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#this is probably the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written
ruelpsen · 4 months
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Honestly, as someone who has been going through fictosexual attraction for years and also didn't know how to deal with it at first: Just write and think about the most self-indulgent bullshit you can picture. It is the only way to keep sane or so I've found.
Oh I'm already on it, believe me. In fact, here's a little snippet from what I've been working on...
"Are you... turned on by this too?" you ask. "I'm not sure," he growls. "I will admit it's not something I've ever involved in my... liaisons before. But seeing you so desperate like this is always sure to awaken a hunger in me. Or rather-" he pauses for a moment, burping again- "a thirst." With that, he kisses you deeply once more. You feel his fangs press against your lips as you moan with pleasure. You grip the back of his shirt as your hips instinctively buck against his, suddenly jostling his body. He abruptly breaks his lips away from yours only to turn his head to the side and release a short, thick belch. "Apologies," he says. "I didn't want to be..." He trails off, lost in thought for a moment. He eyes you for a second, observing the redness in your cheeks and the pleading look in your eyes. "On second thought, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" "Yes," you moan. "God, yes." "My, my, what a nasty little creature you are..."
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eijiroukiriot · 2 years
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it’s like every day i flipflop back and forth between “katsuki should say ‘eijirou’ as many times as he can all the time. ‘eijirou come look at this’ ‘jesus christ eijirou it’s 7 a.m.’ ‘eijirou, steak or fish tonight’” and “i need krbk to call each other baby or else i’ll die” 
#idk if it's obvious from the every piece of content i've made in the last 6 months but i've like been stuck on this one#and not to like accidentally peek a little deep into my psyche but it might be bc for the brief time i had a gf last year#we dove like REALLY hard and heavy into the pet names#i did not enjoy being in a relationship with her (largely bc it was so affectionate so fast) but. i did like the affection#and honestly thinking back on the times where we did call each other 'baby' specifically it felt like so much bigger than 'babe'#which is probably why it sounds so gross to some people but the more time goes by and the more i think abt what an actual good#relationship would look like to me. the more i feel like being able to say 'baby' and not have it be cringe would be a factor#which is why i've been so stuck on making things that make krbk say baby. as stupid as it is#i really do love bkg saying eijirou and think that's the more in character option anyway#sometimes your krbk has just gotta be a little self indulgent though you know?#and other times it can be realistic and so so good#if this fic i started last month ever does see the light of day....and it might bc i do like the premise#it'll maybe be the most realistic take on bkg as a part of krbk that i've ever written#not to keep rambling but also thinking back on the way i've written bkg over the years i really do think his character lends itself to#a lot of levels of realistic vs indulgent#weird wording but i'll explain#in canon he's so analytical and thoughtful at heart you know? but he's also 16 and brash and impulsive and plain dumb sometimes#once again thinking about how i didn't actually like him that much on my first watch until the latter half of s2#where his characterization starts to become a little more day-to-day instead of really heavy digging into HIS psyche#so he just shows up over and over again to get mad about something stupid and it's endearing#like 'who is this guy'#so you can write a bkg who's very out of his element and hotheaded and thinks of himself differently than he actually comes off#or you could write a bkg (like the bkg as of late) who's very in control and calculating and doesn't let his guard down#neither side is technically inaccurate but it can be hard to strike a balance bc those things sound very out of sync with each other#so within krbk you can write a very 'actions speak louder than words' bkg who is kinda neutral-cold most of the time#or you can write the goofier 'i won at romance and i'm gonna rub it in your faces' easily swept off his feet fandom favorite bkg#which can be very good#and if anything the fact that he really does keep his guard so high up so often makes you WANT to write him being sappy#especially when he's grown up#have i ever mentioned that like the stock photo of krbk in my mind has aged up?
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amethystina · 1 year
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WIP Word Search
I got tagged by @miss-ingno! Thank you, dear <3
My words to search for are: run, brush, freeze
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Run: (from Until Death Do Us Unite, Strangers From Hell, MJJW, Zombie AU)
Jong Woo made no effort to silence the jingling of his bracelet as he climbed the stairs, knowing the sound would draw exactly the kind of attention he was looking for. Intentionally drawing zombies to you when out on a supply run with others was foolish, but doing so when you were alone — hunting for one in particular — was simply a matter of good strategy.
____
Brush: (from Treachery and Deception, The Losers, Cougar/Jensen, Regency AU)
"No..." He swallowed and shook his head, if only slightly.
Warm, careful fingers were still cradling his face, and Jacob's gaze turned towards Lieutenant Alvarez. Another brush against Jacob's cheek — and a flash of red on the lieutenant's hand — made him realise that Lieutenant Alvarez was wiping blood from his face. The intruder's blood, no doubt, from when the knife had lodged into his chest.
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Freeze: (from Providence, The Hobbit, Barduil, “Second Chance” AU)
Thranduil could see the twitch of confusion on Istril's face, but she was too loyal to question his orders.
"Yes, my lord." She bowed her head before turning on her heel, ready to leave.
"Also," Thranduil continued, making Istril freeze in place before she had taken so much as a step, "find my son and order him to come home."
____
I didn’t think I would actually find something for each word. I mean, usually it’s “brushed” or similiar (though I assume that would also be acceptable?). I guess it pays off to have a bunch of WIPs lying around, huh?
ANYHOW. I’m not sure who to tag, but if you’re a writer and think this sounds fun, consider yourself tagged.
Your words are: Happy, Black, See
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amhrosina · 8 months
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Be My Baby
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Summary: Frank takes you on a weekend trip to his cabin after you have a rough week at work. Your first stop? The enormous bathtub with enough room for soooo many activities.
Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.8k
masterlist // join my taglist // follow me on instagram & ao3
a/n: hello! i'm back! my personal life is still a wreck but i missed writing for frank. this is probably the most self indulgent fic i've ever written lol it is quite literally the most ooey-gooey romantic plot before the softest smut imaginable. what can i say? i'm a hoe for soft frank. enjoy & thank you to the nonnie that requested something similar to this!
warnings: softest smut imaginable, fluff to the max, 'i'm an asshole to everyone except you' trope, a teensy little bit of crybaby reader if you squint, frank would burn the world for reader, reader is sOoOoO in love with frank (who isn't??), they're both a little wrapped up in each other's world and don't give a shit about what's happening outside of them type of vibes, pet names, etc.
From what you had seen, Frank’s cabin was cozy and warm, but since your arrival half an hour ago, you’d only had the luxury of soaking in the tub while Frank took care of unloading the car. He’d insisted on doing it alone, claiming his girl shouldn’t have to lift a finger for anything, and honestly after the week you’d had, you were temporarily glad he was as stubborn as a mule. You were sure that sentiment would fade the next time you were feeling bratty, but for now, you tried your best to relax and forget what an awful week it had been at work.
The heat of the bath water sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine, enticing a low groan from your lips. Sinking further into the water, you realized just how big the tub was. It stretched at least six feet across and was almost deep enough to stand, clearly a custom made feature of the cabin. You supposed Frank probably needs the room, being as large a man as he is. Still, it felt like you were in a luxurious hot tub, rather than a regular bathtub.
“There’s a button to turn on the jets if you want ‘em.”
Frank’s gentle voice carried across the bathroom, startling you from your relaxed state. You hadn’t even heard him come in. You turned, eyeing his powerful figure as he made his way toward you and sat on the edge of the tub. It was easy to get lost in the way he moved, and you tried your best to not stare at the muscles straining against the black longsleeve he was wearing.
“You okay?” He asked, reaching out to softly run his knuckles along the curve of your damp cheek. He was always gentle with you, but the desire to take care of you was even more present in his eyes than usual. It really had been a shitty week.
“This place is amazing.” You said in awe, turning your face away to hide your grin. His hand, already knowing what you were trying to do, softly gripped your jaw and turned it back to face him.
“You barely saw the place.” He chuckled.
“Whose fault is that?” You raised an eyebrow at him and sat up, fully exposing your bare chest to him. His eyes briefly flicked down to your nipples, hardening as the cool air touched them, before returning his gaze upwards. “Get in. There’s plenty of room for both of us.”
He nodded and stood, but began walking in the opposite direction of the bath. You furrowed your brow, watching him tug his shirt off and throw it on the counter. When he saw your expression, he grinned.
“Hang on. I brought something for you.”
“What do you mean?” You called after him, but he was already moving again.
He disappeared through the doorway, generating even more confusion, before returning with an assembly of things tucked under his arms. You watched as he worked his way around the room, placing various objects here and there until finally he flicked off the lights and turned to face you again.
The room was now aglow with flickering candle light, coating Frank’s looming figure in a warm haze. He’d gone for mostly unscented, knowing how strong smells could give you headaches, but had left in a few lavender candles because he knew how much it relaxed you. He also managed to sneak an entire bottle of champagne into the car without you noticing, of which he was pouring into two flutes. You blinked back tears as he handed you your glass, unable to express how warm your chest felt at the effort he was putting in to make you feel better.
“Frank.” You murmured, smiling bashfully, “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” 
“‘s what you deserve.” He shrugged, stepping out of the rest of his clothes. 
He sank into the tub next to you, tugging your body against his in a swift motion. He sat with his back against the edge, allowing you to easily settle your knees on either side of his thighs, facing him in the dim room. You sat just a little taller than him at this angle - chest pressed against his warm skin, arms resting on his broad shoulders - and God, he looked divine. The drive had taken a few hours, just long enough for the stubble to return to his cheeks after this morning’s shave, giving him a rugged look that you thought was just so handsome. You were unable to resist the temptation of running your nails over it in a soft scratch, eliciting a groan from deep in Frank’s chest. The rumble reverberated through your chest as you pressed yourself fully against him, seeking more of his affection. He tugged your head down onto his shoulder and began running his fingers along the base of your neck in a soothing pattern.
“You never answered my question earlier.” He murmured, resting his jaw against your head. “You okay, sweet girl?”
You sighed, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment as you mulled over your feelings. You were a sensitive soul to begin with, and your boss had been on edge all morning when he finally snapped at you for something you had no control over, which ultimately had you tearing up for the rest of the day. When you’d walked through the door crying, Frank’s eyes flashed violently between anger at your boss and sympathy for you. The sympathy had won, and now you were in a beautiful cabin in upstate New York, wrapped in his strong arms. Still, you weren’t sure how you were going to deal with your boss’ temper when you returned to work on Monday.
“I don’t know,” you finally replied, shrugging, “Can you ask me again later?”
You felt his cheeks widen into a small grin. He nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“Don’t think I won’t.” He teased, calling you on your avoidant tendencies before you could even notice them yourself.
“How long have you had this place?” You wondered, nuzzling into his heated skin.
“I bought it a few months after Maria and the kids.” He said softly, almost whispering when he had to relay his wife’s name aloud. “Thought maybe I was done with the city. Change can be good, ya’ know?”
“But you came back.” You lifted your head from his shoulder so you could look him in the eyes. 
“But I came back.” He parroted, nodding. “And then I met you.”
“And you stayed.” You finished for him.
“Of course I stayed. Couldn’t leave you behind, sweet girl. ‘ve been sweet on you since the day I met you.”
This was true. From the moment you’d met, he’d been nothing but gentle and kind toward you. You had no idea, of course, that this type of behavior was incredibly far away from Frank Castle’s usual attitude until you’d met Matt Murdock, who was so shocked at Frank’s subdued personality and general softness around you that Frank had to physically close Matt’s gaping jaw for him.
