#oscar wilde intentions | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 8 months

Text

Infected

Miguel O'Hara X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info

Summary: An accident at one of Alchemax’s labs has led to Miguel being briefly contaminated with cA1m - a prototype drug that is meant to calm animals. However it seems to have a very different effect in humans.

A/N: A massive thank you to @midgardian-witch for reading the beginning of this (catching a hilarious typo), making some excellent suggestions, and reassuring me that I hadn’t just lost my mind completely (yet).

Reader doesn’t know Miguel’s spiderman.

Warnings: dubious consent - it’s basically a sex pollen fic, blood, hair pulling (can I write a fic without an Oscar Isaac character getting their hair pulled?), so much cum, hand job, oral (both m and f receiving), things get a little rough, face fucking, cum eating, biting, scratching, p in v sex, typos, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!

Word Count: 5433

________________________________

“It’s mainly preliminary.” You said with a smile. “You weren’t in the room, but the filtration system links four of the labs.”

You check over Miguel’s notes, so far, he didn’t have any symptoms.

There had been an ‘accident’ in Lab B2, an accident that was being rapidly looked into. Lab B1, and B4 had been empty, but Miguel had been in B3.

Miguel was currently in a rapidly repurposed testing room, sitting on the bed with his shirt rolled up his forearms. His specific request for somewhere with reinforced walls, doors and windows had been… unusual. But he was a big guy, couldn’t hurt to be too careful.

“How are the others doing?” He asked with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“Okay,” you nodded. There had been eight people in Lab B2 when the container had broken. Two people, like Miguel, weren’t showing any symptoms.

The chemical compound, nicknamed cA1m, while liquid in its storage unit, turned to a gas at above zero degrees. Luckily it also denatured quickly, and there was a good chance that those who still weren’t showing symptoms were unaffected.

The chemical’s intention was for a more humane way to calm wild animals and livestock during veterinary checks. That way the animal in question didn’t need potentially dangerous anaesthetic for basic to mild level medical care.

It also wore off in 24 hours.

However, it still needed some work. And while early tests had gone well, apparently it did not have the desired effect in humans.

Four of the six infected had gone feral, absolutely crazy with rage, trying to kill and destroy everything and everyone within their reach.

Luckily no one had been severely injured before they had been tranquilised.

The other two were different, they had… other urges.

“Have you found any links as to why Doctor Guerrero and Doctor Vaughan didn’t react like the others?” Miguel asks. His voice was calm and controlled, like it always was. Politely interested, like he was listening to a presentation about your latest control data.

“Well, I have an idea. Though I haven’t fully proven it yet.”

He tilted his head to the side in a silent question. The action was endearing, it made your heart flutter and heat rise to your skin. And you hated it so, so much.

You smiled quickly and looked down, trying to cover the fact you’d been staring at him for a second too long.

“So,” you continued, drawing the word out a little to give you a pause of breathing room. “Both Guerrero and Vaughan are in relationships, both of them wanted to,” you pause for a moment, trying to find the most professional way to phrase it. “get to their partners. Unlike the others they also had a massively increased level of oxytocin.”

“Your theory is that that cA1m causes a berserk level of rage unless the subject is in love?” There was the smallest smirk on his lips.

It sounded stupid when he put it like that.

“Well… yes.” You fold your arms. “Look, Miguel,” he grinned when you said his name and you fought, and lost, the urge to smile back. “I’ve had fourteen hours and six people to base this off, plus three who are showing no symptoms. Give me a break, yeah?”

He held up his hands playfully. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You gave me a look.”

“What look?” He teased.

“I know you want to be trying to figure this out yourself, but you’re the one who insisted on not being allowed any breakable, or expensive, equipment while you’re in here.”

He smiled. “It’s true.” His gaze was heavy, crushing almost.

You shook your head and turned to the side table. “Anyway, are you gonna let me draw some blood or what?”

He nodded and held his arm out to you.

You know why you had been ‘nominated’ (begged) to be the one to see Miguel. He wasn’t the easiest CEO to work for in the sense that he was both physically and mentally intimidating, but what usually threw most people was that he was quiet, tended to watch and listen.

And he had a bit of resting bitch face.

But he was actually pretty pleasant to talk to when you got to know him.

You brushed your arm against his as you moved to get your equipment. Miguel audibly gasped.

A flash of worry pinched at your mind, you turned to look at him. “You okay?”

Miguel nodded; he was staring straight ahead at the wall. Obviously in distress.

“Miguel?” This wasn’t the same as those who had suddenly developed into a full-blown rage, but still you couldn’t help the sense of apprehension that crawled along your skin. You glanced at the sedative on the side table and shook your head.

“Miguel?” You spoke again, a little softer and moved a step closer towards him.

He shuddered at your voice, screwing his eyes up tightly. Sweat was beading on his forehead, heat rolling off him in waves.

“Miguel, I’m gonna-”

He moved faster than you could comprehend, one second he was sitting on the bed and the next he was looming over you, his hands clenched tightly around your biceps, and forcing you back.

You yelped as he pressed you into the wall, grabbing hold of his forearms.

His eyes were dark and wild, brimming with a terrifying energy.

“Miguel, wh-”

He crashed his lips into yours, swallowing down your words and slipping his tongue into your mouth frantically. It took you a fragment of a second to react, surprise freezing your limbs solid.

Miguel took your delay to his advantage, pushing his knee between your legs and pressing close. Not leaving a fraction of space between you as he devoured your mouth. Stealing your breath and igniting heat along your veins.

“Miguel,” you managed to push him back, the heels of your hands in his chest. This was the cA1m affecting him, it was the only explanation. Maybe the filtration system had diluted the chemical and caused a delayed reaction. “You need to-”

He snarled, his eyes pinpoint focused on you as he leaned forward and kissed you, hard. All tongue and sharp teeth as he wrapped his fingers around the back of your neck and gripped your thigh bruisingly tight, hitching it high on his hip.

You’d had dreams like this, fantasies, where he pinned you to the wall and kissed you until you couldn’t breathe. But you couldn’t do this, you couldn’t take advantage of him like this-

There was a sharp pinch of pain as Miguel sank his teeth into your bottom lip. You let out a small squeak of surprise, pulling away from him. And raised your hand to your mouth, your fingers coming back red.

Miguel, however, seemed unphased as he trailed kisses along your neck, smearing your blood along your skin. He ground his hips into yours, rocking back and forth and- oh god, he was big, just like the rest of him.

“Miguel, you need to,” you swallowed down a whimper as he sucked at your pulse point, just managing to resist the urge to hold him closer, to run your hands through his hair. “It’s the cA1m, you’re not thinking straight.”

He murmured something into your neck, his mouth not leaving your skin far enough for the words to be intelligible.

“Miguel-” You gasped as he nipped at your throat, not enough to break the skin this time.

Heat was burning from his skin, scorching into your body like you were too close to a flame.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back a fraction too forcefully. You thought the brief pain might snap him out of it, give him a second of clarity. But as his chin tilted upwards, exposing his neck, he let out a long groan, his eyes squeezed shut.

It went straight to your core, your thighs clenching at the sound.

“Need you so bad, shit,” he rocked against you harder, pressing his length right up against your centre. “Always need you, you don’t understand,” he moaned and buried his head back into your neck, despite your grip on his hair, and sucked a love bite into your skin.

This time you couldn’t resist the urge. You sunk your fingers deeper, scratching your nails along his scalp and pulled him closer, pushing his face in your neck.

Miguel groaned appreciatively, digging his sharp nails into your shoulders. He nipped just below your ear, the keen, yet sweet little sting of pain blended with the slow and steady roll of his hips was simply tortuous. Almost enough to make you lose all common sense.

Almost.

You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t do this, you just couldn’t do this.

“Miguel-”

He whined as you said his name.

And you had to bite your lips together in order to hold onto your fading self respect.

“On the table,” you swallowed, trying to get your words out quickly, “there’s a sedative. It’ll help, it’ll-”

“You’ll help, being near you helps.” He mumbles, the words barely audible. He snakes his fingers along your ribs, just teasing the hem of your shirt.

“We just need to-oh!”

Miguel grabs hold of your shirt and pulls, ripping it open, buttons pinging off and going flying. Honestly, there’s less resistance from the material than you expected.

And then he's everywhere, his face buried in your chest, kissing the tops of your breasts as his fingers pinch at your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra.

You can't stop the moan of surprise that escapes your lips as you arch into his touch.

You had to stop this, now. Before he did something you'd very much enjoy and he'd very much regret.

"Fuck," you hiss under your breath and act quickly, trying not to overthink and get yourself caught up.

Maybe if he… had some relief you could grab the sedative in the afterglow. Hell, maybe he wouldn't even need the sedative if he came once.

Before you can lose your nerve you quickly unbuckled his trousers and managed to squeeze your hand under the material despite Miguel's frenzied mind trying to keep the physical space separating you both to a minimum.

He gasps as you touch him, letting out a choked sob that your brain was already committing to memory and filing under 'for use later'.

The velvety soft skin was rock hard and burning hot against your hand. So big that you couldn't even get your fingers fully round his girth.

"Please." He muttered, pressing his forehead against yours, his hands resting tightly on your waist.

His eyes were screwed shut, his mouth slightly open and when you moved your hand, the smallest upwards movement. He let out the sweetest sigh.

You bite your lip and wince as you catch the broken skin, but it doesn’t stop you from tracing your thumb over the tip of him, smearing precome along the head. You were trying to be quick, methodical, clinical, as you began to stroke him, setting an even pace. This was just a problem to solve. You should not be enjoying this.

But every glide of your hand, every touch, made Miguel gasp and moan as if it was the first time he’d ever experienced such sensations, made him bite his lip with his sharp (had they always been that sharp?) teeth, and it was intoxicating.

He pistoned his hips into your touch, thrusting faster and faster, and practically growling as he grew closer to his release.

You couldn’t help but watch him, enraptured, as heat pooled in your lower stomach, your own need growing. But this wasn’t about you.

Still, you couldn’t help yourself rocking back and forth against his leg ever so slightly to just take the edge off.

Miguel grunted, his eyes rolling back in his head, and there was a sharp pinch of pain as he tightened his grip on your waist, his nails digging in much harder than they surely should have been able to.

He swore under his breath as he cums, twitching under your touch, and coating your hand and stomach with his release.

There’s so much of it, far more than there should be as he cums and cums, gasping for air. Another side effect of the cA1m - perhaps you’d be annoyed as his release soaks into your ruined shirt if the sight of him reaching his peak wasn’t exhilarating.

You let go of him quickly, managing to disentangle yourself from him, despite Miguel low, exhausted whine of protest.

God, how were you going to get a new shirt without running into someone? And, you realised, probably a new pair of trousers too. Miguel’s spend had run down and soaked into the left side.

You grabbed the sedative from the side table. Your mind already racing, it wasn’t Miguel’s fault but would he remember? Would he be awkward with you now? Would your little chats and jokes stop? You swallowed down a pang of fear and turned. Now wasn’t the time for what ifs you-

Miguel grabbed your arms and you squeaked in surprise. How could he move so silently? His eyes were dark, hooded with lust, his trousers just hanging from his hips and… well, obviously so much for the idea that him cumming once would be enough.

“I need you.” He growled, his voice so low that you almost felt light headed. “I know you want me too, I can smell it.” He leaned forward scraping his teeth over your pulse point, and for a shameful moment you let yourself get caught up again, allowed yourself to revel in the sensation for the smallest second.

While he was distracted you pushed the needle into his upper arm, through his shirt, and injected the sedative.

It shouldn't take long.

He growled, pulling his mouth away from your neck to stare dangerously into your eyes.

You swallowed. A spike of fear dug into the base of your skull, some ancient urge telling you to run.

“It’s okay,” you said soothingly, unsure if you were really talking to Miguel or yourself. “It’s just the sedative.” You pulled the needle out of his arm. “You’ll be fine, let’s lay you down so-”

He kissed you hungrily, harsh and demanding as he forced his tongue into your mouth.

You allowed yourself to kiss him back the smallest amount as you waited for the sedative to work.

And waited… And waited…

Oh, no, just no, this wasn’t right, this couldn’t be right. There was more than enough in the injection to knock him out and yet he didn’t show any signs of slowing down.

Okay, so, this definitely wasn’t how it went with the others.

You side step, trying to twist past him and break his hold all in one movement. Maybe you could get to the door, maybe you could do… something. Your mind raced, there had to be a way to fix this, to help him, to be useful.

The side step didn’t work, Miguel’s grip was too tight, and you stumbled, skidding around and to your knees. The edge of the bed thumped into your back.

You gasp, gulp and stare up at him. That spike of fear dragging itself down your spine.

He growls and moves closer, his length bobbing and perfectly at your eye level. His gaze is dark and desperate, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth. You could see his pulse thundering in his neck, echoing along the length of his dick.

Rapid heartbeat was one of the side effects all the others had experienced, the sedative being the only thing that had managed to return it to a normaler level.

Maybe there was only one way you could be useful.

Miguel shifts his weight, preparing to move, but you lean forward first and run your tongue along the length of him.

A deep moan rumbles in his chest as you touch him, a gasp of breath. The sound floods heat to your core.

You wrap your lips around the tip, grabbing hold of his hips to pull him closer as you swallow as much of him as you can. You bob your head, encouraging him to move with you and there is a moment where you can feel the tension in his muscles, the strain in his thighs as he tries to hold back, to keep himself in check.

It doesn’t last long.

He snarls and thrusts forward, snapping his hips and nearly choking you. You splutter, trying to breathe through your nose but Miguel doesn’t give you a second to recover. He pushes forward, the back of your head slamming against the edge of the bed as he plunges deeper and deeper into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with ease and still not even half way in.

Your grip on his hips tightens and you don’t know if you’re trying to pull him away or urging him on.

