#even if i am also at the same time making him into someone i can love even more hfsdjkgl

[ravenmacduff]

Sorry that I'm about to write a treatise on monsterfucking. But this post sparked that little obsessive part of my brain that needs to talk about it. So, I see monsterfucking in a couple of different ways. The most basic and simple is Monster HOT. Monsters are inherently sexy. And writers and directors *coughs Del Toro* recognize this and play into it. The Asset was designed to be attractive with a nice butt and kissable lips.

But we also have to ask why Monster HOT? Well, from my own experience as a trans woman, the monster is always portrayed as "the other". Myself and people like me are constantly demonized. They see us as dangerous. They call us predators, freaks, forced into this societal position where there are legitimately people afraid of us. (This goes for other marginalized identities too)

Afraid in the same way that they would be of a monster. And I think that's where a couple of my own ideas come into place. The first is empathy for the monster. In seeing ourselves in the monstrous, we want to reach out and offer love and affection. The same love and affection that we, ourselves need, and often don't receive. There's many horror movies where the monster just wants to be loved and in the end is rejected. Or killed based on societal fear.

King Kong is one story. It's represented in the final quote of the movie "It was beauty that killed the beast". Kong's love for Ann Darrow, which it's been a while, but I believe was rejected in the 1933 film, and accepted in the 2005 film. Kong always was "the other" (and was suggested in criticism of the film to represent blackness) to Ann Darrow, a conventionally attractive white woman. Kong's love of Ann represented the fears of interracial marriage at the time. Kong craved love, and society doomed him. As someone who is also othered doesn't it make sense to empathize with him?

Shape of Water, again also plays with this but more explicitly. Our Protag, Elisa is a disabled (mute) woman, her best friends are her black co-worker and her gay neighbour. All three are marginalized people. All three are shown to face discrimination throughout the film. Del Toro made sure that the fact these people were othered was text, rather than subtext. The main antagonist, Colonel Strickland, of the story is a white cishet man. His aggression, disregard for others and need for domination are extremely evident from his introduction. He's the kind of man who would be a protagonist in any other horror movie. Back to Elisa, it's her otherness that allows her to see the humanity within The Asset. The intelligence, the capability for love. In the end it's that love that saved both of them, while Colonel Strickland was doomed by his hate.

Those are just two examples of empathic monsters. For myself of course I want to love and be loved, and for a long time the fear of rejection for being a trans woman stopped me from truly achieving that. But I am loved and I'm loved by others like me. Who don't fear me because it found a different way to womanhood. And so of course I love monsters, because it shows I can be loved too.

My second thought about monsterfucking relates to a loss of control. Your powerlessness against a creature 10 times stronger than you. Who has all sorts of ways to make you submit. In other words a non-con kink. A kink that is often highly reviled because of its implications, but also very common. I believe the woman in the picture that I'm responding to is specifically referencing her own disgust with dub- or non-con.

Loss of control is a huge kink because many people, especially women feel like they always have to be in control. In control of their emotions, in control of any situation, in control of their sexuality, in control for their own safety. The point of being in control of our sexuality has been hammered in so intensely that to accept that we even have desires is hard. We're not supposed to want sex, we're supposed to deny ourselves. Slut shaming, attacks against women for being too sexual, all reinforce that a woman is not allowed to want for herself. We crave a release, to stop thinking all the time, to allow ourselves to want.

While heterosexual sex is so focused on the man, on the masculine penis, that a woman's pleasure is oft put to the side. You still have to think about others even when you want pleasure yourself.

Well, the monster doesn't care. The monster is going to give you exactly what you want have been denying yourself. This goes for men too. Louis from Interview with a Vampire is a good example. His bisexuality is frowned on by society, but Lestat doesn't care. Lestat is going to show Louis exactly what allowing himself to let go and accept pleasure is like. And for most of the movie Louis continues to try and deny himself, until he finally lets go and accepts who he is.

Speaking of vampires that brings me to my last point. Monsterfucking as a way to get power. And the clearest example I can think of this is Twilight. Bella, while attracted to Edward, was more interested in receiving the power Edward has, than Edward himself. She wanted to be a vampire and this was clear from the beginning. But Edward had to be all Mormon about it. There's many people who find power in the monstrous. To take a piece of the monstrous into yourself and thus gain the same power. And power is sexy.

Werewolves are shown as power through their physical prowress. It's very rare you see a lanky, malnourished werewolf. *Looks at a certain series with distain*

Idk I kinda rambled on. But those are my thoughts

Every day I am thankful to not be a TikTok user

[moonlightdreamzz]

Moments of Praise — Jungwon, Jake, Sunghoon.

bangchan and felix

GENRE. pureeeeee smut. freaky hours. 18+

AUTHORS NOTE. i am ovulating, so either im sorry or you’re welcome :)

Good girls get whatever they want—and you’re the greatest.

jungwon

you love so many things. you love tequila, you love cool sheets, you love the spring—the list goes on and on. but recently, someone asked you what do you love most? in the moment, you couldn’t make a decision because how could you choose? but right now, as jungwon’s hands are gripped around your neck—not tight enough to hurt you, but strong enough to remind you he owns you, and he’s stroking in and out of you—refusing the break eye contact not even for a second, you realize this is what you love most in this world.

he’s always so damn cocky when he’s fucking you, because he knows how amazing he makes you feel, everytime. he knows what you want—but he cares more about what you need. and you earned the di*k you’re getting right now.

he’s so drunk off your p*ssy, but that’ll never wipe the sly smirk off his face. all this, because you were so patient all day, and the cherry on top was you helping an elderly woman carry her groceries to her car. because that’s the kind of boyfriend you have—one that got so turned on at you being good.

you can’t form a proper sentence. that’s how good it feels. and he’s loving every second of it. you’re trying so hard, and all he can do is mock you—mimicking every expression you make to verbally tell him thank you. and he’s going exactly how you love it,—love him. slow and steady.

“i know baby, i know.” he utters. “daddy is fucking you so good, isn’t he? mhm.” a whimper slips out of his pretty lips, which only adds onto your incoming orgasm.

“baby—“ you finally manage to get our “why do you—always—fuck me so goooood. oh my—“ you wanted so badly to finish, but he clearly likes you like this. slutted out and unable to focus. only able to feel him and everything he’s doing to you. his free hand places itself on your clit, rubbing gentle circles around it. as if the pleasure you were already feeling wasn’t good enough for jungwon.

“good girls, deserve good dick. and you, baby?” he chuckles before biting his lip and looking at you as if your hole is the best thing since sliced bread, “you’re such a good fucking good girl. so fucking patient. so kind. this pussy is everything I’ve ever wanted in life. you’re so fucking wet. so fucking good—ah.”

“its too good, daddy. i can’t take it. i can’t.” you’re practically hyperventilating. you didn’t know anything could feel this good. you’re seeing stars and he’s living for it.

“who can’t take it? hm? you baby? because my girl can do anything she puts her mind to. so take this fucking dick.”

are his last words before you both cum all over the each-other.

jake

his members lay asleep, their faces—as well as his and yours glowing from the tv that’s still playing the movie jungwon chose earlier. to the naked eye, you and jake look like two people utterly in love, making deep eye contact because you’re so infatuated with each other. this isn’t wrong, but it also isn’t the reason why the two of you are staring at eachother in the dark.

the real reason, is because jake’s hands are buried deep in your panties, and he’s determined to make you cum in your jeans, infront of everyone. you knew at some point tonight he’d sneak you away to be inside you, but like this? but at the same time, you’d be lying if you said this isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever done. and you weren’t rude. you were raised to always be grateful for gifts.

he’s so fucking focused. and he’s doing so good. your eyes can’t figure out if they want to be open or closed and you wish you could grind in his hand, but that would wake somebody up. there’s a part of you that wants to stop him because of the way your body reacts when you or**sm, but as always, your boyfriend is two steps ahead of you.

“i need you to.” he utters, nothing short of desperation resting on his eyes. “I won’t stop until you do.”

all you can do is nod, because you’re so close. that doesn’t stop his mouth from running.

“yeah.” he assures you—his aussie accent thick. “you’re so wet, baby. and that makes me so happy.” he places your hand on his length, that is rock solid. “you like the fact that they can see you if they wanted, don’t you? i know i do.” “can’t wait to make you lick it off my fingers.” “wake em up baby. wake em up baby.” he grunts, resting his forehead on yours but eyes refusing to disconnect. you practically burst all over his fingers, your body is shaking, and you can’t help but hit his arm over and over because fuck you, jake. now.

sunghoon

sunghoon is so full of himself. he does what he wants, when he wants, and if the world isn’t revolving around him? then the world must’ve vanished. and he’s no different right now—arms tucked cockily behind his head while you bounce up and down on his length. the only thing he’s wearing is a smug look on his face, as if to say—of course the second I called, you answered. and of course, the minute I told you to strip and cum all over me, you went straight to work. because I own you and everyone else.

“i fucking hate you.” you moan loudly. but you don’t. and he knows you don’t too. that’s why all he does he chuckle in a seductive tone before whispering, “i love you too, baby.”

when he confesses his love for you, whether it’s real love behind the words or not, it always puts you in a mode. like you have to show him that if he doesn’t, he’s about to. “you love me?” you whisper, your pleading eyes turning into something much more devious. your bouncing turns for his pleasure and his eyes widen in disbelief of how amazing you feel and look right now.

“mhm.” he nods aggressively. you increase your speed and the intensity of each movement.

“you fucking love me?” you question again—laughing at him now.

it was like he was losing consciousness the way his eyes couldn’t hold still but his body was frozen from the pleasure. “yesss—oh, baby. ugh.”

“tell me why you love me.” you demand.

“becau—because you’re so pretty. and you always make daddy feel so good! your pu**y—baby please. mmm always so wet and—tight. make me cum please please please. i love you so much. please I’ll do anything for it please don’t stop!” he squeals out, before shooting his seed inside you.

[therandomfandomme]

We're all going feral over the whole "Mercy? Mercy?" which is so valid of us, but the way mercy comes back as a theme in this final saga is really interesting to me, because before this, Odysseus is asked for mercy, for forgiveness:

"Old king, our leader is dead

You've destroyed the serpent's head

Now the rest of us are no longer a threat

Old king, forgive us instead

So that no more blood is shed

Let's have open arms instead"

"No"

He has become Poseidon, the one that first forced him into believing that mercy isn't something he can afford ("Look what you turned me into"), which is made doubly poignant with Eurymachus echoing the open arms of Polites ("Greet the world with open arms"). Now I'm not saying he should have forgiven the suitors for what they were planning on doing, however, this interaction directly informs this one later:

"Throw down those weapons

And I ensure you'll be spared"

"After seeing what the king will do to us

We wouldn't dare"

Because Odysseus doesn't show mercy to Eurymachus, Melanthius doesn't want to take the risk when Telemachus extends mercy to them, which then leads to the starting interaction.

When extending mercy and creating a kinder world is discussed again, it's by Athena. She is the original god, who pushed him towards a lack of mercy, who found that a warrior of the mind is one that showed not mercy and Odysseus believed her during the war, even threw a baby of a roof about it, and it wasn't until after that he rebelled her teachings only to be forced into it by other gods (Poseidon and Zeus most specifically). To which this is said:

"If that world exists, it's far away from here

It's one I'll have to miss, for it's far beyond my years

You might live forever, so you can make it be

But I've got one endeavor, there's a girl I have to see"

"Very well"

"Father, she's waiting for you"

I especially want to highlight that Odysseus says it is beyond his years. He has become that monster and he can't undo that in the years he still has. If this is to happen, then it must be the future generations that Athena has to influence to make that world. Having her reply to that getting interrupted by Telemachus is very purposeful to me. Because he does still extend mercy, he is the new warrior she trained and she trained him differently because her belief changed.

But I also think having her show Odysseus her face with the lightning scar as she agrees is very telling. When she pushed Odysseus to be ruthless she had not been on the other end of no mercy, which is what makes Odysseus turn against her ("Unlikе you, every time someone dies I'm left to deal with the strain"). She now has been on the other side of it by the hands of someone Odysseus also faced and they were both shown the same lack of mercy. For Odysseus that was his final turning point where he chose no mercy, while Athena did chose mercy.

And in the end, she did get some mercy from Zeus in response from it. Zeus also learned from her, from the lesson Odysseus taught her, which was taught to him by Polites. And that mercy gets paid forward allowing Odysseus to get home (yes, I'm emotional about Polites helping Odysseus get home in the end). Almost every time mercy is shown, his journey progresses (Lotus eaters, Aeolous, Circe, Zeus).

Athena has been through not receiving mercy, but she still believes, is still working towards that future. And while she accepts Odysseus words about him being beyond such a world, she doesn't agree with him. Her reply feels more like accepting a dismissal rather than an agreement. And Telemachus shows up as a reminder that she is more correct than Odysseus in this, and he leads them into Penelope.

God, I love Penelope. With her, Odysseus tells someone yet again that he has changed ("I am not your kind and gentle husband") and that he would understand if she did not love him anymore. And then we get this banger:

"Only my husband knew that

So I guess that makes him you"

Penelope shows him mercy in this. She has asked him what he has done and she is given the option to not want him anymore after hearing about the monster he's turned into, but she doesn't. She forgives him. He asks for forgiveness and she grants it. That is mercy.

Not only that, but she also affirms that he is still him. The usage of husband here is important to me, because he says he's not her husband, who was gentle and kind, and she tells him that he is. He believes him beyond that world where people are empathetic and kind, but the roots of that world he created in Ithaca and with Athena allow him to come home. He isn't a monster beyond redemption, he is also a part of that kinder world, regardless of what he has done.

And then you have the music echo the Just a Man melody when Odysseus sings:

"I'm just a man who's trying to go home

Even after all the years away from what I’ve known

I'm just a man who's fighting for his life

Deep down I would trade the world to see my son and wife

I'm just a man"

He is brought back to who he was when he was still just a man, before he became a monster. He did trade the world to see his son and wife and that makes him just a man.

