#I'M SORRY I JUST REALLY ENJOYED IT AND WANTED TO SHARE.

[fridaysmind]

Seekers trine x tf!reader

(Birdformers AU)

This art that gave me inspiration belongs to @jadeyuuzi, thank you SM! I'm sorry, I hope you don't mind using your art? Femme!reader, transformer!reader, trine, mating season, comfort, headcanons, AU

The seekers have begun their mating season. Many of them started to clean their feathers en masse and create nests out of improvised materials from the planet Earth. On the list of those preparing for the event was the Decepticons' main trine. 

In which pair they were interested in was not yet known and now many cons were talking about it, suggesting possible suitors.

The interest of all three seekers was directed in your direction, isn't that lucky? Imagine if they had decided to start fighting over you? Oh, it would clearly have been a terrible massacre. Skywarp has been cruelly pranking both his brothers and the other Transformers just for fun, and now just imagine what he'd do if he had to get rid of his competition in earnest. Luckily for all of Nemesis, they banded together for a common goal, banded together to get you.

You didn't have a mate at all during this period. Even those previously interested seemed to have gone somewhere. But you weren't sad about it, you spent your quiet days in beautiful places, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the wind on your soft feathers. 

You don't notice the seekers hiding behind tree trunks, drooling profusely at the sheen of your body.

“Isn't that the most adorable creature in the world...?”

“By Primus, I can smell the lovely scent of that body right from here.”

“TC, Warp, shut up, she can hear you!"

Your helmet turns in their direction and the two seekers instantly flush in opposite directions, leaving poor Thundercracker looking foolishly out from behind a tree while the feathers of his quickly departing brothers fall from above. You came a little closer, interested. Out of nervousness, he broke the branch he was holding onto and found nothing better to do than awkwardly hold it out to you.

He wanted to dissolve and disappear when you chuckled and took the branch in your servos, your limbs touching.

“For me? How sweet of you.”

He smiled nervously, took a step back, and soared into the sky following his brothers. Back at their shared dwelling, TC was faced with the grumbling of his brothers.

“This isn't fair!” Warp unfolded the cushions with sudden movements, setting everything up inside the new nest. “Why on earth would you be the first to give something?”

“I wasn't trying to, it just happened and it's only a stick. Starscream, tell him!”

The trine leader patted his wings unhappily as he looked at Thunder's blue frame and sighed. The Seekers had agreed that they wouldn't argue and would just finish setting up the nest, for them and your adorable little figure.

***

You walked on your way, trying to find the source of the pleasant smell, assuming that somewhere nearby was a flower field or something, but you came across a very large sized nest. Smooth, neat, clearly made with diligence and talented fingers, could this really have been built by a single Transformer? 

“This is clearly built for some amazing femme. Is she a queen?”

You whisper and step closer, a little afraid of the wrath of the nest's inhabitants. Only a small squeak escapes you before you are quite suddenly pulled inside.

You regain balance and are confronted by a pair of burning red optics. And another. And another. A wave of anxiety runs down your spine, until a formers across from you speak in the semi-darkness.

“Fear not, we mean you no harm.” the voice in front of you is quiet, calm, and very familiar. Your left palm is gently squeezed, stroking your fingers with care, the inside of the nest smells pleasant. The words of the first are picked up by a former on your right.

“That's right, stay with us, we'll take good care of you.”

You adjust your vision in the dark and finally see the owners of the nest. The main trine of the Decepticons. Your fingers are gently stroking Thundercracker, Skywarp is examining your body from afar with a hungry smile, and the leader of their trine, Starscream, stands nearby. They each spread their wings proudly, posing especially for you and Thunder pulls your servo, heading towards the pile of pillows.

“Please sit down.”

He sits down himself and settles you on a soft surface until you find words.

The other Seekers come over very quickly and sit down next to you, surrounding your figure on all sides.

Skywarp lies down on the belly plates and props his helmet up with his hands, looking at you with amusement and satisfaction. You shift your gaze from him to the stirring Starscream to the side as he turns to you with a small cube of energon.

“This place is built specifically for us and you. Tell me, do you agree to be our couple during this days?” along with his words, spoken in a voice sweet as honey, he holds out the prized treat to you.

The liquid in the cube splashes tantalizingly against the walls. You run your eyes over each of them, they almost eat you with their optics and you feel it's a more than satisfying position. Your lips stretch in a soft smile as the treat passes into your hands and disappears into your mouth. You are staying.

***

Starscream takes genuine pleasure in running his fingers over the feathers on your wings, brushing them with a special trepidation, sometimes running them over the most sensitive areas with tantalizing slowness. You can stare shyly into the void, or close your eyes and rest, and so sometimes you don't notice the trine leader looking at you with half-closed optics and a smile of pleasure. He burns the back of your head with his gaze, strokes your shoulders, presses you against him, grinning at something and then releases you again to stroke your wings. The poor guy has a wild tactile hunger, you are his comfort, let him have some more of that sweetness. In sleep, Starscream's multi-emotional face smooths, softens, and seems to grow kinder. His lips are slightly ajar, and he sniffles, mumbling something, making the rest of the trine smile. And now you are, too.

Skywarp is too active, both of his brothers are scared to imagine what goes on in his head. He sniffs you so often and says it's the best smell in his asset, it's getting uncomfortable. You woke up in the middle of the night once when he was... well... staring at you silently in the dark. 

And he bites. And he tried to lick your fingers, quite successfully, by the way. And how can we forget his love of jokes? You're a small, sweet, adorable little bird that he wouldn't even jokingly push you off a steep cliff, but he's happy to suddenly walk through the wall of your nest and scare you. Luckily, his energy runs low throughout the day, and he curls up into a ball at your feet pretty quickly and shuts down.

Thundercracker, coming in from a long shift, loves to cuddle with you. He burrows his face between your shoulder and neck, whispering affectionate nicknames, and just relaxes with your body in his arms. He brings you shells, interestingly shaped rocks, flowers, and curious human bling that he can't find a use for in any way. He's a bit of a caretaker. On his own, he puts snacks in your mouth, kisses the top of your head, inquires about your condition and comfort. He loves having his back scratched, so he projects this onto you, often giving you sudden pleasure. Please scratch his back too, you have such beautiful hands and delightful fingers, he would die of happiness!

[crossfandomskylines]

Anywhere But Here

Summary: A Valentine's Day singles event was the last place you wanted to be until an unexpected conversation with Bradley Bradshaw turned the night into something else entirely. What started as shared sarcasm and an easy connection quickly became something deeper. And by the time the night was over you realized maybe fate had other plans after all.

Warnings: 18+. Suggestive Content (some nudity, heavy making out, implied smut but none directly), Alcohol Consumption, Mild Language.

Word Count: 4,389

Author's Note: Still struggling with a little bit of writer's block because of my headspace but managed to write this over the past few days and I think it turned out okay. This is my first time writing for Bradley so I'd love any feedback you guys have! I'm also still a little rough around the edges when it comes to writing smut so I'm sorry if that part isn't good. Hope you enjoy xx

You should have known better than to let your friends talk you into this. The dim lighting, the too loud music, the room full of strangers who all seemed to have the same agenda. It was everything you hated about Valentine’s Day wrapped into one overcrowded venue. 

Somewhere across the room your friends were probably watching and feeling satisfied that they’d successfully dragged you out, but they weren’t the ones stuck making small talk with men who either wanted a rebound, a hookup, or a therapist.

You sighed as you swirled the cheap cocktail in your glass as the third guy of the night launched into a monologue about his “complicated” relationship with his ex.

“Sounds rough,” you said nodding absently.

“Right? And she just doesn’t get that I need space,” he continued, leaning in like you were supposed to be impressed by his emotional unavailability.

You were about to excuse yourself and find your friends when suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the conversation.

"Is this seat taken?" Bradley Bradshaw’s voice was easy, casual, like you hadn’t just been trapped in a one-sided conversation about someone’s divorce for the last fifteen minutes. You blinked in surprise, looking up to find Bradley standing beside you. You couldn’t help the relief that flooded through you at his arrival, a smile tugging at your lips. 

“Bradley,” you said with a chuckle, knowing full well he’d been watching from the corner of the room. 

You’d always known of Bradley. He was part of the same circle of friends though you’d never really talked outside of the occasional greeting or passing comment at group events. He was always nice enough, just not someone you ever felt a need to connect with more deeply.

He raised an eyebrow at the guy you were talking to, still unaware of his impending rescue. “Mind if I steal her for a minute?” Bradley asked, looking at you with an easy grin.

The guy hesitated for a moment, eyes darting between you and Bradley before he finally nodded, mumbling something about catching up with some people. Bradley’s lips twitched in amusement as he pulled the barstool out and took a seat next to you, making it clear he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

As the guy shuffled away, Bradley glanced at you and whispered, “I’ve got to hand it to you, you were handling that a lot better than I would have. I’d have run for the hills by now.” His grin was teasing, but there was a warmth in his eyes, an unspoken understanding.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “It wasn’t that bad, I just didn’t know how to get out of the conversation without being rude.”

Bradley leaned back, getting comfortable. “Yeah, well, you’re lucky I was nearby. My friends usually do a pretty bad job of saving me from stuff like that. But if it helps, I’m pretty good at the rescue mission.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him with a smirk. “I’m sure you are. But I’m guessing Jake and Mickey had something to do with this little rescue operation?”

Bradley chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Guilty as charged. They’ve been trying to convince me to get out here all night. Apparently, they think I’m a really good wingman.” He grinned, clearly not taking the comment too seriously. “But between you and me, I’m just here for the free drinks.”

“Free drinks? I think I missed that memo?”

Bradley grinned as he motioned towards where Jake was across the room. “His price for dragging me out tonight was picking up my tab.”

Bradley leaned against the bar, nodding toward your empty glass. “Speaking of…need a refill?”

You hesitated, but he shrugged, adding, “Promise I won’t try to trauma-dump on you.”

That earned him a small smirk. “Well, in that case… sure.”

He flagged down the bartender, ordering for you without making a big deal of it. As you waited, you glanced around the room at the couples awkwardly chatting, the guys clearly scanning for their next target, the women trying to seem interested but mostly looking bored.

“This might be the worst Valentine’s Day event in existence,” you muttered.

Bradley let out a low chuckle. “That bad, huh?”

You turned back to him, arching a brow. “Come on, you’ve gotta admit half these people don’t even want to be here.”

He shrugged, smirking. “That includes us, doesn’t it?”

You laughed. “Fair point.”

The bartender slid your drink across the bar, and you murmured a thanks before turning back to Bradley. Somehow, standing next to him felt…easy.

“So, what were you doing before you got roped into this disaster?” he asked, taking a sip of his own drink.

You shrugged. “Had plans to drink wine, eat chocolate, and watch literally anything that wasn’t romance related. But my friends staged an intervention.”

Bradley smirked. “Tragic. What were you gonna watch?”

“Probably a concert film. You know, something that really captures the Valentine’s Day spirit.”

His grin widened. “Concert film, huh? What band?”

You lit up, immediately launching into a mini rant about your favorite band. You talked about their best albums, the time you saw them live, how their early work was underrated but their newer stuff still held up.

And Bradley listened. Not in the way people do when they’re just waiting for their turn to talk, but in a way that made it clear he was actually interested. He nodded along, grinning at your enthusiasm, occasionally asking a question or making a comment that proved he was keeping up.

At some point the noise of the bar faded into the background. The awkwardness of the event, the forced conversations, the reason you even came here in the first place…it all disappeared. It was just you and Bradley talking like this was the most natural thing in the world.

And you kind of liked it.

The DJ must have had a cruel sense of humor because without warning the music shifted from upbeat pop to something softer. Something that clearly signaled it was time for couples to pair off.

Around the room, people hesitated before awkwardly stepping closer to their dates or scanning for someone to dance with. You weren’t planning on participating until you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. It was him. The guy Bradley had saved you from earlier. He was lingering near the bar, glancing in your direction like he was debating coming over for round two.

You groaned under your breath. Bradley must have followed your gaze because he leaned in slightly, voice low and amused. “Uh oh. I think your ex therapy patient wants a second session.”