“But you never sold the place?” You questioned.
“I figured we might need somewhere to run away to every once in a while. Are you mad that I didn’t tell you about it before today? I wanted it to be a surprise.”
For a moment, he looked genuinely worried that he might’ve upset you.
“How could I be mad when I’m sitting in this enormous tub, surrounded by candles and champagne, pressed up against the man of my dreams?”
He smiled then, and you could tell it was a genuine smile because of the way his cheeks dimpled at the corner of his laugh lines. It was an award winning smile, you thought. You gently set the empty champagne glasses on the edge of the tub before cupping his cheeks in your hands.
“My Frankie,” you mumbled, running your thumbs across his cheekbones, “What would I do without you?”
You really hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but every time you looked at him, you felt yourself being pulled closer and closer to him. His compassion and kindness toward you, even after everything he’d been through, was something you couldn’t avoid leaning into. All your life you’d been taking care of others, and finally, here was someone begging to take care of you.
“You don’t have to worry about that, okay? ’m here to stay.” He mumbled, bringing the pads of your fingertips to his lips for individual, soft kisses. “I love you, and ‘m gonna take care of you forever.”
Tears welled in your eyes as an overwhelming rush of emotion passed over you. In your arms was a man that should’ve been bitter and angry at the world around him. He had earned the right to become spiteful and hardened, and no one could fault him for that. And yet - and yet - in your arms was a man that loved you with his entire being. Who understood you at your core, saw the dark parts of you, and loved those parts even more. Who was soft for no one but you. Who you loved, too.
A tear slid down your cheek as you kissed him, long and slow and sensual because you wanted nothing more than to wrap yourself around him and never let go. He smiled into the kiss, cradling your head with his beautiful, calloused hands. It wasn’t enough. You needed his gentle touch everywhere. Pressing yourself against him, you felt yourself sliding along his achingly hard cock, raising the already warm temperature in the room to searing. Heat pulsed between your legs, begging to be touched.
“My pretty girl,” he mumbled against your lips, kissing the corner of your mouth before following the curve of your jawline to your neck, “My pretty, sensitive girl.”
The praise made your head swim. You rocked your hips again, sliding along his length until you were hovering directly over him, waiting for the go ahead to sink down. He grunted, pressing open mouthed kisses up your throat before coaxing your hips lower and lower. You gasped when he finally pushed into you, and Frank took the opportunity to lick the inside of your gaping mouth as he did so. You shuttered against him, wanting everything he had to offer and more.
“P-please, Frankie.” You murmured, arching your back as he bucked his hips upwards.
“Please what, sweetheart?” He breathed, wrapping one of his enormous hands around the back of your head, forcing you to look down at him as you rode him. His other arm was wrapped around your torso, tugging your hips forward and back to stimulate your clit against the base of his cock. It was such an erotic way to be held that you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks. He leaned his head against your forehead and kissed the tears that made their way down your flushed skin. “Tell me, sweet girl.”
“I l-love you.” You purred, stuttering as he made his way down your body, kissing everywhere he could reach. When he got to your pebbled nipples, you sucked in a sharp breath. He knew exactly how to get you off, and he was staring right at them.
“I love you too, pretty girl.” He grinned and pressed a chaste kiss to each of your nipples, eliciting a pornographic moan from deep in your chest. 
He continued to push and pull your hips in a steady rhythm, grinding your clit against his pelvis as you bounced up and down his length. Slowly, in a teasing manner that had a new wave of fresh, needy tears streaming down your cheeks, he leaned forward and circled his tongue around the sensitive nub. You whined with impatience as he pulled away, only to offer the same kitten lick to your other breast. You knew he would take care of you like he always did, but his teasing was making your entire body tremble with anticipation. 
“I know, I know,” he cooed, kissing the valley between your breasts, “‘t’s okay, baby. Be patient. I’ll take care of you.”
You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as you let out a mewl. You felt the hand Frank had been using to hold your head steady loosen its grip, and suddenly, he was softly wiping the tears away from under your eyes with his thumbs.
“You’re doing so good for me, bunny.” He murmured, and you very nearly came at the pet name he loved to praise you with. “‘m gonna make you feel real good, okay?”
“Please,” you begged, digging your fingers into his shoulders, “Need you.”
That was all it took for Frank to finally snap. In one swift motion, he wrapped his lips around your breast and began to run his tongue across your sensitive nipple. His hand traveled from cradling your cheek to rubbing small, sloppy circles around your pulsing clit. You keened, overcome with so much pleasure that you felt your entire body trembling against Frank’s.
The bathroom was big enough for your soft moans to echo, and other than the sloshing of the bath water, that was the sound Frank heard as you came apart on top of him. Your head was spinning as the heat in your gut finally found its release, uncoiling in waves of overwhelming pleasure that sent you reeling. 
“That’s it,” he breathed, “Just like that, pretty girl. You’re so good for me, baby.”
His fingers hadn’t stopped circling your clit. You were quickly growing overstimulated and conflicted, wanting nothing more than to keep riding him while also needing to get away from his dexterous and sinful fingers. He watched you for a moment, in awe - the way your lips parted every time a moan slipped out of your mouth, the heaving of your chest as your heart rate tried and failed to return to normal, the intense trembling of your limbs every time he circled your clit. He wasn’t worthy. He knew that. He didn’t care. He’d take care of you for as long as you’d let him, and he’d enjoy every second of it.
“F-Frankie,” you stuttered in between heaving breaths, “I can’t- I’m- It’s sensitive.”
“Shh, sh, sh, sh, I know, baby. I know,” he cooed, pressing soft kisses to your collarbone and up your neck, “Can you give me one more, bunny? Be good and give me one more.”
You shuttered against him, resting your forehead against his and breathing out a sultry whine. He continued his onslaught of kisses along your jawline, following the upward curve of your chin until his lips were on yours again. His agile tongue swept into your mouth mid-moan, sending heat into your already molten core.
“Wanna feel you come around me again, baby.” He groaned and tightened his hold around your torso, sweeping his tongue along your bottom lip before capturing your mouth in his again. 
He had brought you to the brink again already. You squeezed around him, earning a rare groan from Frank. The usually stoic and quiet man let out another sinful moan when you arched your back and squeezed again. He was as close as you were to the edge, and God, the tension was palpable. 
Finally, in a moment of pure bliss, he nipped at your bottom lip and let out a soft, barely there whimper, which sent you careening off the edge and into oblivion. You could feel yourself clenching around him as you came, but your head had been sent straight to a euphoric haze. Your heart thundered in your chest as Frank wrapped his arms around your torso and held you tight against his chest, coming inside your sensitive, throbbing pussy. 
You’d both worked yourselves into a haze, high off each other’s touch. The comedown was gentle and warm - soft caresses of each other’s skin, chaste kisses pressed to collarbones and fingertips, thundering heartbeats slowing in unison. The bath water was surprisingly still warm, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle into Frank’s chest with languorous, droopy eyes.
“You okay?” He asked, running his fingers up the length of your spine.
You nodded into his chest, sighing. “I’m perfect.”
“‘m glad.” He responded, kissing your forehead lightly. “‘m sorry you had such a rough week.”
“I’m not.” You giggled, glancing around at the luxurious bathtub you were in. “This place is like a dream.”
He held you tighter against him, resting his chin on your head before responding. 
“You don’t know the half of it, pretty girl.”
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bittencandy · 1 month
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𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔫-𝔈𝔶𝔢𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯
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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.
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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. 
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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." 
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impishjesters · 5 months
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Jax x Reader w/depression/suicidal tendencies
warning(s): mentions of depression/suicidal behavior/tendencies, nothing graphic though, mentions of morbid/dark humor note: it's only mentioned that he has feelings for you, whether romantic or platonic is left up to the reader. A/N: I think this is the fastest I've ever wanted to write for something utterly new to me, usually it takes a while of being into a series or liking a character to wanna write something. This was...less than twelve hours? This was probably the most self-indulgent thing I've written in a while.
Nobody was safe from Jax’s pranks, including you—regardless of how much he found himself gradually enjoying your company.
It’s actually a right of passage at this point that every new person (as rare as it is) who shows up is subjected to some awful prank to gauge just how much of an easy or difficult target they’ll be.
You handle the pranks with ease. Sure it can be annoying, but there’s little that can seemingly “kill” you here.
Which is a shame really—well, only slightly.
Your therapist would’ve probably found it a good thing, trying to off yourself in a digital world where sleeping and eating were no longer required likely meant the inability to die.
Not in a traditional sense anyway.
You’re the only one ballsy enough to prank Jax back, which isn’t easy but when a prank is successful? Oh, it’s worth it to see his reaction.
There’s an unspoken prank war back and forth, but typically the other’s are the subject of your guys’ pranks. Somehow it feels more rewarding with the joint effort.
It's not often, but sometimes Jax's pranks will go a step too far and trigger something unpleasant. He's not really sure why you just walk off like that, those pranks don't make him feel as satisfied for whatever reason.
Once a special type of friendship grows between the two of you, the pranks lessen—not entirely though—nah he loves the unsuspecting reactions of a prank you didn’t see coming.
The pranks become less hostile and more casual—he’s got a reputation to keep after all, regardless of how he feels about you.
The initial reaction to someone being told there was no way out was to panic, you however, didn’t..well not outright. Your initial reaction is dark humor—even with the whole censorship thing.
Ragatha is the only one initially disturbed/worried over your dark sense of humor, which should be expected from one of them since they’ve been there longer.
Jax is aware of your morbid sense of humor and often plays along with it, especially in the beginning—later in the friendship though? Yeah, there’s no noticeable physical change, but he’s only a tad worried.
When not tormenting the other’s Jax stuck with you, or vice versa.
After the attempted drowning and standing (willingly) in harm’s way of one (or three) of the rides, Jax keeps your bedroom key closer in hand than the others.
And honestly? Ragatha doesn’t even blame him. You aren’t distant from them, but you do tend to favour Jax’s company. Regardless of her feelings about him as a person, it becomes obvious that he feels something less hostile towards you compared to them.
It takes a while before you finally confess to Jax that prior to being trapped in this digital hell, you were medicated for depression/suicidal tendencies. And while the digital world took away things like needing sleep and food, it didn’t get rid of the thoughts or urges.
Now—had this been someone else telling him all this? He’d be very uncaring and probably make a nasty “joke”, but because it’s you? He’s treading into foreign territory here when it comes to emotions.
There’s not really anything he can say that would make you feel better, but he does show a more rare tender side, offering to be there whenever you need him. Just to backpedal like a tsundere and say that he won’t always be free ( a lie, the fuck else does he have to do?), but he’ll try and make time for you during those moments.
He doesn’t do some pinky promise bullshit, I mean he can and would, but he doesn’t expect his offer and attempts to do that much (words of promise aren’t on the same level as a prescription drug after all).
But if being around his rude ass self and doing the occasional nice *gag* gestures of like, hugging or whatever helps you, he’ll do it—just, not with others around obviously. Again, man has a reputation.
From then on Jax is more aware of where you are around him at all times, not in a suffocating way though. Well, not intentionally, he has his moments. But he’s trying, again this is new territory for him.