The whole musical asks the question when a man becomes a monster and I think while it is never explicitly answered, that the answer is: when he isn't shown mercy. And that by showing someone mercy, you can reverse that. That it isn't permanent. I really love the moral question of mercy vs. ruthlessness in that Epic has, so it was really interesting to see how it came back in the end :D

[irazai]

── STANDING NEXT TO YOU ; dazai osamu x fem!reader

synopsis ─▸ ❝ he is someone you should truly stay away from because every smile of his drips with danger, every laugh is coated with mystery and every touch has tragedy lingering yet that's the only thing you can't bring yourself to do -- staying away from him. especially when he seeks you out himself. ❞

warnings ; racer!zai. age gap. dazai is in late twenties while reader is in early twenties, nineteen to be exact. angst. romance. tragedy. illegal racing and illegal activities. port mafia is in here too. dazai has smoking addiction. drug addiction. toxic workplace. reader works at a club. sexual harassment. prostitution though it's mentioned lightly. uses of whore, slut etc in a derogatory way. pedophilic behaviour and pedophilia, mentions of grooming.

chapter specific warnings ; mentions of being raped, sexual assault, dissociation from reality etc.

masterlist.

it's a busy night tonight, you think to yourself as you descend down the stairs, going down to the ground floor to help at the bar. you stop for a moment to admire the moon shining brightly through the glass windows before you look down at the roads below and wonder how ironic it is for a club to be able to blend so well with it's surroundings.

how many people must pass by this lavish two floor building without even realising that they just passed by a club?

you wish you could be one of them, alas, you aren't. continuing to walk down after that short moment of peace, you initially flinch as the loud music reaches your ear. you aren't used to loud noises even yet despite working here for years.

as you walk through the many tables and couches, you have to pretend as if you don't feel the leering disgusting stares on your ass or the whispers of immature or drunk guys betting to each other how long it will take before you end up in bed with them. can't they be more quieter about their perverse nature?

you increase your pace, fortunately there was no customer who decided to stop you so you reached the bar without any intruptions or hardships, after which only do you take a breath of relief. the worst thing is you can't say no to any customer if they want you to do them some sexual favours. your boss won't listen to your reasons that this isn't your work and you are just a escort here. he will only tell you to keep quiet and keep your head low, desperate to please his disgusting customers no matter what.

you hate all of them. even your boss. you can't stand any of these disgusting men who think they are above all just because they have a little too much money to spare.

"i am surprised how packed and busy the second floor is." one of the bartenders say, leaning over the counter to talk to you since the music here is so loud.

you nod, leaning in so he can hear you speak too, "it's cause there will be a race later on."

"woah, really? just out in the open like this?" he expresses the same surprise you did when you first heard about it from one of the strippers who learnt this from her client -- the organizer of these races.

"mhm, money talks." you smile, leaning back to stand properly, slipping your feet out of the painful heels you are wearing to relieve them for a little while. you don't give them time to heal because you don't have the permission to do so. looking down at your feet, you grimace yourself at how they are covered with red markings from the heel. your soles pain alot too and even bending your toes is painful.

leaning back against the counter to look over at the bustling club, you wonder how their lives are. your eyes dart towards the entrance right in time to see a man with blue dyed hair entering and you immediately straighten up, adjusting your top.

the man moves like a snake slithering between the dancing and making out bodies on the dance floor. you squint your eyes to focus on him as he seems to blend in with the crowd.

"what are you focusing on?" the bartender from before is also leaning on the counter, eyes trained on the man.

"he's one of the event manager's of those races." you tell, not looking away even once.

"damn, he looks more like he belongs to a gang or one of those kpop idols."

"well he certainly fits the illegal part of those races." you smile, turning to look at the bartender again. "they come here often. good luck in guessing who is who."

"finally a good pass time apart from listening to horrible hook up stories." the bartender snorts sarcastically as you wave at him, turning to walk towards the direction of the blue haired man.

it's not hard to find him as he sits where he always does, at the centre on one of the u-shaped couches, observing the rest of the club.

he nods at you upon seeing you approach him and smiles a bit as you lean down to have your ear next to his mouth so he can speak without having to be loud.

"is the boss done?" he asks, you look down at your digital watch before shaking your head. "nope, there's still an hour left. he rented the room for six hours today. he's here since seven p.m."

you tell the man who groans. "what does he even do there?"

you blink. "um normally when someone books a room, it's to have se--"

"i know." the man cuts you off immediately, smiling sheepishly as he waves his hand to dismiss you yet you stay there as you want to ask him something.

you wet your bottom lip with your tongue before nervously whispering, "is he gonna come?"

the man furrows his eyebrows in thought then quickly smiles, "i am joking. of course he will, you are here after all."

you smile as you mutter a small thank you, turning as you leave because you do not want that man to see how happy you feel on hearing that since 'he' is the only one who makes it worth working in this hellhole.

cheers and howls erupted at the same time like an explosion when the familiar koenigsegg drives over the finishing line in first place. many more cheers erupted when it drifted and did it's famous donut on the road with it's tires as it stopped itself. due to the car's velocity, dust and pebbles which were on the road were now blowing around when the door of the car opened.

he steps out, his brown hair being the first thing which the spectators can see as he ruffles his hair, smirking. as the dust settles on the road again, rushed footsteps is all he hears before seeing his manager laughing joyfully.

"attaboy! " the older man cheers, laughing as he pats the taller man's shoulder. "you keep this up and you might catch the eyes of one of those suckers, my boy hafta get invited to formula one at this rate."

he smirks in amusement at the older's enthusiasm but quickly bursts his bubble of imagination, "oh my, how sad it is that despite your motivation i do not think of racing as anything more than a pass time?" he teases the older man who rolls his eyes. when the older man smirks, his gold tooth flashes as it catches the light from one of the streetlights, "if you change your mind, hit yo man up, 'kay dazai?"

dazai only rolls his eyes, "where's boss man?" he asks, not wanting to waste another second here.

"at the club.... where are you goin--"

"to the club." dazai shouts, already jogging away while the older man sighs, grumbling under his breath. "he's always at that club. what's so special that he runs there every night?"

dazai quickly jogged towards his mercedes, adjusting his hair in the rear view mirror and looking over his face incase something out of the ordinary was tainting it. he quickly looked away however, he can never tolerate seeing his own face too much. he opens the glove compartment to take out his box of cigarettes and a lighter, these two being absolutely essential for him. it's like he can't function without these now, a bad habit but he's already too addicted to give a fuck now.

he takes out one cigarette stick and holds it between his lips, using his other hand to light the lighter and brings the small flame closer towards the free end of the stick. as soon as he takes one puff he releases a loud puff as if he had only now engulfed oxygen.

tilting his head back, he closes his eyes for a while as his body feels it's almost reached a heaven like state, he feels light and he can feel the nicotine in every vein running through his body. it's been only six hours without smoking and he already feels as if he was going to loose his mind. cutting off his smoking habit seems like a distant dream now.

he sighs again as he looks at his face in the rearview mirror again, making sure he looks absolutely dashing. he has a girl to impress once again after all. ".... should i get her chocolates?"

"i am sorry, i don't drink during work hours." you politely smile to conceal your fear which the man sitting on the couch in this private room is producing in you, having no choice but to serve him because this is your job. you can't 'slack' off on your job as said by your boss the last time you tried to bring these kinds of harassment to his attention.

"mhm baby, just a bit? come on, it's gonna be worth it, i promise." he doesn't understand and continues to push you to do something you clearly don't want to. you lick your lips as you feel them go dry, a shrill stab of fear goes through your chest when you see his eyes narrow at your action as he had clearly seen this as 'seduction'. he doesn't seem to think of the sweatbeads on your forehead and your wide frantic eyes as signs of panick or fear but rather as signs of you trying to appear demure to seduce him.

"i was eighteen not long ago sir, please don't. we will both get in troub --" your voice is shaky due to fear, eyes closing as you try not to grimace when he lowers his hand to cup your cheek. his hand feels disgusting on your skin but you can't speak about it. you internally feel your stomach clench in disgust when he begins to rub his thumb up and down your cheek as he leans in, his hot breath hits the shell of your ear, "you think you can fool me? you think i don't know how long you have been working here? are you allowed to have favourites between customers, hmm? should i have a word with your boss?"

his underlying threats makes you widen your eyes, desperately shaking your head as you plead. "i-i am sorry. i was out of line, sir. i will drink it."

he smiles in victory, his hand moves down to cup your jaw as he brings your face forwards while tilting the glass towards your lips, you part your lips slowly as the drink flows down your throat. you have to pinch your thighs to not end up coughing or gagging.

"good girl. take a big sip." he orders, a shiver travels down your spine as you can guess what perverted thoughts are behind his cocky smile.

don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. hold it in. hold it in. don't puke.

you chant to yourself because you cannot manage to make a mistake. boss is a scary man. not knowing his name despite living with him for eight years is enough of a proof.

his hand travels up towards your lips as he taps it with his thumb before he leans down, licking his lips greedily as he tries to peak down the low cut neckline of your jacket. a cropped leather jacket under which you are wearing just a bra.

don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke.

the man tilts the glass down to watch the alcoholic drink flow down your throat and neck, disappearing inside your jacket. he gulps in pleasure at the thought of this drink staining your cleavage, how lewd it must look if he had the chance to see them, drops of the drink would cling to your nipples and drip down your chest.

an excited huff of breath escapes his lips at the imagery in his twisted mind, he smiles to seem apologetic but all you see are the ugly curves of his lips, like a monster smiling before devouring it's prey.

"i am sorry baby." he begins to speak, grabbing a few tissues from the tissue box next to him, he curled them and began to dap it on your neck. at his movement a very violent shudder travels down your spine, you don't even have to raise your eyes to see his second hand slowly inching towards his belt. the reason he is being so discrete despite wanting to pleasure himself is simple, this despicable man gets off to the thrill of subtlety.

"you should take your jacket off, i will help you clean it." he says, hand dipping lower to press the tissues against your covered cleavage, a shuddering breath escapes his lips, eyes hungrily waiting for you to expose more of yourself, to feed into his perversion more.

"i-i can do it myself." you stutter, trying to take a step back but he grabs your forearms, his fingers digging into your skin as he shakes his head. "no, no. it's my fault so let me help."

his words aren't a request or anything. it's an order. the previous threat of complaining to boss hangs at the back of your mind as you quietly unzip your jacket and take it off.

the man ogles your breasts covered by the bra, his hand slips inside his pants as he begins to jerk. "lean forward."

and you know you have to follow what he says because trapped in the walls of this private room, he is the king and you are the slave. not only to him but to the emperor (boss) as well. whatever boss says shall happen, no?

you do not have a choice, you think, it's all your fault anyway. you made a bad choice years ago and now this is the consequence.

. . . but isn't it too much? doesn't matter. blaming yourself somehow helps you to suck it up and continue working despite your own self screaming how unfair it is.

when the man leans to unclasp your bra, you do not flinch or react. over time you learned that fighting it or resisting it is more painful than the actual process (it isn't, both are equally awful but somehow gaslighting and blaming yourself helps you function.)

the man's hands hover over your breasts, skimming the skin as he pants.

a beep emits from your phone which is by his side before he could grab your flesh, a annoyed look of almost fury spreads onto his face as he looks at the useless piece of technology, he reads who messaged you and almost sighs but he doesn't.

no king is foolish enough to deny the emperor.

"it's your boss, go. he's sending someone else for me." he informs you, voice laced in annoyance yet the relief his words fill you with is almost enough to make you tear up.

it takes you no more than five minutes to wear your bra and jacket again, grabbing your phone as you immediately twist on your heels and walk out with hurried steps.

you unlock your phone to see what boss messaged you, heart thumping in your chest as you read the text.

boss : dress nice. he is here.

a shiver filled with relief travels down your vertebral column as you can finally meet the one who makes working here a bit more bearable. he hadn't come here yesterday or the day before yesterday so you are really happy that he is here today.

of course he has a life. he is not inclined to remember you either but it still feels depressing to think he will forget you one day, you won't be more than a blur with the tag of 'a girl at a nightclub'. it just feels wrong to not be remembered by anyone so you will put this expectation on the one who treated you like a human.

perhaps because he himself is unable to feel human? ... what an odd thing to say. you shake your head to rid yourself of these thoughts, thinking much about him is like being pulled down towards the ocean in a sinking ship where gravity works against your favour. if you sink too much into him, you are afraid he might run away like he always does.

he enjoys being a enigma, a mystery to intellectuals, an illusion disgused as a puzzle waiting to be solved but when you try to touch his pieces, the illusion shatters and he disappears.

your feet stop as you stand infront of boss's room. if he sees you here, you will have to go in so you retreat hastily, walking far far away from his office because you can never walk away from the man himself.

the door is always surrounded by black shadows which make the door seem narrower and more twisted then it actually appears, two years ago you realised it's because of your fear and bad memories associated with the room that makes your vision play tricks on you whenever it falls on this door.

you walk away for hours despite only a few minutes passing before you enter the dressing rooms where many pretty yet broken women lounges, some getting ready for their shift while some relaxed and others got ready to leave this godforsaken place for good only to return tomorrow.

a few smiles greeted you but then disappeared once they noticed your drenched and sweaty state and everyone ignored you, to not humiliate you. truly it's a messed up life you guys live, isolated from the 'normal, working part of society', drained in everything intoxicating and forbidden, placed on a pedestal where some think of as a fantasy while others look at you guys with either desire or mockery.

it is a monotonous process involving only a few steps -- you entered one of the dressing rooms with a dress you grabbed from the big closets, discarding your current ones which makes you want to vomit and instead slipping into the new ones ; black shorts and a tank top of the same colour. your steps are light and almost airy when you step out and walk towards the vanity area, adjusting your makeup and combing through your hair before you are on your way out again, waving at the women who still lounged.

your hips swayed as you walked out, putting on a confident smile as you enter the people packed areas again. this is the life you live, you can't slack off for even one second no matter how much harassment or violation you go through, you have to keep on dancing on thorns so the perverts can drink your blood from your feet and throw money at you which boss greedily grabs and hides in his black hole of a heart.

from your peripheral vision you see a customer raise their hand at the sight of you, needing some kind of assistance. you shift your body to face his direction, taking two steps in his direction but not more for a slender hand wraps around your hip to pull you towards him. you look up, eyes meeting those honey brown ones which seem to always have mischief and danger dripping down them and whoever looks into it can't help but lean in to drink it greedily.

greed is very reoccurring, is it not?

"hey." he breaths out, smelling like fresh mint. he smiles down at you and it feels the entire world stilled to admire the curve of his lips, you find yourself imitating him and smiling back, a giddy itch in your heart.