You shot him a look. “Don’t even joke.”

His lips twitched like he was fighting back a laugh. Then after a beat he nudged you with his elbow. “We could always pretend to be together. Save you from another deep dive into his complicated emotions.”

You arched a brow. “Oh, we could, huh?”

Bradley shrugged. “I mean I’d hate to see you suffer.”

You rolled your eyes but honestly? The idea didn’t sound half bad. Better than standing here pretending not to notice your former conversation partner lurking nearby.

“…Fine,” you sighed.

His grin was instant like he’d known you’d agree. Without another word he reached for your hand, his fingers warm as they laced easily through yours. Before you could process that he was already tugging you toward the dance floor.

“Smooth,” you muttered as you followed.

He glanced back smirking. “I have my moments.”

You stopped near the edge of the dance floor where other couples had already started swaying to the music. Bradley turned to face you, his expression a mix of amusement and something softer, unreadable.

“Alright,” he said, his voice teasing but gentle as he placed one hand at your waist. “Try not to fall in love with me.”

You snorted. “I’ll do my best.”

Dancing with Bradley was… easy. You had expected it to be awkward and stiff like the kind of slow dances you endured at high school prom. But he moved with an effortless confidence, his hand steady at your waist, his grip firm but not overbearing.

“So,” he said, his voice warm and low over the music, “how am I doing so far? Best fake Valentine’s date you’ve ever had?”

You smirked. “I don’t know. The bar’s pretty low. But I’ll give you points for effort.”

Bradley let out a soft chuckle, his thumb absently tracing small, slow circles where it rested against your waist. You weren’t sure if he even realized he was doing it, but you noticed. And suddenly, the room felt just a little warmer.

The first song came to an end, and for a second, you thought about stepping back, about making some teasing remark and putting space between you. But before you could, the opening chords of a new song filled the air. A song from your favorite band. Your favorite song.

Your eyes widened. “No way.”

Bradley’s mouth quirked into a knowing grin. “What are the odds?”

You looked up at him, suspicious. “You didn’t request this, did you?”

He shook his head, smirking. “Nope. But now that it’s playing, it’d be wrong not to keep dancing.”

Before you could argue—not that you really wanted to—he pulled you back in.

And this time, you let yourself sink into it.

Somewhere between the first verse and the chorus, the space between you disappeared. His hands settled more firmly at your waist, his fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of your shirt. Without really thinking about it, your arms slid up, looping around his neck.

You felt him exhale, a quiet little laugh against your temple. “See? You’re having fun.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Don’t let it go to your head, Rooster.”

He grinned, tilting his head slightly. “Too late.”

The warmth of him, the way his chest brushed yours with every slow step, the way his voice curled around your name when he murmured it just loud enough for you to hear. It all felt so natural and easy, like you’d been dancing with him forever instead of just minutes.

And when he made a dry teasing comment about one of the couples beside you, something about their awkward middle school dance stance you tipped your head back and laughed.

The sound must have done something to him because his hold on you tightened, just slightly. Just enough that you felt it. Just enough that you didn’t want to let go.

The song drifted into its final chords, but neither of you stepped away immediately. You were still close. Closer than you probably should have been considering this whole thing had started as an excuse to avoid bad small talk.

Bradley was looking at you, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he knew you weren’t in a hurry to move either. But then the DJ switched back to something obnoxiously upbeat, and the spell broke.

Bradley exhaled, glancing around before leaning down slightly, speaking just loud enough for you to hear. “Alright. You wanna get out of here?”

You arched a brow, pretending to consider it. “Bradley Bradshaw, are you trying to take me home?”

His smirk widened. “Would it work?”

You scoffed, even as heat curled in your stomach. “Not a chance.”

He chuckled. “Good to know.” Then, with an easy shrug, he added, “I was thinking we could go do something actually fun.”

You tilted your head. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“I don’t know yet. But I promise it’ll be better than this disaster.” He gestured around the bar where people were still fumbling their way through awkward conversations and stilted dances.

You eyed him, considering. “You do realize this is how horror movies start, right? Some girl follows a charming guy into the night, never to be seen again.”

Bradley placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “You wound me.”

You bit back a grin. “Shouldn’t you buy me dinner first?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “You hungry?”

You blinked. “…Are you serious?”

Bradley grinned. “Why not? We ditch this place, get some food, and actually enjoy the rest of the night.”

You should have said no. You should have come up with an excuse, played it safe, stuck to your original plan of going home alone.

But instead, you found yourself saying, “Alright, Bradshaw. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

His grin turned downright smug. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”

You rolled your eyes, but you let him take your hand anyway, following him toward the exit. Leaving behind the bad dates, the awkward glances, and the Valentine’s Day you thought you were going to have, and stepping into the one you never saw coming.

The bar door swung shut behind you, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the stuffy heat inside. You hadn’t realized how loud it was until now. It was so much easier to breathe out here.

Bradley, still holding your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, shot you a look. “Alright, I’m thinking pizza. And not some fancy, sit down place. I mean real pizza.”

You smirked. “Define real pizza.”

His eyes glinted. “Late night counter service, greasy but perfect pizza.”

“…Go on.”

“There’s a spot a few blocks from here. Open late, no frills, just damn good food.”

You pretended to think about it, though your stomach had already made the decision for you. “Fine. But if it sucks, I’m never trusting you again.”

Bradley laughed, leading the way down the sidewalk. “That’s a lot of pressure, sweetheart.”

When you arrived after a short walk from the bar, the place was exactly as he’d described. A hole in the wall joint with neon signs buzzing faintly in the window and the unmistakable scent of fresh pizza wafting out the door.

Bradley let you step inside first, the warmth from the ovens immediately washing over you. The glass display case was lined with massive slices ready to grab and go.

“Alright,” he said scanning the selection. “You a toppings person, or are we keeping it classic?”

“Pepperoni,” you answered without hesitation.

His smile was approving. “Good choice.” He turned to the guy behind the counter. “Two slices of pepperoni, please.”

You arched a brow. “Two? What if I wanted two slices?”

Bradley gave you a look. “Trust me. You won’t want the second when you see the size of these.”

He wasn’t wrong.

A few minutes later, you were standing outside, each holding a massive, perfectly greasy slice, the warmth seeping into your fingers as you took your first bite.

You groaned. “Okay. Fine. You were right. This is really good pizza.”

Bradley grinned, chewing his own bite. “Told you.”

The street was quiet, save for the occasional car rolling by and the faint hum of city life in the distance. For a moment, you just stood there, eating in comfortable silence.

Then, Bradley wiped his fingers on a napkin and glanced over at you. “So.”

You swallowed your bite, eyeing him warily. “So.”

His smirk was lazy, unreadable. “Wanna head back to my place?”

You nearly choked. “Wow. Straight to the point, huh?”

Bradley laughed. “Not like that.” He gestured to the nearly empty street. “It’s still early. I figured we could keep hanging out…unless you’re dying to go home.”

You hesitated for a moment, considering the offer. It wasn’t that late, and you weren’t tired. And if you were being honest with yourself you didn’t really want to say goodnight yet.

“…Alright, Bradshaw,” you said, giving him a knowing look. And just like that, you found yourself following him into the night.

When you reached the curb, he gestured toward an old but well kept Bronco parked under the glow of a streetlamp. It suited him. It was rugged, classic, and also a little effortlessly cool.

You expected him to climb in first, but instead he reached for the passenger door, pulling it open.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Seriously?”

Bradley just shrugged, stepping back to give you space. “What? You think I don’t have manners?”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “I don’t know. I just didn’t peg you as the door-opening type.”

His smirk was subtle but genuine. “Guess I like keeping you on your toes.”

Still eyeing him, you slid into the seat. The door shut with a solid thunk, and a moment later Bradley was rounding the hood and climbing in behind the wheel.

Bradley’s place was exactly what you would’ve expected. Laid back, a little old school, but effortlessly him. Warm lighting, a well-loved couch, a few framed photos on the walls, and a record player in the corner. It felt lived in, comfortable.

“You want a beer?” he asked as he tossed his keys onto the counter.

You nodded, stepping further inside. “Yeah, sure.”

Bradley grabbed two from the fridge, popping the caps off with practiced ease before handing one to you. You took a sip as he led you toward the couch, where he sank down with an easy sprawl.

You hesitated for half a second before sitting next to him, tucking your legs underneath you. The conversation picked up right where it had left off with music, movies, dumb things you’d both done as kids.

At some point you kicked off your shoes and stretched your legs out, your sock clad feet nudging his thigh. Bradley didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he absentmindedly rested a hand on your shin as he talked, fingers tracing lazy patterns against the fabric of your jeans.

You should’ve noticed it earlier. That shift, that subtle change in the air. Because somewhere between the teasing and the laughter, something had settled in the space between you. Something quieter. Heavier. Bradley’s fingers stilled against your leg, his gaze flicking to yours.

You swallowed. “What?”

He shook his head, his voice softer now. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing, and you both knew it. The air crackled, and before you could second guess it, you were shifting closer. Bradley’s hand slid up, palm skimming your knee before settling at your waist. His fingers curled there, warm and steady.

You weren’t sure who leaned in first, but suddenly, he was right there. His breath fanned across your lips, his eyes locked onto yours, searching.

And then he kissed you. It was slow at first, just the soft press of his lips against yours, like he was testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away and you kissed him back,he deepened it, his hand tightening at your waist as he pulled you closer.

Your fingers found the back of his neck, threading into his hair, and he groaned low in his throat, a sound that sent heat curling through your stomach. By the time you finally broke apart, you were breathless.

Bradley rested his forehead against yours, his lips quirking. “So… I’m guessing you don’t regret leaving that singles event?”

You laughed, still catching your breath. “Not even a little bit.”

Bradley’s hands were still resting at your waist, warm and steady, as you hovered just inches from him. The air between you felt charged, humming with something unspoken but undeniable. You moved first, shifting onto your knees before slowly swinging a leg over his lap, settling yourself against him. Bradley inhaled sharply, his hands tightening their hold on you like he was still processing what was happening, like he needed a second to let himself feel you there.

“Yeah?” His voice was low, rough around the edges, his hands twitching slightly against your hips.

You nodded, fingers trailing up the back of his neck as you leaned in. “Yeah.”

That was all he needed.

His mouth met yours again, deeper this time, the hesitancy from before fading as he pulled you closer, molding you against him. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, and he let out a quiet groan that sent a shiver down your spine.

His hands, large and warm, traced slow circles at your waist before slipping under your shirt. His palms pressed against your bare skin, mapping their way up your sides, his touch reverent like he was savoring every inch of you.

He paused, giving you a chance to stop him, but you weren’t going anywhere. You lifted your arms, silently telling him to keep going, and Bradley took his time easing your shirt up and over your head, his eyes flickering over your newly exposed skin. His fingers followed the path of his gaze, tracing along your ribs, your back, your shoulders.

“Damn,” he murmured, almost to himself, before leaning in to kiss you again, slower this time, deeper, his lips moving with purpose as his hands roamed over you.

You shifted in his lap, pressing closer, and that was when something changed. His grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your skin like he suddenly couldn’t get enough. His kisses turned hungrier, his breath heavier as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss until all you could do was melt into him.

You gasped as his mouth trailed along your jaw, then down the column of your throat, his lips and tongue leaving a heated path in their wake. His hands moved again, exploring more boldly now, and you arched into him, letting yourself feel everything. His touch, his warmth, the way he was unraveling right along with you.

Your fingers moved with growing urgency, skimming over Bradley’s shoulders as you tried to push off that damn ugly printed shirt. But the fabric bunched awkwardly at his arms, refusing to cooperate. Frustrated, you tugged harder, reaching for the undershirt beneath it too, wanting them both gone except now you were tangled in two layers of fabric, and nothing was coming off the way you wanted.

Bradley chuckled against your skin, his breath warm where his lips had been trailing along your collarbone. 

“Impatient, huh?” His voice was teasing, but there was something deeper laced in it too, something thick with amusement and want.

You huffed, still struggling. “If you’d stop wearing so many damn layers—”

He cut you off with another quiet laugh before leaning back slightly. “Here,” he murmured, his hands covering yours, steadying them. “Let me help you out, sweetheart.”

