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#❛ FIRST. - headcanon
jewishrat420 · 3 months
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No one has ever flirted with Steve the way Eddie flirts with Steve.
And it's not like no one flirts with Steve. God, no, it's not like no one flirts with Steve. Steve can't walk into the grocery store without at least three sets of heads turning and focusing all their attention on him.
And he's not even trying to be cocky about it. That's just the reality he was gifted when he came out of his mother's womb looking like the world's freshest Adonis. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if they changed the colloquialism to "Steve."
Regardless. For as many people like to flirt with him, make themselves known, filtering in and out of his orbit like willing planets, no one knows quite how to get him going like Eddie. Maybe it's that they're not as confident as he is, maybe they're scared of the rejection Eddie was born facing and will die knowing.
Maybe they're scared of ruining their chances. Maybe Eddie isn't.
For whatever reason, Eddie doesn't seem like he's scared. Even though there was a long time before he knew Steve was bi, was just as into the flirting as Eddie was, even though there was a chance (not like it'd ever happen, but the unknown was there) that Steve could have beaten him up just for calling him "sweetheart," he did it anyway. He got right up into Steve's space, close enough that Steve could get high off the remnants of the joint he'd smoked earlier, and gave him a look that offered everything.
And, God, Steve wanted it. He wanted it all.
And so that began months of what Steve has so aptly referred to as torture. Apt, because he knows what it's like. He has the scars and the fear of ice cream and needles to prove it.
But this... this is a different kind of torture. Mental, emotional, spiritual, whatever you call it-- this is meant to tear him apart from the inside out, meant to make him want to rip his own bones out from his body and offer them to Eddie if it meant the other man making a fucking move.
And Steve would, is the thing. He would absolutely make the first move-- it's what he usually does, anyway, and he's got a pretty damn good success rate for it.
But, for whatever reason, this feels different. This back and forth they have, the constant teasing, the sliding in and out of each other's orbits, unable and unwilling to refute the most fundamental laws of gravity... it's something special, at least to Steve. Something sacred.
Which is why, when Eddie calls Steve "Harrington" for the first time in months, his first response is to pout.
They're about halfway through splitting a joint, the sweet smoke curling around wisps of hair and parted lips and filtering in and out of the holes in their sweaters. The air outside is getting colder, thinner, sharper, as the winter months dreg on. But inside the trailer, it's comfortable and warm. Safe.
Steve's being a bit of a hog, and he's man enough to admit that. But he had a shitty day at work and all he wants is to feel nothing other than the weightless relaxation of a good high buzzing through his bones. Sue him for taking a little more than his fair share of the good stuff, even if it is Eddie's.
"Steve," Eddie whines, reaching his hand out and curling his fingers in request. "Give it over."
"No," Steve responds, just on the edge of whiny. He brings the joint to his lips and takes a long, slow, deep drag, feeling the sweet heat of the smoke burning in his lungs, taking up the space where oxygen should be. He goes a little dizzy with it, feels his eyes lower. "Mine."
Steve can't see it, but he knows Eddie's rolling his eyes. Can sense the shift in the air, can sense every little fucking thing about Eddie at any given moment.
"C'mon, Harrington, you're being a brat."
And, normally, Steve would find another aspect of that sentence to freak out about. Would zero in on the word brat and relish in the flare of heat it sends shooting up his spine like firework sparks. Would squint his eyes at Eddie and tilt his head in the way he knows makes him look good, would give him his cutest little smirk and say, "Who, me?" and would preen in the response it gets.
This time, though, he's much too focused on the other name Eddie used for him. The one he hasn't heard come out of Eddie's mouth since before he realized that Steve was, as he put it, "actually a good dude."
He doesn't realize he's pouting until the sudden silence in the room starts to creep in, make a home in the buzzing in his ears. He didn't realize that he didn't say anything, and neither did Eddie, and now they're sitting in a mess of their own making. Of Eddie's own making, really.
His next words come out without effort, without intent.
"Don't call me that."
He chances a look over at Eddie, at the risk of appearing as vulnerable as he feels, and to his distress, he can't get a read on the man. His dark eyebrows furrow, brown eyes squinting slightly, and his lips part like he wants to speak. He licks them. Steve's eyes follow the motion unintentionally.
"Call you what?" Eddie says on an exhale. "A brat?"
Steve shakes his head. "Harrington. Don't like it when you call me that."
Eddie kind of softens, then, and Steve didn't realize he had stiffened until he isn't anymore. He sort of sinks into the couch, spreads his legs imperceptibly wider, and Steve wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the way his left knee brushes against Steve's just barely. Just enough for those heated sparks to send a couple pinpricks across his skin.
