#he has great hands!!! elite body control!!!

[chasedeys]

tee higgins 😤

[pedroscowgirl]

Between control and desire

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

part 2

Warnings!: Minors DNI, contains smut infidelity (reader has something with spencer), edging, p in v (wrap it up), creampie, squirting, power dynamics, oral!f receiving, fingering (lmk if i forgot something)

masterlist

Summary : You finally share your first kiss with Spencer, the man you've adored for ages. But what happens when Hotch catches you in the act? As feelings shift and boundaries blur, you're caught between two men, Spencer’s sweet affection and Hotch’s intense control. The line between desire and duty has never felt so fragile. Wc:7,9k

A/n: I've been rewatching criminal minds and i would never cheat on my sweet nerd but Hotch is just so fine y'all...so enjoy!

This case was different. Normally, your assignments involved profiling and analyzing, not dressing up and mingling with the elite. But the unsub had been targeting wealthy women at high-end galas, and the BAU’s intel pointed to his next appearance at an exclusive charity event downtown. You’d be going undercover to draw him out.

In theory, it was simple: show up, blend in, and hope the unsub took the bait. In practice? It was the most uncomfortable mission you’d ever prepared for.

Garcia had handpicked the dress for you, and when she’d shown it to you earlier that morning, you were sure she had made a mistake.

“Uh, Penelope,” you had stammered, holding up the scarlet, body-hugging dress with wide eyes. “You sure this isn’t for one of the donors?”

“Nope,” she’d chirped, looking proud of her choice. “That dress is for you, my dear. And trust me, when you walk into that gala tonight, no unsub in their right mind will be able to resist.”

That didn’t ease your nerves. Sure, you’d gone undercover before, but never in an outfit like this. The red fabric clung to you like a second skin, accentuating every curve. It was sleeveless with a deep, tasteful neckline, a slit on one side that allowed for movement, necessary, since you still had to wear a concealed weapon.

Now, hours later, you stood in front of the full-length mirror in the FBI’s makeshift dressing room, smoothing the fabric nervously. You barely recognized yourself.

“Alright,” Hotch’s voice came through the door, causing your pulse to quicken. “We’re ready for the final briefing.”

You took one last look at yourself, squared your shoulders, and opened the door. The instant you stepped into the hall, all conversation stopped. The team, usually focused and professional, looked up one by one and openly stared.

JJ gave you a supportive smile. “You look amazing. You’re going to fit right in with the crowd tonight.”

“Yeah,” Rossi chimed in, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “If we didn’t know better, I’d say you belong at one of those events.”

You blushed, but before you could respond, you caught sight of Hotch. He was standing at the head of the room, briefing file in hand, but his usual moderate expression had softened. His dark eyes scanned over you from head to toe, and for the briefest moment, you thought you saw him swallow hard, his jaw tensing.

“You look ready,” he said, his voice calm and professional, but there was a slight tremor in it that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Thank you,” you replied, unable to meet his gaze for too long. You shifted again, tugging slightly at the hem of the dress. “I don’t know how I feel about all this.”

“You look great,” Hotch said, his voice quieter now. “Just be careful. Stay close to the team, and if you feel anything’s off, get out of there.”

You nodded, grateful for his concern. You’d worked with Hotch long enough to know that he wasn’t one for overt displays of emotion, but the way he lingered on you, the unspoken admiration in his eyes—it made your heart race.

The rest of the team began gathering their gear, but Spencer Reid was still standing in the middle of the room, staring at you in open awe. His wide, hazel eyes were locked on you, and he seemed completely frozen.

“Spence?” you asked, smiling softly at him, trying to break the tension.

“Woa,” he whispered, almost too quietly to be heard, but the way his voice stretched out the word made you blush even deeper. Reid was brilliant in every way, and his innocence was one of his most endearing traits. The fact that he was clearly impressed by you, of all people, made you feel more self-conscious than ever.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. “You okay there, genius?”

Reid blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, his cheeks flushing. “Yeah, sorry. You just... look really different. Not bad, just... really good.��� His stammered compliment made the heat in your cheeks intensify.

You smiled warmly at him. “Thanks, Spencer. That means a lot.”

Hotch cleared his throat then, effectively pulling everyone back into focus. “Alright, we’ve got our game plan,” he said, gesturing to the screen behind him that displayed photos of the gala venue. “Once we’re inside, we’ll stay in communication. Rossi, JJ, and I will be positioned around the perimeter, while Reid and Morgan will be circulating inside. We’ll all have eyes on you.” He looked at you when he said that last part, his gaze firm, protective.

You nodded, stepping into your role as an undercover agent. The butterflies in your stomach had settled, replaced by the steady focus of a professional ready for the mission. “Got it.”

As you moved to gather your small clutch—outfitted with a tiny earpiece and tracker—Hotch called your name softly. You turned back toward him, and for a moment, it was just the two of you.

He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours in a way that made your heart skip. “You really do look... incredible tonight,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. His eyes flickered down to the dress, then back up, and you caught something in his expression that you hadn’t seen before, something unguarded.

“Thank you, Hotch,” you replied, feeling the warmth in your chest spread. “I’ll be careful. Promise.”

As you left the briefing room, you could still feel Hotch’s eyes on you, lingering even as you made your way toward the exit. There was something about tonight, about the way he had looked at you, that felt different. Maybe it was just the undercover role, the dress, or the high stakes of the case, but something told you that after tonight, things between you and Hotch might never be quite the same.

And as for Spencer? The memory of his innocent “wauw” would stick with you, making you smile even in the midst of the danger you were about to face.

The mission had been a success. You and the team had caught the unsub, and he was now sitting in an interrogation room, handcuffed, awaiting processing. The gala had gone off without a hitch, and thanks to the meticulous work of the team, the unsub had been identified and neutralized before he could strike again.

You stood in front of your locker at the BAU headquarters, slipping out of your dress and back into your familiar black jeans and a t-shirt. The adrenaline from the night had worn off, and now you were left with the exhaustion that came after every case. But this time, there was something different, a lingering thought that had nothing to do with the unsub.

The look Hotch had given you earlier had stayed with you. The intensity in his eyes when he said you looked incredible, the way his voice had softened, it was unlike anything you had ever experienced with him before. You weren’t sure what to make of it. You had always admired him, respected him, but you’d never considered there could be... more. Not until tonight.

And then there was Spencer. You and Reid had been dancing around each other for months now, exchanging glances, spending extra time together after cases, but neither of you had ever crossed that unspoken line. It was as if you were both waiting for something, but you didn’t know what.

As you closed your locker, the room felt quieter than usual. Most of the team had already left, their shifts officially over, and the bullpen was nearly empty. You exhaled, the tension in your shoulders starting to melt away as you grabbed your bag.

Just as you were about to head toward the exit, you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Hey, wait up.”

You turned around to see Spencer Reid standing by the door. His hair was a little tousled, and he was still in his work clothes, his tie slightly loosened. He had that sheepish look on his face that you always found adorable.

“Spence,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips. “I thought you’d already left.”

“I was going to, but I saw you were still here.” He stepped closer, his eyes searching yours. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay after everything tonight. I know going undercover isn’t exactly your favorite thing.”

You laughed softly, your heart warming at his concern. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just glad it’s over.”

Spencer nodded, but there was something more in his eyes, something unsaid. He stepped closer again, this time breaching your personal space in a way he never had before. You felt the heat from his body as he stopped just in front of you, his hand coming to rest gently on your arm.

Your breath caught in your throat. You and Spencer had always had this connection, something unspoken that simmered just beneath the surface. You’d shared looks, lingering touches, and moments that felt like they were on the edge of something more, but you had never crossed that line. Until now.

Your pulse quickened as your gaze flickered to his lips, then back to his eyes. The tension in the air between you was palpable. And then, before you could say anything else, Spencer leaned in and kissed you. It was soft at first, almost tentative, like he was testing the waters. But the moment your lips met his, it felt like everything fell into place.

You responded immediately, your hand coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. His arms slid around your waist, and he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. His fingers grazed your hips, anchoring you to him as the world seemed to blur around you.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. Spencer smiled down at you, his eyes bright and full of warmth. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” he admitted, his voice soft.

You couldn’t help but grin, your heart racing. “Me too.”

For a moment, it was just the two of you, standing in the empty bullpen, wrapped up in each other. But then, the sound of a sharp intake of breath from behind you shattered the moment.

You turned, startled, and froze when you saw him.

Hotch.

He stood in the doorway, his expression carefully controlled, but you could see the flicker of something darker beneath the surface. His eyes were locked on you and Spencer, and in that moment, you realized he had seen everything.

The air in the room shifted. You felt your heart sink, your stomach twisting into knots. Hotch’s jaw was clenched, his fists at his sides, the tension radiating off him in waves. He didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes.

“Hotch,” you started, taking a step forward, but the words caught in your throat. What could you even say?

Hotch’s eyes flickered from you to Spencer, then back again. His expression remained stoic, but there was no mistaking the flash of anger, or maybe it was jealousy that crossed his face. He took a deep breath, his gaze hardening.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said finally, his voice tight, though controlled. “I’ll... leave you two to it.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the room as quickly as he had appeared.

You stood there, frozen, your mind racing. Had Hotch been... jealous? The thought seemed impossible, but you couldn’t shake the way he had looked at you, like he had lost something.

Spencer’s hand was still resting on your hip, but you barely felt it now. Your thoughts were consumed with Hotch. The way his fist had clenched, the way his voice had wavered ever so slightly. He had seen the kiss, and he wasn’t okay with it.

You let out a shaky breath, turning to look at Spencer. His expression had shifted too, his brows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know he was there.”

Spencer nodded, his eyes searching yours for understanding. “Do you... care?”

Did you? You weren’t sure. All you knew was that something had changed. Something you hadn’t anticipated. You had been so focused on your budding relationship with Spencer, but now Hotch—Hotch—was a factor you hadn’t even considered.

Spencer’s hand moved from your hip to your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

You gave him a small smile, grateful for his understanding. “Thanks, Spence. I just need a minute.”

He nodded and stepped back, giving you space as you tried to process everything.

Hotch was gone, but the weight of his presence still lingered. The kiss with Spencer had felt right—perfect, even—but now there was something unspoken between you and Hotch, something that had been brewing beneath the surface without you realizing it.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. This wasn’t how you had expected the night to end. You had thought the biggest challenge was going undercover to catch a killer, but now it seemed like your personal life was even more complicated than the case.

The next morning felt heavier than usual. The BAU bullpen was busy with agents moving about, but you couldn’t shake the tension from last night. Your mind kept replaying the kiss with Spencer, how natural it had felt, the way he had smiled at you afterward—and then the look in Hotch’s eyes when he’d caught you both.

You arrived early, hoping to avoid the awkwardness that was bound to follow. As you walked into the bullpen, your heart raced at the thought of facing Hotch. Would he bring it up? Would he ignore it? You honestly weren’t sure what would be worse.

Sitting at your desk, you tried to focus on the case reports in front of you, but the words blurred together. You were so absorbed in your thoughts that you didn’t notice someone approaching until you heard his voice.

“Morning.”

You looked up to see Hotch standing beside your desk, his expression as unreadable as ever. He was in his usual suit, clipboard in hand, but there was something different in his posture, something tense, though he was trying to hide it.

“Morning,” you replied, your voice quieter than usual. You waited for him to say something about last night, but he didn’t. He stood there, the silence stretching between you like a wall.

For a few seconds, neither of you said anything, and you couldn’t tell if that was because of him, or because you weren’t sure what to say. The look in his eyes wasn’t like last night, he seemed determined to keep it all buried beneath his calm, professional demeanor today.

“I was reviewing the case reports from last night’s mission,” Hotch said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was controlled, businesslike, but there was an edge to it. “You did well. I wanted to tell you that.”

His praise should have felt good, but something about his tone made your chest tighten. The words were meant to sound professional, but you could tell there was more he wasn’t saying.

“Thanks, Hotch,” you replied, keeping your own tone neutral. “I’m glad everything went smoothly.”

He nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “We’ll have the debriefing in an hour,” he said, his voice tight. “Make sure you’re ready.”

Before you could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving you sitting at your desk with a sinking feeling in your stomach. The conversation had been painfully formal, and it was clear that neither of you was addressing the real issue. Hotch was a master at hiding his emotions, but after working with him for so long, you knew when something was bothering him.

Your thoughts were interrupted when Spencer approached your desk, his usual nervous energy replaced with a softness that made your heart ache a little. He smiled at you, that familiar, boyish grin that always made you feel warm.

“Hey,” he said, leaning on the edge of your desk. “You okay? You seemed a little off this morning.”

You glanced around the bullpen, trying to avoid Hotch’s line of sight. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired, I guess.”

Spencer nodded, though his eyes searched yours for the truth. “Last night was really fun.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like he was testing the waters to see if you were on the same page.

You smiled at him, feeling a little more relaxed in his presence. “It was,” you agreed, your mind flashing back to the kiss. You were about to say more when you caught movement out of the corner of your eye—Hotch, standing in his office, watching.

Your breath hitched slightly. Hotch’s eyes were locked on you and Spencer, his jaw clenched. He wasn’t hiding it well this time—the tension, the frustration. He looked like he was barely holding himself together, and the realization that you were the cause of it made your stomach twist with guilt.

Spencer noticed your shift in mood and followed your gaze to Hotch’s office. His face fell slightly when he saw the way Hotch was looking at you. “Does he know?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, glancing down at your hands. “Well he saw us last night, so…”

Spencer exhaled, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck nervously. “That’s… complicated.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, your voice tight. “It is.”

The weight of the situation started pressing down on you. You cared about Spencer, you had for a long time, but now that Hotch was involved, everything felt more complicated. You hadn’t even realized there was something between you and Hotch until last night. His reaction, the way he’d looked at you and Spencer, had been like a punch to the gut.

“What do we do?” Spencer asked, his voice soft but steady.

You sighed, looking at him with a mix of affection and uncertainty. “I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Spencer gave you a small smile, understanding in his eyes. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever happens.”

You nodded, grateful for his support. But as you looked over at Hotch again, still watching from his office, you couldn’t help but wonder if “figuring it out” was even possible.

Later that morning, during the team debriefing, the tension was palpable. Hotch kept his focus on the case, addressing the team with his usual authority, but there was an undeniable edge to his words whenever he spoke to you. His eyes lingered on you longer than necessary, and the undercurrent of frustration in his tone didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team.

Morgan raised an eyebrow at you at one point, silently asking if something was up, but you just gave him a small shake of your head, unwilling to explain the complicated mess you were in.

By the time the meeting was over, you felt like you could barely breathe. You needed to talk to Hotch—clear the air, somehow. You couldn’t let things stay like this.

