#at least you CAN work and it’s not so bad that you can’t that’s a privilege

[i7nn8a]

When the older neighbor Sukuna is disturbing your newborn baby's sleep Warnings: Questionable use of a popsicle. You are 20 and Sukuna is almost 30 (not specified in the story)

No minors here

You, a 20-year-old chemistry student, had just moved into a bigger house now that you had a baby. Life wasn’t easy as a single mother and a student, but you were lucky enough to have inherited something from your beloved grandfather.

The neighborhood was quiet and filled with discreet people. Well, except for him. Sukuna. He was some rich guy who worked twice a week at his father's company and spent the rest of his time throwing parties that lasted until morning. And when there wasn’t a party, he’d blast music late into the night.

Tonight was one of those nights. You knew there wasn’t a party happening—his car was the only one parked outside—but the deafening noise coming from his house was keeping your newborn from sleeping. Meanwhile, you still needed to study for your exams. Fed up, you picked up your baby and marched over to the house next door.

It was the biggest house in the neighborhood. A massive white door big enough for a truck to drive through and three stories covered in oversized windows. The window to the hateful man’s room was directly across from yours—not that you were watching, of course.

Taking a deep breath, you rang the doorbell, praying it could be heard over the loud music. Luckily—or unluckily—it was. The door opened, revealing him: shirtless, tattooed chest on full display, wearing gray sweatpants and with damp hair. Sukuna looked directly into your soul as he answered the door. Curiously, he tilted his head, his gaze drifting from you to the two-month-old baby in your arms who was yawning but unable to sleep due to the noise—thankfully turned off before he opened the door. Then his disinterested eyes returned to yours.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his tone making it clear he had no intention of actually helping.

“I live next door, and I can’t get my son to sleep because of the noise. Could you turn it down a bit?” you asked politely.

“Sure, I can.” With that, the door slammed in your face, leaving you stunned.

Sighing, you turned back toward your house. At least the noise had stopped. For five minutes. Five minutes was all it took for you to settle your baby and almost get him to sleep. Just as his eyes finally closed, the noise started again—louder this time. Your baby woke with a cry, and it seemed like he was trying to outdo the blaring music. You were caught in the crossfire, with no chance of studying.

Once your baby calmed down, you stormed back to Sukuna’s house and rang the doorbell harder than before. When he opened the door, you tried to summon what little patience you had left.

“Can you turn it down?” Your voice carried a tinge of desperation.

“I already turned it off” he replied, sounding annoyed.

“For five minutes. I need you to turn it down to the point where only you can hear this bad music , not the entire country.”

“Bad music?” He seemed offended. “Look, if you can’t get your kid to sleep, that’s not my problem.”

“I could get him to sleep if the noise didn’t keep waking him up.”

“That’s why I turned it off—for a while. You can’t even put your own kid to sleep?” His mocking tone was the last straw.

Without a word, you turned and marched back to your house. Gathering your study materials, you returned to his door, rang the bell again, and when he opened it, you walked in without waiting for an invitation. Sukuna stared at you, shocked, as you headed straight for the speaker and turned it off. Then you placed your backpack on the couch and handed your baby to him, leaving him dumbfounded.

“Since putting a baby to sleep is so easy for you, go ahead. I need to study.” You settled on his couch, pulling out your book, as Sukuna held your baby like he was handling a live grenade.

“Are you crazy?” he asked angrily, trying not to move too much with the baby staring at him like he was the idiot here.

“I’ll go crazy if I fail my exams because of some guy who doesn’t know how to keep it down” you replied, flipping through your book. “And it could be worse—I could’ve called the police.”

“I’d prefer that over a lunatic who barged into my house and dumped a baby on me” he shot back, seething.

“I wouldn’t have had to if you’d just turned the music down” you said, not even looking up. “And by the way, you can stop holding Dante once he falls asleep. He likes to be rocked a bit.”

Sukuna stared at you, furious, but he begrudgingly started rocking the baby. Dante, of course, refused to fall asleep, staring at everything in Sukuna’s house as if he were on an adventure.

After almost an hour of pacing and entertaining the baby, Sukuna finally managed to get him to sleep. He looked proud, though he’d never admit it. Showing you the sleeping baby, he expected some kind of reaction, but you were unimpressed. You simply asked if there was a comfortable spot where Dante could rest until you were done. After settling the baby in his room, you returned to your studies. Sukuna grabbed a drink, leaning against the wall, watching you.

“I’ll leave soon, don’t worry. I just need to finish this chapter in case you decide to crank the music back up” you said without looking up.

“I didn’t say you had to leave.” he replied, stepping closer. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“What are you doing?” you asked, leaning back as he moved even closer.

“Oh, come on. Did you really think you could show up in those tiny shorts with some lame excuse and nothing would happen?”

The kiss he gave you was anything but loving or gentle. He parted your lips with his tongue, exploring every corner of your mouth. His mouth moved down to your neck, where he grazed his sharp teeth and bit a specific spot, making you scream.

"Quiet. We don’t want the boy to wake up."

With that, he stood up and headed toward the freezer, leaving you breathless on the couch. When he returned, he was holding a popsicle. Your mind started screaming. Why did he bring a popsicle?

Staring at you, he tore the wrapper off with his teeth and walked toward you. Grabbing you, he moved you to a spot where your study materials wouldn’t get in the way. Sukuna’s eyes gleamed with cruel amusement as he slid the melting treat along the side of your neck, soothing the spot where he’d bitten you, leaving a sticky trail of coconut on your flushed skin.

"Such a good slut. You're going to take this right to me, aren't you?"

He presses the popsicle against his lower lip, his eyes searching her face with intense hunger and dark anticipation. His hand tightens around the melted popsicle, the cold, sticky treat dripping onto his collarbone.

"Do you want me to fuck you with this, do you want to feel it stretching your tight pussy before I replace it with my cock?" Sukuna's voice is a low, seductive whisper, dripping with dark promise.

His other hand slides down to grip the back of your thigh, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist as he grinds his hardening arousal against your clothed pussy. He captures your lips in a burning, domineering kiss, swallowing your moan as he grinds the popsicle against your clothed sex with deliberate, cruel slowness.

Without further ado, he pulls down your shorts and rips off your skimpy underwear, exposing your most intimate flesh to his voracious gaze. You gasp, but Sukuna swallows the sound, your mouth crashing against his in a brutal, dominant kiss as he grinds the icy popsicle against your dripping bare slit.Sukuna's fingers grasp the treat, pushing it slowly, teasingly, into your tight channel as he moans into your mouth.

"Fuck, you're already all wet, you slut. Your greedy pussy is practically sucking the popsicle inside, isn't it?" He pumps in and out, establishing a maddeningly slow and shallow rhythm that makes you squirm and whimper against him.

Sukuna watches your face intently, his eyes dark and heavy with lust as he works the popsicle deeper, stretching it open.

He withdraws the sweet abruptly, leaving your clinging walls trembling and aching. Then, with a wicked grin, he pushes the popsicle past your entrance, fucking your with it in earnest while his other hand grips your hip hard. He slams into your pussy harder, faster, setting a relentless pace as he leans down to capture a hard nipple between his teeth, biting and sucking the sensitive bud with shameless hunger.

Sukuna grins mischievously at the helpless, drunken moans of pleasure you're letting out, the sound stimulating your relentless assault on your senses.

"Mmm, listen to yourself, brat. Singing so sweetly to me while I rape your tight little pussy with that pathetic excuse for a dick." He punctuates his words with a particularly hard jerk of the popsicle, grinding it against that spongy spot deep inside your pussy that makes stars explode behind your eyes.

"You're screaming so loudly for me. Do you want the brat to wake up? Do you want him to see what a slut his mother is?"

His other hand slides from your hip to wrap around your throat, squeezing hard enough to make your moans catch in your throat, making you gasp and shudder helplessly in his grip.

"I can feel you squeezing him, trying to suck him deeper. Your hungry little shit hole is begging to be created, isn't it?"

He pulls out the popsicle abruptly, leaving its sticky walls trembling and hungry. You whimper at the loss, your hips thrusting forward desperately, seeking more. Sukuna just laughs darkly, dragging the sticky, dripping treat across your quivering belly to circle a hard nipple.

Sukuna smiles fiercely at the desperate, lustful cry you let out, his eyes shining with dark triumph.

"Such a greedy whore, so eager to be filled and bred."

He laughs mischievously, tossing the remains of the popsicle aside before grabbing your thighs and hoisting you up. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he pins your against the sofa, the hard bulge of your arousal grinding insistently against his dripping core.

With that, Sukuna pulls down his sweatpants, releasing his huge, throbbing cock. He notches the enlarged head at your entrance, teasing you with the promise of being stretched and filled so completely. You moan desperately, your nails digging into Sukuna's shoulders as you squirm against him, trying to impale yourself on his thick shaft.

Sukuna only smiles at your want, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he holds you in place.

"Beg for it, my little slut. Beg me to ruin your tight pussy with my cock. Beg me to fill you with my seed, to create that greedy hole that's aching for it."

His voice is a low, sinful growl, dripping with cruel anticipation.

"Please, Kuna."

Sukuna's eyes shine with a wild, triumphant light at your gasping plea.

"That's it, beg for my cock like a good slut."

He grins mischievously, gripping your hips tighter, his fingers sinking inhis fingers sinking into the soft flesh until she bore the marks of his possession.

Without warning, Sukuna snaps his hips forward, burying his huge balls deep into your tight, dripping pussy in one brutal thrust. He groans, throwing his head back as your scorching heat envelops him like a vice.

"Fuck, you're so tight. Squeezing my cock like your hungry little hole is trying to milk my seed."

He starts to move, establishing a strong, fast rhythm as he fucks you with savage intensity. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, mingling with your restrained screams trying not to wake your son and Sukuna's harsh, guttural grunts.

"Take it, you insatiable slut. Take every inch of my cock, let it reshape that greedy pussy to fit only me."

Sukuna's voice is low, rough and sinful, dripping with dark lust and cruel possession. His hips move relentlessly, each powerful thrust hitting that secret spot deep inside you that makes you see stars.

Leaning in, Sukuna captures your lips in a brutal, overpowering kiss, swallowing your cries of ecstasy. His tongue plunders your mouth, conquering every inch of it, claiming it as his own. Breaking away, he growls against your lips.

"That's what you wanted, isn't it? To be used as a sex toy, to be bred like a bitch in heat?"

Sukuna bends down, findingher clitoris with relentless precision. He rubs the sensitive nub in tight, rough circles, pushing your towards a devastating climax.

"Come on my cock. Squeeze the cum out of my balls."

Your eyes bore into his, dark and heavy with lust. Sukuna throws your head back with a roar of dark triumph as you squeeze his throbbing cock, your pussy rippling and vibrating as she comes apart.

"That's it, scream for me, you little slut!"

He penetrates your, rubbing his pelvis against your throbbing clit as he fills your to the brim, stretching your walls to the limit around his thick girth.

Sukuna fucks your through your orgasm with relentless intensity, each powerful thrust pushing your higher, the pleasure bordering on pain. He leans down to capture a bouncing nipple in his mouth, biting and sucking the soft bud with shameless hunger as he penetrates your mercilessly.

"Fuck, your greedy pussy is milking my cock so hard. Do you want my seed that badly?" Sukuna growls against his chest, his balls contracting as his climax approaches.

"Beg for it, beg for me to fill you up, to create that hungry hole and make you mine!"

He thrusts his hips harder, faster, the wet sound of her dripping pussy obscenely loud in the room. You can only cling to him, your nails scratching his sweaty back as you surrender to the numbing ecstasy that shakes your body.

Your pussy clenches rhythmically, eager for the thick cum that only Sukuna can provide.

With one final, brutal thrust, Sukuna penetrates yo pussy, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he finds his release.

"Fuck, take it, take my seed, you insatiable slut!"

He roars, his hot, thick seed gushing out in strong jets, painting your walls white as he pumps your full of his essence.Sukuna penetrates your, making sure that every drop of his cum is sealed inside your hungry womb.

"You're mine now, mine to ruin and use as I please."

He captures your lips in a burning, domineering kiss, swallowing your weak cry of surrender. Finally, he pulls away, his eyes shining with cruel satisfaction as he examines your handiwork. You, soft and trembling, your thighs sticky with the mixed evidence of your lust, his cock still buried inside you, plugging your seed. Sukuna smiles, the sight was a gateway to paradise.

Pulling out of you, he stood up, putting his pants back on and going to get a towel to wipe you down. As he leaned down to kiss you, you heard a baby cry that woke you both up from the trance you'd been in.

With a groan you got up and tried to walk to the bedroom, already feeling your breasts producing milk for your baby.

"Next time I'll prove it." Sukuna said, walking past you and into the bedroom, leaving you stunned behind.

[sanjoongie]

ₛₙₒwₑd ᵤₙdₑᵣ

☃snowed under: be overwhelmed with a very large quantity of something, especially work.

☃Submission for the Anti Holiday Event from @lapydiaries, prompt chosen: too busy to go home

☃Rated: 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

☃Genre: fluff, smut

☃Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x Reader (f)

☃Au: non-idol, office

☃Trope: co-workers to lovers

☃Word Count: 4,493

☃Warnings: Wooyoung is a persistent menace, he also flirts while cooking, kissing, slight body worship, biting, oral (f), hair tugging, hand holding during oral 🥺, kissing with your cum on his lips, penetrative sex with a condom, slight overstim, pain kink, scratching, wooyoung is a panty thief

☃Summary: when your work makes you too busy for the holidays, or gives you any time to visit home, you gain a temporary guest in Wooyoung who is looking to chase away the holiday blues with you. But will a sentimental, intimate setting make this into more than it was meant to be?

☃Soundtrack: Stray Kids' Christmas EveL album {Happy Holidays 🥰}

You cradled your phone between your shoulder and your ear, typing out a work email on your laptop. “I know I know Mom but it’s utterly too busy. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Your mother let out a disappointed sigh and your heart hurt from the sound. “I know work comes first but I was hoping…”

“I was hoping too,” You said eagerly, trying to portray to your mother that you weren’t using work as an excuse. “But this holiday advertisement is just booming and we’ve gotten so many offers for work after Christmas. I can’t just jet off and leave my team to handle everything.”

“I know, dear,” Your mom sounded wearing but proud. “You’ll find time to call though?”

“I will, I promise.”

You said your goodbyes and hung up, rubbing your temples. What was it that you had to do next?

“Heyyyyyyy.” Wooyoung rapped his knuckles on the doorframe to your office and then upon a quick inspection that you weren’t on the phone or otherwise occupied, he collapsed onto the chair in front of you and your desk as well.

Quickly, you moved your open drink out of the way, in case Wooyoung decided to be even more dramatic, and spilled your drink. “Can I help you?” You mused.