It burns, the size of him makes your jaw ache, tears roll down the sides of your cheeks from the force of his relentless thrusts.

His hands dig into the mattress by the side of you head, tearing into the fabric as he pounds into you, fucking your mouth with everything he’s got.

He groans, “yes, baby, yes,” his voice low and barely distinguishable as words.

You do your best to just hold on, to breathe and take as much as you can. The sounds of his moans filling your ears and mind, and god, how you wished you didn’t have a gag reflex and could take him deeper.

He keeps ramming into your mouth, snapping his hips against you with a frenzied energy and you push against his lower back, silently begging him to keep going.

Your neck throbs from discomfort, bruising forming where the skin is repeatedly hitting against the hard outline of the bed frame. Your knees burn from where they continuously rub against the floor with every buck and thrust.

Miguel lets out a short, animalistic cry as he cums down your throat suddenly. You moan against him, trying to swallow all of it but there’s just so, so much. It spills out of the side of your mouth and down your chin despite your best efforts.

He leans forward, breathing hard, his cock still in your mouth. And for a second you think this is it, the sedative will take hold or maybe this mindless lust has come to an end.

But he’s still hard when he pulls himself out of your mouth, his eyes still glazed over with the same madness when he looks down at you. He runs his hand over your chin, the pads of his fingers slightly sharp, and collects some of his spend that hasn’t trickled down your neck and onto your torn shirt and bra. Another item of clothing you’d need to change.

He smears his cum along your cheek, the movement possessive, like he was marking his territory.

There’s a pause, the lull in the eye of the storm before he pulls you up from the ground with a shocking display of strength, moving as if you were no heavier than a glass of water he was eager to drink down.

You can’t help the little yelp of surprise that escapes you as he practically throws you onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress and momentarily knocking the air out of your lungs.

But then he’s on top of you, pressing himself firmly between your legs as he growls and snaps his teeth close to your neck. He bites at your throat, hard enough to break the skin and you cry out as the pain quickly disappears into pleasure.

Your mewls only make his actions more frenzied as he tears your clothes completely off you with a speed that makes your head spin, before removing his own. The material rips so easily, as if he used a blade.

He runs his tongue along your chest, messily cleaning up the cum he’d spilt along you just moments before.

“Miguel-” You try to start, but then his mouth is back on yours, tasting like salt and iron as he drinks down your words to leave you breathless.

You gasp as he breaks away, trailing sloppy kisses down your body, his fingers running over your skin and leaving scratches. He bites your hip partially deeply and you keen, arching up into him as he moans.

“Your so fucking sweet.” He mutters before kissing lower and lower and, oh god. You nearly scream as his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks hard. Pleasure coils tight in your belly as a new wave of wetness leaks out and soaks into the torn up sheets beneath you.

His fingers dig into your thighs as he pushes his face into you, only breaking away so that he can lick through your folds hungrily, devouring you like a starving animal.

“Miguel!” You whine, letting out a series of high pitch moans that sound alien even to your own ears.

He sucks your clit once more, his teeth just grazing across it before he snarls and pulls away, pushing the back of your thighs and pressing them against your chest with a crushing strength.

You struggle to take a breath, barely filling your lungs before he’s thrusting into you with a guttural groan and a sharp snap of his hips.

The size of him hurts, it’s too much, too fast and you gasp in pain. You clench your jaw, your eyes screwing up as your hands fly to his shoulders, trying to push him back even though you know it’s no use against his strength.

But he stops instantly, stilling his movements.

You stare up at him in surprise. His eyes are still dark but there’s something else there, something pushing through that lust haze.

“Pain?” He whispers, sounding the most like his old self that he has since this ordeal began.

You swallow and nod, tears building at the corners of your eyes.

He slowly loosens his grip around your thighs, letting go shakily as if it is taking a lot of self control to do so. And while he doesn’t pull out, he doesn’t thrust in deeper either.

Carefully, he manoeuvres your legs down onto the bed either side of him, watching your face for any sign of increased discomfort. It’s only then that he looks down to where you’re joined, completely split open with only a quarter of his length inside.

He groans lows and you brace yourself for a brutal thrust that never comes. Instead he keeps his hips still as he slowly trails his sharp nails down your stomach, teasing the very edge of your clit before pressing his thumb against it fully.

A small moan escapes you and you clench down instinctively. Miguel hums in approval and starts to slowly circle the bundle of nerves, the touch light and soft as he just borders on the edge of losing control.

The pain starts to dissipate quickly, replaced with a steady continuous build of that deep need from before. You start to squirm. The pressure of his thumb isn’t enough and you rock your hips ever so slightly, your breathing hitching in your throat.

"More?" He whispers.

You nod your head rapidly.

“Thank god.” Miguel sighs, the words mumbled like a prayer almost too quietly for you to hear, and lets some of his weakening control slip.

Slowly he pushes further in, the tension shaking in his thighs as he fights with every instinct to pound you into the mattress and turn you into a crying mess beneath him.

He keeps circling your clit, groaning as feels a fresh wave of wetness leaking out of you.

You moan, grabbing hold of his shoulders. But this time you pull him towards you, urging him deeper. God, he’s big. Already it’s like you can feel him in your throat.

The stretch burns, but it’s good, it feels right. Like he is going to reach a whole new devastating part of you. Make you cum so hard that he’ll ruin any other sexual partner for good.

You hook your left leg on his hip and squeeze your calf over his lower back, encouraging him closer, deeper. While you plant your right foot firmly against the bed to rock up against him.

Miguel groans, his eyes closed. His movements on your clit falter as he slides further in.

There’s a sharp pain in your hip where his left hand holds you tight, his nails (it had to be his nails) dug in so deep that they broke your skin.

You let out a soft whine, clenching around his girth as he presses up against you perfectly and still pushes further in. The pleasure in your stomach tightening and starting to completely overwhelm all other thoughts, urging you to just chase your release.

Tears prick again at the corners of your eyes, a soft emotion beating hard in your chest. And you can’t help yourself, you grab hold of the back of Miguel’s neck, pulling him down towards you and arching up at the same time to kiss him hungrily.

He moans into your mouth, pushing back against you and forcing you into the mattress. His hips snap forward, finally sheathing himself completely in your tight, wet heat.

For a moment it’s like you can’t breathe, so completely full that not even air can enter.

Miguel stills, giving you a moment to adjust as he licks into your mouth and groans as your walls squeeze around his length. His pubis bone presses firmly against your clit, and you can feel the echo of his racing heart beat along his skin.

He breaks the kiss to breathe hard, his eyes closed and forehead pressed against yours. “I can’t… I need to…”

“Please,” you answer desperately, kissing him softly as you start to rock your hips ever so slightly.

Miguel lets out a whine, his eyebrows pinched together in bliss and the expression alone is nearly enough to make you cum on the spot.

“Can’t stop,” he mutters and you're not even sure if he’s aware of what he’s saying anymore as he grabs your wrists in either of his hands and pins them to the bed. “Feels so…” He ruts into you, pulling out so that just the tip of his cock stays inside before slamming back into you. “Fuck. So. Fucking. Tight.”

You wail under him as pleasure runs up your spine and down your legs as he punctuates every thrust with an upwards rock of his hips, continuously rubbing against your clit and pressing the head of his length to that perfect spot inside.

“So. Fucking. Wet.” He growls. His nails are slicing into your wrists, but you don’t care. Can’t care, you’ve lost all ability to feel anything but the glide of his cock and the heady build of your orgasm.

“So. Mine.” He growls and bites down hard on your neck. You cry out, the brutal pace of his hips only increasing, bringing you closer and closer and-

You gasp, his name catching in your throat as you finally cum. Every muscle shaking as it crashes over you in waves.

Miguel tears his mouth away from your neck, blood shining on his lips as he watches you come undone. He moans, his thrusts not faltering for a second.

“That’s it, cum all over me,” he glances down for a moment watching himself disappearing into you, amazed at how well you’re taking him, how tightly your walls are griping him, trying to milk him for all he’s worth. “Squeezing me so tight, oh shit-”

He cums loudly, still pistoning in and out of you as he fills you up with his release. There’s still so much of it, some leaks out, spilling out of your abused hole and sticking to your thighs.

You breathe deeply, your mind foggy from how hard you came. Your legs ache from being stretched so wide, your pussy throbs from overstimulation.

Miguel doesn’t stop, still rock hard and trusting. Pushing his cum deeper into you.

“Miguel,” you whine, your throat raw.

“I can’t-” he bites his lip, “I can’t stop, I need to, fuck, please, I need to-”

You kiss his neck, biting harder than you normally would at his jugular. He whines, the sound going straight to your core. Heat starts to build again.

“Keep going,” you mutter against his skin. “Keep going as long as you need to.”

You wake up sore and sticky. Aching and in pain. Even the slightest movement brings out an array of discomfort. Every muscle throbs, like you had done a year's worth of exercise in one day, and all the bites and scratches sting as you shift, the scrapes making you feel like someone had tossed you naked into a bush of brambles and thorns.

It takes you a moment to remember where you are, the tiredness in your bones trying to coax you back to sleep.

“I’m sorry.”

Miguel’s voice makes you jump. He’s still close to you, laying on his side with his chest pressed up against your back. One arm around your waist. There’s tension there, you know he wants to move away but is scared to move at the same time.

His cock is pressed against your backside, soft and sated.

You turn to look at him, too tired to worry about your nakedness. Besides, he had seen plenty of it anyway.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

He scoffs. His mouth pressed into a thin line as he looks down.

It’s only then as you turn around completely to look at him that you see tears in his eyes. “Miguel?”

You softly touch his cheek but he flinches away from you. The action spikes through your heart. He can’t even look at you now.

“I’ve got everything to be sorry for, I, I took advantage of you, I rap-”

“No, no, no, no,” you can’t help but touch him again, putting your hand back on his cheek and rubbing your thumb soothingly across his skin.

This time he leans into it, letting out the smallest, shaky breath.

“You were infected, Miguel, you couldn’t control yourself. I don’t know how much you remember but the sedative didn’t work, and your heart rate was just, I mean, it was crazy high. And, if anything, I was the one that took advantage of you and-”

His eyes snap open. “You? You took advantage of me?” He says disbelievingly. “Look at you.” He touches the bite marks on your neck gently.

You give him a little smile. “I don’t mind.”

He breathes out another shaky breath, but there’s a hint of a smile. “You don’t mind?”

You shake your head. “Happy to help.”

He chuckles a little at that and nods as he runs a hand through his hair.

There’s a pause, a silence that you can’t stand.

“I guess I was wrong.”

Miguel frowns a little, confused.

“My theory, about people having that reaction if they’re in love, I mean.”

There’s a pause, the only sound a little gulp as Miguel swallows. Something passes over his face for a second, a faint trace of heat rising to his skin.

Oh. Maybe you weren’t wrong.

“Miguel?”

He breathes deeply, looking down. “I-”

You don’t give him a chance to finish, letting your adrenaline overwhelm you as you quickly lean forward and press your lips to his. Hoping against hope that you weren’t misreading the situation.

He’s caught by surprise for a moment, but moans happily and softly kisses you back as his arm wraps around you and pulls you close.

The kiss is slow and gentle, languid and sweet. It makes your stomach drop like you were falling from a great height. His embrace the only thing keeping you safe.

He runs his tongue over your bottom lip lightly, careful of the cuts, but licks into your mouth hungrily the second you part your lips. It’s not the same lustful need from before, this is deeper, sharper and desperate in a different way. As if after devouring your body he now needed to devour your soul.

He kisses you again, lightly before you both pull back for a second. He grins at you, a little shyly and you smile as you stroke his cheek.

“You weren’t wrong.” He muttered.

You frown and shake your head, confused.

He chuckles and kisses you again. “Your theory about love.”

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @solobagginses @romanarose @saturn-rings-writes

2K notes · View notes

uglyducklingofthe2000s · 5 months

Note

Yees!!! Okay, so can I request a piastri or leclerc reader (whichever you want) where reader accompanies her older brother to a race and she was wearing a dress or a skirt and a fan takes a photo up her skirt (she is wearing shorts underneath) and in an instant it blows up on the Internet with mixed reactions and it reaches the drivers (while doing media duty) and reader's brother freak out, cause wtf where is the security man! And he looses his shit (like has to be held back) as soon as people find evidence of the guy who took the photo (another fan accidentally filming the whole ordeal) which makes the fia fine him BUT THEN MY BOI RETALIATES ALONG WITH THE ENTIRE GRID CAUSE F THE FIA MAN and just hurt/comfort cause reader is now scared to go anywhere in public in anything other than a pair of pants with a pair of leggings underneath and just very supportive and comforting older brother Charles or Oscar

If you are not comfortable with this request I totally understand, thank youu

Don't Go There - OP81/Formula 1 Grid

Piastri!Reader

This is such a specific request.

WARNING! I do want to warn to anyone reading that this is going to include the sharing of images of y/n that were taken without consent and the reader will go through some distressing emotions. I don't usually write about serious matters like this so if you're more here for romantic fluff, this isn't the usual and you might not be a fan of this.

As the closest two on the grid to to the Aussie. Lando and Logan have seen Oscar happy and having a good time. But the joy of having his little sister there for a couple weeks with them. It's fair to say that Oscar misses her and seeing the overwhelming change since he moved away from home for his career, he cherishes every moment he gets to spend with her and he maybe still babies her a little too much.

But when he left home she was in her awkward mid-teens phase and now she's just hit 20 and annoyingly she gets attention from plenty of the F1 drivers and the F2 drivers.

Y/n doesn't care about the attention she gets for her appearance. She's there for her brother and he's her idol. Her entire life she's looked up to her big brother and admired him for getting into F1, it only hurts that she can't be there for him more often.

Getting into the paddock was wild and even in the safety and security of the paddock. There was a lot of people buzzing around.

What no one predicted for the start of race day was for something to rile Oscar so much he actually started yelling.

