#she asks what the transformation is like and he says it’s like just before you sneeze but the sneeze never happens

[syoddeye]

cygnet, plucked | price x reader | part one part one cw: clothes stealing, forced transformation, coercion, familial abandonment, non-consensual touching/manhandling, restraints, masturbation mention, forced marriage forthcoming cw: dubcon, forced marriage, blood, mild injury a/n: reader is a swan shapeshifter. she retains some feathers as a human. based off this request, obvs influenced by swan-maidens, swan lake.

The first time he touches you, it's your wrist. A firm grip, just below the joint. Testing. Feeling the few feathers that sprout there, thumbing over the delicate, individual rachis.

You don't move. Don't speak. Torn between the instinct to flee and the paralyzing fear that you cannot. You watch his face. The thick brows, the kempt beard. The wrinkles that pull at his forehead when he frowns.

He is older than you—older than you look, at least. His arms are burly, heavy with muscle and hair, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows like he means to get his hands dirty at any moment. Willing to. Blue eyes, your favorite color until this second, framed by crow's feet and speak to experience.

He looks at you with expectations you wish you didn't understand.

"Can't leave without this, can you?"

Your dress, spun from feathers and thread, drapes over his shoulder like a pelt. As if it were a thing he hunted, caught, claimed—that he did not simply steal it from the lakeshore when you were distracted. It doesn't belong there. It doesn't belong anywhere but on you.

"Come along. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

Your sisters are gone. Fled, shrieking into the oncoming sunrise. You do not blame them. But it hurts. 

The lake is still. Empty.

He lets the silence stretch, patient. He has all the time in the world. You don't.

You've watched human men before, from a safe distance, tucked among the reeds with your sisters. You've seen what they do when they think no one is watching. The way their faces shift at the sight of a woman. The way their hands reach, take, ruin.

You are a flightless bird, exposed. Not much of a swan. A sitting duck.

What choice do you have?

You follow.

You learn his name is John. That he has lived in this cabin for almost a year. That he built it himself. That he traps and skins, chops wood, salts fish, keeps a gun out of reach, hidden like your dress.

He tells you these things in pieces, the same way he feeds you. A bowl of soup set down in front of you with no ceremony. A tin cup of well water. A torn hunk of bread.

He talks a little, asks a little.

"Never seen anything like you," he says on the second night while you cower behind his chair by the fire. Where you slept after tearing out of his arms and screaming yourself hoarse. "Wish you'd talk to me. Awfully shy, aren't you?"

It galls you. Shy. As if he is not keeping you here, naked. Vulnerable. You ache for your wings. The sky.

You say nothing.

He exhales through his nose, it sounds like a laugh. "I suppose it's not an easy thing, coming from a life like yours."

You want to ask him what he thinks your life was. But you don't want to know what he would say.

He keeps the dress in a chest under his bed.

You desperately search and find it while he is outside splitting wood. The latch is loose. Stupidly unlocked. You lift the lid and your breath catches. There it is. Your feathers, your escape, the lifeline that made you you.

Your fingers graze the fabric. It should be soft, but it feels wrong, foreign and unfamiliar under your hands. You wonder if it is altered. If it will still fit. If it's too late, tainted by his handling.

"Looking for something?"

You slam the lid shut.

John stands in the doorway, hands on his hips. Forehead slick with sweat. The axe is outside, leaning against the chopping block, but his knife is at his belt.

He'd hurt you if you tried to run, maybe kill you. You are not so sure you want to die.

You don't answer.

He crosses the room. He doesn't look angry. He looks—wry. Pleased. Like he had been waiting for this.

He kneels beside you, one arm resting on his knee, and tilts his head. Reeking of pine and tobacco smoke. "That's not for you anymore, darling."

You swallow. This is the closest you've been since he entrapped you. "It is mine."

He nods, as if conceding the point. "And what would you do with it?" he asks. "Go back? To what?"

He reaches out, wiping away a single, hot tear. The fireplace pops, and you feel the warmth of his skin before you feel the roughness of his fingers. You hate it.

"The lake is still empty. They've not come back."

You think of your sisters. You think of the wind under your wings and streaming over your back, the open sky. You think of the sound of John reviving the hearth in the morning, how he dropped a blanket over you the first night, and said, You'll freeze like that.

Of course, he thinks nothing of the fact that he's the reason why you're naked. Blind to it or willfully ignorant.

"It's just you and me now. I'll take care of you, Shy."

Shy. That isn't your name. But you'll be dead before you give your real one to him. At least something will remain yours.

You look at him. He is a big man. Broad shoulders and palms. Thick, hairy arms and a barrel chest. You've seen the thing between his legs—he's made no efforts to hide himself or alter his routine with you hiding in the corner. He touches himself in the dark when he thinks you're sleeping.

He could break you easily. But he hasn't.

Not yet.

He brushes his knuckles over your cheek.

"Can't believe I found you," he says. "A pretty wife, fished from the lake. Or the sky, I suppose." He smiles, chuckling as if you're both in on the joke. "Mm. Wife." He presses his thumb to your bottom lip. "Yeah, like the sound of that. I'll make you a proper wife."

The way he says it is careful. Thoughtful. It is a promise, or a threat. You cannot tell which. 

You look at the chest.

You look at John.

And you do not answer.

John returns at dusk, the door creaking wide to let in the last slant of daylight, and finds you trussed up where he left you. Your wrists are raw, delicate skin rubbed angry beneath the ropes that tightened with your struggling. 

His shadow spills over you, and a sigh slips from him, edged with disappointment. He crouches. Fingers press into your skin, prodding where the rope bit deepest.

"Damn near hurt yourself, honey," he scolds, massaging the worst of the raw spots. He touches you in the way you've seen him care for his axe. Slow, reverent, making sure nothing is too damaged. Unusable. 

A hand settles over the soft, feathery patch above your rump, fingers carding through it appreciatively, lingering before he unravels the last knot. He ignores your hissing.

The moment you're free, you scramble away, body aching. You tuck yourself behind his chair, peeking out with sharp, distrustful eyes. He lets you go, lets you think you've won some small mercy. 

Then he turns his back, shaking out his coat, unpacking the sack he carried in, setting out each item on the table. Dull, practical offerings—salt, flour, needles, twine. Things for a life you don't want. Things for a home you will never call yours. And last, draped over his forearm, a dress. Mundane. Plain, homespun, the color of stone.

But you are distracted. Staring at the chest.

He only addresses your fixation when he's finished, and hauls it out from under the bed. 

"Take a look."

You do. You don't want to, but you do. Your gaze flicks to him first, wary, waiting for the trap. You open it, and your stomach drops.

Your head snaps up, stuttering, eyes glossing over with hot, helpless rage. 

His smile stretches, knowing. Then, he produces the last item from his trip and draws a bundle from the sack.

He explains it's the reason why he's later than expected. A special order that took hours and a bit of coin, but was well worth it. The seamstress did fine work.

Isn't it pretty?

See the little wing pattern she stitched in?

They're the only wings you'll have now.

He holds it out, delicate feathers and lace draping over his hand, the ruined remnants of your freedom reshaped into something grotesque. A wedding veil.

"Try it on for me, darling," he murmurs, offering it with one hand and adjusting himself with the other. "Let me see my bride."

[brawberryz]

Goodbye World

BatFam Yan! × Neglected Magic Girl! Reader 《Platonic!》

Note: English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error

Pt: 2

"(NAME), PLEASE DON'T GO!"

the girl screamed trying to stop her, this couldn't be happening, this shouldn't have happened, I was supposed to have more time but your transformation accelerated

"I'm sorry, ######, but there's no time left... sorry"

"Please (Name)!, don't go..."

The girl felt tears falling from her face, she was supposed to save you but she made the same mistake again...

"Goodbye"

You gave her one last smile before falling to the ground and your body began to deform

"(NAMEE)!"

The girl screamed for the last time before your vision went dark, there was no more pain or suffering, you felt like your body was deformed but you couldn't feel or do anything it was like you only had your conscience left

The original (name) had disappeared forever, and there was nothing else to do

Or well, maybe there was something they could do

_

Bruce was sitting in front of the batcomputer trying to find any trace of you, but there was nothing, not even a trace, it was like you had vanished in the wind

He felt too bad since your last interaction with you, if he had known what would happen he would never have let you go from that hug

But it's just "would have" it was too late to regret but he could still fix things, he would find you and take you home with everyone else and finally have the family you always dreamed of

"We found nothing, not a single clue"

Richard entered the batcave feeling defeated Again, he went out with the whole family to look for some clue but there was nothing, they even tried to see if some villain had you kidnapped but there was no one who knew about you

"This is shit"

Jason said angrily while leaning against a wall, as much as he didn't want to admit it in a way it was his fault he always treated you badly and insulted you

You had too many reasons to leave the mansion and hate all of them, but if he was honest he hated the feeling that you had left, you are supposed to be a family and you should stay together

Wherever you are they will find you and when they do they will never let you escape from their hands again

"And Tim?"

Bruce asked without taking his eyes off the Batcomputer, he hated feeling like he couldn't be in control, not having control over you, like he always had

"He decided to stay a little longer to patrol and see if he found something"

Jason said putting his hands in his jacket pockets, wherever you are he just hoped you were okay although knowing how Gotham is, it would be a miracle if you were okay without a single scratch

"I'm leaving here"

Damian spoke as he walked angrily out of the batcave, a part of him was angry with you and with himself, he was angry with you because you abandoned him without even saying goodbye or giving him reasons, you decided to hide and not tell anyone

He hated having things hidden from him, and at the same time he was angry with himself for how he treated you in the past, but he had changed he swears! When you get back to the mansion she'll be the best sister you've ever seen

"Damian, wait-"

Richard tries to stop him but Damian just pushes him out of his way before yelling at him

"SHUT UP, I don't plan on staying here even a minute longer.(Name) is lost somewhere in this stupid city and all we do is stay here like idiots"

Damian said angrily as he quickly left the batcave

Richard just sighed, when Damian had something in mind there was nothing that would stop him from reaching it, not even his own family

_

Damian walked angrily down the hallway of the mansion cursing under his breath

He continued walking until a door caught his attention, it was half open and he could barely see the small light coming out

Curious, he decided to open it, he was surprised when he realized it was your room...

It was small but still well decorated, it bothered him a little that your room was so far away from the others

He didn't want to invade your privacy (if he wanted to) but the curiosity about your things was too great, he began looking in your drawers but only found unfinished crafts or clothes

It seemed strange to him that all your clothes were still in their place, if the theory that you ran away was true you should have brought some clothes, but everything was completely in order

As he continued looking he found a photo album, it seemed old since it had some dust

He removed the dust that it had and decided to open it, there was almost nothing interesting just photos of you, some from when you were little and others from your birthdays

But there was one that caught his attention, you were in a park with a girl, it seemed to him It was strange that you had left since you never left the mansion

He was also very bothered by the approach that girl had with (name), who did she think she was to touch her sister like that?

But if he was honest, in that photo you really looked happy...

You didn't have that forced happiness like in all the photos, in this one it was seen that you really felt happy with that strange girl

He put aside the album and went back to searching through your things to see if he could find something else

Some of your drawers were full of board games full of dust, he remembered that once you asked him to play one with you but he simply ignored you and said that you had time for children's games

A soft voice took him out of his thoughts

"What are you doing in (name)'s room?"

Cassadran asked, looking at Damian with doubt. She thought it was strange that he was in your room since she thought she was the only one besides Alfred who knew your room.

"Something that doesn't matter to you."

Damian answered abruptly as he continued searching through your drawers.

"You seem too worried about her to be going through her things without permission."

Cassadran spoke again. She thought it was strange that none of the family members were around the house, but she didn't pay much attention and decided to go to your room to greet you. But she was surprised when she found Damian searching through your things.

"So what? It doesn't matter now that (name) is missing. I don't think it will bother her. Besides, it's for research purposes."

Damian was getting tired of Cass's insistence, because out of nowhere he is so worried about his privacy. Were you two close?

"Missing?"

Cassadran repeated in surprise, that answer hit Cass hard, she never imagined it would really happen, were you able to leave the mansion? Although if she was honest you had reasons to leave this fucking place

"Yes, my sister is missing and apparently I'm the only one who cares about her and tries to find some clue, so go away you're just bothering me"

Damian let out a snort of annoyance before resuming his search through your things

"She's your sister now?"

That answer took Damian by surprise, what the hell was she referring to

"What..."

"She's your sister now?" Cass repeated again before speaking again "you always left her aside, well, everyone left them aside and I include myself but it seems hypocritical to me that you want to blame others when you are also guilty, you always look to blame others for your problems because you are an egocentric and selfish person who only thinks about himself, you don't care about her you just want to have a reason not to feel bad about yourself"

Those words left Damian speechless, he hated to admit it but she was right although he would never admit it out loud

He simply looked away and focused on continuing to search pretending as if Cassandra's words hadn't mattered to him

Cass turned around and left the room before giving Damian one last look

Deep down she hoped you were okay wherever you were, but if you were truly lost she was going to do whatever it took to find you, she wasn't going to allow herself to lose another important thing for her, not anymore

_

Tim was jumping from building to building trying to find some clue about you, but there was nothing. He had been investigating criminals, villains or gangs all night but no one knew anything about you.

At this point the guilt was drowning him, he felt like the worst brother in the world. How could he forget someone so important?

Most likely you are now in some dangerous place, alone and scared thinking that no one will go looking for you because you are not important enough for them.

But he will do everything possible to find you, I promise.

He decided to stop at the top of a tall building so he could rest. He felt the worst. He had been patrolling all over Gotham for more than 4 hours but had found nothing. At this point he felt like he would never find you. No...no, if he found you he should not lose hope. You were somewhere in this place...he just had to find out where.

He felt something fast approaching him. Before he could react correctly and dodge it, a supernatural force ended up throwing him against the fire escape of another building.

Shit... that hurt, he was sure he broke his back or some rib, that thing that pushed him had too much force, it was clear that it was not a criminal or villain, they were too fast and strong to be one

But before he could get up he saw how a black mass with a strange figure approached quickly

It was easily the size of a damn bus or bigger, whatever it was was not human, that black mass reminded him too much of someone, he felt that he knew that figure from somewhere

But before he could think that large figure ended up hitting him again

It seemed as if that thing had something personal with him like some kind of hatred or resentment

Tim tried with all his strength to recover from that last blow, he had to warn the others about this thing and to come quickly before this strange creature taken from a horror story finished him off

With his last strength he grabbed the communicator and sent a signal for help before that thing hit him again now with more force causing his body to hit a wall

It seems you already have your first victim in your hands, you were going to finish off all those who made you feel miserable and you were going to make them feel the same pain that they made you feel

The original (name) had already died, the only thing left was this creature full of resentment and hatred

You were going to destroy every person who stood in your way and if that meant having to destroy the city or the world you were going to do it

"MADOKA PLEASE DON'T GO" aahhh reference 😭🙏💀

Sorry if it's too short or something, I hope you enjoy this shitty chapter

You can leave me questions or anything about this AU, I'll be happy to answer them🙏

[toppamplemousse]

f1 fic rec list

inspired to make my own fic rec list. decided to choose some of my fave fics that are under 5k hits just for those who might not have seen some of these!

please be warned - some of these do not have happy endings. it wouldn't be a list from me if there wasn't some major suffering.

lestappen fic recs:

even a Mouse by ficster28 / @ficster28 | 19.7k words | G

Charles was fifteen when his dæmon settled. It was a perfectly average age to settle, and it happened so quietly and naturally that neither he nor Moira even noticed at first. They had other things to think about: today, they were aiming to beat out Ben Barnicoat and Max Verstappen at Val d’Argenton. It wasn’t until they were getting into the kart that they realised. Moira normally transformed into an insect to race, something small enough that she could crawl inside Charles’s race suit and be protected as he drove. Today, she didn’t even try to change; they both just looked at each other, and knew. “A mouse,” he said. genuinely a fic like none other. so painful. so beautiful.