When the others filed out of the room, you hesitated for a moment before standing up, catching Hotch’s attention. “Hotch, can I talk to you for a minute?”

He looked up from his papers and after a long pause, he nodded. “Close the door.”

You did as he asked, your heart pounding in your chest. When you turned back to face him, Hotch was watching you closely, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You wanted to talk,” he said, his voice low, but there was a tension there, like he was holding something back.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his gaze. “I just… I didn’t want what happened last night to affect our work. I know you saw me and Spencer, and I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening slightly. “You’re right. It shouldn’t affect our work.”

You swallowed hard, sensing that he wasn’t saying everything. “But it does, doesn’t it?”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze steady and intense. When he spoke, his voice was calm but edged with something you hadn’t heard from him before, something raw. “What you do with Reid is your business. But… if I’m being honest, it’s hard to ignore the fact that it bothers me.”

Your heart raced, unsure of what to say. You had expected him to be upset, but hearing him admit it out loud made everything more real.

“I didn’t think it would bother me either,” he continued, his voice growing quieter. “But it does. And I think… I need to figure out why.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy and charged with emotion. You had never seen him like this before, vulnerable, open in a way that made your chest tighten.

You stared at him, at a loss for words. You’d always respected him, admired him as a leader, but now you were seeing him in a different light. A light you hadn’t expected. And now, with Spencer in the picture, everything felt impossibly complicated.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” you whispered, unsure of what else to say.

“I know,” Hotch said, his voice softening slightly. He looked down for a moment, then met your eyes again. “But it did.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken emotions. You didn’t know what would happen next, between you and Spencer, or between you and Hotch, but one thing was certain: nothing would ever be the same again

----

Weeks passed, and the intensity of your relationship with Spencer grew. Late-night talks turned into stolen kisses, and eventually, those kisses became something more. But despite the connection you shared, neither of you had made it official. It was as if you were both too scared to label what you had—both afraid of what it could mean if you did.

You spent countless nights together in the quiet of your apartment, wrapped in each other's arms, but as the days went on, you couldn’t help but notice that something was shifting. The tension with Hotch never fully dissipated after that night. He had become more distant, colder, but his gaze still lingered on you longer than it should. The weight of it was suffocating, pulling you in two directions, toward the warmth and comfort of Spencer, and the burning intensity of Hotch.

One late evening, you found yourself alone at the office. The team had been working a gruelling case, and everyone had left for the night to grab some much-needed rest. You had stayed behind, your mind too wired to sleep, going over the case files at your desk. The bullpen was eerily quiet, the fluorescent lights casting long shadows over the room.

You hadn’t heard him come in, but suddenly, Hotch was standing behind you.

“You’re still here.”

His deep voice startled you, and you looked up to see him looming over your desk, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were intense—darker than usual.

“Yeah,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual. “Couldn’t sleep. Just thought I’d go over the case again.”

Hotch said nothing for a moment, his eyes flicking down to the file on your desk, but you could tell he wasn’t really looking at it. His gaze moved back to you, and there was something different in the way he was standing, closer than usual, like the professional distance between you had finally worn thin.

“You’ve been distant lately,” he said, his voice quieter now, but there was a rough edge to it. “Not just with me. With everyone.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words. It was true. Ever since that kiss with Spencer, everything had felt out of balance. You had been caught in this strange in-between space, unsure of where you stood with anyone.

“I’ve just been… dealing with some things,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hotch’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he stepped closer, leaning against the side of your desk. His presence was overwhelming, commanding, as always—but now there was something else in his gaze. Something you had seen glimpses of before, but never fully understood.

“And what about you and Reid?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, his eyes boring into yours.

Your heart raced at the mention of Spencer. You hadn’t expected Hotch to bring him up, not like this. You could feel the tension building, thickening the air between you.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice shaky. “We’re… we’re not official. It’s complicated.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched at that, and for a moment, you thought he might back off, but instead, he leaned in closer, his hand coming to rest on the edge of your desk, trapping you in place. His proximity made your pulse quicken, and suddenly, the room felt much smaller.

“Complicated,” he repeated, his voice barely above a growl. “You think this isn’t complicated for me?”

You blinked, taken aback by the raw emotion in his words. Hotch wasn’t one to wear his feelings on his sleeve, but right now, there was no mistaking the fire in his eyes.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

For a moment, Hotch didn’t respond. He just stood there, staring at you, his gaze intense and heated. Then, in a move that took you completely by surprise, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you up from your chair. You gasped as your body collided with his, and before you could say anything, his lips crashed against yours.

The kiss was rough, demanding—nothing like the gentle, tentative kisses you had shared with Spencer. Hotch’s hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips moved with a fierce intensity that made your head spin. It was like all the tension between you had finally snapped, and now there was nothing holding him back.

Your hands instinctively found their way to his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his suit jacket. Your mind was racing, trying to process what was happening, but your body responded on its own, melting into him as the kiss deepened. Hotch’s hands roamed over your body, one sliding down to your hip while the other tangled in your hair, keeping you firmly in place.

You barely had time to think as he pushed you back against your desk, his mouth never leaving yours. The papers scattered across the surface crinkled beneath you as he lifted you onto the desk, positioning himself between your legs. The kiss grew more frantic, more desperate, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body as he pressed against you.

“Hotch,” you breathed, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. They were dark, filled with desire.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his voice rough, his forehead resting against yours.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. You knew you should stop. This was wrong, wasn’t it? You were still involved with Spencer—sort of—but the pull between you and Hotch was undeniable. It had been simmering for weeks, maybe even longer, and now that the floodgates had opened, there was no going back.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your breath hitching.

At that, Hotch’s lips were on yours again, his hands sliding up your thighs as he lifted your shirt. The rational part of your brain screamed at you to stop, to think about Spencer, but all of that was drowned out by the overwhelming desire coursing through you.

Hotch’s kisses trailed down your neck, and you arched against him, your fingers gripping the edge of your desk for support. You felt the cold surface beneath you, a sharp contrast to the heat between your bodies.

His hands moved with a firm, steady confidence, fingers brushing against your waist as he unbuttoned your pants. His eyes never left yours, dark, intense, and filled with an unmistakable hunger. He lifted you effortlessly, sliding the fabric down your legs with deliberate care, his gaze locked on you as if nothing else existed in that moment.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the anticipation building as he ran a hand along your thigh, his touch sending sparks of heat through your entire body. When his fingers grazed over the thin material of your underwear, you gasped softly, instinctively pressing closer to him. His lips curled into a smirk, his eyes flashing with something almost predatory.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his breath hot against your ear. “Does Spencer make you wet like this?”

His question caught you off guard. His tone was possessive, commanding, so different from the calm, controlled leader you had known. The edge in his voice made your pulse quicken, and despite the shock of his words, you found yourself craving more.

Hotch’s smirk deepened at your response, and before you could react, his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, brushing against your bare skin. The sudden contact with your sensitive flesh made your entire body tense, and a soft, involuntary moan escaped you. “Fuck no, he doesn’t,” you blurted out, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them. His fingers teased you, moving with an expert precision that made you tremble in his grasp.

He pulled your underwear to the side, his eyes darkening even further as he felt just how ready you were. “You’re a mess for me,” he whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Look at you…”

Your breath came in shallow gasps as he tugged your panties off completely, discarding them without a second thought. His hand returned to you, fingers finding your most sensitive spot with a precision that made your knees weak. The pressure of his touch sent waves of pleasure through you, and you clutched onto him, your grip tight, needing something to hold onto as the intensity of his touch overwhelmed you.

Hotch’s fingers moved with purpose, each stroke deliberate, drawing soft whimpers from you as your body responded to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated. His free hand gripped your waist, pulling you closer, holding you steady as he worked you over, his expression one of absolute control.

“Is this what you need?” he asked, his voice low, but there was a dangerous edge to it, like he was testing you, seeing how far you would go. “Tell me.”

You couldn’t form words. Your body was reacting on instinct, arching into his touch, your mind fogged by the intensity of it all. Every nerve in your body was on fire, and all you could do was hold onto him, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the tension between you reached its peak.

Hotch’s fingers moved harder, faster, pushing you to the edge. The world around you blurred, the only thing that mattered was him, the feel of his hands on your body, the way he was guiding you, taking control, making you fall apart.

Your grip on his shoulders tightened, your nails digging into his skin as the pressure built inside you, your body responding to his touch in ways you hadn’t imagined. You came hard on his fingers after one last touch to your sweet spot. Falling apart on his fingers made Hotch even harder than he already was.

As you slowly came down from the high, your breathing still heavy, Hotch moved with the same calculated precision that you had always admired in him. His hands gripped your thighs with a firm, commanding hold, putting your legs on his shoulders as he knelt in front of you. The sudden change in his demeanour, this side of him that you had never seen before, left you breathless.

You gasped as his lips pressed against you, his tongue moving in ways that made your whole body react, a rush of heat flooding through you again. It was overwhelming, the intensity of it, the way he was so completely focused on you, as if everything else had disappeared. Your head fell back, your eyes fluttering shut, as you surrendered to the moment, to him.

Hotch was methodical, but passionate. His experience, his confidence, was palpable in every touch, every movement. You couldn’t hold back the sounds escaping your lips, the way your body responded to him as though he had unlocked something deep inside you.

Your thoughts scattered, lost in the sensations. You had never imagined anything like this—never expected your best pussy eating experience would happen here, in the very place where you had spent countless hours working side by side with him. The professionalism that had always defined your relationship was long gone, replaced by something far more primal, far more dangerous.

“Oh, fuck, sir… that feels so good,” you gasped, your voice shaky with pleasure.

At your words, Hotch paused for just a moment, a low chuckle escaping him. The sound vibrated through you, and you felt him smile against you, the warmth of his breath adding to the overwhelming sensations. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, the intensity in them making your pulse race even faster.

“So hot that you’re calling me ‘sir’ while I’m doing this,” he murmured, his voice rough, low, filled with satisfaction.

The deep vibrations of his voice against you were almost too much, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. You bit your lip, stifling the whimper that rose in your throat, your fingers gripping the edge of the desk as if it were the only thing tethering you to reality. The way he spoke, how controlled, how in command he remained even in this intimate moment, only heightened the intensity between you.

Hotch wasn’t just any man. He was your boss, the stoic leader who carried the weight of the team on his shoulders. And yet, here he was, unravelling you piece by piece, making you feel things you had never felt before. The forbidden nature of it, the fact that you were breaking so many unspoken rules, only added to the electricity in the air.

As his tongue continued its relentless pursuit, the pressure built inside you once again, threatening to overwhelm you. Every movement, every flick of his tongue, was pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the tension coiling tightly in your core, ready to snap at any moment.

Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions—desire, guilt, confusion—all swirling together in a chaotic mix. But in this moment, none of it mattered. The only thing that existed was the way he made you feel, the way he controlled every part of your body with ease, driving you toward that inevitable release.

The intensity of what he was doing overwhelmed your senses, a rush of heat coursing through you, bringing you to the brink. And then, just as you were about to tip over the edge, everything stopped.

Hotch pulled back, his hands still firmly gripping your thighs, but his touch gone, the warmth of his breath no longer sending shivers across your skin. The sudden absence of him left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest, the tension inside you teetering dangerously close to snapping.

"Hotch," you cried out, his name escaping your lips in a desperate plea, your body aching for the release he had so cruelly denied. Your eyes flew open, seeking him, and when your gaze locked with his, you saw the faintest smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Please,” you begged, your voice shaky, desperate. “Please, let me cum.”

For a moment, Hotch said nothing, his eyes scanning your face, taking in the flush of your cheeks, the way your chest rose and fell with each labored breath. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, his silence driving you to the edge of madness. And then, without warning, his hand moved, reaching up to cup your face, his fingers firm as they tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his thumb brushing over your lower lip in a way that made your breath catch in your throat. “Begging.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your pulse quickening, the power dynamic between you only making you crave him more. There was something intoxicating about the way he held you,his control, his dominance. You wanted to surrender to him, to let him take whatever he wanted from you.

Hotch’s grip on your face tightened just slightly, his thumb slipping down to brush against your jawline. His dark eyes flicked down to your lips, lingering there for a moment before returning to meet your gaze.

“Say it again,” he ordered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, the need in your body almost unbearable. “Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please, sir, let me cum.”

The way you called him “sir” seemed to ignite something in him, a flicker of pride and desire flashing in his eyes. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath hot against your skin.

“You think you deserve it?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, his hand still gripping your face as he held you there, completely at his mercy.

You nodded, your heart racing, your whole body aching with the need for him to touch you again. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. “I need it.”

Hotch’s lips curved into a smirk. He was drawing this out, savouring the control he had over you, watching as you trembled beneath him, completely undone by his touch.

“Not yet,” he whispered, his voice a dangerous mix of command and seduction.

His words sent a rush of heat through you, your entire body on edge, the tension building with every passing moment. You whimpered softly, your hands gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into his suit jacket as you tried to steady yourself, the need for release almost unbearable.

Hotch’s hand slid down from your face, trailing along the curve of your neck, his fingers brushing over your collarbone as he slowly made his way down your body. His touch was light, almost teasing, as if he were testing your resolve, seeing just how much you could take.

Hotch’s hands moved to his belt with a deliberate, steady motion, the sound of the buckle undoing echoing through the room. Your breath hitched as he removed his pants and underwear, the sudden intimacy of the moment making your pulse race. When your eyes met his again, they were wide, overwhelmed by the reality of the situation, yet a spark of desire remained unmistakable.

He noticed your reaction, his lips curving into a smirk as he reached out, gently taking a lock of your hair and tucking it behind your ear. His touch was surprisingly tender given the intensity of the situation, and his eyes softened as he looked at you.

“You’re so cute,” he murmured, his voice low, almost affectionate.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but before you could process it, Hotch’s hands were on your hips, his grip firm and commanding as he positioned you. The moment he entered you, the fullness of him made you gasp, a moan slipping from your lips despite yourself. The sensation was overwhelming, and for a brief second, the reality of what was happening hit you all at once. This wasn’t just any encounter; this was real, and the intensity of it was almost too much to bear.

But as Hotch began to move, any lingering doubts faded, replaced by the undeniable pleasure that coursed through your body. He was deliberate, every thrust calculated, driving you to the edge with each motion. You bit your lip, trying to suppress the sounds threatening to escape you, but Hotch noticed.

“Don’t hold your moans back,” he commanded, his voice stern but laced with something deeper, a desire to hear you fully surrender to him.

His words had an effect on you, and you let go of the restraint you had been clinging to, your moans escaping freely now as the pleasure built with every movement. Hotch’s pace quickened, the intensity between you growing as he drove you further and further toward the brink. You couldn’t hold back the way your body responded to him, the way every thrust pushed you closer to losing control.

