#but there’s work to do before that love comes

[headspace-hotel]

Y'all

Im not on tiktok and never have been, but I downloaded RedNote just to see what is up, and I am witnessing something truly amazing

The Chinese user community is giving the American tiktok refugees an overwhelmingly warm welcome, meanwhile the American users seem to have collectively agreed that not only will they not let the app be taken over with English and they will provide Mandarin subtitles for everything, they are LEARNING MANDARIN. Ive scrolled through so many videos of Americans offering greetings in Mandarin to try to acclimate to the new environment and be respectful, and speakers of both languages are posting lots of tutorials on language basics and internet slang in Mandarin

My God, there is an AMAZING outpouring of curiosity and delight among everyone to learn about each others cultures and daily lives. People are posting videos of landscapes, cities, towns, and natural areas in USA and China, posting recipes and traditional foods, vlogs of everyday life, and reaching out to find people with similar hobbies.

And it's not just young people! There are loads of videos from middle-aged American guys who have come to post about fishing or motorcycles and are now happily chatting with Chinese users sharing the same interests using Google translate

One American guy who was like. in his 60's had a comment on one of his videos that was like "Red Neck?" and he replied "Yes!" and I just about fucking lost it

Also the Chinese users love, and I mean LOVE, Luigi Mangione. He is apparently broadly adored in China. There is SO much fanart and SO many edits.

There are many threads initiating Chinese users to ask questions of American users about the USA, and vice versa, and everyone on both sides is clearing up a lot of misconceptions. Some of the questions I saw a lot from Chinese users were: "Is it true that American parents kick you out of the house as soon as you turn 18" (not often, but sometimes) "Do you all really wear shoes in bed" (NO!!! Apparently a lot of characters in American sitcoms are shown lying in bed with shoes on which I never noticed before!) and "are there really guns everywhere" (yes).

For the most part Chinese content creators seem just overwhelmed by the sudden influx of hundreds of followers that are super enthusiastic about what they're doing. A lot of them have made posts about how initially they thought the uptick in follower count was some kind of error, or that there was some kind of joke or prank, but then they realized the interest and enthusiasm was genuine and now they're welcoming all the newcomers.

I found several posts by Chinese users saying that this felt like a really profound historical moment, where these previously separated worlds are suddenly smashing together and suddenly there is freedom to learn about each other's cultures and connect. One of them said something along the lines of "This is a 21st century Tower of Babel and even though I'm an atheist I hope God lets this tower stand." OUGH MY HEART.

The app itself works a little bit like a video-based version of Pinterest. It's not really my thing so I probably won't be on there long term but it's been amazing to see what's happening.

[lizardho]

Being at BYU after my mission was weird. Like. Bad weird. Everybody was still acting like missionaries but they had nobody to teach so it all turned into the holier-than-thou bs that missions always degenerate into over time. Just the forced establishment of some weird social hierarchy where value is based on how devout you are, with people digging and scratching and clawing their way around humanity in order to become even more devout.

And this bullshit was actively killing me. The attempts to stay Good Enough were scraping the remnants of my humanity out of my husk like a spoon scraping the last bits of watermelon from a rind - I was doing what I had always done, be Mormon, do what Mormons do, be as good a Mormon as I could be, only it was breaking me. Instead of healing me, making me whole, taking away my burdens, it was pulling the life out of me in exchange for nothing. I was just being squeezed dry of everything I had to offer and being given back shame and isolation and rejection because I didn’t do it first, or fast enough, or with a willing enough heart, or whatever the hell they could come up with.

But despite myself, because most people smarter than me AND dumber than me would have left already, I found myself trying over and over and over again to make it work with no success.

One day, I snap. I’ve had enough. I need answers. I’ve looked everywhere and done everything I could by myself, and nothing had come of it, so I went to talk to a faculty member. A teacher at the school. He taught religion classes and his lessons were powerfully and inspiringly honest, earnest, and filled with raw humanity. I figured if I could get a straight (ha) answer from anyone, it would be that guy. He wasn’t involved in the Mormon rat race. He wasn’t playing the stupid “I’m Worthier Than You” games that were so pernicious on campus. He was being real and open and vulnerable and I needed that from someone.

So I go into his office and I lay my cards on the table. I figure if I’m gonna get helped, I need to be honest. I share with him my weird feelings about dad leaving the church on my mission. About my siblings leaving the church. About my own doubts and hurts. I tell him about how hard it is to be in limbo like this without knowing what to do or where to turn. I tell him I need answers.

And he listens. And then he starts with the usual Mormon apologetics bullshit. And I say “no” because I’m done with that. That doesn’t fly with me anymore. And he sees and hears me say no and he puts a hand on mine, makes direct eye contact, and says,

“You know, you don’t have to go to church, right?”

I, being a person who was hurting, interpreted that as “if you have questions that I can’t answer you should fuck off.” I got defensive immediately and he again listened, put his hand on mine, and said,

“Not what I meant. You can stay if you want, but I want you to know you can leave too. Take a break. Give yourself time to heal. This isn’t supposed to hurt this much, and if it hurts you can take a break and come back when it feels good.”

I’m actually getting choked up just writing that out. Nobody had ever said that to me before. When I talked about my dysphoria to my parents, they said teenagers are supposed to feel like that a little bit. When I talked to people about my difficulties at church they had always told me that it was a sign that church was working. That I was doing it right. That growth was supposed to hurt, that excising the Natural Man from me was supposed to be difficult, that I was supposed to be feeling this anxious and sad and scared. I had never ever ever been told that pain and suffering were signs things were going wrong. I had actually explicitly been told by many many many many many many many many people that it was good, that the hurt and the heartache and the constant feeling of never being good enough and never being able to fit into my own skin or love myself in any meaningful way was desirable. That it was something they envied.

It’s not supposed to hurt. Some things can, and should. My parents were right that some body concerns were normal (although we later found out my specific concerns were more abnormal lmao, I got that tgirl swag). My family and friends were right that challenging myself with difficult assignments and ambitious goals was supposed to feel uncomfortable.

And at the same time, THIS was not supposed to hurt. I was not meant to have this gaping throbbing aching hole in my Me that never let up. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. IT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HURT.

I don’t know when exactly I started crying, but I was crying the whole rest of the day. It was the first time in a while I had to actually take a Valium to clam down. It wasn’t supposed to hurt.

He also told me that if it ever stopped hurting I could always come back.

I think that was the day I really left. Others might say otherwise, I still tried to make it work for a few more months after that, but the idea that it wasn’t supposed to hurt really changed me.

If any of you are reading this - there are things that are supposed to be difficult. Things that are supposed to hurt. But if your faith or your beliefs about the world or yourself leave you feeling like you’ve been hollowed out at a minor mistake or setback, if your failures and setbacks leave you feeling raw and numb frequently, if the company you keep or the places you stay leave you feeling constantly inadequate with out hope or help, then I’ll tell you the same thing that professor told me:

You can go somewhere else. You can do something else. And you can always come back when you want.

But it’s not supposed to hurt.

[gotta-winwin]

nana tour seungcheol x reader

a/n: this was a request asking for seungcheol during nana tour - it deviates slightly but i hope it'll still satisfy the itch! we love ourselves a loyal man who knows what's up.

(1)

You supposed Seungcheol not being able to follow his group mates to Italy was a blessing in disguise. Of course, you knew how disappointed he was, watching as he bid farewell to them as they boarded the bus, waving goodbye with a melancholic look on his face. 

“I’m sorry you can’t go.” You mumbled against his shoulder as you leaned against him, looping your arms around his waist, careful not to knock against the crutches on either side of him. “Italy sounds fun.”

Seungcheol had always been the sacrificing type. “It’s okay.” He assured you, pressing his lips against the top of your head as he spoke. “It means I get to spend two weeks concentrated solely on you.” 

(2)

You could tell Seungcheol was taking full advantage of his two week break, trying to do anything and everything he couldn’t with his busy schedule. Lounging on the bed as you watched him game, you couldn’t help but snap a few photos to commemorate the moment. It was rare to see Seungcheol this relaxed, with nowhere to be and nothing pressing to do. He was purely just Seungcheol, your gentle giant of a lover and protector of your heart. 

(3)

Seungcheol makes it his own personal mission to complete your checklist of places you’ve never been with your boyfriend. It doesn’t matter if the two of you will be recognized in public, he’ll rent the damn museum if he has to. The two of you spend the two weeks doing every cringey couple activity Seoul has to offer, as he tries to make up for all the times he’s had to choose work over you.

(4)

You find it hilarious when Na PD calls you instead of Seungcheol for one of his quiz games, quietly shushing the boys on the other line as you flip the camera, Seungcheol asleep with his arms draped over your stomach. He’s snoring away without a care in the world as his members laugh through the screen. You answer whatever silly question they had been given to guess, thanking Na PD for bringing the boys on their first real vacation since debut. 

(5)

You’ve always said that your boyfriend also had a boyfriend. Since you had ever known him, Seungcheol and Jeonghan had always come as a pair. One could not exist or function without the other, this being evident as you would often walk into Seungcheol facetiming his other other half. Jeonghan had also cheekily given you the job of sending him what he deemed as a ‘Cheol selfie’ per day, claiming that it wasn’t fair you get him all to yourself and that he deserves compensation. 

(6)

The night before his members were due to return to Korea, Seungcheol had pulled you aside, distracting you from your book as the two of you laid in bed, the sky outside already a dark shade of blue. 

“You know I love you, right?” He whispered, snaking his arms around your waist like second nature. 

Of course you knew. He never once gave you even a moment to forget. 

“You know I love you more than anything, right?” Seungcheol nosed against your stomach, his face pressed against the bare skin of your waist. “And that I’d quit this job in a heartbeat if you ever asked.”

He knew you’d never ask that of him though. “I started loving you knowing that your job and its odd hours came with you.” You reminded him. “I know what I signed up for.”

“These past two weeks made me realize I want more.” He mumbled. “I don’t want to never be home when we start a family.” 

Your lips curled into a smile, looping your fingers through his hair. “You’ve thought of that?”

Seungcheol nodded against you, tugging you closer. The vows you had made each other, even silently, echoed soundlessly around the two of you. 

Seungcheol would choose you over anything in the world. 

[catchastarorten]

hey lovely, i don’t know if you take requests but i absolutely love your works!! i wanted to see if you can do a jun ho fic x fem!reader where jun is in a coma after in ho shoot him on that island and reader has been visiting him every day since at the hospital. and one day he finally wakes ip and reader just takes care of him? just like a baby, food, kisses, cuddles. i feel like our man needs that :(

tyy if you would do this, have a great day or night 🩷🩷

Hello, anon! Here's your request :), I hope I did Jun-ho justice because you're absolutely right, the man needs some love and care, and he's gonna get it here. Hope you enjoy this — lots of love! <3

—Feels better with you.

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x lover!fem!reader

Summary: after everything Jun-ho went through, he was in a coma, you were there with him when he finally woke up. He needed you. And you took care of him while he was recovering.

Content: fluff, comfort, kisses, yearning, a little bit of angst, Jun-ho in a coma then waking up, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.0k

Seeing him lying there, hooked up to machines, pale and fragile in a way you’d never seen before, broke something in you. This was the man who had once held you so tightly, who had whispered promises into your skin, who had loved you with a quiet intensity that made you feel untouchable. Now he looked so far away.

You visited him every day after hearing about how he'd been pulled from the ocean. He was in a coma.

You talked to him, your voice soft but steady, telling him about everything and nothing. You read to him, held his hand, brushed the hair from his forehead like you used to on those lazy mornings. And every day, you hoped he’d come back to you.

The day he woke up, it was like the world stopped. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and heavy with exhaustion. Your heart leapt into your throat as you leaned closer, your hands trembling.

Waking up felt like surfacing from a dream that had gone on too long—foggy and disorienting, the kind of dream where Jun-ho wasn't sure if he was still alive or dead. His body was heavy, every muscle aching, but especially from the shot on his shoulder, the weight that it carried.

For a moment, Jun-ho couldn’t remember where he was or why his chest felt so tight, why his head throbbed with such a sharp ache.

But then he saw you.

You were leaning over him, your eyes wide, tears brimming as if you held them back for too long. And when you whispered his name, the sound cracked something deep inside him.

“Jun-ho?” your voice echoed.

He tried to speak, but his throat felt raw, his voice coming out like sandpaper as he rasped your name back. Just your name, like it was the only word he'd held onto all this time. “Y/n…”

And just like that, the weight of the world fell away. You were there, holding his face, your touch soft and grounding, your presence the only thing grounding him to reality. “I’m here,” you told him, your voice thick with relief. “I’m right here.”

The look in your eyes nearly undid him. He wanted to say so much, to explain why he left, to apologize for everything—for leaving without a word, for the pain he knew he’d caused you—but his body betrayed him, too weak to form the sentences in his head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered instead, the words barely audible.

“Stop,” you shook your head, tears falling from your eyes. “You don’t have to explain anything right now,” you said gently, your voice a balm to his soul. “Just rest, okay? Please.”

He didn’t argue. He never could with you.

In the days that followed, Jun-ho spent more time watching you than anything else. He was too weak to do much else, and honestly, he didn’t mind. Every time he opened his eyes, you were there—staying with him, and he held your hand as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

You’d talk to him in that soft, steady voice of yours, telling him about the most ordinary things. It didn’t matter what you said. All he cared about was the sound of your voice, the way it wrapped around him like a blanket, comforting and warm. Like he was home again.

There were times, late at night, when you thought he was asleep, and he’d feel your fingers brushing against his, hear the quiet, shaky breaths you took as if trying to hold yourself together. Those moments broke him more than anything else.

He hated himself for leaving you. For disappearing the way he had, knowing how much it would hurt you. But the guilt wasn’t as strong as the relief he felt now, knowing that despite everything, you were still here. You hadn’t given up on him, and he loves you for it.

When he was finally strong enough to sit up on his own, you started bringing him food—simple things like soup or porridge. He’d watch you blow on each spoonful, your lips pursed slightly as you cooled the soup before holding it to his mouth.

He ate obediently, his eyes never leaving you, his gaze flickering to your lips like he was counting the moments until the bowl was empty and he could kiss you again. 

He wanted to kiss you so badly it hurt.

The first time he finally did, you were brushing your fingers through his hair. Without thinking, Jun-ho reached up and caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, then your wrist, his eyes fluttering shut as if the touch alone was enough to heal him.

Your heart clenched as you leaned down to kiss him properly, your lips soft against his. It was slow, tentative. Your lips were warm, familiar, and he felt a shiver run through him as he let himself sink into it.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and raw with emotion.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back.

Jun-ho wanted to hold you properly, more than anything. To pull you into his arms and never let go. But the hospital bed wasn’t big enough for that, much to his silent frustration.

You let out a quiet laugh when he gave you a soft frown, but you gave him your arm instead, letting him curl up against you. He rested his head on your hand, his eyes focused on you as you gently ran your fingers through his hair.

The frown dissolved from his face, his eyes traced your features as if he was memorizing every little thing about you. His breathing slowed, and you knew he was at peace.

He needed this. All of it. And he needed you.

[cameronsprincess]

Loved the request you did with Rafe having a breastfeeding kink. Could you do a little fic with the same vibe but with readers V? Like he watched his kid come out of there and it's like holy land to him now

i love the idea of him worshipping readers pussy more than he already did. like oh, you watched me push your child out and love it more? HOT.

CW: smut! 18+ only! fem receiving oral, fingering, pussy praise, soft!rafe, mom!reader, dad!rafe.

rafe masterlist | requests

it was an understatement to say you were insecure about yourself after having your kids. your hips were wider, your stomach wasn’t perfectly flat, your boobs had gotten so big and never perked back up… and let’s not even get started on how you felt about your vagina after pushing two kids out of it.

you were insecure. you hated being so insecure about your body, but you were, despite your husband constantly reminding you how beautiful you were every day.

“rafe… i’m just not in the mood..” you whined, trying to pull yourself out of his hold.

rafe tightens his grip around your waist, pulling you further into him, his lips finding your neck, leaving soft kisses against it, his teeth nipping at the flesh as he whispered sweet praises against your skin.

“stop… you haven’t been in the mood since you had carson,” he pauses, pulling you back just enough to look down into your eyes. he swipes away a tear as it silently falls down your cheek, “you’re fucking beautiful. you gave me the two greatest things in this world. you know that?”

you whimper, another tear falling down your cheek. rafe swipes it away with his thumb, lifting you into his arms bridal style and carrying you to your bed. he gently lays you on your back, his hands tugging at your shorts, pulling them down your legs and tossing them to the floor.

he lets out a low, appreciative groan when he sees your glistening cunt, his fingers slowly runing through your slick folds as his thumb put light pressure on your clit.

“this pussy… will always be fucking beautiful. it’s even more fucking perfect since you had grace and carson.”

rafe slowly pushes two fingers inside you, curling them upward and making your back arch off the bed. your hands fly to your breasts, squeezing at them softly as your husband slowly worked his fingers in and out of you.