The social media teams had caught wind of the video but in time to reach Oscar, Lando or any of the other drivers while doing media duties, some of which all crowded in the media pen.

A video of y/n capturing her face just before it dips down and catches a few frames under her skirt. The caption of the video being "Oscar's sister is clearly here as a secret fan of Ferrari".

"Do we know who posted it?" Oscar questions with a darkness in his tone that makes Lando look almost fearful at his teammate while y/n just blinks away her tears. They've managed to push the McLaren drivers back into the hospitality unit and in fact many of the other teams did the same just to try and calm the situation since all of the drivers are pretty angered about it.

Maybe it should've been predicted that the one thing to bring out the dark side of Oscar would be someone hurting his sister. Emotionally or physically, it's the same to him and this sort of thing in completely unacceptable.

"I want to know who posted it and we need to call the police and find a way to get this off the internet." Oscar states before storming out while y/n just sniffles then clearing her throat as she stands up, moving to go after her brother and hopefully calm him down.

The truth is, it's been posted and now he's been reposted and the disgusting comments have been spread around. A video of her red underwear, not worn for any intention other than just wearing underwear. Certainly not for the approval or attention of any Ferrari drivers.

"Oscar..." Y/n murmurs walking into her brother's driver's room where he's been pacing as she try not to hiccup in her tears.

"Y/n..." Oscar sighs moving to hug her. He can't even stop himself from wincing when he feels her crying against him. "I'm so sorry, y/n...I'm going to make sure they regret it."

"Oscar, don't get yourself in trouble. Let other people take care of it." Y/n frowns shifting back. "I don't want you to get yourself in trouble or with a bad reputation."

"If protecting my sister who has just been-been violated by a stranger who we don't even know the name of give me a bad rep then I don't want a good one." Oscar declares making her sigh softly before she swallows thickly.

"I don't want anymore attention about it." Y/n shrugs then swallowing thickly while Oscar frowns and slumps a little, moving back from her and leaning on the table. "You just focus on the race ok? That's what I'm here for ok? That's what I want to focus on, everything else is just...noise. Stupid people can't be stopped from doing stupid things."

"They can be stopped when it has the effect on you that it's had." Oscar grumbles clearly having no intentions of letting it go.

"Oscar, please? Can you at least forget it happened till after the race? For me?"

It's pretty much impossible for Oscar to say not to his little sister when she says that, so he reluctantly lets it go. At least up to the race then he fully intends to find this man and make him understand just how disgusting of thing they did.

It wasn't a podium. But seeing y/n actually smiling after the rough start to the day. It's a pretty good improvement.

But things don't remain all that good for long since the perpetrator has been not only identified but is being held by security. It comes out on his march over to the security building that another fan caught the moment the video was taken on camera too and the man was easily identified and found with the aid of other fans

Oscar doesn’t need a name though. He doesn’t even need to properly look at the man. The moment he’s in the room no one can act fast enough to grab Oscar before his fist collides with the man’s nose, a bone crunching impact that causes absolute bedlam to follow.

Security has to pull Oscar off the man in his blind rage attack. But that doesn’t stop him.

“if you ever think about coming near my sister ever again, or any woman and taking a video or picture or having a camera near them. I will personally make sure this is not the last time you pay for it.” Oscar exclaims in a state of anger that has him heaving for breaths.

His body is shaking with unfinished anger as y/n finally catches up, not having been considered to be informed as quickly as her brother.

“We need to get you to the medical centre. You’re bleeding.” Kim sighs as he checks Oscar’s knuckles that definitely looked better only a matter of minutes ago. “We need to make sure you have broken anything.”

“W-What happened?”

“Oscar went feral on the guy that took your video.” An Aston Martin girl states, clearly having witnessed the whole thing.

That makes her gut drop and y/n is rushing from her spot to follow Oscar to the medical centre.

They've already got him in getting an x-ray. Where it's confirmed that he has a hairline fracture but so long as he doesn't do anymore damage, he should be fine for the next weekend to race again.

"Oscar...you shouldn't have done that." Y/ murmurs while Oscar sighs knowing she's right but not wanting to admit it.

"He deserved it." Oscar grunts as they put a bandaged on his knuckles, if only to just keep them protected for a bit.

Only a couple hours later Oscar is called to the FIA stewards and they end up giving him a fine of €50,000 for assaulting a fan. That only boils his blood more and when the rest of the drivers catch wind of it they begin to contact Lando and pull together a plan to show their support of Oscar.

The FIA has ignored the violation committed toward y/n despite Oscar trying to calmly inform them of the fact that his attack while not necessarily ok, it was provoked and justified.

So during the Monday driver debrief, there's already something to say.

"Please just keep your head low for this debriefing, I don't want to be the source or reason for more trouble." Y/n murmurs while walking alongside Oscar. "Please, Oscar."

"I hear you, but if they bring it up then I'm going to talk about it and stand by my point." Oscar states looking like he might at actually cross his arms with his upset. "You're my little sister, you came here to have a good time not be harassed by some perv who don't understand boundaries."

She knows he's technically not wrong, but that doesn't make his technique of dealing with it any more acceptable in the eyes of the FIA and ultimately they can change his career fate.

Oscar leaves, though not with hugging his little sister tightly to try and reassure her that he'll try his best to contain his upset about what's happened. When he gets to the debrief the rest of the driver's look beyond angry. Possibly angrier than Oscar himself, but since he's been out of the loop in the talks between the other drivers. He just sits down silently beside Lando who looks like he might break his own fist from how much he's clenched it.

When the FIA officer appears, there's a silence as all 20 drivers glare, not hiding their simmering rage.

The officer begins talking about the race and they all just wait in a deadly silence before they're asked for feedback.

"Will we all be fined for defending our family, or any women? Or is it just Oscar?" Lando asks speaking up and genuinely shocking his teammate.

"Oscar was fined to stop the police from charging him with assault."

"And what about the man who leaked a video of y/n's underwear taken without her consent out on the internet? Or is it ok when it's a woman who is the victim?" George questions with a frown.

"If this happens again are we expected to encourage it? Tell them well done for being disgusting pigs that hold as little value as the important women in our lives as the FIA do? Or does it only matter if she's a minor and since she's over 18, it's ok for men to do whatever they like to her." Lance questions even standing up. "If that was my sister, he'd be lucky to still be breathing."

The lack of response, the stunned expression tells them all what they needed to know. The FIA didn't care about y/n's well-being or care if she had been hurt. They didn't care at all.

"I will bring it up and we will get back to you all." The officer states before clearing his throat. "Will that be all?"

Oscar is up and out of there in a second. Not being able to bear being here a second longer.

"Come on, we're leaving." Oscar states while y/n looks up form her phone.

"I just need to grab my stuff-"

"Someone else will grab it. I'm not staying here any longer and neither are you. Come on." Oscar demands making her move taking his hand that's offered out to her.

She's yanked through the paddock passing the other drivers as they exit. But Oscar doesn't stop to say a goodbye to even Logan or Lando.

Y/n has always been a lover of dresses and skirts, but ever since the video. Oscar has noticed her fashion change. She's wearing leggings, jeans or just any form of trousers.

Oscar's protectiveness increased the next weekend, he walked behind her at all times and had his eyes everywhere.

The FIA did end up putting a life long ban from any and all racing events that the FIA is involved in, even beyond just F1 events on the fan who took the video. They also apologised publicly and revoked the fine on Oscar.

But they did warn that this is not an incident to happen again. In terms of a driver getting violent with someone. Instead they want it to be addressed through the proper and legal channels. Not that anyone appreciated it.

The attitudes online are mainly divided between the men who hate women being a part of the sport practically blaming y/n as the problem and the rest of the f1 fans who understand that it's no one's right to take a video of under someone's skirt especially without their consent then share it online with a derogatory comment.

"Y/n, you know...you don't have to change the way you dress. I'll protect you." Oscar states, not sure how to address it exactly but knowing that his sister has visibly changed her choice of wardrobe.

"I know...I just...I don't want to wear other stuff right now." Y/n sighs managing a weak smile before she clears her throat a little.

Oscar drops it knowing that his sister is strong and for now this is how she's going to cope with what she had to go through. He can protect her and comfort her until she's feeling confident enough and if too much time passes that she continues to seem fearful of just being herself.

"You're the best sister I could ever have." Oscar sighs as he hugs her tightly. "I'm sorry there wasn't anything else I could do."

"Don't take the blame for this, Oscar...you aren't responsible for some asshole thinking he can do something that's really no ok."

929 notes · View notes

adventuringblind · 2 months

Text

A Little Lost

Liam Lawson x Reader x Oscar Piastri x Logan Sargeant

Genre: fluff and hurt/comfort

Summary: With her ADHD driving her mind into a whirlwind, she ends up slipping in public and unable to find the one person she needs. Luckily Oscar and Logan are there to help.

Warnings: non-sexual age play, agere/age-regression, panic attacks, implied trauma, non-sexual use of daddy

Notes: I needed this for myself, honestly!! I hope the requester finds comfort in it like I did!

Side note: age-regression is NOT a kink. If you're going to request it, please don't make it a smut request. It gives ya girl mixed signals. AGEPLAY is a kink and has dd/lg dynamics. Please remember this when requesting... I'm begging T_T

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Everything is overwhelming at the moment. He thoughts are running in a million different directions. The noise and bustle of the paddock is pulling Her every which way.

She needs Liam. Without a shadow of a doubt, she needs him right this second.

Her mental state is dancing between headspaces. Her little self is attempting to break free of the confines she's put the girl in. To young and to alone to be out in this environment.

The alphatauri garage feels so far away. It's an endless walk she's been attempting to make for what feels like hours now. Liam, she just needs to get to him.

Panic rises every time someone bumps into her. She squeaks out a sorry, only to be met with annoyed grunts. She needs her daddy to make it better. No - Liam - she needs Liam.

The catalyst is someone shoving her away and complaining that she should pay more attention. She is paying attention. Her brain just has thirty tabs open, three of them have commercials playing, another is driving her senses wild, and where the heck is her da- Liam?!

The shove sends her tumbling to the ground. Her elbow hits the hard ground on impact. It's bleeding, and she's officially offline.

Her little self takes over, tears welling in her eyes as she hides around the corner and tugs at her hair. A desperate attempt to settle the whirlwind of her thoughts.

She needs her daddy.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Logan and Oscar are animatedly chatting about the race as they walk through the dwindling crowd. Liam had texted about a longer debrief and had asked them to check up on his girlfriend since she wasn't answering her phone.

They'd been an item the last couple of years like Oscar and Logan have. It's an interesting and often tense dynamic. The four of them are all extremely close, but neither of the couples have openly talked about any kind of open relationship.

Oscar and Logan have. It's often a source of interesting fantasies and warm fuzzy feelings. They say nothing, though. Scared of losing their closest friends in the pursuit of something mildly taboo still.

Logan is lost in his thoughts when Oscar stops suddenly. He hushes him and listens intently. It's then that Logan catches the muffled sobs.

They take off in the direction of the crying. Neither of them are ones to let somebody suffer when they can help it.

They turn the corner, and there sits their original target. She curled up with hair in every direction, and her fingers rake through it in a violent manner.

Logan approaches her like she's a wounded animal. He's not at all hurt when she curls farther into her corner.

"Osc, we're gonna need to call Liam."

"Already on it!"

She perks up at hearing Liam's name. Eyes wide and teary, but at least she doesn't look scared of the Logan for the moment. "Daddy? Are callin' daddy?"

Oh. Oh.

She's - how did they put it? - regressed, in age. They talked about it in passing but never elaborated. Logan and Oscar had never bothered to look into it. They were protective over it and they wanted to respect that.

He's regretting that decision just a tad now. He might be more prepared on what to do if he'd bothered to figure out what it is that happens to her.

The obvious thing is that she's vulnerable and scared. "Yeah, we're calling him." He smiles warmly at her. "Can you tell me what happened? Why you're so sad?" He keeps his tone calm to hopefully ease her into a less anxious state.

She untucks herself and shows Logan her red and bleeding elbow. "Was pushed."

It's not a terrible scrape, not one to be worried about, but it is getting on all her clothes. He'll have to ask about the pushing later.

Oscar comes back and sighs in annoyance. "He said another thirty minutes at least of debrief. I feel bad for worrying him now."

Oscar sees where the two are crouched and throws Logan a confused look. "Is everything alright?"

"Well, I think someone needs a band-aid for her elbow and somewhere to wait for daddy." Logan tries to communicate that there is more going on here. Oscar looks between the two, and then his face lights up in some kind realization.

"Lando already left for the day, so my room should be safe. And I know he has crayon band-aids in his room."

She considers the idea. Carefully studying both of their faces for some hint of malicious intent. "Daddy said no strangers."

Logan exaggerates a pondering face. "Are me and Osc strangers? I thought we were best friends!"

She shakes her head yes and moves closer to the American. A reassurance that she does consider him a friend. "More then friend!" She leans up to Logan and motions to lend his ear so she can whisper into it. "Daddy says loves." She giggles, and Logan has to use all his strength not to look dumbfounded at the confession.

Oscar and Logan wrangle her the back way to the McLaren motor home. Their success in going mostly unnoticed has both males breathing in relief as they step into the saftey of Oscar's room.

The Aussie ducks out to grab the band-aid from his teammates' room, and Logan is left to sit with the girl currently looking confused and intrigued. She hesitantly grabs the stuffed koala sitting on the shelf. The one Logan had gotten for him as a joke before they started dating.

"Has name?" Her fingers stroke the soft fluff of the toy.

"I'm not sure. Should we ask Osc when he gets back?" She nods once, then comes and sits on the couch with him. The stuffed koala cradled in her arms like it's the most precious thing she's ever seen.