Your head fell back, the sensations overwhelming as he took you rough and unrelenting, his control never wavering. The desk beneath you creaked with the force of it, but none of that mattered. All you could focus on was him, the way he filled you, the way he commanded every part of you in that moment.

And then it happened, your body trembled violently as the release washed over you, the force of it so intense that you couldn’t stop it. You cried out, your entire body shaking as you felt yourself let go completely. It was overwhelming, and before you could even process what had happened, you realized you had just squirted on him.

“Oh, fuck,” you yelled, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Embarrassment flooded through you immediately, and you stammered an apology, your cheeks flushing with heat. “I’m sorry… I don’t normally do that.”

You looked up at Hotch and his expression was one of pure awe. There was pride in his eyes, as if what had just happened only added to his satisfaction. He let out a low, almost primal growl of approval, his hands tightening on your hips as he continued to move inside of you, driving you both toward the inevitable.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured, his voice rough with pleasure. “That was incredible.”

As he chased his own release, his pace grew more erratic, the intensity between you building once more. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his movements relentless as he pushed both of you toward the edge. The pleasure was overwhelming, and you could feel him lose control, his own release approaching.

When he finally reached his climax, Hotch buried himself inside of you with a low groan, the sound filled with raw need. You felt him spill into you, the heat of it mixing with your own, and the sensation sent another wave of pleasure through you. He kept moving, riding out his orgasm, his hands gripping your hips as if he needed to hold onto something, anything, to stay grounded in the moment.

The room felt heavy with the aftermath of the intensity you had both shared. The air was thick, the only sound the soft hum of the ventilation system and the slow, labored breaths you both took as you tried to come down from the overwhelming sensations coursing through your bodies. Hotch’s hands lingered on your hips, his touch softer now but still possessive, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

You sat up slowly, your body still trembling from the force of your release. Hotch pulled back just enough to give you space, but his gaze never left yours.

You took a deep breath, your mind racing to catch up with what had just happened. Your heart raced as you glanced at him, unsure of what to say. The vulnerability in his gaze surprised you, for all his confidence and control, there was a softness in his eyes now, a quiet tenderness that spoke volumes. His hand, still resting on your hip, squeezed gently as if to reassure you, to let you know that everything was okay.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Hotch said quietly, his voice rough from exertion but filled with warmth. “That was...”

He trailed off, but the way he looked at you, like he was still processing everything that had just happened, said more than words ever could. You bit your lip, the weight of his gaze making your heart flutter. He was right, there was no reason to apologize. What had happened between you was raw and intense, but it was also real, and that was something neither of you could take back.

Finally, he pulled away just enough to help you up, his hands steady and sure as he guided you to your feet. You wobbled slightly, your legs still weak from the intensity of your release, but Hotch was there, his arms strong and supportive as he steadied you. The tenderness in his touch was a stark contrast to the rough, commanding way he had taken you moments ago, and it left you feeling even more connected to him.

As you stood there, face to face, the reality of the situation began to sink in. You had just crossed a line—one you hadn’t expected to cross—and now, there was no going back.

But what did it mean? What would happen now?

Hotch seemed to sense your uncertainty, his eyes softening as he reached out, cupping your cheek in his hand

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern.

You nodded, your throat tight as you tried to find the words to express how you were feeling. “I’m okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I just… I didn’t expect this.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened slightly, a flicker of something, regret? uncertainty?crossing his features. “Neither did I,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “But… I don’t regret it.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You didn’t regret it either, but that didn’t mean things weren’t complicated now. There was still so much left unsaid, so much you didn’t know how to process. You had crossed a line with your boss, a man you had always respected and admired, and you felt like you betrayed Spencer, now you weren’t sure what the future held.

He leaned in slightly, his forehead resting against yours in a gesture that was both intimate and comforting. His breath was warm against your skin, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself bask in the closeness, the quiet moment of peace that had settled over you.

“We’ll figure this out,” Hotch murmured, his voice soft but firm. “Whatever this is… we’ll figure it out.”

Slowly, Hotch pulled back, his hand slipping from your cheek as he straightened up. His expression was serious, but there was a softness in his eyes that reassured you, a quiet promise that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“You should probably get dressed,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You blushed, suddenly acutely aware of your dishevelled state, and gathered your clothes. Hotch watched you with a quiet amusement, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the desk. There was something comforting about the way he looked at you, as if he found your flustered state endearing rather than awkward.

Once you were both dressed, Hotch pushed himself off the desk and stepped toward you, his expression more serious now. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“We’ll talk,” he said, his voice low and filled with promise. “Soon.”

[grandline-fics]

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo, he's his own warning. Descriptions of illness and slight angst. Enemies to Lovers!, Soulmate!AU

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 2, 903

A/N: I'm still not feeling great and managing to get requests written that I'm happy with has been a struggle but I was able to keep up the momentum from the last chapter to get this done. Hope you all enjoy and thank you all for your positive response to this series.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten(here) | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen(coming soon)

——————

Your fall from such a height would have meant almost certain death had it been anyone else. Luckily and unknowingly for you, Doflamingo had issued an order to one of his elite officers after your less than pleasant encounter with the three pirates in your bathroom. ‘From now on you stay with them when they’re on their own.’ It was a simple order and one Pica took with absolute severity even though there was no danger to you from the Doflamingo pirates. He was going to obey his orders loyally, never leaving anything to chance. Even when you slept he remained close by in the Palace stonework, close enough to protect you and sense your movements but also giving you the privacy you needed.

When you stumbled out onto the balcony Pica was alerted and knew something was wrong. Through the day he’d been checking on you, noticing a difference in your behaviour. Thinking it was a small cold or flu he didn’t think to alert Doffy while he was away, besides he never stayed away for long when called away by the Marines. But then you fell over the railing and Pica acted immediately. His body pushed out from the stone and his large hands held out to catch you but then your limp body disappeared when it was a hair’s breadth from his reach and a familiar flash of pink registered in his sight. Blinking, Pica looked up and felt a wash of relief overcome him to see Doflamingo had returned and you were safely in his arms as he sat on the balcony you’d fallen over. He met the gaze of his leader and when Doffy nodded, Pica retreated back into the stone.

Doflamingo watched you carefully as he controlled his breathing to its usual calm; dismissing the adrenaline rush, shake in his limbs and quickened breath to just pushing himself a little harder than usual. Travelling vast distances wasn’t anything new to him but this was the first time in a long while he ensured he broke his personal best to return home. He hadn’t known what he was expecting to find when he was nearing the Palace but seeing you fall hadn’t been on his list. Blearily your eyes opened, your usual bright and sharp gaze was hazy and dulled with pain and confusion as you managed to focus on his face. “Back early…” Your voice was so weak and exhausted that even speaking those two words left your breathing tight and rapid. “M-miss me?”

Wordlessly Doflamingo rose from the balcony and carried you back to your bed. In the short distance you were incapable of keeping your focus on anything. Your vision blurred and although your eyes stung and felt so heavy you couldn’t keep them closed for long before they were slowly opening again. You barely registered Doflamingo had you back in your bed and settled against your pillows until the intense wave of pain slammed against your skull. It was so sudden and caught you off guard that you curled in on your side, hand pressed against your head. The shock had also forced you to take a sharper breath than your distressed lungs were capable of and brought on a coughing fit, sending more and more pain through your body as you struggled to calm yourself and find your breath again. When it finally subsided your body slumped against the bed. Distantly you heard the muffled sound of your door opening and a yelp of surprise coming from outside.

“Yo-young master!” the servant squeaked as they recovered from their initial shock at the abrupt opening of the door and seeing their King appear. While his return hadn’t been anticipated until the next day it was even more shocking that he appeared from his soulmate’s bedroom. “Welcome back!”

“Shut up.” Doflamingo snapped sharply, the cold intensity rolling from his body enough to make the servant fear for their life and scramble to bow lowly. “Get the palace doctors here now.”

“A-all the-”

“Did I stutter?” The low eerie calm of Doflamingo’s deep voice caused the servant’s blood to drain from their face as pure fear caused their body to grow rigid. They didn’t want to disobey his order when he was in a good mood and they certainly didn’t want to go against him now when he was like this but they just couldn’t force their body to move. The servant flinched when Doflamingo’s hand flexed, knuckles cracking in agitation. “Maybe I need to give you the right incentive since my orders aren’t enough. Are you wanting to go to them in one piece or bloodied and broken?”

“Behave…Doffy.” At the sound of your trembling, feeble voice from the doorway, Doflamingo’s hand twisted and ready to attack dropped to his side and his head snapped to look at you leaning weakly against the doorway. You already looked worse than you had in the short amount of time since he’d caught you. Your skin looked waxy and held the sickly sheen from the effort and strain coughing and struggling out of bed had caused. Swallowing harshly you looked to the servant, managing to pant out a quick. “Go.”

Your appearance snapping Doflamingo’s overbearing aura away from the servant was enough to make the poor soul snap back to reality. Rambling out apologies, the servant turned on their heel and hurried through the corridors to the doctor’s quarters. Not caring about the time or if they were sleeping they were going to frantically bang on their doors, reporting to them all that Doflamingo needed them immediately. While the servant was gone Doflamingo strode to your side as you gripped the doorframe tightly to remain standing. He saw how much you were struggling, your fingers trembled as they bit into the wood and your legs looked like they could give out at any moment. A sour taste filled Doflamingo’s mouth as he took in the sight and considered what he was to do. Instead he focused only on his anger, that he was able to handle. “Why did you get out of bed and interfere with how I deal with my servants?”

“Like being…difficult.” You managed out before tensing as another harsh cough rose in your agonised lungs and forced itself from your lips even though the pain was so great you wished to give your lungs a break. Your breath hitched in the final harsh cough and Doflamingo tensed when blood splattered agains the white marble floor. Shakily you released the doorframe to wipe your mouth but even that was too much and your legs buckled only to stop when Doflamingo’s arm caught your waist. Weakly your hand dropped to his wrist and your head fell against his chest. Immediately Doflamingo’s body tensed, feeling how high your temperature was. “Don’t you want a better look?”

“Look at what?” Doflamingo asked tightly, his frustration mounting as the seconds went by with still no sign of his doctors.

“Me.” You sighed, lifting your head to look at Doflamingo. Everything had ebbed back enough and you felt slightly more aware but the exhaustion was getting worse. “Does it match…your dreams? Me in pain.” Doflamingo ground his teeth together, refusing to answer. Not knowing how to answer, not even sure he knew the answer. Thankfully you were too ill to notice as your eyes had already slid closed just as he heard the sound of hurried footsteps drawing closer. 

The doctors appeared, fighting off their sleep and disorientation with the sharp clarity of fear of failing Doflamingo. They slid to a stop in front of him and took in the sight of your weakened form and the blood on the floor. You winced at the throbbing pain the sound of their approach brought and cracked your eyes open enough to see you were in bed again, not even aware or having felt being moved. You managed to make out the outline of Doflamingo talking to the newcomers to your room but everything was muffled. Unable to stay awake any longer you finally fell unconscious. 

Even sleeping it was evident to everyone you were suffering. Your chest rose and fell rapidly and with a struggling, weak rattle. Your body trembled with the shakes and tremors of chills and a fever fluctuating through you, your eyebrows knit together and expression twisted into distress. Doflamingo sat in his usual seat by the window usually reserved for when the two of you shared meals together as he let the doctors conduct their examinations over you. He’d relayed to them what he’d heard at the Marine base of the illness hitting the island. The doctors under his command had already heard of the mass infection from the papers and knew what symptoms to look for with you.

A low broken whimper sounded from you and Doflamingo’s strings unleashed instantly, connecting to the doctor who held a needle against your arm and kept him firmly in place before it could break your skin. At that the other doctors froze, out of fear of making the wrong move. “Explain yourself.” Doflamingo ordered, fingers arching to tighten the strings just enough for emphasis. “Now.”

“Their body is in pain… my King.” The doctor explained. “We can’t examine them without causing some form of discomfort no matter how gently we act. It’s part of what makes this illness difficult to treat. We need to take some blood to test how far it's progressed.” 

“Can’t it be treated without the test or any needles?” Doflamingo asked sparing a glance at your pained features briefly.

“It’ll make an already difficult illness more complicated to treat.” Another doctor spoke carefully. “But between us all we could manage without needles.”

“So do it.” Saying nothing more on the subject, Doflamingo dropped the strings and let the Doctors finish their examination of you while being even more conscientious of how lightly they touched you. The last thing they wanted to risk was another close call with their King’s temper and fearsome ability. Finishing quickly the group managed to work together to quickly administer something to help your pain without waking you or bringing Doflamingo’s wrath on them. Knowing time wasn’t on their side, most of the doctors hurried to begin working on your treatment in their offices while one remained behind, hovering by the door. “What do you want?”

“Do you wish to retire to your own room?” The doctor asked unable to keep the nervousness from their voice. “Myself and the others can rotate and care as needed. You don’t need to be here.” Doflamingo remained in his seat and looked towards your sleeping form. Whatever you’d been given had helped slightly. While you still looked pained and distressed but not to the extent you had been. A rattling wheeze slipped from your mouth and the vein in his head throbbed. He recalled your weak question, asking if seeing you in pain matched his dreams, what he’d hoped for. The answer was no, nothing matched the real thing. Seeing you like this was more visceral now that he’d gotten to feel the tremor in your body and hear the struggle in your breath and see your usually strong and calm features crumpled into this kind of distress. Doflamingo turned his head away and waved at the doctor. “Just get to work.”

At the sound of the door shutting, Doflamingo rolled his neck to let it crack audibly and release the built tension before lightly knocking the wall. “Pica.” The elite officer’s form appeared slowly from the floor until he stood loyally in front of his commander. His steely gaze remained on Doflamingo who continued to look out the window, his gaze on the balcony. “Good work earlier.” He eventually spoke his praise for the usually silent officer. 

While Doflamingo didn’t specify, it was clear that had Doflamingo not been there and had Pica not been there, you wouldn’t be lying safely in your bed and the need for doctors wouldn’t have been necessary. He was reluctant to feel relief and look deeper into the feeling it brought that you still lived but still he had to commend his officer for their obedience. “Tell the others that if they need me I’ll be here for the time being.”

Left alone once more, Doflamingo reluctantly looked towards you before dropping his gaze again. Slowly he worked through the information he’d already gathered. His own doctors had told him the illness was difficult to treat. From what he gathered due to the physical pain you were in that even a needle grazing your skin caused you to react, getting treatment would be just as arduous as going through the symptoms and ailments harming you. The conversation he’d overheard with the Marines confirmed many had already died regardless. Which meant even with his doctors there was a chance you would die. 

