My Malleable Muse - RPs

Multi-fandom (mainly SPN), Multi-Shipper, Kink-Shame-Free RP blog. Multiple muses in play, including OCs - see Muses, RP Rules & Guidelines for more info. Blog is often NSFW - smut & kinky RPs welcome (but with those of legal age only). All types of threads welcome. Semi-Selective.

[heartscfvalora]

𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 & 𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝟗 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 / 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇!

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆: Dial Drunk by Noah Kahan feat. Post Malone 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆: Son of Neptune by Rick Riordon 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆: Bones 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆: Chocolate 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄: Pixar's Cars. (Don't judge.)

Tagged by: @bccksmarts Tagging: @hcpefell @minxchester @my-malleable-muse @fatedtragedie @legeandary @seesgood @shesdaylight @wincestismyguiltypleasure @unbearablyindifferent

[my-malleable-muse]

Thanks for the tag, hun!

Last song: Sunday Night Football theme. LOL

Currently Reading: The Untethered Soul, by M. Singer

Currently Watching: Leverage re-watch

Currently Craving: Headache relief. And chocolate.

Last Movie: I honestly don't remember... The last one I saw in theaters was the newest Indiana Jones.

[lennoxwyld]

Us keep and save our family., organized by Paula Crane

Hello! Thank you all for coming to see our GoFundMe! As everyone knows, times are tough… Paula Crane needs your support for Us keep an

[my-malleable-muse]

Ten fucking porn-bot blogs followed me in the last 3 days.

[writinginthesecrettrees]

You are being redirected...

It would be a shame if Texas got flooded with fake reports and had to take down this website…

[sorryimnotthatkindofdoctor]

Knock this site down.

I'm thinking of filling in the boxes they want you to type in with wincest or destiel drabbles...

[minxchester]

Dean was happy to just sink into this moment, to lose himself completely–but he couldn’t deny that it was always intensely arousing to see his partner reacting to him in turn. It didn’t prevent the subspace drop, especially when he was seeing pure fucking approval. And in the early stages of a developing relationship?

Yeah, it was fucking hot to see Cas, watching him, drinking in how hungry Dean was for him. And clearly fucking loving it.

He let Cas move his hand from his throat without protest, fingers going limp and letting the brunette position him as he wanted. He shifted his elbow, getting comfortable, eyes remaining locked steadily on Cas, radiating contentment and trust and acceptance up at him. It’s your show.

In that moment, Castiel owned him. And it was perfection.

“Yeah,” he whispered back. “’Course I do. You think I’m pretty? You want me to bend over and be your bitch? Fuck yeah. You want both? Hell yes. Yes, baby.”

The flex of Cas’ fingers made him swallow instinctively, knowing his eyes would dilate visibly. Cas was being careful, wisely, but he was testing. And Dean liked exploration. He swallowed, giving Cas more feedback about the sensation of having power over his throat, his breath…his pleasure.

Even that trace of blushing didn’t lessen the sudden surge of command resonating out of Cas. Dean made his muscles loosen, focusing on being loose and receptive, melting into the bed under his boyfriend’s possession of him.

The order to say it–to verbalize it for Cas, give him the same feedback and assurance–made Dean groan gutturally. “Yours. I’m yours, Cas, fuck, all yours.” He nodded as best he could with the hand on his throat. “I’m your bitch, pretty or beautiful or needy or fucked. I’m eager–for you, I’m yours slut. Want you to have me, Cas. Use me, make me use you–have me, baby.”

[my-malleable-muse]

Cas was blindingly, achingly hard in seconds as Dean spoke. Hearing the beautiful boy under him give himself over to Castiel’s claim – acknowledge that he was with Cas now – had his blood singing in his veins. Cas kept his grip firm on both Dean’s wrist & throat as he leaned down, licking over Dean’s lips. The motion was soft at first but then he pushed his tongue inside, moaning as he kissed his boyfriend.

“Fuck, Dean…”

He pulled back after a moment, breathing hard as he switched to dragging wet kisses over Dean’s jaw & down to his throat. He paused, eyeing the spread of his fingers over the column, just barely able to see the jump of Dean’s pulse between his fingers. Cas licked at Dean’s throat through the gaps in his grip, starting to gently roll his hips, letting his cock shift & drag over the other boy’s torso.

“I’m yours, too,” he said, voice rough. Cas nipped at Dean’s earlobe, letting him feel the cool, wet slide of his lip ring against the skin before he was sitting up again to stare down at him.

“I’m yours, too,” he repeated. “But for right now, I wanna focus on how you’re mine.” He put more inflection on the last word. There was a difference – yes, they were each others, but in the dynamic that Dean was introducing him to, Cas knew that being claimed like that had a different meaning. “My beautiful bitch.”

Cas licked his lips, Dean’s words rolling through his head. Use me, make me use you…

“Want you to fuck me, sweetheart. You’re gonna fuck me & I’m going to sit right here on top of you to hold your throat while you do. Can you do that, slut?”

[minxchester]

Mm mm mmm, the man was going to be a feast. His eyes darkened with excitement and hunger when Dean teased him further, and even the tense flexing of his jaw didn’t disguise that sparking flare of fire behind his gaze; he was turned on.

Was it Dean’s pretty face first and foremost, or was it the danger and threat that emanated from him, his beauty just a nice surface-level perk? Fuck if Dean knew or cared. Wesson had a foot in the snare, and he was staring back at the predatory advancing on him like he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to put in the physical effort to attempt escape.

And he clearly knew that it would be merely an attempt–he wouldn’t get far. Dean’s eyes would find him.

“Sam,” he hummed in affirmation, barely looking back over his shoulder as he said it. Whatever you like, sugar. Dean was far more interested in how it would sound when Sam was moaning his name. What he called the guard would remain less important–unless of course, Sam liked dirty nicknames.

Now that was a fun box of possibilities to open up and spend his night thinking through. Dean would find the perfect pet names to get that lovely blush back on his new playmate’s handsome face.

When Lafitte swung by his cell corner with his breakfast tray in the morning, he had a wry look on his face. Dean crouched by his window, accepting the food and nibbling on his biscuit as he waited, knowing that the big man would tell him whatever it was. “Looks like I’ll be seein’ you less, coquin,” he remarked, looking over his shoulder; Dean could hear the steel-toed weight of more C.O. boots coming along the floor. “You been assigned a new guard. Be nice, hm? Don’t break him.”