The Tides of Fate by crimsonmidnight / @mvlionheart | 14.5k words | M

When they break apart they’re both breathless and laughing, forming a symphony with the seagulls squawking nearby and the shouts of men dragging logs past the gatehouse. The world feels like an infinite expanse and nothing more than the space between them, somehow simultaneously. "You’re pretty good at that,” Max comments, hand brushing over the back of his neck “Kissing?” Charles asks. “I’ve never done it before.” “No,” Max teases. “You’re rubbish at that, but you’re a good jailbreak. Thanks for the assistance. I’ll see you around." heed the tags. prepare for heartbreak. the most beautiful tragic story.

Your Name is Charles by joesboilingpoint / @tylersayscool | 45k words | M

After running into a soldier following the burning of his commune and maddened by grief, Charles aims to shoot the man down, only to be taken down himself, waking up later on and remembering nothing of his previous life, now a soldier himself. - M is very practical about his work, seasoned in combat and skilled in spotting targets. C has seen the man in practice, seen him sweat and grunt and keep himself in shape. He’s seen him routinely climb ropes and train for ruck marches, seen him demolish his target boards. But it’s one thing to see the man train in the comfort of their home base, where it’s safe and sheltered and familiar. It’s a whole other experience watching him in action. this author nails an AU like no one else. the world building is unparalleled and the story is just incredible. ending has me in a CHOKEHOLD

blowing smoke by gurlznboyz | 7.5k (unfinished) | E

“What is it like?” “What is what like?” “Being with men,” Charles gestures. He means for it to be derisive. Cutting. His hand flails a little limply. “Is it different than with women?” “Yeah, mate,” Max says. “Fucking a guy is totally different than fucking a girl. That’s kind of the whole point, is it not?” Charles shrugs, bringing his own beer bottle up to his lips. “I would not know. I have never had sex with a man.” when charles catches max verstappen, his mortal enemy since they were all but seven, kissing a man, he tries to be normal about it. when they start falling into bed together, he becomes decidedly not normal about it. BEAR WITH ME when i say that this is one chapter so far and i think about it all the time. something just so delicious. ill be here always.

here's to all the mistakes i never made by ncr1pted / @3ncr1pted | 4.9k words | E

Charles is twenty-eight–almost twenty-nine. He's not stupid either. He knows people; knows how to play them, how to get what he wants, how they act. He can recognize the starstruck look in his teammates eyes whenever he and Charles talk. The way he follows Charles around, half a step behind. He used to look at Seb that way. when i say. the fact this is under 5k words and yet i went thru every emotion on the planet. few people understand the sebchal of it all like aries does.

love & much worse drugs by indras | 5k words (unfinished) | E

It was the night of the twelfth of December 2021. Now, if you know anything about Formula One, then you probably know the earlier events of that day. Those, we won’t get into. This story isn’t about racing. It’s about sex. In Max’s eyes, sex and racing had always been opposites. Racing for a finish line during sex would make one a selfish partner. And Max had never thought himself a selfish partner. Nor would one want to fight their partner in bed, least of all in the way that Max fought his opponents on the racetrack. And that is exactly how Max managed to compartmentalize his relations with Charles Leclerc, his longtime opponent, into two categories – sex and racing. Or, Max is a fresh world champion with an increasing alcohol-habit, and now, an image problem. like. they fucking in ch 1, they're bitching by ch 3, the hottest fic with tormented alcoholic max. sign me UP.

ok these two have more than 5k hits BUT i still think they're underrated and would implore EVERYONE to read:

on top of the world (looking down on creation) by eaurouge_sangnoir / @eaurouge-sangnoir | 67.3k words | E

Nothing came close to winning a World Championship. Nothing. Not even sex. Not that Max would know. Or; Max won his first World Championship at the age of twenty-four, still a virgin. He's finally ready to do something about it. On the other side of the hotel room door, there was Charles.

could easily my favorite fic ever. the most beautiful heartbreaking story by an author whose way with the english language is beyond compare. it's hot, angsty, sad, beautiful, i cannot cannot cannot recommend this enough. every chapter so incredible.

balaclava lines by richardmarie75 / @cornerofacry | 10k words (unfinished) | E

"He will never be yours." She freed herself from his hold. Wiped her face with her palms. "Charles. He will never be yours," she continued, gaze traveling to the trophy that stood next to his sim, gargantuan and gold. Blood and sweat in the limelight for a place in the sun. Max stared at her, immobile. or Max and Charles dump their girlfriends and find each other during the winter break. this summary barely scratches the surface of what is truly a breathtaking three chapters. this fic will never leave me. the agony and pain and the desperation and the LOVE the author conveys in such ornate, beautiful ways is beyond words.

[dufferpuffer]

Old post, I know - but revisiting this… I think I can better voice disagreements I felt before but couldn't say.

First off - the Author is a fucking weirdo. Saying she based it on AIDs was a gross mistake. There is a lot of antisemitism in HP. The way Lycanthropy is treated gives it a strange combination of being shockingly insightful in regards to disabled experience while also being almost completely glossed over as a theme. Very strange. I'm not defending any of that - it's just a different discussion that I'm not touching with a barge pole rn.

But I take issue in the idea that ◎ "The line between prejudice and self-preservation on the part of wizards is blurry at best." I don't think the text frames it that way. I don't think it's blurry.

I think it is framed as prejudice over self-preservation through: + wizarding society being full of blatant misinformation. + werewolves being most viciously hated by Death Eaters and those who would lump them in with purity-driven bigotry against 'half-breeds' (they are not half anything) - while the heroes are sympathetic and treat Beings, Beasts and 'half-breeds' well - not just Remus. + werewolves hardly being a problem in the war outside of Greyback who is a weirdo himself + Harry's concept of Remus being 'normal' is framed as the rare and correct way to view him. + Lupin thrives with support and acceptance. He struggles with accepting himself, but succeeding in that is framed as the positive outcome. ...

◎ "the marginalized group she establishes through Lupin actually DOES do these things. It's not that there's unfounded bias because a group is "other" because the bias is based in repeatedly perpetuated violence that's inherent to the nature of this mythical, fictional creature. Lupin is an outlier in that he isolates himself during the full moon; it's made clear that most werewolves in this world don't take precautions."(Quote small for space)

This is simply not in the text. There is no evidence of repeatedly perpetuated violence - despite the violent nature of their illness. There is evidence of unrest and dissatisfaction, lead by a cult leader - but that is not inherent to Lycanthropy. It is more common to being marginalized with no hope of escape.

While Lupin is indeed an outlier in how he lives (though who knows how many werewolves are managing to live like he did until he was exposed) there is no proof society experiences much werewolf violence at all.

ALL cases of werewolf violence we hear of have been from Fenrir Greyback himself. Maybe one other werewolf rumored to be Greyback, but still working on Fenrir/Voldemorts orders. This is despite the fact Fenrir has been intentionally growing the Werewolf population, creating communes away from society - taking kids from their homes and raising them with his values:

“Fenrir Greyback is, perhaps, the most savage werewolf alive today. He regards it as his mission in life to bite and to contaminate as many people as possible; he wants to create enough werewolves to overcome the wizards. Voldemort has promised him prey in return for his services. Greyback specializes in children… Bite them young, he says, and raise them away from their parents, raise them to hate normal wizards. Voldemort has threatened to unleash him upon people’s sons and daughters; it is a threat that usually produces good results.” (HBP ch16; Lupin's POV)

('Produces good results' - suggests less children get bitten than are threatened.)

Even with this threat stalking their kids since the first war people don't seem to know much about Lycanthropy. They don't recognize the signs and are full of misunderstandings of the condition. Being bitten by an uncontrollable transformed werewolf is a tragedy that will separate you from society - being bitten by an un-transformed werewolf is basically unheard of:

“You said Greyback attacked him?” Mr. Weasley asked Professor McGonagall distractedly. “But he hadn’t transformed? So what does that mean? What will happen to Bill?”“We don’t yet know,” said Professor McGonagall, looking helplessly at Lupin. “There will probably be some contamination, Arthur,” said Lupin. “It is an odd case, possibly unique… We don’t know what his behavior might be like when he awakens…” (HBP ch29)

So even when uncontrollable werewolf bites are rare - and when controllable, they're unheard of. Because they aren't violent.

All this paints Fenrir as a strong outlier amongst his own people, his own communes, his own ideology - and he seems to work alone. Which makes sense, if you want to infect people (especially children) its dangerous enough having ONE werewolf around, let alone a pack.

“Yes. My father had offended him. I did not know, for a very long time, the identity of the werewolf who had attacked me; I even felt pity for him, thinking that he had had no control, knowing by then how it felt to transform. But Greyback is not like that. At the full moon, he positions himself close to victims, ensuring that he is near enough to strike. He plans it all. And this is the man Voldemort is using to marshal the werewolves.[…]" (HBP ch16)

Greyback's thirst for blood is an outlier - and is part showmanship. I'm sure he does enjoy soft girl flesh or whatever, but he enjoys grossing people out about it just as much. His monstrous image, social and physical, is cultivated and meticulously kept.

“Is that you, Fenrir?” asked Dumbledore. “That’s right,” rasped the other. “Pleased to see me, Dumbledore?” “No, I cannot say that I am.” Greyback grinned, showing pointed teeth. Blood trickled down his chin and he licked his lips slowly, obscenely.“But you know how much I like kids, Dumbledore.”“Am I to take it that you are attacking even without the full moon now? This is most unusual… You have developed a taste for human flesh that cannot be satisfied once a month?”“That’s right,” said Fenrir Greyback. “Shocks you that, does it, Dumbledore? Frightens you?” […] “I wouldn’t want to miss a trip to Hogwarts, Dumbledore,” rasped Greyback. “Not when there are throats to be ripped out. Delicious, delicious…” And he raised a yellow fingernail and picked at his front teeth, leering at Dumbledore. “I could do you for afters, Dumbledore.” (HBP ch27)

“Your boyfriend’s going to have worse than that done to him if he’s on my list,” said the horribly familiar, rasping voice. “Delicious girl… What a treat… I do enjoy the softness of the skin…” Harry’s stomach turned over. […] “Reckon she’ll let me have a bit of the girl when she’s finished with her?” Greyback crooned as he forced them along the corridor. “I’d say I’ll get a bite or two, wouldn’t you, ginger?” Harry could feel Ron shaking. (DH ch23)

So why do Werewolves follow him, if they aren't relishing in blood and flesh like him? If they aren't violent people and not making problems on the Full Moon, staying obscure...?

“How come they like Voldemort?” “They think that, under his rule, they will have a better life,” said Lupin. “And it is hard to argue with Greyback out there." (HBP ch16)

A better life. They can't fit into society - but want to.

They are pushed to the outskirts by segregation laws, misinformation and prejudice - long before Fenrir was even bitten. They are safe 98% of the year - the 12 nights they aren't are obvious, easy to contain, the dangerous part of their condition is treatable… but there have been no measures to make such things accessible.

Werewolves need to suffer just to survive within society - not because they 'can't keep themselves safe'. They DO. All Remus needs is a solid room or supervision - and preferably a potion. All the other werewolves seem to need is distance. They are hated because they are disabled - 'impure'.

We see this in Lupin: with the dignity of some support, safety facilities and medication he is a wonderful, happy teacher. He made a dangerous mistake under extreme circumstances, but the reason he left Hogwarts wasn't that he had a dangerous slip-up - nobody knew he had exposed himself to children.

He left over fear of a rumor causing backlash he couldn't handle. It was likely the thing that triggered harsher werewolf-segregation laws, given the timing - and it had an effect on Albus' reputation. All of that... just because someone said he was sick, without proof.

So the prejudice is only loosely based on the idea that they CAN be dangerous - with very few examples outside of extreme individuals. Such is the same with many disabilities, physical and mental. ...

◎ "This isn't a metaphor for bias, marginalization, or othering, and trying to claim it is can give you blinders for how you approach these issues in real life, so I would encourage people to think about the text critically and consider whether they genuinely think it's good metaphorical representation, or if they're just twisting themselves in knots to justify their blorbo." (Quote small for space)

Lycanthropy doesn't fit neatly into any specific label, only the broad umbrella of 'disability' - especially how it relates to poverty. (which is why her saying it was based on AIDS is so uughh - because it is NOT similar to HIV other than being contagious and feared. Like other disabilities.)

Like many with under-studied, misunderstood or feared disabilities (which includes HIV) they are pushed to the outskirts of society. Too sick to meet expectations and intentionally excluded - they often find themselves homeless, joining communities to survive... and are especially vulnerable to cults and gangs, who can offer the dream of brighter futures, a sense of belonging, treatment and care.

I think the big mistake here is that it isn't framed strongly enough. Lycanthropy of course takes a backseat to Harry's story - but a little more had to be done to portray the messages of how they should be treated vs how they are. We get glimpses, but they're so scattered between the masses of bigotry from almost every character (bar Albus, Harry, Arthur and Dean) that it's drowned out and watery.

Masses of self-loathing from our main werewolf that isn't addressed outside the framework of a romantic/sexual relationship. News on the werewolf that was in hospital with Arthur would have been good - insisting he gets support, keeping him away from Greyback when at his most vulnerable... but there's nothing. A little more time with Greyback to highlight further that even he isn't a crazy killer, but an intentional leader of a rebellion.

It is clumsy and scattered - but I do think this framing is what was intended. The author has life experience barely escaping homelessness with a disabled mother and suffering her own illnesses, witnessing and experiencing social exclusion, needing to fight for basic needs and rely on the kindness of individuals for any medical or social support (especially in Thatcher times, bleegh)

Everything to do with Remus is TOO spot-on to be thoughtless. ...But that doesn't mean Snape was wrong, even within his incorrect prejudice. As a disabled person myself: I think Snape was doing his best in a difficult and terrifying situation.

...

◎ "Was Lupin going to teach werewolves at all? It's on the third year curriculum, but the trio end up in the Shrieking Shack at the end of the year, after final exams, and only Hermione knows about werewolves. He doesn't just scrap Snape's essay. It seems like where Lupin had the opportunity to teach about werewolves in a more progressive, inclusive way, he instead didn't teach it at all - even though he fully knows he's an outlier and that after third year no one will teach these students about werewolves, leaving them vulnerable to all the others who aren't like Lupin and do enjoy targeting people deliberately" (Quote small for space)

Go off!!!! ❤❤❤ SO true - Lupin absolutely wouldn't have taught it. He is a pussy ass motherfucker who isn't interested in improving the lives of werewolves. He wants to scrape by, play-pretending he isn't disabled as much as possible because of internalized prejudice. The same prejudice Snape has, only aimed inwards. (he is MY pussy ass motherfucker ❤ you are so real to be weary of it all Remus)

All I’m trying to say is that you don’t even have to be a pinnacle of morality, goodness, and intelligence to challenge bias, even when it’s posed to you in education.

They’re taught how to identify and kill werewolves by Snape, who clearly went out of his way to curate and deliver this particular lecture.

Ah yes... how unreasonable for Severus to teach the class the textbook curriculum for their subject. Which they are behind in - partially due to having shitty teachers, Remus falling behind on his work due to his illness and/or being a new teacher (he is disorganized too, and gets some facts wrong) - and perhaps partially due to him intentionally avoiding the topic.

After all: he didn't shorten the essay they were given on werewolves, or give them more time to do it - or do anything to make Severus' lesson with them worthwhile for their education. He instantly cancelled it - and was pleased everyone was so upset.

And I don't really blame Remus for that. He was scared. Students had worked him out twice in the past. But I don't blame Severus for focusing on it, either.

On Wolfsbane Remus seems to only takes 2 or so days off a month. The likelihood of it landing on their class twice in a year is slim. Severus has one chance to really drill this werewolf lesson home. Teaching them how to defend themselves against a werewolf is a HIGH priority, especially for Potters class:

Because he believes Remus is working with Sirius Black - the man who got Lily killed. And for good reason: all year Remus has been antagonizing and gaslighting him, spending time with Potter and blatantly lying about things he didn't need to lie about.

Severus believes Remus to be a dangerous man, beyond even a dangerous werewolf. Him doing all that he can to educate students to potentially defend themselves from someone working alongside a murderer, a known betrayer of his friends, is responsible.

You say you 'don't need to be a pinnacle of morality, goodness, and intelligence to challenge bias' - that's true. But typically you need at least something to prove what you have been taught from infancy to be true is actually false. What has Remus ever done that might make Severus consider he might be more than what society says werewovles are? Bully him? Gaslight him? Intentionally antagonize him? Bystand with a position of power? Sneak around? Lie? Undermine him? The BEST thing on Remus' record, as far as Severus is concerned, is that he doesn't seem to have killed or bitten anyone yet. YET.