Logan is still trying to comprehend what she meant earlier. Is it just her small brain misinterpreting something Liam said? Or is this an honest confession that she doesn't currently understand the implications of? He doesn't want to get his hopes up and settles on the second option for now.

Oscar sneaks back in the door and starts unwrapping the bangade. It is, in fact, shaped like a red crayon. Her eyes light up even as he washes the cut and places the band-aid on it.

"There we go, all better now." Oscar smiles at her as she hugs his koala.

"Thank you."

She's completely entranced in the stuffed toy again. Logan taps her on the nose to get her attention. "Did you want to ask Osc your question?"

She makes an 'o' shape with her mouth. "Does koala have a name?" She looks up at him with expectant eyes.

Oscar considers. "Hmmm, I don't think he does. Would you like to give him one?"

She takes careful consideration, weighing all the possible options. "Koko."

"Love it."

"Very creative!"

Her expression changes into something sad. Her eyes once again glassy like before. "Will daddy like?" She curls up in Logans lap with the toy.

"Yeah, he'll love it. Certainly not as much as he loves you."

She hums and closes her eyes. It's adorable and peaceful. "Do you think Liam might let us do this with her again?"

"If he doesn't kill us first. Speaking of, I should let him know where we are."

♡♡♡♡♡

Liam likes to think he's relatively quick. He runs often enough and has good stamina.

This is the fastest he's ever moved in his entire life. He grabs all their stuff with a speed that shocks both Daniel and Yuki.

"What's got you in a hurry, mate?"

"Just eager to see my girl, is all."

Daniel shoots him a wink. "Have a good time!" Liam can only laugh nervously in response. It's certainly not the good time he's thinking of. No, he'd promised her a nice dinner tonight.

Now he's thinking he might have to shift plans. Which - he's not upset about. Liam loves when she's in headspace because it gives him an excuse to do things he wouldn't normally. As in, she's obsessed with cars, and he gets to spend time building the most intricate tracks with household items, blocks, and an ungodly amount of Legos that they have at home. She's always sad when they have to leave them for long periods of time, but he brings a portion with just in case.

He makes for the McLaren garage and is greeted by Oscar out front. It's odd, knowing that their secret is out and yet the Aussie is looking at him affectionately.

They make light conversation while they venture into the building. It feels normal still, nothing to awkward aside from the fact Liam goes on rabbit trails every ten seconds. It's the reason Oscar knows how to handle Lando and his chaotic communication tactics.

Liam mentally slaps himself. Now is not the time to be drooling over his friend's stability and emotional intelligence. He should really just confess. They'd talked about it, they both want it, but that could result in rejection.

Oscar opens the door and slips inside. Liam takes a second to observe the scene in front of him. His girl, happily laying her head in Logan's lap rambling about the koala in her hands.

"Look who I found!" Oscar gestures to Liam. Her head perks up and she scrambles off the couch, slipping to the floor before throwing herself at Liam.

"Hi, love bug." Liam attempts to get on the floor without falling as she clings to him. He fails miserably as the topple over. "Were you good for Oscar and Logan?" She hums something into his chest that he can't decipher.

"She was an angel, honestly." Logan leans forward on the couch. It looks like he's contemplating something, shooting stead looks at Oscar.

With effort, Liam finally gets them situated on the floor. "Do you know what might have triggered this?"

"She scraped her elbow, was that it maybe?"

Liam ponders the suggestion. His eyes find the crayon band-aid that wasn't there the last time he saw her. He sighs, hopefully she was just overwhelmed, and this wasn't an altercation of some kind. "She's struggled with - uh, being shoved around - I guess. You know, home life things."

"Maybe she was shoved and fell which caused the panic attack." Oscar eyes them sadly.

"Well, you two feel up to helping us get out of here?"

♡♡♡♡♡

Oscar doesn't understand how Liam makes this look normal. HAs this been going on under their noses this whole time? If only he could go back in time, rewind a bit and do some research. He and logan could help out if they wanted.

She was falling asleep in the car and still looks like she might clock out in the elevator. Still, Oscar can't help imagining the four of them together, like this.

Liam twirls her around as they walk until she almost falls over. She falls into him, laughing and smiling, the injury from earlier forgotten about.

Their space is comfortable and lived in. The two even slip into a routine, pulling out food for dinner. He whispers something to her, and she skitters off.

They pull chairs out from around the small table. Liam offers them water and something to eat. "So, about... this."

"Which this? The four of us or her specifically?" Logan raises an eyebrow.

"Both."

The girl returns and climbs into Liam's lap clutching a notebook. She flips open to a page and excitedly hands it to Liam to hand to the two across the table.

Oscar isn't sure whether to laugh or melt, so he mixes the two together. The pages are lined with drawings of the four of them. "She's quite the artist."

"You've no idea. Our fridge is covered in artwork." Liam chuckles a bit and wraps his arms around her.

"Told you! More than friends!"

"Do you know what that means, love bug?"

"Three people to cuddle!"

Oscar really does laugh this time. "Well, you're not wrong!" He shoot a look to Logan.

"Count us in." The American smile.

Liam sighs heavily in disappointment. It's a confusing reaction that Oscar wasn't expecting. "She's going to murder me later for not having this talk when she's big."

"Can't be mad if you make me dessert!" A devilish grin spreads across her cheeks.

"Only this once."

"You said that last time."

262 notes · View notes

knoxic · 6 months

Text

A kiss may ruin a human life.

Oscar Wilde

-Masterlist- part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4

wc: 2,7k

warnings: sexual tension (?), mentions of death and kidnappings, reader has adhd, horny aaron, miscommunication again. pls let me know if there's more!

a/n: the story changed a bit but it will go back to the first plot eventually! is just that i had a few more ideas and decided to add them here instead of writing another fic. part 3 is aaron's pov so we'll get back to the angst of part 1. no use of y/n.

a/n²: did i make it seem like reader is gender neutral?

Silence.

Nothing but the sounds of your breaths could be heard in the room.

A room that now felt cold and dark, if it was uncomfortable before, now it was unbearable. None of you spoke, you were still waiting for him to say something and he was too shocked to form any coherent sentence.

"If you're not going to say anything-"

"No- i just, don't know where to start." his voice was low, quiet and unsure.

"Start from," you paused, trying to decide what you wanted to know more, "Sunday morning."

"What?" was he playing dumb?

"We got this case on sunday morning, that was when you started acting weird." please Hotch...

"Oh," he still didn't know what to do, but whatever he did now would change your relationship anyway, so, he should probably tell you the truth. "It's because, i- i knew we would have to share a room," he paused to find words that explained what he was feeling but you took it another way.

"What is so wrong about being around me that always gets you like this?" your voice broke a little, and you hated yourself for showing weakness.

"There's nothing wrong!" that came out louder than he intended and he saw the way you flinched, "sorry, but i need you to understand, there is nothing wrong about you. Please just stay quiet so i can finish this?" he pleaded and those usually frowned eyebrows were now raised, his eyes were pleading.

"Okay."

There was a pause, he was gathering his thoughts and giving you both time to calm down.

"From the moment i heard we would be staying together, i knew i would have to get a hold of myself, as a unit chief i couldn't just let go like i wanted to... like i want to," what?

"I love spending time with you, more than i should and it scares me. I thought that if i didn't get too close i would be fine and it worked, until we shared a room for the first time," he sighed, "You were so sweet and caring and it surprised me," that sounded more like a question "i expected that but i didn't expect to... like it so much."

"Hotch-"

"Wait." he glared at you.

When you remained quiet he started speaking again "Ever since you came to my office, i knew i was in trouble." he sighed and shook his head, "When Strauss told me about you i was ready to treat you just like any other agent who came to my unit, but when i saw you... I didn't know what it was about you that kept pulling me in but i didn't want it to stop, being around you healed a part of me that i wasn't aware was bleeding. The way you treated me, with no judgement for what I've done... you treated me like everybody else and still made me feel special... i let myself be fooled by hope, of... what we could be."

...

At this point you were speechless, Hotch has never said so much and your mind was still processing what he implied.

"I know it's wrong, i am your superior, fuck, I'm your boss, the one you should look up to, the one who should take care of you and here i am being the creepy guy." he laughed but there was no humor behind it. "I am so sorry i made you uncomfortable, it was never my intention to let my feelings come forward. If you want to file a complaint against me, i understand."

"Hotch... no." it came as a whisper, you coughed and tried again, "No, but, i still don't know what it means..." fuck, I'm dumb. "Feelings?"

"Feelings. For you."

"Like, romantic feelings?"

"Yes? i mean, if they were harmless i wouldn't have to tell you," with his usual frown back he looked at you unsure, as if you were discussing an unsub's methodology.

"Oh..." harmless? why would it be harmless? him having feelings for you was all you wanted!... file a complaint?

"That is... what i wanted for as long as I've known you." you looked at him not sure what to expect but he kept eye contact, you could see the moment he understood what you meant.

He did not look relieved.

...

"Fuck." he whispered and threw his head back, rubbing his eyes roughly with the pad of his fingers. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know, but from the way you're acting i take it you don't want to do anything..." it hurt to realize he did not want to do something, deep down you knew it wasn't so simple but at the moment you couldn't really think past the possible heartbreak.

"It's not like that."

"It seems exactly like that..."

"I'm just not sure we should act on it, i am not good for you." He raised his voice and turned so he was sitting with his feet touching the floor.

"So we should just pretend this conversation didn't happen?" you said while pushing the blankets and mirroring his position, except his legs were covered by plain black pants. Your grey shorts that barely showed underneath your oversized shirt did not help your fake confidence.

Your question was met with silence.

"Maybe." Yes.

Careful to not let him see how disappointed you were, you kept his gaze, looking just as tough as him.

Under your stare, his resolve almost slipped until you got up, the same way you did after finishing an interrogation. The way you seemed so sure of yourself almost got him believing that what he said didn't affect you. That same sound of your bag opening is what snapped him out of his trance.

"What are you doing?"

"I'll spend the night with Emily." your voice was low and steady. The walls you built up to protect yourself from things that could hurt you coming back up strongly, walls that you used to hide your emotions when you didn't want people to know how you were feeling and my god did they work. He hated to be met with a emotionless expression when you turned to grab something from your bed-

"You don't have to..."

"Yes i do." again, low and steady. "I'll sleep there tonight and tomorrow I'll book another room."

He didn't know what to say, that was the best thing to do but you being away meant he wouldn't get to hear you breathing...

"We only have a few hours before we need to go back to work, you should let Emily sleep." trying to make you feel guilty didn't seem to work as you kept gathering your things. He was getting anxious now and when you passed him to pick up your phone from the bedside table he pulled the device out of your hand. "Stay. it's too late for you to be walking around the hotel." he was hoping that if he used his work voice maybe you'd listen.

"Give it back."

"No."

He was towering over you and the feeling he felt before came back, if you kept looking at him like that, he would break.

He couldn't afford to break.

So he left you standing there, walking to the bathroom with your phone in hand. You stood like that even after he slammed the door, shocked he had really just taken your phone just like your parents did when you were a teenager. After the shock passed you almost laughed at how insane this was, did he really think that this would stop you?

He knew it didn't stop you but he hoped it would. He had taken your phone but it's not like you needed it if you were going to stay with Emily. Looking at himself in the mirror, the eyes he was met with did not seem like him, for the first time in a while he did not know what to do. When he went inside he didn't even know what he was thinking exactly, only knew that he wanted to get away from you as fast as possible without making you leave the room. Looking around, his eyes fell to the same towel he used earlier that now was folded beside the sink, in his rush to take a shower he didn't think much about where to put it but he was sure he hadn't folded it.

You don't remember hearing the lock, if he didn't lock the door you could just go in and get your phone back, even the idea of fighting again seemed appealing, maybe if you fought with him some more your feelings would dissipate...

A shower always helped him take his mind off of things but right now he could barely move without being reminded of your presence. The towel you folded because he had thrown it somewhere carelessly and you knew he would want to shower again before work, your own towel and dirty clothes that laid together on the floor, the liquid soap you used that normally would be kept in a corner with your skin care products but that now was right beside his shampoo, you were also desperate for sleep and yet you made up time to fold his towel... yeah a shower wouldn't hurt.

Hearing the water running somehow duplicated your want to go inside, finding yourself right in front of the door with your hand on the handle when-

"Fuck!" a whispered scream, muffled by the water yet distinct enough for you to understand.

If you were to go in, you would have to be prepared to face him... the door would make noise and there was a chance that maybe the curtain was not closed enough and he would see you coming in, if you were to go in... it would have to be now.

This is definitely not what he planned to do, the initial idea was to take a shower to clean his head from any thoughts of you, not to fill it it more thoughts... definitely not these kind of thoughts. Now he was hard and even more frustrated.

Both his hands were on the wall, his head resting on it while he contemplated what to do, touching himself while thinking of you when you were at the other side of the door right after a fight felt dirty. When his left hand started slipping down a couple knocks echoed followed by your voice, no longer the voice that made him feel small.

"Hotch? can i come in?" he should tell you no, what if you somehow managed to see the evidence of his perverted thoughts?

"Yes." yes please, come in, come see for yourself that I'm just as worst as those guys on the street that you held yourself back from punching.

You were right. The door made a loud noise that made you cringe, looking at the mirror you were met with the damp white curtain, the fact that he was standing naked behind it right now was enough to make you forget why you were here in the first place, a loud buzzing made you remember. Walking quickly to where he had put your phone, right above his towel, picking it up you were met with a call from Rossi and 3 new messages.

"Dave is calling." you figured Aaron had also heard the phone buzzing. "Hello?"

"You're awake!"

"Uhm, yeah..." weird.

"Good, is Aaron with you?" come on Dave, you know he is.

"Yes he is." you were facing the mirror and saw when Aaron reached a hand up to pull the curtain back before letting go, apparently he remembered you were there and he couldn't just get out, especially given his current state...