Dean’s grin sharpened, and he chuckled when Sam Wesson’s set, stoic face appeared at the corner of the hallway. “Why, I’d never, Benjamin. Sammy’s my new friend. Morning, Sam! How’d you sleep?”

[my-malleable-muse]

Sam paused right at the corner of the hall that led the way down to the solitary cell currently housing Winchester. He patted at the taser on his hip – no guns allowed for the guards in the prison proper. Not like the taser wouldn’t still cause problems if it landed in the hands of an inmate, but it would at least prevent immediate deaths. He felt the leather snap over the top that kept the weapon snug in the holster. His other hand felt for the cuffs at the small of his back & then the small chain of keys dangling from his belt. The last thing was his radio.

For all intents & purposes, Sam was as prepared & safe as the state of Kansas could make him short of giving him a gun & body armor. Dean Winchester’s sharp gaze flashed in his mind again & Sam blew out a slow breath. He was pretty sure that not even that would be enough to keep him safe from the likes of his new charge.

Finally, Sam straightened his shoulders & stepped around the corner, seeing the big man he’d noticed with Winchester yesterday in the yard – Walker had briefly introduced them. Lafitte, he thought. Ben or Benji, maybe?

The door to the cell was closed, but the flap for the tray was up & just as he had yesterday, Sam felt it the moment Dean’s eyes landed on him. He kept his face neutral as he walked down the hall, coming to a stop near the other guard just in time to hear Dean’s response. He briefly considered ignoring it, but figured that would just prompt more & more efforts to get him to engage. If he gave the bare minimum without too much fuss, perhaps Winchester would get bored…

And perhaps he’d wake up tomorrow in a bed made out of hundred dollar bills with Jason Mamoa promising to be his sugar daddy, too. As long as Sam was dreaming of the impossible, he might as well dream big.

“Morning Mr. Winchester,” he answered, voice even. Then he turned to the guard. “Hi. Hello. Walker said I was to relieve you?”

[minxchester]

Working on photography sets had a habit of taking a toll on one’s impression of natural beauty. Dean was an artist, and he could still enjoy the hell out of a true blast of authentic, wild life like hitting a real beach or talking to a gorgeous person.

But he also couldn’t help constantly noticing and analyzing how well set designers and production crews managed to recreate those pure, genuine settings and feelings when reduced to green screens, canvas backdrops, props, and costumes. And sometimes it wore Dean down more than he wanted to admit, feeling as if he saw the world through cracks in a camera lens or behind printed fabric that could only mimic reality.

Sam Wesson was a cool, refreshing ocean breeze drifting in past the tacky backdrop and reminding Dean that there really was raw beauty out there. He was taking more shots than necessary, nabbing some candids where he could, wanting to capture every line and detail beyond just the required portfolio of male in swimsuit perfection.

He wondered how the client would feel about him proposing a follow-up shoot that took them to the actual beach. Because Dean suddenly desperately wanted to see that gorgeous hair ruffling in real wind, Sam’s hazel eyes reflecting sunlight instead of heat lamps, and for the frankly obscene shift of his muscles to be emphasized by really strolling through sand, and not just this playdate-quality sandbox of a set.

When Sam grabbed the oil, Dean paused, lowering the camera in order to watch him pour some out and rub it between his palms. Somehow, when he looked up at Dean and smiled, he simultaneously radiated sex god and twink-needing-a-pounding in the same breath.

“Slick up,” Dean confirmed, lips twitching in a smirk of his own before he lifted the camera again, focusing on Sam’s hands first and then drawing back to make sure he got shots of the whole pretty show.

[my-malleable-muse]

Sam was definitely going to have his agent put in a notice that, if Sam ever had the option of choosing what photographers or crews he worked with, Dean Winchester & his crew were going to be at the top of that list. Everything was easy, relaxed, but professional & efficient. There wasn’t any wasted time. The crew member he tossed the ball with laughed & joked with him so that the smiles Dean was surely capturing with his camera were real. It helped him to get more comfortable even as he paraded around in front of them all in a little, skimpy piece of fabric that covered very little of his body.

The order to slick up almost had Sam dropping the bottle of oil. God, there was so many ways he wanted the phrase to apply coming out of Dean’s mouth at that moment. Slick his fingers to tease over his ass or slick his cock so Dean could tease him with the possibility of letting him cum. Hell, slick up Dean…

“You got it, boss.” Sam cleared his throat, almost stumbling back to the chair he’d originally started in. He needed to sit down so that any bulging in the swimsuit might be easily passed off as just a natural shifting of his body due to being sat down. Bulges like he was capable of showing were hard to explain away when he was standing up.

He sat down on the edge of the chair, legs pressed somewhat together as he slowly started smearing the oil over his chest, arms, & shoulders. He could feel little drops of it running down over his abs to pool in the sharp vee of his hipbones where the Speedo left them on display. After a few moments of getting himself together, Sam shifted, straddling the extension of the chair so the swimsuit was more noticeable – that was what they were supposed to be shooting, after all, he reminded himself. Not his own soft-core porn fantasies of the photographer taking advantage of his young model.

Sam shook his head, extending his legs as he rubbed some oil on them until his whole front side glistened under the bright lights. He dropped the sunglasses over his eyes again & leaned back, opening his body up to the camera while he angled his face away from the lens to keep from staring at the man behind it.

“How’s this?”

[minxchester]

Dean didn’t think he’d become this activated, this intensely or so rapidly, since he was a goddamn teenager.

And that was bearing in mind what a hair-trigger libido your average teen boy had–Dean’s bisexual awakening had been sitting in a movie theater seat listening to Charlie lament that Middle Earth needed some lesbian elves, and internally finding himself much more invested in Joanna’s unnecessarily raunchy evaluation of Viggo Mortensen’s facial hair and what lovely things it might do to a gal’s thighs.

…He was highly aware that he was a nerd even in his earliest sexual fantasies. Dean didn’t think it was likely all that truly shocking to anyone that he’d wound up working as a literary editor.