+ Severus keeps his secret for 18 years. + He makes his Wolfsbane potion (highly difficult) PERFECTLY every month so, as Remus says, he 'didn't suffer as much'. Severus could have damaged him or exposed him if he tampered with the potion, but he didn't. He kept him healthy. Remus is thankful. + When confronted Remus and Sirius TOGETHER in the shack - he didn't hurt or kill Remus. He tied him up to have him face justice. Same with Sirius: he treats Sirius' unconscious body gently, carrying it up to the castle in a stretcher, when neither Remus or Sirius has EVER been gentle with him.

Very few Wizards would treat a werewolf with this much faith, care and justice. He tentatively trusts Remus despite his bias and fears, which are well reasoned but without solid evidence. I'd say that's challenging bias - and being rather moral, good and intelligent.

[turtledork02]

hi! i have several questions i wanna ask

are optimus and ratchet robot husbands??? i know that's pretty popular with the general transformers public

who's in the government that's keeping an eye on team prime? you said that this au is gonna be inspired off prime and animated, does that mean agent fowler is gonna show up? or that detective guy from animated??

also! what are the relationships like between the members of team prime? do ratchet and wheeljack get on each other's nerves?? not a smart move revealing yourself to the humans jack

and i assume starscream is still trying to take over the deceptions. never gonna win screamy ... never gonna win ... also love the design! he's so scrungly and looks like he needs years worth of therapy 😆😅

sorry for the long ask 😣

Hi anon!! Don’t apologize for the long question, I’m so happy to get them!!

As for your first question, yes, Ratchet and Optimus are old (not so secret) husbands!

The two were sparkbonded in secret just before the war. When Optimus became a Prime, he was no longer allowed things like selfishness. The act of sparkbonding as a Prime is considered a disgrace, so the two kept it secret through the entire war. (Now on earth, they still have not told anyone, but literally everyone on Team Prime can tell and just chooses not to say anything.)

Director Fowler oversees the Autobots’ operations, though he is mostly behind the scenes. The official (by the time of “canon”) liaison for the Autobots is actually Rafael! In my AU, he has been friends of the Autobots since he was a kid. He hacked into government files when he was young, accidentally finding out about them. He managed to convince everyone to let him work with them, long story short, and has grown up with them! He’s about twenty in my AU.

Team Prime, while most of them won’t say it out loud, consider each other family. Bumblebee is the youngest, and is basically the little brother to the group. (Also canonically Optimus’ adopted son.) He and First Aid are besties. First Aid is like the calm and collected older cousin of the group. They’re not only able to patch up physical wounds, but is great at talking sense into everyone and mending emotional problems as well. Wheeljack is the goofy but cool uncle of the function. He gets along pretty well with the other bots! He’s only a little anxious around First Aid, since he almost blew them up once. Arcee is actually more of the problematic one. She’s a bit hotheaded, while closed off at the same time. Her and Ratchet butt heads pretty often. Ratchet is pretty snappy and moody to everyone, but he truly does care about all of them deeply.

And yes, Starscream is plotting to overthrow Megatron someday. Just don’t tell anyone. That doesn’t already know. Most already know.

Just don’t tell anyone.

[cozmowrites]

Trapped: Among Us

The silence was suffocating despite the vast expanse of space surrounding the ship. It was surreal, being stuck in a game of Among Us, your bodies unexplainably transformed into the very roles you'd chosen on your screens minutes ago. It wasn't a game anymore. The stakes were real.

The only way to travel back to the real life was to beat the game. And though everyone looked like themselves, they were now all in vibrant space suits to match their assigned colors they picked.

Bakugou, dressed in bright orange, was pacing furiously in the cafeteria. His arms were crossed, and his fiery scowl was even more intimidating under the fluorescent lights.

"What the hell is this?!" he growled, slamming a fist against the table. "We're not some damn cartoon astronauts!"

"Calm down, dude," Kirishima, the red character, said, trying to diffuse the tension. "We'll figure out how to get out of here. Maybe if we finish our tasks?"

You, the white character, stayed quiet, suppressing a wave of guilt. You were one of the imposters, you didn't know who the other imposter was. You didn't sign up for this either, but now, standing among your classmates, you were forced to play the role of a saboteur.

"Tasks? That's what you're worried about?" Bakugou scoffed, eyes narrowing. "Someone here is trying to kill us! I'm not trusting anyone."

"Not everyone's out to get us," Ochako, the rose-colored crewmate, said nervously. "We just need to stick together."

"I agree with Bakugou," Midoriya chimed in, his green suit matching the determined look in his eyes. "We need to be cautious. If someone's acting suspicious, we can't ignore it."

You flinched as their words pierced through you. Were you already acting suspicious? You'd managed to sabotage O2 earlier, but no one had suspected you yet. And the one person who seemed ready to tear everyone apart, Bakugou, was ironically the one who might protect you the most.

+++

The first meeting ended without accusations, but tension hung heavy in the air as everyone split up. Bakugou stalked past you as he headed toward Electrical, grumbling under his breath. You hesitated. This could be your chance to get rid of him, but the thought made your chest tighten. You didn't want to get rid of him.

Instead, you diverted toward MedBay, pretending to do a task. Jiro, the purple crewmate, entered soon after, shooting you a curious glance. You kept your head down, fiddling with the wires on the wall even though they weren't part of your fake task.

"You're awfully quiet," she noted.

"Just focused," you replied, forcing a small smile.

She didn't look convinced, but before she could press further, the ship's lights flickered. The emergency alarms wailed, signaling another sabotage. You felt your heart pound as everyone rushed to fix the issue.

+++

Later, during a meeting, the suspicion began to mount. Sero, in his brown suit, had been the first to notice Iida's blue body floating near Reactor.

"I didn't see anyone near there," he said, crossing his arms. "But someone had to do it. We can't just ignore this!"

"Where was everyone?" Todoroki asked calmly, his cyan visor glinting in the light.

You felt all eyes turn to you when Jiro piped up. "White was in MedBay. Alone."

"She's not the only one alone," Bakugou snapped, standing up abruptly. "What the hell are you saying, Ears? You think she did it?"

Jiro raised an eyebrow, undeterred by his tone. "I didn't say that. I'm just pointing it out."

"She was in MedBay the whole damn time! I passed her earlier, and she didn't even go near Reactor," Bakugou snarled.

You blinked in shock, your heart skipping a beat. Why was he defending you so adamantly? He didn't even know you were the imposter.

"Woah, woah," Kaminari, the yellow crewmate, interjected, raising his hands. "No one's blaming anyone yet! Let's chill out."

Bakugou clicked his tongue in frustration but didn't argue further. The group decided to skip voting for the round, though paranoia lingered as everyone went their separate ways again.

+++

You couldn't shake the weight of Bakugou's actions as you wandered the halls. He was relentless and harsh to everyone, yet he'd jumped to your defense without hesitation. You didn't deserve it, not when you were actively sabotaging the mission.

Before you could lose yourself in thought, you felt a firm hand grip your arm. You spun around to see Bakugou glaring down at you.

"You've been quiet this whole time," he said, his voice low and serious. "What's your deal?"

"I-I'm just trying to stay out of trouble," you stammered, your guilt bubbling up.

"Bullshit." He narrowed his eyes. "You're hiding something."

Your breath caught in your throat. Did he know? Was he about to call you out?

But instead of accusing you, his gaze softened ever so slightly. "Look, I don't trust anyone on this damn ship. But you... you're not a killer. You're too much of a coward to pull something like this."

The comment stung, but there was a strange warmth in his tone. It wasn't an insult-it was his version of reassurance.

"You're wrong," you muttered, your fists clenching. "You don't know what I'm capable of."

"Then prove me wrong," he challenged, his lips curving into a smirk. "Until then, I'll watch your back."

Your heart fluttered, conflicting emotions swirling inside you. You didn't deserve his trust, yet you couldn't bring yourself to push him away.

+++

The game continued on, with the crewmates growing more suspicious of one another. Another body was discovered-Ashido, the pink crewmate, this time. You had managed to avoid direct confrontation, but the pressure was mounting.

In an emergency meeting called by Todoroki, Bakugou once again stepped in to defend you when Todoroki raised an eyebrow at your lack of alibis.

"You guys are idiots if you think she's the killer," Bakugou growled. "She's been running around like a headless damn chicken. That's not what an imposter does."

"Maybe she's playing dumb," Todoroki said calmly.

"Or maybe you're just jealous 'cause no one's on your side, Icy Hot!" Bakugou barked, slamming the table.

"Bakugou," you said quietly, cutting through the tension. Everyone turned to you as you took a deep breath. "You don't have to keep defending me."

He frowned, his sharp red eyes narrowing. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean it," you said, forcing yourself to look at him. "I don't need you to put yourself on the line for me."

"You think I'm doing this for you?" he snapped. "I'm doing it 'cause I know I'm right. So shut up and let me handle this."

Despite his harsh tone, there was a hint of something deeper in his words. Something that made your heart ache.

You wanted to tell him the truth, to admit your role in this twisted game, but the thought of losing the small connection you'd built with him was unbearable.

For now, you'd carry the guilt, hoping that when this nightmare ended, you could find a way to make things right.

Bakugou's words lingered in your mind long after the meeting adjourned. He had defended you yet again, standing firm despite the mounting suspicion around you. And you? You were starting to feel like a coward for not coming clean. The guilt twisted in your chest, a gnawing reminder that you were betraying everyone's trust-especially his.

+++

The ship's corridors were eerily silent as you wandered toward Admin. The soft hum of machinery was the only sound accompanying you. You pretended to swipe your card at the terminal, though the task was as fake as the role you were playing. In truth, you didn't know why you had come here. Was it just to be alone? Or was it to avoid having to make another kill?

You didn't have long to ponder. The sound of heavy boots echoed behind you, and you turned to see Bakugou striding toward you, his orange visor slightly fogged from exertion. He opened the visor and you finally saw his red eyes boring into you. It made your breath hitch.

"Oi, what are you doing here?" he demanded, his tone sharp but not unkind.

You gestured vaguely toward the terminal. "Doing my tasks."

"Bullshit. You're just hiding," he accused, crossing his arms.

Your lips tightened, and for a moment, you considered snapping back. But the exhaustion in his eyes stopped you. He wasn't here to berate you-he was here because he cared.

"What do you want, Bakugou?" you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

He stared at you for a moment, his crimson eyes narrowing. "I don't get you," he finally said. "Everyone else is losing their damn minds, but you're just... standing around, like none of this matters."

"It matters," you said quickly, guilt bubbling to the surface. "I just... don't know what to do."

"You survive," he said firmly. "You keep your head on straight and stop acting like some scared little kid. You're better than that."

His words hit you harder than they should have. You felt the sting of tears welling in your eyes, and you quickly looked away, ashamed. "You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do," he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "I've been watching you this whole time. You're not like the rest of these idiots."

Your breath hitched at his admission. He had been watching you? Defending you, even when it made him a target? Why?

"Why do you care so much?" you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Bakugou stiffened, his gaze narrowing. For a moment, you thought he might snap at you, but instead, he leaned closer, his voice low and serious. "Because you're not a killer. And if you are..." He paused, his jaw tightening. "Then prove me wrong. But until you do, I'm not letting anyone touch you."

His words sent a shiver down your spine. He believed in you-despite everything. And you? You were lying to him, betraying the one person who had your back.

+++

Later that day, the tension on the ship reached its boiling point. Another body had been found-Sero, this time-and the crewmates were growing more paranoid by the second. The emergency meeting was a cacophony of accusations and defensive shouts.

"It has to be someone who's been quiet," Midoriya said, his green suit stained with oil from a recent repair. "We can't ignore the pattern."

"All you nerds have been suspicious," Bakugou shot back, his temper flaring. "Especially you, Deku. Who's to say you're not the one behind this?"

"I've been doing my tasks!" Midoriya protested, his voice rising. "And I saw Todoroki in Reactor earlier. He could've had a chance-"

"You're pointing fingers at everyone except yourself, huh?" Bakugou interrupted, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Enough!" Iida's booming voice echoed across the cafeteria, cutting through the chaos. "We can't keep fighting like this. We need to make a decision."

But no one could agree. Once again, the group voted to skip, their collective fear outweighing their suspicion.

As everyone dispersed, you felt a hand grab your wrist. You turned to see Bakugou glaring at you.

"We need to talk," he said curtly, pulling you aside.

+++

He led you to a secluded corner of the ship, away from prying eyes. His grip on your wrist was firm but not painful, and when he finally let go, he turned to face you with an intensity that made your stomach churn.

"Tell me the truth," he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "What are you hiding?"

Your heart raced as you stared at him, torn between wanting to confess and the fear of what might happen if you did. "I-I'm not hiding anything," you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't give me that crap," he snapped, taking a step closer. "I've seen the way you've been acting. You're jumpy, nervous. You're not fooling anyone."

Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you thought about running. But there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.

"Bakugou..." you began, your voice trembling. "I-"

Before you could say anything more, the lights flickered, plunging the ship into darkness. The emergency alarms wailed, signaling yet another sabotage.

"Shit!" Bakugou growled, instinctively grabbing your hand. "Come on!"

He pulled you along the darkened corridors, his grip on your hand tight and unwavering. Despite the chaos around you, you couldn't help but feel a strange sense of comfort in his presence. He was brash and relentless, but he was also fiercely protective-something you didn't realize you needed until now.

When the two of you reached Electrical, the alarms finally stopped as someone fixed the sabotage. The lights flickered back on, and Bakugou let out a frustrated sigh.

"Damn it, this is getting out of hand," he muttered, running a hand through his spiky hair.

You stood there in silence, guilt gnawing at you. You couldn't keep this up. Not when he was putting himself on the line for you.

"Bakugou," you said quietly, your voice barely audible.

He turned to you, his expression softening ever so slightly. "What?"

You took a deep breath, your hands trembling. "I need to tell you something."

His eyes narrowed, but he didn't interrupt. He just waited, his gaze fixed on you.

"I'm..." You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. "I'm not who you think I am."

"What the hell does that mean?" he asked, his tone laced with confusion.

"I'm..." You closed your eyes, steeling yourself. "I'm one of the imposters."

The silence that followed was deafening. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, afraid of the anger-or worse, the betrayal-you knew you'd see in his eyes.

But when he finally spoke, his voice was calm. Too calm. "You're kidding, right?"

You shook your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "I didn't want this. I didn't ask for this."

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he let out a bitter laugh. "Of course. Of course it's you."

"Bakugou, I-"

"Save it," he snapped, his voice sharp. "I should've known. You're too damn sneaky for your own good."

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone," you said desperately. "I just... I didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," he shot back, his crimson eyes blazing. "You think this excuses anything?"

"No," you admitted, your voice breaking. "But I couldn't... I couldn't hurt you."

That seemed to catch him off guard. He blinked, his anger faltering for just a moment. "What the hell are you saying?"

"I didn't kill anyone," you said, tears streaming down your face. "Not because I couldn't-but because I couldn't do that to you." All this time, your partner has been sabotaging and killing. You haven't killed a single soul.

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the dimly lit corridor.

For the first time, you felt truly alone.

You stayed frozen in the dimly lit corridor, your heart sinking as Bakugou's retreating footsteps echoed through the ship. The weight of your confession bore down on you, suffocating and cruel. You had thought that telling him the truth would bring some kind of relief, but now you were left with a hollowness that gnawed at your insides.

Would he tell the others? Would he vote you out during the next meeting? Or worse-had you destroyed the fragile bond between you two forever?

The alarms blared again, pulling you out of your thoughts. Another sabotage. The ship's Reactor was malfunctioning, the countdown already ticking down to zero. Your instincts kicked in, and you ran toward the Reactor, hoping you weren't too late.

+++

You arrived just as Kaminari and Jiro were frantically pressing buttons on the control panels. The two of them looked up at you, their expressions tense.

"Help us out!" Kaminari shouted, gesturing to the panel on the other side of the room.

You hesitated for a split second, then rushed over, mimicking their actions as if you were contributing. The countdown stopped with only a few seconds to spare, and a wave of relief washed over the room.

