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3igbootyl0ver · 3 days ago

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who hurt you? [iv]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: Tara finally finds the courage to open up and seek help.

word count: 4610

warnings: mentions of abuse, violence, angst

a/n: guys I lied this is NOT the last part. I realized how much I have to write lol but the angst is over, the next part should be just fluff and tara's recovery. this is the longest I wrote so far lol so I hope its not too draggy

part [i] | part [ii] | part [iii]

Tara felt her phone buzz multiple times in a minute. It took her a moment to gain the courage and look at her notifications. 5 missed calls and missed texts from Amber herself. She felt a shiver run down her spine, not sure if it was from the chilly breeze or her fear of Amber coming to get her. Her fingers hovered over the screen, debating whether to respond or power off the phone and ignore the reality of her situation.

Amber

Tara, where are you?

I told you to meet me behind the bleachers.

You just can’t listen, can you???

(Missed call from Amber)

Answer your damn phone.

Seriously? Was this about that day? I barely touched you, it was a joke. Don’t be so dramatic

You know I only do these things because you push me. If you didn’t act like this, I wouldn’t have to.

Just get here.Now.

Tara felt her chest tighten after reading the texts, afraid of what could happen to her, her consequences. “You deserved it anyways,” was what Amber would say to her after she got hurt. At first, Tara had fought against those words, clinging to the belief that she was worth more, that she wasn’t the problem. But over time, the constant barrage of blame and cutting remarks chipped away at her resolve. Amber’s voice had become a whisper in her mind, louder than her own, until one day Tara caught herself nodding in agreement. Maybe she did deserve it. Maybe everything that happened was her fault.

Her breathing grew shallow as the weight of the messages and memories bore down on her. Her phone slipped from her trembling hand, landing on the floor with a soft thud, but she barely noticed. Her chest heaved as panic clawed its way through her, each breath feeling harder than the last. Her vision blurred, and the world around her faded into a distant hum, drowned out by the cruel echoes of Amber’s voice in her head. She clutched her knees, trying to ground herself, but her thoughts spiraled uncontrollably. What if she’s right? What if I deserve everything coming my way? The questions suffocated her, and she felt like she was drowning in her own mind, unable to surface.

Her breath hitched when a familiar face entered her blurry field of vision, concern etched deeply in your furrowed brows. You raised a hand slowly, your movements deliberate and gentle, pausing as if asking for silent permission. When she gave a weak, trembling nod, you knelt down and rested your hand over hers, the warmth grounding her in the chaos of her spiraling thoughts. Your voice followed, soft and steady, cutting through the haze as you spoke words of comfort and reassurance.

“Tara, hey. Look at me. I’m here, okay? You’re safe now. Take a deep breath with me. Let’s do it together—breathe in…and out. Nice and slow. Just like that.” Tara listened to your instructions, slowly gaining back her bearings before tearing up again, overwhelmed by her feelings.

“I’m sorry—I’m such a burden—“ “Hey, I want none of that right now, okay? You’re not alone in this. Whatever’s happening, we’ll handle it together. You’re stronger than this—always have been. It will pass, I promise.”

It took Tara a while to piece together what happened and where she was. She just had a panic attack. You were there. The softness of your bed beneath her and the faint scent of your room finally grounded her. She blinked a few times, her gaze settling on the familiar surroundings, and the realization hit—she was safe.

You sat beside her, your voice calm as you spoke. “I texted Chad and Mindy to come over,” you said gently. “I thought having some company might help. They’re on their way now.”

Tara nodded slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. The thought of familiar faces brought a small flicker of relief amidst the storm swirling inside her.

As soon as the doorbell rang, you hurried to open it. Mindy wasted no time, wrapping you in a tight hug before you could say a word. Her embrace was warm and reassuring, a silent way of saying, We’re here for you. The moment she stepped back, Chad pulled you into his own firm hug, his hand patting your back in solidarity. Their presence immediately lightened the air, filling the space with a sense of comfort and support.

“We won, by the way. There was a party after, but it wouldn’t be the same without you.” Mindy commented, slightly smug about how she scored the winning goal. You’ve never doubted her once; you knew she could do it.

If Tara was being honest, she was afraid to meet the twins—afraid that she would be posed as the bad friend that avoided them, that she was weak and fragile. The thought of their disappointment, the way they might look at her with concern or pity, sent a wave of anxiety through her. It felt easier to stay away, to hide, than to face the questions and the judgments she imagined they’d have.

Tara took a deep breath, steeling herself as Mindy and Chad walked into the room. The moment Mindy stepped forward, she pulled Tara into a tight, almost desperate hug. Tara froze for a second, then allowed herself to melt into the embrace, feeling the warmth and safety that came with it. Mindy’s voice was soft but firm when she pulled away.

“You don’t have to apologize, Tara. We’re here,” she said, her tone full of concern.

Chad, a few steps behind, offered a reassuring smile before pulling her into his own hug, his hand gently patting her back. “You’re not alone in this,” he murmured, his voice calm and steady. Tara nodded, the overwhelming weight of her anxiety not quite lifting, but at least softened by the comfort of their presence.

As they settled around her, Tara felt an unexpected wave of guilt. If she were being honest, she was afraid of meeting them again—afraid that they would see her as the bad friend who had avoided them, that they would view her as weak and fragile. The thought of disappointing them, of facing their concern or pity, made her stomach turn. It felt easier to stay hidden, to avoid the inevitable questions they would ask about where she had been, why she’d pulled away. But now, as she sat between them, she realized that the fear of their judgment was nothing compared to the warmth of their unwavering support.

Tara took a deep breath, her heart pounding as she finally began to speak, her voice trembling with the weight of the words she’d kept locked inside for so long. She glanced at Mindy and Chad, their faces filled with concern and unwavering support, and it made her feel a little less alone. She told everyone in the room how she started dating Amber; and how things went downhill. By the time Tara ended, she was sobbing uncontrollably, your arms wrapped around her to calm her down. She looked at Mindy and Chad, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve come to you sooner.” Tara said tears still streaming down her face, but her voice stronger than before.

Mindy’s expression softened as Tara spoke, her eyes filled with both sadness and empathy. “Tara, you don’t deserve any of that,” Mindy said, her voice gentle but firm.

“None of it was your fault. Amber had no right to treat you that way, no matter what she said,” Mindy said, her words steady and filled with conviction. “You’re not broken, you’re strong. You’re still here, and you’re fighting. That’s what matters.” Mindy reached for her hand, squeezing it gently.

Chad nodded in agreement, his expression serious. “Mindy’s right. You don’t have to face it alone, you have us.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “Tara, you should think about reporting this. What happened to you wasn’t just a mistake—it was abuse. And abuse needs to be taken seriously.”

“I know it’s scary, and I know you’re probably thinking about what Amber might do or say, but we’re here for you, every step of the way. Reporting this to the police isn’t just about getting her in trouble—it’s about protecting yourself and making sure this doesn’t happen to anyone else. You’re not alone in this. We’ll be with you, no matter what you decide.” You added, gently rubbing your hand along her arms, making her relaxed.

Tara sat in silence for a moment, her mind racing with the idea of taking that step. She had never imagined herself going to the police, but now, with Mindy, Chad, and you by her side, it didn’t feel quite as impossible. It was terrifying, but maybe it was the first step toward finally finding peace.

A few days later, Tara found herself sitting in a quiet room at the local police station, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked down at the paper in front of her. She had made the decision—she was reporting the abuse. The officer sitting across from her was kind, patient, but Tara could still feel the weight of every word she spoke. She told them everything. About Amber’s manipulation, the slaps, the pushing, the hurtful words. She didn’t leave anything out, though every sentence felt like it ripped open a wound she’d tried to bury for so long. She even included photos of her bruises she would take pictures of throughout the relationship. The officer appreciated it, it adds more evidence even when there’s a big yellowish blotch on her face that didn’t need any more explaining.

When the officer assured her that her report would be taken seriously, Tara couldn’t help but feel a tiny flicker of relief, even though fear still lingered in her chest. She had done the right thing. She hoped. But as Tara walked out of the station, the reality of her decision began to settle in. She had taken a step that could never be undone, and she knew Amber would eventually find out.

And it didn’t take long.

It was the following afternoon when Tara received a call from an unknown number. Her stomach dropped, the familiar anxiety creeping back into her veins as she hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Hello?” Tara’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Tara,” came Amber’s voice, cold and filled with venom. “I know what you did.”

Tara’s heart skipped a beat, and she instinctively took a step back, as if she could escape the phone call that had already settled deep into her chest.

“You went to the police, didn’t you? You really think you can get away from me that easily? Blocking my number didn’t do anything, did it?” Amber’s tone was almost mocking, but beneath it was a layer of pure rage. “You’re nothing without me, Tara. Do you really think they’ll believe you? Do you really think I would hurt you? You’re a liar.”

Tara’s grip on the phone tightened, her voice shaking with fear but laced with a newfound resolve. “I’m not lying, Amber. I’m done. You don’t control me anymore.” Amber’s laughter came through the phone, sharp and cruel. “We’ll see about that.” And then the line went dead.

Tara stood there, the cold air biting at her skin, her heart racing in her chest; feeling the fear creep back in, until you called her downstairs for dinner. Ever since you found her during the finals, you managed to convince Tara to stay over at yours for awhile, considering she would’ve been alone at home and you wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.

You went up to the guest bedroom Tara was staying in to see her staring at her phone, slightly taken aback. You could sense her breathing getting shallower and sharper, realizing that she was having an asthma attack and quickly took her inhaler that was placed on the drawers.

She gasped again, but her breath wouldn’t come. Panic began to set in, her heart rate quickening, and she coughed uncontrollably, the sound rough and wet in her chest. The tightness in her throat made it harder to exhale, a wheeze escaping as she forced the air out. It felt as though the very act of breathing had turned into a struggle, and the more she tried, the harder it became. Your hand was already passing the inhaler to her trembling fingers. Tara’s breath hitched, struggling to move as her hands shook, but you placed your hand over hers, steadying it.

"Here, just... take a slow breath in. You can do it," you encouraged, your voice steady as you helped her press the inhaler to her lips. Tara obeyed, inhaling shakily, and within moments, she felt the familiar cooling sensation spread through her chest. The tightness loosened just a little, and she gasped for air, the wheezing beginning to subside.

“Good. Just like that,” you whispered, your hand resting on her shoulder, grounding her. Slowly, Tara's breathing steadied, each inhale coming a little easier than the last, the panic beginning to melt away as the medicine took effect. You stayed by her side, never letting go, just silently offering the comfort she desperately needed.

You were starting to get used to the sight of Tara struggling with both panic and asthma attacks throughout her stay at your home. It was a constant ebb and flow, moments where she seemed like she was almost back to herself, only for the anxiety or her breathing to hit her again without warning. At first, it was overwhelming—watching her gasping for air, feeling helpless as she trembled and shook—but over time, you learned how to respond.

You kept her inhaler close, always within reach. You knew the signs now, the way her chest would tighten, the shallow breaths, the subtle shift in her expression that meant her panic was escalating. You knew how to talk her down, how to ground her when the anxiety became too much, and how to steady her when she couldn’t catch her breath. The routine of it had become familiar: gently helping her breathe in through the inhaler, guiding her hands to her chest to ground her, reassuring her with calm words that she wasn’t alone.

But each time it happened, it still broke your heart. You could see the fear in her eyes, the fear of not knowing if she would get through it, the lingering dread that she wasn’t safe. You never left her side during those moments. No matter how many times it happened, you were there—watching, waiting, helping her through it until she found her breath again.

And while it was exhausting, both for her and for you, there was a certain quiet comfort in knowing you could help. Tara was stronger than she gave herself credit for, and you were proud of her every time she pushed through, even when it seemed like too much. With each attack, she seemed to hold onto that strength a little longer, even when she didn't see it herself.

After a few weeks of rest and recovery, Tara made the decision to go back to school. It wasn’t easy—every step toward the building felt like it weighed a ton, and her heart would race at the thought of seeing people again, of facing the memories that lurked in every hallway. But she couldn’t hide forever, and despite the anxiety swirling in her chest, Tara knew it was time to take that first step. The news spread like wildfire rippling both in Woodsboro and Blackmore. Everyone seemed to have their own version of the story, but the narrative was clear: Tara and Amber’s relationship was no longer just a private matter—it had become public, and with it, a storm of judgment.

Amber wasted no time in twisting the truth, claiming that Tara had fabricated everything. She told anyone who would listen that Tara was just seeking attention, painting herself as the victim of a lie. Amber played the part of the heartbroken, misunderstood girlfriend, while Tara was cast as the unreliable, dramatic ex who couldn’t handle their breakup. The accusations were swift, harsh, and relentless.

But amidst the gossip, there were small moments of clarity. She still had people who believed her—people like Mindy and Chad, who stood by her side without question. And you. You were her anchor. Every time the rumors swirled, you were there, offering her a steady presence, a reminder that her truth mattered, no matter what anyone else said. The world around her might have been filled with noise, but with your support, Tara began to find her voice again. Even if it took time, even if it was hard, she wasn’t going to let Amber’s lies define her.

The night before, she barely slept, tossing and turning in her bed, replaying the worst-case scenarios in her mind. What if Amber showed up? What if people asked questions she wasn’t ready to answer? But when morning came, you were there to reassure her once more, helping her gather her things and offering quiet encouragement.

“Just take it one step at a time,” you told her, giving her a gentle smile. “You don’t have to face everything all at once. We’ll get through it together.”

