#and the choice is going to stick... until it doesn't

[automatisma]

Love the Prisoner. It doesn't have the textual complexity of some other routes (like The Princess and the Dragon), but I think it's one of the branches where the raw interplay between two people who at the end of the day have to choose how to deal with each other really shines through everything else.

[differenteagletragedy]

Part Two of Simon Riley meeting a single mom at the park and going "that one, I want that one."

As much as Simon feels the persistent gnaw of want, he can’t pinpoint exactly why it’s there, and as the days since he met you drag on, he can’t figure out which is more frustrating — the wanting itself, or the fact that the reason behind it keeps eluding him.

Maybe it’s some biological impulse, that’s one thing he considers. Maybe it’s just a primal impulse drudged up by the sight of your belly and the helpless fear he’d heard in your voice that day. His rotten genes kicking around inside him, whispering to him that they want out.

Or it could be that you look like exactly the type he tends to go for when he allows himself the little indulgence of a pretty woman’s company. Present state aside, that is.

Regardless, he finds himself walking by the park nearly every day, scanning the area just in case he sees you or your little boy there again. He doubts he'd approach you again even if he did cross your path a second time, but even so, his aimless walks don't seem quite so aimless anymore.

It's not until one day, a few weeks after that first time, that he sees your somehow familiar form standing by one of the picnic tables. He'd thought you looked fit to burst the first time he saw you, but now you were somehow bigger still. Even from a distance, he can make out the sweat on your face, the wet bits of hair sticking to your forehead that show your overexertion, as if your rundown expression doesn't give it away.

You look absolutely miserable, and Simon pushes down whatever odd little instinct it is that makes him think about how much he'd like to kiss it all better.

Close by, safe on the ground this time, is your son, Charlie. He darts around the grass by the table while you unload a bag with snacks and drinks, your eyes firmly trained on him while you do it.

Simon walks slowly, trying to decide if it would be better to turn and go back the other way or to walk by as if he doesn't notice you -- he shouldn't notice you. If he did recognize you, it should only be in passing, a brief flicker of recognition that quickly passes, not ... whatever this is.

A small part of him, one that he'd never let see the light of day, considers the idea of approaching you.

The choice is taken away from him when Charlie spots him while doing spins in the grass. The little boy lets out a squeal, pointing directly at him, and begins bounding over.

"Charlie, for the love of --"

Then you look up and see him, and he can't be sure from the distance, but he thinks he sees the flicker of a smile.

He notices how you let yourself take your time a bit as you amble towards him, a small rush of pride going through him that you're not panicking over your child's safety as he runs in his direction. Charlie reaches him first, and he has to tilt his head nearly to his shoulders to look up at him.

"You were on the slide before."

"I was."

"You're too big for the slide."

"Wasn't there to slide."

By that point, you'd manage to waddle your way over, your hand going to rest on Charlie's shoulder as you look to Simon. You greet him, a quick "Hi," then look back down to your son.

"Let's not bother strangers, ok? Come on, we have a picnic."

"He's not a stranger," Charlie argues. "He was on the slide."

If Simon wasn't trying to keep his eyes off the drop of sweat that was trailing down by your collarbone, he would have taken a moment to properly appreciate the simplicity of the argument.

"Sorry," you say softly, glancing up at Simon again. "He's a friendly little thing."

"Quite all right."

"You want juice?"

He can't help but let out a chuckle at the kid's question -- he's never been much of a talker, and it seems like you might not be much of one either, but someone's putting in some effort.

"Mum made crackers too," Charlie adds. "You want some crackers?"

"I'm sure this man has more important things to do than have crackers and juice with us, don't you think?" you say.

But he doesn't. At this moment, he feels like he's never had anything more important to do.

There are a few more precocious little invites, along with some puppy dog eyes, and before he knows it, Simon is being led through a stretch of grass to a picnic table with you and your son.

The conversation is ... not great, honestly. You're either shy or guarded, maybe both, and Charlie isn't quite old enough to spark any kind of intelligent discussion. But he does enjoy the juice box the boy insists he takes, and he likes the strange warmth that spreads through his chest at the sight of you across from him at the table even more.

"Come watch me swing," Charlie demands after a bit. You shrug, apparently content with letting the child run the show at this point, and Simon lets out another deep chuckle, standing and hesitantly following you both to the swingset.

"Thanks for humoring him," you tell him quietly as you push your son on the swing.

"Not at all," he replies. "He's ..."

He trails off, not sure what he was even planning on saying. Sweet? Funny? They don't feel like words he'd use, but this doesn't even feel like an interaction he'd have. It's all new territory for him.

Thankfully, you don't seem miffed by his short responses, or by the silence that follows. You just stand there, one hand pushing Charlie while the other rests low on your belly, while he stands further back, watching.

And there it is again. The wanting. Brutal and undeniable.

“When’s the little one due?”

The question comes out low and gruff, as if it clawed its way out of his throat on his own, which it may have, because he rarely willingly engages in small talk like this.

"Couple of weeks," you answer.

Charlie breaks the next stretch of silence by instructing Simon to watch him kick his legs to swing even higher, which he does. After he gives him what he hopes sounds like a hum of approval, his eyes move back to you, watching the way your hand moves to rest on your hip, your fingers pressing towards the small of your back as if you're trying to keep yourself propped up.

"Kid seems like a bit of a handful to keep up with all by yourself," he murmurs. "Presently, anyway."

It's not his business, but you don't seem to mind because you reply again, eyes still on Charlie.

"He's been ... well, I think he's a little nervous, about the new baby," you explain. "So I've been trying to make these last few weeks of just us special."

You don't talk much, he's coming to understand that, but he doesn't either, so he knows how much can be said in the spaces between. He stays quiet for a moment, taking a pause to watch another one of Charlie's tricks.

"'Just us'?" he asks. "And what about that husband who was supposed to come to the rescue last time?"

"I lied so you'd think twice about kidnapping us."

Simon chuckles at the blunt response, and says, "Decided you're not in danger now, have you?"

"More like I've decided that if you kidnap us after we gave you juice and crackers, you're a monster and we never stood a chance anyway."

You glance up at him then, the first time you've looked at him since the party moved to the swings, and you smile. It's more playful than flirty, but it's for him, and he finds himself smiling back.

Simon doesn't do this. When he's home, he doesn't really talk to people. There's a quick exchange with a cashier or a bartender, or the occasional mutually distant transaction with a woman who wants the same quick release that he does. Some days are so bad that he'll spend more time than he cares to admit considering whether he wants to wear a mask out -- if he wants to just blend in as much as he can like he usually does, all dark clothing and hunched shoulders, or if he wants to risk attracting a bit more attention by wearing the mask since even so, it'll ensure that no one can see his face.

But here he is, for a reason that he still can't quite pinpoint, smiling at a pregnant lady in a park and watching her little boy play.

It doesn't make sense, but it doesn't feel bad either. So he doesn't stop.

It was late afternoon when Charlie first approached him, and now the sun is getting lower in the sky. You reach a hand up to pull on the chain of the swing, slowing the boy down, and tell him it’s time to go.

He whines for just a moment before obediently dragging his feet to stop the swing, standing up. Before Simon can process it, he comes up to him and wraps his arms around his legs.

“Thanks for playing,” he says before running back off towards the table where you’d left your things.

He helps you gather everything, walking the empty juice boxes over to the trash can so you don’t have to move any more than necessary. When you’re all ready to go, he watches you take Charlie’s hand and offer him another smile.

“See you around,” you tell him before turning and walking off towards the sidewalk.

He tries to think of something clever to say, then he kicks himself for wanting to say something clever, and before he can get out of his own head, you’re already halfway down the sidewalk. And, he notices, you happen to be headed in the direction of his own apartment.

Something in him wants to catch up with you, to say that he’s headed the same way, which wouldn’t be a lie. It’s the same part of him that made him a good soldier — the part that sees an opportunity to go in for the kill.

But the part of him that makes him a good leader stays put. The timing isn't right, and he doesn't want to take a chance on a half-cocked impulse, especially when he still hasn't even figured out what it is that's pulling him to you.

So he walks. He goes the opposite way, away from home, away from you, deeper into town. He walks past the shops as they start closing for the night, the pubs as they get more lively. He walks until he's sure that you and Charlie made your way to wherever you were headed, and only then does he make his way back to his apartment.

It's as dull there as ever, the overhead light flickering when he turns it on and walks inside. He hears the familiar creaking of his cheap old couch as it sinks under his weight when he sits, sees the white expanse of the walls, no pictures or paintings or whatever else people put up to make a house feel warmer than this.

But tonight, it's not quite so bleak. There's the faintest taste of apple juice lingering on his tongue, a sweetness he's not accustomed to, and he can still feel a bit of warmth on his face from being in the sun so long.

He wants more of it. He still doesn't know the ins and outs of it all, but he's ready to accept that it exists. And he's ready to start strategizing on how exactly he can get it.

PART THREE and PART FOUR and PART FIVE and PART SIX and PART SEVEN and PART EIGHT and PART NINE

[rowarn]

TAKING WHAT YOU NEED (m.)

tags: afab!reader, no prns, a smidgen of hurt/comfort, soft!simon as usual, established relationship

cw: wet&messy, masturbation(reader), multiple orgasms, riding him<3, u pin him down and he lets u, creampie, simons uncut bc i said so, tiny praise, overstimulation

note: i wrote this against my will it was supposed to be simon bein lazy and making u ride him and do the work and it turned into a sickening beast. please enjoy it. MDNI!

; in which ur terribly horny and neglected for simon but hes so busy and tired u have no choice but to take what u need &lt;/3

3.5k words

he's been so busy lately, almost distant without meaning to. you still get the sweet little bits of affection he always gives; a kiss to your forehead, and soft hand on your back when he passes behind you in the kitchen, your hand wrapped in his while u watch tv late at night, his hand petting your hair as you lay against his chest in bed.

but you want more, you're greedy.

it's been days since he last touched you. you're not used to the dry spells, simon always willing and ready to fuck u stupid into the mattress until u cant keep your eyes open anymore.

ur fingers simply could never compare to his. he's a man who studied your body, spent the better part at the beginning of your relationship playing with you and learning what exactly made you cum the hardest and easiest -- what your favorite spots and positions were. ur fingers tired quickly, leaving you with an orgasm u knew would be better if simon was the one with his fingers buried in your pussy

what did he expect you to do, honestly? when he came out of the shower with his towel low on his hips? his back to you as he rifled through his drawers looking for something comfy to sleep in, his back muscles flexing with the movement? were you just supposed to be able to roll over and sleep, go take a shower and act as if your panties weren't sticking to you from looking at him?

you wanted him so badly that it actually brought tears to your eyes. you didn't care how silly it was; you wanted him so bad it hurt.

"si..." you whimper, unable to stop how your voice wobbled when you spoke.

his head snaps back to look over his shoulder, brown eyes wide in concern. he briskly walked to the edge of the bed where you crawled to, sitting on your knees looking up at him pitifully.

"what is it, love? what's wrong?" his eyebrows were furrowed as he cupped your cheek, thumbing over the soft skin as his eyes analyzed every inch of you for signs of injury -- a little habit he always had.

"wan' you," you whine, placing your hands flat on his chest, moving down over his stomach where his abs flexed under the ticklish touch.

he scoffs, rolling his eyes before batting your hands away, "thought you were actually upset."

he sounds a little miffed, turning his back to you again to pull out the pair of sweats he had been eyeballing. he lets his towel fall and pauses when he hears you actually whine.

he says your name low in his chest, a warning. whether he actually wants you to stop because he's not in the mood or he just doesn't want to get started with it, you don't know. but it makes you pout a little, flopping back in the bed with a huff.

you hear simon shuffling about, getting changed into the sweats before turning off all the lights, save for a little nightlight you keep on beside you until you're ready to sleep -- on the dimmer side so it doesn't bother simon while he sleeps.

he crawls into bed with a sigh, leaning over where you're still pouting into the pillows to kiss your temple.

"i'm just tired, love," he coos, no malice or annoyance to be found in his voice. his hand comes up to rub your back and you fucking whine again, making him pause, "pouting like this is a little pathetic."

he's teasing you, you can hear the huff of a laugh under his voice. tears prick your eyes again and you petulantly push his hands away to sit up. he's leaning back against the headboard, staring straight at you.

"it's not my fault you've been neglecting me!" you whine, crossing your arms over your chest.

he actually throws his head back and laughs, "neglecting you? 'cause i haven't given you dick in a few days?"

"it's been more than a few days!" you spit back. although he's taking your bratty behavior in stride, you're actually a little annoyed.

he rolls his eyes and holds back a yawn, "you'll live. just...use that little vibrator you've got, it'll get the job done."

he goes to roll over and go to sleep but you make a noise that doesn't sound like your usual pouting -- it sounds actually upset. it pauses him in his tracks and he looks at you through the dim lighting.

"it's not just that," you mumble, flopping forward to smush your cheek against his chest, "i wanna have sex because i like being close to you, si...of course it feels amazing but i like being connected with you like that....'cause i love you."

he's still for a moment before his hand finds purchase on your back, softly rubbing against you in slow circles. he hums in his chest and kisses the crown of your head.

"'m sorry, love," he coos, "didn't think about that."

"it's okay..." you mutter before sobering up and sitting up to smile at him, "u get some sleep, i'm gonna go...take a shower."

he watches you crawl out of bed and root through your drawer, pulling out that vibrator he just mentioned and slink into the bathroom. it makes his heart ache a little but he slowly lies back against his pillow. his eyelids grow heavy as he lays there and before he knows it, he falls asleep.

he wakes again when you crawl back into bed, the smell of soap still fresh and wafting off of you. you keep your back to him as you curl into yourself in that cute little way that you do. it makes him drowsily smile to himself before he closes his eyes again.

but he can't fall asleep. you begin shifting and fidgeting almost as soon as he settles, it keeps him awake. he wonders what the problem is but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth.

you roll onto your back and he hears you sigh to yourself. his eyes crack open and he sees you staring at the ceiling. you glance over at him, not seeing the way his eyes are ever so slightly open.

he watches you slowly spread your thighs and your hand slide under the blanket, watches the way your brows furrow as you begin to slowly work at yourself.

his cock twitches in his pants; as tired as he is, no man would be able to sit there like nothing was happening while watching the one he adored touch themself.

he watches you, vaguely hears the wet, sticky noises of you touching yourself. he wonders if you're just working your clit in tiny little circles or if you've maybe stuffed a finger or two inside to get the feeling of being stretched. his cock hardens even further against his thigh and the sleepiness he felt begins to melt away but he can't bring himself to fully open his heavy lids.

after a few minutes, you make a frustrated little huff and pull your hand out from under the blanket, using a tissue on your night table to wipe your fingers off before flopping back into bed. you don't make another move to touch yourself, instead stare into the very dimly lit room in what he can fully understand is frustration. he even hears your sniffle a little bit.

his heart gives a painful little tug. he watches you close your eyes and obviously attempt to fall asleep. his own cock is throbbing by now and he's sure you're uncomfortably wet.

"got a problem, love?" he asks softly, voice thick and heavy with sleep.

he sees you jump and your eyes snap open before you look at him, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. how cute, he thinks.

"si?" you whisper, "did i wake you? i'm sorry..."

he can actually hear the guilt in your voice as you apologize, "all your tossin' and turnin', not a man in the world woulda been able to sleep through it," you look even guiltier and he reaches out to place his hand over yours that's on your stomach above the blanket, "thought you went and took a shower to take care of that problem?"

you look almost defeated and shrug, then a look of embarrassment crosses your face and he feels the need to click his tongue and tell you none of that, but you speak before he can, "couldn't um...you know...finish..."

he's quiet when you say that. he could tell, obviously. the way you pulled your hand out of your panties and nearly cried in frustration. he huffs through his nose in a noise you mistake for annoyance and give him a sheepish, half-hearted smile.

"sorry, si," you mutter, leaning over to kiss his nose, "i'll be still so go back to sleep, 'kay?"

he watches you lean over and flick the switch to your little nightlight, plunging the bedroom into complete darkness at last. he feels you shift one last time and then nothing.

he should simply go to sleep, he needs sleep. he's got a busy day ahead of him, like always. his hard on is starting to flag from watching the sad little display of you so embarrassed and disheartened. he could easily close his eyes and drift off, get his precious z's in.

but he just can't. knowing that you're going to sleep with sticky panties and completely unsatisfied because you can't seem to make yourself cum despite how badly he knows you need it.

he sits up and leans over you, hearing you make a confused little noise before he flicks the dim little light back on. you're staring at him in confusion but he doesn't offer any answers as he grabs your arm and hoists you out of the blanket you'd nestled yourself under. you let him manhandle you until you're sitting on his lap with him laid back in his pillows still.

"let's get this off you, love," he mutters, hands sliding up the t-shirt of his that you wore.

you make another confused noise but let him strip the fabric off of you anyway, "si..? what are you doing?"

"what do you think?" he asks, shoving the blankets away from him and haphazardly tugging the band of his sweats down so his half-hard cock is freed.

"y-you should be sleeping, si, really--" he interrupts you by forcing you to stand on your knees so he can tug your panties down and off.

you're so wet that there’s a mess of stickiness that clings to the fabric, making little strings that break when he pulls them down all the way.

"fuckin' hell, love," he whispers, his cock quickly hardening completely once again against his stomach, "you were plannin' to sleep while you were this fuckin' wet?"

you look sheepish again, "w-what else was i supposed to do..?"

he grits his teeth because he knows you're right; he hadn't exactly done anything except brush you off and tell you to deal with it yourself. it wasn't like he gave you the green light to ask him for help.

"sorry, love," he whispers, cupping the back of your head to tug you down for a kiss, "shouldn't 'ave been such an ass."

"wha-?" you shake your head, "you weren't, si. you were tired and i was just bein’ too needy."

he huffs out of his nose and grabs your hips, shifting so you sit directly on top of his heavy cock. your eyes roll back a little at the feeling of his hot length against your sensitive cunt.

"nah, was bein' selfish," he mutters, "knew you wanted it 'nd i chose to sleep. you even told me you just wanted to be close with me and i shrugged it off. i've missed you too, love, you know?"

"really?" you ask softly and his heart gives that painful throb in his chest again. had you doubted him? that didn't sit right with him.

"course..." he whispers, biting his lip. he wasn't used to being vulnerable and open with his feelings, so being put on the spot while telling you how he missed you made an uncomfortable feeling stir in his chest.

quickly understanding this, you shift against his cock, grinding your hips back and forth in smooth, slow motions. it makes his head sink back into the pillow; you're so wet that you slide effortless against him, covering him in a coat of slick juices. your motions also make his foreskin slide along his length as well, making him twitch every time the leaky head is stroked.

"fuckin' hell..." he groans through gritted teeth, "c'mon love, you do the work, yeah?"

you desperately nod your head and stand on your knees, gripping his cock to line him up with your entrance. he stops you for a moment with a hand on your wrist, a little glare in his eyes.

"you need prep?" he asks, a sweet little question that makes your heart melt despite yourself.

simon was a lot to take, thick and long. he always bumped against your back wall before he even fully bottomed out. the stretch was a sting that always made you both pause until it went away lest it hurt too much to continue.

you shake your head, "i-i used the toy and my fingers...earlier..." you remind him.

his grip on your wrist slackens at that and you take the chance to slowly and carefully sink down on him, jaw dropping open at the feeling of being stretched so fully by him after however many days.

you're greedy and needy, not even pausing as you quickly descend and take more and more of him in. it's faster than you usually handle it and he moves quickly to grab your hips and stop you, intent on making you take a second to adjust before taking all of him that you can.

you make a strangled noise akin to a sob in your chest and look at him with angry little tears in your eyes. the sight makes him pause and his cock twitch.

you slap his hands away harshly and continue taking all of him despite his apparent protests. he's taken aback by the little show of aggression.