"Close one," Jiro muttered, wiping imaginary sweat from her forehead after lifting up her visor.

"Yeah, no thanks to some people," Kaminari grumbled, shooting you a suspicious glance.

You avoided his gaze, pretending to be engrossed in the panel. It was only a matter of time before the others started piecing things together. You couldn't keep up this act forever.

+++

As everyone regrouped in the cafeteria, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Todoroki, ever calm and calculating, took the lead in addressing the group.

"This can't keep going," he said, his icy voice cutting through the room. "We've lost three people already. We need to start making decisions."

"I'm telling you, it's gotta be someone quiet," Midoriya said, his green suit still scuffed from his tasks. "Someone who's staying under the radar."

"Then why the hell are you still alive?" Bakugou growled, slamming his fist onto the table. His sudden outburst made everyone flinch. "You've been running your damn mouth since this started, but you're not dead yet. Seems suspicious to me."

"I've been doing my tasks!" Midoriya snapped back, his usual nervousness replaced by frustration. "What about you, Kacchan? You're always defending White. What if you're working together?"

You stiffened, your eyes darting to Bakugou. He met Midoriya's gaze with a venomous glare. "Say that again, Deku. I dare you."

"Guys, stop!" Ochako pleaded, her rose-colored suit contrasting with her worried expression. "We're just tearing each other apart. We need evidence."

The argument escalated, voices overlapping in a chaotic mess. You stayed quiet, avoiding Bakugou's eyes as you wrestled with your own guilt.

"Enough!" Iida's commanding voice finally silenced the group. "Let's vote and move on."

No one reached a consensus. Once again, the votes were skipped, leaving everyone to scatter back into the ship's halls, paranoia mounting.

+++

The next few hours were a blur of tense encounters and mounting suspicion. You couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, as though Bakugou's crimson gaze was boring into your back even when he wasn't there. You avoided him as best you could, terrified of what he might say-or do-if you crossed paths again.

But fate had other plans.

You were in Storage, pretending to organize fuel canisters, when you heard footsteps approaching. Your pulse quickened, and you glanced over your shoulder to see Bakugou standing in the doorway, his orange suit practically glowing under the fluorescent lights.

"Still playing crewmate?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You sighed, setting down the canister. "What do you want, Bakugou?"

He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "You think I'm just gonna let this slide? You lied to me. To everyone."

"I didn't have a choice!" you snapped, your voice trembling. "I didn't ask for this. I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Then don't," he said simply, crossing his arms. "But if you think I'm gonna sit back and watch you screw this up, you're dead wrong."

You blinked, taken aback. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I'm not letting you lose," he said firmly. "If you're gonna play this stupid game, you better win."

You stared at him, your heart pounding. "You... you're not going to tell them?"

"Tch. What's the point? They're all idiots anyway," he muttered, looking away. "Besides, if you're the imposter, that means I'm your only damn ally."

His words left you speechless. After everything, he was still on your side. You didn't deserve his loyalty, but you couldn't deny the relief that flooded through you.

"Why?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "Why are you helping me?"

He hesitated, his jaw clenching. "Because... I trust you, okay? Don't make me regret it."

Your chest tightened, a mix of guilt and gratitude overwhelming you. "I won't," you promised, though you weren't sure if you believed it yourself.

+++

The next sabotage was a blur of chaos and adrenaline. The lights went out, plunging the ship into darkness once again. You stuck close to Bakugou as the two of you made your way to Electrical, your footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence.

When the lights flickered back on, a scream pierced the air. You and Bakugou ran toward the source, arriving in the cafeteria just in time to see Kaminari standing over Ochako's lifeless body.

"I-I just found her like this!" he stammered, his yellow visor fogging up from his panicked breaths. "I swear, I didn't do it!"

The others quickly gathered, their faces pale and tense. Todoroki eyed Kaminari suspiciously, his calm demeanor unnerving.

"You're the only one here," Todoroki pointed out. "How do we know it wasn't you?"

"I didn't do it!" Kaminari insisted, his voice cracking. "Someone must've vented!"

"Or you're just a bad liar," Bakugou muttered, glaring at him.

The emergency meeting that followed was the most heated yet. Accusations flew across the room, with Kaminari at the center of it all. You stayed quiet, letting the chaos unfold around you.

In the end, Kaminari was voted out, his protests falling on deaf ears. The room grew tense as his body vanished, replaced by the cold, hollow words: Kaminari was not an imposter.

The crewmates' morale plummeted, their paranoia reaching new heights. You caught Bakugou's gaze across the room, his expression unreadable. He gave a small nod, and you knew what it meant: Keep going.

+++

The final moments of the game were a blur. With only a handful of crewmates left, the pressure to act grew unbearable. You managed to sabotage Reactor again, splitting the group and creating the perfect opportunity to strike.

When the meeting was called, Todoroki was gone, leaving only you, Bakugou, Midoriya, and Jiro. The tension was palpable as everyone stared each other down.

"It has to be White," Midoriya said, his green eyes narrowing. "She's the only one who hasn't been cleared."

"Or maybe it's you, nerd," Bakugou shot back, stepping in front of you. "You've been pointing fingers since this started."

"I've been trying to help!" Midoriya protested, his voice rising. "You're the one defending her. Maybe you're both imposters!"

"Enough!" Jiro snapped, her purple visor glinting. "Let's just vote."

Your heart raced as the votes were cast. You knew what you had to do. With a heavy heart, you cast your vote for Midoriya, sealing his fate.

The words appeared on the screen: Midoriya was not an imposter.

Silence fell over the room as realization dawned. You were the last imposter-and you had won.

+++

As the victory screen flashed, you turned to Bakugou, expecting anger or betrayal. But instead, he smirked, his crimson eyes gleaming with something that looked almost like pride.

"Told you," he said, his voice low. "If you're gonna play, you better win."

For the first time since this nightmare began, you allowed yourself to smile. It wasn't the ending you had hoped for, but it was an ending nonetheless. And maybe, just maybe, Bakugou's faith in you wasn't misplaced after all.

And suddenly, you felt a tingle as both you and Bakugou glitched and disappeared from the game. Everyone was back in the common room, sitting, alive, unscathed.

You bursted into tears, apologizing to every single one of them and Bakugou watched silently.

[ravenwriter16]

For Eclipse: With you being able to turn into a that wolf-thing, did you ever transform when YN was younger and play with her in that form?

Eclipse CAN turned into a wolf, but only when he is REALLY emotional and his control slips. Y/n only saw him turn full beast once before she ran. And that was an unforeseen accident.

He would normally play with her like this:

*** "Pardon comet?" Eclipse asks while setting his papers down and pulling off his reading glasses, "I didn't quite catch that." his voice is soft.

You look down at your hands, twiddling your fingers and shifting on your feet. "I-I was wondering what...mhmdh mana..."

Eclipse tilts his head and arches a brow while smiling. You looked so cute standing there in your new little red dress. You must have just come back from hanging out with Sun if your hair was anything to go by. A neat little braid with a sunflower bow to hold the strands together.

"Baby, I can't understand you if you keep mumbling~." Eclipse chuckles, propping his chin up with his fist.

You blush, "I...I-I want to know what...youmdfhfn mana..."

"What did you say--,"

"I WANT TO KNOW WHAT TYPE OF MANA YOU HAVE!" You quickly blurt out, making fists close to your chest and closing your eyes as you shout.

Eclipse chuckles, "Is that it? Oh comet~."

He gets up from his desk, setting his glasses aside and heading over to you. He kneels down and grabs your hands to stop their shaking. You open your eyes and glance up at him. "It's a stupid question isn't it--,"

"Not at all, dear~." Eclipse coos, "I would love to show you."

He holds out one of his hands, aiming it towards a free space in the room. You watch as a very dark red swirl of mana spirals down his arm from his shoulder.

You gasp when the light shoots from his palm and swirls around the ground like a snake, making a small orb. Eclipse chuckles when you jump as the orb pops.

"Is that a--?!" You gasp, eyes widening and lighting up.

"That's right~. It's a small wolf pup." Eclipse beams at your reaction.

Sure enough, his mana did form a small glowing puppy. It yelps happily turning around in a circle before scampering towards you. The little guy jumps up and tackles you straight in the stomach.

Eclipse catches you before you could topple over. He shoots a cold glare at the pup, making it whimper and burry it's head in your little tummy.

You squeal at the feeling, petting the little thing. "Your power is making cute puppies?!"

"Well no but--,"

"Then why did this little guy show up when you did the light thingy." You ask, scratching the puppy's ears which leads the pup to start licking your face making you giggle.

"That's because my Dire Wolves are too big for this room and for you to play with. This was the next best thing."

"Sooooo you can make an army of puppies." You pick up the puppy, cradling it and rubbing its belly.

"No, I don't make armies--,"

"Is that how you became an Emperor?" The puppy barks happily when you boop it's nose. "You just made an army of puppies?"

"That's not how--,"

"One day, when I'm older, I'll make an army of puppies just like you Baba. Then I'll be the strongest person in the empire!"

Eclipse sighs, giving you a tired smile. He pets the top of your head and gets rewarded with a bright smile of your own. "Okay sweetie...just make sure to spare me from the Puppy Wars."

"No promises!" You cackle.

[cuntwrap--supreme]

Someone's tiny child drew a Something and they put it in their box saying the kid drew it for me. Which is cute, I guess. My mom did stuff like this when I was a small child who was obsessed with the arrival of mail. It's in the route's case to be immortalized forever.

Now to figure out how to read the drawing so I can find what I assume is treasure beyond my wildest imagination.

[im-not-buying-it-ether]

I love the deleted or Alt scenes for the first Shazam movie

Like they had…

Sivana crashing a Christmas party instead of a board meeting and killing the guys there HIMSELF. Not the sins munching on people off screen, he straight up murdered a bunch of people and turned them to dust. The sins just talk to him through a reflection in that version of the scene

Deleted scene of Darla being devious and getting Billy to have a tea party with her since she’s keeping his superpower secret. ITS CUTE ! Give me that back

Alt fight scene at the carnival that, had it been fully finished, I prefer over the one that was in the movie. It was more contained at the winter carnival and had more mini sibling interactions. Sivana ends up stuck under something unable to help himself w/o the sins and Billy has the great line of “you got exactly what you wanted, you vs the world. Unfortunately for you, I fight for the world.” Before taking the eye away. It was cool and a solid superhero line but it got booted out in favor of “let’s round up the rest of your friends”

Billy’s attempt to break out of the Vasquezes house the first night (they have a home alarm system he tries to hack and seems to have experience doing from previous homes) and is talked out of it by Mary studying downstairs with another hint at her attempts to run away before and a sibling bonding moment

A prelude scene with the wizard locking away the sins and speaking with them before sending out the initial seeking spell, it would’ve come before we met mini Sivana

[rafecameronssl4t]

Like her mama || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: inspired by this TikTok sound

Warnings: none!! just fluff :)

Word count: 1,416

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

As you turn from the sink, water dripping from the freshly washed fruit in your strainer, Topper’s voice interrupts your thoughts. "Need some help with that?" he asks, his tone friendly and familiar. You glance over your shoulder, offering him a warm smile.

"I'm all good, thanks, Top," you reply, your eyes twinkling with gratitude. He nods and takes a seat on the nearby stool, settling in comfortably. Your attention shifts to the pool outside, where Rafe, Mabel, and Kelce are enjoying the morning sun.

"Everything alright out there?" you ask, your curiosity genuine as you look to Topper for reassurance. He glances outside, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, they’re all good. The water’s really nice," he says with a chuckle.

You turn back toward the pool just in time to see Rafe holding Mabel in his arms, her tiny pink bucket hat slightly askew, too big for her small head. You wave, a soft giggle escaping your lips when Rafe lifts Mabel’s hand to mimic your wave, though you’re certain she can’t actually see you.

Topper can’t help but chuckle along with you. "Can’t believe she’ll be seven months next week," he remarks, his tone tinged with amazement. You let out a small sigh as you begin slicing the oranges, arranging them neatly on a platter. "Don’t remind me," you reply with a soft laugh. "She’s growing up so fast."

The two of you continue chatting, the conversation flowing easily until Rafe strolls into the kitchen. His hair is damp, the blonde strands clinging to his forehead, and tiny droplets of water trail down his chest and stomach, glistening in the soft light.

"Hi, baby," he greets you, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your cheek. "Hi," you respond, your smile widening at his touch. Rafe’s eyes drift down to the platter you’re preparing. "That looks amazing," he comments, quickly snatching a strawberry and popping it into his mouth before you can protest. You shake your head playfully, amused by his antics.

"Is Mabel all right?" you ask, glancing at him as he leans casually against the counter. "Mmhmm," he hums in affirmation, then suggests with a grin, "You should come in the water after this." You chuckle softly. "I will, I will," you promise, as he leans in for another quick kiss before heading back outside.

Topper watches him go, shaking his head with a smirk. "Rafe’s a complete softie now, huh?" he comments, clearly amused by the transformation in his friend. You snort, unable to hold back your laughter. "Maybe for us. But he still loves arguing with his sisters," you say with a fond smile, recalling the endless bickering between Rafe and his siblings.

Topper’s expression brightens with sudden recollection. "Did I end up tell you what happened this morning at the shops?" he asks, piquing your curiosity. "No? What happened?" you ask, looking up at him, eager to hear the story.

~

Flashback….

“Is she awake?” Rafe asks as he pulls his G-Wagon into a parking spot in front of the store. The engine’s hum fades as he shifts into park, and Kelce leans over to peer into the baby carrier. Mabel, with her big doe eyes, stares back at him, her tiny mouth busy with her pacifier.

“Wide awake,” Kelce reports with a chuckle, meeting her gaze with a grin. The three of them exit the car; Rafe decides against the stroller, opting to scoop Mabel into his arms instead. After all, they were only planning a quick stop. Mabel clings to him, her small hands gripping his shirt as she takes in her surroundings.

As they approach the store, Topper slips his oversized sunglasses onto Mabel’s little face. The glasses are comically large, sliding down her tiny nose, and the sight of it makes both Topper and Kelce snicker. They quickly pull out their phones, snapping a photo of the moment.

Rafe, oblivious to their antics at first, glances over his shoulder when he hears their muffled laughter. “You guys are idiots,” he says, shaking his head, though he can’t suppress the smile that tugs at his lips when he sees Topper’s sunglasses barely hanging on Mabel’s face. As her uncles continue to laugh, Mabel lets out a delighted giggle, her tiny hands reaching up to grasp at the sunglasses.

As they step into the shop, all three boys lift their sunglasses from their noses and perch them on top of their heads. The cool air inside the store is a welcome contrast to the warmth outside. “What are we getting again?” Kelce asks, glancing around as they enter.

Rafe pulls out his phone, scrolling through the list you had sent him. “Y/n gave me a little list,” he replies, quickly scanning the items before reading them aloud. Kelce nods and heads off towards the fruit section, while Rafe, Topper, and Mabel make their way down another aisle to gather the remaining items.

As they pass by the toy section, Rafe can’t resist stopping, his eyes drawn to the colourful display. Mabel’s attention is instantly caught by the toys on the shelves, her small hands reaching out eagerly. “You want that one? What about this too—” Rafe starts, picking up a soft toy, but he’s interrupted by a voice from behind them.

“Hey,” the voice says, drawing their attention. Rafe turns to find a girl, probably around their age or a bit younger, standing a few steps away. Her smile is bright, but there’s something in her eyes that makes Topper instantly wary. He notices the way her gaze lingers on Rafe before shifting to Mabel.

“Oh my goodness, what a cute baby you have!” she exclaims, her voice overly sweet, dripping with an eagerness that Rafe recognises all too well. It’s the tone of someone trying just a bit too hard to make an impression.

Without missing a beat, Rafe shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah, my wife and I make pretty cute babies, huh?” he responds, his tone cool and dismissive, the question hanging in the air as more rhetorical than anything. He turns his attention back to Mabel, who is now clutching the toy he had picked up, her little fingers wrapped tightly around it. He places it in the shopping cart without sparing the girl another glance.

Topper stifles a grin, barely containing his amusement as they walk away, leaving the girl standing there, her plan clearly foiled. As they continue down the aisle, Rafe mutters under his breath, “The audacity,” his voice laced with mild annoyance, though a small smile still plays on his lips.

