmer as you peek at him from behind your knuckles. Harry presses his lips together to keep himself composed, but he can’t stop the faint snort that slips out of his nose. You laugh cheerfully, dropping your arms back to your sides.

“Okay, so I know how to punch,” you say. “What’s next?”

“There’s four main punches in boxing,” Harry replies. He steadies himself in front of the bag, his left foot extended to provide balance.

“The jab—”

He punches with his left fist, pointed and forceful.

“—the cross—”

He strikes with his right hand, driving the weight of his body into the blow.

“—the hook—”

He curves his arm, angling it accordingly so that he can deliver a hit to the side of the bag.

“—and finally, the uppercut.”

He bends his elbow, scooping upward so that his fist makes contact with the bottom half of the bag. The sand inside shifts audibly as it rattles around, looping in every direction and gathering momentum. Harry turns back to you as it continues to swing in circles, cracking his knuckles loudly and seeking you out.

Your eyes are wide. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you look a bit…enthralled. His brow furrows in confusion.

“You alright?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, and he’s taken aback by the breathless quality of your voice. You clear your throat quickly, scratching at your hairline and looking away. “You’re just very…dedicated. That’s all.”

“I’ve got to be,” Harry hums. He turns back to the punching bag and ceases its movements. “This is how I make a living.” His lips quirk up with the hint of a smile. “We can’t all go to medical school and become doctors.”

A weak laugh tumbles from your mouth. “I haven’t even gotten in yet,” you say from behind him.

“But you will,” he murmurs, the reply slipping out before he can weigh it on his tongue. “Without a doubt.”

He pauses when the words finally sink in, his shoulders stiffening and his eyes stamping shut. If you weren’t standing so close, he would have leaned forward and crushed his forehead into the rough leather of the punching bag. His lips mould around unspoken curses as a heavy silence descends upon the two of you.

At last, you finally choke out, “I—thank you, Harry. That’s really nice of you to say.”

“No problem,” he grunts. He steps back, spinning on his heel but refusing to meet your gaze. You’re probably looking at him like that—with soft, glimmering irises and earnestness woven through every cell in your body. If your eyes lock, he knows that he’ll be overrun with the urge to kiss you.

And he knows that if that happens, he might not be able to hold himself back.

“What time do you have to be home?” Harry asks, subtly trying to change the topic.

You lift one eyebrow challengingly, like you know exactly what he’s doing. Still, though, you humour him.

“I told my dad I was going to a friend’s house,” you say, shrugging lightly. “We have time, don’t worry.” You smile as a thought crosses your mind. “Just make sure you don’t get me too sweaty by the end of the night, okay? I can’t go home looking like I’ve just run a marathon.”

Harry’s cock twitches in his shorts at the thought of rendering you sticky and speechless. Of watching you walk away from him with wobbly knees and messy hair. Of dropping you off at home and nibbling on your neck one last time for good measure. He quickly shoos the temptations away, clearing his throat and nodding in accord.

“Minimal sweating,” he concedes. “I’ll try my best.”

Deep down, he knows that you’ll most likely be drenched with perspiration once he’s through with you. You’ll figure that out soon enough, though.

Harry makes his way over to the ring, snatching up a pair of gloves lying on the platform. He turns back around, tossing them to you and fighting a smile when you yelp in surprise. With an awkward flail, you manage to catch them in your arms. You shoot him a questioning look, lifting your eyebrows and waiting for an explanation.

“Put those on,” he orders, clapping his hands together once. “We’re gonna try to perfect your stance, tonight.”

“Why do I need to wear them, then?” you ask, gazing down blankly at the gloves nestled against your chest.

“You don’t need to, I suppose,” Harry says, shrugging. “But your knuckles will probably be destroyed by the end of the night.”

“Oh.” You make a face, wrinkling your nose up in distaste. “Okay, yeah—I’ll use them.”

He smirks, folding his arms over his chest. “We want to be careful, don’t we? Those are the steady hands of a future surgeon.”

You scoff, laughing gently at his quip. “Hopefully,” you say, a sweet smile playing on your lips. “Let’s just pray that I get the right grades.”

You will, Harry thinks, but this time, he bites his tongue to keep the sentiment contained. You’re smart, and you’re beautiful, and you’re kind. You’re perfect. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to kiss you. I want to fuck you. I want to sleep next to you at night and prepare you breakfast in the morning. I want to make you laugh. I want to make you smile. I want to—

“Harry?”

He blinks. “Yeah?”

You fix him with a benevolent look. “Zoning out on me?”

“No.” He shakes his head, approaching you as you struggle to tug on one of the boxing gloves. His eyes fall to your hands and he reaches out, halting your movements with a gentle, “Let me.”

You peek up at him shyly as he guides your fingers into the glove. He keeps his gaze trained downward, avoiding your eyes. One of his rough palms grasps your elbow as he tugs the Velcro strip tight around your wrist. Once he’s done the same with the other one, he releases you and steps back.

“Thank you,” you say softly. He just nods in response.

“Make sure your feet are shoulder-width apart,” he says, and you spread your legs according to his command.

For a brief moment, the image of you separating your thighs to accommodate his hips flashes through his mind, but he squeezes his eyes shut and wills it away.

The rest of the night is painful—his cock grows stiffer and stiffer by the hour, spurred on by each sweet smile that you send his way. By the time you’re through with the session and bidding him goodnight as he locks up, he’s half-hard beneath his black shorts. He hopes that you don’t notice.

You shoot him a cheerful wave and drive away, and he watches before toddling over to his own vehicle. As soon as he slides into the driver’s seat, he releases a heavy, guttural groan, slouching forward and pressing his forehead to the crest of the steering wheel. Blindly, he sticks his key into the ignition and turns it, and the truck rumbles to life. A quick glance at the dashboard reveals that it’s well past midnight. Only then does he realise the extent of his exhaustion.

He backs out of the parking lot, pulling onto the main street and training his eyes on the road ahead. If he squints, he can still make out the red taillights of your car.

The journey back to his apartment passes in no time. Harry climbs sluggishly up four flights of stairs, tumbling into his home and pressing the door shut with one hand. He drags his feet down the hall and past the threshold of his bedroom, pausing only to rip his t-shirt from his torso before collapsing onto his mattress. Obscure silhouettes dance across his eyelids as they drift shut.

The last thing on his mind before sleep overtakes him is the gentle slope of your smile.

February 21, 2021

One month and a handful of late-night sessions later, Harry finds himself inundated with guilt. He’s constantly plagued by memories of your virtual conversations—short, brief little interactions consisting primarily of him letting you know that he’s free to train that evening. Your responses, ripe with exclamation marks and prattles of gratitude. You’ve taken up the habit of texting him after each lesson, too, composing a quick thank-you message before shutting your phone for the night.

And Harry regrets everything—agreeing to teach you how to box, letting you know when he’s available to meet, encouraging you as your technique progresses. On several occasions, he’s considered breaking things off, telling you that he’s too busy, that you should be focussing exclusively on school instead of on how to throw a right hook.

But then you look at him like that. With bright, trusting eyes and open features and that easy, dazzling smile. And the wall that he’s been trying so hard to build back up—not that it was particularly robust to begin with—comes crashing down.

His match is set to start in fifteen minutes, and you’re not here. You have a midterm tomorrow—your father had mentioned it in passing. You’ve been holed up in your room all weekend, he said, permanently absorbed in the pages of your textbook.

And Harry’s nervous, because you’re his lucky charm. What the fuck is he supposed to do, now?

The minutes seem to fly by—before he knows it, he’s stepping out into the ring with the crowd’s thundering screams echoing in his ears. His opponent isn’t the biggest man he’s ever gone up against, but he’s definitely not scrawny. Harry’s maybe two inches shorter than him—under normal circumstances, the height difference wouldn’t have fazed him. But he’s already on edge due to your absence, so even the smallest observations are proving to be exceedingly disconcerting.

Looking back, he supposes that he should’ve known.

Doomed from the start, destined to fail—whatever you want to call it.

Point being, he loses. Horrendously.

And he’s not quite sure when they bring the stretcher out and peel him off of the floor of the ring, but he knows that it’s sometime after the second round. He blinks rapidly, fading in and out of consciousness as moisture trickles down the side of his face. Somewhere beneath the wooziness, he’s well aware that the match is over. Your father is standing over him, walking at a brisk pace to keep up with the two men carrying him out of the arena.

“What do you mean, he called in sick?” your father spits, his eyes alight with anger. “You couldn’t find anybody else?”

The man behind Harry’s head says something that he can’t quite discern. His response makes your father grit his teeth and pinch the bridge of his nose. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, punching in a number and bringing the device up to his ear.