As Tara walked through the school gates, she felt a mix of nervousness and determination. She had her inhaler in her pocket, just in case, and a deep breath to calm the jittery nerves that clung to her. There was no going back now, but with each step forward, she could feel the weight on her shoulders lifting just a little bit. She wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

“Hey, Tara!” Serena, a classmate called out, her voice piercing through the crowded hallway. At the sound of her voice, you immediately tensed, a protective instinct kicking in. You weren’t sure if Serena was going to confront Tara, maybe join in the whispers and rumors that had been circulating. But as you glanced at Tara, you could see the hesitation in her expression. She was unsure what to expect from Serena now.

Without thinking, you gently pulled Tara closer, positioning yourself as a shield, ready for whatever was about to happen. Tara stiffened at first, but then she relaxed into you, seeking comfort in your presence. She wasn’t ready to face any more hostility or doubt—not from anyone.

Serena approached, her steps slow but determined. The usual confidence she carried was gone. Her face was softer, almost apologetic, and there was a sadness in her eyes that Tara hadn’t expected. She stopped just in front of you both, looking down at the ground before lifting her eyes to meet Tara’s.

“Tara,” she said quietly, avoiding your eyes. “I owe you an apology. I should’ve believed you from the start. Amber—she did the same thing to me.” Tara blinked, surprised. “You were with Amber too?” Serena nodded, her voice trembling.

You could feel Tara’s grip on your arm tighten, the weight of the moment sinking in. It was clear that this wasn’t just an apology—this was Serena reaching out to Tara, extending a hand to show her that she wasn’t alone, that there was someone who understood the pain.

“She manipulated me, made me feel crazy, like I was the problem. I didn’t see it until I left her. I saw how she treated you and… I didn’t speak up. I’m sorry for that.” Tara stared at her, processing her words. “I didn’t know… I thought it was just me.”

“I know. I should’ve been there for you,” Serena said. “But I believe you, Tara. Amber’s abuse wasn’t your fault.” Tara’s shoulders slumped, relief and confusion mixing in her eyes. “Thank you. I.. I’m glad you’re saying this.”

Serena gave a soft nod. “I’m here for you, anytime. You’re not alone.”

As Serena walked away, Tara exhaled deeply, her grip on you loosening. The weight wasn’t gone, but knowing Serena understood made the burden a little lighter.

It’s been a few weeks since Tara had the courage to start attending school again, and while the halls still felt heavy, there was a noticeable shift in her. The whispers had faded to a dull murmur, and the judgmental stares were fewer, replaced with something a bit more tolerable—curiosity, or maybe even a touch of guilt from those who had doubted her.

Tara had slowly begun to rebuild herself, day by day. With Mindy, Chad, and even Serena’s unexpected support, she had started to find the strength to face the world again. But every step forward came with its own challenge. Some days were harder than others, and the scars from Amber’s abuse weren’t so easily erased. Yet, Tara was determined to keep moving forward, and even though she wasn’t sure what the future held, she knew she wasn’t as alone as she once believed.

There were still moments of fear, of panic, but each time she faced them, it was a little easier to breathe. With you by her side, offering quiet support, she was starting to believe that maybe—just maybe—she could reclaim her life.

Tara knew she had to go back to her house to retrieve a few things. Her mind raced with memories of Amber, of the chaos and control, but there were still some items left behind that she needs—it would be a mixture of both closure and necessity. The thought of stepping foot inside her old home made her stomach turn, but she knew she couldn’t leave everything behind forever. Tara had spent too long running, too long living in fear. It was time to take those final steps—gathering her things, locking the door behind her, and finally letting go of the past that still haunted her.

She wasn’t sure if she could face it alone, but she didn’t want to burden anyone. Still, the idea of returning to the house she once called home left her feeling vulnerable and anxious. She looked over at you, a soft vulnerability in her eyes, unsure of how to ask for help without seeming weak. “I... I need to go back to my house, just to get a few things. I don't think I can do it by myself."

You immediately reassured her, “You don’t have to do this alone. I’ll go with you.” Tara let out a quiet breath of relief, her shoulders relaxing. “I didn’t want to ask, but I don’t think I can handle it by myself.”

“I’m here for you, always,” you said, offering a gentle smile. “We’ll go together, take whatever you need, and leave. You don’t have to face it alone.”

Tara gave a small nod, her nerves still present but now softened by your support. “Okay. Let’s go.” And with that, the two of you set out, ready to face the past together, step by step.

Several minutes later, you both arrived at Tara’s old house. The familiar sight of it made her pause, a knot tightening in her stomach. The house that once felt like home now felt like a prison—a place filled with too many memories she wasn’t ready to face. You could sense the vulnerability in Tara’s posture as she stepped into the house, the weight of the moment settling over her. You didn’t want to intrude on something so private, so important to her, but you also wanted to be there if she needed support.

“I’ll stay in the car,” you suggested softly, giving her space. “Take your time. I’m right here if you need me.”

Tara glanced back at you, her eyes filled with gratitude, though the fear was still there. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I don’t know if I can do this, but... I’ll try.”

You gave her a reassuring nod as she stepped inside, the door closing softly behind her. You remained in the car, your heart with her, knowing that no matter how long it took, you’d be here when she was ready to leave.

Just as she left the walkway, you saw a sketchy black car across the street. The engine was idle, and a chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. You quickly glanced at the house, knowing Tara was inside. Your protective instinct kicked in. Without thinking, you got out of the car and headed toward the house, your pace quickening.

Inside, Tara was gathering a few of her things when she heard the faint sound of footsteps behind her. She turned, her blood running cold when she saw Amber standing there, leaning against the doorway with that familiar, malicious smirk on her face.

“You didn’t really think you could get away, did you?” Amber’s voice was low and taunting. She stepped into the room, her eyes glinting with a dangerous edge. “I still have a key, remember?” She stepped forward, her fingers tracing the edge of the doorframe where she had forced Tara to give her the spare key long ago

Before she could react, you burst through the door, your body tense with fury. “Get away from her!” you shouted, stepping between them. Amber’s eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly sneered, taking a threatening step forward. But you didn’t give her the chance. In one swift motion, you grabbed her by the wrist, slamming her hard against the wall with a sickening thud. Amber gasped, her eyes wide with shock, but you weren’t done. Your fist shot out, connecting with her jaw in a brutal punch that made her head snap back, her body jerking from the force of it. You stomped on the leg that you injured a few weeks ago, making her groan in agony.

Tara gasped, her eyes wide, but the sight of Amber recoiling, clutching her cheek, was like a weight lifting off her chest. You didn’t wait for Amber to recover; you shoved her roughly back against the wall, your hand still gripping her wrist.

“Stay the hell away from her. I don’t care who you think you are,” you growled, your voice cold and deadly. Amber’s eyes flickered with fury, but she was too stunned to fight back properly. Tara stood frozen, watching, feeling a strange mix of fear and relief. Amber spat, her glare venomous. “This isn’t over,” she hissed, trying to regain her composure, but you tightened your grip and stepped closer, your gaze unflinching.

Amber’s breathing grew heavy, but she knew she was outmatched. With one last look of hatred, she wrenched herself away and stormed out of the house, limping while slamming the door behind her. As the house grew quiet again, Tara exhaled shakily, still trembling from the confrontation. You turned to her, your chest heaving, but you gave her a steady, comforting look.

“She’s gone. Shit—I’m sorry, I knew I should’ve—“ Before you could complete your sentence, Tara rushed into your arms, wrapping her arms tightly around you. She buried her face into your chest, her body shaking, her breath uneven.

“No,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t apologize. I... I needed that.” Her words were muffled against you, but you could feel the tension leaving her as she clung to you. “I was so scared... but now... I don’t feel so alone.”

You held her tighter, your hands gently rubbing her back as you spoke softly, “You’re not alone, Tara. I’ll always be here. Always.”

Tara nodded, her grip loosening slightly but her face still pressed against you. The world outside felt distant now, the past they’d just confronted fading into the background. What mattered now was the quiet, steady promise that she was safe—here, with you.

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a/n: I'm kind of forcing myself to write longer fics, and I hope this isn't too draggy and boring for u guys. feedback is appreciated :)

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x y #scream

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 3 days ago

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༉‧₊˚. 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 || 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

— pairing: spencer reid x plus size vampire!reader

— summary: after centuries of isolation, your familiar forces you to finally leave the confines of you manor, and a nice surprise awaits you.

— warnings: mentions of past vampire hunting, hints at isolation and depression, mentions of death, the reader is a REALLY old vampire so she kinda doesn't know how modern day romancing works, spencer is confused but kind of flattered.

— wc: 1083

⋆ a/n: HIHI!!! this was an original idea that i refused to sit on, so it just came out of my brain as i went. there's some random vampire lore but honestly it's just vampire reader being smitten with loser reid sigh (please ask me about them).

masterlist | AO3

You don't really remember the last time you've talked to a human.

It was a chosen isolation of course, because the last time your kind had been out, you were hunted practically for sport. So, you weren't very enthusiastic to see the world.

That was hundreds of years ago, though, vampires had long been dismissed by new generations, so you could go out if you wanted to, and your familiar, Knox, was very hell-bent on reminding you.

Sure, you've been cooped up in your home in the woods for some time now, but you had everything that you needed. You had a good food supply (i.e., the wide selection of animals), your piano, and your cat. That was all you needed.

And yet somehow you found yourself sitting on a bench during broad daylight in a human park.

You were one of the few vampires left in your faction, so the sun wasn't a bother. Your skin would get mildly irritated, but that was it really.

Your abilities were all based on your age, you had grown out of the sensitive infancy that was being a newly sired vampire.

It helped that your place of seating was covered by a tree, though.

You nervously pet Knox who was sitting in your lap, his tail swishing lazily without a care in the world.

For a creature who served a nocturnal being, he sure was fond of the day time.

He basked in the way the sun hit his pitch black fur just right, the rays warming up parts of his skin that you could not.

You weren't very cold anymore, sometimes cool to the touch, but never freezing, like a dead body.

Your lips were pressed together in a thin line, and you were sure you didn't look very approachable, especially not in your all black get up.

You were attune with the times, of course. Trends were changing, there was technology now, and things weren't as hopeless as they were back then, but there were just some things that remained the same.

“You are too stiff.” Knox stated simply. “You look as if you are constipated. I took you out here to make friends, not to hide from them.”

To anyone, his words sounded like a meow, but to you, it was like nails on a chalkboard.

Your fingers paused their stroking, and he swatted at them, and you huffed, but yielded to his bratty yet silent demand.

“I have already told you, Knox. I am not interested in making friends with humans.” You swallowed the dryness that was in your throat.

For the first time in years you had been around human blood, and a lot of it, so it was a bit overwhelming. Not so much so where you felt like attacking, but there was an underlying sweetness in the air.

“It doesn't matter what you are or are not interested in. You are lonely. It is as simple as that.” He continues, “As your familiar, it is my job to help you.” He stretched. “So –” Knox finally settles again, “This is me helping.”

“I am sure it is.” You state with a roll of your eyes.

It wasn't like being here was bad per se, just different, unfamiliar. You were one of the very few immortals that feared the unknown.

Vampires always thought they had all the time in the world, and that had led them to their inevitable ends. You know yours will come one day, by your own hand, or someone else's.

“Look, if you don not wish to stay here, I will not force you; but we will be back again –”

Knoxs’ chirping fell on deaf ears as you smelled the most pungent thing in your life. You could practically taste it in your mouth, it was heavy on your tongue. Heavenly.

Your keen eyes instantly shot to your left where a lanky man was approaching you, albeit hesitantly.

“Excuse me, but could I sit here?” He gestured to the spot next to you, and you just blinked. You zeroed in on his pulse before shifting your gaze to the wood.

“Sure.”

Your reply was breathless, and he gave you a closed lip smile. It was… fastly endearing to say the least.

“The cat that brings bad luck.” You heard the handsome man say from beside you. You blink again.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your cat.” He motions down to Knox with a quick dip of his head. “Usually people associate black cats with bringing bad luck, though it's obviously just a superstition.”

He sounds awkward, and you could see the self-deprivation written all over his face, as though he knew he had said something wrong. You didn't like it.

“Are they now?” You hummed.

You looked down at an intrigued Knox, who was caught between watching you and the human.

“I suppose it makes sense.” You say with a small smile. You bring your nails up to scratch behind his ears. “He may not bring me bad luck, but he sure is a lot to deal with. Very chatty.”

Knox hisses and swats at your hand again.

The human looks alarmed by the action of your cat, and somewhat confused.

“Cats don't normally relax that fast after showing distress.” The human says, perplexed. “Strange. He must be a special cat.” There's the purring.

‘Egotistical’ You wanted to say.

“I…” He gulps. “What's your name?”

You finally force yourself to meet his gaze, and you are absolutely love struck.

He smells divine; he has the features and the intelligence to rival any of your ancestors before you.

You state your name. “You?”

“Dr. Spencer Reid – but… but you can just call me Spencer! The Dr is just a formality…” You cut off his rambling by accident, “You are just magnificent.”

Spencer chokes on his words.

“I - I’m sorry?”

“I said you are magnificent.” It has been a long time since you've been in the public eye, but this was how one made their intentions clear, no?

“I… thank you.” Spencer flushes a beautiful hue of red, and you can hear and smell the blood moving to his cheeks.

“Why of course.”

Things go quiet for a moment, maybe even a little bit awkward, but you were prepared for that. You were vaguely aware that wooing now was different to how it was back then.

“So, tell me more about these superstitions.”

Spencer visibly brightens up at that.

