#you've seen my post rotation

[spacequokka]

looking for hanse fics like

i need more, esp smut. the man is FOINE

[canisalbus]

I had a scrap piece of paper and drew the little freakish dog 👍 I have been silently enjoying your art for like a couple months now? I found it randomly on uploaded Pinterest and was like “oh huh that’s rad” and yeah he’s such a lovely sad little beast

.

[loveletterworm]

*looking at the art folders on my computer (which are separated by year)* Man i just noticed i draw the same character at least once every year but i haven't drawn him yet this year for some reason * Remembers it's only been this year for 5 days* Oh yeah that would make sense actually

[parfaitblogs]

(totally not based on my day) but a simple request for spencer helping reader out with a bunch of chores bc she's overwhelmed with life and she decides to thank him with like the quote "best head of his life" and he's like "its okay you dont have to do that" and she's responds "but i am anyways"

it will come back ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid helps you when you're (very) overwhelmed, and you might need to return the favour.  pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: comfort & smut (18+ mdni) tags: oral (m receiving). praise. established relationship. reader's overwhelmed overstimulated overworked... very enthusiastic head giver!reader. use of honey and angel. they love each other a lot. i love them a lot. i don’t think there’s d/s dynamics but if there are it’s soft dom spencer (nobody’s shocked). word count: 3.1k a/n: thank u sooo much for reading my brain ily i need to give spencer reid head asap. new format/layout for requests sort of its the same as my normal post layout... do we like... i sure freaking hope so. as always lmk if u liked this or even if u didn't but preferably if u did!!

You were exhausted. For three weeks straight, you had been working nonstop, with a wondrous total of eight hours in between shifts. You were hardly sleeping, you had hardly had a social life, hell, you never even had time to enjoy the simple pleasures of an everything shower. You felt groggy, and cramped, and everyday felt like an awful repeat of the last. A nightmare that never ended. 

Never mind the fact that you hadn't seen your boyfriend.

Always home too late to be with him in the evenings, and up too early to get coffee with him before your days started. Spencer was so patient with you, regardless. He knew it would end eventually, and he would get his girlfriend back. It was just for the month, was what you would text each other whenever the other began feeling particularly lonely. He didn't even like texting, but the time for a simple phone call wasn't available to you anymore. 

And your apartment. Every time you stepped into it you swore a new dirty dish materialised in your sink, or a new pile of clothes sat themselves in your bedroom floor. Which was odd, because you had rotated between the same two outfits for the last eighteen days — your work uniform, or your pyjamas. 

You were overwhelmed with it all. Even as your hectic work life came to an end, and you were waking up to the sunlight pouring into your room, instead of an alarm clock while the moon was still up. You were acutely aware of the mess of your apartment, and just the thought of it all left you lying motionless in your bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

Tears stung your vision as you felt the seconds tick into minutes, and nothing happened. Attempting to will yourself to get up, and yet you simply couldn't. Exhausted beyond belief, with limbs sinking into the mattress and melding to the sheets. 

You faintly heard the click of your front door lock, and if you had any more motivation in you, you'd probably get up to double check it was the only other person who had a key to your apartment, and not a burglar. Thankfully, you didn't have to, for Spencer was calling out your name, gently.

Too exhausted to even reply and alert him of where you were, you lay still until he had found you in your bedroom, his bad dropping by the doorway, feet shuffling against the rug. 

"Good afternoon," he said, finding a seat on the edge of your bed, hand resting atop your thigh, gentle circles being rubbed into the skin. 

"Is it already afternoon?" you asked him, voice quiet. 

"Yeah. How long have you been awake in bed?" 

"I don't know," you answered, voice awfully small as you felt the thick weight of frustration with yourself blanket over you. "I need to get up. The apartment's a mess."

"It's allowed to be," he said. "You've been doing sixteen hour days."

"Yeah, but I'm not today. I have the day off."

"Your first day off in weeks. I'd be concerned if you'd spent it productively."

You stared at him, unsure if the irritation that settled in your bones was because of his insistence that you not doing a thing was okay, or your exhaustion. Logically, it would be the latter. You did know that, deep down. 

Upon seeing your eyes delve into something a little more desperate, he sighed, hand sliding up to your own, gently tugging you up into a seated position. His eyebrows knitted together at your exhausted look, and you could see his brain ticking behind his eyes.

"Do you want to split the tasks?" he finally asked.

"You don't have to," you shrugged your shoulders. "It's my mess."

"Honey, you're already overwhelmed, and all you've done is wake up," he answered, thumb drawing circles on the top of your hand that he still seemed to have clasped within his own. "Let me help."

"It's really gross."

"I've seen mutilated dead bodies."

"I'd argue my kitchen sink is worse."

"Oh would you?" his eyebrows shot up, lips twitching in amusement, that you found solace in, distracting you slightly from your overstimulated mind. "Do you want to have a shower?"

"Yes," you nodded your head, brain ticking over all the personal hygiene tasks you had been neglecting over the past few weeks. 

"How about you go shower, I'll start cleaning up, and you come join me when you're feeling better?"

Despite your aversion to anybody but yourself tackling the mess of your apartment, you knew better than to deny Spencer any further — he had set his mind on helping you. 

Sighing, you nodded your head in defeat. He had coaxed you up off the bed, gotten you to the bathroom, even found you a fresh set of clothes to wear, and waited with you for the water to warm up. It was really only once he was absolutely sure you had gotten into the shower, did he leave you be, and disappeared from the bathroom. 

Eventually, the apartment had been cleaned, with efforts from the both of you getting it to where it now was. 

You were a lot less exhausted, and your brain was a lot less fried now that you didn't have a million tasks catalogued within it to get done. 

You were lying in your freshly made bed — courtesy of Spencer. Your head on his chest, fidgeting with one of his hands as he used the other to wave around as he rambled about something you were no longer following. It had started as a simple explanation for why you had been so overwhelmed in the first place. Which you had asked as a rhetoric, but didn't have the heart to stop him when he began explaining. 

"You're not listening, are you?" he asked, free hand poking your side and emitting an involuntary laugh from you at the feeling. 

"I am, I am! I'm just not following anymore."

"Sorry."

"It's okay," you replied, turning and poking your head up to be level with his. "I like hearing you speak, anyways. Doesn't matter if I don't understand."

He only hummed as a response, and the two of you stared at each other for a beat, before you were breaking out into a smile. 

"Hi," you chirped. 

"Hello," he answered, perhaps a little too amused by your sudden energy. "Would you like something?"

"A kiss?"

"After all that labour I just put in for you?" he mused, but he was already lifting his head to brush his lips against yours, and was most certainly not pulling away when you eagerly connected them properly. 

You pulled back after a few moments, searching his face. "Do you want something for all that labour?"

His hand trailed up your spine, fingertips triggering a shiver to run up your back. "What do you have in mind?"

"I could give you the best head of your life."

He was clearly not expecting that as an offer, perhaps because you never had offered such a thing before. It wasn't even something you had talked about, which was bizarre (in your mind), considering he was quite enthusiastic about using his mouth on you. 

"You don't need to do that," he shook his head, but with how close your faces were, you could see the instant dilation in his pupils. 

"What if I want to?" 

"Then that's very nice of you, but my point still stands," he replied.

"Spencer, let me do something in return," your voice was nothing short of a whine, and if he was any less turned on, maybe it wouldn't have made his firm footed denial falter. Maybe you knew that.

"You could do anything but that."

"So a handjob?"

"Or that."

"You're such an awful liar," you huffed. "I can see your pupils dilating. I know you're turned on by the thought of it."

"It could just be because I'm looking at you," he answered, voice hoarse, no doubt from the arousal he was attempting to deny was there. "Romantic attraction triggers the same response in our hormones."

"But it's not."

He fell silent for a few moments, before he allowed his resolve to slip, shaking his head in agreement with you. "No. It's not."

"See! It's okay if you want it. I'm quite literally offering myself to you," you spouted. 

His eyes fluttered shut, and he exhaled through his nose, words coming out through almost gritted teeth. "That's not a sentence you should be saying."

"Why not?"

His only response was to say your name chidingly, and when he reopened his eyes, he was met with the shit-eating grin on your face. 

"Brat," he mumbled, lips seeking yours once again.

"Who gives really good head," you hummed against his mouth. "And would really love to show you."

"If you're insisting—"

"Which I am," you quickly interjected, staring back at him as yet another amused smile stretched across his lips. Then, he was nodding his head, and you were quite cheerfully kissing him all over again.

It wasn't that you kissed him with much fever at all — in fact, you were melting into his lips with a gentle hum. It was simply that he was kissing you back with a desperation you should be accustomed to. You weren't. 

Every kiss you received from him always felt like he was chipping away at your soul, claiming a piece of it. Maybe he was.

You mewled when his teeth nipped at your lower lip, and he was quick to take the opportunity of slipping his tongue into your mouth. Though, alerted by his sudden control over the situation between you two, you reluctantly pulled your face away from his before it could go much further. 

"Excuse me," he breathed out, scoldingly, only to be met with your hundredth grin of the day as you descended down his body. He'd take it — you smiling, albeit cockily, was much more rewarding than the concerned look you had been sporting for the majority of the afternoon. 

"I don't do this very often," you told him as you lifted your gaze to his, absentmindedly tugging his pants down his legs. 

"I hope not. You've never done it for me, and we've been together for quite a while."

"You know what I mean," you grumbled, and he was forced to poke his tongue into the inside of his cheek to keep the smile off his face. 

"Is this comfortable for you?" he then asked, having noticed your constant adjustments of your positioning between his legs. From nerves or comfortability, he didn't know. 

"Um. I guess so," you replied. "I've never done it lying down."

"We can do it however you prefer to do it, angel."

"Oh. Okay. Cool," you mumbled, sitting up straight and grabbing his hands within your own, tugging him over towards the edge of the bed. 

You sank to your knees on the rug, tapping his knees with your hands to part them so you could situate yourself comfortably between them. 

You were a vision if he'd ever seen one, and you weren't even doing anything. Perhaps you had noticed the effect you had on him, or maybe you were just largely enthusiastic about doing something for him, and only him. 

Your tongue darted out to lick your lips, eyes flickering up to meet his face, and if this was the last sight he saw before he died, he would have no complaints. 

"Have you ever gotten head before?" you mumbled, eyes fixated on him as your hands trailed up the sides of his thighs, resting at the waistband of his boxers. 

"Yes."

"Okay," you whispered, quietly, tapping his hips so he could lift them, and you rolled his boxers down his skin.

"Okay?" he parroted. 

"Okay," you confirmed with a nod of your head. "I just wanted to know if this is going to be completely new for you or not."

As you spoke, your fingertips dragged along his inner thighs, lips following soon after, kissing up the skin. 

"I don't think that's going to matter, honey," he answered, voice breathless. 

You smiled, not needing to ask what he meant. You lifted your head back up, studying his face. He gave you a nod, a silent confirmation to allow you to go further, and you took a beat to compose yourself. It's not like he would be mad at you if it sucked, but you had had a far too awful day to not do something good. 

You hadn't done this in a while, it was true. So your hesitance came more from your brain figuring out what it actually needed to do, than your insecurities (they were there too). 

Insecurities that melted away within an instant, for Spencer's thighs tensed beneath your hands that were now holding them apart the second your lips made contact with his cock, and through your lashes you could see his head tipping back. 

Your cheeks warmed at how easy it was to get him to respond, and you wondered if the satisfaction settled in your chest was anything similar to how he felt when he did this to you. 

You started hesitant. Gentle kitten licks at his tip that probably shouldn't have been garnering such a large reaction from him. But it was, and you had to preoccupy your mouth to keep the smug smile off of it. 

Wrapping your lips around the head, he lets out the breathiest moan you think you've ever heard come from him, and your mind goes hazy. Newfound blind confidence wills you to take more of him in your mouth, and it's a quiet 'Fuck' that compels you even further. 

In hindsight, he knew he'd enjoy it. It was you after all. He knew from the world shattering arousal that the simple sight of you on your knees was. He had, in a few short seconds, mentally prepared to enjoy this.

But not this much, and certainly not this quickly. 

"I've been too selfless," he muttered as you lifted your head back up, tongue licking a stripe up the underside of him as you did. When you met his gaze in question, he added, "I mean never asking you for this. I should've."

You hummed as a response (it was all you really could do), and the gentle vibrations shot heat throughout his body. A shuddering moan rocked through his body, and if not for your quick response time in pushing his hips down, they would've knocked against your face when he bucked them up.

You hollowed your cheeks, lowering your head back down, and emitting the loveliest of moans from Spencer, whose hand found its way to your hair. Upon the lack of your protests, he made a loose ponytail with his fist, gently tugging on it upwards so you could lift your head. 

You flattened your tongue on your ascend, successfully making his already weak grip on your hair go slack, within only seconds of him having grabbed it. Swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock, his hips bucked up again, and you flinched. 

"Jesus—fuck, sorry, honey," he rasped, though his guilt was quick to dissipate as he saw your thumbs up against his thigh. Your movements weren't hesitant, anymore. Just slow. Tortuously slow. "Can I..." he trailed off, seemingly becoming unsure of what it was he was asking of you within seconds, but the retightening of his hand in your hair gave you all you needed to know. 

You nodded your head the best you could, and he mumbled a quiet 'thank you', allowing you to set a base pace, before taking over. 

"So good. Jesus Christ, angel. Where did you learn this? Don't answer that. Don't tell me. Shit." 

His rambling was sharp sentences, that didn't really sound like they belonged together, and certainly didn't sound like they should be coming out of his mouth. They weren't the most articulately structured phrases he's ever come up with. A thought that comforted you, because you were doing that to him. 

"Fuck," he breathed out, once more, and you came to the mental conclusion you've never heard him swear so much in his life. The thought made your stomach flip.

Fingers dug into your scalp, though not too harshly to hurt. In fact, you were letting out a quiet moan of your own at the feeling, hips wiggling. Even in his state, Spencer noticed, and he smiled.

"You—ah—okay, angel?" he asked you, and you relished in the fact that he couldn't get out sentences without moaning. 

Your response was yet another hum, and he was bucking his hips. Again.

You knew he was close for a multitude of reasons; the fact that he had quickened his gentle-turned-firm guidance of your head, his fingers tugging on your hair a little harsher than before, and the ever so lovely, "Jesus Christ—please—oh," leaving his lips, breathlessly.

It was a few more moments of that, before the fingers in your hair went impossibly tight, and the muscles in his thighs locked beneath your hands. 

The fact you had never discussed doing this, meant neither of you knew the other's stance on what to do. Thankfully, Spencer was rendered so frenzied that he couldn't do anything. 

It was a sickeningly lovely sight; you pulling back and swallowing, some of his come painting your bottom lip. His fingers twitched, before they dropped back to the mattress on either side of his body, his chest heaving just as much as your own. 

Lightheaded, you slowly brought yourself back up to your feet, and Spencer's arms were quick to wrap around the backs of your thighs, pulling you into him. 

"Best head of your life?" you asked, lowering your lips to brush against his. 

"By a mile," he replied. 

"Just one mile?" 

"Maybe two."

Shooting him a glare, you huffed, and he laughed. "You're never getting head again, then."

He nipped your lower lip. "Okay."

"I'm putting my foot down," you retorted, disliking his lack of belief in your words. "Never again."

"I believe that."

"You should."

"Oh, I do," he hummed, sarcasm in his words making you frown. "Are your knees okay?" 

If his goal was to distract you, he succeeded, for your eyes were instantly dropping to your knees, indents from the threads of the rug evident. 

"They're okay," you confirmed, squirming as his thumbs rubbed circles into the skin on your thighs. 

"Tell me if they're not," he instructed, and you nodded. He stood up, hands sliding up to your waist. "Shower?"

"Shower," you confirmed with a nod, despite the fact that you had showered only a few hours prior. "Can we watch a movie after?"

"Yes."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[ghouljams]

Gah! the last aphrodite! reader blurb you posted made me want to pull my hair out, cause how dare Ares?!???? I'd def make sure to be wearing all of the trinkets Nikto crafted for me whenever I'm going to be seen to (try) and send a message that I'm only loyal to one (very grumpy) man

There's nothing the gods love more than gossip. Especially when that gossip seems rife with sordid details. Ares loves nothing more than to share stories of his conquests, so why should you be any different? The stories are good, the details are devilish, and the gab is truly legendary. You can even hear the mortals gossiping about it.

For all that you inspire, you're not terribly creative. You know a flat out denial will do little to help your case, and though neither you nor Ares have proof to back up your claims, a good story is hard to pass up.

Though you know the outcome, you head for the forge. You've spent too many days holed up in your chambers. Too much time sleeping and hoping you'll wake up with your bed warm. Too much time feeling sick at the sight of anyone else, wondering if they think you're an adulterer, wondering if they don't.

Against all odds, the door opens.

And like a lamb for slaughter you take your place on your paltry altar.

"We wondered when you would come back." Nikto tells you over his shoulder as he lifts a gleaming sword from a drum of oil. You've never heard him speak Greek before, it feels like a douse of cold water to finally parse something from his covered lips. His voice is so rich, rumbling like chariot wheels over gravel roads, that it brings the heat rushing back immediately. "If you would come back." He seems to correct himself, and you're right back where you started.

"The door was locked," You tell him, it feels easier to keep that as an explanation than wonder if he'd believed the rumors. You could always ask, but you caution your heart against hoping for him to believe you. Nikto hums, the sound muffled and tinny behind his mask.

