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nimblermortal · 11 months

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Manga: This is the Soviet Union in space. They got marooned so they formed a feudalistic society centered around a church - Me: You mean... the anti-theists communists formed a church-based hierarchy? Manga: The original fleet was composed of the poor, the unemployed, dissidents, and orphans. Me: It's the Soviet Union, there aren't supposed to be any poor. There aren't supposed to be any unemployed, either. I'll grant you the dissidents and orphans.

#I'll also grant you that the USSR was not what it set out to be #but I do need you to do some work with SHOWING how those realities didn't match the ideals #instead of just like. slapping the name 'USSR' on a few things AND THAT'S IT #THAT'S LITERALLY THE END OF THE WAYS THIS IS THE USSR #wait no #they mentioned Sputnik once #aaaannnndddd sometimes they call each other Comrade #as opposed to Your Excellency Your Majesty Your Grace etc #there's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it explanation for how our protagonist is a Japanese member of the USSR #god it's so hard to find language practice materials that are 1) at my level and 2) not insipid

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aethelwyneleigh27 · 5 months

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Husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley with a Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Headcanons and Scenarios

Am I back with baby fever? I mean yeah but this is less baby fever and more if Husband!Simon in honor of my first ever post that reached 1k likes in 4 days. Also you guys know Ghostie by now right? @connorsui mentioned that she wonders how Ghost and the reader met, guess who's writing about that?

Edit: SHIT, THIS POST HAS BEEN UP FOR SO LONG AND I FORGOT TO ADD CREDIT, I'M SO SORRY. The render above is by @ave661

Taglist: @puff0o0 @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @cutenote @connorsui @capuccino192 @theredurzikdjinn @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb

Also @puff0o0, my most favorite moot has helped me come up with how they met, UGH ILYYY <333

My CoD Masterlist <3

Warnings/Disclaimers: Reader is pregnant, sick!Reader, mentions of vomiting (not detailed), pain of birth and all the other pregnancy warnings out there. (Extreme fluff)

❥ Husband!Simon who had no fucking clue how to react when you first told him you got pregnant, I mean he knew at some point it would happen but not this soon?!

❥ Husband!Simon who in your early stages of pregnancy was the one holding your hair up while you empty the contents of your stomach on the toilet most mornings. He was the one who had a warm hand gently rubbing up and down your back while mumbling light encouragements, careful not to agitate you from the sickening feeling.

❥ Husband!Simon who was gradually getting the hang of things, getting clingier the further into the pregnancy. Once the baby bump comes in, bye bye personal space, Dad!Simon needs to have his hand on the bump no less than 10 times a day.

❥ Husband!Simon who is a sucker for kissing the baby bump, especially your stretch marks. He will be more gentle if you ask him to because your ticklish, but don't expect none of his stuble.

❥ Husband!Simon whose breath hitches when you took his large calloused hand onto your baby bump and felt movement, he had to blink twice up at you and look down again. Only now it was two hands holding the bump, waiting for more kicks.

❥ Husband!Simon who lets you do all the shopping with baby stuff because he has no idea what looks cute, every once in a while showing you something he thinks looks good and asks for your approval.

❥ Husband!Simon who looks back up at you in concern as he hears you whimper, as much as he wants more movement and feel the little one kick, you were in pain and uncomfortable. Some soothing words might help..?

You let out a soft whimper as you felt the baby kick again, god did she have her father's strength..

Simon still had his warm and heavy hand on the bump, feeling the little one's movement.

"Pumpkin.. give your momma a rest, she needs some sleep" Simon sleepily mutters. Just like that the movement stops.

"I swear she only ever listens to your voice, it's obvious that she's already a daddy's girl"

❥ Husband!Simon who is more than obsessed with the baby bump, albeit his ear over the bump to hear the baby, big calloused hands always have to be some place on it. You'll just find your husband clinging onto your bump, his head on your chest while his arms are wrapped around the loves of his life.

❥ Husband!Simon who was far more panicked than you were during the birth, he literally cannot even pay attention to the pain of your hand almost breaking his from the gripping because his heart is pounding in his chest while you push out the baby.

❥ Husband!Dad!Simon who was trembling the moment you forced him to open up his arms so he could hold the baby. She's so tiny, her whole body almost fits in just one of his hands. The moment he held her, she stopped wailing, trying so hard to open her little eyes.

❥ Husband!Dad!Simon couldn't help but pull you up into his arms too because you couldn't move up from exhaustion. Your hand on the little one's body that was cradled by her dad, his other arm wrapped around your shoulders while he kissed your sweaty forehead, singing praises to you about how thankful he is that you brought life to your little girl together.

A/n: Hi guys, just to start off. I haven't been in a good space for a while now, I don't think I'm in the right headspace either. Not to say I'm taking a break, fuck no, I'd lose all my relevance if I did and I also think that taking a break from this won't be good for me or you guys because I don't want history to repeat itself.

If you guys don't know yet, I've been on the break in 2020 and didn't officially start writing again till 2023, finally entering a different fandom. I feel like taking a break would result into this whole thing again and I can't go through that all over again. I love writing so much and it hurt when I lost all my relevance on Wattpad.

My personal life outside of Tumblr is weird to explain, see things haven't been good regarding my situation with a friend. Neither do I feel good in school, everything in that place just sucks except for two other closer friends. There's still the dreadful 3 weeks left till Christmas vacation. Not only that but I get anxiety over so many things that may be little to most of you.

A mutual of mine so graciously has given me ideas for the next Ghostie posts, I love them, it's accurate and it's great and all however some part of me makes me feel so insignificant. Like why didn't I think of that? Why am I even writing if I'm just relying on other people's ideas? This is no shade to that mutual, thank you so much, hell I loved everything they told me. It's just always my anxiety and insecurities getting the better of me.

Apologies for the length of this. I'm quite busy and my clumsy fingers accidentally published something again 😭Anyway, more Ghostie content is on it's way :))

#cod x reader #aethelwyne lia writes #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod headcanons #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x you #ghost x plus size reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x y/n #dad!ghost #dad!simon

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double--blind · 6 months

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(SPOILERS) breaking down how obsessed Andrew is w/his sister bc he's a repressed lil liar and I'm going insane

This post got longer than I intended it to

1. He claims they don't spend enough time apart from each other to even begin missing her so he doesn't even know if he would, but just earlier in the game he was apart from her for probs like 30 mins tops to investigates some cultists and guess what???? He was already missing her 😒

2. Says "I thought you grew out of this touchy-feely crap" when Ashley asks for a hug, but earlier when he was cooking dinner, he was the one with the inexplicable urge to "pull this broody bitch into [his] arms and force her to stay until she smiles" 😒

3. Piggy-backing off the last screenshot: WHAT OTHER THOUGHTS, ANDREW??? yOU WERE JUST THINKING ABT HUGGING HER. WHAT DO YOU EVEN MEAN. THESE ARE SIMPLY INNOCENT BROTHERLY THOUGHTS ARE THEY NOT????? 🤨🤨🤨

4. Bro just can't keep his hands off her. And everyone thinks Ashley's the clingy one jeez (lol the way he springs apart from her when Mom catches them is definitely definitelyyyy not worth analyzing. nope. not even when it happens a second time on the couch. nope. nooope)

5. What. What is he thinking here. Don't think I don't see those grey lil blush lines. Is this connected to my third point somehow bc like... 🤨😬 Is "Andrew" is gonna start doing and being what "Andy" was too spineless and afraid of doing?? That's what the vow was partly abt right?? Does that include—

5. WHEWWW BOY that little flashback with his gf has so much baggage in it I just wanna dissect. His girlfriend's tryna have a serious discussion with him abt his weird sister for the sake of bettering their relationship bc she genuinely loves him, but he just gets caught up in fondly talking abt said weird sister instead??

6. He's awfully hesitant abt Ashley learning some independence, bc y'know what?? I think he doesn't really want her to stop relying on him. But what do I know y'know

6. Wants his gf to put tie her hair up in a ponytail, then when she refuses bc he'll pull on it, says it's just "how boys express their love". Well. You know who else puts there hair up in a ponytail??? You know who else's hair he's always pulling on and touching???

7. The voicemails in his gf's phone left by Ashley are heard by him in his dreams, and his dreams are a construction of his mind utilizing his memories, personal hangups, and knowledge of Ashley. The voicemails irl were left on his gf's phone, and for all we know, he never actually listened to them in person. Bearing this in mind... odds are the things Ashley's saying contain bits of truths he believes within himself, filtered thru her crude, hateful dialogue.

Here. I transcribed one of them...

"DO YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME!? Just because you can fuck him and I can't? You think that's love?! Are you fucking delusional?? Cumdumpsters like you are just that. He will never love you. Not like he loves me. I am the only one. I am everything. I am the secrets you'll never hear. When he lies in bed at night, and when he needs someone to hold on to… It's not you he seeks out. It is me."

8. Claims Ashley's the one with the jealous streak, not him, but I think he's just as bad. The only difference is that Ashley's never given him reason to act on it since all she's ever wanted was him, but at the slightest mention of her gettin it on w/someone else, even as a joke, he gets mad. "OVER MY DEAD BODY!!" he says, when she's jokingly contemplating getting knocked up via the neighbor so an ambulance would come for her. "I wouldn't let them," he says, when she's complaining abt not being pretty enough for the wardens to bang her

9. Going hand-in-hand with that fact, he's intensely protective of her. Didn't hesitate to cleaver the warden who found her in the closet (probs didn't even BLINK lmaooo he chose VIOLENCE), and when the cake-stealing cultist insulted her just once, he stepped forward just like that

10. In their apt, when they were lying on the floor talking abt jumping off the balcony, he was really caught up in the "romantic" fantasy of them committing a double suicide and dying with their bodies entwined so irreparably by the impact they form one unified corpse "never to be separated!" and they get buried in the same coffin together. UM??? Bro fr thought he was the sane one of the two. That wasn't even true before the cannibalism and demon summoning 😭😭😭

BONUS:

11. This might just be me, but his reaction to seeing the post-sex vision doesn't strike me as someone who's inherently opposed to the idea. Instead of disgusted, he was... flustered?? He acted like she walked in mid-guilty pleasure wet dream. This wasn't a "GROSS THATS INCEST" reaction which is... the most normal reaction to have. That's the face of a man that got CAUGHT bro.

He asks "we're not like that, are we?" and "why are you like this?" and questions the veracity of the vision, but he never actually explicitly denies wanting the vision to happen, more focused on Ashley and her reaction. He buries the elephant under the rug as fast as he can, bc yeah, it struck a landmine, but it probably wasn't a landmine for the reason Ashley thinks it is. I bet the vision just hit a little too close... :P

#the coffin of andy and leyley #coffincest #andrew x ashley #tcoaal #txt post #character analysis #andrew graves #bro is MESSED UP and I'm only scratching the surface #half of this post is analyzing his gf and I'm not even done man I didn't even mention how Julia is both a foil for Ashley and a lookalike #he both chose a girl completely different from her (mfer's compensating) and someone who reminds him of her

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ikarakie · 1 year

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the first time wayne meets steve is actually far before the events of '86. in fact, it's in winter of '85.

he's on his way back from work when he pops a tire. he's pissed off, it's cold, still dark, and the beginnings of fucking snow are falling around him, and he doesn't have a spare. the nearest payphone is probably three miles walk, and he's just readying himself to make the journey when, miraculously, a pair of headlights turn onto the back road.

the car slows to a stop behind wayne's, and he's struck by how fucking nice it is. a brown bmw 733i, one he thinks he's seen around a couple times. when the driver steps out, he realises that, yes, he has seen this car. because the boy behind the wheel is the harrington boy, and wayne curses every god out there.

he expects some snark. a good attitude and for the kid to make him grovel for help or outright deny any assistance. instead, he approaches with these wide bambi eyes, the absolute picture of concern.

"are you alright, sir?" he asks, perfectly polite. wayne huffs.

"popped a tire, ain't got a spare." he doesn't- doesn't know why he's telling him. really doesn't. but something about the kid makes him falter, makes his steely exterior give way ever so slightly. the boy crouches down to the tire in question, frowning as he inspects it. then nods, grinning. he says nothing to wayne as he heads back to his car, and for moment he thinks the kid's gonna leave him in the dirt. but, instead, he pops the trunk and hauls out a spare, rolls it over to the car.

wayne only watches, fascinated, as he jogs back to retrieve a little set of tools. sits his ass by his tire and starts going at it. he's in a thin, short sleeved tshirt and jeans. he must be fucking freezing- wayne is, and he's got a thick coat, gloves and a hat on.

"what're you doin', boy?" he asks, unable to sound anything but bewildered. the kid blinks at him.

"changing your tire, sir?"

"i ain't got anything to pay you back with." wayne warns, wary. the kid shrugs, continues his task.

"that's okay, i wasn't going to ask you to." he pulls the popped tire off and lays it by his side. "it's just a good thing we have the same size, huh?" he grins, a little shy. wayne has never felt so thrown off in his life.

was this really james and cynthia harrington's boy? would someone of those people's blood really sit in the cold to change a strangers tire? expecting nothing in return? "where's your layers, kid? it's cold as ass out here, you'll catch a chill."

"oh, i gave it to my friend." seriously? seriously? "i'm alright sir, not to worry." he says this despite his red cheeks and reddening knuckles.

he finishes fitting the tire a second or two later, and once he's inspected it, gives wayne an endearingly dorky thumbs up. it reminds him of eddie in all the best ways. "all done, sir!" he collects up all his tools and threads an arm through the hole of the tire, balancing it on his shoulder. "i'll take this for you, i have to drive by the junkyard anyways." he doesn't. wayne knows the harrington's live in loch nora, and that's the opposite goddamn direction.

"you really a harrington?" he asks, not missing the confusion and maybe even slight disappointment he's met with. "just- no offence, son, but i always thought they were nothin' but bad." he deflates even more, if possible. "how did they raise such a kind boy?"

it's such a sudden change, how quickly he's smiling, bright enough to light the damn road if he wanted. it's all bashful and excited, it makes wayne wonder if he's never heard a good word about himself in his life, which seems insane.

"i still got a bit of an asshole gene," he jokes, a little dry, "but i'm trying to be better, you know?" he motions to the tire. "if you can help, why shouldn't you?"

wayne wants to squeeze him, but refrains. thanks him a couple times over and forces the boy to take his hat before he goes, (despite his complaints). harrington bids him farewell and a safe drive home, and he's driving off before either realise they never learnt each other's names.

(wayne finds his out later, though, when eddie meets him at the door, worried that he's late. only after he's walked his nephew through the story three times and sworn up and down, yes, it was true, and yes, it was definitely harrington. steve harrington.

when they meet again after '86, in eddie's hospital room, that boy from all that time ago holding his nephew's hand, he does give him that hug. thanks him, for both this time and the last.

steve wears the hat in winter of '86. it makes wayne smile.)

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htchnr · 9 days

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♰ considerate ༻ C. HOWARD drabble.*ೃ˚

➻ masterlist. ➻ buy me a coffee!

CW ➻ looting a dead raider ⋆ talk of cannibalism ⋆ Cooper eyeing you like he's gonna eat you ⋆ not like that ⋆ well, maybe like that ⋆ Cooper being a bit of an asshole to Lucy ⋆ sexual tension between you and Cooper ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

SUMMARY ➻ based on this short and funny post by @pissedoffghoul ! WC ➻ 500~.

Lucy watches in disgust as Cooper takes large gulps of water from a dirty pond. "that's so gross," she groans, nearly gagging at the sight.

Cooper snorts, wiping some drops off his chin with the back of his gloved hand. "that's what you find gross?" he huffs, standing up. his eyes find your form bent over at the waist as you dig through a dead raider's things. his dark eyes lingering longer on the back of your thighs as you rummage around.

Lucy's eyes follow his, brows twitching in confusion. "you know, i could be a lot worse," he ponders, eyes tracing your hips before reluctantly pulling them away to face Lucy. "i could leave alone with Y/N," he shrugs, walking up to your side. you bump your hip against his, reaching up to hand him some Jet you found.

Lucy frowns, hand gesturing to you. "she's nice! sure as heck nicer than you are." she huffs, watching the interaction between you and him.

Cooper lets out a raspy laugh, knocking his hip against yours before patting your lower back. "wanna know a little secret? gotta feelin' you'll love to hear it," he grins.

Lucy swallows, an uneasy feeling in her stomach now. "she, is right 'ere you know?" you drawl, chucking an empty can of some kind of food product against Cooper's back.

he snickers, eyes still on Lucy as he smacks a gloved hand against your ass before walking towards his saddlebags. he grabs the bags that lay close to Lucy's feet, leaning in a little once he's at his full height again. "she eats people," he dramatically and loudly whispers to her, before patting her shoulder roughly and moving to return to your side.

Lucy stands there, blinking at your figure, lips slightly parted. "wha.. what?" earning a loud laugh from Cooper as he leans against the wall beside you.

you look up from your kneeling position by the dead raider beside you to Cooper, smacking his thigh. the action only goes so far, before his large gloved hand snatches your hand, a dirty grin on his radiation thinned lips. "stop bullying the girl, would you?" you huff, but Cooper can't help but admire you from this angle on your knees.

Lucy just blinks, now looking between the dead raider beside your kneeling form and you. you look over your shoulder at Lucy, taking in her shocked and slightly afraid look. "you're safe darlin', he's just an asshole." you glare back up at him, finding him looking down at you with a look that sends tingles down your spine.

"besides," you pull your hand from his grasp, looking back at Lucy. "unlike him, i've got respect for people," you glare at him again, "who might not share the same, taste." you huff, shoving the few things in your bag you want to keep, before grabbing Cooper's hand that pulls you up to your feet.

"you dear, won't see me cuttin' up anyone around you if you don't like the idea, i'm atleast nice," you wink and smile at her, smacking Cooper flat on his back before walking through the doorway beside him.

#⋆୨🩷©2024 htchnr #⋆୨⭐️cooper howard #cooper howard x fem!reader #cooper howard imagine #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard oneshot #cooper howard #walton goggins #walton ghoulgins #the ghoul oneshot #the ghoul imagine #the ghoul fallout #the ghoul x reader #fallout tv #fallout tv series

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sst0rmm · 1 month

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𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ in the mornings ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

ft: rin.

notes: just pure sunshine fluff ✧˖°.

part/series: 1.0 2.0 3.0

wc: 1328

he's doesn't wake you up, and prefers to let you sleep the night away to your heart's content (sleeping makes you happy), and he notices and cares about that.

it's the little things....

rin wakes up early before you. he's always been an early bird, up as soon as the sun rises, and a sleepy saturday is no exception. so you're left to be woken up by the birds chirping and the sun shining and the smell of your favorite food wafting through the open doorway. and you'll get up, slowly walk your way downstairs.

the moment's surprisingly domestic, rin's shirtless and clad in an apron (even though it's a little drafty downstairs), you're in his shirt, and for a second there's nothing but the sound of sizzling bacon reverberating on the walls and making you feel completely at home.

"did you sleep well?" you smile, because you suddenly feel refreshly rejuvenated.

"yeah, i really, really did."

rin is SUCH a sweetheart dasifjsdiofjjjsfdi LMAOO like...

you cannot prove me wrong once he gets to know you he's literally warm and allasdfjdfoi

and his cooking's mad scrumptious i am telling u

breakfast, as usual is warm and lifts you up. down to your veins, the utter core and heart of your being, because you can tell that he made it with love, and that's most important. and once you're done, you make a move to go do the dishes, but he won't let you. (the man's serious, what can i say?)

"i can do it-"

"don't worry," rin pulls you into a swift hug and you're suddenly surrounded by a cocoon of strong, comforting arms, "i got it."

"but you already cooked? we should split-"

rin looks at you fondly, amusement glimmering in teal eyes. it's a look that can stop time, shatter you, and pick you up anew. it's the look of the sunsets you saw together last september, and it's that look of pure adoration and love.

"you should rest," he whispers as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek that leaves your stomach whirling and your nerves dancing alight. "you're worth it."

oh if you only knew HOW BAD i need a rin in my life

we all need a rin tbh because he's sooo sweet and so caring when he's comfy around you

+ a little jelly bcs !!!!

this next scene is utter beauty... you'll see...

waking up is hard when you're utterly entangled in the strong arms of the one you love.

the sun hums softly through the windows, blanketing everything in golden radiance. a clear, blue expanse of sky gazes down at you from above. the clock blinks at you in soft red letters the time (11 P.M.), but neither of you seem to make a move to get up.

it’s the power of a sleepy saturday.

a soft murmur (the doorbell) cuts through your haze of thoughts. “i’ll get it-” rin starts but you push the covers back onto him, pressing him back down onto the soft mattress.

“don’t worry, i got it,” you smile, and he wraps you in a warm hug.

“if you’re gone too long, i’ll miss you!” he calls over your shoulder. you smile back at him. it’s so easy to fall back into that comforting, perfect rhythm, where it’s just the two of you. indelible touches and soft warmth, broken down to sand, it’s just the two of you. against the world, fighting together, the two of you.

your heart blossoms with a warmth that swells from your head down to the very core of your being, and sits happily there, a pleasant, steady heat that makes the silence feel so full.

at your door’s a cute, smiling pizza man.

“delivery for y/n?” he smiles down at you, while holding that cardboard box.

“thanks so much!” you turn to grab your wallet from the counter, and come back right after. the air’s crackling with some unspoken tension, and you feel and hear movement behind you, but you disregard it.

inhaling the aroma of cheesy goodness, you feel oddly refreshed.

the man looks you up and down, and you suddenly realize you’re in a ratty set of pajamas and cross your arms over yourself a little self-consciously.

“the weather’s gorgeous today, isn’t it?” the man smiles and you find it in yourself to smile back. he’s just being nice, you chide yourself.

“yeah-” you start, “it really, really is.”

as you move to swipe your credit card across the gleaming screen of the touchless payment scanner, your feet get caught on the rug and you fall down, down, down…

right into the pizza guy’s arms. as your cheeks color and flame, and you murmur a hasty apology and scramble away, the man smirks.

“fell for me already, didn’t you?”

you wince. he’s cute, with warm eyes and dimples, but he’s no rin itoshi. “actually,” you start, “i’m flattered, but i’m not interested.”

the guy looks at you in surprise. “what, do you have a boyfriend or someth-”

immediately, rin’s presence materializes by you as if summoned. it’s a little uncanny, you think to yourself. and you have to admit, seeing rin stare down his opposition is a sight to see.

it doesn’t help the other guy’s case that rin’s fit as anything, either. just the glare he gives his opponents is enough to make them recoil. he crosses his arms over his broad chest and gives the delivery guy a penetrating stare. (you feel a little bad for this poor pizza man). but also, it fills you with molten heat and just love that rin would even care about these little things.

“yeah,” rin drawls underneath the summer sun, “she does have a boyfriend.” he wraps his bicep around your waist and tugs you close.

“so if i were you,” rin leans in towards the guy and whispers, “i’d probably leave now.”

somehow, the pressured worker manages to keep his wits intact. “you haven’t paid-”

“i’ll handle it, y/n,” rin whispers in your ear and waves you off. as you sit down on your sofa and calm your racing heart, you’re hit with such a wave of emotion that your heart weeps. because you’re rin itoshi’s, and he doesn’t care if the whole world knows it.

rin’s by your side minutes later and he sees your tears. “why’re you crying? is it me- don’t cry because of me-” he hugs you close, and wipes away your tears with gentle fingers.

“i’m not sad, rin,” you smile up at him, “happy tears. happy because you love me, and you don’t care if the whole world knows it-”

“even if you are a jealous-”

he pulls you in close and whispers fiercely. “damn right i’m jealous, because i got the best person in the world right beside me. and i’ll never let you go, and i’ll always love you. let the world say what they want to say, because you’re mine.”

“i love you too, rin-”

and then he pulls you into a searing kiss, embedding himself into your very soul and your entire mind is consumed with just rin itoshi. featherlight touches leave trails of heat down your face, and you breathe a soft sigh.

because rin in the mornings (and any other time) is truly just a sight to behold.

“say it,” rin murmurs and pulls away. you’re both breathing a little heavy and he looks at you with such love and emotion in his eyes that you know what he needs.

“i’m yours.”

the next kiss sends off fireworks in your heart and ignites your world in a blaze of life because you’re rin’s, he’s yours, and the two of you together are unstoppable.

there will be ups and downs. highs of unimaginable greatness and lows and worlds of hurt. but you’ll get through it.

together.

OH MY GOD MWA MWA MWA AHHHHHH

rin is truly the best lover when he's with you, i refuse to believe othwerise.... well i know he''ll prob be AWKWARD and cold at first.. (i'll totally do an arranged marriage sitch on my ao3 oh i love the idea already)

stay tuned for part two (guess which character in comments!!! or request which one im open) i'll link it under the series column when it's rdy ;)

thank u sm for reading, and thank you to @enchanthings for these lovely page dividers. grateful foreva 🫶

(rin pics bcs i love him sm, look at that penetrating stare and bro has hella eyelashes..)

ASJFDSOIF ok THANKS FOR REEADING AGAIN!!

part two is up and linked!!! happy reading :)

#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk fluff #rin itoshi #rin itoshi x y/n #rin itoshi x reader #bllk imagines #blue lock x reader #blue lock fluff #itoshi rin

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emmyrosee · 9 months

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You’ve been… needy, today.

Normally, Kiyoomi is immune to it, if anything, he embraces your clingiest of affections and he takes them with ease, but today, for some reason, you’re nuzzling and nudging at him with every little thing, your eyes curved into a sad pout every time he looks down at you.

It seems like you’re insatiable, you’re on a craving for a fix you can’t seem to get, and he’s fairly certain you’ve almost cried at him a few times for that little bit of affection you can’t seem to get enough of, and normally Kiyoomi can read you like a novel, front to back.

Today, it’s almost like you’re a different person- no longer able to voice their needs, but plead for him to figure it out. Someone who doesn't seem to trust him, but still eggs for assurance and validation.

And he doesn't know why, but he can't pinpoint it this time.

He's exhausted every avenue, he's does everything he can think of, every question he could ask has either given him no answer or another needy little choke in your answer. He doesn't know, okay, he's trying, but he doesn't want to just ask you point blank because there's a part of him that feels like he should know.

There's also a glimmer in your eyes that tells him that he should figure it out.

Finally, for whatever reason, you stop.

Now, you're creating distance, and he hates this even more than you trying to crawl into his skin.

At least then, you still wanted him.

"I'm going to shower."

Your voice cuts him out of his detecting, snapping him from his thoughts as he nods encouraging at you. If he didn't feel like it would end in a fight, he'd cheesily ask if you wanted him to join you, but the question dies when you spin on your heel to leave him in the bedroom, alone.

He needs to know. He has to figure it out.

There's a buzzing of his phone that snaps him out of his pity party, and enthusiastic text from Hinata about the new jersey designs. Something about how they need sizing and promo pictures, and they should all get together to plan.

At this point, Hinata couldv'e texted him about anything on the planet and he would've gone. In his head, he weighs his options of staying here and leaving the jersey talk for tomorrow.

Or leaving, and letting you both have some time apart to sort out your feelings.

He's barely able to think on it before his feet force him to get up and make his way to the bathroom, popping open the door to call to you.

He just hopes this works.

"Baby, I'll be back!" He calls, voice above the rushing water.

"Wait- what?" You call back.

"Hinata needs to steal me for a while to talk about our new jerseys, I should be back in a few hours."