“r-rafe… please?” you beg, your breathes becoming choppy as rafe continues to slowly fuck you with his fingers.

rafe blows out a breath, slowly pulling his fingers from inside you and lowering his face down to your pussy. your breath hitches in your throat when you feel the warmth of his breath against your soaked cunt. you place your hands on the back of his head, lightly scratching at his scalp before tugging on his messy hair. rafe lets out a chuckle, his lips finally making contact with your aching clit. he presses a soft kiss to your clit, his lips moving to your inner thighs, teeth nipping at the plump flesh before he moves back to your pussy.

his tongue darts out, pressing into your entrance before he runs it through your folds, stopping at your clit. he flicks his tongue against your sensitive bud, pulling the sweetest sounds of pleasure from you as he did. he gathers saliva in his mouth, spitting on your clit, his eyes watching as it drips down your pussy to your ass. he finally leans forward, sucking your clit into his mouth while inserting two fingers inside you again.

your grind your hips, rubbing your pussy against his face as rafe licks and sucks at you like a man starved. his fingers push in and out of you at a quick pace, his head lifting just enough to stare into your eyes as he finger fucks you. “look so goddamn pretty like this… you understand me? you’re fucking perfect, every inch of you is fucking perfect,” he dips his head back down, his tongue working slow circles around your clit as his bright blue eyes burn into yours. he lifts his head again, kissing at your clit as your pussy flutters around his fingers, “i love this pussy. i’ll always love this pussy. you could give me ten more kids, and i’ll never stop loving you or your cunt, do you hear me? i love you.”

with his sweet praises, and the way he worked his fingers in and out of your pussy with his tongue working your clit, you cum around his fingers, crying out to him and letting him know you love him just as much.

tagging some mooties: @starkeysbabygirl @rafesthroatbaby @nemesyaaa @rafesheaven @rafescorpsebride @oceandriveab @cherrygirlfriend @rafesbabygirlx @rafescvntyclubgf @sarahsangelicdoll @rafegetinmybed @hauntedfawnn

[jeonginsleftcheek]

All on board

~ thanks @furioussheepluminary for fueling my fantasy🫠🫶🏻

pairing: pilot!hyunjin x stewardess!reader

genre: filthy smut

wc: 1.1k

warnings: degradation, reader is called slut and bitch, hyunjin is called sir, face fucking, unprotected sex, fingering, spanking, pussy slaps, creampie, cum eating, hair pulling

a/n: pls i tried i had one hell of a day sorry if there are mistakes or if this is not very good😭🫠 also i've never written mean dom so djkdlcl

~ masterlist

Working as a stewardess for a big airline definitely had its perks. Like traveling all over the world, the exciting feeling of being so high up in the sky and well...

"Miss l/n, could you come to the flight deck, please?" your pilot's voice rang out, a shiver running down your spine as you bit your lip with a smile.

"Yes, Sir?" you followed his voice to the front of the plane, blinking your eyes innocently at him.

Yes, another perk of being with this airline was Hyunjin. Maybe even the biggest perk according to you.

"I need to perform the preflight inspection." he smirked at you and you giggled as you walked closer to him.

You knew what that meant of course, this wasn't the first nor the last time you were doing this.

"Of course." you said. "Sir." you added as he lifted his brow at you, his eyes traveling all over your body.

You stood in front of him and started unbuttoning your blazer, followed by your blouse, revealing a sweet white lacy bra adorning your breasts.

Hyunjin's face flushed and his pants started to get tighter but he kept looking at you sternly, trying to hold in the need to just kiss you stupid.

You bunched up your skirt, showing him the matching panties underneath.

"Good, good. Let's see." he smirked, coming closer to you, his fingertips on your inner thigh. He slowly moved them up towards your core, pressing them into the wet patch that has already appeared on them.

"For me? Aren't you an eager little slut, hm?" he leaned over you, making you whimper as he tapped your clit with his fingers.

"Yes I am, Sir." you confirmed and he smirked.

"I know baby, that pussy is already crying to be stuffed." he chuckled and you whined a little, becoming desperate to be touched.

Hyunjin unbuttoned his white pants before pushing them down together with his underwear.

"Come on. Get me wet, slut." he ordered.

"Yes, Sir." you whined as you got down on your knees.

"Open your mouth." he grabbed his cock and you did as you were told.

Hyunjin smacked your tongue with his tip a few times before pushing it in and your eyes rolled back as you took it.

"Yes, like that." he groaned when you started bobbing your head up and down. He grabbed at your head, ruining the tidy bun you had put your hair in.

You moaned around him as he gripped you harder, fucking into your mouth as you gagged.

"I know you love choking on it." he smirked and fucked your face harder, every time his tip hit the back of your throat you gagged, tears rolling down your cheeks as you grabbed at his thighs.

Your nails dug into his skin as he moaned, fucking you even faster as his hips snapped.

"Fuck!" he whined, pulling out before he could cum.

"Get up." he almost growled and you obeyed immediately, standing up and turning around so you can bend over the chair he'll be sitting in soon.

He chuckled behind you, pushing your panties to the side. Your breath got caught in your throat as you anticipated his fingers on your folds, instead your pussy got slapped.

You yelped, your legs trembling as he chuckled again.

"Louder, bitch." he said lowly before slapping your pussy again and you moaned louder.

"Who owns this pussy?" he asked, slapping you again.

"You, Sir, you own it." you whimpered as he slapped your throbbing pussy once more.

"That's right. It's only mine to play with." he said before plunging two fingers inside you, making you yelp again. He spanked your ass as a warning to stay still before he started fucking you with his fingers, scissoring them to prep you for his cock.

"Ah! H-Hyunjin!" you moaned and he let out a little laugh as he pushed into your sweet spot.

"What did you call me?"

"Sir! I'm sorry!" you cried, fresh tears falling down your cheeks as he started spanking your ass.

You gripped onto the chair, whimpering loudly as he assaulted your ass and fucked you with his fingers at the same time.

"I-I can't!" you moaned out, you couldn't hold it in as you squirted all over his fingers and your thighs.

"I didn't give you permission to cum." he growled as you cried, your heart beating hard against your chest.

"I'm so sorry for disappointing you, Sir." you said quietly.

"Oh, you'll be sorry, bitch." he smirked as you braced yourself. He gripped his cock and pushed it into your pussy forcefully, making you take his entire length in one thrust.

"Ah!" you screamed out as he started pounding into you hard immediately, rattling your entire body with the force of his hips.

"You're getting too loud." he frowned, gripping your hair and pulling you up as you arched your back for him. He brought his other hand to your lips and pushed the fingers he fucked you with into your mouth.

You moaned around them, tasting your release on them as you started sucking and licking at them.

"Don't you dare cum. If you do, I won't breed this little pussy." he smirked evilly, knowing that this was your favorite part.

You whimpered around his fingers as he gripped your hair harshly, fucking into you sloppily. Your pussy was so wet and overstimulated and you just wanted to cum again so badly but you knew the consequences so you tried holding it in.

Hyunjin decided to taunt you even more as he pulled his fingers out of your mouth and brought them to your sensitive clit.

"Fuck!" you whimpered.

"Hold it in." he ordered and you could hear the teasing smirk in his voice.

It took everything in you not to cum, just so you could feel him explode inside you and fill you up with his warm cum.

"Mm, take it." he moaned under his breath as he finished inside you.

Hyunjin pulled out, replacing his cock with his fingers as he gathered some cum and brought it to your lips.

"Taste." he said and you licked around his fingers, looking straight into his eyes.

"You did well." he smirked.

"Thank you, Hyunjin. Sir." you chuckled.

"I'll let it slide this once." he teased, leaning in to kiss you.

"Thank you for being so kind." you teased back.

"Let's clean up, we have a plane to fly." he wiggled his eyebrows at you before kissing you again, as always he was addicted to your lips just like you were addicted to him.

Yes, flying with your boyfriend definitely had its perks.

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @starlost-mochi-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @eastjonowhere @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143

[luveline]

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭

part one | chapter list 

You find yourself drawn into Remus’ life after an awful night you can’t remember. He does his best to hold onto you. [10k]

cw: heavy themes, implied sexual assault of the reader [with no graphic scenes but it’s a continuous theme, so please be careful when reading], pregnancy, eventual friends to lovers, friendships, hurt/comfort, james makes a lot of soup, found family

𖦹

The pharmacy on Wilmand Street is always deathly quiet. The boy behind the counter reads and occasionally picks up the phone to put it back down, his hair in his eyes, a waxiness to his pale skin that never fails to perturb. 

Your shoes creak over the hardwood floor. He’s noticed your entry, signalled by a golden bell above the door and your muffled panting, but he hasn’t looked up. 

Your eyes slide past pads, nighttime, ultra-long panty liners, searching with a poorly restrained desperation for something in particular. 

The phone rings —dark-haired boy picks it up and puts it back down again as you recalled, silencing the ring. You watch him from over your shoulder and he looks up from his book to stare. 

“Pregnancy tests?” you ask.

His expression doesn’t change as he pulls a drawer open behind the desk with a metallic clink. “What kind?” 

“The most reliable. Please.” 

He gives a nod, black curl bobbing under his chin. He grabs a blue card box and places it on the counter. “Sixteen fifty.” 

You open your purse before you’ve reached him, extracting the change exactly and tipping it next to his book. “Thank you.” 

“Are you alright?” 

Your heart squeezes in your chest like a tightening fist. “Why?” 

“I have to ask. I’m a mandated reporter.” 

“I’m not a child.” 

He levels your look with his own. “You don’t have to answer. I’m only asking because you look upset. Are you alright?” 

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him say more than three words at a time. His voice is reminiscent of someone else’s, half-remembered. You want to ask him, then. The questions you’ve had since it happened. Why does it hurt so badly, still? But the boy, while seemingly well-intentioned, isn’t one you trust to care nor keep it to himself. 

“Fine,” you reply, pressing the blue-boxed test into your pocket, pulling the hood of your coat up to brace against the December rain. You’re fine. 

The door opens before you can get to it, another lovely dark-haired boy letting himself inside. His stare is blank as the one at the desk’s is, but you smile on instinct and he smiles back warmly after a moment, holding the door for you to leave. 

“Okay, Reg?” you hear him ask as you pass.

“Close the door,” Reg says. “You’re letting in the cold.” 

—

It’s even colder the next time you go. You throw on another hoodie and wrap a scarf tightly around your neck, face ducked, nose tickled by flyaway fibres. The walk to Wilmand Street takes seventeen long minutes where your hands hurt, then shake, chapped by hateful winds. 

The pharmacy’s newspapered window comes into view. A poster for the local pub leaks ink on the outside, wet by the rain, its font blooming like fungus across purple paper. Live music event: December 31st. 

The dark-haired boy —Reg?— is behind the counter again. The first one. Are you alright? boy. He looks twenty so or near that, but there’s something wilfully young about the skin under his eyes, despite a more haggard pinch to his brow. You were hoping it would be the second one, or the sandy-haired boy who mans the till in the very early mornings. He has a more natural smile than the other two. Perhaps not more authentic, but quicker to perk up when you slink in for whatever before work, Mondays and Fridays if he’s there. 

Reg doesn’t lift his head. You push yourself toward the back of the pharmacy. It’s a small shop slotted between two others, one wall touched from the next in thirty seconds should you walk it. It makes pretending you’re there for other things useless and embarrassing, but you do it anyway. Another test won’t change what you wanted the test to say, but you can’t take one single test and trust it was right. 

“Reliable?” Reg asks when you finally approach. 

“Yeah. And the five strip box, too, if you have it.” 

Reg takes them from the drawer and adds their prices seemingly in his head. “Eighteen eighty-nine.” 

You pass him a twenty pound note and wait for your change, not bothered that he counts it slowly, or that he puts it down flat on the counter away from your outstretched hand. “Thanks,” you murmur. 

He noticeably bites his tongue. 

“I want to be sure, is all,” you say. 

“If you go to the doctor’s, they do it for free. And it has a ninety nine percent rate of accuracy.” 

You hold the tests to your stomach. “I’m not… really sure what I’d want them to tell me, right now.” 

“They’d tell you the truth, at least.” Reg seems to decide this line of conversation isn’t one he wants to continue, and he lets his mouth flatten into a thin, white line. You get the sense though that he isn’t done talking, and are rewarded for your patience with an inkling of an almost-smile. “Please know that I’m bound by duty of care while I work here, so if you are concerned about something, I can listen and offer advice. And if you don’t want to tell me private information, my uncle is the acting pharmacist, and he is more strictly bound by patient confidentiality law.” He looks you in the eye. “You’re only as alone as you allow yourself to be.” 

“Who says that?” you ask, poked by the way he lays it out. 

Reg doesn’t like your question and doesn’t answer. He picks up his book, murmuring, “I hope they give you the result you want.” 

A different dark-haired boy is standing outside of the pharmacy when you leave. With a nice nose, eyes like a puppy, he’s handsome but hidden behind black frames. He stands from his car where he’d been leaning when the door swings out, sits back again when he realises you’re not who he’s looking for. “Sorry, lovely,” he says, pulling at a loosely-knotted tie. “I thought you were someone else.” 

“Sorry,” you say back, holding the tests to your chest. 

Your hand covers the boxes. His eyes flicker down to them regardless. You wait for disdain or embarrassment but see neither. Really, the only thing this new boy wears is pleasantness. 

“Don’t stay out too long, will you?” he asks, smiling genially, “You’ll freeze.” 

“I’m–” You clear your throat, caught off guard to have a stranger care about you so openly. No reluctance to his well wishes, and no strings. “Sorry– I’m going home now. I won’t stay out.” 

“Good, shortcake. Have a good night.” 

You should say you too. The wind chases you back to your flat, where you head for the bathroom, and, despite living alone, lock the door. 

—

You take your pregnancy test and sit on the floor, too weak-legged to stand at the sink, waiting for two pink lines. 

Sure enough. Control, result. One solid pink line, and one much lighter. It doesn’t matter —a positive is a positive, no matter how weak. The strip tests say the same thing. 

In TV and movies, people always paint the test as the ultimate moment. As though the result is the result, and that everything after is fixed, but the result now is only a signifier for another decision to be made: will you keep your baby, or foetus? Do you feel as though it is a baby, or a foetus, or both? Is it welcome, or a foreign object? There is no right or wrong answer, only how you feel. 

The migraine you get then is debilitating. Like toothache in every tooth, pain behind your eyes half-psychosomatic, half physiological stress. You’re not sure how long you’re in the bathroom holding your forehead, but it’s dark when you manage to stand again, and the tests have only gotten more obviously positive. You throw them all in the bin. 

—

The third day you go back to Wilmand Street pharmacy, the desk is manned by your unfamiliar, smiling boy. He looks up when the door opens, his eyes browned honey set in a face that recently saw the sun, but not too much of it. Kissed by it. His cheeks are pinked. He must be the first person who’s worked here to bother turning on the heating. 

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you say back. Voice croaky, you remember to be polite. “You okay?” 

“I’m great, lovely, thank you. How are you?” He gives a nod toward the street. “It’s so cold out, are you gonna be warm enough in your jumper?” 

You find yourself struck as you were the day before, so startled by genuine kindness that you can hardly work your mouth. “I’m okay. I’m going right back home after this.” 

“Aw, good.” 

You nod. What are you here for today? Not another test. You aren’t stupid enough to believe a third round will give you a different verdict, but you‘d felt an urgent need to move. 

You grab a rounded basket from near the door and make your way to the haircare. There’s a handful of shampoos to choose from. You take the usual. Beneath them are baby shampoos and soaps. On a whim you pick one up, the words Tear and fragrance free stuck like a bad swallow at the back of your throat. 

Babies need so many things. At the supermarket they have these great walls of baby food and it’s expensive enough to take your eye out every time. A quarter of an hours wage for every organic, soft meal, and sure, they don’t need organic, vegetables are organic intrinsically, whatever, but if you don’t buy organic pre-made meals you have to make the baby food yourself, how long does that take? You put the baby shampoo down and turn to the conditioners. 

Unhappy, you scour them for nothing and turn on the spot. Why is Dr. Black never here? How are you supposed to ask him your questions if he doesn’t show up to work? 

You’ll have to ask the brown-haired boy. Nice eyes, nice smile. He probably won’t judge you, at least not out loud. 

He stands up from his rickety chair, soft leather seat worn and creaking as he pushes it away. “Yeah?” he asks. 

“Do you have to do that patient-confidentiality thing?” 

He smiles rather gently. “I do. A condition of my employment is to protect patient information. Legally, I can’t share private or sensitive information about you to anyone else in the world, unless I believe you’re in proper danger.” He holds his hands behind his back. “Is there something you wanted to ask me?” 

Wind roars outside. Your eyes start to the door. 

“There’s a private room in the back,” he adds. 

“I don’t want to waste your time.” 

“It’s not wasted. Even if I weren’t legally obligated to keep whatever secrets you may have, I’m worried you look a bit poorly.”

He speaks oddly. Or not odd, but different to any of the other men you’ve met. It’s friendly, and yet somehow he’s quiet, too. His interest feels real, so you cross the room to the desk and put your basket on your shoes. 

You try to find a way to say it. “I know you’re not a doctor.” 

“No, I’m an apprentice pharmacist.” 

“Right. I know I should go to the doctor, and not you.” 

“That depends. We’re here to help. Doesn’t matter if you should go somewhere, you can ask me first.” 

You struggle. He waits. His hands lay steady on the edge of the desk, his face nearly blank besides a hint of warmth.  

“Is it alright if it’s a question about, um, sex?” 

He nods emphatically. “Of course that’s alright. I can’t promise I’ll know the answer, but you’re welcome to ask me anything and I can always get back to you if you’re not willing to ask someone else.” His smile turns wry. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but it’s only sex. I don’t mind.” 

“I just…” You hold your hands together. “I wanted to know, if pain after… if it’s supposed to hurt so much after.” 

His wry smile is quickly subdued, though he remains friendly looking. “It depends,” he says, measured, “on a few things. You probably know that the first time you have sex can be painful because of the initial perforation of the hymen, but usually sex isn’t supposed to be painful at all.” 

“At all.” 

“No. If sex hurts, it’s likely from a lack of preparation, bruising of the cervix, or it could be a condition called vaginismus. That’s where your muscles tighten suddenly when you attempt penetration. Having sex with vaginismus can be extremely painful.” 

Something on his chest catches the light. A name tag. 

He follows your gaze. “Oh,” he says. “I’m Remus. Sorry, it might’ve been nicer for you to know that before I started talking.” 

Remus… You shake your head at him. “Um… Remus… Well, I’m not really sure what happened.” 

“Right.” 

“I wasn’t–” Your heart jumps before you can confess, horrible secret stuck to the roof of your mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “are you sure you don’t want to go sit down in the quiet room with me? I can make you a cup of tea.” 

“I can’t have caffeine.” 

“I have night time tea. Is that alright?” 

“The shop?” 

“It’s okay, I’ll ask Sirius to come down. You really aren’t doing anything wrong.” 

“I feel like I shouldn't ask you.” 