"shit, love," he growls, brows furrowed, "is that how it is then?"

you nod your head and let your eyes roll back. it wasn't very often that you got to ride him, simon was more of a 'do all the work' type of man but this position definitely allowed you to take more of him than you usually could when he had you folded up into whatever positions he wanted.

once you took him as deep as you could, your hand flew down to your clit and with a few little circles and slow grinds of your hips, you were clamping down around him and cumming with a cute little squeal and a gasp.

he felt you soak him with your cum, his eyes locked onto where he was buried deep inside you. when you pulled up, he could see the creamy ring of cum around the base of him.

his head slammed back against the bed as he gripped your hips, your hands on his flexed forearms for support as you began to fuck yourself on his cock with a vigor he hadn't ever seen from you.

you hadn't ever been this needy before. seeing you fucking yourself completely stupid on his cock, only moans and sobs of his name to be heard besides the underlying squish of your cunt being stretched and stuffed.

"fuck!" he groaned, feeling the way your pussy clutched and pulsed around him as you angled your hips just right to hit that tender little spot that made you gush messily around him.

you once again slap his hands away from your hips. he glares at you, preparing to scold you for being such a brat but then you do something that shocks the words right out of him.

you grab his wrists and pin them beside his head on the pillow, using the grip as leverage to really begin fucking yourself back onto his cock. his jaw falls open, little moans and gasps escaping his throat as he watches you work yourself to another peak.

your tits bounce from the way you fuck yourself back on him and he wishes he could reach up and cup them, pinch and roll your hard nipples just the way you like. but he doesn't want to break this little hold you have on him, pinning him down like you think you're in charge. it's cute, really, the little show you're putting on.

it's clear he's denied you so much this whole time that you've simply snapped and now you're determined to get your fill until you've orgasmed so much that your little brain just melts. and he's more than happy to be there, not even lifting a finger and merely being a nice, hard cock for you to cream all over.

he has to admit, it's alluring to see his sweet little love acting so desperate.

he doesn't know how many orgasms you work out of yourself, but it's enough to have covered his cock and thighs thoroughly in your cum. he doesn't mind. you've always been quite a bit messy when he made you cum. but you've never came this hard and this much before. he's not even sure you're giving yourself a chance to come down from one high before you've worked yourself into another.

he's speechless, content to just lay back and watch the desperate show you've put on for him until your movements finally begin to slow.

you go from bouncing on him and pinning him down to grinding against him and cupping your own tits. your body is covered in a sheen of sweat from the workout and he's sure your thighs are fucking burning by now. you're panting and your eyes are half lidded as you stare down at him.

for the first time in a long time, simon feels...small. you had just fucked yourself better than he ever had using his own cock. the thought of that made him twitch inside you and he sees the corner of your lip twitch up and you smile at him. the heady, frustrated, desperate look in your eyes fades and you look so satisfied. the weight that he hadn't realized had been on your shoulders is gone and you lean down.

he tilts his head up and meets your lips in a kiss. your tits squish against his chest and he finally moves his hands from the position you'd pinned him in earlier and he smooths his palms down the length of your back, making you shudder.

"gonna let me cum now, love?" he asks breathlessly.

when you nod, your whole world flips and you find yourself on your back, simon pins your legs open with a rough grip under your thighs and begins working his hips.

it's clear you're painfully sensitive; your clit is swollen and tender, your whole body twitching when he meanly presses his roughened thumb against it. your hands once again find purchase on your tits and you squeeze and tug at your nipples.

he fucks you at a leisurely pace, listening to the filthy, clicking noises coming from the complete mess that you've made of your cunt. your eyes roll back and he rolls your tender little bud under his thumb until you seize up in one final orgasm that makes you kick your feet out helplessly.

“there it is…” he coaxes, tossing his head back to moan when you tighten like a vice around him, “so good f’me. that’s it, ride it out, little love.”

you've no choice but the ride out this final, painful orgasm on his cock as he fucks you through it to his own end. he spills inside you, pumping his hips a few more times, watching his own cum mix with the mess of your own that oozes and drools out of your gooey little cunt.

you flop against the bed when he pulls out, both of you panting and you trembling from the overstimulation.

he flops down onto his side of the bed with a sigh, eyes finally growing heavy once again as his exhaustion catches up with him alarmingly fast.

usually, he would clean you up and fix the mess you both left behind but he just truly can't bring himself to even consider getting out of bed. so he tugs you against him, listening to you whimper when more cum drools out of you from the way you involuntarily clench from the continued aftershocks of your numerous orgasms.

he hums and holds you close, dragging the blanket from the foot of the bed over both of you, kissing your forehead before tucking your head against his chest.

he would deal with the aftermath of the night tomorrow, when you both have clear heads. though, he's sure you're going to be sore. he can't wait to see it, he muses.

property of rowarn; do not modify, repost, or translate.

[within-your-eyes-if]

Personal Update #2

Hey again!

So, I'm still doing okay, but I found out stuff that makes a lot of sense for what I've been experiencing over the last year. I wanted to talk about it a little, because... damn. This update will be a bit personal, and for that I apologize. I try to keep these matters out, but since it directly affects my writing and some choices I made, I thought it would be important to talk about.

My official diagnosis won't come until later this month, but it's heavily pointing toward neurological (the neurologists in my area are all booked out, so this is how my doctor explained it in the meantime). I had something diagnosed a couple years ago by former doctors, but it was never explained what it meant nor looked into further. Apparently, it only appears in neurological disorders like Multiple Sclerosis or similar.

Some time last year, I started struggling with comprehending what I was writing. I could not make sense of it. I started spiraling because suddenly, "Oh no, it sounds awful. It doesn't make sense!" And ugh, the anxiety. I had such overwhelming anxiety all the time even for no reason, and I would spiral into things, my writing most suspect. Eventually, it spread to physical stuff, like these migraine like headaches on one side of my head where half of my face would go partially numb, and a whole slew of other things — a few that hit hard in February and on. I blamed it on stress and a different medical condition I have, but those are unrelated or just another piece in the puzzle.

I'm doing a little better now that I've been given tools to handle stress, and I'm trying to write because I genuinely want to. I never disclosed these struggles because it felt silly, "how can I not understand what I'm writing?" And honestly, now that I'm more calm, I'm a bit embarrassed when I look back at some of my older posts. I jumped the gun on changes more than once, mostly because my thoughts were all over the place, and anxiety made everything feel worse than it probably was. T.T

I'm okay with whatever diagnosis I get, I just want solid answers. I know I'm sharing this a bit early, and I'm sorry if it's premature, I just needed to say something because I'm very relieved there's a potential name for what's happening. That I'm not actually broken, regressing, or even failing.

Anyways, thank you so much for sticking with me, and I apologize for the long post and if it's a bit scattered. I hope you all have a wonderful weekend!

[senseofnewness]

crushing!art donaldson because i need that boy to be desperate since childhood [nsfw]

• you guys have known each other since you were 7 or 8, growing up in the same circle, at first, he thought you were annoying as fuck

• only sees you during summer because you go to an all-girls catholic boarding school

• doesn't know how to deal with the fact that you grow more mature and prettier each year, so he resorts to tugging on your ponytail, pinching your waist, and teasing you with silly nicknames

• notices your hips getting wider and your chest growing fuller when you're 13, and he can't help but let his eyes linger a little too long when you aren't looking

• starts being more gentle when you play rough-and-tumble, one time, you even feel him growing hard beneath you, you never wrestled again after that

• introduces you to the infamous patrick one summer and it's the first time you understand why your dad tells you to be cautious of boys, so you stick to art, you feel safe with him

• forces patrick to invite you to his summer house after that, telling him you're like family, patrick thinks you're just getting in the way of precious boy-time with his best friend

• brings you to the beach to buy you ice cream as soon as patrick takes a nap, when you ask why patrick is missing, he tells you he's lactose intolerant and can't eat that

• tries to teach you about tennis but the shorts you're wearing makes it hard for him to form coherent sentences, he spends the whole time readjusting his own shorts

• gets mad that you always associates him with patrick, even if it makes sense since they're always glued to the hips

• his grandma thinks you're dating and calls you his girlfriend, he never bothered correcting her

• helped you get rid of the sand on the back of your thighs once and still thinks about the feeling of your skin underneath his fingers on a daily basis

• the first time he stroked himself thinking about you was after another day at the beach when he saw you mindlessly tugging at the crotch of your bikini bottom that kept riding up your crack

• was turned on by you long before that but had never admitted to himself that he was attracted to you and allowed himself to think about you in his most private moments

• caught you changing into your swimsuit once and turned bright red, it was so quick before you covered yourself and whined at him that he had barely seen anything but knowing that he saw you naked got him heavy breathing

• thinks of you as a prude innocent thing that needs to be shielded from the perversion of the world and keeps telling patrick to shut up when he starts saying innapropriate things in front of you

• gets obsessed with the idea of kissing you ever since you told him you wear flavoured lip glosses

• when he finally tells patrick about his crush, patrick is constantly on your back bragging about what a good guy art is and trying to question your feelings about him, but from art's point of view, it looks like patrick is monopolizing your time and he gets pissed about it

• gets in a big fight about it with patrick, after that patrick seems more distant with you

• finally kisses you in the ferris wheel at the funfair during the summer of your 17, he had planned that moment for days because he wanted your first kiss to be romantic

• changes his mind about you being prude and innocent when you're sucking on his tongue minutes later, you both spend the rest of the night making out on the beach

• when he tells patrick, he's all giddy until patrick reminds him how frustrating it's going to be for him to date a virgin who is saving herself for marriage

• starts officially dating you and when the making out gets too intense, he assures you he respects your choice to wait and he won't pressure you into doing anything

• you spent the whole summer after that just constantly dry humping each other, both soaked, always coming close to breaking the promise you had made to god

• gets so frustrated while making out that he asks for your hand in marriage while his is up your shirt, you laugh at him but maybe he was a little serious about it

• thinks about all the ways he could convince you to let him just slide the tip in for a second, just to feel you, but he won't

• the summer ends with you still a virgin, you did jerk him off though, a lot, like in every room and at any moment of the day, patrick even urged you to 'just do it already' the third time he caught you with your hand down art's pants

• pays for your train tickets home the first weekend back to school because he misses you so much already

• when you show him that after a long introspection you decided to stop wearing your purity ring, he already knows you're going to spend the whole weekend in bed

[pirateprincessblog]

outlaw

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: you wish there would be a time you could call your life boring again. before all the mess, before the town fell apart, before your father disowned you. before jeong yunho. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jeong yunho x f!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 11.1k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: wild west theme, cowboy!yunho, bartender!reader 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: praising, claiming, dacryphilia, marking, size kink, oral, unprotected sex, outdoor sex

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: violence, weapons, alcohol consumption, murder, slight gore, attempted SA 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: django performance might be the reason why i switched from hongjoong to yunho after four years of being loyal. NOT PROOFREAD I AM IMPATIENT I HAD TO POST IT BEFORE GOING TO BED! <3

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

"another one, sweetheart."

i'm not your sweetheart, you wanted to mutter. but you bit your tongue, remembering that your father is somewhere in the room. so you have no other choice but to approach the loud, messy table, and pour the greasy dirty man another glass of whatever alcohol you had in hand. it didn't matter anymore, as long as it filled his stomach.

"that's a good girl," he roars with laughter, heavy hand landing on your bottom and making you jolt.

your eyes seek your father, silently asking for help. but no help comes. instead, he points to a different table that demands attention, and leaves the saloon. you stand still, voices muffling around you. your neatly put bun is now falling apart, strands loose on your face and sticking due to sweat, your clothes are heavy on you, and your hands will soon start shaking if you don't take a break from all the work. from early mornings, to even earlier ones the next day, you are destined to be a servant on your own father's property. you wonder if this will last forever. pouring alcohol, dodging flying chairs and tables, taking the harassment so you can survive for another month.

if this really is your future, then what is the point of living? will he marry you off to one of these men? or will he keep you as his servant until the end of his days? you remember the day everything changed for you. you had just come back from the city, finishing the school day. barely a teen, hand in hand with your best friends. your father sat you in the empty saloon, putting his hands on your shoulders.

"you're quitting school."

just a month after you buried your mother, he told you that. there was nobody to help him, he had to fire his staff, and laid his trust into you. the business was crazy that week. who wouldn't want to come and see the owner's little daughter serving alcohol? those men congratulated your father on your birth, watched you play on the street, went to your mother's funeral and wailed with you, came to the saloon to see you struggle with bottles and glasses, only later to have their filthy hands all over you as soon as you turned eighteen. it doesn't stop, no matter how many times you ask. the pleading only makes them do it more, those sick bastards. and each one of them have a wife waiting at home, and a child comforting her.

"hey, bitch, over here!"

monday was a peaceful day. no work, not at the saloon at least. but a basket full of dirty old clothes awaits by the door, waiting to be washed. it is a cold autumn morning, the sun very low in the sky and not warming at all. you drag your feet across the field, hands red from the weight of the basket and the frost. your dress catches onto various branches and bushes, but you do not look back. you need to be done before noon, so you can make lunch for your father.

reaching the river, you drop the basket on the dying grass. a few flowers are still scattered here and there, fighting their way through the cold morning dew. as you scrub your father's shirt on the washboard, you notice just how old those clothes have gotten. you both need new ones, you cannot be walking around looking like the poorest people in town, while owning a saloon. but your father sees no value in those things. talking to him is like talking to a wall that might hit you if you say something it doesn't like. so you keep your mouth shut.

the used, thin washboard suddenly snaps under your hands, a piece of wood jamming into your skin and making you yelp. your skin being almost frozen from being in cold water, and then getting pierced, makes you finally break down. you hug your knees to your chest, and bury your head into the muddy dress. you're cold, in pain, and you miss your mother. your friends. the life you had, and the life you were supposed to have.

sometimes, you selfishly blamed your mother for dying. if she was still here, you could've had a life just like your friends. finding a job in the big city, a man too, a decent one. not this.

you hide your hands in the ruffles of your worn out dress, seeking warmth. you cannot go back home without washing the rest of the clothes, and the sun is rising faster than you want it to. noon will come by soon, and you will have two tasks unfinished. your father won't be pleased.

a distant neigh and galloping have your attention, your head curiously turning to see who it could be. your heart almost sinks when you see the speed the horses are headed at towards you, but with legs and bum frozen on the ground, you cannot move. all you can do is close your eyes in defeat, hoping for the best.

the gallop stops, now switching to a trot. you open your eyes, and see two shiny horses in front of you. the two men riding them dismount, one of them standing next to his horse and taking the leash from the other one. the taller man adjusts his hat, gaze fixed on the floor, and fastens his holster. you gulp, seeing the shiny revolver resting on his hip. then, he raises his head to finally look at you. you almost forget the potential danger of the situation once you look at his brown eyes. he is tall. very tall. and absolutely gorgeous. you look away, suddenly aware of how you look. heavens, what a perfect timing.

"oh, it's just a doe." he says, voice soft and sweet. he tilts his head, trying to get you to look at him. when you don't, he takes a step closer to you, careful not to scare you away. "came for a morning refreshment?"

you don't respond. instead, you look at the man behind him. he stands still, leashes in his hands. his clothes are a bit more rugged than the ones on the man in front of you, but it fits his image very well. then, your eyes betray you end lay on the man in front of you again. he wears a brown leather jacket with fringes, dark blue jeans, and matching brown boots. his brown hat sits perfectly on his head, giving him a mysterious look. he notices you staring, and only chuckles softly. he reaches into his saddlebag, retrieving something wrapped in a white cloth.

"hungry?"

this time, your stomach is the one that betrays you. it decides to grumble as soon as you shake your head no, making the man chuckle again.

"go on, you can have it. you look like you need it."

he holds it out for you to take, closing the distance further. you step back, remembering your father's words.

"no speaking to other men outside of the saloon. if i see you do that, i will personally declare you a whore. nobody will want to marry you, and you'll be alone for the rest of your life."

charming. the man doesn't give up, as he steps further towards you. you step back again, hunger, fear and curiosity fighting inside of you and making you sick to your stomach.

"it's alright. it's just food, i don't mean you any harm."

but he doesn't know what words ring inside your head. taking another step back, your heart almost stops once again. you have stepped into the shallow river, your body losing balance following. the handsome cowboy drops the item on the floor, and firmly grabs your waist and pulls you back to stand on the grass. you instinctively grab onto his shoulders for support, and he pulls your body into his. you breathe out when your chest collides with his, overwhelmed by the situation.

"clumsy girl," he teases.

you can't make yourself move, not only because you don't want to, but because his grip is firm on your waist. he safely moves you away from the water and removes one hand from your body, only to move the loose strands of hair from your face.

"wyatt," he calls.

the other man steps towards the two of you, not uttering a word.

"you go on. i'll catch up with you."

without protest, he gets on his horse, nods towards his companion, then gallops away. you are left alone with the ridiculously handsome cowboy, now feeling a bit warmer than a few moments ago. the man finally lets go of you, picking up the cloth from the ground. a distant thunder surprises you, and you look over at the scattered clothes. the black clouds over the mountains are covering the blue sky quite fast, and it just seems at this moment that everything is working against you.

you hurriedly collect the remaining dirty clothes, crouching down and brushing it against the half of the washboard as best as you can. your hand is in pain, still dripping red, but your father's consequences are more painful. you'd rather have a hundred more splinters ripping your skin than your father slapping you across the face like he is used to.

the man lets you finish, turning his attention to the horse. in the corner of your eye, you see him caressing the horse's mane. the animal leans into his hand, enjoying the comfort of his warm and caring touch. he looks so tough, yet his actions are a complete opposite.

"if you're done staring, you can join me."

caught red handed, and red cheeked, you turn around to see him sat under the nearby tree, opening the white cloth. he sets it on the ground near him, and folds his arms across his chest. you pick up the now clean clothes, the broken washboard forgotten and floating somewhere further down the field. you sit next to him, the food serving as an imaginary border. he takes his hat off, putting it over his face and rests his head against the tree.

"if you're embarrassed to eat in front of me. now i won't look. eat. please."

and you do. you take a bite of the biscuit, enjoying it like it's your first one ever. you take the chance now that he doesn't see anything to properly look around. his horse is gorgeous, white with brown legs and head. you then look at its owner, still chewing on the biscuit. the more you look at him, the more your stomach feels all fuzzy. is this what it feels like to be attracted to a man? are you finally experiencing a crush?

you should really get home.

thunder grumbles again, causing the horse to become restless.

"shh, you're good." the cowboy says soothingly, not moving from his spot. and the horse listens.

it soothes you too, because you lean against the tree like him, and silently eat. your breathing matches his, and for a moment, you think that he has fallen asleep. until you start feeling drops of rain on your head. you don't say anything. you don't really need to, because the man interrupts his short break by standing up and putting his hand out for you to take. you take it, your hand melting into his as he helps you up. his touch is secure, and gentle. nobody has ever held you this way, and you are afraid you might get used to it. he leads you to his horse, throwing his spare jacket your way.

"i'll take you home."

"no!"

the cowboy scrunches his eyebrows, and abruptly turns towards you. his hand doesn't leave yours, no matter how hard you pull. "she speaks." he says, as if he made an important discovery.

you shake your head frantically, repeating yourself. "no, you can't."