But even the rugged men of Tolkien’s universe paled when Dean looked up again at Castiel Novak. It wasn’t even just that he as beautiful, in and on its own; he also had the audacity to hit every bullet point on the list of what made someone Dean’s type. Tall and muscular without being daunting; dark and scruffy; and the way that he carried himself, like he was at ease in his own body, and by extension he knew how to use it for the good and pleasure of whoever he was with.

Dean’s eyes went to his hands as Cas grabbed his satchel, and his toes curled inside his fucking shoes. He’d always had a fondness for the delicate beauty of fingers–and he could see the strength and precision that was guaranteed in the older man’s touch. Even the way Cas flexed his grip on the handle of the briefcase was as arousing as if he’d been demonstrating a proper whip-hold.

And motherfucker, now he was imagining leather all over that lean figure. Jesus help him, he was going to come in his jeans. Charlie looked like Christmas was a day away, damn her.

His research. Dean could only imagine what that could look like, both by the nature of Cas’ writing and to have taught him how to blend in to any background setting. Dean had occasionally indulged in research of that nature, himself–and it was delectable. He was suddenly struck by the vision of kneeling at Cas’ feet in a darkened club, playing the part of his sub so that he could observe his settings without anyone feeling scrutinized by an outsider.

Fuck.

Following Cas into his office, Dean instantly aborted his movement to close the door when the other man spoke. Right; privacy was nice, but in this instance it might just kill him. “Ah, no, you’re fine,” he managed, knowing and helpless to fix how rough his tone was. “I mean–plenty of space in here, after all, it isn’t looming for you to make yourself comfortable. I’ll try not to do my usual editing-habit of mumbling to myself.”

Moving to sit behind his desk, Dean started arranging the manuscript to his liking, grabbing one of his green pens and setting it within reach to begin his process. “The mini fridge there behind ya, it’s got water and juice and sodas–probably some candy bars,” Dean added, already marginally distracted as his eyes landed on the table of contents sheet, getting a sense for the chapter setup of the novel. “Feel free to help yourself….”

[my-malleable-muse]

Dean’s voice sent a rather delicious shiver through Castiel’s gut. The writer barely refrained from letting his eyes drag up & down Dean’s body. Dean was obviously affected – whether by Cas himself or the erotic nature of his work or some combination of both, Cas wasn’t entirely sure of yet. But even if it had nothing to do with his own presence, Cas could enjoy hearing the rough, deep quality. He had never had a real idea of what Jensen, the submissive character in his novels sounded like – he usually described his voice with terms like deep or whiskey-smooth to try & capture the sweet burn he tried to imagine – but Cas was pretty sure that from now on, he knew exactly what voice he’d be imagining when he wrote Jensen.

Cas closed his satchel & set it down near the chair in the corner of the office. He watched the meticulous way that Dean laid out the manuscript on his desk, getting all the tools of his trade in order. It was rather fascinating to watch how Dean’s manner shifted as he became distracted with looking over the first few pages. It was entirely possible that this was how Dean worked all the time – Castiel could sense an eager joy that the man had in his work just from the layout of the offices & how they’d been in the conference room together. But some part of him decided to let himself be flattered that Dean’s excitement & eagerness to delve into the manuscript before him was because Cas, himself, had written it.

“Feel free to mumble away,” Cas said, grabbing a bottle of juice from the fridge. “I do that when I’m writing sometimes, so I’m used to the noise.” He broke the seal on the bottle & tipped it up, taking a swallow. “I’ll just assume that any & all questions you ask to yourself are rhetorical, though, so if you actually want me to answer or clarify anything, you might need to say my name. You know, the difference between, ‘what the hell is this crap?’ & ‘Castiel, what the hell is this crap?’.” His tone was light, making the self-deprecation into more of a joke.

Still, what Dean was looking at was a draft, so he knew there would be sections that needed work.

“I’ll just wait over here, then,” he said with a soft smile, not expecting the editor to acknowledge him anymore. Cas moved over to the chair in the corner & pulled a notebook & pen from his satchel, setting the juice bottle on the small table next to the seat. He opened the notebook to a fresh page. He had some ideas already working for the next installment, but he didn’t want to jump on them until after he heard Dean’s assessment of the current draft. Instead, he figured he could do a little free-writing – sometimes the scenes made it into his books, sometimes not, but it was always a good way to pass the time & stay sharp.

He immediately started writing a scene where Jensen was busy at a desk for some task set to him by his Master, the description of the sub’s strong hands & elegant fingers overtaking the page quickly. Even though he knew it was a bad idea, Cas was already plotting how to have Misha fuck his boy over that sturdy desk…

[minxchester]

Dean wasn’t entirely sure what his own tone conveyed anymore. He was bewildered, angry, perhaps even a little afraid–simply because he didn’t know what to make of this mess, and Dean did not like being caught off-guard.

But he did see the shame that colored Sam’s face. His brother’s body hunched further, looking impossibly smaller given his broad frame and muscular build, and he looked as if he had only just been reminded, by Dean’s attitude and words, of the things that he had been subjected to over the years that they had been apart. The things he had been forced to do, or made to endure at the hands of others.

Anger swirled fresh in Dean’s gut. The Winchesters were not royalty or nobility; Dean had earned what clout they did possess by the edge of a sword, just as his father had before him. But their family did have its pride it. To see his brother so belittled and abused, to see him drop his gaze and hang his head–Dean hated it.

He was contributing to it himself right now, though; Dean needed to get a grip on his emotions. He had to be stronger, calmer–for Sam.

He couldn’t deny the validity of Sam’s words–and Crowley would have been more than right, in his assessment. To see a gorgeous creature like Sam, bearing the marks and scars that showed he had spirit and fire in him, and to know that he was still alive and in use because he wasn’t completely impossible for a master to manage? Of course he was a potential investment.

And for exactly the sort of men who had come to pay, no less. Lucifer Morningstar was a hard man who liked using his toys savagely, and Dean wasn’t exactly delicate in his own regard with lovers, on the rare occasion he took one. Both Luce and Dean himself were the very men that Crowley would have snatched Sam up intending to groom him for.

