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w4ndal0ver · 8 months ago

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Seduction Techniques (mommy!wanda x sub!fem!reader)

[minors don't interact, 18+]

pairing: mommy!wanda maximoff x sub!fem!reader (set in the 1960s decade of wandavision, i forgot she doesn't have children at this point but I'm not rewriting it so pretend pls <3)

summary: You work for Stark Innovations as a secretary for Vision. After getting invited to a party at his house you turn up with a clingy and flirtatious colleague. Wanda immediately takes a likening to you, wanting to make you hers, but when she see's your colleague trying to mark her territory, she has to teach you a lesson.

content warnings: shameful mommy kink, gagging, slapping, praise and degradation, slut shaming, masturbation, fingering, cunnilingus, choking, toxic possessive wanda, mention of innocence and wandas fascination in your age gap and inexperience, images linked to breast feeding, adultery and gloriying affairs.

word count: 8k (strap in, its a long one)

Seduction Techniques

Stark Innovations, you read tracing the words with your finger. You hadn’t been at the company long, but to be completely honest you had no idea what you were actually working for. You knew that it was a leading technology and defence contractor, known for pushing the boundaries of modern engineering, but that wasn’t where your specialities lied. You’d been Visions secretary for about a week now, basically just running files between different sectors, answering emails and calls, but mainly you felt like you floated around the brightest minds within a 40 mile radius of Westview.

This morning you were sitting at your desk, papers scattered across the surface, trying to figure out what you were supposed to do with all the folders. The office as a whole is a large, sterile space, intimidatingly quiet and you would do anything you could to avoid being noticed by the people who worked around you. This was impossible considering the only woman in the office was sitting adjacent to your desk and every time you glanced over at her, she was always looking curiously at you.

The door of the main office creaked open and everybody looked up as Vision walked into the room, visiting each and every person at their desk with little A6 pieces of card. Once he got to you he spoke in a professional manner, “I wanted to give you this,” He reaches over the unorganised mess of your desk, acting as if he was pretending not to see the state of all of his files, giving you the benefit of the doubt considering it was only your first week.

You take the card, glancing over the elegant script. It was an invitation to a party at his house, seemingly addressed as a mildly professional birthday gathering for himself. “It will be good for you to meet some people outside the office so please come along if you can,” He suggests, “And get this sorted out, come on.” His hands gestured to the stacks of paper all out of order.

You nod, returning the gentle smile, though your mind is already racing with anxiety. You hadn’t expected to have to attend something quite this personal, a considerable line you were forced to cross so soon. You looked around the room, nobody else seemed mildly interested in the invitation, clearly a usual event for the rest of your colleagues. You glanced down at the invitation again, it was signed, Wanda and Vision.

As you looked up from your desk, the brunette woman from across the room was now perching against your desk. “Hi, I’m Natasha by the way, I felt rude for not introducing myself.” She spoke softly, her eyebrow raised slightly as you held your hand out to meet hers in a shake. “Especially considering the testosterone in the room.”

You both giggle, yours slightly more nervous than hers. “Are you going to this thing?” You ask, unsure if you’d be able to attend without a friendly face you could use as a safety blanket if things went south.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Her eyes flickering over you in a way that makes your pulse quicken, even if you weren’t entirely comfortable with how publicly she was speaking to you. “But if you’re going, maybe I could tag along with you?”

“Well I’ve got an invitation, so I guess I’ll see you there.” You laugh nervously, not wanting to seem too thrown by her advances, considering she was the first person, other than your boss, to make an effort to talk to you. Not seeing you as below her as Vision’s secretary. “Who’s Wanda?” You ask, trying to shift the conversation away from her advances.

Natasha’s raised eyebrows tell you all you need to know, her expression clearly surprised. “You haven’t heard about Wanda? Everyone knows who she is.” She smirks, stepping back a little as she sips her coffee out of her floral patterned mug. “She’s Vision’s wife, you’ll see her this weekend. Trust me, you won’t miss her.” She winks, brushing her arm past yours as she walks away. You just nod, feeling a strange flutter of anticipation in your chest at the mystery that went by the name of Wanda.

A few days went by and you were finally in your car, parked outside the address on the envelope. You were a little later than planned, but the grandeur of Vision’s house sat in front of you and you felt a wave of nerves pass over you. It was taking every part of you to not pull out and drive away from the white picket fence that enclosed the well-manicured lawn and perfectly trimmed hedges. You take a deep breath and decide to just face it, knowing that this might be your only chance to be forgiven for what you had to admit was a very bad first impression on your first week.

Inside, everything is even more pristine than the front, polished wooden floors and family souvenirs scattered purposefully everywhere that you looked. It was a warm and welcoming atmosphere, aided by the warm lighting and harmonies of multiple conversations that was happening in the main room. You felt a little out of place, glancing around the small crowd that had gathered all together. You pull at your white buttoned blouse, re-adjusting your collar and smoothing down the creases in your forest green pencil skirt.

Your eyes quickly find Natasha, standing in the corner with a glass of champagne in her hand. She notices you immediately, flashing you a mischievous grin as she saunters over, a slight sway in her hips as she approaches you. “You made it!” She says, her hand sliding casually onto your lower back as she leans her hip slightly closer to yours. You stiffen slightly but you try to play it off, not wanting to break friendships already.

“Yeah, I couldn't miss it.” You admitted honestly, feeling stuck in a state of awkwardness which was quickly cut off by Vision approaching you both, dressed in a well tailored suit.

“I’m glad you could both make it.” He exclaims, his voice slightly tired from the endless introductions and greetings that he was forced into at his own party. He shakes your hand briefly, then glances over his shoulder. “Wanda, darling, come say hello.”

You feel the air shift as Wanda emerges into your eyeline. She’s breathtaking in a subtle, but devastating way. Her red hair twisted into a French plait, pinned elegantly at the back of her head, the soft curled strands falling loose around her face. She’s wearing a deep green dress that hugs her curves in a professional manner, the material catching the warmth of the light just right. Her eyes are green, sharp, almost knowing as they settle on you. Then came her smile, one that could make you melt in an instant, making it hard to look away.

“So, you must be the new one Vision’s told me about.” Her voice is rich, with a slight teasing edge that makes your hairs stand on end. She looks you over in a way that feels far too intimate for a first meeting, her eyes lingering just a little longer than they should, not remaining solely on your face.

Before you have a chance to respond, someone calls her name from across the room. “Sorry I have been summoned,” She laughs, “But please get yourself a drink darling, don’t make me look like a bad host.” You watch her walk away, your eyes drawn to the casual sway of her hips, the graceful way she appears to move through people, like they magnetically moved and formed a path for her.

For the next hour you tried to remain focused in your conversation with Natasha and other fellow colleagues who dropped in and out of your small circle. There was a pull in your chest that kept drawing your gaze back to Wanda, her auburn hair bounced as she spoke, that blush across her cheeks was a magnetic pull. Your stare always seemed to find her figure in the crowd, barely adding anything to any conversation.

“I’m just going to grab another drink.” You say, interrupting the aimless conversation that you weren’t the slightest bit interested in. You, less elegantly, move through the crowd and through the arched doorway into a kitchen that was so suburban you thought you’d stepped into a film. It certainly was no match for your tiny apartment where you can sit on your bed and also open the oven at the same time. There was metres of space around you, but still photo frames and children’s paintings littered the room.

You walked by, eyes catching a wedding photo of Wanda and Vision and you felt guilty for drooling over the way the housewife looked in her wedding dress. You immediately put the frame down, walking to the bottles of wine that were stacked on the counter, twisting the lid open and refilling your own glass.

You’re lost in thought when you hear the soft click of heels against the wooden floor. You turn and your breath hitches when you see Wanda entering the room, a glass of red already in her hand, her lips, slightly wine-stained curling into a smirk as she catches your eye.

“Hiding in here?” She asks, her voice low and smooth as she steps closer. You swallow hard, feeling your heart race in your chest, silently praying that she couldn’t hear it thump against your skin.

“Just needed a moment,” You say, trying to sound casual, “And you know.” You laugh nervously, lifting your freshly refilled glass as Wanda’s eyes beam at you with satisfaction. The tension between the two of you is palpable, almost like you could slice through it with a knife.

“Hm, I don’t think you’re supposed to refill your own glass, especially not at your boss's party.” She teases humorously, watching the pink flush into your cheeks and you hold up your hands ready to apologise. “Ah, ah no need, you’re always welcome.” She reaches over you, your back up against the counter as her fingers graze your upper arm as she grabs for the bottle that you opened. You feel the spark of the touch, sharp but settling as you swallow hard.

“It’s a lovely party Mrs Maximoff.” You compliment, not sure what else to say. She looks down at you, satisfaction lies deep within her green eyes. She waves her hand as if to say she’d heard enough of the small talk all night.

“I couldn’t help but notice how close you and Natasha are.” She asks with genuine curiosity, but you blink surprised by her unashamed bluntness.

“Natasha? No, It’s not like that.” You stammer, caught off guard as your bodies remain intensely close. “We work together, that’s all.”

Wanda laughs softly at your nervousness, her eyebrow arched as she presumed you were suggesting that she would have a problem with it even if you were more than colleagues. “Relax, I’m not that kind of woman.” Her eyes gleam as she takes a deliberately slow sip of her wine, never once breaking eye contact. Your flush was creeping up your neck now, unsure of how to respond. “So no one special hm? Pretty girl like you.”

You couldn’t almost choke on your small sip of wine at the compliment, the liquid getting stuck in your throat. “No, I don’t, most of my time is spent taking care of Vision and work.” You’re not sure why you’d lied, you spent the majority of your time worrying about your job, spending less time doing what you were actually paid to do. There was something about her gaze that was making you feel strangely exposed to the point you were making stuff up on the spot.

Wanda’s lips twitch in amusement as she swirls the wine around her glass at your response, “Oh trust me, I know what that’s like.” There's a wicked glint in her eyes, and just as you’re about to ask what she means, a familiar figure fills the doorway as Vision walks into the room.

“Wanda my darling, can I steal you for a moment.” Wanda nods instantly, turning back to you and rolling her eyes, but not before stealing another slow and lingering glance as she steps past you, her hand brushing your arm, this time her fingers squeezing harder against your skin, lasting far too long to be deemed as innocent.

“We’ll talk later,” She says softly, almost under her breath before she slips out of the room, leaving you standing in the empty space of her kitchen, breathless and more confused than ever. You gulp down the wine, refilling your glass once again.

You noticed how quickly you were getting through drinks, beginning to feel yourself get a little more tipsy. You were now perched on a stool in the living room, listening to the drunk slurs of Natasha still rambling on about something that you lost interest in about half hour ago. Your eyes were still fixed on Wanda, who by the continuous scrapes on the back of her neck and quick breaths that she took when she walked away from someone, you could tell was also becoming slightly more tipsy. She was holding herself better than you, somehow her heels keeping her stable as she pranced elegantly around in that dress that was driving you crazy.

The evening continued to progress and the effects of the wine were at the forefront. It was more than a gentle buzz now leaving your thoughts clouded and your steps a little uneven. You were trying so hard to leave Wanda alone, but the faint clicks of her heels against the polished floor kept bringing you back to watching the way her emerald dress clung to her curves. You watched as a faint shadow of discomfort clouded her usually poised face and you watched her try to slip away unnoticed towards the hallway, which would have been successful if you weren’t watching her so closely.

The tension in her shoulders when she walked made you feel uneasy at your core. Instinctively, you followed her steps, slow and measured, trying to stay upright as you trailed her toward the bathroom. You stop in your tracks when you hear muffled voices behind the door. You could recognise it anywhere, Vision’s voice stern and sharp cutting through the silence.

“You should’ve paid more attention Wanda. Do you know how stupid you’re making yourself look?” His voice was low, but there was no mistaking the irritation beneath it. You could barely make out her response, but the emotion in the silence that followed was clear. Moments later, the door flew open and Wanda rushed out, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She didn’t see you as she brushed past, head down, her heels clicking faster as she made her way to the back door, escaping into her back garden away from the crowd.

You didn’t know what came over you, your heart racing at the sight of her as you followed her out into the garden. The cool night air hit your wine muddled brain and you spotted her sitting on the low stone wall that bordered the garden, her head in her hands, the hem of her dress sitting perfectly around her form. Her red hair was slightly messed from the evening, a few stray tendrils escaping the elegant french plait she had worn so proudly earlier, but you thought she still looked beautiful.

You hesitated, questioning whether the wine was pushing you forward, but you needed to make sure she was okay. “Mrs Maximoff,” Your voice was soft as you stepped closer, she lifted her head quickly, her tear-streaked face turning toward you. In a flash, she wiped at her eyes, trying to compose herself.

“Hi, sorry it’s my turn to have a moment.” She tried to laugh, but her voice was hoarse and the lie was painfully obvious.

You sat down beside her, keeping a respectful distance. “You don’t seem fine,” You reach out, placing a comforting hand on her knee. While the contact meant to be reassuring, it sent a jolt of electricity through you both.

Wanda’s lips twisted into a wry smile, her hand overlapping yours as a silent thanks, “It’s just hard you know, You think you’re doing everything right and then it's suddenly not enough.” She let out a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m trying to be a good wife, a good mother, but I don’t know what I’m saying, you’d have no idea, you’re so young.” You could hear the wine laced tone in her voice as she continued rambling, but the genuine hurt was written all over your face. Without thinking, you reached out, brushing her hair back gently, your fingers lingering at the nape of her neck.

“You are an amazing wife Mrs Maximoff, Vision is lucky to have you. And your kids? They’re lucky to have a mother like you,” You compliment honestly, letting your wine thoughts take over, “You’ve got them all plastered all over your house, It’s obvious how much you care about them.”

She paused, her eyes widening slightly, a mixture of surprise and hope. There was a flicker of something deeper in her gaze, and for a moment, it felt like the world around you both faded away.

“You think so?” Her voice softened, a hint of unexpected vulnerability breaking through. Yet despite it all, the tension hung tick in the air as she searched your eyes, her expression shifting. “You barely know me. How could you possibly think that?”

You felt a surge of confidence as you leaned in slightly, heart racing quicker than before. “I don’t need to know everything about you to see what kind of person you are.” You paused, letting your gaze roam over her face, the way the moonlight illuminated her features. “I can see good people from the moment I meet them.”