Your stomach flipped at the easy way the endearment rolled off his tongue, but before you could dwell on it, Bradley took control. He shrugged out of the over shirt first, letting it drop to the floor before crossing his arms to pull the undershirt over his head in one smooth motion.

And damn.

Your breath hitched as you finally took him in. His broad shoulders, toned chest, the soft trail of hair leading down his stomach. His dog tags rested against his skin, catching the low light of the room, and for a moment, you just stared.

Bradley smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Better?”

You didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. Instead, you leaned in, hands splaying against his bare chest as you kissed him again, slow and deep, making sure he felt exactly how much you appreciated the view.

Bradley groaned against your lips, his hands sliding back to your waist before gripping your hips firmly, grounding you against him. The kiss deepened, turning messier, more desperate, and when you rolled your hips just slightly, testing the friction, that was when he lost the last bit of his restraint.

His grip tightened, his breath shuddering against your mouth. “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart.”

You smirked. “Maybe I like the heat.”

His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening for half a second before he suddenly moved, flipping you onto your back on the couch in one swift motion.

You barely had time to gasp before he was hovering over you, his body warm and solid against yours. His lips found your neck again, his hands roaming over newly exposed skin, and suddenly, you weren’t the one in control anymore.

And you definitely didn’t mind.

Bradley’s hands moved with deliberate slowness, fingers grazing over your hips before settling at the waistband of your jeans. His eyes flicked up to yours, silently asking for permission. When you nodded, he made quick work of the button and zipper, his fingers brushing over your skin as he tugged them down your legs, leaving you in just your underwear.

He leaned back slightly, his gaze raking over you, dark and unreadable for a moment. Then, a slow smirk tugged at his lips. His voice was rougher now, lower, as he shook his head. “You’re even prettier than I imagined.”

Your breath hitched, warmth spreading through your chest at his words, at the way he was looking at you like he wanted to devour you.

Then, before you could think of a response, he dipped his head, pressing his lips to the base of your throat. His mouth was warm, his kisses slow and reverent as he made his way down, lingering at the delicate skin along your collarbone, then lower, teasing over your ribs before his hands found your thighs.

He shifted, lowering himself onto the floor in front of the couch, his large, rough palms pressing against your inner thighs as he spread them apart. The contrast between his calloused hands and the soft skin of your legs sent a shiver up your spine.

Bradley’s breath was warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as his mouth trailed lower until it hovered just above the place you ached for him most. His grip on your thighs tightened, thumbs stroking slow, lazy circles into your skin as if savoring the anticipation.

“Still with me?” he murmured, his voice husky, teasing.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers sinking into his thick curls, tugging just enough to earn a soft groan from him. “Bradley—”

His lips curved against your hipbone. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

A slow, unrelenting press of his mouth, a sound of satisfaction rumbling low in his throat as he pulled you closer, as your world narrowed to nothing but the feeling of him, the steady, torturous rhythm of his hands and lips unraveling you piece by piece.

The last coherent thought you had before everything melted into sensation was that you’d never look at him the same way again.

[waynes-multiverse]

Awww, I'm so glad these headcanons inspired you! I love reading everyone's takes on Jackles characters. We should make it a PhD thesis at this point 😂💕

I really loved that for Dean you made it a thing that he "doesn't know how to be romantic." or that he believes that he "isn't romantic." Because it kinda fits that Dean doesn't understand that romance doesn't always have to be super big gestures but can be just giving someone your last bite of pie (HA) or just remembering the kind of coffee your significant other likes or lending a gentle ear when your significant other needs that.

Absolutely! And Dean's just so sweet and kind and caring naturally that he surely wouldn't realize that these simple gestures and small acts of service he does more or less subconsciously are actually the things that make him such a wonderful partner 🥰

And I love that you highlight that the reader knows this, but Dean doesn't. That the reader can see those wonderful little things that Dean does for her and no other man ever has. Also so jealous because I want Dean to make me a mixtape 📼

Hahaha yes! Guess she's been living in the bunker with that man for a while 😂 (And if he ever gave me a mixtape like this, I'd legit cry 😭💚)

But I love Dean's take on romance in his section: the chick flick, the fairy lights, the snacks, and the box of chocolates. It is very him and oh so perfect 😍

Aww, happy you could see that for him! I legit always have him prepare a romantic date night surprise in the Cave, but it just seems so him lol (And of course he had to make a joke toward the end to hide his vulnerability there 😝)

Everything you wrote for him is so perfect- "Of course" the lingerie and a dress that is his signature color, and the fancy resturant, the horse drawn carriage, the roses- All so on brand for him.

Oh, he went all out for this, didn't he? 🤣 But I could so see him doing all of this, mostly to brag and receive his reward. He saw Feb 14 on his calendar and knew it would be his big day lmao

Because we all know that man would one million percent be possessive of his woman and fall into that traditional view of a woman being a trophy, but oh my sweet baby corn sometimes the feminist inside of me kinda goes just a tad on hiatus 😂 And then when she comes back, she usually thinks that she can fix him lol

Omfg same, girl! Can't even spell the word feminism when I think of this man 😂 (But can we really fix him or will he just bend us to his will? 👀) Let's hope we're more successful in that endeavor than Taylor Swift lol

I still have not gotten to see Big Sky yet, but each time I see something for this beautiful "cowboy sheriff" I remind myself that I need to lol.

Aww, kinda jealous you haven't seen it yet. You get to experience it all freshly 🥰

This is exactly how I'd feel. I love the romance but at the same time I would literally feel like I've done absolutely nothing to deserve that and how can I make it up to him?

Oh so true! His dedication would freak me tf out and give me panic attacks lol. But reader found the perfect way to show her love too, I think 🫶

I'm crying. I just thought you should know 😭

Oh, I'm sorry, love! The hopeless romantic in me fully kidnapped Beau into the sunset here 😂🩵

Out of all of these, I think that Russell's was my absolute favorite. (Ben I still love you, please don't take this the wrong way 😂)

Oh, we both know SB will take this the wrong way lmao

And love that Russell is your favorite! I based his on personal experience. My husband surprised me like this when he was still in the military. But you bet your ass I sulked all day when I only got a short text message before he showed up at my door at night 🤣💕 (Also probably why that reader came across so realistic. I was sharing past trauma lmfao)

Thank you so much for reading & reblogging, Lee!!! So happy you enjoyed these and even better if they inspired more of your amazing fics! I already told my husband he's on toddler duty this weekend, so I can finally catch up with my tbr 😂🩵

Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

(Dean Winchester // Soldier Boy // Beau Arlen // Russell Shaw – Edition)

Prompt: How would your favorite men surprise you for Valentine's Day?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader // Soldier Boy x reader // Beau Arlen x reader // Russell Shaw x reader

Warnings: +18 for some language and spice, tons of fluff, a smidge of angst

A/N: Something sweet to sweep you off your feet for the most romantic day of the year 😉 Happy early Valentine's from me, my loves 💖 (And big thanks to the lovely, amazing @zepskies 💜 for starting this trend in the first place. It's addicting 😂🫶)

Dean:

Dean isn’t big on Valentine’s Day and romance. Not because he thinks it’s an unnecessary holiday invented by greeting card companies, but because he genuinely doesn’t know how to be romantic.

You’re aware of this and don’t care if he surprises you with a big gesture. Because truth is, Dean’s romantic when it comes to the little things.

You don’t care if he brings you flowers because he brings you your favorite take-out order when you so much as mention that you’re hungry.

You don’t care if he gets you a card because he gets up in the middle of the night and saunters all the way to kitchen to bring you a glass of water when you tell him you’re thirsty.

You don’t care if he gets you chocolate because he creates personal mixtapes for you with songs you said you liked during random drives.

He listens to you. He holds open doors for you. He protects you. He keeps you calm. He takes care of you when you’re injured. And he loves you with every fiber of his being.

So, really, you don’t care if he makes a big deal out of one random calendar day a year or not. It doesn’t prove his love for you – the little things do.

However, you’re still sweetly surprised (and moved to tears) when you find the Dean Cave dipped in the warm glow of fairy lights and candles.

He’s picked out your favorite chick-flick and your favorite snacks.

He opens his arms with a big, cheeky grin and invites you into his snuggly embrace on the couch.

There’s a box of chocolates on the coffee table, a few of them half eaten, and a note that reads: I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is. Be mine?

You smile and kiss his scruffy cheek. “Always.”

Flustered, he smiles, cheeks tinged pink, and kisses your crown. “Happy unattached-drifter-Christmas, sweetheart.”

Soldier Boy:

To say Ben’s old-school when it comes to romance would be an understatement. While the rest of the year his bedside manners leave much to desire, he strangely shines on Valentine’s.

Mostly, because he knows sex is a given on this holiest of holy days. No sickness or period can stop him.

If you accidentally died, you’re even sure he’d pull a full Weekend at Bernie’s and have a night out with your corpse.

First, he surprises you with a delicately wrapped gift on your bed: a tight-fitting, beautiful emerald evening gown and the matching lacy lingerie set.

Of course he got you underwear, even though he won’t mind if you don’t wear anything at all under that dress.

He then takes you out to the fanciest restaurant in the city, where he reserved a private room away from all the other commoners.

His attention is only on you.

He praises you all night long and gives compliments as if he's never done anything else his entire (long) life.

He orders the most expensive bottle of wine and the best steak and makes sure you know that it is.

He encourages you to play footsie under the table with him before he slips the heel off your foot, and your toes massage the growing bulge in his slacks.

He holds your hand in public and protectively guides you goddamn everywhere with a palm on the small of your back, showing you off like arm candy – the trophy wife.

Sure, you could protest and critique his… traditional views.

You’re not a fucking award he’s won for bad acting!

But your cheeks flush furiously every single time he brags boisterously about you to anyone who will listen. And those who don’t listen are forced to listen.

But you can’t deny it feels good to be so wanted, so desired.

When you come home at the end of the night (with a fucking horse-drawn carriage no less), Ben can barely keep his large hands from roaming your curves. You know he expects his reward now for being the best possible lover ever.

On the kitchen island, you also find a huge bouquet of red roses waiting for you. You can barely appreciate its beauty before the zipper in the back of your dress slides open. Well… rips open.

Between the thorny stems, there’s a card attached, too. It doesn’t read “Be Mine,” however.

Nope, it says, “You are mine.”

And you know he fucking means it.

Beau Arlen:

Your favorite cowboy sheriff will pull out all the stops as soon as the calendar on his desk reads February.

He doesn’t wait for D-Day either. Every day for thirteen days straight, there’s a little surprise waiting for you when you get home.

Your favorite flowers, your favorite meal, your favorite movie, a framed picture of you and him from your first vacation together, a necklace you saw in an antique store you mentioned in passing…

Some might say he’s a little overcompensating.

But Beau has made mistakes in his past, especially on the relationship front, and will be damned if he hasn’t learned from them.

So, he will make sure you feel wanted and loved till the day he dies, even though you keep repeatedly telling him he doesn’t need to make a fuss about Valentine’s Day.

Really, you’re good with picked flowers from the garden.

But Beau’s stubborn and won’t be discouraged. The southern gentlemanliness is rooted deep within his heart and soul.

This day is all about his endless love for you.

Honestly, the sheer amount of everything makes you even slightly uncomfortable. It might sound dumb, but how could you ever compete with that level of commitment?

There ain’t enough blow jobs in this world to make up for his devotion to you.

But on the big day itself, you are actually the one who surprises him with a romantic weekend trip to a cabin in the mountains and excellent fishing spots close by.

You know the biggest gift you could give him is some peace and quiet, time for himself, and a listening ear because he will surely talk the entire time about God and the world while you’re stuck on a boat with him.

But on the night itself, when you give him your gift, he’s actually speechless. Tears brim in his green eyes because you thought of him.

He’s moved, and it moves you.

Because, after all, to you, there’s no bigger gift in this world than his smile.

Russell Shaw:

You don’t expect much when Valentine’s Day looms in the distance. In fact, you don’t expect anything at all.