Maybe the human world wasn't so bad after all.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna

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opinion-haver · 2 hours ago

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these replies perfectly summarize how we got to the issue of devaluing human connection in the first place and how this post is pretty much exacerbating the issue:

“yall are so dumb” - this sentiment writes off an entire population of people who are struggling. literally destroying human connections directly. and i think that in and of itself is dumb

“this is sooooo dystopian” -its pretty obvious how people running to ai therapists fullblown sucks and is dystopian but one must not forget that pointing at an issue isnt actually addressing it, especially when the comparison is rooted in nostalgia.

“these people are pitiful”- another strain of thinking people are so dumb. its patronizing. if you cant find shared humanity— if you cant see within yourself a version that would succumb, you dont understand the problem.

honorable mention: the tools introduced above lend a very fun look into how ineffectual the system is and how these tools dont address at all the reasons why one would speak to an ai therapist in the first place.

worksheets: if i was going through a breakup or panic attack or some shit equivalent you would be absolutely kidding me to think that i would open up a worksheet. im suicidal not a masochist. zero humanity in that response.

chart-games: i find these useful, i even made a modified in-browser personal guide just for myself. but the issue is that most of the times conscious malaise isnt often cured by just eating or drinking just because you forgot. and thats if you remember to go to the website when youre doing badly in the first place. if im in hell im checked the fuck out.

finch: as a daily user of finch, i know directly how helpful this tool can be. it pairs the dopamine rush of games with executive function, like so many other gamified trackers out there. i like the data analysis personally, reflections are so useful to knowing yourself from day to day. but its very much trying to monetize your self care. to gate some of its tools behind a premium subscription because (paraphrase) “you deserve self care” is insidious as hell. and the ways it treats you is patronizing. i know youre dressing up a cartoon bird but i dont think helping the bird discover it likes baby shark is particularly salient to the aging tumblr userbase

ok so ive complained a whole lot. but in order to put money where my mouth is, whats the solution?

well obviously! to foster human connection of course. if these people dont know what real human connection is like its because nobody has BEEN real human connection for them. and vice versa— if you strawman these people into mindless idiots then clearly you dont understand their psyche.

in lieu of an ai therapist, reach out to a gd friend.

if you dont got friends, go make em. its ez. outside is easiest— show up to some kind of local thing or the other. it doesnt have to mesh with you completely but learning about Hetero Jessicas worklife balance is way more illustrative of human reality than chatgpt. but outside is not the only way. go ping someone random. get over the initial fear. fall in love with strangers. learn about their cats and trade cat pictures or some shit. its not easy but its worth it. hell, if you want to dm me i might even reply, if im not busy.

solidarity saved me. it can save you too.

guys. please

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inkmonster21 · 2 days ago

Text

Short n’ Sweet💋

Hugh Jackman x Fem!Sister!Reynolds!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, shitty situations, sadness (IM SORRY)

Part 18

Series Masterlist

You’ve Lost All Your Common Sense

💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋

You briskly zip up your suitcase, the excitement for the upcoming trip bubbling within you. St. Barts was a breathtaking destination, and you knew firsthand that there was always something to do.

You take a quick look around your room, making sure you haven’t forgotten anything. The prospect of the sun, the sand, and the luxurious surroundings await you, and you can’t help but smile in anticipation.

Your phone vibrated with a notification from Hugh, alerting you that he was waiting in the parking garage. Excitement mingled with anticipation as you read his text.

You grab your bags with a smile, eager to kick off your luxurious vacation. Making your way down to the parking garage, you couldn't help but feel a sense of extravagance and privilege washing over you.

You met Hugh with a warm embrace, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a soft kiss. There was a sense of comfort and familiarity in his presence, and the brief moment of intimacy made your heart flutter.

Drawing back, you looked up at him with a smile, the excitement of the trip clear in your eyes. "Ready to go?" "Ready as I'll ever be," Hugh replied with a grin. "I've got us a private jet, but we should probably head out now. We don't want to keep the others waiting."

He took your bags from you, effortlessly carrying both of them, and led the way towards the car.

You glanced out the car window, admiring the scenery that passed by. A nagging thought crept into your mind, and you turned to Hugh with a question.

"You don't think this is some sort of revenge attack, do you? Debora doesn't plan to poison me at dinner or steal all my left shoes?" You chuckled as you voiced your concerns, trying to lighten the mood.

Hugh chuckled back, not taking your concern too seriously. "I highly doubt it," he reassured you with a smile. "Debbie can be a handful, but she's not one for revenge. Besides, I'll be there to protect you if anything goes awry."

Hugh's reassuring words worked their magic, and you felt your worries start to dissolve. He was experienced, after all - divorced and co-parenting with his ex-wife. He was used to this dynamic and comfortable around Debora.

You reminded yourself that you had nothing to worry about. Hugh knew Debora well, and he would ensure everything went smoothly.

You entered your room and noticed a basket near the bedside table filled with complimentary products like toiletries and a bottle of wine from Debora. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you appreciated the thoughtful gesture.

"Well, that's nice," you said, appreciating the little touches that made trips like this even more special.

Hugh leaned in from behind you, looking over your shoulder and nodding his head in agreement. "See? She's not going to sabotage you," he reiterated with a smile, confirming your fears were unfounded. You couldn't help but chuckle as you glanced back at him, appreciating his ability to put your mind at ease.

As you considered the possibility that Hugh might be right, a thought struck you - you were probably just searching for something to worry about.

You couldn't help but chuckle inwardly, acknowledging that Hugh's calm reassurance was probably exactly what you needed to ease your nerves.

"They've planned dinner at 8," Hugh confirmed, his hands gently rubbing your shoulders in an attempt to ease any remaining tension. "All together?" he repeated, seeking your agreement on the timing.

You thought for a moment, making sure 8pm was convenient for you. "Yeah, that works for me," you replied, feeling more relaxed than before.

The sun was setting, throwing a warm, golden glow across the ocean. The sparkling blue water stretched out before you, creating a breathtaking view.

You leaned against the glass, taking a moment to appreciate the moment - the beautiful scenery and the promise of a delightful evening ahead.

Hugh leaned against the window on the other side, his gaze following your own as he observed the scenic view outside. "We could walk the beach later tonight," he suggested, breaking the peaceful silence.

Your thoughts shifted from the breathtaking view to the idea of a moonlit beach stroll. "Sounds nice," you replied, a smile forming on your lips at the suggestion.

You smirked and leaned back from the window, turning to face Hugh with a quizzical look as you asked, "And then?"

Hugh chuckled, catching on to your playful tone. He raised an eyebrow, a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "And then...?" he replied, feigning innocence.

"I think you know very well what I had in mind,” you smirk at him. He closed the distance between you, his hands gently resting on your waist as he looked down at you with a smirk.

"Let's just say, there's plenty to explore on the beach once it gets dark," he teased, his voice low and suggestive. His hold on your waist tightened ever so slightly as his eyes darted from your lips to meet yours.

After leisurely lounging, attending to some business calls, and finishing up with unpacking, the evening was drawing to a close. Time to head to dinner. The air was filled with a mix of anticipation and excitement for what the evening might bring.

You checked the time, realizing it was nearing dinner time. The others were probably getting ready, and you couldn't help but feel a slight flutter of nerves in your stomach.

You held up two dresses in front of you, each adorned in sophisticated black and navy hues. A small frown formed on your lips as you considered which dress to wear for dinner.

"Black or navy?" you repeated in a contemplative tone, turning to Hugh for advice. Hugh walked over, assessing both dresses with a keen eye. He reached out, gently running his fingers along the fabric of each one. He paused for a moment, eyes locked with yours, before his lips curled up into a sly smile. "Black," he declared decisively.

Hugh's gaze darkened as he watched you change in front of him, a sly smirk playing on your lips. He couldn't help but appreciate the sight, his eyes roving over your figure, admiring the way the fabric hugged your curves.

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in an attempt to appear nonchalant, but his eyes never left you.

Hugh's voice cut through the air, his statement laced with amusement. He watched you intently, a knowing smile on his lips.

"You do this on purpose," he said again, his gaze never leaving yours. “Me?” Hugh's smile grew wider as you feigned innocence, playing along with the act. He chuckled, shaking his head slightly in amusement.

"Oh, come on," he said with a hint of playful accusation. "You know exactly what you're doing. Don't even try to act all innocent now."

You slipped your heels on, perfectly adorning your feet, and picked up your bag. With a sly smile, you turned back to Hugh and feigned innocence once more.

"Really?" he teased, unable to hide the humor in his tone. "You don't know what I'm talking about? I find that a little hard to believe."

Your fingers traced the fabric of his shirt, caressing it gently. A coy smile tugged at the corners of your lips, hinting at the playful suggestion that lay underneath. “I guess you’ll just have to explain it to me later tonight.”

Hugh's breath hitched at your touch, his gaze darkening slightly as he leaned closer, a subtle shiver coursing through his body. "Oh, I will," he said, his voice dripping with promise. "I'll make it a very long explanations."

Unable to resist any longer, you reached out and pulled Hugh's hand gently, signaling it was time to leave.

"Come on," you said, your voice holding a hint of eagerness. "We don't want to be late, do we?"

Hugh nodded, a smirk playing on his lips, and allowed you to lead him out of the room, your hands interlocked firmly.

As the two of you walked into the restaurant, your eyes quickly found Ava, Oscar, and Debora. They sat at a large table, already engaged in conversation, laughing together.

Hugh led you over to the table, greeting the group with a smile, "Good evening, everyone."

Debora greeted you both with a warm smile, "Ah, there you are! We were wondering when you'd finally arrive." She gave you a teasing wink, while Ava and Oscar exchanged amused glances.

“Well you know this one and his shirts.” Debora chuckled at your comment, her eyes darting to Hugh's dress shirt, clearly making the connection.

"Oh, indeed," Debora teased, a playful glint in her eyes. She turned her attention back to Hugh, her gaze turning a shade mischievous. "You really do love them, don't you?" Hugh's smirk broadened into a grin at Debora's comment, and he played along, putting on a show.

"What can I say? I do know how to look good in a shirt," he retorted, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He gave you a glance, a subtle wink betraying the truth behind his words.

The conversation between the group flowed effortlessly as everyone settled into their respective seats. Light-hearted banter and laughter filled the air as everyone caught up with each other and discussed the upcoming vacation plans.

Ava and Oscar couldn't help but exchange amused glances every now and then as they watched the banter between Hugh and Debora. It was clear they were enjoying the playful energy that always seemed to accompany the two of them in conversation.

As the playful banter continued, your thoughts couldn't help but drift to the past, the memories of Hugh and Debora's happy times together. It was nice to see them get along, but it was also a little frustrating, watching their smiles and subtle touches as they reminisced on shared memories.

You were pulled out of your thoughts as Debora addressed you, her voice cutting through the chatter around the table. She asked about the upcoming tour for your new album.

A small smile tugged at your lips as memories of the upcoming concerts came to mind. "Yeah, we're planning a tour," you replied, excitement lacing your words. "It's going to be a lot of fun."

Ava chimed in, a giddy look of excitement on her face. "I can't wait for us to go shopping," she said, a hint of excitement in her voice. "Shopping?" Oscar asked, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "For what?"

Ava shrugged, her eyes darting between all of them. "Isn't it obvious?" she replied coyly. "For clothes!" Debora nodded in agreement, a grin on her face at the suggestion. "Absolutely! Tomorrow would be perfect for us to shop."

She turned to Hugh, a playful glint in her eyes. "Right, boys? Leave the fashion to us girls, and you can go do whatever it is you boys do while we go try on clothes?"

Hugh chuckled at Debora's remark, his tone laced with playful annoyance. "Oh, of course," he replied jokingly. "Nothing like old times. You girls go do your fashion thing, and we'll amuse ourselves somehow."

You forced a smile and a laugh, even though the sight of Debora flirting with her ex-husband was like a punch in the gut. Your grip on the wine glass tightened, the smooth liquid swirling inside as you forced down the bitter feelings that welled up inside you every time they shared a look, or a touch.

You had to remain composed, a mask of calm and nonchalance firmly in place. But in your heart, it was torture.

The conversation around the table continued, but you found it difficult to pay full attention, your mind preoccupied with the sight of Debora and Hugh's interactions. Every gesture, every word that seemed just a little too familiar, made your heart pang with a painful, almost familiar feeling.

You took another sip of your wine, pretending to pay attention, hiding the storm brewing within.

You picked at your food, barely even taking a bite, your thoughts still occupied with the dynamic between Debora and Hugh. You found yourself drinking more wine than usual, the liquid providing a temporary distraction from the painful situation.

As the night went on, you found it harder and harder to feign interest in the conversation, your mind constantly wandering back to the sight of those two together.

As the evening progressed, your jealousy intensified. You felt like an outsider, a mere spectator to their intimate reunion. Hugh's laughter, usually so warm and inviting, now felt like a dagger piercing your heart. You caught yourself clenching your napkin, your knuckles turning white from the force of your grip.

"Honey, are you alright?" Hugh's voice snapped you out of your jealous haze. His deep, concerned eyes met yours, and for a moment, you felt a pang of guilt for doubting his loyalty.

"Yes, I'm fine," you managed to reply, forcing a smile. "Just a bit tired."

Debora, leaned forward, her expression softening. "It's been a long day for all of us. Why don't we call it an early night? I'm sure we all could use some time to relax."

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the opportunity to retreat to the privacy of your shared suite. As the group stood up from the table, you felt Hugh's hand on your lower back, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. It was a subtle reassurance, a silent promise that he was all yours.

Back in the suite, the kids quickly retreated to their rooms, eager to unwind after a day of exploring. You found yourself alone with Hugh in the spacious living area, the soft glow of the moon casting shadows across the room. The silence between you was thick with unspoken words, the tension palpable.

"You seemed a little on edge during dinner," Hugh said, his voice low and soothing. "Is everything okay?"