"Great, i called him 3 times and he didn't pick up" there was a pause, "Thought that was unusual, he usually picks up in the first ring..." he was talking in a suggestive tone but, he often used it when talking about Aaron.

"Oh, he's taking a shower..." no, no, no you shouldn't have said that! he can probably hear the shower running-

"At 3am?" he laughed, "Weird guy, but well, tell him boy genius found something that could help the profile, we're heading back to the station right now."

"Okay, I'll let him know."

Guess you weren't sleeping tonight, at least Aaron did, having a sleep deprived guy driving you wouldn't be good.

"What did he want?" you didn't realize you hadn't said anything after the call ended, snapping your head up you were met with Aaron watching you from behind the curtain, his hair was damp and he looked flushed.

"Spence found something, they're heading back to the station now." he nodded, his wet hair shaking and a few droplets of water falling down his face, it looked obscene really. "Anything else?"

"He said he called you and found strange that you didn't answer," you were avoiding looking at him now but still saw in your peripheral vision when he nodded while humming.

There was a moment of awkwardness until you realized you could just leave, so you did just that.

"Wait!" he called out before you could fully step out of the room, "Can you hand me the towel?"

You didn't answer but still went back inside to grab it, the fabric felt soft and comforting unlike his wet and cold hand when it accidentally touched your fingers.

"Wait for me? I'll be out quick."

"I don't-"

"Please?"

"Sure." you sighed.

...

Closing the door behind yourself felt more relieving than catching an unsub... okay, that was an overstatement but the feeling was there. Not knowing how long it would take for him to be out but aware he only had the clothes he was wearing to bed in the bathroom, you tried to change as fast as you could, having Aaron seeing even more skin would be too embarrassing.

You had done a good work earlier picking up your clothes, all of them were stuffed inside your go bag and you could see a white button up, white tank top and the black pants you wore today sticking out, it would have to do. Deciding to take one step at a time you pulled the shorts down, your shirt was big enough to cover your ass if Aaron suddenly opened the door, thankfully, it did not happen. Taking your shirt off felt a bit too risky, just having the cool air of the room hit your bare back and chest would make you shiver, if Aaron saw it you would be left shaking. Pants buttoned and shirt left for later you picked up your sneakers, boots were too much for a time you were supposed to be sleeping, just as you were finishing tying them the loud noise of the door opening and heavy footsteps filled the room.

"Ready?" he seemed out of breath, you hadn't looked up yet but you were sitting in your bed and he had to walk in front of you to get to his. When he did, you could see the black pants pooling around his feet.

"Not yet."

Picking the shirt and tank top you had throw a little further on the bed you risked a glance in his direction, bare shoulders, pale enough you could make out the outline of where his hand were gripping a second before, his tense muscles were aching even more now, having to interact with you and pretend to not have almost jerked off to the thought of you minutes ago had only made it worse.

Hearing your bed creaking he looked back, he supposed you were walking to the bathroom to change your shirt, oh what he would do to have you change right in front of him... fuck, not again!

Adjusting his pants, again, he tried to focus on the case.

Women around 20-25 were being kidnapped, found dead 3 days later. The case was pretty much like any other but the city decided to not cooperate, the team was stressed and it doubled when another woman went missing yesterday, one of the police officers knew her family and almost started a fistfight with Derek when we took a break, not pleased with the fact that we weren't machines and actually needed to take breaks eventually.

"Now i am." you were back, he hadn't even realized he continued moving while thinking.

"Good. Let's get going."

Now with the work mask put on, both were ready to act like no words were exchanged tonight.

a/n³: i read this like 3 times and i still don't trust my work lol, I'll try to find a beta reader so i can post faster.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader

198 notes · View notes

philosophybitmaps · 1 year

Photo

“Life is not governed by will or intention. Life is a question of nerves, and fibres, and slowly built-up cells in which thought hides itself and passion has its dreams.” – Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

#philosophy #quotes #Oscar Wilde #The Picture of Dorian Gray #Wilde #will #intentions #thoughts #passions #dreams

13 notes · View notes

babybluebex · 25 days

Note

Ryd and N Side by Steve Lacy make me think of Dom (specifically in college)

oh college!dom is a continuous thought, like meeting him at a frat party (bc i can only imagine what greek life at cmu is like, bc my small tiny university's greek life is WILD) and like maybe he's in your bio lecture or something so you know he's around and you think he's super cute but you've never actually spoken bc there's like 60 people in your bio lecture but anyway, you see him at this frat party and you lock eyes from across the room and you hold his gaze for longer than you might've usually, but you had a beer in your hand and you were feeling pretty good so your confidence was somewhere else

and he starts to cross the room, obviously coming over to you, and your friend grabs your arm "holy shit!" and you're like "wuh??" and she goes "is that dominic sessa?" "who?" you ask, like doubly like who are you talking about? and who is dominic sessa? and your friend goes "the guy in the flannel shirt walking this way, he's an actor, and he's really good, and he's super hot, but i didn't think he was back on campus yet—" "oh, a theater student, whatever" you scoff and your friend is QUICK to correct you "no, dude, he was in a movie that was nominated for an oscar. he's got like a bafta or something, he's famous!" and at about that moment, dom approaches you, and you see that he has his own red plastic cup in his hand, his dab pen in the other, flannel and wolf tshirt and dirty white sneakers and messy hair, and he's so smooth and easy "you're in my bio lecture, right?" he asks and your friend about dies "uh, yeah" you nod, aware of your friend's heart attack happening as she grips your arm "you're... i know your name, i swear, you sit towards the back of the hall..." "i do" he says "you sit in the front row" "i do" you echo "sorry, it's, ah, not coming to me... i've had a little bit to drink" "no sweat" he chuckles easily "i'm dom" "that's right" you nod and you quickly tell him your name and introduce your friend, and dom nods and smiles at her, but he's focused on you the whole time (specifically your lips, and you're so glad your friend talked you into wearing lipstick and actually dressing up for the party) "you wanna go outside?" dom asks "i wanna smoke, and i can't really hear myself think in here" "sure" you nod, and your friend smiles at you and takes the hint "oh, i think see my friend over there! i'm gonna go say hi!" and leaves you and dom to navigate through the cramped house party and out to the front porch of the frat house, where it's significantly quieter and cooler than inside

"that's better" and he sinks into one of the fabric patio chairs, taking a pull on his pen, and when he speaks, the smoke curls off his lips in a way that makes your back stiffen "nothing against kid cudi, but..." and you laugh and occupy the chair across from him "do you live on campus?" and you nod "barton hall" (listen i KNOW cmu doesn't have a dorm called barton, dON'T YELL AT ME) and dom scoffs "what?! i'm not a freshman, barton isn't just a freshman dorm, it's just mostly a freshman dorm" "no, no, that's not why i'm laughing" dom chuckles "i, uh... the high school i went to was a boarding school, and the dorm i lived in senior year was called barton" "oh wow" and you lean forward with the intention of hearing him better, but he starts to pass you his pen "oh, no thanks" "cool" he mumbles "what's your major?" and you tell him, trying to reel in your geeky overexplanation of your field of study, whatever it may be, and he laughs his goofy little gasping laugh "wow, that's awesome" "what about you?" you ask, and he sorta goes a little red "acting" he says "theater, performance art, whatever you wanna call it..." "wow" you breath, and your friend's words circle in your head, how he allegedly won a bafta ("or something") and you decide to play it cool— you're sure millions of girls fawn over him every day for his work, and even though your ignorance is real, you don't want to give him the impression that you're only talking to him because of that (even though you're not) "what do you wanna do with that?" "see, that's the question" dom says "my granddad asks me that every time i see him, he doesn't get it, yknow? but that's what i wanna do— that's what i currently do, i just wanna understand the technique better and how to be a better actor" "currently?" you ask with confusion and dom bites his lip and lets it slowly release, obviously mulling over something in his head, but he doesn't answer you "you hungry?" he asks suddenly "i'm starving" and you shrug "i could eat" but his avoidance sets the mood for the rest of the night: he doesn't wanna talk about his job, so you won't

and you decide to walk to a nearby little joint, neither of you are in much state to drive and the buses stopped running for the night, and it's nice, just the two of you, sharing stories and getting to know each other, and he's a genuinely really great guy, pays attention to you when you talk and expresses excitement in stuff you're obviously interested in, he asks a question about your major and you're like "oh, that's like complicated, it gets into the technical weeds and shit of the field" and he shrugs "i'm an acting major. i'll never know that sorta stuff if you don't tell me. weed away" and like his hands are all over you, but in a nice way, hand pushed into your back pocket or arm around your shoulders, subtle signs to the guys you pass on the sidewalk there that, at least for that moment, you're his and when you get to the place, it's essentially a little hole in the wall, buzzy fluorescent lights and high tables and some tinny radio from the back playing rap music, and you order first, just a cheeseburger and fries and a coke, and dom gently pushes you aside before you can dig your card out of your pocket to pay and goes on with his order, looking at the menu sign, and he sorta scoffs "yeah, cheeseburger, fries... shit, why not, and a miller high life" and you get seated and you're playfully frowning at him "you didn't have to do that" "do what?" "pay for my food" and he shrugs "a gentleman can't just sit idly by and watch a pretty girl pay" "oh, is that what you are? a gentleman?" and you ball up the paper straw wrapper and lob it at him and he laughs "aren't i?" he asks "i suppose so" and you roll your eyes "but i doubt your judgement" "on what possible grounds?" and you eye the glass bottle of beer he's got in his grip "really??" "ok, y'know what, i have a valid argument" he starts and you playfully chastise him that no argument makes it ok to drink that shitty beer, and he goes "baby, they call it the champagne of beers for a reason!" and you register that he called you baby, but you don't comment on it "not valid, try again" and he sighs playfully "it's a joke i have with my-my uncle" and you notice the tripping over his words, but again you say nothing "do you have insta?" you ask, changing the subject, and dom swallows down a mouthful of miller "nah" he says quickly, and you get that sense of avoidance again, shaking his head "i've got snap, though" "well, let's get that, then" you tell him and start to grab your phone from your pocket "why? you wanna text me after tonight?" he asks with a smarmy little crooked smile "only to ask about our work for bio" you tease him

and you think the night's gonna be over after you eat, it's getting to be a little late, and he sorta takes your fingers in his as you leave the little joint, and he asks "you live on campus?" "you already asked me that" you say "i live in barton, remember?" "fuck, right" dom nods "got a roommate?" "yes" you nod, sensing what his next few questions will be "and she's part of the, like, catholic students association, so... might be best to go to your place" "oh, what?" dom asks "what would we do at your dorm that your catholic roommate wouldn't approve of?" and somehow his awkward big eyes and wolf tshirt and all sharp angles of the elbows and knees have totally disrupted your state of mind, because for once in your life, you're bold "i can think of a few things" you tell him, and dom tilts his head at you, that same crooked smile crossing his plush lips "name one" he says, and his finger touches your chin, keeping you from averting your gaze "alright" you say "i'd really really like your dick inside me, and i sorta don't think she'd appreciate that" "my place is good" dom says quickly, and you laugh as he whips an arm around your shoulders

and you get back to his place, a small apartment where he assures you that his flatmates are either gone or won't hear you, and you can hardly take in the sparse, college-boy decorating job in the front room before he's tugging you down the hall to a room with a little nametag taped to the door that says ANGUS TULLY in big, bold letters, and you start to comment that like?? is that his room?? that's not his name on the door?? but he's closing the door with his foot and kissing up on your neck before you can say anything, and you let yourself melt into his arms

he gently situates you on his bed and shucks off his flannel, and your hands fumble at his belt, and you groan a little "too dark, i can't see shit" and dom chuckles and leans over and flicks on his lamp, and your gaze follows his hand as it retracts from the nightstand, and you're met with the imposing feature of a large, silver, metal thing tucked behind his lamp, it's difficult to see from the angle you're at, but it's certainly there, and you furrow your eyebrows at it

and dom follows your eyes, and he sorta deflates, it's very obvious he had hoped that you wouldn't see the trophy, and he swallows hard "oh, um—" and you sit up a little to get a better look at the engraving on the base: DOMINIC SESSA - BEST YOUNG ACTOR, and in smaller font below it, CRITICS CHOICE AWARDS 2024

or something, as your friend had said. he didn't have a bafta, but he certainly had an award. you can tell that he's a little uncomfortable, his hands suddenly more fidgety than before, and you look back at him before you cup the back of his neck and pull him into a kiss, and he doesn't do anything weird, he kisses you completely normally, his hands smoothing down your hips and thighs to wrap your legs around his waist, and he breaks the kiss "fuck, m'sorry... i have to know what you're thinking about after you just saw that fucking thing"

and you sorta laugh "i'm thinking that i don't really care too much" you tell him "you're a cool guy, and i don't— i didn't recognize you when we first started talking, so... whatever, y'know? so what if my friend has an oscar?"

"first of all" and he steals a kiss and his hand slinks down to rub at you through your jeans "friend? i'm wounded, baby. and also, that's not an oscar, it's a critics choice award, they're two very different things—"

"whatever! i'm not a movie person!" you giggle "but why do you keep it on your bedside table? to impress all the girls you bring home?"

"well, you're the first" he says "are you impressed?"