"why?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"because."

"that's not a valid answer, sunshine."

if your stomach wasn't turning from the difficult situation you have found yourself in, it would turn from the simple nickname coming from his mouth. you aren't quite sure whether you're feeling nervous because of your father, or because of the handsome stranger. you remember that he is just a stranger, no matter in how much awe he has you. if you get on his horse, he could take you anywhere. but if you don't get on his horse, he could simply tie you up and take you with him anyway.

fuck.

"i like to walk." you blurt out, grabbing the basket of clothes and holding it in front of you, as if shielding yourself from him.

"lies."

"please, just leave me alone. thank you for the food, and for, well, not letting me fall into the water, but-"

"does he beat you every day?"

he says it with a tone so serious it has your blood going cold in your veins. his gaze becomes stone cold, dark, and it pierces right through you. seeing your distressed face, he steps towards you again, moving your hair away from your neck. the bruise you thought you so cleverly hid now uncovered in front of him. funny how a potentially dangerous stranger shows more interest in it than the town.

"or only when you do something wrong?"

"i don't see how that's any of your business."

"it isn't. however, if you want it to stop, you might have to make it my business."

you wish for nothing more than for it to stop. but exactly how does this man plan to make it his business? talk to your father? teach him a lesson? or the worst?

"i'll tell you what. i'll bring you just to the hill so nobody sees us, and you think about what i said until then."

you nod, defeated. you really need to get home as quick as possible and get started on the lunch. the cowboy helps you up on the horse, then climbs behind you. this is the closest you've ever been to a man, and if you weren't sneakily reading those short romance stories in the back of the discarded newspaper, you would think that you are becoming ill by how hot your cheeks feel. when he grabs the leash, also helping you hold the basket in the process, you take your time to admire his hands. pretty pale fingers, slightly muddy from maybe hours or days of riding. he smells of whiskey, vanilla and a hint of tobacco. you allow yourself a moment of weakness, closing your eyes and inhaling the scent. it doesn't help the way his warm chest and torso are pressed against your back, rubbing against you with each horses gallop.

when you open your eyes, you are disappointed to see the hill. it means that the short little adventure with the mystery cowboy has come to an end, and that you might never see him again. it's all up to you. and you hate that.

he helps you down, then fixes the ruffles of your dress that were slightly turned upwards from riding while you are occupied with the clothes in the basket.

"well?" he finally says, seeing that you have no intention of speaking first.

"i'll be fine." you lie.

you almost miss the way he bites the inside of his cheek from disappointment. almost. he nods, understandingly, and approaches you. for the last time, maybe. he takes your hand in his, thumb rubbing over the place where your splinter is. "take care of that. wouldn't want such pretty hands to be in pain or have a scar."

he kisses the back of it, eyes not once leaving yours. you almost shiver, from the cold and from his touch.

"thank you for your company, dove. we must part ways now, but i do hope i see you again one day. you are too pretty to forget."

he takes his hat off to say his goodbye, then climbs back on his horse. with a sweet smile and a nod, he gallops away. you stand there and watch, heart swelling with sadness. you watch and watch, until he becomes just a small little dot in the distance.

weeks pass, and your life dynamic does not change. you still serve drunk perverts, avoid sexual offers, cook, and freeze yourself by the river. only now, you wake up earlier than usual, and keep looking at your surroundings in hopes of seeing a familiar brown hat. but you never see it. it's been almost two months, and not a single sign from him. maybe for the best. he did look like bad news. very handsome bad news.

you currently sit in a dark corner in the saloon, reading last weeks newspaper for the romance update on the last page. the appearance of the main character morphs into the cowboy in your head. no longer short, blonde haired with blue eyes and bulk figure, but dark haired with a short mullet, with brown eyes and a slender figure. you didn't even catch his name, yet you shamelessly daydream about him.

the doors of the saloon aggressively swing, startling you and breaking your bubble. you turn the newspaper upside down, hiding your little secret. a young man, known as denver, stands at the entrance, face pure horror. your father approaches him, putting his hands on his shoulders to calm him down.

"what's wrong, boy?"

denver barely gets his sentence out, before countless gallops are heard outside, accompanied with various screams. "he's here."

"who is?"

"the stallion."

you have never seen your father scared. and that scared you even more. he took a step back, abandoning the young man. the saloon became a mess, everyone pushing each other on the way to the exit, but suddenly coming to a halt. you stand up, taking your place behind the bar. the people are stepping back, slowly, still facing towards the doors. they separate in two groups, making way for the intruder. and when your eyes land on the intruder, you swear your heart could jump right on the bar in front of you.

your cowboy, your mystery man, the man you prayed you'd see again, stands in your saloon. drenched in blood and dust, sweaty, and with a revolver in his hand. the look on his face when he sees you tells you that you weren't meant to see him in this state. but he doesn't say anything. instead, he approaches the bar, along with his companions. they are all a mess, but not as much as him.

"good day, darling."

your stomach twists again, and you have to fight the urge to smile. you can't smile, not when everyone around you is terrified. you clear your throat, collecting any stray thoughts before speaking. "good day, sir."

"two rooms. and two bottles of whiskey waiting for me tonight." he says, a sweet smile on his lips.

"uh, yes-"

"there are no rooms available for you." your father interrupts, making his way to the bar.

the cowboy raises his eyebrow, then looks at your father. "oh?"

"yes. so i'm afraid you'll have to call it a day here."

the young man chuckles, eyes returning to your face. he throws a roll of money on the counter, then pushes is towards your father with his stained revolver. "don't be afraid, we won't."

you feel caged by his gaze, afraid to even move. why are you here, you wanted to ask. and why do you look like that. his clothes might look different, but the look on his face when he looks at you stays the same. in the corner of your eye, you notice someone trying to exit sneakily. but the cowboy also seems to catch it, because he points his trusted weapon toward the ceiling and-

"argh!" the woman screams, pure fear painted on her face.

"nobody leaves, until i get two fucking rooms and two bottles of whiskey. have i made myself clear?" he slams the revolver on the counter, causing you to jolt and step back. "now, if your pretty little daughter said that i can have them, just why the fuck are you meddling?"

defeated, your father takes the money, then nods your way. "show them."

alone?, you wanted to ask. but your tongue feels swollen, and your jaw heavy. you don't say anything. instead, you look at the fearsome cowboy, then proceed upstairs. the three of them follow, not uttering a word. you reach the rooms, opening the doors for them to see. the cowboy nods towards the room, sending them a signal to go in. when the two finally close the door, the dark haired man wastes no time in softly pinning you against the wall, just between the two doors.

"there, there. are you that scared of me, sunshine?"

you swear your eyes couldn't get any wider, and you hate it. you must look like a freak to him. but if you do, he doesn't show any disgust. he removes your hair from your neck once again, letting it fall down your back. his knuckles caress the now yellow spot on the neck, the bruise slowly healing.

his eyes shift from the bruise to your eyes, his gaze softening. "not excited to see me?"

you gulp, figuring which words to use. you are, and you are not. you don't even know.

"that's okay."

his other hand find its spot on the back of your head, slightly tilting it so that the injured side of the neck is more exposed. you feel his warm breath against your skin, growing hotter and closer. you finally let out a noise, it being a whimper rather than a proper word or sentence. soft lips graze your skin, before his tongue delicately swipes across your bruise. your stomach has never felt fuzzier, and your head is in the clouds. all those butterflies you felt while reading the newspaper have now turned into a volcano, waiting to erupt any second. the cowboy continues giving attention to your now sensitive neck, having you tremble in his arms.

he notices, putting his other hand on your waist and pushing you further into the wall, silently ordering you to stay still. he leans his own body into you, warm sensation enveloping you and causing you to moan into his ear.

realizing your horrible mistake, your hands quickly find their way to his firm chest, in an attempt to push him away. but instead, your fingers grip the fabric of his ruined leather jacket, and your head falls completely in his control. his hand massages your scalp, all while his tongue never leaves you. he switches from tender kisses, to kitten licks, and if he doesn't stop soon, you might just drip all over the floor and his shoes. 

as if he heard you, he delivers one final kiss, before he pulls away. "i'll see you downstairs at dinner. thank you for the room, dove. and for the lunch."

hearing the door slam shut, you can finally breathe normally. you are left to tremble against the wall, your neck and underwear wet, all because of him. you rush to one of the empty rooms, at the end of the hallway. you lock it, then toss yourself on the bed. you waste no time in flipping your dress over, your fingers finding the soft folds between your legs. you gasp, more at the state of it than the feeling. you are soaked, your fingers almost slipping from your folds.

you spend a worrying amount of time trying to please yourself somehow, but the buildup is just growing and growing, not giving any signs of erupting soon. no matter how much you picture your handsome cowboy, just a few doors away.

and you don't even know his name.

"did he touch you?"

"what?!"

"i'm serious. did he do anything to you?"

"father-" since when do you care? "he didn't!"

he continues to follow you while you serve the guests, asking questions and demanding to know the truth. "did he say anything?"

"like?"

"anything."

"he asked for a prostitute and i said i'm available tonight."

smack.

nobody turns, already used to your father's free will. you bite the inside of your now stinging hot  cheek, wishing for nothing more than to hit him with the bottle of gin you had in your hand.

"fucking slut. just like your mother. give me that." he yanks the tray from your hands, causing two glasses to fall and shatter. "pick that up, and go to the stables."

"but it's dinner time-"

"judith will help me. go. now."

not only do you end up not eating yourself, but you don't see the man whose lips you're still feeling on you. maybe that's why your father told you to leave, just so you don't see him. is it possible that he knows today isn't the first time you see the cowboy?

you search for his horse, the one you thought was the prettiest one you've seen. but it's not in the stable.

"it got shot. he had to put her down." slowly getting used to sudden intrusions, you turn around. one of his companions sit on a block of hay.

"oh." is all you manage to say.

"a shame, really. especially because she was a present from his wife."

"what?" you turn around, the bucket of carrots falling from your hands.

"ah, he didn't tell you? why would he. he wouldn't be able to get into your pants if you knew he was married. haven't you noticed something shiny on his finger?"

no, no you haven't. because you were so mesmerized by his face and behavior you didn't question whether he has someone waiting for him at home. besides, a married man wouldn't... touch you the way he did?

"ah, poor thing. you thought he had a thing for you? you don't compare to his wife. he's an outlaw after all, our yunho. his wife is a perfect match for him, almost a female version of him. did you know that the bounty on her head is higher than his?"

you feel like you could throw up. from multiple reasons. you let a married man touch you. hell, you touched yourself to a married man. not just an ordinary man, but an outlaw? what if his wife finds out? is she really that dangerous? will you be next on her victim list? not able to contain the emotions any longer, you run to the corner, bending over the blocks of hay and puking on the floor.

"ah, there, there. i'm quite surprised, that was the calmest reaction yet. other women tend to jump at his throat immediately."

other women? the ground sways under your feet, threatening to crumble and swallow you.

"since you're not in a state to speak, i'll answer all the questions in your head. have a seat, please."

you finally take a good look at the man once you sit down, seeing him stand up in front of you. he's no less handsome than the cowboy, yunho, and he is older. but the somewhat evil smirk on his face is off putting. you hold the now empty bucket in your lap, carrots laying on the ground for the horses to feast on. just in case you feel sick again.

"see, while yunho does love his dear wife, she can be a bit of a handful for him. too... dominant for him, one could say. so he seeks submissiveness in other women, just like you. women who are the opposite to lori, women who are, well, nothing. much like you."

his words shoot at your heart, and you know he is right. it just feels disappointing to hear it out loud. were you really a nothing?

"he sleeps with them and whatever, and kindly robs them while they sleep from exhaustion. the rest of us do the same with others, not to worry. it's rude to exclude, don't you think? you know, you should really pay more attention to that notice board next to your house. my head is the third one from the left, right under the mighty stallion."

"why would you tell me this? what's in it for you?"

"my, you speak! what's in it for me? nothing, if i'm being honest. i just happen to be aware of the treatment your father gives you, and i guess the years are starting to catch up to me. i think i feel pity."

"you're going to ask for something in return, aren't you?"

"clever girl, you are." he crouches in front of you, cupping your cheek and caressing it with his thumb. "give me what you wanted to give yunho."

"i didn't want to-"

"you think i'm dumb? like you? i know that if he had only asked you, you would've jumped in his bed right away. therefore, i tell you, give me what i ask."

"no."

the older man scoffs, then stands up again. his hand remains on your cheek, but his thumb stops caressing it. he removes it, only to bring it back with a slap. losing balance, you fall on the ground. the man doesn't give you any time to process what just happened, grabbing you by your shoulders and throwing you on the pile of hay. you open your mouth, letting out a scream that gets cut off by his lips on your mouth. they feel greasy, reeking of onion and beef, not remotely close to yunho's.

your hands are trapped above your head, his hand holding it in place while his other one struggles with the layers of your dress and apron. you kick, as fast and hard as you can, but you only manage to piss him off. he pulls away, only to spit in your face.

"i bet you wouldn't give yunho a hard time like this. why do all women have to be so difficult? all i want to do is make you feel good, baby."

tears stream down your face, words stuck in your throat. even though nothing is blocking your mouth anymore, you don't speak.

"you know, if you just let me... i'd get rid of your father for good. i could take you with me, i'd make you feel good any time you ask. i could-"

his words are left hanging in the air, and you feel hot liquid splash over your face. the shooting noise catches up to you right after the man's body falls on you, lifeless. you finally scream, lungs hurting from the amount of it. your hands fly to your face, wiping off the liquid and staring at it. red drips down your hands, onto your neck, pure terror filling your body as you realize you have someone's remains all over you. short and fast breaths leave your mouth, chest compressed under his heavy figure. it is not until another figure pulls him off you, and puts his hand over your mouth with hushing noises.

"it's alright, love." you recognize the voice as wyatt's, who then helps you up. "hey, you're fine."

you're not. you do not know who to trust. then again, when you don't trust your own father, why bother?

"let's get you washed."

after splashing your face with cold water and wiping it with his handkerchief, wyatt helps you to the back entrance of the saloon, then goes back to the stables. probably to finish the business.

you find yourself laying in the guest bed again, only this time, the sheets aren't wet from arousal, but from tears. you spend at least two hours, eyes fixed on the wooden ceiling . you feel dirty, still feeling his dirty hands all over you. your fingers hesitantly touch your face, afraid that you'll stain them red again. your dress and apron still have droplets of now brown liquid. is this what yunho does? is that why he looked the way he did when he entered the saloon? only the blood on his clothes was still red, still very fresh.

if what the dead man said was true, then you best stay out of the cowboy's way. and just like that, your secret little romance story has turned into a horror one.

the next few days, you don't see yunho much. you see the prostitutes coming down from the top floor, sometimes two or three of them at a time. and you are disgusted. you only see him at breakfast, from afar, and he doesn't show much interest in approaching you. his companions surround him, making the frown on his face bigger every day. were they discussing the strategy of robbing the town? was there something in their way?

for a split second, the man catches your gaze. his eyes soften, and you swear you could see a faint smile on his lips. but you couldn't return it. not when you know the intentions behind it. the soft look is replaced by confusion, which grows even bigger when you only spare him an ice cold glance and move on with your work.

saturday evening, the saloon is full. it is foggy, reeks of cigarettes and alcohol, and is loud. you don't see him or his crew yet, and you are thankful for it. at least one evening of peace. so far.

"it's kind of disappointing, you know? i mean, the sex is amazing. well, you know. you had him yesterday. but it's so sad that the town fears him and wants him dead. wouldn't mind having a piece of that every day. my body is burning, and it's been two days, but i still want more."

"i know, right? what a shame. i wish he'd stick around longer. i don't know about you, but i love that thrill of knowing that he's an outlaw. a wanted man, a gorgeous wanted man, having his way with me? i don't think anything will top that. i mean, did you see his-"

"another drink?" you interrupt, not able to listen anymore.

they giggle among each other before handing you the downed glasses. the saloon quiets down when they hear thuds coming from the stairs. you regret looking up, eyes immediately locking with familiar brown ones. everyone seems to watch their step, ready to get up and free a table if yunho desires it. oh, the amount of power he holds. that isn't supposed to make you feel some type of way. you're supposed to hate him.

but how, when he approaches you so politely, tucking that loose piece of hair that's been bothering you all evening behind your ear. such a simple gesture, which awakes the oceans in you, and probably means nothing to him. just a foreplay, before he finally cages you and fulfills his plans.

slowly, but surely, the music goes on. the people are relaxed once they see yunho doesn't have any thirst for blood tonight.

"gin."

"right away."

the night goes on, with you tending to everyone. and the cowboy follows you with his eyes, so much that the two women at the bar near him start throwing themselves at him just to get his attention.

"say, when are we going to have fun again?"

"yeah, stallion. did you forget us already?"

yunho chuckles, seeing you approach the other side of the bar and mouth their words with a mocking face. you hear him, raising your head enough to look at him. caught red handed, you only awkwardly press your lips in a thin line, continuing to wash the dirty glasses.

"you were never really ones to remember," yunho simply says, bringing the glass to his lips and downing the drink in one go.

he stands up, not sparing the women a glance even after they audibly gasp and start murmuring among each other. he approaches your father, saying something into his ear, then looks at you once again before disappearing upstairs.

"here," a clean washcloth lands on the bar counter by the end of the night.

"what?"

"that cowboy, stallion. he needs a bath."

"so? he can get his own washcloths. why do i need to- oh."

"yeah, oh. we haven't had a single man in a while, so there was no need for edith. now you can go fill her position."

great.

you knock on the door, and use the other hand to fix your hair before you hear him say come in. you do as told, two washcloths secure in your hand as you go deeper in the room. it takes everything in you to stand still not collapse from the sight. his clothes are carelessly dumped on the floor, and he lays still in the wooden basin filled with water. the place is steamy, the fireplace keeping the winter cold away. yunho has his arms hanging from the basin, and his head resting against the edge. the steam has caused his hair to stick to his face, which was shiny. droplets of sweat roll down his neck and into the water, and you think that is the most beautiful sight you've ever seen.

he is so manly, so handsome, and so...

"you gonna stand there and watch while i slowly cook myself into a stew here?"

he is fresh shaven, that is the first thing you notice when you approach him. he lazily opens his eyes, the hot water having relaxed his muscles a bit more than he wanted to. "right, sorry."

you wet one washcloth, then wrap it around a bar of soap. you haven't done this since... ever. yes, you helped wash your sick cousin. but she was sick, and it was different. this? having a whole man naked right in front of you, and you were supposed to touch him?

"go on. i don't bite. not unless you want to."

"i really don't." you murmur, finally pressing the soap against his hot skin.

you exhale, your heart threatening to escape from your chest and jump into the basin with the cowboy. a thin layer of fabric is all that is in the way of you finally feeling him the way you wanted. a fabric that could so easily just slip from your fingers, and you accidentally touch him. and he likes it. and he acts on it. and-

"i see you breaking your back down there. every day. with your father, with all those perverts, with all those jealous women. you deserve better. my offer still stands, you know?"

"i'm fine," you say, just like last time.

"give yourself some time to think."

the next half hour is quiet. peaceful sounds of the wood cracking, water dripping, and yunho's calm breathing. his eyes are locked on you, and you are sweating as much as him, only for different reasons. you fear that he can read your mind, figure out just how naughty the images in your head are getting. but when it gets to a certain point, you are reminded of that night, and you stop. that bastard has stolen your first kiss, and almost stole your first time. if anything, you are thankful that yunho has brought wyatt with him.