“Why did we decide to launch a holiday campaign? I'M EXHAUSTED!” Wooyoung lamented into your desk.

“It’s extremely lucrative,” You brought up.

“Yes, but is the money worth my mental state?” Wooyoung wailed.

Project Manager was a title you held with honor while Wooyoung was your graphics designer. You tried your best to help him out by being the communication between the client and Wooyoung, but Wooyoung still had to bear most of the creative weight. He was pulling long hours at the office and you felt bad for pushing him so hard.

You tentatively patted his head and you froze when Wooyoung moaned loudly. “Uh, Wooyoung, that’s not exactly appropriate noise for being in my office.”

Wooyoung sat up, a pout pulling at his lips. “That’s the first comfort I’ve had in like 72 hours, come on!”

“At least the client has finally settled on what they would like color wise?” You offered optimistically.

Wooyoung blew a raspberry, sinking into the chair until his chin hit his chest. “For now.”

You made a noise of sympathy. “I’ll make it up to you,” You offered.

Wooyoung’s lips were lifted in a sign of dissatisfaction. “Unless you can give me extra time so I at least get to enjoy the holidays then I’m not sure how you can do that.”

You winced. “If it’s any consolation, I'm in the same camp, buddy.”

Wooyoung suddenly brightened up, sitting up in the chair. “Yeah?”

“You needn’t look so enthused,” You grumbled goodnaturedly.

Wooyoung laughed brightly and tipped his head back, covering his mouth. “No. I just mean! I’m all alone for the holidays too.”

It took you a few minutes to absorb that information and to understand why Wooyoung would be excited about you being alone too. “Oh no,” You said, putting your hands up. “Absolutely not.”

Wooyoung frowned and began to whine. “What do you mean no? It could be fun. Come on!”

As much as you were a very hands on person in your job life, it took a lot out of your social battery. So when you clocked out, you enjoyed the solitude and silence of your home. It gave you a headache even imagining Wooyoung in your home for even a 24 hour period. You began to rub your eyebrow in worry.

“I’ll be the best guest, the very very best,” Wooyoung promised. He took your hand into both of his and clasped it warmly. “Plus, I hear you’ve got a nice place. It’s probably nothing like the cramped bachelor I’ve got.”

“Wooyoung…” You tried to tug your hand back, but Wooyoung had a very firm grip on you.

“You said you’d make it up to me!” Wooyoung pouted with his eyes now, making them big and wet and pleading up at you.

You sighed heavily. “Fine. I am a woman of my word.”

Fast forward to the week of Christmas, specifically Christmas Eve. Wooyoung landed on your doorstep bright and early, much to your not-an-early-bird chagrin.

You invited him in and it was a whirlwind as Wooyoung typically emulated. His mouth fell open and his eyes went wide. He twirled around as he took in the second floor balcony and your eight foot tall Christmas tree. “Your place is gorgeous!” He yelled.

You grasped the back of his jacket, that was currently only being held up in the crook of his elbows, and pulled it off to hang up. “Thank you, Wooyoung. Now--”

Wooyoung was already in your state-of-the-art kitchen, rummaging through your cupboards. “Do we need to go to the grocery store? It doesn’t look like you have flour. You do have sugar, that’s a good sign. We’ll need coloring and sprinkles and--”

“Wooyoung!” You shouted.

Your graphic designer paused, eyes on you, mid-grab of a mixing bowl you didn’t even remember you had. “What?”

“Why are you tearing apart my kitchen?” You screeched.

“Uhhhhhhhhhh,” Wooyoung drew out the syllable like his tongue needed to catch up with his brain. “Because we’re going to make Christmas yummies?”

You groaned and rolled your eyes. “It’s the holidays!” you protested. “We should be resting. Ordering take out. Maybe watching some movies?”

Wooyoung frowned like you just told him Santa wasn’t real. “But I had this whole plan. Making homemade hot cocoa and dipping Frosty the Snowman cookies in them!”

You rubbed your face with your hand. “Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung rounded your island and grabbed your two hands between his again. “I promise it’ll be fun. Come on. Don’t you want some holiday cheer in here?”

Somehow you let Wooyoung talk you into going to the grocery store, even though it was chilly and you hated the cold. But Wooyoung’s enthusiasm drew you like a moth to a flame. So you let him tug you through the rows, as he grabbed ingredients for his grand master plan.

“What about Christmas dinner?” Wooyoung wondered.

“Wooyoung… there’s only the two of us. Surely you don’t want a turkey too?!” You said, flabbergasted.

Wooyoung laughed, high pitched and throwing his head back, just like in your office. People looked over at you and you felt your cheeks heat up. “We can do something smaller. Come on. It’s the least I can do for you, since you took me in. Otherwise, I might just be heating up a microwave dinner in my tiny bachelor.”

Your mouth opened and closed. “Okay.”

Wooyoung bit down on his lower lip, eagerly eyeballing you. “Yeah?”

You breathed in deeply and let it out with a gusty sigh. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Impulsively, Wooyoung brought your hands to his lips and he gave them a loud smacking kiss on the back of them. “You won’t regret it!”

Your mouth dropped as Wooyoung dashed down the aisle, his boots squeaking against the linoleum as he took the corner quickly. Did your coworker just kiss your hands?

“Woo-Wooyoung!” You shouted at him.

“We need peanuts!” Wooyoung shouted.

You pushed the cart full of baking supplies already and attempted to follow the lightning bolt that was named Wooyoung.

Back at your house, you sat on your couch, leaning over the back, watching as Wooyoung took over your kitchen. He prepared everything mise en place, carefully measuring and setting out various plates and bowls of ingredients. Once he was ready, and he turned on the oven, his eyes glittered as he looked at you.

“I’m missing something,” He announced.

“Oh no, did we forget something?” You worried, looking around, hoping it was still in a grocery bag.

Wooyoung grabbed an apron from a bag on a chair and walked steadily towards you. “I need a sous-chef.”

“Oh, Wooyoung, I don’t--”

Wooyoung ignored you. He was behind you, reaching around and tying an apron around your waist. You held in your breath as Wooyoung finished the knot at the small of your back. He put his hands on your shoulders and turned you around. “I’ll guide you through everything.”

A shiver slid down your spine. You mentally smacked yourself. There was no need to have any dirty throughts while Wooyoung simply meant you didn’t have to worry about fucking up his Christmas baking. Right?

Wrong.

Wooyoung had his arms around you the majority of the prepping. If anything needed to be cut up, his hands were around yours, showing the proper way to cut. If you had the rolling pin, he was leaning with you as pie dough was flattened. He made sure your hands were properly floured. He mixed cookie dough with you in your mysterious mixing bowl, feeding a piece of cookie dough and chocolate chunks into your mouth.

That was your last straw. “I need a break,” You said, breaking Wooyoung’s seemingly magic hold on you.

“Why why why, what’s wrong?” Wooyoung’s brown, wet eyes followed you as you put the island between him and you.

“Bathroom break,” You lied through your teeth and made a beeline for your upstairs bathroom, the one connected to your bedroom.

You pushed the door closed behind you and raised your hand to your lips. You swore you could still feel his fingers brushing against your lips as he--you slapped your cheeks with both hands, hoping to wake yourself from whatever dreamland you were in right now. What the actual fuck was going on right now?

You ran the water next and had splashed your face a few times before a loud knock on the door scared the shit out of you, making you jump in the air.

“Hey, are you okay?” Wooyoung’s voice filtered through the wood.

“Yeah!” You shouted back. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You seemed a little flushed down there. You aren’t coming down with anything, are you? I could pivot and make chicken soup if you need it.”

You sighed loudly. Wooyoung was simply a touchy-feely guy. He cared and he gave. You were looking way too fucking deep into everything. Whatever you were feeling, needed to be reeled back.

You opened the door and pasted a cheerful smile on your face. “No, I’m fine. Like I said, bathroom break. Why did you follow me up here anyways? Don’t you have cookies to check on?”

Wooyoung rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet, like he was holding himself back. “I’ve got a timer for that.”

You waited for Wooyoung to turn to the side so that you could leave your bathroom but he didn’t budge. “Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung’s eyes flitted across your face and you weren’t sure what he was trying to find there. This whole situation felt weird. You felt like Wooyoung was waiting for you to say or do something, but you didn’t know what that was. You let out a sigh and moved past Wooyoung.

“I’m going to go find a movie to put on. Are you more of a The Santa Clause guy or The Christmas Story?”

Your body brushed by Wooyoung’s and in that moment you learned exactly what Wooyoung had been waiting for. His arms circled behind your back and stopped you from moving past him completely. His eyes remained studying your face and his Adam’s apple bobbed in apprehension.

“Boss, do you know why I’m here today?” He asked, his tongue flickering over the freckle on his lip.

You froze. “Uh, because otherwise we’d both be alone on Christmas?”

“No,” Wooyoung murmured. “So that I could get closer to you.”

You laughed nervously. “Well, this is pretty close.”

“Not close enough,” Wooyoung whispered and then leaned forward to press his lips against yours.

His tongue followed the seam of your lips until you opened up for him. Then it tangled with your tongue, as if he was searching out of the taste of the sweet cookie dough you had just consumed minutes ago. It wasn’t until Wooyoung moaned softly into your mouth that you pushed at his shoulders and broke the kiss.

“What was that?” You whispered.

“That was a kiss, Boss,” Wooyoung teased.

“No, seriously!”

“You didn’t like it?”

You didn’t know how you felt. Your mind was reeling with your reality. Did you graphics designer just kiss you with tongue? And did you like it?

A loud buzzer sounded through your loft and then Wooyoung yelped in response. “The cookies!” He shouted and bounded out of your bedroom. And then ran back to the doorframe. “We’re not done with this conversation!” He shouted at you and then ran downstairs.

You were half tempted to lock your bedroom door until Wooyoung threatened to break down the door but you didn’t want to bother the entire building with your drama. So you slowly but surely moved out of your bedroom and down the stairs into the living room.

Wooyoung was moving his chocolate chunk cookies to a cooling rack. His eyes found yours and then he snatched a cookie. “They’re soft and gooey, you should have one.”

You stared at Wooyoung as he broke a cookie apart and then fed it to you. And when you didn’t open your mouth immediately, he said “ah!” loudly until you did. The cookies were perfect. Just like Wooyoung’s typical work.

Wooyoung smiled happily as you chewed and then zoomed back behind the island to decorate the Frosty cookies from earlier.

“So?” Wooyoung asked, without lifting his eyes from his work.

“The cookies are perfect,” You said cautiously.

Wooyoung sent you the most bald-face look, clearly expressing he knew you were avoiding his actual question.

“I’m still processing,” You said.

“I could kiss you again if you need more data,” Wooyoung grinned wickedly.

“I’m turning on a damn movie,” You grumbled.

Wooyoung blew a raspberry at your response but finished his job nonetheless. He made hot cocoa. He slowly heated up the milk, melted the dark chocolate with a double boiler, and whisked his own whip cream.

By the time the intro for The Santa Clause was done, Wooyoung was bringing over his festively decorated Frosty the Snowman cookies and two mugs of hot cocoa. You dug in and you couldn't help but moan out loud at how good the cookies were with the hot cocoa.

“See,” Wooyoung sent you a knowing look, “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” You couldn't help but say quietly.

Wooyoung froze mid dip of his cookie. “Are you a serial killer or something I don’t know about?”

Now it was your turn to send him a dirty look. “No but I don’t have any time to entertain a relationship, Wooyoung. You know better than anyone how much my work life consumes my time.”

“Yeah I do know,” Wooyoung agreed.

Wooyoung put his own cookie and mug down, prying the same items from your hands as well, and putting them on the coffee table. “Do you think that information changes how I feel?”

You couldn't help but gasp. “Wooyoung, shut up.”

Wooyoung shook his head. “No, I won’t. We work together, so that’ll make up for the time we don’t get at home. And don’t you know how healing it is to even sleep in the same bed as the one you--?”

You pressed a finger to Wooyoung’s lips. “Stop that.”

Wooyoung gently set his teeth into the tip of your finger playfully. “Don’t tempt me with a good time,” he said with a husky voice.

“Wooyoung!” You hadn't meant for his name to come out as a whine but it did. You could feel your resolve crumbling.

“I can take care of you,” Wooyoung said, his face completely open. “I can cook, I can fu--”

“No, No! Wooyoung, this is ludicrous. Work romances are notoriously messy. What happens if it doesn’t work out? We work too closely together. Plus, if we sleep together, you’ll always look at me like I’m a present to unwrap for you and I cannot handle that on the daily.”

Wooyoung broke out into giggles. “You’re the boss. Who’s going to yell at you if you’re the one that got caught doing it in your office?”

“We are not doing it in my office, Wooyoung!”

Wooyoung pushed you to your back on the couch. “Can we do it here?” He cocked his head cutely.

Goosebumps littered your skin. You could barely handle Wooyoung begging to go on constant coffee runs at work, how did you think you could deny him this?

“No, we cannot do it here,” You whispered, your throat tight with lust.

“I’ll make you a fresh cup of cocoa when we’re done,” Wooyoung promised, leaned down.

Wooyoung once again stole your breath and a kiss from your lips. His lips pressed against yours and then after a few smooches, his lips travelled along your jaw and then down your neck. You were craning your neck to give him room before you realized he was enjoying himself a little too much by sucking a mark there.

“Jung Wooyoung,” You growled, slapping a hand over the mark. “You did not!”

Wooyoung looked pleased with himself. “I did.”

“You must be stopped,” You said in exasperation.

Wooyoung’s eyes glittered with amusement. “I don’t want you to tell me to stop until you get overstimulated.”

“Excuse you?!” You squawked.

Wooyoung was dissolving into giggles again, all the while pushing your sweater up to reveal your stomach and bra. His lips kissed along the tops of your breasts, following the curve of your breast until he met your sternum. He gently but thoroughly kissed down your stomach before his eyes flicked back up to meet yours again.

“I’ve been a good boy. I let you taste my cookies. Let me taste you now.”

You sucked in a breath, only feeding Wooyoung’s ego even more. Still, he patiently waited until you nodded stiffly and then he hooked his fingers under your sweats and underwear, and pulled them off until you were bare from the waist down.

Your heart beat out of your chest as he settled between your legs and placed sweet kisses along your mound. You could feel yourself warming up for the graphics designer. He bit down into the flesh part of your thigh before soothing it with his tongue and kisses.

When Wooyoung ate you out, you felt like you were an ice cream sandwich. His tongue delicately licked your inner folds like he was truly gathering your wetness on his tongue to taste you. His eyes would shoot back to yours every once in a while, to gauge how you were but you were simply a whimpering mess, biting down on your finger to keep your moans from getting louder.