Now begged the question why was he even bothering with letting them treat you? Wasn’t you dying what he wanted? Yes it had to be by his hand but wouldn’t it still count if he ordered those duty bound to help the sick and dying to stop? Wouldn’t that count as your death on his hands? Possibly. Immediately and unwillingly the image of his mother on her deathbed flashed into his mind. She’d suffered for so long, getting weaker and weaker until she had no energy left in her to recover and all because his father was powerless. Doflamingo gnashed his teeth together, refusing to be anything like the man. He wasn’t powerless, he refused to be and you at least deserved a better end than this. 

———

“Our main focus is the heart and lungs at present.” You slowly drifted from unconsciousness to the sound of a trembling voice. Whatever you’d been given had dulled the pain slightly but you could feel it already wearing off. “They’re taking the most strain from the illness at the moment but trying to keep things from escalating is difficult. Finding a balance is-”

“Just spit it out already.” Doflamingo’s voice was cold and sharp, his impatience palpable. 

“We can’t just force medicine down their throat and expect it to take. In order to get to our main concern there’s other steps we have to take first to ensure the treatment isn’t rejected immediately and worsen their condition while risking further deterioration. This illness makes the body fight against itself. They need to sleep and eat to keep their body strong enough to stomach the medication we need to give them but between the intense physical pain, fever, and inability to swallow it’s difficult and puts them in a vicious cycle that leads to our main concern; the heart and lungs. The stress will mount and increase the pressure and strain.”

“Is there a way to keep them asleep and give them the nutrients from food without forcing them to eat?”

“S-sir…you um instructed us to avoid needles.” The doctor’s voice grew even more frightened and meek. You couldn’t see Doflamingo’s expression but could only imagine what the doctor was facing. “Th-that limits our options considerably.”

“Doc you’re really not helping yourself here. Maybe your negative attitude is having a poor effect on your peers, hm?” Doflamingo mused. “Perhaps I should-”

Doflamingo’s threat was cut off at the sound of your pained groan. Turning sharply he saw you struggling to push yourself up with what looked like the intention of getting out of the bed, your breathing laboured and arms shaking. You blinked when you were being pulled upwards and settled against the pillows propped up behind you. You scowled at Doflamingo as he now sat on your bed, a hand firmly on your shoulder to keep you lying back. “Do I have to tie you to the bed?”

“Not tonight dear, I have a headache.” You quipped back, your voice thick with exhaustion. You took a long breath, pushed his hand away before pressing your fingers against your temple trying to relieve the blinding pain that was rushing back and through your body as the painkillers in your system finally left but it only made it worse. Groaning you dropped your hand and tried to move again, everything was just too much that you felt the desperate urge to try and get away from your own body even though you knew it was impossible. You just wanted to stop feeling so pained and ill and weak. It was just a survival instinct to protect yourself despite your own body being the issue. 

Doflamingo saw the distress overcome you and when he saw you try to get out of the bed again he acted without thinking. He pulled you close and moved so your body was against him while settling his hand against your head, moving his fingers against the spot you’d been trying to relieve. Instantly a sigh broke from you and your eyes slid closed. Stronger than the painkillers you’d been given, this removed the agony assaulting you and you fell straight to sleep, your features relaxing. Doflamingo watched the change in you with silent surprise, and released the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Finally aware he was being watched his head snapped up to see the dumbstruck doctor standing there and staring with widened eyes. “My King, I think I can confidently say we’ve found our balance.”

———————————————-

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[nicksolemnlyswears]

THE MENTOR

summary: coriolanus takes it upon himself to show you the ropes of pleasure

pairing: young! coriolanus snow x capitol! reader

word count: 4.3k

warnings: 18+, smut, cursing, fingering, female masturbation, mention of male masturbation, breast play, talks of virginity loss, perv! coriolanus, slight cum play, corruption kink is very prominent LEAVE ME ALONE IM PREDICTABLE, MY MIND IS ROTTEN

a/n: i'm back again! didn't expect it to be so soon but alas i cannot control myself. this can be read as a stand alone or as a prequel for my other one shot ways to destress. i'm working on part 2 for ways to destress but have this while i finish it <3

requests open ✨

Coriolanus steals glances at you from his spot on the desk. You sat cross-legged on your bed, deep in thought, biting the eraser end of the pencil in your fingers. He's formulating ideas about you instead of focusing on the report he has to present to Dr. Gaul tomorrow.

It's the first time you've invited him into your family home since you became a couple four months ago, and you're all alone in the big mansion. He can't help but wonder if anything will come out of it.

Despite being in a serious relationship for four months, Coriolanus has only kissed you. Nothing more and nothing less. It was one of your conditions because he's your first boyfriend.

'Let's take things slow, Coriolanus,' you had said back then, looking at him with those puppy dog eyes you'd mastered.

You're a timid girl. It's why you've never truly had a boyfriend before. None of the other boys you've been on dates managed to coax you out of your shell enough for them to pursue the relationship, except for Coriolanus. He took his time with you, becoming your friend, gaining your trust, and finally asking you out.

It wasn't by chance that he took that route to court you. He's been watching you since you stepped into the classroom last year. The annoyance he felt about being a teaching assistant swept away as a brand new opportunity sat in front of the class like a good student.

He recognized you and the crest on the gold ring you always wear. Your family is wealthy, and they have a great reputation amongst the Capitol's elite. It would benefit him to associate himself with you and, by proxy, your family.

Coriolanus felt luck was on his side when you approached him with questions about the homework the Professor handed out. You served yourself in a silver dish platter for his hungry ambition.

One year later, he has you wrapped around his little finger.

He'd be lying if he said he doesn't have feelings for you. Just as he infiltrated your life, you infiltrated his heart. You're sweet and kind, book smart, and beautiful. He'd be a fool not to feel anything towards you.

When you groan about the essay you're supposed to write and the crease between your eyebrows deepens, Coriolanus steps in.

"It's time for a break, don't you think?" He gently asks, closing your notebook and putting it to the side.

"I guess," you sigh, looking up at him with a pout.

You've been distracting yourself from Coryo's penetrating gaze and general presence in your personal space. You had invited him with the pretense of a study date, seeing as your body asks for something else.

It's time you give Coryo more. He's been incredibly patient with you, just as you'd asked. Still, your heart pounds in your chest at the thought of him touching you like no one ever has, and the knot in your throat prevents you from saying it out loud.

Coriolanus sits on the bed with you, cupping your jaw in his hands, brushing his thumb across your cheek. You lean into his touch with a soft smile, leaning into your body's desire, and you kiss him. It's enough to spark the salacious thoughts in Coriolanus's head.

He deepens the kiss by swiping his tongue on your plump bottom lip, begging you to let him in. Just like he taught you, you open your mouth, letting his tongue lick the inside of your mouth, tasting the cherry drink you love so much.

The corners of Coriolanus's lips slightly curve upwards; he's so proud of himself and you. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him towards you, and he willingly leans into you, hugging your hips.

Finding the position mildly uncomfortable, he lifts you to straddle his lap. Immediately, you tense under his hold and pull back. It's instinctual as your thoughts suddenly surface and cause you to overthink.

"Are you alright?" Coriolanus asks you with feigned concern. He knows the reason why, but you're important to him. In his eyes, you're perfect for him, and he doesn't want to screw things up.

"I'm just nervous," you admit, diverting your gaze to his collar and fixing it.

You're tired of feeling behind in life when your friends talk about sex. You're tired of that ache inside you that you can't satiate. You're tired of pulling away each time Coryo makes any move on you when all you want is to feel his skin against yours.

It's only been a few months, but your feelings for Coriolanus Snow run deep. Many will call you a fool for falling into the claws of first love, but it's a mistake you must make on your own.

If anyone is to take your firsts, it'll be Coriolanus.

"Do you want me to stop touching you?" He asks, loosening his hold on you.

Coriolanus is ready to learn the extent of your inexperience. It's been a topic you've only briefly touched upon. Yes, you're a virgin. Has anyone touched you, though, or given you any sort of pleasure?

"No!" You exclaim too forwardly, embarrassing yourself. It spurs Coriolanus, though, as he softly grins. "I mean, no. This is okay. You can keep touching me," you say as you return his hand to its designated spot in the curve of your hips.

"Darling…" he calls, but your gaze remains on his chest as strands of hair cover your face, "Look at me."

When your eyes meet his steely blue ones, he continues, "Have you ever touched yourself?"

"Why are you asking me this?" You ask with your eyes wide and nervous.

"I just want to see how much you know and how far you want to go. I'd feel terrible if I somehow make you uncomfortable or force you into anything you don't want," he responds honestly. Keeping you close to him is his priority, and if controlling his urges is necessary, then be it.

"Oh…" you sigh. You close your eyes tightly before opening them again and responding, "Yes, I do."

"Tell me how," he says. It's not really a question but a command.

Your face burns as you disclose information that is normally private, "I, um, touch my clit."

"I see," Coriolanus nods encouragingly, squeezing your hips, "Do you think about me?" He asks teasingly, giving you a hard time.

The more he asks, the more you relax onto his body, too stuck in your head to notice.

"Sometimes," you admit with a soft smile.

Coriolanus is satisfied with your answer for now. In the future, when he asks again, he needs the answer for it to be always. He'll be halfway there by the end of the 'study date.'

"Has anybody touched you before?" It's the one question he's been most curious about.

"No," you shake your head.

Coriolanus is over the moon. His thoughts get more and more deranged with your confession as his dark side begs him to take away your innocence and corrupt you to his liking.

"Would you like me to?" He asks, grasping her jaw with two fingers to force her wandering eyes to settle on his. He hasn't even touched you properly, and you're breathing heavily. He wonders what's going on in that pretty little head of yours.

You're praising whatever god exists, thanking them for Coryo's forwardness. You don't think you could've gotten the words out otherwise.

"Yes," you answer shyly as excitement builds inside you.

With a short kiss, Coryo places you by the top of the bed, propped up by your many pillows. Your comfort is his top priority today. He wants you to come back for more, after all.

"Tell me if you want to stop," he whispers in your ear as he kisses your cheek.

Coriolanus feels your shaky breaths as he kisses down the expanse of your neck. He takes it as a good sign when you stretch it out more for him.

"Coryo," you bite back a moan when he finds your sweet spot.

He gently bites into your delicate skin, leaving a soft red mark. Coriolanus can't visibly mark you yet, or he'll cast a wrong impression on your father. So, he settles for red flowers that will disappear by morning.

His fingers expertly unbuttoned the crisp white blouse of the university's uniform. He lifts his head briefly to look at the pale pink bra that deprives him of your breasts. It's pretty and innocent, like you.

"You're beautiful, darling," he says when he spots your nervous eyes waiting for his approval.

Dipping down once more, he mouths the mounds of your breasts, leaving wet kisses on your skin. Coriolanus wraps his mouth over the cups of your bra, teasing you, introducing you to his touch.

Sitting up, he helps you shrug off the white blouse. He kisses you to distract you from his hands that wrap around you, unclasping the bra. He's pleasantly surprised with the neediness you kiss him with. Poor thing must've been wanting this for a while.

Coriolanus pushes you back down with his weight, never breaking the kiss. He slides your bra off and throws it into a corner of the room. Pulling away, he looks at your bare chest, licking his lips lustfully.

You deprive him of the sight when you insecurely cross your arms to cover yourself. It peeves Coriolanus to no end. Surely, you must know what a sight you are.

"Don't cover yourself, darling. You're beautiful," he says, grabbing one of her hands and kissing her palm.

"T-thank you," you stutter out, letting your other arm fall to the side.

Coriolanus finds it precious how polite you are to him. How compliant you act with a couple of kind words from him. That's just how he likes it.

Coriolanus begins with a simple touch. He traces a path down your neck with the pad of his finger, trailing it across your skin and up the swell of your breasts. He circles the stiffening peak of your nipple, giving it a cheeky tug.

He's happy with the moan that falls from your lips despite him barely doing anything. Taking it up another notch, he leans his head down to latch onto your nipple, the fat of your breast filling his mouth.

Coriolanus releases a moan of his own as his tongue flicks over your nipple, and you arch your back into it. However, he's unhappy with the lack of contact from you.

Reaching for one of your hands, he places it on the back of his head, urging you to touch him. This is only fun if you want to touch him as much as he wants to touch you.

One hand digs into his hair, and the other wraps around his back. Coriolanus goes back and forth between one breast and the other, incorporating new things for you. Kissing, sucking, pinching, squeezing, biting. He's confident he's made the right choice with you when you respond beautifully to one of his bites.

"Yes, Coryo, more," you whine and beg when he tugs on your nipple with his teeth. For that, he leaves a pretty purple bruise on your chest. A reward for himself.

"That's it, darling. Don't hold your pretty moans from me any longer," Coriolanus purrs, finding your red-bitten lips.

Coriolanus involuntarily ruts into you when you slip your tongue into his mouth. His girl was turning bolder by the minute; all she needed was to be touched.

No one can shake the innocence off you as you moan and widen your eyes when you feel his hard cock press into you. Coriolanus is straining against his trousers and has been for a while now. This whole situation is a fantasy come to life and it makes him throb.

He must control himself. He cares about you greatly, and with that level of care comes control. Control over himself and you. Three years ago, he failed to control himself, and he failed to control Lucy Gray. He can't afford to make the same mistake. There is more at stake now.

Realistically, Coryo has barely touched you, and you're a needy mess. There is heat coursing through your body that is settling in between your legs. Your panties stick to you with your arousal, making you fidgety.

Reminds you of your clenched thighs whenever he's near. How you've abused your clit thinking about Coriolanus and his affectionate ways that are reserved solely for you.

"Coryo, please," you beg, cupping his face in your hands.

"Tell me what you want," Coriolanus pointedly says. He enjoys your innocence, but he wants to taint it so desperately. He needs to hear you talk dirty words in his ear.

"Touch me," you say, pressing your lips against his.

Coriolanus keeps his hands firmly on your waist, not giving into your pleas until you speak clearly, "Where do you want me to touch you, darling?"

"Please, touch my-my cunt," you stutter your words as your face burns again. You hide your face in his neck, brushing your lips delicately against it.

You're the complete opposite of him. Soft when he's rough. Innocent when he's wicked. Quiet when he's outspoken. What a perfect pair you make.

You gasp when he feels you through your wet panties. Coriolanus traces up and down your covered slit, teasing you. You're moaning into his neck, his foreign touch overwhelming you.

With a kiss to your temple, Coriolanus sits up between your spread thighs. He lifts your skirt, bunching it on your middle, preferring to leave it on your body. Your center is exposed to him, the wet patch on your matching panties clearly visible to his eyes.