You took a deep breath, your eyes searching his face. "I'm sorry, it's just... seeing you and Debora together like that... it brought up some… insecurities."

Hugh's brow furrowed, his eyes filled with concern. "Insecurities? My love, you know there's nothing between Debora and me. We're just being civil for the kids' sake."

"I know, I know," you said, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you. "It's just... I can't help but feel jealous. She's so beautiful and successful, and you two have such a history. I can't shake the feeling that… I'm not enough."

Hugh took a step towards you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist. "Oh, my darling, don't ever doubt yourself. You are the only woman I desire. The past is behind us, and I'm grateful for the time we shared, but it's you I want, now and forever."

His words sent a rush of relief through your body, but you needed more than just words to ease your jealous heart. You reached up, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. "Show me," you whispered, your breath hot against his neck.

Hugh's hands slid down your back, cupping your buttocks, pulling you tightly against him. You could feel his erection pressing against your stomach, a tangible proof of his desire. He kissed you passionately, his tongue exploring your mouth with urgency. You moaned, your hands roaming over his broad shoulders, relishing the feel of his muscular body.

Breaking the kiss, Hugh lifted you effortlessly, carrying you towards the bedroom. His eyes never left yours, burning with a fierce intensity. He laid you down on the bed, his hands gently pushing your thighs apart, exposing your wetness to his hungry gaze.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice hoarse with desire. "I want to taste you, remind myself that you're mine."

With that, he lowered his head, his lips finding your sensitive clit. He teased it with gentle flicks of his tongue, making you squirm with pleasure. You arched your back, your hands gripping the sheets as he delved deeper, his tongue probing your wet folds. His fingers joined in, sliding inside your pussy, curling and stroking your G-spot.

"Oh, Hugh!" you cried out, your hips thrusting upwards, seeking more of his touch. He chuckled against your sensitive flesh, his breath sending shivers through your body. He sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue dancing over it, driving you wild with pleasure.

Just as you were about to climax, Hugh pulled away, leaving you teetering on the edge. You whimpered, reaching for him, your body craving release. He smiled, his eyes dark with desire, and climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between your thighs.

"Please, Hugh," you begged, your voice thick with need. "I need you inside me."

He teased you, sliding the tip of his thick cock along your slick folds, but not entering you. "Not yet, my love. I want to make this last."

You whined in frustration, your body on fire. Hugh leaned down, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his cock against your pussy. You responded eagerly, your hands gripping his shoulders, urging him to take you.

Finally, with a growl of desire, Hugh positioned himself at your entrance and thrust forward, filling you in one smooth motion. You cried out, your body welcoming the invasion, your walls clenching around his thick shaft. He set a slow, torturous pace, withdrawing almost entirely before slamming back into you, hitting all the right spots.

"You feel so fucking good," he grunted, his breath hot against your neck. "So tight, so wet. You're mine, all mine."

His words sent a thrill through your body, silencing any remaining doubts. You matched his rhythm, your hips rising to meet his powerful thrusts. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, a primal soundtrack to your passionate encounter.

As Hugh pounded into you, his hands found your breasts, squeezing and kneading them. He pinched your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your body, pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel your orgasm building, a tidal wave of sensation ready to crash over you.

"I'm close, Hugh," you panted, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, don't stop."

He grunted in response, his pace becoming frenzied. He slammed into you with abandon, his cock seeking the deepest parts of your pussy. You screamed his name as your orgasm hit, your body convulsing around him, milking his shaft. Hugh groaned as his own release began building, and with a final powerful thrust, he emptied his hot cum deep inside you.

The morning arrived sooner than you'd like, sunlight streaming in through the hotel curtains and slowly waking you from your peaceful slumber. You found yourself comfortable in the large bed, your body nestled snugly next to Hugh's.

As the light played across your features, you found yourself unable to resist the temptation to simply stay where you were.

Hugh stirred beside you, feeling the movement of your body against his own. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times as he came back into consciousness.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he saw you next to him. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice soft and groggy. You returned his smile, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you shifted a little closer to him. The room was quiet, the only sounds being the occasional distant noise from outside and the sound of the two of you breathing.

"Morning," you replied, your voice just as low and sleep-filled as his. “I should go get ready for my shopping extravaganza with Ava and Deb.”

You spoke, the thought of the impending shopping trip with Ava and Deb filling your mind. The word "shopping extravaganza" had been met with a sigh, indicating your reluctance to get up and get ready.

Hugh shifted in the bed, his arm still stretched out over you. "You don't sound enthusiastic about that," he observed, his voice still raspy with sleep.

You couldn't deny his observation. Getting out of bed and getting dolled up for a day of shopping sounded like a chore right now. But you knew you had to make an effort, especially with the company you'd be in.

"I know, I know," you sighed, your voice betraying your reluctance. "I'm just not a big fan of leaving you all alone in this nice bed, that's all."

Hugh chuckled at your response, knowing full well there was more to your reluctance than just missing his company in bed. He pulled you closer, his hand tracing small circles on your hip.

"You're a clingy one, aren't you?" he teased, his voice still a little rough with sleep.

“I thought you liked it?”

Hugh smirked, his eyes filled with a familiar spark of amusement. "Of course I do," he replied, his hand moving up to brush a strand of hair from your face. "I always like when you're all clingy and attached to me," he added, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

You chuckled softly, the smack on your butt making you giggle despite your sleep-filled state. "You really know how to motivate a girl, don't you?" you teased, rolling out from under his arm and onto the edge of the bed.

Hugh smirked, his eyes watching as you swung your legs over the side. "The devil can wait a little longer," he retorted, his hands going back to the pillow in a pretend act of covering his eyes.

You got out of bed and started getting ready, the morning routine seeming even more tedious than usual due to your reluctance to leave the warmth and comfort of the bed.

Throughout the process, Hugh watched you from the bed, his eyes following your movements with a mixture of interest and amusement.

You emerged from the hotel room to find Debora and Ava waiting, their outfits already looking pristine and perfect. They both smiled at you as you approached, their faces radiating excitement.

Ava excitedly rambled off a list of the various stores she wanted to visit during the shopping trip. Designer names and luxury brands spilled out of her mouth. Debora, on the other hand, remained quiet, her eyes occasionally flicking in your direction.

The excitement in Ava's voice was contagious, and despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself a little pumped for the day out. But every now and then, your eyes would catch a glance from Debora, her gaze a mix of curious and calculating.

You walked along the streets, your steps matching Ava and Debora's as you three made your way from store to store.

As you spoke, your voice filled with gratitude, “Thank you for inviting me.” Debora smiled at you, her expression almost sweet. "Of course," she replied, her voice pleasant though her eyes held a hint of something else.

“I just really want to make this work,” You spoke, your words laced with hopefulness as you tried to convince both yourself and Debora that things would work out.

A flicker of annoyance crossed your face as Debora's smile suddenly turned less sincere. She cut straight to the point, her words blunt and direct.

“You’re already fucking him, honey. You don’t need to try so hard,” she said, her eyes fixated on you.

“I’m not,” You denied her words, a hint of defensiveness in your voice. Your eyes widened as you looked at Debora, trying to make her understand that what she said wasn't true.

Ava looked back and forth between you and Debora, the silence between you two hanging in the air like a thick fog.

“Hey, this would be so cute on you!” You were grateful for the distraction, allowing Ava to pull you away from the tense conversation. You glanced back at Debora, her eyes still fixed on you, before following Ava to the rack of clothes she was eyeing.

“Sorry about her.” You looked at Ava, a sheepish expression on your face. "It's fine," you assured her quietly, trying to brush off the previous tense moment.

Ava looked at you intently, a hint of concern in her eyes as she continued to look at the clothes.

You spoke in a hushed tone, your voice laced with a mixture of worry and uncertainty. "Does she hate me?" you asked, a touch of vulnerability in your words.

Ava looked back at you, her expression sympathetic. "No, she doesn't," she replied, her voice just as low. "But... she's not exactly your biggest fan."

You nodded, a touch of resignation in your gesture. It was obvious from the tension that Debora wasn't exactly happy about the arrangement between you and Hugh. Ava watched you closely, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and pity.

You moved from shop to shop, your arms filled with bags of new clothes, shoes, and accessories. The hours flew by, the three of you moving from one fashionable location to the next. Debora stayed mostly quiet, sometimes chiming in with a snarky comment or a pointed question.

As you paid for a new handbag, Debora's voice suddenly piped up, her tone laced with disapproval. "Is that Hugh's card?" she asked, her eyes flickering to the credit card you were using.

“He told me to use it,” Your statement was simple, but it caught the attention of Debora. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of disbelief in her expression.

"He told you to use it?" she repeated, her tone still disapproving.

“Yes. He did,” Your answer was firm, clearly conveying your certainty in what Hugh had said to you.

Debora's eyes studied you for a moment, her expression still skeptical. "And he's fine with just giving you his card like that?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, putting the credit card back into your wallet as you spoke. Debora's skepticism was clear in her eyes, her jaw clenching slightly. Ava, meanwhile, watched the interaction with a mixture of interest and concern.

As you were about to leave Crumble Cookie, you heard your name called out from behind.

You turned around, a little startled, and saw a friend of yours. The excitement on her face was obvious, her eyes sparkling with a mix of eagerness and joy.

You smiled at your friend, pleased to see her. The others paused, a brief moment of confusion on their faces at the unexpected interruption.

"Hey!" your friend exclaimed, approaching you with a wide smile.

Your friend wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug, the warmth and comfort of her embrace immediately flooding through you.

Ava and Debora watched the scene, their gazes flickering between the two of you.

Ava and Debora both smiled, introductions made. "This is Ava," your friend began, gesturing at Ava as she spoke. "And that's her mom, Debora."

Debora's gaze was appraising, a hint of skepticism in her eyes, but she returned the introduction with a polite nod.

“Hey text me and let’s get dinner!” You agreed, your friend's offer catching your interest.

"Yeah, sure! That sounds great," you replied, your voice filled with a hint of eagerness. "We're quite busy today but I'll be sure to text you later. Dinner would be nice."

As your friend said their goodbyes and left, you and Debora were left standing together as she spoke. "Friend of yours?" she repeated, her voice nonchalant, but her eyes focused on you.

Your response was casual, your tone betraying a hint of nostalgia. "Yeah, we go way back to the Disney days," you confirmed, a nostalgic smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

Your eyes lit up when you saw Hugh and Oscar in the distance. You immediately waved them over, a smile spreading across your face. They both stopped and started walking over. Debora, who was standing next to you, shot a cursory glance their way.

Hugh's embrace around you was warm and tight, his hands wrapping around your waist as he planted a gentle kiss on your cheek. His smile widened as he looked at you, clearly happy to see you. Debora's eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face at the sight of the embrace.

As you all discussed plans for dinner, a question from Debora halted your conversation. Her eyes met yours, her voice holding a hint of knowing.

"Well, I assume you have plans of some sort, right?" she asked, her tone just the slightest bit smug. “No, I’m not going to miss out on a dinner.”

Debora waved her hand dismissively as she spoke, a slight patronising tone in her voice. "Don't be silly," she said, her words dripping with a hint of sarcasm. "You said yourself you haven't seen her in a while. Go eat with your friend."

Hugh's deep voice broke the silence, his question directed at you, his gaze fixed on you. He had overheard your previous conversation and wanted to know more.

"Who'd you see?" he repeated, his eyes studying you intently. You met his gaze, your chest a little tight as his tone held an edge of possessiveness. It was clear that he was curious about your plans for the evening.

"Just an old friend. She said she wanted have dinner," you replied after a moment, your voice steady, “but I’m not going to skip out on our fun.”

“Well, darling, if you want to go have fun with your friend, you can. We’re here long enough.” You couldn't help but smile at Hugh's words, his tone both possessive and understanding. He knew that you would want to spend time with your friend, and he was willing to let you go.

"Are you sure?" you asked, your voice holding a hint of vulnerability. "I don't want to ditch you."

Hugh shook his head, a small smile on his face as he spoke. "I'll just be waiting for you, love," he assured you, his voice soft and loving.

You could see the trust and respect in his eyes, knowing that he was willing to give you the space to spend time with your friend.

You shrugged, a small smile on your lips as you accepted his offer. The thought of him waiting for your return filled you with a mix of excitement and anticipation.

"Okay," you agreed, your voice holding a hint of curiosity, "I'll text her."

With that, you pulled out your phone and sent your friend a quick message, letting her know you would be free for dinner.

You returned to the room, your arms carrying a few bags of shopping, and set them down on the bed.

Hugh, who had been relaxing, looked over to see you approaching. Curiosity gleamed in his eyes as you began to unpack your purchases.

"What did you get?"

You showed him the items you had bought, a mix of clothing, shoes, and accessories that you held up for him to see. There was a hint of excitement in your eyes as you did.

Hugh looked at the items, his eyes scanning over them slowly. "Looks like you had fun."

You shrugged, a hint of frustration in your voice. "It wasn't horrible after I managed to block out Debora's comments," you admitted, your tone holding a hint of annoyance.

Hugh frowned at your words, a concerned look in his eyes. "She said something hurtful? To you?"

You waved your hand, dismissing Debora's snide comments as unimportant. "Just a few snide remarks," you said, your voice casual. Hugh looked at you intently, clearly not satisfied with your response. "What did she say?"

You replied with a huff, a hint of frustration in your voice. "It's a long list."

Hugh's frown deepened at your response. He could tell that Debora's comments had bothered you more than you were admitting.

Hugh's expression hardened at your words, his voice firm. "I'll talk to her." He was clearly serious and determined to address the issue. He knew Debora's comments had been hurtful to you and he wanted to set things right.

