#alaska; head canons

[musemuseum]

Muses within the 2SLGBTQI+ community:

Bisexual 1/?

Aiden Philips (preference for men)

Napoleon Bronswyn

Diego Martinez

Barron Quartermain

Osiris Gold

Hunter Green

Kai Yukiyama (preference for men)

Alaska Jones

Cherish Kane (preference for women)

Emmett Van Horne

Aspen Armstrong

Astoria Campbell

Avalon Foley (preference for men)

Avery Cross

Benji Markland

Casper Worthington

Briar Starr

Bliss Frey

Colby Shade

Cooper Tobin

Damien Cavanaugh

Declan Nichols

Dominic Hall

Eevee Grant

Fern Thibideau

Finnley Carrigan

Ian Stanfield (preference for women)

Ivy Fairaday

Jack Starling (preference for women)

Jericho Hall

[alaskan-wallflower]

I always picture the Curtis brothers as Jewish and Mexican, idk where it came from, honestly, but that’s just how I picture em

I picture Steve being Hispanic and black (nigerian) I also picture him with vitiligo

ooooh that’s interesting!! it’s funny cause i headcanon johnny with vitiligo! i never really considered mexican curtis brothers before though, but that’s super interesting!!

i never considered either of those things, that’s very intriguing!! thanks for sharing!

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rumoured Nights | S.R

This was written for the lovely and wonderful @foxy-eva milestone celebration. Congratulations love! 💕 I used the prompt - “someone has to unexpectedly share hotel room with their favourite coworker - who apparently really likes to cuddle.”

Set during 5.21 Exit Wounds - this ep just lends itself perfectly for a one bed fic.

Summary - a case in a small town in Alaska forces you and your favourite coworker into sharing a room and a bed. And according to Morgan, Spencer likes to cuddle.

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Category - smut NSFW Minors DNI

Warnings - one bed trope, friends to lovers, sex dream, cuddly Spencer, swearing, making out, Spencer is touch starved, canon compliant death, meddling BAU team, interruptions, fingering, handjobs, penetrative, protected sex.

WC - 7.5k (don’t ask me how, she’s wordy)

“I’m not sleeping with Reid.”��

The comment was probably meant inoffensively, an off the cuff remark to make his coworkers laugh but instead only caused the youngest member of the team to blush furiously. 

Spencer Reid shrunk down in the armchair, attempting to hide his embarrassment from the eyes of his fellow team members who now all looked upon him. 

As far as he was aware, Morgan had never told the team what happened the one and only time they’d shared a room during a case. The confused looks being sent his way went to further that, thank god. 

It happened a few years back when they’d been on a case in a town equally as small as Franklin, Alaska where they found themselves now. Like tonight, the BNB was small and they’d had to double up. 

And Morgan had woken in the morning to find Spencer’s arms wrapped around him like he was the genius’s oversized teddy bear, and one of Spencer’s legs draped across him. 

Morgan had pushed the younger man off of him and apparently Spencer hadn’t even so much as stirred. It wasn’t even until a while later Morgan had filled him in on what he’d subconsciously done in his sleep. 

It was perfectly innocent. There was no more to it other than the fact that Spencer was painfully touch starved. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on how long exactly it had been since he’d had another warm body to share his bed with, but if he did he would be able to recite how long it had been down to the minute. 

It was an involuntary reaction. His subconscious must have gravitated him towards the body in his bed and held them without thought to who it was. In his unconscious mind, it didn’t matter who it was, just that he needed the comfort of holding somebody. 

He was glad Morgan hadn’t woken him because he would have been a hundred times more embarrassed if he had to remember his inappropriate middle of the night cuddle. 

While he relented to his own mortification, the rest of the team silently paired off. Garcia was quick to place her hand on Morgan’s arm, nabbing him as her roomie before anyone else had the chance.

Hotch and Rossi exchanged a look of understanding and JJ smiled at Emily, the brunette nodding back at the blonde in response. 

Spencer felt his stomach coiling into thick knots as he let his eyes glance across the room and land on you who had also noticed the non-verbal agreements taking place. You met his gaze and offered him a meek half-smile.

“Guess you’re with me, Doc.” You got to your feet, grabbing your bag off the floor. 

You tried to hide the look of sheer delight from your eyes, tried to pretend that this wasn’t the best outcome to you. There had always been something about Spencer that you found magnetic, his brain intrigued you and he wasn’t at all hard on the eyes. 

Through five years of working together you had kept your little crush underwraps, your poker face was second to none. 

So you had to play it cool. You couldn’t show how utterly thrilled you were that the chips had fallen in your favour. 

One by one the rest of the team stood with their bags and collected their room keys from the kindly innkeeper and headed towards the staircase. 

You hung back for Spencer while he procured the key and with an awkward smile he followed you to the stairs.

“Good luck, mama.” Morgan smirked at you, clapping a hand down on your shoulder as you went to pass him by. “Pretty boy here is a secret cuddler.” 

“Morgan!” Spencer’s voice pitched, around five octaves higher than his usual cadence. 

“She’s gonna find out sooner or later, kid.” Morgan winked at the younger man, causing Spencer to turn beet red again. 

You shook your head with a soft laugh, averting your eyes away from Derek and towards the bottom step.

“Uh, thanks for the heads up. Goodnight.” You started up the stairs, hearing Spencer following behind you. 

You met him at the door to your room and stood aside so he could unlock it. Like the gentleman he was, he held it open for you to enter first. 

It was you who first noticed the initial problem. When Spencer sidled up next to you a moment later he saw it too. 

One bed. There was only one freaking bed. 

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” He was quick to speak, dumping his go-bag on the dresser. 

“You’ll put your back out.” You rolled your eyes. 

“I’m not Rossi.” He scoffed, indignantly. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Spencer, your knee still hasn’t properly healed. I cannot in good conscience let you sleep on the floor.” 

“I’m fine,” he waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve been walking without my cane for months.” 

“With a limp.” You clucked. “If it makes you uncomfortable to share a bed, let me sleep on the floor, please?” 

“It is statistically improbable that I will let you sleep on the floor, Y/N.” He folded his arms across his chest in defiance. 

“Fine,” you shrugged. “It’s one night, Spence. We can share a bed can’t we?” 

For the third time in ten minutes, Spencer’s cheeks burned bright red with his embarrassment. 

“I, uh, you see…” he swallowed. “Morgan wasn’t lying about the cuddling thing. We had to share a bed once on a case and apparently I cuddled up to him in my sleep.” 

A smile tugged at your lips and you felt a little guilty given how mortified he looked. But honestly you thought it was incredibly adorable and plenty endearing.

Spencer was known for having an aversion to touch, always citing how many germs could be passed in a single handshake and how it was actually safer to kiss. So the thought of him hugging anyone made you smile, even if it was when he was asleep. 

“I just so happen to not totally hate that idea.” You tried to encourage him, not wanting him to be embarrassed. 

“Y-you don’t?” He stuttered with a frown. 

“It’s cute.” You smiled.

“I think the word you’re looking for is pathetic.” He sighed. “Who knows it might have just been a one off anyway. If you’re lucky, I’ll leave you alone.” 

Lucky? Some luck that would be. 

You hid your expression from him, the one that desperately loved the idea of him snuggling up to you in his sleep. You pushed it down, simply offering him a nod. 

You just might be disappointed if he didn’t cuddle you.

***

The two of you took turns in the bathroom, brushing your teeth and changing into your respective pyjamas. Usually you slept nude, or at the very least just in your panties, but thankfully you kept a pair of shorts and a tank top in your go-bag in case you ever found yourself in this position.

You were already in bed scrolling on your phone when Spencer stepped out of the bathroom. He wore a set of dark green flannel pyjama pants and a matching long sleeved top, buttoned right up to his neck. You smiled in amusement at him as he padded across the room.

“Why does it not surprise me one little bit that Doctor Spencer Reid even sleeps in a button down?” You giggled a little as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I get cold easily.” He shrugged, his back now to you. “And we are in Alaska.” 

You didn’t reply, simply watched him as he slid his legs under the sheets, his mismatched socks still adorned on his feet, and laid his long, messy hair on the pillow. He kept his back to you and he reached out and switched off the lamp.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” He whispered, tucking one hand beneath his pillow. 

“Goodnight, Spence.” You smiled to yourself as you closed your eyes.

***

It was still dark out when you stirred in your sleep, eyes fluttering slightly as you pulled the duvet further up to your chin. You would have fallen straight back to sleep if it hadn’t been for the sensation of something heavily draped over your ribcage. 

You were on your back, the ceiling staring back at you when you opened your eyes. It was then you realised there was something hard between your head and the pillow. 

You looked to your side and blinked against the darkness, trying to adjust your vision. A messy head of hair was next to you on your pillow, so close you could feel the soft breath coming from parted lips tickling your face.

It was then you pieced together that the thing that was under your head and across your torso were one in the same: Spencer’s arms. One was tucked beneath you, holding you close to him while the other cautiously rested over you, just below your breasts. 

His right leg was bent at the knee, slung over your bare thighs. His whole body was pressed up against your side and it was then you registered that something hard was digging into your left hip…

Oh, your eyes widened. Oh. 

You looked back at the ceiling, body going rigid in Spencer’s arms. It certainly did not take someone with a genius level IQ to figure out what it was. 

You tried to ignore it, willed yourself to go back to sleep and put it behind you. Maybe you were still asleep, perhaps this was just a really vivid dream. In the morning you would pretend it never happened, not wanting to embarrass the poor man. 

But then the situation somehow grew even more awkward, if that were possible. Spencer nuzzled closer to you in his sleep, his face buried against your neck. His breathing started to grow frantic and his hold on you tightened. 

And then he moaned. 

Your stomach tightened at the delicious sound, equally trying to commit it to memory and forget it at the same time. But then it happened again, the sound deeper this time. There was no denying it was a moan of pleasure. 

The third time he made the sound it was followed by the whimpered utterance of the word fuck. 

And when his hips started to gesticulate, grinding his hardness against your hip, you had to do something. 

“Spence?” You hissed, wriggling in his arms. “Spencer, wake up!” 

His eyes shot open suddenly and he huffed out a breath. His eyes were hooded with his sleep, his plump lips parted in confusion. 

For a few moments he just laid there, not registering his position or the bulge in his pyjama pants. He simply stared blankly at you. 

“What happened?” He groaned sleepily. “Another body?” 

“No….no. Not work.” You swallowed. “I uh, I don’t really know how to say this so I’m just gonna say it…I think you were having a sex dream.” 

His eyes got really wide, really fast. As your words registered with him he also realised he was holding you, snuggled tightly against you. And at the same moment he also realised the part of his anatomy that had woken up long before his brain had. 

And it was pressing right against your side. 

He scrambled away from you suddenly, drawing all of his limbs close to his torso and burying his face into the pillow. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled against the cushion. “Fuck, I am so unbelievably sorry. I’m going to…” 

He trailed off and quickly rolled to the edge of the bed but you were faster and you managed to grab his arm before he made it out. 

“Spence, it’s fine. These things happen. Let’s just go back to sleep and forget it ever happened.” You gently guided him back to the mattress and he flopped onto his back. 

“This is somehow more humiliating than when I cuddled Morgan. At least then I didn’t have a, uh…yeah.” He shook his head, not willing to finish that sentence. 

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Spencer. You were dreaming, and apparently it was a very good dream.” You couldn’t help but laugh, trying to cast light on the situation and make him feel less uncomfortable.

It had the opposite effect.

“I really don’t see how this is funny. I’m lonely ok? I’m so painfully lonely that the only kind of physical contact I can get with a woman is in my sleep.” He blurted out, his brain not quite awake enough to stop the words coming out of his mouth. 

The room fell silent. Spencer stared at the ceiling, you stared at the side of Spencer’s face. 

It wasn’t exactly a surprise to hear. Spencer never talked about dating or anything of the sort and although Morgan had speculated he just kept his exploits quiet, you were never so sure. 

Spencer was awkward and shy and had a hard time talking to anyone he didn’t know unless it was in statistics and facts. 

So it didn’t surprise you to find this out, but it did surprise you that Spencer was offering that information out to you. 

“I, uh…” you croaked. 