A few moments later, his expression lights up, relief flooding his features. “Gioia? Yeah, hi…”

Harry’s vision fades to black.

~*~

“…going to have some strong words with the bastard that did this—”

“Gioia, please. That’s how the sport works.”

An outraged scoff. “Who the hell kicks a man while he’s down?”

No reply.

Harry drifts off once more.

~*~

When his eyelids flutter open, it takes a moment for him to regain his bearings. Through the blurriness of his vision, he sees a dim light hanging from the ceiling, bathing his surroundings in a pale white glow. He blinks rapidly, hoping that his sight will sharpen with each flutter of his lashes. There’s a dull pain throbbing against the right side of his torso, battering against his ribcage and pulling an agonized groan from his lips.

The low sound is met with a high gasp. Seconds later, a face is looming over his own. Harry forces himself to concentrate on the person’s features—kind, worried eyes, raised brows, and pretty, parted lips. His heart begins to gallop in his chest.

“Harry,” you breathe. A few gentle fingers card through his hair. The sensation of your nails against his scalp makes him shiver. “How are you feeling?”

“Peachy,” he croaks, his voice hoarse.

Despite the worry swimming around in your irises, you emit a shy laugh.

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask, pulling your hand out of his hair. He nearly whines at the loss.

“Think so,” he mutters. He places his palms flat against the surface beneath him—a bed, perhaps?—and pushes himself onto his elbows. The muted pain in his side flares fiercely, making him choke on his own breath. You reach out for him, setting one hand down on his shoulder while the other wraps delicately around his bicep.

“Easy, easy,” you soothe, tutting disapprovingly. “Be careful.”

“’M always careful,” Harry says.

“Yeah,” you reply sarcastically, nodding your head. “And that’s how you ended up like this, right?”

A short, wheezing laugh punches its way out of his lungs. “Touché.”

Once he’s sitting up, he takes note of the room—well, it’s not really a room. The only thing separating the two of you from whatever lies outside is a thin curtain drawn over what he presumes to be the exit. To his left, a single cabinet with multiple drawers stands only a few feet away. You’re both tucked into a little alcove in the wall, no bigger than a standard bedroom. Harry glances around, his gaze landing on a single plastic chair facing the bed. Everything is set up like a hospital room (but far less comfortable, and severely lacking in terms of medical equipment).

“Where’s Coach?” he asks, creases forming along his forehead.

“He went to go grab us some coffee,” you explain, your eyes scanning his face. “It’s late.”

“How late?”

“Nearly two.”

“Fuck.” His head snaps toward you. “Don’t you have a midterm tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” You chew nervously on your bottom lip. “But it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” he says, gritting his teeth and glaring at you sharply. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You recoil a bit at his harsh tone. “Your stupid medic took a sick day,” you tell him, your voice hard. “And my dad asked me to come in and have a look at you. Who knows where you’d be if I hadn’t shown up.”

Regret washes over him. He slouches back against the bed—it’s more of a cot, really—and blows out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay.” You wave his apology away with a quick flick of your fingers. “Just…be quiet for a second, alright? I need to examine you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mutters under his breath. He doesn’t miss the way your lips twitch as the words sink in.

“Can you move to the edge of the bed?” you ask, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. “I need to see you properly, but I don’t want to make you stand just yet.”

“Sure.”

He shifts his body to the right, slowly dragging his legs off of the cot with a distressed wince. The floor is cold when his feet make contact with the ground, but he pays it no attention. He’s shirtless, clad only in the shorts he’d been wearing when he first stepped into the ring. He purses his lips and feels something stiff realign against his cheek. When he brings his hand up to his face, he finds a cottony piece of fabric taped onto his skin.

“What—?” He looks up at you in confusion.

“It was bleeding pretty badly,” you tell him. “I had to stop it, somehow.”

For the first time that night, he takes you in properly. You’re wearing a baggy t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants—it looks like the type of outfit that one would shrug on if they were in a rush to leave the house. Another pang of guilt jolts through his chest.

“What happened?” Harry croaks, pulling his hand away from his cheek.

“My dad told me that the other guy was wearing a bracelet,” you say; frustration drips from your words. “He didn’t take it off before the match started. It’s not a big cut, but it’s deep. You’ll probably need a few stitches.”

“And you know how to do that?” he asks, watching as you circle around the bed and approach the cabinet on the opposite side. He twists in an attempt to keep his eyes on you, but then grunts lowly at the ache that thrums against his side. When he looks down at his torso, he discovers a large splotch of blue and purple decorating the skin covering his ribs.

“I watched my mom do it back when my dad used to coach Artie,” you say absentmindedly, rifling through a few drawers and collecting the supplies that you need. You pause, your eyes clouding over with something forlorn. “Now that I think about it, that’s probably why I want to go into medicine. I think…it would’ve made her proud.”

“It would’ve,” Harry agrees.

He watches you carefully as you make your way back over to him, afraid of prying or saying the wrong thing. Your mother’s death had hit your family hard; he rarely hears you or your father mention her. But maybe that’s for the best—wounds can’t heal if they’re being ripped open time after time again. He would know.

You dump a handful of materials down onto the bed—disinfectant, cotton swabs, tissues, gauze, a needle, thread, and a pack of medical sutures. Harry swallows heavily.

“Do you mind if I…?” you trail off, pursing your lips timidly. Somehow, he understands exactly what you’re referring to.

“No, not at all,” he says. The words fall from his mouth a bit too quickly.

With no further preamble, he spreads his legs, and you step into the space made available between his knees. You lean to the side, reaching for the disinfectant and cotton swabs on the bed, but then nearly lose your balance in the process. Harry’s hand flies upward reflexively, settling on your hip to keep you steady.

You glance down at him with wide eyes, and he hastily removes his palm from your body. “Sorry,” he mutters, looking away.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, and is it just his imagination, or do you sound a bit…breathless?

“You’ve got a couple of scrapes on your face,” you continue. You clear your throat, uncapping the antiseptic and dipping a cotton swab into the bottle. “This’ll hurt a little.”

“It’s alright—fuck!” he swears, scowling deeply at the sting that blooms across his chin. You chew on your bottom lip, dragging the swab over his injuries with practiced, nimble fingers. His toes curl against the cold, concrete floor.

Once you’ve finished sterilising his minor wounds, you turn your attention to the massive bruise on his torso.

“Can I?” you ask softly, extending your arm but pausing only inches away from his skin.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

He fights back against a shudder when your fingertips ghost over his ribs. You hesitate, applying a bit more pressure and cringing when he groans. “Sorry,” you whisper, making a move to pull away.

“No,” Harry breathes quickly. He catches your hand in his, trapping your palm back against his side. Briefly, he notes the unmistakable softness of your knuckles, so different from his own. “’S okay. Do what you need to do.”

You nod tautly, pressing your fingers against the bruise once more. Harry grinds his teeth together, trying his best to withstand the pain. You prod around for a few seconds, your brow furrowed in concentration. When you don’t appear to find anything worrisome, you sigh in relief and drop your arm so that it rests limply at your side.

“No broken ribs,” you announce quietly. “At least, not as far as I can tell.”

“That’s reassuring,” he jokes.

A weak laugh falls from your mouth. “I haven’t gotten into med school yet, remember?”

He chuckles. Your eyes suddenly darken, and an angry scowl curls along your lips.

“He kicked you while you were knocked out,” you murmur, shaking your head in disbelief. “Fucking asshole.”

Harry’s eyebrows fly upward, his mouth twitching at your vulgar words. You catch sight of his amused expression, but instead of mirroring it, your frown only deepens.

“It’s not funny,” you say. “He fought dirty.”

“This whole setup is illegal, baby,” he says. Neither of you comment on the pet name that slips out of his mouth. He hopes that you view it as part of an expression, and not a proclamation of his affection. “Fighting dirty—they don’t care about that. If anything, it just gives them one hell of a show.”

“Still,” you mutter, gluing your eyes to the discoloured skin covering his ribs. “He shouldn’t have done it.”

Harry smiles softly, reaching out and tucking two fingers beneath your chin. Your lips part in surprise, and he tilts your face up so that he can look at you properly.

“Thank you,” he says, his tone entirely sincere, “for taking care of me.”

Your throat bobs with a hefty swallow—he can feel it against his knuckles. You lift your hand up to his face, and for a moment, he thinks that you mean to stroke his cheek lovingly. But then you scrape your thumb over the bandage covering his cut, and he’s reminded that this doesn’t mean anything.

You’re here to stitch him back up—nothing less, and certainly nothing more.

“I’m not done yet,” you say.