You’ve only been dating Russell for a couple of months now, and you barely ever see him. Your time together mostly consists of text messages, late night phone calls, and the occasional video chats.

You know his job is complicated. You know he can’t be around as much, even though you direly wish he could.

On the morning of the dreaded day, you receive a simple text message:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart! I’ll call you later!”

You hate to admit it, but you feel a little disappointed – disenchanted even. You don’t want to make a big deal out of it because it’s a stupid, unimportant almost-holiday.

All day long, you curse the greeting card companies and the poisonous claws of consumerism for making you care in the first place.

You’re a strong, independent woman. You shouldn’t need a man to give you flowers, gifts, or attention to feel appreciated.

Still…

As you park in the driveway after a long day at work where you watched your colleagues fawn over the bouquets they received from their partners, you feel disheartened when you still haven’t even gotten your promised phone call.

Russell always leaves you wanting more… That can both be a good thing and a very bad one.

But as you close the car door, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You all too keenly pull it out and pick up, almost dropping it because your hands are jittering with excitement at this point and your heart is pounding furiously.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Russell greets you on the other end, the deep timbres of his voice sending immediate shivers down your spine. “You home yet?”

All your worries and sorrows are instantly forgotten when you hear the big smile on his freckled face that he’s surely carrying.

He’s worth it, you remind yourself, even when it’s not easy. Life is not always rainbows and butterflies.

“Uh, almost. Unlocking the front door as we speak,” you tell him.

“Sorry I couldn’t call you sooner. Was stuck on a plane. Long flight,” he says mysteriously. You don’t even ask at this point. You know he can’t tell you.

“No worries. I was busy, anyways,” you lie and hope he buys your nonchalance. “Anywhere interesting you are now?”

“You could say that, yeah…”

“Well, if you hold on a second, I’ll slip out of those clothes and make your evening even more interesting with some pictures,” you tease flirtatiously and push the door open to your dark apartment.

The light switches on by itself, though. You blink in surprise before the phone falls out of your hand when Russell beams broadly at you.

“As much as I love getting your dirty little photos, I think I prefer the real thing tonight,” he says slyly.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” You surge forward into his strong arms so forcefully you almost tackle him to the ground, your hands slinging around his neck. If you could keep him caged there forever, you’d be fine with it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” Russell says with a warm chuckle and claims your lips in a searingly passionate kiss that shows you just how much he’s certainly missed you too. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Hope you enjoyed these little snippets, friends! Do you agree with these? 😉

I legit stole Dean's half-eaten box of chocolate and the Forrest Gump note from another fic of mine. I couldn't resist. I can totally see him doing something silly and cute like that 😂

Happy Valentine's 💕

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[cheesycatz]

Parasitic worm pretends to be your valentine so you don't notice that they're the reason you have 24 days left to live

Wormton AU fic is 190k words now! : )

Nothing crazy new plot wise, more bonding and found family stuff. Obligatory fluff after how much these guys had to go through. I like describing all the sounds he makes when isn't trying to suppress them; chirps, warbles, trills, chirrs, chitters, screeches, snarls, and that weird computer whirring sound he makes that may or may not have the same connotations as purring (sorry I couldn't resist)

I'm excited to go through revisions! It's been so long since I wrote some of this stuff that I don't remember the fine details, so it's genuinely fun for me to read through. Also, I had fun making disguised wormton seem as cursed as possible without actually describing his real form until post-reveal. Blue was probably the only one who didn't think he was some deranged serial killer at first sight, which, fair enough. I was kind of worried about a few very minor original characters I added not being accepted, but then I remembered that Trashy the trash can probably has more speaking lines than any one of them and it probably isn't that big of a deal. I hope you enjoy the one chapter with these three kids putting their LPS animal dolls through the most traumatizing, heart-wrenching, dark story as we all did as children (I promise it's plot relevant and contains symbolism).

Drew some non-canon wormton stuff for Valentine’s Day. I mean, I don't know how you would send a valentine to an elusive homeless man with no official documentation of his existence. The asexually reproducing computer worm guy can't feel anything romantic, but he would love to take advantage of you—gladly accept your lovely gifts. Bro’s just teasing haha he would never inject parasitic worm larvae into your abdomen just don't go to the doctor in the next 24 days please he definitely loves you and not the worms hypothetically eating your organs

“worm.vbs” is a reference to the file type used by the ILOVEYOU worm and other old malware. I only know this because I realized that one of the official spamton valentines from last year contains its exact file name “LOVE-LETTER-FOR-YOU.TXT.vbs”. sharing this trivia because it was like the one reference in those valentines that I didn't see anyone mention back then and because it makes me feel smart

Food for thought:

Honestly, he'd be pretty scary if it weren't for his justified fear of the antivirus forces. Malworm safety is all about avoiding disembodied voices trying to lure you into alleys, so the fact that you can physically see his relatively humanoid disguised form would make him seem dangerously trustworthy. I was thinking about what would've happened if he would've gotten help from the person on the phone (probably gaster I guess? idk). He could've totally been like a cult leader manipulating people into willingly becoming hosts because it was honorable or whatever. And that could combine with the fact that their venom slightly influences the brain. And the followers would've thought he was simply dressing up as a malworm and his fall from grace would've been when they realized he was just a malworm in disguise infecting them and prolonging the invasion. I prefer what I have now; lonely hypothetically-murderous wormton is a lot more redeemable than very-murderous cult leader wormton would be. The addisons, or anyone really, would want nothing to do with him. Fun to think about! And only to think about; I'd rather focus on the version I have now.

See you next time at the big 200k 👀 chapter 3 might actually come out before my multi-book-length spamton fanfiction but don't worry I would never abandon my favorite freak of nature

yappin complete B)

[maladyinpink]

🔊 RAINY DAY SOIRÉE ♥︎♠︎- Haz/bin Ho/tel Wav - ♡-Day Special

Projects will always be strictly AI FREE.

Hi All!...HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! I'm nervous as hell but excited to share my first wav, this Established Husker/Dust Special, with you guys! ART PAGE/MAKING OF

RAINY DAY SOIRÉE - An/gel Du/st comes home from the studio in a hellstorm to find poor Hu/sk, snuggled up with Fat Nuggets and coming down with a cold in his muzzle. The spider affectionately takes care of his bartender beau, but not without catching it himself...Lil vignettes of Husker/dust's shared sick day and soft caretaking.

CW: Long depiction of shared illness, breathy vocal build-ups, loud deep cold sneezing, contagion, higher pitched cold sneezing fits, snotty/honked nose blowing, dry coughing, snzart visuals, blessing, kissing, emotional comfort, spoilers for the Great Gatsby and lots of fluff.

Script, if you guys want to read along, is below...Enjoy!

~ Love, Pink

♥︎♠︎ - Rainy Day Soirée - Script.

(Scene 1 - ANGEL DUST enters the front door of the Hotel in one of the Pride Ring's thundering hellstorms under his Pink umbrella. It's early evening and the lobby is suspiciously empty.)

ANGEL: *Shudders* It's wetter than dick out there!...Shit…Hello? Anybody home?

(Hanging up his coat, ANGEL heads upstairs and unlocks the door to the room he shares with...)

ANGEL: Husk…Honey?...You in here?-

(He's greeted by Fat Nuggets! The hell-hog scampers off the bed and across the floor to see his Daddy at the door)

ANGEL: Hey! My Sweet Boy!...Lookat'chu Bastards, you an' Papa havin' a snuggle, without me…Traitors.

(Yawning deeply, HUSK is still waking up, grumbling to himself about being woken up by a pig and stretching just like an Old man should. ANGEL coos to Fat Nuggets.)

ANGEL: Uh-Oh…Did we wake Papa?...Yeah, we woke Papa…(then to HUSK) Hi, Baby.

HUSK: (Just noticing his partner, tilts his head) Hm- Hey Legs…Damn, y'home early?

ANGEL: Yeah, just pick up shots today (Not really, by pick up shots, he means his scene partner picked him up and pinned him against the wall, he doesn't want HUSK to worry though.)

HUSK: (always concerned when it comes to the studio, but doesn't want to press ANGEL) Oh…um…Y'okay?

ANGEL: (Can't lie, sadly, but tries to reassure) Just uh…the usual...B-But I'm okay, m'fine. (Starts to laugh and ramble)...Actually, it was kinda funny…Long story short, the last scene- Val wants to get the climax again…and again…AND again. What a set of pipes on the poor motherfucker, screamin' to high heaven!...But, uh- Val got called into a meetin' with Vox, thank god…Shoot got cut short an'...Well, most workin' wanted to head home before the storm got bad…

(He trails off...Usually HUSK would respond somehow...ANGEL notices HUSK scrunching up his muzzle and squeezing the bridge of his nose with two fingers, as if he's in pain. He tenderly approaches.)

ANGEL: S-shit…Are you okay?...You ain't lookin' so hot.

(HUSK waves ANGEL off)

HUSK: M'fine…S'just a headache…

ANGEL: (know's he's been given bullshit) N-No No, there's somethin' else…Whaddya not tellin' me…Whaddya hung over?-

HUSK: HUH'ETSH'SHOO!

(ANGEL startles at the intense sneeze and Nuggets squeals, running under the bed. HUSK sniffles and wiggles and clicks his muzzle.)

ANGEL: Jesus!...Honey?! What the fuck was that?!

HUSK: (out of breath, and a little flustered.) Whew, Sorry…'Scuse me…Didn't mean to scare ya.

ANGEL: Next time warn a gal…It's just, heh-…Y'never do that…Come to think of it, I don't think I've heard ya so much as sniffle before?

HUSK: W-whaddya talkin' 'bout…Everyone…(Trails off) S-s-s…..sn-...Sneezes…

ANGEL: (scoffs) Yeah?...Not like that…

HUSK: HEH'ISHH'HOooo!

ANGEL: (starts laughing and mimics Husk's low growly sneeze) Achoooo!

HUSK: Oho! Y'think that's funny?...Laugh it up, Smartass…L-laugh…Hhhh- Goddamni-EH'RTSH'SHOO!...Motherfucker.

ANGEL: (still laughing, but sympathetic) It's…a little funny….Bless you!..H-honey, are you okay?

HUSK: Figures…Now I'm gettin' a cold, now that the seasons pickin' up.

ANGEL: Aww, my poor baby...That's why y'closed up shop so early, huh?

HUSK: Charlie said I was lookin' a lil…hhh… hhh...Peaky…Shit wasn't my choice.

(HUSK lets out a raspy sounding cough and leans back to monstrously sneeze again.)

HUSK: AH'RKK'HOOO!

ANGEL: Ah, Salute! Here…Blow the Thompson on the end of your face hon. (He offers a tissue box from the nightstand)

HUSK: …Thank you baby…(into tissue) AH'ITSH'IUUU…Ugh, Christ…

ANGEL: (unable to keep from laughing, lovingly mocks again with similar inflection)...B-B-Bless you!

HUSK: Very funny Ange…Real fuckin' hilarious…Alright, C'mere y'little shit!

(HUSK starts to tickle ANGEL's arms. The couple both start laughing.)

ANGEL: No!...No…I'm sorry!…H-Honey that tickles!...

HUSK: (growls playfully) I gotcha!

(Both laugh)

ANGEL: Husk!...Husk, Uncle!

HUSK: (listens, satisfied) Hm…That's whatcha get sweetheart.

ANGEL: (fondly) You're a sadist…M'sorry y'sick honey… (leans down and plants a kiss on the top of the cat's head, then notices a book in his paw) …Hey, whatcha readin'?

HUSK: …Gatsby (The Great Gatsby by F. Scott. Fitzgerald)

ANGEL: Ooh, t-that one…Uh…(suddenly a little embarassed, nervously laughs)...Y'know, s'funny…I ain't never read it?

HUSK: Sweetheart, you've never read The Great Gatsby?

ANGEL: I know, I know…S'crime against literature or somethin'...Y-you tell me, if y'think I'da had time between all the heists n' highs for a few chapters

HUSK: Y'got time now, don'tcha? (Sniffles) Why don't we read it together?

ANGEL: (hopeful) Really?

HUSK: Yeah!...I mean…I've read it a hudred times, but….I'd love to see it through your eyes.