Dean was not expecting the small burst of real energy that flared in Sam’s body language or gaze; he stilled when his brother met his gaze again, looking genuinely shocked by his question about John’s role in Sam’s enslavement. “Why the hell would I have known?” he asked, bewildered. “I thought you intended to go learn from Father James in the church, that you wanted to stay nearby and not travel–”

The crunch of boots on gravel cut him off, and Dean drew back, putting some more suitable space between their bodies. The soldiers who passed by didn’t look their way, but the disruption had done its job. Dean cleared his throat, shaking himself to dislodge the prickling sensation that something was amiss.

“Come,” he said, gesturing towards the gold and red tent still ahead of them. “Your…your new master is no doubt finished with his current entertainment. He’ll want to examine you for himself. And then we’ll…we’ll see about getting you fed, perhaps some clothing bearing Lu–Morningstar’s crest.”

[my-malleable-muse]

Sam mentally braced himself for a blow as he registered the anger coloring Dean’s posture & tone. There were any number of things the older man could be upset about from simply being confronted with the little brother he’d once desired & then had sold off when that desire faded, to the fact that Sam had raised his own voice, actually touched the warrior without express permission. Either of those last two were offenses that would have garnered him a severe punishment under Crowley’s stable rules, so he didn’t doubt it would be much different here.

But Dean didn’t raise a hand to him, nor reach for a belt or a weapon. Sam kept his eyes down as he drew in slow, deep breaths. He still held himself ready to absorb the impact of a hit, but it looked more & more likely that Dean wasn’t planning to respond with violence.

Perhaps he meant to simply report on his behavior to Sam’s new master & let that man deal with him. That fit with Dean’s pattern of pushing Sam off to be someone else’s problems, the younger man decided.

The mention of Sam’s original desires to go study under Father James redoubled his shame, followed by a swift shudder of disappointment. It wasn’t like he’d planned to join the monastery & take vows or anything, but Sam knew that any hope of that was lost now. Whores like him would not be welcome in the church, not even for the most basic of lessons. He’d spent long hours when he was younger, curled up in Dean’s bed, talking about how eager he was to learn – anything & everything. He hungered for knowledge, for information.

Now? He could read & write, but what call was there for that in his current position? Knowledge of the outside world would do him no good when he knew he would never experience any of it for himself.

Dean’s sudden withdrawal from his questions was almost like a blow in & of itself. Like he simply couldn’t be bothered to actually get an answer. Sam picked up the small bundle of his belongings again, head bowed & posture meek & submissive.

“Yes Sir,” he whispered, staring at his bare feet. Time to go meet his new master.

[minxchester]

“Mmm, now that’s its own whole category of kink play,” Dean mumbled, smirking faintly. “A bottom teachin’ his shy new top how to turn him into an incoherent pile of goo…lotta scenarios, there.” He had the unexpected, fleeting mental picture of Jack in one of his borrowed-from-Cas suits and a pair of glasses, playing up the part of a wiry young college student or something.

…hell, Dean had known he had a authority kink for shit like professors and students. But injecting Jack into the visual and imagining being his teacher, in charge, but having Jack seduce him and wear him down until he succumbed and taught the younger man how to make Dean really scream for him–shit.

“Yeah, we’re gonna sit down and go over some generic cheesy porn setups,” Dean confirmed, almost mostly for himself. “‘Cause I’ve got some ideas for you, sweetheart.”

Jack’s matter-of-fact reflection on the spanking porn made Dean grunt a laugh–but the amusement was banished by heat as Jack stared down at him, asking so directly and bluntly, demanding the knowledge. “Yeah,” Dean replied breathlessly. “Fuck. Yeah, I–I like being spanked. Like being shoved around some, held down, manhandled…depends if my partner’s into it, ‘course. Totally cool if that doesn’t get your rocks off, baby.”

[my-malleable-muse]

Jack felt an odd combination of tension & relaxation as he straddled the hunter’s hips. His entire body radiated with arousal & energy, but there was a leisurely warmth to it all. It felt good – there wasn’t any sense of nerves or anxiety like before a fight, when he was so focused on helping others & keeping people safe. His focus was split between the pleasure going through the soft friction between his & Dean’s bodies as they gently rolled against each other, & the general sense of ease & joy he felt coming off the man beneath him.

Dean was aroused & excited – he laughed, he smiled. Jack could feel the happiness every time Dean’s fingers slipped over his skin. He loved it.

“I don’t know that I have ideas in the same way that you do. As I said, my research has been somewhat… confusing. But I know I desire you. Sweetheart.” Jack felt the word twist in his mouth, uncertain if it came out in such a way to produce the same sort of warmth in Dean that it had produced in Jack when the older man used the pet name.

“I desire you. Your body. Everything inside you.” Jack drug his fingertips down over Dean’s chest. “Whatever ideas you have for me, I want to hear them…”

Jack tilted his head to the side, regarding Dean carefully as the hunter answered his question. Dean’s desire seemed to ratchet up under the bluntness of their discussion. He wasn’t entire sure what rocks had to do with the conversation, but he figured he could ask later. For the moment, he was beginning to get an idea that he thought might be similar to what Dean had mentioned earlier.

“Held down…” Jack’s hands skimmed back up Dean’s torso to his shoulders & then down each of his arms until he reached Dean’s wrists. The nephilim wrapped a slender hand around Dean’s wrists & slowly pushed the other man’s arms up & back until Dean’s hands were pinned up near his head. He watched Dean’s face as he moved, trying to make sure he wasn’t misunderstanding what Dean had said. His grip was strong enough to easily pin the older man, but he’d let go if Dean even hinted that he was uncomfortable.

“Like this?”

[minxchester]

Deanna didn’t miss the spark that flared in Sammy’s pretty eyes before she suppressed whatever thought she’d had. “Don’t get pouty about Dad,” she reiterated, chuckling. “It’s just like anybody, baby girl. Good days and bad. Ain’t Dad’s fault, and hey, I’m tellin’ ya–I’ve mastered knowin’ where it’s a good day to talk, or it isn’t.”

And sure, maybe some folks would say that a teenage girl shouldn’t be the family member who’d mastered knowing when their father was too emotionally unstable–or drunk–to handle basic household business like communicating with his daughters, or talking about the future.

But Deanna knew PTSD. She knew loss and trauma, and she didn’t have to have seen John battling it since she was four to know that sometimes, he deserved the benefit of the doubt. He was a retired Marine; a widower under truly horrifying circumstances; a single father; an on-and-off-the-wagon drinker; and a man who had buried far too many of his friends, for far too many reasons.