Jax makes it his unspoken, personal goal to make sure you don’t tread the line of becoming abstracted.
Bonus (fluff)
Jax will make an attempt not to immediately recoil from your touch when others are present.
I’m not talking “Whoops, sorry to bump into you”, I’m talking about grabbing onto his arm or being in his personal bubble because you need something grounding or whatever.
More often than none his immediate reaction is to just use you to lean on, elbow or arm resting on top of your head to give you some contact and pressure. (He does it out of habit even when you don't need it.)
Sure he probably looks like an ass to others, but after a while, they sort of just get used to it since you never bring up being offended by the act.
But in private? Yeah, sure shoot, just don’t expect him to put any effort into returning anything. Maybe the drape of an arm or his legs, but if it’s really bad? He’ll lay or sit there while you cling to him like a koala.
Jax actually finds it kinda funny how tightly you hold on whenever he gets up.
“Wow, you really holdin’ on there.”
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Squint And You'll See It
Summary: Sirius and his potions partner are trying to brew Polyjuice Potion for class, and he can't seem to figure out why she won't wear her glasses.
Notes: Sirius Black x shy!reader. All fluff, really. This is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. I'm weirdly self-conscious about the sounds I make, how loud they are, if they could annoy/distract people, etc. so I wrote this just to comfort myself about it lol. I ended up using Y/N a bunch because using too many pronouns in a row makes my brain bristle so oh well. Still though, this is the sweetest thing I think I've ever written. Enjoy! <3
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Y/N squinted up at the blackboard as Slughorn collected the class’s attention once again, and Sirius just about melted. The all-too-familiar scrunch in her nose and the crease between her brows gave him more comfort than he probably should have taken from her struggles to see the properties of Chinese Chomping Cabbage from so far back in the classroom. After an especially rapid flurry of blinking, she scribbled a couple notes on her parchment before fisting her knuckles in her eyes tiredly.
Sirius nudged her gently. As if it wasn’t already, the honey-doe eyes she gave him had his heart overflowing with a plush fondness. 
“Your glasses, love,” he whispered, nodding to her book bag, which hung off of the back of her chair. Y/N looked at it, then blinked twice. The glasses were a new and quite helpful development—one she hadn’t quite gotten into the habit of using yet. She eyed the bag again.
“I’m alright,” she whispered back and returned to her notes. 
Sirius frowned. “You sure?”
She nodded, giving him a light smile. 
Sirius frowned slightly but returned to his notes when Slughorn chided him for having his eyes elsewhere. But how could he be blamed? Only a madman would rather learn about ingredients than watch her. 
For a surprisingly long while, Sirius managed to stay focused on his notes, sometimes copying Remus’s, who sat on his right side, and only occasionally sneaking glances at Y/N, who sat on his left. After what felt like an eternity, Slughorn finally let the pair work on their Polyjuice Potion at a work table in the far back of the classroom. Sirius had come down with a nasty case of spattergroit several weeks previous and missed a week and a half of the brewing process. Unfortunately, Y/N had missed several days herself due to a family matter (now resolved with nothing to worry about, she had assured Sirius countless times), ending in the complete devastation of their original Polyjuice batch. And so, Y/N, unwilling to take a bad mark, and Sirius, ready to do just about anything to keep spending time with her, decided to make another batch. 
“Do you want to gather the ingredients or shall I?” she asked as Sirius scooted his stool closer to hers (to better reach the cauldron, of course).
“I can get the ingredients,” he said, flashing what he hoped was his most charming smile, and she blushed.
“Alright, I’ll, erm … I’ll work out our next instructions …” Sirius nodded as Y/N fell into her reading, smiling to himself as her brows furrowed once again to scan the page. 
Sirius skirted the classroom towards ingredient shelves, passing by James, Peter, and Remus, who all raised their brows at him with smirks. He simply rolled his eyes, rummaging through the shelves until he had gathered the correct ingredients. But when he turned around, ready to make his way back to Y/N and their Polyjuice Potion, he was met with a horrible sight: Remus, holding a tight-lipped frown in a near-futile attempt to ward off a smile, Peter, doubled over with laughing cramps, and James, turned around in his chair and arms wrapped around himself, raking them up and down his back in a sultry fashion as he pretended to make out with someone. 
With a peeved sigh, Sirius chucked a bundle of knotgrass at James, seed pods bursting and small nettle-like seeds clinging to James's hair. Of course, the three burst into peals of raucous laughter. Sirius groaned, and quickly made his way back to the back work table as Slughorn chastised the rest of them.
“Sirius, are you alright? You’re looking a bit … erm, warm.”
Sirius’s ears burned even hotter, and his eyes flew to examine the grout between the floor tiles.
“Yeah, yeah, ‘m perfect, lovie.” He set down his armful of glass jars and clay bowls, trying desperately to change the subject. “Found what we’ve got to do yet?”
“Mhm,” she hummed. “Just here, it says we must add three bits of boomslang skin—”
“Got that here.”
“—crush the bicorn horn and add that—”
“Got that as well.”
“—and then there are some cooking instructions, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“Sounds good to me, love.” Sirius smiled warmly. 
The two worked in harmony, Y/N checking and double-checking that she was measuring everything correctly and Sirius adding the ingredients once she had prepared them. The two worked in sweet, warm peace, managing only one easily-averted disaster, all while keeping quiet as Slughorn continued to teach the rest of the class. There was a strange sort of domesticity to it that made Sirius’s heart skip beats, and he imagined himself with Y/N in their future home, huddled around a cauldron and brewing something to keep them warm on a Siberian night—
“How long should it be at a high temperature again?” Sirius asked, forcing himself from his daydreaming and adding the crushed bicorn horn.
“Erm …” Y/N’s nose practically brushed the page with how closely she peered at the instructions. With the smallest sound of annoyance Sirius had ever heard, her head moved to allow her eyes to travel along the far wall, where a dozen or so posters displayed recipes for a variety of potions. She sighed lightly, squinting heard and pushing herself on tiptoe (as if it would help).
“Use your glasses, love,” Sirius suggested but was quickly brushed off.
“‘M fine, really,” Y/N murmured, eyes still squinting. 
“Sweetheart,” the word caught Y/N’s attention, and she fell back onto her heels, eyes barely meeting Sirius’s before drilling into the bubbling cauldron, “you’ll give yourself a migraine. Use your glasses.” Y/N glanced uneasily from Sirius to her bag on the back of her chair and back. Sirius’s brows furrowed. “What is it, love?”
Y/N shook her head. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”
“Then … wear your glasses,” Sirius reasoned, and she let out a little huff. “Why don’t you want to wear them, lovie?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to wear them, it’s just …” Sirius watched her with soft, almost concerned eyes.
Y/N sighed, pushing herself onto the stool with knees pressed together. The thought was silly, but she had known Sirius long enough to know he wasn’t going to let this go. 
“The buckle on the bag, it’s …” Sirius’s knee knocked gently against hers. “It’s loud—it clatters about when I open it. Catches people’s attention. And my glasses are in the bag, so if I open the bag, people will stare, and then people stare at me when I have my glasses on anyway—not that I’m not grateful for the glasses! They’re a great help for seeing the board during cl—”
Sirius couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, and he almost felt bad at the pout Y/N dealt in return. “First of all, love, people stare at you and your glasses because you look fucking divine when you wear them. I should know.” He brushed her arm playfully with his, and she flushed a brilliant shade of red-pink. “And second, no one thinks anything about your loud bag buckles, I promise.”
Y/N rolled her eyes. “I just—I don't want to disrupt them is all …” 
Sirius chuckled again, but still, Y/N didn't make a move for her bag. It took only a moment and a half of contemplation before Sirius burst into the most fake-sounding fit of coughs ever created in the history of this Earth. Nearly the entire class turned to stare at him as he seemingly hacked up a lung, and he hung himself dramatically off of the table’s edge to play it up just that little bit more. 
“Mr. Black, are you quite alright?” Professor Slughorn asked, eyes slightly wide with concern.
“Y-yes, Pro—” Sirius coughed a dozen more times, discretely winking at Y/N, who seemed to get the point and quietly retrieved her glasses from her bag. Not a soul noticed.
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inkyycapp · 4 months
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| rayman, ramon & raymesis x reader.
| relationship hcs.
personal song of choice: in my room, by insane clown posse.
i've seen so many rayman edits to this song, it now has him written alll over it. fuuuuuuckkkkkkk. do i write smut? (probably). just take this for now.
| tw:: foul language, raymesis/j, my own hcs, self indulgence, (heavy?)angst, they're all struggling, this is not proof read.
[ a/n:: we need more rayman. i'm still new to writing fanfics(aside my horrid watpad {i forgot how to spell it} phase.) forgive my errors and i hopefully plan to write more of him. he haunts my nightmares(lovingly). i'm ill rn, and wrote most of this in a sleep deprived craze for more rayman. first time writing these characters-- forgive me. ]
(soh/game)rayman.
i feel like he'd be the type to randomly pinch you especially when he feels like he's being ignored, or when you're 'busy'.
he always does it when you least expect it. sitting on the couch, scrolling on your phone/reading a book? pinch. getting something to drink? pinch. stargazing? pinch.
loves the little reactions he gets from you. giggles over it. i bet he kicks his feet too.
definitely the type to swipe food from your plate when you're not looking, then gaslight you about it.
you're missing a potato wedge? nuh-uh. you're crazy. how dare you assume that your handsome, loving, amazing boyfriend would ever steal from you. the betrayal...(he did it.)
i like to think he enjoys hand kisses. random thought, but i dunno. i think he'd like to kiss your palms as a source of reassurance, and of course receiving the same affection back would probably give him a heart attack. in a good way of course.
or when you're a bit stressed in public and hold onto the back of his hoodie. like slightly holding onto the fabric where it's almost unnoticeable. probably the cutest thing you could ever do in his eyes. (that or giving him a lil kiss.)
silly things aside, he stuggles a lot. his failures that haunt him day in and out, he's scared to know how long it takes before he fails you too.
simple mistakes can lead to him getting stressed or overwhelmed as he doesn't leave any room for his 'failures', even with something so simple as accidentally knocking something over, breaking stuff, etc... he truly believes that you are one mistake away from leaving him.
he tries to be forgiving of all things with consideration of course, but often times it backfires. he has a naïve view that everyone can, and will change. he wants to believe that they will change for the better, even if the person chooses not to change, or to change for the worse. he blames himself when things go south because of that, he wants to give someone a second chance, but sometimes do they really deserve it? he tells himself he should know better by now, and it was all nothing but wishful thinking. very forgiving for others, but the rules don't apply to himself.
be patient with him, and reassure him whenever you get the chance. he really needs it.
his sleep schedule is the most horrendous schedule you will have ever seen. it's teetering between a full on coma, or staying awake for days on end. he loves taking naps, but sometimes he just can't-- he has work to do. remind him breaks are necessary. force him to sleep when he needs it. for his naps(comas), i don't know. cry? if there's one thing that'll wake him up is the sound of you in distress.
rayman is a sucker for pet names. he will be a puddle of goo in you're hands.
you're in another room, and he's just lounging about. the next moment you're calling for him, needing his help with something? he's right there. like right behind you.
lives for simplicity. babe, baby, sweetheart, honey, hun/hon. consider whatever you need done. he's so whipped for you.
he's also pretty good with pda. again, the pinching. public, private, it doesn't matter. that cute little pout on you're face is something he'd kill for.
personally, i prefer the earlier games personality traits as opposed to (i believe)origins. i do enjoy the childish behavior, however i do believe his immaturity does have a limit. (living for soh!rayman.)
definitely the type to crack the funniest jokes at the worst times imaginable. it's his secret talent.
that, and hitting you with a one liner when you're both faced with a terrible situation. except that one liner is just so good-- you have to at least give him credit for that.
huge soft spot for sentimental gifts. always putting them somehwere safe, and when enough time passes, he likes to go over each and every one. reminiscing about all the little things.
raymesis.
