#i adore when people leave their thoughts in the tags and getting this ask made my entire week!! thank you so much!!!!

[peace-hunter]

https://www.tumblr.com/peace-hunter/774219053379239936/baby-op-has-a-favorite-and-is-not-afraid-to-let

OK FIRST OF ALL HOW DARE YOU??! We got baby Orion, look at that bean, so small and cute, but at what cost? The cost of our hearts being shattered….

Now the dramatics are over! The Megatronus doll?! I can hear d-16 seething in jealousy somewhere lmao.

Please tell me I’m not seeing things and Prima pulled out a weapon when he heard the door open?! Ready to defend but not when it was needed most because sentinel is a little bitch.

ZETA BEING ORIONS FAVE?! (It’s so cool you included that because it is part of canon, it’s in the movie novelisation if anyone is curious)

It’s so much more tragic with that piece of info, the way you drew Orion feeling like he’s lost something and having to be snapped out of it 😭 I love your art so much.

It does raise a question though, how old is Orion? Did he age slower or did sentinel do something to was with his ageing?

baby prime orion au

AKJSHDKAHDA THANK YOU I'M GLAD YOU ENJOYED IT!!! and that it seemed to hit the way i wanted it to! it is my mission with this au to make it unbearably cute and painful as fuck <33

that doll... i have plans for that doll.... no spoilers but it will come back...

AND YES THANK YOU FOR NOTICING THAT!! you're the first person i see that points out Prima's reaction to hearing someone come in! he's a little (a lot) overprotective of OP and he's always on guard even when they're deep in the tower where no one but their siblings and some trusted members of the High Guard are allowed to enter. he's also lowkey training OP to keep quiet when he hears someone come into his room and to be cautious of strangers. he doesn't want his baby brother to be scared of the world but he just... wants to keep him safe at all costs. most of the primes think he's being a little paranoid but he Does Not Care. once OP is older and can take care of himself they can talk about his anxiety but until then he's sticking to his guns.

and fun fact! when Sentinel sent his trackers to take custody of Optimus during his coup, it took them just long enough to search his rooms for him to allow the High Guard to send reinforcements and take him away. so. anxiety for the win babeeey⁓

and yeah zeta being OP's favorite is directly taken from the novel! in my mind Prima is OP's primary caretaker with everyone else taking turns to switch out with him, but Zeta being the matrix holder doesn't get the chance to do it as often as everyone else. so him dropping by is a special occasion! and because he doesn't want to ruin the little time he gets with his baby brother with anything, he lowkey spoils Optimus the most. so it's a mix of novelty and over-indulgence that gives him the edge over everyone else 🤭

AND YEAH THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I WAS GOING FOR! in this au OP is looking for the matrix for the good of everyone, he does believe bringing it back is the best thing for their society but deep down he also hopes it will fix the gaping wound in his spark he's been nursing his entire life. and when he sees Zeta Prime's lifeless body he knows the matrix being missing from it should be the thing he should focus on but... it's really not. and he doesn't understand why.

and orion's age is... something i kinda hoped no one would remember to ask about (/▽＼)

jk but for real he's about 52 cycles old. he's definitely older than the rest of the squad for at least a decade! buuuuut as a prime he also does age slower than them. this one is not on sentinel, it's just a him/prime thing. a small part of dee's frustration with orion in this au is because he's under the impression that they're more or less the same age but orion acts much more immaturely than he should, but this is kinda because orion literally doesn't mature at the same rate than he does.

it's not by much but the difference is there and they can feel it even if they don't understand it.

i have a chart in case anyone cares about it akjsdhkja

not my best work but it'll do for now.

so basically OP's mental development is one year for every 2.5 cycles while everyone else's is one per every 1.5. he and dee met when OP was 36 cycles old and Dee was 24 which was the exact moment where their mental development was almost equal, which made them hit off pretty well! but after that it was just a matter of time before dee started leaving Orion behind.

again, it isn't by much but the difference exists and is just one more straw to break the camel's back.

also the poor high guard that stayed behind to keep an eye on Orion was working overtime trying to keep people from wondering why this particular sparkling was growing up so slowly. they faked a bunch of records for him and officially speaking Orion is 47 cycles old, when he's actually 52, but even that only gave them a very limited amount of time before everyone started noticing that Orion was kinda little for his age.

they also did their damn best to keep Orion from entering the mines at the age he was supposed to because there was no fucking way they were letting the equivalent of 12 year old go in there.

they did so much crime and falsification you guys.

as it is OP was still mentally younger than everyone else when they went in, but officially he was almost 5 years older than he should've been. it was the best they could do.

so... yeah!

thank you for asking because i had been postponing doing this for weeks now xD

[strangerthingsfanworkrecs]

I would love to recommend @tomtomslongdong as a *reader* highlight. It is always such a joy to see what they’re reading but also to read whatever comments and tags they leave behind. Let alone to be a writer and receive their feedback. One of the greatest supporters in the fandom, truly if no one else cares for a fic I wrote but they enjoyed it, it’s like the ultimate stamp of approval.

This week, we're highlighting @tomtomslongdong as a commenter! All recs this week will be from her recs.

Tomtom answered some questions about what she does to find fics and to leave great comments under the cut

Why Stranger Things?

I went from casual watcher in anticipation of season 4 coming out to falling in love with all the characters in the space of a few weeks. Friendship, loyalty and messy family dynamics are such a core part of st, which is something I latch onto when I’m watching anything. And maybe.. there were some characters(Eddie) that I grew even more fond of(definitely Eddie). I even remember seeing edits of Eddie at the picnic table but it wasn’t until I had watched that first episode of season 4 that I truly got it. It’s been 84 years but I’m still in love with that man.

What's your favorite ship (platonic or romantic) to read?

I read x reader the most but I adore platonic stobin and I wanna read about them more. Their dynamic is everything to me. Infact Robin with any of the st girls too. I look up this one fanart of robin and Carol Perkins a lot. A LOT.

How do you typically find fics?

At the start I would brave the tags more and I do still do that but genuinely it’s from blogs I like and follow reblogging them. I’ve curated my own little balance of people reading stuff I know I’ll like and also being introduced to fics I might not have even thought of reading before seeing their reactions.

Are there other forms of fanart you enjoy? How do you find them?

Fanart that’s been inspired by fics or concepts, just witnessing one artist inspire another is so joyful. Also when an artists self inserts themselves into their art! It’s seriously one of the coolest things ever. My favourite thing to do is trawling the tags of an eddie blog as I go on a deep dive. I scrape the barnacles off that boat allllll the way back to the start. I find all sorts of fanart and work that maybe I’ve never seen as I didn’t gravitate back to tumblr till later in summer ‘22.

What's your tip for leaving comments on works?

Just tell them how it made you feel man. Scream it at the writers. I’m no good at articulating myself at all but sometimes you read the exact thing you needed to read and all is right with the world. Let them know they’re very much to blame for your emotional state when they post. And who knows those writers might occasionally grace you with the biggest gift of all (more lore on the world they’ve built directly from their mind via an IV drip known as the DMs)

Is there any fanwork that really stood out to you?

hockey!eddie has an iron tight grip on me and if anyone could find the stats on how many times I’ve viewed dr-aculaaa and hearsegrrl art on him, you’d take my phone away

Is there anything we didn't ask that you'd like to add?

Just that it’s wild, there’s this little community in my phone that’s so smart? So talented? And I’ve formed what I hope I can call genuine friendships from this and yet no one in my day to day real life knows I’m just kicking around in here haha! I get to be my weirdo self with my weirdo friends in peace and I think that’s lovely.

[norrisainz33]

New Girl Pt. 2 || GR63

☆ summary: george has a new nonfamous partner who the fans absolutely adore

☆ pairing: george russell x nonfamous!reader

☆ fc & warnings: none

☆ requested: had a few people ask for a part 2 on this one so here it is!!

part 1 here

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

mercedesamgf1 has posted a video

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, georgerussell63, yourbff and 154,234 others

mercedesamgf1: asking george all of your questions ahead of the singapore grand prix!

view all 327 comments

user1: the way his face lights up at the mention of y/n 😭

user2: no the way he respects her privacy is so wholesome

user3: georgie is the whole package i’m sick

user4: admin you are a real one for asking about y/n

mercedesamgf1: 🤭

user5: wait i think he’s hinting about y/n getting social media

user6: omg ur so right he def is

user7: he’s clearly so in love with her i’m so jealous

user8: god i see what you have done for others!!!!!

user9: y/n is just a girl and i love it

georgerussell63 has posted to his story

view all story replies

user8: she’s so pretty what the heck

landonorris: you bringing her to padel or what ?

georgerussell63: how many times are you going to ask to hang out with MY girlfriend

landonorris: dude she’s awesome and i wanna be her friend tf

georgerussell63: she said she’ll come play with us 🙄

lilymhe: GORGEOUS VIEW. i’m taking her out next

georgerussell63: double date?

lilymhe: um no , solo date just me and y/n

user10: boyfriend george is unlike any other

user13: ok lover boy

user14: ahhhh she really is in singapore with you omg

user15: we stan our unbothered and not chronically online queen

georgerussell63 has made a post

liked by mercedesamgf1, landonorris, alex_albon, oscarpiastri, lewishamilton, yourbff, and 564,364 others

georgerussell63: when in singapore!