Her lips now formed a teasing smile, her eyes holding a certain depth that made your breath hitch in the back of your throat. They were flickering with something unreadable. She leaned in just an inch closer, her voice low and laced with flirtation. “Good people, hm?” Her fingers now create circles against the back of your hand, “Careful darling, you might find that I’m not as good as you think.” She tilted her head, deciding to go easier on your innocent face that responded silently to her teasing, “I can’t imagine a young, attractive girl like you could really mean that.”

You felt heat flood your cheeks, caught off guard by her compliment. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady, though you were sure she could hear the slight tremble in it. “I do mean it. I might not know everything about you, but you’re more than just Vision’s wife or your children's mother.” You shifted closer, your heart pounding harder in your chest as you dared to let your gaze linger on her lips. “You’re something special Mrs Maximoff.”

Her face darkened at your words, her smile fading into something softer, more intense. She let out a quiet breath, every inch of your skin tingling with anticipation. Her thighs subtly began to squeeze together, every time you addressed her by her title rather than her name which she had introduced herself as, but you choosing to remain innocently respectful was driving her crazy. Wanda couldn’t help but imagining corrupting your innocent little mind, having you bent over for her while she fucked you dumb.

“Special... is that what you think I am?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, dripping with curiosity and something else—something far more dangerous.

You nodded, the words caught in your throat as your pulse quickened, your heart hammering in your ears. Her fingers stopped their slow, deliberate movements and instead curled gently around your hand, her thumb brushing the side of your palm in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

Wanda’s eyes darted down to your lips, her breath warm and shallow. She hesitated, her voice now even softer than before, vulnerable beneath the weight of the growing tension between you. “You’re so sweet to me honey, and you barely know me.” Her lips now hovered inches from yours, so close you could feel the warmth of her breath against your skin. “I might not be the good person you think I am. What if I make you regret it darling.”

Your core trembled at how close her face had become to your own. The desire in her voice was slowly unravelling you, but instead of pulling away, you allowed the wine to give you the confidence to lean in further, closing the distance until your lips were almost touching. Your voice trembling, “I don’t think I could regret you Mrs Maximoff.”

That was her final straw, she snapped the tension as she closed the gap between you with a soft, deliberate kiss, the kind that felt like a blow burn igniting deep in your chest. The touch of her lips was light at first, testing, teasing, but when you didn’t pull away from her advance, her hand cupped the back of your neck, tangling itself in your hair, pulling you deeper into the kiss.

Your fingers instinctively gripped her waist, feeling the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her now bunched up dress, and for a moment, nothing else mattered but the way her lips moved against yours, her tongue swiping your bottom lip before taking it into her teeth and tugging against it, making you whine desperately against her mouth.

Wanda pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against yours, her breathing uneven as she whispered, “I told you, I’m not as good as you think,” Her thumb brushed over your jaw, her lips ghosting yours again, a low, teasing chuckle escaping her, “But I could take care of you, you know that don’t you.”

Her voice dropped lower, that familiar tone slipping into something more playful, more commanding, “Mommy knows how to make her good girl feel special.”

Your pulse quickened again, heat flooding your body as her words wrapped around you. You were at a loss for words, you were particularly inexperienced and you’d never had anyone that looked or sounded like the way Wanda spoke to you. You could feel the arousal pooling between your legs, your mind reeling from the kiss, from her touch, from the way she held complete control. Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps approached from behind you.

“Well this is cosy.” Natasha’s voice broke the tension like a whip. You jerked away from Wanda, your heart racing as Natasha appeared at the edge of the garden, her expression one of amusement, but there was something dangerously possessive flashing behind Wanda’s eyes. “There you are,” She slurred, her hand reaching out to grab your arm and you could see Wanda desperately trying to not stand up for your defence, “Come on, let's get back inside gorgeous.”

You were too stunned to resist as Natasha pulled you up from the wall. You glanced back at Wanda, your heart aching at the sight of her. She sat there, watching you with a look that was far more than just jealousy—it was something primal, something dark.

Your chest tightened with a sense of dread, knowing you were in deep trouble. You’d crossed a line, and there was no going back.

The rest of the night passed in a blur, but Wanda’s gaze never left your mind. You didn’t see her again before you left, and now, the thought of returning to work and seeing Vision—after kissing his wife in their own garden—was enough to make you feel dizzy.

That night, after you’d managed to find your way home, you felt a shameful amount of guilt and you couldn't sleep. Even as the moonlight spilled through the slats of your blinds, casting a soft glow across your room, your mind was racing. Every time you close your eyes, you see her. The way her lips had felt pressed against yours, the warmth of her breath, her voice, thick with desire, echoing in your ears.

"Mommy knows how to make her good girl feel special"

The words sent a shiver through you, settling deep in your core. Your body stirred, heart pounding harder as you recalled the way her fingers had brushed over your skin, the unspoken promise in her touch, the way her lips had lingered just a moment longer than necessary. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts away, but it was no use. Wanda was all you could think about, and the more you tried to ignore it, the worse it got.

Your hand moved slowly beneath the sheets, almost without thinking, fingertips grazing over your stomach as a small gasp escaped your lips. You hesitated for a moment, but the memory of her was too strong, too intoxicating. Your body ached with need, your breath coming quicker as you gave in to the desire swirling inside you.

You imagined her—her red hair falling in loose curls, the way her lips had formed into that teasing smile. The way her eyes had darkened with want when she’d leaned in close, her voice a low murmur meant only for you. "You’re so sweet…" her voice replayed in your head, as though she were there beside you, whispering in your ear. "But maybe I’m not as good as you think..."

Your hand slipped lower, and you bit your lip as a soft moan escaped you, your body responding to the thought of her, the memory of how she’d kissed you in the garden, her fingers so possessive, so commanding. Every touch, every word, was still fresh in your mind, and it made your pulse quicken.

You imagined her voice, soft and sultry, like velvet wrapping around you. "You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?" you could almost hear her purring, her lips ghosting over your neck as her hand trailed lower, just like yours was now. "I could take care of you, make you feel so good…"

Your breath hitched as your fingers dipped lower, finally giving into the need that had been building since that kiss. The pressure of your hand, the soft movement, made you arch into the sensation, biting your lip harder as the heat coiled in your belly. You imagined that it was her touching your clit, making you gasp carefully at the touch. The image of Wanda’s smile, her possessive gaze, fueled the fire, every thought of her pushing you closer to the edge.

"Mommy knows how to make her good girl feel special…"

Your fingers moved faster, the wetness between your thighs a stark reminder of how much she had affected you. You pressed your head back against the pillow, your free hand gripping the sheets as the memory of her touch consumed you. The way her voice had dipped, teasing and dangerous, the way her hand had lingered on your skin—everything about her had left you aching for more. Your eyes were closed, the image of her face hovering over you, that smirk cutting through you as she watched you fall apart underneath her touch.

Your breath came out in soft pants, your body tense as the pleasure built, spiralling out of control. It was all Wanda—her lips, her touch, her dominance—everything about her had ignited something in you that you couldn’t ignore. Your hips bucked against your hand as you chased that release, imagining her there with you, whispering in your ear, telling you how much she wanted to take care of you.

"Good girl."

That was all it took. Your body tensed, your back arching as a wave of pleasure crashed over you, your soft moan filling the quiet room as your hand stilled between your thighs, shivering in the aftermath. The tension released in a rush, your body trembling as you slowly came down from the high, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

But even as the pleasure ebbed away, Wanda’s presence lingered in your mind, a constant pull that you knew would only grow stronger the more you thought of her. And you couldn’t stop thinking about her.

As you lay there, your heart finally slowing, one thought circled back in your mind, sending a thrill through you: this was far from over. You had tasted something dangerous, something forbidden—and you weren’t sure if you’d be able to hold yourself together if you got the chance to see her again.

You woke up a few hours later to the sound of your alarm, hitting the clock you rose and was immediately drawn to the stickiness between your thighs from your activity the night before. You’d made such a mess of yourself to the thought of her, something that you had barely done before. Even without her there she made you feel so dirty and a part of you absolutely loved it. You decided to leave the same underwear on, enjoying how uncomfortable you felt sitting in the dampened fabric, a constant reminder of Wanda.

Your head was aching from the alcohol you’d consumed, but you managed to find your way to your desk as the office settled into its usual afternoon quiet. You’d been struggling to stay focused all day and when Vision approached you earlier you felt your voice squeak, squirming in your chair as you felt your arousal grow just at the thought of his wife.

Once again, Natasha was hovering over your desk, finding reasons to brush her hand over your arm, her touch lingering in a way that sent mixed signals. You were trying your best to stay focused, but your distracted mind didn’t have the energy to shake her away from you.

“I wouldn’t mind taking you out for a drink later, If you’re up for it.” She leans in, her voice low and teasing but unlike Wanda’s tone from the night before, she didn’t make you want to drop everything in order to go on an uncomfortably flirtatious date with your needy colleague. You felt bad leading her on, but your mind was elsewhere.

Before you can even formulate an excuse, you catch a flash of red out of the corner of your eye, the familiar daunting sound of the click of heels against the laminated floor. Everything around you seems to freeze. Wanda Maximoff. You tense up, recognising her immediately before her mind catches up to you. She walks into the office, a few greetings heading her way from the other men sitting at desks closer to the door. Your mouth hung ajar slightly at her figure wrapped in an elegant dress.

You try to maintain your composure, but as you watch Wanda glance around, her expression purposefully remaining neutral, yet you still feel the weight of her gaze land briefly on Natasha, who still stands too close to you.

“I’m just dropping off some files for Vision.” Her voice is calm, smooth, but you can sense the underlying tension in the way her eyes dart between you and Natasha.

“Vision’s actually out for the day, but I can take care of that for you.” You stand up from your desk, stepping towards her as you gesture toward the file in her hands, hoping to appear professional though your nerves are evident in the tremble in your fingers.

Wanda’s lips twitch into a smile, her fingers tightening slightly around the folder as if she was considering whether to hand it over. For a moment, her gaze locks onto yours, and there's something intense, something dangerous simmering just beneath her incredible composed exterior.

“Are you sure? It’s important.” She says, her voice dropping with faux innocence, though the way her eyes linger on you sends a very different message. You nod, managing a small smile.

“I’ve got it. You don’t need to worry.” You reach for the file, your fingers brushing hers briefly as you take it from her. That sends a jolt through your core and you can’t help but notice the slight smirk that pulls at Wanda’s lips as she watches your reaction.

Natasha is standing behind you, recognising the obvious tension between you both. “Always so helpful, aren’t you?” She teases, but there's a sharp edge to her tone now. She steps closer to you, her hand lightly brushing your shoulder once again, as if claiming her territory in front of Wanda.

Wanda’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, though her smile remains calm and composed. “I’ll leave it in your capable hands then.” Her voice is velvet, but you can feel the jealousy bubbling beneath her words.

“I’ll make sure your husband gets them.” Natasha says, a harsh tone to her voice, accentuating heavily on the reminder that Wanda is married. The brunette continues to hover far too close to Wanda’s liking and you watch her gaze harden, her green eyes practically burning with unspoken possessiveness. The air between the three of you feels suffocating, and all you can do is stand there, caught in the middle, your heart pounding in your chest.

Suddenly Wanda retracts her previous statement as she was about to leave, “Actually we need to talk privately,” She doesn’t wait for a response, her hand lightly gripping your arm as she gestures towards Vision’s office, “Now.”

The way she says it makes it sound less like a suggestion and more like an order and you follow her without hesitation, your heart racing as she sways her hips purposefully in time with the click of her heel as she steps.

As soon as the door closes behind you, the atmosphere shifts. Wanda is no longer the calm, collected housewife she usually presents herself as. She turns to face you, her eyes darkening with something that was dangerously close to fury. Before you have a chance to greet her properly she shoves you harshly into the office door, the blinds to the door window already closed from Vision before he left.

“What the fuck was that.” She spits at you, her voice dripping with disdain. She grips your jaw between her hand, forcing your face up to look directly at her, her thumb digging particularly hard into your cheek. “Natasha is a bit too friendly, don't you think?” She growls her name, her manicured nails scratching into your skin as she sputters her name.

You blink, taken aback by the sudden change in her demeanour, yet there was something so intoxicating and addictive about it. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Didn’t mean to what? Let her flirt with you.” She leaned in closer, her lips almost brushing against your ear as her grip on your jaw tightened. “You think you can play around with people like her? You’re just a little girl, you don’t know what's good for you.”

Your heart raced at her words, the fire in her tone igniting a thrilling mix of fear and desire within your core. “You’re so young, so naive. You think you can handle this?” She steps back slightly, her eyes narrowing as she assesses your body trembling, wincing as she roughly tugs your face up further, making you uncomfortable. “You need someone to teach you, to take care of you. Someone who knows what’s best for you.” There was an edge to her voice, a possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

You opened your mouth to speak, but she cuts you off. “No, don’t say a word.” Her voice was low, commanding, stepping in closer again, feeling the heat radiating from her fury. She leans into your neck, her grip tugging your head to one side as she licks a strong stroke up the length of your throat, biting into your ear lobe making you whine.

“You need to learn your place.” Her other hand gripped your wrist, shoving you harder into the door, “Your place is with me, not that pathetic little whore.” You felt a rush of submission wash over you at her words.

“Mrs Maximo-”

She delivered a sharp slap to the side of your face and you let out a sharp moan at the hot sensation spread across your cheek. “You don’t get to speak right now.” Her eyes flashing with a fierce protectiveness, “You are mine, you listen to me.” Her hand finds its way to your throat, gripping you so tightly she’d cut the oxygen completely off, your eyes fluttering as you went lightheaded.

She loosens her grip, not letting you go, your head still flush against the door looking up to her with your innocent eyes. “You’re not ready for that type of attention.” She was looking at you now as if to be assessing your worth to her, “I will teach you to be good, how to belong to someone.”

“But I want to make my own choices.” You plead, your cheeks flushed as her grip tightened harder than before, your throat caught in the whirlwind of her anger and jealousy.

“No you don’t” Her voice had calmed and her grasp around your neck was now just fingers brushing against your skin, finding the curve of your jaw and gently caressing you. “You want me to take care of you.”

You couldn’t help but nod, the truth of her words resonating deep within you. You had wanted this since the moment you set your eyes on her, you just didn’t really know what this was before now. You felt your innocent leaking out of you in the form of your arousal dampening your already ruined underwear.