"No?" he says, looking over to meet Steve's gaze. His cheeks are flushed, whether from the weed or the heat of the room or the heat between them, and Steve's sure that his look the same. "What do you want me to call you, then?"
Steve's definitely blushing now. He looks away from Eddie, tucks his chin to his chest, lets the joint between his fingers burn away. Eddie takes it from him, gently, and brings it to his lips. Steve hears the paper crackling as he inhales.
His voice is quiet, almost meek, when he speaks. It's completely unlike Steve, completely unlike the persona he used to so proudly take on-- but then again, Eddie is completely unlike anyone that Steve has ever met. He's more real, more human, and in turn, Steve is too.
"...You know."
Eddie makes a little noise, then, something in the back of his throat that was born and died within the very same second it was released. Something soft, almost pained, like his body couldn't help the reaction it had to that sentence.
Steve watches the thin, long line of Eddie's arm reach forward and press the joint into the glass of the ashtray. He follows the motion until Eddie's hand settles into the rips over his knee, fingers intertwining with the thread. His pinkie is dangerously close to Steve's own sweatpant-covered skin, and he feels the contact as if Eddie were touching him.
Eddie's hand twitches like it wants to move, and Steve resists the urge to grab it, hold it within the warmth of his own palms.
"Do I?" Eddie says, his voice quieter than it was a moment ago. That thick silence fills the trailer once more, settling in between the soft buzzing of the lightbulb in the kitchen and the muffled humming of the crickets outside. Steve hears Eddie take a stuttering breath. "Tell me."
Steve sighs, feeling his chest burn as his heartbeat picks up. His throat pounds with the pulsing of it. He places his own hand on his right knee, pinkie finger edging closer and closer to the space where Eddie's meets his. Eddie's hand twitches again.
"Like it when you call me sweet things," he says on an exhale, as though getting it out all in one breath would make it easier. "Like how it makes me feel."
Eddie lets out another one of those noises, then, something more like a cut-off groan. His hand curls into the fabric of his jeans for no more than a second before he releases it, and Steve gets to watch as the blood blanches and then returns to his knuckles.
"Sweet things, huh?" he muses, voice only slightly strained. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say Eddie is nervous. "Like... Stevie?"
Steve hums. "Yeah. I like that."
Eddie's pinkie moves closer. Barely. Imperceptibly, if not for the way Steve is tuned into his every movement, like a dog to the sound of their owner's keys.
"Yeah?"
Steve hums again.
"What about... sweetheart?"
Steve closes his eyes. Lets out a shaky breath, inhales a smoother one.
"Yeah."
Steve feels something brush against his pinkie. Something warm.
"Honey?"
Steve nods, biting his lip. "Mhm."
Eddie lets out a quiet little laugh. "Even big boy?"
Steve returns it helplessly, feels the edges of a smile pulling at his lips. The air feels cold on his teeth, as though he's burning up from the inside out and anything outside of his own body is a cooling salve.
"Especially big boy."
Eddie laughs a little louder, and the jostling of his body brings his pinkie even closer to Steve's. Completely pressed against his own, now.
Steve swears he can feel his heartbeat through it. Or maybe it's his own.
"What about..." Eddie takes a breath. "Love?"
Steve's own breath hitches. He opens his eyes, looks at where their skin is touching in more than one place. He feels it, feels every point of contact where the cells that make Eddie are existing with the cells that make Steve. Wonders, maybe, if they stay here long enough, if they'll merge and mold over time. Become one.
"Yeah," Steve breathes. "I like that one a lot."
Eddie hums, and the room falls back into silence for a moment. Steve's skin burns where their fingers are touching. He moves his hand to the right, just barely, just enough to let Eddie know that he feels it. Just enough to ask Eddie if he does, too.
His response is overwhelming.
Eddie moves his hand to the left, solidifies all the points of contact between them, and Steve feels like he's exploding. Feels like a bubbling pit of lava that's set to burst, to overflow, like it can't hold back anymore. Like it's tried for so long that it's hurting, now, pressurized and boiling and hot, way too fucking hot.
And then, Eddie crosses his pinkie over Steve's, and Steve thinks he's dying.
He takes in a sharp breath like it's the last one he'll ever get, and he doesn't even have it in him to be embarrassed about it. He knows Eddie is right there with him, knows he's not the only one feeling this irrefutable pull like gravity between them. Knows, hopes, it's only a matter of time before they collide.
Eddie hums again. He taps his pinkie once over the smallest of Steve's knuckles, almost like he's making a decision. He takes a long, slow breath before he speaks.
"You know which one's my favorite?"