[middle child energy.]
'a hot tempered psycho who's looking to destroy rayman's reputation'. not my words-- it's the wiki's.
with canonical anger issues under his belt(?), he's a bit more brash than the other two. when realizing he may like you, he may turn against you in almost violent ways. but, he hesistates everytime. always missing by a hair.
it takes him a while before he'd able to ever consider that maybe being vulnerable is okay-- just this once.
suprisingly a tad bit cautious of 'being nicer' to you, but he's trying his best.
raymesis is a thing-a-majig with a serious identity crisis.
i like to think that the some of the 4-5 vers. of the evil clones of rayman are just him having multiple 'phases'. it's fun to think of.
on a more serious note: he often feels like he's nothing but a lesser-- a shadow of the heroic rayman. maybe he looks up to him in a way, and finds jealousy in how he can just...keep going. how he's able to be so open, and forgive other so easily despite their past transgressions. he finds it unfair: why is it so difficult for him, but so easy for rayman. he's a clone of him, sure an evil clone, but a clone nonetheless. that's where the deep, dark spiral comes in.
linking to that he struggles to be nice, vulnerable, or open with you. he's supposed to be an evil clone of some heroic figure, and yet he's falling over himself because of you. in his own way, he gets extremely upset-- it pisses him off. he tries to be mean to you, but he can't bring himself to do so. he's supposed to be a 'bad person', but hurting you makes him seem like more of a monster than a villain.
this will all take time for him to process, the best thing you can do is be patient, listen to him rant, and just try and be there for him.
you have definitely mellowed him out, just a bit. he's still an asshole to rayman/j.
they're more like bickering siblings who never get along.
do not expect 'family(?)' dinners to go well.
i feel like mr.dark and the nymphs have serious beef with eachother. wwe smack downs every 'family(?)' dinner. always bet on the nymphs.
wouldn't it be cute for the nymphs to treat raymesis like their son too? just adopting him one day without him knowing? scolding him for lighting that one house down the street on fire?
raymesis doesn't like christmas trees.
there seems to be a reoccurring joke in the descriptions that claim raymesis is 'ugly' despite the fact he's a near clone of rayman. this always leaves him in a puddle of confusion with his confidence always shot. please tell him he's pretty once in a while-- he won't accept the compliment, but he'll think about it for days.
he's not used to praise, and can't take compliments. poor buddy.
he definitely bites. a lot.
of course he's a little more careful with you, he still bites now and again. i feel like he's an agressive lover. wanting to squeeze the life out of things he finds 'cute' without ever admitting it.
he has a purple tongue. that's kinda cool. i like to think he probably has a tongue piercing too? i feel like he's the type.
definitely plenty of pent up feelings that he has a hard time expressing.
but pda? oh yeah. lives for it. his hands always has to be on you in one way or another. get's all agitated, and sulks when you pull you're hand away from his to pick something up, or to rummage through your bag. how dare you-- you owe a huge apology.
pet names; babe/baby, sweetheart, creature, mine, stupid/idiot(lovingly). he's very silly with these.
he has a hard time believing you'd ever choose him compared to the hero, rayman. with time maybe he'll learn you love him, and choose him because he's your first choice.
(superiority complex.)
he may not be the best person, but he's at least willing to learn to be better in his own way.
ramon.
can we all agree on the amount of trust issues this man has right about now? good.
after the betrayal with eden whether you've been in his life for years or not, he finds it hard to put everything out in front. it'll take him some time to rebuild trust after what eden did. and no, him needing to rebuild the trust has nothing to do with you! (i mean that in a good way.) you did nothing wrong(unless you did) in his eyes but, he used to believe eden was his everything. and with that, eden took everything. he worries that with time they'll take you too.
give him reassurance, quality time, the whole mile. remind him you're not going anywhere.
while cuddling in bed(couch, etc) probably the type to refuse to let you go to the bathroom because he doesn't want to let you go.
honestly, very romantic.
he loves fruit, and chocolate covered fruit too.
will buy you some, but steals a few pieces when you're not looking. he's sneaky like that.
also known that he likes sushi, but i feel like he probably has beef with the conveyer belt things. probably a bad experience, or he's mad at it for no reason.
i think he likes habatchi. it's very entertaining.
he's the type to tell the most outrageous stories out of the blue. he's the absolute king of 'i used to know a friend'.
probably kept up with everyone's drama as the news host. stays awake at night thinking about it sometimes.
y'know when someone tells you a joke and you don't get it at first? this is him figuring out what they meant at like 2:30 am.
another terrible sleep schedule. like absolutely horrendous.
he probably has nightmares about his time as a news host. thinking of the lies he used to spread. how much each one impacted someone elses life.
wakes up in a cold sweat. ends up focusing on you're calm breathing, and tries to match it. eventually falls asleep, not before firmly pulling you close to him. even when you wake up, you'll never escape his grasp.
on an alternative route, if you did wake up, he's extremely apologetic. tries to usher you back to sleep. now you're both awake munching on some food watching some shitty trash tv, criticizing why she choose james over percy.
he's not keen on pda. he worries for you're life. it's already a risk for you to be with him-- what if eden sees?
pet names too, but more casual with them behind closed doors. definitely married-couple-core. sweetheart, brat when he's being a pain, or play fighting. hon/hun, baby when he's literally attached to you're hip.
has frequent chronic migraine. enjoys just burying his face into you're stomache and just laying there while you're doing whatever your doing. like a cat.
enjoys the comfortable silence between you two, but small conversation is just as nice.
has guns. you broke a lamp. doesn't let you touch no more./j
he actually prefers you have a gun on your person at all times, even in the comfort of home. you'll never know what could happen when you can't protect yourself.
| the end.
[a/n: sorry it's a little short, but this is my first time writing for these three. addiction is strong, don't do rayman kids.]
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dokoni-mo · 1 year
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Warm Water || William Afton x GN! Reader
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summary: you find yourself exausted, but he knows just what to do.
mostly SFW // Fluff
word count : 3773
warnings: age-gap relationship (reader is 20, Will is almost 40), dom/sub undertones, secret relationship, will is obsessive but not as much in this one, fluff, kisses, non-sexual nudity, cuddling, Willy has scars, pet names, exhaustion, hickeys, swearing, Will likes being called sir i just know it, cuddling, non-sexual intimacy, not very proofread, also just laregly a lot of rambling adfjafk idk im so tired, very very slight sexual themes so minors dni
a/n: i'm tagging my normal people for Crave (aka the peepaw chronicles) for this because it does take place in the same universe, but i'll leave it up to interpretation on whether or not you deem it cannon to the story (so im sorry if you didn't want to be tagged!!),, this is probably the most-self indulgent thing i've ever written so please bear with me,, i'm just very tired from school LMAOO and wanted to write smth more fluffy with willy and his lil bun
~~~
William Afton fucking hated baths. He hated a lot of things, but baths were probably towards the top of the list.
Even thinking about them made his skin crawl. Just the thought of sitting there, in your own dirt and grime? In a stuffy, humid room next to where the toilet is? Disgusting. He didn't consider himself to be a germaphobe, no. That wasn't it at all. He worked with children on a Monday-through-Friday basis. He wasn't scared of germs or getting sick. He'd built up quite the immune system over the years of working at the diner.
He just found the notion of sitting there like a big, sweaty dumpling inside of a soup comprised of water and your own dirt, sweat, and germs revolting.
But you liked them. You liked them a lot.
It was one of the few things William didn't quite understand about you. How could you like something so gross? You had explained your reasoning to him before when he had first found out. Something about how the warmth all around you was comforting, as well as the various different soaps and scents you could use to spruce it up. But, try as you might to explain it, he still didn't understand. Couldn't a shower do the same thing? Without you having to sit in your own filth?
Whatever. He wasn't going to argue with you about it. His bunny enjoyed many strange things, but he wasn't going to take any enjoyment away from them just because he didn't understand. He loved you. He'd never do such a thing.
As out-of-character as it was for him, he found himself buying more bath-related things to secretly store away in his bathroom. For when you came over, of course. You seemed to appreciate it when he gave the array of soaps and other liquids to you, giving him a nice kiss on the cheek. As much as he didn't understand your reasoning, your little smile was all he cared about at the end of the day. He could tolerate your conflicting views. That's what love is all about, isn't it?
William didn't share too many disagreements with you. Not as much as he initially expected when he first made you his. You were soulmates, after all. It's only natural you share similar perspectives.
It was both a blessing and a curse, however. As much as William liked how similar you were, there was a few things he wished he kept for himself and himself only. Such as the work-ethic the two of you shared.
The older man was somewhat of a workaholic. While he reserved the weekends for you and only you, he was much different during the week. He would spend extra hours at the diner frequently. And, when he wasn't at his restaurant, he was tinkering away at some side-project down in his cellar. It wasn't very healthy, but it's how he liked to do things. Gave him character, but also made his hair turn grey.
You liked his grey hairs, though. And he was still handsome with it.
But, his bunny was the same way. You being in college, you had a lot of work to do. Sometimes so much that you'd have to bring your assignments over to his house on the weekends and do them there, even though the two of you agreed long ago that the weekends were couple time. You were a driven little thing. William could see it when he got to watch you work, in the pain in your lower back and shoulders, and in the dark circles under your precious eyes when you fell asleep next to him.
Poor bunny. He didn't want you to work so hard. It hurt his heart seeing you so stressed all the time. Your schooling is important, yes, but you mustn't be so hard on yourself. You're a clever little rabbit. You don't need to devote so much of your time on work, surely not.
Besides, sometimes, William couldn't help but feel a little jealous when all your attention was on your books and papers rather than him.
This was one of those times.
With the turn of the seasons, your professors had also swamped you with several different tests and assignments to turn in sooner rather than later. You never really liked to complain about it to William, he found, but he could tell that the pressure was weighing on you. This had been the third weekend in a row that you had brought your coursework over to his house, your nose buried in the pages; your eyes on the words rather than him.
William kept you company while you worked to have himself nearby, but he couldn't help but be a little peeved. The weekends were sir and bunny's time. Not boring old college.
The brit was watching your back as you scribbled away in your notebook, sitting on the floor in front of him with his coffee table used as your make-shift desk. You had been at it since the moment you finished the breakfast he made you this morning, and now the Utah sun was just starting to creep below the horizon. Worry was in the older man's grey eyes. When was the last time he saw you stand up? Or even scurry yourself to the bathroom? Or get a drink of water? He couldn't remember. And that wasn't good.
He was a patient man, yes, and did value a college education. But William was tired of waiting for you. He barely gets to see his adorable bunny during the week. He'd rather spend this time with you curled up in his bed, closer to him on his lap, or just talking to you. But you hadn't said a word in hours. Even though you were right in front of him, he missed his bunny. And the amount you were working was getting a little ridiculous for his tastes.