“You don’t think pretty girl, just let Mommy think for you.” Her fingers like fire brushing against your heated skin, a stark contrast to the anger still simmering beneath the surface. “Aw, you like the idea of that don’t you.” Her breath was stern against your neck, “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.” Her hand brushing the pink flush of your cheeks, one side significantly darker from the slap you received earlier.

“Now Mommy’s going to teach you how to behave.” She teases, finally letting go of your face and your throat and you breathe heavily in order to catch up with your racing heart race. You’re stuck flush against the door, watching as she packs up a section of Vision’s desk, tapping the top of the wooden surface, gesturing you to come and sit up on it.

You do it immediately, but as you go to perch against it she grabs your thighs from underneath and roughly pushes you to where she wants you. Her hands bunch your dress up to your waist, revealing your light pink underwear, a little bow sewn in the middle of the hem. She also saw that you weren’t wearing tights, but thigh high socks and she scoffed at the sight of you.

She cups your pussy, only again chuckling at the warm dampness that immediately soaked into her palm. “Honey you’re soaking for mommy.” She places more pressure into you, the heel of her palm pushing dangerously into your sensitive clit, making you yelp. You could tell that you looked guilty, immediately remembering how you’d ruined them a few hours before. “Have you touched yourself in these?”

You nod shamefully and she hooks her finger under the hem at the side, yanking them down quickly and removing them completely from your legs. “Did you get some big feelings, pretty girl? Tell me.” She bunched your panties in her hands, bringing them up to her face and inhaling your sweet scent before tossing them to the side.

You could choke on her words, but when she pushed your thighs apart wider, standing between you, forcing them to stay open as she roughly pushed two fingers inside of you, immediately curling them upwards at a relentless pace you had never experienced before. “Tell me.” She warns dangerously, quickening her pace, wanting to hear the desperate shake in your voice.

“There was a funny feeling in my stomach that night you kissed me.” You panted heavily, “I had to touch myself, imagining that it was you.” You sounded so pathetic but Wanda was lapping it up, her thumb finding your clit as you leant back against the desk, holding yourself up by gripping the opposite end of the desk.

“When was this pretty girl?” Wanda asks, her motions now remaining a continuous pace now that she’d found the one level higher than it seemed you could take comfortably.

“Last night.”

“And you wore them today.” Wanda scoffs, her smirk dangerous and sultry, her green eyes dark as she starts thrusting hard into you. You nod in shame, your head hanging low as she scrunched your eyes at the rough contact against your bundle of nerves. “You’re filthy aren’t you, a filthy little girl for mommy.”

“Yes Mommy, I’m your filthy little girl.” You could barely string sentences together, each word caught in a high pitched moan. You hear footsteps from outside the office, people walking by and Wanda stills her movements, pulling out of you and moving backwards remembering that she’d forgotten to lock the door.

“You sound so pretty for Mommy, but you need to stay quiet.” She whispers, her own hand dipping underneath her dress, feeling the soaked fabric of her own underwear before pulling them off. You watch in awe as her black laced panties hooped at her ankles, she steps out of them, the click of her heels louder as they step back to the ground. She bunches them in her hand, her other hand grazing your lips, prying them open before slotting her dampened underwear between your lips, “For safe measure.” She smirked, you looked so pathetically desperate with her laced lingerie gagging you.

You felt dizzy as the taste of her arousal leaked onto your tongue, you groaned at the sweet taste of her, but your groan was painfully muffled. She delivered a quick slap to your thighs, you opened your legs immediately and she pushed her fingers back inside of you, once again not giving you a chance to react before she was thrusting harshly into you. “You enjoy the taste of Mommy while I ask you why you’ve come to work looking like such a slut when you don’t work for me, but rather my husband.”

You try to defend yourself, but no words come out as your tongue continues to circle the dampened fabric, barely able to see as Wanda adds a third finger to the other two relentlessly working inside of you. “Who are you trying to impress?” You shake your head at the accusation, no other way of getting your words across.

Your core is trembling as Wanda harshly fucks you with her fingers, her nails now digging into your back, forcing you forward to lean into her chest. The new angle made her go insanely deeper inside of you, leaving you moaning loudly into her chest. Your head rested right against her breasts and you could feel her painfully erect nipples against your cheek through her dress.

As her thumb begins to draw torturous circles around your clit, the sensations are way too stimulating for someone of your little experience. You tug desperately at the buttons of her dress and she looks down at you while her wrist continues its same rough thrusts. “You wanna suck on Mommy?” You nod frantically at the assumption and she smiles at you, placing a gentle kiss to your temple, your emotions confused at the gentle gesture while her fingers were fucking you dumb. She removed her underwear from your mouth, draping them over the edge of the desk as a constant reminder that she could gag you if you mess up.

She allows you to undo the top of her dress, managing to find your way to her soft porcelain skin, her breast perked upwards and you immediately latch onto her hardened nub. You whimper softly at the feeling of your lips against her nipple, using your tongue to softly flick over her breast, making it easier for you to manage the pace in which she was fucking you, her nails gripping into your waist, pulling your front flush against hers as your mouth refuses to let go of your natural gag.

Each time her thumb flicked your clit so precisely, you whined against her nipple, the vibrations making her wrist pump harder into you. She felt you suckles getting harder, your teeth lightly grazing as you felt your core tighten around her fingers. “You’re close aren’t you princess.”

You nod desperately, letting go of her aching nipple with a pop as you look up at her pleadingly. “Those puppy dog eyes aren’t letting me forget how you let Natasha touch you, only good girls get to cum when they want.” Then suddenly all contact was removed from you and you looked up at her with desperate confusion. She brushes her hand across your lips, your sweet arousal lingering on your mouth.

“Mommy?” You say, your voice laced with confusion as you are left on the brink of your orgasm, your hips jutting uncontrollably to try and gain contact.

“Mommy wants to taste you, I’ll give you what you want once I hear what I want from that pretty mouth of yours.” She says, her voice stern as she drops to her knees in front of you, her hands caressing your inner legs through those sheer thigh-highs that were driving Wanda crazy. She imagined having you in her and Visions bed, ankles lied to your wrists as you lied on your front before she fucked you senseless with her strap. But she was more than satisfied as she smelt your arousal in front of you, your wetness glistening against your skin and your perfect folds. She was obsessed with the way your pussy looked, so tight and neat, perfectly untouched.

Wanda pushes her hair behind her ears, diving in to consume you, taking one long lick from the bottom of your slit, right up to the top of your trembling clit. She looked up at you, trying your best to sit so she could see your face, your eyes crunched and bottom lip between your teeth. “Who do you belong to?” She asks, before sucking against your exposed clit, protruding desperately as she clasps her lips around it.

“You Mommy only you.” You pant breathlessly, your feet digging hard into her back in an attempt to stay still and docile for Wanda. She continued to suck against you, pulling back, kissing an individual kiss against your bundle of nerves.

“Who is not allowed to go near you.” She says, before diving straight back in, this time her hand reaches the top of your mound, stretching your skin upwards so her tongue could flick harshly against your aching clit, pushing you dangerously close to the edge.

“Natasha.”

With the name spoken, her teeth gently nip at your clit and you let out an exasperated cry of pain before she soothes it with her saliva, spitting softly onto your cunt so her tongue would glide effortlessly through your folds. She pulls back one more time, enjoying the sound of your worn out voice, still trying so hard to please her. “What happens if Mommy finds out something like today happens again.”

“Mommy will punish me.” You gasp, your core burning as the orgasm twirled in your stomach, threatening to rip right through you as Wanda maintains her hold, leaving your clit completely exposed to the rough attack of her tongue. You were doing everything you can to drag out the feelings of pleasure and pain against your cunt, not wanting this spaced out feeling to end, you knew you’d do anything she asked, take anything she wanted you to in this moment. With the grip of her nails into your waist, her tongue relentlessly working you up you reach the point of no return, the inevitable orgasm ripping through you at an intense level, your skin felt like it was burning apart as her name tumbled from your lips, her tongue not once stopping.

She continued until you rode out your high, your hips rutting against her tongue as she tried to hold you down, but secretly loving the feeling of your body not being able to control itself, knocking into her mouth over and over again. Once you let out your last heavy breath, Wanda emerged from under your bunched up dress, one final kiss delivered to your entrance before immediately grabbing you into a soft, gentle kiss that shared your arousal through your tongues sliding against each other.

“That's a good girl, I think you learned your lesson.” Wanda smirks, pulling you into a careful embrace as your body shakes against her hold. “Now you go back out there and pretend Mommy didn’t just fuck you dumb in your bosses office.”

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nothanksofficer · 2 months ago

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we are all sinners (imagine)

starring: you, remmick, and bo pairing: remmick/reader & bo/reader warnings: slight nsfw, open-at-your-own-risk, dark romance, vampirism, corruption, moral and literal seduction, temptation, sharing is caring(?), reverse harem(ish), hive-mind, manipulation summary: in this world, there is no grace chow. only y/n chow. and boy, does that have consequences word count: 1k+ oneshot ver: 1.0

"because i know everything he knows now. and i want you to let us in there."

"Oh yeah, i know everything now. Even how you like to be licked. I can promise I won't bite too hard."

a/n: pls be kind. this was just a random idea. note that most of the lines are just what i vaguely remember/can find on the original script. for the most part, reader's race is up to your interpretation. bolded lines can be interpreted into any language you want

you are a budding artist who made a name for herself after becoming the town's unofficial sign maker/painter. colors were your art, and its not just how you earned your keep, but it's also how you met bo.

you and bo have been married for almost two years now (sorry lisa don't exist here...yet).

so when smoke comes in one day, asking for some supplies, help, and a new sign in need of painting, that's where you come in

you don't know the twins personally, but you trust bo. and the extra money doesn't hurt for your...future family planning

at the juke club, you and bo are a seamless team, alternating between working and partying. every time you walk by, he's always trying to pull you into his arms. Whether it's for a quick kiss or dance, he never passes on the chance

you briefly overhear the commotion at the door, followed by some singing. after getting a quick peek at the white folk, your eyes meet the banjo player's, who then gives you a wink as bo leads you away. neither of you notice remmick's eyes following you as he does

Remmick first motions at Mary. "How'd she get in?" "She here because she's family." Unconvinced, Remmick makes a show of looking at you and Bo next. "And those two?" This time, it's Smoke who answers. "They're family, too."

later on, when bo comes running over to tell you stack's been killed, you immediately want to leave. you get a really bad feeling and your gut tells you that you can't stay here. after some desperate convincing, bo agrees to get the car

"You wait right here, baby. I'll be right back before you know it," he promises, giving your forehead a kiss. Little do you know, that is the last time you will see your husband. At least the human version of him.

cornbread happens. and stack comes back to life. the entire group has to stop you from leaving to go find bo

"Let me go! I need to go after Bo!" "Careful now. You walk out there, Y/N, you might not walk back in." "I can't just sit here and do nothing! My husband is outside with those—those things!" But Smoke puts his foot down, stopping your argument in its tracks. "Bo can handle himself, Y/N. Besides, you know he wouldn't want to put you at risk either. Bo'd want you here. Inside. Where it's safe."

the group finds the 'dead' body. when sammie and smoke go to throw it outside, remmick's singing and the cheering of former friends and guests, lure you to the entrance, just enough to take a peek. (to your relief, you don't see bo anywhere near them)

after the garlic eating scene, you are left on watch duty at the main entrance. everyone else is resting, or preparing more weapons in the back. you hear gurgling form outside, and out of curiosity, you open the door, only to see cornbread tearing into the 'not-dead' body outside.

you nearly scream to warn the others. that is, until bo appears.

your first instinct is to pull him inside into safety. but...the way he swaggers past cornbread, smiling at you like nothing was wrong, made your heart stop (and not in a good way)

"Hey, baby," he grins, and for a moment, you can almost believe it's actually your husband. Keyword being, almost. "Come on outside. I got the car started for you. Let's go!" "Bo...?" The sound of flesh tearing and squelching makes you nauseous, and you take a step back. Bo frowns, but masks it with a charming smile. "What is it, Y/N?" "Cornbread...he's killing him—" "Oh, don't worry about him, baby. He's just a little hungry, is all," he says offhandedly. "Let's go." Bo winks at you, and you flinch. He's never winked like that at you before. The only one who ever has was— "Come on. I got the car all warmed up." But when you don't make a move to follow, he sighs before sauntering up to the door with a knowing look on his face. "Or...you let me back in there, and we can grab our things and head home?" Bo's eyes flash an inhuman silver as he looms over you from the doorframe. "We can even make a pit stop. Maybe even have some of our own fun on the way back."

when Remmick appears, you nearly sob, realizing this isn't your husband anymore

Still, Bo tries to convince you, nonetheless. "It's better this way, baby. So why don't you go and invite us in?" "You should listen to him, Y/N. Or listen to me. Because I know everything he knows now. And trust me, darling, he really wants you to let us in there," Remmick adds. "That's not true. Bo would never..." "Believe me, baby. I just want you to be free. Like him. Like me," Bo says almost reverently. Lovingly. As if the prospect of becoming one of them was a blessing, rather than a curse. "We can be together again. All you have to do is...Let. Us. In." "Listen to your husband now, darling. Can't you see that he—that we—just want what's best for you?" Despite Remmick's words, you can't tear your eyes away from Bo. "You're not...you're not my husband." Despite the cloudy glow in Bo's eyes, there is no hiding the hurt in them. Remmick, however, only looks at you with condescending disappointment. "Well, that's not very nice of you to say," he tsks. "You did this to him. You...you monster," you hiss. "Me? I just gave him what he wanted. Freedom. A family. In fact, this was his idea, you know. He wanted to change you first," Remmick reveals with a hungry grin. "And who am I to deny him?" "You're lying." "Am I? I know everything he knows. Every little thought. Every single memory. I even know how you like to be licked, darling." Remmick's words shake you. But it's Bo's follow-up that makes you choke. "And we promise we won't bite, baby. Not unless you want it."

a/n: and that's all i have for now. let me know if this is worth continuing. otherwise hope u enjoyed the story

#sinners 2025 #remmick #remmick x reader #remmick x you #bo chow #bo chow x reader #imagine #sinners imagine #sinners fanfiction #dark romance #sinners fic #sinners x reader #x reader #reader insert #fem reader #female reader #sinners movie