“It’s ok, you don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry that I had a sex dream about you but in my defence I can’t control my-”

“Hold up,” you cut him off, leaning up on your elbow so you could look at him properly. “Did you say you were dreaming about me?” 

His cheeks turned impossibly redder and he buried his face further into the pillow. 

“I assumed you knew that part. I thought you said…'' he wracked his brain.

No, you didn’t tell him he’d said your name. He’d added that part, assumed that you knew who he’d been dreaming about. Fuck. 

“You were dreaming about me.” You croaked, staring at what little of his face wasn’t covered by the pillow. 

“Y-yes.” He whispered. “As if the situation wasn’t already awkward enough. I can just go and sleep in the bathtub or something. The lobby even.” 

“Spence,” you gave his hair a gentle tug, trying to get him to look at you. 

Reluctantly he lifted his head and his eyes were wide and guilt ridden, his bottom lip cushioned between his teeth. 

“Yes?” 

“Do you…have you…” you couldn’t seem to finish that trail of thought. 

“Yes.” He clearly knew what you were trying to say. “It has happened before. More times than I care to admit right at this present moment.” 

“Oh.” You swallowed thickly. 

“So bathtub or lobby? How bad is this situation exactly? Does the bathroom put enough space between us or do I seriously need to leave the room entirely?” 

“My preference would be that you don’t go anywhere.” You confessed, causing Spencer to frown. “I mean, unless it’s closer to me.” 

“I…I’m not sure I understand.” 

“Sure you do.” You smiled, shuffling closer to him when he wouldn’t move. “The real thing will be so much better than even your wildest dreams, Spence.” 

An air of confidence washing over you, you finally got the chance to do something you’d been imagining for years and pressed your lips against his. 

He whimpered at the contact, momentarily dumbfounded by what was happening. But he soon managed to snap himself out of it and quickly took hold of your face and parted your lips with his tongue. 

As he deepened the kiss he rolled himself on top of you, already straining at the front of his flannel pants again. This time he was happy to roll his hips against you, really allowing you to feel him. 

You gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the sound down into his lungs. He held your face with care but the kiss was all frantic tongues and the clashing of teeth. 

It was years worth of pent up sexual tension for which neither of you had ever realised the other felt too, all spilling forth against the others lips. 

You wrapped your arms around his waist, fingertips brushing beneath the hem of his pyjama shirt, he moaned into the kiss when your hands glided over his back, across his shoulder blades and back down his spine. 

His own hands wandered at the same time his tongue hungrily explored every crevice of your mouth. His touch was featherlight down your biceps and forearms before falling towards your torso and following your lead, under the hem of your shirt. 

His finger brushed delicately over the sides of your ribs, up and down and up and down the skin, his fingertips making a mental note of how every dip and curve felt beneath them. 

His teeth grazed against your bottom lip before nibbling on it lightly and then pulling away. He sat back and looked down at you, your hands dislodging from under his shirt.

His pupils were blown out wide and his lips were puffy and red. His chest heaved his haggard breaths while he fought for air. 

You smiled up at him, reaching for the top button of his pyjama shirt. He let your deft fingers do their work, popping each button in turn and moving lower and lower down his abdomen. 

When the final button was undone he shucked the material off his shoulders and tossed it aside. His long curls hung around his face, framing him perfectly and you didn’t think anyone had ever looked as delicious as he did right now. 

His own hands brushed under your tank top again, palm flush against your stomach for a moment or two before he hooked his fingers in the fabric and started drawing it upwards. 

He let out a feral moan as he peeled the top away to reveal your bare breasts beneath. You helped him get it over your head and it soon joined Spencer’s shirt on the floor. 

He was open mouth staring at you, not even trying to hide it. You rolled your eyes with a soft chuckle, reaching for him and pulling him close.

“What’s the matter, Doc?” You spoke as you kissed him again. “Never seen a pair of tits before?” 

“None that magnificent, that's for certain.” He mumbled in reply. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere Doctor Reid.” Your hands moved to cup his clothed ass. 

“Fuck,” he hummed, rolling his hips against you. “Keep calling me Doctor Reid and it’ll be over before it begins.”

You laughed at the insinuation, wrapping your arms around him and expertly managing to flip you both over so his back was to the mattress and you were straddling his hips. 

His hair splayed out against the pillow and from this angle you were able to get a good look at what the good doctor was hiding in his pants. 

You involuntarily hissed at the sight and his eyes never left your chest. His hands were pawing at your hips, cloying at the fabric of your shorts. 

You raised your eyes to his face and waited for him to meet your gaze. When he did you made a show of grinding down against his lap, his mouth falling open as a moan erupted from his lungs. 

The friction caused by his pants rubbing against him was nice in a way but he would much rather a different kind of friction. 

He reached for your neck, pulling you closer so your bare chests crashed together and he kissed you deeply. 

You continued to grind against him, feeling his hard member between your legs and wishing for fewer clothes to be in the way. 

But before you could think about helping him undress further, Spencer’s hungry fingers were trailing up your thigh and grazing beneath the leg of your shorts. 

His hand wove higher, he could feel the heat emanating from your core. His fingertips lightly brushed against your pubic bone and you whined into his mouth. 

“Is that what you want?” He spoke against your lips, his other hand gripping the back of your neck tightly. 

“P-please…” you whimpered, nibbling on his lip and trying to move yourself closer to his waiting fingers.

Spencer chuckled almost darkly, brushing his fingers over the same spot. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?” He whispered as your lips latched against his neck, sucking deep marks in his flesh. 

“About as long as I have. Please Spencer, please for the love of god!” 

The way you moaned so desperately for him made his head spin, no one had ever reacted like this for him. 

He inched his fingers nearer to where you wanted them, but as he was about to give you everything you’d been waiting for, an ear piercing scream reverberated in the room. 

You fell back as Spencer sat up, ears pricked and waiting in silence that now shrouded the room. Seconds passed that felt like hours until you both heard it again. 

“Help! Somebody please help!” 

“Is that…?” Spencer’s chest heaved in panic. 

“Penelope!” 

The two of you were suddenly out of bed and on your feet, scampering around to dress as quickly as possible. You threw a pair of jeans over your shorts, foregoing your tank top and tossing on a sweater instead before your coat. 

Spencer grabbed his pyjama shirt and fought with the buttons whilst stuffing his feet inside his converse. He grabbed his jacket and scarf on his way to the door, before quickly doubling back and picking up his revolver. 

You got your firearm as well, toeing on your boots as they two of you quickly dashed from the room. In the corridor you saw Morgan ahead of you, running towards the stairs. 

“You heard it too?” You asked as you ran to catch him. 

“You bet your ass I did.” Morgan hurried down the stairs with you in hot pursuit. “Pretty boy, wake the others. Y/N and I will check it out.” 

Spencer nodded though no one was looking at him. He fell back, his hand holding the gun dropping to his side as he made his way back to the other rooms.

His head was still spinning, dizzy with the lust from previous moments ago. Maybe this was a sign to him not to cross that line with his friend. The line was blurred, sure, but not yet so much as it couldn’t be rectified. 

All he could hope was that he hadn’t destroyed your friendship to the point of no return. 

You followed Morgan hurriedly towards the front door of the inn, guns pointed in front of you. You could still feel an electric current pulsing through your veins from Spencer’s touch, your lips still tingled from his kiss. 

You pushed it aside as a blast of frigid air hit you when Morgan opened the door and the two of you descended the front steps. 

“Help! Someone help!” Cried Penelope off in the distance. 

Morgan’s head whipped around almost three hundred and sixty degrees, eyes taking in the dark landscape to find what he was looking for. 

“Over there!” He barked, nodding his head towards two silhouettes in the trees. 

He quickened his pace, so did you. 

You found Garcia on her knees on the ground over the dead body of a man. She had tears streaming down her cheeks, her mouth hung open.

“I…and he…and then…”

“It’s ok baby girl,” Morgan crouched down next to her, stuffing his gun in the back of his jeans and helping her to her feet. 

You tucked your own gun away, leaning over the body and placing your index and middle finger to the side of his neck. 

No pulse. You didn’t think it needed to be spoken out loud. 

Garcia was sobbing, head buried against Morgan’s strong chest while he held her. The sound of crunching leaves alerted you to your company and you spun around to see the rest of the team running your way. 

Hotch and Rossi still wore their usual daytime attire but JJ and Emily wore sweats under large coats. Spencer looked an absolute picture in his pyjamas, coat and scarf hanging limply from his neck. 

He briefly made eye contact with you, but you broke it swiftly, glancing over at your boss who looked even more annoyed than usual. 

“Get her inside.” Hotch spoke to Morgan. “Someone call the sheriff.” 

Emily pulled her cell phone out and stepped away to make the call. 

“He knew we were staying here. This was a big risk.” Rossi huffed, glancing at the faces around him and lingering a little longer on Spencer. “Kid, why do you look so flustered?”

Spencer’s eyes widened and you saw him swallow thickly. You looked away, focused on the body on the floor. 

“I…” he squeaked, rolling his lip between his teeth. “I’m fine.” 

And if anyone noticed his voice was several octaves higher than usual, they kindly didn’t say anything. 

***

Over an hour later you all trudged back inside from the cold. The coroner had taken the body away and you would continue your investigation in the morning. 

Penelope was fraught, never having seen a dead body in real life let alone having to witness someone die. Morgan tried to keep her calm but even he couldn’t bring her back from this spiral.

When she stormed upstairs you all watched her go. Morgan looked over at you, his eyes asking you questions before his words did. 

“Can you…?” 

“Yeah.” You nodded. 

You moved past the others towards the stairs, you hadn’t so much as looked at Spencer in the last hour. He tried to make eye contact with you as you walked by but you kept your gaze forward.

Once you were up the stairs, Morgan sidled up to Spencer who was still watching you walk away. 

“You gonna tell me why you’ve been looking like a lost puppy for the last hour?” He cocked an eyebrow at the younger man. 

“What? I’m not! I’m…tired. I was sleeping when I heard Garcia.” Spencer averted his gaze.

“I hope that isn’t true.” Morgan scoffed. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spencer frowned looking back at him. 

“It means,” JJ stepped forward, an amused smile on her lips. “We’ve all spent the last five years trying to get you and Y/N to see what the rest of us can see.”

“And what’s that?” He turned to JJ. 

“Oh please.” Emily chuckled. “You think we don’t notice the tension between the two of you? Morgan’s been single handedly trying to get the two of you to bone for years.” 

Spencer’s cheeks instantly turned red and he felt his chest tighten with his embarrassment. 

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turned his back on them and headed for the stairs.

“Go get her lover boy.” Morgan called after him and they all fell about laughing while Spencer shrunk away. 

He was at least glad you hadn’t been privy to that. But he didn’t relish the idea of seeing you right now, that would surely be one awkward encounter. 

***

You found Penelope pacing the length of her and Derek’s room, muttering under her breath frantically. 

You cautiously entered, not wanting to startle her. 

“I watched him die.” She spoke when she saw you. “I watched him take his last breath, Y/N.” 

“I know.” You nodded slowly, coming close to your friend and placing your hands on her shoulders. “I can’t imagine how scary that was for you.” 

“I just…” she whined a little. “When I was shot, all I could think was that if I die the last face I’m ever going to see is the man who killed me. I didn’t want that for him.” 

“You’re too good for this world, Penny.” You squeezed her shoulders. 

“I don’t know how I’m ever going to sleep again.” She pulled free of your hold and started pacing again. “Tell me something, anything. Something to distract me.” 

“Uh…” you scratched the back of your head. “You did everything you could to help him?” 

“No, not that. Not about this.” She quickened her pace, arms flailing about as she walked. 

“Uh…I’m pretty sure after tonight you can get Morgan to spoon you. All you need to do is tell him how scared you were.” You tried again. 

“As delicious as that sounds, I don’t think Kevin would be too pleased about that.” She was a blur of colour, like a rainbow flying through the sky. “Please Y/N, I need to think of something other than this horrible night.”

Goddamnit. 

You had the exact thing she was looking for, the perfect piece of information to take her mind off of this. 

Goddamnit, here goes nothing. 

“I almost slept with Spencer tonight.” You blurted out before you could change your mind. 