"Love?" He asked you through the silence, gently reaching out a hand and rubbing circles into your back, "Are you almost done? It's getting late, little one."
He watched as you looked over your shoulder towards him, but not enough to have your full attention. You seemed just a tad annoyed with him, but he understood. When you were concentrated, you didn't much like him disturbing you.
But he didn't much like not having you in his arms right now.
"Umm..." you breathed, "I dunno, Will. I have, like... two chapters left? To take notes on? So just a little longer, okay?"
The older man felt his jaw clench, "You said that three hours ago, bunny."
"I know, I just... I need to get this done before the deadline. I'm sorry."
"And when exactly is all this due then, hm?"
"Uh... friday?"
"It's Saturday, love."
"I know, I know, just... Just gimme one more hour. Then I promise I'll be done."
William let out a sigh. You had said that three hours ago, too.
The brit watched as you went back to scribbling away in your notebook, finding himself more annoyed. Not at you, of course, but by the situation. You didn't need to work this hard, no. You were William's bunny, after all. You shouldn't ever need to lift a finger around him. But, you were a workaholic just like he was. You liked doing things yourself
He loved and hated you for it.
His fingertips still on your back, William felt his other hand reach up to smooth your hair away from your face. Even though he didn't get a direct shot of you, he could tell that you were tired. He could see the dark circles under your eyes from his spot on the couch, and the slight redness that had crept into them. Hell, your back must be aching too from sitting on the ground for so long. And didn't your pretty little head hurt? Surely it did.
Sweet bunny. You needed a break. You needed to be done for the day. Plain and simple.
Reaching forward, William pressed a few soft, warm kisses to the side of your cheek and hair as he took your pencil away from you, laying it on the table. When you turned around at him to protest, he seized the opportunity to capture your lips into his, lingering on your sweet taste for perhaps longer than he should have. He pulled back and brought his hands close, cradling your jaw a few inches away from his face.
"I think you've done far enough for today, little one." He said to you, using his thumbs to caress your cheeks, "Wouldn't you agree?"
He could feel your cheeks heat slightly under his touch, "Will, if I finish today, I'll have time to visit your office during the week. So I really need to finish."
William let out a chuckle. He always did like having you in his office. It was cute you were thinking of him.
"But you're here now, my love." He said, "And I want you now."
"I... I want you too, but-"
William shushed you before you could continue, leaning in and giving you another sweet, long kiss.
The brit pulled away, looking into your tired eyes again, "You work far too hard, bunny. You'll burn yourself out. And I want my little rabbit to be happy, yeah?"
You nodded in response.
"Of course I do. And I'd hope you'd want the same for yourself, yes?"
You nodded again, "Yes... sir."
William's soft smile widened as he let out a pleased hum, "Good bunny. Now, why don't we relax a bit, hm? You've definitely earned it, my darling."
He watched as your cheeks heated up some more, your eyes flickering downward, "I... I think I'm gonna be too tired to-"
The brit chuckled, "No, love, no. I'm not talking about that. I was thinking of something a little different for tonight."
"Like what?"
"You still like baths, right bunny?"
"Yeah? Why?"
William couldn't believe he was saying this. But, he knew it'd have to be something special to get you away from your work. Luckily, he knew just what to do. Even if it wrecked his pride just a hair.
"Would you care to join me for one?"
You furrowed your brow in confusion at his words, but a soft smile still remained out of amusement.
"Join you? For a bath?" You asked.
"Yes, love."
You let out a little laugh, "Will, you hate baths. You've made that really clear over these last few months."
William let out a hum, brushing some more hair away from your face, "Yes, I do. But I love you far more than I hate them. And I know they're always relaxing for you, love. And I want to help you do just that. You're tired, bunny. I can see it."
He leaned in and gave you a quick kiss on the forehead.
"Just let me take care of you." He continued, "Like I promised I would. Can you do that for me, love?"
The older man saw how your smile widened at his words, "Fine, fine. Just promise me you're not gonna complain the whole time."
"Of course not, bunny. Now, come here. Let me pick you up, yeah?"
William took you wrapping your arms around his neck as you accepting his invitation. Leaning down a little more, he scooped you up into his arms and held you close, pressing a kiss to your blushy cheek a you giggled as his strength. Your legs wrapped around his waist, he carried you all the way from his living room into his master-bathroom, placing you down so you could sit on the lidded-toilet.
Rolling up his dress-shirt sleeves, William opened up the cabinet under his sink and looked at the vast array of bath materials he had collected for you. He pulled out each one and laid them on the ground, making sure the labels were pointed towards you so that you could read them.
Once all of the products were out, the brit closed the cabinet and took a knee in front of you for you to discuss with him which ones you wanted to use.
"Do you even know what these things are?" You asked, picking up a clear bottle to read it more closely.
"If I'm being honest, love," he said, "I have no idea. The woman at the shop helped me pick a lot of them out."
You giggled again, "Well, this here is a bubble-bath. You put it in the water while it's running and it makes a lot of bubbles. And that baggie is bath salts. It just makes the bath, like... mineral-y."
The older man quirked a brow, "Mineral-y?"
"It's hard to describe! It's just good for your skin."
"I see." William reached down and picked up a pinkish jar, "What about this? It doesn't look like you've used it that much."
"Oh, those are petal-soaps. They look like flower petals but they're actually soap. They dissolve in the water after a while. They make the water smell like roses too! I was saving them for a special occasion."
"Well, is this a special enough occasion?"
"Getting the Mr. Afton into a bath? Hell yeah it is."
William chuckled, "You flatter me, bunny."
You smiled back at him, "The petals and the bubble-bath will be nice. That's what I wanna use."
"If you say so, love."
With your final approval on the products being used, William shifted himself over to his large, porcelain-white bath, reaching in and stopping the drain before turning the hot-water valve on. The sound of the water hitting the dry tub filled the air, the pipes creaking just a tad at the rare usage. While the water poured down, the brit used the opportunity to pour in some of the bubble bath liquid. William then let the water run for a few minutes more, leaving his fingertips under the water until it warmed up.
"Is this too hot for you, bunny?" He asked. You reached forward past the older man to feel the water.
"Nah, it's good. I like it to be real warm."
"Perfect. Wait here then."
Shaking the water off his hand, William stood up from his kneeling position over to one of the longer, taller cabinets nearby. Reaching inside, he pulled out a few of his favorite soft, lush purplish-grey towels, walking back over and handing one to you.
"Here, love." He said, "So you don't freeze to death before the bath fills up."
You took the towel with a soft thank you as you stood up from your seat on the toilet. You turned away from the brit as you pulled your shirt off over your head, his eyes fixated on your bare back as he unbuttoned his dress shirt. As you slipped off your pants and underwear, William could see the ghosts of former hickeys he had given you past weekends on your shoulders and thighs. You were a good bunny and didn't try and cover them up with any makeup or anything, just like he wanted. The more recent ones were fading, though.
He'd have to fix that soon.
He continued to watch as you kicked all your clothes into a pile by the foot of the bath and wrapped the towel around you. Your nude body no longer available for him to see, he went back to removing his own clothes.
Once they were all off, and neatly folded on the edge of his sink, William wrapped his towel around his lower half and stepped closer to you. You were watching the water fill up and he snaked his long, scarred arms around your middle, pulling you close to his chest. He could feel how you smiled as he pressed his kisses into your hair.
"I love you, bunny." He mumbled against you, feeling your little hands glide over the scars on his forearms as you leaned back against him.
"I love you too, Will." you responded.
He continued his assault of kisses onto your cheek and jaw, "Are you feeling any better, my love?"
"Definitely. I didn't even realize how tired I was."
William let out a hum as his kisses found your neck, "You have been working for almost 12 full hours, bunny."
"Oh my god, really?"
"Mhm."
You let out a groan, "Oh my god, that's so embarrassing. I'm sorry, Will. I didn't even realize. You must've been so bored."
"Don't apologize, little one. I know how much your Uni means to you."
"Yeah, but still... I feel bad. I don't want you to be bored. And we only get to see each other on weekends. It doesn't help I already pissed half of it away."
"It's not your job to entertain me, love. You know just having you here is enough."
"But I don't wanna be just enough. I wanna be like... better. Because you do so much for me. I... I feel like I don't try hard enough sometimes. And I'm sorry."
William let out a sympathetic hum and he lifted your chin up to him, giving your lips a sweet, reassuring peck.
"Everything about you is perfect, bunny. I wouldn't change one thing about you. You try more than you realize."
"How?"
"Well, you did say you were working so late because you wanted to see me in my office, yeah?"
"Yeah..."
"And why is that?"
"Because I know you like it when I do."
William gave you another kiss, "See?"
You smiled at your own silliness, standing on your tip-toes to kiss him one last time, "Fine, fine. You win."
William smiled to match your own, "You worry too much, bunny. I understand what's going on in that pretty head of yours. I love you, and nothing's going to ever change that."
"What if I was ugly?"
"You're not ugly, love."
"But what if I was?"
"I'd still love you."
"What if, like, I only spoke in rhymes or something?"
"It'd be... odd, but I'd still love you."
You giggled, "What if I burned down the diner?"
"Well... you know, I never really liked it much. You'd honestly be doing me a favor, love. So I'd probably love you even more."
"Should I go do it then?"
"Maybe later, bunny. Looks like our bath is full."
Giving you one last kiss on your cheek, William padded over to the running faucet and turned off the valve. In his peripheral, he saw you grab the can of the fake petals and open it up, grabbing a fistful and throwing the small soaps on top of the bubbles. The reddish-pink hue contrasted greatly over the white bubbles and water, making the bath look rather pretty. William was impressed.
William allowed himself to step into the bath first, unwrapping his lower half, folding and placing the towel on the ground nearby. The bubbles dispersing around him, William made sure that water was still a good temperature for you before he sat down in the bath. Once situated, he held out his hand for you.
Placing your soft, small palm in his, you let your towel drop to the floor as you got in the bath yourself. Using his hand as a balance, you sunk your legs in beneath the bubbles as you sat down in the water as well. William spread his bare legs apart beneath the water to make room for you, holding onto your waist and guiding you to lean back against him. You followed his silent order, your bare back against his scarred chest as you rested your head on his strong shoulder. The man pressed a few kisses to your hair as he wrapped his arms around you beneath the water. You relaxed against him easily, and your eyes fluttered shut at the warm feeling around you.
"Is it too hot, bunny?" He asked you, already knowing what you would say, but still wanting to make sure.
"It's perfect, Will." You mumbled, "Thank you."
The brit felt himself smile, "There's no need to thank me, little one. I'm just happy I got you to myself now."
You breathed out a laugh, "Didn't like third-wheeling my textbook, hm?"
"Not at all." He pressed another kiss to your cheek, "You're mine. I should never be the third wheel."
"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to."
"I know. It's alright. Just relax, bunny."
Leaning down to press more kisses into the back of your neck, William lifted up his wet hands out of the water, making a splash echo through the bathroom. Steadily, he grabbed onto your shoulders and rubbed firm, massaging circles into your back with his thumbs and the heels of his palms. You shut your eyes tighter at the feeling, a few low groans escaping the back of your throat.