Topper bursts into laughter. “You handled that very well, didn’t he, Mabel?” he says, leaning over to tickle Mabel’s tummy. She giggles in response, her tiny hands gripping Rafe’s shirt as she hides her face, her laughter a sweet, infectious sound that makes both men smile even wider.

Rafe glances down at his daughter, his expression softening as he leans in to press a series of tender kisses on the side of her forehead. “Yeah, we don’t need any of that nonsense, do we, baby girl?” he murmurs, his voice overflowing with affection. Mabel giggles softly, her tiny hand reaching up to touch his face, and Rafe smiles, the warmth in his eyes evident as they continue with their shopping.

~

End of flashback...

A smile tugs at your lips as Topper finishes his story, the amusement clear in your eyes. His recount of Rafe's quick wit and protective nature at the store had you both chuckling. The memory lingers, bringing a soft warmth to your heart as you place the final pieces of fruit on the platter.

Topper grabs the colourful tray, balancing it with ease as he heads outside to join the others by the pool. Outside, Mabel is floating happily in a small inflatable ring, her tiny hands splashing the water as Rafe gently moves her around. His smile is wide, the pure joy on his face unmistakable as he watches her delight.

Your hands reach up to start unbuttoning Rafe's oversized button-up shirt that you had used as cover up over your bikini. You step into the pool, feeling the cool water contrast with the warmth of the day, and tie your hair up into a bun.

Rafe glances up at you, a playful glint in his eyes as you wade towards them. "Look, Mabel, Mumma's here," he says with a grin, his voice soft and affectionate. Hearing his words, Mabel turns her head, her big eyes lighting up at the sight of you. A gummy smile spreads across her face, and you can’t help but giggle at her reaction.

You move closer, lifting her gently from the floatie and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "You having fun, Bels?" you coo softly, spinning her lightly in the water. She babbles in response, her excitement clear as her little legs kick with glee. Rafe watches with a smile tugging at his lips, his gaze shifting between you and Mabel.

"I just realised you two are matching," he comments, noting your pink bikini and Mabel’s pink bucket hat that’s just a little too big for her. A playful grin spreads across your face. "I planned it," you tease, giving him a wink. Rafe chuckles, moving closer to wrap an arm around your waist and pulling both you and Mabel into a warm embrace.

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before leaning down to tickle Mabel’s tummy. Her infectious giggles echo around the pool, her little hands splashing the water playfully. You and Rafe laugh along with her, the happiness of the moment filling the air.

As you hold Mabel close, feeling the warmth of her tiny body against you, you glance up at Rafe, a soft smile playing on your lips. "We made a pretty cute baby, huh?" you say, your voice filled with pride and affection, echoing the words he had casually tossed out at the shops earlier.

Rafe’s eyes light up with recognition, a smirk forming as he remembers the moment. "Yeah, we sure did. The cutest baby" he agrees, leaning in to kiss you tenderly.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Since you've mentioned Scarlet Lady in one of your posts, what's your opinion on it?

I've mentioned before that I'm a big Scarlet Lady fan, which is the only reason that I'm comfortable answering asks like this one. I don't publicly criticize the content of hobby creators. That's wildly inappropriate! Punch up, not down.

The linked post was a general discussion of the adaptation process and how @zoe-oneesama did a fantastic job, so for this one, I'm just going to do some general gushing because I do actually like praising and enjoying things!

Scarlet Lady's chosen format (comic) allows it to have this wonderful conversation with canon where it can rely on the framework of canon to tell it's own story while also using canon for jokes and meta commentary. This means that Scarlet Lady is about as close as fan content can get to a direct reboot because it's able to have moments like this one from the comic's first post:

[Image description: Adrien standing in his room after transforming into Chat Noir for the first time. He is beaming and his eyes are shining with excitement as he exclaims, "This is gonna be awesome!"]

A single picture that communicates everything we need to know about Adrien getting his miraculous. When I've done this same thing in fanfic, I had to write out the full scene because that's how novels work. You have to give the full picture. With a comic, you can just quickly acknowledge this thing that we all already know and then move on to the new stuff. A picture really is worth a thousand words! (Or, in my case, more like two thousand...)

This allows Zoe to keep the same akumas that we get in canon without her story feeling like a boring rehash because she can focus on what's different in her version. A novelization of the same content would have to show both the stuff that stays the same and the stuff that changes for it to be coherent. That's a lot less fun to read and write. It's why I basically never revisit canon akumas in my own stuff. It's just too derivative for the written word.

This is one of the big reasons that I loved Scarlet Lady. Because it was able to have that more directly conversation with canon, it was able to take canon and say, "hey, why don't we embrace the tone that you established in season one and retell the story with that vibe?" That's something that I desperately wanted to see, but that is totally unsuited to my chosen artistic form. It couldn't be a novel. It had to be a comic.

If you want to know what a true formula show version of Miraculous would look like, Scarlet Lady is it. It does everything that Miraculous should have done:

Sticks to a lighthearted tone where nothing is ever super serious

Keeps Gabriel entirely unsympathetic

Has slow character development and background hints at a bigger plot as the only serial elements, allowing the individual episodes to be their own story while never feeling incomplete or rushed

Allows characters other than Marinette to shine while keeping Marinette as the clear main character

Makes Adrien narratively important

MAKES THE LOVE SQUARE CUTE SO I CAN ACTUALLY SHIP IT

Understands that Lila and Chloe can't coexist as antagonists

Reverses the love square, which is the best way to tell their story. Yes, I will die on my "love diamond" hill. It's a good hill. Come join me. I'll bring cookies.

I could keep going, but you hopefully get my point. While Scarlet Lady is certainly not the only way to do a formula version of canon, it's proof that a formula version does work! You don't have to go the serious route for Miraculous to be successful.

I want to take some time to gush about the ending, but I don't want to spoil it, so I'll put that gushing under a "read more" in case anyone hasn't seen it. I'll finish out this less spoilerish section with this:

I feel like some people are surprised when they learn that I love Scarlet Lady because - as some of you have probably picked up - it is quite different from my ideal version of canon. I'm not sure why that would stop me from enjoying a thing, though. It's important to remember that our personal ideals are not the only way to tell a good story. There are lots of ways to take what canon gave us and make something wonderful! It's part of the reason that I enjoy being in a fandom.

If I only wanted to see my ideal take on canon, then I'd stick to writing/imagining my own stories. But I don't want that! I like seeing alternate takes, too. Scarlet Lady is one of my personal favorites. It's completely different from anything that I'd ever think to write and that's why I'm so glad that it exists! I like being entertained just as much as I like creating my own entertainment and I don't want to only read stories that look like something I'd write. That's boring!

Spoilers below:

I've mentioned before that there are many, many ways to properly handle Chloe's character and Zoe did such a good job with her take on that! Chloe isn't absolved of all the things she did wrong, but she's also treated as a young woman with the ability to change.

While the comic bares the name of Chloe's alter ego, she was the never the main character. She never went on a journey. The story kept her to her shallow season-one self: a petty brat who just wanted attention. It did this because that's who Chloe was in canon and who Chloe needed to be for the comic to work.

The first time we see any complexity from Chloe is in the comic's final few episodes, which was absolutely the right call for Zoe to make! In a recent post, I talked about how the end of a formula show is the only time when you can break the formula in catastrophic ways and that's what Zoe did. She kept Chloe static until it was time to end the story and that's when the formula breaks. That's when Chloe gets depth because, once she has depth, the formula doesn't work.

That depth is not used to redeem Chloe, but to show us that there's hope for Chloe. That this petty brat who we've been dealing with has some serious issues and needs help. Help that she's going to get far away from the people that she's hurt because her issues aren't an excuse for what she's done. They don't erase the harm that she caused. At the same time, understanding her issues makes us hope that she can be better now and Scarlet Lady took a moment to give us that hope. To show us the START of Chloe's true story.

That is the kind of ending that I have wanted to see in so many properties!!! It was so wonderful to finally get one that did this right. A story that understood that full redemption to the team and damnation to death/suffering are extremes on a scale of possibilities. You don't have to go to extremes! You can fall in the middle and the middle is a perfect, natural place for Chloe to land in this kind of story. Fully redeeming or even fully damning Chloe simply doesn't work in lighthearted formula content. It's too big a lift as canon has already demonstrated.

I also loved Zoe's take on Emilie. I've mentioned that I don't like evil Emilie in part because it makes her revival feel like the start of a new story. She's back and she'd bad, so we have to take her down now! But I don't want that. I want the story to end when Gabriel is stopped. Zoe does this by giving us an Emilie that is another perfect middle ground. She matches canon's uncomfortable implications without feeling like a true villain who is a threat to society.

[monster-disaster]

[orcs] Tiktok

I can't get this TikTok idea out of my head... but...

Imagine sweet, innocent Reader who creates a TikTok account to share her charming videos of outfits, baking, and whatever else she fancies. She’s all about cottagecore and girly girl vibes. But then, her two orc friends discover her account and notice all the comments fawning over their girl her. So gradually, they start taking over her content, pushing her to make videos like the "scary dog privileges" trend, where she walks down the street at night with them trailing protectively behind her. Her wholesome videos slowly transform into thirst traps arranged by these controlling and manipulative males.

“Are you sure we have to do it again?” You ask, nibbling on your lower lip as you adjust your phone on the tripod.

The room is dark with dim, red light casting a soft glow from the corner.

“It’ll be fun,” one of the orcs assures you, pressing a quick kiss to your neck before taking his place on the chair in the middle.

“Okay,” you breathe out. The lingering sensation of his lips sends a shiver down your spine as you start the recording.

The orc pulls a black surgical mask over his face while you step aside, adjusting the skimpy black dress they bought for you. It barely covers your ass.

As the music starts, your friend spreads his legs wide and motions for you to come closer. You are slow, trying to move in sync with the rhythm. He looks intimating in his seat, waiting for you patiently with his intense gaze staying on you the whole time.

When you reach the narrow space between his legs, he places his hands on your thighs, sliding them up your soft flesh until he reaches your bottom, pulling you closer.

“Do you think it’s good this time?” You ask, clinging to his broad shoulders.

He hums, his grin hidden but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes revealing his amusement. “Let’s see.”

It’s the ninth take. How many more times do you have to reshoot a few seconds? _

A few days later, in the car, your other friend grabs your phone as you take a seat next to him. You wear the same dress from a few days ago.

“What are you doing?”

“Just a minute,” he murmurs, starting the recording while his free hand moves to your thigh. His rough fingers dig into your soft flesh before slipping under your dress. Your breath hitches, and you want to close your legs, but his hand is already back on the phone.

“Perfect,” he grins. “Ready to go?”

You’re flustered and a bit confused, but you nod anyway.

And so it continues. Your page fills with videos dominated by their presence, and the comments grow wilder than ever. _

“We were thinking,” one of them says one day.

“About what?” You ask.

“We should make an OnlyFans.”

You freeze. “What?” you ask, shocked. Heat rushes to your cheeks. “But that’s a…a-”

“A what?” The other orc asks, leaning closer.

“A porn site,” you tell him, eyes wide.

“It’s not just porn,” they reply. “Sure, there’s that, but there’s a bunch of other stuff too.”

They share a knowing look over your head, grinning from ear to ear.

[imauthicktic]

I beg you, transformers x fem reader

I don’t care what you write or anything, i’m on my optimus and bumblebee obsession phase pookie please

For you pookie bear 😘💖💞

Bayverse!Optimus and Bayverse!Bumblebee x fem!reader

Description: How they react to your random silent treatment

A/N: Optimus' part is so freaking soft and sweet 🥺 and then Bee's is corny and cheesy fluff and this is just a short reaction to get back into the groove of writing again!!

Silence. The silence was killing them- they didn’t even know what they did wrong as they saw their precious human woman talking to Cade like it was no big deal that they hadn’t spoken to their lover in hours. They had thought maybe she just didn’t hear me or was too busy to notice. But that thought was quickly replaced when they noticed she was able to talk to everyone else just fine.

What they didn’t know was that (Y/N) was just testing their patience to see how long they could go before they got mad at her for playing such games.

Enough was enough.

Optimus:

Optimus POV

Optimus watched and waited until (Y/N) was alone to approach her so that she would be forced to talk to him. Optimus walked up to her before kneeling before her. He gently put his hand down for her to climb onto hoping that she would accept his silent invitation. When she climbed onto his hand he thanked the stars that she didn’t seem to be as mad as he thought she originally was. He then stood and walked away from the group enough to have some privacy as he spoke to her. 

Once at the spot that was hidden and far away enough, he sat down on the ground and held her up so he could look at her but her head was stubbornly turned away from him. Optimus sighed softly as he gently placed his finger under her chin and carefully turned her head to look at him. Longing shined in his optics. “Sweetspark… have I done something so wrong that you no longer wish to speak to me?” Optimus asked (Y/N) with his deep voice as his head gently moved to look her in the eyes.

(Y/N)’s POV:

Your heart ached as you looked at him and heard the genuine worry in his tone. The silent treatment was over for you the moment you saw and heard the hurt he tried so hard to hide. “No no no, Optimus- I-... I was just being childish- you did nothing wrong. Believe me, you did nothing-,” you rambled before he cut you off.

“But you have stopped speaking to me. You are not one to do such things without reason,” Optimus interrupted.

You tried to think of a reason that wouldn’t make him angry at you, “Bee told me to do it.” Really? Well, at least it’s believable. You think in your head as you give a sheepish smile and gently reach forward to cup his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Optimus. I didn’t realize how upset you would get,” you say softly as you place gentle kisses on his face making him close his eyes softly in relief. 

“Please don’t play such games again. My spark burns for you and you alone. It can’t accept you being so upset with me,” he says softly in an almost uncharacteristically soft way.

“I promise. Do you forgive me?” you ask.

“Of course.” He says as he gently touches his forehead to yours.

Bumblebee:

(Y/N)’s POV

You were just saying goodbye to Cade as you walked away and towards the rest of the group. Unbeknownst to you, Bee was watching with desperate eyes as he waited for you to come to him, but when he saw you walk the opposite way he became frustrated.

You were walking while looking at your phone when you heard a quiet whine and then loud footsteps that came rushing up behind you before you could even react, you were lifted up by Bee before he quickly transformed into the Camaro where you’re in the driver’s seat and buckled in before he speeds off at high speeds into the desert. You let out a yelp at the sudden and quick change as you watch the speedometer climb. 

“Bee! What are you doing?! You’re going too fast!” You say slightly panicked as you hold onto the door handle and the armrest desperately. 

“Shouldn’t have ignored me, babygirl,” Bee’s radio said as he changed through the stations to communicate his frustration, “now we ride!” he finished before purposefully swerving and doing donuts in the empty desert making you let out a shriek and a loud nervous laugh realizing how annoyed he was by your silent treatment.

“Ok! Ok! I’m sorry, Bee! I- I’m going to be sick!” you say between giggles as he finally stops and transforms into his humanoid form with you cupped in both of his hands as he rubs his mouthpiece against your face affectionately in a playful manner. 

“My honeypie, my sugarpie, my princess, my babygirl, my hot mama!” his radio blasted as he switched through channels making you laugh out loud as you grabbed his head and kissed his mouth piece over and over in loving affection. 

“You’re so annoying- you know that? You’re lucky you’re cute and I love you so much,” you say to him as you look into his eyes with a softened, fond smile.

“I’m lucky I have ya darlin’,” his radio switched to a cowboy accent that spoke so softly making the moment more loving and intimate.

Lmk what y'all think!!

[gloomwitchwrites]

Monster (S)mash - Task Force 141 x Female Reader - Porn Star AU

Content & Warnings: Porn Star AU, group sex, oral sex (male & female receiving), unprotected piv, cnc, restraints, anal sex, double penetration, haunted houses, masks, knifeplay, creampie, multiple orgasms, cum swallowing

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: For Kinktober 2024 (Group Sex)

On the set of Monster (S)mash, the monsters come out to play. It's your first themed porn film and it's set in a haunted house. You're eager. Excited. But you've never taken something like this on before. You're filming with four of the greatest names in porn, and you don't want to mess this up.

ao3 // main masterlist // kinktober 2024 masterlist

"Would you like to review the scene? Go over boundaries again?"