"Kiyoomi-"

"I love you!" He says, interrupting you before closing the door and making his way out of the house. He hopes that some distance may calm whatever it is inside of you,

By the time he comes home, he's surprised to see the lights turned on.

Typically Kiyoomi can come home at any hour and find you in bed, asleep, clinging to his pillow, but tonight, it seems you either forgot to shut everything down, or you're still awake.

Maybe if you're awake, you'll be able to sort out whatever happened today before going to bed.

When he walks in, the house is quiet. Scarily quiet.

"Nice of you to show up."

Yeah. You're up. And you sound bored.

The house is still active, but rather than make a dash for him to leap into his arms for affection, you're instead on the couch, eyes heavy and face sad.

After a whole day of trying to cling to him and his every move, now you're willing to be sedate?

He sighs and walks to meet you in the living room, and whatever angry look you try to pull gets demolished by the wobbling of your lip. “What’re you still doing awake?”

You turn to look up at him sadly, tears swollen in your waterline as you blink at him expectantly. “I missed you.”

He smiles at your words before shrugging off his jacket and folding it over in his arms, “I missed you too, baby. How was your night?”

“Quiet.” Your lips twitch as if you want to say more, but no other words fall from your lips. He gives you a small chuckle and scratched the back of his head.

“That’s… exciting,” he offers. You shrug. The tenseness in the room makes him want to throw up, he’s not used to this coldness from you- typically, you’re throwing yourself at him, especially with how you were acting earlier, but now you seem like you couldn’t care less about him. "Did you do anything?"

"Nope."

"Oh..."

"Where did you go?"

He shrugs, "Hinata and Bokuto wanted to talk about the new jerseys and the plan for practice tomorrow; then we got dinner and had some drinks."

"And you didn't think to text me? Not once?"

Chills run up his spine as your question comes with an emotioned voice crack, "I... I guess it slipped my mind... I'm sorry."

"Mm."

He swallows thickly, but his pounding head desperately wants to call it a night. “Why don’t we go to bed, baby?”

“You go ahead, im gonna get some water.”

He smiles and nods as he makes haste to the bedroom, happy facade dropping once his back is towards you. All he wants right now is to curl up next to you and knock the rest if the day away, praying that you're in a similar headspace.

He all but tears off the clothes on his back, dressing into far more comfortable wear as he goes to wash his face. Usually, you're right next to him, butting your head against him, nudging him to the side so you can join him, or youre sitting on the closed toilet seat just to watch him.

You seemingly have no interest in doing that tonight.

By the time Kiyoomi's done, his stomach churns as you're still not in bed, surely it hasn't taken you more than two minutes to get some water, and with an exhausted, and almost annoyed groan, he shuffles back down the hall to see you.

You... you haven't moved.

“Hey,” he mumbles, rubbing his eye. “How come you’re out here? I thought we were going to bed?”

“You didn’t kiss me today.”

He didn’t?

“What do you mean?” He asks, stalking over to the couch. You shuffle over to make room for him, but your eyes never meet his. “I kissed you so many times today, baby.”

“No,” you snip. “You didn’t. I know, because I’m so used to you giving me kisses.”

“I’m... I'm sorry, I guess I just-“

“And you barely hugged me, either,” you sniffle. His brows furrow and instinctively, he tosses an arm around your shoulder to try and calm you down. “Any time I’d reach for you, you’d look at me like I was some nuisance, and make me feel bad for needing the affection.”

“Of course you’re not a nuisance!” He says, rocking you both. “God, fuck baby, I’m sorry, I thought you just needed some more attention than usual and I just-“

“I’m not done.”

A wave of nervousness shudders down his spine, but he pulls back slightly to give you your room to piece together your thoughts. Had he really been that neglectful today?

“You didn’t even eat dinner with me; you went out with the boys. I was in the shower, I didn’t even get a kiss goodbye- you called out a quick ‘love you!’ and went off doing whatever it was you did tonight. You didn’t call, and you didn’t text, and I was home alone, thinking that I did something wrong.”

"No wonder you’re upset- I’m sorry, baby. Whatever I did today wasn’t a reflection of how much I love you; I just got a little busy, and I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ll do better tomorrow.”

You completely deflate. God, what has he done?

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he says sweetly, planting a kiss to your temple. “I never, ever wanted to hurt your feelings, and I’m sorry I did.”

You’re quiet. There’s a strange feeling of dread in the air. The longer you pause, the more he feels the anxiety settling in the pit of his soul.

"You really don't know why I'm mad...?"

He chokes on his own breath, "I... I didn't know you were mad..."

You hiccup in sadness, and he feels like he can't breathe.

The clock on the tv changes to 23:59, and you sigh sadly.

“Happy anniversary.”

You stand up without a word, letting Kiyoomi’s head fall forward along with his jaw. He looks at you in absolute terror, all while you face away from him, hugging yourself in an attempt to comfort yourself.

Oh, God.

The room is shrouded in suffocating silence, smothering anything Kiyoomi could say before he could even think of the words. Dark eyes dart over your frame. He feels sick, he could throw up on this rug right now, if he had anything to even puke up. Your shoulders heave, and he’d rather chew on broken glass covered alcohol before ever wanting him and his neglect to be the reason for your distress.

“I forgot,” he blurts.

No shit.

“I know you did.”

“How… could I forget?”

“You tell me.”

“I-I-I-I set so many reminders, how did I…”

“It doesn’t matter,” you snip, turning on your heel to stalk back down the hallway to your bedroom. “You forgot. And the day is over. It doesn’t matter.”

It does, he wants to argue. It matters, because you matter to him, and he abandoned you on a night that is so sacred to him, the day you crashed into his life and made him realize that whatever he was doing that put you on the road to him, was exactly where he wants to be.

He looks down at the clock on his iPhone, as it creeps over the 45 second mark, and he darts down the hallway. He runs like he’s being chased, like he’s on fire, and you can’t hide your noise of surprise when he bursts into your bedroom and tosses gangly arms around you and plants kisses all over your face.

He holds you so tight you could pop, and he sponges all the kisses he can over your neck and cheeks, and he hears you trying to fight back a giggle, and it only eggs him on to continue.

“I love you,” he pants. “I love you, I love you so much, every day I’m grateful for whatever being is watching us for putting me on the road to you. I don’t know who I worshipped right to be here, but I’ll be damned if I let my own stupidity sabotage that.”

“Kiyoomi,” you say, voice delicate and trying to stop itself from breaking. “You forgot. I just wanted... I wanted you to show up. You couldn't even give me that."

Now it's his turn for his lip to wobble.

You sniff sharply, "just forget about everything, I don’t care anymore.”

“But I care-“

“Clearly, you don’t,” you snap, trying to squeeze out of his grip. “I don’t have the energy for this right now. Let’s just go to bed.

“I’m not about to let this go.”

“Neither am I, but my demons need to rest.” Your eyes dart at his alarm clock, “yours too, apparently. Tomorrow you’re getting sized for jerseys- hopefully you didn’t forget that other important thing.”

Your words sting him sharply, even if he deserves every single one of them. He reels back slightly, gnawing at his lip as he tries to think of ways to fix this, fix the way you’re looking at him and feeling, fix the clear hole he’s singed into your heart.

You curl up into your side of the bed, pulling the blankets high, and he doesn’t know how long he does it, but he just stares at you. It’s like he’s waiting for you to scream at him, or cry, or do something that he should feel even more shitty for.

But it doesn’t happen.

You sniffle a few times, shuffle once or twice, and he doesn’t know just how long he’s been standing there until your breathing turns rhythmic and peaceful for the first time today. Your shoulders rise and fall, back facing away from him and god, he feels like such a loser about to lose the greatest thing that's ever happened to him.

Probably because he is.

You're going to leave him. You're going to see just how much he takes you for granted, how much more you're worthy of and how much more love anyone can give you- even if you still wanted to stay in the jackals, and he wouldn't blame you for shifting your love to someone like Hinata or Meian for a second.

A cold breeze smacks Kiyoomi in the face as, at some point in his spiraling, he ends up outside, keys jingling in hands and hoodie pulled messily on top of his head. His legs seem to know where he's going, even if he doesnt.

His legs take him everywhere that could possibly be open right now, there's no store with a three mile radius that he hasn't bought out between candy, chocolates, a few stuffed bears you'll adore, and three or four types of pizzas and sushi dishes each.

He doesn't care about the strange looks the cashiers and other patrons give him. He cares about trying to remember if you prefer sour or normal gummy bears. He cares about remembering if you like plain pizza or toppings.

He also cares about the way this pillow won't sit the hell up.

He cares immensely about the way the chairs from the island in the kitchen have no grip to them, and refuse to keep the blankets strewn across them up.

And fuck the knitted blanket draped over the lamp and top of the couch, because it refuses to stay the hell up and he's had to make at least four mad dashes to catch the falling object.

The fifth, naturally, crashes to the floor, and he can only sigh in defeat as he continues to fix the fort for the nth time.

"I'm armed," your voice yells from down the hall.

He chuckles, "no you're not."

You groan in annoyance before padding down the hall, and he turns his head to acknowledge your exhausted arrival.

“What’re you doing, Kiyoomi?” You ask, knuckling your eye. “It’s one in the morning.”

“It’s 12:23 pm on the east coast in America.”

You cock a brow, and he blinks simply before turning back to his blanket fort. He feels your eyes boring into his skull, but he ignores it. He’s busy.

“Uhm… thank you for the fun fact?”

“It’s 1:23 yesterday.”

“…and?”

“Komori is on the east coast,” he says easily, tongue poking out in focus. “Somewhere, I don’t really know where, I don’t know American geography. Which basically means a part of me is on the United States east coast. So, by the transitive property-“ he stands up and presents the messily made fort. “We still get to celebrate our anniversary.”

You smile sadly at his efforts but your bottom lip wobbles all the same, “kiyoomi, you forgot. Just drop it, okay?”

“No.”

“Kiyoomi, I’m tired-“

“I bought us some pizza,” he interrupts, lifting the reusable bags positively stuffed to the brim with other treats. “And i got those sour candies you like for some reason, but I picked aside all the ones you hate so you can just eat them in confidence-“

Your eyes glimmer in slight excitement.

“And-And-And I’ve got our favorite movies queued up, ready to go, but there’s a new playlist filled with love songs that I found-“

“Kiyoomi-“

“And god we haven’t danced around in months, do you remember the last time we danced? It was like… well, months.”

You giggle, and he brightens at the sound. He takes a soft sigh to calm down, “and I just… I know how bad I am at showing it.” He stands up and makes his way towards you, and when he cups your cheek in his hand and you mewl at him, he could cry from that alone. “But you are the only thing that matters. My only exception to any rule I could make. And I couldn’t give you the bare minimum, on the second most important day to do it.”

“Second?”

“If I forget your birthday, I need you to leave me,” he chuckles nervously. You slowly walk up to him as if timid and unsure, and when he opens an arm to ease you into a hug, he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as he squeezes you close. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“I know,” you assure. There’s a comforting silence between you both, your cheek nuzzled into the dip of his sternum before you hum.

“Can I go with you to size jerseys tomorrow?”

“I’m not going to get my jersey sized tomorrow,” he says without missing a beat. You tense up in his arms, and before you can protest, he shushes you and cups the back of your head to keep you close. “They will live for one day without me. It takes four minutes tops. They will get over it.”

“But-“

“No buts,” he says, pulling back and looking down at you.

“But-“

“No.” He leans down to capture your lips in a kiss to shut you up, soft and familiar but just enough to keep you calm for him. You purr into the kiss and let your hands wander around his torso, fingers fisting the fabric of his night shirt tightly.

The fingers on your head gently fists the hair at the nape of your neck to keep you grounded for him, and the whimper you pant against him has him in euphoria.

“Thank you,” you sigh against his teeth. He shakes his head before pulling back slightly.

“Don’t thank me… not when I made you feel anything less than the love of my life.”

You chuckle and gently tug the waistband of his sweats. “I know you’re trying to make up for it, now.”

“You do?”

“How many men are gonna stay up, figure out the time zones in America and pick sour grape from my bag of candy just to try and fix a forgotten anniversary?”

He laughs and pulls you in for another hug, one tight and secure and as close as he can get you to snap any broken pieces together.

“I really am trying… I promise.”

“I know you are.”

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literaila · 2 months

Text

cuddle time

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru's mood is disrupted by some quality family time

a/n: a little fluff for you all because i've been trolling too much

last part | next part

year four.

you're working on a report from a mission last week when the two of them appear, simply out of thin air.

it's early sunday morning, light shining through the windows, the world beckoning you outside--even though you know you need to be in here, working. honestly, you shouldn't have put it off for this long.

but it's so easy in this house. with satoru lounging around, and both of the children to entertain you all of the time. honestly, if you never checked your phone again, you might forget that the rest of your world existed completely.

it's nice. easy.

but not this morning. this morning, just walking into the office felt like surging through a tub full of mud, disgusting and slow.

and you feel that way now when the kids show up.

they both peek their heads into the office, the door slightly cracked, and you don't dare look at the two of them--knowing that they'll distract you (and that you would very much like to be distracted, at the moment).

tsumiki creeps into the room, and you can feel her smile at you from ten feet away. her general aura of benevolence and good. she radiates happiness, your secret drug. megumi follows, not as bright but still pleasant enough, accidentally bumping into the desk, but you still don't look at either of them.

you can see them in your peripheral, though. you can't imagine what they need at the moment.

but neither of them says a thing, they simply stare at you, standing on opposite sides of the desk, their eyes darting from the computer screen to you with an obvious frequency.

you don't know what they want, but you've known the two of them long enough to know that it's something.

you still don't look at them, but you can't help the smile on your face.

“yes, children?" you ask, teasing, after a minute of this has ensued. when you just can't hold it in anymore. "am i bothering you?”

tsumiki leans her head on your shoulder, her face amazingly warm, frowning. “gojo won’t get out of bed.”

megumi is just standing there, still staring at you, with his arms crossed. clearly, this is a dire statement, and they all need your immediate attention. clearly, your presence is impertinent.

you check the clock. it’s only ten in the morning, and god knows with the children, that is not late. they both wake up with the sun, ready to start the day before you get the chance to blink.

you were up two hours ago, helping megumi get breakfast together, making sure that they both slept well and that no one broke into the house in the middle of the night and stole them. breakfast was a bleary-eyed, silent sort of thing. the three of you basking in each other's company, and not attention.

but you don't really mind waking up that early. because, unlike satoru, your fragile mind doesn't pause for a good night's rest. these days, you'll get a few hours at a time, at the best. a couple of minutes to yourself, at the worst.

caffeine is a wonderful thing.

so you don't blame the man for hiding in his room all morning. besides, he is the worst when he misses out on his precious beauty sleep.

“we all agreed,” you say, knowingly, resuming your typing. “satoru can sleep in as long as he’d like on sundays.”

“he’s not sleeping.”

megumi nods. “yeah, he’s just moaning in bed.”

you quirk a brow. “is he sick?”

“no, just a baby,” megumi answers. he says this with such an obvious attitude that you almost snort. where he got the sass, you're not sure.

(you're sure. it's your fault.)

knowing he has no good information for you, you turn around to tsumiki. “what’d he say?”

“that he wasn’t getting out of bed. ever.”

you roll your eyes, familiar with this act. “just give him a couple of hours. he’s probably pms-ing.”

they both give you confused looks. you make a mental note to pick up parenting books at the library.

“he’s fine, guys," you say, instead of explaining. "just dramatic.”

tsumiki shakes her head. “something’s wrong with him.”

“could’ve told you that,” megumi mutters, under his breath, and you attempt not to laugh. and fail.

you grin at him, nudging tsumiki's cheek, a bit fond of her concern. her sincerity. “just let him sleep.”

tsumiki leans on your arm, still pouting—you should’ve kicked satoru out three years ago. he’s rubbing off on her. “but he's sad."

"sad?"

"i think he's crying."

megumi snorts.

you blink at her. "are you serious?"

she nods, sullenly.

you sigh, looking back to the computer--where work and every terrible thing in the world (besides satoru) awaits you. you could sit here for the next four hours, doing stuff you should've done weeks ago, or you could deal with an emotional toddler.

there's really no winning here.

you sigh again and look back to tsumiki. her face is enough to break your composure completely. "fine," you say, "let's go see what's wrong with him."

tsumiki smiles at you, grateful, and megumi rolls his eyes but begins to trail out of the office. you shut your laptop, knowing that you won't be back for a while.

(or the rest of the day, if you have it your way).

the two of them follow you to satoru's room, where you don't knock--because the door is already partially open, and because you don't care.

the blinds are still shut, the entire room a stomping ground for candy wrappers and files that satoru definitely shouldn't leave lying around.

but this is nothing new, so you ignore it.

"hey, kid," you say, stepping over to the bed, leaning down to look at him.

or, rather, an expanse of grey sheets. all you can see is a lump of covers, and a pillow thrown on the floor. satoru sleeps like someone's trying to hold him down, failing all the while.

you nudge him with a hand, sighing again. you got lucky with tsumiki and megumi, who are notoriously easy to wake up in the morning, unlike someone else in the house...

there's no response.

fortunately, you can see a puff of breath from beneath his blanket, so at least he's not dead.

there's a tuff of white hair peeking out from the sheets, and you pull it, albeit gently. because you actually do really love his hair.

(it's irritatingly soft).

"i already know you're awake," you tell him, dryly. "are you crying? tsumiki said you were crying."

the covers are quick to move, two large hands pulling them down with surprising efficiency, and a red-eyed--though not teary--satoru glares at you. "i'm not crying."

"oh, great, then i don't have to comfort you. i don't think i have it in me today."

he pouts, naturally, and throws the covers back over his face. at least this is no different.

you turn around, looking at both of the children helplessly. see, you want to say to them, he's fine. but tsumiki waves you forward and megumi's got a little quirk in his lip, which is answer enough.

you nudge satoru again.

"c'mon, you're scaring the kids."

"they weren't scared when they poked me awake and tried to steal my socks."

you turn back with raised eyebrows. tsumiki looks away guilty, and megumi's smile widens. but your eyes gleam, because satoru deserves at least that. and because all of them are terribly amusing.

you roll your eyes when you turn around and there's a single blue eye looking into yours. "well, you're scaring them now. and obviously," you answer. "socks are criminal in bed."

satoru tries to pinch you from under the covers, and you smack his hand away. "leave me to die," he says.

"they're quivering, satoru," you say, trying not to laugh. "do you want them to cry? because they will. it's probably the bedhead. or maybe the morning breath. seriously, do you make out with your pillows when you sleep?"

the covers move once again, and satoru's glare is vicious. "i do not have bedhead. or morning breath."

"yeah, yeah, you're perfect." you pull the covers back down, even when he tries to initiate a brutal tug-of-war match, which you win, obviously. "grandpa, come on, it's almost ten-thirty."

"i thought we made a rule that none of you can wake me up in the morning."

"the rule was that we let you sleep in on sundays. and you're already awake. the kids want breakfast."

"i know they already ate," satoru's eyes are blinding, "tsumiki told me."

"well, i want to eat. get up."

"go cook."

"get up."

"can't you see that i need to rest?" he gestures to his face, which looks typical and annoyed. "don't i look sick?"

you pinch his arm. "i recall someone saying that they were impenetrable, and trivial illnesses wouldn't affect them."

"i was wrong."

"as usual," you give him a sweet smile.

tsumiki and megumi have both crept up on the two of you, watching as you poke his cheek, trying to get a rise out of him.

it's really not your fault that he looks cute with his hair smushed against his face, slightly sweaty.

you always have preferred a disheveled satoru. when he's forgotten to put all of the pieces together.

actually, grumpy, just-awake satoru might be your favorite. your teenage self certainly had a fondness for him.

though you choose to believe that your tastes in men have since improved (they haven't, nor have they changed).

"i just wanna sleep," he whines. "please?"

"no. get up, because i don't want to hear your moaning while i'm trying to work."

"you can't hear it from the office," satoru hisses, "and it's sunday. go take a nap."

"i'll be sure to do that, right after i shove a toothbrush in your mouth."

"go away," he moans, childishly, and turns on his side. "i feel like someone cut me in half. am i bleeding through the sheets? i don't think my organs are intact."

you make a face. "that's disgusting. please don't talk about your organs in public. i thought this was a safe space."

satoru huffs, but doesn't say anything back.

"aww," you coo, while tsumiki climbs up the other side of the bed, putting her face right next to his. megumi lingers at your side. "is our baby sick?"

"yes."

"what does a sick baby need, guys? i don't remember."

"a lobotomy," megumi whispers.

you turn to him, eyes wide. "who taught you--actually. i already know," you look pointedly back to satoru, who's frowning.

"i shared those thoughts with you in confidence," satoru hisses to megumi, and covers his face with a pillow this time.

"cuddles, right? that's what you do when we're sick."

you smile at tsumiki. "what a wonderful idea, miki. cuddles are exactly what baby needs."

and so, with the grace of a thousand kangaroos, you jump on satoru, your body molding to his as you come face to face with the man, legs over his side, arm wrapping around his neck.

satoru is very close, close enough that you almost can't tell that he's glaring at you.

he's pretty like this, with gleaming skin and dull eyes.

"was that supposed to hurt? because it didn't."

it doesn't escape your notice that you can finger his cheekbones while he says this, no space between the two of you, and neither does the slight twitch of his lips. oh, yeah, you know satoru like this. with his attitudes and his lies.

and you know, really, that this is exactly what he wants. attention, as per usual.

"oh, good." you tug at his hair a bit with your other hand. "we've still got room. come on, children, we have to help our baby."

tsumiki giggles, and she joins you, her face on your back as she lays on top of the two of you, barely a leaf in the pile. you can feel her smile against your muscles and you sigh out. "i think it's working."

you tilt your head to look at megumi, who's staring at the three of you with a look of distaste on his face. "c'mon, megs. we need you."

he gives you a 'really?' look, to which you respond with a nose scrunch, but eventually, he sighs. and then he promptly sits on satoru's feet, setting a hand on your legs so you know that he's there.

"how are you feeling now, baby?"

"smushed."

"good. exactly how we like you." you nuzzle into his neck, breathing him in. he actually smells quite nice--and not that you'll admit it, but he doesn't have morning breath, the bastard.

"are you sad?" tsumiki asks, softly, still concerned, but brighter now. she likes this almost as much as satoru.

"yes," he huffs, again.

but you all know he's lying, and when you dig your finger into his side, tickling him, the kids are quick to follow.

work will have to wait. this is much more important.

next part | series masterlist

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru fluff #gojou satoru x reader #jjk satoru #satorugojo #jujutsu satoru #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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bittencandy · 2 months

Text

𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔫-𝔈𝔶𝔢𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯

Summary: You broke up with your ex more than a couple of weeks ago, and you're desperate to try and move on. Though it's more than a little difficult to do when his face and likeness seems to be everywhere. Pictured on everything from billboards to cereal to . . . Pregnancy tests?

But maybe you won't have to move on after all.

Warnings: Mammon is a warning all on his own. 18+ content. Minors DNI! AFAB, Fem pronouns. Some unhealthy relationship dynamics (this is probably the healthiest I could realistically make Mammon), some fluff. Jealous Mammon: voyeurism (sex while on a phone call); degradation kink; mirror sex; D/S dynamics; clothed m, naked f; biting; a web as a collar; cockwarming; overstimulation; multiple orgasms; PinV; cream pie; blink and you'll miss it electro play; oral (M receiving); size kink, height difference, belly bulge; honestly, these tags make this sound a lot more intense than it is.

Notes: 26.3k words. Not proofread. Warning divider @cafekitsune. Probably one of the most self-indulgent pieces I've ever written. I have no idea what possessed me to write for this absolute garbage disposal of a man - entity? - but here we are. I've long since stopped trying to make excuses for this. It just is what it is. His sh*t personality and adorable face has captivated me.

It's not explicitly stated but the Reader is heavily implied to be a Succubus.

This was absolute torture. Each day that has passed you by seemed to crawl through the hypothetical hourglass in a reluctant, slow drag, like the universe was intent on leaving you alone to drown in your thoughts; dark, isolating, hopeless thoughts that clung to you with long, cold claws. There was no reprieve. There hadn't been for weeks. And instead of healing and drawing to a close, it seems like that aching, lonely pit that's been sliced into the pulse of your chest has only grown wider, and now it feels as though it might swallow you whole with flaying, gnashing teeth.

And to make matters worse, it's your fault. You were the one who decided to break things off with him. You were the one who said that the relationship was hopeless. That it wasn't going anywhere and the both of you were just rushing towards an inevitable dead end that would just wound you both. You believed you were doing the right thing at the time. Saving you both from the heartache. You were just too different. You wanted for different things and the goals and ambitions that drive you were too polarizing for you to have a healthy, coexisting relationship. And on top of that, after Fizzarolli had ended their ten-year partnership, Mammon had been hellbent on getting you to spy on the jester. Trying to utilize your position within Ozzie's restaurant to dig up dirt on the pair. You had refused, but he just wouldn't stop asking. It was enough to put a strain on what you had. You were offended that he assumed that you would just carelessly throw your friendship with the King of Lust away. That you'd betray his trust. For a little while you had felt so confident and vindicated in your discission in leaving the King of Greed. But here and now, you can't help but to second guess yourself. And the ceaseless chatter of the that tiny voice in the back of your head keeps telling you that you've made a mistake -

No.

Nope.

You were not going to let yourself go down that route. You did the right thing. You did what was best for yourself and sometimes the right thing hurts to do, but it will be all right. You'll survive. You just need time to move on that's all. And then you'll be able to get yourself together. Remind yourself of all of the experiences and people that you had missed out on since you've been in a relationship and then you'll be a brand-new person, prepared for life and all of its opportunities.

But it was a bit difficult to move on when the person that you were trying to get over was literally plastered over every inch of Hell. Seven Rings and all, he had found a way to weasel himself into every facet of everyday life, to the point that it is actually insane. You're surprised that you had never noticed it before. But now, ever since the breakup, you've been horribly hyperaware of all of the ways that he has marketed himself across the city - even in a Ring that isn't his. Billboards, TV commercials, magazine covers, even on the plastic packaging for diapers - he hates kids! What does he know about diapers?!

You couldn't even go without seeing his face when you were paying for things. You had never wanted to set a bill of money on fire before, but the urge had become increasingly difficult to fight when you had offered to pay for dinner last week with your friends, and you been reminded of the fact that his likeness is featured on the banknote for a hundred souls.

You couldn't even go the corner store to stock up on your depleted supply of alcohol without stumbling upon that wide, jagged grin. It was irritating. It made you feel nauseous and sick - mostly because whenever you saw that familiar sneer an array of lovesick butterflies burst inside of your stomach; always closely followed by an adoring, fuzzy warmth that sweeps across your spine and burns at your cheeks. It's disgusting. Obnoxious. And not even the sound of some other customer loudly coughing a few aisles across from you nor the repetitive buzz of the stark, pale florescent lights hanging from the ceiling above are enough to pull you out of those old feelings. They cling to you like a kind of residue. Sticky, thick and stubborn. And even worse is the fact that you find comfort in it. It's familiar. It's warm. And a part of you can't bear to part with it.

Ugh, you're hopeless.