"You don't have to put up with it," he insisted, his voice holding a hint of protectiveness. You leaned in and kissed him, your lips meeting his affectionately. "I know," you mumbled against his mouth, "she's just jealous."

You dialed your friend's number, a smile on your lips as you waited for her to answer.

After a few rings, she picked up, "Hey!” “Hey! Where are we meeting?” Your friend's cheerful voice came through the phone, her tone filled with excitement. "We're at that Italian place downtown I told you about."

You smiled, picturing the restaurant in your mind's eye. "That place sounds great," you replied, your tone eager. "I’ll meet you there in twenty." "Perfect! See you there," your friend said, her voice filled with anticipation. "Can't wait to catch up with you."

Hugh looked up as you walked over to him, his gaze roaming over your form as you stood in your heels, dressed for dinner. “You could always tell me not to go.”

He met your eyes, a hint of concern in his expression. "You really want me to do that?" he asked, his voice softer than usual. “No, I’m just saying you could.” Hugh chuckled at your response, his lips forming a soft smile at the way you giggled.

"I could, but I won't," he replied, his tone light-hearted, although his concern was still evident.

“I won’t be long,” You leaned in and kissed Hugh, a final reassurance before leaving.

"I hope not," he murmured against your lips, concern still etched on his face. "Don't be too late." You blew one last kiss as you left, leaving Hugh behind. Hugh stood in the room for a moment, his mind going back to Debora's snide remarks. He knew that he would have a talk with her.

You entered the restaurant and your face lit up as you spotted your friend at a table. The sight of her filled you with excitement and you couldn't help but smile widely.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, walking towards the table. Your friend turned to look at you, a wide grin spreading across her face as she saw you approaching the table. "Hey!" she replied, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "You made it! I've been waiting forever," she teased, a playful smile on her lips.

“Then I’m surprised you saved my seat and didn’t get some handsome waiter to sit down.”

Your friend chuckled at your remark, a small knowing smile on her lips. "Sorry to disappoint, but I thought it would be better to leave the handsome waiters to their jobs," she joked, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

You and your friend chatted and caught up on everything, from the latest album and her new movies, to your relationship with Hugh.

"So," you began, as the conversation turned to your relationship, "Hugh is such a great guy. You really hit the jackpot." “Comes with the extra baggage though. His ex wife literally hates me.”

Your friend listened intently as you spoke about Hugh's ex-wife and the animosity she held towards you.

"Oh wow," she said, a hint of surprise in her voice. "Why does she hate you?"

You shrugged, “probably too many reasons. I think she is jealous.” Your friend nodded, her expression understanding. "Jealousy can make people do crazy things," she said, her voice sympathetic. "But what matters is how Hugh feels about you."

Hugh's mind was buzzing while you were having a good time with your friend. He called Debora, summoning her to talk to him in private.

Hugh opened the door for his ex-wife, a firm expression on his face. "We need to talk," he said, his voice flat and serious. Debora followed Hugh inside, her eyes narrowing in response to his firm tone. "About what?" she asked, her voice a mix of annoyance and curiosity.

"Don't play dumb with me," Hugh said, closing the door behind them. "I know you have something to say about my relationship."

Debora's face twisted in disdain, her eyes rolling in frustration.

"She's always running to you," she retorted, her voice laced with annoyance. "It's pathetic." Hugh's jaw clenched as he listened to Debora's words. "Don't talk about her like that," he warned, his voice steady but firm.

Debora sank into the couch, her tone confident as she spoke to Hugh, "Come on, Hugh. You can't possibly tell me you're in this for the long run. You're tired of her. I can see it."

Hugh's eyes narrowed, the comment hitting a nerve. "Watch your words," he said through gritted teeth.

Debora kept pushing, her words carrying a hint of bitterness. "I remember our marriage," she said, her voice laced with pain. "But this, this is just a bid for help. You don't have to go far and hire some bimbo to make me jealous."

Hugh's expression hardened, his patience wearing thin. "Don't act like you know what I'm thinking," he shot back.

Debora's voice lowered, a wistful tone seeping into her words. "Think about our dinner, how nice it was. The family, back together again. You barely noticed she was there.”

Hugh's eyes widened slightly at the words, a pang of guilt in his chest. Memories of their happy moments together flooded his mind.

Debora saw the flicker of emotion in Hugh's eyes, and her expression softened. "You remember, don't you?" she said, her voice filled with a hint of pleading. "We could have that again."

Debora rose from the couch, a hopeful smile on her lips. "I still love you, Hugh," she said, her voice a mix of hopefulness and vulnerability.

Hugh's heart ached at her confession, the weight of her words sinking in. Debora's voice carried a hint of pain as she confessed, "Seeing you with her drives me insane. It makes me realize what we had."

Hugh's mind was torn, conflicting emotions warring within him. Debora moved closer to Hugh, her hand reaching out to grasp his.

He stood there, frozen, his heart torn in two.

Hugh's mind was a chaotic mess of thoughts and emotions. He wanted to pull away, to uphold his commitment to you, but the sight of Debora's hand on his, the memories of their past together, were making it difficult.

Despite the turmoil inside him, Hugh realized that he didn't want Debora. He wanted you.

His hand reached out, gently covering Debora's, but he didn't pull it away.

"Deb," Hugh began, intending to reject her. He was going to list all the reasons that had led to their divorce. But before he could speak, Debora leaned in and planted a kiss on his lips, halting his words.

Hugh froze, his resolve weakening.

In all the whirlwind of Debora's unexpected kiss, Hugh didn't hear the door open quietly, and you walked in on the scene. You froze momentarily, your eyes widening at the unexpected sight.

Hugh's eyes widened in surprise, his heart dropping at the sight of you standing at the door. Debora's head snapped around, her hand still holding onto Hugh's.

"Baby," Hugh breathed, his voice laced with panic.

The moment was broken as you entered the bedroom and closed the door.

Hugh's heart sank, the weight of the situation crashing down upon him. He stood there, frozen, as he heard the sound of the door closing, knowing full well that you had witnessed everything.

Hugh moved swiftly, desperation in his steps, as he rushed to the bedroom door. The click of the lock seemed to echo in his ears, a silent barrier between him and you.

"Baby," he called out, his voice filled with urgency. "Please, let me explain." You heard Hugh's desperate plea, the sound of his voice through the door. Your mind was reeling with the emotional whirlwind.

"Explain what, Hugh?" you asked, your voice laced with anger and hurt, from the other side of the door.

Hugh's heart ached with the hurt and anger in your voice. He pounded his fist against the door, desperation and pleading in his words.

"I can explain everything," he said urgently, his voice filled with urgency. "Just let me in. Let me talk to you."

Your heart ached with the certainty in your mind. You knew there was something suspicious about the situation, and you instinctively sensed that Hugh had not been innocent either.

You remained silent on the other side of the door, your anger and hurt still etched on your face. "No," you replied simply, your voice firm.

Your mind raced with emotions, as you reached for your belongings, a small carryon case in hand. Tears streamed down your cheeks, a mixture of anger, hurt, and despair washing over you.

The reality of the situation was sinking in, and you felt a sense of betrayal and uncertainty settle deep within you.

You emerged from the room with fresh tears on your cheeks, your eyes meeting Hugh's with a glare. Behind Hugh's shoulder, Debora sat on the couch, an expression of satisfaction on her face as she witnessed your pain and Hugh's guilt.

The sight was like salt to your emotional wounds.

Hugh's heart clenched at the sight of you, the pain in your eyes nearly breaking him. He took a step towards you, desperate to explain.

"Baby," he whispered, desperation in his voice. "Please, let me talk."

“You can return all the shit I bought today, you can give the key my apartment to Ryan, and you can lose my fucking number.”

Hugh's heart shattered as he heard your words, the finality in your voice cutting through him like a knife.

"No," he pleaded, a desperate expression on his face. "Wait, let me explain. Please, just listen to me." Hugh's plea was met with a sharp look from you, your anger and hurt evident in your expression. He took a step closer, desperation etched on his face.

"I love you," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "Please, don't give up on us. Just let me talk to you."

You shook your head, “if you loved me, you would’ve never even let her get that close.” Hugh's heart ached at your words. The truth in them struck him to the core. He knew he had messed up, and he desperately wanted to explain.

"I know," he admitted, his voice quivering with emotion. "I know I messed up. But I swear, I didn't mean for this to happen. Please, just give me a chance to explain."

“Happy now?” Your glare pierced through Debora, a sharp and cold look in your eyes.

Debora sat on the couch, her satisfaction evident on her face. "Oh, very," she replied, a smug grin on her lips.

“Enjoy repairing your marriage.” Your scoff echoed in the room, the sarcasm evident in your voice.

Debora leaned back on the couch, a mocking laugh escaping from her lips. "Oh, I will," she sneered.

Hugh's hand reached out to grab you, his expression filled with desperation. But you wrenched your arm away from his grip, your eyes flashing with anger.

"Don't touch me," you snapped, the words filled with hurt and indignation.

Your anger and hurt boiled within you as you stepped into the uber, determined to keep your tears at bay. The ride felt like an eternity, the silence in the car only fueling the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

As you buckled your seatbelt and sat in the backseat, you couldn't help but think about the scene you had just left behind inside Hugh's home. Debora sneering on the couch, Hugh trying to explain, and the look of betrayal in your eyes.

💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋💛💋

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m4rv3l-girl · 13 hours ago

Note

bucky Barnes and y/n just got to where they're staying for their honey moon and without a second thought bucky is all over you.

but there was one problem that you have tried to ignore until now, you are still a virgin, not only that but you don't even know how to touch your self, let alone please your new husband, y/n is scared and starts having a panic attack as soon as she is put on the bed, not realizing her fear until this moment bucky helps her but also assuring her that she doesn't have to have sex with him just to prove her love.

Honeymoon

Warnings: Mentions of sex.

The moment the door to the cabin closed behind them, Bucky Barnes had you pressed up against it, his lips seeking yours with a fervor that took your breath away.

The rustic charm of the honeymoon retreat - the roaring fireplace, the faint smell of pinewood, the soft lamplight painting golden hues on the wooden walls - all melted into the background as his strong hands framed your face. His kiss was demanding yet tender. It was a combination that only Bucky could master, and your heart raced in response, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swirling in your chest.

“You’re everything, doll,” he murmured against your lips, his deep voice vibrating through you, sending warmth flooding your veins. His blue eyes searched yours and you couldn’t help but smile shyly.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You reached up to touch his face, brushing your fingers over the slight scruff of his jaw, marveling at how lucky you were to call this man your husband.

He grinned, leaning into your touch before kissing the palm of your hand. “Can’t believe I get to call you mine,” he said, his tone reverent. Then, he scooped you up effortlessly, making you squeal in surprise. “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t carry my bride over the threshold?”

Your laughter filled the room as he carried you to the bed, the large, plush comforter looking as inviting as ever. But as he laid you down gently and hovered over you, his lips finding the sensitive spot on your neck, that bubbling laughter faded into something else.

The nervousness you’d pushed aside since the wedding ceremony came rushing back with a vengeance.

You felt your body stiffen beneath him, and he paused immediately, his brow furrowing as he looked down at you. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone laced with concern. His metal hand, cool to the touch, rested lightly on your hip, while his flesh one cupped your cheek.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. The realization of what tonight might entail—what it likely would entail—hit you like a freight train. You hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on it, but now, with Bucky so close, his touch so intoxicating, it was impossible to ignore. Your chest tightened, and your breaths came quicker, shallower. A wave of panic began to rise, and you pressed a hand to your chest as if it could keep your heart from hammering out of control.

“Hey, hey, Y/N, look at me,” Bucky’s voice broke through the haze, firm but gentle. His hands moved away from you, giving you space, as his worried gaze locked onto yours. “What’s wrong, doll? Talk to me.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and you turned your head away, feeling overwhelmed and embarrassed. “I…I’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice trembling. “I just… I can’t…”

“Can’t what?” he asked softly, his hand finding yours and squeezing it reassuringly. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. Just breathe for me, okay? Nice and slow.”

You tried to follow his instructions, inhaling deeply and exhaling shakily. His presence, his steady encouragement, helped calm the storm inside you just enough for you to find your voice. “I… I’ve never done this before,” you admitted in a whisper, your cheeks burning with shame. “I don’t even… I don’t even know how to…”

Realization dawned on his face, and his expression softened even further, if that was possible. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing a tear away from your cheek with his thumb. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to think…” You trailed off, biting your lip. “I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t ready. Or that I don’t love you.”

He shook his head firmly. “Doll, listen to me. You don’t have to prove anything to me. I know you love me. I see it in everything you do. Every look, every touch, every word. And you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Ever. Do you hear me?”

His words washed over you like a balm, soothing your frayed nerves. You nodded, a fresh wave of tears spilling over, but this time they weren’t from fear or shame. They were from relief.

Bucky sat back slightly, giving you space to sit up. He held both your hands in his, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles as he spoke. “This isn’t about some expectation or obligation. This is about us, Y/N. About what makes you feel safe and loved. And if you’re not ready, then we’re not doing anything, plain and simple.”

“But… what if I never…” You hesitated, your voice faltering.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge if we ever get to it,” he said, his tone steady. “But for now, we’ll go as slow as you need. There’s no rush, doll. We’ve got forever, remember?”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. Bucky pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. His heartbeat was a steady, soothing rhythm beneath your ear, and you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace ground you.

“Thank you,” you whispered after a while, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“You never have to thank me for loving you,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “That’s the easiest thing in the world.”

For the rest of the evening, Bucky didn’t push.