Wooyoung tugged on your arm until you let go of your finger. “Wanna hear how good I’m doing,” He mumbled and then went back to business.

“Oh fuck,” You cursed as Wooyoung began to kitten-lick your clit.

One hand dove into his hair to hold him in place and your other scratched against the cushion below you. Wooyoung immediately pressed his fingers in between yours, just as he flattened his tongue against your clit, knowing you’d need the support.

“Wooyoung, wait!” You whined. “I’m gonna--jesus!”

Your thighs shook as your orgasm ripped through you embarrassingly early. It had been a while since you had gotten such good head.

“Oh fuck that’s hot,” Wooyoung mumbled before he was climbing up your body to kiss you again.

You could taste yourself on his tongue and his lips and you shuddered at how dirty it was.

“See, told you I could take care of you,” Wooyoung whispered, lips pink and swollen from kissing you and eating you out.

You swallowed loudly. “You did.”

“Let me fuck you on the couch,” Wooyoung pleaded, pressing his head to your forehead charmingly.

“You better have a condom,” You scowled.

“Never leave home without them!” Wooyoung proclaimed.

He stood up and reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a condom package. He bit down on the packaging and then began to undo his pants.

“Wooyoung…oh god.” You went from scolding Wooyoung to moaning about the state of his lower half. He had barely pushed his pants down to his thighs when you saw his cock pressed up against his black boxer briefs. He was thick.

Wooyoung pressed his lips together as he smoothed the condom over his length. “I’m going to stuff you, lovely, just you wait.”

You pushed yourself up from the couch, sitting up the proper way, facing Wooyoung. “If you make some corny joke about me being a turkey, I swear to god,” You threatened.

Wooyoung threw back his head and laughed; the same laugh that had been entertaining you from the office to the grocery store and now in your living room. It never failed to make your heart skip a beat. Whether it was its charm or its owner, you weren’t quite sure, but it always made you react.

“Nah, I just wanna fuck you good,” Wooyoung admitted.

“Shut up,” You whispered, feeling your face heat up again.

“Gladly,” Wooyoung whispered huskily.

He slipped between your legs, rubbing up against your wet folds. His lips pressed against yours, sensually kissing you while he slicked up his condom-covered cock. It was a bit of a job working himself deeper inside of you. You were tighter once you’ve come, however, Wooyoung sounded like he was enjoying every moment of it.

“Sucking me in, jesus,” Wooyoung grunted.

“I am not,” You hissed.

Wooyoung grinned in response. He scooped a leg under one arm and bend pulled it up so he could get a better angle inside of you. “Your pussy is greedy for me.”

“Wooyoung!” You scolded him under your breath.

Wooyoung started to rock his hips against yours, groaning at the sensation. You squirmed a bit as your sensitive clit rubbed against his taut stomach.

“I got you,” Wooyoung cooed at you, cupping your face with his free hand.

“It's too much,” You whined.

Wooyoung’s grin couldn't get any wider. “Want me to stop?”

You couldn't help but pout. “No, I just--” You moaned as he grounded against you again.

“You like a little pain with your pleasure?” Wooyoung lifted an eyebrow at you. “That’s cool. Me too.”

“I--”

You dug your fingers into Wooyoung’s shoulders as his hips swiveled against yours again. Wooyoung hissed and then he chuckled. “There you go.”

You wrapped your legs around Wooyoung’s waist, bucking your hips and meeting his thrusts. You could feel your wetness smearing against Wooyoung’s pelvis but you couldn't give a crap because it felt so good.

You dug your teeth into the nape of his shoulder next and Wooyoung gasped. “Fuck yes.”

The both of you soon unraveled together. You sweet whines intermingled with Wooyoung’s loud, lusty moans. Wooyoung panted into the crook of your shoulder for a moment until his softening cock made him slip out of you and then you both groaned at the sensation. The condom remained and you watched in utter horror as his cum spilled out of the condom and onto your couch.

“Ah, shit,” Wooyoung laughed, eyes looking around for a cloth.

He pulled his pants and underwear up and as he jogged into the kitchen to wet a clean tea towel.

You winced as you pulled the condom out of you and tied it up. You left the couch to throw out the condom. You tugged your shirt back down and looked for where Wooyoung had tossed your--

“Here,” Wooyoung intercepted you with your pants.

You opened your mouth to address what exactly just happened but Wooyoung’s phone went off.

He pulled it out of his pocket and answered it without pause. “Hey, Mom.”

Oh god. If you two hadn't come any earlier, you would have been interrupted by his mom calling. That was--

Wooyoung cupped his mouth over his phone. “No, I told you--uh, what? My location is different?” Wooyoung chuckled nervously. “What are you talking about?”

Wooyoung held his phone away from his ear as his mother screeched through the speaker. “Why didn’t you just bring the girl home instead of telling me you were too busy with work? Don’t you think I’d want to meet her?”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened, shot anxiously to you, and then his lips pressed his cheeks back. “Mom. Seriously, we’re swamped with work, there’s no time.”

“Well, you make sure you make time to call your family tomorrow, okay? I don’t care how into this girl you are, your family--”

You didn’t hear the rest of the conversation because Wooyoung dashed into the downstairs half bath and closed the door with his foot.

You sympathized at least about the mother disappointed in her child not coming home for the holidays.

At least it gave you time to put your pants on. You frowned when you didn’t find your underwear, however.

Wooyoung must have finished up his call because he came out with an ‘aw shucks’ look on his face. “I’m sorry about that. My mom is--”

“Your mom,” You mused out loud.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung laughed and then his face dropped. “Listen, there’s no pressure, we can just enjoy this and--”

“Eat dinner? Finish the movie?” you offered.

Wooyoung’s eyes scanned your face except this time you knew what he was looking for: Wooyoung wanted to know that everything was okay. You had just been fed and thoroughly fucked. What wasn’t there to like? “Yeah?”

“Yes, Wooyoung, I’m not going to kick you out of my place,” You deadpanned. “Geez, what kind of person do you take me for?”

“A harsh task mistress who's hard to impress,” Wooyoung supplied.

You laughed under breath, that was part a sigh. “You’re still sleeping on the couch.”

“Wait--hey!” Wooyoung protested. “Surely I wasn’t that bad of a lay!”

“No, for making a cum stain on my couch,” You replied.

“I didn’t even get a chance and I’m already in the dog house?” Wooyoung muttered to himself.

It was your turn to throw your head back and laugh, clutching your stomach and tears streaming down your face.

“Okay, it’s not that funny,” Wooyoung pouted, cleaning up his mess.

“Let’s see after supper,” You relented.

You could practically see Wooyoung’s ears perk up. “I’ll blow your pants off a second time.”

“Wooyoung,” You said his name in warning.

Wooyoung looked pleased at your response. “Maybe the third time I can convince you to let me sleep in the bed with you.”

It looked like you weren’t going to be able to shake off this man and you felt a little bit better for it. You two could fill the void each other was feeling after working so hard. And maybe you’d get to finish the movie too.

“As soon as you tell me where my underwear are,” You raised an eyebrow at him.

Wooyoung grinned. “They’re mine now.”

“Wooyoung!”

[americanwhores]

curly and lobotomised reader after the crash I beg… 🥳😋

YAY sometimes i feel extreme guilt for talking ab lobotomies bc I think of rosemary kennedy but i think they are also so fucked up and morbid and interesting so why not sorry omg tangent also sorry my writing is so very rusty and boring lately tw for lobotomy + incontinence

these r getting shorter and shorter gosh

You are sitting on the examination table where Curly left you, legs dangling as you sway from side to side. Staring at the wall.

Nothing has changed but the wet patch beneath you.

“Oh dear.” Curly sighs, putting his hands on his hips like a weary housewife with one too many dishes in the sink. “You made another mess, huh?” He rolls up his sleeves and finds the disinfectant in a nearby cabinet.

You say something garbled, it is not clear, but at least it is not hysterical. He thinks it’s better like this. Now that you’re not feeling emotional, now that you are not feeling particularly bad or good or anything at all. It’s better this way.

Curly quite likes taking care of you. It keeps him going. It keeps him from thinking. Puts him to work.

It helps that you’re rather cute like this, drooling and blinking at him with these big, glassy eyes. Like a vintage doll of some kind.

“You can’t do anything without me, can you?” He coos softly, lifting your bottom so he can slip off your pants.

Curly falters when he sees your wet thighs, and then he decides to lock the door. “Ah, ah, none of that, come on,” he hushes, one large hand holding your wrists together while he unbuttons his overalls enough to pop his cock out. “It’s gonna feel good.”

You blink at him. Slow and stupid.

[immobulusmalfoy]

Won't Say I'm in Love // Fred Weasley x F!Reader

Summary: In which the reader is best friends with the twins and they convince her to help them with something extra special for WWW. Warnings: Mentions of food and bodily harm, plus Umbridge. A/N: Look what I found in my drafts! A Freddie fic I forgot to post!

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When you woke up Saturday morning after a seriously long week of classes, the first thing you wanted to hear was definitely not your name being yelled at top volume from a certain boisterous Weasley twin you happened to call your best friend.

“Fred, you better have a damn good reason for coming in here at this ungodly hour and waking me up with your screechy voice. And if you don’t shut it, I’m going to blast you with the nastiest hex I can think of,” you warned him without opening your eyes. You snuggled further into your pillows, but Fred snatched the blankets off your body.

“Wake up! I need your help with something.” Fred demanded.

“What the bloody hell do you want, Weasley? Can’t a girl get any sleep these days? I was dreaming,” you grumbled, body pulled into a ball to keep from freezing in the chilly air of the dorms. Fred groaned.

“You’re such a drama queen. I need your potions expertise.”

“Oh yeah?” You peered up at him, both eyes open, suddenly curious. “What for?”

“Y’know those Wonder Witch products you’ve been helping me and Georgie with? The secret ones even Granger and the rest don’t know about?” Fred started.

“You mean those ‘temporary’ love potions that took me two months to get right? The ones that you made me try and caused me to be in love with Lee for three miserable weeks before I figured out the issues? Those products?” you asked, embarrassed when you remembered what you had said and done during that time. It was mortifying.

Fred sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled an affirmative answer. “But this time is different!”

“How so?” You cross your arms, now fully awake. You glanced to the side of your bed, hoping Fred had the decency to at least have brought you breakfast or caffeine or both. You were disappointed to see that he’d done neither. “You’re not very good at convincing me. Didn’t even bring me food,” you grumbled.

“This one is a soulmate potion.” Fred grinned, eyebrows going up and down.

“A soulmate potion? What the bloody hell is that?”

“A potion that helps you find your soulmate? It’s not that difficult to grasp, mate. No one’s ever done it before!” Fred was animatedly explaining his thought process and you groaned as he laid out the plan.

“And I suppose you want me to test it once I brew it?” you sighed.

“Well, it would probably be best? Unless you want to test it on some first years? I’m sure they’d love to have a go. Who wouldn’t want to find their soulmate?” Fred’s eyes glittered with mischief.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” You grumbled as you rolled out of bed, blindly searching for a sweater to dispel the cold taking over your frame. You ended up with one of the Christmas sweaters Molly had knitted you over your pajamas causing Fred to grin.

“Let’s go, then!” He snatched you away down the stairs, which did turn into a slide, and eventually into the room of requirement where you’d set up a temporary testing space for your potions experiments and their various prank products. Much to your chagrin, George was already there.

“Hey, sweetheart. Got you some breakfast and a cuppa since this nitwit didn’t want to let you sleep.” George gestured to the potions table where he’d laid out the aforementioned items. You brightened immediately.

“Georgie, you’re now my favorite twin. Don’t you forget it.” You said, smacking a kiss to his cheek as you headed over to the table.

“And what am I?” Fred scoffed. You shrugged and held up your food. The tea was downed quickly as well as the beans on toast before you got to work making notes on what both boys wanted the potion to do.

Unlike the love potions you’d created for them, which had actually been a whole line of about five different versions that all did similar things, but still varied in results, this potion was going to be highly complicated.

Two weeks later, you finally had a prototype to give them. Fourteen days of little to no sleep and brewing more than sixty cauldrons of failed potions, except for this one. The potion swirled a nice purple color, but you’d designed it to taste a bit like butterbeer at the boys’ request. It was designed to have different results for each user, as well. To find their soulmates, they’d have different side effects. Some users might feel their soulmate’s pain, some might see only in black and white until they touched their soulmate, or have small identifying tattoos show up on their skin from their soulmate. Only one person would have to take the potion in order for them to figure out who their soulmate was, one bonus you were glad of.

“So, who wants to take the plunge and try it first?” You asked nervously. Fred grinned and handed the little bottle back to you across the Gryffindor table at breakfast. Some of the first years were watching from down the table and you eyed them cautiously. You never knew what some of them would try to get their hands on Wizard Wheezes’ prototypes, especially after they’d all gone bonkers for the Skiving Snackboxes and the silly hat that made your whole head invisible.

“As our lovely assistant, dedicated friend, and favorite classmate (sorry Lee), we figured we’d give you the honors of finding your soulmate first. It’s been ages since you’ve been on a date anyway.” Fred grinned.

“What my dear brother is trying to say is that we want you to be happy and we very much appreciate what you’ve done with our products so far, so we’d love for you to find the person who’s going to make you happier.” George smoothed over his twin’s remarks with a pointed glare at the other redhead.

“Fine. Take notes of what I say.” You snorted. The potion was downed with four sips, the flavor seeming to follow your directives. “The taste is decent, but could use some tweaking. Side effect is that I feel a bit woozy and I’m seeing a few black spots in my vision. I’m not sure if this will work, but it seems alright so far.”

“Do you feel any different? Are you seeing in black and white? Can you hear your soulmate’s words in your head? Did initials ink themselves onto your skin?” The twins bombarded you with questions which you tried to answer as they made notes on a parchment, but the truth was that nothing seemed to have happened. There was nothing that would suggest your potion worked or that it followed any of the soulmate stories muggle writers attempted to tell.

“I don’t feel any different. It may not have worked.” You sighed, eying the potion bottle as if it would tell you what was wrong with it. It couldn’t. You ran over the ingredients and your methods mentally, but even that didn’t give any clues.

“Quidditch practice, lads! Don’t make me yank you by ‘yer ears.” Angelina Johnson’s barking yell sounded from the other end of the table and your favorite twins groaned.

“We’ll discuss this later. We’ve got a quidditch captain to torment.” George grinned, both boys rushing away.

About two hours later, you were in the room of requirement again working on the potion and taking notes on the color and taste when a sharp pain started shooting through your right arm, the muscle throbbing.

“Shit,” you cursed, dropping the vial you’d been swirling. It shattered on the ground, glittering for a second before the room sucked the potion and the broken glass into the ground to clean it. “Thanks, room.”