"uh... can you sit up straight?"

yunho raises an eyebrow, amused. you clear your throat when he doesn't move, looking around before finally figuring it out.

"could you sit up straight, sir? please?"

"right away, darling."

he does as asked, exposing his back to you. heavens, you want to- you want to- you don't even know what you want. there he sits, a whole meal right in front of you, and all you can do is breathe heavily and act all clumsy. you rub the soap on his back, gently massaging him and feeling every line on his body.

"you missed a spot."

"huh?"

"right here." his warm hand takes your wrist, guiding you towards his chest once again. your hand rests over his beating heart, and if you weren't so foolishly focused on seeing what the missed spot was, you would've seen the look on his face that is yelling to kiss him.

"oh, sorry."

he doesn't get angry. instead, he chuckles fondly. you are so delicate and innocent, it hurts him. too mesmerized by your focused face, he doesn't notice that your hand is traveling to his stomach. he jolts, hand clasping your wrist so tight that it has you whimper. you seem to have found a sensitive spot, not only to the body, but to the mind and heart. the look on his face shifts from a soft to an angry one, and you take it as your cue to step back.

"that's all. you can go." he mutters, looking away from you.

"but-"

"i'll finish up. go."

coming back to the stables, it takes a lot of energy. you first go during the day, with jongho. he knew, wyatt told him. the rest only knew that wyatt and the man got into a fight and wyatt had to shoot him. jongho is understanding, kind, and doesn't seem to share any of the qualities that the dead man had given them. not only is he not interested in doing any harm to the town and its people, but he is rather helpful.

yunho, again, is nowhere to be seen. you hesitate to ask. you don't know what you did wrong, but you pray that the night isn't your last encounter with him.

you stand in front of the stables, memories flooding your brain once you see the hay blocks. they have been rearranged, some destroyed, possibly by jongho or wyatt. the horses are sitting together in the corner, enjoying the warmth of each other during the first snowy day.

"i can't do it." 

"that's alright. i won't force you. i just don't want one sick man to keep haunting you even when he's no longer here."

"i need time."

jongho only smiles reassuringly, patting your shoulder. he's nice, why doesn't your stomach toss and turn when you see him the way it does when you see yunho?

"i still wonder what he told you about yunho. your behaviour towards him isn't at all like he described it."

"what, he spoke to you about me?"

wyatt subtly kicks his knee from the side, ordering him to stop. but jongho feels rather mischievous today, and is growing annoyed of his leader. they were supposed to move on days ago, not behave like tourists.

"you first. i want to know why you despise him. well, except obvious reasons." the young man turns around, pointing at their companions scattered in the main street, keeping people away and scared.

you sit on the bench in front of the stable, running your hands through your already messy hair before finding the right words to say. "is he married?"

the two men look at each other, their faces not giving you much of an answer. they are extremely good at masking their emotions. wyatt sighs, sitting down to your right. "yes. and no."

"what do you mean? yes or no?"

"well, it's complicated." jongho says, sitting to your left.

"it's also not our story to tell," wyatt adds, looking over at jongho with a warning look, "yunho is the one that should be telling you."

you scoff, making both men look at you in confusion. "does it matter? he'll just sleep with me, you all will do your part of the job, and then you'll leave. i should do it as soon as possible, for both of our sakes. i imagine you can't wait to leave this town, just like we can't wait for you to leave."

"listen, if yunho wanted to harm you, he would. we never stay in one place longer than three days. we've been here far longer, as you can see. i don't know the reason yet, but i know he doesn't mean any harm. did he have a change of heart? doubt it. will he continue his crimes? i don't doubt that. is there something holding him here? yes, yes there is. i might have a guess, but-"

"jongho. shut the fuck up."

"i wasn't going to tell her, wyatt, relax."

the two men bicker over you, random words and sentences traveling to your ears and overstimulating your brain. you start feeling dizzy, suddenly overwhelmed by everything. you stand up and march down the street, leaving the two men to feel bad on the bench.

the next time you go to the stables, it is night again. and it is because your father throws a glass at you. it hits the wall right next to you, breaking, shards flying into your skin. you have nowhere to go, yunho's companions basically running the town by now. you don't need one of them to get a hold of you again. you sit on the new pile of hay, far in the corner. sobbing, pulling at your hair, cursing yourself.

how wise would it be to actually take his offer? would you be able to survive on your own? or would every single man in town finally be happy that you're all alone, unprotected, and out of someone's cage.

it hurts to even think about it, and it causes you to sob even more. your chest hurts, and after what seems like hours of crying, you aren't sure if it's from physical or emotional pain.

the animals seem to feel sorry for you, because soon enough two horses find their comfort in the hay right next to you, shielding your figure from the outside world. you can't help but laugh at the bigger one, his head pushing into your lap and demanding attention.

"aren't you cute?"

your fingers gently caress its neck, lulling it to sleep. it seems like the whole stable was affected, because soon enough they all start laying down one by one, calling it an early night and pulling you to sleep with them. funny how you got way more peace and affection from animals than your own family.

"moonshine."

click. click. click.

"come on, girl."

the warm surface you were laying on moves, following the mouth clicking noises and leaving your head to rest on the hay. you're still asleep, not aware that someone else has joined you in the stable. but the other person isn't aware that you're there either.

"there's my good girl," the man pets the black stallion, which lives up to its name and stands under the moonlight, in its full glory and shine. "aren't you beautiful?"

your eyes peel open, the voice slowly waking you up. you hear crunching, and a bucket rattling. when you finally open your eyes, you see the outline of the familiar figure at the entrance. it is not yet morning, that you figure out by the darkness that has swallowed the place. the only light being the gas lantern hanging from the saloons entrance, you don't see much. but you recognize that hat and figure anywhere.

"i wish you could speak, my pretty moonshine. you'd tell me why blood was spilled, and why my pretty girl won't lay her eyes on me anymore."

his...? his pretty girl? you don't move a muscle, hoping to hear more. the mare only points its head towards the bucket, demanding more food. yunho chuckles, reaching for another apple.

"do you think i scared her away? i made sure she knows i don't mean any harm to her. did someone fill her pretty head with something?"

the mare lets out a noise, as if wanting to confirm. yunho exhales, then sets the bucket aside. he goes further into the stable, walking just past you and grabs the saddle from the corner. going back, his boot gets caught in your dress, and causes him to halt. you shut your eyes, pretending to still sleep.

"heavens." he exhales.

you feel him get closer to you, and almost betray yourself when you feel his knuckles caress your face.

"darling?"

his voice is usually low and pleasant, but hearing him whisper is just something else. why does he have to be so perfect, yet so dangerous?

you stretch, pretending to not notice him yet. finally opening your eyes, you fake a gasp. you lean back into the hay, trying to keep a distance from him. he crouches in front of you, fixing his hat. you can't get over how well it suits him.

"had a good nap?"

"well, yes. had." you mumble, rubbing your eyes.

"that's no place to sleep, dove."

"it's the only place that gives me comfort right now."

he nods, understandingly. he offers you his hand to take, and you only look at him, puzzled.

"i'll take you to a place that will give you more comfort."

"i'm not sure-"

"that wasn't a question." the tone is serious, but the wink he gives you after it relaxes you.

the cowboy stands up, making his way to his mare. you stand up, dusting off your dress and following him. he puts the saddle on the horse, securing it, then offers you his hand again. this time you take it, not yet sure what he had in mind.

"go on, climb her."

"uh... she's quite... bigger than the last one. or any other one i rode on."

"yeah, moonshine is quite something. she's gentle though, nothing to worry about. go on, don't be shy."

with a bit of struggle, and a little push from yunho, you finally sit comfortably on the tall mare. she indeed shines under the moon, black fur reflecting beautifully in the dark night. yunho climbs behind you, taking the leash in his hands and guiding the mare down the street.

"is she fast?"

"she can be. want to see?"

"i don't know. i might scream."

he chuckles. he maintains the pace, gracefully trotting down the quiet sleepy town. you see some of his companions keeping watch, each nodding their heads your way as you pass them. your gaze falls on his hands, searching for the shiny item that was mentioned that night. but you don't see it. was it really a lie? or did yunho somehow know, and took it off? is the wife even real?

"hold on tight." he whispers into your ear, hot breath brushing your neck and cheek.

you grab onto his thighs, instinctively, right before you pass the last house and yunho whips the leash against the mare. it neighs, puts its two front legs up in the air and almost throws you on the grown. you gasp, but manage to collect yourself once the animal returns to its position and starts galloping. it feels like you're flying, and you're enjoying it more than you're scared of it. your hair flies into his face probably, but he doesn't say anything.

you pass hills, past the river where you first saw the man, and into the mountains. you don't remember the last time you went this far outside of town. not only because you weren't allowed, but you had no time or way. it's not as if you had a horse of your own.

his thighs are firm under your hands, nothing but pure muscle. and it suddenly drives you crazy, the way you feel his torso pressed against your back, arms holding the leash and keeping you from falling off along the way, his breath against your ear.

"you alright?"

"yes!"

"how do you feel? scared?"

"this is so much fun! it's scary and fun!"

his laugh is loud over the wind, chest vibrating behind you. the mare slows its pace when arriving on the steep mountain trails, carefully navigating to the top. once there, it comes to a halt. it is not very high, but high enough too overlook the fields, the river, and the distant town. yunho dismounts, then helps you down.

"cold?" he asks, noticing your trembling frame.

"a bit."

this time, he doesn't throw the spare jacket at you like the first time you met. he takes off his own, helping you put it on. it's warm, smells like him, and it's making you so dizzy you might just fall off the cliff. taking a good look at him, you decide that even if he is dangerous, his handsomeness makes up for it. he wears a brown waistcoat, accentuating his thin waist and broad shoulders. heavens, he is so dashing.

you stand still, waiting for his next plan. he pulls a blanket out of the saddlebag, along with the familiar white cloth, and sets it on the ground. the mare continues it's path further up, taking a spot near a boulder, as if used to the situation already. which brings you back to the questions in your head; did he bring other women here?

"sit down, peach. make yourself comfortable."

and you do, right next to him. you both sit still for a few moments, looking at the faint light in the distance. yunho then fidgets with something in the pocket of his jeans, before holding it out for you to take. in his open palm lays a ring, the very ring you've heard about and had your head spinning for days.

"hmph," he laughs through his nose, "figured that was the issue."

"there is no issue. you have a wife. end of story."

"take it."

"no."

"take it."

"i don't want to."

yunho sighs, then closes his hand again. he sits still for a few moments, as if thinking. and then-

"why would you do that?!"

you stand up, watching the shiny piece of jewelry fall from the cliff.

"if you listened and took it, you would've seen how worthless it is."

"i don't need your wedding ring, yunho."

his eyebrows are knit together, and you suddenly realize your mistake.

"you know my name."

"yeah."

"how?"

and you tell him. every detail of it, including the wife story. he listens carefully, face not giving any emotion. typical. by the time you finish, you are laying down and looking up at the shiny sky, tears streaming down your face. yunho is propped up on his elbow, laying on the side and listening. his fingers catch a fresh tear, brushing your cheek in the process. you are left completely baffled when he puts the very same fingers on his lips, tongue peeking out to lick the salty liquid.

"you poor thing." he coos, bringing his hand back to you. he removes the hair from your neck, then smiles with satisfaction once he sees your healed skin. "that's good. seems my medical techniques worked."

you scoff, putting your hair back over your neck with embarrassment. "so, uh... your wife?"

"a psycho."

"oh."

"she stabbed me. almost bled out to death if it weren't for jongho."

he says it so casually, as if it isn't a big deal. "you're still married though, right? that's why you had the ring."

"not quite. we weren't really married. it was just play pretend, so she could have half of everything i was bringing back. once i stopped, the bitch jumped me with a knife. barely made it out alive."

"then... why did you keep it?"

"to keep women away from me. well, those i didn't want."

"but you sleep with them. you use them anyway."

he frowns at the accusation. "no, no i don't. i only rob. i sleep only with prostitues, sometimes. what my companions do is none of my business. we have a deal, and i do not ask about what they do. just like they don't ask about me or what i do."

so, not all of it is true. but then again, can you really trust him?

"i'm so sorry, dove. if i knew that sick bastard would go behind my back, even after threatening them not to touch you-"

"it's fine. nothing happened." you try, seeing him get angrier with every second he spends imagining the situation you were in.

"he stole your first kiss."

"well, yes. but, what's done is done. it was barely a kiss, really. more like mouth to mouth breathing. it was like inhaling a whole onion." you say with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. but yunho doesn't laugh. instead, he unbuttons his waistcoat, then his shirt.

"what- what are you doing?"

"well, since you showed me your bruises, and told me your story, it would only be fair that i showed you mine."

you remember the night you washed him, when you went to touch his stomach and he told you to leave. kneeling in front of him, you finally get to see why. a scar decorates his lower torso, just above the jeans and the v-line. you breathe in, ready to do something you would only in your dreams.

you lean in, hands trembling against the blanket and fingers scrunching it from the nervous state you're in. yunho shivers, feeling your lips press against his scar. you don't stop there, inspired by his own actions. you allow your tongue to graze it, and when you get another gasp from him, you take it as a sign to keep going. his hand finds its place under your chin, raising your head to that you can look at him. and he snaps.

he grabs you by your waist, pulling you up so that you sit in his lap. you don't fight back, you're enjoying it. over the layers of the dress, you feel something poking you, and it makes your cheeks heat up.

"stop looking at me like that." he whispers, lips inches away from yours.

"like what?"

"with those big eyes. like you want me to ravish you right here."

"maybe i do."

"you're saying risky things, sugar."

seeing that he doesn't intend on making the first move, you do. you close the distance, pressing your lips against his. you don't know what you're doing, but try your best. luckily, he gives in, humming into your lips and kissing you properly. his hands on your waist scrunch the fabric of your dress as he contains himself from just pushing you below him and having you his way. he needs to take it slow. you're not like others.

"relax your jaw." he mumbles, and when you do, he allows his tongue to touch your lips, as if asking for permission to enter. and you grant it, parting your lips and unsurely letting your tongue join his.

he massages your muscle with his own skilled one, rubbing it just right and making your thighs rub and seek pleasure. he kisses you slow, and deep, each stroke of his tongue more passionate than the previous one. he feels you get annoyed by something, and is forced to stop.

"what is it?"

"as much as i love your hat, it's in the way."

the man chuckles below you, immediately removing the hat and putting it on your head. "there."

"how do i look?" you adjust it, getting used to the new item.

"like a feast."

with a swift move, yunho pulls your body closer to his face, so that it is between your legs. his hands shuffle through the layers of fabric, finally finding the undergarment and pushing it aside. "what are you doing? i'm going to squish you!"

"sit."

"what?!"

"sit."

you hover above him, not yet listening. this time, he is the one to get annoyed, and puts his hands on your bottom. he slams you against his face, tongue immediately licking a stripe up your already slick folds. you gasp, hand flying to his shoulders for support.

"rock your hips, sunshine. make yourself feel good."

you do as told, rocking your hips back and forth on his tongue, soft moans and gasps leaving your mouth. you tremble in his hands, the newfound pleasure too much for you to handle. "i can't- yunho, it's too much-"

the man only sends you a mischievous look, before taking the situation into his own hands. his plush lips close around your clit, sucking it, while the tip of his tongue teases the tip of your clit. you let out a long and loud moan, body shuddering from the surge of intense pleasure.

"fuuuck-" you whine, hips hopelessly grinding against his tongue.

deciding it's enough, yunho flips you underneath him with a swift motion. "do you want to do this?"

"yes, please."

"then, i'll have to prepare you. since you asked so nicely."

he flips your dress over, exposing your wet bottom to the cool air. you shiver again, his jacket not helping much with the cold.

"this is going to hurt a little. i promise i'll be gentle."

you nod, then go back to abusing the poor blanket underneath you. you bite into it, feeling his long digits intrude your tight walls. it is unpleasant, but not that painful.

"that's a good girl. you're so wet for me, look how easily you're taking me."

he starts pumping in and out, squelching noises having you completely lose your mind and almost drool on the blanket. his fingers are long, very long. how will you survive his-?

"this good, darling?"

"yes."

"yes, what?"

"yes, sir." you moan out, hips moving along with his hand in hopes of more pleasure.

he doesn't speed up. being soft and slow seems to be his way of doing it, and it is a pace you are enjoying very much. it's not fast, like you do it. you do it to get rid of it. he does it for actual pleasure. when he removes his fingers, you can't help but whine at the loss of contact. he turns you around so that you lay on your back, facing him. his hair is a mess, much like yours, and he smiles lazily at you.

"my needy girl." he coos, pressing a kiss to your lips. "can i claim you, sweet thing?"

"what?"

"do you wish to be mine?"

do you? or is it just the horny speaking instead of you? either way, you might end up regretting. so you simply say:

"yes, sir."

"say my name, darling." he pulls himself out of his jeans, the tip of his cock running circles on your sensitive clit.

"yunho."

he hums, slipping his tip past your folds. "again."

"yunho," you gasp, feeling him inch by inch splitting you in half.

"again."

"yunho-"

"more."

"yunho," thrust, "yunho," thrust, "yunho!"

he gets lost in the feeling of your tight warm walls, hips snapping deep inside of you and driving you crazy. you get wetter by the second, even more when you see him so dizzy. it's nice to know that you have him in a chokehold as much as he has you.

"does it hurt?"

"no," you reply.

"that's because you're so perfectly made for me. look at you, you fit in the palm of my hand."

that's not true, obviously. but the way he says it makes you really feel that you could fit, and that you could stay protected there. his hips collide with yours, and your eyes roll back.

"such a pretty pussy," he growls, pace getting sloppier and slower. "wish i could do this all night long."

"me too," you moan.

his hands rip your dress apart, exposing your chest. his lips waste no time in attaching to your skin, leaving bite marks all over it, until reaching the tense nipples. he takes one in his mouth, tongue swirling around it, while his other hand plays with the other. your fingers find comfort in pulling his hair, subconsciously pushing his head into you further.

"my sweet peach," he coos, cock sliding in and out so easily, "my pretty girl."

"so sweet"

"even your moans are so beautiful"

"use me for your pleasure, darling"

you find yourself moving your hips along with his, only in a faster pace. you need to finally feel that orgasm. you feel something build up in the bottom of your stomach, and you're not sure what to do.

"yunho..."

"yes, my love?"

"i don't know how to- how to orgasm."

"you'll feel it. don't think about it. just relax, and let your body do it. let me do it."

you feel the buildup, then you lose it. again, and again, until you whine about it. yunho turns you around again, so that you are sitting on his lap. you feel him deep in your stomach, almost pulsating.

"let's try this."

he helps you up and down, rolls your hips, until he finds what works for you. you hover above him, hopelessly biting into his neck to contain your inappropriate noises. his hips snap into yours with a fast pace, finally hitting the spot you didn't know existed. the buildup starts again, this time not stopping. and when pleasure washes you over, you can't help but pull at yunho's hair mercilessly, moaning into his ear and letting yourself completely go. he helps you ride it out, waves of intense pleasure washing over you as yunho helps himself get closer.

"fuck, darling." he growls, pulling out of you.

"wait, what about you?"

"i'll just- i don't know."

his hand wraps around his cock, which is ready to unleash any moment. the man almost audibly gasps when he sees you kneel in front of him, innocently opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. just how did you know?

"are you sure?"

"positive."

"absolutely sure?"

"yunho?"

"yes?"