The two of your drop your fingers at the same time. Harry clears his throat, trying to absolve the tension in the air. You seize some of the other supplies still strewn across the bed, laying them out properly before getting to work.

You’re diligent, removing the bandage on his cheek and using a few tissues to mop up the blood that immediately begins to drip downward, rolling over the jut of his jaw. He curses when you pass another cotton swab over his injury, screwing his face up at the smarting prickle of the antiseptic.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur absentmindedly, keeping your eyes trained on the wound. “We definitely don’t want this one to get infected.”

“Yeah,” he grunts, because he can’t exactly nod with your fingers probing around.

“This is going to be the worst part,” you warn, pulling back and opening the pack of stitches.

You unwind a piece of thread from its spool, taking the string between your lips and severing it with your teeth. Harry watches you closely, anxiety frothing in the pit of his stomach. In all of his years spent boxing, he’s only needed stitches once—the procedure hurt like a bitch, especially since there had been no anaesthetic available. He remembers the pain like it was yesterday, and he’s not looking forward to having to endure it again.

When you guide the first stitch through his skin, he balls his hands into tight fists. His lips tuck themselves into a thin line, and an agonized moan bubbles up in his chest. You squeeze your eyes shut for a brief moment; upon reopening, they glisten with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you whisper. Your voice shakes.

“It’s okay,” Harry grits out. His blunt nails dig into his palms. “Keep…keep going.”

“A few more,” you babble; he’s not sure whether you’re trying to comfort him or yourself. “Just a few more.”

It takes you roughly fifteen minutes (you haven’t really had much practice, after all) to sew his wound closed with five stitches. It is by no means the cleanest application, but it’s not bad. You retrieve another cotton swab and dip it into the bottle of disinfectant, running it along the seam of his injury one last time. After that, you finally blow out the stale air that has accumulated in your lungs.

“Thank you,” Harry mutters. “Truly.”

“No problem,” you breathe. You busy yourself with gathering up all of the supplies, cradling them to your chest and making your way around the bed. As you dump everything back into the top drawer of the cabinet, you say, “Harry. Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it,” he hums. He’s nervous about speaking too animatedly, afraid to disrupt the work you’ve just done on his cheek.

“How long have you been boxing?”

He peers at you from over his shoulder, eyes following your movements as you return to his side of the cot and sit down next to him. “Er…,” he pauses, thinking, “…about ten years, now.”

“You started at sixteen?” you say, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

He smiles softly before remembering the sutures sewn into his skin. A beat of silence passes.

“Can I ask you something?” he questions.

You nod. “Of course.”

“Why did you want me to teach you how to box?” he says. You open your mouth—to feed him another lie, surely—but he carries on before you get the chance to speak. “And don’t say it’s because you were just curious, or some bullshit like that. I want the truth.”

“Harry…,” you begin softly, looking at him with pleading eyes. He shakes his head, adamant and unmoved.

“The truth.”

Your shoulders slump in defeat. Instinctively, you reach for your throat, tugging at the rose-gold chain hanging there and fiddling nervously with the pendant nestled between your collarbones. It looks like you’re trying to figure out what to say, how to approach the situation without revealing something that could potentially make it any worse.

“Do you remember that guy I was seeing a few months ago?” you say, your voice small. “James?”

And oh, Harry remembers. He remembers watching the two of you swap spit on top of the bleachers at one of his matches. He remembers imagining James in the place of his opponent, and then making sure to aim all of his punches directly for the face (he won, that night.) He remembers seeing the sparkle in your eyes slowly start to dim the longer you stayed with him. He remembers the aftermath of your breakup, when James had shown up at the gym and screamed at you to come outside, deterred only after Portia threatened to call the police.

He fucking remembers.

“Yeah,” he spits. The affirmation is coated in a thick layer of venom. “What about him?”

His eyes widen a touch when it all clicks, then, like pieces of a puzzle falling perfectly into place.

“What did he do?” he demands immediately, fixing you with a stern glare. “Did he fucking touch you?”

“No!” you exclaim, shaking your head quickly. “No, no, it’s just…I’ve been seeing him around. A lot. And I’m not sure if I’m just being paranoid, maybe, but—,” you inhale deeply, “—it feels like he’s following me.”

Your name slips past Harry’s lips in a hard, firm tenor. When you look up at him warily, he stares straight into your eyes, leaving no room for you to break away.

“You need to tell someone about this,” he says steadfastly. “You need to go to the police.”

“I don’t even know if I’m right,” you tell him. Your mouth curls down into an apprehensive frown. “I don’t want to cause a fuss, especially if it all just turns out to be one big coincidence.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Harry asks. A bitter taste settles on his tongue. “How often has this been happening?”

You tilt your head to the side, lost in thought. “Two days ago,” you finally say, shrugging helplessly. “And…I don’t know. I’ve seen him, like, nine or ten times in total.”

“Ten times,” he hisses, “in a few months? That’s not normal, and you know it.”

“Harry,” you plead, tugging nervously at the hem of your t-shirt. “Please. Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”

“How can you—?” he starts, but then you lurch forward, putting a dainty hand on his thigh.

“Please,” you repeat, shaking your head softly. “Just…keep this between us, okay? The last thing I want is for my dad to find out.”

And maybe it’s the tenderness brewing in your eyes when you meet his gaze. Maybe it’s the wilt in your voice, the feeblest he’s ever heard. Maybe it’s the feeling of your fingers on his leg, burning a hole through his shorts and searing a mark—a brand—into his skin. Harry sighs, looking away from you and running his fingers anxiously through his curly hair.

“You’re bloody stupid, you know that?” he asks, scoffing quietly.

“Yeah,” you reply, the corners of your mouth kinking up into a half-hearted smile. “I know.”

“Got you a latte, gioia—”

The dinky curtain in front of you is pulled back by none other than your father, who is holding a tray of coffee in his right hand. He blinks at the scene laid out before him—you and Harry on the small cot, sitting a bit too close for comfort. Your hand on his thigh. You both jump, breaking away from each other and inhaling sharply. Harry clears his throat as you cough into your elbow, standing up and reaching for one of the drinks nestled in the tray.

“Thank you,” you murmur quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to your father’s cheek.

His eyes bounce between the two of you, forehead wrinkling in curiosity as he asks, “What’d I miss?”

You peer down at Harry from over the rim of your cup, panicked and beseeching. He just shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly; the tattoos inked into his skin ripple with the act. His tone is steady when he meets your father’s gaze.

“I’ve got some bruised ribs and a wicked headache, but aside from that—,” he lies, “—nothing at all.”

~*~

Your father ends up driving him home.

He parks the car just in front of Harry’s apartment complex, watching with worried eyes as he slips out of the passenger door.

“You sure you’ll be alright?” he asks.

Harry just nods, waving away his concerns. “I’m fine, Coach, really. Thanks for the ride.”

Your father nods—still looking a little unsure—before speeding off.

Climbing up four flights of stairs with bruised ribs is hell, Harry soon learns. By the time he reaches his floor, he’s panting and wiping a thin sheen of sweat from his brow. He pulls his keys out of his coat pocket, unlocking the front door and staggering into his apartment. A pained whimper slips out of his mouth as he shrugs the jacket from his shoulders.

He slowly makes his way into the bathroom, cupping his battered side over the material of his t-shirt. The water is cold when he first turns the shower on. He grits his teeth, fiddling with the temperature and meticulously removing his clothes as it warms.

The moment the first droplet hits his skin, he lets out a deep, guttural groan. He hadn’t realised just how tense he was until now. He stands under the spray of the water, tipping his head back and letting it wash away every trace of dirt and grime on his body. His hair grows heavy with moisture, sticking to his scalp and his forehead. He leans against the wall of the shower, inhaling deeply. His eyelids flutter shut, and your smiling face appears amidst the darkness.

Almost subconsciously, his hand finds its way to his cock.

Part of him is disgusted with himself. He shouldn’t be thinking of you. He shouldn’t be thinking of you. He shouldn’t be—

He moans.

In the realm of his perverse imagination, you’re straddling him, your arms looped leisurely around his neck and your whimpers echoing into the cavern of his mouth. Your hips roll against his, unhurried and languid and deep. So fucking deep. Harry reaches down with one hand, squeezing greedily at the curve of your ass, and you whine in response, encouraging him to do it again.

He pumps his length in the shower, panting quietly.

Your fronts are pressed together as you rut into his lap, your nipples brushing against the ebony birds on his chest and your silky walls wrapped around him like a vice. He grunts; you swallow the sound down, your hot, heavy breaths wafting out onto his chin. His fingers dig into your thighs when you steady yourself on your knees, doing your best to bounce up and down on him properly. It’s frantic, it’s uncoordinated, it’s sloppy, but…it’s perfect.