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veal-exe · 1 month ago

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the way western society normalizes hostility toward romantic partnerships, especially ones that involve a masc partner, is genuinely toxic and deeply dehumanizing. there is this baked-in cultural script where masc people are positioned as burdens, villains, punchlines, or ticking time bombs in relationships. and once you notice it, it’s everywhere.

when i talk about my wife, the reaction is so often warmth. admiration. people say she sounds wonderful (she is), they say our relationship seems like a dream (it is, actually, thank you!), they call us relationship #goals. i light up when i talk about her. i love her. she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and being able to talk about that openly is such a joy. i once got crazy drunk at a party (this was when I was still in my early 20s, a different era of my life for sure lmao), stood on a chair, and gave a speech about how much i loved her and wished she was at that party.

but when she talks about me? it’s so often met with weirdness. suspicion. cruelty. even from people who haven’t met me. people joke, they jab, they offer unsolicited concern or imply dysfunction before she’s even said anything that might warrant it.

she says she’s tired, or anxious, or she had a rough day, and they immediately assume it’s a relationship problem. and not just that, they assume i’m the problem. without context. without hesitation. having never met me. it’s like they come in ready to believe i’m the root of her distress. like it’s a default setting, preloaded with assumptions about masc partners. it’s exhausting, and it’s cruel.

and then there’s the really insidious stuff, like when she casually mentioned to a brand new coworker that i’m allergic to blueberries, and their first response was: “well at least you know how to poison him if you need to!”

think about that for a moment.

just… sit with it.

someone she barely knew, upon hearing the most benign fact about me, didn’t say “oh no, food allergies are tough!” or “gotta be careful with that!” they went straight to murder joke. this person hadn’t even met me. and the first thing they felt comfortable joking about with my wife was the idea of killing me.

and people act like that’s funny. like that’s normal. like it’s expected.

but it’s not funny. it’s not normal. it is an extension of a deeply rooted cultural narrative that devalues love, resents intimacy, and paints masc people as disposable, antagonistic, or inherently abusive. it creates an environment where tenderness is suspect, where joy is questioned, and where people, especially femme or femme adjacent people, are quietly encouraged to view their partners not as allies, but as eventual enemies! that's so sad!

it is heinous. and it chips away at us. at trust. at safety. at being allowed to just love each other in peace.

my wife and i love each other. we support each other. we adore each other. we are tender, and playful, and honest, and openly affectionate. and still, people feel comfortable responding to that love by implying violence. by assuming conflict. by projecting dysfunction.

i want better for her. i want better for us. i want better for everyone trying to build something loving in a culture that acts like love is a trap.

you don’t have to think we’re perfect. but you do have to treat our love with respect. and if you can’t do that, you’re not someone we want near it.

and while we’re on the subject: do you know how maddening it is to watch people go out of their way to privately message my wife! my wife! to shittalk me? to try and stir something up, to start some weird little whisper campaign because they didn’t like a take i had, or didn’t like the way i worded something? they sneak into her dms like it’s their sacred duty to “warn” her, or play devil’s advocate, or lowkey vent about me to her, as if she’s just this passive, neutral vessel who might be won over to their side. as if she has not been married to me, on purpose, for years.

and like. the entitlement of that alone is jusr? staggering. she’s not your fucking inside woman. she’s not your spy. and she is not your tool to try and triangulate some imaginary interpersonal drama.

not only does she share most of my so-called “big opinions” (why do you think we’re married), but even if she didn’t! even if she didn’t agree with me on every single thing! it is so profoundly inappropriate to try to sow discord between us. especially when it’s just because someone didn’t like a post or opinion I have. you are not doing anything brave or righteous when you do that. you are trying to isolate a marginalized couple from their mutual support system. and you need to ask yourself why that is something you feel compelled to do.

and it doesn’t stop there. here on tumblr, people will befriend her, knowing she is married to a multigender transmasc person! and then go on to reblog and boost the most vile, hurtful shit about masc people/trans men/etc. just hateful garbage dressed up as discourse or “critical thought” or whatever flavor of thinly veiled bigotry is trending that week.

do you have any idea what it feels like to witness that? do you have any idea how heartbreaking it is? this is someone trying to make friends, trying to connect, trying to exist with softness and warmth in a world that already makes that hard and people keep showing her that their care and respect stops where mine begins.

and it’s not just about me. it’s about how deeply embedded this disgust and resentment is, socially, toward anyone who’s masc, toward anyone who steps outside the boundaries of what a “safe” queer person is supposed to look like. people feel entitled to show us disdain, and then act shocked when we don’t want to stick around for it.

and you know what it actually does? it isolates people. it drives wedges where there should be community. it makes people who want to be open and kind feel like they have to choose between friendship and integrity. it steals the joy of shared space. it poisons the well.

this is what happens when hatred gets repackaged as progress. this is what happens when people mistake cruelty for critique. and it fucking sucks.

be better.

or leave us alone.

#txt

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sevsevteen · 8 days ago

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hey! can I request a 14th member au where y/n missed a shoot because she collapse on the way of driving there, and no one knew before someone got called by the hospital, i NEED angst.

-> You can choose the reasoning on like why she collapsed and who got called!! 〔 •͈ᴗ⁃͈⊹〕 ♡

(This is my first time requesting so I'm so sorry if I did something wrong.. huhu)

hii there,, i combined these two asks! halfway through i forgot about the angst part...so it's a lil short 😭 this is a more lighthearted take instead

-- જ⁀➴°⋆

The sun was beginning to dip when you turned onto the highway exit, knuckles white around the steering wheel. Your schedule had run late - a last-minute visit to your parents - and now you were racing to catch up with the rest of the members, who were awaiting your arrival to film another variety content.

“Ten more minutes,” you muttered to yourself, eyes flitting between the road and the car clock.

You never made it.

It happened too fast.

A blur of your vision.

The screech of rubber.

The sickening crunch of metal.

Your phone flung off the dashboard, seatbelt yanking you back violently as glass rained across her windshield. Then…darkness.

“Still nothing?” Vernon asked, brows furrowed as he approached the manager, who looked equally tense.

“She said she’d be here by now,” the manager murmured, eyes on his phone. “She left home almost an hour ago. No messages since.”

“She’s never late,” Jihoon said, stepping over. “Did she call in?”

“Her phone’s dead or something,” Jeonghan added, letting his phone turn red on the 'Call Disconnected' screen for what felt like the tenth time.

Vernon tried to shake off the chill crawling up his spine. “She wouldn’t ghost us. Not like this.”

They were just starting to grow concerned - until every member’s phone buzzed at once.

[PLEDIS ENTERTAINMENT OFFICIAL STATEMENT]

“We regret to inform that one of Seventeen's members were involved in a car accident earlier this evening. She is currently receiving treatment at the hospital. More details will be shared once her condition is stabilized...”

The air vanished from the room.

“No,” Vernon muttered, heart sinking.

“She was coming here,” Mingyu said, voice hoarse.

“She didn’t even call…” Chan whispered, shaking his head.

“Let’s go,” Seungcheol said immediately. “Now.”

No one argued. No hesitation. Bags abandoned, scripts dropped.

They were in the vans within five minutes, speeding toward the hospital. The silence in the vehicle was suffocating.

The fluorescent lights were too harsh, the antiseptic smell too sharp.

The manager stood in the hallway, phone to his ear, talking rapidly with PR staff when he looked up - startled to see thirteen figures rushing in.

“She’s stable,” he said, breathlessly. “A fractured arm, sprained ankle, some bruising. She passed out from shock but woke up a while ago.”

“Where is she?” Vernon asked, already pushing past.

“Room 204,” the manager answered. “But-”

Too late. They were already down the hall.

You were half-sitting up when the door creaked open.

Your eyes blinked groggily from behind an oxygen clip. Arm in a cast, leg elevated. Your other hand clutched the thin blanket as she shifted to see who had come in.

“...Vernon?”

He was the first through the door, eyes glassy with relief and lingering fear.

“Hey,” he breathed, kneeling beside her bed. “You scared the hell out of us.”

“I didn’t mean to…” you rasped, guilt already sinking in. “My phone-”

The two of you turned to your ran-over phone. Shattered screen, bending at the edges, completely unusable.

“It doesn’t matter,” Seungkwan said, following close behind, eyes misty. “You’re okay. That’s all that matters.”

The others slowly piled into the small hospital room, surrounding you like a warm wall of safety. Joshua pulled the chair closer. Jeonghan rubbed your shoulder gently. Even Jun, offered you his hoodie to keep you warm.

Vernon stayed closest, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

You blinked at all their intense, quiet faces and… laughed. A raspy giggle left your lips.

Everyone paused.

“I appreciate the drama, really,” you teased, voice hoarse but warm, “but I swear I just tripped into some minor injuries as an added plot. You all look like I flatlined.”

“Yah!” Seungcheol scolded, though relief was clear in his voice. “You were unconscious in a wrecked car!”

“And your phone is shattered!” Chan added.

“And the company had to drop an emergency press statement!” Mingyu threw in.

You raised an eyebrow. “Okay, okay, fair. But I’m fine now, look!” You awkwardly waved her good hand before adding with a grin, “Kinda feel like I’m in a K-drama hospital scene though. Should I request romantic background music?”

Jeonghan snorted. “I’m requesting you never do your own stunts again.”

“You’re banned from driving for a while,” Jihoon muttered, scribbling a mental list.

“I just passed my driver’s license renewal,” you huffed.

“Irrelevant,” Soonyoung deadpanned.

They ended up staying longer than allowed, laughing softly through their worry, some members sitting on the floor, others stealing the nurse’s extra chairs. But eventually, the nurse poked her head in with a warning glance, and they knew they had to leave.

One by one, they gave you gentle hugs, promising to visit again in the morning.

All but Vernon.

“Let’s go, non,” Seungcheol called gently from the door, nodding toward the hallway.

Vernon shook his head. “I’m staying.”

You blinked. “Wait, you don’t have to-”

“I know,” he said quietly, settling into the chair beside your bed. “But I want to.”

There was a pause, your tired eyes searching his - not just for comfort, but for the steady calm he always gave you.

“…Okay,” you whispered.

The room dimmed as the hallway lights shut off, leaving only the soft hum of machines and Vernon’s breathing beside you. He leaned his head back against the wall, watching over you as you drifted off again.

And though your arm throbbed and ankle stung, you somehow felt like you’d never been more safe.

click for tooth rotting sweetness

#seventeen 14th member #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen drabbles #seventeen x reader #seventeen #svt 14th member #svt #svt scenarios #svt imagines #sevsevasks

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loonylupinblack3 · 11 months ago

Note

Heyy! I absolutely adore your work and I was wondering if I could make a request? A Logan x reader fic where they’re out at a bar and the reader is on the shy side, so when Logan steps aside and a sleazy man tries to get handsy with her, she doesn’t really know what to do. Logan steps in though, protective and fuming. Hope this makes sense!

If not, no worries at all and I hope you have a wonderful day, love!! 💗💗

My Hero

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: sleazy man being sleazy, the blatant ignorance of consent, small amount of violence, swearing

Word count: 2k

A/N: hope you enjoy anon <3

You hated big social events. They were your worst nightmare. You hated the amount of people everywhere and the talking and the strangers and all of it. You much preferred one on one, with people you knew and trusted.

Social events just made you uncomfortable. You couldn’t act like other people could. You weren’t easy to talk to or excited to meet strangers. You were awkward and your words came out stilted. You needed a script to follow when speaking to people, and any straying from that script left you vulnerable, confused and scared.

So safe to say these social outings the X men insisted on having weren’t your thing. They claimed it would improve team relationships by completing fun activities together, yet everyone had decided getting drunk at a club was the best fun activity.

You were strongly opposed but it was mandatory, so with incredible reluctance you let your boyfriend drag you to the club, promising to spend the whole night with you and not have a single drink.

Knowing Logan, that was a big promise, and also knowing him as your boyfriend, you knew he’d keep his word. He knew how uncomfortable you got in big groups of people, and he enjoyed the idea of helping you, of being the reason you could bear it.

When you arrived a feeling of dread washed over you, thudding music coming from the warehouse-looking building, and fractures of bright light escaping through the cracks of the door. Logan put his arm around your waist, pulling you close, and you revelled in the safety you felt from it, sticking close as you entered the club.

Loud noise immediately assaulted your senses, and you scrunched up your face as your ears screamed in protest. The music was blaring through speakers dotted all over the room, blasting you to near deafness.

You moved closer to Logan, the man tightening his grip on you. “You alright?”

His voice, barely heard over the loud music, was still a huge relief to you, your beating heart easing slightly. You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m not dying.”

He laughed at your words, his body shaking in the process. You smiled, as you always did whenever you made Logan smile or laugh, a small sense of pride flaring inside you. The good feeling helped you push forward, finding a seat at the bar. Logan sat right next to you as he said he would, and when the bartender inquired what drinks you both wanted he settled for soft drinks for both of you.

You smiled into your hands, feeling slightly giddy that he kept his word even though you knew he was going to. It was something about him deciding not to drink on one of his only nights out because it would better comfort you that made you so delighted.

Logan gently pried your hands away from your face with a smirk. “If I’m not drinking tonight you may as well let me reap the rewards for it. I wanna see that pretty smile of yours.”

Of course those words only made your smile widened, heat rushing to your cheeks at the compliment, and Logan stared with unwavering focus, a smug smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“You’re insufferable,” you mumbled, looking away.

Logan chuckled, hands snaking to your waist. “You know you love me.”

Unable to resist you turned to look at him, eyes gazing at his features, memorising every blemish on his skin. “Yeah, I do.”

Logan grinned widely at your confession, though you’ve said those words many times before. He just seemed to get a sense of satisfaction every time you spoke them, a reminder that you really did love him, and that you were his.

The sounds of commotion took your attention away, and you heard Scott’s raised voice but couldn’t spot him through the crowd, nor decipher what he was saying. Logan’s brows creased in concern and he looked like he wanted to go check it out, but loyalty to you and his promise to stay by your side stilled his restless body.

“Go,” you urged him, knowing he wanted to check up on his friend. “I’ll be fine here for a few minutes.”

He hesitated still, loyalty to two different people warring inside him. At your sincere expression, however, he leaned in close, pressing a kiss to your forehead and whispering a promise of returning soon before he disappeared into the crowd.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, turning back to the bar and staring at your brightly coloured fizzy drink, though you didn’t take a sip. You hoped Logan would be back soon, for though all your talk of being able to handle yourself you still felt vulnerable and alone, even in a room packed full of people.