Deanna got why Sam was irritable about his behavior–she knew why most people were. Bobby, Pastor Jim, sweet old Missouri, all saw it all and they all worried, and she respected their concern. But that just meant that it was down her to be the one in his corner, holding her ground on his behalf.

She’d hoped to distract Sammy with the crass revelation, and Deanna cackle at her success when Sam twisted back towards her like a gunshot had gone off. “Oh my God, your face,” Deanna crowed. “That is priceless. Holy shit. Yeah, she and me. Me and a lotta girls, if I liked ‘em and they were into it.”

Sam’s question–and her blatant, utterly failed effort to look composed in asking it–made Deanna snort. “Well, it’s sex,” she replied, grinning. “If ya know how to masturbate, you know how to do something for a gal.” Deanna held up her hand, wiggling her fingers. “I’d almost say it’s kinda better, ‘cause I do know what feels good, y’know? And hey, I’m not just good with my tongue when it comes to sassin’ cops and makin’ bad puns.”

[my-malleable-muse]

Samantha flushed a blinding red at Deanna’s laughter, fearing for a brief moment that it had all been one giant joke – faking interest in relationships with other girls to get Sam to admit to her own curiousness concerning the subject just so the older girl could laugh at her. Sam didn’t think her sister would be that cruel on purpose, but both of them had a long history of pulling a joke only to realize later that what had seemed harmless to them had left a pretty deep cut in their sibling.

But then De kept talking & Sam’s fear & embarrassment were traded in for shock &, if she were being honest with herself, not just a little bit of awe. She’d seen more than her fair share of De with guys – never anything terribly obscene, but enough to feed some fantasies about her older sister’s strong, beautiful body. But to know that De had more experience – experience with girls?

Sam blinked, hoping the hero worship didn’t quite shine all the way through her eyes like she thought it might be.

At Deanna’s descriptions of sex, combined with her wiggling fingers & mention of the skill of her tongue, Sam lost all ability to think for an eternity that couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds. She unconsciously clenched her thighs, wrapping her arms more tightly about her drawn-up knees. Sam cleared her throat & tried to maintain a look of vague interest, but she knew she probably more closely resembled a little kid sitting down for storytime than an adult taking part in a serious conversation.

“It can’t be as simple as just, ya know…” Sam swallowed, her voice going soft & shallow on a whisper before picking back up again. “Masturbating. Another person. I mean, you can’t even use your tongue on yourself, so how do you learn…” She buried her face in her knees. “Oh God. Just kill me.”

[minxchester]

It was momentarily mesmerizing to watch the commander’s hands as he wove his leather bands together, simple patterns forming in the dark, rich material. Despite his confusion and unease, Dean was intrigued by the introduction of the metal clasps, watching them pinch into place so that the weaving would remain intact and close-knit.

The shape was beginning to be distinct enough for a name; Castiel was constructing a collar. Dean swallowed, almost able to feel the ghost of the belt against his skin, wondering why he did not feel any fear as he watched the band come together.

His question prompted the older man’s full attention, the tools being set down as he straightened and returned Dean’s gaze. The collar remained in his lap, un-threatening, but impossible for Dean to completely ignore. He just had to hope that Sam didn’t take its existence as a provocation to begin panicking again over the idea of such a clear symbol of ownership.

Hearing that Cas was eager to leave, as well, was oddly comforting. It wasn’t necessarily for the same motivation–but then again, in the next sentence, Cas confirmed he wanted to return to his home. The urge to get away from this place and its darkness, and back towards safety and familiarity, was shared.

“The sooner we leave here, the better,” Sam muttered, verbalizing Dean’s own feelings. Then the younger man paled again, looking startled at himself for speaking up. “I mean–I don’t mean to disrespect–”

“We agree, Sam,” Dean told his brother gently, reaching over to smooth the sweat-darkened hair back from his forehead. “Leaving today–camping on the road, that’s fine,” he added, looking back at Castiel with a quick nod. “This region of the country’s not terribly wild, there are plenty of good spots near rivers and creeks where a simple overnight is easy enough to manage.”

He’d have added that there wasn’t generally risk of highway robbery or attack, either…but under these new circumstances, Dean wasn’t sure how true that statement could be any more.

Dean paused when Cas picked up the collar, feeling marginally more settled, and more ready to address that. Sam made a tiny noise behind him, but he didn’t move or try to grab for Dean. The reference to the branding fire prompted another wounded grunt, but Dean didn’t follow Cas’ glance; he knew what it looked like. The very thought of being marked that way, burned like he was just another head of livestock or piece of furniture, was enough to make his stomach curl sickeningly.

“Yes, I think I’d prefer your method,” he affirmed, his voice also quiet. “Is that–your culture, is it a formal act, or do you just need to put it on me and seal it? Does anyone out there need to witness me taking it?”

[my-malleable-muse]

“Then it’s settled,” Castiel said, nodding once at the two boys in his tent. “As soon as the supplies are loaded & the wagon prepared, we’ll head out this afternoon.” Cas tried to add a small smile for Sam’s sake, though he wasn’t sure how successful it was in calming the boy. At this point, he wasn’t sure anything had a chance of really working to calm Sam. The younger man was doing admirably well for someone injured & in pain who was also dealing with the sudden upheaval of his entire world, but he was still obviously off-kilter & terrified that if he said or did the wrong thing, the commander would lash out at either him or his brother.

A roar from the auction outside made Cas sigh. It wasn’t like Sam didn’t have cause to be afraid of him, he figured. After all, men who looked like him & rode under the same banner had tried to kill his family, burn his home, & enslave his brother. Or rather, he, himself, had actually bought & paid for Sam’s brother.

So yes, Castiel understood Sam’s fear.

Dean’s questions about the braided leather brought a realer smile to his face. The young man was intelligent – quick, clever, strong. He was the type of man Cas dreamed of finding amongst the new recruits of his soldiers. He turned the leather over in his hands again, looking at it.

“The knots are my family mark – something between a crest & a brand. Nobody else knows how to make this design except a member of my family.” He fetched a smaller piece of metal & the clamping tool again from his bag.