Your nails scrape down his back as the two of you move together, a steady series of push and pull, like water under a bridge. If you’re the moon, then he’s the tides, bending and swirling under your gentle light. Every time you rock forward, he meets you there, your bodies connecting with faint slaps of skin on skin. You gaze at him with hooded eyes, lust simmering beneath your lashes. Electricity tingles across his shoulders.

The noises that you emit are music to his ears. Delicate sighs when he nips at your breasts, earthy groans when he hits that special spot inside of you. And woven between them, imploring pleas, murmurs of right there and oh, yes and so good.

It’s embarrassing, how quickly he finishes.

He stands there, leaning against the tiles with his cock in his hand and his release dripping from his fingertips. He has the decency to feel appalled by his actions, at the very least. If you were aware of what he had just done, he knows for a fact that you would never speak to him again.

He cleans himself up, shampooing his hair and scrubbing down every inch of his body. When he steps out of the shower and shuts the water, a wave of exhaustion washes over him, making him sway on his feet. His lips vibrate with a soft sigh.

His phone chimes from where it’s perched on the bathroom counter. When he taps on it, he finds a message from you.

Feel better soon, it reads. The guilt festering in his chest increases tenfold.

Thank you, he says back, shoving the remorse down. Good luck on your midterm tomorrow.

A moment later, your reply comes through.

Thanks! Goodnight, Harry.

Goodnight, he types. He pauses for a moment, debating over whether he should include a little red heart after the word. But then he shakes his head, rolling his eyes at his own insolence and sending the text without a second thought.

He doesn’t even bother drying himself off before padding across the hall and into his bedroom. He collapses onto his mattress, still covered in tiny droplets that bead along his shoulders and trail downward, wetting the duvet. He doesn’t care. It’ll dry, and so will he.

He falls asleep moments later, the repaired skin of his cheek tingling in the dark.

~*~

PART III: Hook

PART IV: Uppercut

if you’re enjoying this series so far, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #eeeeeee okay here it is!!! i love this part a LOT so i hope u guys do too 💘#harry writing #boxrry

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franeridart · 3 years

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Anon said: i love love love LOVE how you just draw gojo leaning onto getou, hiding his face in getou's neck or back or chest <////3 im just so heartbroken over those two

So glad to hear you like him clingy as much as I do!! TT^TT as far as I’m concerned he wasn’t clingy enough in canon, so I’m fixing it as much as I can with every new doodle haha

Anon said: whenever im sad i just come to your account and look through your art :")) it brings me so much comfort :')) also i gotta mention that the teacher getou art you've made has healed my broken heart bc of jjk and now that is the only canon i accept thank you very much gege akutami has nothing on me

GAH GETO-SENSEI MY ONE AND ONLY I’m happy he makes you as soft as he does me, he’s such a comfort to me ;;;; and thank you for liking my stuff!!!! Means the world to me to hear it ;A; <3

Anon said: I miss your krbk sm 😔 No pressure intended!!!!!! I still love and support u and ur art!!!

Man I miss them too!!!!! @ hori when are you bringing my loves back from the war I’m here waiting good sir!!!

Anon said: v v curious on your thoughts on what’s currently going on in bnha manga :)))

HMMM what are my thoughts on it? Well, let’s split it in two: Deku’s side and Todoroki’s side, because that’s how it’s split in my brain atm, and allow me to start from the second because it’s easier to get through for me

I’m in love with everything Hori is doing with Todoroki and everyone involved with him - that’s to say his whole whole family and Hawks and Jeanist too, all of it, I’m so into it it’s no joke at all. Always been in love with how he handles Enji’s character and his interactions with his family and the latest developments didn’t disappoint me at all, wasn’t very much into Dabi right after the “reveal” but the more I think about it and about the story from his pov the more behind it I am, forever and always head over heels for Shouto’s way of dealing with a situation that’s as complex as one would expect from a protagonist of their very own story you could really make a manga out of the Todoroki’s family plot from Shouto’s pov alone, it’s incredible I can’t state how in love with it all I am enough. And Hawks, don’t make me start on him I’ll straight up never stop, absolutely and most definitely my favorite pro-hero I would trust him with my money and my kids 100/10 just assume I’m constantly crying over him. Also Jeanist is just hilarious so bless him and his presence in an otherwise too heavy story

Deku’s side........ well, the main problems I have with it are that one, I don’t really understant the need to keep ofa a secret from the class for the biggest part of the story when the reveal wasn’t forced upon Deku, didn’t have a huge impact on him or his relationship with the others (his leaving wasn’t directly caused by him coming clean after all, he wouldn’t have had to leave earlier had he not kept it a secret and he would have still left at this point had the class already known all along) and didn’t, like. Matter. All that much. Two, this manga is called my hero academia and I’m genuinely starting to wonder why. What was the point of all the arcs set inside the school anyway? Most of the characters growth (Deku’s especially) and the progression of the main plot happened in the arcs outside of the school anyway, and at this point it’s clear we’re not going back to the school after this or even seeing anyone graduate. What of Shinsou? What was the point of his plot when we’re not even gonna see him being active part of the class in a school environment? I’m just confused about it all, I guess. Three, which is really my biggest problem with it all, is the way Deku’s set on saving Shigaraki. It’s not like I don’t like a story in which all the villains are saved and the good guys win and love prevails and all that, call it corny but they’re exactly my type of stories, but I’m not sure I can get behind it when Twice died like that, and Midnight did as well, and Aizawa lost a leg, and Nighteye died, and Hawks might have lost his wings, and Shirakumo ended up Kurogiri and it’s still unclear whether he can be saved, like... why does Shigaraki get to be saved when so many people suffered like that? And it’s not only about them suffering by his hands, it’s about Hori and how he was ruthless with so many characters but lets the story show arbitrary kindness to Shigaraki alone, it’s all... well. Unfair. The way I see it. At this point I at the very least expect kindness for Touya as well, here.

That said if I pick the chapters one by one by themselves I do enjoy them very much. I just don’t gotta think about the big picture lmao AH but it’s all a personal opinion, of course! I know people who enjoy the way the story is going and I can see where they’re coming from, this is all arbitrary tastes and preferences on my part, I’m aware of it!

Anon said: Hi hi! I finally got into jjk AND finally caught up on the manga and i appreciate your doods soooo much more now!! They’re so great!! But imcurious, is there one specific moment in the story where you Gojo and Geto became IT for you? Just genuinely curious!!

THANK YOU happy to hear you liked jjk!!!! And that’s!!! a great question, I’m not sure I have an answer actually? I binged the manga in a day and a half, you see, and when I binge stuff that fast I rarely stop to overthink things - I did ship them as I read too since, well. They’re in love lmao but I shipped them in the same way I shipped itafushi or yuutoge after I read the prequel, you know? Just a general aknowledging of how good they were together. The main point with satosugu specifically was probably that satoru has been my favorite character since the beginning of the story and suguru got there as well as soon as I read their backstory, so once I was caught up they’re the ones I ended up spending the most time thinking about, both by themselves and together, and that ended up making me a bit obsessed..... just a bit lol

If I had to give one specific moment that got me by the heart and squeezed the hardest it’d be... probably Satoru’s “my soul knows otherwise”. And the way his voice alone could bring Suguru back, even for just a single moment. The thing about satosugu for me!!! one of the many things about them, but the main thing for me, is that they love each other. Be it platonic or however you wanna see it, they love each other. Despite everything and after it all, even if Satoru had to kill Suguru, even if Suguru killed so many and betrayed Satoru and they went their separate ways in the harshest of ways, they love each other. It’s insane, isn’t it? That they’d love each other so much they could pass over everything and anything. I’ve seen the “best friends become enemies” trope so often in shounen manga, but this is the first time I see it treated like this - with love so strong that they never blamed each other or turned that love in hate. The way satosugu do it is all-encompassing! It goes beyond the world and their differences and death itself! So if I had to pick it’d be that one, because that scene happens after it’s all over, and it all went to shit and way beyond too already, and still their souls resonate with each other and answer to each other and that sends me insane, just thinking about it. Like, god, they really still love each other. Satoru’s mourned for Suguru for a year, Suguru’s been dead for a year, they’d been separated ten whole years before then, and still! And still!!! It’s so tender I don’t know how to deal with it

Anon said: “What’s a god to a nonbeliever?”—That tag is going to haunt me for a while. The entire tag section for your latest Gojo and Geto drawing is meta-worthy.

THANK YOU it’d been eating at my brain I had to write it down somewhere why are those two like that

Anon said: Do you take commissions? No pressure! ✨❤️

Not right now!