The muscles in your upper arm throbbed, and you pulled up your sleeve to look at it, a gigantic bruise the size of a bludger forming under the skin. You stared at it in disbelief, then darted your eyes to the potion. It worked.

Somewhere out there, you had a soulmate and you’d just gotten their injury etched into your own skin. But then you started cursing yourself, because of course you happened to get the one effect you hadn’t really wanted.

“Why couldn’t it have been the tattoos or the black and white thing?” You muttered, moving back over to the table to make notes on the things you’d just discovered.

You were so lost in your studies and notes that you didn’t even notice the twins entering the room with Lee until they were right next to you.

“Any developments?” George asked, causing you to jump.

“Merlin’s beard!” You yelled, smacking him on the arm. Fred and Lee snickered from behind you both.

“Well?” Fred asked expectantly, his gaze sweeping over the table that was now covered with multiple cauldrons and a rack that you’d filled with at least twelve versions of the soulmate potion. He made to pick one up, but you swatted his hand away.

“I’ve made some developments, but those ones aren’t ready yet. So don’t touch my system, Weasley.”

“Alright, alright. Won’t touch ‘em. We’ve come to bring you down to dinner anyway. It’s getting late.” Fred said, guiding you towards the door.

“How long have I been in here?” you asked, forgetting that you’d forgotten the wrist watch your mum had gotten you so you had no clue what time it was or when you’d last eaten.

“Johnson kept them in practice for about five hours, so we missed lunch.” Lee remarked as he walked beside you, “George nearly got her with a bludger to get her to let us leave, but it got Fred in the arm instead.”

You froze, hearing what Lee had said, but the others didn’t seem to notice and you darted your eyes to Fred’s right arm. There was no way, right?

“Yeah, gave him a nasty bruise.” George winced, “Ah well, nothing a little bruise paste can’t clear up.”

“Was it that bad?” you asked shakily, hoping they wouldn’t notice the inflection to your voice. You needed more details, more time, to determine if what you suspected was true.

“Nah, just got a lump on my arm the size of that bludger. It’s pretty gnarly. I’ll use it to market the bruise paste later tonight. See if we can get some of the Gryffindors to add that to their purchase list.” Fred grinned, surreptitiously rubbing his arm. His right arm. The same arm that was sporting a bruise on your own body.

Dinner passed quickly with the twins talking to you and Lee about upcoming plans for the products you all were inventing when, all of a sudden, Lee stabbed Fred’s left hand hard with his fork, nodding his head at a Ravenclaw witch who had just entered the Great Hall. He’d been talking about her for weeks, but never made a move to ask her out despite his long-winded speeches of being a ‘lady-killer.’

The pain radiated on your own hand and you were horrified to see the marks from the tines on both the back of your hand and Fred’s, though he didn’t notice since he was too busy brandishing his own fork at Lee who’d surrendered quickly. You snatched your hand off the table, trying to focus on your pumpkin juice instead of the fight the boys were having, rolling your eyes at their stupidity.

Only George noticed your odd actions, but he very smartly didn’t say a word in your presence and you didn’t notice his pointed stares. You were trying to convince yourself, and failing, that what you really needed was a good night’s sleep and that you must be imagining things. But two injuries to Fred in one day and you receiving the aftermath of both of them just couldn’t be a coincidence.

But the topping on the cake was three days later when Fred landed himself in detention with Umbridge. You knew what she was going to make him do and so you waited in your bed for the letters to appear on the back of your hand, as you figured they would. It would be the final test to see if you were right about the soulmate potion and who it was pointing you towards.

And finally, there they were. A burning sensation took over your skin, making you feel like you’d been stung by a hundred bees as the cuts appeared on your skin, spelling out the phrase “I must not be a nuisance.” You gasped, the pain sharper than you’d expected. You hadn’t landed yourself in detention with Umbridge yet, but this was horrible. The pain made you cry, but the shock of your findings was almost worse.

Fred Weasley was your soulmate. There was no other explanation.

You laid back on your bed, clutching your hand, and closed your eyes. Fred couldn’t be your soulmate, you reasoned. For multiple reasons.

Number one, even though you’d had a horrible crush on him for the past year or so, he had never once seemed to indicate that he felt the same and you were never going to ask him. Number two, he had just broken up with Angelina a few months prior on summer holiday and tensions were still high between the two of them. You were sure that that was part of the reason she’d kept them in practice for so long the other night. Number three, the only logical thing was that he’d tampered with the potion so that it would point to him and so they could get a laugh.

All three things made you upset, so you were grateful when sleep claimed you for the night, and you were thankful that you didn’t hear any of your roommates come in either.

The next morning, the back of your hand was still mottled and you looked at it in shock. The pain was gone, but the scars were still there. There was no way you were going to be able to hide this without a glamor of some sort. So that’s what you did.

At breakfast, you were strangely quiet, even when the twins asked you for updates on the potion. You were hesitant to say it worked, but the words came out anyway when they asked. Both their eyes nearly bugged out of their heads when you said you’d realized who your soulmate was and that they were at Hogwarts.

“Who? Who is it?” They asked, stumbling over each other’s words as they grilled you for information.

“I’m not revealing that.” you scoffed. “Now, I’ve taken copious notes on the subject, improved the taste of the potion, and made sure it can be replicated, so you shouldn’t have any issues there. You can market it with the Wonder Witch line, or do something else. But that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

George and Fred both looked at you curiously, but didn’t disagree with you so you let the matter drop as you discussed the ways you were going to prevent Umbridge from figuring out some of the other things you were up to with your inventions.

But the twins didn’t really let the matter drop and they combed through your notes, finding the one paper you had forgotten to take with you from the Room of Requirement.

“Injury to the arm last Saturday, imprints of a fork on the same day, a burn from a firework on Wednesday, and blimey! Words from Umbridge’s evil quill etched into the skin of the hand.” George read aloud to both Fred and Lee.

“Is she taking notes of my injuries?” Fred asked, looking over George’s shoulder at the list you’d written.

Lee gasped, then started cackling, pointing at Fred with tears in his eyes as he continued to laugh.

“Quit taking the piss, mate. What are you laughing for?”

“Merlin’s beard, Fred! You asked her to make a soulmate potion and she got one of the lamest options! Did you tamper with the cauldron when she was making it?” Lee asked, tears of laughter still twinkling in his dark eyes.

Fred looked at him in confusion.

“George, what’s this tosser talking about?”

George, to his credit, shook his head and handed him the list. He’d figured it out far quicker than Fred and Lee had, noticing your odd behavior around Fred for the past week or so, especially when you started taking notice of what Fred had done to himself injury-wise.

“She’s your soulmate, you dummy.” Lee answered for him.

Fred furrowed his brow, reading over the list. And sure enough, it wasn’t just a list of his injuries, but where they’d appeared on your body. Not his. You’d correlated them to him, though, and it was obvious now. You were his soulmate. His best friend, you.

Lee and George stood there, waiting to see his reaction, but Fred didn’t say a word before rushing out of the room with the list in his hand. Lee and George tore after him, sure he was about to muck this up.

And muck it up he did.

Fred found you in the common room, having fallen asleep reading a book. You were sprawled on one of the couches, Hermione and Harry near you in comfy chairs by the fire. They looked up when the twins and Lee came in, but stared on in horror as Fred marched right up to their friend with a crazed look in his eyes and shook you awake.

“W-what?” you startled, dropping your book on the floor. The impact woke you immediately and you looked up just to make eye contact with Fred. You gasped, seeing the look in his eyes.

“What is this?” he demanded, shoving your list in your hands. You took the list and scanned over it, gaping up at him without saying anything. Fred didn’t speak either as he snatched your left hand and pointed his wand at it, saying, “Revelio!”

The glamor you’d placed over it to hide the scar faded immediately, leaving the words glaringly imprinted in your skin. You snatched your hand back, trembling, and looked back up at Fred who was looking more determined than you’d ever seen him.

“So did the potion work?” he asked thickly. You nodded hesitantly. “And it’s me? I’m your soulmate?” Another nod.

Fred raked his hands through his hair. Lee and George watched from behind, ready to jump in if needed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Fred asked incredulously.

You gaped up at him, panicking as you stole glances around you at the other people in the common room. Quite a few of them were looking over at your little group, causing you to shrink into yourself.

Why didn’t you tell him? Why? So many reasons, but one being the most notable.

“I didn’t want to force it on you.” you murmured, moving to a sitting position on the couch as you kept your hand hidden. Fred knelt down beside you on the floor and gently took your hands in his this time.

“It’s not forced if I want this too. Why do you think I had you make this potion?” Fred asked quietly, rubbing his fingers over the scarred tissue his request had inadvertently caused.

“For the profit?” you asked dumbly, still trying to process the turn of events here. Fred laughed, but not unkindly. He smiled at you.

“Because I wanted you to be happy. You’ve always been there for us and we’ve done precious little for you in return. And I’ll be honest, you’ve been catching my eye for the past year, so I’m thrilled that it’s you and me, yeah?”

“Really?” you whispered.

“Honest to Merlin.”

“And you’re not upset with me?” you asked nervously.

“Not in the slightest. Do I wish I’d noticed sooner? Absolutely, but we can’t change that. I’m sorry you got the one side effect you didn’t want. You didn’t deserve to feel the same pain as me or get marks because of it.”

“It was worth it. Well, mostly. They all hurt like hell.”

Fred chuckled.

“Now what’s the antidote to your potion? Y’know, so you can stop getting the same injuries as me?”

And that’s when you blanched.

“I didn’t make one.”

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 18

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

A/N: not gonna lie, i wrote & rewrote this chapter a bunch of times and i'm STILL not sure if i fuck with it completely. hopefully it doesn't suck too bad asjkdrnfjk happy reading (maybe)!!!!

For a couple of long seconds, Isla hears nothing but an insistent ringing in her ears. Every other thought eddies out of her head, the only thing running through her mind being oh, no and how the hell did they find out? Oh so slowly, panic begins to bloom in the middle of her chest and gradually spreads out as her gaze flickers between all of her friends, their hardened expressions suddenly making painful, horrible sense.

How did they find out? How did they find out?

Oh, God. She waited too long, didn’t she? Isla should have told them the truth when she had the chance, because no matter how they found out, she can’t deny it. Denying it now means she can never confess the truth without hurting them more, and her brain searches for the words she can’t find. The cardboard straps of the bag in her hand burns on her fingers, heart pounding like a drum.

“Um, how—” Her throat is hoarse, tight. “Where did—”

“Sarah got a picture,” Cleo says, her tone measured as brown eyes meet Isla’s green. “Of you and Rafe. Kissing. Courtesy of Topper.”

Isla’s heart falls to the pit of her stomach, eyes falling shut in a tense combination of disbelief and defeat. Fucking Topper. Anger brews, but it’s overpowered by the nerves that tighten every part of her. She and Rafe hadn’t been careful. Topper must have seen them in the hallway or something after they ran into him. Her heart is racing even as she wishes for it to calm down—as she wishes for Rafe to be here with her.

Oh, this isn’t how she wanted them to find out. God, when she finally felt like she was ready to tell them the truth, Topper fucking Thorton beats her to it and does it in the most uncouth and fucked up way. Maybe their reactions wouldn’t have been positive ones if Isla was the one to tell them, but at least they would have heard it from her and not from someone who is always looking for ways to hurt them in some way. The desire to punch Topper returns tenfold.

“Look,” Isla starts carefully, eyes opening as she looks at them all. “I was—I was going to tell you about us—”

“Us?” Kie repeats, eyes widening under furrowed eyebrows as she gapes at her. Kie’s arms are crossed, the tension rolling off of her in waves, making Isla’s throat work. “You guys are an us? Are you guys in a relationship?” Isla presses her lips together, and it’s an answer enough. Kie’s shoulders rise and fall, her expression akin to horror. “What the fuck, Isla?”

Suddenly, it was like everything Isla had practiced saying to her friends, all of her reasoning and explanation, vanished. She’s caught so off guard that she can’t remember anything that she planned on telling them, and is instead scrambling to find the right words to make this better, somehow. Even when a voice in the back of her head tells her no soothing word of any kind can soften this blow that has rocked all of her friends.

“It was—it sort of just happened,” she says desperately, forcing the words through her tightened throat as she rests the bag of books and flowers down by her feet. Some of them gape at her, some don’t even look at her. Isla’s palms grow clammy. “We kind of kept running into each other and, I don’t know, one thing led to another and—and—” She exhales roughly, her voice a little meek as she says, “He’s really not as bad as you think.”

“Are you kidding me?” Pope snaps, sitting up straight as he narrows his eyes. JJ tenses up. “Are you forgetting the amount of fights we’ve gotten into with him over the years? I’m pretty sure we all know exactly the kind of person he is.”

Isla tries not to flinch at Pope’s harsh tone and harsher words against her boyfriend. “But you guys haven’t noticed that he hasn’t started anything with you for a while now?” Isla tries helplessly, gaze flickering over them. John B’s jaw clenches as he looks away. “I mean, I know you’ve gotten into it with Topper and Kelce, but Rafe hasn’t gotten into it with you, right?”

She knows she’s right, but none of them agree with her. Kie scoffs, shaking her head as the incredulity remains on her face. “I cannot believe you’re defending him right now. He’s an asshole, Isla!”

“Stop calling him that,” Isla snaps before she can help it, but she doesn’t regret defending him, even when Kie pulls back slightly, blinking in surprise. Isla meets her gaze steadily, chest tightening at the betrayal that flashes across her sister’s face. Swallowing, Isla looks at the girl sitting on the couch. “Sarah, come on. He’s your brother.” Sarah’s gaze flickers, meeting Isla’s, and Isla sees the conflict waging war in her friend’s eyes. “I-I know you’ve seen the change in him, too. He’s different now. He’s different with me—”

“How long?” Isla cuts off at the sound of JJ speaking for the first time, her shoulders tensing as she turns her head to the right to look at him. He turns his own head, ever so slightly, to meet her gaze, and Isla’s heart stops. JJ’s blue eyes have never looked so icy. “How long have you two been together?”

Isla’s heart thunders. Her body feels the weight of everyone’s gazes. She looks to the floor ahead of her, her voice a whisper as she answers, “Two months.”

Someone sucks in a sharp breath in the deathly still silence following Isla’s revelation. She lifts her gaze, forcing herself to look at her friends because she isn’t ashamed of her relationship, even if she is worried about their reactions. John B lets out a rough breath, a sardonic chuckle as he drolls, “Wow.”

Isla takes in a breath. “Look, I’m sorry that you guys found out this way—”

“But you’re not sorry about dating Rafe Cameron?” JJ spits out, turning to finally look at her fully, his expression a combination of disbelief, anger, and the same betrayal mirrored on Kie’s face.