"please cum in my mouth."

and it's all it takes. yunho jerks himself on your tongue, or at least tries to. some of it ends up on your face, but you so carefully try to collect every single drop he gives you. you don't miss the way his head falls back, eyes rolling and low moans escaping his pretty lips. coming down from his high with one last pump and moan, he finally looks at you. the texture on your tongue is not the most pleasant one, but you decide to impress him further, and swallow it. he scoffs in disbelief, running a hand through his hair.

"you are just perfect, aren't you?"

in the morning, the ride back is much more comfortable. you still wear his hat, proudly, and his jacket. he can't help but kiss your shoulder as you ride, having it difficult enough to keep his hands off you. if only he could hold you in his pocket all day.

upon entering the town, you notice the people, your people, standing and waiting. would now be the right time to tell yunho you accept his offer?

he helps you dismount, before taking the revolver in his hand.

"what's this? a rebellion?" he says, mockingly.

"does she know?" your father asks, pointing at you.

you scrunch your eyebrows, looking between the two men. something shines in your fathers hand, and you realize he also holds a revolver.

"there is nothing to know." yunho replies, approaching him and standing in front of you. "you keep your mouth shut."

"oh, but there is. see, my little daughter, if you want to whore around, you could've picked anyone from the town. not your own mother's killer."

blood runs cold in your veins. the sun suddenly doesn't shine as bright anymore, and the man in front of you morphs into someone else. he turns around towards you, shaking his head. "no..."

"he shot her."

"you shot my father!"

"he deserved it!"

"no, the fuck he didn't!"

you step back, tears burning your eyes. did you really give yourself to the man who took your mother away from you? who also took your father away from you?

"listen-" yunho tries, hands reaching to touch you.

"don't touch me."

"he came here to finish the business. but he didn't count that he would fall for the daughter. what a clash of interests."

he doesn't deny it. and it only infuriates you more. so he did have an evil plan after all.

"you came for me, didn't you?" your father presses further, raising his revolver.

"no, i didn't." yunho replies, face changing from a guilty and sorry one to a neutral. "i came for her."

he grabs you by your shoulders, putting his hand over your mouth. you toss, scream, and whatnot, but what are you compared to his grip?

"i assume you won't care much if i took her away. but it would mean much to me. tit for tat."

"you are to never step foot into this town again. not you, not your companions."

yunho nods. and your father puts his weapon away. and it crashes your heart. you know you don't mean much to him, but to give you to an outlaw so easily?

"i came for what i wanted, not to worry. you won't see me ever again."

and just like that, you find yourself tied up and tossed over the black mare.

why did you ever wish for a life other than the one you had?

"you're all mine now, sunshine."

feedback greatly appreciated! <3

[pretty-little-mind33]

Sergei Kravinoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sergei's been hiding something from you.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: virgin!Sergei, kinda ooc, animal characteristics, going into heat (kinda?), penetrative sex, un-protective sex, biting, rough sex, praising, passionate, oral sex (m receiving), aftercare <3

SERGEI KRAVINOFF MASTERLIST

Solitude is the only constant Sergei knows. 

He doesn't mind. He likes the peace and quiet. He likes not having to care for anyone, not having to keep up unnecessary appearances and most of all, he likes only having to depend on himself. He didn't truly know how lonely he was until he met you.

You were a creature he didn't understand, a creature he didn't know how to tame but nevertheless, he was unable to shake you.

You'd taken a liking to him, like a kitten that somehow managed to nuzzle herself close to a lion, and no matter how much Sergei warned you, you did not listen to him.

You clung on until he had no choice but to let you in. 

And still, even now, Sergei keeps parts of himself secret from you. He's concerned that if you know the whole truth, you'll leave him.

These secrets are the reason he's currently seriously regretting the decision to bring you out here, into his home, his space.

He stares at himself in the mirror: brown curls, dampened to his forehead as he splashes water onto his warm cheeks. His hands tighten around the sink, your voice calling him from the living room, and his cock strains hard against his jeans. He grunts, shaking his head as he looks at the drain. He focuses on the drops of water falling from the faucet, wishing he could will this away. 

He's never dealt with this around another person, never mind a woman—a woman he loves. 

What if he hurts you? 

He hears a knock on the bathroom door and then your voice again— "Are you okay in there? I heard the toilet flush minutes ago—" Sergei can see your smile based on the tone and he groans, standing straighter and faking a rather unconvincing smile in the mirror. 

Good enough.

"Hey," he says, voice hoarse as he opens the door and his arm rests over your head against the doorway. His gaze flickers to how your jean-shorts hug your ass and how your damp hair from the swim you'd taken in the lake nearby had your hair sticking to your cheeks. Sergei's jaw tightens as he inhales. He looks out the windows and sees the sun shining in. 

"What's wrong?" you ask, lifting your hand to his cheek but he pulls away just as your fingers skim his skin. You frown. "You're burning up."

"Nothing," he grunts and pushes you to the side, gently, as he walks further into the living room. His chest aches. He knows he's being a complete dick, but he has to somehow distract himself from all these feelings—just like he always does. He sits against the couch, staring at the wall.

You walk further, bare feet on the fur rug as you sit beside him on the floor. 

"Please, you can talk to me," you try again, leaning forward on your hands. Sergei turns his head, catching a glimpse of how the thin strap from your dress falls over your shoulder, giving him a view of the curve of your breasts and an animal instinct takes over. He growls and stands up, pinching his nose. 

This is agonizing.

You're still on the floor, looking up at him as you pull up the straps. You swallow, your voice a little shaky, "Listen, I- I know you aren't very attracted to me, but I am trying—" 

"Excuse me?" Sergei snaps, narrowing his blue eyes.

It seems like you've said something wrong and you look confused. Sergei crouches in front of you, knees bent to the side, his hand grasping your chin. He is holding you firmly, his breathing heavy as he looks at you darkly. He sees no sign you're lying and his gaze simply hardens. "Is that what you think, little one? You think I do not find you attractive?"

You nod, your movements limited by his hand and he squeezes your cheeks. "You never touch me," you whisper. 

Sergei's gaze drops and his breath is taken from him. That's what he's been making you think? Yes, he's not touched you, but that is because of his own fears. And it kills him every time he denies you. 

He groans and looks away, his skin prickles from the contact and he stands. He walks to the window panels, staring outside as he holds his breath so he doesn't lose his mind. "I- I do not touch you because I am afraid," he pauses, feeling vulnerable and it is a horrible feeling. "I am afraid I would hurt you—when I am like this. Afraid I can't please you—"

You stand as well, not approaching him, but you're filled with confusion as you sit on the couch, your body pressed to the front as you wrap your arms around the cushion, watching him. Your chin rests on your arm. "You can talk to me, Sergei. I'm not a stranger. I'm your girlfriend. You know how to please me," you whisper. 

Sergei's jaw tightens. "No, you don't understand," he says as he turns around again and walks back to you. He holds out his hand and strokes your hair, watching as you lean into his touch. His skin feels unbearably hot as his dick tightens even more in his jeans. He growls and you look up at him, your eyes wide.

"I am an animal," he whispers, his voice hoarse.

"Sergei,"

"I am. I- I can feel myself losing control and what's worse is—I have never—"

You watch him and something flickers in his gaze. Something you don't recognize. Sergei has never looked unsure—much less nervous—and it worries you. You lift your chin as if inviting him to touch you further and smile. "You have never what, love?" you ask sweetly, not rushing him.

His hands clench around your hair, knuckles straining, and he turns away when he admits "I have never been with a woman." It comes out as a whisper and his voice cracks. He pauses and continues, "I have always been alone, and it was for the better because something happened to me— I become– it's something unnatural—I cannot explain it," he finishes. 

You take in his words; looking Sergei up and down. Never been with a woman? You almost laugh. Not because you're making fun of him, but because someone who looks like him is the last person you'd expect to be a virgin. 

It's quite cute. 

You smile, standing and rounding the corner behind the couch. Sergei tenses when you take his cheeks in your hand, forcing him to look at you. Your thumb caresses his cheekbone, skimming the curls that rest there. His eyes are dark, his pupils dilated, and he's clearly holding back.

"Try to explain it?" you prompt, smiling reassuringly again. 

Sergei crumbles beneath your gentle touch. 

"It is like a pull. An invisible force, whispering in my ear. It tells me to do things. Do things to you. And the ache is the worst part, it is unbearable," he whispers and his gaze drifts to his jeans. You look as well and your lips curl. 

"Love, you are aroused—it is normal—"

"No," Sergei growls, cheeks blushing crimson as he pushes away from you again. "You don't understand. It is not that, I am not stupid. It is something more. Something primal. And it can't happen around you, so I must keep my distance."

You turn to him again, processing his words. "It's happening now?"

He nods, his jaw incredibly tight. 

You walk over, gently holding his arm as you walk in front of him again. Something primal. The words cause heat in your stomach. You look into his deep blue eyes, sensing his care for you and you run your hand up his chest. "I want you to let go," you whisper. Sergei's eyebrows furrow, "I want you. All of you. No matter what that means." 

Your boyfriend looks away, his eyes glowing golden. 

"You don't know what you're asking of me," he says, voice harsh. You aren't deterred. You cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you again and you aren't sure why his eyes aren't the normal blue you love, but you want to understand. 

"Let me in," you whisper and lean up to kiss him, your soft lips touching his. 

Sergei doesn't return the kiss for a moment until you feel strong, uncontrolled, arms circle around your waist and pull you into him. He takes your bottom lip in between his teeth, kissing you fiercely and passionately. 

You're just adjusting to the kids when he hoists you in his arms, bringing you to sit on his lap on the couch. You straddle his spread thighs as his hand caresses your body like a starved man.

"I- I don't really know what I am doing, " he pauses and kisses the column of your throat. "But I want you. I need you."

You moan, arching your back and baring your throat to him some more. "Follow your instincts," you whisper. 

Sergei ruts his hips into yours, grinding you down on him. His nails dig into your hips, bunching up the thin fabric of your dress. He bears his teeth, letting out an animalistic growl as he bites down on the sensitive flesh of your neck, ripping your dress and manhandling your body onto the couch. 

"Sergei!" you gasp, hair falling in your eyes as the sting from his bite remains present. He pulls at the torn fabric, uncovering you to him. You tremble, slightly afraid at how rough he is. Sergei has been so gentle with you, so cautious. This seems like a completely different side of him—one he hasn't allowed you to see.

He licks up the small wounds he created and begins to kiss and nibble on the sensitive skin of your neck. You whimper out his name again.

"Hush," he groans, unzipping his jeans and undressing himself. You watch, taking him in. Your pussy clenches as your mind wanders about how you're supposed to take him. 

Strong arms cage around you, gripping the armrest of the couch as he hovers over you and between your spread legs. Without thinking, you shimmy out of your panties, looking up at him with shallow breaths.

You hadn't come here with ulterior motives. You had resigned yourself to accepting that Sergei didn't find you worthy to sleep with—because he was kind and caring and generous—but now that you know he didn't find you unattractive, your need for him returns with full force.

He's staring at you, his eyes having returned to their familiar color, and he suddenly doesn't have the same bravado he had moments ago. "What's the matter?" you whisper, putting a hand under the hem of his shirt and pulling it up. You want it off. You want to see him. All of him. 

His chest rises and falls as he uses one hand to remove his shirt. His cheeks are flushed. "I- I don't know—"

You sense his apprehension and understanding. You nod, smiling a little as you sit up and reach in between your bodies to hold his cock. You run your thumb over the tip, feeling the pre-cum, and Sergei shudders with anticipation. He bites his lips so hard it bleeds as he grumbles, "Please, I beg you. This is torture."

"It's okay, here," you coo and touch his arm, gently guiding him to your wet slit. He hesitates, almost as if he's scared to hurt you but you look up at him, catching his gaze as you push down on his cock. You hold in a gasp, adjusting your hips to his size, as you simply keeping your gaze on his. "You can't hurt me," you say, your voice straining.

Sergei groans as his cock sinks into your gummy walls. He feels resistance and his hand clenches around the armrest. "Fuck," he grunts, his hips sliding back and then hitting forwards on instinct. You make a small sound of pleasure and he takes this as an invitation to continue. 

"Does this feel good?" he asks, biting down on the skin of your neck. "Because you're making me feel so good. Better than I dreamt of."

You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck. He's much bigger than your previous boyfriends and somehow, he's lasting longer than your last experience with a virgin. You groan as he hits your cervix, the force a little too hard. 

Breathlessly, you tap his shoulder. "Too– too hard, just a little l-less," you say and he listens. You catch his gaze and he looks embarrassed that he'd hurt you. You pepper kisses as his thrusts fall into a rhythm, spurred on by the way you moan. 

"Ohh, fuck," you groan, clenching around him. "Are you close?"

Sergei shakes his head, cheeks flushed crimson, and sweat beads at his hairline. He's too pent up to finish this early. He needs more. He wants this to never end.

He sees your expression. You must be close. He frowns. Is this hurting you? He doesn't know. You look like you're in pain. He slows down and startles when he hears a low whine from your mouth. You grab his arm. 

"No, no, Sergei, don't slow down," you say desperately.

"You're in pain," he states, his voice calm. 

You shake your head, a little frustrated but you know he means well. He doesn't have experience with this. "No. I need you to go harder. I'm so fucking close. Please! You feel so good—you're so good—"

Sergei's eyes widen but he nods, listening and returning to his earlier pace as he observes every expression you make. You groan eyes squeezing shut, as the sound of skin slapping skin melts into the distance. You finish with a gasp, your body going limp from the pleasure, and he catches your head. He looks a little panicked as he stills his hips. Your thumb strokes away the trail of tears. 

"Are you okay?" 

You blink, smiling at him. You nod slowly, making a small sound when he pulls out of you. You see the pained look he's wearing and your eyebrows furrow. 

"Sergei," you sit up against the armrest and look down at his poor, still aching and red, cock. "You're not finished," you whisper. 

"I hurt you," he grumbles, his voice hoarse, and he goes to pull up his jeans and zip them up. You lean forward and harshly take his wrist, stopping him. He sees your expression and he falters. 

"You did no such thing, now let me take care of you," you say, determined, as you sink to your knees between his legs. You don't listen to his grumbled protest as you pull down his jeans again. Your hands rub up and down his thighs. Your skin is sweaty from your previous orgasm and you're still very much naked. The fur from the rug skims your knees as you stroke his cock. 

"Y/n–"

You lick up his shaft, silencing him. He always thinks he knows better. You take him into your mouth, using your other hand to cup and play with his balls. He's achingly hard and you can tell he's starting to unravel. 

He's not in his head anymore. 

Sergei's head is leaning against the couch, damp curls sticking to his forehead as his abs twitch under your touch. He groans, fisting his hand in your hair on instinct because he needs more. You gag under him, doing your best to take him and be good for him. The praises that fall from his lips are urging you on.

Tears pool in your eyes when Sergei suddenly grunts and finally spills himself into you. 

He releases your hair and you sputter, cum dripping from your lips as you try and swallow as much as you can. You catch your breath, hair a mess, as strong arms lift you onto his lap. He pulls a blanket over your slightly trembling body, your toes curling under his thigh as he shifts and pushes his jeans across the room with his foot. Soft lips press against your temple. "That–That was amazing, принцесса (princess)," he says as he holds you close. 

You lay against his chest, listening to his heart steadying itself. He doesn't seem as on edge as he did an hour ago. He seems calm. You smile and nod.  

"You didn't hurt me," you add, touching his forearm as it holds your waist. "You did good. So very good. Are you sure you've never done that with anyone before?" You laugh lightly, only teasing him as Sergei smirks, nuzzling his beard into your neck as he nips at the sore spots. 

"I am sure," he grumbles. "Only you."

"Well, I'm honored to be your first," you add softly, delicately tracing the scars on his skin as if admiring them.

Sergei hums, nodding, as he shuts his eyes and a deep sense of serenity washes over him. His ache has disappeared quicker than normal—the remedy being something so simple and so unattainable before you happened—and for the first time in forever, he doesn't wish to be alone anymore. 

In fact, the idea seems like torture.

[morganbritton132]

Adding onto Steve's crime spree from this (and this and this)

Eddie has determined that he's not asking the right questions in life.

Is he questioning the man? Yes. Every day.

Is he asking Wayne for help when his van shits the bed on Thursday? No. When his van is still unusable come Saturday, did he ask his friends if he could catch a ride to band practice? No.

Did he ask if he could get a ride home? Also no.

It's raining and Eddie regrets his life choices so hard, he doesn't notice the Porsche 928 until it blows through the crosswalk he was about to step onto. He's hit with a tidal wave of frigid early November street water because, of course, he is.

"Fuck's sake," Eddie swore, pushing his wet hair out of his face. In his perphery, the Porche slams on its breaks and rolls back into the crosswalk beside him, but he barely notices. Talking to the driver, the world, or god, Eddie does not know when he rants, "Thanks! Thanks for that, I really need pnumonia. Thanks for bestowing-"

"Sorry, man," Steve says, an apologetic wince sticking out of the open window of the Porche. "Wanna ride? I can take you where you're going."

Eddie looks at the car, then at Steve, and then back at the car and signs, "...Fine, but only because this car is beautiful and not to expunge your guilt."

"Dude, I don't think a sponge is going to help."

Eddie rolls his eyes but sticks his guitar in the trunk before sliding into the passenger seat. He has to physically stop himself from touching everything. He's never even seen a Porche before, wow.

Steve's in the driver's seat looking like he's dying for Eddie to ask about the car so he can talk about it. Honestly, Eddie wants to ask about the car. He probably should have asked about the car but instead, he shakes the water out of his hair like a dog as payback.

"C'mon, man," Steve complains, wiping the water off his face. "Watch the leather."

Eddie gives him directions and then bites the bullet. He asks the wrong question, "You trade in the Beamer?"

"No way. That's my baby," He says. "I'm just borrowing this lady."

The conversation is actually nice. None of Eddie's friends know anything about cars but Steve seems to know a lot. He can almost forgive the guy for being a jock and the psychological warfare he's bestowed onto Eddie's brain the past week and a half, but then-

“It sounds like - shit," Eddie says, echoing the same sentiment as Steve at the sight of flashing red and blue lights in the rear view. A question he should've been asking all along occurs to him, "Did you steal this car?"

Steve gives him an annoyed look and then rolls down his window, smiling that All-American smile, "Heya, Hop. Didn't think you were working today."

"This car was reported stolen."

Eddie swears, sinking into the leather with the hopes that it eats him. Steve doesn't even hesitate, "Let me guess, Mrs. Woolledge? Crazy she knows what all her neighbors are doing but not that her kid's on dope."

Hopper doesn't say anything and the silence is loud so Steve adds, "It's not stolen. It's my dad's car. I have permission."

"From your dad?" Hopper asks, getting an annoyed nod from Steve. "Same dad that's out of town?"

"Well, Hop. There's this thing called a phone."

"You get that MRI...right? Throw the keys out the window," Hopper says. Eddie's mentally preparing on how he's going to explain this to Wayne when he calls from jail. Steve protests. Hopper demands, "Throw. The keys. Out. The. Window. Now."

Steve seems to realize that he's pushing his luck because he does just that. He even gets out of the car when Hopper tells him to. Hopper tells him to get in his truck and Steve straight up lies, "Hop, I'm taking my friend home. We're working on a school project together. At his house.”

Eddie curses Steve's entire bloodline from start to finish when Hopper lookings directly at him still in the car, "That true?"

Say no. Say you don't know him. Say you know nothing. Say anything but, "Yes."

"What subject?'

"History," Steve says at the same time Eddie says 'Art' and then rolls his eyes, "Art history, yeah?"

Hopper nods like he thinks they're full of shit and then tells them both to get in his truck.