Kate Laswell, the Intimacy Coordinator, takes a seat on the opposite couch.

"I'd like a refresh," replies Johnny. "Now that I'm in character." He grins, gesturing at himself, and you almost laugh at how ridiculous he looks.

Johnny MacTavish, known in the industry for his many creampie videos, is dressed as a crazed clown with a red wig and exaggerated makeup. His clothing is nothing more than a black industrial vinyl apron covering up the important bits. Kyle Garrick, a connoisseur of the cam world, sits next to him in a fresh white robe with a Jason Voorhees mask sitting on top of his head, the elastic band digging into his skin behind his ears.

Kyle taps away at his phone. "I should go before you, mate." Kyle glances up and winks at you. "Since I’m up first."

You feel heat rush to your cheeks. Kyle is incredibly handsome—all four of them are—but Kyle has a gentle swagger that flusters you a bit every time he addresses you. The two others, John Price and Simon Riley, are still in the makeup tent transforming into a werewolf and a demon.

While you've been on various porn sets, this one is far more complex than previous films you've been a part of. Monster (S)mash is set in a "haunted house." You'll go room to room, each containing one of the four men before it ends with the five of you partaking in each other. Filming is expected to take all day and possibly into the next.

Kate finds a comfortable spot on the sofa and addresses the two of you. "Your scene takes place in a forest with a cabin. They'll be a fake machete. We're looking at knife play. Some c-n-c. A bit of a chase. What do you think about that?"

Kyle shrugs and then glances at you. "Sounds fun. I'm excited. But it's what you want." He gazes at you expectantly.

You shrug. "What we talked about during our meeting yesterday is good with me."

Kyle nods. "I remember."

"And we know the safe word and the non-verbal signal in case anyone needs to stop?" asks Kate.

"Apple," says Johnny.

"Three fingers with a wrist shake for non-verbal," adds Kyle.

Kate smirks. "And what if someone is restrained and cannot shake their hand?"

"Then three fingers will do," you finish.

She smiles, clearly content with that answer. "Very good." She clasps her hands and then pushes up from the couch. "My assistant and I will be standing off to the side watching and listening for a signal."

Rodolfo, the director’s personal assistant pops his head in. “We’re ready for the first scene.”

Kyle groans as he stands, returning the Jason mask to its proper place. The robe is gone and tossed onto the sofa beside Johnny. Kyle is completely naked underneath it all. You follow him out, robe still on.

"Head that way to mark," Rodolfo says to Kyle and then he gestures at you, beckoning you closer. "Stand here."

You find your mark and then remove your robe, handing it off to Rodolfo who politely keeps his gaze averted. Unlike Kyle who wears nothing, you're in a skimpy black thong that's more string than material.

“Quiet on set!” comes Alejandro Vargas’ voice from the director’s area. He’s standing behind a monitor, watching whatever is coming through on the camera.

There's some minor rustling before all goes silent.

"On three...two...one."

You stand just outside the entrance of the fake haunted house. Taking a deep breath, you count to three. Glancing over your shoulder, you deliberately stare off-camera, and then head inside. The camera moves forward as you walk, focusing in on the makeshift sign.

You will be touched, carried, restrained, played with...

The camera lingers on the sign for a few seconds before following you into the dark.

"Cut!" Alejandro calls out. "Let's hold there. Get her to mark two."

Rodolfo appears, gesturing toward the first "room" of the haunted house.

Each set is separated by curtains. With the lights on, it looks a bit silly, but during filming and post-production editing, no one will know that these scenes weren't filmed in an actual haunted house attraction.

As you step up to your mark, a tingle of excitement swells in your belly. You've always found your job fun and enjoyable, but this is the first themed film you've attempted. While the film crew and intimacy coordinator have solid reputations in the industry, the four men you're working alongside are known for their decency, politeness, and general kindness when working with others. During yesterday's meetings, they were incredibly focused, asking questions, and spent extra time wanting to know and remember your boundaries and limitations.

When you first started out, that was unheard of. You’d show up to set and hope for the best. Discussions about limitations and boundaries were few and far between.

"Going on three...two...one."

You enter the first room.

It's arranged to resemble the front of a cabin in the middle of the woods near a lake. The cabin is just a facade anchored onto a wall while blue lighting creates water-like ripples off the front of the cabin. The path to the "exit" is lined with two folding chairs, a metal picnic table, and a makeshift campfire with fake flame included. Ambient nature sounds play in the background, but it's only loud enough to create an unsettling atmosphere.

Slowly, you step around the two folding chairs and walk past the picnic table, glancing around in feigned nervousness as if danger lurks around every corner. That danger is just Kyle in his Jason mask.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Kyle appears. Standing near the makeshift exit, he is completely naked other than the mask and the machete clenched in his right fist. You freeze, holding up your hands in a placating gesture.

Kyle rolls his shoulders and neck. You hear the audible pop from where you're standing. He saunters forward, turning the machete handle end-over-end in his palm. Though you know the machete is fake, and that Kyle won't harm you, your fight-or-flight response kicks in. It fuses with your excitement and underlying arousal, sending your senses into overdrive. Your vision narrows, focusing on Kyle as he swaggers toward you.

"No," you whisper, backing toward the spot you entered from.

Kyle lunges, and you shriek, turning on your heel to dodge out of the way.

Spreading his arms wide, Kyle blocks your way forward. You step to the left and he matches your movement, the machete blade outstretched. While the two of you discussed this scene with the intimacy coordinator, the chase is entirely improvised. You don't know what Kyle will do or how he'll eventually trap you. The idea is thrilling, warming your body with heightened anticipation.

Stepping around the edge of the picnic table, you aim to dart around him on the right side. Kyle leaps over the fake flames and lands in your path. He swings the machete and you duck. The blade is nothing more than rubber, and his aim is purposefully wide.

As you turn away, Kyle follows, his stride casual and calm. It's infuriatingly sexy how sure of himself he is. And somehow, you're flustered by him, even as you try to make for the exit.

But there is no escape—and it's not like you want to get away from him.

Kyle's muscled arm catches you by the stomach. He hauls you against his chest, even as you wiggle and squirm, lashing out as if that will do anything. His strength is apparent in the way he confidently keeps you close, unafraid that you might accidentally clip his jaw with your knuckles.

The camera moves in as he brings the machete up to your throat, pressing the rubber blade against your jugular.

"Stop moving," he growls, the mask muffling the sound.

You cease your squirming, both hands grasping his forearm. The edge of the mask digs into the side of your face, and his hard cock presses roughly against your back.

"Are you going to be a good girl?" he asks. The low gruffness in his voice sends a bolt of heat straight to your pussy.

You whimper, but say nothing.

Kyle lightly slaps the inside of your upper thigh. "Answer me."

"I'll be good," you gasp, the sting of his strike causing your muscles to clench, ass bucking into his pelvis.

"You'll be what?" This time he squeezes your thigh.

"A good girl."

He makes a pleased sound as the machete falls away and his arm releases you. Grabbing the back of your neck, Kyle uses his grip to turn you around, to force you to look at his face. With the mask, all you can see are his eyes. They're in shadow, but fuck, they're gorgeous.

With a final squeeze, Kyle forces you to your knees. His cock bobs in front of your face. Your lips part, but Kyle keeps a firm grip, allowing nothing. He is in control.

Your gaze is entirely focused on him. You have no idea where the camera is, and there is no point in looking. It's not your concern.

"Wider," he instructs, and you present your mouth to him, tongue out. "That's it."

The head of his cock taps against your tongue and then slides back and forth over its surface, teasing what's to come.

You want it. You want him.

Kyle's hand moves from the back of your neck to the top of your head. He fists your hair there, and then guides your mouth around his cock, forcing you to take every inch of him. The cool rubber of the machete presses against your neck. Your hands rise, anchoring yourself by grasping the front of his bare thighs.

You hold on as he fucks your throat. Keeping your gaze on the mask, you relax your muscles, focusing on not gagging. Kyle is more length than girth, and the head of his cock roughly hits the back of your throat with each stroke.

"That's a good girl," he rasps. "My perfect slut."

The praise is wonderful. Perfect. You hold on to it, humming with contentment around him, the vibrations making him shiver. In your peripheral, you notice the glint of a camera lens but you don't glance over. You focus on Kyle, and how eager you are to get both of you off.

Kyle is rough but not overly slow. He's careful not to go too far. His movements are restrained but controlled, and that only turns you on more. One of your hands slips between your thighs and you find yourself blissfully wet.

You circle your clit and then dive downward to slip one finger, and then two, inside your pussy. Repeating the motions only builds the oncoming orgasm like a viper hidden in a pile of leaves, waiting to strike.

"Are you fucking yourself with your fingers?" Kyle's question isn't meant to be answered. It's rhetorical. He knows you are. He can see it.

With his cock in your mouth, you're unable to answer. One watery tear rolls down your cheek and Kyle lightly taps the machete blade against your throat.

"Not being a good girl. Didn't tell you to do that."

The machete disappears. Using his grip on the top of your head, Kyle guides your mouth off and away with a wet pop. He drags you to your feet, and as you move to run from him, Kyle presses the tip of the machete against your stomach.

"Get on the table," he growls. "Now."

You glance over your shoulder briefly to figure out where it is. The path is clear—just a few steps and you're on it. Kyle prods you with another poke of the machete.

Moving backward, you eventually bump into the edge of the table. Kyle does not help you up but the top is just below hip-level. You get on easily.

"On your back. Legs spread."

The command in his tone is undeniable. You do exactly as Kyle says. The camera is directly behind him, following his forward advance. Kyle wraps his hand around your ankle and tugs, dragging you to the very edge until you're close to falling off.

Without ceremony or elegance, he tears away your thong and tosses it aside. Kyle lines himself up and thrusts.

"Fucking hell," he groans.

You moan loudly, toes curling as your pussy takes all of him. The stretch is just enough to hurt but entirely euphoric.

Kyle slams the machete down onto the table next to you. In seconds, he has one hand over the front of your throat and the other on your inner thigh, keeping you wide as he drives in and out of your body.

This is where he's roughest, and you don't care at all. It's delicious. Glorious. From this angle you can watch every corded muscle shiver as he moves.

And the eye contact.

Kyle won't stop looking at you. His gaze is firm. Heavy. You are trapped by it as much as by his strength. His hand on your inner thigh slides further inward until he's almost on your pelvis. The camera shifts to point directly at where your bodies meet just as Kyle's thumb starts rubbing slow circles around your clit.

The building orgasm shivers outward, stretching into your limbs. A sense of numbness comes with it, as if you're floating above your body. It lingers there at the heightened apex before crashing down around you.

Your body tenses—seizes. Kyle groans, continuing to thrust through it. His thumb keeps stroking, and the intensity continues, wave after wave flooding through your system until you near overstimulation.

Kyle's thrusting increases, a pounding rhythm that signals his coming end.

"Fuck," he groans, hand around your throat tightening slightly.

The fingers on your thigh dig in, and Kyle stills, his sigh a gentle rainfall. You feel your pussy flood with warmth as his release hits him. You see the shudder, watch as his eyelids close behind the mask, and the keen pulse of his veins in his arms.

Kyle thrusts once. Twice. And then with a heavy sigh, grasps the base of his cock, stroking it as he slowly eases out. The camera comes into view, panning inward to catch the sight of his cum. Kyle keeps you still, gaze lingering on you. He's waiting for the camera's retreat.

Just as it backs away, Kyle's grip on you loosens. You're the pretend, helpless victim no longer.

Gripping the machete, you strike out. Kyle avoids your terrible swing, and that gives you your change. Off the table and onto the floor, you rush toward the exit, not looking back though you hear his enraged growl and the swoosh of air as he lunges for you.

You disappear, nearly stumbling into the next room as the director calls for the end of the scene.

"Cut!"

You catch yourself before falling forward, a little breathless. Poking your head out from behind the curtain, the set team comes rushing in, moving objects out.

"Let's set the next scene."

As you step out, Rodolfo and someone from the makeup department rush in. You're offered your robe which you politely decline but accept the water.

"You good, love?" Kyle approaches, removing his mask, gaze expectant and observing.

"Yeah. I'm good," you reply, taking another gulp of water.

His observation isn't one of keen interest but one of concern. He's checking you over. Making sure he didn't harm you.

"I didn't hurt you?"

You're a little sore but it feels good. "No," you answer. "Promise. I'm fine."

He grins, relief clear on his face. "Thought I might have been too much."

You shake your head. "Not at all."

Rodolfo checks his watch. "Ready for the next scene? Or would you like a break?"

You cap the water and hand it to him. "I can handle it."

He nods. "Be ready in five."

After a bathroom break, a brief touch-up, and a gentle cleanse between the thighs, you're herded to the next mark.

"We're going in ten...nine..."

Your robe is removed and water whisked away. The camera is somewhere in the room already, ready for you to step out from behind the curtain.

"...three...two...one."

You emerge, knowing that this might be the scene you need to call a stop to. Not that it'll be Johnny's fault, but the place is absolutely ghastly.

It's set up like a meat processing warehouse. The room is bathed in red light. Fake bodies wrapped up in cloth hang from the ceiling along with a few hooks on chains. There are two "exits" covered in plastic strip curtains. One is a true exit and the other is where Johnny is supposed to emerge from, but you have no idea which.

The camera follows your forward movements as you navigate around the hanging set pieces. Against the wall is a stainless-steel table. On it are bloody body parts all haphazardly stacked on top of each other.

As you make it to the middle of the room, Johnny appears—not that you see him. You don't notice him at all. It isn't until he revs the chainsaw he's holding that you do. It startles you so bad that you stumble backward into a fake body, almost tripping on your own foot.

Johnny charges forward, much faster than Kyle. The hanging bodies, hooks, and chains are in the way. You try to push them aside, to run as you're supposed to, but it hampers your movement.

Johnny catches you quickly.

Cornering you between a trio of hanging bodies, Johnny circles the space, revving the chainsaw as he walks. There is no chain on it, but he doesn't point it at you. He keeps it pointed away from his body and yours.

Transferring the chainsaw to one hand, Johnny snags your upper arm, dragging you against him. You beat at his chest, the vinyl apron slippery when your skin makes contact. Nothing happens. Johnny is solid.

With his grip on your arm, Johnny hauls you toward the body-covered table. He sets the chainsaw down and then both hands are on you. Spinning you around to face him, you attempt to fight him off even as he restrains you, attaching handcuffs to your wrists with ease.

“Let me go!” you shriek, but Johnny only laughs. It’s manic and high—completely deranged. It’s wonderful acting. You’ll give him that.

With a sharp tug on the connecting chain, Johnny sends you stumbling. He steps out of the way, his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp slap. You yelp but manage not to fall. The smirk on his face tells you everything. He’s loving this.

You attempt to strike out at him but Johnny is so much stronger.

Using his massive, muscled arms, Johnny wrestles for control, winning easily. You’re herded to the center of the room. At one of the hooks, Johnny lifts your arms over your head, hooking the connecting chain on the nearest one.

Everything stretches, but it’s not painful. It's a good stretch and just enough to keep you on your feet but appear as if you're hanging in the air. It's a great trick. You're on full display for the camera and for Johnny.

You’re facing away from Johnny, and you have no idea where the camera is. All you’re aware of is your breathing, and the swelling tightness in your muscles as the stretch starts to curl forth a gentle ache.

You’re hanging there. Untouched. Waiting.

There’s a gentle brush against the back of your thigh. You jerk against the touch, tilting your head to catch a glimpse of him. Johnny appears before you like a phantom. He steps into your view slowly. The red light bathes him in a blood-tinged glow.

Johnny grins, grasping your chin in his hand.

“Are you going to remain a good girl for us?” His Scottish lilt is sinful. You find yourself leaning forward as if you’ll kiss him. That grin softens, and then becomes a wicked thing.

Johnny drops to his knees before you.

His hands grab the backs of your upper thighs, lifting you off your feet. He guides your legs over his shoulders, hands adjusting to support your ass. Johnny’s mouth is on your pussy immediately, tongue teasing your entrance. The fake plastic nose he wears perfectly presses against your clit. It rubs back and forth against it as he devours your pussy.

The orgasm comes quickly and with sharp intensity. You scream out your pleasure, head falling back, eyes closed as Johnny continues to feast between your thighs. Your toes curl, the muscles in your lower back seizing and relaxing with each wave.