"it's kinda freaking me out, to be honest" you tell him, and he huffs out a laugh

"we can put it away" he says and he gets up and grabs it like it's no big, and moves to his closet and puts it on a shelf before closing the door back "and it was there because my mom facetimed me last night and asked to see it, and i just didn't put it back"

and he comes back to you and starts to tug down your jeans while he kisses you, and he playfully whispers "you're all quiet now. want me to fix that for you?" "can you?" you ask him, and he smiles "i will" he says "if you tell me one thing" "which is?" and a flicker of something hints behind his eyes "you really didn't know who i was when i came up to you?" and you shake your head "you haven't seen the movie? or, like, even heard about me?" "wow, someone's got an ego suddenly" you scoff "i told you, i'm not a movie person. i haven't even seen that barbie movie that was really big last year" "oh, ok, hold on" he starts "i get not seeing my pretentious movie about grief and shit like that, it's not everyone's first choice, but barbie?! you haven't seen barbie?!" "dude, fuck off!" you giggle "do you wanna have sex or not?" "i do!" dom says quickly "but hand me my phone first" "why?" you ask, and feel around underneath you to where dom had discarded the stuff from his pockets, and you pass him his phone "i..." he starts, using both hands to type quickly, and your hands go to his belt, resuming the job you had started "am texting... ryan... and telling him about this..." "ryan...?" you ask "gosling" dom says casually and you look at him in confusion "he played ken?" and at your blank stare, he playfully sighs "you're killing me here, baby" "what're you telling him?" you ask, and dom tosses his phone aside "that i've got an absolute hottie in my bed right now" he says, going for your neck "and that she doesn't know who the fuck he is. you think i've got a big ego?" "well" you start, and his jeans come loose, and you push your hand in, past the band of his boxers, and you gently bite his bottom lip "guess you've got a reason, don't you?"

#bex answers #i apologize i ALWAYS do this #dominic sessa x reader #anon ask

63 notes · View notes

kingdumkum · 2 years

Text

WHAT ARE YOU THE GOD OF, AGAIN?

feat: Satan (1754) ∻ Asmodeus (1297) ∻ Beelzebub (1402) ∻ Belphegor (1533) synopsis: turns out, fallen angels can have more than one sin. cw: afab!reader | dom!Satan shouldn’t be allowed to play with toys but here we are; vouyerism (on behalf of the brothers but namely Asmo); exhibitionism (on behalf of Satan); brat tamer!Satan x brat!reader; humiliation; cnc in that reader doesn’t actually give explicit consent in this situation but it’s been given for situations like this before; Satan is a closet FREAK and i will be taking questions | kinda public sex (they’re in a closet); fwb; really rough sex; possessive!Asmo knows how to leave a mark; slight mentions of blood; feral!Asmo is something ELSE but I’m here for it | panty-stealing; panty-sniffing; perv!Beel; breeder ball Beel ain’t an agenda, it’s the truth; he’s kinda pathetic and lovesick in this but i fail to see how that’s out-of-character | facesitting (on Belphie); oral (f!receiving); overstimulation (f!receiving); soft!Belphie because writing him mean is really hard for me; it’s really just great to be Belphie’s tbh a/n: i... am shocked speechless at how many people enjoyed part one. this was so self-indulgent, but y'all have been so nice, so have a cookie ya filthy animals. the prince of demons and his angel and his human are next.

∻ Satan ↠ w r a t h ⤲ e n v y

While SATAN does his best to remain calm, to try and not just put up with his anger but control it, his sin is contagious, and more often than not, he inadvertently starts things. Sometimes without even realizing; most of the time with the sole intent to. It helps, he justifies, that he doesn’t have to be the only one angry all the time. It gives him a break, lets him be calm.

Let him regain control.

And control he has, as he plays with the settings of the vibrator nestled neatly in your cunt. A punishment from earlier, when you showed up to your private study session with Asmodeus in tow. Yes, Satan knows you didn’t invite him on purpose, and yes, he knows Asmodeus pulled the but I would fail without your help! card, as if he wasn’t around whispering inspiration into Oscar Wilde’s ear in the first place, but that didn’t help his barely-controlled rage when Asmo decided the best place for you to tutor him would be in his lap.

And you agreed.

Satan knew why, of course; it was your way of trying to get back at him for accidentally standing you up the other night. That wasn’t his fault though; he’d gotten so caught up in his latest work that he’d completely lost track of time, but he’d rushed over to Hell’s Kitchen as soon as he realized. Three hours late.

To where you were sitting with Asmodeus. Drinking, with Asmodeus–laughing, with Asmodeus.

Asmodeus, who promptly left with a brief kiss on your cheek and playful scolding of Satan for losing sight of something so precious, had the sense to not be seen again, and Satan managed to remain calm until your salads arrived, at which point you made note of how Asmodeus helped you picked the menu.

He did pay for the damages done to the bathroom (discreetly, of course; he didn’t need to be scolded by Lucifer for losing control again), and he thought the two of you had come to an understanding. One in which he’d stop making foolish mistakes like losing track of time, and you’d stop keeping foolish company.

Satan had underestimated how addicted you were to making him lose control, though. Almost as much as he was addicted to controlling you.

His face is as stoic as always, even as he watches your reflection in his goblet while nonchalantly flicking his fingers erratically over his phone’s screen. To his more oblivious brothers, who aimlessly talk about Beel’s upcoming game or Mammon’s latest photo shoot, Satan merely looks bored and yearns to return to the library from which he was so ungraciously dragged for dinner; to Lucifer, whose gaze flicks between you and Satan’s apparently apathetic facade, something sinister lies in his creation’s blank stare; and to Asmodeus, who cradles his chin between his palms as he leans across the table towards his older brother, suddenly realizes Satan’s far less interesting than you–you, whose face is flushed, whose jaw is clenched, whose eyes are shut so tight, Asmo knows you must be seeing stars.

And that’s before the smell of your arousal hits him.

With a deepening grin, Asmodeus takes a deep inhale–deep enough to catch Satan’s attention.

The toy stops moving.

With a whimper of protest, your lower lip starts to quiver. Your eyes slowly open, blinking back into reality; and reality being, Satan was about to make you cum for the second time that dinner, with all six of his brothers gathered around the table. You were close–you were so close, and you knew that, and Satan knew that, and–his teal eyes are narrowed in Asmodeus’s direction. His face barely changes; a tightening of his lips, thinning of his eyes, the pause of his hand. But when you whisper his name, hand stretching beneath the tablecloth to grip his knee tightly, he falls apart.

His stoic facade slips, and for a moment, Asmodeus’s smile slips, too–for there, in Satan’s eye, is something Asmodeus had thought to be too intimate for his brother to ever feel; something too tender for an Avatar of Wrath to possess. But it’s there, lurking in the shallow waters of his brother’s eyes as Satan’s stretch for the jug of wine sitting just beyond your reach brings his lips to your ear.

“Apologies, darling,” he murmurs in a tone so light, it wouldn’t be fair to call it air. “Let me make it up to you.”

You cross your arms over your chest and lean into the table, prepared to quip something back about how he better before a gasp slips out instead as Satan, quicker than you thought possible, pulls out the vibrator.

“Satan–” you hiss, but he silences you with a tense glare. One he makes up for by placing a heavy hand back on your thigh, fingers lazily trailing along the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, and despite the uncertainty biting at your spine, you nod. He’s never given you reason not to… ever. “Good. I think this could be fun.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and you know better than to ask; the last time you tried questioning what the reserved demon wanted to try, you ended up tied to his bed, vibrator strapped to your aching cunt, for eight hours. Not that you minded that particular outcome, except for the fact you were running out of plausible excuses to justify your frequent absences… or hickies.

Satan’s lips twitch up as he fills your goblet, then goes to top his off. You see the glint of something heavy in his palm, then the splash of something making contact with the liquid in his goblet, then the realization of what he’s doing turns your blood cold as he offers his cup to Asmo.

“Want some?” he asks with perfect ease. “It’s particularly… sweet this evening.”

Satan’s smile could be considered cruel, and in his heart, he knows it is, especially with your shocked-still look of terror beside him, but… this was as close to a blessing as he could ever grant. He might never be willing to share you fully, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to let the others know what they’re missing; particularly Asmo. Particularly the only other demon who seems to be better at eliciting wrath than he.

Asmodeus takes the goblet with a coy grin, already knowing what devilish game his brother is up to. He lifts it to his nose, swirling what little liquid is left as he takes a deep whiff. His sultry gaze turns to you briefly before back to Satan, taking a deep sip. “Made it yourself?”

Satan leans back in his chair, fingers circling around your thigh and dipping beneath your skirt. You bite your lip and fist the hem of the thin material, already knowing that when Satan smirks, it’s not because you’re already flustered from his featherlight touch, but rather because you’ve soaked the cushion beneath you already.

“We did together, actually,” Satan corrects. Without warning, he dips a single digit into your fluttering hole, desperate to be filled after being so cruelly teased all dinner, making sure to gather as much slick as he can. “She’s quite the excellent chef. Everything she makes is… sublime.”

As if to prove his point, Satan withdraws his finger and slowly brings it to his lips. Your cheeks burn with humiliation, not just at the lewdness with which Satan wraps his pale lips around his finger, but at the deep laugh Asmodeus echoes as he dips a finger beyond the goblet’s gilded edge, as carefully as if he were stroking a lover. “Oh, truly,” he agrees, popping his finger into his mouth and sucking gratuitously, “I’ll have to have both of you cook for me some time. I wonder what wonderful things you might be able to make for me, hm?”

Satan starts to frown, and your heart starts to race. With thin lips, he replaces his hand beneath your skirt, but gone is the reverence he was stroking you with before; now, he dives in like a drowning man. Plunging two fingers into your depths, not caring at the way your whole body tenses as you fail to keep your breathing steady, all while maintaining eye contact with his younger brother.

“That’s up to her, I suppose,” Satan muses, angling his palm so it grinds against your puffy clit with every deep thrust, “she doesn’t like cooking for just anyone. She needs the right ingredients, you see. High class stuff. Not sure someone like you would understand, little brother, considering the usual… chefs you employ.”

In other circumstances, you would be fuming at the casual way the brothers discuss you as if you aren’t even there. You’d also probably be in a right enough mind to scold Satan for slipping Asmo your vibrator without actually asking, or at the very least tell Asmo off for being such a brazen flirt–but your mind isn’t thinking that far ahead. It’s all you can do to keep up with the pleasurable way Satan is moving inside you, filling you more fully than any toy ever could, pressing against your core as if this were something he was made to do. Your brain is hazy with pleasure, body even more so, to the point where you don’t even notice Asmodeus passing the goblet to Mammon, teasing the back of the white-haired demon’s head as he’s promised this’ll be his new favorite drink.

Your nails dig into Satan’s arm as he brings you past the edge. He lets you bury your head in his shoulder, softly settling an arm around your shoulders as he murmurs, “good girl.” He tells Asmo that you’re just overcome with emotion about the way your book ended, and he tells Lucifer it’s none of his business when the elder demands to know the name of such an offending book, and he tells Mammon he may absolutely not have the recipe, because that’s a secret between just the two of you.

He does this all while still steadily pumping his fingers in and out of you, bringing you to yet another silent orgasm that leaves tear-stains on your cheeks. By the time Satan’s decided he’s had his fill, his fingers are pruning, his lips are coated from his near-constant finger sucking, and his goblet returns empty.

“Come on, darling,” he says after you’ve had a chance to catch your breath, “we’re out of wine. Shall we go make some more?”

∻ Asmodeus ↠ l u s t ⤲ w r a t h

The sound of skin-slapping-skin is the only thing to be heard in the cramped janitor’s closet ASMODEUS pulled you into just five minutes ago. Your hands curl against the wire shelves as you pitifully try to keep your whimpers in. Not that Asmo helps with that, though; not with the aggressive way he’s slamming into you, thumb constantly rubbing your clit in a way he knows drives you insane, sending you jolting forwards into the various cleaning solvents and potion ingredients you did not find romantic whatsoever. His grip on your hips is bruising, but every time you try to straighten, he’s instantly able to shove your shoulders forward and grab your hip once more before you’ve even processed what he’s doing.

“Perfect fucking pussy, sucking me in so goddamn tight,” Asmo growls, letting his free hand trail down your spine to grab your hair. With a sudden jerk, he yanks you backwards, his breath hot against your ear as you fail to suppress a pitiful moan. “Stop pretending like this is too much, angel. This–is–your–fault.”

You don’t know what he’s talking about, he can tell; and it makes him even angrier. It’s not exactly a secret that Asmo has a… soft (or rather, hard) spot for the human exchange students, but there were a few demons that didn’t care. A few pathetic, weak, disgusting demons who thought they could try and steal you away–

He has no right. He’s not stupid, he knows he has no official claim to you. He’d known that since the day you met, and he remembered it when you snuck into his room and shly asked if he had any advice for how to be safe when it came to demons, and he forced himself to tell you, over and over, that he was the Avatar of Lust, and a mere human could never be enough to fully saite his appetite.

So why is he the one who can’t seem to move on?

He was the one who wasn’t searching for something serious, just like he was the one who promised, if you’d let him take care of you, nothing would change. That you’d be friends first and foremost, benefits on the side, no strings attached. No expectations, other than cumming so much you lose count; and no feelings. Except unadulterated pleasure, of course.

It’s a pattern Asmo’s been able to do since the dawn of time, and as the Avatar of Lust, it’s worked out just fine. And then… you, with your soft smiles and softer touch and the way you look at him and see him. Not his beauty, or his charm, or his cock, but–him. Asmodeus, your Asmodeus, only yours–

“Bet this drives you fucking wild, doesn’t it?” Asmo whispers. His tone matches his pace; rough, deep, and full of the things he can’t actually say. “Knowing you’ve got–the Avatar of Lust–pussywhipped–”

Your walls flutter around him, but it’s the low moan of, “Asmo, please–” that causes him to pause. He’s fully sheathed inside you, pulling you back into him as far as he could as he presses his chest to your back. Roughly, he bites at the skin on your lower back, slapping your ass when you yelp and try jumping away.

“Stay. Put.”

Another bite, this time on your hip, earning yet another yelp–but you manage to suppress your jump with a tremble, keenly aware that whatever mood Asmo’s in is not one to be trifled with.