"You have key." He supplies finally, rotating the sword to check its edge.

"I don't," you shake your head. Your husband points with the blade, the metal held between iron pinchers, over your head. You tip your head back and blink at the heavy key dangling above you. Something in your chest clenches tight. "Thank you." You mumble, turning to pull the thing from its hook.

"What is ours is yours." Nikto mutters, turning to set the blade on his anvil again.

Your head rings with the beat of hammers once more.

There is silence in the clamor of creation.

[starryalpacasstuff]

The Absence of India in Discussions on Queer Asian Media

(Edit: Since making this post, I've compiled a list of all the queer Indian media I can find here (it's also pinned on my blog). India may still be relatively absent from discussions on queer media, but it doesn't have to be that way, and change starts with us!)

So, yesterday @lurkingshan tagged me in an ask she got from @impala124 about the absence of India when we're talking about queer Asian media. I was intially just going to reblog it with my thought, but as it kept growing I figured it'd be best to just make my own post. Please read the ask linked above first so this makes sense.

*cracks knuckles* this is going to be the most fun I've had writing a post in ages. (For a little background, I'm a queer Indian, born and raised)

So, this is a very interesting question on a subject I've been rotating in my head for the past several months. There's a lot of different variables that contribute to the noticeable lack of discussion on Indian and South Asian queer media in general, so I'm just going to talk through the ones I've noticed a little randomly.

Talking about Asian media in general, it's well known that the mass popularity of kpop and anime has contributed massively to the increase in popularity of Asian media. If you've been in the Asian media fandom for any amount of time at all, you'll have noticed that media from Korea, Japan, and China gets by far the most attention from international audiences; all East Asian countries. There may be several reasons for this, but in particular, it's no secret that the fetishization of East Asians is a massive proponent in the popularity of media from these countries, while there's no such interest in South Asians. If we shift our focus to queer media specifically, media from these three countries is still extremely popular, with the addition of Thailand and the Philippines to some extent; both South East Asian countries. From what I've seen, there's very little international interest in media from South Asian countries (although, if we're talking about India specifically, I can't exactly say anything. Bollywood has not been good lately). If we talk about queer South Asian media, the scope of interest falls even further. If you'll notice, MyDramaList, one of the most commonly used websites for finding and tracking Asian shows only allows for East and South-East Asian shows. So, that's one reason—there's just not much international interest in Indian media in general. As Shan said in the initial post, it's partially because of a difference in priorities. Korea is notorious for using media to gain global standing, the role of the 'soft power' of Thai bls in the recent bills for equal marriage in Thailand has been widely discussed, the list goes on. Could racism also play a part in the massive gulf of interest in media from East Asian versus South Asian countries? Probably. But I'm not going to get into that too much.

Moving on, there's obviously a massive lack of queer media in India. I think this is greatly exacerbated by the fact that it's very hard to support the people making queer media beyond buying and/or streaming their work. The majority of people engaging with Indian queer media are queer Indians, and a lot of us have to do so in secret because of the society we live in. This means that creators that have to push through several obstacles to publish their work often receive little incentive to continue doing so because of the lack of engagement. Because of the lack of media, international fans are less likely to become interested in queer Indian media, and the cycle continues.

I will say though, contrary to what Shan said, I think Indian media, particularly anything that came out post 2019 might actually be on the easier end of the spectrum when it comes to access. This may simply be bias, so forgive me if I'm wrong here, but from what I've seen, a lot of queer Indian shows are in fact available on streaming sites, and at most you'd need a vpn to access them. I think the two main things that actually hold back queer Indian media from becoming more popular are a lack of noise and it's relatively lower quality.

The main way we find out about new shows in this space is through either word of mouth (well actually, post) or because we follow production houses known for producing media. Because of the sparse nature of both the media and the consumers, there's very few people who learn enough about the media to want to give it a shot. For example, there's a film on netflix called Badhaai Do (hindi for Congratulate Us) that I've been meaning to watch for a while. It centers around a lavender marriage and I've heard a lot of good things about it, so I was slightly surprised to see that most of the people on tumblr I interact with who have been engaging with queer media for far longer than me had never heard of it. There's also a, Indian BL from 2017 called Romil and Jugal that I've written about before here, and I would've never learned of it's existence if not for a friend hearing about it from another friend of hers.

Because there's so little queer indian media, it's natural that the quality leaves much to be desired. The main issue is, because the queer asian media market has become so saturated lately people are becoming a lot more selective with what they watch, and for good reason. This means that queer media from india is simply unable to grow and improve over time, leaving it stagnant. Back in 2016-2018, the overall dearth of queer media from Asia meant that a lot of people were willing to watch shows that were average or even worse. Thailand particularly seems to have benefitted from this, being able to grow and evolve its queer media due to the successes of shows like SOTUS, 2gehter, TharnType and more even recently, KinnPorsche. Queer Indian media will have a much, much harder time with this because of all of the factors I've talked about and more, meaning that it is much harder for queer media to evolve. Honestly, though I haven't been able to watch/read much queer media from India, the stuff I have seen is really quite decent, it's just that it tends to fail in comparison to some of the brilliant stuff we're seeing from other countries. A while a ago, I bought four queer books by Indian authors, and of the three I've read so far, I'd genuinely recommend two, albeit one with quite a few reservations (I'll be writing about them sometime in the future, just haven't found the time yet). While talking about this with @neuroticbookworm, she brought up the excellent point of how Indian media in general has just been of fairly poor quality lately. It seems to me that a lot of it is catered to more conservative audiences, which results in people like me becoming disillusioned with Indian media and simply moving onto things from other countries. It has been a long time since I've watched anything worthwhile come out of Bollywood. So, it becomes even harder for queer Indian shows to be found at all; a majority of their target audience has already forsaken Indian media as a lost cause.

So, those are a bunch of reasons because of which there's not a lot of discussion about queer Indian media in fandom spaces like Tumblr. Something else I'd like to point out is, it's very hard for queer shows in India to gain much traction whatsoever. Live television slots are ruled by the infamous Indian serials, the majority of the audience being people in their late thirties and older, particularly women. And while homophobia is just as prevalent amongst the youth of India as it is amongst older generations, younger people are far more likely to be engaging with queer media, in India at least. This means that it would be near impossible for queer shows to air on live television the way they do in countries like Thailand and Japan. The majority of Indian youth use global streaming services to watch shows, hence the greater concentration of queer shows on service platforms. (Romil and Jugal is something of a dark horse here—I don't believe it was ever aired, but it was produced by a producer who has a few decently popular serials under her belt and is available on an Indian steaming service—another reason I'm determined to research how tf this show ever came into existence) If we talk of movies, the industry is limited by the iron fist of Bollywood, another reason it's very hard for queer movies to be produced and why they're generally found on streaming sites.

There's just not a lot of people who have the balls it would take to make a queer Indian show/movie and push it to the Indian public beyond a streaming service. I mean, we're all seeing what's happening with the Love in The Big City drama right now, and believe me, public backlash in India would be the same, if not much worse. And if no one in India is watching these shows, why would anyone in any other part of the world? There's barely any public figures that would be willing to participate in such a project, so queer media stays underground. Currently, Karan Johar is the most popular—and one of the only—out celebrities in Bollywood, and, well, he's treated as something of a laughing stock by the public. He has one or two queer adjacent shows under his belt as a producer, but once again, they're barely known and available only on Netflix. There was a movie called Dostana in which he played a straight guy pretending to be gay but, well, that speaks for itself. And well, I can't exactly blame him for it, knowing how the Indian entertainment industry is.

To talk a little more about the specific comparison between India and Korea, I think you're fairly accurate in saying that the two countries seem to be roughly on par in terms of homophobia, although that's an extremely vague statement that's rather hard to either prove or disprove. While the difference in international attention towards Korean and Indian media is certainly a major component of the difference in discussion about the queer media from these countries, there's obviously other things that go into it as well. There's this video I watched some time ago on the progression of queer representation in K-dramas that's quite well researched. It's an hour and a half long, so in case you don't have the time to watch it (though I do recommend it), it basically talks about some of the dramas with queer rep that have aired on Korean television and their impact. While it's hard to gauge the level of impact of these shows on the availability of bls and gls in Korea, they certainly had an effect, if only telling the queer population of Korea that they are seen and heard. To my knowledge (although I may be mistaken), no such queer rep has ever aired on Indian television, meaning that there's nothing to push creators to put queer media out there. There have been old movies and shows that depict queerness, but none of them ever reached the sort of the scale where they may have some sort of impact on the industry. As I mentioned earlier, the widespread popularity of K-dramas (and k-pop) does make it easier for creators to make queer media since there's a much higher chance of the shows being successful thanks to the international audience. Bringing back Love In The Big City, the success of the book abroad and the high probability of the show being well received internationally is probably one of the reasons it was able to be produced amongst domestic backlash.

Now, I've been talking a lot about how it's difficult for queer Indian media to gain any sort of international recognition with domestic attention. However, it's not necessarily the case. Here's where I start rambling (I say, as if this post isn't verging on 2k words). It's been proven that the presence of the international market allows for greater creative freedom in spaces beyond television. The best example comes from Korea's very own 'soft power'; K-pop. There's a K-pop group called Dreamcatcher that debuted in 2017 with a rock sound and horror concept that was extremely rare in kpop at the time. They succeeded mainly by focusing most of their promotions to the foreign market, knowing that their concept would not be well liked in Korea. And they succeeded. Today, Dreamcatcher has a sizeable fandom and has even been growing in popularity in Korea, with the Korean public warming up to their genre and having influenced other girl groups to try out similar sounds. We've already talked about the lack of international attention for Indian media, but there's also the issue that the producers of queer Indian media aren't marketing to foreign audiences, which remain ignorant.

That's all I have, this is so long good lord. All in all, there's a bunch of factors that feed into each other creating a cycle which means that, unless there's a break somewhere, queer Indian media will remain unrecognized. I'm excited to see what other people have to say, because this is a topic close to my heart and I'd definitely enjoy seeing more discussions around it.

[mokku-latte]

A Slice of Cake

Jinx x fem! Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

There was a sudden tranquility coursing through you when you visited Jinx, her rampage has left an impression on you that can no longer be ignored. Unfortunately, life in Piltover wasn't exactly what you pictured, and you decided it was time for a change of scenery. But why did it leave a gnawing in Jinx's stomach when you came back to her with a 'clearer' head than ever.

You'd fix it. Maybe with a slice or two. After all, you promised.

Trigger warning: Suicidal Thoughts, Implied Suicide, Hurt/No Comfort

Author’s Note: First time posting on here, or posting a fic really. Sorry in advance for any errors!

You can also read it on AO3!!

___

"Stupid. Dumb. Machine-!" She pushed the makeshift bomb away as it clicked from her error. It rolled off the ledge falling past the depths of the abandoned fissure before exploding in purples and blues. Jinx slumped back in her chair, grunting and clutching her braids. She breathed heavily through the strands of hair. Nothing was working, nothing was cooperating. Her voice came out mocking, child-like even.

"What? No witty, come back Mylo? Claggor?" Jinx grumbled, rolling her eyes. They've been quiet. Too quiet after his death. It made her uneasy. She got up, grabbing pow-pow off to the side.

"Then again you two usually shut up, in courtesy of my guests, ain't that right, toots?" Jinx's voice was like venom when she heard footsteps echo throughout her hideout. The barrel of her minigun slowly came to life rotating as you stepped through the foyer.

You.

Age as always, was a bitch. It changes you, making strangers out of those faces you long forgotten. You were you, no mistaking that. The way you carried, yourself, your mannerisms, your walk. You stop just a few feet of her, mouth opening to talk. The memories battered and slammed against Jinx's head, her eyes twitching in hurt and anger. It all proves too much for her when she presses down on the trigger, not even giving you a chance as the smoke of her bullets caught her vision masking you in its entirety.

Jinx keeled over, chest heaving. She wouldn't cry, she wouldn't give you the satisfaction, not when you left her, not when you stayed away, and surely when she got to see your face after so long. Her eyes looked up once the smoke cleared. A snarl coming from her lips.

"You don't just get to walk in here, y'know? Already heard of your little escapade at firelight's base. M' sure catching up with boy savior was just peachy," You stood there, eyes looking down at the bullet holes that stopped just at your feet and trailing up the wall beside you. Her sudden outburst had you turning back to her.

"News flash toots! You were the one who promised 'I'll never stray from you Powder!' and- and- 'Let's build a better life in Zaun' HAH-" Jinx prattled with a mocking tone, walking around in a circle.

"Ya' sure did get that better life, huh? What's it like up there in the fresh air and prissy prim buildings, Piltie?" She sneered at you, gun teasing your abdomen. Betcha' wondered if she'd miss this time?

You expected this. How could you not? Vi told you, Ekko told you, yet none of it seemed to matter. Powder- No Jinx. A wanted criminal. A danger to those around her, to those who like to get in close, people like you. Her damage was irreparable, the fruits of her labor were clear. The bombing of all those enforcers, the council chair incident, the sudden death of a Chembaron NO one seemed to know the cause of death of? It screamed her name. To say it lightly, things were not okay. It was impressive, really.

"...You looked like you've seen better days," Was all you said, eyes taking in her face, her blue bell braids, her attire, her... pink eyes. You could see the dark color of her veins, poke prominently on the skin of her face. An effect of shimmer, no doubt. Nonetheless, you would fix it.

Jinx faltered when You held up a box in front of her.

"S' not much. I don't expect you to forgive me, but Vi said I should bring something," You opened it to reveal a small little cake. You two once stole some during your little Piltover raids as kids, sweet vanilla. Plain and simple. Yet she wouldn't have it any other way.

The cake. That simple, small cake sitting in the box. It's so familiar, so…you. It's the cake you used to steal from that little bakery in Piltover, the one with the old man who always chased them out, yelling about thieving Zaunites. You'd both run and laugh and stuff your faces with those sweet, simple cakes until the both of you were sick. It was a different life, a different world. Before everything went wrong. Before she went wrong.

But the cake...it's a line in the sand. A gesture of peace in a world that's nothing but war you weren't sure you'd come back from. She knows she should be suspicious. She knows she should be angry. But all she can feel is a strange, aching emptiness. A void that used to be filled with laughter and stolen moments and the comforting presence of a friend who understood her in a way no one else ever did.

She takes a shaky breath, and her grip on pow-pow loosens just a little. She doesn't lower the weapon, but she doesn't point it at you anymore, either. She's not sure what to do with her hands, so she lets them weapon dangle awkwardly at her sides.

"You...you brought me cake," she says slowly, her voice small and hoarse. It's not a question, but it's not quite a statement either. She's trying to process, to make sense of something kind in a world that's only ever been cruel. Jinx let out quick breathes. Mistrust and wavering vulnerability clear behind them as she looked at you. You didn't look afraid as much as people should be in this situation, but no... It's not like you were afraid, just tired.

"You knew," she whispers, her voice trembling. "You knew what you were getting into. You knew...what I've become."

She takes a step forward, her movements jerky and unpredictable. She's like a cornered animal, ready to strike or flee at any moment. Her free hand curls into a tight fist at her side, her nails digging into her palm hard enough to draw blood.

"So why? Why come back? Why now?" Her voice rises, edged with a frantic desperation. "Is this some kind of joke? Some twisted game? Are you here to gloat? To see how far I've fallen?"

You blinked at her slowly, before sighing. Jinx stammered when you pushed pass her, sitting the box atop the workbench. Jinx's eyes widen as You turn your back on her, as if she's not holding a weapon that could blow you both to smithereens. As if she's not a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any moment.

"I'm...simply here to right a wrong," You murmured, taking one of the tools Jinx had, blowing on it, and rubbing at it with your sleeve. It'll have to do. She watches, dumbfounded while you casually took one of her tools and started cutting into the cake.

"Right a wrong," she repeats, her voice hollow. "Is that what you call it?"

Her laugh is brittle, devoid of any real humor. "And what exactly is the wrong you're trying to right, huh? Leaving me? Abandoning me like everyone else?"

She takes a step closer, her movements slow and deliberate. "Or maybe...maybe you're here to fix me." Her voice drips with sarcasm, but there's a hint of something else beneath it. Hope, maybe. Or fear.

"Is that it? Cut a cake, POOF- and everything will be like it used to be? Like I'm still her?"

"Fix you?" Your head raised making her freeze up. You weren't looking at her, your voice pondering as you tilted your head. Jinx could almost smell the familiar scent of lavender, that natural scent you always had on her. You once fell into a tub of suds, when you all cut through this one Pilties house to escape enforcers. The smell stuck with you ever since, weirdly enough. You liked it, one of the few things you could control about yourself.

"I think that time has long passed, damage is damage really..." The tool went back to cutting.

"Me being here is just a means to an end, a talk that was loooonnng overdue," you said, sticking out your tongue while you concentrated, lifting a piece of cake and resting it on a space of its unfurled cardboard.

"That's all this is to you? Just a little chat?"

She gestures wildly with pow-pow, the weapon wavering in the air between them. "Well, let me tell you something. We've got nothing to talk about. Nothing!" Jinx marched around. She wanted to make her intentions clear.

"Coming here, acting like nothing happened, like I didn't sit here for years waiting for you, hoping you'd come back. Hoping you'd be different. Hoping you wouldn't leave me like everyone else."