You watch him as he bites his lips and rubs his hands up and down your thighs. He's preparing, reminding himself to keep his shit together. If it were up to him, he'd be fucking you silly.

"Let's take these off, yeah?" Coriolanus slips your ruined panties off your legs without waiting for your response. He kisses up your ankle to your knee as he settles between your thighs.

Your thigh is next as he nears your wet center. Your arousal glistens as it clings to your pussy lips. You look down at Coryo, propped up on your elbows.

"Darling, why don't you show me how you do it?" He asks, amused.

When you make no move, he grabs your hand and places it between your legs, encouraging you, "It's just you and I."

"Okay, Coryo," you whisper.

Biting your lips, you press your middle finger on your pink pearl. It's still safely hidden between your lips. Coriolanus observes how your cunt reacts to you circling your clit. Thick clear liquid drips from your opening, and he catches how you gather some of it to spread on your reddening clit.

The closer you get to your peak, the faster you go, your index finger joining your middle finger as you broaden your movements. Your head is thrown back with whines that join the 'shlick, shlick, shlick' of your wet cunt.

Coriolanus forces himself out of his trance of seeing you play with yourself from up close. He hadn't caught himself talking you through it, speaking lewd words to make you cum. Quick as a snake, he grabs your wrist to stop you.

"Coryo, no. Why'd you make me stop?" You whine, lifting your head back up.

"I'm not done with you just yet," he responds sternly, releasing your wrist. Today you'll only cum around his fingers.

"Oh?"

Coriolanus dips his finger between the lips of your cunt, gathering your arousal in his finger. He's finally touching you like you asked. He taps on your clit that's peeking out of its hood, making you lightly flinch at the suddenly burst of pleasure.

"Have you ever fingered yourself?" He shamelessly asks before he attempts to slip a finger into you.

"No, it feels uncomfortable," you respond, figuring out where this is going.

Coriolanus holds back a smile. It's like he'd won the lottery and gained this beautiful, pure creature, untouched by anyone. You're his to taint to his image so you always remember his touch.

"Will you let me give it a try?" He pretends to ask. If you say no, he'll still try to convince you.

"Mhm," you hum, "Be gentle."

"Always," Coriolanus quips, locking eyes with you.

Coriolanus coats his middle finger with your arousal before he pushes his finger in. He circles your clit to get you to relax due to your constant tense state.

"I need you to relax for me," he speaks up, kissing the inside of her thigh. Taking a couple of deep breaths, you finally soften, "There we go, princess."

Coriolanus distracts you by swiping his fingers up and down your slit, so you don't know when he plans to slip it in. Finally, his middle finger dips into your opening, parting your walls. "So fucking tight," he groans when he finds your walls want to push him right out.

You let out a shaky gasp when you feel his long finger breach your entrance. It's been years since you last tried. It doesn't hurt, to your surprise, but there is a particular feeling of your cunt accommodating his finger.

"I'm sorry," you quickly apologize, biting onto the back of your hand when he tentatively starts pushing his finger in and out.

"It's nothing to be sorry about. It's a good thing," he reassures you. His cock will feel so snug when he fucks you for the first time. He's hit a gold mine with you.

Your walls squeeze his finger like a vice, and he finds himself reminding you to try and relax. Carefully he pumps his finger in and out, light clicking noises coming from the wetness of his finger and your cunt.

Slowly your expression of discomfort morphs into one of pleasure, aided by his thumb on your clit. Curving his finger, Coriolanus searches for that spot inside of you. He knows he's got it when you moan out his name and fall back on the bed, grabbing an old teddy bear from your bed and biting into it. You're dripping on his hand.

It's so much he debates on adding another finger. He has to be careful, though. You're so tight, and he wishes to reserve the thin barrier of your innocence for his cock to push through. There's no doubt it'll tear with the size of his cock.

A token of that much value should be taken properly and not in a flurry of lust. Girls like you have been taught to take care of it until the right man comes along and Coriolanus is confident you feel that way toward him.

God, his cock is so fucking hard. He must be leaking pre. Desperately, Coriolanus rolls his hips on your mattress to relieve some of the tension. This is your doing, and you're not aware of how much you're torturing him.

Coriolanus tries to push his pointer finger into your cunt, but it proves difficult, especially when you flinch away and grab his wrist to stop him.

"Stop, it hurts, Coriolanus," you cry and try to wiggle away. One finger is enough for you. It's far more than you could ever do on your own.

But Coriolanus doesn't like being told what to do, and he hates it, especially when people he considers close call him by his full name.

"I'm sorry, darling. I'll be gentle, but you have to let me if you ever want to take my cock," Coriolanus reminds you sweetly.

"Promise me," you say with a blush caused by his crude words. He's right. After today, you'll surely want him to go all the way with you, and neither will have the patience to go as slowly as today.

"I promise. Here, bend your legs. It should be better." Coriolanus arranges you in such a way were your pretty cunt is fully exposed to him, spreading to reveal your pink and tight opening. He kneels between your legs, rubbing your clit. "Remember to relax."

Coriolanus starts all over again, circling your pretty clit and fucking one finger into you. Once you close your eyes, losing yourself in the pleasure, he grabs hold of your thigh to keep you in place and pushes the tip of his second finger.

He ignores your complaints and rubs your clit more furiously, subduing your pain and replacing it with toe-curling pleasure. He thrusts shallowly until your cunt gives way for him to slip the two fingers entirely.

"Good girl, see, that wasn't so bad," he says in a slightly mocking tone you don't catch.

"Thank you, Coryo," you moan as your hand reaches to the one on your thigh.

Fuck, you sure know how to feed into his ego. He's heard that phrase so many times when he helps you with your homework. How will he keep his cock in his pants when you say that to him in the university library?

He fucks you steadily with his fingers adding a little force to make your tits jiggle. You hold onto the teddy bear, moaning softly. It's so easy to tell when you're about to cum like this. Your walls squeeze him so tightly he believes you'll push him out.

"You're going to cum, darling?" Coriolanus asks you, pulling you out of your bubble.

"Yes," you sob. This orgasm feels so different from your other ones. Like it comes from deep within. Maybe it's the penetration of Coriolanus's fingers, or perhaps it's just him doing all the work that does it for you.

"Let me hear you," he spits out as he curls his fingers more, hitting the spongy spot inside of you over and over again till the sound of your juices squelching echoes in the room.

"Coryo, Coryo, Coryo," you gasp, repeating his name with a cry and holding tightly onto his free hand.

He keeps fucking you through your orgasm, his fingers and hand wet with your cum. You nudge him with your foot when it's too much, your words jumbled in your tongue.

You lay limp on the bed, body flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat. Your hair sticks to your forehead, and your skirt is wrinkled and skewed on your midsection. You believe you look like an outright mess, but to Coriolanus, you couldn't look more perfect than in that moment.

As he removes his fingers from your fluttering hole, a string of cum stretches between his fingers and your cunt. Impulsively, he brings them up to his lips to taste you.

"Coryo, no, what?" You pipe up, embarrassed.

"Mmm," he hums in pleasure. He's on the verge is saying fuck it and fucking you tonight. You taste so divine he wants to get in between your pretty thighs to clean you all up, "Have you never tasted yourself?"

"No, I've never thought to," you murmur, scrunching your nose.

"You taste good," Coryo says, plunging his fingers into you again, making you whine from oversensitivity. "Try it."

Not giving you a choice, he presses his index and middle fingers to your lips. You part them slowly, dipping your head to take them into your mouth. The ring on Coriolanus's middle finger clicks against your teeth. You look at Coryo as you suck them, searching for his approval.

"Good, right?" He asks when he pulls his fingers back.

You shyly nod, surprised by your behavior. Your trust in Coryo is so immense that you don't question his actions. Anything he'd ask you would do.

Coriolanus smiles widely, cupping your face to kiss you. He's proud of you and of your progress today. He's happy to have someone to mold to his needs as well.

He's complacent at the moment, seeing you act shy, and he has no problem being delicate, either. Still, a part of him can't wait to have you in his grasp to properly bite and squeeze and spank to his desires. To have you teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure along with him.

"Coryo?" You call for him as he stands from the bed. You grab his hand, pulling him back down.

"Yes, darling? Is there something wrong?" Coriolanus questions, scanning your body for any discomfort.

"I want to…" You want to touch him. His hard-on is clearly visible on his red pants, and you would be a liar if you said you weren't curious as to how it looks.

"To what…" He wonders. You point down to his crotch, where you can make out the outline of his erection. "You want to suck my cock?"

"Yes, I want to make you feel good," you nod with your puppy dog eyes, and he has to will himself to say no. It's a difficult task when you're desperate to fall into his hands.

"My darling girl, don't worry about me. We'll get around to it another day. It's late," he softly chuckles, kissing your cheek. You've run out of time, soon your parents will be home. They probably don't want to find you being fucked by your boyfriend. "I promise you can help me next time, yeah?"

"Promise," you smile.

His eyes flicker to your lips to memorize them. He'll be sure to picture them tonight when he's fucking his fist. He thinks you'll be a good little cocksucker because of the way you eagerly sucked on his fingers earlier.

If not, he'll teach you.

Who knew he'd become a mentor of sorts once again.

*sips tea* thank you for reading! i really hope you liked it!

*starts choking on blood* damn it coriolanus, not again! before i go just know i'm working on ways to destress part 2! i will be back, this is not the end! *head thumps on the table*

[levityleviathan]

Transformers Outsiders Cast

Im not like- the most happy with how Optimus turned out, but other than that im pretty happy with everything. Ill also write down some Bios for characters rq and add some other info

Optimus Prime

Formerly known as Orion Pax, Optimus Prime was once a lowly cargo runner between Cybertron's colonies with his best friend Dion. Though he wouldn't acquire the Matrix of leadership until much later in life, the moment he truly became Optimus was on the day his best friend died, having thrown himself between Orion and an enraged Senate Functionary, taking a shot to the chest meant for Orion. Orion didn't make it out easy however, as the shot managed to pierce Dion's back and hit him anyway, damaging his Transformation cog and leaving him prone to walking with a limp. Having made it out with his life, Orion was able to get reassigned to Archival work following the aid of Senator Crosscut. Years later Orion would find himself becoming close friends with another senator by the name of Megatron, only for Megatron to turn on him when Orion refused to overlook Megatron's plot to seize control of Cybertron through violence. Orion would "die" during the Siege of the grand Imperium, only to be rebuilt by a lowly street medic named Ratchet after being carried out of the building by Crosscut and Trailbreaker. Rebuilt and reborn, Optimus Prime would awaken months later and proceeded to lead the rebellion against Megatron's newly formed government.

Trailbreaker

More special than he knows, Trailbreaker acts as Optimus Prime's loyal second in command, having been one of the founding members of the Autobots. Trailbreaker is a former member of the Elite Guard who tends to struggle finding his place in any room, be it due to his formidable size, or just his overwhelming doubt in his own abilities. Before the war, Trailbreaker lost his left hand to a trophy hunter by the name of Lockdown, and with it, one of his many Force-field emitters. Though he mourns the loss of his hand, his focus has become more on finding Lockdown and bringing him down.

Sideswipe

A former streetrat, and the single best pilot to ever walk Cybertron, Sideswipe has a history of neglecting orders. Keen when it comes to individuality, Sideswipe holds a rather rocky relationship with his Sister Sunstreaker, worsened still by Sunstreaker's decision to join the Decepticons. Though he lacks any formal training, his combat style has proven highly effective in keeping himself and others alive. He might be rough around the edges, but Optimus knows he wants whats best for everyone.

Bluestreak

The single greatest shot Cybertron has ever seen, Bluestreak's body is nearly 60% integrated firearms. Were Trailbreaker to ever step down as Optimus Prime's second in command, Bluestreak would be the next in line to take up the role, having served loyally beside Optimus since the very beginning. Among Optimus's inner circle, she is by far the most lethal, a fact that even he can recognize is difficult for her to come to terms with. Before the war, Bluestreak was a member of the Helix Garden staff in her home city of Praxus, where she tended to their vast plant array stemming all the way back to planets that have long since dwindled into entropy. It was before the war however that her city was wiped out in an act known as "Declaration Day." She was the only survivor. The Autobot Insignia itself was based on her head design, intended to act as a symbol of resistance.

Ratchet

Ratchet is still young, and as such, she has high expectations placed upon her. Between her role as Optimus Prime's medic, and her mentor Medix's placement in stasis following the ark crashing on earth, she tends to doubt how qualified she actually is for her position. even so, she has showcased time and again that she is destined for greatness. She is, afterall, the one to have saved Optimus Prime's life all those years ago. Thankfully she doesn't have to face it all alone, as she has the Ark's medical VI, CatSCAN there to help her.

Cliffjumper

The youngest of Optimus Prime's crew, Cliffjumper was forged during the war, and as such never knew what Cybertron was like before it. its perhaps for this reason that Earth has become more of a home for him than Cybertron ever was. He might be impulsive and hardheaded at times, but Optimus knows he's a reliable scout who's more than capable of standing his own. He's also quite close friends with the earthling named Spike, as well as his friends Chip and Carly.

Moonracer

The smallest of Prime's crew, Moonracer's height is that of a human making it sometimes difficult for her to stand out. Though once she acted as a mail delivery girl on Cybertron, she now serves as spy and scout for the Autobots. She has showcased a great deal of promise regarding firearms, and as such has been taken under Bluestreak's wing as something of a mentorship, though lacking in formality. She also tends to struggle to make herself heard.

[hansolmates]

[teaser] fly to my room

banner made by @eerieedits

summary; with a super huge crush on the super student jeon jungkook, you can't help but feel inferior with your subpar abilities when he's the literal hercules on campus. however, with a potential group of super villain students on the loose, you might have to tamp down your feelings to save your school pairing; superhero!jungkook x superhero support!reader (f) genre/warnings; sky high!au, university!au, mha!au, self deprecation lol, hero elitism, sidekicks can get bullied :(, strong man!jk, jk is a lil cocky and flirty, one lil sexy thing BUT that's it >:D w/c; preview is 561 a/n; no words just AAAAA

“Hey, watch out!” 

A metal discus is being blown through the wind, the cause being Jungkook who’s training on the hero’s side of the stadium. You can only stare wide-eyed, focusing on Jungkook’s arms, still poised mid-air from the throw. The discus is shiny and looks like it’s barely moving from the amount of speed Jungkook has curved onto it, but you close your eyes and push your hands out towards the hurling force. 

Bing! 

You feel the heavy hunk pass through your void, a wink in time that has you feeling dizzy as you try to refocus the exit portal. The speed is what gets you, and has you immediately sweating from your forehead as you force the object to rip back into the current dimension, the discus landing right at Jungkook’s feet. 