“That’s a consequence of our great British society,” he says, lightly teasing as he lifts the counter to come from behind it and presses a small red button on an intercom box by the inside door. It’s an attempt to make you feel better, and it nearly works. “You feel embarrassed about something you have no reason to feel embarrassed of. Everybody has sex, and everybody has bad sex, sometimes, and needs advice.” 

The intercom crackles before you can speak. “Moony?” a voice asks. 

“Sirius, I have someone who needs to talk to me. You’ll have to come on the till for a bit.” 

“Kay. Down now.” 

Remus smiles. “That’s about as obliging as he gets.” 

“Sirius, is he the– is he the one who reads?” 

“Not often. You’re thinking of Regulus, his brother.” 

Regulus, of course. “They look so similar.” 

“They do.” He gestures for you to stand beside him as the inside door swings open, unveiling one of those dark-haired brother’s, the taller of the two. 

“Oh, hi,” Sirius says, wet hair on his shoulders, his t-shirt sodden at the front like he’d swept it back, “okay? There’s biscuits in the left cupboard, Moons.” 

Remus, Moons, Moony, holds the door back and lets you inside. 

The walk to the quiet room is strange. Sitting down at the table with him as he passes you a box of biscuits, kettle boiling, he doesn’t put you on ends, but it doesn’t feel good. You slip your hand under your t-shirt where he can’t see and feel the hot stretch of your stomach for something that isn’t there. 

“So,” he says, grimacing, “I’m going to ask you some precursory questions. You don’t have to answer any of them if you don’t want to.” 

“Okay.” 

“Are you in any active danger?” 

You shake your head slowly. “None.” 

“Is someone close to you hurting you?” 

“No.” 

“Are you alright?” 

You twist your hands together tightly. “I don’t think so.” 

“No?” He slips his chair closer to your own. “Are you hurt now?” 

You look down at your lap. This is awful. This is why you didn’t want to go to see your doctor. “I don’t know. I’m not hurt, but it does hurt. I move and it feels like something sharp is digging into me.” 

“I see.” He frowns. “This can happen sometimes with penetration. It’s like I said before, if your body isn’t, you know, prepared? If you aren’t using lubrication, if you aren’t relaxed, it can be as simple as friction having hurt you, but it’s possible you’ve got cervical bruising, or an issue with your pelvic floor. It could be that you have a UTI. If we go through a couple of questions together I might be able to suggest a solution, but I have to tell you to see your doctor if you can. Alright? Pain after sex can be normal, but it doesn’t have to be. When we go back out, I’ll give you some paracetamol as well.” 

He looks as though he might have something else to say, but he stops when you open your mouth. “I don’t know what happened.” 

Remus frowns again. “Right.” 

The cellophane on the biscuits is shining under the light. 

“I don’t really know what to do.” 

“It’s a stabbing pain?” His frown gets impossibly deeper. “I have some ibuprofen. Off the record, you can have some of that with your tea. Here.” He procures a blister pack from his pocket and hands it to you, jumping up for the kettle, carrying it back to your mugs to set with the pint of milk. “It will probably go away soon, lovely, I would try not to worry, but it’s good to keep an eye on it too, and to book with the doctors if it gets worse. There are so many things that can go wrong in the body, but we’re also such good self-healers, it’s hard to know what to do.” 

“It’s… something else, too.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I was wondering if the pain is maybe because I…” 

Your face goes hot as coal embers, a furious sweat on the back of your neck. Remus doesn’t prod. He pours water into your mug until it’s a little over half full, the tea bag at the bottom staining it sepia. 

“I think I’m pregnant,” you say, not sure why it hurts to say so much. 

“Right.”

“Do you think it hurts because of that?” 

Remus bites his lip as he pours his own mug of tea. He’s looking at you as he puts the kettle down. “No, I wouldn’t think so, but it’s not an impossibility. How pregnant were you thinking?” 

“It was two weeks ago, so… so however long it takes to get pregnant.”

He looks alarmed, then. “Lovely, that was the last time you had sex?” 

“Yeah.”

“And it still hurts now?” 

“Only sometimes,” you say nervously. 

He ignores his steaming tea. “Right. Well, I think I need to advise you to make an emergency appointment today. I can make it with you. You shouldn’t still be hurting after two weeks, pregnant or not. Ectopic pregnancies don’t tend to hurt until further along, so…” Remus slows, looking at you with that too-kind frown, brown eyes darker back here behind the fog curls of his tea.

You feel caught on something. 

“I wasn’t awake,” you say quietly. “Just woke up hurting. I guessed what happened, ‘n now I’m pregnant. It could only have been...” You shrug it off, even as heat blooms behind your eyes, nose already hot and sniffly. 

“You were assaulted.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

Remus seems to freeze up. “I’m sorry.” He takes a few seconds, and then he meets your eyes. “I can’t imagine how scary that must have been, and how scary it still is.” 

Your eyes line with tears. “I mean, it’s less scary now.” First tear tips forward as your voice falls to pieces. “I just don’t know what to do. Every day I’ve come here this week I’ve tried to ask about it, because I saw that poster, if I’m hurt then I can– then I can come to the pharmacy, but I’m not hurt, I’m fine now.” 

“Oh,” he says gently, pushing his chair over a little to bring himself closer, his hand coming to rest on your hunched shoulder, “even if you weren’t in any pain at all, you’re more than welcome to come here and speak to us, to me. This residual pain, I imagine you must’ve been quite injured when it happened. You didn’t have any help at all?” 

“I didn’t think there’s anything they could do.” 

“That’s okay, it’s not your fault,” he says, rubbing your shoulder kindly. “I just want to know as much of the details as you feel alright giving me, so we can move forward in the best way possible.” His hand slides across your back, nearly hugging. “I’m sorry. Really. And I’m sorry for talking so much about ‘bad sex’, I didn’t realise what you were telling me.” 

“I’m sorry for telling you.” 

“What?” he asks, a soft incredulity to him, “You have nothing to be sorry for. You can tell as many or as few people as you like, but I’m extremely glad to be told, because no one should ever have to face this sort of thing alone, should they?” He rubs your back when you nod, again when you sniffle. “Alright. It’s alright. You’re okay.” 

You don’t cry as much as you worry you might under a soft touch. The memory of waking up paralyses you for a bit, that confusion, the pain, the bruise across your neck. All of it makes you feel sick, but Remus shushes you under his breath, not to really shush you, but to calm you down. 

“I’m okay,” you say, shamed. 

“Try and drink some of this tea. Can I leave you alone for a minute?” 

“Oh, uh– yeah, of course. I’m fine.” 

His hand lingers between your shoulders. “Just for a minute, I’m going to find some bits for you–”

“I don’t need anything–”

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s just stuff I have to give you, and some things you might need.” Remus’ hand traces carefully to the front of your shoulder. He meets your eyes, nothing but compassion in the line of his mouth. “Okay?”

You say okay. Remus uses the door you came in through to head back out onto the pharmacy’s shop floor, letting it shut quietly behind him. You press your hand to your teeth. 

—

To Remus’ credit, he apologises for both pamphlets. Abortion Explained. What to expect when you’re expecting. “For you to know your options,” he’d said. “Whatever you decide, it’s your decision.” 

He can’t know you’ll spend a week pouring over them all, that you’ll worry at the corner of the STD clinic card, or that you’ll shove the RapeCrisis one down the side of your bed, desperate to throw it out, but terrified you’ll need it, too. 

And some of the stuff he gives you. You don’t even know what to do with it. Painkillers, lavender oil, discreet pads for incontinence. You’d tried to pay and he’d touched the back of your hand without explanation. “No, it’s okay,” he’d said. Nothing else. 

You spend days again wrapped in your own nausea, until Thursday evening, when you make your way to Community Support. 

You honestly weren’t considering it when Remus first gave you the card, but he said his friend worked there, “My best friend, James,” he corrected, ”and his wife, Lily, too. She talks to people about all kinds of things. I just wonder if you might feel happier talking about it with a woman.” 

Which was a nice sentiment, and possibly true, though Remus had been the first person you told. To be met with his sympathy in such a boundless capacity made it easier. Made you think, Maybe I’m not stupid for hating that it happened. 

“I’m here every Monday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday,” he‘d said when you made up a lie about needing to leave, scared of overstaying, “seven ‘til three, but you can ask for me if you ever want to. Sirius usually knows where I am.” 

And you had wanted to, but you knew you couldn’t. Being so desperately alone that you craved the comfort of a stranger’s hand is fine, but it didn’t feel okay to hold him hostage like that. Of course he feels sorry for you, of course he wants to make you feel better, how heartless would he look otherwise?

You’d chide yourself for thinking cynically about someone who’d only ever been nice if it would make a difference. Lonely, wrecked, you end up at the Community Support Group at the local leisure centre, wavering behind the swing doors. 

A face appears on the other side of the door. Deep skin, eyes like cherry pits and lips painted a cheery red, a woman smiles at you and pulls it open. 

“Hi! Are you here for the support group?” 

“Uh– Yeh–” You swallow roughly. “Yes. Is that here?” 

“That’s here.” She puts a thumb through the belt loop on her jeans. “Why don’t you come inside?” 

You take a tentative step.

“I’m Mary,” she says. 

“I don’t have to sign anything, right?” you ask. 

Mary leads you into the room without stopping. “This is off the books only. Do you want some tea or coffee?” 

“I can’t have caffeine.” 

“Decaf?” 

“Can I have water?” 

Mary has a good smile. Like she knows you, like you’re already friends. She cups your shoulder and guides you to the refreshment table, an impressive splendor of coffee, tea, individually wrapped biscuits, and sandwiches. There’s a box of protein bars with a handwritten red felt note that says: Take me home if you want to! 

“Aren’t hungry are you?” Mary asks. 

“Not really.” 

She ducks down at the table and pushes aside tablecloth to grab a crate of water from underneath.

“You haven’t been here before, then?” Mary asks as she stands. “I remember most faces, I don’t think I’ve seen you here.” 

“No, I’ve never… um, someone at the pharmacy told me I can come,” you say tightly. 

“Oh, you can! Of course you can. I wondered if you were new, that’s all.” She presses a bottle of water into your hands. You look down at her fingers, confused at their odd texture, your neck snapping up once you realise what you’re doing.

Mary has scars all over her hands, her wrists, and you’d been gawking at them by mistake. “Sorry,” you mumble. 

“For what? Do you want me to stay? Or would you rather be by yourself?” 

“We don’t sit in a circle, do we?” 

Mary laughs lightly. “No, no circle yet, you can leave if you don’t wanna stay for the group talking therapy. For the first hour people just say hello to one another. There are a ton of counsellors here, okay? I’m just gonna wander, but if you want to talk to me, come and find me, yeah?” 

“Okay, thanks. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, hun.” She smiles at you, a little softer than before. “You can sit down if it makes you feel less awkward, but be warned, the sofas are James’ territory. He loves to talk.” 

Don’t wanna get stuck with James, you think. Though really, you’re here to talk. Or to turn around and go home with a pocket full of protein bars. 

The community room is an emptied dance hall that’s been made nice. There are big boards of fliers, of last year’s trampolining club, and another of the Community Support Christmas club, whatever that had been. It looked busier then than it does tonight —there are a ton of sunny looking counsellors dotted around the room and talking in triangles, half as many people like you. 

Someone random catches your eyes and you fluster, making your way to the terracotta sofas in the corner of the room on impulse. A man sits with an arm across his eyes, glasses on his chest, looking so sorrily tired for a second that you forget you’d come looking for help of your own. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, stilted. James’ territory, and you’d walked straight in. 

The man sits up starkly. He looks right at you, but you don’t recognise him until he puts on his glasses. It’s one of those pharmacy men. 

No, it’s not, you’d just seen him outside. 

“Hello,” he says, sliding his glasses up a strong-bridged nose. “I’m okay, I’m just resting my eyes,” —he laughs— “you alright?” You nod. “Yeah? Here for the support club? Or the sandwiches?” 

“I–” Will you stammer every time someone asks you about it? “One of the– the pharmacy, one of the pharmacists told me to come.” 

“That’s good,” he says earnestly. “I like those guys. Did you want a sandwich or something? I must’ve made a hundred. My hand still aches from the butter knife.” 

“I’m okay.” 

“Okay. Well, did you want to sit down? I promise I won’t hold you hostage or anything.” 

What am I doing? you think miserably, taking a seat in the sofa adjacent to his. 

He crosses one leg over the other. “Please don’t look so upset. I swear I genuinely won’t make you talk. I’m just here for the biscuits and lovely Lily, I promise. And lovelier Remus–” He laughs to himself. 

“You’re James?” you ask. 

“The last time I checked.”

“Remus– he mentioned you’d be here. I forgot.” 

James only smiles. “He’s brilliant, isn’t he?” he asks, wriggling in his seat to procure one of those biscuit packets from his back pocket. 

“He said that I might like talking to Lily.” 

It feels weird calling her by her first name without knowing her, but James agrees, “I’ll introduce you when she gets here, if that’s what you want.” 

“I just… I don’t know.” 

“She’s just as nice as Remus is. Remus was nice to you, wasn’t he?” 

You nod and look down at your clenched hands. “Yeah. He was nice to me.” 

“That’s good.” 

A tepid silence pervades for a moment. 

“Do you want a biscuit or something? Or we have noodles and soup and stuff in the storage room, I’m happy to make you something warm if you want that.” 

“You guys are like a restaurant,” you say, still not willing to look at him. 

“It’s nice to have options.” 

You nod hurriedly, sick to your stomach all over again. Options. Decisions. 

Somewhere in the room, they turn on a radio. Shoes squeak on the waxed floor, a boy laughs like he’s being tickled. It was a mistake to come tonight. You desperately want someone to hug you and you know it’s too much to ask for, staggering to your feet with a headrush to be blinked back. 

“You okay?” James asks.

“Yeah. Um, where’s the toilet?” 

“Back out of the double doors, they’re right in front of you, okay? Straight in front and then to the left, you can’t miss them.” 

“Okay.”

“Wait, Y/N?” he says. 

You shoot him a look that betrays your surprise. 

“Sorry, Remus told me to keep a look out for you. I just wanted to say, I know this is different, and it’s weird, I get that, and I have no idea why you’re here tonight, but I promised Remus I wouldn’t upset you, and I think I already have.”

“He didn’t tell you why I’m here?” 

“Of course not.” James blows a breath that makes his hair fly away from his face in a wave. “It’s none of my business why you’re here. My job is to make sandwiches. I mean, some people come here just for the sandwiches or the warm room, and that’s fine.” 

“The sandwiches are that good?” you ask. 

“They’re great. We don’t fuck around, I use the real salted butter in the foil wrappings and the thick bread and everything. Proper ham, not the wafer thin stuff. And there’s veggie bacon too, if you don’t eat meat. I don’t know, could you please just let me feed you something? Remus won’t forgive me if you came here and you didn’t even eat.” 

“I think you’re using Remus as a ploy,” you say quietly. 

“I am! So let’s go have a sandwich or a biscuit or something.” He waves his biscuits at you. “They’re Border’s. Butterscotch Border’s, you literally can’t ask for better.” 

Just try. Be brave for a bit. “I like the uh– the lemon ones.” 

James shoots up onto his feet, grinning. “Amazing taste. Let’s go find you some.” 

—

James takes you to the refreshment table. He finds you lemon drizzle biscuits, two packets, and he pushes two more into your hands with the command to take them home. He offers to make you dinner again when Lily arrives in a tizzy, with a chubby baby on her hip. 

Harry, she says. Just turned three. Scandalised everyone at home, Lily’s sister kicked her out, disaster. Harry, though, is beautiful. James and Lily are beautiful, and happy. James takes Harry into his arms the moment he sees him murmuring about his boy, and the sensation of guilt under your skin grows worse than ever. 

How are you liking group? Lily asks. Would you come back next week? That’s great! I’m so glad to hear it. 

—

You’re walking through Wilmand Street to the corner shop a few days later when you see him. Brown hair wet with snow, ashing a cigarette into the brick wall by the library. Remus cringes as he does it, blowing smoke from the side of his mouth in a call, “Y/N!” he says, “Hey, lovely, how are you? Sorry about the smoke,” he adds. “I was hoping I’d see you this week.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I wondered how you were doing.” 

“Well, don’t worry about me, I’m okay. I…” You cringe, pulling a hand down your sore chest. “I owe you an apology. I’m sorry for the other day, for dumping that stuff on you, you don’t even know me and I told you such a horrible thing and made you worry, and your friends were so nice to me at the community group and I just didn’t say thanks or anything. I’m genuinely ashamed of myself.” You smile a weird smile, clunky, attempting to brush everything away like it didn’t mean anything, silly little you. “All the time.” 

Remus’ expression goes odd, a wall you can’t read, left searching his winter jacket for clues as to how he’s feeling. “I don’t think you have anything to be ashamed of,” he says, finally and simply. 

“It was rude of me.” 

“I have some experience with feeling ashamed for the things other people have done,” he says, flakes of snow kissing his shoulders, a white dot coming to rest and melt on his cheek. “I understand why you’re feeling this way, and it’s expected, but… How do I put this?” 

You watch his eyes. Remus struggles to say anything more. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen a flicker of insecurity on him. He always seems calmly settled, as though he’s thought about the world and found what it is he was looking for in it a long time ago. 

“Just because we think something doesn’t make it true,” he says, hiding his hands in his coat pockets. “You might feel like it was wrong to tell me, but it wasn’t, and you might think you were rude to my friends, but you weren’t. They didn’t have a single bad word to say about you. Not that either of them tend to say anything disparaging about anyone,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“I wish I didn’t tell you, is all.” 

“I’m sorry. I can go on as though you didn’t, if that’s what you want, whatever you want.” 

You look down at your chest, nodding. “Okay.” 

Which isn’t a yes or no to his suggestion, but he doesn’t pull you up on it. “Okay. Are you going to the pharmacy?” 

“I– no. But I did hope to ask you something.” He nods, as if to say, Go on. “It’s about the sex clinic.” 

“What about it?” 

“I don’t really know what it is.” 