[tagged: landonorris, alex_albon, ynuser]

view all 665 comments

user12: he’s so fine

user5: 🚨🚨 HE TAGGED Y/N 🚨🚨

user6: LOSING MY MIND OVER THIS

user14: THE QUEEN HAS ARRIVED

mercedesamgf1: obligatory padel post!

landonorris: you forogt to post the part where y/n and i beat you and alex

ynuser: yeah georgie where was the acknowledgement huh?

maxverstappen1: oh i like her already @.georgerussell63

alex_albon: i have no idea what you guys are talking about

georgerussell63: my bad everyone. yes, it’s true - lando and y/n did beat alex and i in padel

alex_albon: @.georgerussell63 noooo why’d you sell us out like that

user16: i wanna take a bite out of his thigh

user23: i hope singapore treats you well george

ynuser has posted to their story

view all story replies

user7: a working gal ok i see you y/n

yourbff: great first story y/n/n

ynuser: thanks bestie ,, just wait till you see my first post

yourbff: i’m glad you’re finally leaving the stone ages and joining us on social media 🤍

ynuser: lmfao you know i hate attention like this

yourbff: then you fell in love with the wrong man 😂😂

ynuser: i did not - he’s perfect!! i just have to get used to it. working on ‘coming out of my shell’ as they say 🫠

yourbff: you and your shy self are perfect the way you are!!

georgerussell63: yes you are doing it right my gorgeous girl

ynuser: thank you 🥹

ynuser: also your fans are quick i never thought id be perceived like this on the internet 🫣

georgerussell63: hahah yeah they are. i’m sorry if it’s overwhelming darling

ynuser: seems it comes with the territory!! alexandra and lily been giving me some tips so don’t worry about me

georgerussell63: glad you have them!! don’t let the fame go to your head 😉

ynuser: HA i am not famous please don’t say that 😭

landonorris: oh some quality content

ynuser: thanks lando

mercedesamgf1: welcome to instagram y/n! looking forward to seeing you in singapore!

ynuser: wow thanks mercedes!

user8: you are so normal and i absolutely love it

user10: you’re giving all us fans hope

ynuser has posted to their story

view all story replies

user10: stop you making bracelets and handing them out was the cutest thing i’ve ever seen

user11: you might be my favorite wag to ever exist ,, what do you mean you made bracelets to trade 😭

georgerussell63: blimey you are so adorable

ynuser: so are you!!

georgerussell63: how did i get so lucky?

ynuser: georgie 🥹 im the lucky one

georgerussell63: i’m definitely the lucky one. you’ve changed my life in the best way possible

ynuser: brb sobbing

yourbff: i’m so jealous of your life girl

ynuser: it might all be a dream idk

yourbff: nooo stop

user27: you being so shy and timid yet still taking the time to hand out bracelets with the girlies is true peoples princess behavior

landonorris: thanks for the bracelet! i think it brought me some luck

ynuser: gotta bring george some luck next 😭

mercedesamgf1: it’s such a pleasure having you in the paddock 🤍

ynuser: thanks for looking after me admin 🤍

user12: thanks for being so sweet to me and my friend this weekend!! never change y/n!!

ynuser has made a post

liked by mercedesamgf1, alexandrasaintmleux, georgerussell63, yourbff, lilymhe, iamrebeccad, and 7,234 others

ynuser: life recently can be summed up in one word.. surreal

view all 321 comments

yourbff: absolutely fire first post tho i should have been in it

ynuser: next one you will be dw

user8: the queen has posted everyone stay calm and collected in this comment section

user11: where is that dress from i’m crying it’s so pretty

ynuser: would you believe me if i said tjmaxx?

user11: truly the most iconic answer you could have ever given

user7: you are the blueprint

georgerussell63: your beauty is surreal

ynuser: george russell you are everything

alexandrasaintmleux: stunning 🤍

ynuser: 🤍

user26: starting a y/n fan club as we speak! like this comment to join

user26: NOT GEORGE LIKING HAHAH

user27: thank you for giving us nonfamous shy girlies hope y/n 😭

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated. have a few works in progress that i’m hoping to get out this week. appreciate all of your support 🫶🏻

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[amdiriel]

lonely

Azriel x fem!Archeron!reader

SUMMARY: Reader, the second Archeron sister, finds herself overwhelmed by the sight of her sisters in their respective happinesses one day. Luckily Azriel stops by her room in time to comfort her.

WARNINGS: feelings of loneliness (real), fluff, Azriel being hot (that’s a given), slight suggestiveness at the end, first time writing

NOTE: hey, i’m diri! been sort of a silent spectator on this tag for a while but then i wrote this and thought hell why not!!

WORDS: 2.5k

main masterlist PART 2

•••

The emptiness of loneliness burned hollowly in my chest, blooming when I entered my room at last, stumbled onto my bed.

Pathetically, I just wanted what my sisters had. I didn't dare show it, but I ached to be held, loved, to love fiercely and be happily, healthily devoted to someone.

I wanted to be touched and adored. I wanted to build a life with someone. To not have to look, wish, hope, or dream about it anymore.

My knees curled up under my chin as I sat there in the nest of my bedding, looking blankly at the wall as the tears came.

I hadn't realized that I had been softly weeping until the knock came to my door. Fuck. I heard his soft, beautiful voice announcing himself, asking to come in.

When I don't reply, frozen in terror that he'll come in and see me in this state, Azriel calls my name again in question. I know he can sense me behind the door, and when I sniff, he calls lowly, "I'm coming in."

Panic sweeps through me as he pushes open the door, eyes falling on me in concern as I wipe at my face. The book he borrowed from me goes from his hand to a side table as he comes to me, forgotten. "Hey. Hey, what's going on?" he asks with the softest tenderness I've ever heard him speak. To know that it was reserved for me makes my chest ache for it even more, and another little sob slips from me. He sits on my bed and reaches for me, hands going to my arms and rubbing up and down.

“I’m sorry,” I croak, shaking my head and trying to draw back and wipe my face. He doesn’t release me.

“No,” he says firmly, squeezing my arms. “No, you’ve done nothing wrong. Let me help you.”

I shake my head again, can’t seem to stop, trying to wave him off. “It’s not something you can help with,” I rasp. “It’s my own shit, I’ll deal with it—“

“Tell me what’s going on.” His tone brooks no argument.

I can’t speak for a long moment, for several long moments. The words are embarrassing, stuck like molasses on my tongue. To say them would be to humiliate myself. But he isn’t relenting. I realize that five hundred years of extracting information from people as spymaster had made him patient in a way I could never outpace.

“It’s just hard,” I finally settle on, not quite processing my own words. “It’s hard seeing them—my sisters, I mean. Sorry, I think I’m just tired, out of it—“ He shakes his head with a squeeze of my arms.

“Stop trying to excuse your feelings. It’s merely how you feel,” he murmurs, watching me carefully. A breath puffs uncomfortably in my chest, but I go on.

“I’ve always made myself content in the fact that something like that didn’t really happen to people like me. I’ve never known why,” I rasp, the color finally rising in my cheeks as I gear up to admit, “But I’m—“ I choke. “I just see them and I feel so lonely.”

His expression shutters and his eyes soften. “Sweetheart,” he whispers, stroking my arms. To hear that word from his lips is already a shock, but knowing it’s directed at me makes me fall apart more.

“I’m not one for self pity, ever,” I get out as another cry raises the pitch of my voice. “I just feel so alone.”

A huff of a sigh leaves Azriel’s lips and he draws me forward. “Come here.”

My breath shudders in my chest as I try not to lose it, try to calm myself as the tears stream hotly down my face. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again. “I feel ridiculous. It just hurts sometimes. Right here.” I rub my chest where the hollow ache is.

He hums and soon I’m in his arms. He gently scoops me onto his lap and tucks my head into the crook of his neck. He’s so warm, so strong, and smells so good that I shudder again and let myself break in his embrace.

His hushing and stroking over my hair lulls me as every bad feeling seeps out of my body. He holds me quietly until my crying ceases, until my shaking stills. Until I am merely breathing tiredly against him.

I could fall asleep like this, could die peacefully here. His hand strokes my hair again. “Feel better?” he asks, his voice a quiet rumble that rumbles in his chest, therefore mine.

I blush profusely at how ridiculous I’m being, but make no move. I nod. I can’t move, can’t look at him. I must be the silliest, most ridiculous woman—female, I correct mentally—at my age that he’s ever seen. He’s centuries old and has a better grip on things than I do. I know he feels bad for me, but any respect he had before must have loosened considerably in the minutes he’s seen me in this state.

As I’m trying to overcome my embarrassment, he strokes my hair softly and begins on a murmur, “I get this way too. I feel it right in my chest, like you said. I have for a long time.” I don’t dare breathe or move. He’s revealing very vulnerable feelings and I fear one move will scare him off. He sighs. “It is difficult—seeing everyone pair off and be happy. Just as difficult to see my brothers as it is for you to see your sisters that way. But you aren’t alone. You’re never alone.”

I sigh, whispering haltingly, “I know. But—it isn’t the same, is it?”

He shakes his head. “It isn’t,” he concedes, “But you shouldn’t doubt that you’ll find that. You’re more than deserving of it.”

A little flutter in my chest, and of all things, a smile blooms on my face. “You are too, Azriel.”

I feel his smile against my hair.

I sigh and draw away even as my body screams in argument, not looking him completely in the eye. “I really am sorry. For—this.” I gesture nonsensically between us, eyeing the wet stain at the collar of his shirt with a small wince. “I really am not usually like this,” I grumble.