“That—was great!” Namjoon teleports right in your face, mouth huge with praise. He is grabbing your shoulders, shaking you frantically in his excitement. “Wow, did you see how fast that thing was going? Maybe it was a fight or flight response—obviously, Jungkook would’ve cut your neck open—” 

“Great visual, Namjoon—” 

“But you teleported it! Aren’t you proud?” 

There’s no time to be proud when Jungkook is bounding across the field to meet you in the sidekick section. It causes all the other Superhero Supports to stop a fraction in their training, wondering how this conversation will go. Namjoon continues to stick by you however, knowing how absolutely abysmal you are in the presence of the famed hero. Having talked to Jungkook once or twice in class, Namjoon begrudgingly understands what’s so charming about the guy. 

You’re too focused on the gilded appearance Jungkook brings to the stadium. His blond hair gleams in the sun, and the lightweight metal that protects his arms wraps around his muscles like liquid gold. He’s absolutely blinding. 

“We meet again,” Jungkook grins, “are you okay?” 

“I-I’m sorry?” you fight the urge to wince when Namjoon pinches your waist. 

“You’re a teleporter, right? Your reaction time was insane!” Jungkook is smiling at you, prattling off your stats with a fervor you fail to understand. “Maybe they can bump you up to Hero-Class next exam, I’m sure you’re not far from the cutoff.” 

“No, actually. I’m just trying to stay afloat,” you force a shaky laugh, running a hand through your hair, “thanks though.” 

“I’ll put in a good word to Professor Luna,” Jungkook winks, turning away to return to his training session. 

“Jungkook’s right,” Namjoon squeezes your body again, trying to keep you in this dimension. “Your reaction time was insane. Can you imagine the power you’ll have when you finally gain control? Let’s go to the shooting range right now, test it out!” 

“Oh my god, he talked to me,” you whisper to yourself, replaying the conversation over and over in your head. Namjoon is but a spirit in your vision. 

“I mean, he had to. Like I said, he almost decapitated you,” he waves a hand in front of your face, “c’mon, stop thinking about Jungkook!”

“You're asking for the impossible, Joonie,” you frown, picking up your backpack. 

You take one step at a time, still feeling numb from the interaction. Namjoon insists that you should ride off this high, and train a little more. The only high you’re focusing on is the beating of your heart, and Jungkook’s gleaming grin. 

[lab-trash]

Unfinished Kase Fic

@googeecat44

The news was… a lot. It hit them hard and fast and out of nowhere, like a speeding semi. 

The words didn’t really echo in their brains as much as it just stood there. The semi stopped, parked over the body that was their team. 

“We’re Disbanding The Elite Force.”

Kaz especially. His heart stopped, the last beat rippling through his body giving him nausea and vertigo and…

He stood up and stumbled away.

He couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle the conversation that would come next; Davenport telling them the schedule and plan, when they were all going home.

‘Home.’

Fucking ‘home,’ bullshit. Kaz’s ‘home’ was filled with homophobic christian assholes who hated him. 

Sure, there was Kyle, and Kelli wasn’t so bad, but the rest overpowered the small amount of joy in that house. 

Kaz didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want Skylar to go back to Caldera— the only place she’d be able to go since she had her powers now— and he didn’t want Oliver to go to London to live with his father. 

The only other option they had was to get jobs and an apartment, which, sure, but the idea of getting a real job made Kaz want to cry. 

Not because it was too lazy to work, but because it would never live up to Mighty Med. Because the best he could get in the civilian world was a store clerk with terrible pay and terrible management that would definitely remind him of the very family he was trying to escape from. 

He trudged through the suffocating quick sand to get to his room before sitting on the bed, breathing heavily. 

It went down after a hot minute. Kaz was used to having to keep his breakdowns under control. 

As Kaz stared down at the floor, Chase came through the door. He sat down carefully next to Kaz. 

“Are you okay?” He asked. 

Kaz swallowed.

“I… I can’t go back to my family, Chase,” He said, his voice wavering. 

“Oh,” Chase said quietly. “Well, I could work something out, I’m sure,” He said with a soft smile that Kaz could feel even though he couldn’t see it with his locked stare and blurry eyes.

“We could stay here?” He asked. 

“We?” Chase asked. Kaz swallowed, realising what he said. 

“Yeah,” He said, “Oliver, Sky and I.” He hesitated. “And… And you and Bree would be cool too…” He muttered. Chase gently put his hand on Kaz’s shoulder. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” He said. The touch lingered before Chase got up and left the room. 

As soon as he did, Oliver entered. 

“Hey, man, you okay?” He asked, finally getting Kaz to look up and blink the tears down from his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, just like… Philly, y’know?” Oliver sat down next to Kaz too. 

“And London,” Oliver said, a bit more bittersweet than Kaz was. 

“And Mission Creek,” Kaz added wistfully. 

“And Caldera,” Oliver said. There was a small pause as both the boys sighed at their new reality. “I don’t want to leave either.” 

“This is the first real family I’ve ever had.”

“I finally get to be free to be myself.”

“Did you talk to Skylar?” Kaz asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Oliver said, nodding his head a bit awkwardly. “She said she can at least help the rebellion if she goes back to Caldera. With her on their side— actively, they’ll have a way better chance.”

“Could be a good comeback for Skylar Storm then,” He said. 

“Yeah, that’ll be great for her,” Oliver said, nodding along. “Ambrose is set up in New York. Titanio gave him an office in his Titan Tech headquarters.”

“Should’ve done that to begin with, jeez,” Kaz muttered, making Oliver laugh. 

“Bree’s looking forward to going home,” Oliver said. “Has friends there. A girl named Taylor. Kate.”

“What about Chase?” Kaz was quick to ask. 

“I don’t know,” Oliver said. “As soon as Davenport was done talking he bolted to check on you. Didn’t get his opinion.”

“Oh,” Kaz said, basically inaudibly. 

“He really cares about you, y’know,” Oliver said. Kaz stood up. 

“Oliver, you don’t have to…” He began pacing slowly. “It’s just a dumb crush, it’ll go away.”

“Okay, well, you said that a month ago.”

“It’ll go away,” Kaz repeated. “And if it doesn’t by itself, I’ll just make it go away.” 

“Kaz…”

“I’m fine, Oliver,” Kaz enforced. 

“Maybe you should talk to him before we have to leave.”

“I don’t need to, I’m fine.”

“Fine, fine, whatever you say,” Oliver said, relenting. He stood up and clasped his hands together. “Loverboy,” He added before running off. 

Ordinarily, Kaz would run after him. But he didn’t have the energy.

_______________

Kaz was making coffee when Chase ran up to him excitedly. 

“Kaz, you don’t have to go back to your family!” He paused. “Why are you making coffee, it’s midnight.”

“It’ll either make me tired or do nothing and I like the taste, so…” Kaz trailed off as he poured the hot coffee into the empty mug. 

“But you hate hot coffee.” Kaz nodded before sipping the coffee. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” He said, “But, y’know, I hate the rest of my life right now, so.” 

“I see you’re back to the melodramatic pit of your depression,” Chase said with a tense laugh. “Which, hopefully, I’ll fix!”

“Yeah, you have the fixes for everything,” Kaz breathed fondly. Chase heard, but brushed it off, assuming it was some sort of joke.

“So, I asked Mr Davenport, and he’s willing to put you, Oliver and Skylar up in an apartment in Philadelphia. Close to your roots, you could probably get a job at the domain, et cetera,” Chase explained. Kaz let his fingers rung along the handle of his coffee mug. 

Even with the new news his heart still felt like it was cracking.

He chugged coffee that would’ve definitely been burning if not for his powers, before sighing. 

“I don’t want that…” He said. He looked at Chase this time. “I don’t want that,” He said more securely. 

“What?” Chase asked. “Why not? Y-You’re not going back to your family, I fixed it. You get to live with your friends— I fixed it!” He scratched his head. “What’s the problem? Kaz, how do I fix this? I just want to make you happy, how do I fix this?”

“I want to stay here.” Chase shook his head. 

“Davenport would never allow you to stay here by yourself.”

“I don’t want to be here by myself.” 

“That might be worse— I mean, us living here with you and Oliver only barely stops all the shenanigans and property damage. Davenport would never allow that.” Kaz sighed and shook his head. 

“Chase, I want you to stay here with me.”

He couldn’t help it. Oliver was right, he needed to talk about it. 

“What?” Chase asked. He was frozen, at least for a second. He laughed nervously. “Kaz, I love living with you— uh, all of you. But I have things to do.”

“Then let me go with you,” Kaz pleaded. It was all impulse. He didn’t even realise what he was going to say until it was all spilling out. 

“Kaz, you don’t want to be around all the business stuff. You should live with your friends, you’ve been with them almost your whole life. Oliver, at least.”  Kaz swallowed. 

“You’re right.”

“Okay, good,” Chase said as he began to walk away. 

“But I want to go with you anyway,” Kaz said, making Chase turn back around. “I don’t want to be around business stuff, that sounds boring. But I want to be with you. And I’ve been with Oliver almost my entire life; best friends since we were three. But I can’t imagine living my life without you anymore. Chase, I-” Kaz’s voice collapsed. “I don’t want to go back to living without you. That sounds like a life that’s just… no good.” 

The room fell silent. 

[pandorasparasite]

sébastien laur  is  a  true neutral  agent  of  pandora  selected  for  his  unparalleled physical precision, discipline, and elite-level acrobatic capability that made him one of the most decorated olympic gymnasts in recent years and  underwent  the  top-secret  mutation  process.  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  the  twenty-eight  year  old  originally  from  lyon, france  is  deceased  or  missing.  however,  in  atlantis,  he  is  now  known  as  dune  of  pride  after  developing  the  ability  to  create, shape and manipulate sand for offensive and defensive applications, as well as transform his body (fully or partially) into sand.  the  agent  has  been  with  pandora  for  three years  and  is  trusted  for  being  adaptive  &  disciplined,  but  once  reprimanded  for  being  overconfident  &  unintentionally condescending.

THE BASICS.

NAME： sébastien laur. CALLSIGN： dune. GENDER： male. uses he / him / his pronouns. BORN： friday, november 22nd, 1996. in paris, france. HEIGHT： 5 ft  11 in ( 180 cm ). WEIGHT： 180 lbs ( 82 kg ). EYES： green. HAIR： dark brown.

LIFE BEFORE PANDORA.

to be added.

ABILITIES.

EXPERTISE： battlefield endurance, brute force, acrobatics & evasion. PROFICIENT： athletics, sleight of hand, stealth & infiltration, environmental adaptation and seduction. SUBSTANDARD： intimidation and vehicular operations.

THE MUTATION.

since the mutation process, dune has gained the ability to manipulate sand. early assessments indicate potential for both offensive and defensive applications.

agent dune demonstrates peak operational performance in arid environments. deserts offer ideal conditions for his mutation, allowing him to reshape the battleground for his advantage, generate sandstorms, and turn sand into different forms for both attack and defense, limited only by his own creativity. beaches, coastal zones, ruins, and some urban environments also offer great conditions. in heavily industrial settings, snowy or ice-covered areas, underwater scenarios, or aerial zones, the agent's effectiveness is greatly reduced. his abilities can be easily countered by water and fire benders.

If dune finds himself in an environment lacking natural sand, he is capable of generating it from his own body through an internal conversion process tied to his mutation. this ability allows him to create a temporary supply, which cannot be greater than his own body weight. if the agent maintains a certain concentration level, he is capable of generating a fully functional sand decoy. however, attempting to generate sand past his supply limit is physically taxing and may result in structural degradation, severe fatigue, or full physical collapse.

dune can control the density of sand in his surroundings, allowing him to solidify or give solid-like properties to sand, with the level of solidity going from loose jelly to metal-like hardness.

lastly, it is important to notice that dune can turn his entire body into sand, making him a versatile operative, capable of invading buildings through breaches or tanking the enemy's attack by changing his own density.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

29 please

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

from a kinkmeme omegaverse prompt about the FIA banning scent blockers, which idk that i’ll finish unfortch :(

——— mildly nsfw ———

Charles is fine. Has great self control. Has trained all the time for this. Never mind when he first presented as a teenager and Gianni was there and he spent a whole week trying to chop firewood and build a nest with his laundry and make pasta from scratch (the pasta was bad). That was long ago. He has better coping mechanisms now.

Max walks past, giving him a wave. The other man’s scent hits him like a truck. Motor oil. Musk. Pine. Oh, fuck, he’s going to be so sick.

His blood is about to vibrate out of his skin. He sweats bullets. Alpha, alpha, alpha goes the awful sound. Let us crawl in this place together, and never come out. I need teeth on my neck and your come on my skin and I need to make a place that is good for you that has only us, it will be us racing against each other forever, one breath in for you one breath out for me, alpha alpha alpha.

“Do you want to fuck?” Charles blurts out, in the empty hallway. “We don’t have to bite or anything.

Max’s mouth twists. “Charles… what happened to hello?”

“Ah. Hello. Also I am being very serious. I really need to get through this rut.”

“You’re not speaking from your right mind.”

Anger flashes in Charles. Always does, when he’s agitated. “What do you know about me being in my right mind? My mind is my own.”

“I know. But I also know you.”

“Then you know that I am just needing to make it through…” Charles gestures wildly. "This.”

“Isn’t there someone else?”

The omega in Charles is petulant now. There were some lines he would never cross with Pierre. And Carlos for some reason sprinted off to the McLaren side of the pits without warning after his engineering meeting, so there went his teammate option.

“There’s no one else. It's like this. I would never ask unless I needed to.”

It spins out between them. The fact that Charles is in championship contention for the first time in a long time, the fact that getting him through his rut tonight would mean Charles has the recuperation time to drive well by Sunday. They both know that a well-timed rut in elite sport constitutes a possible, and very legal, physical advantage. An advantage that the FIA seeks to exploit with its new regulations, for audience gain, but it’s not illegal to do this with their bodies for the price of a potential win. So be it.

Nonetheless, Max hesitates. He’s probably worried things won’t ever be the same between them again. Charles has no such concern. There are no feelings involved here, simply a biological fulfilment of his inconvenient second gender.

Charles grits his teeth. “Remember when you said that you owe me a favour? I must use it now, Max. Please.”

Curiosity, and something close to concern, flit across Max’s face. Max’s fingers seem to twitch on the cap in his hand, before he thinks better of it.

“Well. We are not doing it here.”

from asks here

[kagiura-akira]

curious about Fly Away With Me 👀

Ahh this one!!! Very precious (to me) period piece. It's my WWII kagihira AU, based on the studio Ghibli movie The Wind Rises.