Remus looks around the street and then up and down your arms. The jumper you’re wearing is thin, your teeth aching to chatter, and he’s noticed it already. “Do you want to have this conversation over tea, lovely?” he asks. 

“Decaf?” 

“Yes, and biscuits, if you’re interested.” 

You follow Remus up the marginally steep hill that makes up Wilmand Street and enter the pharmacy behind him. It’s wooden front and newspaper clippings give way to the starker insides, where you find Sirius sitting at the front desk. Or rather, sitting on it, corded telephone held between his ear and his shoulder. “Oh, he’s just come in, but he has company. Yeah, he said.” Sirius presses the phone to his shoulder to give you both a small but earnest smile. “Hey, you’ve been snowed on. Turn the heating up before you catch your death.” 

“It’s been caught,” Remus says with a wave. “We’re going to sit in the kitchen. Tell Reg not to interrupt us.” 

Your mouth falls open, but Sirius only salutes his —friend? coworker? “James says he’s giving the phone a sloppy one for you.” 

“Lovely.” Remus laughs brightly, his hand slipping behind your shoulder. “Alright?” he asks. 

You give a nod and continue following him past the inside door to the kitchen you’d sat in before. Remus flicks the kettle on and sits down, forcing you to take his cue and sit opposite of him. 

“Much warmer in here,” he mumbles, stripping out of his coat. “Alright. What did you want to ask me about the sex clinic?” 

“Um… I don’t know. How do I go there?” 

“We’ll make an appointment. It’s not far from the leisure centre, so you can walk, or I can book you a taxi, give you a lift. We'll work something out.”

“And they… won’t mind that I– that I don’t really know what I’m doing?” 

You almost miss the dissatisfied noise he makes over the rising sound of the kettle. “They won’t mind.” 

“Do I have to tell them what happened?” 

“No. I mean, I assume it’s better if they have a clearer picture of the circumstances, but then again, you’re entitled to your privacy. You could just say you’re concerned about your intimate health.” 

“But they’ll ask questions.” 

“Yeah, they will. I know you don’t want to answer them, and that’s okay. You don’t have to answer them. Doctor’s, pharmacists, we just ask about stuff because we have to, but there’s no law that says you have to answer.” 

Now you’ve had time to think about things beyond the aching and the angry horror, a new fear has curdled. “What if he gave me something?” you say under your breath. 

“Then we can get you whatever medicine it is that you need and we can work toward you feeling better again.” His head tips as the kettle clicks. “Did you still want tea?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Remus makes you each a cup of decaf tea, bringing sugar and milk to the table for you to add yourself. 

“We can go now, if you want to.” 

“To the clinic?” you ask. 

Remus nods slowly. “Mm-hm. It’s an emergency.” 

“You’d come with me?” you ask, not breathless, but almost. 

“If you’re okay with it and you want me to, I’ll come with you. It might not be so scary. Or I can ask Lily to take you.” 

It’s not Remus’ fault that the person who assaulted you was a man like he is, but it does sound less intimidating to go with a girl. You’re not sure why. It’s not like he hasn’t been kind since the minute you asked him about confidentiality or that he deserves your distrust, but even sitting in this room with him now talking about the clinic has made you uncomfortable again. “Would she mind?” 

“Lily would love to take you. I know that sounds strange. She wouldn’t love that you need to go, but she wouldn’t want you to go alone if you’re worried about it.” 

“And she’ll go now?” 

Remus pushes your mug toward you. “You have some tea and I'll go and ask James if she’s around.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You’re not,” he says. “There’s biscuits in the cupboard, lovely. If you want some, you can help yourself.” 

Things don’t pass that day in much detail after that. When Remus returns ten minutes later, you’ve finished your tea, and Lily is with him. She was on her way here already. She’d be happy to take you to the clinic. 

So you go, and you get checked out, and you submit to their tests and their invasive, well-intentioned questions. Lily takes you to a cafe afterward and buys you a pastry you can’t do more than poke. She takes you home. You feel guilty for not saying thank you in the car, but you can barely speak. A few days later you get a phone call with your results. You take a course of medications. You cry yourself to sleep three days in a row, because, as they’d tested for STDs, they tested for something else, and they’d told you what you‘d already known. 

You’re as pregnant as your home tests said you are. Despite everything, you feel an emotion you hate, and you push it down again. 

—

The door to your flat shakes with a sharp knock. 

You startle and stand, not sure what you’d been thinking, a hole burned into the floor at your feet. You’re in no state to answer the door, wet hair dripping a river down your back and your pajamas old. There’s nothing for it. 

You take the handle into your hand and squeeze. 

Dark-haired Regulus is standing in the hallway. You let the door close just an inch between you. 

“Regulus,” you say, unsure if surprise will help or hinder you. 

“Hello.” 

“How can I…” 

“Remus asked me to check in on you.” 

You’re not sure you like what he’s saying. “How do you know where I live?” 

“Remus didn’t ask me to come to your flat, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“No, it’s not. I’m confused that you know where I live when I didn’t tell you.” 

He holds a deft hand up in surrender. “I live across the street, I’ve seen you come into the building, and your last name is on the postbox downstairs. I’m not doing anything illegal.” 

Just weird, then. 

“Remus asked me to keep an eye out for you,” he says, “but you haven’t been to the pharmacy, naturally.”

“So your solution was to come to my house?” 

“I don’t think there’s any need to get twitchy.” 

But there is. There is. He might not know what it is, and you might find thinking about it feels like a serrated blade end squeezed in your fist, but there is a need. You don’t want him to be here. It doesn’t matter that he’s small and skinny and has a sweet nose. This is your place to be by yourself, and to have nobody know where you are. This is the locked door. 

He has the sense to soften his bravado. “Sorry. I’ve made you uncomfortable.” 

You try to relax your shoulders. Your ribs ache with the tension. “Please,” you say gently, “tell Remus that I’m alright. Thank you for worrying about me.”

Regulus looks to the stairwell leading to the foyer. “He’s going to Community Support tonight if you want to tell him yourself. I am, too.” He doesn’t look at you again. “See you later,” he says to the stairs. 

 —

You go to Community Support despite yourself.

“Can you forgive me for not flirting with you?” 

You surprise the urge to flinch hard, turning to the voice with a half-smile. Sirius is standing beside you suddenly, your faces reflected in the plexiglass covered notice board just outside of the community hall. “What?” you ask. 

“I don’t mean to be offensive. I haven’t flirted because I thought Remus might have his eye on you, and I don’t want you to think it’s because you’re not beautiful.” 

You have to turn to see him to realise he’s teasing you now to be friendly. “I’d be offended if you did flirt with me,” you say. 

“Marvellous, then I won’t.”

“Remus doesn’t have his eye on me, though. He’s just been giving me pharmaceutical advice, I suppose.” 

“Oh, I see. I thought maybe you’d… Well, never mind. Forget I said anything.”

He’s handsome enough that you’d be shocked if he actually did flirt with you, clear-skinned as his brother, but with a warmer smile, almost mischievous, like he knows something you don’t know and he’ll tell you for the right price. His shoulders are slim, his biceps particularly solid as he crosses his arms over his chest. He notices you noticing and gives a flex, to your laughter. “Like what you see?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

“We’re on the rugby team, you know.”

“You and Remus?” 

“As if, Remus doesn’t like sports. He’s more of a walker. James and I are the sportsmen.” 

Sirius didn’t strike you as somebody who plays anything either, but it’s not polite to say. 

“Well, aren’t you coming inside?” he asks. “We could use a face like yours in there tonight. Beautiful girls are great for overall morale.” 

You shake your head. “Don’t think so.” 

“You came all the way here. You could at least come in for a bit of cake or something.” 

“Community support or community kitchen?” you mumble. 

“Everybody gets hungry. The best part of being in a community is making sure nobody goes hungry for long, right?” 

You give him a sideways look. Somehow, someway, you’ve become acquainted with a circle of philanthropists. Normal people aren’t so generous. You’re too tired to be this kind. 

“What kind do you have?” 

“Carrot, red velvet, Victoria sponge, and plain chocolate, I think. Maybe a bit of walnut sponge if Marlene hasn’t mauled the whole thing.” 

You’re not sure you can stomach it, just he’s looking at you so nicely that you want to go in with him. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

Sirius slips a hand behind your back, letting it hover an inch from your skin as he shepherds you through the double doors and into the main hall. It’s far more crowded than it had been on your first visit, a small circle of people already in chairs talking a ways from the crowded food table, pilfered, more sandwiches in hands than hands to hold them, and enough brewed coffee to scent the air. James is immediately noticeable crouching at the table, having pulled a crate of juice boxes from beneath it, laughing about something someone is saying to him —something Remus is saying, the tallest man in the room and somehow completely non-imposing, his voice more colour than sound as he talks. 

It must just be because Remus is attentive. Must be the memory of his nice hand on your shoulder, squeezing, that makes you pay special attention to his shaking. “Is he laughing?” you ask. 

Sirius tunes in quickly. “Yeah. He’s done that since we were kids. He can laugh like normal, but when something really has him it’s like he can’t get the sound out.” He chuckles himself. “Idiots. Come on, let’s get you your slice of cake.” 

You can’t help staring at Remus as Sirius takes you over to him and James. James is so happy to see you he almost loses his glasses. 

“You’re back! I thought my shitty impersonation of a counsellor might’ve scared you off. Don’t want some soup, do you?” 

“Don’t say yes out of pity,” Sirius says. “Nobody ever wants James to make them soup.” 

“You like my soup.” 

“I like Effie’s soup. She makes the best bowl of lemon chicken I’ve ever tasted, and you make a mediocre imitation of her recipe, which is as good as it gets while I’m away.” 

“Effie’s my mother,” James explains, clambering to his feet with the crate of small bottles of juice held to his chest. “Euphemia. And she does make the best lemon chicken soup, but mines just fine! And anyways, tonight I made winter vegetable because all the Christmas veg was 8p and I have a fuckton. It’s delicious. I cut the swede up so thin it melts in your mouth, I got fresh thyme from the garden, little bit of spinach, all of it cooked in a metric ton of butter.” 

Remus snorts softly. He meets your eyes, which has you smiling on automatic. “James is a bit of a soup addict.” 

”I–” You feel hungry for the first time in weeks. “I’d quite like to, uh, try some. If you really don’t mind.” 

James glows, shoving the case of juice onto the refreshment table next to the hot water towers. “Yes. How about toasties, lovely, d’you want a cheese toastie with it? You’ll love it.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Anyone else while I’m warming it?” 

Remus meets your eyes again, like you’re sharing a secret. “I’ll have a bowl, Jamie.” 

“Yes.” 

“Alright,” Sirius acquiesces, “and me. And Reg will, too, wherever he’s gone off too. But he won’t have cheese–”

“Just toast, I know.” 

James gets a look on him like he’s found the secrets of the universe. “I’ll make a garlic butter cheese toastie for all of you. Mm?” 

Sirius waves him away. 

Sirius grabs you a slice of cake even as you mumble about the soup and how it’s dessert before dinner. Doesn’t matter, he murmurs back, not worried about why you’ve gone shy, I promised you a slice.

You take an apple juice and follow him to a table. Remus comes with you. He looks sunnier today than the last time you saw him despite ever-cloudy weather. Maybe he’s just a bit golden. Steady, he sits at the table across from you with Sirius taking a seat perpendicular, the three of you three sides to a square, nothing to look at besides your hand squeezed around the handle of a plastic fork. 

“I’m sorry about Regulus,” Remus says. “I didn’t mean for him to visit you at home. He told me you weren’t thrilled about it, and I can’t blame you.” 

“I’m sorry too,” Sirius says, wrinkling his nose. “I have no clue why he did that.” 

“And Regulus would be sorry, he just has a hard time realising when he’s overstepped.”

You nod at the table. “It’s okay. I mean, it did make me uncomfortable, and I– wasn’t super polite to him. I just wasn’t expecting him to be at the door, that’s all. And he said sorry, actually. So it’s forgiven.” 

“Oh.” Sirius perches his hand in his head. “That’s unlike him. He doesn’t tend to be sorry.” 

“Neither do you,” Remus says. 

“It’s a family trait.” 

“Can I save this for after soup?” you ask, shuffling your plate to the side. It’ll be easier to eat your cake when everyone else is eating as well. 

“Course you can,” Sirius says, leaning back in his seat. “But if you don’t eat it, I’ll assume you don’t like me. I’m sensitive like that.” 

Remus rolls his eyes, again gifting you with a great feeling, as though you’re in on a secret with him. He’s wearing an aviator jacket that looks incredibly soft, worn but not tattered, sherpa insides flattened but clean. The sleeves warp as he crosses his arms in front of him on the table and leans forward, conspirator. 

“So, how was your morning? Besides Regulus’ unwelcome intrusion,” he says, almost drawling as Sirius does when he gets that playful look in his eye. 

You’re not sure how to handle these boys. But you want to try. You’re sick of having nobody, of being nobody, even if it’s a little discomfiting sometimes to be with them. “My morning was fine. Tries to get through all my washing but it’s a mountain, so I left it and had a long shower instead.”

“How long is long?” Remus asks. 

“Too long.” 

“Like Remus’, then. I’m a one and done man, wash and go.” Sirius peels forward, “And Remus takes hours. Uses all the hot water.” 

“You live together?” you ask. 

“We did for a bit, didn’t we?” Sirius says. 

“Six very long years,” Remus says. “But I have a flat, and Sirius lives on Wilmand Street now, thank god.” 

“Thank god indeed,” Sirius says, “now I can actually wash my hair on a semi-regular basis.” 

“Can you?” Remus asks. 

“What are you implying?” 

“Only that your hair seems distinctly unwashed lately, don’t worry.” 

“He’s showing off ‘cos you’re here,” Sirius says, smiling despite the accusation as he takes a hand through his hair and pushes it back from his face. “I wash plenty.” 

“Do you? I was almost hoping you’d stopped. Maybe that would explain the weird thing you have going on right here.” Remus scratches his upper lip. 

“Fuck off, you just don’t like a scratchy kiss–”

Remus laughs suddenly. After a moment, it tapers into silence, though his shoulders still shake, and you can hear his laughter in his voice when he says, “That charming thatch of stubble would be the last of my worries if I wanted to kiss you, Sirius.” 

“What’s top of the list then?” 

“The smell, obviously. I’m getting top notes of wet dog and a headier dampness–”

“You sick bastard,” Sirius says, sounding absolutely delighted at his friend's insult. 

“You just need a good wash, is all.” 

You don’t mean to, but you laugh. Giggle, really, entertained by them and shocked a little by the way they snip and snap at each other. You pitch forward, face angled down, eyes tempted to shut completely. Sick bastard, you think, laughing still. 

It only makes you laugh more when Sirius nudges you. “Hey, thought we were getting somewhere,” he murmurs. 

You giggle some more. “Sorry,” you squeeze out eventually. 

“Don’t be. He can take a hit. Even if he’s sensitive,” Remus says.

Sirius sniffs. “I’m not that sensitive. Can’t make a joke anymore without being entirely misrepresented.” 

— 

James’ soup becomes a staple for you over the next couple of days. Community Support is a daily occurrence, though some nights are more popular than others. The weekends are busiest, Friday and Saturday night, but Wednesdays have an uptick you aren’t expecting, sitting at one of the plastic tables with another cup or winter veg soup and a garlic buttered toastie. You blow on melty cheese as James brings the hot plate out to the refreshment table, making it easier to serve the many who want it. He’s gleeful, promising that they’re gonna love it, and then tacking on an amendment that anyone who doesn’t like it is more than welcome to something else from the kitchen. 

With payday for most at midnight Friday, or some time after, it’s the hump of the week that hits hardest. You don’t come for the soup, but some people do, and they can’t be blamed for it; stretching money out isn’t easy. 

Your stomach clenches. Your spoon wobbles in your hand. 

From across the room, Remus sends you a warm smile, a kid in his arms and another at his thigh, chattering away as their mam takes a well-deserved breather by the terracotta sofas. 

The next day is the same. James makes soup and ham sandwiches, ham off the bone, made it himself, and you pick at the crusts at a plastic table. Sirius keeps you company for a bit, and then Remus rags on him until he leaves. They’re both too smiley to believe any animosity. 

On Friday, James isn’t there. 

“Harry’s poorly.” 

“I thought he might’ve had a day off.” 

“He and Lily like the group too much for days off.” Remus scratches a hand through his hair. It’s the most boyish thing he’s ever done in front of you. “Are you liking it here? You haven’t missed a day all week.” 

“James makes a good soup.” 

“He left plenty, if you want it.” 

You’re not sure you can stomach it. You give a small shake of your head. “Will Harry be okay?” 

“Fine. He gets ear infections, James used to get them too, even when we were teenagers. He’s on antibiotics already, it’s just the crying that’s the worst. Makes him sick.” Remus smiles sympathetically. “Makes James sick, too. But they’ll be okay.” 

“That’s good. It’s too quiet here when James isn’t around.” 

The hall is practically silent. There are a few people milling around on the sofas and another handful drinking tea by the refreshment table. Mary is patting a crying woman with pink hair on the back. A two year old sits at her feet, staring up at her sullenly. 

“I could go turn on the radio.” 

You perch your chin in your palm, elbow on the table. Tired today. “That’s okay. It’s nice.” Quiet, but not lonely. 

“You feeling okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” You fight the urge to let your eyes shutter closed. “I’m okay. You okay?” 

“I’m great. I’m really glad you’ve been coming. I know you don’t stay for group therapy, and you don’t have to, but… I don’t know, I think it’s just good to be around people.” 

You feel like he meant to say a particular but dodged it at the last second. He hesitated. 

He said he wouldn’t bring it up if you didn’t want him to, but maybe you do, just so you know it was real, and bad. It was awful, wasn’t it? 

“I don’t like being alone,” you confess, scratching the back of your neck. “For a while…” You scratch scratch scratch, sounds of your nails over skin, then let your hand drop with a thump against your thigh. “I wanted to be alone. But now when I’m home by myself I feel awful.” 

“It’s normal to want company.” 

“Even after what happened?” 