ANGEL: Alright, babycakes…But uh, blow y'muzzle first, I can hear ya, gettin' all stuffy.

(HUSK honks a hefty blow into a tissue. Key word being honk.)

ANGEL: Alright, Mother Goose! D'ya wanna start the story or should I?

HUSK: I ain't got the energy to put up with this shit, dickhead…

ANGEL: Alright, Jackass! I'll take care of it, just listen to the Soothing sounds of my voice...

(He clears his throat and starts the book.

♥︎♠︎

(Scene 2 - The next time we see the pair…It's the next morning. ANGEL is in bed and is woken by a loud nose blow and growly bellowed sneezes coming from the bathroom. ANGEL stretches and cranes his neck to look at the bathroom door.

ANGEL: (called out) Bless you!

(The bathroom door opens and a pathetic looking bartender enters, looking exausted.)

HUSK: M'sorry, did I wake you?

ANGEL: Oh baby, nonsense!...You can't help that. You're sick….(clears his throat, still waking, hesitates to ask)...Uh, how's the head?

(HUSK just deeply coughs and raises his eyebrow at the wording. Anyway, ANGEL already knows the answer.)

ANGEL: Y'know what- …don't answer that, uh…I'm gonna go downstairs an' make us some tea.

HUSK: (childlike, pleading eyes)...With bourbon?

ANGEL: (Agreeing) With. Bourbon.

(ANGEL fiddles with the kettle in the kitchen, filling it up with water, putting it on the stove, turning on the burner…He feels something creeping up.)

ANGEL: Heht'ktsh'iew!...Damn…Niffty needs to dust 'round here.

(He hears the door creak open and feels something ELSE creeping up. Needless to say, it's not HUSK.)

ANGEL: Oh, honey?...It's okay, I got it under control you can just go back to bed.

ALASTOR: …Are you quite sure?

(ANGEL startles and rolls his eyes once he sees ALASTOR, but politely replies and resumes watching the kettle.)

ANGEL: Yeah...G'mornin' to you too, Al.

ALASTOR: My my! Someone's broadening their palate!...It's rather funny, usually you'd be schmoozing a mimosa out of our esteemed bartender…But here you are! Making…what smells to be a morning cuppa of chammomile- Or a double. How domestic…What's the occasion?

(ANGEL keeps his reply short, cold and brisk. He's never liked how AL treats his boyfriend and knows AL probably already is well aware, but wants the satisfaction.)

ANGEL: Well our esteemed bartender is playin' hooky today, he's got a real bad cold…(then realizes he can use this to his advantage) Y'don't wanna risk gettin' it Al, y'should probably keep away…like far far away.

ALASTOR: (Sees right through) Come now Angel, you can rest assured that I have no desire to hang around such pestilence. But I also trust that you'll inform Husker of his responsibilities and how he'll be making up for lost time…(He presses the laugh track on his staff)...I must say, I never took you as the caretaking type.

ANGEL: (Ignores the bite, sighs fondly) Well, someone's gotta take care of the big lug…(then bites) Lord know's you won't…Eet'Tschuu!

ALASTOR: (knowingly) Well! Seems as though pot just met kettle, and with that, I'll be on my merry way…(darkly) Seems as though disgusting affections are in the air…among other things.

(In an instant, AL leaves and the kettle begins to screech. ANGEL growls to himself in Italian.)

ANGEL: Stronzo di Fragole!…Hhh…Aat'tshew!

(Back upstairs in ANGEL's room, ANGEL sets the tray with two mugs and another box of tissues down on the bed and sits down.)

ANGEL: (tenderly) Here ya go, Babycakes. Careful, it's hot.

HUSK: (coughs sleepily)...Thank you, Sweetheart.

ANGEL: D'aww, you are welcome!...So uh, where did we leave off?

HUSK: (coughs) Page 41, the big party.

ANGEL: Okay…'I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby's house'-…'Scuse me…Sorry…Heh…Heh…Ih!…Ihh'eck'iew!...Heh'ish'uu!

HUSK: (chuckling) Uh-oh…Bless you!...Tissue?

ANGEL: Yeah I'b…I'm fine, Honey…Thanks…(tries to start reading) 'I belie- (sputters and coughs)...

HUSK: (gently) Are you okay?

ANGEL: (insistant)…I'm okay! 'I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby's house…I believe I was-' (takes a deep breath, he is feeling awful and…is about to sneeze again)...Shit-

HUSK: (worried) Angel?

ANGEL: Eh…Eh- Sorry, I'm…I'm godda sneeze!...IT'Tshuu!...Its'Shhh-Oh fuck me sideways!

HUSK: Bless you…Are y'sure you're okay?

ANGEL: I'm fide?….heh…I'm fide.

HUSK: (smirks) Uh-huh, okay…5…4…3…2-

ANGEL: ahh'eeehhhehh'heh!-...ISH'UU!...aghih hhhdihh…ICK'HIUU!

HUSK: Bless you, Sweetheart.

ANGEL: (long sniffle, finally admits)...Baby?...I think I'm catching ya sniffles.

HUSK: (sarcastically) Really, y'don't say?…

ANGEL: Hht'tsh'iuu!

HUSK: (chuckles fondly)...Bless you…Y'know, this isn't how I imagined we'd spend our first day off together.

ANGEL: (coughs) Me neither…(blows his nose) Thought we'd have a glamorous date…Night out on the town…Er- somthin'...

HUSK: Well, we can still do that…With Daisy, Nick an' Gatsby…What's more glamourous than a grand soiree?

(ANGEL blows his nose again, a loud honk)

ANGEL: (sarcastically, glumly) Oh yeah, Honey…Real Glamourous.

(HUSK tries to think of a way to cheer up Angel and gets an idea.)

HUSK: Hold that thought…

ANGEL: Husk?…Whatcha doin'?

(HUSK gets up and starts to mess around with ANGEL's record player. Looking through the collection of vinyls, he finds one that they'd both enjoy. Glenn Miller's 'Chatanooga Choo Choo' starts playing and HUSK starts to sway and kick his feet a little, then does a little Charleston step.)

ANGEL: What are you doin'...Are you…dancin'?

HUSK: Eh…How's that for Glamour?…'Scuse me, sir?

ANGEL: (laughs) Who me?

HUSK: Couldn't help but notice…Y'seem a bit…sniffly-

ANGEL: (still laughing, loving this bit) No shit, it's your fault!

HUSK: -But otherwise…Absolutely beautiful. I'm a bit sniffly myself…(feigns surprise) We have so much in common!

ANGEL: (laughs) Y'so cheesy...

HUSK: I would love nothing more than to dance with you…Whaddya say?

(ANGEL gets up and takes HUSK's arm, joining the bit as they begin to sway gently to the music)

ANGEL: Well sir, I'd love to…But between you an' me?...Keep this on the downlow, Y'don't wanna let my grump lf a boyfriend know that I'm dancing with such a gentleman.

HUSK: Well, I dunno this fella…But if he's doin' anything right, I think he'd just be happy to see you happy.

(The two dance and sway in their pajamas for a while, wrapped in eachother's arms)

HUSK: One…Two…-....Hhhh

(ANGEL notices HUSK's twitching and hitching and offers to help.)

ANGEL: Honey?...Y'okay? Y'need a tissue?...A tissue?

HUSK: AH'ICKHH'HIOOoo!

ANGEL: Yeah, that's what I thought…Bless you Ol' Man.

HUSK: Uhhh….Th- Thank-....Tha-...uhh'ITSH'hooo

ANGEL: Salute, Mio Caro…Here.

(HUSK takes the offered tissue)

HUSK: (stuffily) Thank you baby…(he coughs amd hitches as another big painful sneeze is coming)...HEHRK'HOOOOOOO!

ANGEL: (clicks his tongue, sympathetic) Bless you!...I think that's our cue to get back in bed baby.

♥︎♠︎

(Scene 3 - Hours of reading later. The couple has reached the big twist of the heightening drama of the book. Daisy Buchanan was the one driving the car that hit Myrtle Wilson. Jay Gatsby, who's in love with Daisy, will take the blame. ANGEL's heart and weakened immune system cannot take this.)

ANGEL: (floored, heartbroken) Husk…No…No, it was Daisy?!

HUSK: (knew this was coming) Daisy was drivin' baby...

ANGEL: No!...She did it?...N-no!...Fuck no! (Throws the book) Goddamnit! (A coughing jag starts)

HUSK: Easy!...Easy, Jesus Christ…Breathe, baby, breathe…Are you okay?

ANGEL: (carries on) An' he's just gon' take the fall for her sorry ass…Oh my god! (Way too into the story.)

HUSK: (laughs a little at his partner's passion) I know…I know-...Shit Angel are you cryin'?

ANGEL: (He is. Emotional, sniffling)...S'just so fucked up.

HUSK: Easy now…I know…But that's the beauty of it…ain't it?

ANGEL: (crying, looks up, confused) B-beauty?...Of someone bein' a selfish bitch an' ruinin' lives?

HUSK: Nah, Ange, The beauty of the story…is in it's honesty…Shows us the darker sides of love��An' how far an fucked folks'll get protectin' it.

ANGEL: (quiet) Husk?…Husk.

HUSK: What's wrong lovebug?

ANGEL: (sadly)…Would you do that for me?...Would ya..t-take the fall?

HUSK: (nonchalantly) Hm, probably.

ANGEL: Even if it meant…everything?

HUSK: Lookatcha!...Y'gettin' all existential on me!

ANGEL: M'serious!

HUSK: (looks ANGEL in the eyes, with utter conviction) If it meant, keepin' you safe, keepin' y'by my side…Then yes…

(HUSK feels ANGEL's breathing start to hitch as he holds him)

HUSK: Alright baby…Quit cryin'...(Notices he's pulling away and fanning his face and grabbing a tissue)...Oh…O-oh, are you okay?

ANGEL: (breathlessly) No!...N-No, I'm gonna sneeze!...Itsh'uu!...Eck'hiiuu, Ehhhishhh'shuu!...Heh'rkk'kiew! (Groans) Oh go-...Irrkk'hew! (Gasp) Heh'Ihhk'hew…Eh…Ehyiiishhhiew!...

HUSK: Bless you, Bless you- Bless you!...Holy shit, Ange! …Fuckin' Shit! Aww baby…Shhh, Breathe baby.

ANGEL: ….Hhh….Aacksh'IEW!...(groans)

HUSK: (chuckles) Bless you!...Y'always sneeze like that?

ANGEL: (sniffles) Like what?...(realizes) Oh, I'm sorry! (Coughs) Not all of us start a damn natural disaster every time the pollen count goes up.

(HUSK belly laughs, ANGEL's jab was...pretty fair enough. HUSK's laugh trails off into little coughs and grows a bit raspy.)

HUSK: (lovingly firm) Alright, blow your nose.

(ANGEL blows thickly and groans)

HUSK: There y'go…Feel better?

ANGEL: (tired from his emotional burst and his sneezing fit, he deadpans) What do you think?

HUSK: (not really bothered by his partner's moodiness, but calls it out anyway) Damn, you're startin' to get a lil bitchy.

(ANGEL is too sleepy to argue with this, so he lays down and pulls the blanket up, snuggling into HUSK's side.)

ANGEL: (quiet)…Gonna take a nap.

HUSK: (coughs) That's a brilliant idea, Sweetheart…

(Nuggets comes out from under the bed and paws to be let up. HUSK pats the bed.)

HUSK: Well, c'mon!...Get on up, here.

♥︎♠︎

(Scene 4 - Another few hours later…a knock at the door wakes the couple)

ANGEL: (grumpily, sleepily, stuffily)...Hm, Who the fuck is that?... If anyone tries to enter this room with me looking like absolute shit…I will not hesitate to shoot them.

HUSK: (yawns, sleepily and raspily) S'okay, Ange, just stay in bed…I'll get it.

(HUSK coughs a jag into his arm as he answers the door. ANGEL lets our a rough Aagh'ish'hew!, and Nuggets greets Princess Charlie Morningstar behind the door, who's carrying a large thermos and still dressed in her pajamas.)