Anon said: How do you feel about sukuna ? like/dislike or thoughts on him

AMAZING QUESTION I love him. I have absolutely zero clue as of why so don’t ask me to elaborate, I’m literally that marge pic with the potato when it’s about Sukuna, I have no meta thoughts about him nor deep reasonings behind it - by all accounts, I should dislike him! But he shows up and I’m like nghhh king, so that’s where we stand. It’s Sukuna, you know. I just think he’s neat.

Anon said: sighs time to get into another fandom bc i simp too hard for ur art 😔

HAH thank you for the trust I hope you’ll like ror if you do get into it!!! hahaha

#fran answers #oh two of these are Long #.....#long post #in case the readmore doesn't work for whatever reason

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meadow-roses · 3 years

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Okay here's the animation thingy, @the-ascendant-doodler ! This is actually a really bad example because the clip only got worse after I added more frames but I can work with that (I should not, however, work with a headache. Lesson learned here ughy)

Also I wanna say, this is the third time I've done it this way? So I don't really know what I'm doing and I'll probably come up with better methods later. It's for fun and practice and I'd love it if it helped other people too but I'm definitely not claiming to be an expert at all.

Anyways

Get a stack of papers. ✨draw your first frame ✨

Lay the next paper over it and you should be able to see the previous drawing showing through

(I used a window to take the pic cause the camera wasn't picking up the shadow on the table.)

Flip as you go. Let me repeat that. Flip as you go. Look back on the drawings and compare the motion and arcs AS YOU GO. pls this will make your life better. You should do this in digital animation too but it's extra important in paper animation cause it's way harder to pinpoint mistakes when you've got a stack of 20 papers. But anyway. Compare the most recent three panels as you add each element. (Head, arms, legs, etc.) Just double check your arcs are working and you don't have things jittering around.

Once you've got a whole bunch of pics (and you can't locate errors just by flipping anymore) is when I've made the gif to see how good it ACTUALLY looks lol

Take your pics as even as possible, all four corners at right angles. Line up your camera box to one side, and later crop off the excess. One frame should kinda look like this:

Then load the pics into a gif maker (I have one built into the gallery app on my phone) adjust the speed and tada!

Some notes on why that animation is bad so you can learn from my mistakes too. 😂

1) Where's his weight? He looks like he bonks his head then flies away.

Alternatively it looks like the moment he touches the ground again the camera angle switches and he rolls along his back.

When you do a squash and stretch you gotta have that delay so they have weight! So he hits his shoulder on the ground and does a kipp up to his feet. He doesn't do... whatever that is. XD

It'd probably be less confusing if I'd finished the sequence and he made it to his feet, but why continue doing it wrong when you can stop and redo it?

2) His back legs aren't following a consistent arch in his dive. They aren't assisting to his movement making it smoother and more believable, they're just kinda along for the ride lol They also ought to tuck in further when he rolls.

3) the sword has inconsistent size/shape

4) and again cause it really bugs me, the bonking head part? That's not a squash and stretch the poor lad just dove head first and hit his poor little head. The impact should land on his shoulder, not his face. :(

5) not an issue with the animation so much as just something I need to keep in mind, keep the camera on the subject. Like I shoulda kept him in the middle of the page instead of moving him across it. I just forgot to do that. 😅 (partly why I stopped cause I didn't have room for him to flip to his feet haha)

Here's the same gif really slow for y'all

Anyways I hope that helped! I'm going to try redoing the sequence and having him roll, THEN grap the sword and stand up.

#animation #tge #2d animation #pencil animation #picket #traditional #traditional animation

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dreamygeorgenap-archive · 3 years

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With all this talk about george’s potential in the lore, now i’m reeeeaally curious about what the initial plans were when he was crowned king. Can you imagine where the story would’ve gone if he wasn’t dethroned? If george went along with the role play? Like i genuinely wanna know how dream wanted that particular part of the rp to pan out. He’s definitely been supportive of the knight and king fanart on twitter (even after the dethronement i’m pretty sure). Surely as a writer he knows the kind of potential you can draw from that kind of dynamic.

I doubt it, but it’s fun to think about whether dream would’ve been willing to include a dnf arc cos it definitely would’ve brought more interesting implications for dreams character. A god-like character having their weakness in this one special someone? Having to choose between control/power over george? Heck, i could definitely see them unintentionally creating a canon implied dnf scenario along the way just by the way these dumb block men naturally act around each other. The whole little devoted knight act already was the perfect excuse for dream to be as big of a simp as he wanted, where he could just slap on the “it’s just for roleplay 🥰” sticker and get away with it. Do you think if things went according to plan and george didn’t ask to be taken out of the rp, whether dream would’ve tried to bring in dnf? it would kinda make sense to, and it’d definitely bring in a lot of attention. Or would he have eventually shied from it anyway? Anyway i’ll never not be sad about the loss of king!george and knight!dream because they genuinely could’ve made such an interesting arc with it :(

Hi, it’s interesting because Dream clearly loved “the king and his knight” au. He fed into the storyline, liked/retweeted tons of fanart, and was clearly content to simp for George all he wanted under the guise of “I’m his knight!” I would be very interested to know what Dream had planned for “the king and his knight” but at the same time, I’m not sure if George would’ve been king for very long - even if George was into the role-play because I believed Dream when he said that he was dethroning George for his own safety because George was getting attacked and his house burnt because he was king and because he is Dream’s best friend.

Before I say this, I am a dnf shipper so I’m acknowledge that I’m a bit biased but it honestly feels like Dream wanted to make dnf canon in the universe. Because remember around “the king and his knight” time Dream also made it clear that Fundy and Dream’s relationship wasn’t canon in the SMP and I also remember him, again, liking tweets about the king and knight fanart. Plus with just how much the other SMP members “joke” about dnf it really seems like Dream was in the process of making it canon or that just proves that everyone just Knows but yeah, same difference. Idk if they would’ve gone full boyfriends but it definitely seems like Dream and George would’ve had great moments.

And I don’t care what anyone says, character!Dream’s weakness is George. Tommy, Quackity, Ranboo, etc. have all acknowledged that George is Dream’s weakness. Dream said he was dethroning George for his safety and I quote, “With Eret being king, they’re not going to attack him as much because it wouldn’t matter that much to me.” Matter that much to ME. That just proves a) how much Dream loves George b) that it hurts Dream to see George being attacked and c) that George’s safety is a priority for Dream. Dream in that moment made it canon that George is his weakness and I fully believe that if George was willing to roleplay then we would’ve seen a lot more people going after George to get to Dream and that dnf would be canon in the SMP.

And yes, I miss the king and his knight arc so much. Gone, but never forgotten <3

#asks #long post #Anonymous #dnf

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novelconcepts · 3 years

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fic: (how lovely i feel) not to have to pretend

Jamie has never met anyone quite like Dani Clayton--a matter that goes without saying on nearly every level. She’s never met someone quite so selfless, quite so brave, quite so prone to acting on behalf of others without even seeming to realize she’s doing it. More than that, she’s never known anyone else to be quite so self-possessed as Dani Clayton. No one but Dani has quite the same capacity for keeping a firm grasp on how they look to the outside world.

Jamie finds it remarkable even before they become a they at all--watching Dani stride around the manor grounds with her head held high, her shoulders thrown back, her fists clutched tight at her sides as though she is at all times in full control of her physicality. It is most remarkable because it simply isn’t true; almost before she knows the woman’s name, Jamie becomes familiar with the demons she’s holding at bay, the short breath and sharp sob she tries so hard to keep shelved. Dani to the naked eye is a woman clean and pressed and presented. Dani beneath the surface is roiling.

And still, even once Jamie knows there is something else lurking behind blue eyes and pretty smile, it can be hard to forget. Dani is so good at fabricating a version of herself for the world, a version fit for consumption, that she almost doesn’t seem to realize she’s doing it. Her clothes, though meager in number, are always clean and well-matched; her hair, be it tied up or tied back or teased high, is perfect. Dani is every inch the person Wingrave hired her to be: a young woman in control of her own body, a young teacher poised to guide her charges into the light of self-restraint.

And, if she should shudder at shadows--

If she should flinch from mirrors--

If she should, from time to time, catch herself staring at Jamie as though uncertain how they both got here--

Things happen. Things outside of Dani’s agency happen, and they seem to keep happening--death, and darkness, and decisions made by everyone around her--and still, Dani doesn’t bow. Dani’s head is up, Dani’s clothes are clean, Dani’s eyes are clear.

Even after the lake. Even after things go the most wrong anything ever has. Dani’s head is up. Dani’s clothes are clean. Dani’s eyes are...