“Especially after what happened. I think the stereotype is that people… experience something bad, and that they retreat into themselves, and that’s based on a real process of emotions,” —he talks quietly but surely, without a lick of condescension— “and a real sort of phenomena. Everybody needs time to lick their wounds, to put it heavily. But it makes sense that you’d seek out company when you’ve just had a really, really horrible thing happen.” 

You did retreat into yourself at first. Wasting days away in bed without an appetite, crying yourself sick and to sleep, hating yourself and the world and him, because it hurt so badly. But then you didn’t get your period when you were expecting it and it was like holding the times of a fork to a plug socket, a nasty shock flaring through your entire body from the tips of your fingers. And now you have decisions to make and a life to live after, it’s happening now, quickly. You aren’t feeling any better than you were that morning when you first woke up and realised you’d been attacked without fully knowing, but time is moving forward regardless. You don’t know why you crave other people, but you do. You like seeing Remus every night, even if he only talks to you once or twice. You like eating James’ home cooked food, like watching Sirius and Regulus bicker as they lean against one another, and you like seeing Lily press her nose to her baby’s. You wonder what that feels like. How soft is a small nose? What does it feel like to hold the person you made out of love and a little bit of every part of you in two hands? 

You’re still so lonely it’s palpable. There are moments throughout the day where you can’t face it head on, but the support group is genuinely helping, if it’s just to spend an hour outside of your head. 

Lonely, and with nobody to confide in. 

Remus watches you think for a while. He’s waiting patiently for you to speak again. 

“Can I tell you something stupid?” you ask softly. 

“Sure.” 

“Don’t laugh at me.” 

“I doubt I could.” 

You let out a deep sigh. He’s all browns tonight in his old jacket. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown jacket. “I was thinking about keeping the baby. I don’t know if you’d consider it a baby right now,” you murmur, staring at the corner of his mouth, “but I think I want it to be one. And I can’t stop thinking that it’s a bad idea.” 

“It’s your decision,” Remus says. When you sigh, he looks chastened, and you hadn’t wanted it to be a chastening. He clears his throat. “You already know that, don’t you?” Not expecting an answer, he leans back in his chair and levels you with a smile more friendly than you deserve. “Keep your baby if you want to, lovely. The point of– Well, of having the choice, is being allowed to choose yes, to choose to keep your baby, even if it’s a bad idea. Or looks like one.”

“I know, but…” 

But it’s a bad idea. But it happened because somebody hurt you. But you’re completely alone.

“I’m not upsetting you, am I?” he asks. 

“No, you’re not. You’ve been really nice to me,” you mumble, letting your aching eyes close as you lean into your hand. “It’s not you.” 

Remus settles for a few seconds. “Can I put my arm around you?” he asks finally. 

“Okay.” 

So he does. His voice drops to match your own, his elbow right between your ribs as his thumb skirts across the top of your shoulder, “I’m sorry I can’t fix it for you, I wish I could tell you what to do that’s going to make you the happiest. I can’t, though.”

“I know.” 

He rubs your shoulder. “I know you know.” 

There’s a lot to think about. You aren’t pregnant by a miracle. Something bad happened to you, and the choice is yours now to take, and no one would blame you for wanting to forget the whole thing. At least, nobody here at the support group would. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it; lately, it’s the only thing on your mind. But the guilt of wanting it won’t go away. 

“Sorry you have to do this again,” you mumble. 

“What, give you a hug?” Remus’ voice turns softer. It feels less like the kind words of a stranger and more like a friend. “I don’t mind it.” 

You try to stop feeling guilty. The most you can be right now is looked after, at least for a while, for as long as Remus will hold your shoulders. 

“It’s not your fault,” Remus says. “You know that, too, I’m guessing. What happened to you wasn’t your fault.” 

You’re not so sure. It’s a different guilt to look at in whatever light finds you when it happens. “I know,” you say, half a lie. 

“And I know you have no reason to trust us with something so huge, but we’re here for you. That’s the whole point of the group.” 

You sigh heavily. “I know,” you say under your breath. You’re just not sure it’s going to be enough.

𖦹

hi thanks for reading the first part! this is a heavy one but it’s also a fic I’ve wanted to write for a long time, or rewrite <\3 some of you may have read my first go at this years ago and I’m hoping to tie in some of the old stuff but it’s also its own story hopefully, it’s shaping up well! 

https://rapecrisis.org.uk rape crisis UK — they have a support line! and many many articles

information about rape crisis https://247sexualabusesupport.org.uk/faqs/

[madamechrissy]

Let me in your ocean, Swim

The five times Sukuna tried to confess his feelings, and the one that works

PREVIEW- COMING SOON

Pairings- Sukuna x F reader (both like 23/24)

Summary- You have known Sukuna your entire life, and he's infuriated you for most of it. Since you were kids on a playground he was picking on you, and you decided you hate him (love him!?) little do you know, he's been in love with you since the moment you met. There were five times he tried and epically failed to let you know. You all don't see each other for two years after college, when you run into him on Valentine's day at the bar- and you think, what better for getting jilted tonight then a hate fuck from Sukuna!? But... no, in fact he needs to finally tell you the truth.

CW- enemies to lovers (kinda!?) Sukuna is TERRIBLE at feelings, lowkey a bully when you're younger, go through the five times he tried to tell you (intermingles with the current night) romantic, sweet, angsty and NSFW. Smut at the end and throughout a lot of teasing and tension. warnings- rough sex, dirty talk, creampie, oral (m and f recieving) fingering, alcohol, use of recreational drugs etc- oneshot!!

Comment to get on the Taglist! Gonna be a LONG one (Same premise/style as Gojo and Geto 5+1- but it's Sukuna SO lol)

You didn’t expect to be sitting alone at a bar for Valentine’s day, but here you are, dressed to the nines in a beautiful glittery black dress, hair done up, makeup perfect on your skin. You have glittery bangles along your wrist, and red bottom heels, you’re as dressed up as you ever got, but right before your date, your boyfriend decided to break things off with you.

Which leads you to this hole in the wall bar, across the street from the fancy restaurant you’d sat at for an hour waiting on him, only to get broken up via text. Sighing, you order another drink, tensing then when you hear it, the damn voice of the man who you simultaneously couldn’t stand and also had it bad for, for years and years, ever since elementary school.

“Tch, what’re you doing here brat?” You glare up at him, but when you see just how good Sukuna looks, after two years of not seeing him? You falter, lips parted just so as he smirks down at you.

However, his heart is pounding in his chest, despite certainly not showing you outwardly, you take his damn breath away. Sukuna has always found you to be the most beautiful, infuriating little creature in existence. And you’ve just gotten more beautiful, which in itself irritates the shit out of him, it was hard enough acting ‘normal’ around you all his life.

But now?

“What’re you doing here, Kuna?” He snorts, rolling ruby red eyes, leaning against the bar with an elbow propped on it, glaring at you.

“Don’t call me that, god.”

“It irritates you, so I will.” You smile up at him, sipping the rest of your drink, which he eyes disparingly.

“What’s that pink shit?”

“Oh, like your hair?” You counter, raising a brow, his jaw sets. “Ya want one, Kuna?”

“No, I don’t want your little bitch drink.” You roll your eyes now, as he sits next to you, and your eyes sweep over his starch white dress shirt and black slacks, stretching over muscles that seemed to have only gotten more pronounced since college.

“Not even my cherry, hmm?” You tease, pulling the marachino out of your cup, dangling it in front of his face.

“That’s long gone, I’m sure, looking all slutty…” He murmurs, right in your ear, you shove at him, scoffing.

“You’re slutty, Sukuna. Pretty sure you fucked a whole sorority last time we caught up?”

“Mmm, rumors, rumors.” He holds up two fingers now. “Gimme something that’s not a little bitch drink, please.”

“So manly, oh heavens!” You pretend to fan yourself and he can’t stop the laughter, but he soon covers it with a glare.

“Get her some more of this pink crap.” He says, and you are a little surprised then, looking at the handsome man who’s had your heart for so long you can’t remember a time before him.

“You buying me a drink?”

“I am buying you a drink. I… it’s been a long time.” He misses you, but the words are caught in his throat.

“It has been a long time. Thank you.” You smile as the bartender hands you another dirty shirley, and hands Sukuna a glass of whiskey on the rocks. He sips at it, eyes darting over your frame, your sexy body that is so well shown in that dress of yours, all he can think of is unzipping it.

“Where’s the boyfriend?” You blink a bit.

“How’d you know I had one?”

Well, Sukuna’s been insta stalking you but he won’t admit it.

“Heard it from our friends, duh. Just because we don’t see each other doesn’t mean I don’t see them.”

“Yeah well, it’s not like… I didn’t want to see you. We left things…”

“Yeah.” He sighs now, running a hand through pastel locks, a hand with black tattoos and black nails, throwing off this corporate vibe he has, something dark about him, but then, there’s always been. “You single on Valentine’s day?”

“I am, officially. Ass of a boyfriend left me across the street via text. And… are you…”

“Yeah, I also got broken up with, but slapped in the face, and in person. Think they planned the shit?” You giggle, shaking your head and sipping your drink, leaning just a bit closer, leg brushing his wide, strong one. He damn near moans just at feeling your body after so, so long.

“Maybe they did. I’ve wanted to see you, though… I just…”

“There’s something I wanted to… tell you. Actually. I thought about calling you, but…”

“Yeah? Calling me?”

“So surprising?”

“You hate me? So yeah.”

Sukuna sighs now, sipping his drink again, looking down into your beautiful eyes, your beautiful face, remembering just all those times he’d ruined it with you. Fuck, since the first moment he met you, he was a dick, and pushed you away, all because the shit he feels terrifies him. And over the years, he’s tried, but he thought you were too far gone, nothing but a regret, a memory.

Something to compare every girl he’s with, never you, are they? There’s no one like you.

But you’re here of all places, and though Sukuna thinks shit like ‘signs’ are the dumbest thing ever, he can’t let this pass, not this time. He takes a breath and his lips part, his fingers then brush your hair back, something far too gentle for Sukuna, something that makes your eyes dilate, your little gasp so sexy he can’t think.

“You trying to fuck me tonight?” You ask, and he chuckles, the gentle brush now a rough grip in your hair, leaning over you.

You taste the whiskey on his breath, you feel his lips so close, your breaths mingling, as your hand comes to his shirt, balling the fancy material in your little fist. “That what you want, brat? Me to fuck you finally?”

“Maybe I do.” He freezes then, blinking long lashes, leaning even closer, free hand gripping your waist in the crowded bar. “A hate fuck? Sounds like the perfect thing to forget tonight.”

“Hate fuck, huh?”

What you don’t know is, Sukuna is in love with you.

Art in the banner is from WynnChan270 on Deviant art- if you find them on tumblr plz lmk so I can credit here! <3 divider is from div1nepetal

Perma tags: @alt--er--love @seeing-stars-alt @nanasukii28 @labelt-san @makingtimemine @cuntphoric @n1vi @aldebrana @indiewritesxoxo @loafteaw

[dante-mightdie]

Girl if you don’t give us some more low self esteem reader x price i think i’m gonna die 😫😫 genuinely one of my favs!!

john who finally convinces our lovely low self esteem reader to let him take her out and when the time comes, he’s outside your door all suited and booted. expensive bouquet in his hand as he shifts on his feet, anxiously waiting for you to open the door

it’s been ten minutes since he rung the doorbell. ten minutes since you text him saying you’d be down in a second. he understands that sometimes a lady needs time getting ready but now you aren’t even responding to his messages checking on you

he can’t see you pacing from your bathroom back to your bedroom, pulling and twisting at your outfit until it ‘fits right’. cursing under your breath each time you apply more lip gloss or mascara, only to end up smudging your makeup and ruining it

he can’t see the tears welling in your eyes each time you catch your reflection and you just can’t do it. nothing is working because of you. and john is going to see that. john is going to see you. and you just can’t have that so you leave him down there, waiting for you as you sniffle and pull at your hair in frustration

so he calls you, stepping back to see if your upstairs light was still on as the ringing drones on in his ear. and when you do finally pick up, the first thing he’s greeted with is sniffles

“h-hi john…” you say, a nervous laugh following. before he can ask if you’re okay, you speak again. “m’really sorry to do this but… uhm…”

“love?” he cuts you off, a gentle tone in his voice so you know he’s not upset. a few seconds silence follows before you sniffle again

“yeah?” he can hear the sadness in your voice, the uncertainty. his eyes flick up once more to look at the light coming from your upstairs window

“come open the door, yeah? let me see ya, doll… been waiting all week to see that pretty smile just one more time.” the heat pooling in your stomach at his sweet words causes more tears to leak down your cheeks

you don’t know why he’s any different to the other guys you’ve shut down. you don’t know why you agree to see him and shuffle downstairs to open the door

but that kind smile he throws your way when you finally open the door is enough to make your lip wobble a little more so he distracts you with the bouquet of your favourite flowers

“how did you know-?” you’re ready to question him, and he can see the little glint in your eye. runaway thoughts of maybe this guy is a stalker who’s been watching you. not some prince charming like you’d be reluctantly convincing yourself.

“I asked ya friends at the bar when I was getting your drinks. wanted to know what I should get you for our first date.” there’s a proud beam in his smile, like he knows he’s won you over a little there

“You hadn’t even asked me out yet…” you giggle slightly, sniffling before looking down at the stunning arrangement of flowers

“don’t matter, darling. I knew I was going to the second I saw you…” he states it like it’s obvious, like you should know he was going to pursue you. his hand reaches up to wipe your teary cheeks before offering you his arm to take

“hang on let me change.” you go to turn but he stops you, shaking his head and taking the initiative to wrap your arm in his

“none of that. you look beautiful…” you hate the way his words turn you to mush inside. you hate yourself for falling for it, for leaving yourself vulnerable to his sweet words and charming smile

but you don’t hate him, and the attention he gives you so you figure one date with the handsome man who bought you a drink couldn’t hurt

[reignpage]

Movie Night

Summary: in which alien!reader asks Gojo to teach her a little something Word Count: 1.8k Warnings: smut, not proofread

Day 7

“What’s wrong, E?”

All fresh from a shower, you and Satoru are sitting in the sofa, watching a movie. He’s finally bought you your own clothes and you’re dressed in a warm jumper and cosy pants. Satoru won’t lie; he’s grieving the pleasure of seeing you drown in his clothes. But you were ecstatic at the sight of the space themed pjs and so he was left with nothing to do but he happy. 

Wrapped under a thick blanket, you’re huddled by his side, clutching his shirt. As with every movie, every night, you ask questions, and he answers as best as he can. He’s insanely grateful that you can understand him when he explains things like what a car is (a moving vehicle) or who Gordon Ramsey is (a famous chef known for being very wrinkly and very angry). It seems that your biggest issue, however, is stringing a full sentence together. 

You’ve been getting much better, accelerating at a rate no human could manage. It’s both impressive and terrifying. 

Right now, you’re tilting your head at a particular scene. Satoru forgot the plot of the money and he really regrets not keeping an eye out for the age rating, because on the screen plays a steamy, kiss scene. 

In fact, ‘kiss’ isn’t even the right word; they’re making out. 

How you both managed to last a week of doing nothing but watch movies without coming across a kiss scene he’ll never know. But the moment’s finally arrived and he is not any more prepared than he was on the first night.

He winces at the sound lips smacking against each other, a blush on his cheeks. A kiss is nothing -- he’s done far more than that, and multiple times. But, for some reason, he’s feeling a little shy. It might have something to do with the fact that you’re staring up at him with your big, curious eyes. 

“What they doing?” You ask. 

Satoru gulps. He’s become painfully aware of how close you are — his arm is trapped between your breasts, just a thin layer separating him from your soft flesh, and, under the blanket, your leg is strung ever so slightly on his thigh. He can smell his shampoo emanating from you with something sweet coursing just under that masculine scent. 

Chuckling uncomfortably, he explains, “They’re kissing.”

“Why?”

He has half a mind to turn the TV off and declare an earlier bedtime, but you look so innocent he feels bad that he was thinking of something indecent. He’s your friend. He can’t prey on you and take advantage of your reliance on him. Plus, how would a kiss between two people from different intergalactic species even work?

Would it be the same? Or does it lead to pregnancy straight away? What if you lay eggs in his mouth? What if he lays eggs in your mouth?

Composing himself, he searches for the right words. “It’s something people do to express their love for each other, I guess. Well, not all the time, actually. Sometimes it’s just for pleasure.”

“Pleasure?”

Why, oh, why did you have to focus on that one word? 

And why on everything that is good in this world is this scene so long?

“It means to feel good.”

The hand clutching his shirt flattens out until it’s feeling the hard planes of his chest and absorbing the vibrations of his heartbeat. You drum your fingers at the same pace, smiling softly. The heat of your hand, of your entire body, is setting his skin alight. Suddenly, it’s too hot under the blanket, there isn’t enough room or air, and he needs to go but he can’t bear to. 

Batting your lashes, you inquire, “How to make pleasure, Toru? How kiss feel good?”

Brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, he corrects you, “It’s, ‘how does kissing make you feel good’, E. Try again for me?”

You taste the words, lips stretching to practice the movement before you parrot back perfectly, “Tell me how kissing makes you feel good, Toru.”

Oh, fuck. 

Why did he make you repeat it in perfect Japanese? Why did he have to use this very moment as a learning opportunity? 

Curse his perfect teaching instincts!

He’s about to shrug you off, using sleepiness as an excuse to retreat, but then you’re leaning even closer, licking your lips and eyeing his. Warmth is spreading through his body, circulating in one particular area and he’s hoping you don’t move your leg any higher otherwise this will turn into a completely different conversation and he’s not certain he could survive giving you an anatomy lesson without getting a nosebleed. 

Licking his own lips, he grazes your cheek with his fingers. The skin he touches glows the very faintest hint of blue. He’s reeling. Up till now, he thought that your skin glows when you’re sleeping, but apparently you also glow when you’re being touched. But this isn’t the first time he’s touched you. 

Was it because before he was trying very, very hard not to stare?