"Feel good?" He asked. All you could do was nod as he chuckled, "Good. I'm glad. Your muscles are quite firm, love. You shouldn't be sitting on the floor like that for so long."
"If I got on the couch," you said, "I knew you wouldn't let me get off it again and back to work."
William laughed, "You know me far too well, bunny."
"You're just very predictable sometimes."
"Oh? Am I now?"
You nodded again, "Only sometimes though. Like today when I woke up, I would've never guessed you'd be in here with me right now."
"I can't say I predicted that either, love."
You breathed out a laugh, "If you don't like it, you don't have to stay, Will."
"No, no." William pressed more kisses to the back of your neck, rubbing deeply into your more firm muscles, "I actually think it's rather nice in here."
"Really? Or are you just trying to not make me feel bad?"
"I mean it, love. It's nice. But, perhaps I'm biased. How could I not enjoy being so close to my precious rabbit, hm?"
Your smile grew as you leaned back against his chest again, making his arms return to their home around your waist. You had scooted down so that your head rested more so on his collarbone, allowing you to look up at him more clearly, and him at you.
"Along with predictable," you said, "You're also really cheesy sometimes."
"Oh, you love it though, don't you bunny?"
"I do." You leaned up and gave the brit a kiss on the jaw, "And I love you too. Thank you for everything tonight, Will. I really appreciate it."
The older man felt his heart swell in his chest as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.
"Anytime, my love. Anytime."
~~~
tags: @guinea-pig16 @the-official-memester @randomwriteralan @mrsrogerwaters @laylaaftonshit @cherry-slushee @insert-memical-username @mrssafton @horrorking2000 @artist-anon08 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @jamiethenerdymonster @kimyona-san @purplewolfcoffee @violetlmfaoo
apologies to any blogs tumblr wont let me tag!! as well as anyone who didn't want to be tagged (pls let me know if you don't want to be tagged in all Willy works :)) )
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demigod-of-the-agni · 9 months
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PLEASSEEE TELL US ABOUT YOUR MYTHIC MUMBATTAN AU PLEASE PLEASEE
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>:) very well, my people (currently screaming because i wrote a response but i accidentally CTRL+Zd everything out of existence lmao)
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The Mythic Mumbattan AU is me pouring the following ingredients into an explosive mess:
Hindu mythology and Indian culture overload
college!Spider-Man shenanigans
revamping the original Spider-Man: India plotlines and expanding the lore
character studies!!! my favourite :)
a potential and self-indulgent crossover with another indian superhero (if we ever get there)
the horrors.
Pavitr and his personal cast!!! just!!!! THEY!!!!!!
(keep reading if you want more goodies >:D)
So the CoffeeBean is a coffeeshop that existed in the mainstream Marvel universe and in real life but that's another thing; the cast below frequently drop by to hang out with one another. The Mumbattan-equivalent of the CoffeeBean is actually the TeaHouse which is another real life thing but shh and so in-universe they're called the TeaHouse gang, but in my heart they'll always be the CBG 😌
Everyone goes to Brihanmumbai State University (BSU). Lots of crazy things happen here. Pavitr's relationship with the others is always in flux but ultimately they're super close with one another (fuck it, they might as well be poly). Their personalities I try to keep as close as I can to the mainstream universe E616 comics, but I'm being creative and letting a few things from the SMI comics and ATSV influence them:
Pavitr Prabhakar — Tamilar (Tamil); he has the charm and skills from his ATSV counterpart and the smarts from his SMI counterpart; he can be a bit of a jerk and a flake, but he tries to be a good friend, and is much more open than he was in high school.
Meera Jain — Kannadiga (Kannada); basically how I've written her in tibim: everyone's first impression of her is that she's carefree and seems to not worry too much about life. She secretly deals with a lot of self-doubt and personal fears, but the gang's presence is enough for her to push them aside.
Gayatri Singh — Gujarati (Gujarati); she's probably the most quiet of the gang, but undeniably the kindest. She's more similar to Pavitr, in that she's stubborn and quick to judge. She's the glue of the gang and always willing to extend a hand to others
Hari Oberoi — Maharashtrian (Gujarati/Marathi/Hindi); the son of the man who tried to bring literal hell to earth, but other than that he's okay. He's a people-pleaser despite having everything, and struggles with his own self-image and who he should become
Ekansh "Flash" Travasso — Goan (Marathi); the high school jock who's grown more understanding and compassionate. He knew Pavitr the longest, so they have quite an interesting collection of interactions. (ALSO I'M SO SORRY I WROTE THOMPSON IN THE ART POST INSTEAD OF TRAVASSO 😭 maybe i should go back and edit that)
Spider-Man is Spider-Man'ing. Mumbattan loves him (sort of. Inspector Singh has mixed feelings). But another question: why is that every where Spider-Man goes the demons of yore all start showing up and begin wrecking havoc? Why is that? I am taking the magic in Spider-Man: India and dialing it up to five million — horrors and magic of every kind! I can get my hands real dirty and /really/ push Pavitr to his limit >:)
That is all for now. There will be more characters, but they'll show up in time. Lots of stories too, all old and new and revamped and crazy, but they'll be told when they're ready. Perhaps this is enough to satiate everyone's hunger? (unless you want to know something else, then by all means go ahead and ask!!!)
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munsonownsmyass · 1 year
Text
Loving You Easy
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Frank Castle x reader
Warnings: Oh, well... Plus size reader, insecurities, kissing. SMUT! oral (f receiving), fingering, bodyworhsip, praise, Frank saying 'Good girl' is a warning in itself, unprotected sex (wrap it up irl tho), creampie, cockwarming if you squint. And a little surprise.
Notes: So... Besides that little cameo in my Billy fic, I've never written for Frank. First full fic for him. Have I nailed his character? Probably not, but I still like what I made. Please be gentle.
And yes... This was super self-indulgent, I'm so sorry 🤣
This is part of the Thirsty for Cox april challenge, where we had to choose a song as inspo for our fic. My song was Loving You Easy by Zach Brown Band.
Words: 3.2 K
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It’s the day most girls dream about their whole lives. The day they will go through countless of bad dates and the wrong men for, just to find the one guy that completes them. The one guy she can’t imagine living without.
This was that day. Dressed in white, looking more beautiful than ever. The wedding dress so beautiful it brings tears to your mother’s eyes. The hair and makeup flawless accompanied by a smile that would make even the darkest days brighter.
Unfortunately, this was not your day, but your sisters. While you were stuck somewhere between horrible dates and unfulfilling one-night stands, Jessie had found the love of her life. Matt was perfect. Lawyer, devilishly handsome and so kind and thoughtful.
And you were happy for them, you really were. But you could feel that little pang of jealousy, wishing you could have the same one day. And honestly, you didn’t even care about the big wedding and the whole ‘feeling like a princess’ thing. You just wanted someone to love and who would love you in return.
Sighing heavily, you adjust your dress one more time, looking into the mirror. Not even maid of honor, but that’s okay. Behind you the rest of the bridal party is giggling and having a great time worshipping the bride. Leaving silently, without them noticing, you walk outside to get some air.
“Need a drink?” A gruff voice asks, and you look up into a pair of brown eyes. The guy gives you a sideways smile, holding out his beer.
“What makes you think I’ll share a beer with a stranger?” You question, taking in his features. Dark brown hair, dark stubbles along his chiseled jaw and very kissable lips. Very handsome and definitely the type of guy you’d hit on at a bar. Of course, followed by a rejection, because a guy like that would certainly have someone.
“I’m following you down the aisle in 15 minutes, so we’re hardly strangers, princess.” He smiles, retracting the beer and take a sip, looking out over the beautifully decorated backyard of your parents’ country estate.
“I take it you’re Frank then?” You smile, stepping closer to him. Your eyes meet and he offers the beer once more and this time you take a sip of it.
“Yep. Frank Castle.” He extends his hand, and you shake it, giving him your name in return. For a while you just sit there, passing the bottle back and forth while making small talk, until your mother comes looking for you.
“Oh, Mushy, there you are.” She checks your makeup, visibly frustrated and takes the beer from your hands. “Would it kill you to act a little more ladylike, at least until after the reception?” Your mom walks back in, shouting for you to get ready. Frank gets on his feet, getting ready to go in with you.
“’Mushy?’ That’s not the most flattering nickname, I’ve heard.”
“Ah, well… I’m the chubby black sheep of the family.” You shrug, trying to seem unaffected even though you hate the nickname. Jessie had always been the pretty and skinny one, a real pageant queen kinda beauty, where you were not.
“Those are the best kind of people.” Frank winks at you with a soft smile, before you are both called inside.
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The party is at full swing, and everyone is having a great time. Foggy have just given his best man speech, laughing with Matt and Karen, Jessie and the other girls are dancing, while you hide in the corner with a beer. In a glass of course, your mother almost giving you the evil eye when you tried drinking out of the bottle.
“Hiding from your mother?” Frank asks, stopping in front of you. You just nod, patting the chair beside you.
“Yeah, she can be scary.” You laugh as he sits down. Raising your bottle in a silent toast, you both take a drink of your beers. “I’m also hiding from my uncle. He always asks me to dance.”
“You don’t like to dance?” Frank asks with a soft smile.
“No one wants to see this-” you gesture towards your body, “twirl around the dancefloor.” You try to laugh it off, but by Frank’s expression you know he’s not buying it. He’s seeing right through you. He stands up, extending his hand to you.
“Come on, princess. Dance with me.”
“Frank, I…”
“One dance, that’s all I’m askin’.” He doesn’t remove his hand, just steps a little closer, insisting for you to take it.
You’re trying to come up with a polite way to turn him down, when it dawns on you. Here’s a gorgeous man willing to dance with you and you wanna say no? Are you crazy? Just when you take his hand, the band starts playing one of your favorite songs. Leading you out onto the floor, Frank takes a hold of you, swaying you softly to the music.
You make loving you easy
You make loving you all I wanna do
Every little smile, every little touch
Reminds me just how much it all makes
Loving you easy
As Frank swings you out and pull you back in, making you giggle, you notice how your sister is watching you. Hell, a lot of them are. This is why you don’t dance, unwanted attention. But still, you got to admit there’s one upside to it. Frank’s eyes looking into yours, his hand on your waist.
“Everyone is staring.” You whisper, looking to the side where your sister is whispering something to Matt, who only smiles.
“Probably ‘cause you look beautiful.” He muses, giving you another one of his cheeky smiles. Damn, is it even legal to be so handsome? You’re about to make a rebuttal, when Frank speaks. “And I mean it.”
Without warning, he dips you down towards the floor, making you squeal, probably drawing the attention of people around you. But you really don’t care, only focused on Frank.
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Bursting through the door to your childhood bedroom, Franks lips never leave yours as his hands run down your body, caressing your soft curves. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re gorgeous.”
“You’re drunk.” You giggle softly, kissing him passionately. He pins you against the wall, grinding his hard length against your heated core. You reach out for him, idle fingers unbuttoning his shirt. In a frenzy of hungry kisses and touches, your dress and his suit is soon spread all over the floor as you fall onto the bed with Frank on top of you.
Frank kisses his way down your body, licking and nipping at your sensitive skin. When he reaches between your thighs, he places soft kisses before diving in like a man starved. You gasp at the first contact, the feeling of his tongue making you shiver. But he slows down, wanting to take his time with you.