His soft chuckle draws my eyes to his face, and I find him looking down at me softly, amusedly. “I know. You’re usually very formidable, self-assured. It was a surprise to see you so…” I raise my brows as he searches for the word, something he usually never has to. “Weighed down,” he settles on.

I don’t know what to say. I settle on a small shrug of my shoulder as I take my sleeve and wipe my face again, sighing as a calm settles over me again.

When I glance back over at him, he’s still observing me quietly. “What?” I croak.

“Nothing,” he says softly with a shrewd yet not unkind look in his eye. “It’s just funny.” I frown, but he continues on before I can interrupt. “You give yourself a private moment to let it out, then you reset. Like nothing happened.”

I feel a heat in my face at the accuracy.

“It’s funny because, well,” he shrugs, “It reminds me of myself.”

I glance warily over him with questioning tilt of my head. “You don’t seem like the type to deal in self-pity. Or crying at all for that matter,” I reply wryly.

His lip curls in amusement, and something hot curls in my stomach at the sight of it. My expression remains carefully composed, as it always is. “I have my moments,” is all he says.

I roll my eyes, shifting on the bed and sniffing. “Cryptic as always too.”

His laugh is quiet yet rumbling, and even though we don’t touch anymore, I feel the sound tumble deliciously through my muscles and bones, all over my body. “There she is,” he practically drawls, mirth lighting his hazel eyes. Cauldron bloody boil me.

Then he softens again. “But know that anytime you feel like this, you don’t need to wait for a private moment to yourself. Come talk to me,” he offers. Tingling warmth blooms in my chest. In my handful of years since turning fae and finding my place in Velaris, he’s been a kind but somewhat infrequent friend due to his busy nature. “What you feel isn’t anything to be ashamed of, and I’d rather you not bottle it all up.”

I eye the impenetrable Spymaster again, brow raised. “Bit of the pot calling the kettle black, aren’t you?”

He laughs in earnest now, and I watch in wonder as it lightens his features. And again that sound—

I’d been careful not to let my foolish mind not delve too deep in daydreaming about the silent, beautiful specter I had met in my house in the human lands those years ago. Everything about the fae then and even now had just seemed so elevated above my little life. And as hard as I worked, as skilled as I had become with my new body and abilities, I still felt like a complete novice, like a schoolgirl amongst grown men and women most days.

So no. I would not be the fool that fell for the male way above her very modest level, not when I knew he’d be too nice about it, and make me feel even more like the fool.

“What are you thinking about?” his voice breaks through my reverie. He’s eyeing me with amusement now, and a hint of fondness.

I force the heat creeping to my cheeks way down within the depths of myself, determined not to make more of a fool of myself than I already have. “Just wondering why you came in here. I wasn’t—“ A blush rises to my cheeks in earnest now. “You couldn’t hear me crying from the hall, could you?”

He shakes his head, hands creeping forward over my bedspread as though to placate me. “No, no. I just came to return the book you let me borrow,” he replies gently, and again my eyes fall to the book he had dropped on the table near my door as he came in to comfort me. Oh. Right. “You were right. I did like it.”

A small smile creeps up on my lips. “Of course I was right.” He chuckles again, and I relish that I can make him do so.

“Will it inflate your ego terribly if I tell you that you have surprisingly good taste?” he drawls. I let out a playfully indignant noise and gently shove his shoulder.

“Says you. You may be quiet, Shadowsinger, but don’t think I haven’t noticed you peacocking more than once,” I toss back. He draws closer with a little grin. Holy fuck.

“Well when I’m as talented as I am, why shouldn’t I?” he purrs, the most Rhys-like I’d ever seen him. I hold onto my composure for dear life.

“Yeah, well, you can take your peacocking and incredible talent off my bed and out of my room,” I retort with a scowl, shooing him as I fight blushing like a schoolgirl. He laughs, but slides smoothly off my bed and stands, hands raised in mock surrender.

I realize then that he had taken me from my depressive state, comforted me until I calmed, then goaded me until I smiled and bantered with him again.

His eyes go from mirthful to soft, and a beat passes where he’s looking down at me still sitting on my bed, and me at him. His lips quirk. “I’m glad you’re alright. Come to me with anything. I mean it,” he reiterates with gentle firmness. I nod my head.

He begins to leave, but I blurt his name and he halts. As soon as he looks at me again, I murmur, “Thank you.” He nods his head once, eyes kind.

I expect him to turn, to leave. But he steps toward me. I still as his hands gently hold the sides of my head, and he drops a single kiss to my hairline. I don’t move or breathe until he leaves the room with one last look at me over his shoulder.

My door snicks shut and a rush of breath leaves my mouth as my hands fly up to my face. My back finds the duvet.

I was fucked.

—

Azriel walks leisurely down the hall from her room back to his once more, musing on the hour that had just passed in her room.

He’d always found the second Archeron sister to be the most interesting female he’d ever met.

Clever, strong, funny. Beautiful, absolutely, in her own way. She was interesting to look at—that counted far more than conventionally beautiful.

The kind of person you don’t let get away.

He’d have to play this carefully. Had he had thoughts these past two-three years about the fact that they were both the remaining unmated ones of their respective sibling units? Yes. But he knew that even as it drew the two of them together in a careful dance around the line, it could also end very poorly if that was the only assumed reason that he wanted her.

Which it wasn’t.

Sometimes he curses that of his brothers, he hadn’t met her first. He could have, should have wooed her. Then, at least he could be enjoying the same felicity his damned brothers were currently enjoying with two of her sisters.

But she’s proving to be a tough one to crack.

It was no matter, he decides. He hadn’t failed to notice at least some attraction on her part. But she brushes off most things with a clever joke, much to his frustration.

Tonight had been a step forward. Even as it had killed him to see her in such a state, he thanked every bit of fate that led him to her room as she had been breaking.

So he could be the one to hold her, put her pieces back together.

He could have held her in his arms, in his lap until the day he died.

But he knew getting her to come back out, to grin and tease him again was more important than his selfish desires. And gods, what a sight she was when she did.

It was no matter, he thinks to himself again. He’d be patient. He’d be the person she’d lean on until he could make her want him. Maybe she’d allow him to touch her in the way he envisioned in his most needy moments in the dark of night. He enters his bedroom and sighs.

Fuck. It might be another one of those nights after all.

•••

NOTE: hey so uhhh if literally anyone cares i’ll make a part 2

[thelostconsultant]

You got me worried

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: You get into a car accident when you're on the phone with Max, who immediately leaves to see you. Charles finds out what's wrong and offers to go with him. Those few days in the hospital change a few of his personal relationships.

warning: accident, serious injuries. (no death.)

note: My Lestappen heart wanted me to write this.

word count: almost 5.3k

“You’re stalling,” you said on the other end of the line, and Max could tell you had that adorable smirk on your face that he loved so much.

But he wasn’t stalling, at least not intentionally. He wanted to answer your question, but he honestly didn’t know what to say, so he decided to take his time to figure out what to tell you. Your mother wasn’t very fond of him, she believed that you made a mistake by dating someone whose job was so dangerous, and she always had this bad feeling about him. When he asked you what it meant, you just shrugged as said not to look for logic in this. So he put his own bad feelings aside and played nice every time they were together somewhere. 

And now? Now you wanted to take her on a trip to New Zealand and asked him to tag along if he didn’t have anything else to do. Well, it was clearly a trap. One, he had no official obligations around New Year’s Eve which you knew perfectly well, and two, he wanted to enter the new year on your side, he wanted to kiss you at midnight, so he had no choice but to follow wherever you were heading. 

Letting out a sigh as he leaned back on his bed in the driver’s room, Max decided to yield, something he was only willing to do because of you. “Fine, I’ll go with you,” he told you, trying to keep his annoyance out of his voice. “But why don’t we invite a friend of hers? This way she would be entertained while we spend some time alone. Come on, you owe me this much.”

It was your turn to remain silent, but it only lasted for a few seconds. “I mean, she’s dating this guy now–”

“Someone’s willing to date her?” Shit, this sentence wasn’t meant to slip out. Clearing his throat, he pinched the bridge of his nose and went, “Sorry, I mean, she didn’t seem like she was ready to date just yet.”

“I get what you mean. I don’t know much about him, maybe this could be the perfect chance to get to know him a little better. And you’re right, he could keep her company while we’re having fun on our own,” you said with a laugh. 

Despite the idea being presented for the first time a few minutes ago, Max was already thinking about this trip as the perfect chance to put his plan into motion. Because he’d been planning to take your relationship to the next level, to start a family with you. And what would be better than a proposal in another country and maybe his not so secret attempt to get you pregnant? It would be great, he knew you would be happy. 

But before he could say anything, he heard scream and a loud noise, one that sounded eerily like cars crashing and glass breaking. “What happened?” There was no answer, and he couldn’t help but sit up with his heart ready to jump out of his ribcage. “Baby, please, say something,” he begged, but there was still no response. 

Then he heard people buzzing in the background, talking loudly, screaming for help, telling someone to call the emergency number. One person who was probably close to your car told someone you weren’t moving, but they also said they couldn’t tell if you were dead. Dead. He wanted to shout, he wanted to cry, he felt like throwing up, but somehow he managed to keep his cool. Panicking wouldn’t solve anything, he had to listen for now. But your car’s multimedia system gave in and ended the call, leaving him there with his fears and thoughts. 