She's yelling now, her words slurring together as they tumble out in a torrent of emotion. "But you did. You left me. And now you're here, cutting a fucking cake like it's all going to be okay. Like I'm not a monster. Like I'm not..."

She trails off, her voice suddenly small and broken. "Like I'm not alone."

She falls silent, her chest heaving with the effort of her outburst. She's shaking, her hands trembling around the grip of pow-pow. And for a moment, just a moment, she looks like the little girl she used to be. Lost, scared, and desperately clinging to the hope that someone, anyone, might stay.

You sucked on your thumb, licking the frosting off. Turning, you sat atop the work bench, waving the tool lazily.

"Jinx," You tested the tongue on her name and she only scoffed. No longer Powder. Powder apparently fell down a well.

"Would Silco have taken me in, too? When I was bleeding out on the floor, watching with hazy eyes as you ran into his arms after Vi left the scene of the explosion," Jinx shuddered at your question, eye jumping slightly at the thought.

"I mean...I knew he tried to kill us all as kids at first because we were witnesses and all that with Vander being our guardian, but he took you. Grew close to you, from what I was told," You said softly, hands moving the tool like an airplane.

"I don't resent you anymore for putting your trust in him. I used to be angry about it. For siding with the man who killed Vander, but I'm tired of being so...reactive," Your head hung lazily.

"Silco..." Jinx starts, her voice rough and unsteady. "He...he saved me. When Vi left, when everyone left...he was the only one who didn't abandon me."

She looks away, her gaze distant and haunted. "He took me in, gave me a place to belong. A purpose. He...he became my family."

But even as she says the words, there's a brittleness to them. A fragile, desperate edge that betrays the insecurity beneath the bravado.

"And yeah, maybe he...maybe he did some bad things. Maybe he hurt people. But he never hurt me. He never left me."

"And I ask again..." You finally looked her.

"Would he have taken me too?" Would you have ever had a chance? Being here with Jinx instead of becoming a rescue in Piltover. Had he noticed the other girl bleeding out from the rubble, would he have been as merciful? Silco was unpredictable, who knows?

Jinx's shoulders tense at your question, her fingers tightening around pow-pow until her knuckles turn white. She doesn't want to answer. She doesn't want to think about it. But the words force their way out, trembling and raw.

"I...I don't know," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her own heart. "I don't know if he would have...if he would have taken you too."

She swallows hard, her throat constricting painfully. "He...he might have. He might have taken you in, given you a new life. A chance to be a part of something bigger, something more than...than what Piltover offered."

A Lie.

That's what that was. There was an opportunity to shape and to mold. And that man took it when he had her. His ambition got him killed, his love for her, the parallels between him and Vi were too great. His indulgence in the transition between Powder and Jinx was an oddity, something that left behind confusion, and more pain than good. And you saw it all, the anguish it caused, the addicts on the streets of Zaun, the people it affected.

"But it's too late now, isn't it? It's too late to go back. Too late to change what's already been done."

Jinx turns away, her shoulders slumped in defeat. "So what's the point of talking about it? What's the point of anything?"

She laughs then, a harsh, bitter sound that echoes in the stillness of the workshop. "Maybe I'm just a monster after all. Maybe I deserve to be alone. Maybe..." You looked at her, sucking in your bottom lip.

"Come have a slice of cake," You said gently, gesturing her over with the flick of the tool.

Jinx stares at you, her expression unreadable. The pain and anger and confusion swirling inside her like a hurricane, threatening to tear her apart. But beneath it all, there's a small, fragile spark of hope. A desperate, yearning desire to believe that maybe, just maybe, you really were here. That this was real. That maybe this isn't some cruel trick or twisted game her mind conjured.

She takes a hesitant step forward, her movements slow and uncertain. "I...I don't know if I should," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I don't know if I can trust this. If I can trust you."

But even as she says the words, she finds herself taking another step, and then another. Until she's standing in front of you, so close she can see the flecks of gold in her friend's skins. The history of Piltover, and its effects of it on you, how much you changed. So close she can smell the familiar scent of lavender once more, a reminder of happier times.

"Why?" she asks, her voice raw and broken. "Why are you really here?"

"...I was friends with Powder. It's a check-up of sorts and it's a first finally seeing 'Jinx', you know?" You only tilted her head at her. Jinx watched as You cut her a slice, dropping the piece next to your half-eaten slice.

"I guess, I'm still figuring out first impressions," You added.

She looks up at you, her eyes searching her friend's face for any sign of deceit. But there's nothing there. Just the same warm, familiar eyes she remembers from their childhood. The same gentle smile that always seemed to understand her, even when she couldn't understand herself.

Slowly, hesitantly, she reaches out and picks up the slice of cake. She brings it to her mouth, taking a tentative bite. The sweetness explodes on her tongue, and for a moment, she's transported back to those simpler times. Back to the days when they would raid the Piltie houses together, stuffing their faces with stolen treats and laughing until their sides ached.

She swallows hard, blinking back the sudden tears that threaten to spill down her cheeks. "It's good," she mumbles, her voice rough and unsteady. "Really good."

"Glad, you like it," You spoke softly, taking out a small cannister, playing with the top. A moment of silence went over them, reveling in the cake and the tranquility of it all. But even times like these have an abrupt stop.

Jinx takes another bite, savoring the flavor, letting it fill the empty spaces inside her. For a moment, she allows herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things can be different. That maybe you really do still care, that you haven't come here just to rub salt in old wounds.

But then the moment passes, and the doubts come rushing back. The memories of all the pain and betrayal, all the times she was left alone and forgotten. She puts the cake down, her appetite suddenly gone.

"So what now?" she asks, her voice flat and tired. "What happens after the cake? Do we go back to the way things were, with you in Piltover and me here in the lanes? Or do we try to start over, pretend like nothing ever happened?"

She looks at you, her eyes hard and challenging. "Because I don't know if I can do that. I don't know if I can just...forget. Forget everything that's happened, everything I've done. Everything."

"Me, going back to Piltover?" You snorted, a small smile making it to her face. Your eyes looked forward, looking around Jinx's hideout.

"No, no...I have other plans," You crossed your legs, picking off a piece of her cake and pressing it into your mouth, finishing the rest for her.

Jinx's eyes narrow at your words, a flicker of suspicion crossing her face. Other plans? What could that possibly mean? She looks around her hideout, suddenly seeing it through your eyes. The mess of weapons and wires, the stacks of crates and barrels, the general air of chaos and destruction. It's not exactly the kind of place you have a friend over for a casual visit.

"What kind of plans?" she asks, her voice guarded and wary. "You're not...you're not here to take me back to Piltover, are you? To turn me in to the enforcers?"

"I wouldn't hold a cake to you even if I tried," You said a pun, licking icing off your lips, holding up your arms and flexing. Nothing. Piltover really had softened you up. You and 'Powder' were the weakest of the bunch when they were little in comparison to Vi, Claggor, and Mylo.

"You know when I entered Zaun again after all these years, a guy held a knife to my throat. I almost forgot how easy it is to just get robbed in this place. Can't say I missed it," You sighed.

"Nonetheless, the guy was confused when I gave him everything, I just asked him to spare the cake at least, figured everything I gave him was more than enough,"

Jinx looks you up and down, taking in the plain, utilitarian outfit. The lack of anything valuable or flashy. And suddenly, the pieces start to fall into place.

"You...you came here with nothing," she says slowly, realization dawning in her eyes. "You came here with no weapons, no money, no way to protect yourself. You're completely defenseless."

She shakes her head, a mix of incredulity and frustration crossing her face. "What were you thinking, toots? Coming back to Zaun like this, after all this time? Don't you know how dangerous it is? Don't you know what happens to people who walk around without protection?"

She takes a step closer, her gaze intense and searching. "Is this some kind of joke to you? Some kind of game? Because if it is, it's not funny. It's not funny at all."

Her voice rises, edged with a note of desperation. "You could have been killed. You could have been hurt, or worse. And for what? To come see me? To bring me a stupid cake?"

"Please...Tell me. Tell me why you're here. Tell me what you want from me."

You looked at her. Powder. Funny, she must've been clawing her way up that well for years. Right...you came here with nothing. Sitting all carelessly, eating cake and minding yourself as though you weren't just robbed or- Jinx paused, her hands freezing in place from her little rant as she slowly looked at You. Your face seemed content.

It was eerie.

"I don't need anything," You smiled, patting your hands clean.

"I'm just finally giving myself the time to actually hash things out, with Vi, Ekko, and now-"

"Me," Jinx finished.

It was a list. A bucket list.

Jinx swallowed, head slowly shaking. She's seen this before. Felt this before. No person just wakes up suddenly deciding to go around, catching up, talking, giving away their possessions. You were talking but your voice was muffled out.

"Stop," she whispers, her voice hoarse and trembling. "Please, just stop."

You quieted. The tool in your hand suddenly felt more heavier when Jinx gave you that painful stare.

"Jinx?" You tilted your head at her.

"You...you're not here to say hello, are you?" she asks, her voice barely audible. She huffed, with a broken chuckle.

You falter when Jinx approached you, a small smile etched on your face but it seemed anything but happy.

"Was it that obvious?" You said lightheartedly. You yelped when Jinx slammed her hands against the table on either side of you, wedging herself between your legs. The cake battered tool felt to the ground with a echoing thud. Your breathing quickened seeing Jinx hover over you, not touching you just...hovering. Her head was held low, face just shy of your chest.

"...I'm sorry," Was all you could muster, not making any sudden moves. Your eyes looked anywhere else. It was uncomforting. You felt as though one glance at Jinx would make this plan all go crumbling down.

Jinx's breath is hot and ragged against your chest, her body trembling with a mix of rage and desperation. She can feel your heartbeat beneath her palms, the steady rhythm a stark contrast to the chaos raging inside her own.

"Don't," she whispers, her voice a hoarse, pleading rasp. "Don't you dare apologize. Not now. Not like this."

Jinx felt like she was being punched senseless. How could you come in here, wedge her way back in without even trying, AND offer her a damn slice of cake with a smile as if you were going to disappear without a trace after?

How cruel.

It' was heartless and it makes her want to scream, to lash out, to do anything to make the pain stop.

But she doesn't. Instead, she just stands there, frozen in place, her body shaking with the force of her emotions. She wants to say something, to beg you to stay, to promise her that everything will be okay. But the words won't come. They stick in her throat, thick and heavy and impossible to swallow.

So, she just stares at you, her eyes wide and haunted, her face a mask of despair. She watches as her friend's smile fades, replaced by a look of quiet resignation. And she knows, with a sickening certainty, that this would be messy.

"Please," she whispers, her voice a hoarse, broken plea not exactly sure what she was even pleading for.

You lean back on your arms, sucking in a breath. Your legs slowly wrap their way around Jinx's waist as though to give her something that told her you were grounded, that you were still interested in sharing words.

"Sometimes I think of how easy it would've been if I bled out after that explosion. Then, I wouldn't be feeling such bothersome things," You smiled.

"Being rescued and spending my life in Piltover, it was like a slap in the face. My brain simply thinking about how all it took was a near death experience to make a change happen, I spent my entire life drowning in this fact. Wondering why it took seeing a child on their death bed, for anyone from topside to finally act. Would it not just be better if all of Zaun dropped dead then?" You popped open the cannister in your hand, taking a long swig of the contents.

She looks at you, her brow furrowed in confusion and concern.

"What are you saying?" she asks, her voice trembling slightly. "What does this have to do with me? With us?"

You grabbed her face gently, wiping at Jinx's watery eyes and pressing your forehead against hers. Such pretty eyes, even with their blue gone. Her presence never faded.

A shame really, but a change of plans was called for. You wouldn't have it any. Other. Way.

Jinx sputtered when you nuzzled into her; gasping before you pressed your lips against hers. Jinx blinked back tears feeling a liquid slip past her lips, swallowing unconsciously. You...You really were something. Jinx coughed, catching her breath when you pulled away. Her eyes only held confusion, eyes darting between the cake, you, the canister-

The canister.

Jinx let out a whimper going to snatch it up. Empty.

You looked at her, a soft sigh leaving your lips at her defeated expression.

"I like you, a lot. Pow-...Jinx, I wasn't sure if any of that would change seeing you now but..." You had a smile on your face.

"Cake never tasted the same after separating from you, from everyone, from Zaun. I grew sick of it. But I can stomach cake for you though, anything for you," She slowly shook her head at you, voice catching in her throat.

"Piltover life may have not suited me. I don't think Zaun can either after I went over so many possibilities when I made this decision. Vi, Ekko, You. Should I stay? Should I go far away?" Jinx shuddered when you hugged her, body slumping against hers. So warm, you missed this, more than ever as you happily spoke.

"My mind has never been so clear," Tears rolled down Jinx's face at your words, arms holding you tightly.

You weren't moving anymore.

A scenario in which you plan a double suicide, to rid Zaun and Piltover of the incidents caused by Jinx and relinquish yourself of the trauma you've endured. It ultimately backfires when you notice that girl you love still has a chance.

[samuelsdean]

Stay With Me

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary:  "you’ve been shot countless times, huh?” “that sounded a bit more reassuring in my head.”

genre: angst & fluff

word count: 1.1k

author's notes: almost a year of no writing, but i'm finally home (i posted a new fic)! it's been one hectic year for me. uni was crazy & i started my clinical rotations. plus, i did my thesis & it even got a distinction mark so i'll be presenting it at a research congress pretty soon (yay!). with that, i'm really sorry for ghosting ao3 & tumblr. i couldn't find the time to insert it in between uni & breaking down lol. anyway, i'll be posting a lot more while i'm on break. i hope you'll enjoy reading my first fic after a year of zzz. have fun!

YOU CAN HEAR SIRENS AND PEOPLE SHOUTING.

They say when you are knocking on death’s door, hearing is the last of your senses you will lose. If you’re dying, you don’t know it. Nothing makes sense at the moment. It’s all just blurry hues of blues and reds and shouting—Stay with me—the smell of something metallic. The only thing you’re sure of right now is that your head hurts and it seemed like a van ran right through you with how achy your body feels right now. 

Who’s  that? You mused. Why are they yelling at me?  I’m  right here. You turned your head slightly and tried to open your eyes.

It’s quite the task.

“T-That’s it,” The person, whom you think was yelling at you, said. “Stay with me, Y/N. Don’t close your eyes.”

You groaned and gripped the person's hand tightly as if to stand up, but you couldn't. Everything ached. And the person holding you, just kept on talking, their voice a low murmur at first. But even through the haze of pain, it was starting to sound familiar. You recognized that dulcet tone, the rich, smooth sound that could captivate your attention with random facts or lull you to sleep with equal ease.

The voice, you realized with a flicker of a smile, belonged to Spencer, its familiar cadence a warm current cutting through the blossoming pain.

“Reid?” You croaked.

Your throat’s dryer than any other desert in existence right now. And you sound worse than you look—you think—you don’t know for sure, except the fact that you can’t move much.

“It’s me,” Spencer chuckled while sniffling. “I’m right here.”

“What’s going on?”

Even through the haze of pain, a new wave of discomfort bloomed in your shoulder, sharp and insistent. Before you could react and get up, Spencer's hand tightened on yours, his voice laced with a tremor you'd never heard before. "Don't move, Y/N. You've been shot."

He applied pressure on your wound—which you just noticed. The pain hit you in a delayed wave, a white-hot stab that stole your breath. You hissed a weak sound that did little to mask the spike in your heart rate. 

"Stop moving or you're gonna bleed out even more!" Spencer's voice, usually so calm and collected, was laced with a raw panic you'd never heard before.

"Easy there, tiger," you tried to joke, your voice raspy. "I've been through worse. I’ve been shot countless times. W-why are you so worried?"

The question came out in a shaky whisper, the concern evident in his voice a stark contrast to the usual intellectual debates you shared.

Spencer's grip tightened, momentarily cutting off your circulation. "Because you could have died, Y/N!" he snapped, his voice cracking with a choked sob. "You… you were…"

He trailed off, unable to put into words the terrifying image that had flashed before him when he saw you collapse, after hearing the sound of a bullet whizzing by and hitting you.

The sight of your vulnerability stripped away his usual composure, leaving a raw fear he couldn't conceal. It took him a moment to regain his composure, his voice softening as he continued, "You shouldn't be so glib about this. It was a nasty shot, close to a major artery."

Despite the pain, a warmth bloomed in your chest. You'd never seen Spencer like this, so shaken and afraid.

"Okay," you murmured, forcing a weak snicker. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, at least I got you to patch me up, right, Dr.Reid?"

A ghost of a smile glinted across his face, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Hold still," he mumbled, amused but also bothered at your dreadful timing for jokes. He applied pressure more gently this time. "You’ve been shot countless times, huh?”

“That sounded a bit more reassuring in my head” You quipped. 

A bit lightheaded from the pain, you clutched Spencer’s hand. The shriek of approaching sirens and the glare of headlights cut through the haze. You struggled to focus on the lifeline thrown in a storm of confusion.

"They're here," Spencer said, his voice tight. A sheen of sweat beaded on his forehead, a stark contrast to his usual cool composure.

"About time," you rasped, trying to lighten the mood. The effort cost you a fresh wave of dizziness, the world tilting slightly on its axis.

To which, Spencer shot you a look that was half-annoyed, half-worried. "Don't try to be a hero. You're losing a lot of blood. Any movement can dislodge the clot forming in your wound, renewing the bleeding. So, stop moving!"