Another, on your other hip; another, moving up your spine; another, between your shoulder-blades–

Asmodeus keeps you impaled on his pulsing cock, the long member twitching inside with every pitiful yelp you release when his teeth make contact with your tender skin. His hands run up and down your sides before coming to cup your breasts, gently teasing your nipples until the pain of his bites blurs into the pleasure from his fingers.

“Asmo–Asmo, please, I–” you try begging him to move, begging him to pay attention to your clit again, begging him to let you cum–but he won’t have it.

“Oh, so now you remember my name?” Another bite, this time on top of your shoulder. You barely register his words. Asmo snatches your chin and forces your head back. His eyes, usually so full of kindness, are nearly black with rage. Your eyes flutter shut when he snaps his hips into yours, and your whines are pathetic when he stills once more.

“Look at me.”

You can’t. You won’t. You’re tearing up from frustration, and if you open your eyes he’ll see you cry, and if you start crying he might stop fucking, and you don’t want that. Not when he gets like this–when he treats you like you’re his.

This bite breaks skin.

Middle of your throat, right above the pulsepoint he so easily could’ve sliced with just the barest twitch from either of you. Warm liquid slowly trails down to the hollow of your throat, but you don’t know if it’s blood or spit from the messy way Asmo makes out with your neck.

He watches you while he does, pulling back to lick from the nasty bruise that’s already starting to ache all the way up to the corner of your mouth.

“All I had to do was remind you, hunh angel? You don’t need anyone else, yeah? Just me, baby. Just me, just need me-” his voice is soft with desperation, pressing needy kisses to every inch of your face he can reach. His grip on your breast and jaw turns bruising, but you don’t care. You love being marked by him; the pretty patchwork of blues and greens serving as a reminder that your time with Asmo is real.

“Just--just you, Asmo. Just need–you.”

He doesn’t know if you mean it, but he can’t find it in him to care. Not when you start rocking back on his cock, freely crying as you continue to beg him to make you feel good.

For a moment, Asmodeus has the sadistic urge to leave. To step back, walk out like nothing happened, and leave you in such a state of want you’ll never think to forget him again.

But then your hand finds his on your chest, and you interlock your fingers while you press a gentle kiss to the palm still clutching your cheeks, and you mumble, “only ever want to be yours, Asmo. Make me yours.”

He can’t breathe, first because he was in shock and then because his lips find yours so quickly, he doesn’t get a chance to. His hips move slowly, minimally grinding into yours as your makeout turns sloppy, only turning into full thrusts when the pleasure gets to be too much and you have to break away from his kiss for air.

“All you had to do was ask, angel. You know I’d do anything for you. But since you seem to keep forgetting, guess I better figure out a way to make you remember, yeah?”

He starts sweet. Sweet as the kiss he presses to your forehead, sweet as the way he caresses your cheek as his hips start to gain traction–but quickly turns bitter when he doesn’t stop. When his hips pick up to the brutal pace he’d initially set when he first dragged you in, slamming against your already bruised thighs without mercy. When the hand on your cheek goes down to your throat, and the other snakes its way down to your clit and tweaks in all the areas but the one you need.“No one else can make you feel like this, you got that?” Asmodeus whispers–though it sounds more like a hiss, with how tight his jaw is. “No one can fuck you like me, so don’t–fucking–bother–it’s just me, angel. You’re–just–mine–”

∻ Beelzebub ↠ g l u t t o n y ⤲ l u s t

BEELZEBUB thought he knew better.

Well, not thought; he does know better, and not because Belphie told him so or he watched Mammon get punished for this before, but because this isn’t like him. This–insatiable need, this gnawing pain in the bottom of his stomach that won’t go away no matter how hard he tries. At least with his sin, the last few millennia had taught him how to manage it (a binge here, a binge there, eating constantly in-between, working out whenever else to try and keep his mind occupied), but… this? This?

He’s never felt like this before. So–empty. Hollow. Weak.

His urge to eat you raw might break him.

He knocks softly on your bedroom door, despite knowing that you’re currently in the mess with his brothers. You’re probably laughing at some corny joke Mammon made, offering to split your rice with Satan, letting Belphie rest his head on your shoulder–Beel’s next knock splinters the wood.

Crap. He’ll have to fix that, before he goes back. Thank Diavolo he’s built up a bit of a reputation for breaking things, though, so it quickly shuttles to the back of his mind as his gaze lands on what he’s here for.

What he should leave alone.

What he can’t.

A small pile of laundry, overflowing from your hamper, poking out from behind your closet doors.

He should not be here, but his body betrays him. Again. Like the way it did when you came down to breakfast in a shirt that was so obviously not yours, apologizing to Asmodeus over and over for letting your laundry get away from you and praising him for letting you borrow from him in the meantime.

Beel broke his spoon. Belphie gave him a new one. Beel promptly broke that one too, when you sat down across from him and asked if he had any laundry you could do, seeing as how that might be all you get to do this weekend.

He didn’t plan on letting his mind wander to what else might be dirty, just as he didn’t plan to nearly get run over on the way to school because he was so caught up in wondering if you even had any underwear left, and he certainly did not intend to run back to the House of Lamentation to rifle through your dirty laundry for just one infuriating pair of your panties.

Just one, he reasons as he cautiously glances into your hamper. He hopes it’ll be right on top, that he can take a pair and race to his room and get one good orgasm (or two or three or however many it takes to get you out of his brain), then return them before you’re ever the wiser.

So how did he end up in his bathroom with six pairs in his pockets?

Oh. Right. Because the pair on top were lacy and black and had him salivating, even before he pressed them to his nose for a deep whiff; and then he caught sight of a white pair, just beneath your school skirt, and he figured two is a safer bet than one, and then he thought he saw a red pair with polka dots and he’s always been partial to red, and then–

And then, and then, and then.

It’s the story of his sin; to never be satisfied, never be full. How he managed to stop at six when the image of number seven (an orange thong that he nearly ripped in half trying to unhook from a pair of tights) he’ll never know; how long he’s been on the bathroom floor, hastily jerking his hefty cock with low groans of your name also escape him; but he does know it’s worth it.

He takes a deep sniff of the lacy black pair he’d first pulled; the most recent. The ones that smell the most like you, and not just the fading clean scent of your detergent or the lingering waft of your soap, but you. He wonders if you masturbated in this pair, or if you naturally stain each panty you wear. He wonders how you masturbate, if you prefer to strip naked and take your time or if you’re desperate like him, if you can’t wait to fully bare yourself like him, if you’re a freak like him–

Beel groans and sticks his tongue out, trying to control himself but failing as soon as the tip of his tongue makes contact with the cool seat of your dirty intimates. His cock throbs in his palm, and no matter how many slow, heavy, hard drags he makes up the girthy length, he is left feeling needier than ever.

And then he gets an idea; a sick, twisted, perverted idea that makes him feel even grosser than before, an idea he can’t ignore as the heat in his stomach starts to convulse. He picks up another pair (he knew it’d be good to take multiple), the white ones he’d had to wrestle from your skirt, and he grips them tight in hand.

He hesitates for a moment. Holds his breath, staring at the pale fabric in his hand as if he doesn’t recognize it, as if he hadn’t just stolen it, as if he wasn’t imagining what they’d look like on you and nothing else–

He groans. Loud, without care, desperate as he stuffs the black lace so far into his face it nearly goes down his throat, while his other hand wraps your white pair around his cock. They’re… soft, and a little cold, but if he closes his eyes he can pretend it’s you rubbing them against him, and if he breathes deep enough he can pretend you’re doing this after sitting on his face the way he dreams you would.

He’s never been this hard. Never so receptive, even to his own touch. The way the cotton of your undies glides against the precum dripping down his cock is softer than the clouds in heaven, and he swears he could cum like this; sprawled out on his shower floor, still half-clothed from his desperation to be close to you, your panties wrapped around him. He imagines what you’d do, if you were here, with him–not with his brothers, but him. Because he’s the one who has this piece of you, only him.

But… what would you do, if you came home early and found him? Would you be as disgusted with him as he is with himself? Or would you offer him a fresh pair, stripping bare as you fall to your knees, offering to let him taste from the source–

Beel cums. Hard. White splatters along his RAD uniform, gathering heavily against the dark material and saturating the lower-half of his button up. Thick spurts fly through the air, some landing as high as the tile beside his head, before steadily pooling at the base of his abs. He pants, mouth still covered by the remnants of you, eyes still shut to the thought of you. His hand goes lax, letting the now-damp fabric of your white panties dab slowly at the copious amounts of cum now dripping down his hip.

His heart beats as fast as if he’s just completed a workout, and for a brief moment, he feels full. As if you–the mere thought of you, in fact–is enough to fill the missing pieces of him.

Until his DDD buzzes, and he sees a picture of you and a sleeping Belphie, and reads your message asking where your tied-for-first-favorite snuggle-buddy wandered off to, and his stomach growls. His lip curls in a sneer that morphs into a growl of frustration as his dick starts to swell, his eyes instantly drawn to where your breast presses against Belphie’s sleeping bicep.

It’s not fair, and it’s not right, and Beel knows better. He knows you’re happy to share, that there’s enough of you to share, that he should just fucking share–

But he doesn’t.

He keeps this for himself, this secret of raiding your hamper. Of keeping a piece of you close, always tucked away in his back pocket, and not just because it makes dealing with the random hardies easier. He might not be able to admit his feelings, but he can have this one piece of you for himself.

Why else would you be sure to leave his favorites right on top?

∻ Belphegor ↠ s l o t h ⤲ g l u t t o n y

Death should be an old friend to a creature like BELPHEGOR. Death should be something he’s able to greet with open arms, to plainly discuss the state of the world and how fleeting such things like eternity can be–but Death is not. Death is now as unfamiliar to Belphie as Love, and this is not a relationship he wishes to change anytime soon.

Although, with your legs wrapped around his head, tongue lapping at your folds as he glides your hips across his soaked lips, he knows he could greet Death with a smile. He might even be able to tear Death to shreds, for all the vitality your essence seems to bring.

He’s lost track of the time he’s spent between your legs. Enough so that even the sheets on either side of his head are saturated, and not just from sweat; but not so long as the painful ache in his stomach has yet to subside. He’s yearning, in a way he hasn’t done since the Fall, for something he hasn’t had since the Fall.

For Love.

For you.

He can think of no better way to show his love than this; bringing you to the apex of pleasure over and over and over again, until the cry of his name becomes synonymous with this feeling of fullness that engulfs you every time Belphie latches on to your clit.

His technique is the same; gentle kisses along the inside of your thigh before whispering against your cunt, tongue flicking out every-so-often to catch your sensitive bud. Sweet musings you often can’t hear, but aren’t addressed to you. Sweet sentiments you sometimes make out to be, “such a pretty girl f’me,” and “what a mess you’ve made today, pretty,” and the worst–“you’re my perfect pussy, aren’t you?”

You whimper as his open-mouth kisses get closer to your heat. Slowly, you try rotating your hips to force Belphie to land a kiss where you need him most. Instead, he bites your clit.

With a gasp, you shudder and instinctively try rolling your hips backwards, but his hands latch on to your waist–not even your hips, but your waist–with enough force to keep you pinned.

“M’not done,” he mumbles. Spit slides down the swell of his cheeks, matting in his inky locks. His tongue languidly flicks at your folds, and he snickers when you squeak.

“Belphie,” you plead, “either do something or let me go, please–’

“Do something?” he asks. He peers up at you, and the sight of his violet eyes just barely peeking out from between your legs, the entire lower half of his jaw hidden from sight by your sex, has whatever little strength was left in your legs give out entirely. A smug smile curls his pale lips, and he bites your clit again.

“Belphie!”

You try squirming away, but the vibrations from Belphie’s chuckles feel heavenly. He knows what he’s doing when he presses his lips, still thinned in a smile, against your overstimulated nub, gently rubbing back and forth to ease the sting from his teeth. “You should’ve learned by now, little human, to be more careful with what you wish for.”

He blows out a puff of air, warm and cold and euphoric and tortuous all at once. Tears start to pool in your eyes, and the hands that once rested against his velvet headboard come to cradle either side of his face.

“P-please,” you choke, “please, Belphie, I–I need–”

“You don’t know what you need,” he dismisses, and instead of explaining, not because you’re a dumb human, but because you haven’t spent enough time in this existence to know, you don’t have the curse of knowledge that I do, and this is the least I can do to make up for all that I’ve done, so let me teach you to not just know what you need but how to take it, he gives you what you’ve been asking for.

Slowly, deeply, he begins licking around your seeping hole, collecting as much of your nectar as he can. His hands wrap around your thighs to help spread your lower lips, grinding you against his mouth every time you try to breathe. His nose brushes against your overstimulated bundle of nerves, never quite catching the hood but putting enough pressure to keep you on the edge of oblivion.

“I know what you need,” Belphie mutters into your thigh. He sucks a light bruise into your skin before diving back into your folds, humming as happily as if you were the one sucking him off, instead. “I can give you what you need, pretty girl. Want me to? Want me to make you cum?”

“Yes–” you gasp. Your hand knots in his hair, trying to direct that running mouth of his to somewhere more useful–and he lets you. He lets you guide him to where you think you need him most, gently lapping at your folds, alternating between kissing your sensitive clit and guiding his tongue as far into you as he can reach. His fingers trail lightly along the pudge of your leg, nails irritating the skin enough to raise little welts but not enough to hurt, palms applying enough force to keep you exactly where he needs you.

Because he does. Need you, that is. Even if he can’t say as much out loud; even if he doesn’t know how. But this is his confession, can’t you tell? That he lets you use his face as your personal throne, ride him for your personal pleasure, control him for your personal gain. No one, not even Lucifer, has been able to tame the sleeping giant–so shouldn’t the fact that you could mean more than any words could muster?

Belphie doesn’t know what he wants to watch more; the way your oozing sex begs him for more, or the way your eyes are glazing over as you desperately try to keep eye contact with him. He starts to frown, but before he can pull away and ask why you’re staring at him like that–like you think you know what you need, like you don’t believe him, like you don’t need him–you’ve caught his wrists in your hands and pinned them by his head.