“All alone there Missy?”

Your head whipped to the side to the source of the question, finding a man much older than you leaning on the bar, eyeing you appreciatively.

You shifted about nervously, swallowing thickly. You hated talking to strangers. “Um, no, I have a few friends here.”

The man raised his eyebrows, making a show of looking around the bar before zeroing back on you. “So then where are they?”

You felt uncomfortable that he was still talking to you and pathetically shrugged your shoulders. “They said they’d be back soon.”

The man nodded, humming slightly before sidling closer to you. As you were seated you couldn’t very well move away, but you longed to when you smelt the alcoholic tang on the man’s breath.

“The name’s Hiram,” he spoke, using a hand to ruffle his hair slightly.

You thought he looked ridiculous.

“Y/n,” you murmured quietly instead, because you weren’t sure what else to say.

The man, Hiram, seemed to take that as an invitation to move closer, his breath in your face and hand on your shoulder. You tried to lightly shake it off but he had a vice grip, fingers uncomfortably digging into your skin.

“Why don’t we leave this place Y/n?” he offered, hand trailing to your lower back.

You were extremely uncomfortable as of this moment and was grasping for something to say to make the man leave you alone.

“Please let go of me,” was your meek response, feeling both foolish and defenceless.

The man scoffed, hand moving to hold your arm in a tight grip. “Listen Y/n, let’s just have some fun ‘kay? You don’t need to make it a big deal.”

You ignored him, tugging your arm out of his hand and sliding off the stool, intending to search for Logan. The man was fast though, his slimy arm wrapping around your waist and jerking you towards him.

An icky, sickly feeling overtook you, the overwhelming sense of fear flooding your senses. You didn’t want this grimy man’s hands on you and certainly didn’t want his revolting breath in your face. You wanted to be home curled up on your bed with a book in hand, your boyfriend’s arms wrapped around you and his chin resting gently on your head as he read over your shoulder.

This was not what you wanted, but you’d told him that and he’d ignored it so you didn’t know what you were supposed to do now.

“Please, leave me alone-” you pleaded, desperately trying to tug yourself away from him.

He groaned like you were the one being difficult, tightening his grip on your waist to the point it was painful. “It won’t even be for that long-”

“She said leave her alone.”

Relief bloomed in your chest, even with the dirty man’s fingers still digging into your flesh. Hiram turned to look over his shoulder, eyes widened slightly at the sight of Logan towering over him, a white fury in his eyes.

He didn’t bow out immediately, however, which took guts, because a lesser man would have taken one glance at the fuming look on Logan’s face and bolted.

“C’mon man, just having some fun,” Hiram laughed, hand sliding lower down your waist.

Logan noted the movement, his jaw clicking as he stared at Hiram like he was his next meal. “You get the fuck away from her or I’ll make you.”

The man scoffed, taking a step forward, and then suddenly was on the floor, a cry of pain coming from his lips as he cradled his now broken nose. Logan moved forward, stepping on the man’s fingers as he did so, a sickening crack accompanying the action, before he was in front of you and wrapping you up in his arms.

“M’so sorry Bub,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

You shook your head but was grateful he was here, burrowing your head into his chest in an attempt to escape it all. “Can we go home?”

Logan was already leading you to the exit. “Of course. The others’ll understand.”

You were grateful as Logan drove you home, but you couldn’t get the feeling of the man’s grimy hands off you. You felt dirty, tainted, like he’d wiped mud on you and you needed to clean it off. Logan noticed your unease as you entered your shared room, and inquired gently as to what the matter was.

When you confessed your feelings, describing the awful ickiness crawling up your arms, and the phantom touch of the man’s hands imprinted upon your skin, Logan gently took your hand and led you to the bathroom, where he started filling the bathtub full of warm water, adding the strawberry essence you liked so much. He beckoned you to get into the tub and you did gently, taking each piece of clothing off and feeling the man’s hold more deeply, like he was still touching you beneath your clothes.

It made you want to cry as you sat in the tub, knees to your chest. That was until you felt Logan’s hands, marred from centuries of violence, rub your skin with the softest touch, soap coating his fingers. The realisation that he was washing you, delicately cleaning every spot of your skin with his hands, was too much to bear and the tears started falling, but Logan just kissed them all away as he continued cleaning you.

Bit by bit he cleaned you off, making sure no part of you was untouched, wiping the man away from your body. You felt relief and an undying amount of love and gratitude for the man before you. It was hard to imagine him as the formidable Wolverine, because right now he was caring for you with such gentleness you were putty in his hands.

Fully cleaned off, the man’s hold a distant memory, Logan dried you off and dressed you in one of his shirts, knowing you felt safe with your body swamped in his clothes. He then gently carried you bridal style into your bedroom, holding you with a softness you hadn’t known he possessed.

He tucked you in the sheets, made sure you were the utmost comfortable before sliding in beside you, immediately pulling you to him, your back to his chest, and just holding you. You couldn’t have asked for a better moment, and gratefully melted into his embrace, feeling the safest you had all night.

“I love you Sweatheart,” he murmured into your hair, pressing a kiss to prove his words.

A delightful shiver ran down your spine at the action and you sighed in contentment, moving further into his embrace. Things were now as they should be, the two of you wrapped up in each other as the night slowly crept by. In the morning you’d wake up to your head in the crook of Logan’s neck like it always ended up, your limbs tangled together and breathing in sync.

For now though you let your eyes droop, a smile on your lips as you whispered, “I love you too.”

Logan held you a bit tighter after the words, a desperate feeling of love and awe overcoming him, and gently brushed your hair as you fell asleep, before he eventually followed suit, with you in his arms like you were supposed to be.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine x reader #wolverine fic #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #x men #xmen #xmen fic #x men x reader #x men fanfiction #x men fic

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idyllicbarb · 5 months ago

Text

FOREVER MY LADY, AARON PIERRE

synopsis: a look into your world being aaron pierre’s love interest in a new film.

pairing: aaron pierre x actress!reader

warnings: slow burn, flirty!aaron, shy!reader, cussing, fluff.

word count: 2k+

You've been acting since you were ten-years old. Watching your mother and father become award winning stars motivated you to become one yourself. Now, you're thirty-years old with a few Emmys on your shoulder. Though, your biggest goal is to become an Oscar winner. Time feels as if it's running out for you, though the journey towards the life you’ve always dreamed of is slowly working out for itself.

There's this itch in the back of your mind, you can't scratch it. You feel as if it has something to do with your love life. It's shitty and lonely, you always hear your girls gossip about how the dating pool is shit.

You haven't had a serious relationship since college. Your boyfriend was your high school sweetheart, you two decided to keep the relationship going by attending Spelman and Morehouse College. Things took a turn when you caught him cheating on you during a block party. Ever since, you've stayed to yourself and your work. Keeping a small circle of friends and always staying in-touch with your family; the thought of a relationship has moved to the back of your mind.

"Girl, men would perish if you gave them one teeny tiny little chance," Your friend, Chastity, said while fixing your hair before you two hit the town for the evening. You laughed her off, reminding her that you're committed to your craft.

"Yes I know, but having a lil' yeah or a lil' shit shouldn't knock you off balance that much." Your brows furrowed in confusion.

"A lil' shit? What the hell is a lil' shit, Chasity?" You stare at your friend in confusion, she shrugs her shoulders while putting the finishing touches on your hair.

"My niece says that's what the kids say nowadays, it's kinda cute," Chasity says spraying herself with your perfume; you ignore the fact that it's your perfume. "Yeah keyword, 'kinda," you rebuttal with causing Chasity to burst into a fit of laughter.

—

Since that late evening with Chasity, you've decided to let your guard down a bit. Entertaining yourself by talking with a few men here and there; though they could never scratch that itch of yours. Again, the dating pool, especially your age range, sucks ass.

The thought of dating another celebrity scared the hell out of you too. You've heard the whispers and rumors on how truly nasty, disgusting, and low-down some celebrities can be. It disturbed your presence deeply, you didn't want that in your life.

But your body had a different response to your feelings. You guess you could say you had a thing for your handsome love interest in your new film, 30. A film in which you and a long-time childhood friend of yours agrees to get married to each other, if both are still single, by the time you two hit the age of thirty-years old.

You like it; a very cliche rom-com. Also, you love rom-coms, especially ones that details black love. You love being the representation you could never find when you were younger.

With a fine ass love interest like Aaron, you feel yourself falling head over heels for that man. Oh how sweet he was when you two first met to do the chemistry test. Analise, the director, gushed over how well you two mesh. It's as if you can read Aaron's mind and Aaron can read yours; that's how well you two work together. The production crew loved seeing you two interact. Some would say that Aaron is your work-husband; your face would turn red and you'd immediately end the conversation there.

But those people were correct. Everytime you came on set, the first thing you did was find Aaron and spend time with him inside his or yours trailer. You two wouldn't even be going over the script, just sitting there basking in each other's warmth. There would be times where you'd bring your vinyls and record player, sitting on the floor letting Aaron soak up all the music you enjoy listening to.

"You love Beyoncé I see." Aaron comments as he watches you sing along to the song being played. Bday was your second favorite album from Beyoncé, self-titled being your first. It was something about Bey’s music that made you feel welcomed and safe.

Sighing, you give Aaron a soft smile before scooting closer to him, "Of course, she's gotten me through so much. You wouldn't understand."

It's quiet for a few beats, letting the song Flaws and All come to an end.

Aaron lifts his hand running it through a few strands of your loose curls, you decided to finally touch up your hair after days of leaving it up in a ponytail. "Maybe I wouldn't understand, but I'd like to try."

You turn your head towards Aaron, you're staring at him but not into his eyes. You could never hold eye contact with Aaron or anybody really; you'd get nervous really face and turn away with a blush masked on your face.

"One day, I'll tell you everything." You mumble quietly. Aaron gives you a soft smile and leans forward to plant a kiss on your forehead, "I'll be waiting."

You’d never tell Aaron but you hold a piece of that day in your heart. He gives the most gentle hugs you've ever received along with the most sweet, loving, and encouraging words you heard every day on set from him. Aaron has been an amazing co-star and now best friend to you. You might even say, he’s changed your opinion on dating inside the industry.

You pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind for later. Now, it's about 11am and you're getting prepared for the day. A few interviews and a run through of how the world premiere of 30 will go. You and Aaron are supposed to give a small speech before the invited guests get to watch the film you, Aaron, and so many others worked hard on for the last few months.

—

"You look stunning," John, a makeup artist, says once you stepped inside of the small party room that's being held behind the curtains.

Out the corner of your eye, you see Aaron staring at you but you can't read his facial expression. Ignoring it, you turn your attention back towards John. "Thanks boo, you know I had to look good for tonight."

John and a few others around him hype you up as you give them a twirl in your dress along with a hair flip. Laughing and waving them off, you head your way over towards the direction of the movie, Analise.

"Analise!" You greet her with a soft smile and open warms, receiving the same affection in return. "You look so gorgeous, everyone here is giving you googly eyes, even Mr. Pierre."

Your cheeks heat up at the comment from Analise. Trying to regain composure, you smile and let your hands fall to your side, "Aaron? Oh, I doubt he's giving me googly eyes."

Analise eyebrows raises, tilting her head before turning her shoulder to stare at Aaron and looking back at you, "You really think Aaron doesn't have a crush on you?"

"We're just co-stars, I doubt he sees me in that way." You say before flickering your eyes over at Aaron. It's never crossed your mind that Aaron has some sort of feelings for you. You always took Aaron as the type of actor who is committed to his work and has a strict policy of keeping work and personal affairs separate.

"Please, every time we were on set, he looked at you like you're the only woman to ever grace this earth."

Analise stares at you for a moment before placing a hand on your shoulder, "Now, I'm not saying you have to get with him or anything. But I and others notice the way you two interact, it's refreshing. I enjoyed coming to set knowing my two lead actors enjoy working with one another."

You didn't necessarily know how to react; but a weird sense of warmth comes over you at Analise's confession. You give her a soft smile, "Thank you."

–

"So, how does it feel to have worked with the finest man in Hollywood right now?" Your friend, Chasity, asks you as you two sit at the bar and watch everyone else dance at the after party.

You grin a bit before fixing your face, "You have such a crush on that man Chas. But he's an amazing person to work with; I enjoyed every second I spent with him on set."

Chasity smirks, "Me? Crush on Aaron? I believe those honors belong to you, my love. That childish grin you just gave me told me all I needed to know."

"It's nothing more, look, Aaron is a sweet co-star and we're just friends. He's dedicated to his career just like I am with mines. That's it, that's all." You say and sip on your Margarita.

Chasity hums and stares out into the sea of people dancing, "Well your "friend" is on his way over here, right now."

Your eyes widened and you immediately sit down your drink before you have the chance to spit it out. You turn your head to see that Chasity was indeed correct, Aaron was on his way over to where you and Chasity are currently sitting.

Chasity looks over at you, "Girl you look good, stop stressing," she mumbles and turns to give Aaron a soft smile.

"Hello Chasity." Aaron greets your best friend with a generous side hug and turns his attention towards you, "Hello lovely."

"H-hey Aaron." You say with a soft spoken voice. Out the corner of your way you can see the smirk on Chasity's face; you'd have to get at her about that later.

"I'm so honored to have work with you and I've decided my thank you to you, I'm gifting you this," Aaron pulls the huge white and black Chanel bag from his bag and you gasp.

"Aaron! Oh my God, I love this. I wish you told me you were gifting me, I would've went and bought you something special too." You say as you get up and wrap your arms around his neck.

Aaron chuckles and slips an arm around your waist, the warmth that comes over your body feels amazing as you two hug for a bit while longer before parting.

You slowly take the purse from out his hands and Aaron wants to take his phone out to snap a picture of your reaction.

"Please, you don't need to, I already have something special." Aaron looks you in the eye at the last part causing you to blush and look away from him.

You become increasingly nervous and stare at the beautiful Chanel purse that's in your hands, "Well, it's a beautiful gift, thank you Aaron."

Aaron raises his hand to lift your chin softly, "What'd you say, beautiful?"

Your words for a second get stuck in your mouth, “I… it’s a beautiful gift, thank you Aaron.”

It’s as if Aaron got a kick out of you stumbling over your words, his smirk grows and he pulls back from you. “Anytime, beautiful.”

You and Aaron both hear his name being called; he gives you one more look, “Duty calls.”