So Hirano isn't a pilot, but he is a very distinguished young aeronautical engineering graduate with a love for designing planes, and Kagi is a college aged kid from a prominent military family with the heavy weight of expectation on his shoulders. So like, you know, 1930s Japan. Great space for fostering... Building planes and, uh, Japanese nationalism 😬 I've been struggling with this one trying to get the vibe right cause it takes like a lot of self immersion to understand and show exactly what policies were like then and how it affects the characters and their actions. I started watching an old Japanese war movie, actually, the last time I was working on it, but I accidentally fell asleep about 20 minutes in...

Anyway I had some stuff written but it's very flat and dry so here's some plot explanation from the notes in the doc instead

When Hirano graduated from college and was assigned his position as an aeronautical engineer for the Japanese military, he was expecting that his first assignment would be with things expected of his career. You know, drafting plans, spending some time drawing models, writing up specifications for plane parts down to the rivets holding the panels of the plane to the body. Hell, he even expected that he’d be some asshole sergeant’s errand boy before he became a babysitter (enter Kagiura Akira: son of an elite general). And right on his first day, too.

His disdain for the job doesn’t make him take it any less seriously. He’s serious about helping Kagi, but he doesn’t dote on him. Or at least, he says so. He’s always scolding him about his studies and about monkeying about near the kitchen in between mealtimes.

A bit deeper under the surface, Kagi is a young man missing out on his youth. Everything in his life is already decided for him—his schooling, his career, who his friends are. He’s 90% certain his parents have settled on a fiancee for him as well. He’s a few matchmaking ceremonies away from their decision on his future spouse. If he had a chance to be born again, Kagi wished it would be into just a normal person. Commoner isn’t the correct term, but someone less... visible to the public eye.

He’s never resented his parents. He loves them dearly, even when he doesn’t agree with their visions of his life. He’s grateful for the life they’ve provided him and the opportunities they’ve given him growing up, but it doesn’t mean he hasn’t ever been disheartened by the lack of control over his own life. He wants to know what it’s like to fly a kite with a bunch of friends down at the river bank, to know what it’s like to play ball with friends outside of school. He’s never had that experience because all of his peers seemed to actively avoid him growing up. He has a sneaking suspicion that his father either paid off the families of the children his age or threatened them into never letting their children mingle with his son. He’s certain that the friends that were chosen for him were no less paid for, in addition.

Hirano, on the other hand, was raised by his mother alone and can’t exactly relate to being given everything he’s ever wanted as far as physical items go. He does, however, understand the desire of freedom. It plagues his mind over and over as he designs planes, only to watch them be built and hauled off for war. Firmly and unwillingly grounded. All he wants is to feel the freedom in flying for once in his life. He’d always been told that he wasn’t fit for flying, when he was a kid. He had a weak constitution, so it wasn’t viable for him. It’s why he went into engineering instead. His dream has been to build a commercial airplane for passenger use, but alas, in 1930-something Japan, the only opportunities available for him are designing bomber planes for the Japanese military. He has two choices: working with the military, or working for a firm that works with the military. It’s the same.

Hirano hadn’t been at the base for long when he was given the chore of babysitting Kagi. Not at all what he signed up to do. He’s got his sketchbook and his drafting notebook, but he barely gets in any time for designing his personal project (the passenger plane).

Unbeknownst to him that Kagi is about to become the most important person in his life for the next several decades

[trashiejunkyard]

Remake Charon and his legion in both design and lore into more unique approach of corruption factions. Due to his outdated lore, Charon been into rough spot espically after newer writing suggest him to be corrupted undead yet his quests and dungeon still does not feel as such.

Summary design phillosphy is undead skeleton with ancient greece mytho inspiration

Description of the Forsaken Legion

"Warband lead by warlord named Charon and often guarding Ancient Nemract, making it a few warbands that has something resemble base of operation. The warband was establish in earlier time of Corruption War even before Bak'al's Scourge of Wynn but become inactive after taking over Ancient Nemract.

The warband is quite known for its horrifying and undying undead troops as Charon's power is domination over souls, allowing him to grant any abominable bone constructs a soul of his victims to further his conquest. Souls that belong to great and strong warriors are being twist by the warlord and grafted onto a bone construct crafted by him while the weak being use to empower other constructs or degrade into mere beasts of war for the legion.

Currently, the warband is one of the most active one in the province as many raid done by splitter groups from the legion to Nemract and other settlement in the province alike. With many death and body taken from the raid, the more powerful the legion become as Charon binding his time to unleash its full power to the entire province."

"

Created from the collective of the miners form suicide pact out of guilt for dooming the province, the corpses and souls of those miners would raise from the Pit of Shame as one being where it would be known as Charon, the Undertaker.

What once was the guilt of the miners now been corrupt into will to reimagine the province into his own twisted way to make amend to the collective shame that made up his being. His raid on Ancient Nemract was simply a start of conquest to recreate the province with his newfound power. Until the emergence of Bak'al from the portal, Charon sense a being that would threaten his goal decide to dwell into his domain to create powerful army to defeat the raising warlord.

After Bak'al defeat at the hand of Bob, Charon continue to stay in his domain to avoid the attention of the demigod while cultivating more powerful undead army. Upon the hero's disappearance, Charon finally emerge from ruins to continue his plan as he choose what remain of Nemract to be his next conquest.

Unlike other undead, Charon not only kill but he also capable of creation. Mainly these creations are twisted constructs remain of his victims but it still is creation. This make him far less mindless than other undead of the faction as his goal is simply destroy and recreate the province in his own twisted image. Charon also develop hatred for Bak'al due to the warlord's desire to destroy everything in the province until nothing left thus going against what Charon wanted. Charon is still is brutal warlord just like all corrupted and will conquer everything that stand in his way."

"A greatest graveled that Charon ever created, Haros was most formidable servant of Charon as he slaughter many during the fall of Ancient Nemract. After the battle is over and Charon bind his time in the domain, Haros grow more impatient and see weakness in his warlord for hiding in their domain. HIs attempt to take control of the legion by slaying his warlord was a failure as the gravelord is no match against the undertaker. before Charon could humiliates him any further, he manage to escape and hiding underneath Saint's row to rally his own army to take revenge on his former warlord."

"Elite units of the legion with their bone body crafted into armor with the materials from the dead enemies of Charon and souls of a great warrior. They made up most of the legion as its main fighting forces beside the lesser undead that deem unimportant to the warlord."

"A horrifying construction of bones of various creatures that slay by the warlord's legion, come together to be war engine of the legion. Its body made up of multiple bones fuse into a clump where mutiple limbs emerge from the pile to drag the body. Mutiple spines emerge from the clumps as a neck to support the skulls in which the abomination would loom over city's walls. Its cries was made up of all tormented souls that were put into it."

"Abominable mass of bones housing one tortured soul, tasked to collect bones and lost souls for Charon as it follow the legion in their path of destruction so the warlord can create even more stronger undead for his legion."

Gravelord

"Commander of the legion when Charon is not in charge, often lead a small party of hoplites and other units of the legion to terrorize else where in Wynn. Gravelords are consider as best works from the warlord with the greatest bones and multiple souls of great warriors made up the constructs. Sight of a graveled often a harbinger for great invasion against a city." Cerberus "Three headed bone constructs that being use as guard dog for Charon to protect his domain under Ancient Nemract. Often guarding all the gathered bones of the victims of the raid to ensure the warlord's endless army."

Pale Centaur "Bone constructs created from skeletons of a man and a horse. Being use as cavalry for the legion where they either arm with bows or swords where they use their horse lower half to maneuver the battlefield quickly." Chimera

"A abominable construct with chaotic structures mix of skeleton of a man and animals, often has the soul deem weak by the warlord to act as mindless terrifying shock troops for the legion."

[orangeboulevard]

The Fruit (Oneshot)

Day three gangsters!! Actual smut (near the end), still ocs. We may have lost the plot kinda? we started ranting about the elite Dynamic: spy x spy, older male x younger male Content: public sex -> hold the moan moment -> hate sex Word Count: 1004

Objective: 'Enter the event. Locate the Person Of Interest. Dispatch the Person Of Interest without drawing attention. Leave event.'

Simple enough, Agent Red thought dismissively, he didn't even have to ponder what was meant by 'dispatch'. 

Red fished out a lighter from the pocket of his rented tuxedo, a vintage style: longer coat-tails, figure framing waistcoat and trousers, the whole nines. He flicked open the top of the silver box, the flame was steady as he held it to the paper, and he watched as it swiftly burnt up. No evidence, a swift trip in and out, and no witnesses to testify, a type of job he'd done plenty of times before, he really should think about retiring soon. 

His pace and strut were casual as he approached the event, an exclusive party, the elite kind. The historical New Orleanian manor was an aged white, it centred acres of rolling planes of grass, meticulously trimmed trees framed the long driveway, and the walkway was lit by olden Victorian street lamps. It was a handsome house, this kind of handsome in New Orleans almost certainly made you wonder if it had once been a plantation, the answer every time is yes.

Enough about architecture, Red chided himself, he should be concerning himself with blending in with the staff, his agency had supplied him with a matching uniform suit; his dark eyes followed a valet entering the building through a side door, too easy. 

The interior design is even more impressive than the high pillars and French windows of the outside: an Art Decó touch, large swooping parlour palm trees and monstera plants drape over the large sofas, with the warm tones and colours of a Tuscan building, the place was lighted by a central chandelier, one with actual candles that cast a golden flickering glow, and other dim lights line the floor. The elite kind of party, indeed.

He is aware of a live performance further within, the main lady's voice is sugar-sweet. The party go-ers are either standing around game tables or draped over the furniture, cigarettes and alcohol in hand as they idly chat with each other. Beneath the glam, there is a smell of rot. It permeates the air in the way these people are blissfully unaware of what's going to happen tonight, what goes on outside their bubbles even, ignorance. Their lives are the stinking fruit of the age, past their ripeness, transformed from what they used to be and what they used to represent. When did we as a people make space for rotten fruit? 

It's almost too perfect when he spots the Person Of Interest excusing himself to go to the restroom. Red should be suspicious, he is. He feels the gaze of another on the back of his neck. Red has learnt to see through his peripherals, you do this job long enough and you will, the watcher isn't aware that he's seen him. Michelangelo. Great. That tricky bastard. 

He's eyeing him from the lower floor, over a flute of champagne, over-indulgent bastard. He places it down and starts to make his way up the grand winding staircase. Red needs to move now. His steps are silent and calculated, he has control over every cell of his body. He has control. He will complete this mission-

Just as Red went to push open the door to the bathroom, skillfully picking the lock, the thunder crack sound of a gun echoes in the manor. Shit. There's silence before the screams start. There's no salvaging this, Red thinks before absconding through a nearby window. His feet just hit the ground when another body collides into him, they tumble down a small hill into the gardens of the house. 

He finds himself on top of Michelangelo, wild roses frame the other, his youthful face is flushed and wide-eyed before a devilish grin paints his lips, and boyish dimples line his face, "Hey there, Red."

"That was you, wasn't it?"

The younger male shrugs coyly. 

"Okay. I want you to listen closely to me when I say this," Red whispers into his ear, "Pull something like that again and I will kill you." The grin on Michelangelo's face falters at that. "I will hand deliver your head to your agency. Don't fuck with me. You're just a little boy playing games you don't understand."

 A deadly glint settles into the other's eyes and that smirk returns to his face, "You'd miss me too much."

"Wanna bet?"

"What was it you said last time I saw you?" Michelangelo's thigh comes to press against Red's crotch, "The best sex you've ever had? Oh, I'm sure you'll miss me." 

Red scoffs, his features contorted in thinly restrained rage.

"You look good in this," Michelangelo purrs, his hands snaking their way up Red's waistcoat. 

It's not long before Red is fucking him, right there in the dirt and flowers, their own garden of Eden, even if just for tonight. His hips snap into Michelangelo, a bruising and furious pace, he's given up growling at the other man to keep quiet- the distant sounds of police are an ever-looming threat- and instead swallows his cries and mewls with biting kisses. Michelangelo's nails run down his back like he's trying to rip him open, he wants Red to hurt. 

His legs wrap around the older man, tears starting to form at how hard he's fucking him; in a twisted sense, Michelangelo is proud, he's the one who managed to make Red like this, a man considered the epitome of blasé. Red leans back, his hands coming to wrap around Michelangelo's throat, pulling him impossibly further onto his dick. Michelangelo's eyes squeeze shut, the tears spilling down his cheeks, his brows are knitting together, and he's clenching around Red. 

Red leans down and licks the tears up. 