"Just keeping things interesting," you mumbled, the words slurring slightly. “Wouldn’t want my last moments here on earth to be so grim…”

Spencer's jaw clenched for a moment, then he sighed, the sound heavy with relief. "You always were a pain," He muttered, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You’re  going to be okay, he thought.

The sirens reached a fever pitch, pulling up right beside you. A flurry of activity erupted as paramedics swarmed, the rest of the team trying to make sure you were tended to and that you were going to be okay, their movements a bit panicked but practiced, and efficient. Relief washed over you, a sweet wave that threatened to pull you under. 

"Hold on, Y/N," Spencer said, his voice desperate despite the composure of his words. He kept his hand pressed firmly on your wound, his touch a grounding anchor in the chaos. “Help is here. Everyone’s here. Just… stay with me, okay?"

"Going somewhere," you slurred, your eyelids drooping.

"No, you're not," he said fiercely, his voice barely a whisper above the shouts of the paramedics. "You're coming with us."

You coughed a sharp rasp that sent a jolt of pain through your shoulder. "Stats say shoulder wounds aren't usually fatal," you wheezed, trying to distract yourself from the ache.

Spencer's hand stilled for a moment, looking at you like you’ve grown a second head. "What?"

"Yeah," you continued, your voice weak but persistent. "L-look, I get it, you're scared. But statistically, shoulder wounds aren't as serious..." Your voice trailed off as a wave of nausea washed over you.

"Maybe you shouldn't be reciting medical statistics right now," Spencer said sharply, his voice laced with a hint of panic.

“S-shouldn’t that be my line, boy genius?” You continued to joke, as the world dissolved into a scramble of flashing lights and blurry faces.

The last thing you registered was the feel of Spencer's hand tightening around yours, his touch a silent promise that resonated louder than any siren.

[razzberriezz]

Fashion Dreamer Tips & Tricks

Some stuff only I found that isn't mentioned or in-game at all or is easily missed as far as I'm aware? I hope it helps some of you guys out :) It is quite image-heavy under the cut, fair warning!!

Colour Matching (Item Creator) Pressing down on the left stick changes the display from mannequin to the item itself, but pressing it again will show whatever item you're creating along with whatever your muse is currently wearing.

So if you've gotten a custom coloured item from someone else, this is great for making items and accessories to match with it! And you don't have to waste 120k points trying to match colours by guesstimation instead like me :'))) Or maybe I'm just dumb because I knew how to zoom in and out, just not the display switching OTL

2. Showroom Configuration (is stupid) This is for the Happy Home Paradise players... Make sure that any mannequins or clothing you display in your showroom is actually accessible, because you cannot walk under ceiling decorations, even if they are lighting. I have no idea why. You also can't change the camera angle, so it'd be best not to put the door/panel decorations all in a row at the front, because then players can't see what you're even displaying (unless it's just like a mannequin in the middle surrounded by lockers... Idk)

Taking the time to plug my showroom again before I swap out the outfits for the fancier stuff I have >o< Find me at a8xv4JW3Am!

3. Muse Advisors There are at least 2 or 3 advisors who are present at the Muse Mirror in each Cocoon in rotation. (e.g. Noz and Iris in HOPE) They can not only suggest colours and unique makeup that you haven't obtained yet* (I've seen a look where your character gets like a Batman/Robin mask lol), but also give you their own! If the one whose look you want isn't there, you just have to quick-travel (press down on the right stick) to another Cocoon and back. Otherwise, you can just keep talking to them and backing out until their option shows up.

Before & After (Iris ver.)!

(*Unfortunately, they won't give you unique eye shines/reflections.)

4. NPCs I've just learnt that the NPCs you start with are most likely random. I've seen others start with NPCs I haven't even seen or heard of! You need to raise their friendship level until you get a special event that says 'Friend Introduction' - and even then, I think the NPC who appears next might be random (unconfirmed). This may make it quite a pain for those who want the unnatural skin colours, since I believe they are only unlockable via NPC friendship rank... So just go into solo mode and spam some outfits :')

5. Camera Angles and Idle Poses This one is a bit useless, but I didn't know about it until now so it's going in. Most of the time, I use the drone camera to take photos, but could never really fit fullbody photos - turns out, you need to angle the camera slightly downwards (have your character looking up) to be able to zoom out enough to fit your Muse's whole body in. If the camera angle is level with your Muse, you will never be able to get a fullbody picture. Who thought this would be a good idea???

Level angle and tilted angle - the level angle is already at the lowest it could go.

Additionally, waiting for a while will let your character have the time to perform some idle animations, some of which (I think) are not present in the poses option, even via NPC friendship rank. The downside is that you'll have to crop out some parts of the UI and the quality will be a little lower - however, that can be fixed using waifu2x (which I tend to use anyways for aesthetic posts lol).

Before & After using waifu2x!

Since the game is so new I thought this might be helpful to some who are also just starting out. If anything here is wrong, please let me know and I'll fix it as soon as possible!

[nahoney22]

Desperation***

Commander Mayday X F!Reader

word count: 4.6k

When you find yourself supplying the Clones on Barton IV, you’re introduced to the Commander who you find out to be in need of some loving.

warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only. Female reader with medium/long hair, Explicit sexual content, semi-public sex, desperate/needy sex, dirty talk, consensual rough sex, light dom!Mayday, nipple licking/kissing, pussy/ass eating, fingering, missionary position, cowgirl position, doggy position, light hair pulling, explicit language, creampie, sex with a stranger, pet names, neck biting/kissing, spanking, praises/talking you through it, cum denial, slight cockwarming, size kink, very minor mentions of insecure reader, aftercare. Self indulgent tbh.

Authors Note: it’s about time I wrote about this handsome chap. Queued Post.

The wind roars through your hair, and the frigid air hugs your body as you disembark from the ship. Your superiors from the Empire had tasked you with delivering crucial supplies to an Outpost on Barton IV, and the biting cold made each breath a challenge.

"Keep moving!" a stern stormtrooper orders from behind, breaking your trance-like gaze at the shadowy settlements ahead. You apologise softly and pick up a crate, forging ahead through the heavy snow that cascades down on you and soaking your coat.

The door slides open with a hiss, and your eyes gradually adapt to the dimly lit room. Droids efficiently shuttle crates from one side to the other, creating a sense of controlled chaos. Seeking refuge from the chill, you step inside, grateful for the faint warmth the shelter provides, and gently set down the crate you were carrying.

"Can I be of assistance?" A familiar voice calls out – the voice of a Clone. You've had extensive experience working alongside them long before the rise of the Empire, making it easy to recognise the distinctive baritone. It had been a while since you had seen one truthfully, slowly but surely they were being discarded and replaced.

As you turn, your heart skips a beat. Leaning casually against a stack of crates, he watches you intensely with captivating eyes that seem to shine even in the dimness of the room. His long, pushed-back hair and thick beard only add to his undeniable allure. Your voice quivers with timidity as you manage to speak, "I am here to deliver the supplies."

He chuckles, a touch of sardonic amusement in his tone, and takes a step closer. "You mean the supplies my men and I requested fourteen rotations ago?" He stops in front of you, and you find yourself looking up at his imposing figure. Your knees shake, not from the cold, but from the mesmerising presence he exudes up close.

"I only just received the order," you explain with a frown, though it comes as no surprise that the Empire isn't particularly prompt with deliveries. Especially to clones.

He raises a brow, folding his arms across his broad chest. "Typical."

You nod, finding common ground. "Sorry, Commander...?"

"Mayday," he replies with a hint of a smile, acknowledging the use of someone who wasn’t one of his brothers, using his title for once. You shake his hand, replying with your name too.

"I appreciate the respect, and the supplies. My men haven't been faring too well."

"Better late than never, I guess," you offer with a small chuckle, but he doesn't reciprocate the laughter. Instead, he continues to gaze at you with eyes that leave you feeling both intrigued and flustered.

"Are, uh, your men around? I'm a trained medic, and I could take a look at some of them," you ask, trying to divert your attention from the intensity of his stare, wondering if it's just the lighting playing tricks on you or if you had caught him looking you up and down.

He nods, indicating that his men are at the back, and you follow him. The stormtroopers you arrived with stay behind, seeking warmth by a large heated lamp. "I've got men back here—some wounded from bandits, and others suffering from the cold," Mayday explains. Your heart sinks as you observe the living conditions. The place is freezing, and there are barely enough beds to accommodate everyone. In one corner, Clones are groaning and tending to their own wounds.

It's evident that they could have desperately used these supplies months ago, not just weeks.

"This is... this is horrible, Commander," you exclaim, both of your hands cupping your cheeks as you take in the dire conditions. "How long have you been here?"

"Just over a year. But these crates are finally getting shipped out, so we're hoping to get away from this mess soon," Mayday sighs, though the hope in his voice wavers.

You immediately get to work, moving around each of the men, providing your medical expertise and tending to their wounds as best as you can. The men visibly appreciate your help, and you instruct the patrol you arrived with to set up more heated lanterns to provide some comfort. Though they seem hesitant, they eventually comply.

"I didn't know you were a Lieutenant of some kind?" Mayday asks as you kneel in front of one of his brothers, Hetch, carefully tending to a nasty wound on his calf.

"Oh, I'm not. I'm... I'm nobody, really," you admit, feeling a sense of reluctance to associate yourself with any title under the oppressive Imperial rule.

Mayday chuckles, and you look over your shoulder and up at him curiously. "What?"

"You say you're nobody, but you definitely put our replacements in their place," he remarks, a hint of admiration in his eyes.

"Only when I have to," you respond honestly, and he smiles in response. "A woman's touch."

"Maybe it's a woman's touch we all need," he says softly, and it feels like there's more to his words than what's said aloud. He seems flustered by his own comment, quickly changing the subject and distributing the supplies you brought. Meanwhile, you remain stunned, silently continuing your work. His words and the look in his eyes hint at something a lot deeper and it made you very curious as to what.

As the hours pass, you remain relentless in your commitment to taking care of the troops, despite the rude mutterings from the stormtroopers who are clearly eager to leave. Unfortunately for them, the weather conditions only worsen with time, making flying out tonight an impossible task.

"A drink, ma'am?" Mayday offers, and you find yourself seated on a crate near one of the lamps, appreciating the warmth on your hands even though your torso continues to shiver uncontrollably.

"Please," you shudder, gratefully accepting the steaming cup of caf. The addition of caffeine to their drinks provides some comfort to the troopers, who had been surviving on plain boiling water. "And you can just use my name," you smile, not fond of formalities.

He chuckles, acknowledging the request, and sits on a crate beside you, sharing the warmth of the lamp. Mayday notices your shivering and frowns, concerned. "You're still cold?"

"A little. I thought my coat would help, but I think it's still wet from when I went outside earlier," you admit, brushing a hand over the sleeve, which, as expected, leaves behind a trace of snow and ice on the floor.

"Take it off."

He suggests with his voice seemingly innocent, but you can't help but feel a subtle hint of sensuality and allure in his words.

You look back at him, your heart fluttering at the suggestion, finding his simple solution oddly enticing. "If you want to, that is," he quickly adds, his hand tightening ever so slightly on his own caf cup, betraying him.

You laugh softly, barely audible, and take Mayday's advice, standing up to remove your coat. However, the zipper gets caught in some fabric, causing you to silently curse your luck. You turn away slightly, attempting to free yourself, but the snag persists.

"Need some help there?" Mayday offers, stepping closer from behind. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but the stubborn zipper leaves you no choice but to nod. You turn back to face him, surprised by how close he is standing.

He hums in amusement, and his skilled fingers effortlessly release the stuck zipper. "Allow me," he murmurs softly, gently opening your coat and sliding it off your shoulders. You watch him closely, noticing how his breath deepens and slows as he takes your coat off. "Wow."

You inhale deeply, flustered by his comment. "What?" you whisper, your heart racing.

He sets your coat aside and smiles gently, a hint of shyness in his expression. "Forgive me for being forward, but it's been a long time since I've seen a woman, let alone a beautiful one like you..." He hesitates, keeping a respectful distance. "And your figure is fucking incredible."

You're left speechless for what feels like an eternity, your heart pounding in your chest and a wave of heat rushing through you and between your legs. "C-Commander, I..."

"Sorry. I came on too strong," Mayday mutters, rubbing the back of his head, seemingly gauging your reaction. Little does he know that you're practically screaming on the inside. "Like I said, it's, uh, been a long while."

As he starts to step back, you surprise him by moving forward, catching him off guard. Your lips part, ready to say something, but the words won't come out. He smirks now, raising an eyebrow with curiosity. "Got something to say, beautiful?" he teased.

You swallow. Hard. Taking a step closer until you're almost chest to chest with Mayday, you tilt your head slightly and look at him with curiosity. "What else do you like about me?"

He licks his lower lip, his gaze locking with yours, and he smirks. "Well, besides your name and your job, I find you lovely, not just on the surface either," he compliments. He reaches up to gently brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, causing a delightful shiver down your spine. "You're caring and kind to my brothers, and you have a genuine sense of compassion. But would you like to know something else?"

Trying to keep your composure, you steady your breathing, even though your heart is racing. "Go on, Commander," you say, finding your index finger gently trailing up and down his chest plate with a touch of playfulness.

He leans in, his breath hot and demanding on your face. “I really want to fuck your brains out.”

“I won’t say no to that, Commander.” You just about utter until his lips are on yours. Rough. Demanding. Desperate. His hands bite into your hips as you’re backed into some crates, holding you in place as his tongue breaks through your lips and fights with yours. You’re breathless, hands wrapped around the back of his neck and tugging on his hair as he starts to rut his hips into yours.

“Maker, you’re amazing.” He growls against your lips, biting on your lower one and tugging on it before he starts to make work on your neck.

Knees shaking, you whimper his name as his teeth graze and nip at your skin, his hard erection now very noticeable against your stomach and you can’t help but wonder how it will feel inside of you.

“What if someone sees us?” You then ask suddenly, Mayday pulling back to gaze into your eyes and offers nothing but reassurance. Kinda.

“They won’t darling,” he places a tender kiss on your lips and then smirks, “but it won’t stop me from doing what I want to do to you either way.”

You let out a gasp as you feel his hand roam inside your pants, cupping your pussy over your panties and he lets out a groan of satisfaction. “Look at you, soaked already. All we’ve done is kiss.” He chuckles low and hot which is pretty much how you felt. Slowly, he pulls your panties to the side and you let out a shuddered breath as his calloused fingers caress our folds, collecting your arousal on his fingers. “You’re so warm…”

He pulls his hand out of your pants and you have to hold in the gasp as you watch him place his fingers in his mouth, sucking your juices off his fingers, “and you taste s’good.”

Yanking your pants down and kicking them away when they get to your feet, he spins you round and pushes on your back to bend you over. Obliging, you shudder in anticipation as you feel him crouch down behind you, his hands massaging the back of your thighs before spanking your arse cheek making you squeak in surprise.

Your reaction made him chuckle, his warm breath fanning on your pussy that made your toes curl. Slowly, he spreads your legs a little more apart and you softly whine as his finger comes and pushes between your folds, circling.

“That feels so good, Commander.” You sigh, your cheek pressed against the surface of the crate, your hands gripping onto either side.

“That’s so good to hear, baby.” He licks his lips, appreciating the sight of him in front of him, “But I want another proper taste.”

With one hand on your left arse cheek, spreading you open some more, he leans in and you curse aloud as his tongue relentlessly plays between your folds, causing you to shake unexpectedly. The sensation of pleasure is so strange to you after so long and you don’t hesitate to let him know what it does to you.

“Oh wow, please d-don’t stop!” you cry in pleasure, Mayday is pleased with your response and continues to tongue you before inserting his fingers into your pussy, sinking further into your warmth as he manages to both suck and lick your clit incessantly without taking a break.

You wouldn’t think you were on a planet shrouded by snow, you wouldn't even think you were covered in snow just hours ago as your body is completely on fire. You moan and whimper under his touch and your eyes roll into the back of your head as his tongue explores you entirely, reaching areas you never knew you’d enjoy.

He starts to rapidly finger you while he works his mouth on your tight hole. Eventually you begin thrusting involuntarily in response to his stimulation, grinding your arse against his face. With your hands holding tight onto the crate until your knuckles turn white, a loud moan escapes your lips as Mayday continues his sensual assault, and soon, you find yourself at your climax.

He senses that you're close, his tongue moving from your hole back to your folds as he speeds up his fingering pace. Soon, you can’t take it anymore, and you cum on his face, loudly groaning and gasping. Hips thrusting and bucking in response to your pleasure. Within moments, the feeling fades, and Mayday pulls his face away from your now sopping wet pussy. Gently placing a tender kiss to your thigh, he rises and you stand up straight, legs quivering from your high and turn to face him. His beard glistens with your arousal and his eyes are blown with a devilish smirk on his face.

“Did you like that?” He approaches you, arms wrapped around you, swallowing your words that don’t even leave your lips as he kisses you deeply. “No need to say, I know you did.”

His hands tug on your shirt and you waste no time in taking it off and you watch in awe as he strips himself into the nude, too. Feeling a little self conscious all the sudden, as if him eating your pussy and arse did not just happen your hands come up and are about to shield your body from his eyes but he swiftly stops you, catching your hands. “None of that, let me see you.” He speaks soft, eyes drinking you in, “so pretty. Perfect.” His hand gently rests on your bare waist, fingers tickling your skin delicately.