“We don’t need a witness – though we have Sam, so if necessary, he will suffice. The official part has already been handled, the uh… bill of sale, as it were.” He glanced at the scroll that gave him ownership of Dean. “It designates that you must be marked, but it doesn’t say how. Wearing this will show that you belong to me.”

Cas dropped to one knee in front of Dean’s stool. “Hold still – I don’t want you aggravating your ribs.” The older man carefully looped the collar around the back of Dean’s neck. He’d eyeballed the measurement when he’d started braiding & it looked like he was spot on. By the time it was fastened, the collar would hang loosely around Dean’s neck without being so loose as to be able to simply be slipped off over his head.

“I’m going to fasten it now,” he said, pausing to meet Dean’s eyes. He tried to convey just how sorry he was that this was happening along with a promise to treat the younger man well. Keeping himself lower than Dean, his movements slow, Cas put the tool to the ends of the collar. With a gentle twist of the tool, the ends of the collar were joined together.

[minxchester]

“Well, on the very rare moment when I encounter the impulse to sub or bottom, self-humiliating can be kinda a nice treat,” Dean agreed, laughing. “And if you’re pent-up enough, months without gettin’ shootin’ down someone’s throat or all over their ass, y’know…doesn’t take much to think your way through a scene that’ll take the edge off. But generally…yeah, single life ain’t kind on Doms.”

Watching Cas lick his lips for a lingering trace of Dean’s flavor just made his blood sizzle again; Dean could see that the dancer wasn’t faking his appreciation for the taste. It had an energy of worship and need that fueled his possessive fantasies to a probably reckless degree.

Christ, Cas really was sin incarnate. He reacted to Dean’s words just as viscerally and hungrily as Dean had reacted to his, and kissed back like he felt the same level of desperation for the soldier.

“Jesus,” he growled out, letting Cas pull him down into the kiss, a shudder running down his spine at the visual. “I’d come in to watch you dance again, just so you’d see me there. You’d know I’m watchin’ you dance with my jizz plugged in your pussy. And I’ll be watchin’ to make sure that none of it gets spilled before I’m ready to drink it back outta you, baby…”

Cas’ sincerity was so unique–innocent, somehow, and even more so considering the filthy image he made, nearly naked and covered in glitter and come and sweat and looking up at Dean through hooded, heavily-made-up eyes. Dean had never seen something that was both utterly filthy, and yet precious, at the same time.

“You’re coming home with me,” he affirmed quietly, cupping Cas’ face between his palms to press more soft kisses against his mouth. “Gonna help you clean up some–not much, I like how pretty my boy looks right now–and then feed ya, or fuck ya again and then feed you. Gonna give you a damn good night, Sparkles.”

[my-malleable-muse]

Castiel filed away the little tidbit that Dean let slip that he did occasionally feel the need to sub &/or bottom for a partner. That could prove very fun, whether he was the one being asked to take the soldier to task or just being allowed to watch. He was technically a switch – knew enough to be a decent Dom if called for – but he fell pretty solidly in the sub camp for the majority of his encounters.

Being a stripper meant he had to at least learn how to walk the walk of being more dominant & aggressive sometimes to get good tips. Just like with Dean – he’d first come on pretty strong until the other man had revealed just how commanding he truly was. But Cas couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing Dean kneel & break under a Dominant hand wasn’t at least a little bit hot.

“Single life isn’t great for subs, either,” he said, letting his hands run soothingly up & down Dean’s thighs. “But at least here I can make do – dance & respond to calls to take it off like they’re orders if I need to. And the other dancers – we all help each other out when we have a bad time of it.” He raised up on his knees, meeting Dean’s eyes more directly. “I’m sorry if you didn’t have someone to help you out like that, Sir.”

The picture Dean painted of coming to watch him dance, knowing Cas was plugged full of his seed, sent a shiver running through Cas’ frame. He moaned, fingers digging into Dean’s thighs before he could stop himself. “Wouldn’t dream of spilling a drop, Sir. Keep it all warm & safe for you…”

The dancer sighed, his posture relaxing into Dean’s hold as he cupped his face. Cas eagerly opened to the kisses. The tension didn’t just leave his body, but also his mind as he let the idea of being taken care of by the commanding soldier in front of him fill all the needy corners of his being. He nodded, tongue slipping out to tease Dean’s lips.

“Want that, Sir. Want you to take care of me.” His hands wrapped around each of Dean’s wrists, just holding on as Dean held him, feeling safe & protected in the grip. “I get off work around 1am, Sir. I usually shower & change before I head out, but if you’re gonna be here to drive me home, I can wait if you’d prefer…”

[minxchester]

It hurt to see the teenager look so shrunk in on himself, radiating shame and apology and embarrassment. Forget being his boss and being in a minor misstep situation with Cas here–Dean’s instincts as a caregiver, a caretaker, and a father made him want to fix it.

He couldn’t help wondering, watching Cas wilting in front of him, if he got battered down a lot at home over any small perceived error. Gabriel had never given Dean the impression that his brother had it tough at home…but to be fair, it wasn’t as if they’d discussed Castiel extensively prior to Dean mentioning the need for a babysitter that week.

It was only then that Dean noticed the reddened fingers that Cas was cradling, and he grimaced at his own oblivion. “Shit–here, hang on.” Nursing instinct overrode professional or friendly, clearing Dean’s mind for him.

From the freezer he grabbed one of his smaller ice packs, and then he went to his kitchen med drawer and hunted up the little bottle of lavender essential oil. A few drops of that on a paper towel, and Dean turned, taking hold of Cas’ wrist to rub the lavender on the hurt skin before moving him to rest his fingertips over the ice pack, using the paper towel as a barrier for the chill.

“And shockingly, interruptions in the shower aren’t totally out of the norm,” Dean said, suddenly having to smile faintly as he shared that. “We use locker rooms, right–every floor has a handful for staff of both sexes. Most of them have four or five shower stalls and if they’re newer, they’ve got doors with bolts like toilets. But usually its curtains, because one, they’re old, and two, you could be in there just for a 30-second spray down after a triage and then a surgeon needs you, so a nurse is boltin’ in and yanking the curtain back like, ‘Fuck, Dean, Talbot’s got a GSW vic bleeding out, get in there.’”