You reach for the bottle you came for - Beelzejuice, which is admittedly too cloying of a drink for you. It could make you sick with its sweetness if you consumed too much, but it got you drunk fast, and as of right now that's all you wanted. You wanted to forget. Even if it was only temporary. But even with your chosen liquor in hand, your eyes keep straying over to the bottle with his face on it. Some cheap knock-off brand, it seems. A watered down and bland substitute, but it looks to be like it might be one of the most expensive beverages on the entire shelf, because why wouldn't it be?

The portrait of his face on the label is a simple sketch, similar to the rudimentary doodle that he always adds next to his signature, but it's still enough to have your heartbeat skip wistfully. It's a familiar brand of alcohol. One that you had found in his liquor cabinet several times. A poor duplicate of one of Satan's brands of whiskey. You had never gotten around to trying it honestly, and you wouldn't be trying it tonight. Not even with his adorable face sketched out on the labe-

You jerk away from the shelf with a colorful string of profanity huffed out underneath your breath, strained and exhausted. This entire situation has you run ragged. Tired with yourself and your feelings and your apparent inability to just. Move. On!

You outwardly groan, squeezing tight onto the neck of the bottle in your grip, swinging your head back on your shoulders. The glare of the lights above isn't even enough to stray you from your thoughts. And for a moment you just stare upward, ignoring the dull sting that the pale glint projects against your eyes while you rove them over the water damaged stains on the ceiling, pointlessly making shapes in the splotches. Trying to look for some kind of distraction, no matter how stupid it may be. But you can only quietly stand in the aisle for so long before you're kicked out for loitering.

"Dammit," You swear, dropping your gaze back down again, vision skipping around the store, over the colorful array of saturated products and the few other people randomly scattered about the floor. It gives you pause when it lands on someone who's standing only a few feet away from you, in front of the shelving facing your back. But irritation flares when you notice that they're watching you with a somewhat animated expression. There's a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth and despite the friendly aura surrounding him, the weight of his eyes has your skin prickling uncomfortably. And even with you telling yourself to just shrug it off, to just ignore him and continue on with your night, you can't hold in your annoyance.

"The hell are you looking at?" You snap, glaring with a snarl.

The Imp blinks, shoulders drawing up tight like he's surprised, and the reaction just serves to irritate you even more. But before you can get another remark, another demon is breezing past you and joining his side with a sunny expression on their face. The guilt and humiliation that settles over you feels like a set of talons running down your back, and you immediately want to shrink into yourself and vanish. You can't fight off the cringe that sweeps over your body, and you struggle to give them an apologetic, strained smile, lifting the hand holding the bottle of mead up to give an awkward wave, and the alcohol inside sloshes around in a way that seems to hammer home your embarrassing predicament.

He doesn't return the look, instead he's looping arms with his lover and leading them out of the aisle all together, but not without shooting you a wary glance over his shoulder and you hear him whisper lowly in their ear before they both disappear around the shelving: "Don't make eye contact with her. She might be a biter."

You need to chill out. You're acting completely erratic, and towards people who don't deserve it. Complete strangers who were probably just here to pick up some junk food and a slurpy, and now they get to go home and talk about the crazy lady standing in the liquor aisle.

It would be fine. Everything would be okay once you just get home.

Everything was indeed not fine. In fact, it might have been worse.

It started out normal enough. You went about your regular routine. Or the routine that you had adopted these past few weeks anyways, which usually consisted of an occasional glass of alcohol and a bowl of ice cream, eating and drinking your feelings while you watched whatever mindless trashy show is currently playing on TV. You try to do some kind of selfcare. Anything to keep you from drowning and getting pulled down into the dredges of your pathetic longing and angst. Tonight, that meant painting your nails and applying a face mask that smelt of pineapples and nectar. And for a moment it was actually nice. It felt peaceful even.

You had slid the glass door that led to your compact outside balcony open, letting in the distant lull of the traffic down below and the scent of the balmy night breeze inside your apartment. That was always a plus to the Lust Ring, that even with the heavy population and the smog of the bustling, neon city, the air here always seems to be a little perfumed, subtly sugared and almost a little heady.

You were humming yourself, perched up on the soft cushioning of your couch, barely registering the angry shouting coming from the speakers of your television. It's probably just two of the ladies fighting again. Tension is going to be at an all-time high considering that Luz is getting married, and she didn't invite Opal to the wedding. Things were bound to get messy. But even with your interest piqued you could hardly get yourself to glance up from your work while you apply coats of a cheerful yellow nail polish to your toes. It wasn't your first choice, but you figured that it was a happy color. And you had hoped that maybe it would make you feel better. It didn't. You had decided halfway through that it was an awful decision. Whether it was because of the particular shade, you don't know, but you found yourself observing the polish underneath the warm glow of your lamp with a mild sense of regret.

Oh, well, it's not like you can't change it.

You lift your focus up from your feet that you had propped up against the lip of the coffee table, scanning the counter for the bottle of acetone, but you come up empty. There's nothing but your glass of mead and the half-melted bowl of cookies n' cream that you had forgotten most of the way into painting your nails. You could have sworn that you had grabbed it and a handful of cotton pads and swabs from your bathroom before you had started, but apparently you didn't.

And then -

You hardly even make out the words, you just hear the voice. That horribly familiar voice, raised in that accented lilt. It has you perking up subconsciously. Your head jerks like it's being tugged on an invisible string, threatening to give you whip lash with your full attention zeroing in on the screen and your body twists in its hunched position to sit ramrod straight. And for one fleeting moment, you hope that your ears are just playing a trick on you. That the universe was kind enough to give you a break within the comfort of your own home, but that small glimmer of optimism is quickly snuffed out like a weak flame when a blur of various shades of green streaks across the screen, accompanied by the jingling of bells and coins. And then there he is.

Ruining the most recent episode of the Housewives of Sin City.

This absolute hell. Well, yeah it is literally. But figuratively as well.

What is he even doing on this show? You can't recall him mentioning to have an interest in it or any of the stars a single time that you had been together. Except for maybe that one time he had found you watching it, and he had casually asked you about one of the wives who had been in the throes of an enraged outburst, while shoving a handful of chips into his mouth, speaking around the mouthful: "What's wrong with that skank? She on the rag or something?"

But now, he's apparently a guest at Luz's wedding. How that's even possibly - why that's even possible doesn't add up. And the shock and irritation running throughout your body like an electrical current has twisted up the features of your face, causing the moisturizing mask placed over your skin to lose its grip, suddenly peeling itself from its hold to fall onto the carpet in a flat flop near your feet.

You don't even give it any mind. Instead, you're looking for an outlet, blindly reaching for the nearest object to throw and your hand snatches up an old Loo Loo Land apple plushie next to you on the couch for you to hurtle at the screen. It makes impact with a pitiful squeak before plopping on the floor and the TV doesn't so much as rattle from the hit, which is honestly a blessing as much as you'd love to see the glass projecting the image of his grinning face to crack and split down the middle. But you can hardly find it in yourself to be thankful for that little fact. You're annoyed and angry and hurt.

Actually seeing him in motion and not in the form of pictures or drawings is just picking at that fresh wound that's still openly bleeding. And suddenly, those three long years of being at his side have never felt so far and yet so close: looming and almost painful. You lurch for your phone, scooping it off of the table to fervently scroll through your contacts. You briefly pause on Fizz's name, and for a second you consider calling him. He would understand. He would sympathize with what it's like to struggle with learning to let go of Mammon's influence and figuring out how to move on. But that wouldn't be fair. Not to him. Not after he's just recently cut ties with the King of Greed, and officially dropped the Sin as his mentor. It would be opening up a cut that he's still beginning to heal.

It has you scrolling your thumb down a little bit further until you find Lottie's number and you press it without much thought, other than the fleeting wish that you weren't interrupting her. She should be free from her shift at the firm by now; it's late enough. But with each trill of the phones ringback tone you get a little more unsure, and the sinking feeling that she's busy, that you've disturbed her nearly has you ending the call. The image of her caller ID posted in the background doesn't help either.

You know that she won't be angry about you contacting her. She's actually been pretty insistent that you do just that if you ever begin to feel overwhelmed or upset, but suddenly the sight of her joyful, beaming face doesn't seem so jovial anymore, and the scarlet glint of her eyes seems accusing and harsh. It's enough to have you second guessing yourself, but just as you're about to press on the red button on your screen, she answers.

The comfort that floods over you lifts from your body like a sack full of bricks and you breathe an audible sigh of relief when you set the call to an open speaker. "I think I'm going crazy," you blurt. You almost wince at the lack of tact, but you can't help it with all of the emotions and stress rising to the surface, forcing all of your worries to spill out of you like a flooding geyser. "Everywhere I look, he's there! How am I supposed to move on when he's shoved in my face every second of the day? I went to the store a few hours ago, and he was all over the place; on cereal boxes and chip bags and fucking laxatives-"

"Okay, okay, okay, " her voice soothes firmly, successfully grabbing you attention enough to get you to just stop talking. "Listen. I really don't think that you're giving yourself enough time to move on from this. I mean, it's been what? Maybe just a little over a month?"

"Yeah, " you nod dejectedly, scooping up some of your liquified ice cream on to the spoon to drink. "Just about three weeks."

She hums lowly. "So, you two were together - surprisingly - for a few years. All of those feelings aren't just going to dry up overnight, babe."

"Ugh, I know!" You whine in an elongated groan, dropping the spoon back into the ceramic bowl with a noisy clatter. You tighten the grip that you have on your phone so that it doesn't go flying out of your hand when you let yourself fall face first into the couch cushions, not caring if it stunts your breathing and when you speak next your voice is slightly muffled. "It's just so frustrating. I don't know what's holding me back. I mean, I really don't even know what I had ever seen in him in the first place."

You hear her scoff on the other end and there's a clipped humorless laugh tainting the sound. "His money? Well, no he's too cheap to even spend it - whatever. Either way, I'm glad you finally woke up to his bullshit. The guy's a total sleaze."

The comment makes you bristle despite your pervious statement, but you can only manage a grunt in response, tired and low while you turn your head, moving from the press of the cushions to finally allow yourself to breathe properly without inhaling the bits of perfume and dust that have undoubtedly gotten caught within the velvet fabric. You've heard all of the confused whispers and frustrated remarks for years. From Lottie and Ozzie and many of the other performers and staff at the restaurant, none of them were shy in voicing their bewilderment over your relationship with the Sin of Greed. They weren't looking down at you per se. You could tell that the side eyed glances and chatter all came from a place of good will and genuine concern - "He just isn't a good person, darling." Asmodeus had told you once. "I know him better than just about anyone and believe me when I tell you that he'll chew you up for all your worth and spit you out when he's finished licking up the bones. You deserve better." - but they still frustrated you.

In the past you had told yourself that they just didn't understand him like you did. That underneath all of the selfishness and confetti and snark that there was something that cared. What a complete blind, fool you had been.

Your eyes land on the TV screen, letting you defeatedly take in the sight of him on stage, guitar in his hands while he belts out one of his songs on an exuberantly decorated stage with champagne colored streamers and the glimmer of coins (fake of course, he'd never use the real thing out of the risk of other demons scooping the change off the floor and stealing it) falling around him, and a row of golden cannons shoot off explosions of sparkling fire and pyrotechnics. He's no doubt eclipsing the wedding ceremony with the act but knowing him that was entirely the point.

So he's there as the part of the entertainment then. He's got to be charging them out the ass for this performance.

You let yourself admire him, sweeping over the neon green of his eyes and the round shape of his face. You could almost feel the cool sensation of his cheeks against your palms. He's always ran a little on the colder side; a little chilled to the touch no matter how heated the atmosphere around him may be. But you had never minded. And you find yourself longing to brush your thumbs along his skin, to feel the weight of his face underneath your fingertips like you've done at least a thousand times.

"He is still a little cute," you remark, melancholic but a little loving too.

Lottie sighs on the other end, ragged and weary but then her breath snags and a small bout of silence hangs over you both. "Is that - is that him singing? Are you watching him?" She accuses, tone saturated in disbelief. She makes you feel like you're being berated by your mother. Like you're a child being caught doing something that you shouldn't have, and it has shame stinging at your cheeks.

"I was watching my show," you defend yourself, eyebrow furrowing as you observe him break into the songs verse. "And then he decided to show up."

"Oh, for fucks sake," she grouses. You can tell that she's shaking her head on the other end. Probably pacing, too. "All right, we're going to do something about this."

That both intrigues and concerns you and you perk up just a little bit. "Do 'what' exactly?"

She doesn't immediately answer and that sets you on edge. You can still hear her shuffling around on the opposite line and it has tension setting in your muscles while your brain tries to scramble around for whatever it is that she's trying to plan or set up, but your mind keeps coming up frustratingly empty. "Seriously, what are you doing?"

"I . . . " she begins a little distractedly. "Am setting you up on a date."

It feels like a bullet has fired your heart out from your chest in sharp burst and the shock is enough to have you clambering up from your flopped over position to glare down at your phone. You can taste the adrenaline on your tongue like something acrid. For a moment you can hardly get the jumbled words out from your throat, and you're left sitting frozen with your mouth hanging open dumbly. " You . . . Wh - " Your eyebrows pinch close. "You what? With who?"

"Do you remember that coworker that I told you about? The hot paralegal?"

You hum to yourself, trying to jog the memory free but nothing familiar rises up to greet you. "No," you answer bluntly, picking at a loose thread from the couch cushion.

The admittance doesn't seem to dampen her excitement in the slightest. "Well, he's nice and Sherry said that he has a massive dic - "

"Okay, I get it!" You say quickly.

"And I think this will be good for you," she says, tone dipping into something gentle and soothing. "I mean, I know I said to take time to move past this, but maybe you could use this as a reason to get out. To take your mind off of things - it won't be anything serious! Just a . . . distraction."

Your lips purse and you can feel a refusal rising up from your lungs, but then your eyes are drifting back over to the TV. The bitter taste of disappointment hits you like a mouthful of lime juice when you see that he's been replaced on screen with one of the wives during a confessional scene, and it serves as a harsh reminder of how pitifully stuck on him you are. Sure, you know that you only need a little bit of time to completely move on, but Lottie's right. Maybe a harmless little date wouldn't hurt. Maybe it would be enough to finally help you to pry those bits of affection and devotion from him and take back your life. "Okay, " you relent wearily.

She exclaims in a burst of excitement, and a part of you loathes how happy she sounds while you're currently stewing in your own misery. "Great! I already texted him about it, but I'll send you his number."

You hum to let her know that she's been heard, a little absentminded while you continue to stare at the screen with some piteous part of you waiting for him to pop back up on the TV. The phone call drifts from there, directing back over to Lottie's day. A nice reprieve from thinking about your own, but as selfish as it is, it's hard to try and pay her words any attention while you're buried under your own emotions. You can't help but be a little bit thankful when she has to end the call, having to turn in for the night in the preparation of some early meeting in the morning.

It leaves you to just sit in silence, with your bowl of melted ice cream propped in your lap while you mindlessly watch TV, seeing the content flit across the screen but not registering it. You had made yourself change the channel about fifteen minutes ago, even when your thumb had stubbornly hovered over the controls of the remote while your subconscious waited for that familiar grin to show back up on the screen. And that fleeting little thought had been enough to get you to mash down on the channel button until you landed on an entirely random program. Some renovation show, about taking homes from demons struggling against foreclosure to remodel the seized properties into luxury houses for reselling to the wealthy and famous.

A lot of the designs were just beyond absurd. Like the bathroom with a mini golf course built into the flooring or the laser tag arena that was merged with a sex dungeon. It was an odd union of hobby and . . . necessity?

And that's where you stayed for an indiscernible amount of time without moving apart from a small shuffle to readjust; you had long since forgotten your intention to remove the yellow polish from your nails. You were steadily nursing on your glass of Beelzejuice, fighting off the slight wince on your face whenever you took a sip. Between the saccharine, syrupy flavor and the burn of the alcohol whenever you swallowed it down, you were hitting close to your limit for the night. Fortunately, a nice, relaxed haze was already settling over you and fizzling at your limbs and fingertips. And for a few blissful moments, you didn't have any clamoring, distracting thoughts or feelings welling up and threatening to stretch you thin. It felt like peace.

You had texted the number that Lottie had sent you a little while ago - Hugo, it seemed his name was - just to try and make an effort, even if it was a reluctant one. It was just a quick hello, nothing much more than that, and you hadn't built up the courage to check and see if he had responded to you. It was so odd. The entire situation and you hate how much you feel guilty about accepting an invitation for the date. It had some acidic, nasty sensation bubbling in the pit of your chest; sharp and cold, but luckily the potency of the alcohol was enough to distract you.

Not for long though, because the show is switching to a commercial break and once again the familiar sight of a layered, pointed clown costume drops across the screen, encapsulated around the looming shape a figure that you know all too well. His voice is raised, meant to grab the viewers' attention easily as he breaks into a pitch meant to entice the watcher into buying his newly manufactured sex robots, modeled after a pair of twins from the Envy Ring.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Your entire body seems to sag, weighed down with defeat, and you swear you can feel tears prickling at your waterline as he leans closer towards the camera, twirling his staff with one of his upmost hands. And for a while you don't even hear what he's saying. You're too busy being forced to watch him while he cavorts around a simple, plum purple background with a pair of robots obediently stationed behind him. And it isn't until he reaches for the both of them and presses them both up against his sides with a somewhat provocative grin stretched over his face that your mind seems to focus, and his indistinct salesman speech becomes fully audible.

" - each sold separately! But if you purchase the both of them in a package deal, then you'll have double the fun for the low, low price of two thousand, six hundred and ninety dollars - not including tax! C'mon! Don't be a cheapskate - " He leans forward, eyes narrowing while his voice subtly shifts a few octaves lower in a threatening rumble - "you better get 'em both, you sick fuck! Ya know you want to!"

Your hand seems to raise on its own, gripping onto the remote and smashing down on the power button, causing the screen to go black, saving yourself and your sanity from having to look at him for a second longer.

It's safe to say that sleep didn't come easily that night. You had tossed and turned for hours on end, and it wasn't until the dawn was rising in the horizon in a blossom of pale lavender and peach hue that you were able to pass out from pure exhaustion. The next few days continued as they usually do with preforming down at the restaurant and going out for drinks with your coworkers afterwards. You had begun to text Hugo within that time, and you felt a bit of consolation to know that he too wasn't looking for anything particularly serious, having been out of the dating game for a few years after spending his focus on furthering himself in his field of work. The both of you had unanimously agreed that whatever was going to take place between you would be entirely casual. It was after two days of speaking that he had asked to take you out for dinner, and with Lottie's words echoing loudly inside your head, you had agreed.

It wasn't until you were getting ready that night that your reality had officially sunk in. That you're actually going to go out on a date with a man that you hardly even knew. After three years of remaining in a relationship it felt like such a strange concept. You had never imagined yourself with any other person but Mammon. And now here you were, rummaging around in your closest for something to wear. Shoving through the mountain made of Thing plushies and all of the other miscellaneous trinkets that he had sent you once he had realized that you were indeed serious about ending the relationship, just to try and get to the clothes hanging from the closet rod.

You had thrown most of his little 'peace offerings' away at first, but after the fourth day of having to carry the armfuls of Mammon plushies and oddly enough, Loo Loo Land novelty cups (you're fairly sure that he was just sending you stuff that he had found in inventory) down to the garbage hatch down the hallway, you had just begun to shove it all into your closet instead. The questioning stares from your neighbors had always felt too invasive whenever they'd watch you slip down the corridor with his pathetic attempts at bribing you back into a relationship clutched to your chest in the shape of stupid toys and knickknacks.

You actually manage a smile when you successfully tug the hanger holding your chosen dress free from the confines of the closet, but you don't even bother trying to fight against the scattered collection of plushies by attempting to close the door to your closet. Not with the way that they've tumbled out from the confines of the snug little alcove and onto the floor. It would be a losing battle, and you don't have time for that with the clock steadily ticking. You were quick to rush off to the bathroom, taking care to spend time on styling your hair as best as you could and making yourself presentable, spraying on a few puffs of perfume across your body.

You had been fine throughout the entire process. The nervousness settling in your gut had been noticeable but manageable. It was faint enough to keep your mind off of it, to push it down and ignore. It wasn't until you were actually at the decided upon restaurant and sitting across from Hugo at a candle lit table for two that the restlessness and hesitancy become unavoidable. And you had long since forgotten your food, far too nervous to eat. It had you trying to distract yourself from the wild thrum of your heart beating in your chest by looking around the dining room, admiring the pale, iridescent shimmer of the dramatic crystal chandeliers hanging above the array of tables and the large, carved marble statues placed along the circumference of the great the walls.

"Are you all right?" Hugo suddenly asks, breaking from your trance. Your attention snaps over to him, making the jewelry hanging from your earlobes jingle.

"Yeah, of course," you reassure quickly, playing with the stem of your wine glass somewhat distractedly. "I'm just getting reused to this sort of thing. It's been a while since I've been on a date with someone new."

He smiles, nodding in understanding way while he prods at his food. "Well, we're both in the same boat in that regard." The burgundy shade of his irises shimmer underneath the gentle glow of the candles flame. "It's no pressure, remember? This is purely casual."

It has you breathing a visible sigh of relief, and the entirety of your body relaxes while you let yourself rest your weight on the table with your elbows. It was something that he has told you before, but it was nice to hear it in the moment, face to face. Hugo moves a bit closer, and the motion looks a little awkward. A little unsure, and as bad as it may sound, it was almost pleasant to see that he too is removed from his comfort zone. That you're not the only one that's entirely out of their depth.

"I hope that this isn't too forward, but why did you agree to even do this?" He asks. "It's just, from how Lottie described it, it was all sport of sudden."

The question gives you pause, as straight forward as it is and for a moment you find yourself without a proper response. He did say that this entire outing was casual, no strings attached. But even then, it isn't exactly appropriate to say that you were just trying to get out of the house because you were going clinically insane; that you're out here on your night off, drinking wine that's entirely too expensive because everywhere you look, you see your ex's face and it's been wearing down on your resolve little by little like pressure on a weak, torn rope. Sure, you have the potential to be an asshole, but even that feels a little insensitive.

You had told him that you had just recently gotten out of a relationship, but he has no clue just how fresh the separation actually is. And you have no idea what Lottie may have said to him, but as of right now you'd like to try and keep your personal business to a minimum if at all possible. Satan forbid you accidentally mention just who you ex is. That last thing you need to deal with is him getting intimidated and running off because you used to have tied with the incarnation of Greed.

"Honestly?" You say, absentmindedly tapping your nails along the stem of your glass with a soft shrug. "As superficial as it is, Lottie said that she knew about a hot guy that was single and looking for a night out. I agreed."

He chuckles at that, playing coy but you notice the subtle way that he preens under the casual compliment. The hint of a smile curling at the corners of his lips, and the slight spike of lust that trickles across the air. It's low, a blink and you'll miss it scent; heady and a little warm, and the faint thrum of it nudges against your body like a hesitant touch before it vanishes. But despite your instinct to chase after that minute pulse of desire and cultivate it into something more, you find yourself completely uninspired to do just that. As dejected and disappointed as it makes you in yourself, you'd honestly rather spend the remainder of your evening catching up on your TV shows than wasting it between the sheets with him. But then again, that doesn't have to be the point of tonight. Tonight, you're just here to get out. To remind yourself of what's out there. You have to try.

"Was she right?" He speaks suddenly just as your taking a sip from of your wine, leaving you to tilt your head curiously with an intrigued hum. "Am I hot?"

You lower your glass, drinking the swig down and you make a show of eyeing him while you debate on how you really want this night to go. This could be a simple time out on the town, or you could truly try to go down the opposite route and wind up in some trashy No-Tell-Motel a few blocks down the strip. He seems receptive enough. In fact, despite his earlier statements, you're more than sure that he wouldn't be opposed to a little harmless fling. And maybe it would help you forget Mammon, even if just for a little while. But is that really what you want though . . ?

"Hmm, ask me later tonight," is all you say, smirking softly, and there it is again. That dim heated little pulse that leaves him and threads across the atmosphere. It should be enough to interest that deep, primal part of your psyche, but there's absolutely nothing.

"So, what did your ex do, if you don't mind my asking, " he says, and you struggle to keep the smile on your face present at the mention of Mammon. " Sorry, I'm just trying to figure out what kind of expectations I'm supposed to be meeting."

Well, that shouldn't be all that difficult to surpass. Not with how self-absorbed and oblivious Mammon has always been. And truthfully, Hugo was attractive - or hot, as Lottie had promised. Sure, you had seen pictures of him with all of the texting that the both of you had done but seeing him in person was somehow all the better. It was easy to see that he takes care of himself. His eyes are gorgeous, sharp and expressive and the suit that he wears is no doubt expensive. And with how considerate and patient that he had been with you throughout your entire time together, he didn't have much to worry about in terms of acceding past the standard that Mammon had set.

"He was . . . " You wrack your mind for a way to delicately leave out the hints that your ex just so happens to be the King of Greed. You really won't be able to handle the entire slew of questions that would no doubt come from that little nugget of information. " A performer . . . " You settle with a squint. "And a businessman of sorts. "

"Oh, yeah? Is it possible that he's been in anything that I've seen before?" He questions conversationally.

Yes. It's very, very possible. "No," you shake your head with what you hope is a neutral expression on your face. "I doubt it."

You take a quick sip of your wine, desperate for some sort of liquid courage to dull the low turning of your stomach. He hums softly, letting you know that he's heard you and pats his mouth clean for any traces of food.

"So, did you work together then?" He tilts his head in a curious kind of way, and the inquiry has your eyebrows furrowing incredulously, prompting him to clarify. "You said he was a performer. You work at Ozzie's, right?"

"Uh, yeah," you admit. "But no. He's business partners with my boss, so he pops in for meetings every now and again. That's how we met." You clear your throat, shifting in your seat to try and regain a sense of comfortability. The memory always leaves you feeling a bit confused. A little torn and stretched between contrast of a fond sense of love and nostalgia but reversibly the bitter sting of loathing and regret. It leaves you a jumbled mess. Stuck because you can't help but wonder just what you had ever seen in Mammon, but it's even worse because all those affections still haven't fully waned. Even before you had fully become acquainted with the Sin of Greed there'd always been that odd sort of intrigue that would pull at you whenever he had arrived at Ozzie's for a meeting; typically, a discussion over the production of Fizzbot's much to Asmodeus' chagrin.

Your boss was never enthused over Mammon's presence in his restaurant, mostly because the Sin would always try to scout new talent to exploit in the shape of Ozzie's employees whenever he was present (not to mention that massive tab that he had racked up at the bar and the kitchen that he always manages to weasel out of paying). And you had been one of those employees yourself. You had been pulled over by the King of Greed one night after your routine, and he had shamelessly tried persuading you in becoming one of his performers directly in front of Ozzie, offering you fame and money and fans beyond your wildest fantasies. Naturally, you had declined the proposal.