Slowly his hands move to your breasts, gently rotating his wrists as he massages your tits until your nipples are stiff. “Commander… please,” you whimper, clenching your legs together as another onslaught of arousal hits you.

“Eager, darling? Don’t worry, I won’t leave you waiting long.”

Mayday picks you up, your legs wrapping around his torso and moves to a more comfortable place for you both, kissing and sucking on your neck eagerly. Once situated, both of you are sitting on top of a crate with you straddling his legs. You gaze down, gnawing at your lower lip.

His cock stood strong with a thick tip, dripping and glossy with precum already. “You like my cock, baby?” He whispers against your slightly swollen lips, seeing how you admired him, “It looks like it might be too big for your pussy.” He smirks, acting smug but this only excites you.

“I like a big boy,” you bite back, your turn to gently nibble at his lower lip as your hips gently grind down against him, your pussy slicking up his protruding length, “I think I can handle you.”

He chuckles darkly, so needy for you. “Oh yeah?” With his free hand, he grabs his cock while gently gliding the head of his shaft along your sex. “It feels good just pressed against your pretty little pussy like this. I’m going to fuck you so good.” He grunts before sliding himself inside of you without further preamble. Quieting any additional smugness from you but forcing a squeal from your lips instead.

Head tilting back, stars already cloud your vision. Your pussy clenches against him like a vice and he hisses before spanking your arse. “Fuck, I love that. I love it when your little cunt tightens around my dick.” He whines, his whole body quivering as he gets used to the sensation of fucking someone again.

“S-spank me again, please.” You find yourself begging, absolutely besotted with the stinging sensation that is left on your arse after his hand swipes you.

He laughs boyishly but shakes his head. “Earn it. Start grinding on me baby, please. Fuck, please move your hips. Then you can continue being the good little cockwarmer you are.” He grunts, and you do as you’re told.

Your hips slowly ground on him, your patience running out as you eagerly begin sliding back up his length before pushing yourself up and down. You’re impossibly tight but the stretch felt perfect, almost as if you were a virgin again as you sank onto his aching length. You pant and whine, uttering his name and leaning over him a little, with your hands securing a good grasp of his shoulders which gives you a nice rhythm going.

In that position, you had your nipples swinging in front of him, begging and enticing him to make a move and he did just that. Lips reaching the short distance, he begins to suck against your left nipple whilst the other landed a spank to your cheek. “That’s it, what a good girl you are.” He mutters, mouth full of breast.

“O-Oh, Commander!” You whimper in pleasure, bouncing up and down on his cock desperately, his veiny length sinking almost fully into you now and he wasn’t wrong, he was too big for you.

With your legs starting to ache, Mayday notices and in a second has you bent over instead like before, this time sinking into you from behind. “Fuck, yes! Kark, you’re taking my cock so beautifully. I’m going to fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk. That way,” he slowly sinks out of you, admiring his glistening cock that was soaked, before thrusting back in, “that way you can stay with me and I’ll take care of you all the time.”

“I’d love that, Commander! P-please fuck me harder.” You feel dizzy and lustful as his slow and gentle pumps turn more demanding and powerful. Your pussy aches but at the same time feels relaxed as it takes his thrusts, and you find your body being driven wild as the thrusting comes more quickly. You moan and groan slightly more now, letting out occasional gasps as Mayday leans over your back kissing and nipping at your neck in response to your heightened pleasure. He’s whining, completely pussy drunk and you let out a lazy-fucked laugh as he takes a fistful of your hair, holding your head back as your groan in ecstacy.

“Yeah, you like that baby? You like me pulling your hair? Maker, such a naughty girl. Taking my cock like no problem.” He whimpers, smashing into you so furiously that you hear the crates shift beneath you, your body slapping against it with each powerful thrust.

Sweat is dripping down your body, your pussy swollen with every move he makes. You hear nothing but collective moans, grunts, groans, and slapping noises as the Commander’s cock thrusts deeply and wetly into you with a rapid pace. You begin to pant with each penetration, feeling like a literal toy being pounded desperately and you fucking loved it. “C-Commnader, I’m going to cum.”

“You don’t cum until I say so,” he grunts, instantly pulling out of you and denying you of another climax. Spinning you to face him, he is kissing you desperately again, full of desire. You don’t know how but he’s managed to get you down to the floor, spreading your legs as he crawls over you and sheaths into you in a matter of seconds, eyes locked tight on you as his hips rock back and forth into your pussy.

“Speaking of cum,” he grunts, almost bottoming out the second your legs wrap around his waist, locking yourself in, “I’m going to paint my seed deep in you. You’re pussy is going to be fucking drenched with my cum, you understand baby? We’re basically strangers and you’re going to be full of my hot cum.” His gaze is so fucking intense you almost cum just by your words but you’re determined to hold out for him.

“Yes,” you nod quickly, biting your lower lip as you grind your hips up and against him with every rut he pushes into you, “I need your cum so, so badly Commander. Make me yours.”

You feel your eyes begin to close, obsessed with the sensation of his desperate cock pulsing in and out of you but he grabs your chin and demands you, “keep your eyes open. I want to see your eyes as you take my cock and cum.”

You whimper, the constant feeling of his cock protruding your pussy starting to ache with a pleasurable pain and Mayday noticed the scrunching of your features. “It’s okay baby, do you want me to slow down? Is my cock too much?”

“N-No! Please don’t slow down, I love the way you fuck me.” You whimper, leaning up and kissing his lips tenderly.

“Does it feel good like this?” He whispers against your lips, steadying himself with one hand holding your thigh and the other hand pressed firmly beside you on the ground. “Just focus on the sensation of my cock inside you as I fuck you, enjoy it.”

Your body swells with pleasure at not just his touch but his words alone. He places both legs over his shoulders now, his hips a little rigid at the new position but he soon finds his rhythm. “Does it feel good, being spread like this?” He questions you, then moving his hands over your arse and thighs, rubbing them while he chuckles down at you. “It certainly looks good.” He’s admiring every inch of your body, watching as your breasts move up and down as he pumps inside you. “That’s it sweetheart, deep breaths as I fuck you.”

“Feels, oh fuck, amazing.” Your back arches, making him hit that deep spot inside you. You groan wearily into the cold air but your bodies were ignited like a fire that kept you both heated.

Soon, you feel your body going numb as you take his cock, but you react strongly to his sex nonetheless. You’re driven wild by the coupling of his thrusts, his hand caressing your thigh, his dirty praises and his spare hand rubbing your clit in perfect circular motions. As he pumps more rapidly into you, you hear him give off a myriad of strong grunts, groans, and breathy pants, his body shaking with pleasure as he takes you. He’s close. And so were you.

“Commander-.”

“Call me Mayday, darling, just Mayday.” He pants, eyes filled with lust.

“Mayday, p-please let me cum I can’t take anymore.” You whine, that twisting sensation in the core of your stomach unbearable.

“Since you asked so nicely darling,” he lets your legs fall from off his shoulders, his body now pressing down against yours as he grinds his hips hard and rough into you, “and because I am going to cream this little pussy of yours now, anyway.”

The room echoes with nothing but moaning and wet slapping noises as he thrusts against your soaked pussy. His moans are wild and needy and he lets you know that you can let go, your legs spasming, your vision blurring as he allows you to release from your wanton climax.

In turn, Mayday’s grunts are loud enough to shake the room, certain to have woken his comrades. But you don’t care as he pumps into you slowly and deeply as he releases a forceful load of cum into your cunt. You can feel his release spurt deeply into you, releasing a warm sensation deeper into your body as the Commander pours his seed more and more into you. You almost wonder just how much he gave you because it went on for much longer than you expected. Not like you were in any position to complain, anyway.

You give a loud, breathy series of short gasps as you come down from your orgasm, and Mayday breathes heavily through his mouth while still hunched over you with his cock still inside you. The both of you are now dripping with sweat, the floor now soaked with both sweat and cum. You feel ready to pass out after being fucked so good from being pounded into so incredibly.

Mayday removes himself from inside of you, the feeling filthy but amazing. He stands and you don’t see where he moves, but are suddenly taken by surprise as he comes back quickly with towels, blankets and a fresh cup of water.

His voice softens, no longer demanding or dominant. He offers you a towel, gently apologising as you let out a small hiss due to your precious antics.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, concern in his eyes.

"No," you shake your head and tenderly cup his cheek, your fingers tracing over his rough beard. "I've never experienced anything like that before," you admit with a soft laugh, feeling flustered by the sudden burst of pure lust between you.

The encounter feels different, like it was more than just a casual hookup. It felt like it had to happen, at least from your perspective.

He brings you your clothes, and once dressed, he gestures for you to sit back on a crate. He drapes a blanket around you, staying close. "Can I get you anything else, darling?"

You melt at his gentleness and the endearing names he calls you. "No, this is fine, thank you, Mayday," you smile up at him, surprised when he leans down and softly kisses your lips. It's a gentle and tender kiss, much different from the earlier intense ones. As you sink into the moment, matching his gentle rhythm, he relaxes too.

"I don't want you to go," he confesses, pulling away slightly to trail kisses along your skin. "I want you to stay."

You close your eyes, wishing you could stay, but the reality of your obligations calls you back. However, a hopeful idea emerges. "We'll think of something... Maybe when I return, I can convince my superiors to send more resources and I’ll come back," you suggest. "Do you really like me that much?"

He nods quickly. "I know it was sudden, and I acted on pure instinct and lust, but I do genuinely like you," he admits. "You're someone I could see myself getting to know a lot more." The vulnerability in his words touches your heart and the two of you stay up the rest of the night getting to know each other a lot more. Well, not as much as before.

You could only curse the Empire for not assigning you this mission sooner.

Masterlist

Tags and those who I think will appreciate a tag: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @theroguesully @mustluvecho @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova a @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @imalovernotahater @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @photogirl894 @fantasyproductions @pandulce135 @miss-mouse99 @madameminor

[ysabelmystic]

“I just came from r/196” ask game

Saw another post. I think I should invite y'all to one of our longstanding traditions. Answer the questions then tag 10 (or more) people. I'll go first.

Name? Frankie

Pronouns and gender? he/they/it, transmasc

Sexuality? Lesbian

Country? USA

Top 5 fandoms? Bungou Stray Dogs, Cosmere, All for the Game, Fundiesnark (not a series but I'm too deep in it to not consider it a fandom), .....the tornado fandom? (they're my special interest)

What is your Most forbidden snack? The preserved bones at the Atlanta Bodies Exhibition. They looked so crunchy...

Would you pet a bug? If it's big enough, it is pettable.

Share a weird fact/story about yourself with the class. I like to drive around rural areas and photograph old, sometimes abandoned locations in the dead of night. I have been literally chased out of towns by foot and by car on two separate occasions. The second time this happened, "See You Again" by Miley Cyrus came up on shuffle and that's the soundtrack my friend and I tore out of town to. Also every "guy" I've dated except for my most recent ex (who has big egg energy) is a lesbian now.

What does the color blue taste like? Creme brulee

What is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen? The appalachian mountains of Tennessee in the middle of summer. There's kudzu everywhere. On the backroads, there were several old, dilapidated Baptist churches barely hanging to the side of the mountain. I wonder how many of them were still in use.

What is the stupidest thing you've ever done? Short version: my friend's house almost got broken into by this dude who'd been stalking us for months while we were home alone. Instead of calling the cops, we decided to confront him with a bow and arrow (me), a hatchet, and a baseball bat (him). The plan was that if it went badly, we would simply throw his corpse into one of the many lakes in the neighborhood and let the alligators eat his remains (this was Florida). Why? Because we were afraid of having our home-alone privileges revoked. Luckily for us all, the guy fucked off and we never saw him again.

Stupidest thing you've seen/heard someone else do/say? My ex thought that Jackalopes were real. Also, a nurse I was doing rotations with apparently thought that "Witness Protection" was for Jehovah's Witnesses.

Hyperfixation song? Young Enough + Bleach by Charly Bliss

Is there any meaning behind your profile picture and/or username? Profile pic; I'm transmasc and I'm currently obsessed with TriStamp. Username; It was my fake internet name when I was like 13. I won't change it because I want my mutuals to recognize me, and because I do have a viral post associated with this name.

Dream career as a child? Doctor (funnily enough I'm now in nursing school)

Dream career as an adult? Professional Jester. Not a comedian. I just want to be some weird little guy who dresses silly and you can hire me to roast your boss at work parties.

Thoughts on cilantro? Delicious

Have you ever been banned from a location and if so, why? I honestly can't remember? Probably... but in recent memory I've mainly banned people from places.

What is your cursed food combination? Pineapple on a hotdog with grilled onions. It Slaps.

Trans rights? TRANS RIGHTS

Tagging: @rocket-mankoi @mostlymarco @atleast8courics @jazzlike39 @gemsweater72 @limbobilbo @ameliaaltare @redcrane112 @theoneofwhomisblue @twinkenjoyer @theultimatecarp and anyone else who wants to jump on

[icy-book]

Here'e the post btw: https://www.tumblr.com/icy-book/763424112915988480

I'm having transfemme Sparrow thoughts and I blame you for it

:3c i am perfect and have done nothign wrong ever

[leeneir]

Missions; Iso x GN!Reader Headcanons-Drabble

Ok so funny story, I was planning on posting a fic actually but my dumbass wrote it on tumblr and didnt save itand my phone died and i lost 90% of my progress so heres a drabble/headcanons I have abt missions with Iso

Not proofread, tbh none of my posts are💀

On your first mission together which also happened to be Iso's very first so he was still lesrning the ropes, you'd be the one aside from a senior member on your team to help guide him.

You two are stationed together on one site and he keeps making comments and asking questions about a lot of things to the point where you wonder if this really was the feared 'Dead Lilac', it was difficult to imagine when he was acting like he's seeing the sky for the firsy time.

But then the first bullet whizzes past, and Iso does a complete 180. He's no longer talking or making remarks, instead, he emits a purple aura, his eyes glowing, filled with concentration and determination, ready to take on the enemy. It was kinda hot in your opinion.

You may have been an agent longer than him, but he definitely has more experience. Iso saved you from getting shot dozens of times, throwing himself infront of you and coming out of it unscathed because he had his shield up.

The mission is a success via team elimination, you secure the spike and everyone goes home. Iso, however, is blanked out and isn't paying attention to anything around him. It's as if he's a mindless machine. You decide to sit down with him on the V/LTR and offer him a snack, he instantly snaps out of it and takes the snack grstefully.

You aren't assigned on another mission together for a while, and during that time, you hear stories about how much of a monster he is on the field from the others. You bring that up to him to compliment, but he's bashful about it.

You note how he isn't bashful about his skills when the others compliment him, and you wonder why you keep catching him looking at you. Every time you do, you notice how the tips of his ears are a tinge bit red.

The day comes when you two are assigned together, and it just so happens you two are put on a site together again. While you're setting up, he comes up to you, sheepishly asking what the plan was because... he forgot to read the mission brief...

You wonder how tf he forgot to read the brief when it was one of the most important things and explain it to him anyway. Though, he looked like he wasn't really paying attention, he was just staring at you with a look you've never seen before.

The enemy rush in on the opposite site and you two rotate over, watching each other's 6 oclock. You lead through while Iso is behind you, following closely with his focus unmatched.

The spike is planted, you guys get the picks. The rest of the team is down, leaving it up to you and him. Iso gets most of them, there's only one enemy left.

Iso doesn't realize it, but someone is aiming for him. You see it, and you push him out of the way as you shoot the last guy. Unfortunately, they also shot a bullet which grazed your side, leaving a deep gash.

He's panicking, how the hell did he let this happen? He can see the blood seeping through your clothing and he almost forgets everything. You yell at him to defuse the spike which manages to snap him out of it as you apply pressure to the wound.

Once the spike is defused, Iso immediately runs back to you, the precision and focus he has as a master assassin is half way out the window as he's performing first aid on you. He's apologizing over and over again for not being careful, while at the same time scolding you for taking the bullet. HE'S the bulletproof one here, not you.

Iso calls for backup and updates HQ about the mission status before turning his attentioned back to you. He's still upset about your injury, and scolds you again.

You make up some sort of excuse, having realized the reason why you did what you did. Iso continues to get upset over it and is asking you why you would do that.

You got really annoyed by his scolding and you tell him to shut up before grabbing his collar and pulling him in for a kiss.

[hoiststowline]

ours

drift x female!reader

originally posted on my ao3 here!

Though his daily responsibilities were...salient, tasks he must complete before the rotation had concluded, there was very little that trumped making his way back to his hab-suite at the end of it all. Unless he found it to be an absolute emergency or someone else did, he was on a mission at the end of each day, and that was to find all routes possible to you. 

Without much thought, his exhausted legs carry him to the familiar long hallway, rolling his shoulders into the proper place before descending the hall. It's comparatively mindless, wanting nothing more than in that very klik to be beside the object of his affection, coming to a dead halt upon reaching his door. He stares at it for a moment, wondering when was the last time he heard from you, or if you were even within these walls. 

You had been unusually quiet these past few cycles, his processor thrumming with urgency and concern at the suggestion. The idea leaves him restless, hastily punching in his room code as no typical noise emits from underneath the door. No music, nor warble of your computer, no sound at all brimming inside. But if you were not here, the worry that you weren't alright leaves an awful taste on his glossa, wanting to ensure you were not hurt or sick.