"hey." you breath out too. it's no fair, he seems to always steak your breath away. he applies forces on his hand on your hip to make you walk with him, away from the customer and from everyone towards one of the private rooms which is indirectly off limits to everyone else. only he uses it, it's untouchable to anyone else.

the room is nothing much worth defining because this specific room may be the treasure where you store your good memories, the other replicas of this exact room are horrifying realities tucked close till the door opens. you know these rooms better then anyone, having stared at them for hours while greedy folks had their fill of you, drank and left you all weak on the floor but alas that's the life of a prostitute.

never a human, always desired.

are you a mere escort? a prostitute? you aren't aware of your own identity in this concealed world of sins and desires. for all you know, you might be the golden hen with a eye-catching bow on her head, one which lures pigs.

oh silly you, pigs don't eat hens.

are you sure they don't? when even a human is capable of eating another, why can't a pig eat a hen? they have been eating you for years.

"thinking something?" his voice breaks you out of the never ending labyrinth of your thoughts, you smile almost from muscle memory alone.

"does dazai-san want me to think of only him?" you speak, a well reversed stream of words which dance around you as even to him you say them without meaning to. somehow you feel as if dazai knows it as well, that you only cling to him because he offers you safety.

"that's up to you but dazai-san himself has been thinking about you." his voice is airy and playful with gaps that are filled with mystery which he weaved himself, breaking pieces of himself and starving whoever is his companion before feeding them a very tiny piece, leaving them wanting for more.

you look up at him curiously, so he answers. "i wanted to buy you flowers but would you believe all chocolate shops and bakeries are closed at this time?" he whines playfully yet why is it that all the time spend together gave you an ability to look past the thick disguises to see just how tired he looks beneath them all?

how's it even possible to present oneself as filled with energy while being exhausted to the brink of fainting from the inside?

"why would you waste your money on me -- ah, i didn't mean to sound ungrateful. i am just curious dazai-san." you speak as he walks, making you walk along with him till you two approach the couch and he doesn't make you sit on the floor, he pats the space next to him once he is seated on the couch, you obey.

"too many questions, sweetie." dazai chuckles before he tilts his head back, eyes closing as if the burdens of the world is on his shoulders, "i have my reasons."

his answer is vague, hardly an answer but you nod, placing your hands between your thighs as you look down. "dazai-san?"

"hm?"

"thank you."

"hm?"

you smile as you continue to look down, shrugging. "for letting me breath and never asking me for sex."

how horrifying must it be for one to live such life that when someone doesn't immediately ask them to strip or kneel, they are grateful and feel as if they own them something, dazai thinks. he hasn't opened his eyes yet but he extends his hand to pat your knee. "don't thank me for treating you like a basic human."

and how much irony his words hold because what does he know about humans and how they live, how they feel and how they function?

but how can one think he doesn't know all this? knowing and acting on it is a very different think from naturally being born with the instinct. that's his only fault.

his words reach a part of your heart you didn't know still existed within you, which hadn't broken down due to your situation and misfortune. said part is very fragile and weak yet extremely guarded yet his words hold equal value. the parallelism of the man you were serving before him and him is too grave to not move you. you lower your head, eyes filling with tears as you nod yet you do not cry. you never cry.

crying makes you look ugly, boss always scolds you whenever he sees a tiny little tear attempting to leave the cage which are your eyes.

"i won a race today." to anyone else it might seem like a casual comment yet to you whose every move is watched like vultures watching a poor weak lamb limp as it tries to fight against it's inevitable death, this means a lot because he's really not treating you like you are an eye candy but rather as a normal person because he knows this normalcy is something you will never get.

"you are amazing dazai-san --"

"dazai." he corrects you, sitting up as he looks at you with his head tilted, a charming boyish smile on his face which makes your stomach flutter, "no need for honorific, hm? or i will use them with you too."

no, it's not only your stomach that flutters but the lining of your stomach that folds, your intestines which squeeze and your lungs which stop functioning whenever he speaks to you because his voice is so soft and gentle it feels as if everything will be better, the bad time will pass and good will come find you, that's what his voice is.

"you are not good for my health dazai-san-- dazai." you correct yourself at the last second, smiling at how better his name sounds without having to use honorific which you only use with clients to make them feel even more superior then what they already are,. you continue, "do you do this with every girl over here?"

you turn to look at him, tears still in your eyes yet none of you comment or acknowledge them. he grins, "do what?"

"make them feel special."

"nah," he quickly shakes his head, grinning as he leans closer to tap your nose, "i only do that with my special girl."

he freezes. the grin that takes over your lips and brightens your features, which makes you look much more happier and more your age and the realisation that it's because of him makes him feel funny.

he looks down, feeling shy now as he leans his head on your shoulder, making you halt as you look down at him.

"you say all that to me yet don't you know how bad you are for my health?" he mutters in a pouty tone, making your heart do flips.

"but i am only this way with you --"

"i know." he whispers.

"it's because you make me feel comfortable and i don't feel obligated to act a certain way around yo --"

"i know." he whispers again and you huff.

"what are you? a mindreader?"

"yeah, and i can even read your mind!" dazai teases, cackling as he sees the look of skepticism on your face. it's always worth it to see your reactions. "right now, you need to close your eyes and go to sleep for a while. your brain is begging you to take a small nap." he teases, once again a cackle escapes his lips when he sees your eyes widen, it's almost comical to him.

to you, however, it's astonishing because how does he know about the pounding headache on the back of your head? is he that good at reading people? must be. these are the times where you realise how much intellect this man hides behinds his tomfoolery, the times which makes a sensible part of you scream to distance yourself from this enigmatic man.

but how can you?

oh truly, how can you!

he wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you towards his chest, leaning back against the couch as he tries to find a possible position which will be comfortable for you both.

truly how can you distance yourself from him when every touch leaves your skin tingling and wanting more?

greed is inevitable and you are no God.

you fall for greed too. especially when it comes in the form of a man named dazai osamu.

as the man who has your whole attention shifts the cushions behind you both to find a specific position which will make his aching muscles to sing praises for showing them mercy, your eyes do not stray away from him, a true devoted follower.

you stare intently at his bandages emerging from deep below his neck as you wonder how he got them. he doesn't really speak much about him. you do not want to risk asking and angering him too.

"if you want to ask questions, prepare to answer some yourself too." he advices, not even looking at you yet it feels as if there is a pair of invisible eyes behind his head which are devouring your walls and masks. you nod. "how do i know it's the right time to ask?"

he pauses, a look of thought on his face though it's only a act, he quickly goes back to smoothing and adjusting the cushions as he answers, "when you have the upper hand."

you purse your lips. upper hand against someone like him? yeah, as if.

your sigh is inaudible as the advice he gave can't be used against him at all.

"hm. so much sighing from someone so young. when does your shift end again?" he asks which makes you look at the clock on the wall, "in half an hour. why?"

you look at him. his eyes are closed and a lazy smirk is on his face. "in half an hour let's go on a date. who knows how many upper hands you may receive if you do?"

his words are a trap. a bait to lure you in. you shake your head, not wanting to take unnecessary risk but the thought of being alone with boss for the night is more unpleasant, you can either sit in a room with snacks or rats.

the latter doesn't seem as dangerous as snakes but truly what's more scarier — the eye catching snake or the rats which curries away from under one's nose?

that's dazai and boss respectively. the date and being alone with boss likewise.

you blame dazai for this, ever since you began to meet with him a few months ago you began to see how disgusting boss really is, he makes your skin curl in disgust after dazai opened your eyes to what you consider normal to not be anyone else's normal.

you take your bottom lip between your upper row of teeth, sinking them onto your plush lip as you ponder while dazai removes his watch and tosses it on the glass spherical coffee table made of black marble. his moves are casual but he's a pretty snake. like a mamba.

the mamba or the rat?

"where ..... will we go?" you cautiously ask to which he hums. "a secret spot."

"your racing venue?"

"no. it's too soon for that — maybe after two or three dates i might take you there too?" he grins as he talks, eyes not opening because you know he doesn't think of you as a threat. you, however, do.

you nod. it's a date so maybe you should get ready?

as if hearing your thoughts, he shakes his head. dazai sits up and let's out a few curses when his joints pop in protest, screaming at this man who doesn't show mercy to even his own self.

"i don't want you to not enjoy yourself with me because of a headache. for now, you will sleep." he orders. it's not a advice or words spoken from worry but a prophecy in a way which will be true if you do not follow him.

what a dictator.

though you do not object for you have no reason to yet. instead you curl by his side, leaning back against his open arm. with your face against his chest, you close your eyes as the drumming of his fingers against your shoulders are a lullaby.

as your eyes close you are unable to see the pair of eyes who got their pigment from the sorrow it went through. sun lights and honey and tree trunks are all romanticized but his eyes are the colours of a abandoned and dried tree trunk which always feels as if this breath is it's last breath but then somehow the roots find water and its pulled up by the thread it's hanging on which dangles between life and death.

his fingers curl against your shoulder as he pulls you closer, shutting his eyes as his other hand is on your hip and pulls you closer by it.

though an hour later in the starry and chilly night sky which has no witnesses apart from the coldness, you crouch on the ground and scream. "dazai!"

you close your eyes to not look at the white tiger which lunges at you to attack you, his body looking majestic under the night sky.

this was not how you expected your date to go.

[brujc]

Spoilers for S2 promo content

Okay guys so I'm gonna be totally honest here it's just gonna be me being a petty bitch and rambling about my first impression on tbhk S2 (from the POV of someone who got into it not a long while ago and stopped the s1 at ep 5)

I would LOVE to say I'm excited about this second season but honestly I am more worried if anything haha...

So...PURELY ANIMATION WISE the op didn't appeal to me like uhh I feel so bad saying that it's like disrespecting the animators but like I mean I just hate how awkward a lot of shots turned out. I mean tbhk's manga art style is like super awesome and it is surely hard as fuck to animate but I really don't think the "thick lines" (idk how exactly to describe ) anime style will do justice to the manga, especially when we consider the pretty action packed and more serious scenes that are to come! I can feel some really clunky movements coming already

Like in this part of the intro, when Aoi and Kane were running towards the group idk why but it felt so... awkward... also this kinda chibified anatomy really doesn't suit some characters.

Like it makes some design choices very questionnable..

Like look at him... Because of the head-bigger-than-body choice he looks a bit weird? Like to be honest he doesn't look like teru at all, if it weren't for his iconic features like the blond hair I wouldn't have recognized him. Where's his prince-ly look? Or idk I don't care if he ain't jaw dropping but his "sharp" vibe and whole hair silhouette is gone..

(I'm super sad like I cannot express how sad I am)

Same goes for Aoi, I don't like how she doesn't have the Aoi vibe, she just looks like some random character (also is it a curse? I feel like she always have shots where her anatomy is super strange like in the flower shot above. Super big head awkward hand position and all)

Even before her major personality reveal she looked less empty than the anime one??? Idk how to express myself

Again with the anatomy, I just genuinely hate it I don't even know why it's just awkward as hell to me ( I said that multiple times already I'm really sorry). The very detailed shading and colors of the clothes and background with this very kid like anatomy and thick outlines just throws me off, idk the characters don't really blend in with the atmosphere (I mean in closer shots, sure but distance/half body shots usually are there most of the time)

I'm sorry I just can't bring myself to like his anime design...the eyes and just everything are so off..

I have a lot to fear but I'm begging please do him justice this season

Baby face again (I mean the characters are young so I might just be a shitty complainer but I just think they don't look good)

Overall I'm super worried for the meaningful scenes in pp arc, they have like chances to be ruined because of clunky animation but I really don't hope so! I can already picture a super awkward fall off the building scene with Kou or super mega awkward escape of the perfect picture with like the bike not feeling fantasy at all.

Anyway I'm losing focus! Ofc there are some fluid shots in the op but I just have the overall feeling that it won't be super good

Sorry for complaining like this but I'm just sad about the adaptation cuz I think some really cool stuff could've been done with the banger base material that is tbhk, so much potential...

I do hope I will be complaining for nothing and that the anime will in reality be very good tho (begging to be proven wrong)

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

I read a post where Zuko is supposedly describing his girlfriend. This corresponds to the episode where he reproaches Mai for certain things she doesn’t have. Here are the points:

Zuko reproaches Mai for not having a passion for anything. This trait is attributed to Katara, who, on the contrary, is very passionate and invested in everything she undertakes.

He also reproaches her for not believing in anything. Again, this contrasts with Katara, who firmly believes in her ideals and her ability to make a difference.

Zuko would like Mai to sometimes be more tense, a bit "crazy," and let her emotions out instead of keeping them all inside. This criticism can be compared to Katara, who, in contrast, expresses herself freely, even if it doesn’t always please Zuko.

At another point, Zuko tells Mai that he likes it when she expresses her emotions. This reminds me of a scene from the episode The Southern Raiders, where Katara reproaches Zuko for his attitude during their conversation in Ba Sing Se, insisting on the importance of communicating emotions.

Finally, Zuko mentions that he’s looking for someone more open, a quality that, once again, is associated with Katara, known for her empathy and open-mindedness.

However, I think the person who wrote this post didn’t quite understand why Zuko likes Mai, and it left me confused. The words given are a bit vague. I understand the parallel, but I don’t quite see how it shows that Zuko would want a girlfriend who embodies those traits. The statements are given somewhat vaguely, without really explaining the context or the dynamic between Katara and Zuko, which makes the interpretation unclear.

And what do you think about it?

The biggest problem with using that scene as a "gotcha" against Maiko is the simple fact it is completely out of context.

Zuko lashed out because he had been trying to be nice to her earlier, with the seashell and ice-cream, Mai made it clear she wasn't impressed, and then a guy that was super into her showed up, making Zuko feel threatened because he grew up with a dad that taught him to believe that he was replaceable and had to fight to prevent it from happening.

So, he keeps confronting Mai on if she likes that guy, even after she repeatedly says she's completely indifferent to him, because he's insecure and afraid of losing her. Mai doesn't like that Zuko is being irrational and paranoid, calls him out on it, and Zuko gets defensive - and when Zuko gets defensive, he says stuff he doesn't mean.

Iroh is trying to make him see there's no way Ozai changed his mind about banishing him? Zuko says Iroh is lazy, shallow and jealous of Ozai. Iroh calls Zuko out for literally robbing people in the Earth Kingdom? Zuko says they have nothing to gain by traveling together and walks out. Iroh refuses to continue giving him advice after Zuko literally caused him to be sent to prison? Zuko calls him crazy and tells him to rot.

There is a clear pattern here, yet it is never used by anyone to argue that this is how Zuko genuinely feels about his uncle/father figure, because there's tons of scenes of them together that prove how much love he has for the man. The same applies to Mai.