The refusal had visibly rubbed him the wrong way, with him no doubt taking it as blow to his pride and his image, but he hadn't let it stop him. Every time that he came in for that monthly meeting, he'd make sure to pop the question, and you'd gently let him down each time. But for whatever reason, his persistence never bothered you. It was almost fun in fact, like a game of cat and mouse. It was entertaining, in a strange sort of way, like the both of you were waiting each other out to see who'd crack first. You actually enjoyed his company. He was brash, garish and vulgar. The jokes that he made were always at another expense and he was insensitive to the point it was concerning, but for some reason you found yourself inexplicably drawn to him. He made you laugh; he let you be yourself, and the both of you could spend hours gossiping amongst yourselves and trashing other demons, laughing at their misfortune and mistakes. Was it rude? Absolutely. But with him, that was perfectly fine. He was a complete douche (still is) but he had never really flirted with you, he'd never given much of an indication that he was interested in you in a sexual nature, apart from admiring your talents on the stage it was a nice break from all of the constant salivating customers that would clamor up against the edge of the platform and ogle you throughout your shift. It was nice just having a conversation with someone who wasn't expecting or wishing to get some cheap blowjob backstage. Ironically enough, one of the most exploitative beings in all of the seven circles of Hell managed to make you feel the most normal. Like you were more than just your basest functions, more than lust and a performer.

It had been Asmodeus who had recognized when your intrigue in the Sin of Greed had melted past an amused kind of fascination and into endearment and desire. He had seen the shift in your emotions long before you had, and you had vehemently shrugged off his gentle accusations for months on end. Insisting that he was reading into the weird type of kinship that you had fashioned Mammon all wrong. You had insisted that you were just friends. You just found him interesting, that's all.

But unfortunately, Ozzie had been right.

"Is it okay if we change topics?" You ask suddenly, desperate to get out of your head. To quit reliving old, painful memories. " It's just - talking about my ex, you know?"

Something sheepish and a little ashamed flits across his face and he's immediately apologizing. "Oh, I'm sorry. That was a little insensitive of me."

"It's okay," you say truthfully, shrugging with a soft smile. "So, do you have any kind of hobbies?"

The conversation diverges for there - thankfully, carrying on while you both try to learn about each other. It leads you to discover that Hugo has a multitude of talents, such as being able to play several kinds of musical instruments and he has a proclivity for painting and a fondness for cooking that was cultivated by his grandfather. He was quick to offer to teach you how to make a dish from the Wrath Ring for your next date, after he learned that you aren't all the adept at the culinary arts, mostly due to the lack of interest.

He's undeniably a sweet guy. He seems to be generous and easy going, but despite all of that you still can't hide from that sharp, nagging feeling that's been picking at you the entire night. The realization that there just isn't much of spark regardless of how charming and gentle he seems to be. And although conversing with him is easy, nice even, to a degree it feels like talking with a coworker or a catching up with a friend. But maybe the lack of attraction wasn't the only thing to blame. The entire night there's been this harsh, laughable sense of guilt and betrayal brewing inside of you, almost like you being on this date with Hugo is somehow cheating. But that's entirely stupid. Not to mention that it doesn't make any sense. Those bitter emotions shouldn't have any footing because you and Mammon aren't a couple anymore, but it's almost like your feelings and heart haven't accepted that yet.

And it leaves you admittedly a little distracted, until you're just mindlessly nodding and laughing whenever it's the appropriate response. Eventually you're just sleepwalking throughout the entire dinner; your body is present, but your mind definitely isn't. Suddenly it's hard to keep yourself in place and your eyes start shifting around the dinning room like you're in search of an exit. This is too much too soon. You shouldn't have agreed to this. You shouldn't be here.

And in your internal panicking you couldn't keep yourself from covertly slipping your hand into your purse hanging from the back of your chair to retrieve your phone while Hugo isn't looking, too busy animatedly scanning his eyes around the room while he's reminiscing about some past vacation on an island resort in Envy. The sting of guilt makes you slightly shuffle in your seat like you might be able to shake the feeling free, but it doesn't keep you from hiding your phone underneath the table in the clasp of your hand while you tap the messaging app and search for Lottie's name. Maybe if you were able to explain yourself to her, she'd help to bail you out. Maybe you could get her to give you a fake call and come up with an excuse-

You freeze, focus landing on the name posted directly underneath hers.

Moo💚

It's such a dumb nickname, and honestly aren't even sure where it had come from. You had just started using it one day, and you stuck with it because even when Mammon would grumble under his breath and roll his eyes like every utterance of the pet name costed a year of his immortal life, you would always see that monochrome blush tinting his cheeks at the sound of it. He'd get offended if you addressed him as anything else; one morning when your brain was still sluggish and dulled by the cloud of sleep, you had called him 'Mammon' and he had elected to give you the silent treatment until you were finally able to figure out just what exactly you had done wrong. And it would make your chest turn fuzzy and soft whenever you'd see the reaction that it garnered from him, full of devotion and affection.

And now the simple nickname, something you had felt nothing but fondness for, feels like it's mocking you. Dangling something in front of your face that you'll never get to have again. You can't help yourself when you press on the contact's name, opening up your messages. It's like your heart is in your throat, heavy and trembling and threatening to suffocate you, and it takes every ounce of your frayed sense of will to keep your from reading the text thread. You could remember the last couple of messages that he had sent without looking over them. The last of them asking for you to 'come to your senses' and return back to one of his penthouses in Greed and when you refused the text had turned egotistical and indifferent, with him claiming that he didn't need you. That he'd do just fine without you.

And just like that your will snaps.

x/x/xx 12:43 am

fine go ahead i dont even nrrd u

x/x/xx 12:43 am

duck

x/x/xx 12:44 am

*FUCK

x/x/xx 12:44 am

*NEED

x/x/xx 12:44 am

go crawl to ozz for all i care

Those simple set of words feel like a knife to the chest; sharp and slicing and you feel those pitiful emotions rising up again, threatening to spill over in the form of tears. You don't know what causes it. If it's the sudden call of Hugo's voice, laced with concern and curiosity as he asks if you're okay, or if it's the slight tremor in your fingers that makes your thumb twitch and press the image of the call button in the corner of the screen above your messages, but when it happens your stomach feels like it falls through your ass. You visibly lurch when his caller ID pops up with an in-progress call and you audibly gasp ragged and a horrified as you slam your finger on the end call button so harshly that it's a wonder that you didn't damage your phone.

Your entire body is pulled taunt like you've been struck by a live wire, and you're sure that Hugo is more than confused because you must look as though someone has a gun pressed to the back of your head.

"Are you all right?" He repeats, leaning forward over the table to make eye contact with you.

It does enough to let you regain some control of your body, letting you pull a tight, unconvincing smile across your lips as you nod. "Yeah. I'm fine." You say, more so to yourself than to him. Honestly, you're being a little dramatic. The connection - if it could even be considered as one - couldn't have lasted for more than a split second. He probably won't even notice the missed call. More accurately, he most likely has your number blocked. You're blowing this entirely out of proportion. You're good. Everything is all right.

"I'm fine," you reiterate and luckily, you're able to make your expression a little bit more convincing.

It's fine.

The air prickles. It shifts and thrums like it's being charged by an oncoming lightning strike, and you can feel your body respond to it. Your back goes straight from the sensation of something hot and buzzing shooting down the notches of your spine while your heart flutters from anticipation in some traitorous Pavlovian response before you even hear that familiar cha-ching! jingle across the electric, pulsing atmosphere. The space directly next to you erupts in a puff of rushing lime and emerald smoke, joined by a flurry of bright, neon dollar signs and confetti that whirls over the beverages and meals belonging to the neighboring tables; effectively tainting the other patron's food in its scatter.

"Well, well, well, look who's come crawling back!"

You're experiencing so many different emotions right now; you can't even keep track of it all of it while it roars around inside of you like a deluge bursting past the battered walls of a crumbled dam. You manage to recognize a few: concern, irritation, regret and most disturbingly, relief, joy and admiration. It's like you're entire being is suddenly overloaded with conflicting information and you aren't sure what you're supposed to say or do.

In your disarray you notice that Hugo has gone still, just as surprised as you are. And the entire restaurant has fallen deathly silent, no longer noisy from the ceaseless chatter of varying conversations or the scrape of silverware on porcelain and the clinking of wine glasses. It's still. So hushed that you could hear a pin drop. Even worse, is that everyone's attention is now fixed on your table. Guests and employees alike, their focus is now on you. It's like you've been strapped down and flayed open on an operating table; you don't think you've ever felt so exposed, so judged in your entire life.

Your mouth hangs open, but nothing makes its way out, not even when Hugo shoots you a questioning look before his eyes center back onto Mammon.

"So this is who you're spending your time with now, " he remarks in that tantalizing lilt, leaning - looming over Hugo with an intrigued squint. His lower hands are folded across his stomach, but he uses the other pair to take ahold of your date by his wrists, spanning his arms open like he's inspecting a toy and his head tilts with the chime of bells. "He's a bit of a flimsy fucker, ain't he?"

The expression on Hugo's face is understandably one of bewilderment, and he lets his arms drop back onto the table counter weightlessly when Mammon releases him. You can see all of the questions burning in his stare and you know that you have to give him some kind of explanation, even if this entire situation was a complete accident on your end.

"Hugo, this is the . . . performer - uh, businessman that I was telling you about earlier," you clarify somewhat cryptically, giving him a tense smile.

His jaw drops a little, shoulders going slack with what has to be the weight of shock and possibly intimidation. "Your ex is the King of Greed?"

"Ex?" Mammon hisses, bending his body over the smaller demon while bearing his sharp teeth like he might bite and tear flesh while he jabs an accusing finger at Hugo. "What? You think just 'cause me and the missus had a little spat that you can just try and move in on my woman?"

The fucking audacity that he has.

Anger sears through you with a gravity that surprises yourself, and you stand up from your seat so abruptly that it has the legs scrapping across the smooth tiles with a sharp noise that could make you flinch if you weren't already so preoccupied. " 'Missus?' We aren't even marrie- we aren't even dating anymore! What the hell are you doing here?"

The Sin blinks at you with what might be surprised before his expression melts into something composed and neutral. "You called; I came. That's what good boyfriends do," he says, and you can hear some kind of accusation in his tone, and he jabs a finger in your direction. " I showed up for you, even after you tore my heart out and practically pissed all over it! Did it get you off? Pissing all over our love?"

The laugh that leaves you is entirely humorless, and at this point you're too upset to even consider that you're having an argument in the middle of some expensive restaurant with your ex while your date sits and watches like some kind of reluctant voyeur. "Oh, please. Because you were always so invested in our relationship, weren't you?" you snap with your tone saturated full of sarcasm. "You poured more effort into trying to figure out ways in getting back at Fizz and Ozzie than giving me even a shred of your time. You started treating us like a chore, don't even try to pretend."

You're able to find some satisfaction in the way that his eyes twitches, his composure slipping. In hindsight, it's pretty stupid trying anger someone who's capable of snuffing out your existence with the snap of his fingers, but as of right now, you can't find it in yourself to care. You want him to get mad.

"And I told already fucking told you that it was only temporary," he defends, tilting towards you to get eye level. "I'm a busy man, babes and blackmailing and ruining the life or your backstabbing, shit-stain, ex-employee takes time. " He explains casually, making your irritation spike.

"Well, that 'shit-stain, ex-employee' happens to be my friend," you hiss hotly, and your tail lashes out behind you.

"All right, maybe we should all calm down and breathe," Hugo chimes in, advising in a hesitant pitch.

Even with his suggestion hanging in the air it takes you and Mammon a moment to pull your venomous glares from each other, and onto him, but it's enough to have you revaluating your current position. You cast an awkward glace around the room, struggling not to shrink underneath the intrigued, gossip hungry stares of the other patrons. You sit yourself back down on the seat, outwardly cringing as it makes an obnoxious screech when you nudge it forward to tuck yourself back up against the table.

"If I want your opinion, you little shit, then I'll ask ya for it, " Mammon snaps with a smile that's all teeth, lethal and razor sharp.

"Then perhaps you should leave," Hugo says. Despite the firmness of his tone, you can see the way that his eyes shift nervously. Not that you could blame him. Mammon can be menacing when he's in a good mood, much less when he's genuinely displeased, and that's not even adding onto the fact the he's royalty that has an entire Ring of Hell serving as his domain. Honestly, the fact that the demon had chosen to speak up at all surprises you completely, and Mammon seems to share your astonishment if the befuddled way that his face has twisted up is any indication.

"The fuck did you just say to me?" The Sin asks, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes glint in that venomous shade of green. You can see the tension setting into his shoulders as he arches over Hugo's space, using his height to make the smaller demon lean back into his chair. You try and send your date a wary glance, warning him to tread lightly. Mammon could be a little unpredictable at best, especially with how he reacts to criticism or just basic social boundaries, so there really wasn't any way to guess how he may respond to Hugo's request. He could either laugh it off with a few harsh insults or he could lash out and try to kill the Imp entirely.

The latter of which, was the last thing that you wanted - for obvious reasons.

But Hugo doesn't heed your forewarning glances at all. He looks up at Mammon, somehow managing to school his features enough to come across as unbothered. "Well, according to her, it seems that you two are no longer in a relationship; and she's made it clear that she doesn't seem to want you here anymore. " He says. "I just think it's best to respect what she wants."

You can feel your mouth go dry and your tongue feels too thick and useless. Suddenly it's as though all of the warmth and oxygen has been syphoned out of the room, making your body tense like it's been dunked in frigid water. The grin on Mammon's face stretches just a bit too wide, and the cheerful expression almost seems a bit feral. You can feel that charged aura building up around him, not enough to create any visible static, but you can still feel it humming along your fingertips and brushing over the exposed bits of your skin. It's a decent indication to let you get a read on his mood, allowing you know that Hugo is wobbling along a very frayed tight rope right now, and any wrong miscalculation could send him spiraling down below.

For a second you think that Mammon's composure might snap but instead that wolfish quality to his sneer melts away as though it had never been there, and he looks positively jovial. Somehow that's worse.

"Ya know what!" he snaps one of his topmost fingers together. "You're right. We should give the little lady what she wants."

Hugo blinks in surprise, visibly relaxing but the buttered-up tone that Mammon uses just sets you on edge. It's too performative - even for him.

"I think that means you should be the one to leave then, mate." Mammon sighs, with a kind of artificial sympathy as he takes Hugo's glass of wine from the table and tosses the near full cup of alcohol back like it's a small sip before he leans close to the demon conspiratorially. "After all, she isn't here to move on, she's just here for a little distraction. Why she chose a limp dick like you for that, I'm still not sure. But hey! I'm not one to judge."

That stings. Mostly because there is some actual merit to his words, as awful as they are to hear. It's a tough pill to swallow, but it isn't one that you want to take from Mammon of all people. That might have been one of the most difficult things about being in a relationship with the Sin. Is that regardless of how brash and inept that he happens to be at the best of times, he's undeniably good at reading others. He knows what makes them tick or how to use their insecurities as a tool. It made it so difficult to hide the most delicate and abrasive parts of yourself from him, and you suppose that might have been you fell for him in the first place. Because you could always be the worst side of yourself, and he had never shied away from it. Not once.

"Well, I'd like you to leave . . . Your Highness," Hugo responds with halfhearted resolve, and you can hear the other tables whisper amongst themselves like they're occupying the front row seats to a drama.

And it has that horrible sinking feeling in your gut.

"Is that so? And just what the fuck are you gonna do to make me, bitch boy?" Mammon taunts, and you can hear the hint of a low growl tainting his voice. The enthusiasm and intrigue wafting from the other occupied tables in palatable, and it feels like you're all holding your breath, dreading whatever may come next but unable to look away. And you want to speak, to get Mammon's attention off of Hugo and onto you instead, but you can't manage to say a damn word. It's like your voice is stuck in your throat.

Your date opens his mouth, to possibly defend himself or relent, but he never gets to opportunity to because one of Mammon's hands is lashing out in a quick blur, grabbing Hugo by the throat. The other sets of his eyes have appeared, glinting with a violent glare of chartreuse and the sibilant sound, similar to the hiss of a rattlesnake's quivering tail, or the disturbed hiss of a cicada puffs from his chest. He raises Hugo up to his level, making the Imps feet dangle pathetically above the floor while his tail lashes wildly. Mammon's lips curl in a nasty sneer, dripping with satisfaction and aggression. "I could break you, pipsqueak. Be careful not to piss me off more than you already have, yeah?"

The grip around Hugo's neck way deadly, and you could see his eyes beginning to bulge from underneath the weight of the Sin's iron hold, making him look like some kind of fucked up chew toy. One good squeeze and he's as good as dead. "I can't believe this is the little fucker you tried to replace me with," he jeers, dangling the smaller Imp like a rag doll.

Finally, all of the tension and chaos is enough to break you from your stupor, letting you reclaim control of your limbs to leap out from your chair for the second time of the night. "Mammon!" You shout, by the Sin doesn't seem to even register that you're speaking with the way that he doesn't so much as spare you a glance. His eyes are fixed onto the demon whose windpipe he has his fingers tightly secured around.

"Mammon! Put him down." You snatch ahold of one of the Sin's wrists, tugging on his arm. "Let. Him. Go, " you warn through gritted teeth, even though you're probably about as intimidating to him as gentle breeze.

Mammon finally spares you glance, the sadistic cheer shifting from his face as his eyes cast down to yours. Hugo continues to thrash around wildly, like a fish tossed out onto a dock but the King of Greed doesn't seem to be in any rush to release him. Instead, he's sighing, exasperated and fully disappointed when he notices your enraged glare, and even without any visual pupils or irises you can still tell that he's rolling his eyes at you. "All right, all right, don't get yer thong in a twist, " he scoffs; frustrated. " Jeez, you've always been so protective over the other normies."

He releases Hugo like he's a discarded piece of garbage, letting the demon land near his feet in a weak pile. You're quick to let go of the Sin's wrist as you slip past Mammon to drop yourself down onto your knees in front of your date, roving your vision over him helplessly as he heaves and sucks in ragged, labored breaths. Pure guilt and hatred wracks through your body at the sight of him and all the while your mind harshly chants that this is your fault. That you did this to him.

"I'm sorry, " you whisper fervently. " I'm so sorry."

He can't respond to you around the strained gasps shaking through his lungs, but you feel him flinch when you place a comforting touch against one of his shoulders. The reaction, no matter how warranted, makes you jerk away from him. It hurt. It dug that remorse in deeper like a hot poker and you were desperate to direct it something. It has you spinning on your heels, rising up to round on Mammon. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" You snarl, anger burning at your fingertips and searing in your chest. The combination of surprise and annoyance on his face just pisses you off even more, making your wings flair out. You catch the way that his eyes glance around the room, surveying the reactions of the customers and servers who have long since taken out their phones to spread the gossip. There's no doubt that this is going to be all over online headlines and trending on platforms like Sinstagram and VoxTok for the next couple of days, and you know that the way that you're publicly insulting him is a setting you on a fast track to his shit list. But you don't care. Not right now. You want him to get mad. You want him to become just as upset and irritated and wounded as you are.

"You're a psychopath! " You rant. " Arrogant, insensitive, selfish -"

" Uh, yeah, babes, " he interrupts, flourishing his arms across his body in a presenting flourish. " King of Greed."

"I'm so tired of hearing that excuse." You scoff around the frustrated laugh bubbling up in your chest, clenching and unclenching your hands to try and relieve some of the tension in them.

"Let's chill out, eh? You're causing a bit of a scene," Mammon grouses.

That genuinely stalls you. Why, you aren't sure, you should be used to this sort of behavior by now, but you're already too worked up to just ignore that comment. "I'm causing a scene?" You point your fingers into your chest, staring up at him with a pure molten resentment. "You're the one who crashed my night and assaulted my date. If anyone here's the problem, it's you!"

A part of you waits for him to lash out, fully expecting to see those sharp, neon flashes of electricity start to fizzle and shoot out around him in a warning, but it never comes. Instead, he's rocking back on his feet, and the irritated scowl on his face shifts, molding into something soft and deceptively charming. "Baaabe, " he draws out an almost singsong whine. "Let's not do this anymore. Aren't you tired of all this fighting?"

His mouth sets into something like a pout, and that coupled with the gentle, saccharine lit to his voice has you hesitating to berate him even more. It's such an obvious ploy to manipulate you - it has to be - but even worse is that it's working. You can feel that annoying, sugared sense of affection rising up and stupefying you. He uses your stalled response to his advantage, taking your hips and cupping your face with both pairs of his hands to tug you a little bit closer into his space until you can feel the thrum of his magnetic aura dipping across your body. His thumbs sweep over the edges of your cheeks, and some treacherous part of yourself longs to lean into his cool touch. "I miss us. I miss you, " he confesses like the moment between you both is private, and for a minute you completely forget that you're in a crowded room, airing out your relationship drama for all to see. "Don't you miss me? Even just a little?"

He almost sounds vulnerable when he asks it. The other sets of his eyes have long since vanished from sight, but the sheer amount of emotion gleaming from the main pair makes your heart ache. And even with all of your common sense raging inside of you and telling you to pull away from him, to slip out of his hold before you get caught too deep to pull out, you don't know if you can. Not when you can finally feel him again after so much time apart. And even with the smooth, press of his leather gloves keeping you from being able to feel his skin directly, the cool sensation of them is too good to let go of. "Yes," you admit, almost a little brokenly. There's the hurt of self-disappointment that runs through you when you say it, but the relief and exhilaration that rises up greatly overshadows it, frothing up and drowning it like the crash of a tsunami against the surf.

"See?" He coos tenderly. "See how much better it is when we don't fight?"

It's the sound of a rough intake of breath that finally rips you out of your moment of weakness and your eyes flit over to the origin of the noise out from your peripherals. It's when your focus lands on Hugo that reality comes hurtling down on you. He's pulling himself up onto his feet, still clearly a little disoriented but thankfully coherent. It has you tearing out of Mammon's hold before you can register it, approaching the Imp with a concerned furrow pinching your eyebrows close. "Are you okay?" You ask, a bit of a stupid question you admit, but you aren't sure what you could possibly say to make this situation any better.

The stare that Hugo pins you with is a little wild and you can see noticeable traces of fear and rage, and he tries to smooth out the wrinkles that have marred his suit, combing his fingers through his unkempt hair in an attempt to try and right himself. "Why would I be fucking okay?"

It's a justifiable reaction, you suppose, but it doesn't make it any less painful take the brunt of that searing glare. You recoil away from it, thumping back into something solid and soft, and the scent of money carries over you; the hint of that leather musk that transfers onto the bills from being stuffed into purses and wallets; the slightly metallic notes of coins and the till from cash registers. That familiarity of it has you unconsciously sinking into the presence pressed up against your body for comfort.

"You're still here, are ya?" Mammon's voice rumbles out, and you can feel the vibrations of it thrumming across your back, but it's hard to even hear what he's saying while you're bombarded by the searing pressure of everyone else's enthralled eyes pinned onto you; the bewildered, hurt stare that Hugo fixes you with as he steadies himself on his weakened legs. It has you feeling naked and bare. Stripped down to display all of your imperfections for all of the world to see, exposing you for judgement. But it's the cold, stinging weight of remorse that wounds you the most; driven in deep by that unforgiving voice in the back of your mind that keeps telling you that the entire trajectory of this night is your fault. That Hugo was humiliated and harmed because of you.

You should have just stayed home. You should have just -

"Let's say you and me ditch this shithole," Mammon purrs: the soothing chill of his hand's seeps through your skin, gripping around your shoulders and waist, threatening to make you go lax against him. "Let's go back home. We can make up for all our lost time."

The scattered whispering around you nearly makes you miss the Sin's words. You can hear all of them, softly giggling amongst themselves and gasping in shock. But it's Hugo's shaken glare and all of the confusion and hatred that peeks through it that catches you. And there's some deep, knee jerk drive that tells you to go and try to comfort him. To try an apologize for the entire derailment of the date and explain yourself, but instead you're leaning back into Mammon's presence, savoring the musky scent of him and the distant magnetic thrum that constantly pulses across his body.

You know whatever comes out of your mouth next is going to choose your fate. It'll completely seal the deal, so to speak, for the remainder of your life. And as dangerous as that thought is, as perilous as that truth may be, you can't find it in yourself to be scared. You find yourself leaning into it - into him - and fully accepting the troubles that may come from it. If you're going to be truly honest with yourself, these past few weeks have been complete torture because as much as you loathe to admit it, you've been lying to yourself. Pretending that you want to move and forget him, when in all honestly, that's the furthest thing from your true desires. You want him. You think that you always will, and some awful part of you basks in it. Seeks it out even. And that shameless bit of you helps you in shedding off the shame that comes with the looks from all of the patrons. Suddenly you don't mind all of the judgmental and fascinated ogling. When he's at your side, none of them matter.

"Sure," you agree, and all of that remaining doubt fizzles out into a dull, muted nudge in the back of your mind. "Let's go home."

You can feel the pleased hum that he releases more than you hear it. A rumble that's close to a purr and he hugs you tighter against his body with all of his limbs like he's afraid that you might vanish if he doesn't. He scoops his lower arms underneath your legs, effectively clutching you to his chest and your arms grip around his neck instinctively. The look that he gives Hugo is outright gloating, with that wide, jagged grin stretched out across his face and you have to roll your eyes at the pompous display.

"Hey, don't forget to pay the check before ya leave, mate," Mammon teases. " And make sure to leave a good tip. Wouldn't want to be a dickhead."

You can feel the electrical pulse around him begin to build. It gives you barely any time to scoop up the strap of your purse with your tail, lifting it from its place hanging on the chair before that little royalty free children's cheer breaks out with that loud cha-ching! and the room distorts and mutates into a twisting billow of green. Hugo's face is the last thing that you see as you vanish within Mammon's grip, still wearing that startled and insulted expression that twists up his features and the look in his eye's stings. It remains with you as the world shifts into something dark and distorted with shades of a deep jade and flashing neon; and everything twists and spins out until everything loses its sense of tangibility and becomes a weightless amalgamation of electricity and smoke. And for one elongated split second it feels as though you don't even have a physical body. Instead, you're just a thing conceptualized through thoughts and emotions and wills that serves as some kind of conduit for those scattered electrical currents to run rampant through you while they take you apart piece by piece and shrink you down into something small and fleeting until you're being is forcefully expanded and overblown. And then finally there's sensation in your toes and fingertips and the point of your tail. You can breathe again, and the cool press of Mammon's body and arms can be felt around you.

You gasp, remembering to force yourself to inhale in an attempt to ward off that delicate weight of dizziness that fizzles around your skull, and with a few steady breaths the faint lull over your head fades away until you can finally focus and get a sense of your surroundings.

At least you didn't vomit like the first time.

It's a quick glance through the large observational window that helps to orient you, giving you a sweeping view of the dreary city down below and the glittering cast of the cerulean and lime green neon lights and signs that decorate some of the buildings. You're just glad that he teleported you both inside. The air in the Greed Ring - if it could even be categorized as air - can often times be putrid, if not outright lethal depending on what section of his domain you're in. Even though this particular penthouse happens to be in one of the more put together cities, far from the smokestacks overwhelming contaminated plumes, the factories and toxic landfills, the wind is able to carry the pollution over on its currents, and it's been known to be quite dangerous. Noxious and putrid enough to be detrimental.

Seriously, you've seen it choke out a family of four.

Reality hits you with all of the grace of a speeding truck, that you're actually here in Mammon's house, and you're left to try and brace for the oncoming torrent of regret and self-hatred that's going to absolutely piledrive you, but it never comes. There's no crushing weight of disappointment or exasperation. Instead, you're greeted with a delicate but fizzling sort of peace. It's like some kind of grip has been lifted from your shoulders and lungs and you're finally able to breathe again after being held underwater and suffocated. It floods through you like a soothing type of warmth, like the sunlight peeking out from the dense shield of cloud cover after days of darkness. It's pleasant and balmy despite the fact that the arms and hands holding you are somewhat tepid; a little cool, and you lean into it.