So lost in his mind, he almost slams his forehead into the panel as it doesn't slide over fast enough, a short gasp leaving his mouth before rightening himself. With his typical sing-song tone, he goes to call your name but is startled for the second time as he catches your form, yourself curled entirely in a ball atop his berth, cheek smushed against a pillow as your lips remain partially agape. 

For a mech who's typically seen and heard it all, he isn't quite sure if he'll ever get over the idea of how peaceful you look while fast asleep. You're in your most vulnerable state, entirely slipped away from a chaotic reality that he's wiggled his way into. Something twitches, a smile overtaking his face-plate, confronted with the fact that you felt safe here. While you were free to roam wherever you pleased, it always delighted him how you found solace in his presence and within his environment, a gesture that unbeknownst to you, means everything to him. 

This likely remains the first time you've made him speechless, even if you had no idea you were achieving such a feat. He'd only been away a few Earth hours, possibly a little longer than his normal departures, but you must've grown tired of waiting. Drift feels bad, he always does, but finds more ways than one to make it up to you. In reality, you don't mind the stand-by, comforting him that it doesn't bother you, but it doesn't prohibit the idea that you still miss him. 

"y/n," He breathes, stepping inside the room as the door closes behind him, secluding the two of you in complete isolation. It's a call you're not meant to hear, it levels out as being barely audible, but you stir gently, nose wrinkling, yet your eyes never open. 

Drift wants so badly to join you, even if a recharge isn't a requirement for him at the current time but knows that he'll likely wake you up trying to do so. He's stealthy but understands that in his perspective, remotely unheard sounds are ten times louder to your sensitive hearing, and wants nothing more than for you to enjoy your nap. It's an undeniable argument, but the craving and desire remain to be by your side. 

Instead, he ventures further into his room, going to sit at his desk to get some work done that he doesn't need to do, but stops short when he hears the whisper of your voice. "Drift?" 

With tense shoulders, he slowly turns around, a sheepish look on his face. "Sorry," He hums, making a hurried shaking motion with a servo. "Go back to sleep, y/n." 

"Are you busy?" You ask, looking up at him with exhausted eyes, arms rounding tighter around a second pillow he hadn't initially seen. How he wants you to be in his servos, bundled in his arms while he feels your heartbeat. "I mean, are you in the middle of something?" 

"No," He knows what you're wordlessly asking, but can't help himself sometimes, admiring your timid state. "I just arrived back from my rounds." 

"Oh." It's undecipherable if you're being so diffident because of the tiredness, or you can't bring yourself to ask, but he wouldn't dream of teasing you a moment longer. "Wanna-"

"Yes." His long stride brings him to his berth in seconds, wasting no time in clambering over your form before settling behind you, his entire body so warm the chill of his room escapes you. Now nestled in the crook of his arm, one servo caging you to him as he kisses your head, murmuring happily about how much he loved you. "I didn't wish to wake you," His dermas move against your back, nuzzling an exposed shoulder with his nose. 

"I must've fallen asleep a bit ago." A soft squeal escapes you as another kiss is placed on your neck, tickling the area. Drift alights at the sound, smiling so hard his face starts to hurt. "I didn't mean to," 

"That's quite alright." You shuffle in his hold, turning slightly to look up at him. While your entire frame was riddled with enervation, he watched you stifle two yawns to keep awake, blinking bleary eyes up his way. "You can rest now, y/n. No point in trying to fight it." 

Your small hands beckon him closer, to which he obliges, ex-venting contentedly as you kiss his cheek, then move to plant one on his lower lip. "Mhm, but you just got back, Drift." Fingers run over his chin, palms cupping the area as he leans a minuscule amount of weight into your grasp. "I missed you." He observes that you poorly smother back a third yawn. "I love you."

"And I, you." There isn't much left to say, surveying your face as you succumb to the heaviness of your eyelids. "Rest well," He rumbles, your fingers falling from his face-plate in one fluid motion. He catches you saying something indistinguishable, but your words meld together in a fashion that he cannot understand as if it was in another tongue. Drift brushes it off as fatigued deliriousness, but will have to remember to ask you when you arise later. 

It's a sight that he could only describe as perfect, slotting behind you harmoniously as you fall asleep in his arms. 

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Dangers of Hope Epilogue

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: None.

Word Count: 5,849

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: So this is it, the epilogue, the end. I'm so sad to say goodbye to this series. I've really loved writing it, even if it kicked my ass a couple of times. I know I've said this already, but it definitely bears repeating - I'm so unbelievably grateful for the love and support you've all shown this series. Thanks so much - and I hope you enjoy this little peak into Dean and Y/N's lives a decade later. This ended up about twice as long as I'd planned. Lol! Enjoy! ❤️

Main Master List || Series Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

Spring, 10 Years Later

The rumbling engine of the Impala was silenced as Dean pulled into the garage and parked Baby in her spot. The camp had eight cars now, so they'd had to expand the garage two summers before. The cars got shuffled around all the time, but Baby always kept her spot on the end. Everyone knew it was her spot.

The late afternoon sun shone in through the garage windows as Dean removed the keys from the ignition and pushed them back into his black, denim jacket pocket.

Sam was sitting beside him and shot him a questioning look when Dean didn't immediately jump out. “Dean?” 

Dean nodded and then looked over at his little brother. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

Sam sighed. He'd already answered this question from his brother, in various forms, three or four times. 

The Deerling Survivors Camp, a small camp located almost seventy miles away, had sent a message to Dean a week earlier, requesting a face-to-face meeting. Dean had asked Sam to come along and they'd stayed overnight at the fledgling camp. The pseudo-leader there, just a young kid who’d been thrust into the role, had asked them to let Deerling join Camp Chitaqua, and after seeing the shape of the camp, Dean had agreed on the spot.

Years earlier the four smaller camps surrounding Chitaqua had joined them, expanding the camp by miles and miles and raising the population by more than two hundred people. It had been a big decision, and Dean had consulted with the council for a couple days before agreeing to the expansion. 

It was a very good decision in the end, since they now had enough land to plant six, four acre farm plots. They made sure to rotate crops, leaving one field fallow every season and using it for grazing pasture. But all that fertile land meant that the campers all had plenty of fresh vegetables. Their expanded size also allowed them to enlarge their barn, so they could now house and care for four cows and a bull, two horses, dozens of chickens, a rooster, two pigs, and eight sheep. 

They'd bartered and traded with other camps for most of their animals or found them wandering around alone and unclaimed. But they bought their sheep from a farmer living in what used to be Iowa. A lot of farmers had started over there, scratching out a new life from the soil, now that the world had started turning once again.

Seven years ago they'd finally succeeded in producing a vaccine. It had taken a lot of hard work. For three years, every single person that worked on it did so with nothing more than a promise of a better tomorrow. 

It had taken another two plus years to get the word and the vaccine out to people, but now most of the population was vaccinated. The vaccine had also been carried overseas. They couldn't be sure how things were going across the pond because communication was still very limited. But they'd heard rumors that it was going well. 

Some infrastructure was up and running again; they had electricity in some places, and some cities had running water again. There were even some places that had phone lines connected - in and around the bigger cities where people were beginning to congregate.

Things seemed to be progressing quickly out west in the former California, where they'd reportedly started broadcasting some form of Television again. Not very many people had TVs anymore to watch, but it seemed comforting to people just to know something resembling their former lives was returning. 

Not everything was perfect, of course. There was no centralized government, or structured, widespread laws. Most areas had variations of camps like Chitaqua with leaders in charge, or occasionally small, internally elected governments that ran the camp. Lawlessness still existed in a lot of places, but it was being beaten further back every day as groups banded together. 

There were also still some areas that were uninhabitable because massive groups of Croats still roamed there. The researchers that had created the vaccine were working on a cure for those who’d already been infected, but thus far they’d proved unsuccessful. Croat attacks still happened sometimes, but the vaccine meant that people just had to deal with the bite itself, making sure it was healing properly - something that was becoming easier as medical stations were springing up in and around larger populations as well, as doctors went back to healing people as they’d been trained to do.

Chitaqua had a physician, Dr. Turner, who lived in the camp. The Medical Tent was no more and instead the doctor’s office and their cache of medical supplies were now housed in a big log structure that had been tiled inside to keep it as clean and sanitary as possible. Patrick was happy to be rid of guard duties these days, working alongside Dr. Turner to watch over the health and well-being of the campers.

There weren’t many tents left nowadays either. They had a bunch stored away in case the camp ended up with a big influx of new campers and temporary housing was needed. But most people lived in log cabins of varying sizes, dotted over the two and a half square miles of the camp. There were well over five hundred people in the camp now, since amalgamating the four other camps. They also had a reputation for being a prosperous, strong community, so people tended to migrate there as well - which continued to add to their numbers.

Now, after the meeting with the Deerling camp, they’d be adding another ninety-six people to their ranks, inflating their population to nearly seven hundred people. Dean was worried about the fact that he’d made the decision to absorb the smaller camp without consulting the council this time. 

The council was a group made up of eight other people besides Dean. Sam and Y/N were on it, as well as Brandy, Risa, Dr. Turner, and three other campers who were there representing the hunters, the farmers and the builders.

Day-to day decisions were still handled by Dean, but he relied on the council for other bigger decisions - taking their thoughts, ideas and opinions into account before he ultimately made a decision. Agreeing to take in another flock of people and develop another thirty acres of land was definitely one of those big decisions he’d normally take to the council, which was why, Sam knew, Dean had been second guessing his unilateral decision to say yes to Deerling’s request.

Sam shook his head at his brother as he answered Dean’s worry again. “Dean, you acted out of generosity, the council will understand. I can vouch for the fact that those campers need a lot of help very quickly. Those kids were starving, you could see that.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I know, but I just brought the camp more strain on resources with no benefits.”

Sam shrugged. “Well, there’s the land.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, unfarmable land that’s separated from us by almost eighty miles. And Brisbane camp sits between us and Deerling, and they already think we’re trying to take them over. Joining with a group on the other side of them is gonna make them even more suspicious and possibly turn them unfriendly.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I should have consulted the council.”

“Dean, there’s no way the council would have opted to just let a bunch of kids and sick people die. They’re definitely going to agree with your decision, and this way you’ve simply ensured that we can get food and medicine out to them by tomorrow instead of making them wait days for it. Trust me, you made the right decision.”

Dean grunted his response, still unsure. 

Sam slapped the back of his hand against Dean’s shoulder. “Now, I’m gonna go talk with the Doc about getting supplies together and coming out there with me tomorrow. Will you talk with Brandy later about food?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.” A smile finally lit his face. “And then I’m goin’ home.”

Sam smiled and opened his door to climb out of the Impala. “Good plan. Give Y/N and the kids a kiss for me.”

Dean climbed out too and slammed his door behind him. He called Sam back as his brother began to walk away. 

“We should also figure out a time and day to have a sit down with the new leader from Brisbane, talk with her about our intentions regarding Deerling. She’s tough, but she seems more approachable and level-headed than their last leader. Maybe we can convince her we’re not looking to take anything over.” 

Sam nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

Dean frowned. “What’s her name again?”

“Eileen Leahy.” 

Dean noticed his brother’s cheeks turn pink and he immediately turned back into an annoying big brother, his grin wide. 

“Right, right, you met with her alone last time. She’s cute, huh? Something we should know? Maybe you should invite her over to our place for dinner next week. We can have our little sit down conversation then. What do you think?”

Sam had already turned and started walking away. “You’re an idiot!” He called back over his shoulder. But Dean made a mental note to tell Y/N all about it later. 

With Y/N firmly in mind he started out across the camp. Their cabin was situated on top of a low hill in the Southwest section of the camp, not all that far from where their old red tent used to sit.

They’d built their cabin when they came back to Chitaqua eight years ago after helping to set up the research facility. The vaccine was still a year away, but they’d done all they could do and they were ecstatic that after two years of traveling back and forth from camp, gathering doctors, researchers and searching for other psychic kids, (they’d only found two others) and after Y/N had given gallons of her blood to science, they could finally come home for good. 

Not long after returning home, Y/N realized she was pregnant and Dean became obsessed with building them a beautiful home. It was around that time that the camps had all joined together and building homes for everyone became a priority of the camp. 

The builders grew in numbers as they took on apprentices and taught them the trade so that more people in the camp could join in the work. It took almost four years of constant building, but eventually all five hundred plus campers had permanent homes.

Gotta pull the tents out for the Deerling folks, Dean thought as he walked, his mind immediately occupied with figuring out the logistics of where the new campers could stay, and how they could join in the life of the camp, once they were all healthy.

He stopped by Food Storage and spoke with Brandy as Sam had requested. And just as his brother had suspected, when he explained the situation, Brandy was one council member who was very glad he’d made the decision he had. He felt more sure now that the others would feel the same.

As Dean wound his way through camp he got stopped quite a few times, people wanting to talk with him about one concern or another. He generally pointed them in the direction of the person or group in the camp that could help them. But he also got stopped by friends wanting to say hi and talk for a moment or two.

He was happy to talk, but anxious to get home to Y/N.

He looked out towards the large school building where Y/N still taught every day. The new building had been built on the site where the main cabin had been burned down. It was even bigger than the old cabin, with six rooms for the seven teachers that worked there now. 

Y/N was also the principal of the school for all intents and purposes; she and the other teachers taught over two hundred kids from ages five to sixteen. Theresa had finished school and immediately joined the staff as a teacher, working with Y/N every day and loving it. Brandy was so proud.

But Dean wasn’t surprised to see the building empty now, however; he knew it was a day off. He picked up his pace, weaving through the buildings that resided where the old tents had taken up space. 

They’d greatly expanded the food storage, and had an entirely different rations system now that fresh vegetables, fruit, fish and game made up the vast majority of their diet. Brandy was still in charge and was constantly innovating to make things easier and to stretch their food as far as they could in order to feed everyone. 

The former tent area also housed three large storage sheds, a small building that worked as an office/meeting space for whatever group needed to use it, and a small mill where they processed the wheat they grew - that process had included a steep learning curve, but they’d eventually made it work.

There was also a small, open area where a kind of market had popped up organically as the campers traded amongst themselves for things like homemade jewelry, homemade clothes, and other non-essentials.

He walked behind the buildings and began climbing the gently rising path that led to their cabin at the top of the hill. About halfway home he heard loud barking and looked up to see their seven year old Bernese-Husky cross, Clifford, bounding towards him, the way he usually did when any of the family came home. 

“Hey, boy.” Dean said softly, scratching him behind the ears. “Miss me?”

Clifford barked happily in answer and ran ahead and then back to where Dean stood, obviously urging him on towards home. Dean laughed and sped up, chasing after the big dog who sometimes still acted like a puppy.

As the path through the trees ended, opening up into their wide front yard, Dean sighed deeply. “Home sweet home.” He murmured. 

Even though he'd been away less than two days, he was still so happy to be home. He felt the peace that filled him up every time he stepped around the last bend in the path and caught sight of their home in the distance.

The way smoke curled lazily from the chimney and the scent of something delicious wafted through the half open Dutch door, never failed to make him ache to get his arms around his wife and bask in her light. Dean shook his head at his sentimental thoughts, but hurried his pace to get inside. 

As he drew closer however, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye and he turned his head to see his son walking East, coming out from behind the house. Dean figured he was heading over to his friend Freddie's, and he was about to continue on into the cabin, but then he noticed what his eight-year-old was holding in his hand.

“Gabriel Eric Winchester!” 

Dean's voice bellowed out, freezing the young boy where he stood. Dean strode towards him, anger clear on his face. To the boy's credit, even when he turned and saw his father's anger, he still walked forward slowly, until he was standing directly in front of him. 

The gun he held, however, was tucked just behind his back, as though he was hoping Dean hadn't noticed it. 

Dean held his hand out. “Give that to me this second.”

Gabe's face fell and he brought the gun forward reluctantly, dropping it onto Dean's palm. 

Dean immediately checked to make sure the small, .38 caliber, Smith and Wesson revolver was unloaded and when he saw it was, he held it in his fist, directly in front of Gabe's eyes.

“What the hell do you think you're doing with this?”

His son's eyes were wide and they got watery quickly. 

He shrugged. “I was just gonna bring it to Freddie's. Josh said he could teach us to shoot.” He said, referring to his friend’s older brother. “Just cans on a fence.” He was quick to reassure Dean.

“And did you ask your mother if you could remove a gun from the weapons chest?” Dean asked, already well aware of the answer. 

Gabe shook his head. “No.” He said quietly.

“How did you get it?” Dean asked brusquely.

Gabriel’s voice was still soft as he admitted what he’d done. “I grabbed it yesterday when mom took out a rifle to scare away some raccoons that were trying to get into the compost. Josh said he could teach us if we had guns. So when I saw it last night I just…” He trailed off as he looked up at Dean's face.

“So what you're telling me,” Dean said quietly, “is that while your mother's back was turned you STOLE a gun and planned to use it without asking either of us for permission.”

Gabe's tears spilled down his cheek at his father's disappointed tone and accurate words. He nodded and then sniffed. 

“I'm sorry.” He said thickly. 

Dean crouched down so he could look his son in the eye. “Gabe, a gun is not a toy. I thought you knew this. It's not something to mess around with or use on a whim. It is a weapon. It's incredibly dangerous. If you'd gone off and started shooting, even just at cans, you could have seriously hurt or killed yourself or your friends. Do you understand me?”

Gabe nodded but bit his lip. “But you carry a gun.” He said, pointing to the ever present gun strapped to Dean’s thigh. “And you started using guns when you were even younger than me. I heard you talking about it to mom before. And I…” He sniffled again. “I just wanted to be like you.”