He doesn’t know, and regardless, he can’t stop touching you. Satoru presses on your adorable cheeks to watch it light up, the way his is flushing red. Whispering, he asserts, “I can’t tell you how kissing feels, E.” 

Your hand presses harder against his chest, fingers splaying across the expanse. Subconsciously, he juts it out just a little. And with the most seductive voice, you demand, “Show me then, Toru. Make me feel good?”

Oh, and when you ask like that, how could anyone ever resist you?

There’s a tantalising closeness between you, just a hairsbreadth away from touching. When he finally closes that minuscule gap, a purr like thrum echoes through you. He kisses you, sweet and gentle, simply pressing his lips against yours. There’s nothing human about this, not with the invigorating taste of you, the scalding feel of your skin, and impossible softness of your body on his. 

“This is a kiss?” You mumble.

Chuckling, he says, “No, E. This is.”

With one hand holding the back of your neck, he sucks your bottom lip, unable to help himself from deepening the kiss. You gasp into his mouth, and he dives his tongue in, meeting yours. He knows he should slow down, should let you adjust to a friendly peck before he takes more than you can give, but you taste so good and it’s like he’s drunk. 

There’s a force, a gravitation pull drawing him in. He can’t resist it, can’t fight it, he isn’t even trying. 

You pull back in shock. 

Satoru chases after you, dragging you back in. He kisses you again. Groaning into your mouth, he slides a hand down to your leg, rising up your thigh. You jolt, a shiver running through your body. That electrifying purring hums in the air again and he’s smiling, hand rising and rising until he’s curving against your ass and carrying you over his thighs.

“This feels... I feel...,” you whimper, at a loss for words. 

Squeezing your thighs, he coos, “It’s alright, sweet thing. I’ve got you. You wanted to learn pleasure, right? Who better to teach you than Toru, hmm?”

You shiver again when he whispers that against your neck, nose skimming your jaw and lips curling. He’s inhaling deeply, eyes fluttering close at the weight of your body pressing down on him and your addictive scent. 

He can’t tell if this is all you or if it’s an alien thing, but he doesn’t care. Not in this moment, not when your hips are churning as he sucks at your neck, laying burning kisses against your skin, and watching the blue light dance under your skin. 

“Oh, E,” he sighs. “Are you grinding on me, baby? You want more than just a kiss, is that it? My greedy, greedygirl.”

When your clothed core rubs just right against his throbbing length, you throw your head back, that purring noise a hiss and it vibrates against his cheek as he listens to your rapid heartbeat. He can feel how wet you are; you’re soaking through your panties and pyjama bottoms.

Satoru’s growing dizzy.

One hand guides your hips to gyrate on him whilst the other clutches your throat to pull your lips back to his. Satoru knows he should stop now that he’s already taught you what you asked for, but he can’t. He just can’t. The thrill of going further, of testing your, and his, limits is too much for one man to resist. Even if that man is the strongest sorcerer in the world, even if not a whole gaggle of curses could pose a threat to him. 

“Toru!”

He thrusts upwards the same time he tugs you down and the elongated moan that leaves you, hips stuttering and hands frantically searching for purchase on his broad shoulders, leaves him feeling lightheaded. “That’s it, E. Take what you need.”

Your eyes are flashing blue, a darker hue than his own, and he’s amazed. Everything about you is incredible, like you were created to be his temptation, to be his undoing. Whether aliens have souls or not, he doesn’t know, but he does know that if you did, his and yours would be the same, all blue and perfect. 

Laughing, he leans back, hands simply resting on your thighs as you ride out your orgasm, shocked eyes pleading for explanation, for reason but finding none in his. That purring gets louder and louder, the vibrations stronger now and they’re flowing straight from your soaked pussy and right onto his cock. 

“Oh shit!” Satoru groans, nails digging suddenly. Within seconds, he’s cumming in his boxers, hot cream flooding his underwear from inside at the same time your wetness seeps through on top. “Jesus, E! That’s fucking intense, what the hell.”

He’s panting, eyes shut tightly as he keeps grinding your hips on his cock. 

You slump onto him just as he falls back. You’re completely depleted of energy, and he knows exactly what you’re feeling. Rubbing your back, he presses a kiss to your hair, muttering ‘well done’ and ‘good job’. 

“How was that for pleasure?”

Smacking his chest, you mumble a complaint. “Toru mean.”

He laughs agains.

“Sorry, E. You were just too cute.”

You raise your head, eyes bleary and fluttering shut. You meet his gaze, shaky fingers reaching for his lips and tracing them, all sore and pink, like you’re amazed at him the way he is at you. “Thank you. Kissing is nice.”

“We did a little more than just kissing, E. But sure, you’re welcome,” he chuckles. 

Eventually, you both fall asleep in each other’s arms right there on the sofa, ‘Are You Still Watching’ filling the TV screen and not the movie he can’t even remember the name of, drying cum posing a problem he’ll have to deal with in the morning.

He dreams of sapphire streaks in the air, of giant balls of fire, and an angel descending with its arms outstretched. And he hopes he never wakes up.

[covenofagatha]

Going up

A morning of working Agatha up ends in an elevator

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: GP Agatha, cumming in pants, blowjob, slight handjob, public (no sex though), oral, light edging

A/N: I don't even know if this is good or not lol but I had the idea and couldn't get it out of my head so hopefully people enjoy it

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn

When you wake up on Saturday morning, your first thought is: no work today! This week has been especially rough, the end of the fiscal quarter upon you, and your boss has been working you and the rest of the company to the bone. 

Your head lolls back on the pillow, tilting slightly to your left, where you see said boss sleeping next to you and a smirk spreads over your face. 

Her hair is fanned out across the pillowcase, the creases on her forehead that you’re used to seeing at work not as evident. She looks peaceful, more relaxed than she ever does awake, and it does something to your chest. 

Agatha Harkness is the Chief Operating Officer for the largest law firm in New York City. She runs a no-nonsense ship, barking out orders to everyone and anyone regardless of who you are. There’s rumors that she’s made interns pee themselves with just a single look. 

It’s no secret that she’s tightly wound and, without a doubt, a piece of work. The running joke between some of the attorneys was that she really needed to get laid. 

And while you found that incredibly sexist, that’s where you came in. 

For some reason, Agatha had always had a soft spot for you, one of the top Senior Associate attorneys for the company. Whereas when everyone else turned in reports and whatnot and got a mere eyebrow raise, she actually smiled at you. 

You were certain it was just a fluke that kept happening over and over again, but one night in her corner office, the two of you were tirelessly working on a lawsuit for a tech company and you had taken off your blazer. The air conditioning had broken, and you were working up a sweat.  

She was sitting adjacent to you on the couch, and you can still remember her swallowing hard when you undid the top two buttons of your silk blouse. She shifted, hands dropping to her lap uncomfortably, but you didn’t think much of it. 

And then you had decided that writing on paper against a book in your lap was too hard, so you had slunk off the couch onto your knees to use the coffee table as a better surface and Agatha had groaned. 

You had looked up in concern to find her fingers digging into her thighs so tightly her knuckles were white and you could see a faint tent in her pants. 

“Do you need some help with that?” You had asked, eyes wide and feeling like you were in a dream. Of course you had a crush on Agatha, she was powerful and bossy and the hottest woman you’d ever seen, but you had been convinced she would never even think of you as anything more than a subordinate. 

It was stupid to offer, she was probably going to report you to HR the next day, but she had made a small sound and gave an affirmative jerk of her head, and the next thing you knew, she had pulled out her cock and you were sucking her off right there in her office. 

Turns out, the other attorneys had been right. 

Agatha was in a much better mood the next day, actually saying thank you to the intern who brought her morning coffee instead of ignoring him completely. 

That night three months ago was the start of a mutual coworkers-with-benefits relationship, if you could call it that. You had brought it up to Agatha one time and she had snorted before fondly telling you to go bother someone else. 

With the end of the quarter coming up though, there had been a lot more late nights, including last night, when Agatha had stopped you from getting into your car after working until ten pm and dragged you into her company car, her mouth on yours before the partition between the backseat and the driver had gotten all the way up. 

The two of you had fucked for close to an hour when you had gotten back to Agatha’s penthouse apartment and promptly passed out. 

And you’re hoping more than anything that today, a planned day off, is full of more of Agatha’s cock inside you. 

Your boss stirs next to you, exhaling heavily, and when she presses her hips against you, you can feel her half-hardened length. It instantly sends a thrill straight to your stomach and you slowly inch down the covers to reveal your still-naked bodies. 

You reach out your hand and run your thumb over her nipple, watching it pebble quickly, and then skim your fingertips down the smooth skin of her back, a trail of goosebumps following. She’s laying on her side facing you so you’re able to watch her eyebrows knit together slightly. Your hand reaches her hip and then slides down and you’re about to touch her cock when she suddenly grabs your wrist. 

It makes you jump. Agatha’s blue eyes flutter open to meet your surprised ones. 

“What are you doing, babygirl?” She rasps, voice still hoarse with sleep, and it makes you shudder. 

“I thought I’d help you out with your problem,” you tease. 

Agatha hums thoughtfully, letting go of your hand and stroking her cock. You watch with rapt fascination as it hardens fully under her touch and you have to squeeze your thighs together to try and satiate the burning feeling in your stomach. “I think that’s only fair,” she decides. “seeing as it’s your fault I’m turned on.” 

You grin and maneuver her onto her back and straddle her thighs, bending over her to suck her nipple into your mouth. She makes a muffled sound and her hips jerk up, her now-leaking cock brushing against your stomach. You tease her for a minute or two before kissing down her stomach and you scrape your teeth against her hip bone. 

By the time you get to her cock, she’s already thrusting gently against nothing for stimulation, red, hard, and messy and when you run your tongue up the length while holding eye contact, she lets out a loud moan and her hand flies to your hair. You trace the vein on the side until she’s practically whimpering, legs shaking beneath you, and then you take the tip into your mouth and suck. 

Agatha keens and her back arches off the bed. “Fuck,” she mumbles. “God, babygirl, your mouth feels so good.” 

You move your head down her cock and you feel her pulse in your mouth and her hips jump, shoving herself further into your throat. You gag and she groans and you start to move faster, Agatha throbbing inside your mouth and –

– her phone rings. 

Agatha swears and scrambles to answer it, barking out a “What?” right as you swallow around her cock. She fixes you with a warning glare as you laugh, the vibrations forcing her to clamp a hand over her mouth. 

You hold her stare and take the whole thing into your mouth, rubbing your tongue against her and her head falls back onto the pillow. It’s getting harder for her to stay quiet, especially with you bobbing up and down her cock and she eventually has to pull you off her before she inevitably cums into your mouth while on the phone. 

So you just watch her, licking your lips and taking a moment to breathe. She’s getting more and more pissed by the minute, eyes becoming dark and angry, a frown etching onto her face, and you can hear the other person saying something about a contract and a multi-million dollar deal and how the company could be fucked without it, and when Agatha’s erection slowly softens, you know what it means. 

She hangs up the phone and your head falls onto her stomach dramatically. “Do we have to?” You groan and Agatha huffs out a sigh. 

“Stark Industries might be pulling out unless we amend some of the clauses in that contract. We need to go in,” she says. 

“Can I at least finish you off first?” You offer and her cock twitches at the thought. 

Agatha chews on her lip like she’s seriously considering it, but then pats your cheek. “Maybe later, babygirl.” 

You roll your eyes and flop onto the bed and she chuckles as she gets up and pulls some clothes out of her drawer. She puts on a navy blue suit and tosses an outfit at you, a black pencil skirt and white blouse. 

“Let’s go,” she orders, never out of boss mode for too long. You petulantly make your movements as slow as possible until she threatens to spank you for it later, and although it doesn’t really seem like it’d be much of a punishment, you hurry up. 

She grabs two apples from her fridge, hands one to you, and calls her car. The driver is waiting right outside when you get down to the lobby and you slide in after her. 

“You know what I’d rather be doing?” You ask conversationally after leaning forward to press the button for the partition to go up. 

Agatha’s scrolling on her phone and hums in acknowledgement. 

“Sucking your cock,” you answer and Agatha stiffens. “I love the taste of you, love how you lose composure for me, love how it feels when you cum in my mouth.” 

She’s biting her lip now and you can see the outline of her rapidly hardening cock in her pants. You reach out and put your hand on the bulge and she grits her teeth, still turned on from earlier. 

“Honey,” she warns through a clenched jaw. “Don’t.”

But you don’t listen. You slowly start to move your fingers, stroking up and down and feeling her throb in her pants. She swallows roughly and she’s getting harder, a flush settling into her cheeks and neck. 

You lean in and flick your tongue against her earlobe and she shivers. 

“Don’t let this think you’re in charge,” she says tightly. “You just wait until we get back to my apartment. I’ll remind you.” 

You laugh. “Really? Cause it feels like I’m holding a lot of the power right now.” And to emphasize your point, you give her cock a tight squeeze, immensely enjoying the way she groans. 

“You’re going to be on your knees,” she says in a low, gruff voice. It ignites your stomach. “My cock down your throat, and then I’m going to cum all over that pretty little face and you’re going to thank me for it.” 

The image securely mounts itself in your mind and you gasp. 

“And then, I’m going to fuck you into the mattress until you can’t remember your name and all you’re going to feel is my cock deep inside you,” she continues and you can feel your mind going foggy. Your hand has stopped moving, but you can feel just how much the thought is affecting her, too. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, your underwear practically sticking to you. Agatha smirks triumphantly, now both of you overwhelmingly turned on, but the joke is on both of you when the driver pulls up in front of the office building. 

You both groan and reluctantly get out of the car, despite you asking Agatha for five more minutes. The cold air in the lobby does little to quell the heat in your stomach and you drag your feet on the way to the elevator. 

Much to your surprise, there’s quite a lot of other employees working on this Saturday, most of them not from your law firm, so when the doors open and everyone steps on, all different numbers are pressed. 

With fifty-five floors, it’s one of the taller skyscrapers in the area, and the executives of the law firm are on the top. There’s at least twenty other stops on the elevator ride and you roll your eyes and follow Agatha straight to the back corner, turning around so your back is facing her. 

You go up one floor and the doors ding. Five more people get in and you’re practically on top of Agatha now with how packed it is. You move your body sideways to make more room, your hip knocking against Agatha. 

“Sorry,” you murmur and she makes a small sound, hand coming up to ruffle her hair. You pull out your phone and you’re scrolling through emails, clicking on one from one of the paralegals asking for advice about a case they’re working on and typing out a quick response, when you hear Agatha sharply inhale. 

And then you feel it. 

You had thought that once you’d gotten out of the car and you were no longer directly and purposely touching her, she would calm down. 

That is clearly not the case. 

This is the hardest she’s been all morning. 

You try and catch her eye, which takes longer than it should because of how hard she’s trying not to look at you. 

Really? You mouth when she finally gives in. 

Agatha turns uncharacteristically red and you feel your body flush. You had no idea you could affect her this much and it’s seriously turning you on. 

She tries to turn her hips away but there’s no room so your boss has no choice other than to keep her throbbing cock pressed against you. 

The elevator dings at the eighth floor. One person gets out. You tilt your head up at Agatha and find a slight sheen of sweat on her cheeks and glassy eyes. She’s staring straight ahead, lips pursed tightly together, looking like she’s in sweet, agonizing pain. 

How much stimulation is she getting right now? You’re not moving, she’s not moving, and yet she sometimes doesn’t even look like this when she’s inside you. 

Should you be offended? You decide to not be, based on what you’ve put her through this morning. 

Eleventh floor. Three people get off and she sucks in a deep breath when you can finally step away from her. Your eyes flicker down to the very visible tent in her pants and you clench your thighs together. She watches you and you swear you can see her cock throb through the navy fabric of her pants. 

Twentieth floor. More people get in and you’re pushed back against her. She lets out a small gasp and you gently lay your fingers on her wrist. 

Agatha shudders and you can feel your wetness on your inner thighs. You might have to go to the bathroom when you get out of the elevator and take care of yourself. 

Not like you would last more than three minutes right now. 

Your boss is now fully staring at you, barely any blue left in her eyes, a look you’ve never seen before on her face. 

It’s thrilling. 

Thirty-third floor. More people file out, muttering excuse me and sorry as they wade through the crowd. 

Now there’s more room in the elevator, enough room where you could step away from Agatha and give yourselves both some breathing room. 

You don’t move. 

Agatha is taking deep, slow breaths, her cheeks surely burning to the touch right now, and at least she’s wearing a dark color to hide the stain she is assuredly going to have on her pants. 

Babygirl, she mouths pleadingly when you finally look at her again and you have to stifle a moan at how needy she looks right now. 

And what kind of person would you be if you didn’t help her out? 

You’ve been standing perpendicular to her, your hip and side of your right leg pressed against her body. 

Fiftieth floor. 

Mostly everyone has cleared out by now. 

You slowly turn your body to face the doors, making sure to carefully drag your ass against her, and her hand grips onto your arm with a vice-like grip from behind you. 

She twitches and pulses and then throbs, and you can feel warmth spread on the back of your – her skirt as she cums in her pants, ever-so-slightly rutting against you. Agatha lets out a muffled groan, followed by a cough for show; there’s still three other people in the elevator. 

The elevator dings on the fifty-fifth floor and Agatha takes a shaky breath as the two of you exit. You feel like you’re burning up and each step you take reminds you of how much of a mess you’ve become. 

“You okay?” You murmur as you walk down aisles of cubicles. 

Agatha weakly laughs. “Next time I’ll just let you finish sucking me off before coming to work.” 

The thought makes you smirk and she opens the door to her office, holding it for you. She walks around her desk and pulls out a pair of underwear and pants for herself (you’ve both started having to keep extra clothes for times like these) and she beckons you into the private bathroom attached. 

You eagerly follow, and you’re even more thrilled when she slams you against the wall and sinks to her knees. Her hooded eyes look up at you as she pushes up the skirt you’re wearing and your head drops back with a gasp escaping from your lips when her mouth sucks on your pussy through your panties. 

Agatha quickly moves them to the side, having enough of her own teasing, and buries her tongue inside you and it pulls an obscene moan from deep in your chest. 