Max tried to call you, but no one answered, so he quickly made a few calls to ensure his jet was available the moment he got to the airport. Because the race was over, he only had one or two interviews left, but he couldn’t care less about those. After throwing his things into his backpack, he hurriedly left his room and looked for the press officer to tell her he was leaving right now. She tried to ask him what was wrong, but he just shook his head and waved goodbye, his eyes fixed on the screen as he typed in the address where your phone was at this moment. 

He found a few posts about a crash there, and one of them had a photo as well. It was your car, he knew that right away, but the sight made his heart clench. The other car t-boned yours on the left side, right where you were sitting, which made him afraid there was no way you could survive that crash. But then he found a post about the drivers being taken to the hospital, so maybe it wasn’t so bad, maybe it was just looking bad. 

Suddenly he bumped into someone, which finally made him look up from the screen of his phone. “Sorry,” he said automatically. 

Charles gave him an unimpressed look, motioning towards his phone. “What’s so interesting?”

“An accident,” he replied, having no idea why he answered the question instead of just leaving him there. This caught the other driver’s interest, because he quickly said goodbye to the person he’d been talking to and moved to his side to look at the screen of the device. “That’s my girlfriend’s car on the right.”

“This looks bad. How is she?” he asked, sounding genuinely worried despite only meeting you once. 

Max gulped and shrugged. “I don’t know. I–I was on the phone with her, then I heard a loud crash and a scream. The call ended and no one’s picking up her phone. I don’t know what’s going on, so I’ll just pack my suitcases and head to the airport to get home as soon as possible,” he said without stopping to take a breath. 

Yes, he was panicking, he was losing his cool, but that was the least of his problems right now. All he could think about was the worst case scenario, the possibility of the doctor not being able to save your life. What would he do then? How could he move on from losing you? How could he live his life without hearing your scream all the time? It was all too much, especially after a frustrating race like the one today.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Charles put a hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes with a serious expression on his face. “Okay, take a deep breath. Are you sure you can drive like this?” For the very first time, he actually considered what he was planning to do, and after a few seconds of thinking, he came to the conclusion that he was definitely not in the right state of mind to drive, so he shook his head. “All right,” the Monegasque began slowly, looking over his shoulder for a moment, “we’ll find someone who can take care of your car, then I’ll give you a ride to the airport. How does that sound?”

It was a long day, Charles had to fight his own battles during the race, mostly with his own team, but there he was, offering to chauffeur him around so he would stay safe. A small, thankful smile crept on his lips as he nodded eventually. Maybe this was for the best, the last thing he wanted was doing something stupid because he was distracted by his fears. 

“Okay. You should get someone to pick you up when you get to Monaco, you shouldn’t drive there either,” Charles told him as they headed back to the Red Bull motorhome.

A desperate laugh left him at this. “Well, she wasn’t there, she was visiting her family, so she’s in a country where the only ones I know are her relatives, and they’re in the hospital with her. But I’ll call a taxi, it’s not a problem,” he explained with a sigh. 

A thoughtful hum from Charles caught his attention as he looked over at him. “Well, in this case I’ll have to drive you around there too,” the other man declared with a kind smile. When Max opened his mouth to tell him it was unnecessary, he just raised his hand to stop him. “I don’t take no for an answer. She’s nice. Hell, it’s easy to tell she has a good influence on you. Now I want to make sure she’s okay too.”

Max could hardly wrap his head around why he offered to help. He surely had better things to do than traveling to a country other than his home, meeting strangers who were the closest to someone he only met once, and providing emotional support to someone he’d been battling with since they were kids. This was beyond him, but he was too afraid to ask for the reason. A little voice in the back of his mind said he was planning something, but then he looked into Charles’s bright eyes and realized he was just being nice. 

They were sitting in the car on the way to the airport when his phone began to ring, and the screen lit up with the name of your mother. Gulping, he swiped his finger and raised the device to his ear. “Hi, Laura, do you know anything about her? Ho–how is she?” he asked, eagerly waiting for the older woman’s reply. 

“I guess you know about the accident then. I’m at the hospital with her. She’s still in surgery and they said it will take a few more hours before they can take her to the ICU. Do you want to come here?”

Did she really ask him if he wanted to be there? After all that time they spent together, after everything they had gone through, she dared to ask him if he wanted to be by her side? Outrageous. “I’m already on my way to the airport, I just need to know which hospital she’s in,” he replied, forcing himself to stay relatively calm. He didn’t want a fight with her, not when they were both in a very fragile state of mind. 

The woman on the other end of the line remained silent for a few seconds, then he heard muffled voices, which was followed by the sound of her clearing her throat. “I’ll send you everything you need to know.”

“Thank you. And if you hear anything, call me. Please.”

“Of course. See you later, Max.”

Once the call ended, he glanced down at his phone and waited until it buzzed again, the notification of a new message showing up. He had a location, although funnily enough, it was sent by your cousin, not your mother. It was a smaller miracle that she called him herself, a part of him expected her to make someone else do this. But at least her dislike for him became obvious once again. 

Charles glanced over at him with a questioning look on his face. “How is she?” he asked, the tone of his voice making it clear that he was walking on eggshells around him.

Max leaned his head against the seat and looked out the window. “Still in surgery, and she will probably be in there for another few hours. Even though she's probably in good hands, I'm not… It's hard to stay positive,” he admitted with a gulp.

“Maybe it will take a while, but she's gonna get better. You need to believe this, otherwise you'll go insane,” the other driver tried, his voice quiet, but confident. 

He was trying to help, and he was right, but his mind was full of thoughts about the worst case scenarios. What if you end up in a coma you don't wake up from? What if there's serious brain damage? What if you can't live the same active life you used to? He knew you would be devastated, and it's not like he would leave you for that, he just didn't know how he could handle it emotionally.

So yeah, he was already going insane. 

“Why are you doing this?” Max asked, voicing the question that had been in the back of his mind for a while now. 

Charles responded with a questioning hum, and despite the pair of sunglasses he wore, it was easy to tell he was watching him with a raised eyebrow. “Why wouldn't I? Look, maybe we're not friends outside the track, but I can imagine how hard this situation must be for you. Just accept the help for once, okay?”

After taking a deep breath, Max nodded. “Thank you.” 

The Monegasque had a smirk on his face when he returned his attention to the road. According to the sat nav, the airport was only five minutes away, so Max unlocked his phone and saw a message from Lando that told him to check X’s trending topics. When he opened the app, he saw his name at the front, and the posts were about some anonymous source leaking information about you being in the hospital. 

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath as he scrolled through the flood of posts. 

“What?”

Looking over at him, Max let out an annoyed groan. “Her accident made it to social media. From what I’ve seen so far was based on a post from someone who either works at the hospital or is a first responder. And someone kept digging until they put the pieces together, so now there’s a photo of the car wreck circling around,” he explained. 

“It’s not that bad. Unless they’re celebrating. Please, tell me they’re not celebrating.”

Max shook his head. “No, it’s not that, but whoever wrote the original post made it clear her life is hanging on a thread. So people are now getting ready for the worst case scenario.”

“Her not surviving this?” Charles guessed as he glanced over at him. When there was a quiet nod in response, he gulped and looked back at the road. “She won’t die. Don’t even think about it. She’s young and strong, and I’m sure she’s a fighter. Okay, we’re here.”

For the first time in a while Max looked up and noticed they had indeed arrived. After getting their suitcases, they got on the jet and sat down to wait for the takeoff. During the flight Charles tried to avert his thoughts by talking about the race and bringing up old memories from their carting days, and Max realized that he had absolutely no idea how he would say thank you for his help. 

For years he assumed their long history of rivalry meant they could never be friends, and their conversations would be nothing but casual chats based on mutual respect. But now he was here, providing the kind of emotional support he so desperately needed. 

Two hours later they entered the hospital building through a big crowd of paparazzi, reporters and fans, trying to navigate through the maze to find where your family was waiting. It took some time, but eventually they found them. Your cousin was the only one who jumped up and ran over to him, her arms sneaking around his body to pull him into a hug as she cried. The poor girl was only sixteen, and despite the age difference you two were the closest, as if you were siblings. His eyes fell on your mother, but she was simply staring ahead with a neutral look in her eyes. 

Charles decided to sit down not far from them, sending a message to his girlfriend so she would know where he was, but Max knew he was paying attention. “Any news?” he asked Sophie, your cousin.

“Yeah, she’s in the ICU, just until they know she’s really stable. She has a badly broken leg, a few broken ribs, one even punctured her lung, and… Yeah, severe concussion, and I think there’s a fracture in her cheek.”

Max gulped as his fingers ran through his hair. “That’s a lot,” he noted, earning a nod. “But she’s relatively okay, right?”

“You can say that,” your mother suddenly spoke up, finally acknowledging him. 

For a few moments they were just staring at each other, and Max was beginning to think she would start blaming him for the accident. Even if she didn’t know about the call they were in at the time, she would sure as hell find a reason to put the blame on him. She always did, whenever you had a bad day, it was surely his fault, even when you weren’t even in the same country.

But to his surprise, that’s not what happened, because she suddenly walked over to him and pulled him into a tight hug. He didn’t even know what to do at first, his eyes were moving back and forth between Sophie and Charles, but they both shrugged to tell him they had no clue what he should do. So he wrapped his arms around her too, soon hearing her crying into his shoulder. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Max,” she said when she took a step back and looked up at him. “I had my doubts, but… Knowing you rushed here after finding out what happened means a lot to me.”