Steve's throat clicks. "Which?"
"Look at me."
Steve turns his head to the right for no more than a second before Eddie's lips are on his.
It's hungry, it's indulgent, it's immediately addictive. It feels like breathing.
Eddie presses his whole body against Steve's, and he can feel the way his tendons flex where his hand is covering the back of Steve's. Where their pinkies meet, their fingers intertwine and cross over one another like the roots of a tree, their bodies the whole mycorrhizal network.
The next word is spoken against Steve's lips, and Steve can feel the way his mouth forms around it. Decides, from this moment on, that he never wants to hear it another way.
"Baby."
Steve's exhale is more of a moan, a dying sound that, like Eddie's before, lived for only a moment in his throat before pushing through the wall of his lips. Eddie takes it, holds it in his own mouth, swallows it down hungrily and slides his tongue against Steve's as though asking for more.
"That's--" Steve pants, getting his hands on Eddie's hips and pulling until he's seated in his lap. "Mine too."
"Yeah?" Eddie asks, his lips still pressed against Steve's. Their words are muffled against each other, but they don't need to hear them to understand. They only need to feel the outline of them, the shape of the consonants and vowels against and around each other's tongues. They only need to press their bodies together and know, intimately, the meaning in each other's hearts.
"Yeah. Want you to call me that forever."
This time, Steve feels Eddie's laughter against his lips. His chest. Feels it bubble up in the space between his ribs, feels it flow into his mouth like a river, swallows it down like the first glass of water after a run. Feels his own creep up behind his teeth in return, gives it back to Eddie like an offering, who takes it greedily. Hungrily. Gratefully.
"Think that can be arranged, baby."
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steddielations · 5 months
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Eddie talks about his mom’s Tennessee side of the family like, “yeah my peepaw could play the banjo and my great grand pappy was real good with a fiddle” and Steve’s like “your Who and What”
Eddie: I have to take you to visit, you’re gonna love meemaw’s fried chicken gizzards
Steve: no I don’t think I will
Also I can't decide if southern grandmas would fawn over Steve and pamper him, or if they’d see his Arms and immediately put him to work in the kitchen kneading dough and rolling pie crusts, while he soaks up the best small town gossip. Eddie’s supposed to be helping but he only sits on the counter Watching until he gets swatted back to work with a dish towel
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raz-writes-the-thing · 5 months
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Is That A Promise? (Venom One-Shot)
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Eddie Brock x GN!Reader / requests are open and encouraged
Summary: Telling you about Venom does not go entirely how Eddie planned.
CW: mentions of monster fucking, Eddie is oblivious and a dumbass (I think I have a type)
Venom Tag List: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)
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You’d known Eddie Brock a good while by this point. You’d started dating him a while back, and while he put others on edge, you’d found the way he talked to himself out loud rather charming, actually. 
At first, you weren’t sure if he was just unmedicated, or undiagnosed. But then the news broke about the symbiote, and then there was the footage. And when Eddie started coming home right after news broke of some other attack or taking out of a bad guy or criminal or whoever, you’d put two and two together. 
It was kind of hard not to. Particularly as his conversations with himself could vary from topic to topic in the span of six words or less.
 
Eddie had asked to meet up for lunch today at your favourite restaurant. He’d seemed a bit off on the phone, and given how prone you were to anxiety, your immediate thought had been that he was breaking up with you and that you’d done something to upset him or his bodily guest- who you did not officially know about, of course. 
You’d gotten there early to prepare yourself for whatever shitshow was about to follow and to your immense surprise, Eddie had shown up pretty much right after you. Eddie was always running late, so this change in pace was also mildly concerning. You were not sure how this was going to go and you did not like that one bit. 
“You’re here early, too,” Eddie had said, swallowing thickly and avoiding eye contact. You nodded, and cleared your throat, gesturing for him to sit down at the table opposite you. 
“Yeah, I wanted to make sure we had a spot,” you replied, smoothing down your shirt. Bit of a nervous habit. That and ripping at your nails, but that was beside the point. 
“Right,” Eddie replied. 
And then the two of you lapsed into silence. You spent a good five to ten minutes appearing to read over the menu as if this wasn’t a regular spot for you and you didn’t know exactly what you were going to order. In fact, you’d be surprised if the cooks weren’t already making it up for you even though a waiter hadn’t come over yet. 
“Shut up,” Eddie hissed quietly. You peered over the menu to eye him curiously, one brow arced in question. 
“I didn’t say anything, Eddie.” 
“Yeah, I know. I- uh, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. You hummed, and put the menu down to give him your attention. 
“About me shutting up?” 
“No- God, this is not going at all like I planned.” Eddie rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. 