You watch him walk away and Chasity hits your arm softly, “Girl! You’re practically drooling over him.”

Suddenly that brings you back to reality, “Drooling? Chas stop it. I was doing perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, well when you and him end up all over Twitter tomorrow with people over analyzing you all’s reaction don’t say I didn’t tell you so,” Chasity says before turning to the bartender and asking for another drink.

Slowly, you sit back down on the barstool, reading over the words Chanel on your new purse. “Chas, do you really think Aaron has feelings for me?”

She turns her head over at you, “Clear as day boo, the signs are there. I can’t convince you, you have to convince yourself.”

Humming in response, you turn your attention towards Aaron’s way, watching him laugh and interact with a few friends from college.

Aaron doesn’t have crush on you, right?

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allfearstofallto · 4 months ago

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Y'know - I've always wondered what the yans would do if their darlings *received* a Vision while in captivity? Like I'm sure Scaramouche would just confiscate it, but what about Diluc or Childe? I can't imagine any of the three allowing them to *keep* such a thing on them.

I can't think of which vision each darling would have (I think at least one of them should have geo for their strong will) but other than that, it's definitely up for interpretation.

Also you send like the BEST asks, I love you, this was so fun to write.

When you find your vision, lying on your bedside, your immediate reaction is to hide it from Childe. Quite the perceptive man he is though, even though you positively remember stashing it away in one of your many drawers, under a pile of clothes and fabric, he casually mentions the object the very next day at breakfast. His remark is followed by you nearly choking on your food, meeting his gaze in fear only to find a smile?

Ajax is quite enthused by the new edition. Always the man to love sparring and pushing his life to the limits, you becoming a vision holder entices him, enamours him with you even more. Your vision is yours. Only yours. Don't worry about your orange haired, brightly smiling husband taking it from you, he wants you to keep it. Use it. Train with it even.

Mostly because he develops a sense of pride in knowing that he's partially the reason that you acquired it. Your hatred for him is being used for power, how cute is that? But also because he knows that no matter how strong you get, you'll never be strong enough to get away from him. Keep practicing, he encourages it. After all, Ajax always hated the sight of you losing yourself.

Your daily regime with Scaramouche is air tight. A schedule only the strong willed could accomplish, you seldom find yourself even having enough time to let your eyes wander. So, after dropping your calligraphy brush under the table, you're shocked when you're met with a vision, bright and glowing. Shocked and deeply afraid, you gawk at it with a quivering lip. But nothing can be hidden from Scaramouche, he noticed a change in your body language immediately upon no longer hearing the subtle sound of your brush strokes on the parchment and he too makes the same discovery.

Your vision is snatched from your hands and instantly you feel weak. Distant. No longer yourself, but all too you at the same time. Tales spread of what would happen when someone was separated from their vision, you'd heard of them in passing, but never once cared to listen. That is until today when you feel that same pressure and agony all over your body, making you weaker than before. And Scaramouche notices this too, as he always does. The gears in his head begin turning, a smirk crossing his lips.

Your vision is treated as a reward. Although it is yours and detrimental consequences happen when you're without it, Scaramouche keeps it on his person. In a sickening way, you crave his presence, almost like a drug. Because in him, where he holds your vision hostage, you find yourself. Of course he knows this, he is no idiot, and he revels in the need you feel for him, the control over you that he's always wanted.

Another fit of rage, another day of anger. All you craved was the outdoors. The real outdoors, yet Diluc would never let you have it. Safety this, protection that. He had to have some kind of script. Tender red eyes and soft words would speak down to you, like a child, and infuriate you more. Maybe that's where you're vision came from: your rage.

Both you and Diluc saw it at the same time. Both of you looked upon it in disbelief, yet the surprise was for different reasons.

Diluc didn't hesitate to snatch it into his hold, earning another grimace from you. He clutched it, held it tightly in his gloved hand. Strangely, it felt as if he were squeezing you against his palm. You hated it.

You never got the chance to hold it, not even once. It was locked away, but that much was to be expected. It was dangerous, Diluc insisted. A vision isn't a toy and it's not something to be played with. There was a look of guilt on his face as he spoke this to you, like he was recounting something that you didn't know about. You would've felt sorry for him, if he wasn't knowingly weakening you.

The room where your vision is held is locked tight. It'd be easier to break into the nights of favonious headquarters than it would be to go and take what was rightly yours. You don't even bother trying to ask Diluc for it back. How many of those lectures could he give you about safety? You didn't know nor did you want to hear another.

Instead, you take to sitting on the floor with you head pressed against the door, feeling yourself behind that wall. A pitiful sight you are, whenever you choose to stay there, the maids bring you pillows, blankets, and snacks, forming a little nest of shame. Maybe your pathetic form would guilt Diluc into giving it back?

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yayasvalveplay · 5 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/yayasvalveplay/772324490186211328/the-miners-in-transformers-one-probably-arent?source=share

I can only think of whoever they encounter first on the surface whether that be Alpha Trion or the High Guard just laying into the rest of the group on how could they bring a carrying mech up here? Don't they know how dangerous it is?

The miners including the one who's sparked up: What. What are you talking about?

The hit of suprise parenthood to both D-16 and Orion when they were following the exact script of sire and carrier subconsciously: increased sex drive so sparkling has plenty of transfluid to grow big and strong, wanting to stick together even more than they already were, and Orion was even feeling queasy in the mornings.

Imagine having to explain to someone who's 9 months pregnant and showing that their stomach isn't just doing that for funzies, there's a baby in there.

I imagine that Optimus got thrown into sub level 50 when he was 4 months pregnant. And he and the rest of the gang survived on the surface for about 5 months.

They learned the trains were carrying energon, thanks to theirs flipping over, crashing. (D-16 curling around Orion protectively) only giving them a single box, that the 3 (Orion tried, but D-16 snapped at him that he couldn't and that he was injured. He wasnt.) carried

They spent their time walking, trying to outrun the Quintizons and the elite guards. Along the way and night cycles Dee and Orion would end up fragging, quietly as the other slept. Dee getting a 'kink' of keeping his transfluid inside Orion, and Orion always obliged.

Keeping his modesty pannel closed once they were done, saying in the morning theyd drain it, but when it came time. Nothing came out, so they just kept doing it. And soon Orions belly was getting bigger, they had to slow down, taking constant breaks, or Dee just carrying him.

And they were doing so well until.

"Hey this one isn't going into stasis lock."

"What are you doing? What have you done with them!?"

"Wouh. Calm down. We arnt going to harm ya. We just need you lot unconscious. Can't have you finding our secret- your carrying."

" I'm what?"

And this is where they find the high guard. Seekers are immediately on Orion, checking him over, doting on him, getting him a soft place to sit next to Starscream (because really that's the only place this small bot won't get stepped on) who is just looking him over worriedly.

Getting everyone else activated Starscream starts railing on them on how they've been treating their carrier. Malurished(as they had to ration, and even as Orion took more because he was getting hungrier.) And starving. At least the Sires been keeping up with the transfluid donations, but still that gives them no excuse to take this carrier out of the safety of Iacon. They have been lucky, supper fragging lucky to have been found by them and not Sentinels gang.

And it's here they learn about how crappy Sentinel is. "That can't be true."

"Want to see for yourself little one." Cue Ravage spying on them, and the feed coming back to Soundwave who gives them all the feed back.(since this is still early, not even close to the story happening. There is no fear of miners getting overworked. Yet. But it's enough to have Dee raging and wanting to fight. He still gets his fight with Starscream, but it's not violent since no t-cog.

The others learn what it I'd meant to be a high guardsmen. As Orion is supper close to emergency, they don't want to leave the safety of the High guards, so they become scouts. They also learn what sex/safe sex and pregnancy is.

When emergency day comes. Orion has the help of high guard medics. The birthing is rough but soon, there is a little protoform, wailing, cold to the new world, and when placed on Orions chassis, he holds his baby close and just cries. He's been carried in his forge for 9 months making him suffer. And he decided to look exactly like his sire.

But it truely is a happy day for everyone,, mostly.

"Hey. We got a problem."

"What kind?"

"Airachnia kind, seen very close."

"Get these mechs to the emergancy base.

Where is that. Uhh supper close to where the primes were killed.

And hell wouldn't you know. Alpha Trion is still alive. And are those bots without their T-cogs. That will not do.

Starscream? Why are you crying? Oh yes, of course big old hug. Oh and Is that a sparkling. He hasn't seen them in. How long has he been in stasis?

Alpha Trion joins the party.

#valveplug #mild valveplug #mech preg #mechpreg #megop #dpax #tf one #oop this got long #sorry not sorry #we fixing the timeline #no dead alpha trion route lets go!!!#transformers one #accidental sparkling acquired

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lila-lou · 9 months ago

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✨Taking her in - Pt. 3✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Underage Reader, Language

Word Count: 5005

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Dean had come to the bar to blow off some steam, but the situation was becoming unbearable. The tension between you was too thick, every glance, every brush of your arm against his, setting off a chain reaction of emotions he wasn’t prepared to deal with. He needed to get away, needed to find some sort of release before he completely lost control.

As he scanned the bar, his eyes landed on a blonde at the bar. She was staring at him, her gaze lingering with interest. It was an easy out, a distraction he could lose himself in, something to take the edge off the turmoil he was feeling. Dean cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus on the present rather than the chaos inside him.

“I’m off for tonight”, Dean mumbled, not really addressing anyone in particular but loud enough for Sam and you to hear. He nodded subtly towards the blonde, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he handed Sam the keys to the Impala.

Sam raised an eyebrow, catching the drift immediately. “Alright, man”, he said, a hint of concern in his voice. “Just take it easy, yeah?”.

Dean barely heard him, his attention already shifting toward the blonde at the bar. He needed this—needed something to anchor himself, to keep his mind off you and the way you were driving him crazy without even trying.

You knew exactly what Dean was up to the moment he handed Sam the keys and nodded toward the blonde. It was like a familiar script that played out far too often over the years—Dean seeking out distractions, trying to bury whatever was eating at him in the arms of someone who could offer temporary relief. And every time, it felt like a punch to the gut, a painful reminder that no matter how close you were to him, there was a part of Dean that he kept walled off, unreachable.

As you watched him head toward the blonde, your heart sank, a familiar ache settling in your chest. You bit your tongue, forcing yourself to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to spill over. This wasn’t new; you’d seen it before, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. You’d become good at masking the hurt, at pretending it didn’t bother you, but tonight, it was harder than usual.

Dean didn’t waste any time. It took less than three minutes for him to strike up a conversation with the blonde. From where you sat, you could see them clearly—Dean leaning in slightly, his posture relaxed, the faint smirk still playing on his lips as he spoke. The blonde responded with a light laugh, her hand reaching out to brush his bicep in a way that made your stomach churn. She was grinning up at him, clearly enjoying the attention, and Dean, ever the charmer, played right into it.

You tried to focus on something else, anything else, but your eyes kept drifting back to them, drawn like a moth to a flame. The more you watched, the more the knot in your chest tightened, the hurt you were trying to bury rising up and threatening to choke you. It wasn’t just jealousy—it was the painful realization that no matter how much you cared about Dean, he would always keep you at arm’s length when it came to his deeper feelings.

Sam noticed the change in your demeanor. He was more perceptive than most gave him credit for, and he’d seen this look on your face before—whenever Dean decided to drown his emotions in a meaningless hookup. He knew it wasn’t his place to say anything, but he also hated seeing you like this.

“You okay?”, Sam asked quietly, his voice gentle, his concern evident.

You forced a smile, but it felt thin and brittle. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired, I guess”.

Sam didn’t push, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t entirely convinced. “You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. We can head back to the bunker”.

Just when you were about to answer Sam, a guy appeared at your table, cutting into the conversation with a polite smile. He was tall, with a scruffy kind of charm, and his confidence was apparent in the easy way he carried himself. His eyes flicked between you and Sam, clearly sizing up the situation. Given the visible age gap between you and Sam, he must have assumed Sam was your brother, or maybe even your dad.

“Hey”, the guy said, his voice friendly but not pushy. “Sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help noticing you from across the room”. His gaze settled on you, and he flashed an easygoing grin. “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to dance?”.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden attention. For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond, your mind still tangled up in thoughts of Dean and the blonde at the bar. You glanced at Sam, who raised an eyebrow but didn’t seem overly concerned. If anything, there was a hint of encouragement in his eyes, as if he was silently telling you it might be a good idea to accept the offer.

Sam gave a slight nod, as if to say, It’s okay. You don’t have to stick around for my sake. He wasn’t pushing you, but he wasn’t stopping you either. It was your choice.

The guy, picking up on your hesitation, quickly added, “No pressure or anything. I just thought it might be fun. If not, no worries”.

You looked back at the guy, his expression genuinely open and kind, and something in you decided that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let yourself have a little fun, to try and forget about Dean for a while. Maybe, just for tonight, you could focus on something other than the ache in your chest.

“Sure”, you said, offering him a small smile. “I’d like that”.

His grin widened, and he extended a hand to you. “Great. I’m Jake, by the way”.

“(Y/N)”, you replied, taking his hand and letting him help you up from your seat.

As Jake led you toward the dance floor, you couldn’t help but steal one last glance at Dean. He was still engrossed in his conversation with the blonde, seemingly oblivious to the world around him. The sight made your chest tighten again, but you forced yourself to look away, focusing instead on the present moment.

Jake guided you into the rhythm of the song. He was a good dancer, confident without being overbearing, and he made it easy for you to relax and follow his lead. For a few moments, you managed to push away the thoughts of Dean, letting yourself get lost in the music and the carefree atmosphere.

Jake was easy to talk to, his conversation light and amusing, and you found yourself laughing more than you expected. He didn’t push for anything more, just kept the mood fun and relaxed, which was exactly what you needed. The dance floor was crowded, and as you moved together, it felt nice to be the center of someone’s attention for once, without the weight of complicated feelings hanging over you.

An hour had passed, and you had managed to push Dean out of your mind—at least for tonight. Jake was good company, his easygoing nature making it easier to forget about the knot of emotions that usually tied you up inside whenever you thought about Dean. You laughed, danced, and even flirted a little, allowing yourself to enjoy the night without the usual weight on your shoulders.

Sam had also found some company, chatting with a woman back at your table. It seemed like everyone was finding a way to unwind, to escape the constant tension that followed you all like a shadow. For the first time in a while, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you could have a night where you weren’t weighed down by the complications of your feelings for Dean.