With a sad smile, he nodded. “Where else would I be? I–I don’t know if you knew, but I was on the phone with her when the accident happened. She told me about the trip to New Zealand you’re planning, she was trying to convince me to go with you, and… Would you mind if I tagged along?” he asked, as if he needed her permission. 

But maybe he did. Maybe this hug was the olive branch he’d been hoping to receive one day, the least he could do was make sure she was okay with the plan. And maybe him going with you wasn’t the only thing he should talk to her about, maybe he should mention the most obvious decision he had made during that call. When she said she wouldn’t mind if she joined them, Max took a deep breath, then cleared his throat. 

“There’s something else. I’m planning to propose on New Year’s Eve. A few hours ago I thought your opinion was irrelevant and it’s her decision, but… now I’d like to hear what you have to say. Would you be okay with it?” he asked hesitantly, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another.

Your mother’s lips curled into a smile all of a sudden, then he reached out to take his hand in hers. “I’m sure that would make her really happy. And if she’s happy, I’m happy. You know what? My idiotic ex-husband used our family heirloom, a beautiful engagement ring, to propose. How about giving that to her?”

“Are you sure?” She nodded without hesitation. “Thank you, that would be great.”

Since the doctor said they would tell them when they could go and see you, Max sat down next to Charles and waited there in silence. The other driver glanced up from his phone every now and then, but eventually he had enough of the silence and decided to pay full attention to him. 

“You okay?” 

He honestly didn’t know the answer to this simple question. You were alive, your mother gave him her blessing, what else would he need? Still, he couldn’t get himself to say yes. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. 

Charles nodded as he supportively patted his back. “I’m sure you’ll be better once you see her,” he noted with a small smile. “You heard her mother, the worst part is over, now all she needs is time to recover.”

And that was a problem he had to solve. He knew your mother would be more than happy to help you, he could hire a live-in nurse to take care of you, he could send you to the best rehabilitation facility in Europe, but nothing would make him feel good enough if he couldn’t be there by your side. Because he still had half a season left, he was expected to travel around the world, away from you, and the thought was killing him. 

“Without me,” he eventually said, so quietly that he hoped Charles didn’t catch it.

But he did, and he clearly understood what was bothering him. “I know it’s hard, but she will understand that you can’t be by her side all the time. Once the season’s over, she won’t get rid of you,” he said with a laugh, nudging his side with his elbow. “Come on, let’s get some coffee. We could all use it.”

Max nodded, and as Charles took the orders, he asked Sophie if she would like to come help them. He knew she was a traitor who supported his rival, but she was young and nice, so he chalked it up to teenage stupidity for now. While they waited for the coffees, Charles and Sophie got lost in a conversation that was conveniently in French “so she could practice.” They seemed to get along, and he was glad your cousin had a reason to smile for a while.

This is why he spent this time checking his phone and found a bunch of messages from friends and family, all telling him that they were there if he needed help. Knowing so many people cared about them warmed his heart. It was mostly you, he knew that, your charming personality had everyone wrapped around your finger. This gave him the idea to send a message to his mother and sister, telling them he would propose the moment you were feeling well enough to make a decision. 

A few hours later Charles said goodbye and promised to be back the next day, and soon your family left as well. Your mother wanted to stay, but Max promised to call her if there was anything to know. So he slept on the couch in the waiting room, ignoring the weird look some people gave him the whole evening. A nurse was nice enough to bring him a pillow that made it a bit more bearable, but he wished you could be transferred to a regular room where he could ask for a bed to sleep in next to you. 

In the morning a doctor gently squeezed his shoulder to wake him up, and he groggily rubbed his eyes as he sat up. “Morning, Doctor,” he said, trying hard to fight back a yawn. “Did something happen?”

The man sat down next to him and turned to him with a small smile. “She’s ready to be taken to a normal hospital room. You mentioned to our staff yesterday that you want her to be placed in the VIP section, preferably with an extra bed for you, so we took care of everything. I can walk you there if you’d like,” he offered. 

“Sure, sure, thank you. How is she?”

“A little better. She’s strong, she’s breathing on her own, so I’m confident she’ll pull through. Just be patient,” the doctor replied. 

Once he was in the new room you were being taken to, he sent a text to everyone about your new location, then impatiently waited for your bed to be wheeled in. His foot was tapping fast on the linoleum floor, not stopping until the door opened and a young man stood there with a shocked look on his face. Max raised his hand to say hi, to which the poor man only reacted by going out to continue his work to get you inside. 

A nurse walked in behind him with a kind smile on her lips, then moved her attention back to you as she got you settled in the room. He wanted to go there and take your hand, but he knew he had to wait. He would have time, there was no need to rush, they had to do their job first. You were hooked on machines, your body bandaged all over, and the sight brought tears to his eyes. If he didn’t know you were through the worst part, he would assume you were still between life and death. 

Soon everybody left and he sat on a chair next to your bed, gently taking your hand in his. He had no idea if you could hear him, but he talked to you nonetheless, telling you about him making peace with your mother, about Charles being here with him, about your whole family being here, and about how much he loved you. He even begged you to wake up, to come back to him. 

“Good morning,” came Charles’ voice about an hour later as he walked inside with two cups of coffee, from which he handed one over. “Here, I guess you could use it.”

With a thankful smile, Max took it, then leaned back in the chair and watched as the other man looked down at you with a sigh. “The doctor said she’ll pull through, she just needs to rest,” he told him.

The fellow driver looked up with a smile. “See? I told you.” He sat down on the edge of the other bed and took a sip of his coffee. “Your suitcase is in the back of the car. I didn’t know which hotel you wanted to stay in,” he added.

“Neither. I’m staying with her,” Max was quick to clarify. 

“Yeah, but you need to take a shower, you need to sleep.”

“There’s a bathroom and you’re sitting on my bed. I’ll be fine.”

Charles followed his gaze and let out a tired groan. “She wouldn’t mind if you left for a few hours. Look, why don’t you talk to her mother to take shifts by her side? I’m sure she would understand that you need proper sleep,” he explained, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. 

Silence followed his words, mostly because Max didn’t feel like arguing about this. He was here to stay, by your side, right until he had no choice but to leave for the next race. “If it was Alex, would you leave her side?” he eventually asked. 

“No,” came the response right away. “I probably wouldn’t.” After sipping their drinks in silence, the Monegasque stood up at one point and threw his now empty cup into the trash can, and turned to him. “Okay, I’ll go get your suitcase so you can freshen up before her family arrives. And Laura is bringing us breakfast, so you’d better look presentable by the time she gets here.”

“Laura? Since when are you on first name terms with her?”

The other man laughed and shrugged. “Since I took the time to have a chat with her yesterday. All right, let’s get you cleaned up.”

For the next few days, this is how things went. Charles was always the first to arrive, then he left to get lunch, and stayed until four or five in the afternoon. Max had told him to go home, that he would be fine now, but he didn’t care about this. He said he wanted to be there, at least until you finally woke up so he could tell you that almost dying just to get an emotional reaction out of your boyfriend was an overkill. And maybe he mentioned one day that Alex would stop talking to him for a few days if he left him alone, so he decided to be a good boy. 

One night he was woken by a strange sound coming from you, as if you were trying to speak up. Ever since you were brought in, he became a light sleeper, so he immediately picked up on the change in the atmosphere of the room. He turned on the light above his bed and moved over to you, his hand falling on your face right away, thumb gently brushing your cheek.

“Hey, baby,” he said as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “I’m here. What do you need?”

Your eyes turned to him, immediately locking with his blue ones, as you registered that it was truly him. Your fingers squeezed his hand, the feeling of you being awake making him smile. “Can I… get some… water?” you asked hoarsely. 

He immediately reached out for the glass and filled it from the bottle next to it. He helped to put the end of the straw in your mouth and held the glass for you. “I’m so glad you’re finally awake. You almost got me worried,” he explained. 

“How long…?”

“Five days. How are you? Does anything hurt? Should I get a doctor? I should get a doctor, right? Yeah, you just–” 

He only stopped talking because you gave him a tired look and laced your fingers with his. “Max, relax... It’s fine,” you said weakly. “I need a minute… before you call them.”

You didn’t want to talk, you just wanted to be there with him, holding hands while your brain caught up. But eventually he apologized and left to find a nurse, because he was too afraid that something would go wrong if he waited too long. He needed confirmation that you were okay, that it was safe to let you talk, to touch you, to kiss you. He wanted to know when and what you could eat, when he could bring you your favorite coffee. His brain was in overdrive, but he didn’t mind. 

Not when he finally had you back. 

The next morning he was sitting by your side, having a conversation with you about something trivial. Speaking went well now, the soreness in your throat quickly faded with practice. Sure, you still weren’t a hundred percent, but it was much better than what he heard in the middle of the night. He told you what happened, he told you everything he had mentioned while you were unconscious, and your conversation went so well that he didn’t even notice Charles coming in. 

“You’re awake!” the Monegasque said with a bright smile as he handed the usual cup to Max. “How are you feeling?”

You returned his smile, but when you tried to take a deep breath, you couldn’t help but wince. “My ribs hurt like hell when I breathe or talk too much,” you replied. “Thank you for staying with him.”

Charles looked over at Max, then his eyes returned to you. “I’m staying by his side because I don’t want my girlfriend to kick me out.”