You said nothing, waiting patiently for him to work out his wording.
 
“I really like you,” he started, and you nodded, replying with the same sentiment. “And, well, there’s something I’ve been hiding from you.”
 
“Right…” This is where you expected him to tell you he was married (doubtful but not impossible) or had cancer or something terrible. Dear God, please no. 
“Look- you’ve seen on the news, yes, the, uh- the attacks. Yeah?” 
You nod. Ah, so he was finally telling you about his friend living literally rent-free in his body. Okay, you could relax a little. 
“He’s me. Venom, he lives in my body. He’s in my head. Like, all the time. Right now.” 
Eddie looked at the table where he was picking at the tablecloth. You were silent for a second, and Eddie clearly took that to mean you were horrified or disgusted or something. You were a little nervous about it, sure, but you’d also been living with him for the last few months. If Venom was planning to take you out, he would have done so by now, surely. You figured this to mean you were safe enough. You’d also seen your fair share of monster porn, so you weren’t exactly unkeen on the idea of dating someone who sometimes had a monster body. It was kind of hot, actually. You shook the thought out of your head and tried to focus.
“Oh, yeah- I knew about that,” you replied, and the way Eddie’s head snapped towards you was almost comical. 
“You what?”
 
“Yeah, I figured that out a while ago. I was just waiting for you to tell me in your own time.”
 
Eddie blinked, and a black residue appeared on the back of his hand. It swirled and gathered on his hand before reaching for you delicately. You met it, brushing your finger over it softly. The goop (for lack of a better word) seemed to shiver pleasurably and you smiled.
 
“Can I meet him later?” 
Eddie nodded, watching the interaction with disbelief. He’d thought that you’d go running and screaming through the doors or something, not be rubbing your fingers over Venom like you were fingering some Play-Doh. 
“Y-yeah, later,” he agreed. “Not here. When we get home.”
 
You grinned and the black substance retreated back into Eddie’s skin as a waiter appeared by your table. 
“What can I get for you? The regular?” 
You looked at Eddie and clicked your tongue thoughtfully. 
“The usual with a serving of chicken nuggets on the side, please.”
 
The waiter nodded, scribbled it own on his pad and wandered off in the direction of the kitchen. Eddie looked at you in question. He knew you weren’t big on nuggets. 
“They’re for Venom,” you explained, propping your head up on your palm. Eddie looked to the side as if listening to something carefully. 
“Venom says thank you-” Eddie said before cutting himself as Venom said something else in his head. “No, I’m not saying that. No. No.” 
“Say what?”
Eddie sighed defeatedly- something you think he did a lot when it came to Venom. 
“Venom said he could kiss you right now.” Eddie looked mortified as the words left his mouth. You burst into laughter. 
“Is that a threat or a promise? I hope it’s a promise,” you replied, wiggling your eyebrows at the two of them. 
Eddie swallowed thickly and blushed as Venom said something else. You’d have to see if Venom could swap hosts sometime. It would be nice to have a conversation while out and about like that. 
“Promise,” Eddie replied. 
Good.
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Headcanon time!
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Edit: Rosie lived and died around the 1890s. She engaged herself with Women Suffrage and was probably a very popular within her social group. She was married to a man, until she had enough of him and killed him. She turned him into stew, or at least tried to before she was caught. She was sentenced to death by hanging. Her last words was probably something about how bad her husband tasted.
I'm just shamelessly gonna put a link to my new fanfic about the ordeal mentioned above, here
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puppyeared · 5 days
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basement guys
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jazzmasternot · 2 months
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I mean am I wrong??
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quelmdn · 2 months
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— I hear the king of Akielos has sent me a gift.
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quotidian-oblivion · 8 months
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It's funny how easy it is to push Dick away as a happy-go-lucky sunshine and rainbows and unicorns man when he's really the angriest member of the whole Batfam.
Like, it took Jason 15 years and a reasonable cause.
Dickie was ready to murder a bitch at 8.
This boy arrived at the manor with nothing but a simple suitcase, a toy elephant, sass, and 500 pounds of spiteful anger.
And the only thing that's changed now is the suitcase.
@sardonic-sprite
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yourangle-yuordevil · 6 months
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Thermae and chill 📖✨
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raccishere · 2 months
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Watched Nimona finally, love that lil shit
Yeah so everybody knows this movie is an allegory for people with gender identities that aren't accepted in the greater society, and subsequent suffering those people experience when struggling with that environment. Nobody can look at that movie and say it was just about a monster, come on. There were so many golden lines that could be used word for word about a non-binary or trans person's struggles with their identity and place in the world. The world needs more representation like Nimona 🩷
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lycantrin · 1 year
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I made these silly images of the mercs holding MLP figures, so do with them what you will
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zivazivc · 1 month
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do you think freesia and jd would ever get back together? or will they stay sort-of friends?