Steve protests but more about leaving the car on the street than anything else while Eddie briefly thinks about the psychic his mom used to know. He wonders if she could curse someone for real. Maybe he can call her from jail.

He's fully ready to see the police station that he fails to realize where Hopper's going until they’re in Forest Hills. He turns and looks at both of them and says, "I'd like to know what grade you get on this project."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Steve says with a salute, pulling Eddie out of the car. Once they're inside, Steve peaks out the blinds like, "Yeah, he'll sit there for a while. He thinks I'm lying. Wanna smoke?"

Eddie is baffled, "No."

"Okay," Steve shrugs and flops down on the couch. He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and adds, "Spare key. We just gotta wait until he's gone and can circle back for your guitar."

The only thing Eddie can think is, “what the fuck” and he doesn’t even know which part he’s talking about.

[bit-b]

About a trending Discord warning:

TL;DR: Discord is NOT making "Find your friends" enabled by default. You're probably not giving Discord your contact information without your knowledge. Their UI choices just suck.

There's a warning post going around by a person I'm not going to name, as I don't want people to dogpile on them. That is NOT the goal of this post, and if you DO harass anyone because of what I write, then you're a garbage person with garbage habits that needs to throw those habits in the garbage.

Rather, my goal with this post is to educate about a Discord feature that's not being represented properly.

-------------------------------------

Supposedly in the new mobile update, Discord added this ""NEW"" feature called "Find your friends", and then they enabled it by default. This feature allows users to use their smartphone contacts to search for their friends on Discord. It also enables others to be able to find you in the exact same way.

Obviously, this would be MASSIVELY dangerous from a privacy perspective.

Imagine if someone had relatives that use Discord. In a scenario like that, those relatives would have an easy way of finding the accounts of family members. And in some home situations, online anonymity from relatives could mean the difference between having an outlet and not having an outlet.

I'm also pretty sure I know some folks with alt accounts (you know who you are). And if Discord was somehow able to cross-reference all your contacts with the Discord accounts you're logged into, that would be DISASTROUSLY EMBARRASSING, to say the least.

So I totally understand how concerning this would be if it turned out to be true.

The thing is, it's not.

The person who made that warning misinterpreted THIS page:

This is the new "Add Friends" page for the Discord mobile app. Obviously, a page to help you add friends. There's a big 'ol window at the bottom showcasing Discord's "Find your friends" feature.

Now, this feature is actually NOT new. It's been around for a long time. But there's a very subtle change that happened with the new update. Take a look at how "Find your friends" used to look:

It starts by giving you a banner at the top of your friends list, telling you that this feature is available. Then when you click on it, it takes you to a page with UI elements that look awfully familiar.

It's pretty clear what happened. In an effort to condense down their friend-finding functions into one menu, Discord took the "Find your friends" setup menu and tossed it in with all the other ways to contact friends.

But by doing this, Discord has made this setup window confusing. It's not immediately obvious if the "Find your friends" feature is ON and running, or OFF and waiting to be activated.

Maybe it would have helped to make the blurple button read something like "Sync contacts" instead of "Find friends". At least then, you could tell at a glance that nothing has been sync'd yet. (Or y'know, maybe just stick to "Grant Permission". That was working just fine before.)

So it seems the OP:

Looked at the "Find your friends" setup menu that Discord hastily slapped into the "Add friends" page

Noticed the checkbox that read "Allow contacts to add me"

Saw that it was already marked

Then assumed that it must be some kind of tucked-away setting that was left ON by default.

To make this abundantly clear, "Find your friends" only works if you opt-in.

That checkmark allows you to tell Discord you are okay with people finding you in this manner. Unchecking it makes it possible to use "Find your friends" without others being able to find you the same way.

It doesn't get set up on your device until you press the big blurple "Find friends" button. Even then, you still have to add your phone number to your account and verify it via a 6-digit code sent via SMS.

After that, you have to give Discord permission to access your contacts via whatever phone OS you use.

You have to be pretty deliberate for any of these functions to start.

I won't say it's impossible to set it up on accident. It's a strange world, and stranger things have happened. If you want to, go check your app permissions to make sure you don't have contact permissions enabled for Discord. It's always good to be sure. But rest easy knowing that you probably don't have to worry about it.

-------------------------------------

In my opinion, I think that anyone who reblogged that warning should consider reversing those reblogs.

Honestly, I also think the OP should just delete their post instead of repeatedly adding amended reblogs to it. At the end of the day, the core of that post was misinformation and misguided assumptions. There's no real reason to keep it up.

Besides, I'd rather pin Discord on things they're ACTUALLY guilty of. Like designing a new UI that's widely mocked. And making things 10x more confusing for the end-user.

Here's Discord's official "Find your friends" FAQ page:

https://support.discord.com/hc/en-us/articles/360061878534-Find-Your-Friends-FAQ

I hate to beg, but I'd appreciate if people would reblog this post. I fear that the warning post is gonna steer a LOT of people to believe a lot of things about Discord that are logically and functionally not true.

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! I hope your week has started off well! I have a request if you don’t mind. Friday I have to go to the hospital early and spend most of the day there getting a bunch of testing done because I keep having these weird episodes and we don’t know what’s going on and I’m verrrrryyy nervous about it. So anyway I was thinking poly!wolfstar (or any of them) accompanying reader and comforting reader to the hospital/during/after. Maybe reader wants to cancel it all (because I kind of do) and they gently but firmly make her stick to it.

Hope your appointment went well lovely!

cw: mention of hospitals, general anxiety around that

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 744 words

This time of year, the kitchen is dark before dinnertime. Remus has turned on the light above the stove, but neither you nor Sirius move to flick on any others, leaving your home mostly in shadow and dim, amber glow. Sirius is illuminated by his laptop on the couch while you sit on a stool watching Remus cook. The low rumbling of his boiling water is the only sound. It’s a tranquil sort of quiet. You’re reading all the tension into it, probably. 

Sirius certainly thinks so. He sneaks up behind you, arms winding around your middle and fingers prodding playfully at your sides. “Baby. Relax.”

“I’m relaxed.” 

“Sure you are.” 

“I am.” 

Remus looks up from the stove to give you a look that isn’t quite chiding. Fond, perhaps. Knowing, definitely. “Dove, you’re rattling your stool.” 

You hear it then, and still the bouncing of your knee with some effort. 

He smiles, at once wry and kind. “It’s okay to be nervous,” he says. 

Sirius makes a dubious humming noise. “I don’t know about that.” His face finds its way into the crook of your neck, meandering, his nose cool against your skin. “I think our girl should only have nice, blissful thoughts, and leave the nervousness for when it’s due. No sense in getting all worked up early.” 

“Pads.” Remus’ tone is love-weary. “She’s allowed to be nervous.” 

Your boyfriends make light of it, but this is one stark difference between them. Sirius and Remus have both known intense discomfort—to put it lightly—over their lives, and yet they react to witnessing it differently. Sirius can’t stand to think of anyone he cares for being less than perfectly happy; it makes him twitchy and near frantic. Remus doesn't like it either, of course, but he understands better than most that some things simply need to be borne. Rather than avoiding it, he offers a quiet, steady support. 

Sirius, you think, is likely as nervous for your hospital visit as you are. It’s why he doesn’t want to talk about it. 

“I could still cancel,” you say, softly enough that maybe you’re hoping not to be heard. 

Both of your boyfriends seem not to have considered this possibility. Remus looks at you, brow tensing, and Sirius’ face stills on your shoulder. 

Your voice smalls. “They said I could do it up until twelve hours before.” 

“Sweetheart.” Sirius squeezes your middle, gently. “Don’t do that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Well, because then you’ll only have to be nervous all over again when you do go.” 

“But what if I…” You find yourself sinking into his touch, letting him hold you up despite the fact that you’re sitting and he’s not. “...don’t?” 

“You’ll have to go at some point.” 

“I don’t have to.” 

“You should, though.” Remus’ eyes capture yours, calm and dark brown in the low light. His expression is melded by sympathy and entirely too reasonable for your liking. “You can go on the way you have been, that’s your choice, but we know you’ve not been liking that.” 

“I’ve not been very fond of it either,” Sirius mumbles. 

“This is something you can do for a chance at getting better,” Remus goes on gently. “Nothing is going to change if you don’t.” 

You take a long inhale. When you let it out, Sirius kisses your shoulder like a reward. 

“I really don’t want to,” you say. 

“I know, lovely.” Remus steps closer, reaching for your hand. You don’t realize until you give it to him that you’d been picking at your nailbeds. He pulls your fingers apart from each other with methodical caring. “It’s only one day. We’ll be there with you.” 

You press your lips together solemnly. “I’m going to need a lot of hugs, I think.” 

“Oh, god,” Sirius moans, arms still firmly around your waist. “What ever will we do?” 

“You really do dole out the most unfair burdens, dove.” Remus goes from doting to dry in an instant, amusement flickering in his gaze. 

“I mean, how are we expected to cope? I don’t know if I can handle all these demands, sweetness, I really don’t. You’ve made tomorrow a true hardship for us.” 

“You’re the ones who want me to go.” You shrug. “Figure it out.” 

“I suppose we’ll have to, won’t we?” Sirius gives you another squeeze, firmer this time to coax a smile from you. “Alright, then. Needs must. You worry about your portion, and we’ll worry about ours.” 

[murdrdocs]

smoker!joel miller loathes the idea of you picking up his bad habits.

he has some sort of paternal protection over you. it leads him to keeping you out of the loop of the habit he can't kick. when he can't cease the insistent tapping of his fingers against whatever surface is closest to him (sometimes your calf thrown over his spread legs), he'll curtly tell you that he'll "be right back" and then he disappears for a few minutes. when he returns he b-lines for the bathroom and comes back smelling like the mint toothpaste he bought because you like it.

he does what he can to keep you away from it. you've only ever seen him smoke a handful of times. otherwise, you have just the sight of a pack of cigs in his nightstand drawer and the scent of marlboro reds on his clothes to confirm that yeah, joel miller is a smoker.

it doesn't matter how much he wants to keep you away from it, you find him anyway. late at night when you've already showered and prepped for sleep. the two of you probably would've been sleep by now, but joel slipped out of the room before he could mess up his side of the bed. you usually wouldn't go find him, you know he likes his privacy sometimes, but your slippers slap against the porch when you step out of the front door anyway.

joel's head lifts. he has a cigarette right against his lips, but not between them as if you interrupted him.

you wait with your hand on the door to see if he'll have you.

your answer comes when he scoots over on the loveseat and beckons you over with a curt jerk of his head.

you end up sitting next to him with your legs finding their home thrown over his lap. he rests a rough hand over one of your ankles, mindlessly rubbing into your cold skin. he doesn't stop smoking, he just blows it off to the side, making sure the wind carries the smoke far away from you.

the two of you don't talk much. you listen to the trees blow in the wind and the cicadas singing in the background. every so often comes the crackling sound of joel inhaling and burning the end more and more, then a few seconds later comes the gentle sound of joel exhaling.

you both continue like that for a while until you turn your head to look at joel. he stops what he's doing, holding the cigarette right against his lips once more, and looks at you.

"what is it?" he asks.

you shrug, lick your lips, and lean over to pull the cigarette from joel's fingers. he watches you with thinly-veiled amusement on his weathered features—a small tug of his lips up, curiosity in his eyes, the twitch of his eyebrows towards his hairline. he doesn't say anything, though, he just watches you pull the stick to your lips and inhale.

the end burns orange and you watch it for a moment, transfixed. peaceful. the peace lasts for only a few seconds, because then the burn in your throat makes itself known. you try to ignore it, pulling the cig from your lips and exhaling. but the exhale is shaky, and you can see joel already starting to grin from the corner of your eye. you don't look at him, though, you know that if you do he'll be able to see the tears gathering in your eyes.

you turn away when a cough forces itself through your body. muffling it through a closed mouth doesn't do anything to help.

"alright," joel calls, "c'mere." he throws an arm around your back and pulls you closer. he doesn't allow any room for you to resist, he even wraps his other hand around your front and pulls you as close to him as you can go. he claps a hand on your back over and over again, leaving you no choice but to expel each burning cough.

he pinches the cigarette from between your fingers. you don't see it after that, your eyes close for a moment and when they reopen joel is exhaling a thick cloud of smoke and the cigarette isn't anywhere near either of you.

"let it out," he coaxes, not ceasing the pats on your back until your coughs weaken and eventually turn into small sputters and not much else.

"fuck," you swear through a laugh when you've come back to yourself. you rest your head on his sturdy chest and feel his laugh rumble through his body.

"yeah," joel agrees. you look up in time to see his tongue flick out over his lips before he speaks again. "'s not as easy as it looks, is it? you shouldn't pick that up anyway."

you don't argue it. there's no point in souring a good mood. "you didn't have to stop," you say instead.

"i was done," comes joel's response. he taps your legs once, which you know means he's going to stand up. "c'mon, let's get back inside before the bugs get you. don't wanna hear your complanin'." he stands and holds out a hand for you.

he walks in front of you only to hold the screen door open, leaving you to push the front door in. when you pass him to enter the house, he smacks your ass once. you turn around to look at him and he's still staring at the way your ass rippled in your little shorts.

"perv," you half-heartedly mumble.

still, you giggle when joel follows hot on your tail and drapes his entire body around your torso and leads you back to the couch where a paused episode is waiting for the both of you.

[gguk-n]

The One (Charles Leclerc x Reader)

Summary- In a world where soulmates exist. Each pair has a unique soulmate mark. Charles doesn't know what his mark is or if he'll ever meet his soulmate.

Charles Leclerc and Y/N Y/L/N grew up together. They didn't remember the first time they met, they'd always been a part of each other's lives. They did everything together. They were a package deal, you wouldn't find one without the other. Maybe, that's why they hadn't found their soulmate yet or seen a soulmate mark.

Y/N was in primary, maybe eight or nine when some people in her class had started to bully her. Charles was the only one who noticed that she wasn't herself. "Hey Y/N/N" Charles said trying to catch her attention. "Hi Cha" she replied, faking a smile. "You look sad" he pointed out. "I'm okay" she reassured him. "You can tell me anything" Charles said and she broke down crying. Charles soon found out about the bullying and took it upon himself to protect her. That day he returned home with multiple bruises and when asked, he just told them he was protecting his person.

Y/N was ten when her dad told her stop karting. It was her favourite thing to do since she got to spend all her time with Charlie. She would recount the events of the day to anyone after every race. The debriefs were fun, she mostly talked about Charles, actually she only talked about Charles. Hervé tried to reason with her dad to let her continue since she was inconsolable. "But papa, I love karting." she cried. "That's not very girly. Stick to things girls do" he told her sternly. Y/N spent most of her day crying until Charles came around. "I'm sorry we can't kart together" he said hugging her. "You can use my kart whenever you want" he bargained. Y/N smiled for the first time that day. Charles kept to his word, he would let her use his kart whenever she wanted; to this day, she was the only one allowed to touch his cars, even the Ferraris.

Y/N was with Charles when he won his GP3 and F2 title. She was the first one he met as soon as he got out of the car. She was crying with snot running down her nose. "You look ugly crying" Charles laughed and Y/N hit him. "I'm just happy" she said. "I know" he replied, hugging her for a very long time.

Charles was there when Y/N got rejected from her dream university. She had locked herself up and wouldn't open the door for anyone. Charles was the only one able to coax her out. "Wanna get ice cream?" Charles asked rubbing her back. She nodded. The pain of rejection melted away with the ice cream. That was when Y/N knew, the reason she didn't have a soulmate mark. It was because she had already met her soulmate. Charles was her one and only and she didn't need a a stupid soulmate mark to tell her that.

Y/N was also there when Hervé was sick and in the hospital. "Charlie, don't worry. I'm here. I'll made sure Hervé gets well soon while you go and race" she reassured Charles who was not ready to leave. "I trust you." he told her. "I know" she nodded.

Y/N was there when Hervé passed. Charles was a mess. He wouldn't stop blubbering, tightly wrapped around her as if she would disappear too if he let go, as she patted his back. "He's watching down on us. He's always with us" she said trying to console him.

Y/N was there when Charles got offered the Ferrari contract. She had heard him contemplate his choices when he had joined Formula One and now that Ferrari was offering him a contract, it was a no brainer for him. He was quick to sign the contract with Y/N right behind him, literally and figuratively.

Charles would spend a lot of his time wondering who his soulmate could be. And it saddened him to think that it would be someone who would never have the opportunity to meet his father. Y/N always wondered what her soulmate mark could've been, but alas, at least she had her soulmate even if he didn't know it yet.

It was the Monaco GP, Charles had finally broken his Monaco curse. As the checkered flag waved and Charles crossed the finish line; his heart was heavy yet warm. He couldn't believe he had done it, finally. He got out of the car and raced to his team; his family waiting for him. The first person he saw was Y/N, with tears staining her cheeks. Charles wiped her tears, "I won" he muttered. "I know" she smiled wrapping him in a tight hug. "I'm sure he must be looking down on you right now. He must be so happy. I know it" she whispered into his shoulder. "You always knew what he felt" he replied. "He would tell you how proud he was of you and how he knew you could do it" she elaborated while pulling away. As Charles eyes met hers for the thousandth time since they first met, his heart felt warm, his mind was calm and everything around him felt like it was where it was supposed to be. He was where he was supposed to be. He was with his soulmate. "Go on" she pushed Charles towards his team and smiled as he stumbled forward.

A couple days after the GP, Y/N was lounging around his mother's shop when Charles interrupted her. "Hey" he spoke slowly. "Hi Cha" she smiled. "I wanted to talk to you" he began. "Looks like it" she replied while using her two fingers to ease the worry lines on his forehead, nodding at him to continue. "You know how we've yet to get out mark or our soulmate" he pointed out. "I'm aware" she laughed. "What if, we've already met our soulmate?" he questioned. "hmm" she cocked her head. "What if we met them so young that we don't know, we don't know our mark was or anything" he rambled. "Where are you going with this?" she asked hesitantly. "What if our soulmate has always been around? With us, through it all" Charles suggested. She nodded with tears in her eyes. "What if we are each other's soulmates?" Charles proceeded hesitantly. Y/N jumped into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Took you long enough" she mumbled against his neck. "You knew" he asked, pulling away to look at her.

She nodded with her arms still around his neck, Charles placing his on her waist. "When?" he asked. "The day I got rejected from the university I wanted" she replied. "That long?" he asked. She just nodded. "You were always there, through my highs and lows" she explained. "You were with me through everything too." Charles interrupted. "I'm glad it's you" Y/N announced. "me too" Charles reiterated.

"Our mums will be happy" Charles said, as the pair walked hand in hand. "I think they always knew" Y/N stated. "That's even better. That means dad met my soulmate" Charles smiled. "Can I tell you a secret?" Y/N asked. "What?" Charles asked. "He always hoped we'd be soulmates" she replied. "No wonder you were his favourite" Charles laughed pulling her in for a kiss.

[simonsslut]

meeting simon in the army.

18+ MDNI || nsfw || f!reader || oneshot/drabble || masterlist

wc: around 4.8k

cw: eventual smut, unprotected p in v, lil massage trope, spit kink, simon being his own enemy, reader being oblivious, simon loves tits, simon’s kinda mean at first but sweet at the end-ish, not proofread.