Jamie sort of expects it all to change, after that. Expects Dani to change, after that. To lower her guard, or to build a wall to the sky, or something to show on a tangible level what she is carrying on her back. But Dani is still, despite it all--though her gaze is distant and her smile is brittle and she forgets from time to time what she’s doing or where she is--Dani. No one is the wiser. No one has the first idea she might not be in total control.

No one except for Jamie. Dani lets Jamie see it all. Dani gives her the darkness, the shuddering terror, the long nights kept awake and the long days made giddy from lack of sleep. Dani gives her laughter, and blank stares, and everything in between. It is, Jamie recognizes, the greatest gift one person could give another: to offer up on the altar of trust the self, the whole self, for good and for ill. Jamie gets to see it all, though no one else has a clue.

Jamie doesn’t take it for granted.

***

This art of Dani, this secret language of reading between the lines, comes in handy on bad days, it’s true. There are times Jamie thinks it is fortunate she is so equipped with comprehension, so well-honed to Dani’s every mood. Early on, especially, it comes in handy more often than she could possibly have predicted.

Still. It isn’t always a matter of doom, with Dani. More often than not, this self-possessed air has nothing whatsoever to do with her beast in the jungle, her rising panic, her terror of looking too far ahead.

More often than not, her self-control reveals itself in a completely different sense.

It begins at the house, on a lovely day that starts with Jamie waking alone, Dani on her skin and all around her in every sense except now. It begins with Jamie pulling her clothes on in a rush, feeling slow and muddled and a little bit drunk with the memory of Dani’s hands trailing like phantoms along her body.

“You’re going?” Dani, in the doorway, a pink jumper and cascading hair and nervous little smile. Jamie, one boot in hand, her jeans still unzipped, feels herself grin too broadly to restrain.

“Thought you’d already gotten to business.”

Dani shakes her head. “I found Flora outside again. She says she’s all right, so I left her with Owen and Hannah in the kitchen. Wanted to make sure--”

She trails off, looking embarrassed. Jamie tips her head and waits.

“Wanted to make sure you didn’t wake up alone,” Dani says at last in a rush, her eyes wide and blue and so happy, Jamie can’t imagine her any other way. “I was afraid if I took too long, you’d--well, you’d leave, and I wouldn’t get a chance to--”

“Wouldn’t go far,” Jamie promises. It’s not a thing she’s ever been able to offer a woman before, not wearing yesterday’s clothes and feeling the gentle ache of last night’s pleasures winding through every muscle. She’s never in her life been able to look a woman in the eye the next morning and say as much, but she says it now. “I...I’d like to stay.”

It’s sunlight, the way Dani smiles, stepping all the way into the room. Her hand lingers on the doorknob, her fingers tapping an idle melody as she looks Jamie over as if searching for some kind of permission. When Jamie lets her boot drop to the floor, it seems to be all Dani is looking for.

They should go downstairs, some distant part of Jamie’s responsible nature grumbles--but the rest of her can’t be bothered. Not with the eager stride of Dani crossing the room, the click of the door coming to rest in its latch as thrilling as the day’s first kiss.

“They’re gonna know,” Jamie says, plucking at the front of her shirt. “That I--that we--”

“Yes,” Dani agrees. She’s standing within reach, rocking on her heels. Jamie, seated on the mattress, feels as though they are on opposite sides of glass, as though Dani in her clean clothes and nervous smile is today while Jamie in her rumpled t-shirt and mussed hair is last night. Dani could still walk away from last night, walk off into today, if she so chooses, and Jamie would be here. Stranded in the memory of Dani’s touch, ghost-light on her skin.

“Do...you wanna...” She extends one hand slowly, as though approaching a skittish animal, and Dani grabs for it like a lifeline. The space between shatters, Dani coming to her with all the graceless glee of taking a breath after too much time underwater.

She expects slow, gradual, even fearful--expects the shine of last night’s fire to have faded to something that might yet burn them both--but Dani’s knees are dimpling the mattress, Dani’s weight firm and steady in Jamie’s lap. Dani’s hands are on her face, as though she might have forgotten overnight what Jamie feels like and can’t stand a minute more without learning each arc and line all over again. Her thumbs sweep across cheekbone, along bridge of nose and arch of brow, her lips barely a breath away.

It’s tempting to close the gap, but Jamie forces herself to wait. Forces herself to mirror Dani’s hands, cradling, testing, exploring with the pads of her fingers in gentle motions. There’s something about this--about posing at the door of something grand, about standing here with toes just over the edge of the entryway, waiting to be invited in--that forms its own kind of gravity. Last night had been waiting for Dani to come to her, in every sense of the word. This moment, this morning, is a suspension.

Control, she thinks for the very first time. Control over time in this one perfect, near-impossible way. Control over space, as they hold just apart from one another, as Dani’s knees dig into the bedspread and Jamie’s thighs flex beneath her. Control in the most self-imposed sense of the word, lips an inch apart.

Dani kisses the corner of her mouth once, lightly. It is, Jamie thinks, a challenge--and one Jamie accepts without pause. The curve of Dani’s cheek is soft against her lips, a temptation all its own. Dani sighs, one hand sliding up the back of Jamie’s neck to rest at the base of her skull.

Another kiss, then, Jamie thinks with shivering anticipation. Just a small brush against the tip of Dani’s nose. Dani, in kind, presses one to her forehead, cradling the back of Jamie’s head, her lips lingering for a full beat. Jamie closes her eyes.

There is seduction in slow and easy, she thinks, and all the more so because it is not intentional. Dani is not trying to be anything at all except a woman who wants Jamie in this moment--a woman who holds to the back of her head, fingers trailing through messy curls, mouth drawing a slow path across forehead and temple, down one cheek and up the other. Each kiss is deliberate, gentle, Dani’s lips parting and sliding as though she could quite happily spend the entire morning doing nothing else.

“Is this...are you...” Dani seems unwilling to stop long enough to let her own thoughts unravel. Her nails scratch softly down Jamie’s neck, one hand coming to lay at the base of Jamie’s throat. “Do you want...”

Jamie is nodding, not much caring where that sentence might end. Want to stay here forever? Want to let Dani burn an entire day exploring her at this leisurely pace, her lips tracing the shell of Jamie’s ear, her breath dragging shivers down Jamie’s spine? Want to keep her hands right here on Dani’s waist, pushing pink cloth aside to rest on the soft skin beneath?

“We should be quick,” Dani breathes, though her kisses do not increase in velocity or pressure. Her hands are trailing down the backs of Jamie’s shoulders, palms sliding over shirt, fingers dragging back up again. Jamie is dimly aware of her own hands flexing, pushing Dani back, pulling Dani forward. Dani, smiling, does not fight her.

“This feels,” Jamie says, her voice still raw from lack of use, “like the opposite of quick.”

It feels, instead, like a promise. As Dani pushes beneath her jaw, easing her head back, laying an open kiss to the top of her throat, she wonders if this isn’t some sacred space they’ve built. A perfect, singular spot where nothing can touch them, no one can intercede, time itself is forced to stand still.

Dani, still kissing her way down even as she’s easing Jamie’s shirt up, hums against her skin. “Want me to speed up?”

“No,” Jamie says before she can stop herself, before she can even begin to interrogate the notion that Dani with this kind of control over herself--this kind of control over both of them--might be the thing she’s been needing for a long time. She feels Dani smile against her, feels the tip of Dani’s tongue flick lightly against her rushing pulse.

“Want me to...” She rises up, brushing her nose against Jamie’s, letting her lips linger in the softest kiss Jamie’s ever been gifted. Jamie is nodding, wild with the memory of how Dani had kissed her last night compared with how carefully Dani is kissing her now. On purpose, she realizes. On purpose, Dani is doing this. Testing every bound available to her. Testing Jamie’s resolve, and her desire, and her control.

Abruptly, Jamie closes a hand around the back of Dani’s head, urging her close, and all the seduction in the world can’t compare with how Dani breathes her in. With how Dani presses her down into the mattress, sitting tall astride her with hands buried in Jamie’s hair. Jamie lets them both fall backward, lets Dani sink into her with a soft moan, and thinks it is good to know Dani has this in her--the desire for slow and easy and calculated--just as it is good to know how quickly that dam can break open. How Dani can swing in a moment from teasing to throwing her whole self into a kiss like this, her hands sweeping down Jamie’s body, searching for the place where her zipper gapes open.

Dani, kissing like Jamie’s the only sustenance a world can offer, slides a hand down her jeans and presses her own hips behind the action. The shift from slow to sudden is immaculate, dizzying, and Jamie feels herself building almost before she can stop herself. She has never in her life been this awake, this present in her own body, as Dani rolls her fingers in tight circles, her quick-study smile hot against Jamie’s lips.