Dean sighed and shook his head. “Oh, buddy, I want you to be so much more than me. Your mom and I, we've worked really hard to make things better for you guys, to make the world safer so that when you grow up, hopefully you won’t have to walk around with a gun strapped to you at all times. It’s my job to protect the people in this camp. That’s why I carry a gun, and why I sometimes carry a rifle. But that’s not your job. Your job is to just be a little boy.”

Dean saw Gabriel pout a bit about being called a little boy. He smiled gently and squeezed his son’s shoulders. “Trust me, buddy, you should enjoy being a kid, don’t try to grow up too quickly.”

Gabe nodded begrudgingly and Dean pulled his son in for a hug. After a moment, he pulled back from him and stood up straight again, before nodding towards the cabin. “Go to your room now until supper, and when you come out, you’ll owe your mother an apology for going behind her back. Also, nothing but school and home for a week, do you understand?”

Gabe looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it when Dean gave him a stern look. “Yes, sir.” He said in acceptance and turned to run into the cabin.

“Gabriel!” Dean called. When his son turned back, the tear tracks on his grubby cheeks still visible, Dean spoke quietly but with conviction. “I love you and that’s why I know you can do better.”

Gabe’s face lost some of its forlorn look and he gave Dean a slightly awkward smile, lightly banging his fist against the side of his leg. “Love you too, Dad.” He said quickly before bolting for the house.

Dean shook his head and slipped the gun into his inside jacket pocket. He’d have to have a few more conversations with his son about gun safety and responsibility, but he was confident he could drill the dangers into him.

He walked up the stairs to the front door, more than ready to see Y/N and his girls. When he walked inside, however, he could hear voices coming from behind the kitchen door, and they didn’t sound very happy.

He pushed open the swinging door and saw Y/N and Emma inside. Y/N’s face lit up. “Dean!” She said happily as she saw him and crossed to the door to pull him down for a kiss. 

“Ew.” Emma said.

It was the standard reaction from all of their kids when they kissed in front of them. Emma had a hand over her eyes as Dean finished the kiss and looked over to where she stood by the sideboard that held all their plates, cups and glasses.

“You can look now, kiddo, we’re all finished.” Dean told her with a grin. “For the moment.”

Emma rolled her eyes and made Dean chuckle. Y/N frowned up at him. “Did I hear you yelling at Gabe?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, gotta talk to you about that, but you guys sounded angry when I came in. Anything wrong?”

Y/N looked at Emma and shrugged. “I’ve been telling Emma that she needs to invite her new friend for dinner.”

Dean’s brow wrinkled as he looked at Emma. “You don’t want to bring your friend over for dinner?”

Emma looked at Y/N with frustration, clearly annoyed that she’d told Dean anything. 

Dean tried again. “What’s going on kiddo, since when don’t you want us to meet your friends? Who is it, by the way? Didn’t realize any new kids had started at the school.”

Y/N shook her head. “Jeffrey’s not a new student, he’s just a new…friend.” She said meaningfully. 

Dean caught on and his face immediately dissolved into a scowl. “Oh.” He said without enthusiasm, crossing his arms over his chest.

“See?” Emma barked out, pointing at Dean, but talking to Y/N. “I told you this is how he’d be!!”

“What?” Dean asked defensively. “What are you talking about?”

Emma folded her arms, her posture and scowl mirroring Dean’s. “You get like this every time I bring a boy home, even when he’s absolutely just a friend. You scare the shit out of them!”

“Emma!” Y/N said, reprimanding her for her language..

But Dean just scoffed. “I don’t know what you mean. How do I scare them?”

Emma glared at him. “You interrogate them, Daddy, you know you do.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, if they’re too freaked out to answer a few simple questions then-”

“Simple questions?” Emma interrupted with a humorless laugh. “When I invited Timothy Sutherland over here you forced him to sit down and answer a thousand questions about his family, his background, where he grew up, what his plans were when we finished school. He ran out of here and never looked back.”

Dean threw his arms out. “Do you really wanna date a loser like that anyway? Who can’t even answer a couple questions?”

“Ugh!” Emma stomped her foot and stormed out the back door. 

Silence reigned for a moment when Emma left before Y/N turned towards Dean, giving him a tilted smile. “So, welcome home!” She said in a would-be cheerful voice.. 

Dean sighed as he pulled her back into his arms and kissed the top of her head. They enjoyed the simple peace of each other’s embrace for a few minutes before Y/N spoke.

“What happened with Gabe?” She asked.

“He stole a gun and was gonna go shoot cans with Josh and Freddie Young.”

“What?” Y/N shouted, pulling back to look into Dean’s face.

He nodded. “Yeah, but don’t worry, I handled it. He’s in his room till supper and he’s grounded for a week. And I talked to him about how dangerous guns were. I have more conversations planned around the subject for the near future.”

Y/N shook her head before laying it back on Dean’s chest. “Good lord.”

After a couple minutes Y/N pulled away and poured them each a cup of coffee. They settled beside each other at the wooden table and instinctively linked fingers.

Dean took a sip of coffee and sighed. “I don’t really interrogate all her boyfriends, do I?”

Y/N pursed her lips. “Well, she’s never actually had a real boyfriend. And I don’t think that's because boys don’t want to date her. She’s smart and kind, beautiful and well-liked. So…” She shrugged. “It seems probable that the boys who like her are just too intimidated by her father - you know, the legend who fought monsters, Croats, angels, and WON - the soldier that leads the camp, wears a gun, and asks scary questions, all while donning a very good mean-face.”

Dean exhaled loudly, but before he could respond, their youngest child came bouncing into the room. She was just six years old, and looked so much like Emma at that age that it sometimes caught Dean off guard. 

But she was definitely her own little bundle of energy. Having never known hunger or hardship, she was all bright smiles and busy excitement. It seemed as though she’d been born smiling and simply hadn't stopped. Very little bothered her, and she was absolutely spoiled by the entire family, including their found family members in the camp.

Everyone loved Hope.

“Daddy, you’re home!” Hope shouted as she jumped into his lap.

“Oof.” He grunted as she landed hard on some sensitive places. “Hey sweetheart!” He said, slightly out of breath. 

“I missed you. Mommy said you might not come home until tomorrow, but I said that you would come home quick because you like to be home and you don’t like to stay away. Right?”

He nodded, trying to keep up with her racing words. “Yeah, baby, I love to be home.” 

Before his sentence was ended Hope was on to her next thought. “I saw Emmie running out the back door and I tried to talk to her, but she looked mad. She was sitting on the tree swing in the back and I wanted a turn, so I told her to push me, but she just helped me on the swing and then she left to walk through the front yard and leave. And when I tried to follow her, she told me not to leave the yard and to go inside and see you cause you were back. So, I did.” She paused for breath before asking, “Why was Emmie mad?”

Y/N answered. “It’s nothing sweet pea. Why don’t you help me make supper? You can shuck the corn.”

Hope clapped her hands. “Yes, I want to pull all the strings off.” 

Y/N held her daughter’s hand as she hopped off of Dean’s lap, and then leaned forward to kiss Dean slowly. 

“Ew.” Hope said, shielding her eyes as her sister had. 

Y/N smiled against Dean’s lips and whispered to him. “Go talk to your daughter.”

Dean nodded and stood up, bending to kiss Hope’s shiny chestnut curls on the crown of her head. “Hey, promise me something short one.” He said, continuing when she looked up at him. “Promise you’ll take a really long time to grow up, okay?”

She smiled at him, cheeks round and rosy. “Okay, daddy.”

He winked at Y/N who smiled indulgently. “She promises.”

***

Dean instinctively knew where he’d find his oldest child. She coped with stress and frustration the same way he did, the way he’d taught her to. 

He walked through the door of the garage and sure enough, there was Emma, wearing old, blue coveralls that were too big for her, and bent over the hood of the little Chevy hatchback that sat next to the Impala. He knew she heard him come in, but she didn’t say anything, just kept working. 

Dean hopped up on Baby’s hood and waited for her to be ready to talk. Eventually, she caved and looked over at him, her face slightly shuttered and a little hard to read. “Hi.” She said simply.

He smiled at her. “Hey kiddo.” He nodded at the open hood she was under. “How are things looking? Still need a new oil pan?”

Emma shook her head. “No, I replaced that last week. Risa found me one in the back of the storage shed.”

“Good.” Dean said. They were both quiet as Emma leaned back in and continued working. 

After a moment she cleared her throat. “Looks like I’m gonna need new brake pads though. Think we could go to Lowry’s and see what he’s got.” She asked, referring to a guy in Brisbane who collected car parts and often traded with them.

“Sure. I’ll be busy for the next day or so. But we can go after that. One day after school?” He asked.

Emma nodded and stood up, wiping her hands on the rag she had stuffed in her pocket. She was quiet as she slammed the hood closed and then stepped out of the coveralls and hung them up on the hook beside the door.

She wandered over to Baby and hoisted herself up beside Dean on the hood. After a moment she leaned her head onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Dad. I’m glad you’re home.”

Dean lifted his arm so she could snuggle closer, and then wrapped it tightly around her shoulders, squeezing her into his side.

“No, you don’t have to apologize, baby. Apparently I’ve been unconsciously scaring away the tons of boys who would otherwise be beating down our door. Though, if I’m being completely truthful, it probably wasn’t entirely unconscious. Cause I just know not a one of them is gonna be good enough for you.”

Emma chuckled. “I don’t think it’s tons of boys, Daddy. And I’m not interested in a bunch of boys. I’m interested in Jeffery. And I really do want you to meet him. I think if you give him a chance you’d like him. He’s really sweet and funny and just…” She sighed. “I just like him.”

Dean squeezed her again and felt his chest constrict with love and bittersweet memories, remembering how she used to crawl into his lap and let him read her to sleep. Those days were long gone, but she was still that little girl to him and she probably always would be. But he knew she was growing up and he needed to loosen his grip, at least a little.

So he sighed now and nodded. “Okay, kiddo. If you like him, I’m sure I’ll like him too. So, invite him over for dinner one evening and I swear to keep my questions to a minimum and be perfectly cordial.”

Emma laughed. “I don’t know if cordial is ever a word I’d use to describe you, Dad. Let’s just try to leave out the death stares.”

***

That evening after dinner, it was Gabe and Hope’s turn to do dishes. Gabriel washed and Hope dried with some assistance from Dean. As they were finishing up, Keisha and Julianne showed up on their doorstep asking if Emma was free to go for a walk around camp.

Y/N nodded when Emma looked to her for permission. “That’s fine. Be home before dark. Oh, here.” She said to the twins, grabbing a bag and passing it to them. “Take these home to your mom, it's the dress patterns she loaned me.”

Keisha went to take it, but Y/N pulled it back. “On second thought, nevermind. I’ll bring it to her tomorrow afternoon. Gives me a reason to visit and gossip.”

The girls all laughed and then waved as they headed out the door. Dean had to smile as they walked away, their high pitched voices and giggles floating back to them on a breeze. Some things hadn’t changed and he was grateful. 

Gabe went to his room to read, since he was housebound for the next while. Hope played with some well loved and worn out dolls for a little bit before they took her to her room and put her to bed. They tucked Gabe in not long after, and then took their coffee cups out onto their little front porch and sat in one of the big Adirondack chairs that Dean and Sam had built three years ago.

Y/N settled happily into Dean’s lap, her hands cupped around her warm mug. The late spring air was soft and warm, and the sounds of the camp drifted up the hill towards them. They listened contentedly for a little while as Clifford came out of the house and flopped down on Dean’s feet. 

They talked about the kids and they talked about the Deerling camp; they talked about Sam, and Y/N admonished Dean for teasing him about Eileen. 

“Be nice.” She scolded. “I hope he will bring her to dinner. If he likes her, I mean.”

They talked about anything and everything, and as the sun began to set, Emma came up the path and smiled as she saw her parents cuddled together in one chair. As much as she rolled her eyes and hid her face when they started getting kissy, she loved how much they loved each other. And she knew she’d never settle for anything less than what they had together. 

She told them goodnight and went inside, Clifford rising slowly to follow her and sleep at the end of her bed as he did every night.

Soon the fireflies were buzzing loudly and the camp was getting quiet, so Dean stood up with Y/N still in his arms, leaving their coffee cups to sit on the porch until morning. She laughed as her husband carried her effortlessly into their bedroom.

He set her on her feet and locked the door before he buried his hands in her hair and pulled her to him, crushing her lips beneath his own. Y/N moaned softly and immediately pulled off his flannel shirt and yanked his t-shirt over his head so she could spread her hands across the wide expanse of his still beautifully muscled torso. 

“God I missed you.” She breathed, even though it had only been one night. “I hate when you go away.”

He smiled against her skin as he stripped her down to her bra and panties. “Missed you too, sweetheart. Promise not to go anywhere ever again.”

Y/N laughed at his impossible promise as he lifted her so she could wrap her legs around his waist. He continued kissing her as he crossed the room and lowered her to the bed. She wouldn’t let go of him and pulled him down on top of her. 

Dean chuckled at her hold on him and then mouthed his way down her body, licking and nipping at her skin. Ten years later she still had the ability to make him instantly hard and aching for her.

They spent most of the night making up for the one they’d been apart. In the darkest part of the night they found light and life in each other’s arms and fell asleep knowing tomorrow would dawn bright and busy - filled with responsibilities, joy, love and most of all…

…hope.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @alwaystiredandconfused @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only: @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @hobby27 @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96

[rogersideup]

Nice to be Kneaded

Chapter one:

Welcome to Greenwood

Series Masterlist

Next Part: Inhale, Exhale.

Word Count: 4,893

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI.

The sound of the bell rattling on the front door pulled your mind away from the cake on the rotating stand in front of you and the piping bag in your hand. Coincidentally, you had just sent your cashier to break so you moved your work station to the decorating desk visible to the doorframe into the kitchen of your bakery, allowing you to see the customers as they walked in.

"Hey there, honey! I'll be right with ya'." You greeted the customer as you piped out the final details on the custom ordered cake you had spent the last half an hour perfecting.

"No worries, take your time." A polite voice responded.

Your head immediately turned at the sound of the deep and slightly raspy voice you had never heard before. In a scanty little town like Greenwood, you swore just about every friendly face within thirty miles of your bakery had stopped by for a treat at least once. You could recognize just about anyone with a blindfold on and nothing but the sound of a friendly greeting, but that charming bass was one you'd be sure to recognize if you've heard it before.

It belonged to a face you'd also be sure to recognize. An over six-foot stunner with blue eyes, a nicely groomed beard, and what looked like dirty blonde hair hidden behind a baseball cap.

You grinned before looking back at your cake, trying to process the new specimen in the lobby. It only took a few seconds before placing the piping bag down and ripping off your gloves, curiously walking out to behind the counter to help him out.

"Sorry about that, what can I get'cha?" Since you closed most of the distance, nothing but the bake case between you two, you got to notice more detail.

There was some serious muscle happening underneath the black long sleeved shirt he was wearing. Also, he was really good at picking out jeans that fit him perfectly in all the right places. Oh, and there was just a dash of green in the blue of his eyes.

"Just a chocolate chip cookie please." He asked timidly. You could tell he felt a little out of place, rocking back and forth on his heels in attempts to sooth his unsettled energy.

"Anything else?" You grinned.

"No thank you." He gently shook his head and walked over to the register as you put his cookie in a pastry bag.

"Okay but I'm giving you two cookies, because I think anyone who only gets one cookie is lying to themselves." You called out with a friendly smile, earning a chuckle from the man.

It allowed you to get a good look at his smile. He had pretty pink lips and perfect pearly whites.

Now, it was time for the investigative process you perfected to the tee. It usually started with an extra cookie and a big sparkling smile, followed by some friendly questions, and ending with a 'hope to see you again sometime soon'. You didn't mean to be invasive, really, you just needed to have all the answers when your neighbor, Georgia, asks for more information once you inevitably ask her if she knows anything about the new stunner in town.

"Well thank you, I appreciate that." He grinned, pulling the wallet out of his jeans.

"I don't think I've seen you around before, are you driving through?" You asked.

Steve shifted once more as he thought about how to answer this question. Almost every news station in the country was covering the chase for the missing superheroes post-raft-escape following the Civil War. His face had been plastered on every the cover of every news paper, fliers stapled to street lamps, posted on bulletin boards in what felt like every coffee shop in the country. If he was still in the 40's he was sure his face would take the place of the missing persons on the sides of milk cartons.

It had been just a few long months shy of a year , just long enough to grow out his hair and beard to make himself as unrecognizable as he could manage. Though he was still the poster boy of disorder within the states, it had calmed down enough for him to feel comfortable trying to settle down for as long as he safely could.

He finally found someone to rent him a house in a town quaint enough for his liking that was willing to accept under the table cash payments in rent, no proof of income, and didn't ask too many questions.

"I'm actually moving to Greenwood in the next couple days, I just picked up the keys to my new place. Saw the bakery sign and decided to stop by, figured a new start is grounds for a little celebrating." Steve explained, convincing enough.

All he could do was cross his fingers in hopes you didn't care about politics or the news enough to recognize his face.

"Really? What made you want to move here?"

He shrugged, and his lips stretched into a straight line. "Just wanted to go somewhere quiet and relaxing I guess. You know, the simple life."

"Well, most people here spend their days chasing something a bit more exciting and busy. I think you're in for exactly what you hoped for" You reassured him. "I'm sorry, honey, I didn't catch your name?"