With a final lick, Johnny tilts his head back, smug with himself.

You’re gasping for air, chest heaving as Johnny returns your feet to solid ground. He ascends, hand undoing the ties that keep his black vinyl apron in place. He circles you as he does it, a teasing dance before it falls away.

Your gaze immediately drops, and fuck—Johnny is thick. There’s a decent amount of length but this man is all girth.

He palms his hard cock, gaze enraptured with the sight of you. Circling you like a predator, Johnny takes his opportunity to run his hands over your body, to touch everything. It’s been he comes to a stop behind you that the anticipation builds.

Johnny’s face presses against your neck as his hands grab hold of your hips. His cock rubs against your ass and then slides between your thighs. He rocks back and forth, coating himself in your wetness. The head of his cock pokes at your sensitive clit.

You whimper, and Johnny gives you relief.

With his grip on your hips, Johnny angles himself at your entrance. A quick thrust, and Johnny is home to the hilt. Your thighs are pressed against each other, and the thickness of Johnny’s cock is only intensified by the limited space.

He remains behind you, pumping steadily as you hang from the hook. Johnny’s hands on your hips delve, squeezing your thighs. He brings one palm down in a quick slap against it, your thigh jiggling from the strike.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he whispers into your ear, and you know that’s only for you to hear.

While Kyle was a bit rough with you, but Johnny is steady, his rhythm hitting all the right beats until you’re numb with lust. You fall into it, heading leaning back against his as Johnny as his way with you.

At his end, Johnny’s groan morphs into a whimper. He comes inside you, his grip tight as he holds you flush against him. A few more thrusts and then Johnny is pulling you, forcing your thighs apart to show the camera the mess there.

You expect a pause as the camera lingers there. What you don’t expect is for Johnny to put his mouth back to your pussy, to suck his cum out of it, to stand and force your head back, slipping his fingers between your lips only to spit his cum down your throat.

He grins at you, licks his lips.

This dirty fucker.

Your thumb finds the small button on the cuffs. Like everything else, it’s a prop. You press the button. The chain breaks as it’s supposed to. The moment your feet are flat, you take off, rushing toward the exit.

You hear pounding footsteps and then—

“Cut!”

Johnny almost knocks you down on the way out. “Shit,” he gasps, grabbing on to you before you topple forward.

“Take ten!”

A robe is thrust at you, and Johnny is pulled away as someone else shoves another water into your face and someone else fusses with your hair and makeup.

It’s the maze that’s next. This one is completely staged compared to the other scenes. At a certain point, you, Johnny, and Kyle will converge on a singular point. Johnny on one side of you. Kyle on the other.

When you’re set, you enter into the makeshift maze. You don’t need to go far. Just a few feet. Johnny is right behind you, every step heavy and loud as he navigates the maze. Only a couple striders further and you’re trapped.

Kyle steps out of the dark and you come to a halt. But as you retreat, Johnny is right there, blocking your exit. Their hands are on you immediately. You have no control. You give in to them, allowing them everything. It’s nice to surrender, to hand control off to someone else.

They move you into position. Johnny’s cock slides home, filling your pussy. Kyle takes the other side, and then you’re full in both holes, groaning loudly with each thrust. Your hands seek, fingers digging into whatever they can find.

Over your shoulder, Kyle pushes up his mask enough to reveal his lips. You go in, tasting Kyle’s sweetness. His hand grasps the front of your throat, dragging you in for a deeper kiss.

Johnny isn’t one to be left out.

As Kyle breaks away from the kiss, Johnny reaches for him, the two men locking lips next to your face as they both move in and out of your body. You drape your arm over the back of your Johnny’s neck, and all you know is the perfect way they fill you, and the feel of their lips against your skin.

And when it’s over, you’re a little disappointed that it couldn’t continue.

There’s another break—this one longer than the others. Kate’s assistant massages your muscles, and she checks in before the graveyard scene with John Price. You’ll truly need some rest before the final scene with Simon Riley and the rest of the men, but you can do one more.

But only one.

And it’s the easiest of the bunch.

There is no chasing. No running.

You play the helpless damsel, pushing at John’s chest as if you don’t want it. All around you is smoke and shadow. The headstones around the two of you create a little circle, almost as if you’re in the center of a ritual.

You’re put on your hands and knees on the ground, the fog from the fog machine swallowing up your hands and legs. Price is behind you, already pumping, already taking from you like the wolf he’s supposed to be.

The makeup department did wonders. They gave him sharp teeth, yellow contacts, and a partially transformed look to him. It’s brilliant, really. He looks very much the monster.

Each stroke is deep. John presses on your lower back, forcing you into a different position, pushing your ass higher into the air. Your legs widen and then John increases his pace, his pelvis smacking loudly against yours. Skin meets skin, and your pussy quivers with excitement as the orgasm builds.

You stroke yourself between your legs, leaning on one side to keep yourself upright enough not to slip. You’re slippery between your thighs, and you can’t help but trace where your bodies meet. Your nail grazes John’s cock, and he emits a low moan.

John grips your ass harder, and then he’s pounding into you, using your body like it belongs to him. You lightly bite your lip, trying to focus on your building orgasm. Each stroke comes with a spank, jerking you against your teasing fingers.

“Oh—fuck,” you mewl as your orgasm comes raging forward, curling outward.

John fucks you through it, growling like a fucking animal behind you. When your orgasm wanes, his hand grasps the back of your throat, holding you in place as he continues. All you have to do is sink into it, to grin with contentment and let him have what he wants.

There’s something primal to the way he holds you down and fucks you. It’s different from the way Kyle kept you in place or the way Johnny fucked you. Even in their roughness they were sweet. John is all business, and you’re perfectly fine with that.

His cock is fucking perfect, his dominating demeanor a soothingly sensual experience. There’s something to be said about giving in—to submitting.

But it’s after the extended break that completely alters your brain chemistry.

Simon is the last. The very last.

There is no chase. No true lead up.

This room is set in hell. There are fake flames, reddish-orange backlighting, and a throne. Simons sits on that throne, lounging casually, legs wide, his cock and heavy balls on full display. He’s dressed like the devil, but there are no plastic horns or dollar store red cape. He is perfectly painted in red and black. From his head are twisting black horns that curl up and back. They’ve given him red contacts and fake canines for a vampiric bite.

You are in his thrall, sitting at the base of his throne when the camera turns on. There is a leather collar around your neck connected to a silver chain that Simon holds in his fist. He lightly tugs on it, urging you forward.

Your hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly, coaxing him toward hardness. You tease the head with a swirl of your tongue before taking him into your mouth. Simon fists the chain, twisting another link around his fist. Every time you take him deeper, Simon shortens the chain further and further.

At first, there is no tightness. It grows shorter. Shorter still. The leather begins to bite into your skin. With each twist of Simon’s wrist, the leash shortens. It draws you closer to Simon, leaving no room for you to retreat—to get air.

Your nostrils flare as you breathe through your nose. Relaxing your throat, you suck him down, cupping his testicles gently in tandem with your movements. The only sound he makes is a grunt and you have no idea if that’s good or bad.

But his cock is hard. Solid. You can’t take all of him or you’ll fucking choke on it.

He tugs sharply on the leash. "In my lap, pet."

You do as Simon instructs, standing between his legs before turning around toward the camera. You sink down into his lap, and Simon leans back, gently guiding you to straddle his lap, legs wide and draped over his thick thighs. He rubs his cock against your pussy, and then you’re sinking down on him.

John arrives from the dark, still in costume. He prowls forward, coming up to the left side of the throne. He grabs your wrist as he comes to a stop, guiding it to his cock. You fist John just as Simon thrusts upward.

Kyle arrives soon after. He kneels in front of you and Simon, teasing your clit with his fingers. It starts as a gentle stroke before his tongue replaces them, swirling little circles against your clit. Simon thrusts upward again, and your pussy clenches.

Just before your orgasm crests, Kyle’s tongue descends, stroking against the space where Simon’s cock intrudes. He descends further, lightly sucking one of Simon’s balls into his mouth. It’s brief. Just a blip. And then his tongue is back on your clit.

Your orgasm comes raging forward, but just as your mouth opens to cry out, Johnny appears, grabbing the back of your head, filling your mouth with his cock.

Your body is theirs to use.

Theirs to enjoy.

Simon thrusts upward, and Kyle draws back, his lips glossy with your arousal. He puts the mask back into place, and Simon lifts you off his cock. You’re picked up. Turned around. You sink back down on Simon’s cock, and Kyle is right there, adding his cock to your pussy. It’s an incredibly tight fit. They rock their hips gentle as John and Johnny touch your body, guiding your hand and mouth back to them.

One of them comes inside you—but you have no idea who before you’re full of just one cock. There are two sets of hands on your ass, bouncing you on whoever’s cock is filling you up. You’re simply clinging on, fingers digging into Simon’s shoulders. His head dips, the horns brushing against your cheek as his tongue circles a nipple.

John grabs the bottom half of your face. “Open,” he instructs and you do so, eagerly sticking out your tongue. John jerks himself until his cum explodes on your tongue. He tips your head to the side and Johnny follow suit.

“Swallow,” growls John and you do exactly that.

Someone groans, and whoever is inside you comes. You’re lifted off Simon’s lap, brought to standing, and then promptly bent over the arm of the throne. Simon’s cock returns to your mouth, and someone settles behind you, spreading your legs before sliding inside.

Every time someone comes in your pussy, you’re moved. Switched. Bent over. Spread wide. Forced onto your knees. You take it all. Enjoying every orgasm. Enjoying every touch.

As your energy fades, it is Simon that takes the final fuck, who brings you into his lap. His hands are firm on your ass, bouncing you up and down his shaft as the camera zooms in on it. You are lost in him—lost in the bliss that pulses throughout your body.

You are perfectly fucked.

Perfectly content.

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[nadvs]

home before dark (part one)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.

content warnings stalker ex, violence, eventual smut, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

You’ve been looking at your reflection for five minutes now, eyes rimmed red from crying. Muffled, bass-heavy music is echoing from the front of the house.

You’ll do anything to delay going back out there. Even if it means standing still in the bathroom, trying and failing to stop tears.

Parties at Tannyhill always bring in massive crowds, yet your ex-boyfriend still managed to find you in the sea of people. You slipped away and have been hiding since, the anxiety of seeing him again crushing you.

Thankfully, you know your way around the estate. It was once like your second home.

As an only child, you latched onto the Cameron siblings the second you met them. You had just moved to Kildare, your dad having been an old college friend of Ward’s.

You practically grew up with them. You’re still close with Sarah. And even though Wheezie was only four when they lost their mother, she seems to find comfort in you always being around.

But your once best friend, who you’re merely weeks apart from in age, was transformed by the grief. Rafe is a stranger now. And you can tell that he loathes being around you.

When the door is roughly pushed open, the knob slamming against the wall, your heart lurches, overtaken by the sharp fear that Ty has found you.

But it’s Rafe, his hair hanging over his forehead and his nose dripping with blood, shattering your solitude.

He meets your eyes for just a second and looks away as soon as he sees it’s you. Like always. He never makes eye contact with you for very long.

“You’re bleeding,” you say quietly.

“No shit,” he mutters.

He barges past you to the sink, spitting crimson blood onto the porcelain. He’s hunched over the counter, panting, pissed off that you’re still standing there. Still lingering.

You’re always around. A constant reminder.

“Do you need help?” you ask, but you step back, your actions mismatching your words. You put distance between you for his comfort. Not yours.

“No.” His head is in splitting pain. He hasn’t accepted help in years and he’s not starting now.

This is how your conversations with him always go. You extend an olive branch. He snaps it in half.

You were both ten years old when the sweet boy you knew started hating the world and everyone in it. You had a front row seat to the tragedy that broke Rafe Cameron, a mama’s boy who suddenly lost the person he loved most.

But no matter what he does or says to you, you can’t hate Rafe back. After the accident that took his mother’s life, the compassion you harbor for him won’t let you.

While you definitely don’t like the person he’s become, a man so cold and aggressive, you couldn’t hate him if you tried.

You look at your reflections, side by side. You were once kids playing on the beach together, but in the mirror stands a bloodied cokehead next to a tearful mess, living in another summer of seeing each other everywhere and never speaking.

If it were up to you, it wouldn’t be like this. You’d still be friends. But he has his group of buddies who he drinks and smokes with and to him, they’re enough and you’re not.

Rafe looks up from his contorted position, the water rushing out of the faucet loudly. Frustration rises in him when he sees your silhouette in the mirror. He focuses on the edge of the sink, refusing to meet your eyes.

“You’re still here?” he snaps.

You’re used to the disheartening sight of a high and injured Rafe. He snorts lines and brawls at almost every party. Everyone calls him a psycho behind his back.

You want to ask what happened, but you know he’ll brush you off like he always does. You leave the room, determined to escape the party and go home. It’s past midnight anyway.

You’re nearly out the front door when frigid fingers wrap around your forearm. Your blood runs cold as you twist to see Ty, his eyes fixed on you.

“Did you block me?” he asks, the smile that once charmed you now making you sick. You look around at the crowds of partygoers as if someone can save you.

He’s still refusing to accept that you broke up with him a week ago. It was annoying at first. But now, it’s scary. He won’t leave you alone.

He texted you so many times over the last few days, going back and forth between calling you a waste of time and apologizing and begging to see you, that you had to block him.

After a few months together, you realized he wasn’t as nice of a person as he liked to pretend to be. Slowly, who he really is seeped in, unveiling a cruel and controlling brute.

“Of course I did,” you say. “I told you to stop texting me. I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”

“You’re not thinking straight,” Ty scoffs. “It can’t just be over.”

“Yes, it can,” you say, straining out of his grip. You had told him over and over that if he wasn’t going to stop disrespecting you, you’d leave. He kept apologizing, saying every outburst was a one-time thing, just to put you through the same pain again.

“Are you going home?” he asks.

You wish he didn’t know that your parents are on a business trip and will be gone for the next couple of weeks. Regrettably, he’s aware you’ll be sleeping in an empty house for the next while.

“No,” you lie.

“Then let’s get a drink and talk about this,” he says sternly. “Unless you’re with some other guy now and that’s why you tried to break up with me?”

Could that be the only way he’ll leave you alone? You try not to shrink under his gaze, a heartless, eerie abyss. The fact that he says you tried to break up with him tells you he still isn’t accepting that the relationship is over.

“I broke up with you because you treated me like shit,” you say. Your heartbeat is loud and your breaths are shallow and in a split second, you decide to lie as an act of survival. “But yeah, I am with someone else now.”

Rafe turns off the faucet, heart racing from the coke and the adrenaline of winning a fight. It all started because some guy looked at him wrong. That was enough for Rafe to start swinging.

Admittedly, letting out his aggression is a thrill. It’s his comfort zone. When he surrounds himself with chaos, it distracts him from the voices howling in his mind.

Life is nothing but a sick game of tag, and he’s been running away from reality and towards disorder for years.

Rafe’s nose is still throbbing from the only punch the other guy managed to get in when he heads back into the throws of the party.

He’s filling up a solo cup in the dining room when your eyes meet his. He can’t look away this time. You’re rushing towards him, fear written into your features.

Once you hastily close the distance, leaving mere inches between you, Rafe can see you’ve been crying.

“Hey,” you say over the music, overwhelmingly grateful that you finally found him after frantically rippling through the crowds. “Can you help me? Please?”

Maybe it’s because of the desperation in your glossy eyes. Or because you both once knew how to make the other feel better. Or because you chose him to help, when he’s used to never being chosen by anyone for anything. But he decides to hear you out.

“What?” he mutters, hollow blue eyes searching your face. Rafe’s brooding, all cleaned up now, the blood wiped away.

You look over your shoulder, your chest rising and falling at full tilt, then face him again.

“My ex is following me,” you say. “Can you pretend to be my boyfriend?”

“What?” Rafe’s mouth is twined in irritation. Of all the guys to use to make your ex jealous, you pick him?

“Rafe, please,” you say hurriedly.

You turn to see Ty, his eyebrows raised in clear surprise. After you talked to him by the front door, you rushed away, feeling his looming presence trailing after you.