He gave Cas’ hand a gentle squeeze, both reassuring, and making sure he kept contact with the ice pack. “You’re surrounded by medical workers–here I am overreacting like a dumbass. Let’s call it a whoops and go on, huh, Cas?”

The mention of spaghetti made him grin, looking over at RJ as the little boy perked up. “And you said the magic words. Hungry, kiddo? Ask politely and see if Cas’ll feed ya.”

“Can I have ‘sgetti, Cas?” RJ asked promptly, beaming at his effort to obediently use his manners.

[my-malleable-muse]

Cas had a brief thought that he should protest suddenly having Dean’s hands on him if for no other reason than the man was gripping his wrist & would no doubt be able to feel just how fluttery his pulse was at having him so close & in his personal space. But the rest of him was frozen at having Dean go into full-on nurse mode, taking care of him almost effortlessly.

Being cared for, even if he felt he didn’t deserve Dean’s concern, was pushing all sorts of buttons for the teen.

“Really, it’s nothing. I’m ok…” He offered a modicum of protest even as he felt himself relaxing at the gentle ministrations that were taking the dull throb out of the irritated spots on his fingers. He curled his hand to help hold the cold pack in place more firmly, but couldn’t bring himself to try & pull out of Dean’s hold on him.

Cas’ eyes widened at Dean’s explanation about how it seemed rather normal to have people bursting in on his shower time. He wasn’t completely sure he understood the scenario that Dean used as an example, but he watched enough Grey’s Anatomy to figure out the basic gist without having to ask any questions.

“Like a Mulligan,” he offered, his smile soft & hesitant. “That’s what my dad calls it when he needs a redo. A Mulligan – a do-over. Ok. Thanks, sir.”

The sudden inclusion of RJ into their conversation again reminded Cas that he was standing in the middle of Dean’s kitchen while the other man essentially held his hand. He bit his lip to hold back his blush as he gently pulled himself from Dean’s grip & turned back to RJ.

“Sure can, kiddo.” He turned towards the stove before glancing back at Dean. The same impulse that had led him to take the man coffee came over him – a desire to serve, do something to please him – care for this gorgeous man. He licked his lips. “Have a seat, sir. I’ll bring it over to you both. Um… did you want something else to drink besides your coffee with it?”

[minxchester]

The lack of matching reactivity on Danny’s part did help stabilize Dean as he hastily tried to clean up the streaks of blood around the bite. Normally any little hiccup could make the detective get snappy–especially if he had low blood sugar, was worried about Grace, or Steve had been intentionally provoking him at any point that day–and it was Dean’s job to roll his eyes, laugh it off, and convince his old man to calm down.

In his defense, he’d only been so jarred out of the glow in this case because Dean wasn’t sure if he’d actually endangered Danny. His instincts kept overriding logic, here.

He had no idea how he’d turned like this. What if biting Danny that hard, that deep, changed him, too?

Well, they’d figure it out. Danno was right–Dean freaking out wasn’t helpful, and it was spoiling a nice moment. Dean paused, smirking a little as his fluster faded and he heard the absolutely wrecked pitch of Danno’s voice.

“Well, now, that’s possibly the most fresh-fucked I’ve ever rendered you sounding,” he teased, his hands softening as he tossed the soiled shirt into their laundry hamper. Sliding off the bed, he dug their basic little first aid box out from under the bed–one in every room, varying in quality and contents–and sorted through it for a sterile wipe and some gauze and skin-safe tape. “So all it took to take the lead was becoming a big bad alpha dog, huh?”

Using the wipe, Dean relaxed completely again when he saw that the punctures weren’t too bad at all. “It’s gonna sting to heal, but I’ll take care of ya,” Dean murmured, applying the bandage. “And it’s definitely gonna turn out lookin’ like a cliche horror movie wolf bite scar.”

[my-malleable-muse]

Danny breathed out a sigh as he felt Dean relax again – and by “felt” he meant he actually seemed to feel the younger man’s emotions & stress ease. Danny rolled his head against the mattress. Weird. Fucking weirdness. But he also felt his own relaxation deepen at knowing his mate – his boyfriend – whatever, was calming again.

Something tingled at the back of his brain that this was definitely something they were going to have to talk about at some point, but right then, he just couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered.

The blonde detective managed to push himself up on his forearms, head still bowed down to the mattress, as he felt Dean get off the bed. He glimpsed the first aid kit out of the corner of his eye – apparently, when Dean said he bit him & broke the skin, he’d meant it. Danny reached a hand back, hissing softly as he found the small puncture wounds. Blood oozed warm & slick under his finger tips & he pulled his hand back to see how much there was.

On a scale of No Blood to Steve Got Me Shot (Again), it was obviously something that would need bandaging, but he wasn’t in any danger as far as he could tell.

Well, other than possible werewolfism, but seriously – if kissing & exchanges of other bodily fluids hadn’t passed it over to him, he didn’t see how a little bite would.

“Hardee har,” he said, relaxing back down as Dean began to tend to the wound. “Nobody likes a smug werewolf, babe.” He hissed again at the burn of the antiseptic. When Dean finished with the bandage, Danny rolled himself over onto his back with a huff, reaching out to take the younger man’s hand. Dean looked like Dean – no extra-furry brows or wolfy fangs, no claws. It was just his boyfriend… with a small smear of Danny’s blood on his lips.

Danny reached up with a thumb & wiped the blood away. “Sure you weren’t turned into a vampire?”

[minxchester]

Dean supposed he really should start trusting more of this man already, just from what he had seen so far. Cain had proven step after step that he wasn’t a novice to dominance, and he was handling each and every lurch of unsteadiness or panic that Dean showed–not just with calm, but with respect. Kindness. Something bordering even on sincere tenderness.

He wasn’t forcing himself, and he wasn’t indulging Dean. He’d made that very clear. And more instances of that convincing had occurred beyond the gazes of Crowley and Benny; Dean knew they weren’t performative.

The withdrawal of the older man’s touch was careful, deliberate, and done so that Dean didn’t feel any chill when his hands were his own again. He remained relaxed, that same strange feeling of external peace not going away, breathing steadily as Cain agreed that they could resume preparing their late supper.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered, not looking at Cain as he said it. Dean didn’t know if he expected the words to matter, or for Cain to react, but he wanted to say it for himself and just act on it. Follow through. His Dom had affirmed an order, a decision, and Dean was consenting.