Isla steels herself. “No, I’m not. Come on, guys,” she tries, shaking her head. “You know me. You know I’d never be with someone I genuinely thought wasn’t a good person. But I’ve gotten to know him. I know the kind of guy he is—”

“Oh, barf,” Kie cuts her off with a roll of her eyes, and Isla’s teeth press together tightly. “Are you serious?” She leans forward, arms still crossed and gaze locked with Isla’s. “He’s obviously playing you.”

Isla’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Playing me for what?” she asks. “What the hell does he get out of pretending to be a good person just to date me?”

“Not to date you—he just wants to fuck you,” JJ says tightly, his crude words damn near making Isla flinch as she looks at him in hurt. Cleo purses her lips, but Isla doesn’t miss the disapproving look she throws towards JJ, who promptly ignores her as his narrow eyed gaze remains on Isla. “Maybe he’s just getting some kind of twisted revenge, I don’t know, for Sarah becoming one of us. Maybe—” He takes a step towards Isla, eyes hard and unforgiving. “He’s trying to prove once a Kook, always a Kook.”

The tightness in Isla’s chest intensifies to the point of pain, lips parting slightly as she gapes at JJ, a slight crease in her forehead as his words land like a slap. An angry JJ always knows the right words to say that cause the maximum damage, and making Isla feel like an outsider in her own friend group is a sure fire way of making her feel small. Pressure begins to build behind Isla’s eyes, but she forces the tears back, not letting them gather as she lifts her chin in defiance. 

“We all welcomed Sarah with open arms when she and John B started dating,” Isla points out, voice surprisingly steady. She doesn’t want to bring Sarah into this, but she needs to point out their hypocrisy.

“Sarah isn’t Rafe,” John B answers tightly. Next to him, Sarah twists her lips to the side, that confliction still evident in her expression as she looks between Isla and the others. “She’s never thrown a punch at any of us.”

Exasperation and desperation form an ugly combination inside of Isla. “It’s not like you guys are innocent, either!” she exclaims, gesturing to all of the guys. “You guys have started plenty of fights with them for no reason.”

Kie scoffs, leaning back against the wall. “Nice,” she mutters, and Isla’s heart aches fiercely because, God, she had so desperately hoped her sister would be on her side, at least. But she won’t find an ally in Kie, and that fucking hurts.

“What do you want from us, Isla?” Pope asks, frowning up at her. “What’d you expect was going to happen after we found out? Whether we heard it from you or from anyone else?”

“I—” Isla falters breathlessly as she looks at each of their faces. Various degrees of anger, hurt, and disbelief still stare back at her. She knew this wouldn’t be easy, but the tightness in her chest is still uncomfortable. Her voice shakes despite her best efforts as she answers, “I expected you guys to trust me.”

Only Sarah’s expression softens, and maybe Cleo’s, upon hearing Isla’s words. Not the guys’. Not her own sister’s. 

“Trust you?” Kie asks, that disbelieving edge creeping back into her voice. “You’ve been secretly dating Rafe behind our backs for months. You can’t talk about trust when you’re the one who broke ours.”

Isla presses her lips together. Despite her pain, she knows Kie has a point. “I was going to tell you when the time was right,” she informs them. “I just—I wasn’t ready for this before. I knew you’d all react this way so I kept putting it off.”

“You knew we’d react this way because you know how fucked this is,” JJ counters. His eyes narrow in contempt, one corner of his mouth peeling back in a sneer. “Out of all the people on this damn island, you chose him? The Goddamn prince of the Kooks?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.

Isla’s throat works, her jaw clenching. “He’s good to me,” she says quietly but firmly. 

Pope shakes his head, staring at Isla as if she’s lost her mind. “He’s going to screw you over.”

No, he won’t, she wants to argue. But her gaze sweeps over them all one more time, and Isla knows that she hasn’t gotten through to them. Still, she wants to try. She owes it to Rafe and to their relationship. “He cares about me. He looked out for me before we even got together. He—he helped me when my car broke down. And when the cops showed up at the Boneyard party. And Kie, he—” She looks at her sister, whose eyes have sharpened. “He stepped in at the last party, remember? With Topper. He stopped things from escalating even more. Guys, he’s not as bad as you think, okay? A person can change.”

“You’re delusional,” JJ says sharply, and Isla tries not to flinch.

Sarah sits up, frowning slightly at the blonde. “JJ—”

“No,” he cuts her off, facing Isla with a tightened jaw, arms crossed. His cheeks are flushed slightly, angrily. JJ’s gaze is hard, unrelenting, as he says to Isla, “You need to decide; him or us.”

Isla stills—the whole room stills—as she stares at JJ with widening eyes and parted lips. It feels as though no air is going into her lungs as she chokes, “What?”

“It’s pretty fucking simple,” JJ snaps, Isla’s heart picking up its pace too quickly as she gapes at him. He cannot be serious. This can’t be happening. “You’re either with us or with him. But you can’t have both.” He gestures to Sarah. “She doesn’t have a choice because he’s her brother. But you started dating him—” He practically spits those words out, like they’re poison in his mouth. “Knowing the kind of asshole he is.”

“He’s not an asshole!” Isla argues tightly. “Can we just—please—” She helplessly looks at the others, and Isla knows that she hurt them with this, but pain lances through her at the realization that none of them are outright coming to her defense. It’s gotten so out of hand, so fast, and the panic and dread war inside of her. “You guys know me,” she tries again desperately. “I wouldn’t be with him if I thought he was a bad person. Why can’t we just leave the past in the past?”

“You can’t expect us to suddenly be all buddy-buddy with Rafe,” Kie says, frowning. “He’s never given us a reason to—”

“I’m giving you a reason! Right now!” Isla cuts her off, hand pressing to her chest and feeling her heart thunder against her palm. Her skin is warm from anxiety, cheeks probably flushed from the heat that spreads through her. “He’s been nothing but sweet and kind to me. I’m your sister—your best friend,” she adds, looking at each of them. “My word should be enough.”

JJ shrugs. “I don’t really trust liars.”

Isla’s jaw clenches, throat tight. “JJ,” Sarah chastises, her throat working as she looks around the room. “Look, come on, guys. This is getting a little crazy. I mean, Rafe isn’t some—some monster—”

“Of course you’d defend him; he’s your brother,” Pope scoffs with a roll of his eyes. “But he’s never given any of us a reason to think differently of him,” he adds. His gaze meets Isla’s sharply. “And I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can take your word for it.”

A rough breath escapes Isla, defeat creeping through her like an unwanted shiver. Her word isn’t enough? She knew. . . She knew they would react badly, but this? The pressure returns in her eyes and she drops her gaze to the ground, blinking quickly. Her chest is so tight, it makes it difficult to breathe as the hurt burns through her. To know her friends don’t trust her, that they aren’t willing to hear her out and see things from her perspective. . . Her throat dries, unable to swallow the massive lump formed in the middle of it.

She never thought she would feel like such an outsider amongst her friends. Isla knows she’s always had one foot in each life, Pogue and Kook, sometimes more so than Sarah. It had never been a point of contention before. But this has blown up far more than she thought it would. Maybe she was naive in thinking that they could talk and work things out—

No, no, she wasn’t naive. She had trusted in her friends, in the relationship she had with them all. She had thought that their friendship would be important enough for them to want to see and hear her side of things, to accept her relationship that she already had been hesitant in getting into because of her friends’ reactions. But Rafe. . . He makes her happy. So genuinely happy, in a way she’s never experienced before with anyone else. How can she let that go? How can she let any of them go? Is it selfish of her to want both? She didn’t think so at first, but now. . .

“Him or us, Isla,” JJ’s hard voice breaks through her thoughts, forcing Isla to look up at him. His gaze is still sharp but, God, she sees the subtle hope that swims in those blue eyes. Hope that she picks them over Rafe. It tightens her throat even more.

She gives one slow shake of her head, her voice quiet but defiant as she answers, “I’m not choosing.”

JJ’s jaw works, his chin lifting. Disappointment flashes across his eyes, mixed with surprise, but it disappears as quickly as it comes. He wants her to choose them, but Isla can’t do that, not if it means not having Rafe. In the same way, she can’t just choose Rafe but also lose her friends. She wants both—why can’t she have both? Why does she have to choose? What kind of sick ultimatum is this?

Shrugging, JJ says, “You saying that is an answer enough. Don’t come crying back to us when he fucks you over.”

Silence descends and Isla wonders if they can hear her heart pounding in her chest. Her eyes burn, throat locked, and she’s suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to flee. They won’t listen to her—not like this, not when the truth is a fresh wound. “Okay,” she whispers, clearing her throat after as she steps back towards the door. “Obviously, this has gotten a little out of hand.” An understatement. “We can talk again once we’ve all calmed down.”

JJ and Pope scoff at that and Isla tries not to flinch as her gaze meets Kie’s. Her sister stares at her for a brief moment before turning her head, effectively looking away, and Isla swallows as she opens the door. “Okay,” she mutters again before walking down the steps and away from the house. 

Every step she takes away from the Chateau feels heavy, part of Isla wanting to go back and continue the conversation until they’re all on the same page. But hurt blooms through her chest, spreading everywhere else as her nose stings and vision blurs from the onslaught of tears. They way they all talked to her—the tones of their voices and the looks on their faces—was awful. Sure, she and her friends have gotten into arguments in the past, but never like this. They never belittled her before. Never made her feel so small. Her best friends, her own sister, were downright mean, and a breath shudders out of Isla as she quickly wipes away a tear that rolls down her cheek.

“Isla!” She freezes upon Sarah’s voice before turning around, watching as the blonde jogs up to her. Isla sees the paper bag in her hand and bites the inside of her cheek. “You forgot this,” Sarah says, coming to a stop in front of her and holding the bag out.

Isla meets her gaze, sees the way Sarah’s expression softens because no doubt she takes notice of Isla’s red rimmed, glassy eyes. Sarah’s lips turn downwards as Isla takes the bag from her, sniffling because she can’t help it. “Did um—did Rafe buy you the flowers?” Sarah asks haltingly.

Biting her bottom lip, Isla nods. “Yeah, he did,” she answers, unable to help the way the corner of her mouth kicks up slightly.

Some of the unbearable tightness in her chest loosens, just a fraction, when Sarah mirrors the subtle smile. It disappears, though, and her expression falls, a little pleading. “Just give them some time, okay? They’re pretty raw right now. I-I’m sure they’ll come around?”

“You think?” Isla asks. She aims to sound hopeful, but it comes out unconvinced. “Will you?”

Sarah is silent for a beat. “I think what JJ said is unfair. And I think I owe it to you and my brother to not jump to conclusions.” Her hand reaches out, and Isla’s throat works when Sarah takes her hand, squeezing it reassuringly as her soft brown eyes meet Isla’s green. “I’ll talk to them. It’ll be okay, Isla. Just—just give them some time.”

Isla nods a couple of times, appreciative. At least someone is on her side. “What happened in there was fucked up,” she mutters, lips turned downwards. She’s still angry, but right now, she feels more tired than anything else. A little too defeated to focus on the anger.

“It was,” Sarah agrees with a frown. “It went too far. I’ll talk to them.”

“Thanks,” Isla says, squeezing Sarah’s hand.

“Are you—how are you getting home?” Sarah asks.

Isla shrugs. “I’m gonna walk up to the park, I guess. Clear my head a little before heading home.”

Sarah nods, though her forehead creases in worry. Isla is mildly surprised when she pulls her in for a hug, but Isla welcomes it, eyes squeezing shut to keep back the new burn of tears. “I love you. It’ll be okay.”

“I love you, too,” Isla responds, her voice only slightly shaky as she returns the hug and hopes that Sarah is right.

*****

The chain of the swing creaks slowly as Isla sways back and forth gently, her feet scraping against the dirt with every movement. Around her, kids run around and play. In the distance, a group of guys play basketball at the fenced-in court. It’s late afternoon, so the sunlight isn’t so bright, more clouds in view, but Isla’s gaze remains on the ground ahead of her.

You’re either with us or with him. But you can’t have both.

Was she naive to think that she hadn’t expected the ultimatum? Or was it just faith in her friendship with all of them that had her believing that they would be able to talk it out and they would see where she was coming from? Not accept her relationship right away, but it wouldn’t have gone so horribly the way it did.

Now, away from them, Isla no longer holds back the tears that burn her eyes. They roll freely down her cheeks, a breath shuddering out of her as she swipes a hand under her sniffling nose. Her stomach is in knots, tight and painful, as she squeezes her eyes closed to shut out the conversation replaying in her head. 

Her sister, her friends—these people she loves and has spent so much of her life with—called her untrustworthy, had practically insinuated that she was crazy for dating Rafe. Her head is at war, knowing where they are coming from, but also hating how everything went down. Isla could barely stick around to continue the conversation, feeling their words beat her into defeat until she has to retreat to collect her thoughts and wits before even thinking about broaching the subject with them again.

And. . . What? If she doesn’t break up with Rafe, will her friends stop talking to her? Has she really committed that big of a fuck up in their eyes? Why can’t they just see it from her eyes? Listen to her? Doesn’t she deserve that much? One relationship is going to be the cause of destroying a handful of friendships?

“Isla.”

A breath catches in her throat at the sound of Rafe’s voice, lifting her head and blinking away her tear blurred vision to see him standing before her. His expression is tight with concern, forehead creased and blue eyes flickering to look at every inch of her as he lowers himself on his knees, his hands on her legs.

“Baby, what happened?” he asks, squeezing her knees as he looks up at her so earnestly.

But Isla stares at him in mild disbelief, drinking in the sight of him as she asks, “How’d you know I was here?”

He rarely, if ever, comes onto this side of the island. He’s only ever been here for the parties at the Boneyard, or when he’s secretly given her rides to John B’s. “Sarah texted me,” he answers, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “She—She told me you told them and it didn’t go well.”

A sad scoff escapes her, sniffling after as she says, “I think that’s an understatement.”

Rafe’s jaw works and she can tell, easily, that he’s pissed off. But he pushes it aside, his voice softening as he takes her hands. “Come on. Let’s sit,” he says, standing up and pulling her off the swing. One hand remains holding hers, while the other grabs the bag of books and flowers, and Isla lets him lead her away from the swingset and to a spot in the park that doesn’t have too many people around.

He sits down at the base of a tree, giving her hand a gentle tug to get her to join him. She settles down numbly, sniffling as she mutters, “God,” quietly under her breath as she wipes away the errant tears from her cheeks.

The trunk of the tree is wide enough for them to sit side by side, his arm pressed to hers as he grits, “I should’ve been there.”

Isla shakes her head. “It might have just made things worse,” she says sadly.

Rafe loosens a rough breath. “How’d they find out? I didn’t ask Sarah.”