He still thinks back on the prank Azula pulled on the two of them because of Mai's crush on him YEARS after they've lost contact. He is super physically affectionate with her (something he had trouble being comfortable with even with Iroh) to the point that they're CONSTANTLY making out in front of other people. He consistently turns to her for emotional support (which she got better at providing). They have dates all the time because they like each other's company. He mentions her as being THE thing he had to sacrifice when changing sides. And again, the whole reason he's jealous on The Beach is because he WANTS Mai as his girlfriend.

Dude literally says the words "You're so beautiful when you hate the world" and smiles like a simp when Sokka refers to her as "That gloomy girl who sighs a lot."

I am not going to take ONE scene in which he's being mean as proof that he secretly hates her when, just like with Iroh, we see enough interactions between them during Zuko's good days to know that he did not mean a word of it - hence him IMMEDIATELY simping for Mai as she tells him to fuck off, then reconciling with her when she says a simple, but completely honest "I care about you" after he opens up about his crisis over his own dubious choices, as she can now see that he wasn't just being a dick for the sake of being a dick, he's just a confused kid trying to cope.

As for Katara, while I'm sure Zuko grew to admire her compassion and drive to help others, that is not enough to argue "she's his true soulmate/his type." EVERYONE in the Gaang is empathetic and passionate, and they all like to have fun. Same for his uncle.

"You're a nice, pleasant person" is not enough to make someone fall in love. Zuko clearly was much closer to Mai (as well as Toph and especially Aang) than he ever was with Katara, obviously liked her more chill personality (which became less and less apathetic as their relationship evolved, and thus they clashed less), was physically attracted to her, missed her when she wasn't around, and actually demonstrated jealously when someone else showed interest in her.

THAT is basis for a relationship, unlike "Ah, you also believe war is terrible? Nice. Good thing I stopped hating you for your race, right? Now we can be friends instead of killing each other!" - which, despite what Zutarians love arguing against, is ALL there is to Zuko and Katara's canon dynamic. They're on the same side, on the same friend group, and they don't hate each other (anymore). Hardly even best friends, let alone "meant to be."

Plus if Zuko was to ever hook up with anyone of the heroes, it'd be Aang and that is just a fact.

[gifsbysimplysonia]

Hola otra vez! For anyone not familiar with my annoying rambly feedback, ahead there be

This is the end of the first paragraph of the story and it's just so fcking ... like it works SO well for me, it makes me wanna spike a football

it's hard to find places where he's thought of as a stranger. no familiar faces, no conversation, no fuss. just logan, a bottle of whisky and time.

logan had no reason to keep count. until he saw you.

Well, if there's any indication a man is smitten, I'd say it's when he decides to keep counting after 200 years on Earth cuz of YOU *ded*

the bar was busy, as it normally was. he didn't mind it this way, less attention on him, less chances of someone trying to pick a fight with a specific stranger. not that they'd win, but logan had grown too tired for petty fights these days.

It's super interesting to think about Logan in relation to time and age. We just went from him deciding he's got a reason to keep counting the years to him being so tired that he doesn't want to get into petty fights. And as someone who grew up with Logan on the XMen cartoon lol, I know Logan to BE petty. So whilst we can't always think of Logan in terms of age, cuz looking at his appearance can make us forget, to hear that he's so TIRED that he doesn't even wanna squabble up on occasion? Well, that's impactful. The author makes it hit home in this other way and I really like it.

And here's another example of the author getting across to us where Logan is at when we meet him in life:

you're easy on the eyes, especially to these tired old hues that have grown accustomed to staring at the same old walls.

Straight up now we have the word tired, but also old. And not in relation to himself, but what he's got eyes on. It's such a clever thing the author has done here, and I really am appreciative of it.

logan can't let himself look too much, he isn't allowed nice things, especially not pretty little things such as yourself. he's poison, tainting everything he touches, spoiling it. he's experienced enough heartbreak, enough losses for a lifetime and more.

Sad face. This is very in line with the Logan I think most of us know (and adore). Gotta take all the blame, gotta punish yourself, gotta try to protect others from you by denying yourself connections. Wanna hug him.

he wonders if you know most of the tips you receive by the end of the night are from him. you're diligent, you work hard, and you deserve more than the minimum wage you're probably getting.

Also very on brand for Logan. Sees a need, fills the need, but doesn't want credit for it. He's also seeing someone he believes is worthy (and perhaps not in a way he feels he could ever be?) of more so he tries to be the provider.

it's not even lust on his mind either, he just finds himself captivated by your presence. he wonders about your life, your interests, your dreams. . .

And again, we are seeing how smitten he is because the man who has been painted as weary and bored suddenly has questions and wonderings again. That is, in the context of Logan's long a$$ existence, quite magical. But that magic is immediately followed by

though he'd be lying if he said he'd never pictured bending you over against the bar and fucking you senseless. he is an animal, after all.

and it's like

relying on others was a weakness. besides, what would you be to him but just another person he'd lose someday? it wasn't worth it. you weren't worth it. fuck.

"Relying on others was a weakness" is just hella relatable to me, so I key in on that. And then that ire being followed by showing vulnerability by thinking of her as another person he'd lose; Logan's heart has always been huge and you just know he remembers the faces and details of each person he has had to lose and she has that status already. Logan trying to lie to himself with the "not worth it" talk only to have to curse himself cuz he KNOW he's lying is also peak Logan behavior, and once again on a personal level, hiiiiiiiiiiiiiighly relatable lol. I'm always lying to myself about my own feelings.

you were strangers, this was stupid, it was all fucking stupid. but the mind of a lonely old man is a desperate one, and what logan really craves isn't just eye candy.

"Lonely and desperate" self descriptions and Logan referring to himself as "stupid." I'm sure we all wanna shake this old man, right? LOL because when he let's himself think about the truth:

he craves a touch, that first touch that sparks electricity throughout your every nerve ending, causes goosebumps to ripple along the skins surface. he craves something, anything. he was so fucking hungry. always so fucking hungry. a rumbling hunger that starts at the pit of his stomach and gnaws through him like a rabid animal frantically trying to escape a suffocating metal cage. it's a hunger he can't satisfy, he knows he can't satisfy. but he'd been alone so long.

It's connection, and it's gnawing at him. Loneliness is a helluva thing, and I think a lot of us know this. But this author is shining in the way she is describing it for us, outside of the usual age/years gone by methods. Tired, lonely, and now ravenous. And while we are in the space of a more spiritual hunger, here, it so easily slides right back to physical as well because he's thinking about a woman and wonders

surely one bite couldn't hurt?

Me literally screaming into my pumpkin pillow cuz I'm like NO IT COULDN'T LOGAN, GO GET HERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR cuz I know what's gonna follow is gonna be liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

switching bars wasn't particularly appealing to him, but it was better than having to look at you and feel that familiar ache.

The self loathing and denial is top tier Logan. He will inconvenience and punish himself just as long as it's in line with denying himself cuz he just "doesn't deserve it." Siiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

Logan then proceeds to go drain the snake before he beings his newest self inflicted penance, but she comes in to clean the bathrooms thinking they were empty.

Gurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrl lol

your eyes lock on one another for just a split second before you quickly busy yourself with the mop again. but that split second was enough. it was enough to notice how you were looking at him.

HOW WAS SHE LOOKING AT YOU, LOGAN?!?! It's funny how if it was almost any other man, I'd snort and be like, sure buddy. But it's Logan so I have ZERO issue believing whatever he saw in her eyes let her know she DOES indeed know him and want ... well, something.

you lean back against the bathroom stall divider, eyes drifting across logan's figure. he was tall, big. this is the first time you're really able to look at him, to study the features of his face. this time he's not hiding behind a glass or a bottle.

How interesting to see the contrast of her view of Logan because while he's always looking at her and sworn that he never caught her looking his way, she's letting us know she has definitely looked his way enough to notice he was a man in hiding. And she actually acted respectfully to respect that and not ogle him, which bummed Logan out lol.

the hunger in his gaze is obvious, but it's dulled, like he's just barely holding back. you think he looks lonely, there's a distinct air about him that practically screams that he needs to be touched.

Oof, she's intuitive! So she SEES what he needs and seems to be quite willing to, ahem, deliver for him but WILL HE LET HER is the big question.

logan pushes himself from the sink and approaches you slowly. was he really doing this? after a month of pining and longing for you, a stranger in a bar, was he really going to give in to his desires? would you let him? the lust was clear in your eyes and he knew he was reflecting it right back tenfold.

you eye the stranger who's been watching you, tipping you. of course you've noticed, you'd have to be pretty stupid or oblivious not to. you've come to expect him at each shift, but his presence intrigued you more than the other regulars. not just because he was more handsome, considerably more handsome. no, it was those sad eyes that seemed to say a million words while his mouth remained firmly shut that had you curious. even now as he stands before you so silent you could hear a pin drop, when you look into his eyes you can feel a sea of words brewing.

I do so love the fact that she's intuitive, curious and sees beyond the big burly handsome cover. He never speaks but look at his eyes and boy, are there a thousand stories waiting to be told. And it's the SAME WAY in the present with her. Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike, it's about to go off.

oh how you wanted to open him up, to peer inside behind that rough exterior, to take a peek behind the facade. you're sure you're easier to read than he is.

Again, I love that this goes beyond physical with her and that she's genuinely intrigued by him and by what probably most others don't see in Logan.

"i've seen you, you know," you mumble bravely, "looking at me." logan doesn't seem surprised, he brings a hand up to hold your chin, turning your face from side to side to get a proper look at you now that he has you up close. "yeah?" "yeah," you reply shakily, "thought i was imagining it at first. but by the second night it was obvious." he smirks, so he's not as subtle as he thinks.

No because how is he the King of Self Denial but somehow automatically is giving Dom the first time he approaches a woman he means to get to know? Not even embarrassing at being caught at his blatant perusal of her. SIR.

logan grips your wrists, not the suit. he wasn't talking about that now, he had to shut you up.

When I tell you this BROKE me. King of Self Inflicted Penance. I stg. And it's quite the conundrum to be going through an emotional gut punch when it's immediately followed up with

he leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as his strong hands keep a firm grip on your wrists. you submit, leaning back against the cubicle divider as you let him slip his tongue into your mouth.

and we know it is OFF TO THE RACES!!!

"taste so fuckin' sweet," he mumbles against your lips, kissing you between words, "you do this often? let men kiss you in the bathroom?" you mumble a 'no' under your breath, ". . . just the ones who tip good," you grin.

OH SH!T, WE HAVE HAN AND LEIA BANTER! They are my OTP so I'm always gonna call a combative in love couple that, but this dynamic is MY JAM and I love that what we seem to have here is a clearly dominant male with a bratty female. I am in Heaven lol

logan feels himself chuckling, biting your lower lip. oh, he liked you.

WE DO TOO, LOGAN!

his hand travels upwards, finding purchase around your neck. you gasp in response, moaning. he eagerly swallows your moan with his mouth, drowning out any sound that threatens to escape.

Always a trip when I am personally attacked by a fic lmaoooooooooo

he kisses you like a man starved, like he'd devour you if you let him. and you would, you think, if it felt this good.

"shhh, shhh," he whispers against your lips, "feel good? i know it feels good, but you gotta stay nice and quiet."

I want to diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie at the giving of instructions and reminder that, HEY WE ARE IN PUBLIC but we are absolutely NOT stopping.

"you wanted this just as much as i did, huh?" he growls into your ear, "need it, need me to fuck you."

Excellent dirty taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalk

he nods against the side of your cheek, his stubble scratching against your soft skin, "there we go, attagirl. . ."

And he praises? *dies again*

"yeah i am," logan smirks, he knows he's big, and he knows exactly how to use it. you just have time to gasp before you feel one of his hands connect harshly with your skin, the sound ringing out in the small bathroom of the bar.

"you've been thinkin' about this since you started your shift," logan says confidently, his words confirmed by how you drip around him, "thought about me fillin' you up, nice and full?"

I once again must mention top tier dirty talk!

and fuck does it make him harder to know that you've thought about this just as much as he has.

Once again, Logan's vulnerability is illustrated here because it's very human and natural to WANT TO BE WANTED so that it's exciting for him makes all the sense.

he knows if he lets you look at him, look up at him for too long, he'll lose it. he can't have your soft eyes on him while he fucks you, he doesn't deserve it.

*shakes him* He's still so Logan. Trying to convince himself again he is just not worthy. But I also do this to myself which is no doubt why I key on it, mention it, react to it. That just means the author is striking a chord with me and isn't that what we want? To feel resonance and know we are not alone in our experiences?

because he can't describe the shame that swirls in his stomach, that this is how he relieves himself, a quick fuck in a bar. this dirty older man who's seen so much sin, perpetuated sin with his own hands, who longed for the young pretty little thing in the bar. logan doesn't deserve nice things, this he knows.

It's a jarring feeling to be really into some hot smut and then have there be an intermission of this caliber. Cuz again, we are seeing into Logan's heart and his internal self who just screams and screams about not being worthy. And it's so painful and wretched for us as an audience cuz we KNOW it's not true and we just wish HE WOULD SEE IT.

you can't help but smirk, mouth stuck open as you moan softly, he likes it when you talk to him during, huh?

Even in her blissful state, she is noticing what he likes and trying to provide that for him and I love her for considering him and being thoughtful with him. HE doesn't think he deserves it, but we readers know that he absolutely does so it's sweetness in this midst of lust and shows us that she cares beyond whatever is happening now in this bathroom.

Y'all NEED to go read this cuz the smut is rough but because of the well established connection the author built between these two, it's very intimate despite the circumstances which don't necessarily lend themselves to anything other than a "quickie." Because of what's going on between these two and how well laid out that is for us, we know that the reason this is so rough and intimate is BECAUSE it's not meant for just here and now. But will Logan allow anything more?

standing on trembling legs, you lean up, giving him a surprisingly soft kiss. your hands take over his, helping him back into his jeans, zipping them up, clasping the buttons together and buckling his belt. all the while your lips are on his, slowly, passionately intertwining together.

And again, I love her for her thoughtfulness. She's being soft and tender with him. I'm not sure if it's a conscious effort to keep him from screwing things up (by trying to now brush her off) or if it's just naturally who she is and giving into her instinct to want to be gentle with him and keep him close. Either way, I love love love this moment.

". . . does that count as your tip for the night?" you joke with a smirk, hoping to see a flash of his smile again, hoping to alleviate some of that shame he's carrying.