As expected she immediately stopped pacing, halting in her tracks and glaring wide eyed at you. Her mouth hung open like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the right words.

You rolled your lip between your teeth, awkwardly waiting for her to say something. Slowly she stepped closer to you, eyebrows raising towards her hairline. 

“You…and boy wonder?” 

“Yes.” 

“It’s about time!” She slapped your bicep and you growled at the impact. “Wait…did you say almost?” 

“Yeah, we didn’t quite get that far.” You rubbed your arm from her assault.

“Why not?” She sounded incredulous. 

“Because…the screaming? The cries for help?” You huffed. 

“I…I ruined your first time with Reid?” She gasped. “No, no that won’t do. You are going to march back to your room and resume all previous activities. Right now.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen.” You shook your head. 

“Why?”

“It was a dumb idea, Pen. We’re friends, we work together.” You sighed deeply.

“Friends who are utterly infatuated with one another and have been for the past five years.” She clucked. 

“Guess my poker face isn’t as good as I thought it was.” 

“It is not. You make heart eyes at him every time he walks into a room. And he’s just as bad!” Garcia sounded exasperated. “Go to him. Finish what you started. For the love of all things pink and sparkly.” 

“Penny, I love you but it’s not gonna happen.” You shrugged. “I’m not ruining one of my closest friendships for one night of passion.” 

“Ok…I do not like thinking of boy genius and the word passion in the same sentence.” She pulled a face. “That’s like thinking of my brother…gross.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way her body shuddered at the thought. You were pleased at least you had managed to get her to calm down. 

“You gonna be ok if I go?” You smiled at her. 

“Morgan will probably be up soon, I’m sure he can protect me.” She smiled back. “Just let him down gently ok? Reid is fragile.” 

You rolled your eyes, backing away to the door. 

“Goodnight, Penelope.” You blew her a kiss as you opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. 

Across the hall your own door loomed. Your chest tightened as you pushed forward, hoping Spencer may already be asleep so as to avoid an awkward conversation. 

But you knew he wouldn’t be and that was confirmed when you entered your room and found him sitting on the edge of the bed as if waiting for you. 

He looked up from where he’d been staring at his lap when he heard the door close. He pushed himself to his feet, his jaw set tightly. 

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship.” He blurted out suddenly. 

“Me either.” You agreed, stepping closer to him as you got out of your jacket. 

You unsheathed your firearm and laid it on the dresser next to Spencer’s. 

“But uh…” he frowned, fighting an internal battle with his own thoughts. “Friendships are overrated right? I have plenty of friends…”

“Way too many friends.” You smiled and nodded as he reached for you, large hands cupping your face. 

“I don’t want to be your friend.” He whispered and then proceeded to crash your lips together. 

You immediately parted your lips and his tongue slid inside of your mouth while he pulled you back to the bed. You both fell to the mattress, you on top of him while never breaking the kiss. 

He didn’t want to waste a second, didn’t want to risk being pulled away from you again and so his hands quickly found the hem of your sweater and helped you out of it. 

You got his buttons undone and he guided you with a hand on your back, down to the mattress. He slipped the garment off of his shoulders and rolled himself on top of you, kissing you again. 

His hands wandered down your torso to the button of your jeans. His lips trailed to your neck and brushed along your collarbones. 

They moved lower, down to your right breast where he placed kisses on the swell of it before moving on and taking your hard nipple in his mouth. 

You moaned and bucked your hips to meet his erection in his pyjama pants. He popped the button on your jeans and you helped him shimmy them down your legs. 

When his lips moved to your neglected breast, you reached out and blindly groped him through his pants. He grinded against your hand, moaning around your nipple. 

His large hand glided back across the plains of your stomach before inching lower. His fingertips brushed over the waistband of your panties before disappearing beneath the fabric. 

His index finger located your clit and pressed firmly against it, another moan erupting from your chest. He pulled back from your nipple and looked down at you with a sinful smirk. 

He started rubbing deft circles between your legs, his nimble finger a thing of magic. Wanting to return the favour, your own hand slipped inside of his pants and you grasped the base of his cock in your hand. 

He moaned deeply, his finger working more frantically as you started to stroke him. He met your gaze, his lips parted and soft moans escaping between them. 

“F-fuck.” He stuttered, moving his finger from your clit and running it through your folds, collecting your arousal on his digit. 

His middle finger joined his index and pressed against your entrance. You increased your movement on his shaft as he pushed them slowly inside of you. 

“Jesus Christ.” You muttered as you clenched around him. “Jesus fucking Christ.” 

“Why the fuck have we never done this before?” He whined, pushing his fingers as deeply inside of you as he possibly could.

You whimpered, bucking your hips against him as he moved in and out of you hurriedly and your strokes of his member were becoming frantic. 

His head was already leaking with pre-cum and you swiped your thumb through it causing an animalistic growl to leave Spencer’s mouth. 

It was too much and not enough all at once. You needed more, you needed everything. 

His fingers slammed into you roughly, the sounds of your slickness filling the room. You twisted your fist as it moved up and down his cock and he was snapping his hips back and forth, practically fucking your hand. 

“Fuck…I don’t suppose you have a condom?” You panted, desperate to feel more of him. 

“Uh, embarrassingly yes I do.” He nodded, his cheeks flushing a little. 

“Why is that embarrassing?” You slowed your pace and Spencer slowly removed his fingers from inside of you. 

“It seems…presumptuous? It wasn’t like…I didn’t think…it’s not like that I swear. It’s, uh, a long story.” He stood up, locating his wallet on the dresser and unsheathing the small golden foil packet from inside. 

“I believe you, Doc.” You smiled at him as you shimmed out of your panties. 

Spencer’s mouth fell open at the sight of you laid bare for him. His hands started to tremble as he moved them to the waistband of his flannel pants. 

He wouldn’t look at you as he pulled them over his hips, down his legs and kicked them off of his feet. 

When he did look back at you, you were staring right at his crotch. 

Your chest heaved with frantic breaths and you were rolling your lip between your teeth. 

“Good god, Reid.” You smirked. “I need you like yesterday.” 

He shuddered at the desperation in your voice and shakily ripped the condom wrapper over. He moved closer to the bed again, holding the base of his shaft in one hand and rolling the rubber over his tip with the other. 

You spread your legs for him, welcoming him between them and wrapping them around his waist. He leant on his hands either side of your head, the veins in his arms pulsing as he held his weight above you. 

He eyed your face, an almost delicate smile on his lips and you weren’t sure what it meant. 

“What is it?” You asked him, reaching up to tuck his long hair behind his ears. 

“You’re sure about this?” He asked softly. 

“Very. Aren’t you?” 

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” He breathed. “But I really don’t want things to change between us.”

“Spence,” you brushed your knuckles across his cheek. “Things have already changed between us. But not in a bad way.” 

Linking your hands at the base of his neck you drew him close for a kiss. He moaned into your lips and you felt him finally pressing between your legs. 

He held his shaft again and guided him where he needed to be, his blunt head penetrating you, stretching you to accommodate him. 

He slowly sank into you, a long and shaky breath leaving his lungs. Inch by inch he ebbed deeper, your walls fluttering against him as your body made room for him. 

When he bottomed out he stilled, glancing between your bodies at where he was now sheathed inside of you. The look on his face was pure bliss, as though nothing in the world had ever felt this good to him. 

He lowered himself onto his forearms as he drew his hips backwards painfully slowly. But then he surprised you by roughly thrusting back into you. 

After that there was no holding him back, like a man possessed he started fucking you hard and fast into the mattress. 

He pounded against your cervix with each thrust, kissing you with a newfound ferocity. The room was encompassed by the sound of skin slapping against skin and your moans which were being swallowed by the other's mouth. 

He already knew he wouldn’t last long, but that was ok. He didn’t plan on this being the only time he fucked you tonight. 

It was completely unexpected, out of the blue for the mild mannered doctor to be such a stallion. But it was electrifying, dizzying, the way in which he pounded into you like his life depended on it yet kissed with such gentle passion.

Resting all of his weight on one arm, his other hand manoeuvred between your sweat slicked bodies and his finger pressed deftly against your clit again. 

He started rubbing intricate circles on your bud, hips still snapping back and forth, stretching your walls around his length. 

He had a few beads of sweat trickling down his forehead which was scrunched up much like his nose was. 

His chest was flushed beet red and his left arm which was holding him up shook with the exertion. 

Your legs tightened around his waist, walls clenching around his cock. A combination of his rough thrusts and ministrations on your clit we’re bringing you rapidly spiralling towards your orgasm. 

You assumed by the look in his face that he was close too and by the way in which he started to lose his rhythm a little, his thrusts becoming a little frantic. 

You drew him in for another kiss. It was slightly messy, teeth clashing together and tongues fighting their way into the other's mouth. 

He moaned deeply against your lips, his finger now rubbing against you rampantly.

“I’m s-so close.” He mumbled. “Can’t…don’t think I can…”

“Me too.” You agreed as you felt the tightening in the pit of your stomach. “Don’t stop. So close, don’t stop!” 

And he didn’t. 

The pressure was building and between his cock burying deep inside of you and his finger never letting up on your clit, you teetered on the brink. 

And then as if a volcano erupted, you reached your peak, moaning into Spencer’s mouth as your body convulsed beneath him. 

He felt you clenching around him as you came, causing a pressure to shoot through his member. He thrust deep one last time and whimpered as he felt the come shooting from his head in ropes, filling the condom. 

His hips continued to buck lazily as if he simply couldn’t get enough of this feeling. His hand fell from its spot between your legs and he collapsed on top of you, panting and sweat slicked. 

You could feel his heavy breaths as his chest moved against yours, could feel his heart erratically beating at his rib cage. 

He nuzzled his face into your neck, his breath fanning across your skin. His hips were still rolling, grinding against you not ready to stop despite how worn out he was. 

You stroked his cheek and moved your head so you could kiss him sleepily. He mumbled something incoherent against your lips. 

Eventually his movements stilled briefly before he cautiously pulled out of you. He rolled onto his back and peeled the condom from his softening member, tying a knot in the end and tossing it lazily in the general direction of the trash can. 

He shuffled a little, his arm finding his way beneath your head how you’d found it when you woke up in the night. 

You curled into him, resting your head on his chest and listening to the still slightly erratic beating of his heart. 

“I never like being friends anyway.” He mumbled, making you giggle. 

“Me either.” You slung your arm around his waist. “Whatever this is, it’s so much better.” 

He placed a kiss of agreement in your hair and snuggled closer to you as his eyes fluttered closed. 

He decided, as he drifted off to sleep, being a secret sleep cuddler maybe wasn’t so bad after all. 

***

Down the hall, Morgan flopped on the armchair in his and Penelope’s room, eyeing the blonde as she stared at her laptop screen. 

“What a night huh?” He ran his hand over his head. 

“Yah huh.” She nodded, bouncing a little in the bed as she did so. 

“You seem oddly chipper. Y/N manage to take your mind off of things?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. 

“Something like that.” A small smirk played at the corner of her mouth.

Derek sat up straight, scrutinising her curiously. 

“Spill.”

“What?” Her eyes snapped away from the screen and over at Morgan. The guilt was written all over her face. 

“You think I don’t know when you’re hiding something, baby girl? Spill.” He sat forward, leaning his elbows on his thighs. 

Penelope huffed out a breath, chewing on her bottom lip. 

“Promise not to tell anyone?”

“I promise.” He frowned. 

“I think…I think Y/N  and Spencer might be…you know.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. 

Morgan’s eyes widened as he stared at her. 

“No way.”

“Yes way. Apparently they almost and then, you know, everything happened. But I’m hoping that they picked up where they left off.” She was grinning from ear to ear and it must have been contagious because a smile broke out on Morgan’s face too. 

“My man.” He smiled brightly, a glint of something in his eyes. 

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I too know when you’re hiding something Derek. Now you spill.” Garcia eyed him up, Morgan’s smile only grew. 

“I’m just happy is all,” he beamed in amusement. “And I’m really glad I made up that story about him cuddling up to me in his sleep now.” 

“You did what?” Garcia gasped, wide eyed. 