Exhaling slowly through her nose, Isla turns to look at him, her expression tightening. “Topper,” she says, making Rafe rear back. “Apparently he caught us at the hotel. Sent a picture of us to them, and God—” Isla leans her head back, looking up at the deep green leaves of the tree. “This was not how I wanted them to find out. He fucking made things worse than they could’ve been.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Rafe mutters, running his fingers through his head as he shakes his head, no doubt wondering about Topper’s Goddamn audacity. “So what—what did your friends say?” he asks carefully, looking at her with his forehead creasing in worry.

Isla’s throat dries as she thinks of their words again, her muscles tightening with the hurt that is still present—and probably will be for a while. She brings her knees up, arms wrapping around her legs after fixing the skirt of her dress. “They. . . They were pissed,” she starts, exhaling slowly as she stares ahead at a group of kids in the distance climbing around on the play set. “They feel like I-I betrayed them, and JJ, he—”

She cuts herself off, lips pursing to keep her lower lip from trembling. Rafe’s hand comes to rest on her back, his touch warm and comforting as he rubs her back reassuringly. It’s much needed, his hand on her, knowing that he’s right there next to her, right where she needs him. “What’d he say, baby?” Rafe asks gently, even as she hears the edge creep into his voice.

Isla swallows the lump in her throat, nose stinging and tears gathering as she blinks them away rapidly. “He wanted me to choose. Between you and them.”

“He—” Rafe exhales sharply and from her peripheral vision, she sees him shaking his head incredulously. “He gave you an ultimatum? That’s—are you kidding me?”

“I wish I was,” Isla murmurs desolately, eyes falling shut briefly. Some tears escape, but she wipes them away as the hurt remains frozen in the center of her chest, uncomfortable and tight. There are some other things JJ said, too, but she doesn’t want to tell Rafe, knowing it will only piss him off more. Or, worse, make him want to confront her friends.

He just wants to fuck you.

You’re delusional.

I don’t really trust liars.

Each word was a slap, still stinging right in her heart. Isla wipes her cheeks again, an elbow resting on her knee and leaning her cheek against her palm. “I told him I wasn’t choosing,” she continues, shrugging one shoulder. “I don’t want to—I can’t,” she shakes her head before turning it to look at Rafe. He’s looking at her with such concern, touched with helplessness and anger, and Isla’s lips tremble as more tears gather. The emotions of the fight fly to the surface, and in Rafe’s presence, she doesn’t try to push them back.

“I knew they wouldn’t be happy, but it just—it got so fucked, so fast,” she breathes out, her words trembling. “They wouldn’t even hear me out. Whatever I said just—it didn’t seem to matter and—and they’re my best friends. And they just. . . Didn’t want to listen. Even Kie—” Isla inhales deeply, trying to steady her breathing, but now that she’s given permission for the tears to come, they won’t stop. Rafe’s hand slides up, cupping the back of her neck comfortingly. “Kie wasn’t even on my side. But Sarah was.” Rafe takes in a breath at that, looking both surprised and relieved, especially when Isla gives a hint of a smile at that. It was probably the only silver lining in all of that shit show. “She said she’d talk to them and I appreciate it but they were—”

She squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head as their words echo in her mind. For a moment, she wonders if she’s being too sensitive, if she should have just expected all of this. Isla is at war with herself, fighting between logic and shattered hope and expectations. “They were what, baby?” Rafe quietly asks, his voice so soft it’s painful.

“They were just mean,” she says with a breathless, hollow laugh. And maybe that’s a childish thing to say, but it feels too accurate at this moment. Her friends can be crude and brash, but never mean. No matter what kind of fights and arguments they’ve had in the past, they never made her feel like this. Her friends have never made her feel so alone. “If I stayed, it just would’ve escalated even more and I just—” She shakes her head with a deep breath. “I had to get out of there.”

Rafe squeezes the back of her neck gently, reassuringly. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, frowning as he shakes his head. “Do you—I can talk to them—”

“No,” she cuts him off, straightening. When Rafe purses his lips, unhappy, Isla sighs. “I appreciate it, I really do,” she assures him, sniffling as she puts a hand on his thigh. “But if they’re not going to listen to me, what makes you think they’ll hear you out?” she asks with a sad, knowing smile. “It’s just better to let them be for—”

For how long? Days? Weeks? Is this something they can get over quickly, or will it take time? Isla figures it’s the latter, but the amount of time it’ll take is a mystery. All she can do is hope that they all can come out the other side of this intact.

Rafe lets out a breath, nodding. “What do you need from me?” he asks gently, almost a plea that tightens her chest. There’s an intensity in his eyes and a crease in his forehead that tells her he’s desperate to help, not knowing how, but wanting to nonetheless.

Isla presses her lips together, the corners lifting into a solemn but appreciative smile. “Just need you,” she tells him honestly, watching as his expression softens upon hearing her words before he shifts, winding an arm around her waist, the other going under her knees.

She lets out a breath as he shifts her so she’s sitting sideways on his lap, resting her head against his shoulder as he leans back against the tree and holds her to him, his hand resting on her thigh, fingers against her skin. Isla swipes the back of her hand under her chin when she feels a tear rivulet, throat working. “God, I probably look like a mess,” she mutters, fingers then swiping across her cheeks as she looks up; she definitely has mascara running down her face.

Rafe tilts his head as he moves his hands to cup her face, turning her head to face him. He looks down at her, something flickering across his blue eyes as he no doubt takes in her tear streaked face, his own thumbs swiping along her cheeks. “A beautiful mess,” he corrects, grinning, and Isla knows he both means it and is trying to lighten her mood.

It works, a huff of a laugh escaping her as she rolls her eyes. Shoulders slumping, she says, “I guess we don’t have to sneak around anymore.”

Her tone takes a hopeful lilt as Rafe’s hands lower to rest on the sides of her neck. The late afternoon sun peeks through the leaves, bathing him and a spot of sunlight hits his eyes just right, making his blue eyes glimmer prettily. “You sure you wanna be seen with me?” Rafe smirks teasingly, arching one eyebrow. “I have a bit of a reputation.”

Isla breathes out another laugh, arms sliding around his neck and holding him close, her chest pressing to his. She pushes closer to him, the tip of her nose bumping against his as her gaze drops to his lips briefly. “I don’t scare easily,” she murmurs as they share the same breath.

Rafe’s eyes meet hers, flickering down to her lips before lifting again to lock gazes once more. Isla’s heart stutters as he leans closer and captures her lips with his, feeling a new kind of freedom as she earnestly kisses him back without worry of anyone spotting them—or, more accurately, caring if they do. She sighs into the kiss, muscles finally relaxing in relief at the closeness. Rafe’s hold on her is gentle, his fingers threading into her hair as her lips open under his, his tongue sliding in to dance with hers as he angles her head.

When they pull away moments later, Isla settles back against him, head against his shoulder and forehead tucked along his jaw. “I’m sorry about your friends,” he murmurs.

The remorse evident in his tone makes her heart clench. She knows Rafe isn’t crazy about her friends, but he wants to make the effort because he knows how much they mean to her. Isla had been hoping her friends would show the same thoughtfulness. It’s a lot to wrap their heads around, sure, but the conversation didn’t have to take the kind of turn that it did. And even if they did come around, would Isla be able to forgive them for their words?

She sighs. One problem at a time. “You don’t need to apologize,” she tells him truthfully.

Rafe huffs out a breath. “What I need to do is give Topper a piece of my fucking mind,” he mutters, an edge creeping into his voice. When Isla glances at him, she sees the muscle in his sharp jaw working while feeling him tense against her.

“He’s not worth it,” Isla mumbles, even if she doesn’t entirely agree. She just doesn’t want Rafe getting into a fight, though she has no doubt Rafe can easily take Topper.

“It’s ultimately his fault you were crying, so I’m gonna disagree with you on that,” Rafe says, his arms around her tightening a fraction, like he wants to protect her from her own tears.

Isla lets out a gentle laugh. “Gonna defend my honor, Rafe Cameron?”

He turns his head enough to press his lips to her forehead, Isla’s eyes fluttering shut at the gentle contact. “Damn straight; day and night.”

He holds her close, and she believes him.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jay Kuo for The Big Picture:

It’s been nearly 50 days since the soul-crushing election, and many of us are still in a bit of shock and experiencing continued denial. The headlines have been disturbing, to say the least, as they preview what the next four years could be like here in the U.S. and around the world. We are in dire need of some coping mechanisms. With 2024 drawing to an end, I figured it might be useful to compile some strategies and tips, gleaned from experts and from my conversations with many readers, on ways to survive these next four years, both individually and collectively as a democracy. These are in no particular order, and some of them may or may not resonate with you. I hope you nevertheless find them helpful and even practical.

Avoid the lure of nihilism

You feel it sometimes in your gut, and you see it in others’ comments: a sense of doom and despair. “There is nothing we can do.” “They will get away with everything.” “Nothing we can say will ever get through to the other side.” “Face it, it’s the end of our democracy.” Let me first say that anyone who hasn’t indulged in even a bit of this thinking hasn’t been paying attention. Things are bad, and in fact quite bad. So it’s perfectly natural and human to entertain these thoughts. But we can’t remain stuck in such thinking. So I want to offer some perspective from a great man who has seen and overcome many great challenges in his life. I worked for years with the actor and activist George Takei, who spent his childhood in Japanese American internment camps during World War II. He and 125,000 others in his community experienced what a fascist America really looked like: families rounded up and forced from their homes at gunpoint, forced to live for weeks in horse stables then for years behind barbed wire fences, with no charge and no trial, all for the “crime” of looking like the enemy. It would have been understandable for George to become embittered and to turn his back on this country. Instead he dedicated his life to a cause, working to deliver reparations for his community and to teach the history of the internment so that we would never repeat that terrible chapter of our history. He taught me a word in Japanese that I still think about a lot to this day: gaman. It means to face challenges with dignity and fortitude. Things have been bad before, and for many racial minorities, far worse than now. But they didn’t give up. They persevered, even in the face of the terrible dysfunction and injustice of our system. When I feel like throwing up my hands, I remember George Takei, and people like the late John Lewis, and I draw strength from their example. They did not let despair paralyze them or cause them to surrender.

Be a voice of hope, not fear

One of the ways fascism succeeds is through fear. And one way fear spreads is through public repetition and normalization. Some of our corporate and media leaders are already setting terrible examples by “obeying in advance” and capitulating to Trump’s threats. We shouldn’t be like them. But beyond that, it’s important to consider what impact our own attitudes have on others.

[...]

Support independent journalism

Many of our major papers, from the Washington Post to the LA Times, have billionaire owners who have recently demonstrated that they would rather please, or at least not ruffle the feathers of, the incoming administration than hold themselves up to basic standards of journalistic integrity. A small but collectively significant thing we as consumers can do is to vote with our eyeballs and our dollars. There are many independent sources of news with terrific reporting still happening. ProPublica was the one to break the stories on the corruption of Justice Clarence Thomas and the purchase of his support by wealthy benefactors, and I support them with an annual subscription. Another great outfit is Popular.info, which regularly exposes corporate malfeasance among other important topics. I have a favorite set of Substack journalists and analysts I support including  Heather Cox Richardson for news with a historical perspective,  Joyce Vance for legal news and analysis, Robert Hubbell for a daily news summary, and Talking Points Memo for political analysis. While these sources admittedly lean left, I also regularly read and support more centrist reporting from The Bulwark.

[...]

Defend institutions

There’s been a lot of attention paid to historian Timothy Snyder’s first rule in fighting fascism, which is not to obey in advance. But there’s not enough attention on his second rule.

[In his book On Tyranny, Snyder writes,

Defend institutions. It is institutions that help us to preserve decency. They need our help as well. Do not speak of “our institutions” unless you make them yours by acting on their behalf. Institutions do not protect themselves. They fall one after the other unless each is defended from the beginning. So choose an institution you care about—a court, a newspaper, a law, a labor union—and take its side.]

The great thing about this rule is that all of us can do something meaningful to help. Speak up for our court system and the rule of law, even when (or perhaps especially after) they fall short of expectations. The goal is to improve them as institutions, not to cast them aside. Support your local newspaper with a subscription. Rally at your state capital in support of laws protecting abortion rights. Support striking workers by avoiding companies that are anti-union. These acts seem small, but collectively they matter a great deal, and our institutions cannot succeed without support from the public.

Jay Kuo wrote in The Big Picture on the guide to surviving the next four years under the autocratic Trump Regime.

[ash5monster01]

Christmas Tree Farm

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, mentions of distant parents, meet cute, friends to lovers, language, heavy flirting, sickeningly sweet and full of Christmas magic.

Summary: To avoid spending Christmas at home Charlie chooses to work at a Christmas Tree Farm. What he doesn't expect is finding the girl of his dreams. 

Word count: 3.1k

Masterlist

Being home for Christmas was Charlie’s worst nightmare. Not only was he subjected to spending time with his folks but being back in Vermont during the winters only reminded him of one thing. He could only take so much of the snide comments his father made about sleeping in and his mother with her overbearing questions. At least when he was at Welton winter break was at most two weeks. When it came to college it became a month of this madness. So he needed to find an excuse to get out of the house and fast. 

That’s why on a particularly cold afternoon, having sulked behind his mother in the supermarket, his eyes caught the bulletin board. Buried in a mountain of announcements, rooms for rent, numbers for tutors, was a particularly bright red sign. Help Wanted - Christmas Tree Farm. So when his mother gets distracted by the bag boy for putting dish soap in with the vegetables, he rips one of the numbers from the bottom of the sign. The first one taken and he knew better than to wait. 

So come Monday his father has nothing to say when Charlie’s pouring a cup of coffee before he’s even come downstairs. Giving only the brief details of a short time job and how he wanted the extra cash for when he went back to school. All he got in return was a huff and the snap of the newspaper opening in his father’s hands. He knew best to bundle up and finish his cup of coffee, leaving the house quickly before his mother could question him. 

When he pulls onto the long drive he discovers the Winter Wonderland presented before him. Darlene Love’s voice barely plays over the rumble of his engine as he passes the gorgeous trees that lined the drive, all wrapped in the most sparkly Christmas lights he had ever seen. He can’t help the soft smile that covers his face because Neil would have loved this and for the first time in a long time, it finally felt like Christmas. Not the time of year to feel sad. 

“Hey! You the new guy?” he doesn’t expect the soft voice that calls out to him when his car door shuts. Turning he’s quick to find you, eyes as sparkly as the Christmas lights he just passed. It’s like the breath gets knocked out of him, and suddenly this might’ve been a bad idea. 

“Yeah, Charlie” he wipes nervous palms across the front of his jeans before approaching you. A nervous smile on his face as he offers up his hand. When your gloved one closes against his he realizes he had left his pair at home. “Shit”

“That’s not normally the greeting I’m used to” you mutter and Charlie lets go, a nervous hand flying to the back of his neck. Of course he was already making a fool of himself in front of the pretty girl. 