Slowly, he adds a finger, then another, stretching you open. Expertly he licks up your folds and sucking on your clit, leaving you a whimpering mess beneath him. “You taste amazing, princess. Making such pretty noises for me.”
“Fuck… Frank…” His name is barely a whisper, but it’s enough. Frank devours you like a man possessed. He finds that sweet spot in you that makes you see stars. With his name on your lips, you come.
More. You want more. “Please, Frank. Please fuck me.” You beg him, body writhing under his touch, your need for him strong, overwhelming.
On his way up you body, he makes sure to kiss every inch of skin, caress every curve. “So fucking gorgeous.” He mutters under his breath, placing another soft kiss between your breasts before he once again claims your lips.
His cock is at your entrance, begging to enter. He pushes in slowly, making you gasp as his thick length stretch you open. His eyes find yours so he can see your face twist in pleasure as he pushes deeper. As he bottoms out, you both pant in unison, his forehead against yours.
“You feel so good, sweetheart. Shit…” He rolls his hips a few times, fucking you slowly. You whimper softly, wanting nothing more than for him to move faster, harder. You don’t even care who might hear you, lost in the feeling of him, wanting more.
Franks is so lost in you, not wanting this to end. He kisses you hungrily before he snaps his hips harder. As you close your eyes in pleasure, he looks at you. How your face twists in pleasure, how your body move under him with every thrust. You’re so fucking beautiful, and he wants nothing more than to stay like this for hours. Wanting nothing more than to hear you moan his name over and over.
All day you’ve been talking and all day he’s been thinking how your smile was the prettiest he’s seen in a long time and how he wish you could see the beauty in yourself that he could see. He’d only known you for a few hours, but he already knew he’d want more than just today. He’s been burying his feeling for such a long time, but you make him want to live again.
He can feel himself getting closer, so lost in how good you feel, how good you make him feel. He pulls your leg up, pushing deeper, hitting your sweet spot over and over. “I’m close. Please cum for me, baby.” He drives his cock deeper and harder, reveling in the way you moan. “Be a good girl for me and cum.”
His words wash over you, the praise pushing you over the edge. You scream out in pleasure, digging your nails into Franks shoulder. It’s only a few more thrusts before Frank comes, pushing in deep as he empties himself in you.
Frank puts his forehead to yours, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from your highs. You kiss him deeply, holding him close. You can already feel yourself wanting to see Frank again, but you wont get your hopes up. A guy like that is probably swarmed by women, many prettier than you.
You look away, hating your intrusive thoughts. As if he can read your mind, Frank cups your cheek, looking deeply into your eyes as he kiss you passionately. “That was something else, sweetheart.”
“Something good, I hope.” You bite back with a grin, making Frank smile. That damned smile. Fuck, he is a gorgeous man.
“Very good.” He smirks, kissing you softly before pulling out gently. After he helps you clean up, he surprises you by staying. He had his own room, but he lays down beside you, pulling you into his nook. You talk for a bit, about nothing important really, but it’s still one of the best nights of your life.
-
When you open your eyes, the sun is so bright it almost hurts. Or maybe it was just your head. You really shouldn’t have drunk all those beers with Frank. Your memory flashes back to the two of you, sitting outside in your parents gazebo with a ton of beers between you, listening to each other’s stories.
You look to the side and your heart drops. The other side of the bed is empty, Frank nowhere to be found. Even his clothes are gone from the floor. So, yet another one-night stand then. You’re starting to get too predicable, and you hate it. With a heavy sigh, you start to get dressed, getting ready for breakfast. There’s a soft knock on your door and you reluctantly open.
To your surprise, you find Frank outside the door, dressed in new clothes and looking ravishing. “Wanted to pick you up for breakfast.”
“Oh, I thought…” You begin, but stop yourself.
“That was I was just gonna up and leave?” He shakes his head, leaning against the doorframe. “That ain’t my style, princess.”
You smile in surprise, walking out the door to follow him downstairs. Many of the guests have stayed over and the venue from last night had been turned into a breakfast buffet. Your parents had spared no expense for this wedding.
“Look, ‘bout last night, I-” Frank begins, but you stop him with a soft hand on his arm. Ever since your dance last night, you had feared this was too good to be true and when he kissed you after a few dances and too many beers, you knew it was probably only the alcohol talking. So it was better for you to stop him, than to be stung by his rejection.
“Frank, you don’t have to say anything. I’ve already heard it all. ‘It was fun, but let’s keep it to one night’, ‘You are cute, but I’m just not ready for a relationship’ or ’It’s not you, it’s me’. It’s okay, I get it.” You put on a fake smile, willing yourself to look into his eyes. “I’m not the kind of girl men wanna date.” You turn, just wanting to get away.
“I was gonna ask if you wanted a coffee when we get back to the city.”
You stop, not even sure you heard him right. Did he really, this gorgeous man, want to see you again? For a date? In broad daylight in the city? You look at him and the expression on your face makes him laugh. Suddenly, you’re speechless. “I don’t drink coffee.”
“Beer and pizza then? I know you like beers.” He closes the distance, smiling as he looks into your eyes. And you just nod, smiling wide, already looking forward to your date.
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Two years later
Frank is standing in the kitchen making you breakfast. It had been two years since he met you. The best two years of his life. After Maria and the kids he never thought he could be happy again. Especially with the things he had done, with all the blood he had on his hand and all the lives on his consciousness.
But you had accepted him, accepted every flaw and loved him for the man he was, the man he had been. You never saw all the bad, only saw him. That morning after Matt’s wedding you had chosen him and still to this day, you woke up every morning and still chose him.
Your footsteps sound on the stairs, your sweet yawn filling the air. You had been tired lately, so he just let you sleep in today, wanting to surprise you on your anniversary.
You always complain about how awful you look in the mornings, never believing him when he calls you beautiful. But you are, inside and out, the most beautiful woman. Even with your hair in a messy bun, mouth ajar in a huge yawn as you sit down, his hoodie covering your beautiful curves, he would still say that nothing compares to you.
“Morning, sweetheart.” He says with a smile, pushing your tea over the counter towards you. With a grateful hum, you take a sip of the tea, eyes never leaving him as he continues making breakfast. Putting the utensils down, he fumbles with his phone as walks around the counter and extends his hand to you.
“What?” You ask, but then the music of a familiar song fills the air. Loving you easy, the first song you guys danced to. You don’t even argue, just take his hand and let him swirl you around the kitchen as the pancakes bake on the pan.
As he swings you around the kitchen, you sing along to the song that has become your song. You love mornings like this, thinking life can’t really get any better than this. Frank place soft kisses on your neck, finding that one ticklish spot you have, making you giggle.
But the smell of burned pancake pulls his attention back to the stove, cursing as he throws away the ruined pancakes. With your help, you quickly get the rest of the breakfast ready and fill your plates before sitting down at the table.
“So, what’s our plans today?” You question before taking a bite of your pancakes, moaning over how great they taste.
“Somethin’ that makes you sound like that.” He grins, sipping his coffee as he winks at you. Breaking of a piece of your pancake, you throw it at him.
“Alright, alright.” He huffs, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Dinner at that fancy Italian place, a movie and then back here. I want your wrapped around me all night.”
“That can be arranged.” You grin, biting your bottom lip. He gets up and stops by your side to kiss you, before he walks to a drawer and take out a small gift.
“Here, sweetheart.” He places the gift in front of you and carefully, you start to unwrap it. Inside is a small box. Opening it, you find a small blue dog collar with a shiny little dog tag.
“You said you wanted to expand our little family.” He says softly, pulling his chair closer and sitting down. “We’re going to pick him up tomorrow.”
You throw your arms around him, kissing him hard. You and Frank already had a dog, a beautiful Pitbull rescue named Red (Frank thought he was so clever with that one), but you both loved dogs and knew you wanted more.
“Actually… I was thinking the same thing, when I made your gift.” You say nervously, standing up to get your gift. Frank just laughs, taking the gift from your hands when you return to the table. He tears the paper off, stopping completely when he holds the stick in his hands.
You’ve been so nervous to tell him, so scared of how he would react. You knew losing his kids had been a pain worse than death, not sure if he ever wanted to have a child again.
When he still hasn’t said anything, his eyes still fixed on the positive test, you get anxious. “Frank, please say something.”
Tearing his eyes away from the test, his beautiful brown eyes find yours. You can see the tears threatening to spill. “I… I’m gonna be a dad?”
“Yeah, but… Only if you want to.” You whisper, looking down at your hands fiddling with the hem of your sweatshirt. You feel Franks hands on your face, cupping your cheeks so softly. Bringing your gaze to his, you see the small smile on his face.
“I should have bought a ring instead of a collar.” He laughs, pulling you into a kiss. Wrapping his arms around you, he brings you closer until you sit on his lap. One hand moves from your back onto your belly. Nothing there to feel yet, still the notion makes you warm.
“I love you, Frank.” You kiss him again before snuggling closer to him.
“I love you too, sweetheart.” He whispers into your ear, holding you tight. Things might not always be easy and things were going to change, but one thing that would always remain was your love.
You make loving you easy
you make loving you all I wanna do
Every little smile, every little touch
reminds me just how much it all makes
loving you easy
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TFC girls: @e-dubbc11 @itwasthereaminuteago @realfernmayo @pedrito-friskito @mindidjarin @mattmurdocksscars @saintmurd0ck @idrinkcoffeeandobsess
Tagging: @lucy-sky @darlingshane @boliv-jenta
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commander-rahrah · 4 months
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So do I! I'm glad Astarion is patient with them although he does tease them XD I love the idea of him embroidering little designs whether it's stars, moon, or something else! It sounds adorable 😊 I would definitely adore letting him have the first pick of new clothes! He deserves it & it would help him separate from his past too 🤍 Thank you for sharing your thoughts because I love it so much :)
Here's my idea that I would love to hear your opinion! Just to let you know this is quite self-indulgent XD What if Astarion had five things about what GN!Reader does that frustrate & confuse him (but he's secretly grateful for it)
1. They always make eye contact with him unless there's something that requires their utmost attention
2. They always remember what he said to them like a book he mentioned briefly that he wants to read but can't find so they worked hard to find it for him or they asked if he doesn't mind continuing what he was talking about earlier before there was an interruption
3. They always ask for his consent even if it's something he suggested because they're familiar with forcing themselves to do something they don't like or they're used to being presented with the illusion of choice
4. They always thank him whether it's something like shooting down an enemy while they're too preoccupied or helping them carry some stuff
5. They won't touch him unless it's for his benefits like quickly removing a leaf from his hair that he keeps missing (that's how they know because they noticed his stiff expression & how tense his body is briefly when they did for the first time) or pulling him to safety
What do you think of it? I'm curious :3
Okay, tumblr definitely lost this one -- so sorry about that anon!
I think that with most of these, the biggest thing would be Astarion realizing that you actually are perceiving him. Seeing through any of his careful masks and facades he puts up. A lot of these things are ideas I've been slowly exploring in my fic series as Tav/Astarion's relationship grows, but I can definitely share some little thoughts about them before I post my bigger thoughts in my fic aha!