“It started as a prank, just to wind him up a bit, embarrass him. And I thought if I brought it up tonight it would put ideas in his subconscious. Guess it worked.” Derek looked exceedingly pleased with himself. 

“Derek Morgan, you are evil! Pure evil.” Penelope cackled, shaking her head at her chocolate thunder and his mischievous ways. 

“I was just giving him a nudge in the right direction, he needs all the help he can get.” He grinned happily, pushing himself up and sighing wistfully. 

“True, I love Reid and Y/N but they are so oblivious sometimes.” Garcia shut her laptop screen and laid back against the pillows. 

Her eyes closed and as such she didn’t see the playful look spread to his eyes as his smile somehow grew, encompassing his entire face. 

“And with any luck,” Morgan shuffled to the bed made up on the floor. “Pretty boy still had that condom I gave him.” 

[bellaxgiornata]

Bella's Masterlist of Jax Teller Fics

Jax Teller x fem!Reader Series

You Are My Sunshine [Installment List]

Warnings/tags: 18+; sunshine!Reader/grumpy!Jax (somewhat), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, canon divergent, canon typical violence (more tags to possibly come)

Recently released from a stint in Stockton Prison with a few of the Sons, Jax is still struggling with Tara returning to Chicago over a year after he killed Agent Kohn for her. When he returned to Charming, Jax noticed a coffee shop had sprung up across the street from Teller-Morrow Automotive and the clubhouse, oddly finding himself watching the strangely cheerful owner through the windows. One night he feels drawn to step inside, but he's left even more confused when the owner feels like the embodiment of sunshine itself. Jax quickly realizes that the more he visits her shop, the more at peace he finds himself.

All That I Can Give [Installment List]

Warnings/tags: 18+; ex-prostitute!Reader (Reader has a slight backstory), mentions of physical/sexual abuse, canon typical violence, smut, angst, hurt/comfort

With Lyla moving over to produce films at Redwoody for the Sons, Nero finds himself in need of someone to run the front of Diosa and to help with the administrative aspect. When a few of the girls recommend you–a blunt, vulgar street girl from Stockton trapped working for a heartless pimp by the name of Hades–Nero can't resist hiring you without consulting Jax first. Though Hades isn't willing to let his Persephone–the prized thoroughbred of his whores–just slip through his grasp. But after Jax meets you, not only is he determined to keep you safe, he’s hell-bent on giving you everything you've never had before.

Want to Know You Better [Installment List]

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader

Warnings/tags: 18+; investigative journalist!Reader, bodyguard!Jax, enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, canon divergence, eventual smut, slow burn, angst

For over a year you had been tracking Aleksander Petrova through California–a Russian crime lord known to abduct sex workers for his trafficking ring. Seven months ago, he disappeared from the L.A. area, but a series of missing women in Northern California catches your attention, drawing you to Charming in the hopes of linking enough evidence together to once again get the FBI involved. But when the Sons’ President makes a terrible first impression before inserting himself into your work, your investigation turns into more than you anticipated.

All the Good That's Left [Installment List]

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader

Warnings/tags: 18+; ex's to lovers , fluff, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, sexual tension, smut, an Alaskan road trip on Jax's bike (more tags to possibly come)

After the past year of helping your childhood best friend with planning her wedding, that feeling of having lost yourself since leaving Charming had only grown. Eight years later, her wedding finally pulls you back to the small town for a single weekend, but in the hopes of clearing your head, you plan to disappear on a solo road trip to Alaska the day after. Though when you unexpectedly run into your ex, old emotions rise straight to the surface, and when Jax refuses to let you disappear again, he invites himself on your weeks-long trip–but is there anything left to salvage between you both after all this time?

Jax Teller x fem!Reader One Shots

As Small As Possible

Warnings/tags: 18+; emotional hurt/comfort, soft!Jax, cheating ex's & breakups, little bit of pining

After catching your now ex-boyfriend cheating on you, Jax offers you comfort.

Five Minutes

Warnings/tags: 18+; Fluff, nervous!Reader, suggestive comments, & a slightly soft, flirty Jax

While out with your friends at a seedy bar in Charming, you manage to catch Jax's eye–and he's quite determined just to get you to talk to him.

Get on the Bike {Coming Soon}

Warnings/tags: 18+; Fluff, nervous!Reader, slight humor, Jax being a smartass

When something goes wrong with your car, you're left bringing it into the only auto shop around Charming–Teller-Morrow Automotive. You're surprised when you run into Jax and he still remembers you from that night at the bar a few weeks ago, but when you enthusiastically refuse his offer to give you a ride home on his bike, he finds your fear of his motorcycle incredibly amusing.

Falling Apart & Torn at the Seams [Part one] [Part two] [Part three] [Part four]

warnings/tags: 18+; pregnant!Reader, angst with an eventual happy/hopeful ending, emotional hurt, briefest hint at abortion, pissy Jax, Clay being Clay

Shortly after you started working as the office manager at Teller-Morrow Automotive, Jax and you had become serious–something Gemma and Clay hated. Afraid you'd take Jax from the Sons, they slowly poisoned him against you. But as Clay continues to pull Jax deeper into the club while the rift between both of you grows, you unexpectedly discover you're pregnant. Desperate to keep the secret hidden from everyone–including Gemma and Jax–Clay threatens you and your unborn baby.

What's Left to Lose [Part One] [Part Two]

Warnings/tags: 18+; nurse!Reader, angst with an eventual happy ending, pining, emotional hurt/delayed comfort, Tara is an ass, Reader has a brother (nameless/description-less to be inclusive as possible)

Ever since your brother patched into SAMCRO's charter and you moved to Charming three years ago, you and Jax grew close. Despite having quietly fallen in love with him, you'd accepted your position as just his best friend–until Tara unexpectedly returns to Charming and rips him straight from you. Now you're left feeling like nothing at all to him.

Hold on a Little Tighter

Warnings/tags: 18+; Light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, post-shower naked Jax cuddling (that always needs a warning)

Ever since Opie passed, Jax has been lost. When he returns home late at night, you're the one he needs to help hold him together.

How Much Did You Miss Me?

Warnings/tags: 18+; smut, f!masturbation, cocky Jax and his filthy mouth, somewhat rough sex (kinda, not really), porn with minimal plot, unprotected sex

While Jax is on a protection run, you're desperate to ease some tension so you can fall asleep. But when he unexpectedly returns early, he's determined to prove he's better than your toy.

Something Changed

Warnings/tags: 18+; smut, soft!Jax, porn with plot, friends with benefits, angst, morning sex, not entirely a happy ending (unless I make a second part...)

Jax had become a close friend of yours over the past few years, and in that time it had become an accepted and unspoken fact that when you both drank together, you'd wind up in bed together. So waking up next to each other some mornings wasn't abnormal–but having sober sex the morning after definitely was.

[enchantingbl0ssom]

Natasha Romanoff Dating Headcanons

⋆˚ ︵ ‿ ︵ ‿ ︵ ୨ ✿ ୧ ︵ ‿ ︵ ‿ ︵ ˚⋆

Characters ➼ Natasha Romanoff x Avenger!Reader, Avengers x reader (platonically)

Summary ➼ Headcanons about yours and Natasha's relationship

Word Count ➼ 1,223 words

Warnings ➼ None

A/N ➼ Hope you enjoy reading! I am happy to write a story based off these head canons, so if you want it let me know!

When you first joined the Avengers, Natasha would avoid you, not wanting to have another friendship. Another weakness.

That all changed when you guys talked to one another at an Avengers party. She was the bartender, and while you got a drink from her, a conversation started.

From then on you two got pretty close to each other. To the point where you guys shared the same relationship that Natasha has with Steve.

You two would spend time more together. Training together, going on missions together, etc.

All that time together you both grow feelings for one another, but you through it aside.

Even though Natasha is a naturally flirty person, as soon as she realised that she grew feelings for you, she changed. Becoming less flirty. Scared to get into a relationship, scared to loose control. All she has know since she was a kid, was control.

She started pulling further away from you, avoiding training with you, and missions. Avoiding you at social gatherings, always pretending to be doling something else at the bar, so she doesn't have to talk to you.

One day, everyone has gone on missions, except for you and Natasha. You were both called into a mission together. This mission included, you two travelling to the other side of the country in Alaska.

Of course all the fast modes of transportation were all being used by the other Avengers, so its just you and Natasha on the road for 68 hours to Fairbanks. Alone.

For the first couple hours of the trip, the car was filled with complete silence. Both to scared to talk to one another. Both to scared to spill their feelings.

You start a conversation off with some small talk, once you get annoyed of the silence.

Yet Natasha wouldn't play with your games, not interested to talk to you.

Throughout the whole drive you kept on trying to talk to Natasha, but she still wouldn't engage you. So you asked her why she is ignoring you. She looks at you, staring. She plays defensive, saying she is not. But she is.

She continues this defensive play even throughout the mission as you scout a criminal syndicate.

During the mission, when you both split ways to spy on the syndicate - because you didn't want to see one another - Natasha gets kidnapped by them.

Even tough she is one of the toughest spy in the entire world, she can't escape alone. So you put your feelings away, and rescue her.

When you do, Natasha can't help but feel bubbly inside.

After the rescue, you steal one of the syndicate's a car, for a getaway drive. While you drive, Natasha calls for some money to be transferred so she can get a car back to America, so they cant be tracked.

The ride to Forty Mile in Canada, was in silence, again.

While Natasha payed for a new car, you got some snacks for the trip back.

When Natasha picks you up, you get into the car. "I grabbed a whole bunch, I didn't know what you liked",

Natsaha smiled at you, saying its fine and she likes them.

The road trip was silent again for another hour, when Natasha spoke up. "Thank you for the help, back there." She looked at you smiling

"No problem." You replied, smiling back to her.

The first night of driving back, you went to a tavern. Getting a non-acholic drink at the bar (you're driving next) a boy hit you up.

Natasha watched from afar, jealousy boiling inside her, as she watches from your table.

After eating at the tavern, you drive for the next round of hours. You thought Natasha was asleep, but she spoke up saying she wasn't trying to ignore you, and she doesn't hate you.

You ask why she did that then.

Blah blah blah, she ends up revealing she likes you (this will be apart of the one shot - if you want it).

The rest of the ride was silent.

Once you get to New York again, and step into the compound, you tell her you like her too.

For a couple months it has been a bit back and forth with how you too act, none of you two wanting to act on the secrets you shared on your last mission together.

But the team notices something has happened in between the two of you.

So Tony get with the team to set you two up.

Which leaves you on another mission together in a completely different country.

Obviously in the one room that Tony accidently booked, it also came with one bed.

Leaving the mission, you kissed, and got together.

Now into your relationship:

Since of her childhood, you would show her all the classics - movies, songs, and all - for the first time, and she will fall in love with them

She is very protective, and whats you to stay safe, as she knows what's out their in teh real world. She has klived through it.

She loves giving forehead kisses, its her fave

Whenver you wear her clothes - especially her leather jacket - she goes inside, and her brain stops working at the sight

Since of her special training, she was always help you train to be the best fighter possible. so there is less chance you can get hurt out on the field.

You two would have weekly dates that you must go on. These dates scan include takeout and watching tv, bowling, eating out, etc.

Unpopular opinion but, I think she would like to be both the big spoon or the little spoon, it just depends on her mood

Stilly flirty with you, and whenever there is another fancy event that Tony set up, she would use pick up lines on you as you order from her.

When going out, loves to keep a hand in your back pocket (if you have any clothes with pockets at all)

Whenever you pull an impressive moves during the battles, she will always be the first one to compliment your skill, and vice versa

Loves just cuddling with you and watching tv

Loves going on car rides with you - doesn't care where you go

When you take her shopping she will always act like she doesn't want to go, but she ends up enjoying it more than you

If you have been separated, going on different missions, you always end up having a passionate makeup session wit her, leading to more

Loves taking showers with you, makes her feel closer to you as you guys wash your hair together

After a year of being in a relationship you get a house out in the country, with a Belgian Malinois and a Ragdoll.

Since living by yourselves, you would always spend every dinner eating outside, then after eating you two go star gazing in your shared chair.