Instead, he suggested you explore the cabin together, and the two of you ended up curled on the couch by the fire, wrapped in a blanket as you shared stories and laughter. It was intimate in its own way, and by the time you both retired to bed, the weight of your earlier panic had lessened considerably.

As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you realized that love wasn’t about grand gestures or fulfilling expectations.

It was about moments like these.

——————————————————————————————————

Hope this is what you wanted, My Dear 🫶

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky fluff

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winchestergirl2 · 2 days ago

Text

It would just be his luck to find a stray omega wandering his stretch of Big Sky. Montana can be gnarly in the winter,

Love the Big Sky Easter egg there!

The coarse roar of a bear morphs into something other. It’s a sharper, whirring sound like wind howling amidst animalistic clicking, and then bones breaking—your father’s scream cut short.

Ooo... what happened to her father. Regular animal attack or something supernatural 🤔 I get the feeling this could be a little more supernatural, and it could be a good thing Dean found her for more than one reason.

Dean leaves swiftly, trying to brush off how the scent of your fear had tugged sharply at his gut even in his sleep. It not only woke him up, but compelled him to kick his blankets off and get out of bed to go to you.

Oohh, our boy's in deep already, isn't he despite how hard he's trying to resist.

Aww, I can hear the affection when Dean is talking about Sam and Dean Jr.

"Dean Jr.’s growing up fast, already running full speed into glass doors.”

😂😂 this sounds like me when I was little except for me it was the radiator at the end of our landing, I used to run head first into 🤦🏼‍♀️.

Poor girl struggling to get around... although I wouldn't mind Dean helping me get around.

He snorts. “Yeah, call it the Winchestermobile.”

😂😂 loved this bit.

Uh-oh, snooping in Dean's room!! Oh, she found the journal but doesn't seem to freaked out about it?

Oh my goodness, he made her some crutches 🥰

He knows it though, deep in his gut. You’re meant for him. You’re meant to be his mate.

Oh yeah, he's definitely in deep.

Against the Wind - Part 1

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: This is a canon ending-divergent AU, but still an Omegaverse story within the canon world. It also fulfills a bingo square for @jacklesversebingo!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 5.5K

Tags/Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, scenting, injuries, hints of angst, fluff and feels.

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 1: In His Hands

Your body is mostly numb when he pulls you out of the snow.

You utter a sharp cry when something in your side twinges, waking up your entire body like a white-hot shiv. Your ankle begins to throb as well.

“Hold on. I’ve got you.”

You only half hear the voice, a deep, coarse rumble. His form is broad and dark and blurry, but his male scent is the only thing you register with perfect clarity.

Alpha.

A small treble of alarm runs through you. It’s an instinct you’ve had to learn, as an omega traveling alone in rural Montana. However, something else disrupts that anxiety.

It’s his scent. His scent is like the crackle and smoke of a warm hearth.

Safe. Your body is heavy and stiff and doesn’t respond to your commands, and yet, you feel a measure of calm when he maneuvers you into his arms. It’s a baser instinct, rooted deep in your chest. He begins to carry you down the slope of the mountain, and your vision blurs white…

Like the flurry of snow falling heavy on his jacket.

You wake up freezing and shivering in pain. A sensation of small sharp needles begins to travel all across your skin. Slowly, as you're able to blink, your view of the dark wood cabin clears and focuses. You realize that you’re bundled in blankets, and laying on a chaise in front of a large fireplace. Still, you’re too cold. A keening whimper escapes you as you try to burrow in.

Alpha. Your body instinctively recognizes his presence, as he’s suddenly there, hovering close above you with a divot between his brows and a frown marring his face, where thick stubble threatens to become a beard. Stern, dark brows are furrowed over his concerned eyes. His plush frown is framed by a stubborn-looking chin. Your gaze wearily travels over his handsome features, his short brown hair, the flickers of firelight that splash across the side of his face.

He places a warm, calloused hand on your forehead, and he mutters a curse. Your body trembles further with cold. You part your lips, but you can't yet force your voice to escape them.

Again, he quite literally takes the problem into his own hands. He peels away the thick blankets just to slide himself in behind you. His arms wrap around your waist, and you feel their tempered strength when they cage you in against him. You manage to turn your head and rest your cheek against his chest, covered by red plaid. Thank you...

Almost on reflex, you breathe in his scent deeply. The earthiness of it calms you, warms you from the inside. Your shivering eventually calms and turns to purring in your chest.

“What’s your name, Omega?” he asks. His voice is deep and gruff, and it threatens to make you shiver for a different reason as the timbre of it washes over you.

It’s difficult, but you manage to speak, clearing past your parched throat to give him your name. He nods, as if rolling the sound of it back and forth across his mind.

“Was somebody out there with you?” he asks.

You shake your head, even though the thought elicits a painful twinge in your heart.

“Who…” you try to speak again, even though it hurts a little. “Who are you?”

You feel him take a deep breath. He hesitates, like he’s reluctant to give it to you.

“Dean,” he says.

You roll the name around in your head, over and over. Dean, Dean, Dean…

You smile slightly. “Yeah, makes sense.”

“What?” he says. You hear the raised brow in his tone.

“You sound like a Dean,” you say, perhaps a little delirious.

Anyway, that’s when your eyes close on you again. You fall back into the warm lull of sleep, to the sound of a crackling fire, and a feeling that permeates throughout your body.

Safe.

Can’t fucking believe this, Dean thinks, as he holds you. Just when he thought his life was done throwing him curveballs.

He tips his head back against the sofa cushion with a tired exhale. It would just be his luck to find a stray omega wandering his stretch of Big Sky. Montana can be gnarly in the winter, but for the past couple of years, Dean has learned to survive here in this rental cabin for a couple of months at a time, when wandering an empty bunker gets to be too much. At least here the quiet’s peaceful, if still a little unnerving sometimes.

He glances down at you. Now that you’re warm and sleeping again, he should find something to wrap your ankle and ice it down. It’s swollen, and he wants to take an inventory of your other injuries, so he can determine how to get you back down the mountain and through the woods, back to civilization.

The sooner he gets you medical attention and back to your life, the sooner he can get back to his—even though the thought of leaving you in anyone else’s hands almost stirs a growl in his throat.

And that last part unnerves him, makes him anxious. He begins to untangle himself from you, but his movements falter when your sweet scent filters through his nose again. Cinnamon apples, with a hint of something floral.

Fuck me.

It’s almost too sweet to be true, but Dean does his best to ignore it…and what that alluring sweetness probably means.

Dean leaves you in the morning to revisit the site where you fell. He digs through the snow and manages to find your backpack, filled with your clothes, supplies, and your phone and wallet. He returns just in time.

The falling snow becomes even more intense, until it becomes a quiet roar outside. You watch the snowstorm through the impact windows in the kitchen, and you know what this means. You’re snowed in with a stranger—an alpha, no less.

You also have a bum ankle, which he wrapped for you. Doesn’t feel broken, he’d said, but it could be fractured, or at the very least sprained. You also likely have a couple of cracked ribs.

“What were you doing out there, anyway?” he asks, while pouring himself a glass of whiskey. “This ain’t exactly hiking season.”

While you drink some hot chocolate he made you with a bit of whiskey splashed in (for extra warmth), you explain.

“Well, I guess it wasn’t my best idea in hindsight,” you say with a weak chuckle. “I was trying to find my way back, and I…well, I was a bit lost.”

He raises his brows wryly, still sipping.

“And to make a great situation even better, I thought I heard a wolf howl nearby,” you say. “I know most of them would rather run from us than attack us, but you can’t be sure, you know? I had my rifle on me, so I was turning around, trying to pinpoint what direction it was in…and of course, my foot slipped on something.”

You fell down that hill. You think you even hit a tree on the way down, which would explain your ribs. Everything gets a bit swirly, cold, and dark in your memory after that.

Dean shakes his head. “Gotta say, going out there alone wasn’t a great idea either, especially now. This time of year, there’s no telling when a blizzard like this is going to come through.”

He waves haphazardly toward the storm raging outside. Your gaze falls to the mug in your hands. You don’t really want to talk about your reasons for taking that risk, but maybe giving him a little honesty will get him off your back.

“My dad and I used to hike up here every year,” you confess. “A few months ago…I lost him. So I guess this was just something I needed to do.”

You blow on your hot chocolate before you take another sip. This time when you glance up, Dean’s judgy expression has evened out into something more sympathetic. He lowers his glass.

“Well, hate to break it to you, but there’s no cell service up here,” he says.

You give a humorless huff. “Believe me, I know.”

“Which means no one can come up here and get you,” he continues, “and even when this storm breaks, I can’t carry you all the way down the mountain back to civilization. Not with the snow as deep as it’s gonna get. Now…maybe I can go down by myself and bring help back with me.”

“But another storm could snow me in,” you realize, with growing apprehension at the thought.

Dean nods. “It’s either I take that chance, leave you by yourself. Or we wait for you to heal up.”

He leaves the choice up to you with a gesture of his hand, the one still wrapped around his glass. You weigh those options with a tilt of your head. On one hand, you don't want to impose on him longer than you had to, but on the other, you really don't want to be left alone in this cabin for God knows how long while he scales the mountain by himself, for your sake.

“I think it would be better if we go down together, right? It can be dangerous, even when the storm breaks,” you reply.

Dean nods slowly, like that was what he was going to suggest too. “All right. Well, until you’ve got two working legs, you’re stuck here with me.”

“I figured as much,” you say. Your head tilts as you consider him. He has a gruff exterior, but all his actions so far have been kind, and far more than you’d expect from a stranger. And an alpha at that.

Not to say that all alpha's are assholes, but you've had far too many experiences with the stereotype: arrogant, entitled, and handsy. Can't forget handsy.

“Thank you for saving me,” you say, meeting his gaze, “and for…well, being a decent guy.”

Dean’s lips twitch. He nearly chuckles. Instead, he sits back on his side of the couch.

“Yeah, well, there’s a spare room in this place for you, one bathroom. The kitchen is stocked. I’m a half-decent cook, if I say so myself, but help yourself.”

He gets up from the couch without preamble, to go to his room, you assume. It leaves you feeling at a loss, like he’s trying to get away from you. You know you’re a guest in his space, so you try to respect the way he wants to be alone for a while. He definitely gives off loner vibes.

You look around and find a collection of vinyl records, and smaller collection of books on a shelf next to the fireplace. You find Gulliver’s Travels, Dune, The Odyssey, The Wizard of Oz—books you didn’t think a guy like Dean would be into.

You take up The Wizard of Oz, reclaim your spot on the chaise, and start reading.

That night, your dreams are plagued by the crunch of dead leaves, your father shouting at you to run, and to keep running.

The coarse roar of a bear morphs into something other. It’s a sharper, whirring sound like wind howling amidst animalistic clicking, and then bones breaking—your father’s scream cut short.

You wake with a start, your body both cold and flush at the same time.

Dean is there once again. It confuses you at first, but then it all returns to you in a rush—the where and the why you’re here, once again with the alpha standing over you in concern. He grasps your shoulder and asks if you’re all right. Your breathing is too erratic for you to answer him, your eyes too wide, your body trembling.

Had you been making noise in your sleep? You blush in embarrassment at the thought. You also feel bad for waking him, and all those things get trapped in your throat.

Seeing that you’re most definitely not fine, he sits on the edge of the bed, squeezes your arm, and reminds you.

“It’s okay. You’re safe here,” he tells you. His tone is deep and even, reassuring.

You meet his steady gaze and manage to nod, trying to catch your breath.

“I’m okay,” you say, with a shaky nod. He gives you a measuring look, both a question and a confirmation. You give it to him with a firmer nod. “Thanks, I…I’m sorry I woke you up.”

He exhales through his nose, accepting. “‘S all right. Don’t worry about it.”

You feel the loss of his touch when his hand eventually slip away from your shoulder. As soon as he came into your room, he’s gone.

You were having a nightmare, reliving your fall, if he had to guess. You came out of it pretty quick when he carefully grabbed your shoulder. Every instinct in his body told him to gather you into his arms and cover you with his own scent and protective embrace to calm you down.

Through sheer willpower, he managed to ignore every single one of those instincts.

Two days pass, in which you and Dean say very little to one another, besides when he asks you what you want to eat, and how you’re feeling. The alpha seems genuine, but guarded any time you ask him about him; anything that’ll give you a clue into who this guy is, and why he’s here.

You try again to strike up some kind of conversation over dinner one night.

“Do you live here year-round?” you ask, around a mouthful of burger that’s absolutely delicious. He wasn’t lying when he claimed to be a good cook. He even made the fries himself.

“No,” he replies. “No Netflix, no internet? Think I’d die of boredom. I just come up here to uh…take a beat, I guess.”

You smile. “I don’t blame you. Sometimes you just need a break,” you say, even though your tone is heavier than you meant it to be. Your gaze, a bit distant in that moment, sharpens and focuses back on Dean. “Where are you from, then?”

“Kansas,” he offers.

“Oh really?” You brighten with that scrap of information. “My older sister lives in Topeka. She moved there for a job, initially, but then she met her guy. He’s some kind of day trader. Which is just code for sits on his ass playing Call of Duty while she busts hers.”

Dean huffs, then crams more burger into his mouth. He hasn’t been giving you a lot to go on while you two have been talking. Unfortunately, you have the tendency to ramble and fill the silence before it becomes even more stifled.

“She works at a bank. Smart, driven, always knows what she wants. Meanwhile, I’ve had about seven jobs in the last three years, none of which were even remotely related to my almost useless degree in Communications.”

“Yeah, doubt you need a degree in communicating,” Dean remarks, popping another fry into his mouth.

You purse your lips at him, but the glint of teasing in his eyes makes you fight not to smile.