He didn’t need to wait and see the approval or indifference that it merited. He confirmed his obedience; so now he would obey.

Resuming dicing the vegetables was surprisingly soothing. Dean liked cooking, he really did, but it was as if he was climbing up out of fogs of sleepiness and medication; he hadn’t even registered that he was cooking, doing something repetitive and familiar and comforting. The carrots and celery came apart beautifully beneath his fingers, and he used the knife blade to help him palm them into the stewing pot, watching it begin simmering with genuine satisfaction.

He even inhaled a hint of the steam, smiling a bit at the affirming scent of good food on the way.

“Cornbread’s good,” Dean said promptly, then blinked, startled at his own strength of voice. “I mean–yeah, I like cornbread and honey. ‘Specially if the honey’s warm. My old man used to add some whipped cream, but Mom always said that made the honey cool down too fast.”

[my-malleable-muse]

Cain was fairly positive that Dean hadn’t slipped into subspace on him, but the effect was similar. There was a sense of relaxation & peace around his boy now that hadn’t been there before. The confirmation that he wasn’t there merely as a charity case or as a business deal – that Cain wasn’t being put out or that Dean himself wasn’t being a burden – had done wonders. Dean seemed to be accepting that he was there because Cain wanted him to be there. It was honestly more than the older man had been hoping for on their first night together.

He took a calculated risk & reached out to give the back of Dean’s neck a quick, calming squeeze as his boy gave a response to his order & started in on the vegetables again. He wanted to praise Dean for his respectful reply & obedience without making too big of a deal out of it. An observant sub like Dean might get anxious if he laid on the praise too thickly right at the start, thinking that Cain didn’t really mean it if it was verbally offered after every little thing. But a quick touch like that was just enough – an acknowledgment, a confirmation, & a reassurance all in one.

Cain took a longer sip of his coffee, humming as he found it to be just the right temperature now. He held the mug in his hand, leaned back against the counter as he watched Dean finish with the vegetables & drop them in the pot. There was a sense of calm now as Dean had a task & set about finishing it. He grinned at the appreciative sniff the younger man gave the stew.

“Go on & give that a good stir, boy. Spoon is on the counter there. There’s pot holders hanging off the front of the stove if you need to hold the pot steady.”

Cain turned, grabbing a smaller pot & filling it with water before he fetched a mason jar of honey from the cabinet. “I don’t think I have any whipped cream – we could probably make some. I got some butter clarifying in a churn in the cellar – could skim some off the top to whip up. But I’m of the mind that there’s nothing better than warm honey on cornbread.” He put the water on to warm & set the jar inside it so that the water would heat it up without damaging the jar or burning the honey with the flame.

[minxchester]

“…I have got to master my poker face,” Dean grumbled, rolling his eyes in amusement at Gabe’s teasing. “I’m not the jealous type, I’ve…well. Hell, I’ve never had anyone or anything to be jealous over. Most of my life all I’ve had was the clothes on my back, and a decent pocket knife if I got lucky.” He smirked at Gabe’s musing about this boy scout illusion of Steve. “Well, it ain’t completely imaginary,” Dean assured him, just to benefit the fantasy. “I saw the full range, there–and he really has both in him.”

Not just both ends of the spectrum–Steve was capable of sliding to any role, and he either had it in his character, or he could play it up exactly right to convince his audience. Dean couldn’t help thinking about the care and caution of the man who’d spoken to him in the yard at first–and then the sheer softness of the man who’d guided him into sex, through the intimacy, and in the warm afterglow of aftercare.

He thought of Steve as he’d been when Dean had taken his offer to start with, posturing big and powerful and dominant in taking a seat beside Dean and taking control over his dinner. Making it clear with body language alone, and the way he’d sent Dean scurrying on to his cell, that he had just made the new boy his. And then five minutes later, he’d been talking Dean down from the shock-panic of being convinced he’d walked into his own assault, and he’d meant every word.

Steve was a good man. Dean didn’t know how he’d caught the Captain’s eye, but he had, and he was beginning to realize he was actually safe.

Gabriel’s answers made him grimace despite the ambivalent nature of the reply. “Not too noticeable,” he repeated softly. “How often does that include folks who’ve been bullied or beaten into what they’re taking?” Dean snorted at the advise of what to shout for help. “Steve made it sound like I’m safe in here with ya…should I be worried about needin’ to claim fake fires often?”

Pulling his box towards himself, Dean began sorting through it mostly just for something to do. “…’s gonna be weird gettin’ used to this. I’ve never had my own space but at least I could leave the bedroom. Or piss in privacy.”

[my-malleable-muse]

“You’ve actually got a decent poker face for being such a baby-face & all,” Gabe said. He hung the towel back up & sat down to start unlacing his shoes. “But I make my living reading people. Plus, with all the added stress you’re under today, it only makes sense that you’d be a little off your game.”

When his shoes were off, Gabe slid them under the small seat he was perched on & folded his arms on the table. He leaned on it, head tilted as he looked Dean over. “I know you’re not dumb, Dean-o. You got pretty damned lucky with Rogers taking a shine to you in the yard & I’m glad for you – I really am. But you gotta know what it’s like in here. Take every Hollywood or even porno stereotype & amplify it by ten. Then put it on steroids.”

The older man shrugged. “You’re gonna hear it. Hell, you’re likely gonna see it happen a few times. You got people in here who are in deals like yours, except they didn’t wind up so lucky as to actually wanna be fucked by their protectors. But they’re gonna be because they wanna keep the protection in place.”

Gabe sighed. “It’s hell. And there’s not a single, goddamned thing you can do to change it. Rogers & Barnes can’t, either. Not completely. So they just try to help as much as they can, when they can. But in Lights Out, when we’re all locked in our cells?” He shrugged again & stood up, heading for his bunk. Dean’s comment made him pause.

“You’re cute, kiddo, but you’re definitely not my type. I want any snatch, I know how to bargain for it all on my lonesome – your virtue is safe with me.” Gabe pulled himself up onto his bunk, settling back onto the thin mattress with a grunt.

“You get used to it, Dean-o,” Gabe said, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Don’t know if that makes it better or worse. But you do get used to it.”