Cannot cook for her life, but can make steaks really good for some reason

You two would be jealous of other people, but when you moved in together it acted as a seal for your relationship, and you both felt very secure in one another afterwards

You also become very close to Clint's kids, and every time their family comes over for weekly dinners, Natasha always dreams of your future as she watches you play with them

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience. 

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream. 

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel. 

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside. 

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement. 

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either. 

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day. 

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price. 

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear. 

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks." 

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke. 

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes. 

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things. 

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to. 

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you." 

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not. 

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed. 

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young. 

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant. 

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick. 

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car. 

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh. 

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for. 

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old." 

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had. 

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan. 

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his. 

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away. 

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in. 

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good… 

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point. 

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest. 

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects. 

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…" 

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple. 

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want… 

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying. 

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already. 

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…" 

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull. 

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth. 

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago. 

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway." 

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed. 

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap. 

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too. 

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?" 

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say. 

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes. 

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart. 

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?" 

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco. 

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not... 

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong. 

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in. 

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream. 

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?" 

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise. 

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel… 

And Alaska. 

[cypreus-and-willow]

Red (2016)

Made this one years ago for a canon compliant (at the time) AU. Where Scott Summers (Cyclops) unlocks his powers as they're falling from the sky after jumping from their burning plane. I drew this in 2016 but the AU has been rolling around my head since 2009 lol. I mean... I tried to keep it canon compliant but canon keeps changing its mind.

This was supposed to be for a comic that features all (three at the time) Summers brothers. It starts off as Alex centric where he keeps getting these dreams of Scott, himself and Gabriel (now with Adam) as young kids living together in an orphanage. He thinks it's just part of the grieving process (Cyclops was still *no longer in circulation* at the time). Until he gets called to asses a mutant 'threat' which leads him to an abandoned orphanage somewhere in Alaska where it turns out there are mini versions of Summers boys running around with all of their original powers. And there's no way in hell he's turning these kids over to the Avengers

Oh man it was gonna explore the Phoenix force like a teen fanfic. And Norse Loki lore like that one kid he saved from that giant, and that kid was gonna be the Summers ancestor. And Odin cursed the kid and that's why the Sunmers bloodline is screwed up.

And the original Phoenix force was gonna be Lokis fire troll daughters that ascended and escaped marvel!ragnarok. And they've lived for centuries looking for their mom - but this version of Loki had red hair and green eyes and that's why the Phoenix force is always getting attached to red heads

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 31: Cabin Fic

Crystal Clear | @envydean Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1,981 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Modern AU, Anniversary, Blowjobs, lakeside cabin vacation, Dean's not a fan of lake water Summary: Dean and Cas are at the lakeside cabin for a long weekend. It's their 15th anniversary and Cas finds a cunning way to get him to swim in the lake.

Touching Perfection | @anyreiart Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4,439 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Canon Universe, Smut, Friends to Lovers Vacation, Feel-good, human!Cas Summary: Dean is finally ready to make a move on Cas. So he takes him on a vacation.

Cabin In The Woods | @anyreiart Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6,894 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Canon Universe, Bottom Castiel, Top Dean Winchester, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Somnophilia, BDSM Undertones Summary: Dean takes Cas on a vacation. Confessions happen.

Cabin Fever | @eyesofatragedy67 & @punk-is-notdead Rating: Explicit Word Count: 14,519 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Jody Mills, Jo Harvelle, Ellen Harvelle, Enemies to Lovers, There Was Only One Bed, Miscommunication is the Real Villain, Angst, Smut, Fluff, Humor, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time Having Sex, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Gay Sex, Anal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Spit As Lube, Dirty Talk, Castiel Loves Bees, Dean Loves Dr. Sexy Summary: Following a booking mixup for a remote hideaway, two strangers agree to share. Nothing quite goes according to plan, and it looks like a misunderstanding will kill any chance of a friendship, but does "fate" have other plans?

The Impetuous Engagement | @thefandomsinhalor Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 27,207 Main Tags/Warnings: Modern Setting AU, Snowed In, Sharing a Bed, Engaged Castiel, No Cheating Summary: It’s early December and Castiel Novak, quite unlike him, is on a plane to Fairbanks, Alaska, at the other end of his world, after the man he met online, Michael Milton, proposed to him. Michael is sensitive, gallant, and romantic, and after months of daily, intense correspondence, Castiel believes he’s the only one who he ever truly connected with. On his way there, however, due to a series of bad luck and Mother Nature, Castiel somehow finds himself stuck in a small village, in the middle of nowhere, cut off from the rest of the world and with no way of reaching Michael. Indefinitely. To make matters worse, Dean Winchester, Castiel’s fellow passenger—who asks way too many invasive questions, doesn’t have an ounce of subtlety, and isn’t as charming as he thinks he is—seems to be the only option for Castiel to find shelter in the meantime. And Dean, being acquainted with the fiancé in question, and aware that he is not to be trusted, is very eager to help Castiel with housing, and perhaps something more as well…

The Places We Hide | @therighteousmanlovesanangel Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 39,827 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Crowley, Lee Webb/Dean Winchester, Past Character Death, Gunshot Wounds, Show level violence, Divorce, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Grief/Mourning, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Angst, Human Castiel, (Supernatural)hunting au, Hermit Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Imagine there's no Heaven(ly influence), John died in this AU instead of Mary, Wendigo, Undine OFC, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2022 (Supernatural) Summary: Castiel is going through it. He’s been dumped by his husband and demoted at work. A walk in the woods to clear his head makes it all horrifically worse. Luckily, he is saved by a bearded stranger. Through his recovery Castiel searches for the man in the woods. When he finds Dean, an unlikely friendship grows. As Cas comes to terms with the way his life is changing, Dean opens up a whole new world to him.

A Midwinter's Dream | @li-izumi Rating: Mature Word Count: 53,245 Main Tags/Warnings: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Season/Series 09, Season/Series 10, Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Minor Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester, Dreams and Nightmares, Christmas, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: Christmas is fast approaching, but Dean doesn’t feel like celebrating--he’s too busy hunting for that sort of thing. Though he promises to get Cas back in time for the epic Christmas party Sam’s been planning, Dean has no intention of staying himself. That may be another promise Dean can’t keep when the hunt goes wrong, trapping Dean and Cas far from civilization. Worse, Dean is plagued by unrelenting nightmares of his time with the Mark of Cain and is gripped by a lingering anger that he can’t seem to escape. Back at the Bunker, Sam and the others are working a little Christmas magic they hope will show Dean the light in the dark—and prove to him that the holiday spirit isn’t something he needs to hunt.

Alpha Seeking Omega | @samanddean76 Rating: Mature Word Count: 66,666 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Castiel, Alpha Jimmy Novak, Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha Lucifer, Canon-Typical Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Past Abuse (but not really as the treatment is part of the societal structure), Past Malnourishment, Mystery To Be Solved, Mating, Knotting, True Mates, Slow Burn, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Revenge, Or Justice, Castiel and Jimmy Novak are Twins, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Mpreg, Eventual Happy Ending, Cabin Fic Summary: Omega Dean has lived a harsh life prior to being selected to be a demonstration model at a party unveiling the latest product that Morningstar Enterprises is set to produce. Alphas Castiel and Jimmy Novak are guests of honor at the event, but when they lay eyes on the Omega that is clearly at the center of something that was not a part of the party, the twins leap into action. Unfortunately, they are separated. Now Jimmy must keep Dean safe until Castiel can be rescued. But the more that Jimmy learns about this very well-trained Omega, the more he questions what was really going on that night. The problem is will he be able to figure out the puzzle and still rescue his brother?

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Sycamore Part 1: Along the Deep

summary: Frankie had said that your home was the perfect place to lay low; a small cottage nestled between the Alaskan sea and forest.

pairing: Santiago Garcia x fem!reader (Eclipse)

wc: 2,415

warnings: not sfw/minors dni/18+, strangers to lovers, eventual smut, mentions of canon typical violence, mental health issues (ptsd), addiction mention, food mention, internal angst, pining

an: its good to be back! hoping this series will propel me forward and get me writing more consistently. can't wait to hear yalls thoughts, and as always thank you for reading <3

sycamore masterlist

Santi’s running, headed to a place he’d never dreamed of setting foot in: Alaska.  It isn’t an unfamiliar feeling–running is his forte– but this time around he truly feels like a failure. This time, he’s running because it's life or death and with the loss of Tom, Santi finds himself yearning to live. He had to make this grief burrowing in his chest worth something, and he was grateful to do it in the face of a stranger.

Frankie had assured him that you’re calm and collected. But, Santi didn’t know who you were– had never heard of you before this moment. He felt it was fair to have his doubts.

“Who is she?” Santi had asked once they had touched back down in Florida.

“Childhood friend. She served and seen as much as we have. I’known her longer than I’ve known you,” Frankie had explained.

Any of those doubts that lingered in Santi’s mind crumbled and were lost to the wind as he continued driving down the windy Alaskan roads. He’s surrounded by rows upon rows of trees. Frankie had said that your home was the perfect place to lay low; a small cottage nestled between the Alaskan sea and forest. Sunlight is endless this time of year and the salty coastal breeze bathes everything it touches.

He knows he’s in the right place once his tires hit gravel. The driveway stretches on a couple miles and he feels his heart rate increasing, palms slick against the leather steering wheel. This isn’t a test, this isn’t something he has to get right. All he has to do is mind his own business, keep his head down– something he does with the people that care so deeply for him day in and day out. 

The house comes into view, sand and sea as its backdrop. You are not what Pope expects– neither is the house. You’re sat on the porch swing waiting for him, a book in one hand, a mug in the other. The word that comes to mind isn't one he uses often, but you are distinctly lovely. You look so relaxed, in a pair of cutoff overalls, hair up and framing your face. The house is white and rustic, and the porch wraps around it entirely.

Pope exits the car, treating you to an awkward wave. He doesn’t understand why his knees feel weak, but it could be your intense gaze. You wave back at him with an easy smile. You look welcoming, like a woman waiting for your husband to return home. But he has to remember, he doesn’t have a home anymore, that he hardly knows you even though he already likes everything he knows about you. He’s nothing but a man who bounces from place to place, contract to contract, there isn’t room for him here. 

“Need some help?” You call out to him as he heads towards the trunk. 

“I’m alright,” He says, not unkindly. 

You stay put on the swing, sliding a bookmark between pages to save your spot before you wrap your hands tightly around your mug of tea. He’s more handsome than he was in the pictures, but there’s something in his step, in the way his shoulders slouch that tells you whatever he’s just experienced has changed him.

Frankie wouldn’t tell you much besides that they’d had a big job in South America that had gone awry. They’d lost a friend– a brother, Tom who’d you seen pictures of before. You hadn’t pressed for details knowing that the more you knew the more at risk all of you would be. 

But, from the lost look in Santiago’s eyes as he trudges up to the porch, you know it had to be heavy. A loss deeper than he’d ever known. 

He holds out a hand to you, words rushing out of his mouth in an unfamiliarly clumsy way, “Santiago. Santi. Or Pope, I don’t know.”

“Santiago. You can call me Eclipse.” You say, taking his hand and shaking it firmly despite the current that seems to follow between the two of you. You brush it off, standing and gesturing towards the house, “Let me show you your room.”

He continues to be surprised by you. The inside of the house is simple, all cream and light wood and house plants with small pops of color. The couch is large and fluffy with a colorful patch quilt on it, taking up most of the living room space. There’s lots of black and white art, even a set of twinkly lights in the kitchen. 

You lead  him into what seems to be a never-ending hallway, showing him the bathroom he’ll use, where closets are, your room. He notices that you neglect to tell him what’s in the room beside the one he’ll be staying in and the curiosity that’s been bubbling inside him overflows.

“What’s this room?” Santi asks, his voice strangely polite. He doesn’t want to offend you. The only thing he really wants right now is to know more about you. He points to the closed door between the large bathroom and his room for the next two months.

He notices your body stiffening, and for the first time since the two of you have met you look guarded. Secretive. Your eyes are wary as you answer him, “My art studio.”