“All right, smart guy. So, what about you?” you ask.

Predictably, the man’s walls firm back up. “What about me?”

“Well…why’re you up here alone? Do you have family?” you ask.

Dean quirks a half smile. “I’ve got a brother.”

“Okay. Younger, I’m guessing?”

He tilts his head at you, a bit amused at your guess. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I can’t imagine you with a brother who’s older than you.”

His lips twitch. “You callin’ me old, sweetheart?”

You begin to blush with embarrassment. But also, sweetheart?

You shake your head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just mean like…”

Dean saves you with the return of his smile.

“Yeah, he’s younger,” he says. “But he’s the one with the quasi-wife and the apple pie life.”

“Quasi-wife?”

“They’re mated. Just haven’t gotten around to the whole getting hitched thing,” he explains. “But they’re happy. Dean Jr.’s growing up fast, already running full speed into glass doors.”

His smile is genuine when he talks about his brother, just tinged with a bit of melancholy, you think.

“Dean Jr.?” you ask in amusement. Dean Sr. laughs a little, and you enjoy the sound, the way it lightens up his face and pulls at the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah, can’t say I wasn’t surprised myself to get that honor, but…hey, it works for the kid. He’s got my chin,” he remarks.

He digs into his pocket to show you a picture from his cell phone. Even though it doesn’t have service, you can still view the many pictures of the adorable infant in his camera roll, courtesy of Sam and his mate, Eileen. You coo at the chubby cheeks, the bright little eyes, and the swirled tuft of dark hair on his head.

“Where do they live?” you ask.

“Out west, a stone’s throw from the City of Angels.” Dean’s smile dims. “He just had to go back to California.”

“What’s wrong with California?” you ask.

“It’s full of pretentious douchebags, that’s what,” he says, his voice a dry whip. “Waxed up to the fucking eyeballs, smelling like Botox, Adderall, and sweaty desperation.”

You splutter laughing so bad that your diet coke escapes you in a spit take. It partially goes up into your nose, burning, stinging your eyes, but it’s made worse by the way Dean waves a hand up incredulously. You’ve just gotten half his sleeve wet.

He meets your gaze, and you can’t help but laugh even harder.

“Wow,” he says.

“God, I’m sorry,” you say, still giggling. You get up, hobble over to the kitchen counter, and rip off a paper towel to try and pat his arm dry. He takes it from you and helps you back into your seat.

“I got it, Spit Take. Just finish your food,” he says, if with a dancing gleam in his eyes.

From then on, it becomes easier for you to pull the alpha into conversation. Besides reading, napping, and staring out the window while it snows, you don’t have much by way of entertainment. Not to mention the pain of trying to get around without crutches, as it also jostles your ribs. Dean often has to help you from one room to another, which of course, you get embarrassed by.

“I’m sorry!” you yelp, when he saves you from another crash landing in the hallway. You’re fresh out of a shower, and it had taken you twenty minutes just to figure out how to wash your hair on one leg, let alone dry yourself off and get your shirt and borrowed sweatpants on. The main problem in getting back to your room happened to be the pants themselves. Their length and bagginess made you slip.

At least Dean’s learned to ignore your apologies. He now holds you by the waist, having pulled you against his chest on reflex. With furrowed brows, he notices your pained hiss when you grab onto his arms for balance.

“You okay?” he asks with a note of alarm.

“Ribs,” you gasp. They’re throbbing sharply with his hold, especially after being rattled by the near fall.

He immediately adjusts his hold lower, holding your arm and hip to support you. His hands are strong, but gentle. The warmth and pressure of his touch rattles you more than almost falling into a heap. Cliché as it might be, your heart is beating faster, what seems like in and out of rhythm. A feeling you can’t name stirs and tugs at your lower belly when you hazard looking up into his eyes. They’re a nice shade of green, like a forest floor in the spring.

“You just go ass over tea kettle at any moment, huh?” he quips, his lips tugging upward. “Come on. Where were you headed?”

“To my room, wise guy,” you say wryly, even as your blush heats your face and neck. “But this is a great taxi service.”

He snorts. “Yeah, call it the Winchestermobile.”

“Winchester. That your last name? Like the rifle?” you ask, while he helps you carefully down the hall. He nods in confirmation.

“That’s interesting. You don’t meet many Winchesters,” you remark.

“Yeah, well, ain’t that many left,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing,�� he shakes his head, easing you down onto the edge of the bed. His hands go to his hips as he scrutinizes your form for further injury. “You good? I was about to get cracking on some lunch.”

You offer him a grateful smile. “Yeah, I’m good. What’s on the menu?”

“Nothing fancy. I’m thinking grilled cheese. Maybe some tomato soup, assuming I can find a can in the pantry,” he says.

“Honestly, that sounds awesome,” you say. “Haven’t had a grilled since…God, probably since I was a kid.”

At that, Dean smiles. “Well, I happen to make an awesome one. No less than three kinds of cheese.”

“If they’re as good as your burgers, then I don’t doubt it,” you reply. He seems pleased at that, and maybe a little bashful as his gaze falls away.

Cute, you think. Your smile grows.

“All right, well, stay tuned,” he says. He winks, tossing you a “gun for hand” gesture that makes you laugh. Dean wears a rugged exterior as easily as his winter jacket, but he’s also kind of a dork.

After lunch (delicious, as you predicted), you take the afternoon just to sort through Dean’s records and alphabetize them for him. You hunker down on the floor in front of the shelf, close to the record player.

“I don’t need all that. I know where all my stuff is…more or less,” he says, with a lazy wave of the beer he has in hand.

“Oh really?” you raise a brow. “Okay, let’s test that theory. Where’s Boston.”

“Right next to the White Album, there on the left.”

Sure enough, you find Boston, as well as the White Album by the Beatles.

“Oh my God, you actually have the White Album?” You open up the double-sided case in excitement to read the list of songs printed on the inside. “This thing is so expensive.”

“Beatles fan, huh?” Dean says as he takes a seat on the couch. You turn your smile on him, and he stills in his seat.

“Uh, yeah. Who isn’t?” you say.

Dean shrugs with a smile of his own. “Put it on if you want.”

You bounce a little with excitement before you figure out how to turn on his record player. You put the vinyl album on Side B, moving the needle until you find “Blackbird.”

“Of course,” Dean says, slightly teasing. You turn to him with crunched brows.

“What? ‘Blackbird’s’ a classic.”

“Eh. Everyone likes ‘Blackbird.’”

“That’s what a classic means,” you argue.

“More like a mainstream copout,” he says. You think it’s just to needle you, but you still purse your lips.

“Fine, Mr. Music Snob. Then what’s your favorite?”

“On the White Album?”

“Any Beatles song.”

“‘Hey, Jude,’” he says, after a moment. There’s some kind of weight in his eyes, a note of melancholy. You don’t miss it, even though you don’t know why it’s there.

“Everyone likes ‘Hey, Jude,’” you quip, trying to lighten him.

He smiles a little. “Yeah. Fair enough.”

Finally, the snowstorm breaks. Dean ventures outside and brings you back a long, sturdy stick to lean your weight on when you want to move around, though he claims he’s working on a better solution. Now that the snow has let up, he’ll be able to go out to the shed and do some work.

Whatever that means, you think.

You watch him from the living room when he goes outside to chop some more firewood.

He should really wear a hat. His brown hair is getting dusted white with snow flurries as he continues to swing down the ax. You notice the power in his tall frame, even covered by layers of his jacket, pants, and boots. You almost feel each chop of the wood resonate in your chest.

Heat rises in your cheeks when he looks up, as if he senses he’s being watched. You bow your head and pretend to read your book.

His boots continue to crunch in the snow as he makes trips back and forth from the surrounding forest. Aside from the firewood, he brings back a few long, thinner logs that he takes to the shed. Soon you begin to hear the steady back-and-forth cutting of a saw. You wish you could go out there and take a look, but you can’t even get around the house that easily, let alone venture outside.

Your curiosity about this man knows no bounds, and you decide to use the walking stick he found for you in the meantime to get around without putting pressure on your injured ankle. You know it’s wrong, but you end up traversing the long, dark hallway, pushing open the door to the right, and venturing into Dean’s room.

It smells like him, earthy and tinged with smoke. His scent is seeped into every part of it—the bed, the dresser and nightstands, the dark blue bedsheets, the desk and chair, and even the drapes. It makes you almost lightheaded at the pleasurable feeling of it washing over you.

A shudder suddenly runs down your spine and tugs at your core in arousal. With a sharp intake of breath, you have to shift on your feet, pressing your legs together against the slick already forming down below.

You’re shocked and embarrassed at first. You aim to bolt out of his room, but you stop short in the doorway as it dawns on you.

Your sister is a beta, and so is her husband. She’s never completely understood you as an omega. She never understood your parents either, or the bond they had. She always scoffed at the idea of “true mates.”

Soulmates. It was fantasy and myth, the stuff of cheesy Harlequin novels.

Growing up, you’d agreed with her, even though a part of you deep down always protested. It wanted to tell her not to open her mouth about something she knew nothing about, and would never know.

The day you met Dean, you knew she was wrong.

Your more logical mind tries again to reassert itself though. You remind yourself that you barely know anything about this man, no matter how attractive, kind, funny, enigmatic…

And yet, you can’t shake that part of you that doesn’t rest until you see his face in the morning; until you make him coffee and eat breakfast together, and take any opportunity to pull more threads from him. It’s more than passing attraction. It’s more than just being stuck together in this cabin, unable to escape each other. You know, because the feeling scares you, and it electrifies your blood at the same time.

All these thoughts go through your mind when you turn back around. Slowly, you continue to look around his room, your whole body tingling. The room is neat, more or less, with everything in its proper place. It’s pretty bare though, décor wise. There’s a desk with a few scattered books and a journal sandwiched in between. A smile of surprise forms across your face.

No. Don’t tell me this guy is Mr. Dear Diary? you think in amusement. Though you wonder if it’s another way he passes his time here, especially when he’s holed up in his room.

You know you shouldn’t be snooping, let alone contemplating what you’re about to do…but you can’t help yourself. Biting your lip, you slide out the journal and begin to flip through it.

You frown at the strange drawings and odd entries—dates, narratives, scraps of information on different types of mythological creatures, and even more strange, on how to kill them.

What the hell is this?

That’s when you hear the front door swing open. You bolt from his room as quick as you can, not realizing you took the journal with you in your haste. You stuff it up your sweater and pretend like you’ve just come out of the bathroom on the way back to your room. There you slide the journal under your pillow. You jump when Dean knocks on your door.

“Hey,” he greets.

The jolting pains your ribs, and your hand goes to your left side in a hiss.

“You okay?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern. He takes a step into your room, but you turn to him with a nod and a placating hand.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You just scared me,” you say, with a bit of nervous laughter.

He gives a half smile. “Sorry. Just come ‘ere a sec. I wanna show you something.”

He reaches out a hand to help guide you to the living room.

There he presents you with two rudimentary crutches. Your eyes widen as your free hand passes over the smooth chestnut color of the wood. Dean keeps a light hold on your elbow, just in case.

“You made these?” you ask.

“Yeah, just a bit of woodworking. Picked it up over the last couple of years,” he says.

He’s downplaying it, but you’re nothing short of marveling. You set aside the walking stick in favor of picking up the crutches, and they’re even the right size to position them under your arms.

“Now you don’t have to hobble around like Long John Silver,” Dean quips. You meet the sight of his grin with a raised brow, but you soon begin to smile. When you get close enough to him, you lean the crutches against the couch and give him a warm hug, resting your head on his chest.

“Thank you,” you say. It’s something he was wholly unprepared for, but he hugs you back with a chuckle.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

Just then, he tries not to inhale your scent. He tries not to focus on the feeling of your body pressed soft and warm against his. You fit just right.

After a beat, you have mercy on him and pull away. You take your crutches back up and continue to walk around the living room experimentally.

“You think I’d be okay trying to go outside?” you ask on your way to the door. Dean tenses.

“Uh, I don’t think—”

But you’re already halfway out the door. He shakes his head and follows you with swift strides. He watches you step out carefully onto the porch like a baby deer. He cleared the snow this morning from the deck and the steps, but he’s more concerned when he sees you considering how you might step out onto the snow.

“Stay on the porch, all right, Bambi,” he warns. “You’re not wearing snow boots and it’s still pretty deep. Not to mention, I’ve been keeping an eye out for a bear that wandered through here last week—”

You turn to look at him over your shoulder in amusement.

“Okay, Alpha. Calm down,” you say playfully. “I’m not gonna go ass over tea kettle.”

His brow twitches as he frowns. Alpha. He fights not to show his reaction to the way you said it; it calls to his baser instincts, almost stirring a rumble in his chest.

Cheeky little omega.

You keep to the porch, but regardless, you’re happy. You don’t even mind the cold. You see your breath on the air, and you tip your head back, closing your eyes with a smile as the sunshine warms your face. You inhale through your nose and let it out slowly in contentment.

“It’s a good day, Dean,” you say quietly.

You don’t realize that he’s watching you with a more reserved smile on his face. When he realizes it, he shakes his head at himself. He’s only been here a week with you, and it’ll probably take a couple more for your ankle to heal up well enough for you to walk again, let alone get down the mountain.

He doesn’t want to leave you alone up here, so he’ll have to somehow keep fending off your probing questions into his past and personal life. There's a lifetime of blood, nightmares, and death that he just can't let you see behind his eyes.

Hell, he's been trying to shove it all down for the past year—in booze and odd jobs and trips to nowhere, always coming back to an empty bunker. He still wonders how Sam's managed to do it, to move on, and build a new life for himself.