Adore her for infusing humor into the situation and wanting to bring light back into his eyes. Whoever is going to be with Logan needs to have a sense of humor and give him as good as he gives.

the shame seems to settle, begins to dissipate. it feels less like satisfying an urge and more like. . . exploring something new. his eyes drift back to you.

Is Logan ACTUALLY going to give this thing a chance, and more importantly, HIMSELF a chance?!?!

I hate to quote too much in a story, especially an ending becuase I WANT PEOPLE TO GO READ FOR THEMSELVES but I need @silverskyeline to know that the last 3 paragraphs of this piece are SO FCKING GOOD.

The breakthrough and revelation he has, the tentative willingness to let himself release a burden and not self flagellate? OMGGGGGGGGGGG. Literally all the applause and bravo on this amazing piece. I really really fcking enjoyed it and am so grateful to you for creating and sharing.

It's really a wonderful character analysis or look at who Logan is, the person he think he has to be, with some hot smut that actually isn't a pause in the narrative but continues the throughline of exploring who he is and what he thinks he deserves and how he's giving himself permission to be a man again. I just ... I love this so so much. Thank you again.

'hunger' 18+

worst!wolverine x f!reader (3.9k words) summary: logan can't tear his mind away from the new barmaid at his usual haunt. he tries to resist you, he really does. but when you're both alone in the bathroom, he finds he's not the only one plagued with filthy thoughts. tags: for the 'longing' prompt for logan promptober, set in the bar from the movie, kind of angsty, filthy, pent up logan, alcohol consumption, doggy style, creampie, biting, light choking, pinning wrists, hair pulling, spanking, rough sex, implied age gap, sweet ending.

his usual haunts offer comfort, safe nests tucked away down isolated roads, usually requiring quite the drive to find - it's hard to find places where he's thought of as a stranger. no familiar faces, no conversation, no fuss. just logan, a bottle of whisky and time.

time spent staring into the grain of the old wood on the bar wondering how the fuck he ended up here. he'd stopped keeping count a long time ago, how long he'd been around, been alive. things get kind of hazy after two hundred years. logan had no reason to keep count.

until he saw you.

the bar was busy, as it normally was. he didn't mind it this way, less attention on him, less chances of someone trying to pick a fight with a specific stranger. not that they'd win, but logan had grown too tired for petty fights these days.

he's sat at the bar when the bartender clocks off, switching with someone new, someone he'd never seen before. you walk in and his eyes immediately scan your face, your build, your outfit. it's a habit of his, one he hoped he'd grow out of - but logan has learned that he'll never stop assessing for new threats. it's just in his dna.

but what he finds isn't a threat.

you're easy on the eyes, especially to these tired old hues that have grown accustomed to staring at the same old walls. he drags his eyes back down to his glass like he's forcing himself to look down the barrel of a gun rather than looking at you, before settling on you once more.

logan can't let himself look too much, he isn't allowed nice things, especially not pretty little things such as yourself. he's poison, tainting everything he touches, spoiling it. he's experienced enough heartbreak, enough losses for a lifetime and more.

. . . but what harm can looking do?

a few weeks pass, logan notices you're in every few nights from now on, must have been put on the regular rota. he wonders if you know most of the tips you receive by the end of the night are from him. you're diligent, you work hard, and you deserve more than the minimum wage you're probably getting.

you've never noticed him, or at least, he's never caught you looking in his direction. but he finds himself craving it, willing your eyes to meet his even for a second. the extent of your interactions have been sliding a glass or a bottle in his direction before continuing with your other duties.

it's not even lust on his mind either, he just finds himself captivated by your presence. he wonders about your life, your interests, your dreams. . . though he'd be lying if he said he'd never pictured bending you over against the bar and fucking you senseless.

he is an animal, after all.

he wonders if he should switch bars just to distance himself. he couldn't let himself become comfortable with the idea of you. relying on others was a weakness. besides, what would you be to him but just another person he'd lose someday? it wasn't worth it. you weren't worth it.

fuck.

logan curses himself under his breath for even having this internal debate. you were strangers, this was stupid, it was all fucking stupid. but the mind of a lonely old man is a desperate one, and what logan really craves isn't just eye candy. he craves a touch, that first touch that sparks electricity throughout your every nerve ending, causes goosebumps to ripple along the skins surface. he craves something, anything.

he was so fucking hungry. always so fucking hungry. a rumbling hunger that starts at the pit of his stomach and gnaws through him like a rabid animal frantically trying to escape a suffocating metal cage. it's a hunger he can't satisfy, he knows he can't satisfy. but he'd been alone so long.

surely one bite couldn't hurt?

no, he finds himself shaking his head as he stands from the bar. he'd take a leak, and leave early. it'd only been a month since he first saw you, he could get over this. switching bars wasn't particularly appealing to him, but it was better than having to look at you and feel that familiar ache.

the bathroom door swings open and he walks inside, situating himself at one of the urinals. a few moments later, the door swings open again, logan doesn't bother to look over.

"oh, thought these were empty, sorry."

his head turns quickly. it's you, mop in hand. there's an uncomfortable silence that follows.

speak, fucking speak. "it's fine."

you pause, then nod a little and begin mopping the floor.

his eyes are back on the urinal, swallowing hard. was this really going to be your first conversation? with his eyes glaring into old porcelain, dick in his hand? he tries not to picture you stealing glances at him, but he can't help it. is that what he wants?

maybe.

finishing up, he quickly makes his way over to the sinks, pushing his hands under the cool water and rubbing with soap. his eyes flit up to the mirror. and he catches you.

your eyes lock on one another for just a split second before you quickly busy yourself with the mop again.

but that split second was enough. it was enough to notice how you were looking at him.

"all done," you say with a sigh after a few moments, standing straight and gripping the mop but making no effort to leave just yet.

logan eyes you in the mirror, watches how your eyes dance across the room before inevitably landing on him again. he turns to face you, noting the distance between you both in the room.

you lean back against the bathroom stall divider, eyes drifting across logan's figure. he was tall, big. this is the first time you're really able to look at him, to study the features of his face. this time he's not hiding behind a glass or a bottle.

the hunger in his gaze is obvious, but it's dulled, like he's just barely holding back. you think he looks lonely, there's a distinct air about him that practically screams that he needs to be touched.

you rest your mop against the wall, "you're in here often." you state, it's not a question.

"guess i'm a regular," he replies curtly.

swallowing hard, you continue, "i noticed. i always have to restock the whisky when you come by."

logan pushes himself from the sink and approaches you slowly. was he really doing this? after a month of pining and longing for you, a stranger in a bar, was he really going to give in to his desires? would you let him? the lust was clear in your eyes and he knew he was reflecting it right back tenfold.

"i like a drink." he says with a subtle shrug, just a step away now, eyes never leaving yours.

a small smile tugs at your lips, "i know."

you're not sure what you're really doing. you're supposed to be on shift, designated five minutes to clean the bathrooms. five minutes you'd much rather spend doing someone something else.

you eye the stranger who's been watching you, tipping you. of course you've noticed, you'd have to be pretty stupid or oblivious not to. you've come to expect him at each shift, but his presence intrigued you more than the other regulars. not just because he was more handsome, considerably more handsome.

no, it was those sad eyes that seemed to say a million words while his mouth remained firmly shut that had you curious. even now as he stands before you so silent you could hear a pin drop, when you look into his eyes you can feel a sea of words brewing.

oh how you wanted to open him up, to peer inside behind that rough exterior, to take a peek behind the facade. you're sure you're easier to read than he is.

you're not sure when or how it happened, but he's right in front of you now, his body almost touching yours. you look up at him with a feigned innocent look.

"i've seen you, you know," you mumble bravely, "looking at me."

logan doesn't seem surprised, he brings a hand up to hold your chin, turning your face from side to side to get a proper look at you now that he has you up close. "yeah?"

"yeah," you reply shakily, "thought i was imagining it at first. but by the second night it was obvious."

he smirks, so he's not as subtle as he thinks.

your hands snake down, finding his belt buckle and brazingly begin to unbuckle it. he watches you, eyes fixated on the way your fingers move. he swears he's about to start drooling. but then you move, hands winding up to the buttons on his shirt. you splay your hands across the fabric, eyes widening when you feel what's underneath.

"are you. . . is that-"

logan grips your wrists, not the suit. he wasn't talking about that now, he had to shut you up. he leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as his strong hands keep a firm grip on your wrists. you submit, leaning back against the cubicle divider as you let him slip his tongue into your mouth.

he moans, relishing the taste of you, the taste he's thought about for so fucking long. he brings your hands up, pinning them above your head, shifting his grip so one hand easily pins your wrists, leaving his other hand free.

his free hand plants firmly across your upper chest, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against your collarbone as he explores your mouth with his tongue. you're lost in the sensation, knees going weak as you allow the older man to have his way with you. he needs this, you know it.

"taste so fuckin' sweet," he mumbles against your lips, kissing you between words, "you do this often? let men kiss you in the bathroom?"

you mumble a 'no' under your breath, ". . . just the ones who tip good," you grin.

logan feels himself chuckling, biting your lower lip. oh, he liked you. his hand travels upwards, finding purchase around your neck. you gasp in response, moaning. he eagerly swallows your moan with his mouth, drowning out any sound that threatens to escape.

the kiss grows in intensity, you wonder how long it's been since he's kissed someone. he kisses you like a man starved, like he'd devour you if you let him. and you would, you think, if it felt this good.

his hand on your neck gives a gentle squeeze before running down your torso, palming at your jeans suddenly. you try to whimper in pleasure, but he's silencing you with his lips again.

"shhh, shhh," he whispers against your lips, "feel good? i know it feels good, but you gotta stay nice and quiet." logan can feel the material of your jeans begin to damp and he resists the urge to growl, feeling the way the fabric beneath gives way.

you nod, whispering small affirmatives as he touches you through the material. "just give me more," you whine.

and that spurs him on. in a flash he's pushing you into the stall, stealing a few more kisses where he can before he turns you, pushing your back against his chest. his lips find your neck, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses along the skin he finds there.

you're like putty in his hands, melting back against him as his hand returns to your crotch, rough hands massaging circles against your clothed core. you resist a moan, exhaling shakily instead as you let him use you.

"you wanted this just as much as i did, huh?" he growls into your ear, "need it, need me to fuck you."

you nod quickly as you feel his lips curve into a smirk against your skin.

"yeah, thought so," he nibbles on your earlobe, breathing deeply through his nose as he tries to steady himself, preserve the moment. but how can he when you feel this good beneath his fingers, taste this good on his tongue? "tell me you want it."

"want you to fuck me," you whimper almost immediately, suddenly feeling so very needy. there's a hot ache growing between your legs, one you're desperate for him to fill.

logan laughs, "you can do better than that, honey, know you can."

"please," your voice cracks and you swallow back moans as you squirm beneath his touch, "please fuck me-" it becomes apparent to you at that moment that you don't even know his name. your cheeks flush at the thought of letting this stranger, this older man fuck you in the bar bathroom, but actually, you kind of like it that way.

he nods against the side of your cheek, his stubble scratching against your soft skin, "there we go, attagirl. . ."

with that, he pushes you forward, forcing your hands onto the tank of the toilet to support yourself as he bends you over. his hands find your waist, his hips connecting with yours and slowly grinding his very apparent, large bulge against you.

you let out a whimper, arching your back a little at the sudden contact.

"feel that?" he mumbles, guiding your hips to grind back against him, "feel what you do to me?"

a gasp, "fuck, you're big." you can already tell, the way his bulge is pressing against you, demanding to be felt. you swear you can almost feel it throb through the material.

"yeah i am," logan smirks, he knows he's big, and he knows exactly how to use it.

pulling back slightly, he roughly pulls your jeans down, practically manhandling you, your underwear disappearing with it. he grabs handfuls of your ass before kneading the skin. "look at that, pretty little ass, all for me."

you just have time to gasp before you feel one of his hands connect harshly with your skin, the sound ringing out in the small bathroom of the bar. "f-fuck!" you whine, feeling the sharp sting, knowing there's a bright red imprint in the shape of his large palm on your ass.

there's some jingling, the sound of his belt being moved out of the way, a zipper. you prepare yourself, or at least you try to, but his cock is already slapping against your backside before you have time to steady your hazy mind.

"you gonna take all of me?" he asks, biting his lip as his aching length slaps against your skin, "think you can?"

you nod quickly, looking over your shoulder at him, "mhm!"

"if you say so. . ." he smirks and positions himself, one hand on your hip and one aiming his cock at your tight little hole.

then, all at once he's sinking in. you gasp, he gasps. and fuck, he is big. you feel that sweet stretch, his cock throbbing against your tight walls as it slowly glides inside. you're whining as it slowly fills you, eyes rolling back at the sensation. but he pulls out a little, only to push back in again.

he's working you up just right, mesmerised by the way you take his cock. his eyes are fixed on your tight hole begging him to enter, loving the slick sound as it pushes inside.

"you've been thinkin' about this since you started your shift," logan says confidently, his words confirmed by how you drip around him, "thought about me fillin' you up, nice and full?"

despite the way your cheeks flush bright red, you can't deny it. you've thought about it more than once, fantasised about it in bed, hoping that one day that stranger from the bar would fuck you so good you forget your own name.

you don't need to reply either, because he knows. he knows from the way your wet hole flutters around him, and fuck does it make him harder to know that you've thought about this just as much as he has. he begins to pump into you at a leisurely pace, firm hands on your hips.

"holy fuck, so fuckin' tight," logan grumbles, his deep slow strokes hitting you deep as he bottoms out inside of you.

you try to turn your head, to look up at him, but he grasps the back of your hair, pushing your head down. "nu-uh, keep that head down."

he knows if he lets you look at him, look up at him for too long, he'll lose it. he can't have your soft eyes on him while he fucks you, he doesn't deserve it. he'll take you, just like this, with your head down and your ass up and his cock buried deep inside you.

because he can't describe the shame that swirls in his stomach, that this is how he relieves himself, a quick fuck in a bar. this dirty older man who's seen so much sin, perpetuated sin with his own hands, who longed for the young pretty little thing in the bar. logan doesn't deserve nice things, this he knows.

you feel his thrusts grow rougher, your legs slipping apart as you attempt to hold yourself up, hands planted firmly on the tank of the toilet. you're squeaking softly with each pump, feeling him use you to release his pent-up frustrations. and it felt so fucking good.

with his firm grip on your hair tightening by the second and his other large hand digging into your hip, you begin to bounce back against his motions, sending him even deeper. you both moan in sync with the feeling and you pant softly, cheeks flushing further at the soft 'plap plap plap' of his hips connecting with you, the sound reverberating around the small cubicle.