Santi’s fascinated, you’re even more mysterious now. He’s thrown by how taken he is with you, how his knees feel weak and not from all of the bullshit he’s but him through. This pull he feels is different than usual, complex and genuine. He wants to unravel you, but unlike his usual habits of leaving when it’s all said and done, he would put you back together. He’d be drowning in his fear if he wasn’t so hungry for the knowledge of you. 

“The art’s yours?”

Your face warms, but you shrug, brushing off his…wonder. That’s what you identify; he’s marveled by you. “Living up here, I had nothing better to do.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but you quickly cut him off, not wanting to discuss your art in depth– it isn’t yet what you want to be. Something has always been off, always been missing. 

“Are you hungry?” You ask quickly.

“Starving, actually,” He says sheepishly, his mouth pulling up into a soft smile. 

So handsome and so broken, you allow yourself to think for just a moment.

“Get settled, I’ll heat up some food for us.”

“Thank you, Eclipse.”

“Of course,” You say easily, like this choice of you inviting him into your home took no thought, no effort. Like you’ve known each other for multiple lifetimes. 

 As he watches you walk down the hall, he finds himself wishing that to be true. 

With  plenty of stew in the freezer, you preheat the oven to bake some potatoes. While the stew heats, you prep the potatoes, chopping them into small cubes and coating them with an herb mix. It’ll only take them 20 minutes in the oven, enough time to throw together a fresh salad with vegetables from the garden and warm some rolls.

You hear him shuffling down the hall about 15 minutes later, and when he appears he’s changed into a white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

You allow yourself a single glance at him as you stir the stew, quickly forcing your eyes away from him, “Drink? I’ve got water, soda, coffee, tea. Matcha.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking a little disappointed, “No beer?”

“I’m sober. 3 years.”

Santi has to force his expression to stay neutral. You’re sober like Fish. He wonders what your vice is, how you made it to this point. It was hard with Frankie, a fight every step of the way but one he’s dedicated to helping win. 

“I have ginger beer,” You offer when he stays quiet.

“I’ll take it.”

He can see it clear as day, how good for Frankie you’ve probably been and will continue to be. Frankie may not know it, but you’ve  been taking care of him in your own way for a while now. He’s described you to Pope as a younger sister, familia through and through despite losing each other for a while. Santi wonders just for a moment how you’d  treat a lover, his eyes roaming your body. The thoughts are whisked away by the crack of a can, and you slide  it over to him. 

“Thanks,” He croaks, his cheeks warm from his thoughts. 

If you notice you don't mention it, quipping back with another soft, “Of course.”

A comfortable silence settles between the two of you, and he takes a seat at the sturdy wooden table. He tries and fails not to watch you move around the kitchen. You’re incredibly graceful, floating around the room as if you’re on a cloud. You get the salad on the table along with some plates in perfect timing;  the oven dings just as you turn towards it.

You’re a machine, just like him. Just like Frankie, and Benny and Will. Like Tom was. And yet it seems like it hasn’t plagued you the way it has all of them as you plate up dinner and sit across from him. This little life you’ve built, even if he ‘s just gotten a glance of it seems peaceful. He wonders if he could be whole in a place like this or if that’s just wishful thinking he’ll never verbalize. 

“What made you move out here?” He asks softly after several minutes of silence marked by the sound of forks on plates. 

“Solitude suits me,” You say simply.

Santi knows that’s not true. With how easily you welcomed a stranger here, the second nature of you fixing him a meal. He doesn’t push, its not his place.

“I guess I’m ruining that for you then.”

“Francisco trusts you. So I trust you.”

Trust, not solitude. You need safety and instead of finding it in people around you, you find it in yourself. Santi sees you a little clearer now– sees that this isn’t a sanctuary, it’s a fortress surrounded by water and sand and sycamores to keep everyone out.

“That’s why you don’t live in town?”

“I can’t– the guns,” You explain gruffly. “I need to know where they are and when they’ll fire or it gets– bad.

Oh. 

He gets it. He hasn’t experienced it himself, his body’s still in this flight mode, but he can imagine what happens when it’s been turned off and then triggered. He’s heard the stories, though he files them away in a box in his head, never to be touched again. Or so he thought, until he met you. 

In a strange way, you remind him of himself–even with all the work you’ve done he sees you as guarded, though less closed off than he is. Just like him you crave  organization, and belonging, though it seems like your versions are much more poetic than his. More than ever, Santi feels like the scraps of belonging he had with his men is out of reach with Tom gone. Everything’s jumbled and off balance, and now they’re left to figure this out again. Like it wasn’t hard enough the first fucking time. But here…it feels like he could start to. Like he could do it properly. 

The sun is finally starting to set when you finish dinner, and Santi insists that you stay put and let him clean up. When he gets all the food scraps in a pile you head out to put them in the composter and give the plants one last little sprinkle, though the coastal spray was probably enough. As always you find yourself staring into the abyss of the ocean, eyes captivated by the crash and fall of blue hues.

He watches you through the kitchen window, slowing down his methodical movements so that he can spend more time simply looking. There’s no purpose, no quota he must fill in being here with you unless he truly wants it. And right now the only thing he wants to do is look, and look and look at how beautiful you are. 

With the dishes done he follows after you, standing awkwardly on the porch. Santi looks down at his feet, as if the answer to the question in his head rests upon them. But as if you’ve heard his silent steps, you look back at him expectantly and his eyes rise to meet yours. Your mouth raises just a fraction of an inch, he wouldn’t even count it as a smirk, but it pulls the question out of him, “Do you mind if I join you?” 

You  just beckon him on and his feet move without thought, listening to your siren call. You sink further into the sand as he nears you, burying your feet and resting your head on your knees. et. He kicks his shoes off before joining you, keeping his legs straight as he leans back into his palms. The sand is cool and scratchy against his calloused hands. You stay like that as the minutes go by, the sun sinking further and further into the sky.

It looks half submerged in the ocean, its golden hues reflecting off the dark water, when you finally speak again, “I’m gonna head in but you should stay a while. It’s an experience, watching the sun leave the moon alone.”

He hums noncommittally as you rise to your feet dusting the sand off your body. “Thank you for letting me come here. Especially without Fish.”

“Fish,” You repeat, laughing softly. You hardly even glance at him when you say, “You never have to thank me. Goodnight, Santi.”

Winded, Santi can only nod and you both avoid eye contact as you pass him, the moment already feeling charged enough. He likes it though, being on edge about something other than a mission or objective. Your jury’s still out, but she can’t deny what you’re feeling already. 

“Goodnight,” He calls after you once his voice returns.

When you make it to the door you turn to look at him; there’s a pull, an invisible string wound between the two of you. Slowly, you commit this scene to memory so that you can start painting it. You’ve found a muse in him and how long has it been since you’ve painted in color?

He stays there to watch the sun leave the moon, thinking of you the entire time. 

> Part 2: Juna's Bloodshed

taglist: @sylviantree, @whatthefish, @marc-spectorr, @mccn-bcys, @toracainz, @xbellaxcarolinax, @reallyrallyauthor, @missdictatorme, @lesbianhotch, @campingwiththecharmings, @veritable-trash, @ivystoryweaver, @iolaussharpe-24, @aria725, @hana-hanako, @kingtwhiddleston, @for-a-longlongtime

[musemuseum]

Alaska Jones

Alaska has been giving music lessons to the neighbourhood kids for three years, often giving free lessons to families who can't afford it. She knows what it's like to not be able to afford music lessons, and she doesn't want to see children with an interest in music losing out.

She gives lessons out of her bachelor apartment that sits above a music store. She wants to one day own her own music store, but it's proving a little more difficult than she anticipated.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Safe Haven: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Summary: Something is going on with Spencer. He has been nervous and secretive ever since you two posed as a married couple. He tries to throw you off his trail by lying but he knows better than to lie to someone like you. There's not a lot that people can hide from you, but it seems like the ones closest to you hide even the deadliest of secrets.

Season Six Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

That night, you and Emily are getting ready for bed when you decide to get some ice for your drinks. You and Spencer haven't been allowed to bunk together since that night in Alaska when the entire team heard you and Spencer fucking. There are times you two sneak into each other's rooms but Derek doesn't say anything when he sees you in Spencer's bed, and Emily doesn't say anything when she sees Spencer in yours.

You walk to the ice machine and start filling up the bucket when you see Spencer approach you from the side.

"Hey." Spencer looks a bit nervous but you don't have to look at him to know he feels this way. "Are you sure you're okay? You and Derek are acting really weird. Is something going on?"

"No, nothing is going on."

"You know you can talk to me, right? Anytime you need to about anything."

"I know," he smiles.

Spencer turns you and pushes you against the ice machine before sliding his hands into your hair and pressing his lips against yours. If stolen kisses are the way things are going to be on work trips, then so be it. You'd much rather be in his bed but you don't want to disturb his time with Derek. If something is really going on, then you want them to be able to talk about it. They clearly don't want you knowing about it but you're glad they have each other.

Before the kiss can turn into something that will traumatize the occupants of the hotel, Spencer pulls away with a slight smirk.

"Good night."

"Night," you mumble, in a haze from the kiss.

Spencer heads back to Derek's room and you walk back to yours and Emily's room. She is just pouring the drinks when you set the ice box on the table.

"You were gone a while."

"Spencer stopped to say hi."

"Mm-hmm," she smirks.

"Have you noticed Derek and Spencer acting weird at all lately?"

"No, why?"

"I caught them in the break room this morning whispering like school girls. I asked what they were doing and they got weird. They stopped everything and left me alone in there. I caught them doing the same thing at the police station. Spencer says his mom isn't doing too well. I think I'm going to call her."

"Have you met them?" She laughs. "Put them in a room together and weird is what you should expect. I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"Yeah, you're right. He's been acting this way since that case with the married couples. I think it freaked him out."

"Do you want to get married?"

"Yes, but I won't if that's not what Spencer wants."

"Trust me he wants it whether he knows it or not."

You shake your head with a laugh and drink with Emily for the remainder of the hour. The thought was always in the back of your mind but you knew that you'd wake to another murder. This time, the unsub killed an older man on the side of the road and left him in his car. The same yellow energy is left behind, the same one that was inside the Bennett home.

"He dissected the victim's arm postmortem. I think it's our guy," Beeks says.

"Just one victim?"

"Yeah. He's in the passenger seat."

"Faith Salvation Ministries" is a sticker that's plastered on the side of the car. You slap on some gloves and touch the man's remaining arm, already seeing into the past. This man was driving down the road late at night when he stopped for a kid that's walking on the side of the road. This kid doesn't look more than fourteen or fifteen with a backpack slung over his shoulder. You can't see much of the kid's face but you know his age by the way he's walking and the way his hair is spiked.

The man stops next to the kid who isn't interested at first until he eventually gives in and hops into the truck. The man never had a chance.

"Who is he?" Rossi asks, and you take your hand away from the deceased man.

"Louis Hannum, forty-one years old, a well-known local Reverend. He closed the church after a canned food drive at six and told the other volunteers he was taking the donations to the Salvation Army three miles northeast on Route 6."

"Did he leave with anyone?"

"No, they said he left alone. We're still getting the names of everyone who was there."

"Before now, he's attacked families in their homes. Now just one victim on the side of the road? It doesn't really fit his victimology," Spencer comments.

"It's the same kid," you say to Spencer and Rossi. "The driver flagged him down last night and I'm guessing he convinced him to give him a ride. The kid was walking alone on a dark road at night. He got so angry and killed him while he was driving. The truck crashed and he fought back but you know how that ended for him. His rage was so blinding, that he took out the driver out while in motion. He's lucky he didn't crash into oncoming traffic."

"You think a kid is capable of this?" Detective Beeks asks.

"Yes. The energy left behind here is the same one at the Bennett house."

"A kid isn't capable of this kind of damage... this level of violence."

You turn to Rossi with a sigh. "Have we learned nothing from the previous cases? I know what I'm talking about."

"Trust her. She knows what she's talking about," Rossi says to Beeks who doesn't look convinced. "Think about it. A short attention span is putting it mildly. He's got wild mood swings and he's impulsive. Young adults are inherently nonthreatening. Parents would allow him to be alone with their children because he's the same age. If he's prepubescent, it would also explain why there's no sexual experimentation on the victims."

"You guys can't be serious."