Meanwhile, Dean was far from your thoughts—at least physically. The blonde from the bar had been more than willing to follow him to a more secluded spot, and they had ended up in one of the bar’s dingy bathroom stalls. It wasn’t the first time Dean had sought out a distraction like this, but tonight, it felt more desperate, more like he was trying to outrun something that was catching up with him.

The blonde was on her knees in front of him, her hands working at his belt as Dean leaned back against the stall door, his eyes half-closed. He was trying to lose himself in the moment, to let the sensations drown out the thoughts that had been plaguing him all week. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on the here and now, his mind kept drifting back to you.

Even with someone else’s hands on him, it was your face that flashed in his mind.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drown out the noise of the bar, the feel of the cold, cramped bathroom stall. He wanted to lose himself in the moment, to escape the thoughts that had been gnawing at him for days, but the more he tried, the harder it became. The blonde was doing everything right, but all he could see, all he could think about, was you.

It was your face that flashed in his mind, your smile, your eyes—the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. And even though he knew it was wrong, knew that he shouldn’t be doing this, he couldn’t help it. His mind kept going back to you, to the thought of what it would feel like if it was your hands on him instead.

He felt a surge of guilt wash over him, but it wasn’t enough to stop the reaction that coursed through his body. The blonde had managed to open his belt and zipper, her hands working quickly, but it wasn’t her touch that was making him hard—it was the image of you in his mind, the thought of you being the one on your knees in front of him.

Dean gritted his teeth, trying to hold onto the fantasy, trying to pretend that it was your hands, your mouth. He knew it wasn’t fair to the blonde, knew it wasn’t fair to you, but in that moment, he couldn’t stop himself. He needed this, needed the release, needed to imagine just for a second that he could have you in a way that he’d never allowed himself to consider before.

Dean’s mind clung to the image of you, the fantasy overtaking reality as he allowed himself to sink into the moment. The guilt was still there, nagging at the edges of his thoughts, but it was drowned out by the overwhelming desire coursing through him. The fantasy was so vivid, so consuming, that it pushed aside everything else.

And it worked.

His body responded instantly, the tension that had been building inside him releasing in waves as he imagined it was you in front of him, not some nameless blonde. He could almost feel your breath on his skin, your hands on him, your eyes looking up at him with that mix of trust and something deeper that you always had when you looked at him.

The release was both a relief and a torment, because even in the throes of it, he knew it wasn’t real. He knew that when it was over, he’d still be standing in a dingy bathroom stall with a woman who wasn’t you, and the feelings he’d been trying to suppress would come crashing back down on him with twice the force.

But for those few moments, he let himself believe it was you. He let himself feel what it would be like to finally give in to the desire that had been gnawing at him for so long, to finally admit to himself that what he felt for you was more than just brotherly concern. It was something deeper, something that terrified him because he knew it could change everything.

Dean’s mind was still swimming with the vivid fantasy of you as he moved mechanically, slipping his hand inside his jacket pocket to retrieve a condom. The sensation of the wrapper against his fingers brought him back to the present, grounding him just enough to focus on the task at hand. He tore the wrapper open.

Dean pulled the blonde to her feet, his hands firm yet detached as he guided her to turn around, pressing her palms flat against the cold wood of the stall door. She complied eagerly, her breath coming in quick, shallow pants as he lifted her skirt, revealing more of her to him. But even as he moved through the motions, his mind was still caught in that inescapable loop, caught between the reality in front of him and the fantasy he’d allowed himself to indulge in.

As he positioned himself behind her, his body responded automatically, driven by the release he craved. But every touch, every movement, felt like a betrayal of something deeper, something he was struggling to understand. The condom in his hand felt almost foreign, like it belonged to someone else in a different moment. He knew what he was doing—knew what this would accomplish—but the act itself felt hollow, like he was going through the motions without truly being present.

Dean took a deep breath, forcing himself to flip that internal switch, the one he’d used countless times before to detach from his emotions and just get through the moment. It wasn’t easy—not this time—but he knew he had to do it. He couldn’t afford to let his thoughts linger on you, not when he was in the middle of something like this. He needed to compartmentalize, to push aside the feelings that were threatening to overwhelm him and focus on the task at hand.

With a mechanical efficiency, he rolled on the condom, his movements precise but devoid of the usual eagerness he would have felt in a situation like this. The blonde didn’t seem to notice his hesitation, her breaths coming in soft pants as she braced herself against the stall door, completely unaware of the war raging inside him.

Dean positioned himself behind her, trying to focus on the physical sensations, trying to let the heat of the moment take over. But even as he moved, even as he tried to lose himself in the act, there was a part of him that remained distant, disconnected. The release he sought felt elusive, like a distant memory he couldn’t quite grasp.

He gripped her hips, guiding her back toward him, and with a sharp inhale, he pushed into her. The sensation was familiar, yet hollow. His body reacted out of habit, thrusting with a rhythm that should have ignited a fire, but all he felt was a dull ache in his chest.

Dean tried to focus on the physicality of it, on the heat and friction, on the sound of her breathing and the way she moaned softly, but it was no use. His mind kept drifting back to you, to the thought of what it would be like if it were you in front of him, if it were your body he was holding, your voice he was hearing.

It took everything he had to keep those thoughts at bay, to focus on the here and now, but they kept creeping back in, filling him with a sense of longing that he couldn’t shake.

As Dean struggled to maintain his focus, the blonde’s voice broke through his thoughts, her moans growing louder as she complimented him. “You’re so big”, she breathed out, the words meant to excite and encourage. For a brief moment, Dean tried to latch onto the words, to let them fuel the physical interaction and distract from the emotional turmoil inside him.

Dean clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the present, on the physical sensations he was experiencing. Her words, though initially hollow, finally broke through his mental fog. As she moaned about how big he was, something inside him snapped, and he decided to lean into the moment, to use the intensity of it to drown out the thoughts of you that kept intruding.

“Yeah?”, he growled, his voice rough and edged with something dark and desperate. He accompanied the word with a hard, deep thrust that sent her flush against the door of the stall, her palms pressing flat against the wood as she let out a sharp gasp.

The reaction spurred him on, and for a few moments, he allowed himself to get lost in the physicality of it. He gripped her hips tighter, his movements becoming more forceful, more determined to chase the release he needed. The sound of her moans, the way her body responded to his, all served to drive him forward, to help him forget—even if just for a little while—everything else that was weighing on him.

Each thrust was punctuated by a grunt, each movement aimed at pushing both of them closer to that inevitable release. For those brief moments, Dean was able to shut out the noise in his head, to focus only on the raw, primal sensations that came with it.

She responded to every movement, her moans growing louder as the pace quickened, her body moving in sync with his as she chased her own pleasure. The tension between them built rapidly, the intensity of their connection amplified by the urgency with which they were both seeking something—anything—that could provide an escape.

Dean felt himself nearing the edge, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps as he pushed harder, faster, determined to find that release that would offer at least a temporary reprieve from the chaos inside him. The pressure built within him, coiling tighter with each passing second, until finally, it snapped.

As his climax hit him, he gripped her hips tightly as he rode out the sensation, his eyes squeezing shut as he let the release wash over him, his mind blissfully blank for just a few seconds.

But as the pleasure ebbed away, the reality of the situation came crashing back down on him. The emptiness returned, more profound than before, and the guilt that had been gnawing at him from the start surged back with a vengeance. What should have been a moment of satisfaction felt hollow, meaningless, and all he could think about was how wrong it all felt.

He pulled away from her, his movements suddenly awkward and hesitant. He quickly disposed of the condom, his hands shaking slightly as he did so. The blonde, still catching her breath, turned to him with a satisfied smile, completely unaware of the turmoil that was tearing him apart inside.

Dean forced a tight-lipped smile, his mind already elsewhere as he mumbled something about needing to get back to his friends. The words felt empty, but she didn’t seem to mind. She simply nodded, fixing her clothes and giving him a casual wave before stepping out of the stall.

As the blonde stepped out of the stall, she almost collided with you. A casual chuckle escaped her lips as she steadied herself, her eyes glancing over you with mild amusement. “Careful, kid”, she muttered with a smirk, brushing past you as she made her way out of the bathroom.

You barely registered her words, your mind already processing what you were seeing. Your heart pounded in your chest as your gaze shifted from her retreating figure to the stall she had just exited. The door wasn’t closed and you caught sight of Dean.

Time seemed to slow as the two of you locked eyes.

Dean cleared his throat, the sound rough and strained as he stepped out of the stall. He was visibly uncomfortable, his eyes avoiding yours as he quickly adjusted his shirt and ran a hand through his hair, trying to regain some semblance of composure. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension, and every second that passed felt like an eternity.

He finally managed to look at you, but the usual confidence in his gaze was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was a flicker of something that looked almost like shame, though he quickly masked it with a forced nonchalance. “Uh, hey”, he mumbled, his voice awkward and uneven. “I, uh… I’ll drive home with you and Sam”.

He paused, as if searching for something else to say, some way to smooth over the obvious discomfort of the situation. But nothing came. The silence was heavy, almost suffocating, and Dean shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the room before settling back on you.

“It, uh… it went quicker than I thought”, he added, the words tumbling out in a weak attempt to explain away what had just happened. An awkward chuckle escaped his lips, but it died almost as soon as it began, hanging in the air like a bad joke that no one wanted to acknowledge.

You swallowed hard, pushing down the swirl of emotions that had risen in your chest.

Nodding stiffly, you cleared your throat, mirroring his awkwardness. “Yeah, I’ll just… I’m just gonna pee real quick. Sam’s already ready to go”, you mumbled, not quite meeting his eyes.

Dean nodded in return, relief flickering briefly across his face. “Okay”, he said, his voice still strained. “I’ll, uh, meet you guys out there”.

You slipped into the stall next to him, the silence heavy around you as you tried to collect yourself. The encounter had shaken you more than you wanted to admit, but you knew you couldn’t let it show. You had to keep it together, at least until you were out of the bar.

After finishing up, you washed your hands and took a moment to look at yourself in the mirror. You forced a deep breath, pushing down the hurt and confusion that threatened to overwhelm you. This wasn’t the time or place to fall apart, not when Dean was just outside.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, you saw Dean walking back towards Sam, who was still engaged in conversation with Jake at your table. Sam seemed relaxed, laughing at something Jake had said, completely oblivious to the tension you and Dean were dealing with.

You approached the table, a small, forced smile on your face as you moved to say goodbye to Jake. “Thanks for the dance”, you said, your voice softer than before. Without thinking, you leaned in to give him a quick hug, hoping the simple gesture would help ground you after everything that had happened.

Jake smiled, returning the hug with a warm, friendly squeeze. “No problem”. he replied, pulling back slightly to look at you. “It was fun hanging out with you tonight”.

Just as you were about to step back, Jake hesitated, a curious expression crossing his face. “Hey, before you go… could I maybe get your number? I’d like to see you again”.

The request caught you off guard. Your mind, still reeling from the bathroom encounter, struggled to process the shift in conversation.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up slightly, and he glanced between you and Jake with a look that was a mix of doubt and surprise. He didn’t say anything, but the tension in his posture was palpable. His eyes settled on you, as if waiting to see how you would respond.

You hesitated, the weight of Dean’s gaze making it hard to think clearly. Part of you wanted to give Jake your number, to allow yourself the possibility of moving forward, of exploring something new and uncomplicated. But another part of you—the part still tangled up in your feelings for Dean—held you back.

After a brief pause, you offered Jake a small smile. “Sure”, you said, pulling out your phone. You quickly exchanged numbers, the whole interaction feeling somewhat surreal given everything else that had happened tonight.

Jake’s smile widened as he took your number, clearly pleased. “Great. I’ll give you a call sometime”.

“Yeah, sounds good”, you replied, your voice steady even as your mind buzzed with conflicting emotions.

With that, you turned back to Sam and Dean, feeling the weight of the night pressing down on you. The three of you made your way out of the bar.

The walk to the Impala felt heavy with unspoken tension. Sam was still talking, something about the last hunt, but his words were background noise compared to the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in your mind. You could feel Dean’s presence behind you, the weight of his gaze like a physical force even though you hadn’t exchanged a single word since leaving the bar.

When you reached the car, you slid into the back seat without thinking, leaving Sam to take the front passenger side. Dean got behind the wheel, his movements stiff, and started the engine. The familiar rumble of the Impala filled the air, a comforting sound that usually brought you some sense of peace. But tonight, it did little to ease the tightness in your chest.

As the car pulled out of the parking lot, the silence between the three of you grew more pronounced. Sam eventually trailed off mid-sentence, realizing that neither you nor Dean were engaging. The only sound was the low hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the radio.

Eventually Dean’s eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror, catching your reflection as you stared out the window, lost in thought. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his tone casual even though the question was burning inside him. “So, who was that guy? Jake, right?”, he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

You turned your gaze from the window to the back of Dean’s head, surprised by the question. His tone was nonchalant, but there was an underlying tension that you couldn’t quite place. “Just a guy I danced with”, you replied, trying to match his casual tone. “We exchanged numbers. No big deal”.

Dean’s grip on the steering wheel tightened imperceptibly, though you didn’t notice. “Hmm”, was all he said, but his mind was racing. He couldn’t help the surge of jealousy that bubbled up inside him, a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought of you with someone else. He knew he had no right to feel that way, but it didn’t stop the emotions from churning in his gut.

Sam, sensing the tension but not fully understanding its source, glanced between the two of you. “Jake seemed like a decent guy”, he offered, trying to ease the awkwardness. “He was pretty chill”.

“Yeah”, you replied, your voice distant. “He was nice”.

Dean’s eyes flicked back to the rearview mirror, watching you intently. He couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled over him since Jake asked for your number. It wasn’t just the jealousy—though that was certainly a part of it—it was the realization that he might be losing you to someone else, someone who wasn’t tangled up in all the mess that he was. Someone who could offer you the normalcy that he never could. Someone your age.

“Are you planning on seeing him again?”, Dean asked.

You hesitated, sensing the shift in his tone. “I don’t know. Maybe”, you answered honestly, still unsure yourself. The night had been a whirlwind of emotions, and you hadn’t really had time to process any of it, let alone make decisions about Jake.

Dean didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he focused on the road ahead. The rest of the drive back to the bunker was steeped in silence, the air thick with unresolved tension. You could feel Dean’s eyes on you every now and then through the mirror, but you avoided meeting his gaze, unsure of what you’d find there.