HUSK: Sorry…Hi, Princess.

CHARLIE: Holy shit…You guys sound awful (coughs roughly a little herself...revealing the bug is clearly going around)

ANGEL: Hell, you ain't sounding much better, Toots.

Charlie: (In-denial, laughs) No!...I'm fine- I'm fine, Angel…Nothing to worry about! Vaggie is downstairs with something nasty…So I'm gonna go take care of her, BUT I brought you guys some chicken soup, I hope you enjoy it!

HUSK: (smiles sincerely and takes the thermos) Much obliged…Thank you…(then looks doubtful) Are you sure you're okay?

CHARLIE: (giggles again, still denying) No! I'm fine! I'm fine guys, I- Hh! HEP'PTSH'SHIEEW!

(CHARLIE inherited her Dad's tendency to occasionally become a...flamethrower when sneezing. Tends to get worse with a cold. Her demon form is out. ANGEL, HUSK and Nuggets stare blankly, a bit scared.)

ANGEL:…Bless you.

HUSK:…Bless you.

HUSK: (quietly to ANGEL) I didn't jus' hallucinate, right?...Fire came out her nose…

ANGEL: (quietly back) Dunno, y'talkin' to a former crackhead, if anyone's hallucinatin' it should be me…

CHARLIE: Eh…Heh…Ih…IPTSH'SHIEEW!

ANGEL: (Gently, firmly, big brother energy) Charlie…Dollface?... Y'takin' care a' everybody…But don't forget to take care a' y'self. (as Charlie coughs, ANGEL melts and invites her in for a hug)...C'mere.

CHARLIE: (Emotional)...Oh, Angel!

ANGEL: (waving her off, still a bit nervous) Yeah, yeah… Just do me a favor? Try not to set me on fire?

(HUSK joins the hug, wrapping his wings around the three of them.)

HUSK: C'mere, kid…If you tell anybody about this…I will gut you like a fish. (No real bite)

CHARLIE: (beat.) Thank you guys…Um…Vaggie and I are gonna watch some movies in the lobby, if you guys wanna join us, you're free to!...And if you need anything, give us a holler- Well actually, don't do that- Save your voices…Okay, bye!

(Door closes)

HUSK: Could be fun…It'll help distract from your…existential dread.

ANGEL: (coughs) Hey, fuck off!...Anyway, I have a better distraction…

HUSK: What?...(realizes and stiffens) No!...No. Are- Are you really feelin' up to that right now?

ANGEL: (pouts) C'mon Whiskers, don'tcha want me to…feel better?...(muffles a stuffy sneeze behind his hands) Ktsch'yew!- Oh my god…

HUSK: (smirks) Need a tissue?

ANGEL: (sniffles) I need…YOU, Baby! Besides, didn'tcha know that the Pentagram's leadin' scientists and' medical professionals say 'Sex is good for a cold!'

HUSK: (contemplates, then smiles slyly and inches closer) Well…Then I guess we gotta do what we gotta do…For science.

ANGEL: (smiles back, sniffling) That's right, we're just doin' this for a good cause…In the name of 'Science'.

(They melt into an embrace in a slow passionate kiss.)

ANGEL: ...I love you

HUSK: ...I love you too

(ANGEL's nose gets brushed and he pulls away to harshly sneeze, and looks up apologetically)

ANGEL: ...Aack'shew!...Ugh sorry.

HUSK: (tenderly) Bless you, Sweetheart.

♥︎♠︎ - è finito

The end, hope you enjoyed!

[lis-likes-fics]

Compromising Positions

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x bau!Reader Word Count: 5.2k words Prompt: Mutual Masturbation Warnings: NSFW, smut, caught masturbating, mutual masturbation, fingering, handjobs, mentions of ovulation, swearing... A/N: I'm doing this with nails on. I have already crashed out three times. If anything is wrong, that is why. No beta, we die like Hayley. Thank you and enjoy.

You really shouldn't be doing this.

For one, you just finished a case. The details were still fresh in your mind, morbid and murky. You should be disgusted by even the notion of doing something like this so close to these murders that you've been chasing with your team.

And if that didn't stop you, the fact that you had to share a room with your (hot) boss should have. You could at least have the decency not to masturbate in a bed that you'll be sharing with another person—especially your boss.

But he was out getting food for the team, and the case was poorly timed to take place right as you started ovulating. You had a lot of self-control, but you can only take so much.

Ideally, you should wait until tomorrow when you would all return to Virginia to lay in your own beds for the night. But the thought of waiting one more night before relieving all of the stress and tension in your body makes you want to cry.

You figured you could be quick. How hard could it be to cum one time before Hotch came back, especially when you're this wound up already?

Unfortunately, Hotch isn't a person who takes his time.

You don't hear the card swiping outside the door, or the lock unclicking to allow him entry. You realize he's there far too late, pulling your head up from its place against the headboard and snatching your hand from between your legs with a gasp.

You quickly grab the covers, pulling them over your lower half to cover yourself up as you see Hotch standing in the doorway. This is probably the first time you've ever seen this man actually fazed—even if it is simply widened eyes and pink tinted cheeks.

“Oh, my God,” you gasp, feeling heat on every surface of your body and sinking into the bone.

“I'm sorry,” he says quickly, plastic bag rustling on his arm as he swiftly goes to close the door once more. “My apologies. I'll—let you finish.”

“No, no, no!” You say quickly, burying your face in your hands to try to hide yourself from him as much as possible. “No, I'm done. I'm sorry. That was so bad.”

“No, it's not,” he scrambles to reassure you from the door, his body blocking anyone from peering in and seeing you in such a compromising state. “I understand. Do what you need to do.”

You move as much as you can with your body still shielded, grabbing your sweatpants to pull them over your body again. “No, really. It's fine, I'm done.”

You stand with your back to him, face still in your hands. The shame sinks even deeper when your fingers still smell like your arousal. You hear the door close behind him, the rustle of the bag against a desk telling you that he decided to stay, after all.

You swallow thickly, trying to shove down the humiliation (and a whisper of more arousal that's making you want to scream) to no avail.

“I'm sorry, Hotch,” you say, your back still facing him. Your voice is softer, but still chalkful of the shame eating away at you. “That was so unprofessional and—God, this is embarrassing.” You mumble the last part to yourself.

“It's not,” he tries to assure you once more. “Really, I understand. You don't have to feel embarrassed, at all.”

You can't bring yourself to face him, but you slowly turn your body halfway toward him to bridge the gap. He's standing across the room, the both of you separated by the bed.

“Easier said than done.”

Any time you imagined him, you imagined it in a very different way. You thought of him walking in to find you like that, but it was usually followed up by him climbing on top of you and taking the job over himself. Or maybe he's suddenly pushing you up against a wall in a hungry kiss, his knee between your thighs, his hand achingly close to your throat–

This is doing nothing for your horniness.

You half-excuse yourself, slipping into the small bathroom to splash some cold water on your face in an effort to calm you. When that doesn't work, you give up and wash the hell out of your hands to try and get the smell out.

Over the next hour, the two of you hardly say anything. You eat in relative silence, he takes his shower, and then you both try to find sleep. Which is also easier said than done.

You lay on your side, wide awake, trying not to press your thighs together as the ache grows and grows. You need a release. You need it so bad, you feel like it's going to eat you up.

“Are you…still awake?”

You swallow thickly, debating whether or not you should just say no. But he'll know if you're lying, just like you'd probably know if he was (he's a better liar than you).

“Yeah.” You keep replaying your little incident in your head, over and over and over again. It's maddening in more ways than one, which is only making it more maddening.

“Do you…” he hesitates. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Not necessarily. You think if you talk about it with him, you'll only make your own situation worse, and you'll have to be removed from the unit for indecency or, God forbid, sexual harassment.

But you really don't want to sit in uncomfortable silence, and maybe talking about it to absolutely ensure that there is no issue might help.

“Sure.”

You both slowly sit up. He turns on the bedside lamp. You sort of just…sit there in more silence as you wait for someone to speak.

“I want to start by reiterating…” he says slowly, “that you do not have to feel embarrassed in any way. Really, I understand.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. You have to clear your throat, but it doesn't make you any bolder, or any louder for that matter. “Still, I'm…I'm sorry for this. I thought I could…” you fill your lungs with air, “be quick.”

He reaches over gently to place a hand on your knee. Every instinct is telling you to move his hand from you, as the warmth of his palm is going straight to your head and making you embarrassingly dizzy, but you don't. Because it's warm and it feels nice.

You try to find your voice, looking down at your own hands instead of at his or his face. “You know I'm not usually like this.”

“I know.”

“I just…” You take a breath. “This case was very poorly timed, and… and I'm ovulating. Otherwise I wouldn't be such a horn dog. It really is an accident. I'd never want to make you or anyone else feel uncomfortable and–”

He says your name gently. You were rambling. You nod gently in understanding, trying to pull a shy grin over your lips in an attempt to ease the heat in your face from trying to explain yourself.

“I feel the only way to ease your nerves about being in such a…compromising position, would be to compromise myself in return.” His voice is calm, as gentle and as natural as it would be if you were talking about your weekend or how great the weather has been.

“You don't have to,” you say, though your voice is a whisper. The thought of learning something him compromising about him is making it hard to think straight.

“It's alright.” He takes his own breath, and as you finally glance up at him to see his face. For the first time, you spot a hint of disheveled nerves on him—hair slightly tosseled, cheeks still lightly dusted in a gentle pink hue. It is doing nothing to help you.

“I hope I don't make you uncomfortable by admitting to this,” he speaks very quietly, as if consoling you, “but I…enjoyed seeing you before.”

If you weren't hot before, you are not. Not just hot—you're burning. Something in swirling in your gut, and your criss-crossed position provides no pressure where you need it. What's worse, if he looks at you for even a moment, you know for certain that he would be able to read it all on your face in just a single moment.

“You…” you clear your throat like the words got caught. “You did?”

“Yes,” he nods lightly. “To be quite honest with you, I have found myself developing certain feelings for you over the last few months.”

You feel like you've been shot in the heart, a shock that makes it stop beating for a few moments before pumping so quickly, it feels like it's trying to keep it going before you collapse.

“Really?” You hate how pathetic you sound. “Like…actually? You're not just trying to flatter me to make me feel better?”

He laughs gently, finally looking at you once more. Fuck, you need him so badly right now, and it's eating you alive.

“No, I'm not.” His hand squeezes gently, but never in any kind of imposing way. He's very kind and comforting. Either way, you try not to squirm. “You're an excellent agent, an even better person… YourYou're beautiful, smart, kind. There's a lot to fall for.”

His tone is analytical, as if it's the only way he'll be able to get the words out. If he pretends he profiling, maybe it won't be so difficult to admit something less logical, so emotional.

“Well,” you hum. “That’s…honestly a relief because I've had eyes for you since the beginning… Which I feel like I should not have said.”

You go to shield your face again, but he lifts his hands to your wrists, touching you so gently. “Don't hide,” he nearly whispers. “I did just tell you you're beautiful, didn't I? I want to see your face.”

You're hanging on by a thread. His thumbs are stroking soothing circles into your pulse points, your ears are thrumming with the beating of your heart. You think if you don't have him one you right now, you'll literally and truly die.

“Can I kiss you?”

Aaron doesn't answer you. Instead, he's catching your lips in his with a fervor that has you moaning into his mouth. Your hands come to his neck, their warmth sinking into his skin as you cradle him. You push up onto your knees, so eager to feel him everywhere.

“Aaron,” you whimper. You're brimming with need.

The sound of his name on your tongue makes him grab at your hips, more rough than he had intended as he pulls you flush against his body. You sigh into his mouth, melting against him as he pulls you close.

“I know,” he mumbles as you paw at each other like horny teenagers. He's becoming painfully hard in his pants, dipping his head in the crook of your neck to lick and suck and nibble at your skin. He's being so careful not to leave any marks for the team to suspect in the morning, but it becomes increasingly difficult the more you grasp one another.

“I need you.” The words fall before you can even think them up. “Please. Need you so bad. Please.” You had not intended to become such a mess so quickly. All he's done is kiss you, trail his hands along your back and sides, and you're melting against him and begging for him to touch you.