"that feels so fucking good," you sing, closing your eyes. logan gives a particularly hard thrust, speed picking up. you can't help but smirk, mouth stuck open as you moan softly, he likes it when you talk to him during, huh? "keep fuckin' me, just like that, so good. . ."

he groans, wrapping your hair around his fist as he relentlessly pounds into you. harder and harder, deeper and deeper, you're sure you'll have bruises littered over your body before the day is through.

"harder!" you cry, feeling your legs tremble. you're not gonna last long like this, and by the way his cock is twitching inside of you, he isn't either. "i'm gonna cum, you're gonna make me fuckin' cum!"

another groan slips from his lips, gritting his teeth as he uses you, watching you take his throbbing cock beneath him. "look so pretty like this, bent over, takin' what i fuckin- shit. . . takin' what i give you."

your body grows hotter, sweat forming on your forehead, each impact pushing you forward roughly. you're really not gonna last long.

he begins to hunch over, his chest flush with your back as he huffs against your neck, fucking you like a rabid animal. you're squealing now, the pleasure swirling in your lower stomach, threatening to send you crashing into bliss. at this point, you don't fucking care if someone walks in and finds you like this, sees his feet planted behind yours underneath the stall. in fact, the thought of the risk sends a bolt straight to your gut.

"yes yes yes," you mutter, feeling your orgasm approaching steadily. you swear you can feel him in your guts. you begin to flutter around him, begging for release, knowing it's going to completely destroy you.

logan can't even form words, just grunts slipping from his lips against the side of your neck. and then he feels it, his cock twitches, his mind reeling with the imminent release. he needs this, oh he fucking needs this.

he bites down on your neck, teeth sinking in slightly as he feels himself release deep inside you, his cum spilling out in strong waves. you feel your knees buckle, but a strong hand planted on your tummy helps keep you upright as he fucks his release deeper into you.

the animalistic nature of his thrusts combined with the sensation of his hot cum painting your insides sends you flying over the edge, your orgasm milking him as you clamp around his aching cock. he slams his hand against the stall wall with a loud metallic bang, splaying his fingers across the metal as if to ground himself as his thrusts falter.

his tongue lazily licks the indents of his bite mark against your neck, groans easing their way from the back of his throat. you can hardly catch your breath, legs still shaking from such an intense release. it's hard to think straight with his dick still buried deep inside, feeling it twitch with every aftershock.

you both stay like that for a solid minute, panting, coming down together. he's planting soft kisses along your neck as your breath slowly comes back to you.

he pulls out, stepping back as he stuffs himself into his jeans. you collapse onto the toilet seat, shakily pulling your jeans and underwear back up as you look up at him. it's clear he's looking to leave, a distant look in his eye, maybe a little shame creeping into his features.

standing on trembling legs, you lean up, giving him a surprisingly soft kiss. your hands take over his, helping him back into his jeans, zipping them up, clasping the buttons together and buckling his belt. all the while your lips are on his, slowly, passionately intertwining together.

you pull back, buttoning your own jeans as you continue to look up at him. ". . . does that count as your tip for the night?" you joke with a smirk, hoping to see a flash of his smile again, hoping to alleviate some of that shame he's carrying.

and there it is, a small smirk on his lips as he glances away. "maybe."

the shame seems to settle, begins to dissipate. it feels less like satisfying an urge and more like. . . exploring something new. his eyes drift back to you.

"i'll see you tomorrow?" you ask, tilting your head.

he blinks, suddenly remembering time exists outside this small space seemingly crafted just for the two of you. "yeah," he says, quietly.

"good," you pat his chest before moving past him, leaving the stall. you stand, looking back at him. a beat, "or, you can meet me after my shift ends?"

his eyes widen, taken aback. fuck, had he forgotten how to do this? his eyes flit to the side, before making up his mind. he gives a firm nod.

you smile before leaving him in the bathroom, returning to the bar through the door.

logan stands there for a few moments, running his fingers through his hair. he smooths down his shirt, feeling the suit beneath, a stark reminder always of his past.

but maybe he could begin to take a few steps forward. maybe he deserves more than to suffer forever, forced to keep everyone at arm's length. maybe he could allow himself this small happiness, a date, or whatever this was.

maybe it was time to satisfy his hunger, his loneliness, for good.

[grubbyposting]

Taking my (foot taller than me) pet puppytwink cissoid’s anal virginity cause he begged me, only for him to say “god im such a FAGGOT slut, what would my father think…?” as I’m fucking his ass (so good that he shot cum on his own mouth) (twice), seeing the fear in his eyes as I threaten to rip his pretty deer throat out and suck out his blood, followed by him worshipping my hairy thighs with his tongue as he thanks me for fucking him til he went dumb and drooly was actually the cure to my dysphoria all along

(after this he immediately comes out to his whole family as a faggot and gives me his fucking Xbox 🤭) #winning

(Sappy shit under the cut.)

ok but I’m gonna get a little sincere on the horny blog…

He also just, loves me. And just so happens to have *also* loved me as my weird girl self in middle school. To make a long, beautiful, complicated story short… we met as kids in school, and bonded because we both liked furries and FNAF. He got me chocolates for Christmas in sixth grade, and after some hmming and hawing, I found myself helplessly adoring his quirky, dainty, gentlemanly self, too. He thought I was cool and loved me best he could with his young little heart. He showed me his Undertale game on one of our dates to his house and we played and laughed and had so much fun. But I was trapped in a shitty home full of surveillance (cameras, monitoring, sexual shame, control, and the standard queerphobia). A culture that made me feel ashamed to be myself. It hurt me bad and twisted me into someone I’m not proud of being.

When he asked to kiss me… I said no.

I felt so ashamed of myself and disgusted at my desires.

I broke his heart shortly after, I couldn’t take the shame. Both of us went on to go through relationship hell for eight years.

I was terribly cruel to him in high school because of telephone game drama. I believed I was doing the “right thing” by spreading the rumors. I thought I was being so righteous and good, but sometimes that hurts people way worse than you can even fathom. Autistic people and those raised into white womanhood, heed my warning…

Both at our lowest, both off the tail ends of messy, messy shit, both desperate scared and longing, horny, sad and… after playing secret horny tag in DMs for years… (my friends hated him because of the drama)

I say fuck it, wyd?

I tell him outright. “I’m not here to love you. But I’m here to show you a good time tonight.”

After. he thanked me, said he felt like he could actually touch the world and impact it.

I have him come back the next night…

We watch fight club… we talk about masculinity, philosophy, spirituality, existential fear, what it means to us… he cuddles me and we dig deep.

I tell him I’m not here to love him but… I think I need him in my life right now.

I started to feel understood by another man… who desired me…? A cis one? Even if he does have chest scars from his ribcage surgery that closely resemble top surgery scars… what a coincidence…

He shows me Berserk. He spends the night. We talk, and laugh, and fuck, and stay up til the wee hours of morning cuddling and chatting and both start to notice what the hell is going on. Someone, save us now… it’s happening… it’s happening and neither of us are wanting to stop it… fuck!

I told him. I give up. I love you! I am delighted at the person that you are! I missed you so badly! Eight years collapsed into nothing the moment we could melt into each other’s arms.

“I love you too.”

He asked me to fight on that fourth day. My blood went cold, because I was so desperate to ask myself, but he was the only one with the courage. We threw fists and I gave him the prettiest black eye. He marked my face and bruised my body. That was 11/11/24.

I was never the same.

I had to confess to my friends that I fell in love. I shook and cried and was so scared. This had to happen. I’m fighting for what I need. Some got mad, some got confused, all of them not pleased with me. But… they turned around. I turned on the charm and said, fuck it, I’m gonna be happy. I told them all about the person he was. I walked back the rumor and gave it context. I wanted to clear this beautiful man’s name, because it’s a name I only feel love for.

I left my toxic girlfriend of three years who didn’t know how to love me. I forgive her. But that needed a wake up call. He saved me, not by fixing it, not by asking me to leave her, but by showing me a world I deserved that I didn’t think was even real. I left to pursue a happy life. He showed me conflict is a tool, passion doesn’t have to come at a cost, and difference is a strength. He showed me stillness and peace and exuberance and freedom. He showed me how to accept my whole self. I showed him how to love his.

My angriest friend eventually asked me how to open in her first DM to him (“I can’t believe you did it, but you made me a fan. I’d love to be his friend”).

We had dinner together (she practically chased us down!) and it was a beautiful full circle moment. We were all in the same class together years ago.

We shared family Christmas this year, I clicked with his parents completely (“hey, remember me…?”) and finally, I felt like I didn’t need to doubt anymore. It’s the real deal, and I pinch myself every single day. I’m blessed, truly.

I showed him Rocky Horror recently. He got it. He loved it. He said he felt it gently take a piece of his negativity, dissolve it, and inspire him to live a freer life. Just like it did for me all those years ago, when my repressed little self found it and fixated on it, not even knowing why. Not understanding I could claim my desires. Not understanding I could choose to be a happy gay man who fucks nasty.

I cried, helplessly. I finally made it, to my gay love and my hopeful queer future full of art and life. I just know little us are so proud. They set us up, after all.

And yeah, I kissed him.

But I didn’t ask.

I love my gay life.

It got better. Hold on, lonely transfags and sad bi boys alike. True love (and fucking til you bleed) awaits you!

[zepskies]

@lamentationsofalonelypotato

Why hello my lovely friend!! 😍 I'm so ready to dive into your thoughts on this chapter. 💜💜

Right off the bat, the sexual tension with the gambling 👌🏻. I don't know what it is, but I always love in movies or shows or books when they have a poker game/card game between two people who are obviously into each other. I don't think it's a trope, but- the sexy smiles over the cards, the bluffing, the flirting, the teasing, just OH GOODNESS 😮‍💨

Yesss I love those kinds of scenes too! (Clearly lol) I'm so glad you agree. 😏

I'm not going to lie, I would have thought this to myself if I was in her situation. At the same time I feel bad for her because she has all this bottled inside and it's probably even worse that she's in close counters with him, just second guessing everything. BUT I also love that you've given us these wonderful domestic moments between the two of them. ❤️

The close quarters are a blessing and a curse here, isn't it? 😅 Thank you for that compliment!! I wanted the buildup here to be about the small moments of connection. 💗

DANG IT DEAN STOP HIDING FROM YOUR FEELINGS! Man really out there chopping wood trying to forget all his problems and relieve some tension 👀, while the reader is inside trying to educate herself🤣

Ughhhhh you just wanna throttle him!! loll Meanwhile, she's wasting absolutely no time to learn all the can about this man, because with him it's like trying to pry open an old clam. 🤣🤣

The way you integrated John's journal into this chapter was so good! It adds on to the lore of the story. I'd never read through the official "John's Journal" merch so it was nice to see those little details and honestly made me feel more connected to the reader, because it was the first time that I was reading the entries too!

Aww thank you!! It honestly made me emotional (and sympathize so much more with Jhhn) just reading the journal, so I just tried to infuse as much of my own reading experience in the reader character. I'm so glad it made you feel more connected to her. 💞

Girl it's okay we can cry together- DEAN WAS IN THE CRIB WITH SAM. Nothing is okay. I am made of tears. INCONSOLABLE 😭

Girl when I read that part of the journal, the way I was like:

(And YES, spray that man like a bad dog!!)

AND he knows that she is supposed to be HIS. For the love of rice krispy treats! SHE HAS A BROKEN ANKLE DEAN. Don't let her leave!!! Sweetie he's a grumpy old onion, you gotta peel him back one gorgeous layer at a time. 🤣

Girl you took me OUTttt. 🤣🤣🤣

This bit is also so heartbreaking, because it's literally her meeting her mate and her believing that he doesn't want her, when it's probably all he does. There's something so raw about that. The idea of finding someone who was literally made for you and believing that they want no part of you. Oh goodness my fragile heart😭

Yeeeeep, honestly reminds me of If The Stars Wish It So, when the reader has that moment of "is it me? Why doesn't he want me?" But in reality, Dean's fighting his instincts to be with her tooth and nail. 🥲🥲

I'm not going to lie, I wasn't expecting it to be a Bear. I literally thought this was going to turn into Dean saving her from a Wendigo- because of the allusions to her dad being killed by one, but this was such a (un)pleasant surprise LOL

LOLL you know what, initially I was going to go the Wendigo route for this climactic moment, but it felt more surprising to me to have it be a non-supernatural threat, just a typical bear wandering through his territory. 😂

I LOVE this insight into his head, just a little piece but enough for the readers to see that Dean does in fact care and that he does feel something for her! Not to mention again... HE PICKS HER UP. I've read Dean in so many fics doing that but each time it just makes me *swoon*.

Thank you!!! I thought this window into his head was needed, but also, Alpha Dean is just so....ALPHA. 🫠🫠🫠

And oh my word, him finally sitting down with her on the couch and allowing himself to let down some of his walls and let the reader in is just so good!! Not to mention now the reader is going to tell him the truth over how she lost her dad! I'm very excited to read the next chapter, but this one was amazing Alex! 🤗

He finally broke down a bit, seeing how much he was affecting her! 😭 I'm so glad you enjoyed that. I tried my best to make it feel like a natural progression. I so hope you enjoy the next chapter, my friend! 🥰💕

Against the Wind - Part 2

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: Thank you guys so much for all the amazing feedback on Part 1! Now, most of your theories and questions will be answered...

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, and peril, the other kind of "hunting."

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 2: Seems Like Yesterday

“I’ll raise you 25,” you say, tossing five chocolate covered pretzels into the middle pile. It’s a risky bet, considering how much you lost in the last hand. Dean regards you with an amused, if critical eye while he holds his cards.

“Ooh, you’re bluffing,” he says. You pop your brows at him, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“You want to test that theory? Put your money where your mouth is,” you challenge.

He tilts his head at you with a raise of his own brows.

“Cheeky omega,” he mutters. His attention returns to his cards as he deliberates on his next move.

You attempt to be nonchalant as you glance down at your cards again. It’s a shitty hand, but he doesn’t need to know that. The alpha’s won the last two hands of Texas Hold ‘Em, but you did win the first one. Though you suspect he let you win.

You want to at least even the score before he resumes his work out in the shed. He spends most of his time there during the day, or making sure the firewood is stocked. It seems like he takes any excuse not to spend too much time in your presence.