I'm not going to lie, I kinda like the idea of them starting to date again and seeing where it takes them. 🙈 freesia sneaked into my heart for some reason (she kind of started this new trend of mine where i make ocs that were created to be dicks and then me just getting protective of them and trying to reason out their awful behavior kasjsdj)
also their ship already has a #1 hater and #1 supporter, both of which are doing it for the wrong reasons...
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abbeyofcyn · 8 months
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xiao-come-home · 22 days
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Even MORE pre-release Boothill. Please bear with me im doing my best,, slightly sug/gestive in one paragraph 🤸‍♀️
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I've read somewhere that Boothill short-circuits when he's embarrassed AND I STAND BY IT. 1000%. I am here to spread this like a disease. His system is definitely able to process his emotions, but when you do something that makes his heart skip a beat, he freezes in his spot, his cheeks gain the most beautiful scarlet color... And then you hear the worst combination of malfunctioning robotic noises, AND then sparks fly off of him. Might have to wait a few minutes until he comes back...
Boothill might look like he's calm outside, but he just FEELS the blue screen coming when things get too heated with no break whatsoever or too much fluids go past the protective metal plates. His body stops in place, is absolutely unresponsive, and his eyes flash blue.
Don't worry though, your Boothill has a restart button, right in the middle of his upper back, hidden by his half-vest (or.. whatever that is). He might overheat a little bit though, so be careful not to give yourself unnecessary burns.
In rare cases when his blue screens get REAL bad, you have to stick a USB drive he gave you in those special slots he has on the left side of his hips to bring him back.
Boothill most definitely does not sleep, but gets recharged by electricity or fuel instead. Perhaps that's the reason for the hole he has on his back? Either way, it gives you an opportunity to "plug him up", which he hates, despises even, to hear from you when he feels low on energy (he still wants a goodnight kiss btw).
Boothill swallows bullets. He also spits them out when needed.. usually, he's very careful not to spit them into your mouth when you kiss, but gravity betrays him on his worst days.
Boothill probably works like Siri or Alexa when battles leave him a bit too wounded. You might wonder about something, say it out loud, and then Boothill just can't stop reading the first thing that came up on Google.
"What's the best recipe for carrot cake?"
"2 cups (260g) all-purpose flour, 2 teaspoons baking soda, ½ teaspoon fine sea salt—" Boothill gasps and covers his mouth, "1 ½ teaspoons ground cinnamon, 1 ¼ cups (295ml) vegetable oil, 1 cup (200g) granulated sugar—"
He just can't stop.
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bewitchedsouls · 2 months
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riding simon
warnings: smut, nsfw, mdni!!! 18+
• simon loves watching you bounce on his dick
• loves the fact that when you do he can watch your tits bounce and watch your eyes screw shut and eyebrows tense
• his grip on your hips getting tighter the deeper his dick slips into you, he knows it will leave bruises and he loves the thought, just knowing you’re walking around marked by him, the shape of his hands bruised into your body
• loves when you collapse onto his chest and he can feel your entire body against him, loves when you hide your face into his neck and you pepper kisses there
• loves hearing your cute moans right next to his ear, finds it hard not to cum right then and there
• he spurts words of praise over and over the closer he gets, eventually wants to cum so badly he holds your ass and bucks his hips up into you at the fastest pace he possibly can, which sends you into an even further euphoria
• when he does cum he makes sure it’s deep inside you, as far as his dick can go in
• after a moment of catching his breath he whispers an ‘I love you so much’ into your ear as you both stay there for a minute, enjoying each others embrace
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xxgrimml0vrxx · 2 months
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Mammon is the type of boyfriend who…feels things very strongly so when he fall in love with you he falls HARD.
Mammon is the type of boyfriend to watch every little thing you do. Even in a crowded room all he sees is you.
Mammon is the type of boyfriend who loves making you laugh. Even if it’s because he did something stupid, seeing your smile and the way your whole face lights up makes it worth it!!!
Mammon is the type of boyfriend that can be possessive and protective. Definitely the type to walk up and ask “hey treasure, who’s this?” when he sees you talking to someone he doesn’t know.
Mammon is a very touchy boyfriend. Especially in public, holding hands, or a hand around your waist, even a hand on your ass when he’s feelings extra possessive.
Mammon is the type of boyfriend that tells you to embrace your dark side and flaws rather than trying to “fix” you. You’re already perfect in his eyes.
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