After all those days it was hard to tell if he was serious, or if he was just saying this to hide the fact their relationship did change lately. Max surprised himself, because he wanted to believe it was the latter. His gaze returned to you, choosing to stay out of your conversation for now. 

“Still,” you began, but fell silent when you looked over at your boyfriend. “Why can’t you be like Charles?” He gave you a confused look, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed the other driver’s evergrowing smile. “He gets proper sleep. He shaves. He doesn’t live in a hospital room,” you added with a stern look. 

Shaking his head, Max placed a kiss on your temple. “I’m not leaving you. Don’t even think about it.”

“But she’s right,” Charles told him with a shit-eating grin. 

“Go to hell,” Max told him with a roll of his eyes.

[xomakara]

Second Chance at Love

SUMMARY |  Jongho’s twin daughters really want you to be their new mom ever since you have been taking care of them after their mom passed. They’re trying to play matchmaker between you and Jongho to fall in love, but in actuality, you and Jongho already have feelings for each other.

PAIRINGS | Jongho x Reader

GENRE/CONTENT/WARNINGS |  widow!Jongho, nanny!Reader, singledad!Jongho, dilf!Jongho, lots of fluff, smut, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it ya’ll!), face riding, creampie, impregnation, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names

RATING | Mature, 18+, NSFW

LENGTH | 7134 words

TAGLIST | @yourlocaljonghoe (tagging cuz I know you're waiting for it lol)

NETWORKS |  @illusionnet @atzhouse @cromernet @wonderlandnet

@k-vanity @othersideoutlawsnetwork

AUTHOR’S NOTE |  Hi, hello. Thanks @itsnotmydejavu for all the brainstorming. I really appreciate it! This was more fluffy that I anticipated lol. We really need more dad!teez fics out here~

"Joomi, I think we should make Daddy fall in love."

"With who, Jooeun? Y/N?"

"Yeah! Wouldn't Y/N be a great mommy? She already takes really good care of us! And she's mommy's best friend."

"Mommy would be happy if Y/N was our new mommy."

The two five-year-olds were huddled by the stairway, looking down the hall into the kitchen where you stood by the sink and Jongho cleared the table. After their mom passed away, the twins knew that their dad was struggling to raise them himself, he had no clue what he was doing. When you, their mom's best friend and their favorite person in the whole wide world, moved into the home to help out, they were thrilled.

They knew you had been close to their mom, but seeing how much you care for the three of them just proved to them even more that you are the perfect match to take over the role of their mother. You cook all their favorite meals, you read bedtime stories to them, and you even help them brush their teeth! You loved all three of them very deeply and would do anything for them. The girls admired you and adored your kind heart and the loving smiles you had for their dad and them. The girls noticed the way the two of you looked at each other when you thought no one was looking. Their dad had it bad and Joomi could tell that you did too. But you and their dad always insisted you were 'just friends' and that there was nothing more than that. So, being the bright children they were, Joomi and Jooeun put their minds together to hatch a plan.

If they made you two fall in love, you could get married, and become a family!

Their dad was walking into the kitchen. "How did their snacks go? Were the girls okay?"

You nodded. "Oh, it went wonderfully. The girls were perfectly sweet the entire time."

Jongho exhaled a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry for leaving. I had to stop by a client's office since we are having trouble meeting a deadline for a project that needs to be completed by Friday. If anything were to go wrong or anything would happen..."

You put a hand on his arm, stopping him from rambling. "Everything was fine. Don't stress yourself out, everything's under control here. You just take care of whatever work you need to do."

Jongho nods but hesitantly stops. "I'm...just afraid something will happen. The girls...they've been through enough. I feel bad for asking so much from you, I don't even pay you to take care of them or live in my home or-"

You chuckled. "Hush. No money is necessary to watch over the people I care about. Plus, this is more than a payment. You've given me a place to stay, food, and the company of two adorable girls. Now stop worrying."

The look Jongho gave you after that was too warm and sent butterflies fluttering throughout your body, but it made your cheeks heat up.

Joomi and Jooeun made small noises of "falling in love, falling in love, falling in loveeeee," over and over while they looked over at their dad and you by the stairway. They were careful not to be noticed by either of you and they were patient as they watched.

"Okay...you're right," Jongho breathed out a heavy sigh and you saw the way his shoulders visibly relaxed, his built figure leaning forward and closer to you.

You laughed. "Let's start planning a summer trip, okay? When things are not as busy."

He smiled. "That'd be lovely."

As soon as he said that, you heard the girls giggling by the stairs. "Were they listening to our conversation this whole time...?"

You covered your smile. "Probably."

Jongho scrunched up his nose, laughing to himself. "You know what they're trying to do, right?"

"I mean- they've been playing their games lately..." You let out a small laugh.

You can see Jongho shaking his head from behind you. The two of you walked up the steps, approaching the kids at the top and grabbing them. The girls screech playfully in shock, holding back a snicker at what their next plans could be. Jongho holds both of them in each arm, one girl in each, and you're unable to hold back your laughter at how precious they are. Jongho carries them both off to their bedroom, where he drops them softly on the big bed that the two girls shared. They're laying on their bellies, kicking their feet back and forth like fish, a huge grin plastered across both of their faces.

"I know your tricks, ladies. So do be a little less obvious about trying to play matchmaker." He scolded them playfully, hands on his hips and giving them a pretend serious look.

Joomi snorted, still kicking her little feet. "We've noticed you and Y/N."

"What does that mean?" He chuckled.

Jooeun flipped over, the bedsheets making a small swoosh sound underneath her as she laid down on her back. "You and Y/N have crushes!"

Your eyes widened. You felt yourself redden up. "Oh. Girls! No no no, your daddy and I are just friends. Best friends! Like, soooo best of friends!"

Joomi furrowed her little eyebrows. She glanced back and forth from you to her father. "You and Daddy love each other like mommy did, but don't kiss."

"Or...at least haven't kissed. Yet," Jooeun sang.

You let out a shaky sigh. "Where are they learning these things? Don't go saying things like that, the two of you."

Joomi nodded with a shrug. "Why not? Are you embarrassed?"

You let your gaze wander over to Jongho to look for some support on the matter. But Jongho was flushed and looking everywhere other than at you. It was obvious that this wasn't an easy conversation for either of you to have, much less in front of the twins.

Joomi noticed your actions and she smiled, snapping her head over to her father. "What? Are you embarrassed, Daddy?"

Joomi was giving him the same look she always did when she's trying to convince him to get something for her. With big puppy eyes, a wide smile, her bottom lip out with just a twitch at the end. Her eyebrows wiggle just a little, begging him silently and sweetly. She and her sister knew their father couldn't resist when they pleaded in that certain tone of voice, looking in their sweet little girl ways. They've played their games so many times, so why not try again?

"Joomi..." Jongho sighs, putting his hands on his knees, not being able to escape her large dark brown eyes. "What am I going to do with the two of you?"

The twins only let out tiny laughs, shrugging and hugging each other in the bed as Jongho stood. The girls love him very much and are grateful they have such a good father, despite their circumstances. Jongho leaves the room and you stay in the room with them, sitting on the bed, wanting to get to the bottom of where the girls' idea of a crush came from.

"Who told you about what a crush is?" you asked the girls after they sat themselves on the bed and changed into their PJ's.

"Uncle San!" Jooeun squeaks as the top half of her head peeks out of her PJ top.

You internally facepalmed, thinking about how Jongho's older cousin, San, was whispering conspiratorially with the girls after they asked him questions about life in a school filled with friends, crushes and parties.

"We thought you and Daddy liked each other," Jooeun had confessed innocently.

"Do you hate Daddy?" Joomi frowned, getting teary-eyed as her head pokes through the collar. "Do you hate us? Are you going to leave?"

You give her a hug, cupping her face with your hands and giving a sweet, reassuring smile. "No, no, no, sweetheart. Not at all, it's just complicated. Please don't say those things again, okay?"

It hurt, seeing the disappointed looks in their eyes and on their pouty lips, but you tried not to show it on your own face.

"Promise?" Jooeun had pleaded.

You took in a shaky breath. "Of course. Come now, time to get to sleep."

You helped the little ones into their beds, tucking the blankets around them and reading from a fairytale book as the light to their night-light flickered from the wall outlet. They slowly drifted off to sleep and you shut the bedroom door with a gentle click behind you. With a sigh, you approached the master suite across the hall and opened the door quietly, catching sight of Jongho flopped stomach-down on the mattress, buried with a duvet as you chuckled at the sight.

You clicked the bedroom door shut as you entered, stepping over to him. "The kids are asleep," you announced softly, moving to sit on the side of the bed and leaned over, poking his shoulder blade.

With a quiet huff, he rolled over, his face and shoulders now facing you. His fluffy hair lay flat over his eyes and a low sigh passed through his nose as his eyes shifted to meet yours, eyelids drooped.

A smirk found its way to the corners of his mouth. "Those two will be the death of me."

"You know we'll have to tell them about us eventually if they keep it up with their shenanigans," you warned him, laying yourself overtop of him.

"I was thinking of ways to approach the subject with the girls in my head just now." he revealed to you, reaching his arms around you. "I'm nervous that I don't know what they're really thinking or feeling."

Your hands came up and framed Jongho's cheeks. "Oh, Jongho...those girls are too smart. They even asked San about what crushes are.”

"San? Why'd they ask him?"