It surprises you when that gentle feeling of relief starts to shift, and you can taste something sharp and hungry crack across the atmosphere, a little sour. Jealousy, you instinctively recognize. And it's quickly chased by a heavy, pulsing thrum that's heady and a little smoky, and your body's response is immediate, knee-jerk and intrinsic, and every part of you seems to flood with heat and buzz like you've been struck with a livewire. As rare as this particular brand of desire is, it's one that you're intimately accustomed to, and it has Mammon's magnetic signature all over it. All-consuming and wanting and possessive.

He's never particularly been a lustful being, and all honesty, the number of times that you've had sex with the King of Greed has been far in between. In the beginning it was something that you had almost taken personally. You had nearly assumed that maybe there was something wrong with you, that perhaps he just wasn't attracted to you has an individual. But luckily, you had been quick to realize that he just didn't have much of a sex drive all together. It didn't stem from a place of disgust or even necessarily a full-on lack of interest, it was just the urge would rarely ever arise for him. It just wasn't an instinct that he had, or at the very least, it was one that would make an appearance very fleetingly. But it worked for the both of you surprisingly. Usually, after a shift at Ozzie's you were gorged on as much lust and energy as you could possibly take. Too much of a good thing could leave you feeling nauseous and uncomfortable in your own flesh, like your skin has been cinched too tight. It made being around him a breath of fresh air.

But that didn't mean that he absolutely never had a libido. But usually whenever his desire would emerge, it seemed to have a deep-rooted connection to jealousy and some inherent need to prove that you were his.

One of the first times you had sex was during one of his Annual Clown Pageant's and some random demon had shouted up at you from your place above where you were curled up against Mammon's side, stupidly asking for you to lift up your shirt and show him your tits. And the violent crackle of electricity was about the only warning he got before he was roped by a sudden cast of glowing webbing and then promptly tossed across the long expanse of the stadium. Your pretty sure that several of his bones had been shattered.

But as annoying as the stranger was, maybe you should give that guy some props. Even though he had landed himself a trip to the ER you had spent the remainder of your night getting your back blown out by the King of Greed.

You have tried to tell Mammon that he doesn't have to have sex with you to convince you that you're his. That he doesn't have to buy your love and loyalty with sexual gratification. Despite the nature of your being, you don't have to have sex to feel loved or cherished. He satisfies the need you have for touch well, with his constant desire in having you stuck to his side or in his arms in some kind of fashion. You already know that you're fully his. You want to be, and you accepted him and all of his affections and at times lack thereof completely, but he'd always been insistent on touching you after someone has shamelessly flirted with you. Almost like he had to remind himself that you were still there. He wouldn't stop until every inch of you was doused in his scent and it was unmistakable you were his.

Considering how long the two of you have been a part recently, how nasty the breakup had been and the sheer magnitude of the lust and jealousy prickling across the atmosphere and seeping into your skin and saturating your bones, you had a good impression of how the rest of this night is going to play out. It has anticipation running rampant in your veins. You tear your eyes away from the dark city outside of the window to face him, and the weight of his gaze nearly knocks you breathless. His eyes are glowing bright within the dim lighting of the room, burning a deadly shade of chartreuse. It makes you feel pinned in place, like you're being tracked by something dangerous. A weak animal dangling within the jagged, lethal maw of a starved creature.

The energy that's descended over you dances over your skin, magnetic and searching and so vibrant that for a moment it almost feels as though it could transform into a living, breathing thing and consume you both until there's nothing but scraps left behind. You're toeing the line of something vicious, a little wild, and a part of you wonders if you'll even come out of this in one piece. You might just get torn apart.

But you've never been one for self-preservation.

You aren't completely sure who moves first. But suddenly his lips are on yours, tasting floral and a little spicy from the wine that he had stolen from Hugo earlier, and it feels like you've been zapped from the fervent exchange. Your body momentarily goes a little lax, making your tail drop your purse on the floor with a careless flop in favor of winding around one of his lower forearms. It's already a little sloppy and uncoordinated, fueled by desperation and want. Then again, Mammon always has been a little messy whenever he kisses, all tongue and teeth. It might have disgusted some, his outright lack of tact and finesse, but you've always found it endearing and honestly hot. It's depraved, completely filthy, and it doesn't stop you from moaning when he licks into your mouth to taste you.

Every part of your body seems to burn like you've been dipped into melted wax. A shiver skips down the notches of your spine, quivering from the sensation of his lust clouding over you and curling up in your lungs, packing your head full of stuffing. His desire just serves to fuel your own, pilling it up on top of each other until it already has you near mindless. It's straight up embarrassing how easily he's able to affect you. To practically turn you into a pile of mush with a couple of looks and some kissing, but you can hardly find it in yourself to be ashamed.

Both of your hands are everywhere, slipping across each other's bodies, groping and clawing. You can feel the hint of his talons pressing against the cover of his gloves, dragging over your skin like he means to leave marks. The simple thought of him scratching across you with dark, stinging streaks remaining in the wake of his sharp nails has you shifting yourself to wrap your legs around the thick of his abdomen so that you can shamelessly grind against his stomach like some kind of slut, impulsively seeking out your own pleasure.

You can feel the vibrations of his low, mocking laugh tremble underneath you, spurring a liquid heat to build between your thighs. But the whine that leaves you is a little broken and ragged when he cruelly removes his mouth from yours to leer down at you. It makes you painfully conscious of the spit that's been smeared across your lips and the breathless way that you're already panting.

"Look at you, grindin' up on me like a bitch in heat," he croons meanly, but it doesn't offend you, and he knows that. It's a little fact about you that he utilizes constantly for his own benefit. Your desire to take the brunt of his insults until your defenses are stripped bare and you're left to his wills and wants. You can practically feel the satisfaction rolling off of him in waves, thick and rousing and it just has you needing more.

"Mammon," you whine brazenly, intentionally coquette.

You can tell by the look in his eyes; glowing and craving, that it just fuels his ego, single handedly feeding into his hubris. Not that it needs to get any bigger. Regardless of that simple fact, you can't help yourself in indulging him majority of the time; watching him preen underneath your subtle praise and blatant desire; even when he doesn't realize it. Even then, it takes you by surprise when your spun around and tossed into the air as easily as a pillow. You land onto something equally firm and bouncy with a small gasp. The thick, individual threads that stick to your skin in a sultry, adherent grip, have your limbs stuck, keeping you secured to whatever surface he's stuck you to.

His web.

A cursory glimpse has you confirming just as much; taking in the sight of the bright neon glow of the silken twine that keeps your limbs fastened to its grip. The lack of mobility doesn't unnerve you in the slightest, instead, it has something excited smoldering inside the base of your abdomen. And the lust and ardor pouring from him, combined with the magnetic aura that constantly pulses over him does amplifies your fervor to an embarrassing degree.

The grin on his face is sharp and smug, showing off the lethal rows of his teeth. He lowers himself onto the web slowly, his movement are all purposeful; calculated and unrushed. Intentionally dragging out his climb above you, no doubt reveling in the way that your body writhes to try and get near his own.

"You're so fucking desperate," he taunts and there's the hint of a laugh tainting his words. "Could have fooled me, with the way that you were practically eye fucking that cheap bitch."

Your face crumples up into a light sneer, and there's a retort on the tip of your tongue. That low voice in the back of your mind is telling you to keep quiet, or else he'll drag this out more than he already is, but your sense of pride rises up to the forefront. "Well, I wouldn't have been off with another man if you hadn't acted like such a dick."

His eyes narrow, and it could have been a trick of light, but you swear that they glow brighter underneath the shadows saturating the room. That electrical aura around him spikes, becoming palpable underneath his flaring irritation, trickling over your skin like an electrical current that makes you gasp. But he masks his indignation with a smirk that looks all too pleased, like you had blindly bumbled into a trap.

"I really don't think that you're in position for back talk," he chides, tilting his head condescendingly as he continues his climb over you, spreading your thighs wide to fit himself between your legs with the musical chime of bells. He's settled himself over the expanse of your body, placing his topmost pair of hands on either side of your shoulders to prop himself up. Just another soft spot that he likes to take full advantage of. He knows the way that your differences in size affects you, that way that bulk of his body practically engulfs yours. It already has a thrill shooting down the nape of your neck, and your nipples harden underneath the cool silk fabric of your dress while your back involuntarily arches, seeking out the feel of him. You can't even stop yourself from attempting to grind your hips against the swell of his lower abdomen in some carnal search for friction. "It's making me feel like ya don't even want me here anymore," he says, feigning to sulk.

You try to swallow the whine that bubbles up from your throat when he straightens himself, pulling away from you, but it escapes regardless, a little breathless and strained. He definitely heard, if the satisfaction that gleams in his eyes is any indication. He puts a studious expression on his face, eyebrows pinched close while he raises a hand to his chin like he's thinking. "Ya know, I'm pretty sure you left one of those little toys of yours after we split. "

Oh, no.

That gives you some pause, makes your body cease the desperate roll of your hips to focus on him. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up, but once it does it's able to latch onto the fact that you did indeed leave one of your sex toys here at the apartment. One of your favorite ones in fact. A rabbit vibrator that you had bought a few years ago. You had been completely pissed when you realized that you had left it behind after you cleared what you had in his closet and bathroom, and returned back to your apartment to unpack. You had been upset about having forgotten it for the entirety of a week, but you were too prideful to text or call him about it. There was no way that would have broken your silence towards Mammon over a vibrator of all things. And it honestly throws you for a loop to know that he even kept it.

But even worse than all of that is the smile that's stretching at the corners of his mouth. The sight of it alone has the alarm bells in your mind going off. "Considering that you don't want me anymore, I could just go get it for you. Put it in that needy little cunt of yours and let it take care of you all night."

It wasn't an idle threat either. He'd absolutely deliver on it. It's something that he's done to you before, cruelly leaving you bound to his webbing with a toy placed on the highest setting to draw out orgasm after orgasm from your body until you were a boneless, drooling, thoughtless mess. The memory does admittedly have a thrum of heat pooling down between the apex of your legs, but the idea of not being able to touch him after so much time apart sounds like absolute torture.

You find yourself shaking your head, chanting a series of 'no's' under your breath. He hasn't even done anything to you yet, and you've already been reduced to a pathetic pile of mush, already a little drunk from the influence of his lust and magnetic thrum.

"Are you sure?" He presses, absolutely toying with you. His lower hands settle on your legs that have hooked around his waist to sweep up until they're rucking up the skirt of your dress and slipping underneath the fabric to pluck at the straps of your panties with the sharp edges of his gloved fingertips. The feel of his chilled touch on your heated skin leaves a buzzing trail in their path and you press your body further into their hold, savoring the pressure of them.

"Please," you beg unabashed in your shameless behavior, but you've long since abandoned your pride if it'll just get him to actually do something.

"Hmm," he hums lowly, squinting at you questioningly, making your anticipation rise only to snuff it out. "I don't know . . . I'm still not convinced."

You try not to let your exasperation show. You don't want to give him the satisfaction to know that he's truly getting under your skin, though you're sure that you're failing fantastically. You could still smell his jealousy in the air, sharp and bitter on your tongue, and it gives you a pretty keen idea on how to approach this. It's obvious that he wants you to feed into his ego a bit more, wants to see you plead for him and earn his attention back to gorge those possessive urges that he has. You could definitely do that.

"Come on, Mammon, please touch me," you whine, and your eyelids flutter when one of the golden bells hanging from the decorative layers of his costume catches on your clit from over your underwear, rolling over it in a way that makes your mouth drop open. "It's not the same if it isn't you. It needs to be you. Just you. I want you to use me, I need you to fuck me, please, plea- "

"Yeah? You ready to make it up to me?" He asks, gripping onto your chin when you nod eagerly in response. He chuckles lowly, eyes burning in that intense shade of green while his grin stretches wide. You hardly register it when the grip he has on your hips tightens, and a quick blur has your positions switching when the silk strands of his webbing release from your skin and suddenly you're the one looking down at him, perched on his abdomen. He's practically lounged himself over his web with the top pair of his arms curled behind his head, reclining himself against the tapestry printed pillows and satin cushions. It catches you by complete surprise when he reaches with his other set of hands and manages to rip your dress and undergarments from your body with the harsh tear of fabric.

"Well, then - " he starts, landing a cracking smack across the swell of your ass, ripping a delighted gasp from you at the sensation of the sting - "best get started. My dick ain't gonna suck itself."

He really is so charming.

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes at him, propping yourself up on your palms to slink yourself down from your place on his stomach and in between his legs. You meet his gaze with your own when your pull back the pointed, embroidered fabric of his motley to reveal the bulge of his cock straining against his pants. You haven't even taken him out from his breeches yet, but it never fails to surprise you how massive he is. It always takes you off guard, though it does nothing to dull the white-hot desire scorching at your body, threatening to eat you from the inside out; it only fuels it.

He catches the lust and want in your stare judging by haughty glint saturating his expression, lips pulled back in that jagged grin.

You really want to wipe that look off his face.

You can't fight off the urge to lean forward, dropping your mouth open to glide your tongue over the fabric that's pulled taut over the heavy thickness of him. Trying to suck his dick through his costume like a degenerate. You moan aloud when you catch the head of his cock underneath your tongue, but you can't help but be a little disappointed when you're unable to taste him through the barrier of his pants. Though that little bit of discontent is quickly snuffed out by the subtle way that his thighs twitch on either side of your head. It has you pulling your mouth from him to take it in his expression. He's unfortunately managed to keep it unfazed for the most part, still sporting that smug smile, but you know him enough to notice the mild furrow pinched between his eyebrows that let you know he's affected.

It gives you the motivation to reach up and unfasten the concealed buttons keeping his pants secured. You try to hide the anticipation in your movements, doing your best to stay articulate and nimble with your fingers as you pop the buttons free from their openings in the garment. Even with the confidence and desire rushing through your veins like molten sugar you have a difficult time keeping your features fixed into something unwavering when his cock springs free from his pants. He's big to say the least, almost ridiculously so. Sure, you've taken him before, but the memories never really do him justice.

For a moment you're just left to stare dumbly. Admire, really. Roving your eyes over the length of him, appreciatively glancing at the ridges that flare and line down his shaft; shortening and tapering off the closer they get to the bulbous head. You've had a fair number of flings and lovers in the past, but he easily has to be one of the biggest you've ever taken. The first time that the two of you had sex you had almost been a little intimidated by the size of him. But with time, that intimidation quickly melted into a type of awe and desire. You can feel your body react, muscles drawing up tight and heat throbs between the apex of your thighs.

"C'mon now, you were so fucking desperate for it earlier, " he coos, reaching down to grip himself, dragging the head of cock against the shape of your bottom lip, smearing his cum over your pout like a chilled gloss. You open your mouth to taste him, salty and musky across your pallet and you continue to lower yourself down him until you can feel him brush against the back of your throat. You can't help but hum, content from the weight of him on your tongue, the vibrations of your voice reward you with sharp hiss from his lungs. He's cool to the touch, but not unpleasantly so, and the chilled temperature of his skin is almost soothing, like a sort of balm spreading across your tongue.

He's big enough that you can already feel the strain in the hinges of your jaw, and you try to mindful of your teeth, careful not to accidentally scrape him. There's absolutely no way that you'll be able to take all of him this way - you know from experience. It has you placing the rest of him that you can't fit in your mouth into both of your hands, using the saliva that's spread across his girth to aid the firm glide of your palms, moving them in tandem with your mouth to build a steady rhythm. It's already sloppy. Spit drips past your lips, coating his cock in a way that depraved, if not a little gross. Not that he's ever minded. Mammon always seems to prefer his head a little messy, and you've always been one to indulge him.

You make sure to drag your tongue along the underside of his cock, stroking the point of it over one of the soft, sensitive ridges throbbing along its length when you drag your lips up to suck at the head, swallowing the precum that trickles from the slit in a generous pour.

Tears have already begun to prickle at the corners of your lash line, blurring your vision just a bit. It's a little upsetting that it's made it difficult to see the expression on his face, the furrow of his eyebrows but the way that his mouth has dropped open for him to release a bout of ragged expletives is more than enough to dull the sting.

It has you doubling your efforts, desperate to hear more of those breathless swears. You drop your mouth down on him until you can feel him in your throat, and the wet heat of it has him gripping the back of your head with a strained grip, claws threatening to burst through the leather of his gloves and scratch, guiding you to swallow a little bit more of him.

You aren't even the one getting head right now, but you're just as worked up. Your entire body feels like it's being overloaded with something electrical and blazing. Your cunt is soaked, cum smeared down your thighs in a way that you couldn't bother being ashamed of. You're drunk on the scent of sex and the pulsing sensation of lust that's seemed to replace all of the air in the room, making it difficult to see past your desire and your need to taste him. You moan around his length, twisting your fists around him fervently as you suck at him with the goal to make him spill down your throat.

"You're such a slut, ain't ya," but it's more of a statement rather than a question. "Trying to fuck yourself up against nothing like some kind of whore."

For a moment your brain scrambles along dumbly, trying to make sense of his words when you finally realize that your hips have been rolling up against the air in some mindless instinct, and your thighs are tightly pressed together in an effort to find even the smallest bit of friction. It makes shame prickle across your tear-soaked cheeks and you're quick to halt the movement of your waist while you try to refocus on the task at hand, stroking your tongue over his throbbing girth.

"Aw, none of that now," he chides, a little patronizing. Suddenly one of his legs is prying between your own, forcing a frayed mewl from the depths of your chest when he presses it against your slick cunt. It has your hips jerking over him, mindlessly undulating them to seek out that delicious rise of ecstasy. The laugh that bubbles up from him is demeaning. It should probably humiliate you. Make you upset. Or at the very least motivate you to grab onto the remaining tatters of your pride and try to gain some sense of control. To make some half-assed quip or insult at him to at least to assume the illusion of authority. But you like it. You like being at his whims. It makes you feel like you're his. "Damn, you're such a greedy fucking thing. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to come for my spot."

You can only manage to moan around his girth, trying to focus around the thick syrupy warmth that's begun to drizzle inside your skull, making your thoughts drown and sink somewhere a little fuzzy and distant. You can feel that familiar surge of heat and euphoria rising up and swelling at a rate that should be embarrassing. All you can focus on in the pressure of two of his hands holding onto the back of your head and one of your horns, using the leverage to work your mouth up and down his cock, using the wet heat to build up his own pleasure until you're practically some glorified sex toy. The very idea of it has your eyes rolling back in your skull and your hips jolt against the curve of his knee, rolling it against the slick swollen bundle of your clit. You keen at the contact, nearly gagging on the rhythmic press of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

You can feel him pulse in your mouth, and his hips twitch with each thrust, losing the control of the even, pronounced pace that he had before until it's all but choppy and selfish. It has you doubling down on your efforts, rolling your tongue over him, swallowing even more of him down despite the how it makes even more tears trickle down your face; squeezing and twisting both of your fists around his length in a frenzied need to taste him. You want him to spill down your throat. You're immediately rewarded by his sweet, guttural groans, basking in the way that they ring out all ragged and low across the room.

He's close. So, so close, and you are too. You feel your shared ardor and lust prickling up around you; in your fingertips and toes, burning white-hot and heavy in the cradle of your hips. Your body coils up tight, waiting to have it crest over you and sweep you under its unforgiving pull.

And then his body is pulling up taut, back bowing until he's nearly curling over you. It takes you a bit by surprise when the grasp that he has on your head tightens in a grip that toes the line of near painful, and he jerks your mouth down onto his cock until it's snug in the back of your throat. He spills inside of you with a gutted groan of your name and a menagerie of frayed swears. "Fucking take it you fucking - shit - filthy bitch - fuck." You do your best to swallow him down, drinking down the cool burst of his cum eagerly. It's difficult with the abundance of it, and the sheer amount of it still shocks you little. But you do your best not to waste a single drop, slipping him from out of your mouth to lick up what's leaked down his length.

You look up at him through your lashes, damp and clumped together, to admire the lazy smirk on his face. His eyes have gone heavy and a little lidded from the aftershocks and satisfaction weighing down his body. You lean into his touch when he cradles the side of your face, wiping the tears from your eye as he guides your lips away from his cock, still hard and throbbing to place all of your attention on him. He doesn't even have to ask for you to obediently open your mouth, dropping your jaw open and sticking out your tongue to show him that you've made sure to swallow all of his cum.

"Look at that," he marvels, bells chiming. "You just might still be my good girl after all."

You whine at that little shred of praise, rocking your cunt against his leg with even more fervor. The texture of the fabric dragging over your clit has your eyes nearly going cross, and you can't even find it in yourself to mad at the mocking way that he chuckles at your desperation. Probably delighting in the breathless moans and mewls that are pouring out of your in an unabashed surge.

"Yeah? You want to make me happy?" He coos, all patronizing and falsely sweet. It should tip you off, and to a degree it does reach that coherent, long buried part of you. But you're already too cock drunk and caught up in all of the lust in the air to focus clearly. "Then quit fucking my leg and sit up."

The sound that leaves you is mournful and little agonized. The very idea of that sounds like complete torture. You're so close to that precipice of ecstasy that you could taste it as much as you could feel it. Winding up your body tight and promising to drag you underneath a torrent of pleasure, all smoked honey, electrical and dulcet.

"Mammon," you gasp with a plead saturating your tone.

His face shifts into a fake pout, eyebrows furrowed like you've wounded him, and as obviously fake as the expression is, you can't help but be disturbed by the mere notion that you might have disappointed him. He places a hand to his chest dramatically. "But I thought you wanted to be my good girl again? And here I thought we'd made some progress."

"I do," you insist vehemently. "I am, I swear I am." And regardless of the pathetic nature of your tone, it's also firm in your conviction. You grip onto some of the thick threads of the webbing beneath you and you think you could honestly snap them if you grabbed them any tighter, sucking in your breath while you reluctantly will your hips to stop. You could honestly sob when you feel the heat in your cunt die out into a hungry, unsatisfied throb, but the need for Mammon's approval triumphs that want. He hums appreciatively when you get yourself to shift from off his leg and move yourself into a sitting position between his legs. You struggle not to clench your thighs together to rekindle that delicious high again. He must be able to see the near pained look in your eyes because the satisfaction rolling off of him is thick and heavy.

He cradles your chin in between his fingers, directing you to look up at him and center your attention onto him, leaning towards you with the rustle of fabric and the jingle of bells. But it's difficult not to track his movement when he sweeps one of his hands down to his cock, using the slick of your saliva and more of the precum that's begun to trickle from his head to aid him in jerking himself off. But you force your gaze to remain glued to his even with the nasty, languid shlick sound of his hand moving over his length begging you to peek.

"Now you're gonna come up here and sit nice and pretty on my cock, " he orders. You can't even hide the excitement that runs over you, flaring deep inside of your abdomen and no doubt lighting up your eyes. But you should have known that there'd be a catch. That it would never be so straight forward with someone like Mammon. "And you're going to stay still and quiet. I've got a very important call to make - ya know, business and all. I won't bore you with the details, but if you try and get yourself off - if I pick up so much a twitch from those hips of yours or single whimper from those pretty lips and you can go ahead and forget cumming tonight."

All the hope that you had previously felt seems to leave your body like a deflated balloon. Despite your need to please him you can't keep your frustration from bleeding into your features and you can feel what must be the hint of a scowl twisting on your lips. But of course, Mammon being Mammon looks nothing short of entertained by the response. "Aw, don't be like that," he soothes with sarcasm coating his words while he pinches your cheeks between his fingertips. "It'll just take a second.

Liar. An absolute liar. He's going to drag this out for as long as he possibly can, and always a masochist, you feel excitement unfurling in your gut at the prospect of it.

"Understand?" He asks, with a wide, expectant grin.

"I understand," you agree without a shred of hesitation.

"Get up here then," he says, sitting himself up from his place lounged against the pillows. But then he's impatiently grabbing onto your waist before you even have time to move, flipping you around to press your back against his plush stomach, sitting you astride him with your legs on either side of his body. You can feel the head of his cock brush against your sensitive clit, making you twitch, a little tender from your ruined orgasm, but you swear that the light touch could have made you cum had it just been a little bit heavier. You have to draw in a deep breath, pulling your focus onto the chill of his body temperature seeping out onto your back as some kind of center. Serving as a kind of buoy to guide you through the deluge of thoughts, and sensations of both of your lust and that electrical aura that constantly pulses around him. It helps you to reach down and take ahold of his cock, lining it up until it's pressed against the slick entrance of your cunt, and you savor the pleased throaty rumble that it drags from him.

He doesn't release the grasp that he has on your waist, even has you begin to lower yourself onto him. Your jaw drops when you start to sink down on his length, and your walls flutter as they stretch to accommodate the swollen head of his cock. It's something you've done plenty, but no matter how many times you do it, it never fails to make it feels as though the air has been snatched from your lungs. You gasp raggedly, grabbing onto one his free hands, lacing your fingers together with a squeeze as you continue to sink yourself down. The stretch comes with a slight burn. Lighting up a deep ache in between your hips but it's one that feels so good. It never fails to make your brain go blank. You just hardly manage to hear Mammon saying something to you. But it seems too far away and vague to make out with the delicious fog taking over your brain even though you are able to recognize the tone that he's using as encouraging and uncharacteristically soft.

You hardly have time to register one of his fingers winding over your clit with tight, practiced movements that have liquid fire shooting up your spine. It makes your hips roll involuntarily and the head of his cock fully slips inside of your cunt with a filthy wet sound. You're finally able to make out some of his words now that the thickest part of him has finally worked past the tight ring of your entrance. "Remember when you couldn't even take me?" He asks, almost conversationally, like he isn't still teasing your clit and practically splitting you open with his cock. "But you were so eager to try. Now look at you, with your cunt taking it like a fuckin' pro."

You drag in another quivering breath, continuing to sink down on him and for a moment you brain distantly worries, despite all logic that he isn't going to end. For a second it seems like he isn't. The brush of the ridges lining down his girth is an exquisite kind of torture, sliding against your walls in a way that has you whimpering and keening aloud. You feel so full already but whenever you think you're nearly done; glancing down to check, there always seems to be a few more inches left. It isn't until you finally feel the solid press of his thighs underneath your ass, physically keeping you from going any lower, that lets you know that you've managed to take all of him. You peer down, almost like some subconscious part of you needs to verify that you've actually fit the entirety of his length inside and when you do the sight of the subtle impression of his cock in your stomach nearly makes you keel over. It's something that you've seen before with Mammon, but it never fails to shoot pure euphoria into your veins, and the glides around your clit from his fingertips does little help you already frayed sense of self.

You gasp unsteadily, panting like you've run a marathon and you let yourself sag against Mammon's abdomen completely, allowing him to keep you upright while you try to keep yourself tethered to reality. But Mammon, the complete bastard that he is moves the hand that had been on your waist and slips it around onto your abdomen until the soothing chill of his palm is pressed against the gentle outline of his cock. It tears a whine out from your throat and your cunt clenches around his girth so violently that for a moment you think you might cum. You tetter on the edge of euphoria for one glorious second before the sensation settles into an unsatisfied throb.

"Look at you," he marvels with pure satisfaction. "Get a little bit of cock in you and you might as well as be fucked dumb."

You definitely wouldn't qualify it as a "little bit." But you aren't going to tell him that. Not that he necessarily needs you to, your reaction to the girth and length of him is obviously more than enough of an indication of the affect he has on you.