The pet name that seemed to run off your tongue without a second thought felt warm and welcoming to him. In the big city, a sentiment like that was a title that was typically earned, but here it was given with almost an immediate understanding that everyone around was inherently good and trustworthy. He almost didn't want to tell you his name so he could keep hearing the word slip passed your lips.

"Oh, sorry!" He apologized. "I'm Steven."

Steven? Really? Already off to a bad start. He told himself when he settled down for a bit he'd be distant to the people around him. Never get too close, never tell the truth, go by an alias. But for some reason, he just couldn't get himself to lie to you. You just seemed too sweet for that.

As he took another look around his new surroundings, he chalked it up to be the homey atmosphere of the bakery. The walls were covered in tasteful art installations, celebrating the very pastries that were being perfectly displayed in the illuminated case. Although the color schemes of earth tones, contrasting yet complementary wood colors and grains, and mixed metals seemed like it wouldn't work for a bakery, it worked for this bakery. It was warm and inviting; the polished concrete floors reminded him of the home he once knew. The wall-full of jarred sprinkles in all sorts of different blends and colors to match with the bakery and playfully pull the interests of customers eyes made him feel a sense of child like wonder again.

The booths were built into cozy corners, there were lounge areas with low to the floor tables with alternate seating, a tasteful shelf full of board games for families and friends alike to play together while enjoying a coffee and a treat.

It smelled like browning butter and vanilla beans. There were throw pillows on the booths and lounges. On the main wall behind the bake case and above the beautiful espresso machines read the name of the shop, 'Nice to be kneaded' in a warm golden neon glow.

Steven it is.

"Well, Steven," You handed him the bag of cookies, he hesitated to take them from you. "Everyone who decides to make a home out of Greenwood deserves a warm welcome. Here's to a quiet and relaxing new start."

"Thanks I appreciate it" He smiled. "How much for the cooki-"

"They're on me today" You insisted.

"I couldn't possibly do that" he declined the offer. He was used to the generous hand outs as Steve Rogers, but never just as Steven. "Please let me pa-"

"Nope." You stepped back from the register. "Take them and go before I force you to take a third one!"

"So threatening!" He smiled and put his hands up in defense. "Thank you so much"

"Of course, have a good day! Hope to see you again soon." You waved, walking back into the kitchen to finish off the cake that was almost near perfect.

"Have a good one"

After finishing up the cake, you tagged the board with the invoice of the correct customer, then walked it back into the front to the cake display fridge to pop it in so it would be perfect and ready for pickup later that day.

You started tidying up the lobby of the store by re-organizing all of your retail items. Cute candy bars, greeting cards made by local artists, birthday candles, and the wall shelves full of sprinkles. You had a knack for making sure your store looked perfect and pristine at all times. It took a lot of blood, sweat and tears to get to where you were now, so you'd be damned if you let it be anything less than perfect.

You tidied up the bake case one last time and straightened up the register before the tip jar caught your eye, inside of it was a crisp $20 bill that definitely wasn't there before Steven.

Though there were a few customers in the store, all of them were students looking for a calm place to study. Headphones over their ears, their noses dug into their laptops. None of them had even moved in the last twenty minutes.

The smile and eye roll that took over your face was almost invasive, and you instantly knew the polite man would have no issue fitting in here in Greenwood.

Though you let your precious employees keep their well earned tip, you did take a $20 bill out from your own wallet and vowed to keep it with you every day until you hopefully found Steven again.

Just like every other day, you stayed at work until it was far too late before locking up and going home. You didn't even get passed your open car door in the driveway before your beloved neighbor Georgia was exiting her front door and running out of her house to greet you.

"It's about damn time, sweet cheeks, I was near ready to file a missing persons report!" She enthused.

Georgia never failed to be your best friend, gossip buddy, and the honorary mother you always wished you had. She'd send her husband to bed alone all night just to stay up and make sure you got home okay if she knew you were out late.

"Sorry" you giggled, grabbing the box of pastries you brought home with you and handing them to her. "Busy day! Treats for your troubles?"

She happily took the box from you knowing that whenever she was given one, there was always something mind-meltingly delicious on the inside. "You know Michael and I have put on a good five pounds in the last few months, and I fully blame you for it."

"Hey! I know you love a big boy, I'm doing you nothing but favors." You denied the blame. "Plus, you're pretty as a peach. A sweet thing like you deserves a sweet treat at least once a day."

"I ran over here to tell ya, we're hosting game night for the block on Saturday. If you don't come I'm going to keep rescheduling it until you do." She insisted.

"Saturday sounds lovely." You accepted the invitation. "What can I bring?"

"Just your pretty face"

"Okay, I'll bring salted caramel bars" You smiled.

"Bring a date" Georgia insisted.

"Now now, watch yourself..." You scolded, pointing your finger at her.

"You've been living in this beautiful house all by your lonesome for three years now. You know all I want is for you to be happy"

"I'm happy all on my own." You insisted with a smile you really had to force yourself to smear across your face. "I don't need a man to make me happy, I've got everything I need."

"You've got no one to prove that to but yourself, sweet cheeks." Georgia reached out and pinched your cheek between her fingers lovingly once she saw how deflated you became..

"Believe it or not, it's kind've hard to find someone worth your time in greenwood when your only options are guys you've already tried your hand at" You defended yourself.

"And what's wrong with that?" Georgia sassed.

"All the good ones are married, and all the bad ones are still bad. So if you don't mind, I'll be bringing some salted caramel bars on Saturday." You smiled.

"I haven't given up hope, and you shouldn't either!"

"Who said anything about giving up hope?" You furrowed your brows together and cocked your head to the side.

"...you have a good night now darlin'" Georgia smiled with a slight chuckle before waving and starting to walk away.

"Mmmmhmmm" You sassed. "Enjoy those pastries."

"I always do!"

The moment you walked into your humble abode, you could feel the weight of your day fall off your shoulders. Even more so as you put down your bag, kicked off your shoes, and dragged your feet up the stars with a heavy thunk on each step just to get yourself into the warm shower you had been dreaming of since waking up at 3:30am. 

Just like a responsible adult, you cooked and fed yourself dinner then ate it on the couch with a thick faux fur blanket over your lap while watching The Great British Baking Show. Georgia liked to yell at you when she invasively yet also somehow welcomely showed up at your house with no warning and caught you using your time away from baking to, well, watch a show about baking?

Your defense was that their recipes are just so different over there! The difference in American and British flavor palettes was immense, and you loved getting new ideas for fun new pastries and flavors to implement onto the rotating menu.

After scolding you, you'd point to the Television above your fireplace to show her how they were doing a technical challenge to bake the perfect Victoria sponge cake, a quintessential and uniquely british dessert, and how that was so much different than your typical vanilla sponge in the States. Then, it would peak her interest.

You were never really sure if she was actually interested, or if she only payed attention because she desperately thought you needed someone to listen to you. Sometimes when you babbled on about baking, she would slow blink at your before gently saying, "Baby, you might as well be speaking a whole other language to me right now, but I'm just so happy you're doing what you love."

She'd get comfortable on your couch as you made her a cup of tea, the end up staying until her husband Michael called and reminded her that she had a husband at home.

But tonight you were happy to just be shoving some pesto pasta in your face with the company of no one but Netflix in complete peace. The small sensation of an almost distant ache in the back of your head also had you thankful that they had finally either finished, or were taking a break from construction on the little house next door to yours.

You didn't mind it much at first, you were gone for most of the day to miss the sounds of sawing and jackhammering, but sometimes the sounds would continue even after sunset and keep you awake past your geriatric bedtime. Sleep was very important when you had to wake up before the sun.

But your mama raised you to love thy neighbor and keep patience and grace close to your heart, so you bit your tongue for five long months and occasionally showered the construction workers in warm breakfast sandwiches and croissants. You hoped that their awareness to the neighbors occupation would keep them from working late into the night, but nope. You just continued biting your tongue a little harder.

Even worse than you was Andy and Phoebe that lived two doors down, the construction happened sandwiched between you two, and they had their new born baby girl at home through all of that banging and drilling. Apparently little Willow could now sleep through anything. Their dog barking at the sound of a door bell wasn't even an equal contender against the baby who had been subconsciously trained to stay calm in the midst of chaos.

You were in bed by 7 pm, up at 3am, back at work by 4am with $20 in your back pocket. A little part of you felt stupid while slipping the green bill into your denim jeans, it was quite delusional to assume the man would be back so soon, let alone at all, but a bigger part of you couldn't stand that his free cookies were not free.

The empty bake case was filled to the brim by 6:30am, all custom orders were done by 7. You barely even got a chance to wipe the sweat off your hairline from your face being in front of the oven before taking off your chefs coat and hair net and switching it to a front-of-house apron.

You had an excellent team of trained bakers, decorators, baristas, and a cashier, but that didn't stop you from getting your hands dirty by any means. Though your team was mighty, collectively you were tiny. Only 9 employees to hold the busiest bakery in the greater area down, you tended to step in wherever you were needed the most.

Today, you just happened to be taking orders and handing out latte's through morning rush before dedicating the rest of your day on getting a head start on custom orders for tomorrow.

Then tomorrow came around and all you did was start the dough for a few loaves of sourdough, your girls were going to take over after the first rise so you could focus on the payroll and product order placement that would be delivered on Friday. You got done all the boring stuff, responded to customer emails, printed out the invoices of all the orders through Friday, sorted through and organized the endless amounts of cookie cutters in the kitchen, then cleaned out the fridge to make sure all the ingredients were properly labeled and within date.

You worked one more day after that before having your first day off in 10 days. Yes, you made your own schedule. Yes, you worked far too much. No, that's not your fault.

You started by going on a short run, and taking a shower before going to the little diner 10 minutes down the road with Georgia for breakfast. The summer heat made your thighs stick to the leather booth beneath you, and the ceiling fans gently moved your hair around but you didn't seem to mind much. How could anything be a bother to your while you we're sneakily stealing a forkful of pancakes from your Neighbor's plate as her eyes were stuck on the news that was playing on an old TV in the upper corner of the diner.

You smiled as she peeled her eyes away just to glare at you while you stuck the syrupy goodness in your mouth. A bit of sticky maple caught on your lip, threatening to drip down your chin before you even got a chance to lick it off.

"Child, you are a mess." She shook her head at you and handed you a napkin. "How are they?"

"Heavenly." You giggled, wiping away the warm syrup on your face. "Hey, is it okay if I have a bite?" You questioned after stealing her food.

"You're like the child I never wanted." She insulted in good fun. Her being in her mid-fifties and you being late twenties- early thirty something, she loved to tease you because she knew you could take it in good fun. "See what you could've had if you didn't order... whatever that is?"

"An omelette?" You giggled. "I was in it for the side of hash-browns."

"Mmmm" Georgia tried to stay engaged, but her eyes kept wandering back to the news on the television.

You quickly looked up at the TV facing you in the opposite corner to the one she had her eyes on, but all you saw was pictures of Black Widow. She was beautiful, you always were jealous of her stunning fiery red hair and strength. You didn't pay much attention to why the bottom banner across the screen said 'Breaking News: Emergency Broadcast". Nothing Natasha Romanoff could've done was more important to the crispy shredded potatoes in front of you.

You didn't know much about the Civil War besides the basics. Most of what you knew came from Georgia and Michael. Politics was never your strong suit, you're pretty sure you almost failed government class back in high school. However, politics was something Michael was very... passionate about.

His political opinions were strong, and he wasn't shy to let you know about them. Whenever you were over at their house for dinner and the topic came up, you tended to just let him get it all out while you soaked it in and ate silently.

Though you didn't have an extensive knowledge on economics or how congressional issues worked, you did know how you felt about social issues. Most of the time; your opinions did not match up with Michael. And most of the time Georgia soaked in and inherited all of Michael's political stances.

Only a few times did you seek out information on the bombing of the United Nations meeting and the sokovia accords by your own means. Mostly because you felt like the information you were getting from Michael was probably influenced by his own stance on the matter. But from what you gathered, it was a complex issue you couldn't even begin to put your nose in. Especially since they were all superheroes arguing over what was the correct thing to do.

You grew up very much in the mindset of not judging people until you've walked a mile in their shoes, and walking in their shoes was impossible. Especially superhero shoes with jet blasters and and steel toes.

So as Georgia stated, "Miss Romanoff had so much potential, why she wasted it on protecting a brain washed assassin I will never understand." you stole another bite of her pancakes and shoved them into your mouth.

In turn, she stole some of your hash-browns and looked at you, waiting for feedback on her remark. "What did she do now?" You asked.

"She was found on American soil. The secretary tried detaining her considering she's a fugitive but she slipped passed his fingers." Georgia explained. "They're asking for tips trying to find her again."

You nodded your head in understanding of the urgency in the news broadcast, but you didn't exactly feel like having a passionate discussion about morals in the middle of a notoriously conservative small down.

"I guess I just don't understand why the government is treating Captain America's friends as criminals when they've all done so much to protect us... Aren't they just trying to do the right thing?" You questioned carefully as to not start an argument.

"Sweetheart it's not about what they used to do for us, it's about what they've done recently. They broke the law, destroyed public and private property, and broke out of the highest security prison in the world all because they didn't want to be controlled by the United Nations." Georgia explained.

"...but the issue was that they didn't want to be controlled, it was that they wanted to come up with a different solution because lives would be lost while waiting for the whole United Nations to decide what business they could stick their noses in, right?" You framed your opinion as a question once more as to appease any potential anger.

"Captain America and his whole team of friends became war criminals the moment they turned their backs on the government. It's really that simple." She insisted.

You looked back up to the TV to see the pictures of Captain America, Black Widow, Scarlet Witch, the Falcon, the Winter Soldier, Ant-Man, and Hawkeye all looking back at you. The atmosphere between you and Georgia had gone quiet allowing you to hear the broadcasters voice.

'... if you see any of these individuals, do not approach. They are dangerous. Call 911. Remember, failure to report these individuals will be considered a misdemeanor punishable by jail time and a hefty fine. Do not approach.'

You observed the picture of the winter soldier in much more detail than the others, then your eyes grazed over Captain America.

One more big mouthful of your breakfast before an invasive thought overtook your brain and caused you to laugh out loud.

"What's got you laughing over there?" Georgia smiled at your antics.

"The winter soldier is so handsome, I think I'd become a war criminal trying to defend him too." You spat out between invasive laughter causing Georgia to laugh along with you no matter how hard she tried to contain it.

"I outta wash your mouth out with soap!" She laughed.

"Hey! No potty mouth here, just speaking the truth"

"This is why you need a boyfriend!" She smiled, pointing her pancake filled fork at you. "And a good one at that! I don't need to be seeing my baby girl all up in the news one day with the word 'wanted' written in bold red letters across her face."

"Hey, I've actually been meaning to ask you!" You started between bites. "A handsome fella came into the shop a few days ago. Said he was moving to greenwood in a few days, d'ya know anything about that?"

"What'd he look like, darlin'?" She questioned further. "I saw a stunner meet up with the owner of the house next door to yours while I was watering my peonies earlier this week. Watched him leave with a key in hand."

"He was tall, but I didn't get to see much to his face. It was blocked by a cap. I think his hair was dirty blonde from what I could see. He had really nice jeans on-"

"Full beard?" She asked.

"The most luscious and well groomed beard I've ever seen in this part of town." You confirmed with a giggle.

"I damn near blushed when I saw him from across the way! I bet he's moving in to that house then!" She enthused with a big smile. "Maybe this will be your escape from the Greenwood boys!"

"Are you kidding me? A man like that always comes a long with a wife and way too many children." You giggled.

"I bet that boy would make some beautiful babies" She kicked your leg underneath the table. "As would you."

"Not anytime soon" You shook your head with a blush in your cheeks.

"You know pregnancies over the age of 35 are considered geriatric?" She said backhandedly.

"Then consider me the oldest grandma in the nursing home." You denied once more

"I didn't see no ring on that man's finger, so he's single until proven married." Georgia smiled. "What did he get at the bakery?"

"One chocolate chip cookie" You hid your grin behind your hand holding your fork.

She raised her eyebrows mid pancake bite, chewing before speaking again as to not be impolite, but you already knew what she was thinking. "A married man would never get a cookie for just himself and not his wife. He's definitely single."

"Well he did say he drove into town for the key, so maybe he ate it before she even knew he had a cookie in the first place. Plus, I gave him two. You know how I feel about people who get one cookie..."

"So he's either single or the worst husband a girl could have. If Michael ever skipped out on getting me a cookie I'd divorce his ass on the spot." She shook her head.

"Why would you ever need Michael to bring you cookies when you have me, anyways?" You questioned, faking jealousy.

"Baby doll you're all I need" She smiled and reached over to squeeze your hand.

"That's more like it." You laughed.

Georgia smoothed over the pain of not being the only cookie provider in her life by paying the breakfast bill, even after you fought her over it for ten whole minutes because you invited her out to breakfast so you could treat her.

And when you two got home, you both immediately noticed all the construction on the house next to yours had been completely cleared out and it looked brand spankin' new.

What once was an older home with lots of rustic character looked more like all the surrounding houses with updated paint, new landscaping, fresh new features. It looked great without all of the dust and equipment blocking the view.

It was officially a home ready to be moved into, and any moment now you would have confirmation if your new neighbor was the same man you desperately owed $20.

Next Part: Inhale, Exhale

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