Control, gathered and broken in moments, and Jamie is making desperately muted sounds, turning her face against Dani’s shoulder in an effort to quiet herself, even as Dani is fighting tight denim, letting her fingers quicken their pace, letting her own body chase Jamie’s--

A knock sounds once, a quick rap of knuckles followed by a rather amused, “The children are beginning to worry, and I’m running out of excuses for you both.”

Jamie flinches from the sound, even as her body tries recklessly to follow the melody of Dani’s fingers. Dani freezes, her mouth gone rigid against Jamie’s skin.

“Miss Clayton,” Hannah says in that same too-entertained voice. “Flora in particular is being very persistent.”

“Out in just a sec,” Dani calls back, her voice stunningly level. Jamie raises her eyebrows, opening her mouth to add something, and Dani gives her a smile, gives her a series of hard strokes with confident fingers. Jamie chokes, jerks under her, the unexpected combination of that gesture with Dani’s grin pushing her over the edge.

“I suppose Jamie will be needing a plate,” Hannah goes on, oblivious. Jamie’s hand is over her own mouth, clapped into place just in time for her lips to part around a silent groan. Dani, hand sliding free as though it had never been busy at all, laughs.

“No getting anything past you.”

“Well, it’s hard to deny the reality of the truck out front,” Hannah says wryly. Dani is out of bed, wiping her hand discreetly on the bedspread, straightening her clothes and brushing back her hair in a flurry of distinct motions.

Jamie, shirtless and panting into her own hand as she comes back to earth, gapes at her. Dani reaches down, catches her by the wrist.

“Come on,” she says, cheerful as anything. “Breakfast.”

***

It’s an art form, Dani’s ability to keep together regardless of the situation. A truly mesmerizing art form which Jamie, try as she might, cannot for her life replicate.

“How,” she asks one day, Bly Manor two years behind them. “How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” Dani asks innocently.

Innocently--as though she hadn’t just been pressed against the table, her skirt a mess, her blouse gaping open. As though Jamie hadn’t been holding her there, hands firm on Dani’s thighs, pressing her open. As though it hadn’t been a brief eternity of Dani rocking into her fingers, both arms wrapped tight around Jamie’s shoulders, her voice a low echo against Jamie’s ear as she’d begged Jamie to move faster, to give her more, to bring her to the edge before lunch break could end.

And now, not a minute after Jamie had curled deep and felt her shudder, not a minute after she’d bitten down on Jamie’s shoulder to keep quiet, Dani is buttoned, pressed into place, utterly presentable in every way.

“That,” Jamie says, gesticulating wildly to cover the whole of Dani in a single motion. “How does your hair do that?”

“It’s just hair,” Dani says mildly, smoothing it carefully down with her palms. It stays in place as though never been mussed at all, as if Jamie hadn’t just grabbed a handful and used it to yank Dani into a kiss.

Jamie’s hair, on the other hand, feels like it’s sticking up in twelve places. Her clothes, which hadn’t even been unbuttoned, unzipped, removed in the least, feel in dire need of an ironing. Her mouth feels swollen, her skin flushed, and Dani is still sticky on her fingers.

“You look,” she says dumbly, “like you didn’t just--I mean, you did come, yeah? I didn’t hallucinate that?”

“Hell of a nice hallucination, if so,” Dani says with a laugh, and kisses her one more time--a long, glorious kiss, one of those stop-time kisses Dani seems to come to so naturally. When she steps back, Jamie fumbles for the table, blinking away stars. “Shame there wasn’t enough time to return the favor.”

“I look like you ravaged me six ways to Sunday,” Jamie points out in a faint voice. Dani looks pleased.

“Six ways, huh? Sounds like fun. We should discuss that later.”

Jamie opens her mouth, but Dani is already ducking out of the back room, striding to flip the sign back to open and greet the customers who have gathered on the sidewalk to wait.

“You look ill, dear,” one of the old women tells Jamie, who has staggered to the counter with considerable effort. “Flushed. Not running a fever, I hope.”

“Warm day,” Jamie says, fully aware that it is late November. Dani tips her a grin, a thumbs up, her entire demeanor perfectly arranged. Jamie shakes her head. “Warm. In the back, I mean. Humid. For. Plants.”

The woman gives her a puzzled frown. “Best take care of this one,” she calls to Dani. “She needs someone to look after her, I can tell.”

“Hey--”

“I always do,” Dani assures her, never breaking her smile.

***

Honestly, it’s almost eerie. Dani’s capacity for control seems to have no bounds, no push too far to reel back from. Jamie has actually started to try, curious if there’s a way to turn Dani from neat-and-orderly to flustered in public settings. It becomes something of a personal challenge.

She finds herself pressing up against Dani in the shop after-hours, letting her hands roam around Dani’s ribs, up her breasts, down the front of her blouse. Dani gamely lets her head fall back onto Jamie’s shoulder as deft fingers work open her buttons, allowing herself to rock back as Jamie’s hands knead at the front of her bra, as Jamie’s fingers pinch and stroke.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, if you think we’re ever going to finish inventory.”

“Danger can be good,” Jamie points out, pushing aside Dani’s collar and sucking sharply. The skin is glistening, reddening, her tongue stroking away the tease of her bite, and Dani tips her head to allow better access.

“It’s like you don’t even want to go home.”

“You keep counting,” Jamie suggests. “I’ll keep doing this. Everybody wins.”

“And if someone--” Dani groans as Jamie slides her fingers beneath the cup of her bra. “If someone calls?”

“Well,” Jamie says politely, pressing herself harder against Dani, pinning her to the table. “They’ll just have to wait, won’t they?”

It’s a fine plan, she thinks with self-congratulatory pleasure. A fine plan, letting her free hand wander down to pull at Dani’s belt, feeling Dani slowly unwind the day’s tension into her hands as she leans back, breathes deeply, gasps.

A fine plan, and if the phone should--

It rings, right on cue, and Jamie waits for Dani to push her away. Is certain that this--Dani rolling her hips into Jamie’s waiting fingers, Dani abandoning inventory altogether for Jamie’s considerably more interesting plan--will take precedence over any self-imposed need to look presentable Dani might have.

“Let it go,” she suggests, even as Dani’s hand is drifting. “Let it go and let me--”

“Keep going,” Dani says in a low voice, and then the phone is to her ear, and she is saying, “Good evening, Leafling, Dani Clayton speaking” as though nothing is happening. As though she isn’t leaning her head on Jamie’s shoulder, Jamie kissing her neck as quietly as possible. As though Jamie’s hand is not working magic between her legs, Jamie grinding herself against her back in that way she knows makes Dani’s breath quicken.

Dani’s voice is never anything less than polite as she walks some faceless stranger through the finer elements of a birthday arrangement, though her hips are matching Jamie’s increasing rhythm, her skin flushed pink beneath Jamie’s lips. She turns her head, watching Jamie with dark eyes, tongue pulling her own lip between her teeth as she says, “Yes, yes, that sounds--that sounds beautiful. Would you--”

Jamie grins, pulling her hand free. Dani makes a thin noise of disapproval, easily passed off as a cough over the phone--and then, a startled sound as Jamie grasps her hips and presses her over the table, leaning across her back.

“You could still hang up,” she points out in a bare whisper against Dani’s unoccupied ear, even as she’s pulling Dani’s jeans down. Easing Dani’s legs apart. Pushing her harder down against the table, kissing the back of her neck, slipping a hand between her spread legs from behind.

“Yes,” Dani says, perfectly calmly into the phone, “yes, we do--we do two-for-one deals through the weekend, would you like--”

Jamie laughs. She’s fighting a losing battle, it’s clear; though Dani’s skin hums beneath her hands, Dani slick across her fingers as she tugs down underwear and returns to her efforts, Dani never shows a sign of it in her voice. If she is rocking harder against Jamie’s hand, if she’s gripping the table with white-knuckled desperation right until the end of the call, it does nothing to diminish the easy charm of her additional, “All right! Sounds wonderful, we’ll get that squared away for you by Monday. Have a lovely evening. Yeah. Yes. Bye now.”

She slams the receiver down, bows her head, cries out as Jamie gives a particularly hard thrust in celebration. Jamie is laughing into the back of her shoulder, her wrist aching as she slides free and shakes her head.

“You are unbelievable.”

“I am a professional,” Dani gasps. “And you were doing a really, really good job.”

***

Dani doesn’t give up control in public, not for anything. It isn’t even intentional, Jamie has come to realize. The product of her upbringing, probably; the expectation of too many years, too many people telling her to stand up straight, keep her clothes neat and her smile orderly. Dani is presentation and poise, even in her darkest moments.