"You remember the rules?" He asks. It takes a minute to comprehend his words. His bells ring out delicately, signaling his movement before you even feel the weight of his chin resting on your shoulder while he waits for your response, sweeping his thumb over the bulge in your stomach in teasing motions. But the sensation also serves to ground you and pull your thoughts to the forefront. You turn your head as best as you can, meeting the searing green of his gaze from your peripheral vision with a clipped, sluggish nod.

"Yeah, I remember," you confirm, a little breathlessly. His eyebrows raise expectantly, grin widening with his own anticipation, prompting you to reaffirm the list. "Keep still, keep quiet. . . And I can't cum unless you let me." You add that last bit a little reluctantly. Mournfully. All you can do is wish that he won't drag this out for too long, even though you know you're just setting yourself up for failure. The entirety of Hell would freeze over sooner. Hopefully, he's not in the mood for breaking any records. You really don't feel like being edged for five hours straight . . . not tonight, at least.

"Atta girl," he praises in a sonorous purr.

And then his hands are everywhere. The finger on your clit is joined by another giving you no reprieve, and the palm that you had been gripping with you own slips free from your hold, joining its opposite to sweep up and take both of your nipples into their fingertips, plucking and rolling. It's wonderfully overwhelming and you have to fight off the unthinking urge to writhe and jerk underneath his ministrations. He might actually kill you tonight. Overload you with pleasure until you're burning and set alight with. Maybe by the end of this, there will just be your bones left. But what a way to go.

It has you so distracted, caught underneath a blissful haze, that you hardly notice the phone that he's pulled out from of his costumes concealed pockets. You think nothing of it at first, but even in your glazed over mindset you're still able to vaguely muse how familiar the casing is. The color and pattern on the back of the device looks oddly similar to your own. But that couldn't be right.

His thumb glides across the lock-in screen, tapping in the pin number to login and it shifts into the screensaver. The picture is familiar. Oddly so. It was one that you had taken a few years back of you and Mammon. He was towering over you with his face smooshed against the crown of your head from when you had abruptly tugged him down by one of his arms to fit into the frame. You were beaming in the photograph, riding an adrenaline high from just having gotten off one of the amusement parks more tame roller coasters, lips pulled into a joyful smile while you glanced up at the Sin who was looking a little disgruntled (because you had forced him to take you to Lu Lu World for your date and not his awful, cheap knockoff Loo Loo Land). But even through his displeased, and somewhat surprised expression you could see just the hint of a smile showing. It was one of your favorite pictures, one that came from an even fonder memory. It's your screen saver. That's your phone. A 'business call' he had said. The damned liar.

"Oh-ho, I figured you would have changed this by now," he comments, amused and no doubt pleased. You feel something akin to embarrassment prickle at you. You were planning on changing it. Honestly, you were. You had just never . . . gotten around to it. You were initially also planning on purging your picture app and deleting the entire folder dedicated to him as well. You just hadn't done that yet either. But more important right now, is how he managed to get his hands on your phone in the first place. Or just what he's planning on doing with it.

"Mammon, what are you-"

"Ah, ah, ah," he tuts disapprovingly. "What're the rules?"

Despite your curiosity, you close your mouth without further prompting. But even with his hands steadily building up a steady, consuming fire across your body, kneading and stroking your breasts while he continues to circle your clit with his fingertips, you can't tear your eyes away from the phone. Watching with intrigue and a dull sense of dread as he opens up your messaging app and starts searching through the names with the glide of his thumb. He's humming in your ear, low and concerningly cheery. You aren't sure what he's planning and that's what worries you. He pauses the screen with a small, "oop" and then scrolls back up like something caught his eye. It's when the screen pauses on a certain contact that your stomach sinks.

Hugo - Lottie's coworker

Your stomach sinks at the sight. And for a moment your brain hopes that you're wrong. There's no way he's actually going to that. He won't.

"Let's see what kind of sick shit we've got in here." He clicks the name with a fascinated hum. But even then, you can hear the venomous edge to the sound. You don't let yourself watch when starts to read through the text thread. You can't really put attention on anything else really, other than liquid heat and electricity pouring over you, dissipating the concern and focus that briefly had. But there's nothing to be ashamed of regardless. You had hardly done anything with Hugo that could warrant any jealousy. At least not on your end. Yes, you had been cordial with him and maybe even a little intrigued, but that had hardly been anything that qualifies as outright flirting. Even Hugo, apart from some compliments had been pretty PG in the grand scheme of things.

Your body goes lax against his abdomen when your cunt clenches around his girth, and you try not to twitch from the unanimous, harsh grind and tug from each of his fingers. His body tenses suddenly, coiled up tight like he's physically restraining himself from acting out on something. You're able to pull yourself together enough to glance back down, instinctively searching for the cause behind his apparent distress. Your eyes land on a text, one you vaguely recognize from the beginning, when you had just started talking to Hugo.

Thursday - 7:43 PM

your ex kind sounds like a asshole. seems like he didnt deserve you, you're better off without him

Yep. That'll do it.

You can feel the electrical current around Mammon pick up again, hot and sharp, just toeing the line of nearly becoming painful, but instead it has you gasping out in pleasure. Relishing the sensation of the magnetic aura thrumming across your bare skin, humming over your nipples and the wet heat of your cunt. You can feel it prickling over your clit, and it has your toes curling. Your head lolls back on his shoulder letting you catch sight of your reflection in the large mirror built into the wall across the room. You look absolutely debauched. Your skin was visibly peppered with perspiration; if you paid enough attention, you could see sweat glinting on your body like flecks of glitter, gleaming in in silver and gold underneath cast of the exuberant, vintage style chandelier. Your eyes have a clouded over quality to them, almost like you're intoxicated, and you suppose that you are. But the most lecherous and outright sinful is the way that you can see the impression of him appearing from within your stomach with each gulping, ragged breath you take; and the sight of his hands roaming and stroking over your body, strumming you like an instrument that he's so intimately acquainted with is the image of hedonism. So beautifully wicked, but so, so good.

You easily could have lost yourself to it completely. All of the sensations, the scent of sex and lust in the air. But then it's back. The taste of jealousy, bitter and citrus on your pallet. It's able to rouse you from your sluggish, inebriated state long enough to recognize the muted trill of the ringback tone coming from your phone. But it's difficult to worry over that when the persistent fingers on your clit and plucking at your nipples are steadily tipping you towards that precipice of heat and rapture. Your cunt has started to flutter around his length and your abdomen clenches tight with the build of something heavy and vast rising up over you, ready to consume you from the inside out.

You can hear the muted click of someone on the other side of the call answering - Hugo, your slow-moving brain supplies.

"Oh wow, he hasn't blocked you yet," Mammon muses aloud. "Now keep quiet. Unless you want 'im to hear."

You should make an effort to get Mammon to hang up the phone. You know that you easily could. The Sin is self-serving and obstinate at the best of times - all the time - but this is something that you could get him to stop doing with a single word. You could tell him to figure out a better way to 'get back' at Hugo and cure his jealousy in another way, and he would. But you don't find yourself even trying to get Mammon to end the call. Something about him being this insistent on proving that you're his has electricity licking up your spine.

"Hey! This is the useless cunt that I met at the restaurant, right?" He greets, voice deceptively kind despite his words being just the opposite. There's a long pause on the other side of the line before you pick up a reluctant response, which sounds like it might have been a confused, "eer . . . yes? This Mammon, I take it?"

"The one an' only!" He replies jovially, like he doesn't have you a few good strokes off from cumming while he has a person on the line. But then again, that's his entire play. He wants Hugo to hear. Even so, you try to cling onto the rules he had set, biting into your bottom lip in the effort to keep your mouth shut and the whimpers that want to spill out tightly trapped in your chest. "Listen, I feel like we may have gotten off on the wrong foot earlier, so I just wanted to call and set some things straight to make sure we fully understand each other."

You try to stay privy to their conversation, but it's getting progressively harder to. You have to squeeze your thighs to keep yourself grounded and sat still, but it backfires and only works to tip your closer to ecstasy. You try to pin your attention on anything and everything to keep you grounded. You tear your vision from the mirror instead to look out onto the city, focusing on the thin veil of some kind of smog or cloud that's begun to roll in, the flicker of neon lining the streets, and it appears that a building in the distance has been set aflame; lit up with green fire. That explains the fog - or more accurately, the smoke.

It's no use though. You can still feel the pleasure fizzling over you skin and welling up inside of you. It's getting more and more difficult to hold off. Even while you try and think about a million different things. Taxes, the missionary position, Extermination Day, clowns.

Oh, wait. Scratch that last one.

And then, horribly, a strained moan sneaks out from your throat. For a moment you're too caught up in the haze clouding over your head to even register the sound. And you probably wouldn't have if you didn't catch sight of Mammon's delighted, almost maniacal expression grinning back at you from the mirror in your peripheral vision, all sharp edges and a little feral. He looks all too pleased by your slip up. When he speaks next his voice has taken up that low, resonant tone that melds around his accent. "I just wanted to soothe any concern you may have had for my favorite girl. I can promise you she's in good hands. " And then, like the twisted bastard he is, he's lifting the phone from his ear to hold it closer to you like he's tring to capture all of the filthy sounds coming from your body. "I mean, if you could see the way she's soakin' me - " he whistles high and astonished -" it's a fuckin' sight, I tell ya."

You try to keep your mouth shut so that Hugo doesn't hear and figure out what's going on. But it's difficult to swallow down the noises that Mammon keeps trying to pull from you with his nimble fingers, and then he's gliding his fingertips over your clit in heavy, mean circles that has your back bowing taut, and the seam of his glove catches on the sensitive nerves in a way that has your jaw dropping open. His fingers twists and glide over your nipples to add to the fire, and with just a couple more strokes you're practically blindsided by the molten electricity and bliss that rushes over you in an unforgiving stream. You cum with a loud pornographic cry as you twist and writhe underneath his attention, cunt clenching around his length in a wild spasm while your body tries to wring itself of all of its pleasure. For one moment your mind goes completely blank, leaving you just feel. The world drowns out underneath the onslaught of euphoria that wracks through your entire being, and the only thing that keeps you even remotely present is the cool press of his chest and stomach supporting your back. The chill of him soothes your heated skin, influencing your body to go slack over him.

You have to remind yourself to breathe, drawing in labored gasps while the pleasant haze of endorphins hums through your veins and thrums within your skull like syrup and static.

"Like I said!" Mammon says suddenly, reminding you of your current predicament. There was no mistaking what you and Mammon were doing. Hugo absolutely had to know the King of Greed had just made you orgasm while on a phone call. You feel a little flash of embarrassment, but it's so muted and distant. Buried deep and virtually nonexistent. "She's in good hands. So, if I see you anywhere near her, I'll gut you open like a fucking pig and scatter what's left of you all over Hell."

You hear Hugo's muffled response, a little frantic, skipping over his words but before he can get out the rest of his plea or reassurances, Mammon hands up the call, and carelessly tosses your phone to the side. You don't manage to pick up the sound of a harsh clatter, so you can only hope that the artisan rug saved it from fall damage. You're still too sluggish and dopey to fully register the eager and starved quality that's melded into his lust. But the energy serves to rekindle your own fervor on a kind of subconscious level, even while your body still twitches with subtle aftershocks. He only gives you a small sort of reprieve, slipping his fingertips from your nipples to greedily knead at your breasts. But the touch on your clit doesn't waver it, it only lightens by a few degrees, still swirling and sweeping unforgivingly. You catch his faux pout in the mirror's reflection; pretending to be displeased and disappointed, but you can see the excitement bleeding into his features; lighting up the fiery chartreuse of his stare. "I didn't give you permission to be so noisy," he complains, and his eyebrows pinch close. "It's almost like you wanted him to hear you."

"I was just giving you what you wanted, " you reply, dipping your tone into something soft and alluring. Sure, maybe it was a little stupid prodding at the Sin of Greed, and you know that you're playing right into his little ploy, but you can't stop yourself. If you tend to his ego some, he might be a little lenient on whatever 'punishment' he has in store for you. You reach a hand up to cradle his cheek, guiding his face to tilt down enough to press against the crown of your head. Affection blooms in your chest when you catch the way that he tries to subtly lean into your palm, trying to soak up its warmth. "That was the point, wasn't it? To prove to him that I'm yours?"

You can feel his hips twitching underneath you, and the small shift works his cock in you just a little deeper. You gasp at the sensation, still hypersensitive and tender from your pervious orgasm, but even then, it doesn't fail to send a trickle of desire pooling down your back and in the center of your abdomen. Honestly, you're beyond shocked that Mammon has managed to hold himself off for this long. He's never been the one for self-restraint, and the amount that it must have taken to keep him for thrusting up into you must be monumental. That deserves to be rewarded a little bit, right?

Of course, you can't be too heavy handed with your praise, as much as he loves it when people sing him compliments and applaud his endeavors. It can't lean anywhere that makes him feel as though as he's not the one in control. It has to be delicate and subtle. At least while he's still coherent. Once he's a drooling mess, that's a different story. But you'll get to that.

"Come on, Mammon," you beg, squeezing yourself around his cock while you work your hips against him in faint, gentle swirling motions. His eyelids lower, and you can see his grin waver just a bit, and it might as well as be a visual fracture in his resolve. "I want you to use me. Make me forget him, please."

The grip he has on your breasts fall and take ahold of your hips, and that's the only warning you get before he's picking you up and lifting you up and down on his cock like a toy. It punches the air from your lungs in a way that's almost violent, and it leaves you scrambling, mindlessly clawing and gripping onto his arms in an effort to orient yourself. You can't even hear yourself anymore, but you're sure that you sound absolutely mindless right about now. You can feel every moan and cry that he forces from your lungs with each thrust. It feels like you're being burned alive, raw and merciless, and it has a fresh round of tears prickling at your waterline. You're still too sensitive, but it hurts so good that if he stopped, you're pretty sure that you might actually die.

"Damn - fuckin' hell, you're already squeezing me, and I just started," he laughs with a kind of awe and pride. It shocks you completely, because he's right. You can already feel your cunt fluttering around the delicious drag of his girth, the ridges running along his length and the finger gliding over your clit building up the fiery pleasure, making all of your muscles winding up tight in the preparation of another orgasm. But maybe it really isn't all the surprising with the way that he's passionately fucking you onto his cock, like he's determined to have you both finishing as soon as possible. "You're mine. All mine, " he says, reaching up to grip your throat. Not to restrict your breathing, but enough to feel the pressure of his grip.

"Yes," you agree brokenly, nodding dumbly because that's all you can really manage. "Yours. I'm yours."

You can feel your grip on reality slipping away and fraying with each sharp grind, until your consciousness and sense of self is as good as a pile of mush. You're completely gone, lost with the confines of your own body and the euphoria soaking in bone deep. Your second orgasm sneaks up on you just as easily as the first, leaving you useless and practically immobile, leaving you to just take it. It isn't long until he reaches his climax, only a couple of thrust later and his release is filling you with a cool rush, and a ragged groan.

But he's not stopping. He keeps thrusting into you, unrelenting and hungry like he's been caught in some kind of frenzy, and you're all too eager to take the brunt of it. His hands are everywhere, the sharp points of his claws are lethal enough to peek through the tips of his gloves and leave, exquisite, stinging marks in their wake, marking your skin. You can distantly feel his cum trickling out of you, being forced out with every slide in and out of your cunt. It's so nasty. You can hear the wet slap of your hips meeting each other, the breathless sound of your shared moans and swears. You aren't sure how many more orgasms he pulls from you. The both of you. Mind seems to blur together in one useless spill, and you're hardly able to even count the waves of pleasure that crest over you and rolls down and through your body in frothing, hot waves.

You're coming off of a sort of high when you regain a shred of coherence. Pulled out of the fog when you feel the wet drag of Mammon's tongue sliding up your neck, tasting the salt and lust on your skin. You instinctively tilt your head back, giving him more access to your bared throat. He rumbles, guttural and soft at the display, inspiring a dopey smile to quirk at your lips, and it doesn't fade, not even when the deadly points of his fangs bite down enough to leave superficial bites behind. Neither of you have stopped moving, ceaselessly grinding your hips against each other's, not enough to create space for any decent thrusts, but just enough to create a small spark of stimulation, like you can't bear to stop despite the number of orgasms you've both had.

"Think you've got one more in you?" He asks, lapping at the blood that has welled up from the bite marks, gently nibbling at the junction of your neck; teeth dragging to leave the stinging impression of them behind.

"Hell yes," you answer quickly.

"C'mon then, gorgeous, ride my cock. Show me how much ya missed me."

He lifts you up again, just enough to reposition you, flipping you around without removing you off of his girth to face him. He lets himself fall back against the cushions and pillows in a relaxed lounge, making it easier for you to place your palms just beneath his chest for support as you perch yourself to bear most of your weight onto the balls of your feet and hands. He's already impatiently jolting his hips against yours while you try and find a comfortable position astride him. You can't find it in yourself to get upset by his restlessness, not when you can feel him physically holding himself back from moving too harshly. Something that requires a large sum of control and delicacy considering how much larger he is compared to you. Despite the size difference, his strength never fails to surprise you, how easily he lifts you around like you weigh nothing. Everything about it makes you embarrassingly turned on. Like how far your thighs have to stretch around his hips until there's a burn in the hinges of your joints just so you can place your legs on either side of him.

It's enough to have that irresistible hum of pleasure pouring down and over your body, prompting you to lift yourself up his length, moaning and gasping as the ridges placed along his girth brush along your walls. You pull yourself high with your thighs until he's in at just the tip before you impale yourself on the rest of him, taking him in deep in a single thrust, swiveling your hips in your downstroke. The pace that you set is a little unforgiving on your legs, but it's already worth it with that way that his head rolls back into the sprawling pile of cushions. He's definitely just as tender as you are, but Mammon's never been one to shy away from a little overstimulation - something to do with being the Embodiment of Greed maybe, something to do with excess. And with all of the orgasms he's had tonight, you can already tell that he's tipping towards that mindless, drunken headspace that he occasionally achieves.

"Oh, yeah, that's the stuff," he groans out in that accented lilt, deep and already a little gutted. Even without any pupils, you can tell that his eyes are rolling back in his skull. There's a little bit of drool smeared around his lips, glinting underneath the glow of the lights and it just inspires you to try and drag him in deeper to that blissed out headspace. He's already so close, precariously dangling over that wonderful edge. He just needs a little push.

"You're feel so good, Mammon," you praise. You catch the way that his hips skip a little in their rhythm at your words. "You're the only one who can make me feel this way. There's no one else like you."

His eyes lids flutter, but an arrogant grin makes an appearance on his face before quickly melting into a silent, open-mouthed gasp. "O-of course there isn't," he manages to say, even while you can see the rare tint of a monochrome blush staining his cheeks. It fuels your own carnal want, dousing it like gasoline on an inferno, driving you to ride him with even more ardor. He grips onto your waist like he needs the feel of you underneath his palms to stabilize himself underneath the barrage of ecstasy.

The scent of your shared desire hangs heavy in the air like a special cocktail, a particular type of aphrodisiac that left you a thrall to pure debauchery and instinct. You can practically taste it, melting across your tongue all heavy and musky, saccharine and spice; a flavor that you couldn't find anywhere else if you tried. It's enough to have your body gravitating towards that debilitating pleasure and based on the blissed-out expression on Mammon's face, he isn't far off either.

"So good, Mammon. It's just you, always you, " you moan, and the place between his brow's crinkles close. Your eyes are barely able to track it when he's propping himself up on a single hand, giving himself the leverage to reach up and loop something thin and smooth around the stretch of your neck. It's strong despite how fine it feels, like a silk thread - webbing. It's webbing. He grins when he tugs you forward with the makeshift collar, curling his body around you like he can't stand any sort of unnecessary space between either of you. His lips meet yours with a relieved groan, asking you to open your mouth with the split point of his togue, nipping with his teeth. You whine and moan into him, thrusting down onto his cock from how his thread tightens around your neck, more of a suggestion than an attempt to restrict your breathing, but it spurs you on even more. The pair of hands on your waist start to wander, one drifting up to cup your ass in a tight squeeze and the other dips low to roll the back of his knuckles over your clit. For a second it makes you lose the steady, deep drag of your pace, and your lungs snag on their breath, making break your kiss with a whine.

"Don't you dare fucking stop," Mammon demands in a tone that's frayed and little slurred. "Keep going. I wan' it, I want it - fuck." His tucks his head into your neck, tracing the shape of his web with the dexterous glide of his tongue. You can feel his lips moving against your skin in some kind of repetitive chant and it takes a little while for your ruined brain to make sense of it. You can hear him whispering in a hushed, frayed voice: "Mine," over and over again as he licks and sucks at your skin, intent to leave marks behind.

He pushes his hips up against yours in a punishing pace, plunging his cock up into you, hitting that devastating spot inside of your cunt that has you sobbing. Your hands claw at him, searching and gripping onto the layered fabric of his motley, twisting the material into the clutch of your fists while you try to hold onto the rest of your sanity, but you don't think that you'll be able to. It's all too much too soon. You can't hold on as much as you try to. Not while he grinds a knuckle against your clit, shoving his cock into you relentlessly, making any semblance of a coherent thought evaporate from your head as though they had never been there. You can feel it sweeping over you like you're a pathetic piece of debris caught with the current of a swelling wave. You can feel that magnetic vibration building around his body, catching you in its field and dancing across your skin, letting you know that he's just as close as you are.

You gasp his name like it might save you, even while you're begging to be eaten alive. It's all so overwhelming, so consuming that you don't know what to do with yourself. How to cope with the scope of the emotions and sensations; the scent of you both and all the sounds bombarding your senses. It isn't a conscious decision when you pull Mammon down a little further and sink your fangs his neck, piercing the fabric that keeps it concealed. But it's hard enough for you to taste something like spiced iron flood across your tongue.

The reaction it gets from you both is immediate. His body draws up tight while he gasps out a harsh, "fucking hell - shit - " and you can feel him pulse inside of you before you're flooded with another gush of his cum. The feel of it, the chill of it and the sheer amount is enough to trigger your own orgasm. Your vision goes dark, a vignette marring your sight while a white-hot tide takes control of your body, leaving you a passenger in your own mind. And for one blissful moment you don't even exist. You don't have a job, or an apartment with judgmental neighbors. You don't have a favorite food or a particular song that you listen to on repeat. For a moment it's just you and him.

It takes everything in you to cling onto him. Your wings flare out involuntarily, body twisting while your cunt clings around his girth like it's trying to work him for all he's worth. You can feel that searing bliss in every part of you. From your toes to the pit of your abdomen, making your eyes roll in the back of your skull while you ride out the tail end of your pleasure and everything fizzles into a gentle darkness. For a minute everything is still. Peaceful and gentle while feeling comes back to your limbs and you remember how to breathe. But it's ultimately a familiar scent that guides you back to reality, light with the twinge of leather, earthy, warm and smoky. It sort of smells like money. It smells like Mammon. You lean into it, nuzzling your face into something soft and expanding with breath.

It's enough to make you open your eyes that you hadn't even realized had closed, to look up. The small motion takes a great amount of strength with how sapped your muscles feel, even with the last bits of lust still thrumming in the air and energizing you, but you manage. Mammon has collapsed back against the cushions with you clutched against his stomach with each of his hands gripping some part of you. Even from this angle you can see the pleased, almost dopey smile on his face as he sightlessly stares up at the ceiling. It's such an uncommon expression to see on him, untainted by his usual snark or hubris, but the rarity of it always makes you cherish them even more.

But then you see a furrow pinch between his brows and his mouth purses in clear annoyance. It has worry prickling at your skin, nestling in your gut like a block of ice, but before you can ask him what's wrong he's speaking. "I can't believe you were gonna leave me for that shitty little bloke," he grumbles. He tries to sound harsh and unbothered, but you swear you can hear something fragile peeking through the rasp of his voice.

"I wasn't actually interest in him," you assure, answering honestly, propping your arms on his stomach enough to hold yourself up. "A friend had set me up. I just - I don't know. I was . . . I needed a distraction."

"Which friend?" He asks suddenly, sounding a little too intrigued.

You squint at him suspiciously, letting a short bout of silence fall over you both. "No. You aren't allowed to kill them." He visibly pouts at that, and this one is actually genuine. You entertain the thought of making a joke. Of steering the conversation somewhere humorous to save the both of you from something that might be too real, too bare. But you know you can't. If you're going to try and do this with Mammon again then these kinds of talks need to happen. "That wasn't just sex talk, I really didn't want him, Mammon. Not for a single second."

His gaze sweeps down to you, and you're sure that you catch something vulnerable flit across his expression; eyes minutely widening with what may have been relief, but it was so quick that you barely get any time to register it. He schools his features into something indifferent and nonchalant before you can truly take it in. "Psssh, of course you weren't interested in him. How could you be when you've got me."

"Exactly," you agree, watching him preen under the comment, inspiring you to lean into his ego a bit to draw him out of whatever dark thoughts may be running around in his head. "It would be stupid if I did."

"Dumb as shit," he agrees eloquently, with his brash charm.

It has a laugh puffing from your chest, and it's quickly followed by a heavy drowning warmth in your chest, like a sun was caught within your bones. It's purely fond. Full of endearment and love. You love him. Fuck you love him, even if it tears you apart. It might be stupid, a road that leads to a dead end or a perilous cliff, but you couldn't be bothered to stop on your path to possible self-destruction. You don't know if the true scope of your emotions is returned. If Mammon is even capable of feeling something like raw, selfless love. Probably not. Compassion and consideration don't exactly align with his function as the Embodiment of Greed. Of being avarice incapsulated inside a body to fulfil a particular purpose within Hell. But you always held out hope that there was something in there. You've seen the pure affection displayed by Asmodeus for Fizz; living proof that a Sin could be more than its role, its basest instinct. If the personification of Lust could find and express love, then just maybe Mammon could to.

Wow, look at you, being hopeful in Hell.

You're broken out of your internal struggle when Mammon shifts, tightening his grip around you to keep you secured to his body as he tilts on his side. He curls himself around you even more until his chin is resting on the crown of your head, engulfing you in the breadth of him and his scent. It's enough to settle the torrent inside of your mind, replacing those insecurities and replacing them with comfort and contentment. You can feel the gentle fuzz of sleep beginning to lap at you, seeping into your limbs and weighing them down. You want nothing more than to sleep. To let yourself fall into the dredges of unconsciousness with the soothing chill of Mammon's temperature wafting over your body like a balm. But it's a little difficult to do that when every inch of you is still damp with sweat and his cum is still steadily pouring down your thighs from around the weight of his length that he's yet to pull out, flowing with each small shift or movement.

"Mammon?" You ask, listening to the steady draw of his breath, hoping that he hasn't fallen asleep, but even then, the pattern is still too quick for him to be unconscious. You purse your lips, sighing audibly. "Moo?" You try again, and sure enough at the sound of the corny nickname a simple, but questioning grunt rising up in response.

"We're going to need a bath."

"Eughhh," he groans, low and already thick with the desire to sleep. "Fuck."