It feels so fucking good and you’re already on the edge from getting Agatha all worked up this morning. She chuckles at how wet you are, how you’re already getting her face soaked, and she swirls her tongue around your clit and your hips roll, chasing more. 

She brings you right to your orgasm – it’s almost embarrassing how quickly it happens – and you’re shaking, trembling, begging, but she stops. 

“No, Agatha, please,” you whine, hand in her hair and trying to push her back against you, but she stands back up and licks her lips. The bottom half of her face is glistening, shiny with your wetness in the harsh light of the bathroom. 

She pouts mocking and makes quick work of turning around and changing her clothes while you frantically start to rub yourself with your own fingers. You’re so close–

“Uh uh,” she tuts, catching your eye in the mirror. You almost sob and she whirls back around to suck your fingers into her mouth. They slip out with a pop! “You got me all worked up until I came in my pants like a fucking teenager, babygirl. You think I’m going to let that slide? You think you’re in charge? Well, now I’m going to get you all worked up and you will not be cumming until we’re back in my apartment, got it?” 

All you can do is whimper and the grin she gives you is wicked. With one pat to your cheek, she pushes you out of the bathroom just in time for one of the attorneys, Alice Wu, to come into her office. 

Agatha slides into her chair while you awkwardly stand next to her desk while Alice lays a contract on it. 

You can’t even pretend to be paying attention, still focused on the orgasm you were just denied and how maybe if you just press your legs together really hard–

Agatha says your name. Probably not the first time she’s said it, judging by her annoyed tone, but when you look at her, she winks, like she knows exactly what you’re thinking. 

You roll your eyes, step closer so you’re next to Agatha, and lean over so you can see what Alice is talking about. You have to repress a gasp when you feel your boss’s hand tracing up the back of your thigh through your skirt, just low enough so no one can see. 

Agatha watches you carefully out of her peripheral vision, the corners of her mouth tugging up in a smirk. 

You are fucked.  

[auggieblogs]

Juno ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ | MV1

Max Verstappen x fem! reader

Author’s note: HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL BABIESSS!!! I am back after a really long time and apologies for doing so. Turns out university really does suck the living life out of you lmfao. Anyways currently absolutely obsessed with Sabrina Carpenter, I LOVE HER SO MUCH. I read a fic inspired by her segment during the “Juno” song and decided to write a Max version of it (obviously). Hope you all like it:) Apologies in advance if it doesn’t live up to the other works, I am a little crusty and with my writing right now:/

Happy reading, my lovies💗⭐️

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

Every crowd had its own magic, but this one? This was personal. Standing in the front row, dressed in his casual white button-up that hugged his shoulders just right, paired with tailored light pants that made him look effortlessly put-together, was Max Verstappen—F1’s reigning World Champion and, most importantly, your boyfriend.

You pressed a hand to your forehead as if scanning the crowd, your sparkling skirt shimmering under the stage lights.

“Do you guys ever feel like you’re in a room full of people who are just so good-looking that it’s borderline unfair?” you asked, pacing the stage. The crowd screamed in agreement, feeding off your energy.

Well, tonight, my loves, it’s me. I’m overwhelmed. Truly. I mean, look at you guys!” You gestured to the crowd with a wink. “But… but… wait a second.” You squinted out into the sea of faces. “Hold on. Girls, come here. Come here.” You waved your dancers over, whispering conspiratorially into the mic. “Do you see what I’m seeing?”

The spotlight found Max, and the arena absolutely erupted. On the big screen, his expression shifted from mildly amused to completely flustered, a deep blush creeping up his neck as he shook his head, laughing.

“Oh no, no, no, this won’t do,” you continued, pacing dramatically as your dancers gasped and giggled beside you. “Sir,” you said, turning back to the mic, “what’s your name?”

Max cupped his hands around his mouth, his voice booming over the crowd. “Max!”

You grinned but pretended not to hear him. “Sorry, what was that? Did you say… snack?”

The crowd went wild, and Max’s hand flew to his face, shaking his head in disbelief as he laughed.

“Ohhh, Max,” you said finally, smirking as you leaned toward the audience. “Well, Max, I hate to break it to you, but you’re in big trouble tonight.”

He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow as if to say, What now?

“You, sir, are officially under arrest for being way too hot.” Sirens blared dramatically over the speakers, red and blue lights flashing across the stage. You fanned yourself with one hand, swaying your hips to the beat as the crowd screamed louder than ever.

You turned to your dancers, leaning dramatically against one of their shoulders. “Girls, do you ever see someone so attractive that your brain just… stops working?” Your dancers nodded dramatically, fanning themselves as you added, “You’re standing there, clothes falling off, knees weak, heart doing backflips—like, how am I supposed to survive this, huh?”

With that, you reached for the clasp on your glittering long skirt, letting it drop to the floor in one smooth motion. The crowd went wild.

“And now I’m out here practically undressed because of you,” you teased, pointing at Lando as the audience screamed. “So I’m thinking… maybe you deserve these.” You held up the handcuffs and knelt down, extending them toward him.

The audience gasped and cheered as you knelt at the edge of the stage, holding out a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs toward Max. “Max, will you take these from me?”

He hesitated, playing along perfectly as the cameras zoomed in on his flustered yet amused expression. Finally, he reached out with one hand, curling his fingers in a “gimme” motion that had the crowd in stitches.

As he held the cuffs, he tilted his head, examining them with a small smirk before looking back up at you. On the big screen, his smirk turned into a full grin as you pointed at him and announced, “We’re gonna sing this one for you, Max.”

The intro to Juno began, and you performed the entire song with him as your obvious muse, throwing playful winks and cheeky moves in his direction that left him shaking his head with laughter.

By the time the song ended, you turned back to him, breathing heavily into the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Max Verstappen!”

[tpwk-formula1]

Could you please write a story where lando x reader have basically 'adopted' keegan (even tho he's like 3 yrs younger than them) and she hates whenever they make him do dangerous stuff

AN: SPECIAL EXTRA FLUFF POST!!!! (I know I said I wasn't gonna post a fluff this week but this came in and I got too excited so I quickly wrote it before work! NOT proof read!

OMG stop I absolutely love this idea!! I stopped writing a fic to get this one started! I did switch timelines just a big to make the story work so pretend the video on Quadrant where Keegan tried Karting for the first time happened after summer break!

TW: NONE

WC: 1.1K

Y/N POV

"Keegs, have you eaten anything today?" I ask walking up to him with the sandwich I had made for him before we had left for the yacht day.

"I had breakfast," he says softly knowing we had eaten over 6 hours ago and he had been outside all day in the sun.

"Keegan, you're an athlete stop being stupid," I laugh while tossing him the sandwich which he great fully took and started eating it.

"He's a grown man, love. Let him live," Lando tells me softly while approaching me from behind and taking me into his hold.

"You too Norris, sit down and eat," I say while passing him the second sandwich which has him groaning but instantly sitting next to Keegan and starts eating his sandwich.

"Whipped," I hear Max Fewtrell say from somewhere else on the yacht making me shake my head and threaten him with the last sandwich in hand.

"You and P are such moms," Max rolls his eyes while taking the food from me and sitting next to his best friend.

Over the last year or so the friendship between Lando and Keegan had grown from more than just a sponsored athlete to a truth friendship. When the younger boy started coming around it was almost instant that my motherly instincts kicked in with him.

I mean hell when he called us after winning gold at the Paris Olympics I hadn't stopped crying from podium. He still laughs about it and even pokes fun but he has also on multiple occasions expressed how thankful he to have Lando and I in his life.

Once the yacht day has come to an end we make our way back to the house we had rented for the week.

"We're going cliff jumping tomorrow, do you guys want to come?" Martin's friends asked the rest of us when we had made it back to the house.

"No," I instantly say a long with P while all the boys instantly say "yes" making me look directly at them.

"Have you all lost your damn mind? 1 of you is in contract for racing which mind you comes back in just a few weeks and the other just came off of Olympic gold, you need to be fucking careful," I start ranting while Martin starts laughing at the group dynamic not expecting anything less from us.

"It's fine, we'll be fine," Lando reassures me making me me shake my head.

"Get Zak's approval and then it's fine," I say with a smirk and a little shoulder shrug knowing his boss would lose his ever living mind if he found out his young driver is trying to do something so dangerous.

"Please! I promise we wont get hurt," Lando begs giving me his puppy dog eyes I have never been able to say no to, a long with Keegan behind him giving me the same look.

"Okay fine, but I swear to God if you get hurt," I say while pointing a finger before the two boys.

With that the broke out in bright smiles and Lando instantly took me into his arms and places a few kisses on my lips.

We're now coming to the end of our trip when Lando and I are relaxing in bed having some much needed downtime when a knock rings out through our room.

"Come in," I call out grabbing my bookmark and putting the book I was reading to the side.

When Keegan walks in he has a nervous expression written all over his face.

"What's wrong?" I ask sitting up a bit taller making Lando sit up a bit more noticing the serious expression written across the younger man's face.

"Can I ask for some advice?" Keegan says while walking into the room and closing the door behind him.

"Of course, you can sit on the bed," I say laughing a little when I noticed him awkwardly standing near the end of the bed.

"So I've been talking to this girl," Keegan starts while sitting on the bed.

"Aye! My man," Lando says excitedly while dapping Keegan up making his cheeks grow even redder.

"Well anyways, her name is Ella and we've been talking for awhile and I want to make it official but I'm nervous she might say no and I also need ideas on how to plan the perfect date to ask," Keegan admits making me smile. While it might have been Lando's first time hearing about about Ella, Keegan had already come to me about her and from what I had gathered he really liked her and she seemed really sweet.

After about an hour of planning the most perfect date for Keegan to take Ella on he thanked up both before leaving the room with a bright smile on his face.

"That's my son for real," Lando says laughing making me shake my head with a laugh falling from my lips.

"He's such an awesome kid," I reply back before cuddling closer into Lando's side.

"Did you pull the same move on Carlos when you where asking me out," I tease with a smirk on my face.

"Maybe," Lando admits with his cheeks reddening.

It's been a few weeks since summer break and we already have a week off from racing which means it's time to film for Quadrant and as we pull up to the track both Lando and Max have been suspiciously quiet about what we will be filming.

When we pull up to the track I see Keegan almost instantly making everything click for me.

"No! He is not about to hope in a kart without any training!" I say sternly making Max laugh and Lando turn and give me a reassuring smile.

"He's fine, he can drive a car, he can drive in a few circles on a kart," Lando says but it just makes me groan and throw my head back.

Lando did end up giving Keegan a small run down before filming and once he was in the first Kart I could already feel my stomach drop. He was going as fast as his car will allow him to go but you can see the difference between Lando's control of the Kart and his control but after the first lap he was able to adjust and already looked more comfortable.

As the karts got faster the more I go stressed. Keegan was clearly having an amazing time in the karts but my anxiety is going through the roof.

By the end of the video it is clear to all of us that Keegan loved every moment of it and even asked the next time he could drive one.

When the video was posted fan instantly clung to the fact that I was like a mom to Keegan. I mean an entire compilation was made where it was every moment I made a comment, face, or gasp throughout the short video making fans across F1 laugh at the endearing moments between friends.

------

Sorry it feels a bit rushed I just loved the idea and might even circle back around in the future and add to the story

[nxtt2-u]

kink headcanons ft. OT8 SKZ !

content info — ot8 (individual) x afab!reader, 3.6k words, smut, established relationship in all scenarios

content warnings — nsfw, a shit ton of kinks and scenarios about them, kinks will not be specified to prevent spoiling, swearing, intentional lowercase

notes — this was actually meant for kinktober ‘24, but i clearly never got around to finishing it… whoops. here we are a whopping four months later; enjoy! not proofread. 18+ only, mdni.

★ ──── BANGCHAN

a switch, but leans heavily on the dominant side. usually a service dom, but can get a little mean sometimes.

⤷ BREEDING.

chan gets off so badly to the fantasy of fucking his babies into you. one night when he’s pounding into you with a condom on, he begins to babble when his orgasm draws near — “you’d look so fucking gorgeous all round with my children, baby, fuck!” and you clamp down on him so hard he has half the mind to think his cock might snap in half as he experiences the strongest orgasm of his life. so yeah, it’s safe to say you got on birth control right away & threw away all condoms after that.

⤷ PRAISE.

he loves to whisper sweet things into your ear as he gently pushes into your cunt from behind after a busy schedule. chan loves how you gush around him when his murmured words, coated in sickeningly sweet honey, flow into your ears as he wholly takes you apart with his hands and cock. he loves it even more when you praise him as well! it has a special effect on him when you’re riding him especially — the praise sends his dick jerking within your tight heat as his knees wobble and he keens into where his face is mushed between your tits.

⤷ FACE FUCKING.

this man loathes to hurt you, but when you give him head one time and he accidentally thrusts too deep into your mouth, he can’t help the way he positively throbs at the wet click your throat gives when it constricts around his tip. when you feel the twitch, you moan & quickly pull off just to give him permission to fuck your throat before taking his cock back into your mouth and waiting patiently. the sight and sound of you deepthroating him is so erotic that when he comes, he genuinely gets lightheaded and has to sit down afterward before he collapses from the intensity of his orgasm.

⤷ BONUS!

his fav position is definitely riding. quick, act surprised! he loves to see you work up a sweat in his lap while you struggle to take his cock to the hilt. its so endearingly hot, the way you plea and whine for him to help you work his dick inside, but he just chuckles n pats your ass as a signal to keep going. maybe, if he feels merciful enough, he’ll flip you over when your legs really do give out and pound you til you’re full of his cum.

★ ──── MINHO

dom & brat tamer. has subbed only once with you and liked it so much he got too scared to try it again.

⤷ BONDAGE.

minho often restrains your wrists with his belt or a silk tie he owns when you get particularly bratty with him. he holds them behind your back as he slams into you from behind, and the sight of you restrained just for him, creaming all over his cock despite the rough treatment he loves to dish out, has him seeing stars when he pulls out to come on your back.

⤷ IMPACT PLAY.

it’s no secret minho loves ass: slapping ass, grabbing ass, pretty much anything to do with ass. so it’s no surprise when his palm harshly crashes down on the supple curve of your cheeks when he gives you backshots for the first time. you jolt at the sudden sting, though it burns wonderfully when he does it again. and again. and again, until your skin is red and thoroughly raw once he’s done with you. as your relationship goes on, he eventually begins to slap your pretty face as well, though he’s much more gentle about that. on your rear, however? no mercy.

⤷ SOMNOPHILIA.

min loves nothing more than coming home to you dozing peacefully in those specific sleep shorts, a sign you’re his for the night. even if he’s horribly exhausted from a long day, the sight of you deep asleep and utterly pliant for him has the cogs in his mind gearing into something primal with how much arousal shoots to his cock. he wastes no time in prowling across the room to harshly push the gusset of the fabric aside and immediately slide himself home when he discovers you’re commando and already soaking wet. there’s no way you stay asleep at such rough handling, of course, but that won’t make him stop anytime soon!

⤷ BONUS!

he enjoys anal. when you were out the house, he took one of your dildos in secret and experimented with it on his own, and came out pleasantly surprised. not only does he enjoy it with himself, he also loves anal with you — especially when he gets home after a long day of work to find you all dolled up for him. his cock jerks in his pants when he reaches down to grope your ass in appreciation, only to discover a plug snug between your cheeks. he’d never admit it out loud, but it gets him super riled up to see the way your hole gapes and sputters when he’s done with you.

★ ──── CHANGBIN

a switch, but leans slightly onto the subby side.

⤷ FREE USE.

bin loves to see when you come home from a long, frustrating day at work. he loves to see your eyes darken when you notice the special bracelet on his wrist that shares an unmistakable sign between the two of you, and he loves it even more when you storm across the living room to shove him back onto the couch and pop open the button of his jeans without a word to sink down on his cock like you own it, own him. nothing else gets him harder than when you simply take and use him like your own personal toy!

⤷ PEGGING.

although he does enjoy pegging, the two of you don’t dabble in this often — simply because you much prefer his cock down your throat or in your pussy, milking him dry. but when he does feel subby enough to offer his ass up, it usually leads to very tender lovemaking rather than hard, rough sex. he just gets so soft and needy in this headspace when you peg him, so eager to feel good! in missionary, he often pops a tit into his mouth to softly suckle at as you thrust into him leisurely from above. but it’s never long before he starts babbling and begging you for more!

⤷ ROLEPLAY.

something about taboo roleplays get binnie going like no other: age gaps, power imbalances, and even cheating get his cock rock hard in seconds when the two of you play in the bedroom. recently, the two of you had roleplayed as professor and student. “ah, professor, are you sure this is the best way to get extra credit..?” you’d peered down at him as he eased your short skirt and panties down your legs, chuckling at your bashful behavior. “of course, bun,” he’d sighed, leaning in to press a kiss to your sopping core before meeting your eyes again with a smirk. “your grades will be up in no time if you just spread those pretty legs for your professor, hm? now go on, i’m waiting.”

⤷ BONUS!

loves double penetration, both on him and you. it drives him crazy to see you struggle to take both his coke can of a cock in your cunt and a silicone replica of it down your throat at the same time. watching your cheeks hollow obscenely around the replica has his cock kicking within your walls as you moan around it, and it quickly has him bending your legs to your chest to pound you properly. on the flip side of the coin, he loves how full he feels when you plug his ass and fuck his throat with your strap; it gets his head all floaty n pliant for you in a heartbeat!

★ ──── HYUNJIN

walking definition of a switch. sadist & masochist. can get pretty bratty when he subs.

⤷ BREATH PLAY.

hyunjin loves the tantalizing pressure of your palm against his neck, especially when you ride him so hard he’s practically seeing stars. whether that’s from how hard your ass is slamming down onto his muscled thighs or from the growing asphyxiation, he’s too deliciously lightheaded to even think about it when the two of you go hard like this in bed. when you give his neck one generous squeeze, it has his whole body locking up and him coming instantly with no warning other than a broken, guttural cry. on the other hand, he gets an intense power trip when he chokes you — the way your jaw drops as you gasp for breath when his grip tightens and your pretty eyes roll back to show the whites is so intoxicating to him! he’ll never be able to get enough of the sight.