Lieutenant Riley is familiar with the process of adding a new addition to their little task force. but just because he's familiar with it, doesn't mean he's a fan of it.

a new member, a new person means that he has to most likely deal with another soap of sorts. don't get it wrong, he's okay with soap, but that doesn't mean he enjoys the constant questions soap seems to ask about him, even when he knows they irritate him, but that won't stop his curiosity.

you're confident when you show up to the meeting room, nothing new. recruits are either confident in themselves or they're completely terrified and it'll be written all over their faces.

soap is quick to befriend you, both of you snipers and demolition experts after all. it gives him a whole new buddy to talk with. simon takes this as a good sign, maybe he won't have to spend much time showing your around and telling you about the team and how things work here if soap is gonna spend all his time with you. right? wrong.

Price assigns soap on a mission with another task force soap had recently worked with before TF141. meaning that Simon is going to have to spend every free waking moment he has with you. and for a guy like Simon, this is hell. but don't take it the wrong way, he's like this with everyone.

you're quick to find the large man rude, dismissive. you'll ask barely personal questions and he'll shrug it off and blatantly ignore you. will roll his eyes or just walk away mid-conversation (which was one-sided anyway).

maybe you talked too much? had you asked him too many questions? maybe he just didn't like you for absolutely zero reason. you decided to stop thinking too much about it. you didn't do anything wrong, maybe he's just a natural-born asshole.

Soap had mentioned something about the lieutenant having a stick somewhere deep up his ass and to not worry too much about how he treats you.

however, after telling yourself you'd stop losing sleep over it, you continued.

maybe he just wasn't used to having a woman on his team. They are all men after all. but that wouldn't be professional, plus the others aren't like that with you. they kinda just treat you like their own. they knew about your background, and what you have done, and they respected you for it, so why couldn't he?

simon knows better than most about your background, he had to study your file after Price mentioned your recruitment.

"weapons of choice - melee; knives, axe."

a shared opinion.

he trains with you to see how advanced you really are. weapon training and all that is fine, but sparring? this has to be a joke. that mountain of a man versus you? you've got muscle to you, yeah, but even soap going against simon is an evident loss. and soap is a big guy.

you start off with Gaz. he's also tall and well built, but he's the more common build of soldiers. you guys spar for an hour, or two, and then you take a break.

you don't think much about who your next spar round will be with, so the anxiousness doesn't begin to settle in until ghost's rough voice calls you over to the mat. he's the only one there. and it settles in.

you look over at Gaz and the look on his face is one of pity, your face drops.

it's not even 30 seconds into the round when you're already dropped to the ground. the mat feels like concrete when you hit your back on it.

"c'mon, get up." ghost says in an almost pissed off way.

you groan and roll over, quickly getting back up on your feet. "no mercy?" you ask in a huff. "you won't get mercy when you're fighting for your life in the field, you should know this, sergeant." he states dryly, but the way he said 'sergeant' sounded like an insult rolling off his tongue.

after 30 minutes of repeatedly losing, you admit defeat. but at least he stays with you after hours when the others have left, leaving you both alone so you don't have to keep losing in front of a crowd.

3 months of dry responses, frequent scoldings, straight-up constant attitude from the man and not many interactions besides from when he was ordering you around or lecturing you about a fuck up in training or on a mission.

and even though he wouldn't interact with you much, it somehow seemed that he was always on your ass, always watching to see what your next fuck up would be, always so observant. because why the hell were his eyes always on you? every time you'd glance over at him, he'd already be looking at you with that dark 1000-yard stare, arms crossed and sitting across any room you were in at the moment.

3 months is what it takes for him to not act like a complete brooding asshole towards you even for just a moment. reason? you saved his life.

sort of.

simon was clearing a wide area in a warehouse on a mission and it seems one of the men there seemed to blend in far better than anyone else could. Simon was almost too late, almost the one standing at the receiving end of a bullet to the head, but you had him. and you saved him.

neither of you thought too much about it though, after all, it is your job to have each other's backs in the field. he only gave you a gruff "thank you" when he brushed passed you towards the exit. but you took that thank you as a sign that he didn't absolutely despise you like you had thought he did for the past 3 months.

or so you thought. not much changed afterwards. but at least whenever you'd start a conversation, he'd just stare at you instead of walking off. but he'd always stay quiet. you wanted to give up, you should've given up. but something deep inside you had you pushing.

what it was wasn't so obvious at the time.

but that's probably because you were so oblivious.

you didn't know him like the boys did, you were new. so no one could've blamed you for not seeing the obvious frustration you caused him. soap on the other hand thought it was bloody comedic.

you always assumed the triple checks on your comms and positions were just because he didn't trust you enough to know what you were doing. because why would you think anything else with the way he behaved towards you?

the way he'd suddenly appear when a private was up and flirting with you. he'd come and scold you for having chitchat when you should've been doing paperwork, his jaw tensed. he'd look behind you to give the private a glare that you would've assumed was a 'get back to work' glare and not the threatening glare it actually was, because why would you think otherwise?

when you all went out to the pub for a drink after a long exhausting mission to relax a bit, but you hadn't had alcohol in so long so you didn't think to slow down, eventually blacking out on Simon's shoulder, and ending up in your quarters at the end of the night, boots off and snuggly tucked in under your sheets.

what you did notice is that you'd never be assigned to missions that ghost wasn't on. you caught on eventually but you never mentioned it, too annoyed with him to start an argument you knew you'd lose.

but when you're all at the pub on another night, soap and gaz over by the pool table, drunkenly betting against each other, and price long gone back to the base and having called it an early night, leaving the two of you at the table alone, it slips out.

he's been ignoring your attempted starts of a conversation all night, the alcohol had given you the motivation you needed to try again, but you've had enough of the silent treatment.

"hey, i've noticed I only go on missions that you're on.." he tenses. "'s that because you don't trust me? or somethin?"

he doesn't respond as per usual, and you know he's already annoyed with you but you keep pushing.

"you can be a real prick, y'know?" you mumble out, earning a side glance from him, his hand on the table, fingers tapping on his empty glass. he stays quiet.

"I just don't understand why you dislike me or whatever. I haven't done anything to you personally, I don't think.." you trail off, furrowing your brows as if in thought. he just stares down at you.

"you're a real pain in my ass" you then state rather confidently. he raises his brow at this before looking down at his empty glass and muttering a "Seems we've got that in common."

you roll your eyes and groan, moving to grab your beer but he moves it further up the table before you can reach it.

"hey-" you start but he interrupts, "you've 'ad enough." he grumbles out and you scoff, standing up from the chair and walking over to where Soap and Gaz are laughing it up with each other.

but maybe he's had a bit too much to drink too.

because the moment a man starts flirting with you at the bar, his hand just a bit too touchy, Simon appears, his hand is gripping the man's shoulder and pulling him back with an angered "back off."

you can't even manage out a "what the hell-?" before he's grabbing your bicep and dragging you out of the pub. you stop protesting rather quickly, too tired to continue. you just let him drag you all the way back to the base where he only lets go of you when he reaches the doorstep of your barracks building.

"sleep. now. don't wanna deal with your lazy tired ass tomorrow when you're moping around because you didn't get enough rest." he grunts out before abruptly turning in his place and leaving.

it's the next week when you're in the break room sitting across from Soap who's on his phone and drinking his coffee when you voice your troubles. "I can't deal with him anymore, Soap, really. he gives me such a hard time and I don't understand why," you practically whine to him.

"bloke doesn't know what to do with you when you practically give him a hard on all the time." he says it so plainly. as if it's a common fact, no big deal.

though you, of course, take it as a joke.

"Oh shut up, I'm serious." you groan through a chuckle and he just looks up at you and smirks before excusing himself to go back to his duties, leaving you there to mope at the wall.

the hell does that even mean?

luckily for you, you forget all about your short conversion in the break room, your mind too occupied from the busy week to care about a little dumb joke that soap told.

maybe you should've sat to think about said joke for longer.

you zone out while you do paperwork, your mind running on autopilot so that you don't pay attention to the time on the clock running past 11:30pm.

you hands hurt. your wrists hurt. and your back is sore from uncomfortably hunching over this old desk in this dinky chair that doesn't even spin properly.

you're too tired and too caught up in mentally complaining about everything to notice the tall figure standing in the doorway of the office you're working.

so when he speaks, voice baritone and accent thick, it scares the absolute living shit out of you. letting out a short yell and flinging your pen across the room, you look over at him.

you roll your eyes, too tired to even deal with him right now, preparing for him to lecture you about how sleeping late is bad for you even though literally everyone on base knows that he has the most fucked schedule of them all.

"I know it's late, I don't wanna hear it. this is the only free time I had to do this." you explain, your voice low and tired.

"didn't say anything." he responds and you glare up at him, and he knows.

he walks across the room and picks up the pen that you flung, his heavy steps making their way over to you and handing you back your pen.

he hasn't done or said anything threatening, so then why does it feel like he did?

you whisper a small 'thank you' before looking back down at your sheet and writing a few things down. he just stands there, staring down at your with crossed arms, observing. always observing. that's all he does. all he ever does.

you try to not let it get to you but he's just so intimidating.

you clench your jaw and breathe for a moment before focusing back on your paper. but just as you do that, he rounds the desk and stands behind your chair.

he grabs the chair, pulling it back a bit before his voice demands out, "stand,". you don't hesitate a moment before standing up quickly.

silence.

why does it feel like ages before he finally speaks??

"you're tense." he states and you furrow your brows because what the hell is happening. "y-yeah, I guess?"

the air is thick.

you're so caught up in empty thoughts that you don't hear what he says. "sorry, what'd you say?" you ask but it comes out a whisper without you intending for it to.

"may I?"

you're not sure what he means but you still slowly nod.

you suddenly freeze and your eyes go wide when you feel his palm wrap around your hair and move it to the side, his other hand resting in the crevice between your shoulder and neck, bare.

he's not wearing the glove.

his hand is warm when he suddenly squeezes you there, checking to see just how tense you are and your mind is blank. your thoughts have evaporated and you can't fucking move, because what the hell is happening!?

"why're you so bloody tense?" he asks, his voice so fucking deep that it makes your skin warm up. you've always hated the effect that his voice alone has on you.

'maybe because you're touching me?' is what you think to yourself.

"I don't know? work?" you sound so unsure of yourself that it feels embarrassing.

he mutters a quiet "yeah." while he continues to massage the area.

you wouldn't say this is a complete 180º from the way he's been treating you for the past couple months, but... this is a complete fucking 180º from the way he's been treating you these past couple months.

but you can't deny how fucking good it feels. his hands are so big and warm. the roughness of them surprisingly adding so much more to the massage and it feels so. good.

you can't help the slight moan that escapes your lips when you dip your head forward, giving him more space to work with.

ghost would halt his movements but that would only make you suspicious of what's happening to him behind you he clenches his jaw hard, his entire body tensing as he feels his pants grow tight and fuck is he fighting back a groan.

he did this to himself. he should've just minded his business and muttered an order to you like he usually would. he should've put up the asshole act instead of strolling in and offering a goddamn massage because he would never in his right mind actually do this.

he's barely slept for the past three days, so he doesn't really have control over his own actions, especially when it comes to you. it's always you that gets him like this, only you.

it's quiet for so long while he just massages your shoulders. usually It would be awkward, but this time it's just comfortable.

when he finishes, his hands remain and you start to actually snap back to reality on where you are, who's behind you, and what's going on. you don't move, hell you barely breathe. how could you when you could feel every breath he takes hit the skin on the back of your neck or how you can feel the heat radiating off of him while he stands behind you as if he's a human furnace or something.

there's always been tension. whether it was negative or positive, you were never completely 100% sure which. but it was always there. and it bothered the fuck out of the both of you.

you feel his thumb caress your nape. just a small movement. you wouldn't've noticed if you weren't hyper focused on every fibre of his being standing right behind you, not caring for your personal space despite him always getting pissed about not having enough of his own.

you don't know how to move on from this moment. there're no words in your mouth, your body frozen still under his gaze, under his touch.

you want to say something, anything. but you don't know what.

"ghost," you start, but he doesn't answer, he just rubs his thumb over again. "ghost." you try again.

silence.

"simon." he stops.

"what are you doing?" you turn your head to the side when you whisper this, looking at him stand behind you out the corner of your eye, and he stares right back.

after his silence, you go to move but he stops you, his hands grabbing your arms and keeping you in place. you go to shake him off but when you lean your body back, you feel something against your ass and your breath hitches.

he shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw, he knows you felt it, and he knows he's fucked when he lets out a quiet groan.

"it seems you’ve been stressed too..." you mumble out and his grip on you only tightens. you don't think before you nudge your ass against him again but with purpose and his breathing stutters.

"Don't." he demands through gritted teeth, but you only do it again and he doesn't stop you.

he then pushes you forward and you gasp, your crotch hitting the desk edge as you bend over the desk.

he doesn't do anything for a few moments as he thinks over what he's doing. he's your superior. this is wrong. so why does it feel so good to drag his hand down your back.

he then suddenly lets go of you and backs up, confusing you in the process. you stand back up and turn to stare at him, your brows furrowed and you open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

the way you look at him, it's as if there's hope in your eyes and that only spurs him on to do what he does next. he moves his hand up to raise the bottom of his mask up to rest just over his nose. he then quickly loops his arm around your waist and pulls you in for your lips to meet his in a kiss born off of sexual frustration.

you're quick to wrap one of your arms around his neck, not caring at all for what this means because god it feels so good.

he groans against your lips and pushes you back against the desk, lifting you a bit to sit you down on it before he mumbles against your lips.

"you gon' let me do this?"

the man, your lieutenant, your superior who you thought hated you so damn much for the longest time, is asking for your permission as his hand squeezes your thigh.

this is crazy. all of this is crazy. yet you nod.

he spreads your thighs with his hands and stands between them while his mouth moves from your lips down to your jaw and then to your neck, his lips hot and wet against you.

you let him push you back until your back is flat against the desk, his hand moving to grab your hip to keep you in place just as he likes while his other hand loops under the waist band of your pants and palms you over your panties.

you can't help but whimper when he does this which only turns him on more. and he grunts against your neck when he removes his hand only to grind his covered bulge against you.

you huff out as he continues to grind against you, growing in need when heat begins to pool in your core while his hands grip at you tightly as if you'd disappear if he let go. and he's not about to risk that when he finally has you right where he wants you.

you pull at his clothes, a whine slipping from your lips and he knows what you want. one of his hands moves to slide your shirt up your stomach and you let him. when he does get the shirt off of you, he doesn't even go to unclip your bra, instead his hand moves to grab the front of your bra and drags it down, your tits falling out.

he grabs one of your tits and mouths it, sucking, while his other hand moves to pull your pants down.

he backs up and fully pulls your pants off before he's back on you, mouth on your tit while his left hand plays with the other and his right hand slips under the fabric of your panties, feeling how soaked you are.

his thumb applies pressure on your clit which has you already gasping and arching into his touch.

he teases you a bit, wanting to see how desperate you'd get before he actually fucks you with his cock. he slips a digit in and groans against your nipple when he feels how your wet warmth clenches around just his finger.

he adds another and then another, wanting to stretch you out enough for him to squeeze in.

he curls and thrusts his fingers in you, getting to that spongey spot in you that has you moaning and throwing your head back against the desk, whining fro him to finally put it in.

"y'want me?" he asks but you can't even reply.

"I asked if y'want me, love." his voice is gravel when he repeats himself, wanting an answer out of you before he takes this further.

you nod, frantic and and grinding against his palm for more friction against your clit. "y-yes, yes sir, please-" you answer and he feels his cock twitch in his pants.

he moves his lips back up to your neck and removes his hands from you, undoing his pants and pulling himself out, precum beading at his red tip.

you whimper at the sight of it. it's obvious to see how big of a man simon is in general, he's huge. and it seems that so is everything else about him.

he doesn't bother to remove your panties as he's too impatient. instead he just moves them to the side, his finger running down your slit before he brings it to his mouth to get a taste of you, letting out a satisfied hum.

he then brings his hand up to you and orders, "spit", and you do.

he pumps himself a few times to wet it before he aligns with your slit and you inhale when he starts to push in, stretching you out so perfectly for him. so fucking big.

he takes his time pushing into you, his warm breath against your neck when he groans as he bottoms out, deep inside you. “so fucking tight…” he groans through gritted teeth.

you clench around him, your hands slipping under the fabric of his shirt and your nails clawing at the skin on his back, wanting him to move already as you grow impatient and needy.

he does just that, drawing his hips back before thrusting back into you resulting in a yelp from you. and he doesn't stop.

his pace is already above slow and picking up with each time he hammers back into you, curses and moans falling from his lips like he's in heaven, because he is.

your lips meet his again and you moan into his mouth with each thrust. he makes out with you like a man starved, like he's been wanting this for so long…you under him while he fucks into you like it's the last thing he'll ever do.

the only sounds in the room being the squelching of your pussy as he thrusts into you and both of your moans. if anyone was walking down the hallway at this hour which is unlikely, they'd most definitely hear what you two are doing.

he moves his hand down and presses his thumb to your clit while he continues to fuck into you, rubbing it in circles which has you crying out through moans, tears of pleasure threatening to spill out the corners of your eyes.

your breathing becomes ragged as your back arches deeper into him, your hips bucking against his to meet his pace while he groans and nips at the skin on your neck, “takin’ me so well… s’ fuckin good f’me…” he moans and it sets your skin on fire.

he's close and so are you.

your fingers move under the back of the mask to pull at his short hair and he let's you do it, trusting you to not pull the mask off.

your lips against his ear, letting him hear all your pretty sounds and it only drives him further, his pace keeping steady, knowing just what you need when you moan out "i'm close..so close.." and he knows it too as he feels you clench tightly around him.

he surprises you when he places his thumb in your mouth when you moan, flattening it against your tongue and grunting a “open f’me, yeah?” and you do without hesitation, opening your mouth nice and wide enough for him to spit on your tongue. he doesn’t even have to tell you to swallow before you do it automatically, earning a smirk from him before he kisses you again.

the combination of his thumb rubbing in circles against your clit and him hammering into you has your body stuttering and spasming, feeling like you're getting possessed as you let out a strangled and broken quiet scream as you finally come undone beneath him, your vision going for a few moments while he fucks you through your orgasm.

you continue to moan when he keeps pumping into you after your orgasm, chasing his own high while he grunts out "'m gonna come... gonna come on your tummy, love.." before he quickly pulls out of you, leaning back up and pumping his cock a few times before he releases his load on your stomach followed by his heavy breaths.

he stares at you for a moment, his chest rising and lowering in heavy breaths before he leans over you to grab the tissue box in the corner of the desk and wipes his cum off of you.

he puts your panties back in place and steps back, handing you your pants. he shoves his cock back into his pants and then watches you pull yours back on, his arms crossed.

now that the foggy feeling in your mind is gone, you're shy as you stand under his gaze.

you just fucked your lieutenant.

he licks his lip before pulling the mask back down and sitting back onto the chair. you're confused for a moment before he nods his head in the direction of the door and mutters a "go t'sleep. it's late."

you look at the door and then back at him, furrowing your brows in confusion. "but my paperwork-" he interrupts you before you can finish your sentence. "I'll do your paperwork. now go to bed. tha's an order." he instructs and you stand there absolutely dumbfounded before you actually register his words.

you slowly nod and he clenches his jaw before he looks at the short stack of paperwork on the side of the desk, grabbing one and beginning to work on it, but you're still there.

"thought I told you t-" he pauses when you lean down to place a kiss on the fabric over where his temple is, taking him by surprise as it shuts him up.

you then give him a sweet smile, your hand sliding down his muscular arm before you turn around and walk out the small office, leaving him to do your paperwork after he fucked you so well just a moment ago on that very desk.

horny brain = ©simonsslut 2023 — do not steal!

simon experiencing blue balls too many times in secret bc he's stubborn.