"Detective Beeks, I need you to really think about it. He opens up human bodies out of curiosity, the same way my foster brothers used to open up radios and TV sets when they were thirteen."

Detective Beeks knows you're the experts here so he decides to keep his mouth shut. Knowing what kind of unsub you're dealing with, Hotch calls for the profile briefing to happen.

"This kid is streetsmart but clearly comfortable and easily accepted in a middle-class suburban home," Emily starts. "We can't diagnose anyone under the age of eighteen as antisocial, so we are labeling this unsub a budding psychopath. His interpersonal skills are through the roof. Now, this manipulation is not just a ruse. It is a complex con."

"Look for reports of missing children in and around the city of Omaha. This is where his killing spree originated," Derek adds. "Check juvenile detention centers and psychiatric programs for boys who've been recently released or escaped. We believe he's crossed the state line into Iowa. His last victim was traveling northeast on Route 6."

"How has a kid gotten forty-some miles all by himself?" an officer asks.

"They all give him rides and places to stay. He appears extremely vulnerable. Being a child alone out on the road is a very easy con to fall for. He expects this of his victims."

Derek steps off to the side to check on Ellie once the briefing is done and you decide now is a great time to check on Diana. You call the place she's staying in and ask for the doctor who oversees her medications and well-being.

"This is Doctor Grey."

"Hi, I'm Y/N, Spencer Reid's girlfriend. I was wondering if I'm able to speak to Diana. Is she okay to come to the phone?"

"Yes. Just one moment while I go find her."

A couple of minutes go by until you hear her voice.

"Hello?"

"Diana, it's Y/N, Spencer's girlfriend."

"Y/N! What a pleasant surprise. How are you doing?"

"I'm doing well. I have a few minutes to spare so I wanted to call you and ask how you're doing."

"I'm doing well, dear. I miss you and Spencer so much. I hope he's doing well?"

"Yes, he is. He misses you, too. We both do. I don't have a lot of time to spare but I just wanted to make sure you are okay."

"I'm fine," she chuckles. "Are you and Spencer planning on visiting anytime soon? It'd be good to see you two."

"I think we can make that work," you smile. "I gotta go. It was nice talking to you."

As soon as you hang up, your smile is lost. Diana is fine. Spencer lied to you. You look at Spencer who has his nose buried in his phone. You'll ask him about it later. You don't want to start a fight right now.

"What's going on?"

You look to the right and see Derek and Hotch talking.

"The foster family didn't even know Ellie was missing. I'm doing what I can to get her transferred to Child Protective Services in Virginia."

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

"I just want to know that that girl is safe. If you asked me to look after Jack, would you be happy right now?"

"I know that you'd do everything you could."

"Derek, you're doing everything you can to protect her," you say. "You're doing a good job."

"Thanks."

You leave their side and join Spencer, Emily, and Beeks in the conference room while they're deep in conversation.

"He's been in the system? I thought you said he's from suburbia," Beeks says.

"He grew up in medium socio-economic status, but his rage against families tells us that he experienced extreme abuse or neglect. At some point, he was most likely removed from his family. Now, I had Garcia widen the search of missing children to those in foster homes and juvenile care facilities, all represented by these ten black dots."

Spencer points to the map of the area behind him that has red and black dots over it.

"Ten kids fit our profile. Great," Emily scoffs.

"Actually, each dot represents a thousand currently in the system."

"Ten thousand children?"

"Even that's too many for me to look at and point out," you say.

"Nebraska's one of the nation's highest per capita state ward populations. Now, using the age and the gender of our suspect, I was able to whittle down the search and that yielded this interesting pattern hence the red dots."

Spencer shows this by running his fingers over the imaginary line that connects the red dots.

"A pattern of red dots. Give me one more hint," Beeks says.

"The red dots represent thirty-three boys between the ages of ten and seventeen who became wards of the state this year, all abandoned at major hospitals."

"Wait a minute. I thought the Safe Haven Law was so that women could leave unwanted babies in hospitals instead of leaving them in dumpsters," Emily says.

"Yeah, but there wasn't an age limit in Nebraska initially."

"He's right," Beeks agrees. "The law now just covers infants but we still get teenagers left at hospitals with a note pinned to their jacket. Some are even driven in from out of state."

"Now, Monica worked at this hospital, Northern Omaha Medical." He puts a pin on one of the red dots in Omaha. "If the unsub's parents abandoned him there, it's probably where they met."

"What happens when a child is abandoned?" Hotch asks.

"The hospital contacts social services. The act of abandonment immediately labels the parents unfit and the child becomes a ward of the state. The child goes into foster care, though most parents won't take older children. In which case, he'd be sent to a juvenile facility."

"The same one that houses delinquents?"

"That's right."

"Did Northern Omaha Medical register an adolescent boy as a ward of the state on that day?"

"Garcia said no but she's still looking."

"If Monica wanted to keep him out of a facility, she might have gone around protocol."

"She might have documented it, though. Y/N and Rossi, go to the Archer house and see if you can figure out what her plan was."

"Let's go, kid."

x

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[harmonic-intervention]

You're killing me with chemistry - Chapter 3

Buck knows he’s bi. He knows what he wants. And what he wants, right now, is Tommy. Maybe his hand in marriage, because he’s getting desperate. Because, despite all of his attempts, and all of the positive responses from Tommy, for some reason, Tommy just … doesn’t act on anything.

Tommy knows Evan is straight. He asked both Howie and Hen about it, and he trusts their word on it. It doesn’t stop Evan from pulling him in, and making him fall head over heels for him anyway. Tommy knows better than to fall for a straight guy, he does, but … he can’t change it.

Everything would be easier if they just talked to each other, but where’s the fun in that?

Last chapter of my fic based off on this post by @disaster-j And what fun it was. I just wanted to thank everyone who was along for the ride, and of course, disaster-j for that wonderful prompt.

Word count: 21,834 - canon divergence, bi disaster!buck & oblivious!tommy, sexual content, fluff, some shenanigans

Excerpt:

Buck was in a hell of his own making.

Not that he could blame anyone but himself. He really should have backed off. Tommy had probably tried letting him down easy. And Buck should have read the room and accepted that friendship was all he’d get with Tommy. Only he’d wanted more, he’d wanted so much more, and now, he stood in front of a reality where he would have nothing.

But he couldn’t handle that. He didn’t think he could continue his life without Tommy in it. If nothing else, he would take friendship. If Tommy was still willing to offer Buck that after everything that had happened. 

Buck gave it a couple of days just so he could give Tommy space. It also gave him the opportunity to put his apology plan into motion. Whenever he had a moment free at home, he had his laptop open and tried his best to learn how to make baked Alaska.

Tommy had mentioned the dessert before when they were at a restaurant, and how much he loved it but rarely got to indulge in it. Buck hadn’t ever had it, and when he found out what it was, he felt a little in over his head, but he was determined to succeed. If nothing else, Tommy had a dessert he hadn’t had in a long time. 

Buck tried his best. He started off learning the sponge cake base, and if he did say so himself, he got that under control pretty quickly. He moved on to meringue and that was a whole lot harder. Mostly because there were so many different variants. French was apparently the easiest to make, but Italian was one that was apparently commonly used in baked Alaska. He tried his hand at several different variants.

The ice cream was almost the easiest part. When he started his attempts at assembling the different layers, he used store-bought ice cream, but he had an ice cream machine that he had used many times before. The hardest part was getting the layers right, it turned out.

In the end, after he had bombarded his friends with the results of his practice runs, he finally reached a point where he was happy with his creation. Where he felt like this was a worthy apology gift.

He had Eddie check in with Tommy to find out when he’d be home, and Eddie did the spy work with no complaints, seemingly guilty for what had transpired between Buck and Tommy as if any of that was his fault. He sent the answer to Buck via text, and wished him good luck, and so, Buck was off. 

[continue on ao3]

[midmaximoo]

I'm currently in rendering hell right now as I'm finishing up some wttt Vermont doodles, and so in the mean time Ima take a break and share some of my head canons for Vermont - so here we gooo!

Vermont has a very obvious farmer's tan. No matter how much sunscreen he puts on, poor VT gets assaulted by the sun no matter what.

Vermont, Maine, Colorado, and Alaska go camping together every year. These states specifically bc of the average wilderness experience most people in said places end up having. Alaska tolerates these guys the most out of the lower 48, and VT is also sort of reclusive and quiet so Alaska and Vermont are buds.

VT skis and Colorado snowboards, they both like to hit the mountains & trails every year together

Vermont has tattoos! He's got maple leaves, a hermit thrush (VT's state bird), just a lot of nature related ink.

Vermont doesn't own a car, he has a motorcycle.

His aesthetic is along the lines of cryptidcore, goblincore, overall a very green sort of grunge.

He can speak French (due to him bordering Quebec, and VT was populated by a lot of French soldiers/immigrants during 1600-1900s.)

Louisiana and Vermont would probably be quite good friends. I can imagine Loui saying something in his lovely Louisiana French dialect, and Vermont being one of the few states that understands him and can respond in kind.

Honestly I feel like most Mideast/Southeast states would get along pretty well with VT even if he is pretty antisocial at times. He has a similar folksy vibe that fits well. (historically, VT was built by "lower class" immigrants working hard blue collar jobs. Lot's of the same Scottish and Irish influence as most Northeast states. Eventually, they trickled down south through places like Appalachia as time went on.)

Vermont is a townie at heart, not having very big cities and a smaller population, he definitely is a vocal workers rights activist and loudly opposes classism and loves himself a union strike if needed.

Vermont and New Hampshire may have started out hating each other, having a sort of rivalry. After time went on, and maybe due to living in the Statehouse right next door, or maybe even years prior, these two states really didn't have that much contempt for each other as one might seem. They mainly "hate" each other as a bit now, finding it funny. They are probably married for tax purposes (VT loves NH lack of sales tax lol).

Vermont is the Statehouse's resident veterinarian, being very good with pretty much any animal under the sun native to his state or not.

He also has a green thumb and loves gardening.

VT has a pet Raccoon named Champ (after the famous lake monster)

Vermont is a vegetarian, despite being a state with a lot of hunters. He'd do it for survival, but only as a last resort. To counter that, I'd say he is good with a bow and arrow (a reference to bow season).

This fella can play a lot of instruments. He especially likes the banjo bc why not?

Okay that's MORE than enough for now, and this was mainly for me to just yell into the void and keep for reference. I just want more wttt VT content bc he could be such a fun character! Sorry I tricked you into reading my Vermont propaganda

[kylejsugarman]

I just finished my first rewatch if brba since first seeing it years ago, and I saw El Camino for the first time like an hour ago....AND now I'm rapidly rotating ur after-canon in my head. I love ur version of Jesse and I am <3 for ur OCs too!!

Do u, by chance, have a master post anywhere?

(or, if u feel like summarizing or talking about details about it, I for one am very invested rn!!)

first time watching "el camino" omg......i hope u loved it and also that it didnt cause u too much visceral pain. i feel like its impossible to watch that movie and Not immediately start thinking of nice things happening to jesse in alaska. its truly the only way to cope :') thank u for ur sweet words about my little after-canon world!! i unfortunately don't have a master post even though i REALLY should at this point, so i'll just summarize. all of these characters have their own tags on my blog, but judging by my notifications, i think u found those tags!! ;)

demi ayuluk: jesse's girlfriend and eventual wife who he meets a few months after reaching haines. demi is a yupik woman who grew up in haines, left for a few years to attend college and vet school, and then returned to open her own vet clinic in the town's mostly abandoned kennel and to start caring for her late sister's daughter, baby. demi is kind, caring, and smart, but deals with persistent depression. she loves animals, gardening, and weird horror/sci-fi media. baby ayuluk: demi's niece-turned-adopted-daughter and eventually jesse's daughter as well. baby is a quiet, serious, but extremely sweet little girl who was traumatized by her mother's death and often feels isolated and lonely due to her autism and anxiety; however, she is very loved and eventually comes to realize this. she adores the ocean and its creatures, and spends hours reading about them and playing with her sea animal toys. mason ayuluk: demi's younger brother and the only other surviving member of the ayuluk family. mason is a laidback, fun-loving young man who works on a commercial fishing boat. he loves gaming and hanging out with his buddies, but he has been consistently stepping up to take care of his family since he was a teenager and can always be counted on. he and jesse become good friends over time. sheila burton: jesse's boss. sheila is a middle-aged lesbian who owns a custom furniture and furniture repair shop called carvings in haines, and basically kidnaps him off the street the second she sees him and learns he's new in town and interested in carpentry. sheila is incredibly nosy (she knows everything about everyone in haines) and very assertive, but she's also extremely generous and has a knack for bringing people together. she and her wife bea live to try new wines and spoil baby. clover the dog: jesse's dog. clover is a sweet, goofy mutt who is important not just because her adoption is how he meets demi for the first time, but because she helps jesse fend off some of the suicidal ideation he experiences early on. when he happened to step into the kennel that day, he had been planning on overdosing for the past week, but then he sees clover and impulsively adopts her and ends up postponing his suicide attempt over and over until the plan just. leaves his head. he also adopts two other dogs, brick and skate, along with demi and baby once they all start living together.