[bestialremains]

a door creaking open to a room coated in dust / the tinkling keys of a piano from floors away / a green tie in a double windsor knot / stacks of journals stained with ink and extra pages / the clinking of wine glasses over dinner / two sides of the same weighted coin / the smell of ozone when lightning strikes / a hidden vault beneath the floorboards / a mind like a steel trap, like a labyrinth / the crashing waves of a raging river / a dagger sheathed beneath immaculate suits / the loyalty of a guard dog / the sound of ice hitting the bottom of a crystal tumbler.

basic information

name: amycus octavian carrow.nickname. brother, carrow. age / date of birth. 27 / april 1st (4:31am). place of birth. isleworth, london, england. blood status. pureblood. affiliation. death eaters / the knights of walpurgis. gender / pronouns. cis male / he/him.  sexuality. bisexual. relationship status. single / no longer betrothed. occupation. unspeakable, currently on loan to hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry as the professor of magical theory at request of the board of governors, est. 1068.

physical information

face claim. jonathan bailey. height. 5′ 10½″ / 180 cm. weight. 72kg / 11st 4lb. build. mesomorph / square shaped head, muscular chest and torsos, large heart, muscular arms and legs, even weight distribution, toned arms, lower body fat percentage, fast metabolism. dominant hand. right.  eye color. brown. hair color / texture. black / naturally thick, often swept back, no longer sporting sideburns. scent. nutmeg, cinnamon, cardamom, grapefruit, lavender, licorice, sandalwood, amber, patchouli and haitian vetiver. recognizable features / scars. warm brown eyes. stubble/beard and mustache. faint burn marks on the back of his right hand from getting trapped in a hand of glory at age seven. dark mark on left forearm. tattoo on his right shoulder of janus, the two faced god of beginnings, gates, transitions, time, duality, doorways, passages, frames and endings.  speech patterns / accent. amycus grew up surrounded by the elite -- his mother and father, his twin sister, their assorted cousins and children of appropriate families. as such, he speaks with a received pronunciation accent. he is prone to using what we know would probably refer to as antiquated terms, speaking in a low voice or trailing off sentences mid realization (despite many, many attempts to train him out of this as a rude, common habit.)  voice claim. jonathan bailey. languages spoken. english, french, latin, greek. languages written/read. ancient sumerian, latin, greek, english, french, german, italian, spanish, futhark. 

magical information

wand. bloodwood (prized by the south american magical communities, bloodwood is known for its brilliant red colour. they seek owners of passion and those who are action takers. bloodwood wands are curious - they create an intense bond with their owner and reflect their emotions in the magic produced, especially when it comes to love or anger. one must be very careful with this power as rash and passionate decisions can produce immensely powerful and irreversible magic. these wands are great tools in the hands of an individual who can control their emotions and use it to their benefit. one who has mastered the use of a bloodwood wand is said to be an exceptional dueller. it is said that bloodwood possesses a natural temptation for dark magic, and may cause their ownership to change due to the current owner not being dark enough.) / white river monster spine core (the white river monster is a species of magical fish native to the white river in arkansas. it is a large grey cross between a catfish and serpent, with spines running down it’s back. it can reach lengths of up to 20 feet. river monster spines often refuse to produce magic for any but their first owner; they are “one generation wands” and ought not to be passed on from their original master, because they will lose their power and their skills. this is one of the rarest cores, not often seen, as it is difficult to master, for the creature from which it is taken is one of the most independent and detached in the world. being such a rare creature, this wand respectively seeks a rare breed of witch or wizard, rendering it difficult to place. river monster spine is not well suited to what is commonly referred to as ‘bangs and smells’ magic.) / unbending rigidity (an unbending wand takes its preferences to the extreme, and will totally and utterly refuse to perform magic its first owner would not perform. the unbending wand bests suits a strong headed or stubborn master.) / 10’’ length (longer wands may suit taller wizards, but they also tend to be drawn to bigger personalities, and those of a more spacious and dramatic style of magic. neater wands favour more elegant and refined spell-casting.) / this is not amycus’s first wand, though it is now his primary one that he purchased after experiencing some difficulty with his original wand while conducting experiments for the department of mysteries. patronus. raven. boggart. alecto, on the other side. amortentia. whiskey, petrichor, rosewater, cinnamon. school. hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. house. slytherin (class of 1969). clubs / extracurriculars. dragon club, slug club, ancient studies club.

psychological information

temperament. choleric-melancholic. positive. resourceful, personable, loyal. negative. calculating, strong willed, obsessive. mbti. entp. moral alignment. neutral evil. element. fire. primary vice. pride / lust. primary virtue. diligence / faith. zodiac. aries sun, aquarius moon, aquarius rising. quote. "hunger was unquenchable desire; it was suffering. to eat god, therefore, was finally to become suffering flesh with his suffering flesh; it was to imitate the cross." - caroline walker bynum, from holy feast and holy fast: the religious significance of food to medieval women. character parallels. klaus mikaelson (the vampire diaries), tommy shelby (peaky blinders), crowley (supernatural), lucifer morningstar (lucifer), petyr baelish (game of thrones).

familial information.

father. ___ carrow (wizard, alive) - coming soon. mother. ___ carrow nee yaxley (witch, alive) - coming soon. number of siblings / placement. one / eldest. siblings. alecto elizabeth carrow (witch, alive) - the tails to his heads, the heads to his tails. two sides of the same carrow minted coin, they share a bond that he prizes above all other familial relationships. his pain is her pain, and vice versa. his loyalty, first and foremost, is to her and to house carrow - then, the rest. pets. gyre falcon named zeus.

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Seotember 29, 2024

September 29, 2024

Twenty-Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Numbers 11: 25-29

The text speaks of the generosity of God.

Psalm 19

The Psalmist praises God’s law.

Letter of St James 5: 1-6

The author speaks about the actions of some in power who abuse others.

Mark 9: 38-43,45,47-48

Jesus uses graphic metaphors to explain the seriousness of deliberate sin.

There are two themes that surface in our first reading and the Gospel this weekend.  The first one centers around actions that some perform in God’s name and the other is the serious impact of sin.

Members of Moses’ community are upset because two elders of the group of seventy were absent when the “spirit came to them and they prophesied.”  We do not know why they were absent but as the text says, “the spirit came to rest on them also, and they prophesied in the camp.”  This reality created a stir.  Were they authentic, why were they absent, did they now present a threat to the elite “chosen ones?”  Moses in a wise answer says. “Would that all the people of the Lord were prophets! Would that the Lord might bestow God’s spirit on them all.”  What a wise leader.  He was not about to limit the God’s work to human standards.   I fear that too often these days the voices of the unexpected, the untrained, and on some level, the outsiders, are silenced.  Yet God’s Spirit knows no limits.

The same issue surfaces in the Gospel this weekend.  John alerts Jesus saying “Teacher, we saw someone driving out demons in your name, and we tried to prevent him because he does not follow us.”  My guess is that his followers were trying to protect Jesus’ name or that some felt threated by the outsider having success in Jesus’ name.   Jesus’ response was one of openness.

The Spirit of God cannot be controlled by the limits of human standards.  But often as our text relays, we humans try to limit the Spirit’s actions.  Many believe they are correct. Recently we Sisters of Mercy buried a woman, a giant who made a profound difference in this area.  S. Theresa Kane.  She was, at one point, the President of the Sisters of Mercy of the Americas. When in 1979, Pope John Paul II made his first visit to the United States, she rose at a public meeting to welcome him, and raised the issue of the role of women in the Church.  To be honest, it was a crowd stopper.  But she had great courage and for many, was inspired by the Holy Spirit.

Our readings this weekend encourage us to ask for the inspiration of the Holy Spirit as we serve and live out our daily lives. S Theresa acted for justice on many levels but in 1979, she did so to the Pope.  Change has not come but the Spirit continues to work in the human heart.  We cannot limit God’s Spirit except to ignore it!

That brings me to the second part of the Gospel.  As Jesus speaks about sin, he shares graphic metaphors to show its impact.  “If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off.”   He, I believe, is sharing that our sins and conduct have an enormous impact on our own lives and the lives of others.  We see this all around us these days, don’t we?  Violence, threats, lies, and war plague our world.  The Body of Christ is suffering and you and I in our own small ways can make a difference.  Jesus says this is true when today he indicates that something as small as a cup of water will be rewarded.   

Our readings give us much to think about as our nation and world struggle.

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The majority or all of the cultists’ children are in John’s Gate, according to a note he wrote to Nick, but I’ve always imagined the reasons we didn’t see kids in Far Cry 5 were mostly technical and/or moral.

There were children in the previous title, Far Cry Primal, I believe for the first time in the series, and there are kids in the sequel, Far Cry New Dawn, but they can only be encountered in very controlled, weapon-free zones. Far Cry 5 doesn’t have these kinds of safe areas, so I guess the devs didn’t want to risk having wild animals, hostile NPCs, or even players hurt children in their games, which probably at least partly explains why they didn’t include them.

Another possible reason is that kids are small and need custom animations because they don’t interact with their environment the same way adult characters do, so I imagine it’s much easier for the devs if everyone is the same height. Children and teenagers would also have required new lines and voice actors, and maybe they didn’t have enough time or money for that...

I suppose Kim, who is pregnant and smaller than the rest of the characters (with the exception of Faith), can’t be seen outside of cutscenes for the same reasons: so no one can harm her (and her baby) and it doesn’t look awkward when she interacts with objects with her shorter-than-average arms. I think that also explains why, in New Dawn, in which she’s a “normal” NPC, she’s as tall as everyone else.

Zip mentions this issue, though! There are chances the devs wrote this line to humorously address the absence of children in their game, but here’s what he says:

Let me ask you something. You see any kids around here? Don't you think that's strange? I've been talkin' about it for years, but nobody listens. You know why that is? Baby Farms. It's all the rage in silicon valley. They're growing babies just to harvest them for body parts. I've seen it with my own eyes. Elon Musk has his personal farm half hour north of here. Terrifying stuff. Even worse is what they do with the unhealthy babies. The unhealthy ones are sent to the pits. The ultra elite love to gamble on baby pit fights. They attach little scalpels to their tiny hands and the babies have a Battle Royale until only one stands. I wouldn't have believed it myself, if I didn't discover the boxscores coded in Oprah's book club. Those poor poor babies.

And I like your idea of a group of Resistance teens or the Deputy meeting orphaned children! Narratively speaking, that sounds great!

I have a question, like a actually one for the fc5 community.

Where are the kids?

Nick mentions a school when talking about his soon-to-be born kid (we know daughter) calling Joseph "father". But where are the kids? Sure, the cult has been around for like 16 years and they probably grew up or like Jess, had dealt with the bad side of the cult (as if there is any good) or even left before! But like kim and nick, they were expecting while dealing with it. So, makes me wonder. If anyone else was expecting or was born during it. And were these kids orphaned? Not that many grown ups lived and if they did, it was few or in the cult.

I like to believe there is a group of kids (mainly teens) out in hope country that act like the resistence. Grown ups fail them so they end up protecting themselves and others like them.

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Olivia Adamson's shooting precision led to emergence for Syracuse

Get the latest Syracuse news delivered right to your inbox. Subscribe to our sports newsletter here. Olivia Adamson’s summer routine requires elite shooting accuracy. Following a warm up session with her father, Tom, she helps train her younger sister Gigi, who’s committed to Clemson as a goalie in the class of 2028. If Gigi asks for a shot to a corner, Adamson repeatedly pins the corner until her sister gets what she wants from the drill. The two go back and forth each morning until the blistering Florida heat tires them out. “Every opportunity she gets where she’s looking at the goal, she’s done it hundreds if not thousands of times before,” Tom said of Adamson. Through continuous shooting reps in the summer, Adamson’s elite finishing ability propelled her to become a top threat for Syracuse in 2024. Throughout her Division I career, Adamson’s point total has increased every season as she jumped from a key role player to a star. After SU lost its top two goal scorers — Meaghan Tyrrell and Megan Carney — from 2023, Adamson led the Orange in points (65) in the regular season and is primed to help them surge through the postseason. “I think from my first semester freshman year to now I’ve completely grown into a different player,” Adamson said. With Tyrrell and Carney gone, there was a clear role for Adamson to step into. She said her goal was to fill out one of those top spots, but she wanted to stay with her routine and continue to grow. Her Syracuse career started in a similar fashion.

Cole Ross | Digital Design Editor When star attack Emma Ward was injured in the 2022 preseason, an opening was created for Adamson to make an instant impact. She took the opportunity and ran with it, scoring less than a minute into her career. Twenty-one games later, she earned All-Atlantic Coast Conference Freshman Team honors and tied for third on the team in goals. As a sophomore in 2023, her role slightly shifted. Draw control specialist Kate Mashewske suffered a season-ending lower-body injury seven games into the season and the Orange needed someone to step up. SU head coach Kayla Treanor bounced around a few options but Adamson stuck. Despite never taking a draw in college, Adamson excelled. She won 107 draws and helped Syracuse reach the Final Four. Simultaneously, she developed as a key cog on the attack, posting career highs in assists (21) and points (51). “She’s always been a great player from the day she stepped on campus,” Carney said of Adamson. “It was just getting comfortable and finding her role.” In the NCAA Tournament quarterfinals, Adamson posted one of the best games of her career. A game-high six points and nine draw control wins helped Syracuse defeat James Madison to reach its first Final Four under Treanor. Though SU’s season ended with a Final Four loss to Boston College. Heading home for the summer meant Adamson had to reconnect with her routine. Working with Gigi put Adamson’s skills to the test every morning. Gigi often requests Adamson to repeatedly place a flurry of shots in specific areas. And while Gigi’s trying to improve, Adamson hones in on her accuracy and practices different shots. Tom said about midway through Adamson’s high school career, he realized the role she might play in college as a finisher. To aid this, they delved into having the hands to take in anything that comes her way and the vision to finish plays. Just like the roles she had to adjust to in the past, Adamson stuck to the same basics she’s practiced through much of her career. “She always thinks of herself as being able to play an important role,” Tom said. “And so she never really said ‘Look, I have this opportunity.’ She just was looking forward to the year and doing what needed to be done.” In the first quarter of SU’s season opener against No. 1 Northwestern, she was silenced. Though she quickly broke through, scoring a game-high six goals. From there, Adamson notched at least three points in all but two games in the regular season, helping Syracuse to its first-ever ACC regular-season title. While leading the team in scoring for most of the season, she also alleviated pressure from Mashewske on the draw, who struggled at times coming off an injury. In SU’s nonconference bout with UAlbany, the Great Danes won the draw battle 13-6 in the first half, prompting the Orange to rely on Adamson in the circle in the second half. The attack helped SU win 10 of the game’s last 15 draws en route to a 20-11 win.

Olivia Adamson prepares a shot attempt in Syracuse’s game versus UAlbany on March 19. Adamson led Syracuse in points through its regular season slate with 65. Calysta Lee | Contributing Photographer While Adamson’s versatility helps SU, her inside finishing ability elevates her as a scoring threat. Ward describes Adamson’s finishing game as “phenomenal” and credits her for quickly getting into the offense’s flow and taking on a larger role in 2024. In SU’s regular-season finale versus Boston College, Adamson netted a team-high three goals, all resulting from her inside scoring prowess. On the first, she took a tight window pass from Ward and flipped it underhand to beat BC’s Shea Dolce high. Later in the game, she scored two more after receiving passes and utilizing her quick release to beat Dolce. Against Louisville Wednesday in the ACC Tournament quarterfinals, she was limited on the scoresheet but her presence forced the Cardinals to send more attention her way, making room for a season-high nine different players to score. When she did find the back of the net, it was a sharp shot to the upper-right corner. “Her role has changed where now she’s one of our very top threats and defenses are scouting her and coming up with game plans to stop her where in the past she’s been successful because they’re trying to stop somebody else,” Treanor said. Under Treanor, along with assistant coaches Kenzie Kent from 2022-23 and Abigail Rehfuss in 2024, Adamson has vastly improved her knowledge of the game and learned different techniques. Adamson said when she started working with Treanor, she was blown away by how her coach helped her technically improve and fine-tune her raw skills. Though she wasn’t recruited by Treanor — who was an assistant at Boston College from 2017-21 — Adamson said it was a lifelong dream to play under Treanor, who she admired as a player during her childhood. When Adamson learned Treanor became Syracuse’s new head coach ahead of her freshman season, Tom said she was ecstatic. As a driving force behind Treanor’s coaching success at SU, the player Adamson once idolized now adores her. “She’s one of the best finishers I’ve ever coached. I love coaching her, I always have and she’s elite,” Treanor said.

Published on April 25, 2024 at 12:24 am Contact Aiden at: | @AidenStepansky Source link Read the full article