More than anything, you want to ask him if he feels what you feel—the same tug in the pit of your stomach every time he’s nearby. You just haven’t found a way to broach that with him.

Hey, I know we just met like two minutes ago, but I think we’re supposed to be together. Do you feel it too?

You nearly roll your eyes at yourself. Yeah, that’ll go over well.

So you have to be content with mornings like this and in the evenings, where he lets you put on one of his records, and you two share dinner together, maybe another round of cards. Or you’ll read a book while lounging on the chaise, and he lays out on the couch, listening to his music with his eyes closed. You like watching him like that, with a relaxed, damn near peaceful set to his face.

Too often he holds that harder, stoic expression, or that divot between his brows that makes you want to soothe two of your fingers there; or better yet, lean in and press your lips—

“It’s your move,” Dean reminds you. He’s finally played his hand, but you were too distracted to hear what he said.

“What’d you do?” you ask, surveying the piles of cards.

“Call,” he repeats, popping a few pretzels into his mouth. He washes it down with beer and more barbeque chips. Those are worth $10 in this little fantasy betting. He points a finger towards you with the same hand that holds his beer, teasing, “You got all the lights on in there? Or am I boring you?”

You glance up at him, fighting a smile. “All right, keep your pants on. Let me see…”

As the dealer, he’s already turned over the River: the last card in the hand. It’s a 10 of Clubs, which means your One Pair is actually a Two Pair. It’s still not a great hand, but it’s decent enough to maybe let you get the best of your opponent.

After you go “all in,” Dean’s lips twitch at a smile, and he humors you, going all in as well. You’re on tenterhooks when he finally reveals his hand.

“Ooh, it ain’t a cheesy ‘90s sitcom, but it’s still…a Full House,” he brags as he lays out each card in a smooth line of overlapping cards, the mix of glossy red diamonds and black spades showing the truth. He won again.

You huff in defeat, your shoulders sinking in your seat at the kitchen table. You turn over your measly hand. Sweeping the winnings toward himself (a mound of chocolate covered pretzels, a stack of barbecue chips, and a handful of Oreos), Dean chuckles and tosses you a wink.

“Ah, don’t beat yourself up, sweetheart. I’ve been hustlin’ poker for a long time. Hell, I’ve been playing this game before I even knew my times tables,” he says as he collects the cards.

“That young?” you reply. “Who taught you?”

“My dad,” he says. “Oh, believe me, I used to get my ass kicked many a’ time, but by the time I turned sixteen, I was hustlin’ grown ass men in skeevy bars out of their daily paycheck.”

“You were hanging out in bars at sixteen?” you ask incredulously. There, Dean seems to realize he’s said too much. He becomes more guarded as he puts away the deck and cleans the crumbs off the table.

“My dad was always working. You could say I didn’t really have a curfew,” he says.

“A latchkey kid, huh?” you reply, hiding the way you’re trying so hard to glean any more hints of truth between his words.

“Heh, yeah.” He gets up from the table and tosses the breakfast dishes in the sink, then travels to the front door to don his jacket and boots.

“All right, I’ll be out back,” he says.

Out back, code for out in the shed. You nod, and in a flash, he’s shutting the door behind him.

You’ve learned another small tidbit about him, one that feels more important than it seems on the surface. And yet, it only elicits more questions you doubt he’ll be willing to answer so easily. He’s more than tight-lipped about his past, only giving vague outlines and general pictures.

Even his stories—like being raised up in a family of traveling mechanics, putting Nair in Sam’s shampoo when he was a kid, or the guy’s serious fear of clowns—feel like they’re missing some key details.

You decide to take up your crutches and head for your room. There you unearth the journal from its hiding place under your pillow. This time, you turn to the very beginning. Before all the jargon about mythology (and an odd footnote about a “Turducken Slammer”), there are actual journal entries. The first one dates back to November 6, 1983. The first line already captures your attention.

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…

He writes about their house burning with all their memories inside, along with Mary. Somehow, he saw her pinned bloody to the ceiling.

Along with these pages is a clipping from a news story:

House Fire Kills Mother of Two

Lawrence, Kansas.

You’re spellbound by it all. You keep reading.

November 13, 1983

…Most of our clothes and photos are ruined, even our safe—the safe with Mary’s old diaries, the boys’ savings bonds, what little jewelry we had…all gone. How could my house, my whole life, go up like that, so fast, so hot? How could my wife just burn up and disappear?

The police don’t believe his story, about how she died before the fire, about what he saw. So he tries to convince himself that what he saw wasn’t real. Still, he can’t find rest, and he worries about his sons’ safety.

December 4, 1983

I haven’t let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side—or from his brother.

Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he’s trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night.

Sammy cries a lot, wanting his mom. I don’t know how to stop it, and part of me doesn’t want to. It breaks my heart to think that soon he won’t remember her at all.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a droplet lands on the page. You quickly wipe it away before it becomes a stain, and you dry it all the way with your breath before you move on to the next page, sniffling. Your heart hurts, even as your guilt grows. You know now that you’re really, truly invading Dean’s privacy by reading his father’s words. You just can’t stop yourself from turning the next page.

John becomes convinced that someone, or something, started the fire that destroyed his life and took his wife away from him and his sons. He leaves his job and the remnants of that world behind, to venture deeper into the darker one. But in that darkness, he finds truth.

He visits a psychic, Missouri, who leads him back to his house and senses the echoes of an evil presence—something that shakes her to the core, and John too: the creature that killed his wife.

December 20

…She told me that it was the most powerful, awful thing she’s ever come across.

On January 1, 1984, John makes a New Year’s resolution. He determines to find the answers himself.

A shiver runs down your spine. In John’s words, your heart breaks for Dean, but you also see yourself. You try not to think about why.

You keep flipping through the rest of the journal past January. There are translations of a Latin exorcism, and like you read before, strange drawing of evil looking creatures—as well as what they are, scraps of their history, and how to kill them.

Silver bullet to the heart, can’t withstand iron, salt and burn.

You pause on a certain page, more filled with lore than the rest, and a primitive drawing in the center.

WENDIGO

Cree: Evil that devours.

Wood spirit. Eats live flesh. Lives in forests.

Perfect hunter.

Your breath stills in your lungs as a cold sweat forms across your skin. The more you read, the faster your heart beats.

The crunch of dead leaves. Your father shouting at you to run, and keep running.

The coarse shout 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 turn around with your rifle in hand, poised to shoot blindly.

Your stomach churns as bile rises into your throat. You feel sick, and wrong, and you suddenly have the urge to throw the journal against the wall.

“Omega?” calls Dean’s sharp voice. “You okay?”

You jolt badly at the sudden noise. You didn’t hear him reenter the house. He likely caught the scent of your distress. He pushes the door of your room open to find you, but he stops short in the doorway. His surprise quickly morphs into a frown when he notices what you’re holding in your lap.

You gasp, freezing where you sit, but there’s no point in trying to cover up what you’ve done. With an angry purse of his lips, he reaches over and takes the journal from your hands.

“What the hell are you doing with this?” he demands.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I just—” You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I was just curious. I wanted to know more about you. I thought it was…a normal journal.”

“So this is how you go about it, huh? Got everything you wanted, Columbo?” he says, his sarcasm cutting into you. He flips through the journal to make sure all the pages are intact before he tucks the journal under his arm. “Seriously, going into somebody’s stuff? Who the hell raised you?”

At that, you begin to bristle.

“My dad,” you snap back. Though remembering the passages you’ve lived with for the past few hours, you soften with a painful twinge of sympathy in your heart. 

“And it looks like yours raised you to be some kind of…well, what are you, a ghostbuster or something?” you ask.

His jaw locks. “Or something.” 

With an exasperated sigh at his hedging, you swing your legs around the edge of the bed and haul yourself up with your crutches so you can at least match his stance (more or less).

“Dean, please, just talk to me,” you implore, gesturing at the journal tucked under his arm. “The things I read—”

“Are none of your goddamn business!” he growls, making the omega inside you cringe. The alpha’s voice is deep and sharp, and even though he isn’t crowding you, his height and broadness are still intimidating.

“The sooner you heal up, the sooner I can ship you back to where you belong,” he says. “Back to your life, so you can stop sticking your nose into mine.” 

Your mouth actually falls open in shock. His vehement words feel almost as powerful as a physical blow, if to your soul. They make your arms tremble while holding yourself upright on your crutches. Hot tears well up in your eyes, though you try to blink them away. After a moment, you’re able to collect yourself enough to speak.

“I’m sorry for going through your stuff,” you say, in a quiet voice.

You hobble awkwardly past him out of the room. You don’t stop until you reach the front door, where your snow boots are. You manage to get them on by yourself so you can go outside and get some fresh air, not to mention some much needed distance from the alpha’s burning presence. You can still feel him trailing behind you. You hear his heavy boots.

“Where the hell are you going?” he grits out.

You hobble faster.

Dean watches you go out the door without a word in irritation, even though it triggers an alarm deep in his gut every time you leave the safety of the cabin. 

The snow depth has lightened somewhat since the storm, but it’s still not easy to navigate on your crutches. You get some distance from the cabin, mindful not to go too far. You know you’re limited, and you didn’t even take a gun with you.

Finding a solid tree to lean on, you rest there and try in vain to stifle your tears. You know you were wrong for snooping, and he had a right to be mad, but did he really have to be such a freakin’ bear? 

Fucking alphas. I swear.

You thought you were starting to connect with him, but clearly, Dean wants nothing to do with you. He wants you out of his life. 

Does he not feel the same pull you feel to him? Does he really not realize…that he’s meant to be your mate?

You take in a shaky breath through your nose. If he does, apparently he doesn’t care.

Just then, you hear the crunch of snow nearby. Twigs snapping.

Your body stiffens with a terrible memory—of that day in the woods. Your breath comes out in short puffs on the cold air, your eyes wide as you listen closely.

Hearing nothing, you allow yourself to breathe a little easier. You venture a few paces forward and to the right, but you stop shy of how it slopes downward. Some unnamed feeling tells you to look over the edge.

You lean over and cast your gaze down the slope, but all you see is snow and trees down below. With a shaky breath, you lean back and look out to the north again. Plodding along the trail, heading towards you, is a bear.

Oh shit…

You remember Dean mentioning something about a bear passing by his cabin a couple of days before the storm. Looks like he’s back to make his rounds.

His fur is dark; from this distance, you can’t tell if it’s a black bear or a grizzly. It doesn’t make much difference when all you have on your person is a can of bear spray. His gait is massive, unhurried, but he lets out a braying sound when your gaze meets his, as if acknowledging you. He stops there for a moment, assessing. Your body locks up with fear.

The bear groans again, this time sharper. You finally snap out of your reverie and force your body to move slowly backward with your crutches spearing into the snow. The cabin isn’t that far, maybe thirty or forty yards at most. Still, the bear can probably beat you.

Instead of trying to run, you stand your ground and shout at the bear, hoping he’ll back off. Your voice dies in your throat when he rears up on his hind legs, with a loud roar. Trembling, you miss a step and get knocked back into the snow on your ass, your crunches falling out at your sides. You scramble inside your jacket for anything that might help you. 

Bear spray!

You hurry to get the cap off with shaking hands, but before you can even aim, the creature’s heave paws thudding into the ground in front of you—a gunshot rings out and hits the animal in the chest. 

The bear falters, then roars in pain and anger.

Two more shots finally bring it down to an even heavier thud, not far from your feet.

In this moment, these are the things you don’t know about Dean Winchester:

For one, the scent of an omega in distress always calls to an alpha’s protective instincts. But the scent of your abject fear feels like someone tried to rip his lungs out through his stomach.

Second, when he sees you there, your wide, shiny eyes filled with the remnants of panic, yet relief at the sight of him, it takes everything within him not to drop to his knees, grab you by the hair, sink his teeth into your neck and claim you, right there in the snow. Maybe then you’d start listening to him and stop taking your life into your hands.

Instead, his lips purse as he wracks his rifle and slings the strap of it over his shoulder. He stalks toward you and scoops you up, crutches and all. He brings you back to the cabin without a word.

His jaw is once again locked with silence and strain; he doesn’t trust himself to speak until he’s brought you inside and carried you over to the chaise. He sits beside you there and takes an inventory of you with his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks at last.

You manage to meet his gaze and give a little nod.

“Okay. Don’t move,” he says shortly. He gets up and goes to the kitchen, where he grabs a foldable set of knives and a cooler from under the sink.

You watch him in silence, and you realize he’s going back to gut the bear. You didn’t know that he actually hunted out here…well, hunted to eat. He continues to gather items in silence. It gets to a point where you can’t stand it, or his curtness, any longer.

“Thank you,” you say, halting his steps. Dean glances at you over his shoulder, then continues strapping up his supplies. He huffs in response.

“We’re gonna be eatin’ good for a while,” he says without looking at you. 

His attitude both hurts you and aggravates you, so much that you refuse to take it anymore. 

“Look, Dean. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have butted into your life,” you say. Frustrated tears well up in your eyes. Expelling a sharp sigh, you amend yourself. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy. I’m sorry about what you went through, and I’m…I’m sorry about your mom. I’m sorry for today. I’ll just…stay out of your way, and I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

Dean finally turns your way, but your lips tremble as you turn your face away from him and shut your eyes tightly against the salty burn of tears. Deep inside, his heart withers in his chest. He sighs and drops his supplies on the couch. He walks over with those heavy boots, and he sits on the edge of the chaise beside you. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually, he rests a warm, calloused hand on your arm and earns your tearful gaze. 

“I’m sorry. I, uh…shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he says. 

You sniff, quickly wiping away your embarrassing tears as they come. Your cheeks are hot with it.

“What is it you wanna know? About me,” he asks, surprising you that much more.

 Your mouth parts, but nothing comes out. It takes you some time to think, but the first thing that comes to your mind is…

“Everything in that journal,” you say, licking your dry lips. “Is it real?”

Dean holds your gaze steadily. You know the truth without him having to say it, but he does.

“I was a hunter,” he says. “Those things you read about, I found ‘em. Killed ‘em. It was my job.”

“And now?” you ask, once that large bit of information has time to set into your brain.

His lips tug at a half smile. “Consider me…mostly retired.”

You exhale softly, and you nod. It earns a furrowed look from Dean.

“You don’t seem all that freaked out by this,” he says, with a more scrutinizing gaze on you.

“Should I be?” you say, with an unsteady laugh.