You face your ex, standing beside Rafe with your hand curling around his hard bicep, finding unexpected relief in holding him. It’s jarring touching him after years of distance.

Rafe can’t remember the last time he was touched like this. It’s like a reprieve from the rush he’s always in, slowing him down.

Ty shoves his way through groups of people, his face carved with anger.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” he shouts over the music, eyes darting between you two. Rafe recognizes him. He’s seen you together at parties and the country club. This guy is just another Kook who gets shit-faced every chance he gets.

“Leave me alone, Ty,” you say.

“You’re with him?” he mutters with a laugh.

“Yeah, I am,” you say, tone shaky, praying Rafe plays along. He catches the brittle waver in your words.

“You can’t be serious,” Ty says. “That was fast.”

He steps forward and you find yourself cowering behind Rafe, who instinctually straightens up.

When Rafe realizes your hand is trembling, something in him twists. You’re not trying to make this guy jealous. You’re afraid of him.

Even after the years of hostility between you, somehow, you uncover a soft spot that Rafe didn’t know he had. He hates that this asshole is scaring you.

“Get out,” Rafe says to your ex, his deep voice sending relief through you.

Ty’s eyes dart to Rafe before his gaze is on you again.

“Really?” he ridicules you. “The guy you always call a psycho?”

Rafe’s arm flexes beneath your hand.

It’s a lie. People talk shit about Rafe, but you have never uttered a bad word about him to anyone.

“I never said that,” you retaliate.

“Just come outside so we can talk,” Ty says, his voice dripping with anger.

“Whose fucking house do you think this is, bitch?” Rafe shouts, roughly shoving Ty’s shoulder. “I told you to get out.”

You see fear on your ex’s face for the first time in your life. Your instincts were right to push you to run to Rafe. Everyone’s afraid of him.

“Chill,” Ty says with a forced smile, palms up in surrender. You’re sure he’s thinking of all the brawls he’s witnessed at these parties. Rafe might get roughed up, but he hardly ever loses a fight.

“Go,” Rafe sneers.

“I - I am,” Ty stammers. He meets your gaze one last time before he flees, his lips thinning in anger. Dread surges through you. You can tell you’re not rid of him.

Awkward tension settles between you and Rafe. He turns to look down at you, eyes flitting to your hand still on his arm. You let go.

Of the entire fervid exchange, what blares in your mind the loudest is Ty’s lie.

“I never said that about you,” you say.

Rafe scoffs. He figures it’s better to be feared, to be seen as a psycho, instead of the loser he knows he is.

“I don’t give a shit,” Rafe mutters, although, for whatever reason, he feels a piece of him caring what you think about him. He shifts to continue filling his cup with beer, pissed off and disoriented.

“He lied,” you tell him, stepping to the side to meet Rafe’s eyes again. You need him to know.

“Got it,” he says carelessly. He dips his head back as he downs his drink.

“Listen, I’m sorry to drag you into this, okay?” you say. “I don’t know what to do. He won’t leave me alone.”

He stills. Talking to you is hard. The fact that you’re still kind to him makes it harder.

But you’re so clearly terrified. Maybe he owes this to you. Everyone else wrote him off, but you, for whatever reason, still treat him with a gentleness he knows he doesn’t deserve.

“If he bothers you again…” Rafe says. He doesn’t finish the sentence, but you don’t need him to. This is his way of telling you he’ll protect you.

You stare at his hardened features. You always felt like you grew up with Rafe from a distance. You know him in snapshots.

The ten-year-old who made small footprints next to yours in the sand. The seventh grader who got into so many fights that rumors of expulsion circulated around school. The high schooler who didn’t care to hide that he was doing lines at every party.

And now, he’s the man towering over you, drugged up, throwing punches every chance he gets, agreeing to pretend to be your boyfriend.

The fact that he’s willing to put on this charade for your safety makes you think that maybe there is a soft part of Rafe left somewhere deep inside. A part of the boy he once was.

“Thank you,” you say. You’re sure he won’t want to carry on the conversation, so you step away before he takes back his offer.

You find Sarah and ask if you can crash in her room tonight, knowing she’ll say yes. The thought of going to your empty house is too daunting.

The next morning, you’re sitting in the large kitchen of the Camerons’ estate, wearing last night’s clothes. You stare out the window, wishing your anxiety didn’t keep you awake last night.

You slept a couple of broken hours next to Sarah, thoughts of your ex and what he might be capable of rushing through your mind.

You’re not sure what to do next. In a normal world, you’d spend your summer partying and having fun with friends and enjoying your lack of a schedule. But things aren’t normal right now.

You’re desperate to shower and get into clean clothes and simply exist in the comfort of your home.

When Rafe sees you sitting in the kitchen, sunlight spilling over the planes of your face, he does something he never saw himself doing again. He approaches you, instead of running away.

Footsteps pull you out of your daze. You meet Rafe’s tired eyes. He doesn’t look away this time and it makes hope bloom in your chest.

He settles on the other side of the table, across from you, tensely raking his hair back. He doesn’t say anything, words trapped in his throat.

“You’re up early,” you say to break the silence.

Last night was one of many sleepovers you’ve had here. Even though you and Rafe don’t speak much, you’ve puttered around the house enough to have noticed his habits, one of them being that he typically wakes up well into the afternoon the day after a party.

But Rafe wants to cut through the bullshit of small talk. He can’t get how scared you looked last night out of his head. And he won’t admit that it’s the reason he wasn’t able to fall back asleep when the brightness of the sun woke him up this morning.

“Did he ever put his hands on you?” he finally asks, voice low. He braces himself for the answer. He doesn’t know how he’ll take it if you were getting hurt while he was always close by, ignoring you.

“No,” you say. The thought sends a chill through you. “He got… mean. And controlling. Or I guess he was always like that, but he hid it at the beginning. Maybe he would’ve eventually started hurting me. I don’t know.”

Rafe clenches his fist beneath the table. It may be hypocritical to be so angry at another man for being cruel to you when all he’s done for years is end every conversation you’ve tried to start with him. But Rafe has never claimed to reasonable.

“And he won’t leave you alone?” he recalls.

You shake your head no. Silence nestles between you, but this time, it doesn’t feel as uncomfortable.

Rafe’s eyes finds yours again, a shade of blue you can’t forget no matter how many times he’s averted his gaze.

“You scared of him?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you admit. The way your voice weakens puts Rafe even more on edge.

“You don’t have to be anymore,” he says. You exhale slowly, enveloped by a sense of security that you haven’t felt in a long time.

“He looked afraid last night,” you tell him. “When you pushed him, I mean. I’ve never seen him look like that.”

At least his anger was put to good use, Rafe thinks. It was actually worth something for once.

“Give me your phone,” he says.

You obey and watch him add himself into your contacts, a harsh reminder of the lack of a presence you have in his life. You don’t even have each other’s numbers. He texts himself your name.

“Call me if he bothers you,” he says. His promise to watch out for you is like a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, comforting you.

“Okay. Thank you.”

You realize this is the longest conversation you’ve held with him since before his mother passed. The day you heard the news, you came to this very house to offer your condolences.

You had knocked on Rafe’s closed bedroom door, telling him it was you and not his father, who you’d only seen be cruel to his eldest child.

Through the door, you promised him you’d do whatever he wanted. Cry together. Go down by the water. Talk. Or even just sit in silence. But all a ten-year-old Rafe offered you was a tearful go away, followed by years of avoiding you and brushing you off.

He hands back your phone and stands, walking away from you.

“Rafe?”

He turns to face you again, his hand on the kitchen counter.

“Could you follow me home?” you ask. “My parents are away and he knows it and… I just want to be sure he’s not waiting for me there.”

Rafe nods. You give him a grateful smile. He can’t return it.

Minutes later, his motorcycle roars as he tails your car down the street. Your house is only two blocks away from his. He couldn’t forget the way if he tried.

He visited your home with his family a few times as a kid, but most of your friendship was spent on the private beach behind his house, running around in the sand, your childish laughs tangling together in the salty air.

You used to bike to his house almost every summer day. He’d meet you by your gate, smiling so big his cheeks hurt, racing on your bikes to his house together. He would accompany you on the way back home, too, always making sure you got home before dark.

He realizes he always felt like he needed to watch out for you, even when he was just a scrawny ten-year-old.

Over the school year, you spent every recess together. Kids used to tease you about liking each other and he loved that you didn’t care because it made him feel like maybe you had a crush on him, too.

You two were inseparable. Until you weren’t.

Rafe tries not to think about it. This is exactly why he shut you out. You remind him too much of the last time he was happy. Before life became unbearable and before he was left with the parent who doesn’t love him.

Thinking about those days feels like trying to fall back asleep into a good dream, all while knowing he’ll plummet into a nightmare.

You pull into your driveway after getting through the remote-powered gate, parking right in front of the door. Rafe parks behind you, killing the engine and taking his helmet off.

He watches you step out of your car. You shield your eyes with your hand as you look at him, perched on his motorcycle in the bright morning sun, his helmet in his hands.

“I didn’t see his car on the street,” you say. “But I’m gonna make sure that the security system is armed.”

Rafe follows, stopping a few feet away from you as you unlock the door, on edge and ready to strike if he needs to.

You’re relieved to hear the familiar beeping that confirms the system is active and wasn’t triggered since the last time you were home. Rafe watches you disappear into the house to punch the code in.

“All good,” you say when you step back out through the front door. You face him as he stands on your doorstep, your chin tipped up to gaze at him.

“You said your parents aren’t here?” he asks. He’s frustrated that you’re alone.

“Away for work,” you say with a defeated shrug. You wish you’d broken up with Ty sooner so they’d be close by during all this stress. “Some things never change.”

Rafe looks down and nods. He remembers how often your parents travelled, leaving you with his family or babysitters while they were away.

Birds chirp in the warm air surrounding you. You stare at Rafe now that you have the opportunity to, up close. There are some freckles and beauty spots you remember. Some that you don’t.

He’s strikingly handsome and you wonder if he knows it. If anyone has ever told him.

“Alright,” Rafe says, stepping back, his way of saying goodbye. He doesn’t look at you again as he paces away.

His mother used to have to call you both into the house multiple times to eat lunch when you’d play on the beach together. You’d have so much fun that you didn’t want to do anything to interrupt it.

But these days, Rafe can hardly wait to get away from you. And even though it’s comforting having him watching out for you, having a string tying you to him again, you wish his coldness didn’t still hurt as much as it does.

(part two)

author’s note thank you to @rafedaddy01 for this idea @diorjadore for this idea!!! ILYSM!!!

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[brainddeadd]

Five Times Quinn Proposes to His Girlfriend and One Time He Actually Asks

1. The Kitchen Proposal It was a lazy Sunday morning, the kind that begged for pancakes and soft, lingering hugs. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating the cheerful chaos of Quinn's cooking attempts. Flour dust settled like a gentle snow, and pancake batter splattered across the counter as he flipped yet another misshapen pancake.

“Okay, but hear me out,” he said, his voice teasing as he turned to face his girlfriend, leaning against the doorframe with a bemused smile. “If you say yes to my next pancake, we can call it a proposal.”

She raised an eyebrow, her laughter bubbling up as she watched him struggle. “What does that even mean?”

Quinn held up the golden pancake like it was a diamond ring, winking. “Will you marry me? Or will you settle for this delicious, slightly burnt masterpiece?”

She rolled her eyes playfully but stepped forward, taking the pancake from his hands with mock seriousness. “Only if you promise to never make pancakes again.”

“Deal!” he declared, his grin wide enough to rival the sun shining outside. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the pancake into the air, but it landed on the floor with a splat.

She burst out laughing, shaking her head. “This is why you’re not allowed in the kitchen without supervision!”

2. The Winter Wonderland Winter had transformed the city into a sparkling wonderland, and Quinn had convinced her to go ice skating. They bundled up in their warmest clothes, scarves wrapped snugly around their necks, and ventured to the nearby outdoor rink.

As they skated hand in hand, Quinn felt a rush of adrenaline. The cold air was refreshing, and the music playing in the background added a festive cheer. Suddenly, he paused, a wild idea striking him. Dropping to one knee on the ice, he raised an imaginary ring, his breath visible in the frosty air.

“Will you marry me?” he shouted, his voice echoing amidst the laughter of other skaters.

She stopped skating, her eyes wide in disbelief, laughter mixing with shock. “Quinn! You can’t propose on ice!”

“I can and I just did!” he replied, the playfulness in his tone infectious.

“Get up before you slip and break your knee!” she urged, trying to suppress her giggles.

“Too late! You have to answer now!” he teased, a gleam in his eye.

“Okay, okay! Yes!” she exclaimed, laughter spilling over as she reached down to help him up.

3. The Concert Surprise When their favorite band announced a surprise show in town, Quinn wasted no time in securing tickets for them. The energy in the air was electric, and they stood close together, the music vibrating through their bodies.

As the band played their favorite song, Quinn leaned close, his breath warm against her ear. “What if I proposed to you right here, right now?”

Her heart raced at the idea, and she pulled back to look into his eyes, excitement and disbelief dancing in her gaze. “In front of everyone?”

“Yeah! Just think of the stories we’d tell,” he replied, a mischievous smile creeping onto his face.

She giggled, shaking her head. “You’re insane!”

“Insanely in love with you!” he shot back, raising an imaginary ring over her head like a crown.

The chorus hit, and the crowd cheered, but all she could hear was Quinn’s laughter echoing in her heart, knowing he’d always find a way to make even the most ordinary moments extraordinary.

4. The Movie Night One rainy evening, they cozied up in their living room, surrounded by snacks and blankets. The perfect movie night atmosphere enveloped them as they settled in for a classic romantic film.

As the credits rolled and the romantic tension peaked, Quinn turned to her with a soft, earnest expression. “So, if I asked you to marry me during the climax of our movie, would you say yes?”

Her laughter filled the room, bright and infectious. “Only if you promise to let me pick the next movie! I’m not sitting through another one of your terrible action flicks.”

“Deal!” he chuckled, pulling her closer as they shared a bowl of popcorn. “But I might just have to keep proposing to you until you agree.”

She shook her head, unable to contain her smile. “Good luck with that!”

And as the rain pattered against the window, they knew their love story would be filled with all sorts of playful, ridiculous moments like this.

5. The Game Day On a particularly exciting game day, Quinn’s adrenaline was running high as the Vancouver Canucks faced off against their biggest rivals. Sitting in the hotel room after the game, he watches her face through the screen.

“You know,” he said, leaning closer to the camera, “if I proposed, it would definitely be the ultimate distraction from the game.”

“Only if you promise to be the star player in our love story,” she replied, a smirk dancing on her lips.

“Absolutely! I’ll score goals and love you forever,” he declared, making a heart with his hands, drawing laughter from her.

She leaned in closer to the phone, whispering, “Then you better hurry up and get me that ring!”

The Real Proposal Finally, on a serene Saturday morning, the sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow in the bedroom. The world outside was quiet, the only sound being the gentle rustle of sheets as they stirred. Wrapped up in each other’s warmth, Quinn felt a rush of calm wash over him as he watched her sleeping peacefully.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his heart swelling with love. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the one that felt right.

“Hey,” he whispered, gently coaxing her awake. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open, revealing that soft smile he loved so much.

“Good morning,” she murmured, snuggling deeper into his embrace, warmth radiating from her.

Quinn took a deep breath, his heart racing. “I know I’ve jokingly proposed a million times, but this one is for real.”

She blinked at him, surprise and curiosity mixing in her gaze, and he felt a rush of nerves.

Reaching for the small velvet box he had hidden under the bed, he knelt beside her, heart pounding in his chest. “Will you marry me?”

As he opened the box, revealing the ring nestled inside, her expression transformed into one of pure joy and disbelief. Tears welled up in her eyes as she gasped, a hand flying to her mouth.

“Quinn! Is this real?” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion.

“Absolutely. I want to spend forever with you,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity and love.

“Yes! A thousand times, yes!” she replied, her laughter mixing with happy tears as she threw her arms around him.

With tears of happiness in her eyes, she whispered, “Forever.”

And at 7:23 AM, under the soft covers, they promised each other a lifetime of love, laughter, and all the ridiculous proposals yet to come. The world outside faded away as they wrapped their arms around each other, knowing this was just the beginning of their beautiful journey together.