Except for this.

Except for being here.

Dani at home is truly at home. In pajamas, in wrinkled t-shirts, her hair a mess, her face devoid of makeup, she is perfectly at ease. Perfectly imperfect. At home, with Jamie, she allows herself to fall apart in every way a woman can.

She laughs more at the apartment, and with greater reckless zeal. Rarely does Jamie hear this breathless tint to her laughter outside; rarely does Jamie see her collapse into herself with giggles, cackling so hard, she nearly knocks herself off the couch.

She cries harder at the apartment, and with no interest in doing so prettily. Rarely does Jamie see her face blotchy and miserable outside; rarely does Jamie hear her gasp and choke and whine as sobs wrack her body.

She dances at home. Dani isn’t much of a dancer, it turns out, but there’s something magnificent about watching her move to the radio as she cleans the kitchen, as she smoke a cigarette and puts dishes away to the tune of Top 40 hits.

She sings, too. Never in public, never where she thinks she can be judged, but at home, Dani is always singing. Her voice is pretty and unrestrained, no training at all as she scrambles for notes Jamie would put her own eye out trying to reach. There is something simple and marvelous about days when Jamie comes home late, a pizza in hand, to hear Dani belting in the shower.

She is at her best when she is free, Jamie thinks. When the control is set aside because she no longer needs it, no matter how good she is at keeping a hand on the wheel.

She is at her best at home, with Jamie, here. With candles lit and dinner ordered in, with Jamie in her finest clothes for the express purpose of offering cheap wine in discount glasses.

“It’s just a day, Jamie,” Dani says, but she’s grinning. Just a day for most people, maybe, but this marks three years of time in America. Three years with Dani’s beast silent and Dani’s love loud. A day, sure, but it means the world when you put it that way.

“It’s silly,” Dani says, though she’s wearing a dress that makes Jamie wonder how she even got into it without help, and her lips are painted as though she isn’t fully aware Jamie will be ruining them as soon as dinner is over.

“It’s nice,” Jamie counters. Dani raises her wine to her lips, nodding.

“It is. Thank you.”

“For what?” Italian food ordered in from the best local place is not, exactly, high-class. Jamie with a dishtowel over one arm, playing at fancy as she tops off Dani’s glass, is not exactly high-class, either.

Jamie in general is not exactly high-class--and she has not for even a second thought that mattered. Not to Dani. Not ever.

“Thank you for...all of it.” Dani gestures to encompass Jamie, the apartment, the world. “For not getting sick of it.”

“Never,” Jamie promises, and pretends she doesn't see the tears in Dani’s eyes as she bends her head to kiss her.

It’s true that Dani thinks she could get tired of it all, that Dani thinks she could at any point be ready to walk away. It will get worse with time, but for now, it’s easy to convince her to step back from the weight of that line of thinking. Easy to take her hands, bring them to Jamie’s lips, walk with her backwards away from the fear of not being good enough. Of not being whole enough. Of letting the polish slip so much that Jamie might one day flinch from what’s waiting beneath.

Jamie doesn’t know how to make it clear how little she cares for the polish and the poise, how little she needs the artifice Dani is so good at putting on for everyone else. Dani, who has made a life out of professional, responsible, put-together. Dani, who needs people to see the woman who does not step back from shadows, who is stronger than she knows.

And still, the best moments are these: Dani with her dress pooling at her feet, stepping out with an almost shy giddiness as she moves into Jamie’s arms. Dani, her cheeks flushed, the pink trailing down her neck, splashed across her chest as she leans back onto the bed. Dani, her makeup smudged, her lipstick stained into Jamie’s skin, her hair utterly unkempt as Jamie slides her hands in and pulls her close.

Dani on her back on the rumpled sheets, her breath coming in quick jabs as Jamie moves between bent knees. Dani, soaked through and crying out, her hips twisting as Jamie coaxes her along, each roll and swipe of her tongue a promise that this is what she’s been looking for. Dani in control is exquisite in a certain way--Dani bent over the table at work, Dani keeping composure even as Jamie buries herself deep, makes the world hot and heady and surprising. But Dani like this--Dani as no one else is allowed to see her, Dani shifting beneath her and pushing hard against her mouth with her hands winding in the sheets--is something else entirely.

She wants to feel Dani lose control, wants to feel Dani surrender to this allowance she gives herself only when alone with Jamie. Three years now, and it’s still such a special occasion, Dani letting herself unbind all those ties holding her steady.

“You don’t have to be anyone with me,” Jamie has whispered on more than one occasion. “You don’t have to pretend.”

“Not,” Dani has said every time, a distance in her eyes Jamie wishes she could banish. “Not with you. Never with you.”

For everyone else goes unsaid. For everyone else, I have to. Jamie understands. Jamie can’t imagine what she’s been through, what she still goes through on days when the demons have sharpened their claws and come to call.

She pulls at Dani now, easing her up on her knees, guiding her back down onto Jamie’s lap. Hands at Dani’s hips, she urges her to rock, to slide a hand around Jamie’s neck and press her forehead into slick skin and give herself up to Jamie’s hand between them. It’s satisfying, how Dani sighs and arches, how Dani hisses when Jamie sucks a fresh mark into her neck. It’s satisfying, Dani’s hair plastered with sweat, her mouth a red smear as she kisses Jamie hard, her hips bucking as she rides plunging fingers.

Undone, thinks Jamie with an unbidden sense of pride. It’s the one thing Dani refuses to be most of the time, the one thing Dani seems to fear anyone thinking of her as. Undone. Untethered. Incapable of holding firm.

Here, in this bed, Jamie’s name on her lips, Jamie’s mouth on her skin, Jamie coaxing her toward a break, is the only time she allows it. The only time her discipline slips. Here, pushing Jamie down, holding her with a hand firm against her sternum, gazing down at her with lidded eyes as she bucks, writhes, comes with a long cry, is the only time she truly lets go.

It’s an art, the way Dani holds herself in front of others. An art, making sure no one can ever see what lurks behind her smile--be it demon or defense against a cruel world. It is, as art is meant to be, gorgeous to behold, fascinating in its clarity.

But this: Dani allowing herself to slide up the bed, to lower herself down over Jamie’s mouth, gripping the headboard with one hand and Jamie’s hair with the other, is something else entirely. Dani, allowing herself the slow climb, the roll of hips as her knees press into the pillow, as Jamie spreads her with tongue and hot want, is truly herself in these moments. Not haunted. Not poised. She is only taut muscle, trembling limb, breathy exuberance. She is only Jamie’s, the only way Jamie would ever ask her to be.

Three years down, who knows how many more to come, and there will be shadows. There will be things they cannot carry into the dark, and days neither feels strong enough to walk the road ahead. There will be times Dani’s control will feel like the only thing keeping her hand in Jamie’s, the only thing keeping her from abandoning this life they’ve built for the ease of terror. And there will be times like these--times in bedrooms and hotel rooms, times with Dani nodding off against her as a movie plays, times where Dani leans back and lets Jamie look beneath the bed for monsters. Times where she will walk with eyes closed into whatever garden Jamie leads her.

And on those days, she will look exactly as she does the morning after: Jamie’s shirt buttoned badly over bare skin, a mark peeking out from beneath the collar, her eyes tired and her hair wrecked. She will stumble out of the bedroom in search of coffee, find herself distracted by Jamie on the couch with slow kisses that feel like a challenge. There will be no rap at the door, no intrusion on the space built so carefully between them, and Jamie will feel as though there is nothing so close to equilibrium as Dani folded with her in the quiet of their living room, her fingers in Jamie’s hair, her lips tracing Jamie’s cheeks.

There is no version of Dani Clayton Jamie does not adore. No version of her--brave, frightened, miserable, thrilled--Jamie cannot love. She learned it early, and she learned it well: there is nothing Dani can be she isn’t uniquely designed to crave.

Still. This version, the one who sits astride her on the couch with hands cupping the back of her head, tilting Jamie backward until she meets laughing eyes. This version, bare-legged and moving in with slow deliberation as she bends and teases Jamie’s lips apart with soft curl of tongue. This version, sleepy and happy and warm as she molds her body to fit every curve of Jamie’s.

This one, this version of Dani shared with no one else, is a triumph. The truest art. Worthy only of Jamie’s unending gratitude.

She kisses, and allows herself to be kissed, and thinks there is no place Dani is better suited than right here.

#fanfiction #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #dani x jamie #jamie x dani #damie #control one-shots #here: an olive branch to make up for the last one #really I always intended this to be finished today #just turned out I needed a quick ficlet to warm up

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