[mothinkling]

What do you think the Touchstarved Characters would do if you tried to leave Eridia pre/post and established relationship or just as friends?

IF YOU TRIED TO LEAVE (TOUCHSTARVED X GN!READER)

Summary: Pre/Post-Relationship HC for if you tried to leave Eridia.

TW: Mentions of NSFW, violence, manipulation and heavy angst.

A/N: First request yippeeee! This was a lot of fun to think about, thank you so much for this request!

Vere; 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

Pre-Relationship:

♡ "Can't take the heat, darling?"

♡ He'll think your weak for not wanting to stick around a place crawling with thieves and monsters and people like him.

♡ Prepare for the snidest waggle goodbye of his fingers, perhaps he'll even wipe a tear or two away from his eyes like a lover going off to war.

♡ Asshole.

♡ The only way he'd ever stop you from leaving is if you've left quite an impression on him, leaving him curious enough to want you to stay.

♡ 50 percent change he'd let you go.

Post-Relationship:

♡ At first, he'd likely think you weren't being serious, or this was some sort of test to see how he'd react to the possibility of you leaving him.

♡ He'd sneer and tease you, oh, did you really think i'd get on my knees and beg for you?

♡ I mean, he's finally decided to give you the time of day, why would you give that up now?

♡ Then he'd realize you were intent on this, perhaps already in the motion of trying to leave Eridia, leave him.

♡ Desperation would well in him, he's gotten close to you; gotten attached despite himself, despite swearing he'd never love a human.

♡ He wouldn't want to show how desperate he is, instead he'd try to fuck you for a distraction-- his tail running up your back and leg a little more needily than normal.

♡ If you still push him away, intent on leaving him to return to whatever you're trying to get to outside the city walls.

♡ He'd blow up.

♡ Anger would be used to hide the crushing pain of betrayal and abandonment, the tantrum he'd throw would be destructive in his whirlwind of emotions.

♡ He'd have the temperament of a god being told no for the first time, because that's exactly what's happening.

♡ He'd blame everything and everybody else except for himself that you're leaving, perhaps even going on a rampage on the first plausible thing or person that's taking you away.

♡ 10 percent chance he'd let you go.

Ais; 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

Pre-Relationship:

♡ In a way he's kind of glad.

♡ Leaving the city would mean you chose not to drink from the spring, saving you from the hive-mind.

♡ Of course he's disappointed that you're leaving, he was just starting to get to know you after all.

♡ But he'd let you go- it's your choice after all, and he doesn't exactly blame you for not wanting to stay in a cesspit like Eridia.

♡He'll even lend you a soulless on your journey through the wastelands, enough to ensure a safe destination and so his perfect pet can tell him exactly where you went.

♡ 90 percent chance he'd let you go.

Post-Relationship:

♡ At least somewhat more level-headed than Vere and Leander (though not by much).

♡ He'd ask why, why is his sparrow trying to fly free when the cage he's offered has anything you could want or need?

♡ He'd assume it was someone driving you away, someone hurting you until you felt the need to flee, naturally he'd offer to beat the shit out of anyone who's threatened his sparrow.

♡ If that isn't the case or simply doesn't work, then he'd finally crumble.

♡ He wouldn't blow up at you, but he might punch the wall in frustration; gritting his teeth to try and clench back the tears stinging at his eyes.

♡ He doesn't want to look weak, especially not now.

♡ 70 percent chance he'd let you go.

Leander; 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

Pre-Relationship:

♡ Oh, you really think you'd get to leave?

♡ Silly, silly little thing.

♡ The moment he catches any sort of whiff of the idea of you leaving, likely from the bloodhound's constant rumor mill that always flows back towards him he doesn't like to be left out it wouldn't take long.

♡ He'd be 'casual' about it, he'd likely not even bring it up; the bigger his reaction the less likely you are to trust him.

♡ But oh, look at this! what a promising lead, something almost game-changing when it comes to the never-ending search for a cure.

♡ Isn't that just so coincidental? that he'd dangle something so tempting in front of your eyes, now what was that about leaving, again?

♡ 10 percent chance he'd let you go.

Post-Relationship:

♡ Ơ̷͍̞̤̟͎͔͔̍̈́͊͋̉ḫ̷͍͋̉̒̍̀̈́̏,̴͍͍́́̌͂̽͠ ̶̼͕͉̭̪̞̦̋̿̆̋̈̓ỹ̴̢͇͎̥͈̋̉͗̓̍͛͒̚ó̷̹̺̹̂̓͜ů̸͉ ̸̼̰̘̹͙̞̊̌r̵͕̤̗̔̉̋̂͊̂̏̂̕̚e̴̛͖̭̽̋̏̐̅̈́͋͝͝ǎ̴̹̻̥͙̪̝̮̈́̏̑̾̕ͅͅl̷̼̳̺̱̹̦̼̊̋̓̈́́̒́̕ĺ̶̜̒̐̐̉̚y̷̩̻͓̝̓͑̀̀ ̸̘̩̩̲̳̬͂̾ͅt̴̛̹̜͇͈̳̦̗̳̏͂̏̂h̷̨̛̜̪͓̩͚̟͕͒̃́͋̀̿͜i̸̲̯͍̼̒͊͐̽̅̈̃̈́̄̀ͅn̸̡͚̖͍̳̭̼͍̜̦̉̋͒͑̀̀̾͠k̷̩̲͗̈̋̉͆̔ ̶̨̯̘͍̓̔͑̒̾̂̀̾͝͝ȳ̴̨̛͚̺͙͚͖̪̯̠̖̋͋̓̋̐ö̴̡̤̯͖̰́͊͑̍͑ų̴̛͕̪̊̇͘͠͝'̸͖̣̑̋̿͛̍̅̂͗̌ͅd̵̞̘͍̗̗̳̅̄̆̍̈́͛̓͑̓͜ͅ ̶̨̛̲̪͋̓͊̉́͛̊̚g̸̡̪͇̣̥͔̹̥̿̏̐̈́̋̏͜ę̶̹̗̼͚̣̼͚̓̿̐̾͒̒͂̒̕ţ̶̱̺̫̱̗͖̤̏̎͐́̊̓̀̕͝ ̶̨̨̰̫̦̟̮̥̲͋̈̔̈́́͑͋́̊t̴̛̥͎͇̰͊͌͗̀̑̉̕͘͜͝o̸̻͉͎̎̅͆́͗̐̾ ̷͔͓͇̮̺̣͓̭̺̮̑̒̿̈́l̸̮̗̮̥̤̈́̇̀̃́̕ḛ̴̡͍͚͓̻̱́͑̐̋̈́̄͌͘͠ą̶͎̫͖̙̟̩͙̊͋͐͊̈́̑͑ͅv̴͓͖̰̘̣͓̎͋̾̔͛ȇ̷̦̑̓̅̽̋͐̃̕͝?̵̧̙͈͍̮̌͆͋͐

♡ Yeah, good luck with that, it'd be easier fighting a soulless with your arms torn off than to ever convince him.

♡ This time he'd be forced to confront you about it, about why you'd ever want to leave someone who's been so kind, so perfect to you.

♡ His desperation would start to slip through, the oh-so-promising lead he'd dangle in front of you feeling far more forced than before.

♡ You might even wonder why he hadn't told you before, if he'd made such a breakthrough.

♡ His perfect facade would start to crack and crumble at the floor beneath your feet, the floor he'd sink to his knees to as he embraced your legs.

♡ It'd be a sad, pathetic sight.

♡ A grown man sniffling and begging for you not to leave him, to leave us in pursuit of whatever trivial thing you're leaving to find.

♡ Don't you just feel so bad for him? how could you do this to someone who's given you so much, and asked for so very little in return?

♡ At least verbally.

♡ His face would be red as he crawled towards you with a needy, distressed look in his eyes, practically clawing against you like a dog.

♡ He'd also try to distract you with sex, try to show you how amazing being with him could feel if you just stay, practically humping against your leg as he looks up at you.

♡ 0̸̠͌̒́͌͛̈̍ per̵cȅ̷̺͍̠͎̇͝n̴͐̑t̸͆͘ chance he'd let you go.

Mhin; 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

Pre-Relationship:

♡ It was to be expected, they'd reason to themself.

♡ They're far from surprised, but far less judgmental than Vere; they've seen the horrors that go on in Eridia firsthand and not everybody has the guts to deal with it.

♡ Which they aren't afraid to say to your face, they never believed someone like you could take it.

♡ So mean.

♡ It's likely they won't even bother to say goodbye, or offer any sort of well-wishes for wherever you're heading next.

♡ 100 percent chance they'd let you go.

Post-Relationship:

♡ Poor things been burned by love so many times, they'd feel foolish for expecting this time to be any different.

♡ Their icy walls would shoot back up the moment you told them, enough that if you couldn't read them well at that point; you might assume they didn't care.

♡ But the clench of their jaw and the way they avoid eye-contact like it'll burn them is enough of a telltale sign.

♡ They don't even want to hear the reason why you're choosing to leave, their only thought is to just get out of there.

♡ The last thing they want is for you to see them vulnerable any more times than you already have, they've already been shoved away.

♡ And if their curse has anything to do with their emotional state, for your own safety it might be good to let them melt a bit more.

♡ When you do get the chance to talk to them, they'll ask why, what was the point of toying with them like this if only to leave?

♡ If it's the fault of someone else, you could already see their hand tightening around the delicate handle of their blade.

♡ But if it isn't, they'll growl you off, the anger in their eyes would be used to hide the wetness of tears.

♡ Better to pretend like you don't want something, than to admit you can't have it, little dove.

♡ 90 percent chance they'd let you go.

Kuras; 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

Pre-Relationship:

♡ "I'd strongly advise against that."

♡ He's genuinely baffled on why you'd ever want to leave Eridia, especially after everything it took to get you here in the first place.

♡ He doesn't understand human emotions, leading him to think only logically about your situation; Eridia is your highest chance of finding a cure to your curse, why ever would you wish to give that up?

♡ But your choice is your choice, and he'll respect that despite his own reservations.

♡ He'll even go as far as to extend some help along with a goodbye, perhaps something to help you on whatever journey you're going on.

♡ On a more selfish note, he'd be disappointed at the loss of opportunity when it comes to studying you, as he said, it's rare to come across such a fascinating patient.

♡ 90 percent chance he'd let you go.

Post-Relationship:

♡ At first I think he'd simply not grasp what you were saying to him, not because he is dumb by any means-- but he just couldn't comprehend what you were saying.

♡ I mean, do you not have what you wish? he has chosen to return your affections and start a mortal relationship.

♡ At first, he'd suspect something else was at play, ever the analysis angel that he is.

♡ He'd gently grasp at your arms, his voice going soft and sad as he tried to softly coax the answer out of you, prying at you for every reason you'd want to leave.

♡ He might even lower to his knees, enough to make the concerned droop of his eyes almost unavoidable no matter where you look.

♡ He'd be relentless for answers, trying to find some kind of logic behind your reason, something he can solve to get you to stay.

♡ Due to his lack of empathy, he might even dismiss any problems you have that're causing you to leave, they might seem insignificant to him.

♡ He'd be crushed if you still left, even if he wouldn't force you.

♡ He'd find any sort of reason to blame himself, of course you wouldn't want to stay with a monster like him, irradeemable.

♡ But that wouldn't stop him from hovering around you every step of the way, begging and pleading for you to reconsider, offering you anything and everything you could want or need.

♡ But he wouldn't force you to stop, he'd never lay his disgusting, inhumane hands on your perfect flesh.

♡ 80 percent chance he'd let you go.

[thepagemistress]

Thinking half-thoughts but like... what if, in order to pull Cas out of the Empty, Jack had to leave the vessel behind? I've seen theories on getting Cas out by leaving the grace behind (which does make more sense lore-wise) but stick with me...

They can't get the vessel back or create a new one whilst it still exists (whatever, the logistics aren't the point) and obviously Claire is the only other bloodline vessel which isn't even worth entertaining. So essentially Cas is stuck in Heaven in his true form. And in the beginning, he did try and check in on Dean but it hurt too much to see him so listless and spiralling and not being able to do anything about it so he just went cold turkey and threw himself into helping Jack rebuild Heaven.

Until he feels a barrage of emotions so strongly that it would have brought him to his knees were he to still have any. Pain, regret, sadness, acceptance, hope... a cacophony of chaos and he knows the source immediately. And he knows the reason. Dean is dying. It's barely been the blink of his many eyes and Dean's already dying. And there's nothing he can do about it.

But he could at least be there for him, even if Dean can't see him or know he's there. So he flies down to some decrepit barn to find Dean and Sam. Immediately, he is overcome with the need to FIX-IT. Why should he accept this? Why are any of them just accepting this?? If only he could...

And then an awareness shakes him to his core. The vessel is willing. The vessel has given permission. And Cas doesn't give himself time to talk himself out of it. He'll beg forgiveness later, just as long as Dean is alive.

And so he possesses him. Sam's still cradling his face and crying when Cas speaks through Dean's voice. "Pull him down."

Sam sniffs. Blinks. Frowns. It takes him longer than it usually would to connect the dots. Too long. "Sam!"

Sam starts and makes a grab for a weapon he doesn't have. "Who are you?"

"It's me," Cas says, also not thinking too straight through his own panic and the sudden onslaught of Dean's emotions battering him from the inside. "I can't heal him with the rebar still in. Hurry!"

Sam isn't hurrying. "Cas?"

"Sam, please!"

In a display of trust that Cas will be grateful for later, Sam finally bursts into action, pulling Dean from the beam, marvelling at how Cas keeps him upright. Then he begins to heal him from the inside, pouring his renewed grace into the wound and the rest of his body just because why not when he's already there?

Blinking Dean's eyes open, he finds Sam waiting, anxious. A nod from Cas has Sam sucking in a breath and launching himself forward to hug Dean. Or Cas. Or both.

It's nice. He wishes he could stay but he's done what he needed to and it was time to leave them to it. Shrugging out of Sam's grip, he offers a sad smile as he says, "I'll be waiting for you both. Just take your time about it, please."

It's clear Sam wants to argue but he needs to leave, now. And so he does.

Or...doesn't?

With a frown, he tries again. But still he remains. And Sam is now arguing but Cas can't focus, he's too busy panicking. And Dean is hammering on the little door in his mind that Cas put up to dull the unpleasant feeling of being possessed and Cas tries sending him reassuring pulses that yes, he's trying, he'll be out soon. But strangely that just increases the pounding which take on an edge of desperation until Cas has no choice but to open the door and-

"DON'T YOU FUCKING LEAVE ME AGAIN."

Everything stops. The pounding in his head, the tether on his grace, the desire to flee. The only thing that remains is an overwhelming sense of anticipation. And Sam still rambling about something that is probably very heartfelt and that Cas absolutely could not give a shit about right now.

To test a theory, Cas tries again to exit the vessel, only to have what he now realises is Dean's soul clamp down on his grace, keeping it rooted, nestled inside him.

"You ain't going anywhere, sunshine," comes Dean's shaky voice from inside his head. "We got some shit to talk about, you and me."

And so talk they do. And when Cas says that he's without a vessel and that's why he hasn't been by, Dean tells him that now he does. Just like that. As if he hasn't spent the entire time Cas has known him trying to avoid being a meat suit for an angel. But Cas can hear the eye roll as Dean says that Cas has been the exception to that rule for awhile. He made his peace with that fact years ago. Which explained the open permission he seemed to have.

"So, listen. We'll try to figure out how to get your body back. But, if we can't? Don't be using that as an excuse to not visit, yeah?"

If Cas had the choice, he'd never leave.

A flash of warmth roll through him, reminding Cas that he's not alone with his thoughts right now.

"Well. That'd be OK with me, too."

Cas smiles with Dean's lips. But that's OK because Dean's smiling too.

"...Have you listened to anything I just said?" Sam asks.

[verstappen-cult]

Hi Gwen, I really like your story. Can I ask for a lestappen x reader where they are going out together (shopping or date). Then when Max and Charles leave them for a bit, someone tries to hit on the reader but she's oblivious about it? Thank you!

“You think this would fit me?” You ask Charles, blue dress in hand. “But I want it in green.” Your boyfriend didn’t even have a chance to answer before you turned around, looking for something else. 

“I like how blue looks on you.” Max says, sitting next to an annoyed Charles. 

You’ve been shopping for the upcoming trip you’ve planned for summer break. They were excited to come with you at first, even though you insisted on going alone, so now they have a choice but to follow you around until you find everything you need. 

“That’s just because blue it’s your team color.” Charles huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “She looks prettier in Ferrari red.”

“Can you stop being so whiny?” Charles sticks his tongue out, leaning against Max. 

“Why don’t we go for something to drink, uh?” Your boyfriend says, wrapping an arm around the Monégasque’s shoulders. “Will you be okay?” 

“Can you get me an Iced Latte, please?” You look at him beneath your lashes as he stands up, dragging Charles with him. 

You decide to try on the blue dress just because Max likes it when you wear blue clothes. On your way to the changing room you spot a red strapless top and you grab it too. Making them happy is that easy. 

In the end, you like both items and there’s no doubt you’ll buy them, but you still want the dress in green. As you get out of the changing room, wanting to ask a saleslady if they have it in other colors, you bump into a young man which causes you to drop the clothes onto the floor. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.” You’re quick to apologize. The stranger looks up from his cellphone, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. However, once he sees you, his expression relaxes and a smirk appears on his face. 

“Don’t worry. It was my fault, I was looking at my phone.” He crouches down in front of you, picking up the clothes. He scans the items very carefully before giving them back to you. “Good choice.”

“Thank you, I really like them.” You say, happy that someone thinks they’re pretty. Maybe he’ll buy them for his girlfriend too. 

“I’m sure you’ll look hot in that dress.”

You don’t know what to say or how to react. Most times you ignore what men say to you, other times you thank them when they have good intentions or you know they're fans that respect you. But this man doesn't give you good vibes, not with the way he’s smiling at you with his eyes running over every curve in your body. 

He takes a step closer, and you want to throw up. What kind of perfume is he using? 

“You can use it on our date.” He says it with so much confidence you want to laugh in his face, but you don’t do it because that wouldn’t be very wise of you. However, you still hear someone laughing behind you. 

You don’t have to turn around to see who it is, you can recognize that laugh anywhere. 

“Who told you she wants to go out with you?” You feel Max’s warm body behind you, his hand finding your waist in a very possessive way.

Charles keeps laughing, which is drawing the attention of everyone in the shop. 

“I’m sorry,” He says, wiping imaginary tears as he stands next to Max. “Does that really work out for you? Because it’s awful, mate.”

“You should really think about changing the way you approach women.” Max’s voice is dripping with venom, and you instinctively lean closer. 

“Waiting for them outside the changing room, really? Pretending to not see her?” Charles is not laughing anymore, he looks pissed. “She’s taken, by the way.”

The stranger looks between Charles and Max, recognition crossing his features. 

“I’m so sorry!” He apologizes, his whole attitude changing in a minute. “I wouldn’t dream of hitting on your girlfriend. Never.”

Max laughs, but ignores him. “Are you done, schatje?” 

“Yes, but I was trying to ask someone if they have it in green when… well.”

“Let’s go see, then.” Max gives you a pat on your ass, making you giggle and walk away from the still very shocked guy. 

“Oh,” Charles says, making you and Max turn around to see what’s happening. He’s a few feet away from the stranger, walking in your direction but looking at the man standing right where you left him. “Think about changing your perfume too. You stink.”