⤷ TEMPERATURE PLAY.

the way you squirm beneath him is just so cute when hyune rubs ice across your perky nipples while his hot, hard cock spears you open at the same time! when the cubes slip off your breasts onto the sheets beside you, the warmth of his breath fanning over the cold area when he leans down has you squealing and kicking your legs out in protest — but he catches those easily and wraps them around his slender waist to laugh down at how sensitive and responsive you are for him.

⤷ COCK & BALL TORTURE.

the delicious sting hyunjin feels when you slap his cock sends his body shuddering and eyes rolling. his toes curl when you tug harshly on his sensitive balls before rearing your hand back to smack the head of his weeping cock, forcing his hips to kick off the bed with the searing pleasure-pain that has his brain reeling and nervous system going haywire. especially loves when you bust out some cock rings — it’s a perfect night for him when you ride his cock raw, denying him of his orgasm while you have your fun, until he can finally cum inside after hours of his balls being squeezed tight to stave off his orgasm.

BONUS!

big big big fan of markings, both on himself and you! he’s constantly biting marks into the tender skin just below your boobs and the soft inner areas of your thighs when he goes down on you. he really loves it when he gets time off so you can mark him up properly on his neck, particularly below his jaw, so he can go a few days without having to conceal it with makeup and wear and flaunt them properly. his favorite place to mark you, though, is your hips and chest. gets a huge ego boost when he sees them peeking out of your shirt when you wear a low-cut top, and he’s extra smug when you get home later that day to refresh them.

★ ──── JISUNG

sub, sub, sub! rarely doms, and even when he does “dom” it’s more or less him acting the same as usual — like a princess — with the only difference being him doing all the work for once. big masochist.

⤷ MOMMY KINK.

there’s rarely a moment in bed where jisung doesn’t call you mommy. like the sweet boy he is, he always asks you for permission before he does anything. “mommy, please let me suck your tits? i promise i won’t touch myself without your permission, pleaseee?” and with those sweet doe eyes of his, how could you say no? he gets pretty babbly when he’s balls deep in your pussy and his head is mushed between your tits as he whines and cries out his thanks, how good he feels — he’s simply too obsessed with you!

⤷ DEGRADATION.

jisung nearly cums in his pants when you talk down to him like he’s worth nothing to you, like he’s the dirt on the bottom of your shoes. he can’t stop the breathy moans slipping from his dropped jaw when you jerk his slick cock, whispering words in his ears that should humiliate him, but only results in more burning hot arousal pooling deep in his stomach and his balls tightening, eager to spill all over the tight grip of your hand. all his efforts to hold off his orgasm go to waste, though, when you call him a “worthless, good for nothing slut” that has his body abruptly convulsing and cries tumbling from his lips as he cums all the way up to his heaving chest.

⤷ PAIN KINK.

he gets delirious with pleasure when you slap his face or spank him when he’s misbehaved a little too much for your liking. if you pair a harsh slap to his cute, chubby little cheeks with a mean slew of insults to his face as he fucks you in missionary, he’ll wind up keening so loud he has to bury his face in your neck to muffle the sound, lest you get a noise complaint from the neighbors in the morning. the sting of getting hit has so much blood rushing from his head to his cock in an instant that he gets dizzy with how good he feels, every. single. time.

⤷ BONUS!

this man is a munch. he eats you out at any opportunity like a man starved, fast and messy, just the way both you & him love. tug on his hair n it’ll have his eyes rolling as he buries his face into your cunt, eagerly lapping up your the juices that soak his chin with a whine while his hips buck involuntarily against the mattress. degrade him too, n he just might cum in his pants right then n there!

★ ──── FELIX

dom. doesn’t mind subbing if you ask, but it’s generally not his go-to.

⤷ ORGASM DENIAL.

this man is a little shit who adores bringing you right to the edge before ripping your orgasm out of your grasp with a delighted smirk. as soon as he rips whatever he was using on you away, whether it be his fingers or a toy, the way you convulse in protest and plead at him with watery eyes gets him so hot he nearly cums on the spot, even if nothing is actively stimulating his dick. he just loves to tease, what can he say?

⤷ SENSORY DEPRIVATION.

felix has no qualms with playing with you for hours when he blindfolds you and, sometimes, even plugs your ears when he really wants to get you on edge. seeing your breath quicken in anticipation for what he’ll do to you has his cock chubbing up in record time in the tight confines of his boxers, and the sight of you all docile and restrained for him has him half considering the idea of dropping the ties just to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck your brains out. but he always reins himself in just before he can fold, for you always look much prettier disheveled and begging for him to end the teasing and give you what you want.

⤷ HUMILIATION.

he loves making you cream all over his cock just to spew absolute filth at you for it. he can feel his sanity disappearing bit by bit when he gets to witness firsthand the way you slip into subspace at his vulgar, demeaning words in that deep voice of his, and it only gets him hotter when you begin to cry and beg him incoherently. for what, he isn’t quite sure because you’re too far gone to even speak properly anymore, but he’ll make sure you have all you need when you start clawing desperately at his shoulders with a beautiful, full-body shudder.

⤷ BONUS!

he’s lowkey a brat tamer! it gets him so riled up when you purposefully dress in your skimpiest clothes for the group nights you spend going out with the other guys, just to elicit a reaction out of him when you get home. and boy, is that reaction dangerous. he watches you like a hawk throughout the night, tongue constantly poking his cheek in annoyance while his jaw ticks when he sees you laughing with one of his members. he knows he has no real reason to be jealous, especially when he’s already aware you’re just looking to be put in your place, but that won’t stop him from taking all that emotion out on your cunt when everyone leaves later.

★ ──── SEUNGMIN

switch. he doesn’t have a preference & simply enjoys it all.

⤷ EXHIBITIONISM.

the adrenaline rush seungmin gets when he fucks you on the floor of their dance practice room once everyone’s gone for the day is so fucking heady and addictive. the thought of one of his members walking in to find him blowing your back out in the middle of the room is so arousing that he fucks you practically ten times harder than usual when the two of you mess around in semi-public places like this. one time, when you did happen to get caught blowing him backstage right before a soundcheck, his eyes had blown impossibly wide before he spilled down your throat with a choked groan. the two of you were horribly mortified after the fact, but he still secretly gets off to that memory when he’s away on tour.

⤷ DUMBIFICATION.

seeing you gradually lose coherency the longer he has you warm his cock while he busies himself with other tasks is one of his favorite pastimes. “hey, pup,” seungmin taps your shoulder delicately as he lightly jostles you in his lap, causing a moan to flutter from between your lips. when he grabs your chin to press a chaste kiss to the corners of your mouth, he nearly moans aloud too when he pulls back and sees how fucking gone you look. eyes fuzzy, pretty lips pulled into a dopey smile, and pussy stretched warm and wet around his now-throbbing cock. it’s insane to practice restraint with how sweet you look like this. “since you’ve been so good for me, i have a reward for you. how’s that sound, baby?”

⤷ PET PLAY.

when you come home after an outing with your friends to discover seungmin perched on the couch in nothing but the collar with your name attached to it and some dangerously low black sweats, you can’t help but drag him to the bedroom to leash him and force him to sit at your feet while you finish up some papers at your desk. he’s obedient for a little while, like he always is, until he starts getting antsy and whines for your attention. you pay him no mind until he begins to nose at the crotch of your bottoms, eager for a treat, and who are you to deny your sweet puppy a snack after he’s been so good and obedient for you?

⤷ BONUS!

he owns multiple different colored collars that have your name engraved onto the tags as well as a human-sized dog bed to pair with them. when he particularly craves submission, he’ll ask to be leashed and rode in the dog bed because it brings him an odd sense of comfort: being someone’s so wholly that he’s willing to wear a collar to show off who he belongs to, who owns him.

★ ──── JEONGIN

generally a dom. when he does sub, it’s nothing too crazy.

⤷ BEGGING.

jeongin loves to drive you to the point of incoherency with his mouth, hands, cock: all of it! it goes straight to both his dick and his ego when you’re reduced down to broken, babbling cries that beg him for more, less, harder, faster — somehow you plea for them all at once. he can’t get enough of how much you seem to love his body and the pleasure it can provide.

⤷ DACRYPHILIA.

it drives him insane when he sees you writhing with so much pleasure that it actually brings you to tears. every time your pretty eyes begin to water with unshed tears from the unforgiving pace he sets as he pounds into your poor cunt, it makes a loud moan rip from his throat and his dick twitch within your walls, and he may even nearly cum on the spot. he absolutely loves the sight of you desperate and babbling for his cum, and he’s not afraid to show it.

⤷ CORRUPTION KINK.

both of you were the farthest thing from inexperienced or vanilla when you first started dating, but that doesn’t stop jeongin from fucking his fist late at night to the fantasy he was your first. the first man to take your virginity, show you how to ride cock and suck on one, even teach you how to have your first orgasm because you’d been too unsure of yourself in the past to even try. the thought of you being pure and untouched before meeting him makes him ache with arousal, particularly at the thought of corrupting and ruining you for any other man because he just fucks you so good that both of you know you’d never be able to reach the same peaks of pleasure he brings you to again and again with anyone else.

⤷ BONUS!

he really enjoys 69ing. when he’s on top, he loves the sensation of his cock sliding down your throat and the clicking of your throat as it tries to accommodate his length. he loves the way your juices coat his chin as he messily slurps and sucks on your clit, and especially loves the way your thighs shake beside his ears when you get close. when he’s on the bottom, he adores the way you push your hips back onto his face to grind your clit down on his tongue, and adores the way you slip his cock into your mouth until you’re gagging around the tip and your tongue is laving hot and wetly at his balls. the rapid tightening of your throat around his dick has him close in seconds, but even if he comes early he’ll eat you out til you’re shaking with satisfaction.

[salemlunaa]

what the hell is up with you guys?

no seriously what is you guys’ problem?!?!

so i was scrolling thru my timeline and i come across this stupid post this stupid post which was an a adjacent to this other stupid idea this person decided to tag me and a bunch of other bloggers including my lovely moots accusing us of being selfish for not inducing pure consciousness for others

if you think the void is so hard you can’t do it yourself, you don’t understand what it is and i’m not saying that to be mean.

their idea is that: we should join a pact and “step up” to induce pure consciousness for others

RESPONSE: do you know how this works, i physically can not induce pure consciousness for someone else because i will go to a different timeline. “I have seen success stories where people manifest for others” false. idc what you saw. You can’t have someone else include the “I AM” state for you. Why do you think it’s called that. It’s a state of consciousness where YOU can step into a state where time and the 3D do not exist which is why it’s personal to you.

The void pact can not exist, because there is no such thing as entering the “I AM” state for someone else, you shift to a different timeline as your desires come into fruition in the 3D. The void pact cannot exist because you physically cannot bring everyone into the timeline with you.

a stupid comment i saw under that post: i agree, these bloggers need to understand how hard it is for us with circumstances

RESPONSE: fuck you, no seriously fuck you. do you realise you are not the only one with shitty circumstances, we try and tell you that circumstances don’t matter because they aren’t real along with time and you still aren’t getting it. There are people with horrible circumstances taht have done it.

if you keep focused on time and the 3d you will NEVER progress.

if you had the assumption that’s it’s so hard you need other people to help, that is what will stick

It’s effortless and not hard, if you can’t understand that you’ll never progress. Instead of spending time to reprogram your mindset and apply, you’re spending time doing this?? “but i’m trying and it just doesn’t work” then you’re wavering not actually doing anything. learn. the. difference. Instead of spending time ignoring the 3D and indulging in the facts that you’re a void master in your 4D you’re doing this?

You are not special, you are not exempt from inducing pure consciousness, you have all the information on here and you’re still demanding to have shit done for you.

If you think the void needs effort, you don’t understand. If you’ve been “trying” and failing you don’t understand. If you think that someone can do it for you, you don’t understand

if you don’t get it you’ll NEVER have progress.

˚. 𖦹 ⌨️ .ೄྀ ∘˚

And you wonder why so many bloggers are upping and leaving. How entitled do you have to be, you are getting this information for FREE, information that so many others don’t have access to and you’re using the platform to beg demand that others induce for you.

I try to be patient with those who still ask the same questions over and over and over but this is too much, you losers are seriously asking us bloggers not to be selfish and do it for you. Something that takes no effort.

yall made me hop out of an impromptu break for this dumb shit. but i have to warn you don’t not follow these entitled people. it will get you no where and it will show when it’s 2028 and they’re still asking bloggers not to be “selfish” and help out. do not follow this foolish shit i’m begging.

and before you call me rude, i’ve had patience with so many of you. but then again some of you are allergic to anything but coddling so i’ll take those comments with a pinch of salt

ONLY YOU can induce pure consciousness, ONLY YOU can be “I AM”, it can’t be done for you why do you think it’s called “I AM”. ONLY YOU can have your desires and YOU DO HAVE THEM ALREADY.

This mindset will have you here until 2030. And honestly i’m not mad about that.

@void1finder here’s your answer boo

[honeydazai]

₊˚⊹♡ how they express their love for you

feat.: Viktor, Jayce, Silco, Vander, Sevika

notes: the same prompt has also been written before by my beloved @moonlight-in-the-sea here!! observe it or perish.

VIKTOR, all scepticism and sharp edges, raised eyebrows and discontent twitches of his lip when it comes to interacting with most people, has long learned to be open and honest with you. It's been a bit of a work in progress, the two of you growing closer over time, a natural development, but it's certainly paid out — his open expression and warm smile whenever he's with you makes your chest feel tight with affection, as does the fact that he has let his guards down completely, discussing just about every topic with you, ranging from the kinks of new inventions he still had to figure out, to gossip about the councillors. His humour blooms around you and Jayce, becoming one of his most noticeable traits.

It's no secret that he's working more often than not, that he's eating and sleeping in the lab whenever you don't put a stop to it, but, as you grow closer, he makes sure to split his attention between his two greatest passions; you, and his work. It shows in multiple ways, either through him inviting you to come along and watch, proudly introducing the new hextech inventions to you, eyes shining brighter than blue stones, or him actually taking half a day off to spend with you instead, taking you out to explore Piltover's little shops or simply staying at home with you, all domestic bliss.

It's strikingly obvious to both you, and to everyone around you, that JAYCE is especially fond of you, given how much he's touching you. They're all innocent gestures, like his huge hand resting on your upper arm, or on the small of your back when the two of you walk next to each other, or the warm hug he pulls you into when seeing you for the first time that day, strong arms inescapable, but it happens too often to be a coincidence. Whether he himself knows he's doing it is debatable — your best guess is that it comes so naturally to him that he barely even notices.

He's surprisingly attentive when it comes to your wellbeing — it shows in him always having a blanket on hand, or him giving you his jacket, when you're cold, in him asking if you've eaten already and keeping foods you like around.

His family's work is forging, and even though he's not quite as used to working on something this delicate, he does extraordinarily well when it comes to making you jewellery, working every night until there's no flaws to be detected. He also asks Mel or Viktor — Mel, preferably; subtlety is more her strength — to figure out what kind of gemstones you prefer to use those in the design.

SILCO is a man who values privacy — and yet, he has no issue with you constantly hanging around his office. Really, he's weak enough for you that he might attempt to scold you when you sit on his desk, pushing important documents to the side, or even on his lap while he's working, claiming your rightful place, arms looped around his neck, but his words never come off as truly strict, tone exasperated, but he'd never do anything against it. At this point, his office is as much your space as it is his, given how your belongings lie around everywhere — your lipgloss on his desk, your spare jacket on his wall, your favourite snacks secretly stocked in his drawers.

He's strikingly loyal, never even looking twice at someone else, given how he can only see himself being with you. Silco's always thinking of you, which shows not only in the way he brings you small gifts and trinkets — not unlike a crow — whenever he has to traverse the Undercity, but also through him wanting to keep your relationship a secret. It's most likely a sensitive topic, because he doesn't want you to think he's ashamed of you, never, but he's an influential man, and he just cannot stand the idea of someone harming you because of your connection to him. He's terrified of losing you.

VANDER is caring by nature, it shows in the way he protects his children and friends, his loved ones, his people. Still, with you, it's all the more obvious. Whenever you make your way to the bar, spending nights and early mornings at The Last Drop, he has your favourite drink already poured for you, including any modifications and snacks you like. In his mind, there's a whole section of facts about you, including your favourite positions to sleep in, your most beloved outfits, and the food you always ask for at the street vendor the two of you usually visit, and he couldn't stop himself from constantly gaining more information about what you like and dislike if he tried.

He's fond of physical affection, both strong arms wrapped around your waist when the two of you are sleeping, or the large of his hand splayed out on your lower back when he's guiding you through the crowds gathering in the bar. Not only does he simply enjoy touching you, the person he loves so very close to him, but he also wants to know you're safe at all times — if any stranger approaches you, setting you on edge, he's right there by your side. At night, he might cling to you a bit more tightly than usual when he's had bad thoughts of losing you the day long.

SEVIKA is entirely smitten by you. It's obvious enough that some of her colleagues comment on it, laughing and jeering at the heart-eyes she gives you whenever you walk by, gaze lingering for way too long, roaming over the curves of your hip and the way your hair moves in the wind. She's not bothered by anyone poking fun at her; yeah, she's heads over heels for you. So what?

She also really enjoys listening to you talk. After a hard day of work, there's nothing more relaxing to her than simply focusing on you, on your voice, on the peculiar way you pronounce certain words, and when she rests her head in your lap, your fingers gently threading through her hair, she just wants you to ramble about whatever comes to your mind.

Compared to Vander, her protection of you is mostly verbal — though that does not mean she wouldn't punch a guy until he's coughing blood if he looked at you the wrong way. Still, she's influential, imposing enough with just a raised eyebrow and a warning word for almost anyone to turn, tail between their legs, when they're staring at you for even a moment too long.

₊˚⊹♡ my commissions are open! ♡ tag list!

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