“Sorry I just realized I left my gloves at home. Already screwing up my first day” he confesses and you giggle at the nervous boy in front of you. It makes you wonder if he’s ever had a real job before. 

“It’s okay, I have an extra pair. You’ll especially need them for today” and before he can ask what that means you’re walking off to the barn beside you. He follows anxiously as you slip through the doors and return almost seconds later in front of him. Nearly running you over he spots the black gloves that look warm and inviting just like you. 

“Thank you” he says without backing away and you grin. He was charming and different, much different than the farm boys who rotated around here every Christmas season. 

“Leroy is out warming up the truck, you should probably go meet him” you’re quick to tell him and he nods, as if suddenly realizing he was actually here to do a job. 

“Yeah, um. Sounds good” and the call of your name interrupts you both. Both your heads turn to the small white farmhouse, gutters lined with rainbow Christmas lights, and light up reindeer in the yard. On the front porch stands a plump woman wrapped in a pink apron and flour in her box dyed hair. 

“Coming!” you call and Charlie realizes the name belongs to you. You offer him one last smile, pointing towards the field where an older gentleman waved from the truck. He nodded to confirm he knew his direction and as soon as you entered his life you were gone. Running through the fluffy white snow and towards the house that looked warmer than his ever did. Against his better judgement he starts in the direction of Leroy who had a much less pretty smile than you. Trying out the sound of your name on his tongue. 

That’s how it starts. Spending the days leading up to Christmas, sharing shy smiles and awestruck looks. Always warm and kind until he’s pulled to haul trees and strain his body until all he can think about is you. It’s the most manual labor he had ever endured and he can only thank rowing for the strength he had been given, or else he wouldn’t be able to keep up. Especially with Leroy who even in his old age somehow hauled twice the amount he did. It was a lot but had become the best distraction from the storm cloud that always loomed over his home. 

“It’s a warm one” your sweet voice surprises him, freezing in place where he stands on the flatbed trailer. It was only 35F degrees but the heavy lifting had warmed Charlie’s blood, having shed his coat as he unloaded each tree off the trailer. 

“Yeah, hopefully we don’t lose all our snow” he answers after a moment too long. You grin at him, admiring the tight white T-shirt clung to his filled out form. How the red scarf swayed from his neck with each movement he made. You’d be a fool not to admit how handsome he was, especially here in the beautiful snow, pine needles stuck to his clothes. 

“We won’t, not here at least. That’s the Christmas Tree Farm magic” you tell him, having lived here your entire life. No matter the season, the purpose of this place was to provide Christmas miracles. Winter was of course your favorite, but with Charlie here, it made it even better. 

“Yeah? Does that magic work on anything else?” Charlie asks, a sly grin covering his lips and you decide to flash that same smile right back. Happy to flirt with one of the most interesting boys you have ever met. 

“Miracles usually” and you walk off, a fluffy hat like a halo on your head and boots crunching in the wet snow beneath you. Charlie swears you’re a Christmas miracle itself. At least his own. 

For the days to come more and more trees disappear from the lot, families stopping by each day to bring home a little Holiday joy. Charlie watches you with your clipboard and bright smile, happily chatting with customers and playing with little kids. The whole place is a Winter Dreamland and it’s no doubt partly because of you. Years of learning how to contribute the magic within the place. Until now he’s quite certain he never knew what Christmas felt like, at least not until he met you. 

He doesn’t get alone time with you again until a particularly late night. All the lights went out on one of the fences and not wanting to go to his empty home, he offered to stay late and redo it. It’s colder at night here, but prettier, especially as the snow falls to the ground. His fingers are practically numb but he supposes he’s more comfortable here than in his room at home. So he continues on, not knowing you’re approaching with two steaming cups of hot chocolate. 

“Need a break?” He turns to find you’re in some of the cutest printed pajamas he’s ever seen, little Santa hats adorning your clothes as you crouch down beside him. Just the sight of the warm mug has him reaching out with cold fingers. 

“You’re a lifesaver” he grins, immediately lifting the cup up to his lips. You go to protest but he’s too late, the searing liquid hitting his tongue. His face twists quickly and you wear a sympathetic look. “Shit!”

“Does that happen to be your favorite word?” but he won’t take the teasing, his tongue poking out from behind his lips and a soft pout covering his face. 

“It’s okay, I happen to jump the gun a lot” he says, fingers closing around his burnt tongue. It no longer hurts but he knows he won’t be able to taste the hot chocolate now, his taste buds in hiding. What a loss. 

“Here, let me help” and what he doesn’t expect is your lips forming in an O shape and blowing softly on his tongue. He gapes like a fish, knowing you’re both aware of how it won’t help him at all. Yet it’s the best excuse to be this close together. As badly as he wants to kiss you he knows he won’t be able to taste it. That would be worse than heartbreak. 

“Done this before?” Charlie asks when you’re done and you shrug, sipping from your own cup that was now at a much safer temperature. 

“Hot cocoa is my speciality, then again all things Christmas is” you grin, eyeing the lights Charlie had so perfectly wound around the fence. It had been a long time since someone had come around here and cared so much. 

“Have you lived here your whole life?” Charlie asks, lifting to his knees again and continuing to wrap lights. If he stopped now he would be here all night, at least he now felt warmer with you by his side. 

“Born and raised, my parents inherited it from my Grandparents. They must’ve finally gotten tired of Christmas because they retired to Florida a few years ago” Charlie laughs at this response, brown eyes catching yours in the glow of the Christmas lights. 

“You think you’ll ever get sick of it. Christmas twenty four seven, three hundred and sixty five days a year?” Charlie asks and you instantly shake your head, as if you’ve known the answer to this your whole life.

“Never, this place will always be home. Even if I’m trimming trees in August and getting stuck under mistletoe with creepy customers. Christmas wouldn’t be what it is without the people who believe all year long” you say, looking at nobody in particular as you give an honest answer. Charlie’s heart warms over at the sentiment you provide, falling for you more than he ever should’ve in the first place. 

“Mistletoe?” is the only thing he responds with and the instant roll of your eyes only makes him grin wider. You’re not surprised at all that this is what he takes away from your words. 

“My Mom hangs it everywhere and moves it so it’s never entirely unavoidable. It’s only cheek kisses but I swear it’s always the guys missing half their teeth beside me” you say and Charlie burns with jealousy at the idea of all the men who think they have a shot with you. Yet he supposes he’s one of those guys too. 

“Well maybe one day you’ll find yourself under the mistletoe with somebody not that unbearable” Charlie offers nonchalantly, suddenly more focused on the lights than before.  You wear a grin that seemed brighter than any Christmas light on the entire farm. 

“Yeah, maybe” you agree, sipping from the hot cocoa before lifting back up to your feet. Nights were always so peaceful here, more magical. A part of you wished Charlie could stay here forever. 

You stay with him for a little longer before retreating into the house. Repeatedly checking out the windows to make sure he doesn’t freeze to death. Wondering who he really was and all the things about him. Why he wasn’t like any of the half brain guys who worked here before. He was quick witted, smart, kind, and confident. A mix of traits you never knew could be possible together before. You fall asleep with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and cheek pressed to the windowsill, the last thing you saw was Charlie before entering your dreams. 

It’s not long until Christmas Eve arrives, the last of the families coming to pick trees out to decorate before tomorrow. You used to hate people who waited so long to get one but when you got older you recognized how they waited for family members to arrive in town, how it was their own special tradition, and now they were your favorite customers. You hoped one day someone would love you enough to wait until the last minute like they did. Yet like every Holiday season the day passes in a blur, leaving you standing beside the campfire with your parents, Charlie, and all the other farm hands. 

“It was a good season guys” Leroy holds up his beer and you smile, stepping closer to the fire for extra warmth. “Thank you”

“We made double what we did last year too. Christmas magic is stronger than ever” you point out, having read the books an hour ago. Another good season meant another year of keeping the farm. 

“I think that has more to do with you than the trees” Charlie mutters and everyone grunts and agrees with his words. Knowing it was you who ran the show, you who was kind to the customers and made Christmas feel real for the kids. You took care of everyone here and without you this place wouldn’t feel like Christmas, not at least not in the way it should. 

“Damn looks like we’re out of beer” and of course it’s you who’s instantly ready to volunteer, starting for the barn lit by only a single light above the front doors.

“I’ll help” Charlie scurries after you, almost tripping in the snow, and you smile back at him before both slipping into the warm barn. He finds you pulling a case from under the tool bench and he’s quick to swoop in and grab it from you. 

“Didn’t know you were so enthusiastic about beer” you tease, eyebrows raising as he stands in front of you. He’s nervous but he needed to be alone with you before one of those guys out there noticed the way he looked at you. 

“Not so much beer but you, yeah” he admits and a soft blush covers your cheeks. The sentiment surprises you but with the snowflakes dusting his hair and the scarf wound tightly around his neck, he looks just like the Christmas prince you always imagined for yourself. 

“You think you’ll come back around next year?” you ask, needing to know this wasn’t some college boy looking to lead you on and leave with your heart a week later. 

“If you’ll have me, hell I’ll even come in the summer too” and the genuine way he says it makes your heart soar in your chest. Slowly you grab the beer from his hands and set it on the ground. He gives you a confused look, not understanding what your goal is. When you spot his confused look you only offer a sly grin before pointing up. 

As if spotting a shooting star in the sky, right on the beam above you both hangs green mistletoe, pulling you together like a magnet. “At least you have all your teeth”

“I’m not sure I find that as big of a compliment as I should” and you giggle before grabbing the sides of his coat and drawing him near. 

“Well you should considering I plan on kissing your lips and not your cheek” Charlie’s heart stutters in his chest, unsure where to put his hands and unable to look away from your dazzling eyes. He’s not even sure this is real. 

“This might be my favorite Christmas yet” he finally utters and you grin before lifting on your toes. Charlie steps closer, hands falling to your waist to steady you, the smell of your shampoo invading his senses. Everything about this moment couldn’t be more perfect and he hated that tomorrow he couldn’t come back here and spend his Christmas with you. 

He doesn’t close his eyes right away, preferring to watch as your lips fumble against his only slightly. Not yet locking with his own but sharing the same breath. When he’s sure he can’t take it anymore he presses his hand to the back of your head and seals you against him. Eyes shutting because he finally got to taste you. Nothing about this could be anymore perfect. You couldn’t be anymore perfect. Everything about this is right, Charlie’s firm muscles against your own, soft lips slowly tasting you, warm tongue dipping against your own. You’d stand here and kiss him forever but the distant holler for the beer stops you both. 

“Better supply the masses” you mutter, a little love drunk from his kiss, hand patting his broad chest. Charlie grins, brushing some of the hair away from your face. 

“God but I really want to keep kissing you” he says, already dipping in and stealing another kiss. He smells like the pine trees and tastes like peppermint, he’s Christmas wrapped up in a perfect package, and right now you wish you could keep him forever. He reminds you of home, even when you're here. 

“Me too but I’d prefer not to have an audience” you say before sadly stepping away from him and grabbing the beer case from the ground. 

“Then later? My car once everyone leaves?” and the words make you feel like a giddy teenager. You bite your swollen lip before studying his face and nodding. 

“I’ll be there” you agree and he grins, stealing the beer case from your hand and stealing another mind numbing kiss. 

Smiling you follow him out of the barn, unable to keep the smile off of your face as you walk towards all the people you love the most in life. Here where every wish comes true. Your little Christmas tree farm and the boy who loves you. 

[sir-sunawani]

Starling

Omegaverse

Alpha!Crocodile/Omega!Reader

Inspired by @hannahbarberra162's Emperor's Prize

CW: A/B/O, yandere vibes (unsure if full blown yan yet) yeah we full blown yandere babes, dub con (possible non-con I am so by the seat of my pants with this), rough sex, rough everything kind of, mdni

Chapter 6: Not Quite

Your legs are parted wide, rough hands keeping them parted even as your hands paw at the mass of black hair between your thighs. You don’t have the strength to deny him, and certainly not the power to stop him, and so he drinks freely. Lapping, licking and plunging his thick tongue deep inside you, enticing your body to sate his endless thirst just a little more.

Each precious drop is a rumbled hum of approval and when you couldn’t be brought to orgasm fast enough he split you open with a thick finger, curling it inside your small body and sucking on your clit until your pleasure dripped down his arm.

He’d stop long enough to lick the sweet nectar from his forearm, harsh and focused eyes on your weak and exhausted form.

But no matter how much you came, he didn’t stop, mouth between your folds again. Fingers pressing into the tender meat of your thighs, teeth pressing angry marks into your skin. He was going to eat you, one of these times, you were certain his teeth would be too sharp. His hunger too desperate, and his appetite too insatiable and he could bite clean through-

You suck in a breath, legs and arms flailing, smacking into the mountainous form beside you.

Crocodile’s eyes are on you. Sleepy, but focused, he settles beside you after being sure you didn’t injure yourself flailing next to him. You are covered in sweat and slick, you can feel the thick liquid squish between your thighs.

“I don’t know if you had a nightmare or a wet dream,” his voice is soft, but his tone is aggravated. You’re certain he doesn’t like not knowing, and unfortunately you can’t clear things up for him. “Get cleaned up. Put what I taught you to use.”

“Y-yes sir.” You nod. You were too drowsy and too disoriented from the powerfully real - whatever it was - to offer up much else. Sweat and slick at least were easier to clean off than paint, so if you didn’t do a perfect job it wouldn’t matter.

You took enough time to wash your hair along with everything else, and put on the pajamas that the tailor had made for you. They were styled after the shirts you’d been borrowing from Crocodile, loose and silky, but a little more properly proportioned to your size. You weren’t sure why they needed to button down the front like his shirts did, but you didn’t argue.

It was free clothes, and they were your clothes.

They’d been skillfully made, and fit wonderfully, but aside from trying them on when they arrived, you hadn’t worn them since. You didn’t have anywhere to go, and there was no sense in getting dressed just to stay in the office room with Crocodile.

You haven’t been told you can’t wander the castle, but every morning you have breakfast, and then he has you sit in his lap while he works. You know the cage for what it is, but it’s still warmer, and more kind, than anything you knew before.

You weren’t paraded around the tents, surrounded by guards and attendants, a piece of art to ogled by everything with a pair of eyes. You weren’t covered in paints and forbidden from warmth, wearing thin, barely there clothing even when the winds blew. You were at a different extreme, perhaps, but it wasn’t bad.

What else would you do anyway?