If Dean's honest (and he's not), he feels a bit like this cabin; old, falling apart, and forgotten.

But he’ll have to keep taking in your brightness and warmth, continue arguing with you about music and other inane shit, and pretend that every small touch of yours doesn’t ignite his skin. That it doesn’t make him have to beat down every instinct he has to pull you into his body and blanket you with his scent, ravage you, claim you, and make you his.

He never thought this would happen to him. He never thought someone like you was out there…for someone like him.

He knows it though, deep in his gut. You’re meant for him. You’re meant to be his mate.

Which means he’s already screwed.

AN: And we're off! Special thanks again to Michelle (@luci-in-trenchcoats) for being my sounding board when I was first writing this series. Let me know what you think of Part 1! 💜

Next Time:

I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don’t believe it. Last week we were a normal family…eating dinner, going to Dean’s T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed…

When I try to think back, get it all straight in my head…I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out. I’m wandering around, alone and lost and I can’t do anything.

This is Dean’s father, you realize. The more that you read, with no small amount of dismay, you also realize that this man is writing about his wife, Mary.

Dean’s mom…

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alicethenobody · 1 day ago

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OMG SAME 100% FACTS TRUE i fucking hate how the dmc fans online keep making the same repetitive unfunny dante in debt jokes while being more empathetic towards both nero and vergil. like dante tends to have isolation habits or isolate himself from others to protect others, that's a common trope in fiction in general (especially japanese fictional stories but some western stories like The Boys or Spiderman has this trope too). These people are actually fucking stupid sometimes. Not to mention without Dante - Vergil and Nero wouldn't exist in the series. I'm also glad I'm not the only one who thinks Dante is one of the more realistic responses to trauma I've seen.

The way the DMC fanbase treats my boy Dante sometimes also reminds me of how the Tekken community treats my man Jin Kazama (especially on websites like reddit, twitter, and the YouTube comments section). They always show more empathy towards his father Kazuya (who is very similar to Vergil and Sasuke, man loses his family and goes down a dark path obsessed with power. also is the father of another character but is absent in their child's life) and Heihachi (who is literally just evil...like dude fucking killed his own wife, his own father, Michelle's father, Lidia's father, Leroy's entire family. dude unleashed shrek and killed innocent people.). Yet they mock Jin's mental health issues of survivor's guilt and low self esteem and make shitty jokes at his expense a lot. Jin lived a peaceful humble life with his mother Jun until Ogre attacked and Jin wanted to defeat Ogre to avenge his mother and also avenge the other fighters who were hurt by Ogre (ex. Hwoarang's master, King's adopted father). Then Heihachi who Jin trusted for years just betrays him by almost killing him via being shot multiple times. Then Jin finds out he was born with the Devil Gene thanks to his dad and has a hard time controlling it. His father Kazuya only cares about power and wants to kill Jin to get the rest of the Devil Gene for himself and Kazuya mostly cares about revenge against Heihachi. Most of the terrible shit in his life is out of his control. Like Dante, Jin also isolates himself from others out of fear his devil gene might hurt them or they might get dragged into the problems of the dysfunctional Mishima bloodline he's trying to end.

It also doesn't help that the creators of Tekken also lowkey hate Jin Kazama too, Harada blatantly stated in multiple interviews that he prefers villainous characters (ex. Heihachi aka Harada's favorite character), and Harada always wanted Jin to be a villain like his precious Heihachi Mishima but the team disagreed at first for obvious reasons (there are already too many bad guys/morally grey characters in Tekken, Jin is supposed to be the good mishima bloodline member he is supposed to be the good guy who doesn't let his trauma or family history make him bad, and it'd just be a repeat of Kazuya's story). Then Harada also assassinated Jin's character and made him OOC in Tekken 6's shitty scenario campaign story. Jin's potrayal in Tekken 6 completely contradicts his characterization in the older games (especially his Tekken 4 ending) and Jin is just out of character in that game, but the fanbase are usually idiots who don't realize that. So the fans bash Jin even more, and oh don't get me started on all the horrible fanfiction on ao3 where Jin gets r*ped by multiple characters because he hasn't suffered enough.

Both Dante and Jin deserve better, i hate it here it's always my favs are cursed lmao. (Ｔ▽Ｔ)

YEAAAH like I’m sorry but I think people are so overly critical of his actions in DMC5. I’m always gonna be of the belief he did nothing wrong in that game except for not telling Nero Vergil was his dad but he had reasons for not telling him like… the fact that he was afraid of cursing Nero with the same life he was living if he got too closely associated with either twin. And the fact that Nero most likely wouldn’t believe him (which Dante himself said) unless he had definitive proof for him. Dante is a man weighed down by the responsibility of protecting all of humanity, something any other person would completely crack under. So he thinks he can only let people in a certain amount or else they could get hurt. It happened many times, after all. Like I’d understand the criticisms of his behavior if he acted like a toxic asshole the whole time but… he really doesn’t. At worst he’s said something insensitive a couple times which… who hasn’t done that in their life and he felt bad about it both times it happened lmao (when he upset Nero in 5 and when he accidentally made Patty cry in the anime. Like he was actively miserable the entire episode because of it.) I’ve read such a weird amount of posts bashing Dante or fanfics that do the same.

Btw I’ve never played Tekken but that sounds shitty :(

#dmc #devil may cry #dante #dante devil may cry #dante sparda #dmc dante

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fishbananasstuff · 1 day ago

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“I’ll do anything for you”🎀

Additional tags: fem!reader pov, the reader is HORNY AS FUCK, age gap, asphyx!at!on, d!rty talk1ng, thr3at3ning (the reader likes it), violence, hair pulling, br€€ding k1nk, humiliation, heavy degrading, rough s€x, verbal humiliation, my first time writing smut please don't attack me guys

I was your student, a high achiever who tried her best to complete all quizzes, tests, and finals with a near-perfect score. Under that nerdy cover, I am head over heels for you. You’d trust me enough to let me be alone in your classroom, little did you know that—I secretly sniff your trench coat, your tie, your jacket, and your shirt while pleasuring myself with my vibrator. I buried my face into your clothes muffling my moans while inhaling your intoxicating scent. One day you asked me to help you set up the lab materials for the next class. I planned to wear a white blouse, dark grey mini pleated skirt, and black stockings then throw on a white lab coat showing off respectability but under that coat, is this:

(technically I changed my outfit the moment you tell me to come to your classroom)

I enter your lab but you’re not here. Kind of disappointing but I start to set up the laboratory equipment for my classmates.

*door unlocks*

I turned around looking at you ready to say ‘hello!’ instead of seeing your serene look, your face was dead serious not in a good way. The silence grows louder but then breaks by the sounds of your footsteps walking toward me.

"Heyyyyy. How are you doing? I'm almost done setting things up. Want to drink something?" just me pathetically trying to ease down the awkwardness in the room.

"I have something interesting to share with you sweetheart"

You grabbed the collar of my white lab coat scanning it for a second then rip my coat peaks causing the buttons to yank apart. You don’t even give me a chance to react…you cupped my cheek—

“You thought I don't know your little perverted scheme? Hm? Inhaling my clothes, touching yourself—Oh not to mention about that little journal you accidentally left it last class. I found out a lot of interesting things about you…to know more what is going on in your mind” Couple of days ago I lost my small notebook, I was in distress trying to look for it everywhere, straight fear shoot up my brain hoping that no one will look into it but I didn’t expect that it would be you. Tears start to form around the corner of my eyes as I kneel before you in fear, “Please—please don’t tell my parents!! I’m begging you please I know what I did was wrong��I’m sorry I couldn’t help it!” It’s so gut wrenching to get exposed like this especially with my own teacher, I feel like jumping off a bridge right now. You pull a chair over to sit down in front of me

“Are you really that desperate?”

“Y-yes…”

“Anything?”

I nods, small droplets of sweat trailing down my neck

“Well then—prove it” Your shoes nudge between my legs my cunt “Grind on my shoe. Only cum when I tell you to. If you cum without my permission, I’ll make sure you’ll suffer in the worse way possible” I hug your leg and then begin to grind. I don’t care if this is unethical I have been waiting for this moment to be this close to you, feeling my wet cunt against your shoe; riding it. You continued to make eye contact with me so I nuzzled against your pants hiding my face but it was just another excuse for me to inhale your scent.You smell heavenly divine it drives me fucking insane—and I don't mind being perverted as long as it comes to you. I will let you humiliate me anyway, degrade me, inflict any kind of physical pain on me, verbally abuse me, spank me, slap me, slut-shame me, threaten me—literally destroy my—

. . .

Oh.

I slowly turn my head up to look at you; just pure disappointment written on your face.

“Wait—I’m—

I yelp from you stepping on my cunt

“Huh…usually you would successfully complete any tasks that I gave you”you grabbed a fistful of my hair—“you truly have disappointed me. Take this punishment as future references so I don’t have to see this pathetic effort of yours”

Your tone completely changed,“Get up and lay your back on the table” you take off my tie and tied my wrist together.

“Close your eyes.” I feel the fabric brushes against my skin as my surroundings fade into darkness. My calves are tied I’m terrified of what you’re gonna do next but some part of me is kind of into this dominating stuff. I feel your cold hands groping my thighs beneath my red stockings as well then the coldness starts to trail up to my cunt. You forcefully rip out my soaking wet panties, I heard you playfully scoff seeing how horny I am for you. *zip* Oh god. It’s so..huge…I’m now even more terrified. I feel you rubbing the tip against my clit using my juices as lubricant, as if you’re teasing me.

“Huh. H-Hold on—”

You wasted no time in shoving your cock inside me. I let out a deliberate yelp but I remembered I had to stay quiet since school was still ongoing so I bit my lip hard. I listen to you grunting as you thrust deeper, I can feel my cervix being violated. It’s so fucking big I can’t hold in my moans anymore—

“Shhhh…sweetheart don’t be too loud now.”

I feel you pull your cock out and slam it back into me making my head jerk back. I feel like my womb is dripping out—

“Sweetheart…be quiet now~”

A slap delivered on my face after I continued to moan like a bitch in heat

“Aw…does that hurt? You're so cockdrunk that a slap is not effecting you at all—I guess I have to shut you up by force then—”

A strong hand wrapped around my neck with a sadistic smirk, you tighten your grip on my neck even to make me squirm and gasp for breath. My body arches off the table, my chest heaving against the cold, hard surface. Your other hand starts to grope my breast through the fabric of my shirt, eliciting a muffled cry from my constricted throat. My face begins to turn blue as foam and drool start to drip down my mouth. I land some soft pats on your hands to loosen up a bit. You lean in closer, your cock still buried deep inside me abusing my cervix with each thrust, “You like this, you wanted this. I’m just making your fantasy a reality but don't worry, I'm more than happy to oblige. If you can hold your breath for one minute—I will reward you. Don’t you want that from your favorite teacher? Hm?” I continued to main while being to choked like a dragged doll.

“Choking while moaning…What a–” you slap my thighs “–fucking pervert. I would've never thought my student would be an undercover slut”

You lean back still grinding into me also giving me a moment to compose myself, my heart races as I take a deep breath and nod, willing myself to endure the coming torment. Your hand squeezes around my neck once again resuming violating my hole. You start to count out loud, each number punctuated by a vicious thrust of your hips. The pressure in my lungs builds, and stars dance in my vision. You're relentless, holding my tied wrists while thrusting deeper and harder, each thrust increases my lust for you. “Four... five... six…” I'm getting dizzy, my body desperately craving air, but I hold on, thinking of the sweet release I'll get if I can just last a little longer. “Seven... eight... nine…” Fifty seconds in, “Almost there, sweetheart. “C’mon, you can do it…Imagine me filling up your tiny womb, claiming you, making you mine in every way” The sweet words send a shiver down my spine causing me to clench around your cock involuntarily.

“Oh, you like that, don't you? The thought of being my little fucktoy, being used by me in every way possible to the point when I am the only person that you can think of when you’re horny. I am the only person you need in this life when I tell you to get down on your knees, you’ll get down on your knees, when I tell you to take my load inside you, you’ll take it without defying me. Do you understand?” I nods multiple times. Tears stream down my face wetting the blindfold, but I refuse to disobey you. You finally finished counting "Fifty-nine... sixty." You release my neck, and I start coughing violently, drool traveling down to my chin and dripping down on the table. “Good girl…” you praise me with a tone filled with lust.

“Here’s my reward for you, a big one.” With a final powerful thrust, you release a deep groan filling me with a hot thick load of cum. My body convulses in pleasure and pain; I can't help but cough and moan at the same time. Looks like we found your new favorite pastime," you sneer, pulling out of me and leaving me trembling on the table still gasping for air. After you've had your fill of my trembling body, you finally withdraw from me, your cock glistening with my juices and your cum. You remove the blindfold, and I blink against the harsh light, my eyes immediately drawn to your handsome face. You wipe off my face full of tears, drool, and cum that you shove to my mouth; a stark contrast to the pristine lab coat I wore when I first walked in. You smirk, taking in the sight of me, pathetically sprawled over your desk with my wrists still bound. “Look at yourself,” you murmur, your voice thick with satisfaction. “Such a pretty little slut, all used up…” My cheeks burn with embarrassment, I try to look away, but you grab my chin to meet your gaze. “Don’t be ashamed of yourself, I think I like this side of you” Sweet reassuring words just make me fall head over heels for you even more. “And we're going to have extra tutoring at my place. Be there on time, don’t make me wait, okay?” you land a kiss on my head as an extra reward, I assumed? The reality of my new role sinks in—I'm going to be at your mercy, subject to whatever depraved desires you have. Like an obedient dog who is satisfied with whatever the owner give to them ♡

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