[gingersforeverbox]

Coffee and revelations

A/n: I'm not gonna lie y'all, this piece was hard for me and offered a new challenge, but I finally got it done! I honestly don't know if I will keep doing platonic requests, so please consider this my first and possibly my last. Anyways, thank you for the patience, and I hope y'all enjoy. Word count: 2.1k

warnings: panic attacks, formerly toxic home-life, canon-typical swearing and technology, and Nathan ofc

How you got the position of being the assistant of a multibillionaire ‘tech messiah’ (Nathan’s words, not yours) is routinely up to debate, but the best and most plausible answer is that you are the only one in a long list of assistants that was actually able to put up with said messiah for more than a month or two.

 Your first weeks out in the middle of nowhere deep in the forests of Alaska were… rough to say the least. It was a constant barrage of papers and virtual conferences, emails and phone calls, and of course a boss that didn’t necessarily hover over your shoulder so much as he simply reminded you of his eternal presence using the over-coms and cameras. Thankfully there was only one or two in your room that you quickly dismantled using a handy-dandy pocket knife that was spare from the helicopter on the two and a half hour ride to the drop off point. Why Nathan insisted on being so dangerously isolated from people, you’ve yet to fully uncover. You had your theories of course, most likely something to do with the brains of the man, along with a splash of gifted kid problems that you’d recognized in others your age before you moved out to be surrounded by nature, Nathan, and the machines he cooks up in his labs. 

Over time, you began seeing Nathan for who he was: a troubled man who is too smart for his own good. Yet the urge to call this man ‘Dad’ infects you everyday, whether it's when you’re asking for your next assignment or explaining your stance on why Star Trek was so important to the influence of modern technology. He was just oddly comforting to be around when he was being decent and not a total asshat. Some people may insist that they aren’t cut out for parenting, and that may be true for some, but Nathan comes by it almost naturally. Even if he may still consider girls to be odd creatures, he still respects the fact that you’re just some teen who happened to get stuck with him while furthering your career. 

Deep down, Nathan knows that he has a soft spot for his young assistant. He can tell in moments of pride for you and your work, or when you actually beat him in an argument, or even when you silently leave him a glass of water and a pain killer at his desk for his hangover the morning after his drinking episodes. He knows he’s not the best boss or role model, but he appreciates your time and presence more than he cares to admit.

With the buzz of the over-coms, Nathan’s tired voice comes alive in your windowless  room. 

“Y/n. Coffee. Stat,” he demands bluntly.

You grumble as you slide off the bed, something about being capable of holding meetings in other countries on behalf of the sarcastic grump of a man only to be interrupted by a snarky ‘What was that?’ to float through the room. 

“On my way,” you sigh just loud enough for the microphone(s) to pick up.

Kyoko is silent as usual when you pass her in the hallway, on the way to the kitchen for the coffee that was already filling from the prepped machine. 

She always puts you on edge. You logically know that she is just an extremely fancy AI that Nathan had made at some point in his isolation, but she just seemed so damn real. She looked just like a normal- albeit very beautiful- woman, perfect down to the real hairs on her head that Nathan had claimed to place individually while building her. Due to that being one of the first things that Nathan had ever said to you when you came to the facility, you could never quite tell if he was being serious or not, but you wouldn’t put it past him to be so meticulous with “his things”. 

Whilst distracted by the slender form of the AI as you round the corner of the kitchen counter, your depth perception fails you, and causes you to stub your toe and trip around the corner. 

With a tumble, your body falls in slow motion. A short gasp leaves your throat as you watch the mug of coffee shatter into pieces and chunks, coffee splattering across the tiles of the facility.

Despite being alright from the fall, something snaps in the back of your mind. It’s like a dam of worries and fear over the response of your gruff boss, cracks- pouring out, along with the tears that sting your eyes. 

You’re unaware of how long you lay on the floor of the kitchen, alone… until you aren’t. 

“Hey, woah woah woah, kid, you okay?” Nathan questions as he stoops down to gather your arms and inspect them for glass. Your eyes are glassy with tears as your limp arms are turned and prodded by Nathan's surprisingly warm hands. 

“I’m so sorry, I was just trying to get your coffee, I promise I-” your words fell out of your mouth despite your throat tightening, desperately trying to choke down your tears. The cries soon turned into short and shallow breaths, panic seeping into your bones as the stress of Nathan being upset with you began to bare down on your shoulders. 

“Hey, stop breathing like that kid, you’re hyperventilating.” Nathan slowly moves his hands to your shoulders, trying to ground you to reality and prevent you from spiraling. Nathan’s solid hands gently squeeze in a slow pulsing rhythm before he slides his hands back down your arms and softly folds them over your chest like a mummy in a sarcophagus. 

“Can you start patting your chest with your hands one at a time for me, kid?” Nathan mirrors you with a neutral expression then demonstrates exactly what he wants you to do with a small nod of encouragement. As you watch the man gently pat his chest with his hands folded upright, you slowly begin to get in sync with his demonstration, your breath slowly becoming more regulated. Your mind, however, still felt like it was reeling. The feeling of your heart rate calming down was only a small comfort whilst overanalyzing the situation- particularly Nathan’s response. 

‘Why is he staring like that? Does he always look like that or is something different? He thinks I’m a disappointment, why can’t I just do what he wants? It’s just like home all over again, I’m so tired. I just want him to approve, that’s all I-’

“Hey,” he interrupts gently. “Stop thinking for a minute, everything is going to be fine. It was an accident, it’s just a cup.” Nathan continues to show the soft patting motion he is guiding you through, although a twinge of worry flares in his dark eyes. Noticing that the self soothing isn’t helping as much as anticipated, he opts for a different approach. 

As you sit silently, chaos reigning above all else in your mind, you feel soft arms wrap around your shoulders; Nathan quietly pulls you into his chest whilst making a rocking motion a few paces away from the glass filled area. 

“Are you physically hurt, Y/n?” 

A small shake of your head is felt against his chest where your head is resting softly, a soothing hand petting the back of your head. With a small sigh of relief, Nathan softly pulls you away for a moment to check your face for any deception, pleased to find none. 

“As long as you’re not hurt, that’s what matters, okay?” He states with his typical stone expression as he waits for confirmation that you understand him.

Tears well up in your eyes once more as you quietly nod up to the man who then pulls you back into his warm embrace without a word. 

“Thank you, dad.” 

Shocked at your sudden revelation of your image of him, he feels a new emotion wiggling under his chest. It felt warm and tingly inside, a feeling that Nathan quickly identifies as pride, along with something new: paternal affection. He always knew that he wouldn’t have children any time soon (unless it’s one of the nights where he is drunk and thinking about the possibility that he has a child somewhere in the world due to his relations with various women), yet in that moment the truth becomes glaringly obvious. 

He got a kid the first time you stepped foot in the facility.The first time you impressed him with your efficiency in your work. The first time you went to him for help with an assignment, when he had snapped at you for needing help in the first place, which led to him drinking himself to sleep in his office that night. The next morning he may have finished your work for you, leaving it on your desk once the hangover subsided, but he never acknowledged it.

Only now is he realizing how badly he fucked up.

While Nathan’s revelation hits him like a ton of bricks, causing him to feel another uncommon emotion for him- remorse. Guilt. 

“I-” he hesitates, as if mentally psyching himself up for the next words to fall from his lips, “I’m sorry, kid,” he mutters. “I’m sorry I was so hard on you, I know I fucked up,” he bluntly admits. 

At his blunt yet sincere tone, you pause in his arms, tilting your head to look up to the thickly bearded man. 

“You’re really not mad at me?” you ask hesitantly, unsure of his response. 

“No, kiddo. It was just a cup, and you could never make me genuinely mad,” he reassures with a soft shake of his head as he continues to hold you close, slowly swaying both of you in a comforting manner. 

With a gentle nod of acceptance on your behalf, a comfortable silence fills the air surrounding the kitchen of the facility. 

“Y’know,” the man speaks up in a slightly more gentle tone than he usually takes with you, “I think you’re doing a good job. You put up with me and my bullshit, you’re a smart cookie, and you even like Star Trek,” he lists with a small yet fond smile. 

“You couldn’t get better in my eyes if you tried, kid. I’m not gonna hurt you, and I will do everything I can to make sure nothing else will for that matter. I was more worried about you being hurt than the stupid cup of coffee, goofball,” he grins in a fatherly tone. 

In return, an involuntary smile breaks across your face as you both continue to sit on the kitchen floor. The worries surrounding the man you feel so attached to seem to fall away slowly at his reassurance and warm embrace. Sure, it may take some time to get used to Nathan’s new and more caring nature, but it’s a good change- a great one. 

Another comfortable silence fills the air around the both of you as you wordlessly express your affections with a tighter hug. 

With a clink of ceramic, you both look up from your embrace to see Kyoko gathering the shards of the mug with a dustpan and a cloth- always a dutiful machine. The man beside you scoffs softly in amusement before looking back to you. “Well, I’d say that’s enough barista duty for you. Kyoko seems capable. Besides, I want you to come take a look at some code with me downstairs,” he shrugs softly. “If you feel up for it, of course,” he adds in a rare moment of kindness. 

You pause for a moment, playfully humming and looking up to the high ceilings of the facility before looking up to his dark brown eyes. 

“Can you teach me some stuff about coding?” you ask with a warm smile gracing your features. 

“Duh, that’s the point, dude,” Nathan chuckles fondly as he gently encourages you to stand from the floor of the kitchen with a soft sigh. He offers you a hand to keep you steady as you stand to your full height before walking over to a cupboard and filling a glass of water for you. 

“Drink this first, though,” he orders in a blunt manner, “You cried a bunch and you need to hydrate,” he explains thoughtfully. 

With a nod of acceptance, you take the glass and begin to sip on it as the man guides you past Kyoko- who has finished cleaning up the mess- towards the elevator with a gentle hand on your upper back to guide you, caringly. As you reach the elevators and make your way down to the lab, you both talk about anything and everything that comes to mind, both of you seeming to enjoy the feelings of closeness that has brought you together as a guardian figure and as someone worth looking out for. 

The rest of the day is filled with playful jokes, lighthearted banter, and smiles (even from Nathan); a beautiful change to a growing bond of care for one another. 

[dailymothanon]

I’ve simply been too lazy to draw currently so no art yet 🐶 anyways. I just feel like I haven’t had any headcanon inquiry posts in awhile 🤔 so, I’ve seen plenty of states have hcs about their state flowers… nicknames… animals, flags, etc etc, so does anyone have any headcanons about (any or all) states and their gems (or minerals) 🤔?

I certainly liked to draw Alaska’s jades in my last post and I love the facts connecting jades and Alaska. Do I have any head canons regarding him and jade tho? Not really, for D&D forbolg him sure but just classic ol’ Alaska, not yet 😌 I do love the green tho, it’s like having the northern lights as a gem and it accents well with like gold or silver (figured gold would be more appropriate for Alaska tho since the gold rushes n all that). On a less related note I kinda wanna add more moose aspects to Alaska 🤔 like, it’s alaska’s iconic state animal! But bears are more used for him, which is still cool I love bears and fat bear week n all, but moose are also cool 😌 little calf moose babies are so leg… they’re like 90% leg