“We can't,” he breathes regretfully, though he keeps kissing you.

You pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes now shining with a hint of apprehension at the prospect of rejection after such a confession. “Why not?”

He's quick to assure you, one hand under your chin and the other at the small of your back. “I want to. Trust me, I want to.” He's catching his breath, lips pink from kissing you so much. He kisses you again just to seal his words. “But I don't have a condom. And if you're ovulating, then it's probably not a good idea for us to…”

You nod quickly. “Yeah. Yes, you're right.”

He pulls you into another kiss before you can try to pull back and second guess yourself. You sink into it easily, letting him lay you down against the mattress. He pulls gently at the hem of your shirt, muttering against your lips. “Can I take this off?”

Your nod is emphatic. “Yes. Yes, please.”

He smiles at your lips, embracing you for the hundredth time, only pulling away to pull your shirt over your head. Your mouths are hungry things searching for each other, begging and yearning for the other like they've been kept apart for far too long.

His hand immediately comes up to cup your breast. Though it starts off as a gentle touch, he's quickly groping you with eager, greedy hands as he palms and kneads and soaks up the sound of your pants and moans.

It's hard to think when he touches you like this. You've dreamt of this so many times that you wouldn't know where to begin if he wasn't kissing you so feverishly.

You take his shirt off next, too intent on seeing him, feeling him. He helps you remove it and toss it haphazardly across the room. You lay your hands flat at his sides. His abs are not defined, but they're firm and they're warm, not quite a “dad bod” but close enough to make you drool. (You were drooling anyway.) His skin is soft and smooth, and you quickly get greedy in feeling him.

His finger hooks around the waistband of your sweatpants. He places kisses to your neck and collarbone, sucking bruises at the top of your breasts where they can be hidden but he'll always know are there. “Can I take these off?” he asks again, a little more tentative.

You look him in the eyes, feeling incredibly hot and incredibly needy. “Yeah, please.”

He smiles at you, keeping eye contact as he slowly brings them down your thighs, your legs, off your ankles. When he takes in the sight of you, it's with silent breath and darkened eyes.

You hear him curse under his breath, and if your mind wasn't so foggy with desire, you'd be shocked—maybe even tease him over it. “You're so beautiful,” he says, one hand stroking your side soothingly. “All of you. You're perfect.”

You don't know how to answer him. He's bleeding with sincerity. You give your gratitude in the form of another hungry kiss, cupping his face and scratching at a barely-there stubble with your nails.

“I wanna see you,” you mutter into his mouth. You can vaguely feel the smallest outline of him when he brushes up against your thigh. But it's not enough. You want a full view, full access to him. “Please, can I see you?”

He's already yanking down his sweatpants with far less care than he had shown you. You look between your bodies with a sigh. He's thick, his tip already leaking at how evidently needy he is for you. You stare for longer than you should, clenching around nothing as your fingers itch to touch it.

“Can I…?” Your voice is quiet, a shy request.

Aaron gives a bashful chuckle. “I'm afraid it'll end too soon if you do…” This pulls a smile from you, which spreads his own grin out wide. “Yes.”

You chew on your bottom lip, reaching a hand out to run your knuckles along the bottom of it. It kicks up at your touch, pulling a hiss from between his teeth. You stifle your grin, apologizing briefly as he reassures you that he's fine.

He's very warm, with a texture like velvet. You drag your fingers slowly—unintentionally teasing him—along his length.

You watch his face contort, squeezing in concentration and what looks like pain. His cheeks are flushed, his teeth bared slightly. He reaches out a hand, grabbing yours without cruelty to stop your teasing strokes. “Okay, okay.” He catches his breath. “I'm sorry, I just… I need a minute.”

“S’okay,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him, an effort to ease him. He smiles into your lips and eases onto one elbow. He's crowding your lower half, so close that his body heat is becoming your own. You don't mind. It's a comfort you would be content to live in as he boxes you in with his body, leaning on you considerately as his thumb continues to stroke your side.

When you pull away with a gentle smack, he hums as he stares up at you. His eyes are dark and intense, and you struggle to hold his gaze as you shy away with a shallow giggle.

He encourages your face back with his knuckle beneath your chin. “Show me how you do it.”

You're taken off guard by his request. Your brows furrow slightly as you cup his face. “How I do what?” He stares a moment longer, and your eyes widen a bit. “Touch myself?”

He smiles, and your breath is taken away. Aaron Hotchner is not a man who smiles often, especially like this. He smiles at you with teeth, pearly whites that light up his whole face and make him ten times more handsome (you hadn't even known that was possible).

“You want to see me touch myself?” you confirm, sounding more hesitant than you feel. His eyes droop lightly as you continue to scratch his light stubble. He hums his response, a gentle nod.

“If you don't want to, I'm not going to make you,” he assures, ever the gentleman. “I never want to make you uncomfortable in any way. I just want to admire you. All of you.”

“I want to,” you say too quickly. You want to show him everything. He's the kind of person who would sleep out in the hallway if it made you feel more comfortable, but you would rather spend the night in the closet than have him be cold and alone out there. He's so kind and so gentle and so handsome, that showing him something like this isn't anything you're opposed to in any way. “I just…have never done anything like that before.”

“That’s fine,” he coos. He leans in, pressing a kiss to your belly with a warm sigh. Your breath shudders as you run your fingers through his hair. “I'll do it with you, so it isn't awkward.”

You nod slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mhm.”

He kisses you lightly, his lips curled in an elated grin. “Lay back, sweet girl.”

You do as you're told, though his voice is anything but commanding. There's nothing assertive about it. It's a simple request born out of a kind of adoration that makes you warm from the inside out.

You lay against the headboard of the bed, missing his warmth when he moves off of you to sit by your side. Your shoulders brush one another as he sits close, gazing at you and assessing every feature on your face. To make sure you're okay.

You smile up at him, trying not to hide yourself away as you keep your legs uncrossed. He sets a hand on your knee, slowly encouraging it farther apart with enough gentleness to give you full power to refuse. You let him move it without quarrel, watching his face as he watches yours.

His legs spread as well, and he pulls one of yours to rest over one of his, keeping you effectively open. He stares at you, your pussy slick with your arousal, and sighs deeply. He's hard, his cock resting against his lower belly where a string of precum connects him to it.

Aaron takes his cock in his hand, squeezes the base with a grunt. You feel his leg twitch lightly beneath your own as you watch him, the way he strokes himself so slowly. You chew on your lip, watching with lidded eyes as your arousal stirs in your belly.

Slowly, you bring your hand to rest on your inner thigh. Your fingers tremble slightly, nerves and shyness, as you bring them closer to where you need to be touched.

You stifle a moan when you press the pad of your finger to your clit. Aaron's eyes watch you closely, admiring the way your fingers move as you tease yourself with shy hands.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. He watches you glide your fingers through your folds, wet with an embarrassing amount of arousal. “Show me how you do it.”

You slowly dip a finger inside of you, letting out the smallest sound as you push it in as far as you can reach. It's not nearly as far as you need it as you let your head lean against his shoulder.

He smiles, his hand becoming a little more insistent as he watches you bury your finger inside of yourself. Your eyes are locked on one another, mesmerized by the sight of the other's pleasure.

“Good, good girl,” he hums, flicking his wrist as he grasps the head of his cock. You add a second finger, curling it inside of you. It feels good, being able to touch yourself and relieve the ache that's been weighing on you all day, especially under his gaze that seems far more appreciative than it should be. “You're so pretty, honey. So pretty.”

He kisses your temple, raising his free hand to tilt your chin up for another kiss. You indulge him happily, humming into his mouth and letting your fingers brush against that sponge spot inside of you that makes you moan.

You roll your hips forward, feeling your need tightening in the pit of your stomach. “Aaron,” you whisper. “Fuck, I need more.” He squeezes his cock absently, your words ending shivers down his spine. “Need you to touch me. Please.”

His breath shudders. “You want my fingers inside of you, is that it?”

You stifle a moan, nodding quickly. “Yeah. Yes, please.” You lean further into him, your head in the crook of his neck. “Mine aren't big enough. I need you.”

He's a goner. Aaron reaches over, stroking your thigh with a large, warm hand and kneading the flesh thoughtfully. You let your lips part, your breaths a little heavier. His hand covers yours, pressing his fingers into your knuckles to push them farther inside of you. You whisper a curse, turning your face into his shoulder.

He slowly pulls your fingers out of you, leans in to kiss you in a way that's almost greedy. His hand squeezes your upper thigh gently before dipping between them. You open your legs wider to give him more space to move, sighing into his lips when you feel his fingers rubbing against you.

He spreads your lips apart, strokes his finger through them and consumes any whimpers you let slip. When the pad of his finger brushes against your clit, your hips jerk lightly, and you feel his lips curling against your own.

“I'm going to put them inside now,” he murmurs against your lips.

You nod, overwhelmed with desire. “Okay.”

He kisses you again just as he presses one finger inside of you. You hum into his mouth, raising a hand to rest against his chest. His finger reaches much deeper than your own, offers more girth for you to squeeze around as he slips in and out slowly, your slick allowing for easy movement.

“Fuck, Aaron,” you whisper. “That feels good.”

“Yeah?” he grins gently, kissing you one more. You nod, your sounds worsening when you feel a second finger prodding at you. When he slips it inside, your lips go slack against his. “How about that?”

“Oh, God,” you breathe. You try not to squirm against him, clenching as he thrusts them too slowly, in and out of you with a rhythm made to drive you crazy. You feel like you'll stop breathing as the pleasure swarms in your brain.

When he curls his fingers inside of you, you have to hold back the moan threatening to slip past. He watches you, enamored by the look on your face, desire and pleasure written in every crease.

“How is that, honey?”

“Good.” As his pace slowly builds, thrusting and curling until you can't keep up, you have to purse your lips to keep from crying out. Aaron is a gentle man, as he'd been a gentle lover, but the way he fingers you is making it hard to think straight. “Fuck, so good. Please don't stop.”

His breath has picked up just listening to yours. Your soft moans are making it very hard to calm himself as his cock twitches against his belly. He kisses your neck, your shoulder, showering you in affection as he continues to touch you like it's his life's mission.

You can't help yourself from riding his hand. Arousal is leaking out of you, and part of you feels guilty as you feel it beginning to wet the sheets beneath you.

You reach blindly for Aaron, your breath heavy and your skin hot. He hisses when your fingers wrap around his cock, and you whine at the size of him. You wish it was inside of you so badly—you know it would feel so good to have him stretching you out.

You stroke him, too dizzy with pleasure to tease or go slow as you drag your fist up and down the length of him. “God, you feel so good,” you breathe into the crook of his neck.

He chuckles, though the sound is more breath than laugh. “I should be telling you that.” You mimic his sound.

You squeeze him, perhaps too much because one of his hands comes to slow your pace with a grunt he's trying so hard not to let out in full sound. “You've got to slow down, honey, or this will be over far too soon.”

You smile, the knowledge that you're riling him up so much going straight to your head. Your reply is a kiss to his neck, which quickly becomes two kisses, which becomes three and so on. He sighs with each kiss, fingering you still with as much fervor as you'd shown before.

You moan out his name, brimming with want. Your pace is steady on him, not as fast as before but just as stimulating as you peek up at his face, concentration deep in his features. When you flick your wrist, he grunts and pulls his fingers out of you, though he never stops touching you.

You whine at the loss, feeling him sliding your arousal all over your pussy as you bite down at your lower lip. “Please don't stop,” you murmur, your voice almost weak with how badly you need him.

He just shushes you gently, smiling once again at the surprised moan that comes out of you as he starts rubbing at your clit. You bury your face in the crook of his neck again, inhaling his scent and trying to stifle your moans as your pace kicks up on his cock.

“You're so messy, sweet girl,” he coos. His claim is supported by the lewd sounds coming from between your legs as his fingers rub quickly over your eager clit. Your hips cant up into his hand, his words sending intense shivers bolting up your spine. “And your thighs are shaking so much.”

Your fingers squeeze around him, precum dribbling over the top of them and making it easier to tug at his cock. His teeth clench as he feels himself growing more and more breathless.