#hb mammon x reader #helluva boss mammon x reader #mammon x reader #helluva boss mammon #Hazbin Hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #helluva boss x y/n #helluva boss x you #helluva boss #hhx reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel #mammon hb x reader #mammon helluva boss #mammon hb

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nariism · 4 months

Text

*ੈ✩ LAST WORDS OF A SHOOTING STAR

pair. itadori yuji x reader

synopsis. in the 3 days following the shibuya incident, itadori yuji emerges as a husk of his former self. with his immediate execution resumed, you both grapple with the feelings you have for each other and come to terms with his impending death.

content. hurt/comfort (lots of comfort, thank art because i was gonna be mean about this and they convinced me not to), slightly canon divergent (taking place between shibuya and the culling games), fluff and minor angst, yuta is the best wingman

wc. ~4.4k

NOVEMBER 1 2018

You imagine that your face was rather ghastly when you received the news.

"Execution?" You repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. No, that was the wrong description. It tasted of death—like iron and the depths of Hell filling your mouth until you were gurgling on it.

Unlike the rest of the Jujutsu Sorcerers from Tokyo, you had been ordered to stay back with Shoko in case of an emergency. You remember your exile from battle had left a similar rotten flavour in your mouth.

You vanished off the face of the earth after the incident was over. Most probably presumed you died in the aftermath. Devoured by a curse, they would say and shake their heads. You were always troublesome. And then they would move on with the rest of the world, all the same.

Lives were only temporary in the world of curses. Focus on who you can save, not who is already gone. They'll only end up a curse in your sleep. What a horrible notion to have.

The truth is that you'd been whisked away with Yuta, who seemed to be scheming a plan of his own. Perhaps as a middle finger to the higher ups he hated so much, or perhaps just for his own selfish reasons. You wouldn't know until he was finished carrying it through—he's too good at keeping secrets.

He wanted your reverse cursed technique, you knew that much for sure, even though he could do it himself. You were useful by his side, fitting into his plot in a way you could not in Shibuya. Feeling some sort of obligation and satisfaction, you followed him like a lost puppy.

And now here you are, seated by a dimming fire in the abandoned part of the city. Yuta was too clever for his own good. You suppose Gojo taught him some things well. This was their plan after all.

Yuji was safe, if only for this moment in time.

"Now with Gojo gone, it would have been easy for the higher ups to send assassins your way."

Ruthless and truthful, you flinch, but Yuji does not. He remains perfectly still in your hold, with your hands rotating his face around to get a better look at his wounds. You pour your cursed energy into him, hoping to breathe life back into his eyes, but they stay dull and empty.

"We'll find a way to stop this," you assure, reaching over to take a sanitizing wipe to clean an open cut. Yuta was too rough on him, but it was at least believable that Yuji was dead. He doesn't even recoil from the alcohol stinging his flesh, too engrossed in his own thoughts.

"Why?" He asks weakly. You gawk at him, but then it melts away into a softness that finally makes him blink up at you. "I'm evil."

"You're not evil, Yuji."

"I am. I killed those people. I did." His voice comes flat and defeated, nothing like the one you used to listen to over dinner while he reenacted shitty western films.

You never realize what you'll miss until it's gone. It's hollow, the ache in your heart.

"You don't understand. How could you? All this blood on my hands—"

"It was Sukuna," you quickly refute.

"And Sukuna only lives because I do!"

His voice raises at you, causing the flames behind you to flicker and crack. It's enough for Yuta to step in, acting as a barrier between your tense bodies. Yuji seems to shrink at this, realizing his emotions have run amok and that he has yelled at you.

You only stare back at him in bewilderment, like a frightened animal. Your upperclassman shakes his head.

"Enough of this. We need to start making plans."

You lay awake that night, alone and anxious. Yuta has taken the first shift of watching and patrolling while the two of you rest, though hesitant to leave you alone. He told you it’s another reason he dragged you along: having three people to rotate shifts instead of just two would be easier on your bodies and minds. The city is not what it used to be, now overrun with curses of all grades.

You reassured him it would be fine, that you would fall asleep quickly and so would Yuji—his body has to run out of steam eventually, right? Oh, what a fool you were.

The tension is so heavy that it's awkward, even though you're sleeping on opposite ends of the tunnel.

"Sleep," you demand as if you were Inumaki, like you have the power to curse him.

His eyes flutter open. Even in the firelight, you don't see any shine in them, seeming as if they had been extinguished of life. "Why don't you?"

"I can't until you do."

"That's stupid," he tells you.

It's not the first time you've argued like this. Back when the world felt right, you would sneak in through his dorm window well into the hours of the night. Platonic, you had convinced yourself. You snuck into his bed seeking companionship as a friend. That's the lie you gorged on.

A piece of you knew, and you're sure he did too, that the way your hands explored his arms was unnatural for two friends, and that friends wouldn't sneak into each other's rooms like this with such severe punishment on the line.

It was safe in his arms, with the dull hum of his television running an old horror film in the background. You didn't have to think about much other than his warmth when you sat between his legs with your back to his chest. Or when his arm was draped over your shoulder and you were pressed into his side—actually, you think you preferred this one though you felt sorry for his sore arm.

You would bicker about dumb, pointless things. Which movie is better, or which character deserved to be mutilated more. It would go on for so long that Megumi would bang his fist on their shared wall to get the two of you to shut up.

There was no curse strong enough to change time itself, so you keep your thoughts and memories to yourself when you respond.

"You'll be too tired to function on your shift," you reason.

"You both will be fine without me." Better off without me, you know he means. You've gotten good at reading between his lines.

You slowly sit up in your sleeping bag, eyes never leaving Yuji. He seems so frail right now, even though he looks more adult than he ever has before.

"Human Earthworm 4 was better than 2," you suddenly say. His eyes peer open again in confusion.

"Huh? 2 was way better."

"I liked the love story in 4," you argue, slowly getting out of your bag to shuffle to his side of the concrete tunnel. He looks at you as if you've said something outlandish, too preoccupied with his thoughts to wonder why you've come so close.

"2 had the best special effects though."

Your body shifts under his blanket.

"But 4 had a happier ending." (As far as 'happy' goes in the Human Earthworm series, at least.)

His arm falls around your waist as it has a hundred times, pulling you into his chest.

"Whatever," he huffs. The next topic comes fast and you're thrown into a full blown conversation with him. If you concentrate enough, you can imagine your bodies being tangled together in his bed, safe and sound.

Concrete and fire and the stench of curses melt away until he's all you can focus on.

"You have weird taste in movies," he concludes with his eyes drifting shut.

NOVEMBER 2 2018

You think you know how to fix broken people until you find that they are more than skin and bones.

You learn one thing after the Shibuya Incident: there are wounds residing within Yuji just as much as there are marking his flesh.

Yuta, you realize, had left the two of you alone to sleep and has protected you all night. You'll make it up to him, you reason. Yuji deserved to sleep.

When you wake up to his sleeping face, you think his cuts are healing nicely. But then his expression twists up in terror—a nightmare, if he even had enough energy left in him to conjure up dreams. He murmurs in his sleep, shakes his head a few times and thrashes around so much you're surprised you slept through the night by his side.

"Sukuna," he's whispering. Sukuna, Sukuna, Sukuna. King of Curses. The second voice tormenting him that lives in his own brain like a parasite. You bury yourself into his chest and hold him as tight as you can. He relaxes, body releasing its rigid form, but the murmurs continue.

He is shattered beyond repair. No amount of cursed energy could fix that, even if you tried.

You had once watched Yuji electrocute himself trying to set up the janky old television in his dorm room.

He fell back onto the floor with a loud crash, head hitting the wood so hard you thought he might have a concussion. It caused such a racket that Megumi came running into the room asking what happened, demon dog ready behind him in case of an ambush.

You rushed to the floor, discarding all the food you had settled in your lap and crumbled beside him to scoop him into your arms.

"Yuji!" You called him. People rarely used his first name. You felt special, like you knew him better than others did and for some reason that was a privilege. "Are you okay?"

He laughed in your arms, seeming unfazed by the fact that electricity had run through every vein in his body. "I'm fine, see? My finger just slipped."

You and Megumi both sighed in relief, though you always thought it was strange when you reflected on it. Yuji was a funny guy, yes. He was equal parts humour and destruction but not a klutz. Mistakes happen, so you let it slide until now, but some part of you was nagging to ask.

"That day," you start while rolling up your sleeping bag. "You electrocuted yourself. Remember?"

He looks at you funny over his shoulder. Yuta has already started cracking open cans of food for breakfast, embers of your dead fire cracking.

"Hmm, yeah. I remember. Why?"

"I just thought..." you trail off. "Well, Sukuna makes you tough to a lot of things. I'm surprised small electric shocks aren't one of them."

Sukuna. A name you'd been avoiding since this morning. Sickening silence settles between you. It's so heavy that you pause in your cleaning to look at him, brow raised.

"Yeah," he coughs. "Well, maybe I exaggerated."

"Huh?" You sound annoyed now. "You scared us half to death!"

Yuji only falters in his own chores. When he looks at you again, there's a longing in his gaze that you don't know how you could have missed. Or perhaps it was never there until now.

"It was nice to have you fawning over me," he admits.

The day goes on and all you feel is a terrible grief.

You become painfully aware of each millimeter the sun glides across the sky, from one horizon to the other. Time slips through your fingers fast as sand.

Horrifically, you can't find anything to talk about to fill the emptiness—Nobara and Megumi feel off the table considering the extent of their injuries. You don't even dare to breathe Gojo's name, let alone speak of him so boldly as Yuta is.

You're afraid that Yuji will spiral again, confused and unwilling to cooperate with his judgement clouded by loss. It's not your fault, you would say. It is, he would argue. It would do neither of you good, so you idle around while he and Yuta devise plans to tiptoe around the higher ups.

A part of you knows that if either of you told him to submit and die, he would. He's already teetering on the edge of self-destruction.

On the outside, he seems perfectly indifferent. Gaze steady, face stone and unchanging as he speaks. He's doomed, ill-fated, someone full of misfortune. He looks so lonely that the air itself parts for him where he stands.

To shoulder so much responsibility, so much death, maybe he truly is alone. Some fraction of him, at least—a piece of himself only he would ever understand.

Your hand snakes into his without a second thought. You don't know why you did it, nor do you have any reasoning that he doesn't yank away from you. His hand trembles, and it's then that you realize his whole body is wracked with tremors that don't match his distant disposition.

The second thing you learn is this: when Yuji self-destructs, he does it from the inside-out.

Itadori Yuji loves chocolate cake.

He loves all food, really, acting like your friend group's personal food dumpster whenever any of you were full. But chocolate cake you knew he had a sweet tooth for.

You used to bring it with you to his dorm, stopping by the convenience stores on the way home to grab a pre-packaged slice from the fridge for him to eat.

"You're making a mess," you would tell him with a frown, using your thumb to wipe up frosting from the corner of his mouth. You would lick the pad of your finger clean after that, and he would watch almost in a trance.

It's the reason why you stop on one of your patrols, poking through the fridge section of a convenience store. The power has been out for a long time in this part of the city, all the food is already room temperature, but you figure this is fine as long as it smells okay.

The way Yuji's face lights up when he sees you is all it takes for the worry to go away.

It briefly feels as though nothing has ever gone wrong—that after this slice of cake the two of you will tumble back onto his mattress and turn on another showing of Titanic. (He groaned about it once, saying he got KO'd too many times during this film. You only laughed in confusion.)

At the end of the day, you know those days will never come back to you, lost forever in the wind.

Fire dances before you and you watch, enchanted by the flames. You remember last night, how not even the firelight could make Yuji look the same as he did before. You turn your head to look at him, to see if it's any different tonight, just for your cheek to be caught in his palm.

His thumb traces your lip, the way you used to do to him. You recognize the pull of his finger against your flesh, the swipe of it to get frosting off, but he still seems dissatisfied.

"What?" You ask.

"It didn't come off," he mutters, leaning in dangerously close to observe. Heat rises all the way to your cheeks and makes your hairs stand on end. His touch is like molten lava. You wonder if it has something to do with the monster living inside of him.

"I can't see it," you whine without a mirror.

He draws a little closer, until he's inches from your face. "Let me..."

You've suddenly been dropped into cold, unknown waters. This is all unfamiliar. He's rushing this, as if making up for all the time the two of you lost pretending you were only friends. As if he can cram all the things he's wanted to tell you into one night.

Recoiling away, you find yourself hesitating. If he kisses you, this all becomes too real. It's an acknowledgment of his impending death. That the thread of his life is finer and further stretched than yours is.

An unpleasant thought rings through your mind. What if I become a curse on him?

"This only ends badly for us," you whisper, but the conviction is missing from your voice.

He doesn't care. At least, it doesn't look like he does. Who knows what he's thinking right now?

"Who cares?" He says. "We're Jujutsu Sorcerers. Everything bad happens to us no matter what."

You don't have any rebuttal to that, no argument that forms in your mind that could challenge his words. He was right. Only disaster befalls Sorcerers. Disaster and grief.

For a while you had forgotten, living these idyllic months watching the days pass by. You feel like you wasted that precious time worrying about stupid things, like what to have for breakfast or what kind of snacks you should pick up for movie night.

(It ended up being popcorn every time. He liked to piss off Sukuna with it, saying the King of Curses would never get to experience the pleasure of picking out kernels from his teeth. You scoffed but bought it anyway.)

Another thought crosses your mind: Yuji is more fit to be in a rom-com, or a television series where the good guys always win. Not this tragedy. Not this massacre.

You wonder if he's ever felt the same way. If he ever wished he could reach into the sky and turn the sun back to a time before he even knew what a curse was.

If you’d met each other under different circumstances, would this have been a different story? The thought makes your heart ache, a part of you so deep that even if you reached into your chest and plucked it, you'd still wail.

"Can I?" He asks you, eager but quiet. Had this been a few months ago, you imagine that he would have had this spark in his eye. That his lips would be crashing into yours with no inhibition.

But Yuji has always been selfless, you think he always will be. He doesn't want to drag you down if you don't want to—an out, they call it. An escape route just before he careens into a ditch.

Hope has drained from every inch of his expression. This is his loneliness talking.

Despite the dread that licks up your spine, you cup his face. You swear he jolts slightly beneath your touch, as if you've reached out to strike him down. A retribution he believes he deserves.

He kisses you like it's his last day on earth.

You learn one last thing: Itadori Yuji tastes familiarly of death.

Yuta decides to leave you alone for a second night in a row. His presence is so crushing that you know he's alive, but he stalks off somewhere else, leaving just you and Yuji huddled by the pitiful fire you've built.

He once claimed himself jokingly to be a love expert, and then ran off to Kenya for so long that you lost track of how much time passed. You wish you'd asked him before he left what he meant, but at the time it seemed irrelevant. Insignificant. The name Itadori Yuji had not yet been impressed into your heart like a seal.

You're busy setting up the sleeping bags, this time pushing them flush together. They're so close you can barely see the seam between them. Yuji stands on the other side of the fire, watching.

It reminds him of all the times you'd ever scolded him for not making his bed in the morning. I'm gonna crawl back in tonight anyway, he said. Who cares if it's messy?

Idiot, you would call him. But there was no malice behind it. He treated it like a pet name, a badge of honour to be your idiot.

Life felt so simple back then. He was full of determination and life and stuck to his morals as best he could. When he wavered he would text you to come over so you could fall asleep on his chest and suffocate any other thoughts out of his head.

"I've never felt so powerful before," he admits quietly. You turn to look at him, curious. "Like I could do anything in the world."

There's a negative connotation to that, you know. He could do anything. The world would crumble at his feet and there he would stand, laughing at it all. It isn't his will, not even slightly, but the demon taking refuge in his body would love to see the blood pool.

"Like I could just... reach out and—"

"Yuji!" You hiss, lurching forward to take his hand into yours and retreat from the flame. The skin is already pink and blistering, scorched by the embers. You twist his wrist around, observing where the fire licked the deepest, and pour your energy into him.

When you look up to see if he's crying, or at least grimacing in pain, you find only his smiling face—warm and adoring. For a second it feels like the world isn't burning around you.

It was nice to have you fawning over me.

You wipe that stupid smirk off his face, leaning in to smear a kiss along the scar on his lip.

"Idiot," you say, and he laughs for the first time in so long that it sounds foreign in your ears.

(He doesn't fall asleep that night. He would rather savour the sound of your soft snores, memorize the form of your body in his hold, and try his hardest to burn this into his brain.

So be it if you come to curse him one day. He would welcome you with open arms.)

NOVEMBER 3 2018

The day comes when Megumi sneaks into your hideout, asking for help.

His sister, he explains. He needs help saving Tsumiki. For some reason, resentment boils in your stomach, but then it's snuffed just as fast.

Two days and two nights you've spent pretending Japan isn't collapsing, content with sitting idly by as curses overran Tokyo. You're sure Megumi thought you to be cowards, that you were all hiding under this bridge to wait out the hellstorm that was raining down on your homes.

It was true to some extent. Once Yuji stepped out into battle again, that was that. You're not sure things would ever be the same again, though you suppose you lost the privilege of routine days ago.

"Let me come too," you urge. Three pairs of eyes land on you.

"No," Yuji pushes. "It's dangerous."

"I can fight!"

"You can't," he pauses, then corrects himself, "You won't."

Awkward silence settles over your encampment. Yuta stirs, standing to hold you steady by the shoulders.

"If we need help... if one of us is hurt, we'll need you unharmed. Do you understand?"

Ah, ever so wise, your upperclassman. So easy to persuade you. There's a reason why he's the chosen one only second to Gojo.

You swallow the bile that fights up your throat. "What if you don't come back?"

Yuji steps in this time, knocking away Yuta to hold you by the face. Get a grip, this means. Pull yourself together, don't you dare fall apart in front of me.

"We will."

You once considered telling him how you felt, letting it eat away at you until Nobara groaned in disgust.

“If Itadori starts dating before I do, I’ll puke.”

You remember that you laughed, thinking she was so dramatic. You loved that about her. “I think you would do worse.”

She glared at you, foot lightly kicking at your shin under the table. Still, she made sure to push equal amounts of rice to your side of the plate. “I might burn a village down,” she huffed, placing her chin on her palm.

“You’re fine. Even if I told him how I feel, I don’t think he’d accept.”

“Huh?” Nobara sounded genuinely confused, raising a brow at you. “What makes you think that?”

You didn't know how to answer that. Maybe you were just afraid that you had misinterpreted everything, that the way he held you was protective in a familial manner and that he would slam his door in your face when you tried.

Looking back on it, you can imagine him in the next room ranting about the same things to Megumi.

“He still has posters of Jennifer Lawrence on his wall,” you argued weakly while shoveling rice into your spoon. She watched you take your bite with her lips parted in disbelief.

You wish you had told him, then. Not that it would have changed where you both ended up.

You watch as they pack up their things.

Megumi's demon dog keeps you quiet company, tail thrashing against the ground as you slick back its fur. They talk around the dying flames, devising plan after plan. None seem safe. None would be.

Yuta and Megumi leave first, taking the lead in front of the pack. His dog melts into the shadows and disappears, leaving you sitting alone.

"I want to take you back, but..." Yuji glances over his shoulder toward his death sentence. "Will you make it okay on your own?"

You get up slowly, as if to draw out the time he stands before you. A thousand questions run through your head: what if you never see him again? What if this kills him, not by body, but by his already damaged soul?

He must sense the racing of your mind, so he leans in to engulf you in his arms. In an instant, memories of those days spent lounging in his bed, shoveling your food onto his plate, and purposefully talking louder to tease Megumi come flooding.

A year you would never forget. You're sure it'll become a curse if you dwell, so you tell him: "I'll make it. You go on, they need you."

I need you, too. Stay. If only it were so simple.

He smiles at you, warm like the sun that's hidden behind the barrier. Itadori Yuji looks like a ghost of his former self, battle-worn and covered in scars where his skin used to be smooth. He kisses you again for good measure, making sure he remembers the way you sigh into his mouth.

When he pulls away, there's life gleaming in his eyes.

"Let's watch Human Earthworm 5 when I come back."

Your thumb brushes the corner of his lip. You open your mouth to speak, to finally tell him the truth after all this time. You'd rather not die regretting you never said it, after all.

But you stop.

"I prefer Titanic," you confess. He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. Then he’s gone, taking all the warmth with him.

You'll make up for lost time one day. It won’t be today. You can tell him all about your feelings when he comes back to you.

914 notes · View notes

kadwrites · 9 months

Text

the color green | T.S

previous part | next part

or check out the series masterlist

summary ; you've met tommy's secretary , who has a thing for him.

warnings ; mentions of death (no one dies), my bad writing?? probably typos, arranged marriage trope

a/n ; um idk what to think of this part but lmk what you think of it

he just looks back at you, his brow raised ,waiting for an explanation

"what?"

"what did ya say to 'er?"

"nothing, why ? what did she tell you?" you can't help the amused expression on your face, you did try to hold it back.

"she said you and polly cornered 'er"

"what" you let out a small laugh "all we did was speak to 'er, and it was mostly polly. she barely acknowledged me."

"really?"

"yes really."

"did ya tell 'er that we're engaged?" his voice was deep and cold. it sent a familiar chill down your spine.

"why ? did ya not want people to know?"

"answer the question"

"i didn't. polly did." you stare at him for a while, eyes tracing his face with a raised brow "are you fucking 'er?"

he blinks slowly, his demeanor doesn't change "i beg your fucking pardon?"

"ya heard me."

"no."

you study his face "we didn't say anything to 'er, polly asked 'er if she knew who i was, she looked me up and down like i was some whore and then almost cried when she found out you and i are engaged. thats it."

"we're not engaged yet."

"we are, according to your aunt. so if ya 'ave any fucking complaints , ya might want to take it up with 'er."

you try to walk past him, deciding that storming off is the best way out of this ,

"and how do ya think youre gettin' back home? polly is gone"

you freeze, stopping in place when you hear that, and he turns, just staring at your back.

"walking exists , ya know?" you turn as well to face him, you try to maintain the most confident expression you could muster

"you're gonna walk back? to your father's house? at this time?"

you just nod,

"no you're not"

"yes i am."

"no."

"why not?"

"what kind if fiancé would i be if i let ya walk home in the dark?." his voice is sarcastic

you just raise your brow again, "i thought we weren't engaged."

"go to my office, i'll drive ya home in a minute."

"ya don't 'ave to, i don't want your charity."

"go to my fucking office, y/n."

you mumble curses under your breath as you stride through and to his office, you open the glass door and plop down on the chair facing his desk. you can see the sectary's silhouette from the corner of your eyes. she's sitting on a desk outside his office and you walked by without sparing her a glance. you can feel her stare burn through you.

the door opens again and he walks in, and sits on his desk

"are we goin' to stay here long? cause i can call oliver to come and get me."

he looked up from the papers he was holding and his stare made you look away. okay maybe you'll let him drive you home.

the secretary knocks and walks in "i just need your signature on this form sir." she walks to his desk and gets as close as appropriately possible.

" y've met my fiancée then, miss carter?" he asks the secretary without looking at her

"i.." she stands straight and glances at you "i did , yes i did."

he looks up at her briefly "she might be comin' here more often now, so please make 'er feel at home whenever im not around."

"of course, sir." she smiles sweetly at him before grabbing the paper and walking out of the office.

you raise your brows, a small smirk on your lips "oh im your fiancée now , aye?"

he doesn't answer you, but you see the corners of his lips curl.

you stifle back a yawn as you sit on the sofa , trying to not to nod off. its the middle of the night and your brother had woken you up. safe to say tonight was not a night you've expected and its yet to end.

"how did ya even know about this?" you nod towards abraham who had a cup of tea in his hand

"mum called" he muttered as he handed you a cup as well

"its just a cold , ya know that? , ya didn't 'ave to leave anna and come all the way here."

"it's dad, i couldn't just sleep after 'earing mum cry about 'im"

"she cries about everything" you say with a sigh as you take a sip of your tea

the living room as dark except for a small lamp that was next to you

"did she call celest and oliver?"

"i think so, but they'll probably come by in the mornin'."

you hear your mothers sniffles as she leaves her and your father's bedroom.

"hes asking for you."

you and abraham look at each other before you put your tea cup down and get up from the sofa.

"come in"

you walk in and close the door behind you gently. your dad is propped up with a pillow behind him, you approach the bed and get on it, laying next to him

"ya better not give me another one of your speeches dad." you feign annoyance but your smile gives you away.

he lets out a laugh then turns to you "i'm an old man ya know, i 'ave to make sure i say everything i need to say before i leave ya."

"y've got a cold dad, its not the plaque " you chuckle as you turn to look at him too.

when you were a child, your father would never sleep if you got sick, he would stay up. sometimes fall asleep beside you, or on the uncomfortable hard wooden chair he'd drag next to your bed.

he would put his head on your heart sometimes late at night anxiously, scared it might've stopped when he accidentally drifted off to sleep.

"listen to me love..." his hands intertwine with yours, his hands calloused from all the days he's spent caring for the soil, or in the war that you never thought would end. "i need to talk about this."

you hum, your hand holding his tightly in yours.

"i'm sorry it had to come to this my love,"

its not another one of his speeches, its a different kind of speech.

"dad..."

"when your mother first told me about this, i thought she was jokin, honest to god" he lets out another laugh "but now..... when i think about it , i cant let ya do that to yerself love..." he shakes his head slightly,

"what?" your eyes look up at him, taking in his features , his dark under eyes, the lines on his face, around his eyes.

"i saved some money yeah? , for when me and your mother might need it. ya can 'ave it." his voice drops to a lower tone

"and do what ?"

"run away."

"run away?" you laugh softly, looking at him with a raised brow "and go where?"

"where ever you want." he smiles softly at you

"you're not serious."

"i am"

you stay silent for a while, processing what he's saying "im not runnin' away dad."

"so you're gonna marry tommy shelby? is that what ya want ? what ya truly want?"

"its what i need to do"

"ya don't"

"so you're gonna go back on your word ,aye? ya gave the man a word after all"

"for you , id break every promise ive ever made."

"dad..." you let out a small smile , his other hand goes to cup your face "i cant do that"

"are ya scared id hate ya? or that id be angry at ya if ya didn't?"

"i cant runaway dad... i cant leave ya" your emotions betray you and they flood through you, your tears start to drop. i cant not be here when you die, when you're buried.

"sometimes i cant believe you're all grown up now,"

"hmm"

"ya were such a lively child"

"you're sayin' im borin' now aye?"

you two share a small laugh, you turn your face and kiss his palm, before closing your eyes "id put myself through anything and everything to keep ya with me for however long i can."

@tardisloverz , @optimisticsandwichgladiator , @theshelbyslimited

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby fanfiction #kadwrites

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forever-rogue · 10 months

Note

Omg for miguel requests!! Can i request one where spider-reader is very bold and always flirting with miguel and one time he flirts back and she gets super flustered and doesnt know how to respond😭

Thank you so much!! I love your writing youre so talented

AN | No, but this concept was aces! I hope you enjoy 🥰

Warnings | [Suggestive] Language

Pairing | Miguel x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Main, Spider-Man

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You could hear his angry footsteps before anything else and you braced yourself for his fury. Instead you busied yourself with looking at your suit to make sure everything was intact…or at least pretending to do so.

"What the fuck were you thinking!?" ahh yes, there it was. He was definitely angry, but you tried to keep it cool. You weren't about to admit that he made you nervous, even if the nerves were slight. You looked up from your sleeve and blinked innocently at him, "don't do that!"

"Do what?" You kept your voice sweet and soft, "what are you talking about, Miguel?"

"You - I - you are so infuriating!" he waved his finger in front of your face and you simply shrugged, "you never listen to me! I don't know why I even let you stay on the team!"