He could’ve stopped you, if he really wanted to, but his curiosity gets the better of him. Slowly, you slide down his body, face contorting at every catch of your slick clit against the rigid planes of his body, until you come to rest squarely atop his hips. His cock is erect behind you, thighs sticky with a release you hadn’t realized he’d even let go of, but it’s his lips that get your attention.

His pale, full, sticky lips, covered with your juices, parting slightly as he asks, “what are you doing?”

“You said I don’t know what I need,” you answer softly, placing more weight on your palms, keeping him pinned. You lean forward, letting your eyes drag along the sharp lines of his jaw, lips hovering above his. “I probably don’t. But… I know what I want, Belphie.”

He doesn’t trust himself to answer. His heart races in his chest, which he keeps remarkably steady, even as he can’t tear his eyes away from the sight of your breasts pressing against his bare chest. Your fingers tighten around his wrists, and he finally meets your gaze.

Belphie’s throat goes dry. His lips part, and you take that as the perfect opportunity to kiss him. Softly, sweetly, the same way he’d been pressing kisses to your core. You take your time tasting him–tasting yourself, staining him–tongue swirling against his, breasts rubbing against his chest, his throbbing cock finding refuge in the slick staining your thighs.

He thinks he’s found it for real, this time; love. To have, to hold, to keep forevermore. He thinks this might be real, that you might be the best dream he’s ever conjured, that being awake might be worth more than just endless pain, so long as you stay with him–and then the memory of Death floods his thoughts. Death, who stole the last one he loved, who tried taking Beel from him, who’s no longer an old friend but an ancient foe with your name awaiting his collection.

Belphie tenses beneath you, then flips you over. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, thinking all the nightmares away in favor of focusing on the dream beneath him.

“In case it wasn’t clear, I’m saying I want you, Belphegor, now and tomorrow and all of tomorrow’s tomorrows,” you laugh, and Belphie’s heart absolutely shatters.

You can’t lie, not to him; and you can’t know what you’re saying, not about him. You can’t want him, not when Death wants you too, and Death will always win.

But… he can have you tonight, right? And–tomorrow, if you’re still here, and maybe even tomorrow’s tomorrow, if Death doesn’t steal you first. So shouldn’t he make the most of it?

So instead of answering, he presses a trail of soft kisses down your sternum, keeping his gaze fixed on the way your skin disappears beneath his lips. “M’not done with you,” he repeats, and he dives back in.

| Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan | Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Solomon |

tag list: @weebaboobs | @anxiousmomfriend | @my-perfect-machine | @leechlips

2K notes · View notes

nocturnest · 2 months

Text

Simple

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” ~ Oscar Wilde

It was supposed to be a quick job, this, thought Tangerine.

It was a snatch-and-grab job at a sketchy warehouse involving the retrieval of a hard drive. His and Lemon’s handler, Holmes, had assured them that the job was simple and likely didn’t involve any major run-ins. And so everything seemed to be going according to plan as Lemon and Tangerine made their way through the warehouse, shooting the occasional guard here and there, and then he saw you.

He and Lemon had first met you four years ago. You three had been paired up by chance on a job in Paris: you and Tangerine had posed as a married couple and Lemon his brother and the three of you attended a gala with the intent of delivering a long overdue message to a power-hungry drug lord. Tangerine had to admit that he was rather distracted throughout the mission. He found himself developing a sense of possessiveness as men at the gala eyed you eagerly. He liked the way one of his golden rings looked on your finger, the way your dress exposed your lovely collarbones, the way your subtle lipstick made your eyes pop. Tangerine had never noticed it before, the way your eyes seemed to shine as you talked passionately. He couldn’t help but smile to himself and shake his head as you entertained Lemon in one of his character analysis rants about Thomas the Tank Engine.

But now… well, you certainly seen better days but still managed to look stunning nonetheless. You had a cut along your cheek and a bruised lip, whether from fighting or interrogation Tangerine wasn’t quite sure. All he knew was that seeing you tied up and injured made him into a bundle of raging anger yet concern.

He and Lemon looked at one another before Tangerine cleared his throat, “Hello, love.”

You knew that voice. You loved that voice. It gave you a thrill and made you tighten your thighs with heat. You leaned forward as well as you could and squinted into the darkness of the room, “Tangerine?”

Tangerine stepped forward into your field of view and gave a lopsided smile, “The one and only.”

There was a pause and then you fucking giggled, all while practically gazing into the piercing blue depths of Tangerine’s eyes.

Tangerine was confused. You were a contract killer. He’d certainly heard your laugh before, which to him sounded like tinkling bells, but he’d never heard you giggle. It was novel to him, but he didn’t mind it; in fact, he wished he could make that same sound among others come from you.

“The hell you laughing for?” asked Lemon bluntly as he too stepped into your periphery.

“Oh, nothing,” you sighed theatrically while giving Tangerine a sly wink.

Tangerine opened his mouth to speak and then closed it. He shook his head as if waking up from a dream.

Get your priorities straight, bruv, he thought.

Tangerine reached toward you and began cutting the ropes around you with his handy knife. You visibly shuddered as his hands grazed your wrists.

Tangerine noticed you shiver and muttered “Sorry, love. You hurt anywhere?"

"Just a small stab wound. And maybe a concussion" You lift your bleeding leg half-heartedly.

Lemon paces, assessing the situation. "What are you doing here?"

You couldn't help but suggest that your handler assign you the codename Peach to complete the fruit triad.

“You know - the usual mission and whatnot. Kicking names and taking ass one interrogation at a time.”

Lemon frowned, "Not sure that's how the saying goes..."

"And I had the whole thing under control, truly - until some fucking geezer went and hit me over the head with a damn crowbar."

The ropes around you came undone and you move to stand but your legs just aren’t fucking working today. Tangerine caught you before you tumbled and you found your face pressed up against his chest.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as Tangerine gripped your forearms to keep you steady. You inhale deeply and whisper loudly, “Mmm, you smell like a forest.”

Tangerine blinked back in surprise at your bluntness and you eyed him cautiously as you take his hand and squeeze it.

Lemon, always one to stick to his priorities, coughed, "Um - we'd uh better get out of here like right to the fuck now before some more of these fuckers emerge for round two...."

“I’m never opposed to a 'round two',” You nodded, looking pointedly at Tangerine and wiggling your eyebrows.

Lemon gives Tangerine a look that translates roughly to “What the fuck?” And Tangerine can’t help but laugh nervously, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. Something about you seemed off. You seemed way more open than usual, too open at that. Your eyes had a glazed look to them and your pupils were heavily dilated as you gazed at Tangerine.

“Yo, did they give you something, Peach? Some kind of drug?"

You pause and rub your forearm subconsciously, "Hmm... They may have injected me with something while I was out, now that I think about it...."

"So that's what’s got you all googly-eyed.”

“Nice detective work. You learned that from Thomas then, did ya, Lemon,” Tangerine asks dryly.

“Nah, from Kill Bill. Movie talks some shit about some truth serum called the The Undisputed Truth.”

You bit your lip and reflected proudly, “Well they didn't get much out of me! They kept asking questions about you two but didn’t quite appreciate my extensive insight on the likely size of Tangerine's d-"

"Okaaaay - I think that's enough now, Peach!" Lemon interrupted.

Tangerine just raised an eyebrow and gave you an amused, boyish grin. He seemed like he was enjoying this a bit too much.

"Alright, here's how it's gonna go: I'm going to grab the hard drive and you guys head back to the car. We'll meet back there."

"Oh, I won't be a bother, Lemon. I won't mention anything about Tangerine's appendages. Eyes? I can talk about eyes instead! Tangerine's eyes are the color of wild waves at sea and they compliment his suits quite nicely. You know what else his suits compliment? His a-"

"I think you're just proving the point, love,"' said Tangerine.

"Oh, alright," you relented, perhaps for the sake of Lemon's sanity. He looks as if he'd rather be anywhere else, and you can hardly blame him.

Lemon hesitated before heading down the hall of the warehouse, his gun at the ready in case he comes across any lingering guards.

Meanwhile, Tangerine took in the sight of you. Your cheeks were flushed on the account of speaking so quickly and your growing embarrassment due to those unfiltered thoughts of yours. He had never seen you look quite so angelic.

Tangerine noticed you were still holding his hand and found it was not an unwelcoming feeling.

"Come on, then," he murmured.

The two of you made your way through the twists and turns of the furniture warehouse. Tangerine led you through the bodies of guards he and Lemon took down with ease. It's quiet between the two of you, and you seemed quite lost in your thoughts.

As you two neared the car outside of the warehouse, Tangerine glanced down at you, noticing the contented hum escaping your lips. Despite the chaos that had just unfolded, there was a sense of tranquility in your demeanor that he finds oddly captivating.

"You seem awfully cheerful considering the circumstances," Tangerine remarked with a smirk, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

You glanced up at him, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. "Well, what can I say? Being rescued by a devilishly handsome man such as yourself certainly brightened my day."

"You're too kind, Peach," Tangerine said, waving his hand dismissively.

You leaned against the car door and sighed, "But I'm serious, Tan. Sometimes, I wonder if you don't realize how truly beautiful you are. Anyone would be lucky to have you."

Tangerine stills, head titling with curiosity, "You think I'm..." He swallows, "beautiful?"

You blush with slight embarrassment but continue nonetheless, "Well - yeah. I mean every time I look at you I feel like I'm looking at some kind of entrancing angel. You're so fucking captivating with those eyes of yours. And there's so many wonderful things about you. Like how you swear like an absolute sailor and yet some of the most delightful things I've ever heard have come out of your mouth. And your accent - my god! The things I've imagined you doing to me with that voice of yours..."

Something unrecognizable to you stirs up across Tangerine's face as he listens to you vehemently. He grips your arm, the graze of his fingertips causing you to shiver.

"You-You're so kind. And people don't see that. Only Lemon does. And me.... I can only imagine how lonely you must be. It's hard in this line of work, to make connections, to have true friends. But it doesn't matter... You make me feel safe - you feel like home. And at some point I think I realized that I-"

Your eyes water slightly, "I- oh, I didn't want you to find out this way."

You avoid his eyes, but he brings his hand to your face, delicately - as if you're made of glass. Tangerine pushes a strand of hair from your face.

Tangerine's touch is gentle, his fingertips tracing the curve of your cheek as he lifts your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his own. "Peach... tell me."

His voice is soft, filled with a tenderness that melts away any remaining doubts or fears. In that moment, you feel as though you're the only two people in the world, cocooned in a bubble of intimacy and understanding.

"I-I love you," you whisper, your voice cracking as you try to cover your eyes.

His eyes widen and he stops your movement. Tangerine puts his hand around your neck. He looks at you as if you're the only person in the world.

"May I kiss you?"

Your heart skips a beat at his words, and you nod, unable to trust your voice to respond. The intensity of his gaze makes your breath catch in your throat, anticipation coursing through your veins as you wait for his next move.

With a tender smile, Tangerine leans in slowly, giving you ample time to pull away if you wish. But you find yourself leaning in too, drawn to him like a magnet, unable to resist the pull of his presence.

And then, his lips meet yours in a kiss that feels like coming home. It's gentle yet passionate, filled with all the unspoken emotions that have been building between you.

In that moment, everything else fades away – the danger, the uncertainty, the chaos of your world – leaving only the two of you, lost in each other's embrace.

As you deepen the kiss, the weight of your confession lifts off your shoulders, replaced by a sense of peace and fulfillment that you've never known before.

And as you pull away, breathless and flushed, you meet Tangerine's gaze, finding nothing but love and acceptance reflected in his eyes.

"I love you too, Peach," he whispers, his voice low and hoarse. "More than you'll ever know."

You pull him by his tie with a smile. Your lips meet again and you murmur, "It's always been you. Only you."

He chases your lips ravenously, his tongue begging entry into your mouth.

As Tangerine's tongue explores the depths of your mouth, you find yourself surrendering completely to the intoxicating sensation of his touch. Every caress, every kiss, ignites a fire within you, consuming you in a whirlwind of passion and desire.

Your hands roam over his body, tracing the contours of his muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt.

Lost in the intensity of the moment, you find yourself craving more of him – more of his touch, more of his love, more of everything that makes him who he is. And as Tangerine responds eagerly to your advances, you realize that he feels the same way too.

You hear the sound of approaching footsteps but are too dazed to notice.

"Oi! Not on my fucking car!" Lemon yells from afar.

Tangerine looks up briefly and growls, "Fuck your bloody car! I'll get you another one."

Caught in the heat of the moment, you and Tangerine are momentarily oblivious to the world around you. But as Lemon's voice pierces through the haze of passion, you both startle, pulling away from each other with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

Tangerine's growl of defiance only serves to add to the tension in the air, his protective instincts kicking in even in the midst of desire.

Lemon approaches, his expression a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "I swear, you two are a bloody nightmare. Couldn't you find somewhere more private to get frisky?"

You straighten your clothes, feeling a flush of embarrassment at being caught in such a compromising position. "Sorry, Lemon. We got carried away."

Tangerine shoots Lemon a defiant glare, his tone unapologetic. "Like I said, I'll get you another car. But right now, we've got more important things to worry about."

Lemon rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of amusement in his expression. "Yeah, yeah. Just try to keep it in your pants until we're back at the safe house, alright? We've still got a job to finish."

With a nod of agreement, you and Tangerine exchange a knowing glance, a silent promise passing between you. And as you climb into the car with Tangerine by our side, you can't help but feel a sense of excitement for the adventures that await.

Thank you to these wonderful writers who inspired me to start writing fics - check these guys out for more Bullet Train fics!

@tangerinesgf @sebsbarnes @little-miss-dilf-lover @feralforfruit

50 notes · View notes