Ask Crocodile, a pirate, for money so you, a priceless omega - a rare jewel even if you weren’t the Starling - could bandy about the Grandline hither and fro? You had no skill at either a trade or hobby. You had no way to find, or purchase, suppressants in some vain, and dangerous attempt to hide what you were.

It was a wonder he hadn’t bit you the day you were brought before him.

Instead he treated you more humanely than anyone else had. Maybe not kindly, and certainly not as an equal, but his touch was pleasurable. His voice was soothing, and his scent was alluring.

Omegas were meant to cry in desperation beneath Alphas. Alphas protected them, and made their heats bearable, and omegas gave Alphas a point of focus. Something to care for and protect, so that their desires didn’t drive them to folly.

Or maybe they were only driven to madness because of omegas.

You climb into Crocodile’s lap without him beckoning you once you’re done with breakfast. You can feel the relief in his scent. Regardless of the hows and whys of it all, you were grateful he was an Alpha. You were grateful your instincts knew more than your mind, and that you were beginning to understand the subtle differences in his scent depending on his mood.

He could control his face, and to some extent his tone, though he seemed to mind both less when it was just the two of you. Maybe because on some level he knew he couldn’t hide from you.

Maybe he didn’t want to.

His hand cups your jaw firmly and you still in his lap. You feel a soft shift and gasp as something teases your skin beneath the shirt. It settles at your nipples, and you know it has to be him, but he releases your jaw and his hook is resting on the desk.

“What…?” You sigh, the gentle caress making the flesh stiff.

“It’s just my sand.” He says evenly. “No one else will know.”

You sigh softly the smooth sand dancing over your nipples and sending pleasure into your chest. It feels good, and you want to squirm, but you’ve been sitting carefully before now. Sure you shifted and adjusted throughout the day, getting up sometimes to stretch, the action spurring Crocodile to take a break more than not.

And he did play with you, sometimes, but not like this. Not while he worked, and since the first time, it hadn’t been while people were coming in and out.

But the people came in, and the sand did not relent.

It wasn’t enough to bring you to the brink. It wasn’t enough to force you to make noise. It wasn’t enough that it was impossible to stay still.

It was enough that you couldn’t look anyone in the eyes when they came in. It was enough that you probably looked like a small little pet in his lap, more than you’d looked the days before. It was enough that your slick was definitely staining the seat cushion.

“Your chair,” you whisper as the most recent intruder into the room leaves.

“It’s fine.” He assures you.

“I… I…” You aren’t sure what you want to say, so distracting is the constant and unending pleasure against your chest. Never enough pressure to hurt you, and it’s not rubbing you raw despite the hours that have gone by.

“You were so distressed this morning, I wanted to be sure your pleasure was comfortable today.” He explains, tilting your head back until you were bent back and squirming beneath his gaze. “You don’t smell distressed.”

You shake your head as best you can in this position. “Not distressed.” You gasp, your thighs pressed together, rubbing back and forth.

“If you want relief, you can ask for it.” He sounds so bored, his tone, his eyes, but his scent is curled around your throat like a set of teeth.

“Please.” You whine and you feel everything shift. The soft shuffle of sand moves your legs until you’re straddling his lap, your back to his chest, and his tip presses into your leaking cunt. The swirling sands lower you onto his cock, his fingers in your mouth, letting you drool and whine against them as the simple act of penetration has your eyes rolled back in a subtle orgasm.

The chair scoots a little closer to the desk, pinning you between it and him. He reaches between your legs, teasing your pulsing clit with a single finger, making you shiver and tremble against him. Holding onto his arm you ride him as best you can in your position, the wet wriggling motion of your hips was nothing compared to the way you twitched and gripped him internally.

It was enough for you to cum harder, however, tucking your face against his upper arm and crying your pleasure into his sleeve.

“Good girl.” He hums softly, letting you suckle the tip of his finger. “Stay still. There will be more people, but as long as you don’t cum, they won’t know.” He lies so sweetly you’re willing to believe it. It was obvious what your position was right now, even with the desk obscuring the truth of it.

Your skin was flushed, and you couldn’t calm down that much. You had been in his lap for days before now, but this was the first time people would see you trapped so. You might not be up on his desk, riding his fingers with nothing more than the size of his shirt concealing your body, but none of his people were fools.

The clown maybe, but even he had uses enough that Crocodile kept him around.

Crocodile did not keep useless things.

Stuck between him and the desk, his throbbing cock sunk deep into your sensitive pussy, there was no place for you to hide from those that came in. They might not be able to see him speared inside you, but you couldn’t hide your face behind anything in this position. He helped you tuck against his chest, his hook arm pressed across your shoulders so he could easily work around you.

Everyone who came in knew.

As embarrassing as it was, no one dared to say anything, and most didn’t even dare to meet your gaze once they understood the situation.

Everyone was exceptionally efficient that day.

Once he was certain there was time enough before the next person, he’d tease your clit and have you cumming against his thick cock. The sands teasing your chest never stopped, no matter what, but he didn’t finger your throbbing clit unless the office was empty.

If you came, it was for him, and him alone.

By four o’clock, no one was coming into the office at all. Word had gotten around, or people could smell the thick scent of pleasure even if they were only betas, and no one was willing to risk stepping inside. But you had your hands on the desk, one of your legs carefully looped inside his hook, your right thigh in his hand.

He moved you like a toy. His hips hardly moved and he made you ride him, the sand still teasing you even as you sobbed from overwhelming pleasure. Everything from shivering little pleasures that barely felt like orgasms, to toe-curling delights that had you moaning like a whore between his arms, you felt them all through the course of the day.

No matter how hard or how gently you came, he could keep the same steady pace. Occasionally licking heavy strips against your neck and shoulders. He inhaled full huffs of your scent, alternating between growling and purring, seemingly edging himself as he forced pleasure from every inch of you.

The soft chime of the clock indicates the end of the day, and he presses you against his chest, large hand easily splayed out over your torso. He scoops both of your legs into the crook of his hook arm, nearly folding you in half before thrusting up into you.

Soaked in sweat, slick staining his pants, the chair, and pooling on the floor, you’re relaxed only because you’re too exhausted to be anything else. He pushes a moan from your dripping lips with every thrust, thick tears falling down your cheeks and you babble pleasure, hands pawing at every piece of him you could reach.

Your shivering limbs kick and curl as a pleasure you can’t deny floods through you. You’re almost sick from the exertion, the heat and euphoria of it pushing back the pain in your twitching limbs. Hot liquid fills you as Crocodile’s cock throbs against the sticky grip of your cunt.

You can’t clean yourself up afterward. Your limbs are limp and your brain is in a thick fog. You’re burning up, but the cool air of the office makes goosebumps rise along your skin. He cleans you up, so you assume, the deep melody of his voice is a soft tone, a praising song that soothes your heart as much as your aching muscles.

By the time dinner is brought to the office, you’re cradled in his arm, letting him feed you.

“Your heat will be soon.” He says, and an understanding dawns on you.

“You… it effects you?” You feel like your question is answer itself, but he nods.

“My… apologies.” He says gruffly, putting another bite to your lips. “I am not in the practice of denying myself that which I desire, and my attempt to soothe your nightmare did not go as I had planned.”

“Will this be your first time too?” You question carefully.

He nods, bringing the cup of water to your lips. “When the government started gathering up all the omegas they could, what was rare became even more so. Most Alphas never find an omega, and most omegas are never bonded, since the dragons shuffle even the lowliest of you around like borrowed pieces of jewelry.”

You go quiet and so still that he doesn’t try to get you to eat more, simply staying still with you as the seconds ticked into minutes.

“You’ll,” you swallow thickly, nerves dancing against your spine. “Claim me, during my heat, won’t you?”

“… Do you want me to?”

Tears rush up your chest, choking your lungs. Your face twists and he pulls you close, rocking gently back and forth. “I don’t know.” You sob softly.

He promises you nothing, neither removing your choice in the matter entirely, nor assuring you that he’ll leave you to have one. Instead he just soothes you, letting you cry for all the reasons you need. It’ll be your first heat with an alpha. It’ll be your first heat that isn’t attended by Celestial Dragons. It’ll be the first heat where your nest isn’t provided to you, where your location isn’t decided for you.

No one will bend the will of your instincts in the direction they want, and you’ll be navigating everything on your own.

It was terrifying to a certain extent, but… with him by your side there was something that soothed you. An almost manic thought that seemed absurd, but it was powerfully grounding. It didn’t matter how you thrashed against the inevitable, he would not let you escape, wouldn’t let you be swept away.

You were already between his teeth.

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

what bothers me about horde prime, more than his lazy characterization or his lack of impact on the narrative, is the fact that he is such a bad representation of a cult leader. like,, this is not how cults work. they don’t just insert a chip into you and make you follow their every directive like a robot. real life cults are a lot more terrifying because they use manipulation as a tactic to convince people to join them. it’s not a digital chip that you can remove from your system and suddenly you’re in complete control of yourself. cult survivors have talked about how hard it is to actually unlearn that mindset and start thinking for themselves, how many years it takes to stop feeling guilty for leaving their cult or seeing the toxicity in the leaders they so religiously followed.

sure, hordak and catra have some trauma tied to their experience with horde prime, but most of that is because of the physical torture they went through, rather than their experience of being brainwashed. and it’s fine if horde prime was just some villain and not a genocidal cult leader. but it’s clear that he was written to be a religious authority figure, the execution is just so off.

i know he’s a character in a fantasy world, so he had to use his powers for something. but instead of turning people into robots, he could have shown them a “better world” through his tech, talked them into joining him and forgetting about all their current worries, and then used them as weapons against etheria.

it would have been a lot more impactful and angsty if catra had willingly joined horde prime’s cult so that she could repress her guilt. in fact, it would have been really interesting if horde prime had convinced catra that he would help her repend for all that she did, if she joined his cult. this would have been a lot more comparable to religious guilt and trauma in real life, and it would show that catra actually felt bad for what she did, instead of just looking sad for a while and then continuing to be a shitty person anyway.

[pilonciillo]

lol didn’t think someone giving money would give me anxiety

[cute-little-fly]

This is what I think about the tumblr critical communities. I have seen good comments that come from good places, and is good to be critical about things you like so creators can put attention to it and improve. Criticism has a good side but also a bad one.

But criticism needs to be more objective. Try to understand what was meant, consider all the elements in the scenes and dialogues with the overarching story and at the end see what could have being done better and what was done good. List what did it fail? What did it worked? Why? This is the usual kind of criticism I have seen from movie analists, and how I think those should be. We will always disagree at some points, but at least try to see more.

But most criticisms here and in other webs are like: this is bad because it should be this way or this other way. Because it should have ended like this or that. Then, you will see somebody else comment the entire opposite. There is no real objectivity or deep analysis most of the times. Or they villanize characters.

Like, you are seeing Jynx arc bad because you don’t detach to how you think should have been. So, no wonder why you don’t understand the one being shown in the series. Is true that some themes in the series were left out and even softened, but we need to accept it. Is true Zaun and Piltover could have had a better resolution, and is kinda bad that they were in the focus in season 1 and that season 2 couldn’t make much place for them. Is true some arcs that the one of Mel could have been shorter. Some other scenes or desitions are also less thought. But even with all of that Arcane is still GOOD. For me this is what they fail to see. Arcane ending was anticlimactic and rushed in some parts, but if you consider the series overall and what it says and happened, is clearly good and super worth the watch.

We can’t do nothing about the fact that the writers room went from 13 people to 3 people. I don’t think the 3 people left are bad writers, but, the work of 13 people cannot be replaced by 3 people. The level of details and everything of course will be different because each person contributes with their best skill. Season 1 had a lot more details and things to analyze because of how many good writers they had.

I also hoped we were going to see a revolution Jynx and that she may redeem herself that way when Do you wanna come play was released. But it ended being a bummer and not happening that, and I am actually… fine? Amanda said that ending for the sisters was intended since the very beginning. Also, for me it makes sense to what we have seen of them. They were never revolutionaries but because of who they are they were always in the middle of the conflict.

So yeah… I think is a combination of all the headcanons people had after season 1 not really being intended by the show runners, that rubbing people the wrong way, and also some things being teased to misdirect made the series look bad because how few time there is for everything and those things teased keep the people hoping for certain things to happened.

Of course, I think some of those things people headcanoned really appeared to be what the series was going to be, and is a possibility that they changed those plans, or the writers in charge of that were the ones fired and the ones left didn’t knew how to do that properly with that short time…

Buuut, at the end, my point is… we should cherish what we have, the good, talk about what we could have had in a constructive way (not saying how the show was ruined and super bad, because you are shoving the amazing things under a rug) and how they should try to balance better the thematic elements for the next shows (and maybe plan better the level of production and see that having more writers is important and have a better team communication); without falling into only seeing the negative and ignore All the amazing things this series has. Even with its imperfections…

I saw a lot the critique of a writer that saw both the good and bad things this season had. He actually criticized mostly act III and how the sisters lost relevance being the ones more important at the beginning. Which is a very valid one. Arcane seen overall as one single thing is an amazing series. Is one of my highlights of 2024.

Yes I am very emotionally invested in Arcane, yes I do draw real life inspiration from it, yes my favorite character is based on who I relate to the most, but you know what I DON'T do? I don't equate the story as a complete mirror to reality. I don't think it's bad to tell stories with unhappy endings. I don't think it's bad to have problematic characters. I don't think it's bad to LIKE problematic characters. I can still separate fiction from reality. And I think it's great practice to have morally ambiguous stories so that we can have actual conversations about moral ambiguity outside of the sphere of real life.

Art is a great conduit to talk about real life issues. AND it's a great way to look closer at dark topics without drawing from real life situations. It is BOTH.

True critique knows the distinction and when to bounce between the two.

[shewhoeatssand]

I want to befriend Kaneki and meet with him and email him forever

[goldensunset]

i do not like thanksgiving (week)

[honeyconez]

guys hear me out would painis cupcake pay taxes? Because he’s not like mega insane like ass pancakes I think he’d pay his taxes in my professional opinion.

[c-nan]

if i stay over the weekend to help on a student film set, i won’t go back to my hometown which will upset my mom (and also cause me mental distress) but if i go home (mom happy, me happy(ish)) i’ll miss out on the opportunity to learn more about working on film sets (somethign i’ll have to do next semester for my own film) and i’ll reinforce in my brain that i’m not capable of doing literally anything and that i’m a fuckifn loser

[binders-and-beanies]

Not being able to vote makes me extra sensitive to discussions of the election tbh like. People who don’t have to fight super hard to vote don’t see the value in it, *because* their vote isn’t suppressed. So I wish that people who do have that privilege would use it to help out those of us who can’t (both within and outside of the US). But instead eligible voters just yell at us for even *trying* unsuccessfully to vote blue. Like are you happy? Are you satisfied about marginalized people not getting to vote? What is the result you’re hoping for