"That's not the point." you whispered, running your thumb across his soft cheek. "Do you think we should sit down with them? Explain?"

"Explain what? That their daddy and their nanny are secretly in love with one another because they can't stop sneaking kisses in secret places of the home?"

"Shut up." you said with a playful nudge at his chest.

"But you admit those kisses are nice." Jongho says as he sits up, dragging you onto his lap, the blanket sliding down his toned chest as his arms remain around you.

"Extremely," you confirmed, wrapping your arms around his neck as you feel the hands on your waist move to cup the underside of your thighs, adjusting the way you're positioned on him.

"Hey." Jongho brushed his nose with yours as a whisper against your lips.

"Hello," you replied with a giggle, already finding his mouth and leaning in with the full intent of kissing him again.

"Would you be happy with a widowed, single dad?" He continued to stroke the back of your leg with his fingers. "What it be wrong for me and the girls to be happy again?"

The tips of your thumbs draw little circles on the back of his neck. "Nothing is wrong with that, Jongho... I think Eunmi would be happy if you and the girls were finally able to move on and be happy."

"What if that happiness was with you? With us?" he asked, pressing his forehead against yours and rubbing his hands up and down your sides and you gently rub his back with your fingers.

You lean into the embrace and inhale, closing your eyes for a moment, then pulling away. "When Eunmi told me her last words to take care of you and the girls... I think maybe that was her way of telling me that it was okay for us to be happy. It's not like we're strangers. Not like we haven't been together before."

You and Jongho had known each other for years, and at one point, the both of you dated back in high school for a year or two but broke off your relationship for various reasons. You met Eunmi in college and ended up staying good friends with her throughout the rest of the years. And when you found out that Eunmi and Jongho started dating and eventually got married, you couldn't have been more pleased for the two of them.

You were never jealous that Eunmi and Jongho were together. Never jealous when they got married or when you helped Eunmi with the twins' birth. 

Never once.

Because you loved them dearly and you wanted them to be happy together.

When Eunmi fell sick and lost her fight with the sickness that plagued her body and spirit, she pleaded for Jongho to promise her to live his happiest life possible, and that meant starting a family all over again. Because she couldn't anymore. She couldn't raise their kids, or start over as husband and wife with Jongho, so the least she could ask for was for him and the girls to be happy. When you visited her in her final days in the hospital, she grabbed your hand and asked you a favor.

"If you love Jongho and want him to live a fulfilling and happy life... then please, look after him for me when I'm gone," she had begged with tears in her eyes. "You know how to take care of our girls, and if Jongho were with you and the girls are happy with you, I know he would be more at ease. With more help, with love...and if somehow the both of you were to fall in love all over again with one another...don't leave him, okay? Take care of him...take care of the three of them...love them, make them happy...my family is your family now."

That was over a little more than a year ago, and Jongho, although still hurt over his past love's untimely loss, was healing. So were Joomi and Jooeun. That was proven by the fact that Jongho was finally starting to love again, albeit slowly, after a while. The twins were right. They knew that he was happy when he was around you, just like he knew the twins were happier when you were around, just as their mother, Eunmi, knew the same thing.

And the last promise he made Eunmi on her deathbed was one that he will make sure he keeps.

Live his best, happiest life possible, even with the way that his life was now.

Even if it meant being with you, the woman he once loved before and recently was falling for again.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of your back hitting the plush comforters as Jongho shifts to pin you on the mattress below him. You look up and see the gleam in his eyes that have turned a shade darker from before. Your hands snake their way around his neck as he reaches and traps your face with his fingers and palms. A mischievous smirk danced across his features, his thumb rubbing the spot below the corner of your mouth, his index and middle finger rubbing at the shell of your ear. You shivered at his actions.

"Let's make them happy, Jongho..." you cooed, relishing in the soft, tickling touch of his fingers along your neck and shoulder. "Let's be happy, together, with them. Like Eunmi asked."

"I love you, you know that? I can't help but think that Eunmi knew what was going to happen, the whole time," he expressed with a big exhale as you pull him forward and close. "And she never once left me. Never doubted that I loved her even with my...previous feelings for you resurfacing."

"She loved you so, so much, Jongho. Don't ever think she didn't love you, or that she thought you didn't love her, despite the things that happened when we were in high school," you reminded him with a reassuring smile. "She loved you until her final breaths and beyond, and wanted nothing but a lifetime of happiness for you and your girls. You deserve that. Everyone deserves that. Including you."

"Do you love me too...?" he whispered against your lips, his thumb grazing your cheek.

"Always have, always will," you promised, smiling and finally pulling him in for a sweet kiss.

The next few days passed in a blur. The girls were constantly scheming or attempting to make you and their father become 'official' to their little eyes. You and Jongho would playfully play the fool, knowing their secret plans, and doing small things that would give them the belief that their tricks would work.

But in actuality, you and Jongho were having a good time trying to guess what would come next. One day, you woke up early and had just finished washing the dishes from breakfast. The girls scurried up behind you, wrapping their small bodies around your legs like adorable monkeys clinging to trees.

"What are you two up to, huh? Going to try and climb Y/N like a tree and claim that I stole your new favorite?" You hear Jongho joked as he leaned on the doorframe between the living room and dining room.

The twins giggled in unison at the ridiculous accusation as Jongho slipped closer, grabbing both girls from either side and tickling their sides as he lifted the twins up on his broad shoulders.

"Never! Our favorite is still you, Daddy!" the girls gasped in between fits of laughter as you watched on in amusement at their antics.

You rolled your eyes at the girls' silliness.

"Careful there. Make sure the two of you are hanging on tight," you playfully warned them as they straddled Jongho's shoulder blades.

The two girls immediately sat and hung on to Jongho for dear life, faces buried on either side of his head. You and Jongho chuckled at the adorable display of their devotion. You reached out and bopped the twins' noses in turn as they peered up, big bright grins adorning their cherubic cheeks.

The weekend is arriving soon, and with it, comes an overnight trip for the four of you.

"Are we there yet, are we there yet, are we there yet?" the twins cried out, looking out the passenger's-seat windows in anticipation.

"We'll be there soon," you laughed from the front seat where you were seated beside Jongho as he drove along the road to the campsite.

You and Jongho decided to take the kids camping, along with his friends and their kids to get a break from the bustling city life. His friend Mingi has a lakeside cabin and lots of land on which you can pitch a tent, start a fire, roast marshmallows, swim in the lake, and go canoeing or kayaking, just a few hundred meters away from the cabin itself. Jongho explained this to you as you looked out the window, smiling and watching the pine trees on either side of the vehicle whizz by at lightning speed.

Your thoughts drifted from the scenery out the windows to the scenery in the passenger seat beside you.

Jongho has his eyes focused on the road. His mouth was set in a small smile as he maneuvered the vehicle and focused on his driving, looking back into the rearview mirror to glance back and see his children giggling and talking amongst one another.

Then his dark brown orbs flickered over to your side briefly before his eyes landed back on the road before him. He turned and tilted his head towards you and his smile only got wider as his eyes crinkled at the sides, an adoring look settling over his handsome features.

"What's on your mind?"

"Not too much," you murmured, not realizing that you were being called out because of the pensive look you've been wearing on your face while looking out the windows. "Just thinking about stuff, you know, as a typical human is prone to doing from time to time."

"Got something you wanna share or something you want to keep to yourself?"

"Mmm...let me get back to you on that one."

Jongho let out a chuckle, shrugging and facing forward again. He kept his hand on your thigh the entire drive.

As soon as Mingi came into sight and everyone pulled up and parked in the driveway near his cabin, the twins were ecstatic. Unable to keep themselves in check as they jumped up and down and opened the door, they hopped out onto the ground and rushed towards him. Jongho's other friends' kids did the same thing and rushed forward, enveloping Mingi in a big group hug and pulling him downwards to smother his face and neck with affectionate kisses and screaming 'Uncle Mingi! Uncle Mingi! We're here!!' at the top of their lungs. A look of bewilderment crossed Mingi's features and he laughed heartily.

"Oh man, I wish I was that popular," San muttered as he watched the kids crowd the tall man, shaking his head.

"You're just jealous that Haru likes Mingi more than you," Wooyoung said teasingly, punching San's shoulder playfully.

"But I'm his dad!" San said with wide-eyes.

"And Mingi is his favorite uncle." Hongjoong pitched in.

"I've been replaced." San faked a dramatic swoon.

"Yunhee, make sure you get money from Uncle Mingi!" Yunho yelled at his daughter who only responded with a loud 'Got it!' from Mingi's front porch before turning around and giving her father a thumbs up.

You watched as the kids greeted Mingi on his porch and then he turned his attention to the adults and waved enthusiastically, pointing at the cabin door.

"Lunch is inside already and is ready whenever you guys want! Help yourself! We got games set up in the back if anyone wants to get their butts kicked in basketball or kickball. We also have kayaks in the back we can take out onto the lake. We've also got plenty of seating on the deck and some patio furniture. Make yourselves at home!" He announced, his voice booming out with laughter.

The adults nodded at him, not missing the mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he continued to yell at the kids. "KIDS. There's a small playground behind the cabin with a swing set, sand pit, slide, etc. and the water's right behind that. BUT-"

With that, the kids perked up and looked at him, eye-wide, eagerly hanging on every word that would leave his mouth.