I would imagine that Tav/reader continuously making eye contact with him might make him nervous at first - he would try to figure out what you were trying to do, if you were trying to throw him off or something. Once he realized it was just because Tav/reader was genuinely interested in what he was saying, listening and watching… his mind might betray him a bit. Why did you focus on him so much? Did you like what you saw? What if you didn't? I think its something he would have to get use to as he let his guard down more and more, and began to trust Tav/reader
I think he would be floored the first time Tav/reader did something like this. If he made some off the cuff comment about wishing he had better reading material, and then the next night there was a little stack of books sitting in his tent. If you did it again, he would maybe ask in a teasing way, but secretly really really wants to know why you're doing this, "What's the big deal? Trying to bribe me?" and being even more confused when Tav/reader shrugs and tell him that they thought of him when they saw it or remembered him bringing it up. This would make him even more confused and probably tell them as such. "You get more puzzling every day."
The always asking for consent thing is actually a scene I already have written for my series Talking to the Moon - but a bit of a snippet of how it will go is essentially him getting exasperated as Tav once again asks "May I?" and he goes "Do you insist on asking that every time?". "Yes, Astarion. Every time." And even if it was his idea, I think Tav/reader would still ask. He might roll his eyes, "Darling, it was my idea." But you would explain that he can always change his mind, that consent given or promises made before can change, that in the moment it could change. That you never want him to feel like that with you, not ever, not again. So yes, you will ask every. single. time.
Gratitude is not something he is used too. His master made demands, not requests. There were no thank yous expressed to him, not ever. I think he would probably mask this one better then any of the others, flipping his hair and replying in his sassy voice that "you owe me" or "yes, I am quite something, aren't I?" But every thank you you gave him, probably healed something inside him
I think that post-confession, Tav/Reader would only ever touch Astarion without permission if it was a matter of safety, like pushing him out of the way of an arrow or for a spell, etc. And before he could say anything, they would start profusely apologizing, not trying to explain it away but then Astarion would shush them, reassuring them that he was alright, "It's okay, I'm fine. We're okay, I promise."
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blackkatmagic · 8 months
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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self-love ❤
Oh geez. Okay, here we go:
1. like a wolf at a live heart
I could not entirely say why, but this is probably my top fic I've ever written in any fandom. The vibes just hit for me, and it was a very self-indulgent burst of playing around with prose that I had a lot of fun with.
2. The Burnt Heart
I just love time loops as a concept, though I'm incredibly picky about reading them. I'm also a sucker for repetition as a narrative device/narrative indicator, so crafting this fic was super satisfying. Also, Alpha is just. such a bastard. I adore him.
3. I have lived with shades so long
Crack treated seriously is the best part of any fandom, imo, and this fic is fully crack in concept, just...played mostly straight. Also everyone is an emotionally constipated idiot. Also also Dooku is a fascinating character to me, and getting to poke him with a stick is highly entertaining.
4. taken kneeling
It's impossible for me to express in words how much I adore Hardcase as a character, and getting to shove him into an emotionally-fraught role as a badass ARC trooper in a grittier, more unsettling version of canon is so fun. Particularly when he's playing in contrast to a much darker and more ruthless Obi-Wan as chaotic neutral-leaning-evil Sith Lord. Just - the frayed hope! The lost dreams! The toll of war on the most resilient and most fragile! I love it.
5. I got trouble in mind
This one is just...fun? I had fun writing it, and I had fun with the characters and how they connected, and I really enjoyed the Sith monsters and their constant interruptions and all the humor that came from that. Just - sometimes you need a stupid sexy romp that puts the characters through lots of angry development before they get nice things, and this is that.
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beelsnack · 4 months
Text
Sweet Nothings - OM Beelzebub and a Diabetic MC
Listen this is one of the most self-indulgent pieces I've ever written and I'm not ashamed of it. There's no way I'm the only diabetic simp in this community lol
This was meant to be part of a bigger series but I got carried away and made it it's own piece. So, sneak peak for future works I guess.
For my non diabetics out there, the thing that the human has on their arm is a CGM - continuous glucose monitor. It's exactly what it sounds like, a little sensor you stick in your arm so you can keep a constant eye on your levels.
-----
“What’s that?”
The human glanced up at Beelzebub from across the table the two of them were sitting at. A new restaurant had just opened up in the heart of the Devildom, and the owner had invited Beel to come on the grand opening day as a PR move. Beel, in turn, had invited the human to come along with him as his date.
“What’s what?” they asked. Beel inclined his head towards where they were holding the back of their phone against their shoulder.
“The thing on your arm.”
“Oh,” the human pulled their phone away and glanced at it. “I’m just checking my blood sugar. This thing is so much better than having to prick my finger all the time.”
Beel looked even more confused. “I don’t understand. Humans have to check their blood?”
“Not all of us,” the human muttered, frowning at their phone. From the angle they had it, Beel couldn’t see exactly what it said, but the screen was a vibrant orange color. “I knew I felt gross. No dessert for me, I guess.”
“Why not?”
“Sugar’s high,” the human shrugged. Now that he thought about it, the human did look a little weak and pale. They reached into the little bag that they always carried with them and pulled out a pen. They uncapped it, spun the little dial on top, and Beel watched in shock as they lifted up their shirt and jabbed the needle into their abdomen.
“You have to give yourself a shot?”
“Five times a day,” they recapped the pen and slipped it back into their bag. “Kind of sucks, but it beats the alternative.”
“What’s the alternative?” Beel asked. He had completely given up on looking at the menu in favor of staring at the human in abject horror.
“Shakiness, going blind, organ failure,” they shrugged again. “Honestly, I try not to think about it too much.”
Beel’s eyes were as wide as the plates that their appetizers had been served on. “So you can’t eat sweets?”
“I can, just not a lot, and I have to be careful,” they shrugged. “Not tonight, though.”
Right then, the waiter returned to take their order, looking anxious. Word had probably spread about Beel’s notorious appetite, but he was also known as a generous tipper, so likely the server didn’t quite know how to feel about this one. About half-way through Beel’s order, the human saw the poor demon roll their wrist to alleviate some pressure.
“...That should be enough, right?” Beel muttered to himself before turning to the human. “Sorry, I ordered without asking if you were ready.”
The color seemed to drain from the server’s face and they hurried flipped over to a new page. The human resisted the urge to laugh.
“I’ll have…” they trailed their finger down the menu and stopped about a third or the way down. “That one, please.”
The server looked relieved and scribbled down the order before dashing off, likely afraid that Beel would tack more on to the order if they stayed around for too long.
“So, wait,” Beel started, looking thoughtful. “Why can’t you have sugar? Are you allergic?”
“...Honestly, not a bad way to put it, but not technically.” the human replied. “So human’s need to eat food to get energy to do things, right?”
Beel nodded.
“So insulin is the hormone that lets the energy from the food get from the blood into the cells. I have a disease called diabetes, which means my body doesn’t make that hormone. They can make it artificially, which is that shot that you just saw me give myself.”
“Where do they get it?” Beel asked, eyeing the server as they walked past them carrying someone else’s order. “Do other humans donate it like blood?”
“Y’know, that is a great question for Google when we get home.”
The server appeared beside them. “Would you like some more water?”
“Oh, yes, thank you,” the human smiled, scooting out of the way so the server could refill their glass. When they turned around to leave, however, Beel called out.
“Excuse me, sir?”
The server flinched before turning around and acknowledging Beel with a very tight smile. “Yes?”
Beel reached over to where he had tucked the dessert menu. “We won’t need this, sorry.”
The human raised their eyebrows. “Beel, you can have dessert.”
Beel shook his head as the server dutifully tucked the menu under their arm and darted back into the kitchen. “It wouldn’t be fair for me to have dessert if you can’t. We’ll just go out for ice cream when you feel better.”
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quinloki · 6 days
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Mini vent feel free to ignore
NGL I've always been proud of my height(178cm/5'10) but damn if trying to read x reader fics isn't difficult... I'm never going to be small or petite and I dunno it's hard. Glad 1P gives me a taste of that with how ridiculously sized some of the guys are
No, I can appreciate those feels.
It's one of those things where I do try to make my readers as neutral as possible, but also like - I have been a full 5'00" since I was 12.
That's 30 years at this height.
There is probably a *lot* of stuff I write that unconsciously marks the reader as Short-SHORT without meaning to, because it's a default perspective for me. Now, granted, when I'm writing Kid, or Crocodile, or Doffy, these are BIG guys. Everyone is going to feel small, an Kid's not just big in a height sense, he's a BIG GUY.
I also avoid describing body types anymore than I have to, but I don't think I could write a specifically fat reader. I mean, *I* am fat, I am most certainly 100% Not Thin, or slender, or athletic in any capacity. But I mean, I'm also flexible, and I might have way more stomach than I'd like, but I can still lift the back end of an empty Prius.
To which, I just mean, fat doesn't equate to someone being fit or not, so even when I write a feisty reader, I don't *mean* to imply they're fit. Or not. I mean to try and leave it open to the reader themselves.
The hardest part of X Readers isn't just trying to make them as close to one-size-fits-all as you can, but also in understanding we all make assumptions on both sides of the equation. Writer and Reader both.
That said, representation is awesome, so I LOVE x reader stories that do get into some description. Black Readers, Fat Readers, [Insert Whatever here] Readers, Readers that are almost practically OCs.
In the end, the author should enjoy writing it, and the reader should enjoy reading it, and that requires a lot of work on both sides. Cause even self-indulgent writing is still a lot of work, and shifting through mountains of fic is also a good bit of work.
But, I do understand your frustration. I've heard a few people struggle with it... You know, I realize this is on anon, but if there's a story I've written that you've really enjoyed, if there's ANYTHING you want to take time to point out to me and say "this really implies smallness because in my experience x,y,z." I can't promise anything, but it wouldn't hurt either.
It'd be good education for me - learning about other people's experiences will always help me be a better writer. I've certainly experienced a lot personally, but I'll still only ever have my own perspective. I can't promise I'll write a specifically-tall-reader story, but it might help me pull my writing into more truly neutral territory so I'm not subconsciously just writing all I know.
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perfinn · 4 months
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the most self indulgent thing i've ever written. this one is for my girls and gays with cracked skin (simon riley x gn!reader)
“I don't like that one,” you say softly as Simon reaches to grab the tube of hand cream for you, scowling as he holds your hands, palm up, carefully in one of his. “It smells bad.”
Simon grumbles, popping open the tube and squeezing a generous dollop onto one of your cracked and dry palms. “It smells clinical, not bad. And you can't use the scented ones, they make it worse.”
You hold back on the urge to pout and whine like a spoiled child, instead holding still and letting him begin working the lotion into your skin. It always gets like this, cracked and dry and borderline painful. Hot water exacerbates it, and Simon’s taken to doing this after every shower for you. He takes better care of your skin than he does his own.
He slows when you wince, murmuring an apology and lifting your hand so he can kiss your knuckles. Simon’s hands are so rough, and could probably do with a similar treatment, but he never lets you worry about him. Always tells you he’s just fine, it's his job to worry about you.
“Should go get a proper treatment for this,” he says, gently working his thumb over a particularly cracked patch between your fingers.
“It's manageable,” you say in a murmur, and he grunts in contrition.
“It's not. Not when you spend an hour after every shower whining about it. Not when you're rushing your showers and I can't even take the time to appreciate you.”
You scoff softly, gently kicking his shin since your hands are out of commission and at his mercy.
“Dirty,” you chastise lightheartedly.
He hums, kissing both your clinical-smelling palms before setting your hands in your lap. “Only for you.”
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