"Oh Miguelito," you gently reached up and brushed his hand out of your face. You were well aware of what he was talking about - you'd directly gone against his orders. But, to be fair, things had turned out just fine despite choosing your own method. It wasn't like you'd fucked up some cannon event, "everything's fine and no one got hurt!"

"But you don't listen," he sighed heavily, "that's the problem. And one day, it's going to get someone hurt. I'm not going to let you do that to anyone…or yourself."

"You're so cute," a dreamy sigh escaped your lips as you touched his face, brushing your knuckles across his cheek. He lightly slapped your hand away, "but you're going to give yourself wrinkles if you keep worrying."

"I'm being serious!"

"So am I," you raised your eyebrows and sighed at him, "I won't do anything bad and I'd never put anyone else in danger. You know that."

"One more fuck up from you and you're done," his voice was low and dangerous and you pulled back slightly, "I mean it. Just because you think you're so cute and charming doesn't mean I can't see right through you."

"Miguel," you looked at him with wide eyes, "I don't think I'm cute - I know I'm cute. But not as cute as you, handsome. Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go and make a few suit adjustments."

"This isn't over!" His cheeks darkened as he watched you walk away.

"I'd be disappointed if it was," you gave him a small salute, "see ya, Miguelito!"

He let out a sigh of exasperation as you walked away. It was definitely a challenge not to stare at your ass but he was just a man after all. So he definitely stared at your ass.

"Stop staring," Peter popped up behind him, causing Miguel to flinch, "just tell her you're in love!"

"I'm not…" he pinched the bridge of his nose, "I'm not in love with her and I'm not doing this with you right. Get back to work, Parker."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been a few days since what you had decided to dub the incident had occurred. You'd more or less ignored Miguel, deciding to let him cool down on his own terms. You missed getting to give him a hard time and missed getting to tease him as you loved.

The thing was, you didn’t hate Miguel. It was…quite the contrary in fact. Over the last year that you’d been working for the man, or on his silly little team as you liked to tease him, you’d found yourself getting more and more attached to him. You really liked him and you weren’t shy about letting him know. You thought you were being obvious, but apparently you weren’t obvious at all because he didn’t seem to get it. Or, if he did, he really wasn’t interested and chose not to acknowledge your moves. It was Miguel though, and you were sure he would have just told you…but then again, would he have? Maybe he was just a simple-”

“What’s wrong, princess?” you started at the sound of his low, gruff voice. You hadn’t heard him sneak up and his sudden appearance almost scared you off your chair. Clutching at your heart, you looked over to see Miguel leaning against the edge of your desk, a lazy smile on his face. You were stunned by both his appearance and his casual display of affection, and could only manage to open and close your mouth a few times, “cat got your tongue?”

“Miguel?” you looked at him with wide eyes, “w-what are you doing…here?”

“Just wanted to come and see my favorite girl,” okay, there was definitely something going on. You highly doubted you were his favorite girl (that was probably Jessica or Mayday), let alone his favorite anything, “I have something for you.”

“For me?” your mouth ran dry as he nodded. Was he flirting with you? Surely he couldn’t be, “what would that be?”

“Here,” he reached behind his back and pulled out what looked like your suit…only this was slightly different. He placed it on the desk in front of you before moving to stand behind you. His larger frame easily dwarfed yours, and that was something you tried to push out of your mind. You looked over the suit, trailing your fingers over the soft fabric, “I made some adjustments to it. I think you’ll find it easier to access web fluid and its got better repair tech. Something new Parker was working on.”

You let out a small breath of amazement; this was an incredibly kind gesture from anyone, spider-people did happen to be generous for the most part, but this was next level. You re-familiarized yourself with the pink, blue, and purple fabric. A smile crossed your features as you turned your head to look at him. You found him watching you intently, “thank you, Miguel. This is…amazing.”

“You’re welcome,” his voice was near your ear, causing goosebumps to erupt all over your skin, “maybe it’ll help you to listen next time, hmm?”

“Miguel,” you turned in your seat and found yourself face to face with him, noses almost brushing. Whatever you were about to say quickly left your mind as you looked into his pretty brown eyes. A sharp inhale escaped your lips and you noticed the smile on his face grow larger, “I, ugh…I…”

“Hmm?’ it was a small sound of the back of his throat as he regarded you. He reached up and touched your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “what’s up?”

“I umm,” you stammered nervously, trying to ignore the feeling of his skin on yours, “I gotta go. I-I think Peter needed me for something.”

“He’s out on assignment right now.”

“Mayday then,” you volunteered slinking out from under his arm and grabbing the new suit, You felt your entire face warmed up as he started to chuckle, “Mayday needs me-”

“She’s a baby!”

“And I love her,” you squeaked, “so I gotta help her!”

You took off before he could say anything else or fluster you even more. Something had gotten into Miguel O’Hara and you weren’t sure you could handle it. You weren’t sure you’d survive the man you’d longed after for so long returning those very same feelings.

Well. This was going to get interesting.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You came to the decision, made after much contemplation and tossing and turning at night, that you were going to ignore Miguel. Not ignore completely but ignore his advances. If he did happen to flirt with you again, you weren't going to say or do anything. Not that you expected them…but, you know, just in case it happened.

When you got to the headquarters the next day, you kept to yourself, taking your coffee and making your way to your little assigned corner and refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Maybe if no one saw you, you could get away with being practically invisible.

But the universe wouldn't have it, of course it wouldn't.

"Hello there," his voice was sticky sweet like toffee and that didn't land well with you. Rather it did land well in the sense that it shouldn't have made you feel the rush you were currently experiencing, "you look pretty today."

"I, ugh," you looked down at your outfit and shrugged helplessly. You were dressed simply in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and sandals; nothing that you would consider exceptional, "umm…thanks?"

"What's wrong?" He knew exactly what was wrong, the bastard. He could probably hear the erratic and wild beating of your heart, "you seem…nervous."

"N-no," you shook your eyes but your wide eyes and pretty pout were anything but convincing, "just…tired?"

"Are you sure about that?"

"No," you answered. You could have beaten around the bush all you wanted, but you knew that he wasn't going to give up. That wasn't Miguel at all. The best option - the only really - was to just come out and tell him the truth. Once it was all out, the chips would fall where they may, "why are you suddenly flirting with me? W-wait, are you flirting with me?”

“I am,” he admitted this so easily that it caught you off guard. You knew he wasn’t one to lie per se, but you didn’t expect him to just outright admit it. Confusion colored your features as you tried to get your mind to function again, “I am…flirting with you.”

“Oh,” you nodded and turned back to your computer screen before it all set in, “oh?”

“Oh,” he teased, reaching forward to brush some of your rogue locks of hair behind your ear.

“Why?” you reached up and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, gently pulling his hand away, “is it because I’ve been flirting with you?”

“It’s one of the reasons…among others,” alright. Now you were curious, even more than before, as to where this was going, “is that a problem for you?”

Nope. No. Nah. Not. At. All.

“Ummm…” you felt ditzy and dazy as you looked over at the handsome man. He really had you thrown for a loop, “I just…if I made you feel uncomfortable with it, I’m sorry. I never meant it to be mean or anything. I just…meant it.”

“Meant it?” he parroted as you swallowed thickly, “you meant it all those times you were flirting with me?”

“Y-yes,” your confession was soft and gentle as Miguel practically preened under your words. He wasn’t sure what answer he had been expecting, but somehow it wasn’t this one. He hadn’t flattered him with the idea that you would seriously like him, “I did - I do, Miguel.”

“Hmm,” he mused softly as you blinked at him with wide eyes, “do you want to know something?”

“Y-yes? Yes,” you nodded, tummy fluttering with butterflies and heart pitter-patter rapidly.

“When I’ve been flirting with you,” he leaned down so he was almost face level with you, “I’ve meant it too, princess.”

“No way,” disbelief flooded your veins as the first conclusion you came to was that he was lying. Perhaps this was all to get back for going against his direct orders during your last mission. That must have been the reason, right? You leaned away from him and almost slid off your chair as you rolled back to create a bit of distance between your bodies, “y-you’re lying. You have to be…”

“I’m not lying to you,” this time he was in disbelief. He’d never once lied to you…why would he start now?

“You have to be,” you sounded so pathetic as you grabbed your stuff and almost ran away, “you can’t like me like that!”

“Why not?!”

“I dunno, you just can’t!” you almost ran into Peter as you tried to get away, “sorry!”

Peter was dumbfounded as he looked between your quickly disappearing figure and Miguel, “what happened now?”

“I wish I knew,” Miguel exhaled heavily as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “fuck.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You kept your distance from HQ for a couple of days after your embarrassing outburst. You had replayed that very moment over and over in your head, trying to see it from all different angles.

The only conclusion you kept coming to was that he was telling the truth. And that reality was hard to come to terms with at first…but then it was blissfully exciting. Miguel liked you! But then it was more like Miguel liked you…holy shit.

But then you decided that more than anything, you needed to know the truth.

You practically ran over to his office, causing the curious glances of other spider-people to follow you. You could hear their hushed murmurs, but didn’t stop to address them. News traveled fast around this place and you had no doubt that as soon as whatever happened between the two of you, the news would spread like wildfire.

“Miguel!” you didn’t even bother to knock and announce your presence, bursting into his office without ceremony. He turned around to face you, a few different expressions crossing his features before settling on surprise, “I…”

“Yes?” suddenly every single coherent thought escaped your mind as you stared at him. He cocked his head to the side and looked at you expectantly.

“Did you mean it?” you whispered, taking a step closer to him, “the other day when you said you flirted with me because you meant it. Did you mean it?”

“Yes,” he promised, closing the gap even more, “of course I did. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Me neither,” you insisted, catching yourself, “lie to you, I mean. So…”

“So we’re on the same page now?”

“I think so,” you smiled hesitantly at him, and the two of you locked eyes for a few moments.

Before you could stop yourself, you closed the little bit of distance remaining between your bodies before practically jumping into his arms. Almost as if he had known what you were thinking, he effortlessly caught you, wrapping his strong arms around you. You beamed at him, melting as you watched him practically glow at you.

“I want to kiss you,” you touched his face, and he practically leaned into your touch, “may I?”

“You may-” you prevented him from saying anything else as you crashed your lips onto his, kissing him with a fierce determination and eagerness.

Neither of you dared to pull back until you were both breathless, looking at each other through hazy eyes and soft smiles. He gently set you back on the ground and you stared up at him.

“Do you want some more honesty?” he asked gently, stealing a few more kisses, which you eagerly gave him.

“Of course.”

“I plan on doing that a lot more,” and yeah…that made you practically jump his bones then and there, “if you’re down for it.”

“Yes,” that came without hesitation, “I definitely am.”

“Better close the door then,” you did as you asked, looking at him with round, eager eyes, “you know how nosey they can be.”

“The nosiest…”

“Now, c’mere,” he held his hand out to you, “and let me prove I wasn’t lying to you.”

“Yes, please.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara one shot #oscar isaac #spiderman 2099 #atsv #spider-man

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woso-dreamzzz · 4 months

Text

Call Up

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You get called up

Your first senior call up happens when you're seventeen (nearly eighteen) and still playing at Arsenal.

You've got a day off before the derby against Chelsea so your mothers have flown out to support you and, somehow, you've ended up at Millie Bright's house.

You're surrounded by your Momma and Morsa's old teammates (and a few of the Arsenal girls who were on the team when you were very little). There aren't enough seats for everyone but you're happy to sit on the floor in front of Momma and let her slowly card her fingers through your hair.

It's one of the things you've missed about being in England. You miss the little things about Momma and Morsa like this. You know they miss you too because there's never a day where they rearrange your daily video calls or don't send Leah around to your apartment when they think you're feeling especially sad on the call.

You miss them. They miss you. But you all know that it's best for you to be here, in England. You're still the second choice keeper but you know that if you keep working hard then by your eighteenth birthday, you'll have managed to clinch the number one spot.

After the derby, it's international break and you know that, while the senior teams are calling everyone up this week, you need to wait a few more days until the Denmark youth team sends for you again.

You've settled in well in the under-nineteen squad and you know that there's a round of friendlies coming up soon that you're excited to be apart of.

"The third choice keeper broke her arm," You can hear Morsa complain about the Swedish team," It was such a freak accident. It was gory to even watch. I almost threw up."

You don't pay much attention though, leaning back easily into Momma's hands. You're not paying attention to anything actually because you almost miss the vibrating of your phone on your leg.

You don't recognise the number but you pick it up anyway.

"Hello?"

"Is this y/n?" A professional-sounding voice asks," The Arsenal keeper?"

"Yes? Who is this?"

"Excellent. I'm calling up on behalf of the Swedish Senior team. I'm sure you know by now but our usual third keeper has been injured. We're offering you the call up in her place."

"W-What?"

You must sound especially panicked because everyone in the room has turned to look at you in confusion.

"I understand that you usually play for Denmark's youth teams but we've had our eye on you for a while. We've got a round of three friendlies coming up, one for each keeper, and would love to have you with us."

You feel frozen in place, capable of nothing but blinking.

"I..."

"Sorry," The person says," I'm getting ahead of myself. I understand completely if you wish to stay with Denmark. You're such a talent. Forgive me for wanting to have it on my team. I understand if you need to discuss this with your mothers as well. Do you need some time to think about it?"

"No!" You say quickly.

You've never really thought about a senior team call up. You just kind of assumed that Denmark would be the obvious choice. You've spent so much time in a Denmark shirt that you just assumed Sweden didn't want you anymore.

"You've already come to a decision?"

Your feelings on this call up must have already been decided. It must have been decided for years in some deep, hidden away part of your brain because there's no need to even think about it. There's no need to even discuss it with Momma and Morsa.

Somehow, you think you've always known the decision you would come to.

"I'd love to join you for the friendlies."

You can hear the person's smile through the phone. "Excellent," They say," The details will be sent to your email as well as your agent's, who I'm sure will forward it to your mothers. Just in advance, what would you like on your jersey? Your name or Eriksson-Harder, like your Denmark jersey?"

You make eye contact with Momma, who looks increasingly worried the longer you stay on the phone. "Harder-Eriksson," You say," Please."

"You've got it. I'll see you very soon, y/n."

"Yeah, you too."

The call ends and you stare at your phone for several seconds.

"It's a bit early for the youth team call up," Morsa teases," You're changing your name? Does Eriksson-Harder not cut it anymore for Denmark?"

You blink. "More like Harder-Eriksson suits Sweden better."

"Sweden called you up?" Momma asks," That's strange. You've never had any problem rejecting their call if it came before Denmark's before."

You shake your head. "No, it wasn't the youth team. It was the senior team."

The room's quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Morsa's voice goes hoarse. "What?"

You look at her. "I got called up for Sweden's senior team."

Someone else in the room, Leah, you think, says," Holy shit."

Momma pulls you into a hug. "Harder-Eriksson?" She asks, eyes glistening with tears.

You manage to shrug. "Morsa got Eriksson-Harder when I played for Denmark. You get Harder-Eriksson when I play for Sweden."

Morsa is still frozen in shock, looking much like how you feel. Her hands are shaking a little as she crushes you in her embrace. When she pulls away, she's crying too.

"Magda," Momma says," Why don't you call Frido? I'm sure she'd want to know."

Morsa nods robotically. "Right. Yes. Frido. Would want to know. Yes."

"And you," Momma says fondly, cupping your face and kissing your forehead," I think you should call a certain retired keeper, shouldn't you?"

You've already got Zećira's contact lined up on your phone.

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

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nellasbookplanet · 3 months

Text

Book recs: Queer science fiction, part 1

There is a lot of queer sf out there, and I read a lot of sf. When I started working on this list, I quickly realized it was impossible to include all that I've read and enjoyed in one single rec post. Thus, this is the first of so far three queer sci-fi book rec posts.

A note: queer here does not necessarily mean "guarantee of an f/f or m/m ship with a happy ending", but rather simply a significant presence of queerness. Some of the books feature no romance but has a same gender attracted/trans/a-spectrum lead, or features an m/f relationship with bisexual, trans or aro/ace characters, or simply features a world-building which is heavily queer inclusive in ways that don't always compare to our own ideas of sexuality and gender. I have however disqualified works where the only queer presence is along the lines of "gay best friend" or a blink and you'll miss it confirmation that never comes up again.

Previous book rec posts:

Really cool fantasy worldbuilding, really cool sci-fi worldbuilding, dark sapphic romances, mermaid books, vampire books, many worlds: portal fantasies, many worlds: alternate timelines, robots and artificial intelligences, post- and transhumanism, alien intelligences

For more details on the books, continue under the readmore. Titles marked with * are my personal favorites. And as always, feel free to share your own recs in the notes!

The Light Brigade by Kameron Hurley*

Dietz is a soldier in the war between Earth and Mars - to travel to the battle front, she and her fellow soldiers are broken down into light to be able to quickly travel across space. But something keeps going wrong with Dietz's travels; her memories don't match up with the mission briefs, as she experiences time itself turning in on itself. Is she going mad? Or are the things she's learning skipping through time the truth - and the war that's stealing her life the lie? A mindfuck of a book that's scathing in its critique of fascism and war. Features a sapphic lead but no romance.

A Psalm for the Wild-Built (Monk and Robot duology) by Becky Chambers

Novella. Long ago, robots, upon gaining sentience, simply laid down their work and walked into the wilderness. Long after, a tea monk looking for purpose follows after them into the wilds, where they come across one of the robots seeking its own sort of answers. While not plotless, this story focuses more on character and vibes over plot. Also has a nonbinary main character and features conversations on gender between human and robot.

Meet Me In Another Life by Catriona Silvey*

Thora and Santi are strangers, brought together by a coincidence and torn apart just as abruptly when tragedy strikes. But this is neither the first nor the last time they meet - again and again they encounter each other, as friends, lovers, enemies, family, every time recognizing in each other a familiarity no one else carries. But with every new life, a mysterious danger grows ever closer, forcing them to find out the truth of their connection. This is a puzzle-box of a story that goes some entirely unexpected places in a very wild ride, featuring a bisexual co-lead.

The Archive Undying (The Downworld Sequence) by Emma Mieko Candon

In a world where AI gods sometimes lose their minds and take entire populations down with them, Sunai was the only survivor when his god went down. In the 17 years since, he has wandered on his own, unable to either die or age, drowning his sorrows in drink and men. But his attempts to flee his past comes to a stop as he is forced back into the struggle between man and machine. Featuring some pretty wild world building and narrative techniques, this book will definitely confuse you, but it is worth the experience.

The Paradox Hotel by Rob Hart

January Cole works security at the Paradox Hotel, last stop for tourists heading for the timeport, which allows them to travel to and witness any moment in time. But years of proximity to the timeport has left its damage on January, making her unstuck in time, letting her relive memories of her dead lover even as her sanity slips away bit by bit. As she starts witnessing proof of a horrible crime in the hotel that no one else can see, January must race against her own mind, a killer, and time itself to solve it before it's too late.

A Fractured Infinity by Nathan Tavares

Hayes Figueiredo is a struggling film-maker who wants to finish his documentary, whose life gets turned upside down when handsome physicist Yusuf Hassan enters his life, claiming an alternate version of him is a great inventor who’s sent a mysterious device to their universe. As Hayes gets drawn deeper into the conspiracy - and his feelings for Yusuf intensify - he has to decide just how far he’s prepared to go to win the life and the love he wants. Featuring a very gay and very morally dubious lead, this is a creative and strange read.

Bridge by Lauren Beukes

When she was little, Bridge and her mother Jo used to play a game - one where they traveled to other worlds, inhabiting the bodies of their other selves. Now Jo is dead, and as Bridge is cleaning out her apartment she finds a strange device: a dreamworm, the very thing that supposedly makes inter-dimensional travel possible. Suddenly faced with the possibility that multiverse travel is real, Bridge is struck by a different question: could her mother still be alive? Scifi spiced with a healthy dose of body horror and some absolutely wild twists, Bridge also features a bisexual lead (however this is a blink and you’ll miss it moment) and a nonbinary co-narrator.

The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet (Wayfarers series) by Becky Chambers

Rosemary Harper just got a job on the motley crew of the Wayfarer, a spaceship that works with tunneling new wormholes through space. With a past she wants to leave behind, Rosemary is happy to travel the far reaches of the universe with the chaotic crew, but when they land the job of a life time, things suddenly get a lot more dangerous. A bit of a tumblr classic in its day, this is a cozy space opera with an episodic feel and vividly realized characters and cultures. While pretty light on romance and focusing found family, there is a main f/f relationship.

An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon

Life on the lower decks of the generation ship HSS Matilda is hard for Aster, an outcast even among outcasts, trying to survive in a system not dissimilar to the old antebellum South. The ship's leaders have imposed harsh restrictions on their darker skinned people, using them as an oppressed work force as they travel toward their supposed Promised Land. But as Aster finds a link between the death of the ship's sovereign and the suicide of her own mother, she realizes there may be a way off the ship.

Ninefox Gambit (The Machineries of Empire trilogy) by Yoon Ha Lee*

Military space opera where belief and culture shape the laws of reality, causing all kinds of atrocities as empires do everything in their power to force as many people as possible to conform to their way of life to strengthen their technology and weapons. It’s also very queer, with gay, lesbian and trans major characters, albeit little to no romance.

The Left Hand of Darkness (Hainish Cycle) by Ursula K. Le Guin

1969 classic. Genly Ai is an emissary sent to the planet of Winter, meant to help facilitate Winter's inclusion in a growing intergalactic civilization. But he's unprepared for Winter's citizens, who spend much of their time genderless or switching between genders, making for a culture wildly different from that Genly is used to.

Too Like the Lightning (Terra Ignota series) by Ada Palmer*

Centuries in the future, humanity has deliberatly engineered society to be as utopian as possible, politically, socially, sexually, religiously. Written in an enlightenment style and featuring questions of human nature and whether it’s possible to change it, and what price we’re prepared to pay for peace, this book is simultaneously very heavy and very funny, and written in a very unique style. While still human, the society presented often feels starkly alien.

The Stars Are Legion by Kameron Hurley

This book fucked me up when I read it. It’s weird, it’s gross, there’s So Much Viscera, there are literally no men, it has living spaceships and biotech but in the most horrific way imaginable. Had I to categorize it I would call it grimdark military sf. It’s an experience but not necessarily a pleasant one.

The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling*

Possibly one of the most unsettling books I’ve ever read, and definitely the most claustrophobic. Gyre, a caver on an alien planet, ventures into the dark and dangerous underground, guided only by a woman who has no compunctions on using and manipulating Gyre as she sees fit to obtain her secretive goals down in the caves.

Escaping Exodus (Escaping Exodus series) by Nicky Drayden

While my feelings on Escaping Exodus were mixed, it cannot be denied that the dynamic between the two leads and the way they go from childhood best friends to enemies on different sides of a class and power struggle is very delicious. It also features some really cool worldbuilding of living, alien generation spaceships and the human culture that has developed inside them.

The Doors of Eden by Adrian Tchaikovsky*

The Doors of Eden is something of an experiment in speculative biology, featuring versions of Earth in which various different species were the one to rise to sentience, from dinosaurs to neanderthals. Now, something is threatening the existence of all timelines, dragging multiple different people and species into the struggle, among those a pair of cryptid hunting girlfriends and a transgender scientist.

Ascension by Jacqueline Koyanagi

Ascension follows Alana Quick, an expert Sky Surgeon who stows away on a spaceship in hopes of landing herself a job. But the ship and its crew are in deeper waters than she expected, facing threats emerging from a whole other universe, all of them searching for the same person: Alana’s spiritually enlightened sister. Undeniably a bit of an odd read, Ascension is also very creative and features polyamorous lesbian relationship.

Contagion (Contagion duology) by Erin Bowman*

Young adult. After receiving an SOS, a small crew is sent on a standard search-and-rescue mission. But what they find are not survivors awaiting help, but an abandoned site, full of dead bodies and crawling with something... monstrous. No romance, but features one sapphic co-lead and one who can easily be read as demisexual (however this doesn't show up until book two, which has more romance).

A Memory Called Empire (Texicalaan duology) by Arkady Martine

Mahit Dzmare is an ambassador sent to the center of the multi-system Teixcalaanli Empire, where she discovers that her predecessor has died. Trying to protect her home, an independent mining station, from being taken over by the empire, Mahit struggles to find out the truth of her predecessor's death while carrying the voice of his ghost in her head, guiding her as best he can. Light on the romance but does feature a sapphic relationship.

The Outside (The Outside trilogy) by Ada Hoffman*

AKA the book the put me in an existenial crisis. Souls are real, and they are used to feed AI gods in this lovecraftian inspired scifi where reality is warped and artifical gods stand against real, unfathomable ones. Autistic scientist Yasira is accused of heresy and, to save her eternal soul, is recruited by post-human cybernetic ‘angels’ to help hunt down her own former mentor, who is threatening to tear reality itself apart. Sapphic main character.

Dawn (Xenogenesis trilogy) by Octavia E. Butler*

After a devestating war leaves humanity on the brink of extinction, survivor Lilith finds herself waking up naked and alone in a strange room. She’s been rescued by the Oankali, who have arrived just in time to save the human race. But there’s a price to survival, and it might be humanity itself. Absolutely fucked up I love it I once had to drop the book mid read to stare at the ceiling and exclaim in horror at what was going on. Queer in the sense that the Oankali doesn't follow human ideas of gender and relationships, which is mirrored in their romantic relationships with humans. It is, however, pretty dark, with examinations of agency and consent, so enter with caution.

Remnant by Kate Genet

One day, Cass wakes up and finds everyone else is gone. Not dead, just gone, leaving her in a world which nature starts taking back with a dangerous, unnatural speed. But as she tries to survive this new normal, Cass realizes she may not be alone after all - but who else is out there, and are they a threat?

The Scorpion Rules (Prisoners of Peace duology) by Erin Bow*

Young Adult. Featuring a dystopian future in which an AI forcibly keeps world peace by holding the children of world leaders hostage. If anyone attempts to start a war, their child will be executed. Greta is one of these children, kept in a school with others like her. But things start to change one day when a new, less obedient hostage arrives. A unique, slowburn take on the YA dystopian craze, also featuring a bisexual love triangle.

Iron Widow (Iron Widow series) by Xiran Jay Zhao

Young adult. Zetian is a citizen of Huaxia, where mecha aliens are constantly trying to breach the Great Wall. To keep them at bay, couples of men and women pilot so called Chrysalises, giant transforming robots. But the pilots are not equal - the women almost always die, sucked dry by their co-pilots. When Zetian sets herself up to become a concubine-pilot, she does so with the plan to assassinate the male pilot who caused her sister's death. Features a polyamorous main relationship.

Bonus AKA I haven't read these yet but they seem really cool:

Survival Instincts by May Dawney

Lynn Tanner has been surviving the post-apocalypse alone with only her dog for a long time, trusting no one. But when she's forced to travel the dangerous remains of New York City alongside another woman, her priorities are challenged. Is staying alone really the best way to stay alive?

These Burning Stars by Bethany Jacobs

When con-artist Jun Ironway gets her hands on possible proof of the powerful Nightfoot family, controllers of interplanetary travel, committing genocide, she has in her hands a chance of taking them and their monopoly down. But the family and their allies won't go down easily, and sends two brutal clerics to stop her.

Everfair by Nisi Shawl

A neo-victorian alternate history, in which a part of Congo was kept safe from colonisation, becoming Everfair, a safe haven for both the people of Congo and former slaves returning from America. Here they must struggle to keep this home safe for them all.

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