“Fuck,” you gasp lightly. “I'm gonna cum, Aaron.” His calloused fingers catch your clit in a way that has a shocked mewl pulling out of you. “Please, Aaron, don't stop.”

He doesn't, not even for a moment. He seems more eager for you to cum than even you. You ride his hand, your face buried in the crook of his neck. Your moans are building as you struggle to keep quiet.

“Good. Good girl, c’mon. Cum for me, sweet girl.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

And just like that, you're falling off the edge as the pleasure blossoms inside of you. You squeeze your fist around his cock, tugging a couple more times before he's spilling out over your hand and his tummy with a barely stifled moan.

You both shudder, his hand still working you through your orgasm as your brain goes fuzzy and your limbs fill with bliss. Your moan of his name is pressed into his skin in an attempt to stay relatively quiet. A noise complaint is the last thing you both need right now, along with the rest of the team finding out about this before any of it is concrete yet.

When the pleasure has faded and he pulls his hand away, you fill your lungs with air and feel yourself going limp as you rest all of your weight on him. He takes it welcomingly. His hand still rubs along your inner thighs, soothing you with gentle shushes, still sounding quite breathless himself.

“You did so good for me, honey.” He turns your face to kiss you, making you moan into his mouth as his hand slips between your thighs to glide between your soaked pussy. He grunts at how wet you are, licking into your mouth and securing his arm around you as you melt against him.

He leans over you, and you smile at his warmth. You raise a hand gently to his face, the hand not sticky with his cum, and hum into his mouth.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his lips. “I needed that so bad.”

His response is a light chuckle, tender with affection and post-orgasmic exhaustion. “I'm happy to help,” he says. “And if you need any more in the future, I'm here.”

Your stomach flips a little at his words, the prospect of the future seeming quite exciting to you now.

Aaron sits up slowly, a sigh dragging out of him as he stands to move in the direction of the bathroom. He fetches a wet towelette to clean you up with, his movements so gentle and kind as he wipes away all the arousal. He takes your hands in his large ones, wiping his own release away with a tenderness that melts your heart.

He cleans himself hastily in order to join you in bed. He lays back, pulling you close to lay your head on his chest. You sigh longingly, stroking his chest and holding him close. You still feel a little eager, but it has been toned down considerably.

He smells good, like the cologne you'd gifted him on his birthday, and something else you can't quite place. Something uniquely him.

“You smell nice,” you hum.

He laughs, a rumbling in his chest that makes you smile. “Thank you,” he says. “You smell wonderful.”

You turn your head to kiss his chest, letting sleep tug at you. Aaron's hand rubs gently at your back. “Go to sleep, honey.” He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and holds you close.

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300 @hiireadstuff @chloelmao67 @feyresqueen @hbwrelic @princess76179 @hc-geralt-23 @hits-different-cause-its-you @liza-beth03 @carolina-angel The Chief taglist: @quickslvxrr @stevendenkiswhore Tag yourself here...

[seiya-starsniper]

Ok this is might be a bit of a weird one for the kiss prompts but...platonic hand kisses (or cheek kisses)? For Edwin and Niko? I just love their friendship!

Alternatively maybe goodnight kisses, for Payneland :)

ONE YEAR LATER, I'm finally answering this prompt 😅 I managed to make it work for the @fluffbruary Day 15 Prompt - Wonder as well. Hope you like this short and sweet ficlet, friend!

Also on AO3, for anyone who wants to leave a kudos or comment 💖

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

Occasionally, Edwin forgets that the old ways of showing affection are outdated, or even an outright social faux pas, in the modern world. The first time he kisses Niko on the cheek, she makes a surprised “Oh!” sound, and then her cheeks turn a charming shade of pink. Edwin knows immediately that his intentions and her understanding of the gesture are entirely different. 

“Sorry, was that not all right?” he asks, hoping that he has not overstepped a boundary, or worse, given her an impression of intent he did not mean to communicate.  

“Oh no, you’re fine!” Niko reassures him with a nervous laugh. “It’s just—sometimes I forget non-Japanese people are so affectionate with their friends,” she adds with a wave of her hand, and that is when Edwin realizes her blush is one of embarrassment. 

“Really?” Edwin asks, now curious instead of alarmed. “I had understood that modern people were more open with their affection these days.” Charles certainly was. He hugged and touched Edwin at every opportunity. 

Niko nods. “Yeah, it’s different from country to country,” she confirms. “I think I can count the amount of times my dad hugged me on one hand,” she adds, holding out said hand and staring intently at it, as if trying to mentally count the number off her fingers. “We don’t really say things like ‘I love you’ either, that was a huge shock for me the first time a friend said it to me.”

“That sounds…” Edwin pauses. He does not want to be insensitive to Niko’s cultural home, even though he does not quite understand why such a place would normalize withholding such simple gestures. Perhaps that would be a research topic for him later. 

“Are you uncomfortable with such things, then?” he asks instead. Edwin has learned over the years that preference for physical touch is individualized, no matter the time period or culture. There are some who would kiss their family members on the mouth, and others whose deepest show of affection is a stern grasp of the shoulder. 

“Nope, not at all!” Niko answers. “It’s just surprising sometimes. But I know it means you care,” she adds with a smile. 

Edwin smiles back at her. “I do. I value our friendship very much, Niko, and I wish to communicate it to you, often, if that is alright with you.” 

Niko’s entire face lights up, and she nods. “Yeah, of course! Can I—is hugging okay too?” she asks.

Hugs are still a thing Edwin isn’t completely comfortable with, but Charles has hugged him enough times to get him used to the act. Crystal too. 

“Of course,” he answers, and then Edwin suddenly finds his arms full with a small Japanese girl. It’s different than hugging Charles, of course it is, but Edwin finds he enjoys the gesture anyways. 

“Hugs are wonderful things, aren’t they?” Niko says, burying her face in Edwin’s shoulders. Edwin finds that he shares that sentiment. Hugs are a wondrous thing indeed.

“Yes,” he agrees, hugging her back just as fiercely. “They are.”

[wallcreeper-and-oro]

connection.find(omni_net) connection established omni.id.vericode(Y/N) (Y) {vericode entered} connection verified - lancer 910372

⋆𖦹 oh how interesting!! it seems you don’t have an autonomic system! that’s so neat!!! i mean i suppose it makes sense, though im curious?? like how?? are you inhabiting a biomechincal subaltern?? how can you breathe?? and how do you have a heart? forgive my probing i don’t mean to be rude!! so you don't have answer!!

i am ridiculously curious on how that works though!!! and it makes sense that you wouldn't have an autonomic system but honestly i kind of assumed there were like background programs for that? like does this mean you need to tell each muscle how to flex and relax consciously?? that’s so neat!!!

if you’re willing to share i’d love to hear to more about like your whole situation!!! and how it feels!! it must feel so weird!! glad you figured out how to breathe automatically though, ya breathing and heartrate are things that generally happen automatically! though we (like organic people) can learn how to regulate things like that as those automatic systems can like just do things you don't want them to do! WAIT DO YOU HAVE REFLEXES???? okayokayokay so im not too sure if you're in a partially biological subaltern or mech or something?? but like do you have reflexes?? do you blink? like okay if i hit your knee in the right spot would it move?? if you feel pain (wait if you don't have autonomic nervous system do you have a nervous system?? can you feel physical pain??) you said you can feel when your lungs(?) burn so that implies a nervous system to convey pain?? so is it just that your vessel doesn't have that particular autonomic nervous system??

wait how have you been controlling your blood pressure and digestive track (can you eat?) (sorry thats probably rude!) but like? do you have to manually do peristalsis?? do you have to think about moving each muscle consciously??

oh this is so interesting!!! i've always been passively interested in nhps and nhp study but it's way too academic and abstract for me!! but i've always really enjoyed understanding how things work and breaking them down into their component parts like that's super interesting!! so it's so neat to think about this?? sorry i hope im not being really rude right now! if i am please tell me!! anyways very nice to meet you!!

sorry for the onslaught of questions this is just so cool!!!! nice to meet you though Styx!! oh shit sorry yes hi i'm Coryander! sorry for the spew of words! hope it's not poking and prodding too much!!

This is Ouroboros signing off!

WHICH ONE OF YOU FUCKERS WAS GONNA TELL ME HOW TO BREATHE NON MANUALLY?!

[nikolas-ghostbusters-fixation]

Something I've been thinking a lot about lately is how everyone thought Egon had gone insane. What Happened that made them think that. They've fought a gigantic Stay Puft Marshmellow Man TWICE (counting the 2009 video game because iirc it's canon? Correct me if I'm wrong), fought an interdimensional god, fought a blood thirsty ruler that killed thousands and was hated by all that was trapped in a painting (and managed to get in to beat him by making THE STATUE OF LIBERTY start walking down the street with slime that reacted purely based on vibes), found an underground abandoned transit system full of the moodslime, had a bathtub try to eat Dana and her baby, fought a giant murderous black widow lady, fought the fisherman ghost who turned an entire hotel floor into the bottom of a ocean, and that's not even mentioning them getting trapped on an island that randomly raised up from underwater that had been abandoned for decades created by Ivor Shandor who worshipped Gozer. So what did he do or say that made everyone else think he'd gone insane?? All I can think is maybe he was acting strange / eratic before, but he's always been like that to some degree.

I don't know. It's something that I've been thinking about. The correct answer is 'it's not that deep and they needed a reason that the others weren't together anymore and weren't aware of Egons death or know what was going on,' but also. What Was He Saying that prompted everyone, including Ray, to think he lost his mind when he'd been right almost every time before that.

I'm genuinely so curious as to what he was up to before this. What was he doing. What insane idea was working on prior to this or was he even working on anything at all??

Also want to clarify this post isn't negative 😭 I really love the newer movies and their lore / the newer storyline / characters, I just like thinking about small stupid things like this. Gives me something to think about / speculate about / figure out an answer to.

[mysticalcats]

fellas. my friends said they ACTUALLY want to watch cats 2019 with me and i was SHOCKED because like. who would. want to do that. i am delighted. HOWEVER it will take everything in me to not pause it and clarify every five minutes about my opinions on the movie

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Shoutout to my siblings for putting up with my neurodivergent ass. Just now I remembered how multiple times I tried to convince them that we should roleplay a complex trading system between towns and/or nations. I wanted no plot, one dimensional characters, and all the focus on trade. It's a miracle they didn't tease me more lol

[gremzon]

I might have OCD actually

[arttsuka]

Just wanted to tell you that whenever I get on Tumblr, I genuinely enjoy your posts and what you talk about. You're very honest and real, and it doesn't feel like you're posting to get likes or attention, it's just you. Sharing. And I really (not the word I'm trying to think of, but in a way it is) appreciate? Enjoy? you. : }

Aww, that's nice.

Take this random out of context screenshot from a movie I was watching the other day (2 weeks ago actually)

[earthmoonlotus]

:/

[lovinglin]

Oh gosh, I forgot to mention this but I changed up the key on how I feel with sharing 2 specific f/o's in my carrd

Quirrel and Navia are mutuals only sharing 👍

[dandyshucks]

the difference btwn irl and online perspective on creativity is so funny to me and idk if I'll ever get used to the stark contrast of it all.

IRL when I mention that I draw and write, people act like I'm some super talented creative genius(???). they don't seem to understand the concept of OCs, and if I try to vaguely touch on my DL project they get visibly overwhelmed no matter how simple I make it for them, and eventually they settle on just insisting that I need to publish traditionally and monetize on it. they don't seem to have the ability to understand the concept of zines and immersive storytelling through non-traditional means.

but then i get online and I'm just another drop in the ocean and always a very mediocre drop at that LMAO, I constantly fight with myself to feel like there is any sort of value to my stories and art, and there's hundreds of people doing the sort of thing that I do but even better than I could ever dream of doing!

it's just so strange going from interacting with this online to IRL, I feel like I'm getting whiplash from being largely ignored or scoffed at online (which I'm fine with btw lol I grew up with that in my family and now I get nervous when I get too much attention) to people at the centre treating me like I'm some kind of artistic genius who cannot be understood because I'm too far above their level 😭