He raises his brows. “In my experience, yeah.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. You don’t know if you should even put into words what you’ve been holding onto for months. Like John, no one believed you. Even your own mother had started to look at you like you needed a shrink.

“Omega?” Dean presses. His green eyes are perceptive as they take in the conflicted look on your face. “There something you wanna tell me?”

You deliberate for a moment longer. Then, you release a sigh and glance down at your hands clenching in your lap.

“A few months ago, I lost my dad,” you begin.

Dean nods. “Yeah, you said—”

“I lost him in these woods,” you say.

That quiets the alpha.

You shake your head, and you find your words as the memories that have been haunting your nights return to you.

“Like I said, we used to go hiking here every year…”

AN: Just so you know, all of the journal entries appear in the official "John's Journal" SPN merch. 😉

Next Time:

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name louder, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 3

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@g0ldfishd00dles @10ava01 @sixxteenbullets @tayl0rfanatic @everything-is-all-clear

[cementcornfield]

end of the season thoughts that got away from me after i started typing!

this was probably not the team that would have won the super bowl anyway, as devastating as this is and as fun as it would have been for The Narrative :(

i am impressed with how a lot of the young defensive guys rallied, even if a lot of it was against mediocre to average offenses. i think we've got a lot of potential in mckinnley, fig, dj ivey (and dj turner and dax too. provided they heal up well). kris jenkins had flashes but i'm hearing conflicting things about him (i love his personality though) so hopefully he continues to figure things out. CTB had a very up and down season, hopefully he works out whatever was going on with him and come back next year solid.

i think lou is out, i don't see how he can't be. even with this win streak (again, against mostly bad offenses). it's a shame because he's a master schemer and knows how to stop elite QBs like pat and josh. but we've used almost ALL of our first to third round draft picks on defensive players the last few years (amarius being the only exception!) and none of them have developed like we'd hoped?? we need a DC who can work with guys where they're at. develop them and create a scheme that they can understand and thrive in!

i also think pollack HAS to be gone. even being generous and saying that ted and orlando had their best passing PFF grades this season, and amarius developed better than people thought, it's still not enough. the way that joe plays, the way that we structure our offense, makes it INCREDIBLY difficult for any o-line guy. this is a fact. and the other fact is that pollack's background is one that emphasizes the run and other kinds of offense (i believe. i was reading this from some of the o-line experts on twitter lol). he's not a good fit for what we want to do. it's time to move on.

i'd also like to move on from sam, as heartbreaking as that is. he's not the same player he was, and he's being paid too much for what he's been able to give us the last few years. rankins also obviously has to go, he barely made it on the field and even when he did, he did not at all live up to his contract. they are two of our highest paid players on defense and moving on from them can only help us cap-wise as well.

we've gotta pick up some help in free agency. anyone we can get on d-line and some guards too. i wouldn't mind adding a vet safety and a vet CB as well.

as for the draft, looks like we're gonna end up around 17 (lol one lower than last year!) and i'd say again we need to focus on defense. an edge or a tackle, someone who can HELP trey with the pass rush because we've got nothing. i also wouldn't mind a CB. because again, we have very little there reliably. then i'd say drafting a guard and another running back (in the mid rounds) should be the priority.

i'd also say we HAVE TO HAVE TO HAVE TO extend tee and ja'marr this offseason. the pressure joe has put on the front office!!! the agent switch!!! how amazing tee is when he plays and the NOTICEABLE difference when he's out (that second half last night!!) tee is a NEED and i have to believe the FO will work with these guys to figure something out. the fact that they have the same agent i think is going to be a huge help in this. plus joe's not so subtle threats. (if they fuck this up he's gone after his first contract. i really believe that.)

also! last but def not least, we've gotta figure something out with trey. he is under contract one more year, but he's not happy and making our star players unhappy is actually NOT a good strategy, shockingly enough!

[theeroins]

If I say that I'm not used to people misinterpreting my favorite characters, I'd be lying. But the way they get so many things wrong about Inho's character is kinda pissing me off because you KNOW that most of them do it to cancel out the possibility of InHun being *something* more than what's shown so far. You don't ship them, that's fair, frankly I don't care. Everyone's entitled to their own opinion UNTIL your opinion is wrong.

Let's talk about a couple of things I've seen being talked about on tiktok (🙄)

“Inho joined the games because ilnam said that it'd basically be more fun to play than to watch so he followed his example." loud incorrect buzzer ! Inho has joined the games before, and not only that, he's also a previous winner, so therefore he's very much aware of what it's like to be a part of it, he's experienced them first hand, just like he's experienced the atrocities of it. they've changed him for the worst and possibly caused him a huge trauma —they're the reason he's lost faith in humanity after all— so, why would he crave to relive it just for the thrill of it? i, personally doubt he even enjoys watching the game.

“Inho didn't look at Gihun with love, he likes to watch him suffer” Short answer is no. He doesn't like to watch him suffer, neither he looked at him with love, not the pure kind of love at least. Two things can be true at once. Inho spent half the season staring at Gihun because everything about the man intrigued him; His determination, his stubbornness, his kindness, his hope, his heart that's full of love despite the pain he suffered, even the pain in his eyes every time someone got eliminated in front of him as if it was the first time it had happened, as if the cruelty of it all surprised him every damn time. How can someone, who's been through the same things Inho has been through, be the polar opposite of him?

now, the reason(s) that I think Inho actually joined the games for..

(yes I am an Inhun shipper, does that make my opinion a little biased? maybe. do i still believe I'm right? absofuckinglutely.)

Let me clarify this: Inho is NOT a good man, no matter the redemption arc he might get in s3, he'll continue to be a terrible person because nothing will ever erase the blood he's spilled and the evil men he's worked for. BUT at the same time, he's not ALL bad, not like the VIPS and ilnam. See, Inhun are the average "yin-yang" trope in fictional romance, (which I eat up every time and I find it very interesting when it's done the right way, don't get me wrong) Inho is bad but there's some goodness somewhere deep inside him. And the only person who's brought it to the surface is Gihun. Sure, he does think Gihun is naive, but he's also the only person who's actually challenged him, who's "forced" him to get his stupid head out of the dirt and look around him, even for a short while and Inho definitely liked what he saw. Honestly, it wasn't even that hard for Gihun to do so because the goodness in Inho wanted and waited for someone to pull him out of the dirt, he wished for someone, something to give him hope for humanity or.. anything. Anything that'll help him escape from his misery.

You can definitely argue that he joined the games to befriend Gihun, to gain his trust and stop his plans when the time comes, which is half true. But keep in mind that he needed to justify his choice to join the games. He's not a VIP nor the mastermind to simply get to do that without consequences. He's the frontman, the one who controls and manages everything. He's needed for the games to work and go by smoothly and successfully without unnecessary losses and problems. Gihun would only cause problems, Inho knew that very well and yet he chose to put him in it once again. He recklessly made that choice, risking pretty much everything because of his inner conflict. A part of him wanted Gihun to prove himself to him, that there's indeed good that'll save the world and the rest of him wanted to prove to Gihun that everything he so strongly believes in is merely a fantasy.

Joining the games and befriending Gihun was the only way for Inho to see the real him, without the heroic mask he puts on every time he faces the frontman. I think he believed that someone as extraordinary as Gihun will either break in front of him and he will end up disappointed by the human kind once again, or Gihun will change everything about the way he thinks for the better. But the problem is that Inho hopes for both of those things at the same time.

And that was Inho's arc in season 2. His inner conflict and how it will affect him, the game and Gihun later on.

[crystalpallette]

little red riding hood but there's no hood and the big bad wolf is a cat and I don't think there's anything to ride in the forest and ringo could be littler so really it's just. red.

[katerinaaqu]

Again I agree and as I said i can see where people come from but I am also dropping some more stuff on the table. I never said you did excuse it I only say that even for THAT culture certain things were considered assault. I mean in their actual legal books and such.

(Oh I won't hahaha I don't wanna get started either)

I know there is a lot of misconception in regards to that and indeed many toning down voices to say the very least but I am explaining how it was presented in many sources. And what you say "good" or "bad" is in the ears of the beholder even in antiquity. If you read Odysseus in Homer and if you read Odysseus in Euripides is like reading two different characters because clearly Euripedes wanted to depict him as much more rotten of a fellow, for once. So the "good" and "bad" is not something new here either which is interesting to think. I usually get furious when peolle use as you say fandom to characterize the figures of the sources

No but you said often women=bad and you brought up misogyny and again I contested that because as I said we have some amazing work that depicts women so again I simply slightly disagreed to that saying that the inequalities were indeed serious but it wasn't the same as to write "women=bad" in fact more men commit atrocities in Greek mythology than women. And I disagreed because again we keep ringing "misogynistic written by men" and then you have people even in the 19th century say "oh gosh women are depicted so well in this story! It must have been written by a woman!" Which actually shows how probably is us modern humans who are looking for misogyny "written by men" and we do not look at the complexity of the texts. Like is Clytemnestra a misogynistic character "written by men"? In my opinion no. Her drama is depicted in such a wah that you do not agree with her actions but you see her reasoning and Orestes calling her wicked? Like come on the kid was exiled because of her. Surely she wouldn't have had a positive description by her son. Is Helen a "misogynistic character written by men"? How? Because men speak badly about her in the texts? Especially in later tragedies? Doesn't that say more about the men than the woman herself? Or the Trojan women speak badly of her? How not to? The war happened in her name. They project their fury to a sacrificial lamb. That sounds more like human psychology to me than "misogyny written by men". Was Penelope misogynistic written by men? Penelope who held at bay 108 drunks with her seer will and brain? Why are we saying "misogynistic written by men" every time a woman is portrayed as antagonistic? Like Medea for example. For every Medea we also have a Helen or a Hecuba etc. Antagonists being female is just another form of writing antagonists to me. Like so many others. Both men and women are depicted as antagonists in greek mythology. If we speak "ha ha misogyny" every time we have a female antagonist then how is that equality or good? Quite frankly like I said we have more men being antagonists or violent or murderers than we have women (locrian Ajax, Thyestes, Atreus, Minus with his blood offering, Odysseus with the taking of Troy, Agamemnon with his behavior against Achilles and Chryses, Neoptolemus and the violent murder of Priam and Astyanax, Orestes and his violent killing of little Helen or the plotting of murder of Helen and the taking hostage of Hermione etc) why isn't anyone looking at those and say "ha! Misandry" but every time someone sees Medea or Clytemnestra they scream misogyny?

But I would agree on some aspects of ancient greek literature for example the acceptance of their husband or master etc even if they have no reason to (although I would argue we do see that in men as well but is more frequent in women) see for example Briseis being in cold acceptance of Achilles even if he killed her family. But then you have Euripides in Iphigenia in Aulis making Clytemnestra speak up and he even inserts a story of his own that Agamemnon killed her husband to claim her as his wife and she speaks out against him and accuses him so even for that we have amazing writing examples

Were some writers misogynistic writing some twisted versions of myths? Of course. The same way that there were misandrists too that write twisted versions of men in antiquity etc. Just food for thought. Was it a perfect society? Absolutely not. Are we perhaps looking way too hard to accuse the writing "of men" every time we disagree with a portrayal of a character? In my opinion yes. But that is just me. I usually look for individual examples rather than say "misogyny written by men" because honestly we have writers who are good and those who are bad those who are detailed with what they write and those who are not etc. And I do not see a consistent undermining of women in ancient greek literature to excuse the generalization of misogyny in the totality of Greek literature as many people say. No more than characterize misandry either.

I agree greek mythology has amazing characters in them of all types of modalities and thoughts so yeah. I absolutely agree.

Not at all. Homer is a valuable source and is great to look through him. But arguably Homer is one of the sources that REALLY knew how yo write female characters such as Helen with her brilliant mind and speaking up nature also Penelope and of course Circe a goddess living by herself making her own choices etc.

i’m so sick of the “odysseus cheated” debate… because it’s always “odysseus was loyal, circe and calypso assaulted him” vs “odysseus cheated because he slept with circe and calypso”. YOU CAN’T APPLY MODERN MORALS TO A STORY WRITTEN THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO…. what odysseus did with circe and calypso wasn’t considered assault OR cheating….he was loyal to penelope either way…..tell me you understand that

[moeblob]

Right and his work menaces (Brent and Karen).

I don't remember last I mentioned it but apart from crude nicknames to people (except Chris), he also just puts them in his phone really weird (except Chris, who is literally in his phone as Chris). And I bring this up because in Right's phone, Karen is saved as "Lawful Obligation".

[ganondoodle]

im not lying when i say that i was just finally getting "over" totk, like i hate it still, but the immediate anger and need to rant has died down-

and then the elden ring DLC fucks with me in a very similar way, just even moreso focused on my favorite character in that entire franchise, completely unexpectedly, and the more i learn about it the worse it gets and now i feel even worse bc i dont have the energy anymore to get as angry as i did with totk and its just kinda ... depression and sadness ..

it was like the interest i could fall back to when zelda annoyed me too much or i needed a break from that and i was honestly thinking about doing more with it but now

i know i know i can always draw 'my own stuff' but being a fan of a piece of media or character is just fun and .. furfilling to me in a different way and now i feel so empty again ... and finding new things to obsess about is easier said and done bc i dont 'decide' to stop liking something and neither can just decide to obsess over something so im just kinda left hanging here ... and in a way, i still like it and care about it, frustratingly so, and dont WANT to just stop and find soemthign new ...

[buttercup-barf]

Under the cut are mostly self-insert doodles of decreasing quality. Again, not much directly tied to Team Fortress 2. Might as well toss these out while I have no access to my puter. Much yapping under the cut and in the tags incoming.

Another self-insert, this time less of a "here's me as a tenth class" and more of a "here's my game experiences translated into the class I would take the place of". The Cleaner. Although I guess they could still be wearing either suit. It doesn't matter that much.

That one Convict's Case taunt with Backup would be extremely funny, because the man would be on the verge of a breakdown (he does not want to go to jail so bad you have no idea). The second image- I owe no explanation. You know what I am. You see the pattern with my favourites.

The duality of the man. Resting face versus "just heard you express interest in religion/Russian folklore" face. He's not that hard to make friends with, when you pull him away from all the explosions.

Some doodles of trying to figure his face out. Unfortunately, the more I stare at him, the more I worry that he looks like A Certain Guy With The Last Name "Kazarin", and the fear of never being original in my life caught up to me.

Don't look at me, don't perceive me, I refuse to explain any of my actions to you.