When you finally pulled into the bunker’s garage, the tension in the car was almost unbearable. Sam was the first to speak, breaking the silence with a yawn. “I’m beat. I think I’m gonna crash”, he said, clearly unaware of the storm brewing between you and Dean.

You nodded, barely hearing Sam’s words as you unbuckled your seatbelt and slid out of the car. Dean lingered for a moment, watching you closely as you headed towards the bunker’s entrance. He could feel the distance growing between you, and it terrified him.

As you reached the door, you paused, finally turning to look at Dean. There was something in your eyes—hurt, confusion, maybe even anger—that made his chest tighten. He wanted to say something, to bridge the gap that had formed between you, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Goodnight, Dean”, you said softly, your voice carrying a weight of finality that made his stomach drop.

“Goodnight, (Y/N)”, he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned and walked into the bunker, leaving Dean standing in the garage, his mind racing with everything he should have said, everything he wished he could take back. As the door closed behind you, he was left alone with his thoughts, the reality of the situation sinking in.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 4

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @ladykitana90 @fullbelieverheart @chainsawsangel @zaratahir @rebecca-hvnstn @maackiimoo @mayafatimakhan @ladysparkles78 @lachelledavies-winchester @kamisobsessed

#jensen ackles #dean and sam #dean winchester fic #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #taking her in

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mareastrorum · 1 year ago

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I have never enjoyed a D&D series more than Misfits & Magic and it's entirely because of Brennan Lee Mulligan. I am fully aware that most viewers thought Evan Kelmp was ridiculously over the top and played up for laughs. I'm sure so many people thought it was for comedy.

I have never seen a poverty-stricken and violence-afflicted character portrayed so well.

People who have not experienced that level of desperation rarely ever comprehend the constant level of fear, but Brennan was locked in on it wonderfully.

Every moment is fixated on food, safety, and shelter. It takes so much effort and emotional vulnerability to shift attention from it. Free food? Gotta gently press to get more and more and more and more, but you can't ask too quick or people might kick you out. Someone's a threat? Gotta make it 100% clear that you will not be fucked with, and it does not matter what it costs you socially. Need to do something long term? Gotta figure out where and how you're going to sleep without anyone to watch your back; can you lock yourself in somewhere? Can it be somewhere alone? Where can you hide?

What will this cost?

The strained politeness and immediate switch to a fight response was excellent. People who want to help you do not trigger violent responses. People that do not want to help you and are in your business need to be dealt with. Brennan knew exactly how to demonstrate the tension of usually being treated as a dangerous animal rather than a person. It instills a script to be as perfect a person as possible, and as soon as anyone veers off the social script, be exactly what they're afraid of: a monster. Better to be a monster than a victim.

The one mistake was during the holiday special that he said credit cards instead of (stolen) gift cards for making a shank with razor blades. You'd get a secured one at 18, but not before then. Otherwise would have been perfect. (Duct tape's expensive, but not too hard to steal. I carried a bag with my laundry coins as an impromptu weapon. As soon as he ordered any drink with a glass bottle, I yelled, "Make a shank!" AND HE FUCKING DELIVERED.)

I often get so annoyed at terrible portrayals of children that grew up in impoverished, violent circumstances, but this is the first time I legitimately enjoyed myself.

Well done.

#dimension 20 #misfits and magic #evan kelmp #brennan lee mulligan

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nataliescatorccioapologist · 9 months ago

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Let’s talk about Nat’s makeup and how it represents her mental state and character development✨

Juliette Lewis said in an interview that Natalie’s signature thick black eyeliner is her “war paint.” I absolutely love this quote because it is a perfect way to describe the way Natalie uses her physical appearance to guard herself. Natalie’s eyeliner and fashion sense serve as a physical representation of the abrasive walls she puts up to hide the softness and vulnerability underneath.

The Pilot episode script introduces Natalie’s character with this descriptor:

This line makes it clear right off the bat that Nat’s makeup is a front she puts on; a mask. While most of her classmates may put on makeup to attract others, it’s clear that Nat’s makeup is meant to push people away. That dark, smudged eyeliner paired with the safety pin and bullet necklaces and the thick leather jackets are all screaming “I’m intimidating, stay away from me.”

But, unlike her appearance suggests, Nat is actually one of the softest and most compassionate characters on the show. Her trauma both with her father and out in the wilderness have shown her that she is a dangerous person, and that she needs to remain guarded and walled off from others in order to avoid hurting them. Her makeup hides her softness both for her own protection and the protection of those around her.

We see that Nat puts makeup on like armor. Before Doomcoming, she’s seen putting on black eyeshadow in the mirror right as Travis walks by, preparing to deal with all of the insecure feelings she still has around their breakup. In the Wilderness, Nat is pretty much never seen without makeup smudged around her eyes, despite the difficult circumstances. Even when she’s carrying Jackie’s body back to the plane you can see she’s got some eyeliner on. In the adult timeline after Travis’s death, Nat is seen putting on probably the heaviest makeup we’ve ever seen her in. Immediately after she puts this makeup on she texts her drug dealer with the intention to relapse. All of this shows that Nat’s makeup is her defense, which is why she goes to such great lengths to put it on even when she’s stranded out in the middle of nowhere.

It seems that the heavier Nat’s makeup is in a given scene, the more guarded, vulnerable, and/or threatened she feels.

Which is why it is so significant when Nat stops wearing heavy makeup after spending time at Lottie’s compound. When Nat first arrives, we see her clinging to her old forms of protection. She’s given some (purple) clothes to change into, but she rejects them in favor of staying in her black leather pants.

She keeps the thick eyeliner, too. That is, until she goes on her little adventure with Lisa to Lisa’s childhood home. After Nat processes her trauma around feeling like she is poison to the people she loves and has that great talk with Lisa in the bar, Nat notably changes her clothes and lightens up her makeup the next day. She is seen in a purple and navy sweater, but she still keeps her black leather pants on and her eyeliner is still there, albeit a little bit lighter, showing that she is starting to change almost in spite of herself.

Then, directly after the hypnosis scene with Lottie in which Nat finally begins to come to terms with and process her guilt, we see her in a purple dress and cozy Birkenstocks with socks. The thick eyeliner is gone and so is her tendency to push people away, as she readily embraces all of the other survivors as they arrive at the compound (even Misty). This is heartbreakingly the last outfit we ever see Nat in, but it shows the audience how much she has changed and forgiven herself in her final days.

I’ll leave you guys with this beautiful quote about Nat’s transformation:

“I wanted to show that Natalie became her soft self. I don't know how long that would have remained comfortable for her, but she liked it. She liked being clean. She liked being comfortable. She relinquished her eyeliner, which was her war paint.”

-Juliette Lewis for TheWrap Magazine

#to be clear I’m not saying wearing heavy makeup is bad #I’m just saying this is what it means for Nat specifically #also I LOVE that Nat is wearing purple in rehab in the pilot too #when Nat is working on herself and processing trauma she wears purple #yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio #nat scatorccio #lottie matthews

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covid-safer-hotties · 7 months ago

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D.W. McLachlan responds to the recent discourse around COVID safety at meetings by comparing risk probabilities. Ultimately, it’s unclear what advantage we gain by refusing to protect each other from COVID, which poses an existential threat to any organizing effort.

A recent tweet by @timerube of New York City DSA (Democratic Socialists of America, a big-tent socialist organization in the United States, the largest of its kind) has prompted outrage and division among the so-called left along lines of COVID mitigation.

This letter is not about litigating who is and isn’t a proper socialist based on their use of personal protective equipment. I don’t care what you call yourself or other people. This is a letter about how you need to account for reality in your organizing or you won’t be effective in reality. If you want to normalize COVID, you need to account for the effects of that decision and mitigate the risks it poses.

Let’s describe the landscape of risks that is likely to be familiar to many readers. Imagine that you work at a grocery store and want to secure anti-fatigue mats at workstations. Eventually, you will likely need to meet with your coworkers to decide the steps you’ll take to pressure management to meet your demands. Most of these co-workers will need transportation to make it to the meeting. Transportation involves risk. If you held 10,000 of these meetings over time in the United States, there’s a good chance that there would be a fatality due to a car accident on the way to one or two of those meetings (based on average US traffic fatality rates of 13.8 per 100 000 people). As anyone who has had to work long hours on hard, cold floors can attest, you’re much more likely to face consequences from the working conditions in this example than you are from traffic accidents. So, is it worth the risk? We can make the choice even clearer by encouraging remote meeting and transportation by even safer means like bus or train. 10,000 meetings is about 10 years of weekly meetings. At the end of this simple calculation, it makes sense to meet since meeting is likely the only path to victory and won’t expose participants to very much risk. This is not an endorsement of the rates of traffic accidents. The fact that we need to bear this risk in order to organize is itself a loss, but we did fight for decades to mitigate this risk so it doesn’t immediately threaten our movements on its own.

Of course, the biggest risk of meeting with your coworkers (in person with no mitigations) during the ongoing COVID–19 pandemic is not dying in a traffic accident, not by a long shot. COVID will impact your organizing ability if you don’t mitigate the risk. Using the same example, let’s imagine that you get 300 of your grocery store coworkers (you work in a chain of grocery stores) together for a meeting in person with no COVID mitigations. This meeting takes place in an NYC church on November 11, 2024. According to our best modeling, 1 in 113 people in NYC were likely infectious on November 11th. So you almost certainly have at least two contagious co-workers in the meeting. They will likely infect 10–25 people at your meeting (Omicron has an R0 of 10-25, so each person infects 10 to 25 other people over the course of their infection. This information is discussed in the post-script). At Dynamic Zero, we’re using an average Long COVID per infection rate of 20% and the reasoning is discussed at length in the Summer 2024 Seasonal Update. Imagining that the chain of infection ends there, with a 20% rate of Long COVID resulting from these infections, your meeting will permanently harm 2–5 of your activists. The disability resulting from that harm may not be total (for example, losing one’s sense of smell can be devastating but it’s unlikely to prevent labor action), but the effect is cumulative. This will happen every meeting. This is beyond the impact of the acute phase of the disease itself, which lasts 10-14 days on average. The equivalent to the disability risk in our original example would mean a rate of being disabled by a vehicle accident of 8,333 per 100,000, which is 603 times higher than what our society bears as “acceptable risk” for traffic fatalities.

This will not be your only meeting, of course, and the risk doesn’t stop after the first meeting. The fight for any improvement in working conditions usually takes months or years, as any experienced activist will tell you. 5 out of 300 is 1.6%. How many meetings can you host like this before your entire body of 300 coworkers has been maimed by COVID infections? Approximately 62 meetings. As an activist for climate justice prior to 2020, I personally attended 4–6 meetings a week. Each meeting also means that 8.3% of your labor pool for actions will be sick for up to two weeks. At best, they will make mistakes and need more rest. It’s likely that they will need material support and community care, which is a wonderful product of our activism but it takes more effort away from actions that work toward our demands. If we don’t want to mitigate the effects of this risk, we need to account for it and describe a plan to win even with such high rates of attrition. I personally don’t believe it’s possible to attrite a significant portion of your organizers each meeting and win, that seems like a dead end.

This is all beyond considering the frankly ghoulish opposite side of the equation. We grudgingly risk traffic accidents so we can organize for a better world. What do we get for risking COVID infections? We refuse to wear masks so we can feel normal? We refuse to clean the air so we don’t have to think about how the authorities are lying to us? Or about how each of us is vulnerable to Long COVID? Is it the snacks? I can’t really imagine what’s on the other side of the equation for the COVID denialists that makes it worth it to refuse to mitigate the risk so fervently.

Several people discussing the original tweet have called people asking for mitigations of this risk (which means filtering the air, getting vaccinated regularly, and wearing respirators indoors) “COVID Dead-enders”. This is a very obvious projection. The (extremely optimistic, since it assumes no other community spread and only one meeting per week) alternative to mitigation is to maim a group of 300 activists every year or two just with meetings. How many groups of 300 activists have you got?

My argument is that our bourgeois civil leadership has decided that it’s normal to make every public space invisibly hazardous by systematically promoting COVID reinfection and removing the tools people need to inform and protect themselves from the threat. This is a form of social control since it makes resistance without COVID mitigation hazardous. Your meeting itself is a source of harm and attrition if you don’t mask and clean the air. Who’s working for the feds here?

D.W. McLachlan

Post-script: On R0, Rt, Variants, Immunity, and Bullshit Regarding the ability to model and predict how many people will be infected in a given meeting, it’s important to note that the quality of this data is not very good and the situation is certainly worse than it appears because of the Biden administration’s widespread suppression of testing and data collection. However, if we accept official figures, the 2–3 people with COVID at your 300-person meeting certainly have a subvariant of Omicron. Data on Long COVID rates are impacted by the same suppression as testing and reporting, but the math is easy to adapt.

R0 and Rt are statistical figures that represent how contagious a particular disease is. R0 is also called the "basic reproduction number." Rt is the "effective reproduction number," which accounts for immunity in the population from vaccination and prior infection. An R0 of 2 means that each person first infected with a disease will spread it to two others.

I use the R0 of Omicron in the article for several reasons:

First, it’s unclear how the situation has changed due to the suppression of testing and reporting noted above. Wastewater data is notoriously inappropriate for comparing between different waves of COVID infection because of the nature of “normalization target, qPCR chemistry, and watershed scale”. We don’t have a collection method and context that can produce a reliable updated R0 or Rt number for a given variant that accurately determines an individual’s risk and how that has changed since Omicron.

Second, just because public health officials have abandoned the precautionary principle doesn’t mean we should too. Our leaders all over the imperial core have abandoned many aspects of prosocial thinking and policy to protect profits. I am not motivated to discipline myself by the malice of my enemies. The traffic accident analogy is still apt. I don’t know how likely it is to save someone when I prioritize distributing bus tickets at a meeting. I just know that if I didn’t, and someone was hurt, I would forever question whether I could have prevented their suffering with a simple bus ticket. The respirator is analogous to the bus ticket for handling the risk of infecting your comrades with COVID.

Third, it doesn’t actually matter. I don’t need to know the exact number against which I weigh your life before I act to protect you. We need each other and I don’t want you to get hurt.

#mask up #public health #wear a mask #pandemic #covid #wear a respirator #covid 19 #still coviding #coronavirus #sars cov 2 #long covid #politics #socialism

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