"But~ If you don't behave well, Uncle Joong and Uncle Hwa are going to turn into super spies and capture each and everyone one of you!" Mingi announced in his serious adult's voice as he eyed the kids before continuing with, "Don't even try us! You can run, but you can't hide. Uncle Woo and Uncle Yeo have superhuman hearing and can detect trouble-makers from a hundred feet away. They'll be on you before you even realize it! Uncle Yunho and Uncle San have lightning reflexes! One little slip up and they'll snag you faster than your father can!"

The kids gasp and run past them in a hurry towards the playground that lay behind the cabin. The adults looked amused after their gleeful retreat, and it's not long before the noise of playful squeals and shrieks fill the air.

You and the rest of the adult pack burst into a fit of laughter at the fact that Mingi just riled the kids up into a frenzy. The others looked back and watched their offspring tear into the backyard. You watched a fond look cross Jongho's face, the smile reaching his eyes as he watched the scene in the back unfold.

"Jongho," Mingi said, interrupting Jongho and shaking him from his thoughts. "Are you and Y/N okay to share the bedroom in the back of the cabin? All the kids wanted to have a sleepover in the living room, and all the other bedrooms were claimed, save for one. I mean, I could sleep on the couch and one of you can take my bedroom..."

"It's okay, Mingi." Jongho smiled, pulling you to stand beside him and wrapping an arm around your waist, looking at you for approval.

"Ohhhhhhh~" the rest of the guys exclaimed, slapping him on the back, playfully. They were happy that Jongho was moving on.

"Wait," Wooyoung cried out, confused, "Wasn't there another room open?"

Mingi wiggled his brows. "Totally open."

“So why…” Wooyoung scrunched his face in confusion. Then his eyes widened in understanding when it clicked in his head. "Oh. Oh, damn!"

"Did you plan this or something, Mingi?" you laughed.

He holds his hands up. "Nah, the kids suggested sharing the sleeping arrangements. I would've switched our sleeping places around, but Joomi and Jooeun gave me puppy-dog-eyes and asked me to go along with their plan. Don't think any of the adults or kids here could resist a face like that."

"The twins and their shenanigans. Their mom was such a schemer so the apples didn't fall far from the tree," you said affectionately, remembering the woman you called your best friend.

"They take after Eunmi but their hearts are in the right place." Seonghwa laughed. "They know that you two like each other and have been wanting you two together for a long time. Guess today, we're accomplices to their 'Matchmaker-Twins'. Right, Captain?"

"Yes, we are," Hongjoong piped up.

You giggled at the remark, realizing that the others were in cahoots with the twins' scheme. You rolled your eyes, not surprised that all the kids and adults are in on the plans the two made for the day, the rest of the group joining in, egging the girls on, and enabling the twins to go along with their plots and plans.

After helping the twins and the other kids settle into their 'camping spots', and getting them properly settled in their temporary sleeping arrangements in the living room and putting them down for a nap, you and Jongho retired to the back room to relax in peace and quiet until the kids wake up again.

The two of you climbed into the bed and under the sheets, settling down on top of the covers. You and Jongho simultaneously sighing in relaxation and content. Jongho rolled over onto his left side and pulled your body, snug to his and against his chest, hooking his chin on your shoulder.

"Want to get a quick nap in?" you ask.

"I know something that will put us right to sleep," Jongho whispered, pressing a gentle kiss against your neck, right below your ear, causing you to shiver at the contact.

"Now?" You teased, a smirk playing across your features.

"Why do you think Mingi gave us the very private room in the cabin? I guarantee he put two-and-two together, plus heard my little munchkins' schemes, so..." Jongho retorted, continuing his little trail of pecks along the expanse of skin on your neck. You bit your bottom lip in anticipation. His mouth was trailing hot and open kisses along your exposed flesh, his tongue flicking at the curve of your shoulder. The trail continued downward until he was stopped by the cloth covering your skin. Jongho looked up at you. "What do you say, baby? Wanna?"

In response, you reach down to pull up the shirt you were wearing up and over your head. Dropping it to the floor next to the bed. "We need to hurry, though. Mingi said the kids are probably going to wake up in the next hour, maybe, to finish up their outdoor activities."

"An hour is more than enough time," Jongho murmured against your jawline, pulling you towards him and capturing your lips in a hungry, passionate kiss as you grind against his groin. "More than enough..."

The atmosphere grew heated rather fast and in no time at all, the two of you were bare of your clothes, warm skin touching warm skin, his lips chasing yours and yours chasing his, trying to feel him as close as possible. 

"Get your pretty ass up here. Ride my face." Jongho demanded.

"You're kidding," You choked out in disbelief, he shook his head at your words, his hands traveling down your curves.

"Nah, get up here. Sit on daddy's face." His words were a breathy moan against the crook of your neck and you felt yourself blush from head to toe.

"Jongho," you whined.

Jongho moaned desperately and pinned you to the bed, lifting you by the back of your thighs easily and throwing your legs over his shoulders as he laid back on the bed, his dark eyes burning into yours, "Please?"

"Are you trying to kill me?" You asked, giggling as he stared at you.

"Just turn around," Jongho chuckled, and the next second you gasped as his hands grasped you tightly and pulled you around to where his face was inches from your soaked core. "Hands on the headboard and keep still."

His firm demand sent heat shooting throughout your stomach and down into your aching pussy, and you quickly scrambled to grab onto the headboard. You almost jumped out of your skin as his tongue took a long, slow lick up the length of your slit, your grip on the wood tightening as he slowly began circling his tongue over your clit.

The wet heat that pressed against your sensitive bundle of nerves was almost overwhelming and you ground your teeth as Jongho began pushing his tongue against you rhythmically, licking and sucking at you as he tried to fuck you with his tongue. His ministrations were methodical and measured, never picking up the pace too much, but applying an immense amount of pressure every time he moved against you.

Your head was swimming at this point, the feeling of his soft mouth pressing against your drenched pussy was sending shockwaves of pleasure all throughout your body, causing your nipples to harden and your mind to reel. You couldn't keep yourself from whimpering slightly at the way his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, and your hips jerked downwards involuntarily in an attempt to feel his tongue deep within you.

A guttural groan erupted from within his throat, and it reverberated against you as his grip on your thighs became impossibly tighter. He pinned you against his mouth so that you couldn't squirm against him again, keeping you on his tongue so that it could continue massaging over every sensitive bit of your pussy.

And before you even realized what you were doing, you had clenched your thighs around his head, not allowing his head to budge from underneath your hips. He moaned against your flesh and picked up the speed of his movements, sloppily lapping at you and dipping his tongue deep inside, stretching your clenching walls, working your entire core in a way that was sending you barreling into a quick and intense orgasm. Your legs bucked out on either side of him as you moaned loudly, pressing his tongue deep inside of you.

"Gosh, Jongho! F-Fuck!" You moaned, pushing your hips down and riding his face vigorously until your entire core pulsed, sending warm shockwaves rippling through your whole body.

When you finally finished clenching your thighs around his head, Jongho managed to lift his head up just enough to begin sucking hard on your oversensitive clit. "Don't fucking move," He murmured against you.

As your head slowly spun, he held himself there, moaning against your wet flesh. Jongho would not allow you to recover, and his tongue never stopped its movements, continuing to lick at your walls as if he could drink every bit of you in.

"Taste so good…" He breathed, kissing your inner thigh gently.

"Oh please..." you whispered and gasped as the pressure of his mouth against you suddenly increased, Jongho moaning obscenely beneath you.

"You make the prettiest noises..." Jongho said as you felt his hot breath fan against your overly sensitive pussy, his mouth moving against you rapidly, almost as though it couldn't kiss you deeply enough. "Couldn't help but be noisy could ya? Little tease..."

"Baby, I can't cum again..." Your whole body was beginning to spasm now as the warmth between your legs threatened to burst again, his lips pressing hard against your clit and sucking deep and slow. Your vision was going white as the pressure built in you. You could feel yourself climbing toward yet another earth shattering release as you leaned against the headboard for support, knuckles turning white from your iron-like grasp.

But Jongho never let up, relentlessly dragging his mouth over your swollen sex and moaning hotly as he pleasured you, eyes closing in rapture as he lost himself in the taste of you. "Can you cum again? Can you cum on my tongue, beautiful?"

Your grip on the headboard tightened impossibly and before you knew it, you were cumming, your body jerking in time with your pulsing pussy, soaking him as you released everything within you.

Once your high fizzled out, and your heartbeat returned to a normal rate, you were feeling your body growing tired. Your fingers and arms and legs were sore. "Jongho..I need a break..." you sighed, leaning down to try and push his head away, your words sounding more desperate than you'd meant them. "I can't cum again like this, it's too much.."

"Then do you want me to fuck your pretty pussy?" Jongho asked, looking up at you through dark eyelashes as he circled his tongue against you. "I could kiss this pretty pussy all day long, but I don't think you can wait anymore."

You bit your lip hard at the words and glanced behind you to see Jongho pumping his thick member with his hand, still holding you in place with his other arm. "Please..." you murmured.

With a pleased groan, he helped turn you back around, moving both of you until he was positioned on top, spreading you wide apart and nudging his tip against your swollen entrance.

"Stop teasing me," you whined, the sight of his twitching length inches from where you needed it made you a bit crazy. Jongho chuckled lightly and captured your lips as he slowly pushed himself in.

You could not stop the moan that escaped your lips the second Jongho was balls-deep inside your pussy, your arms flying around his neck, clinging on tightly. He fit inside you so well, filling you up in every conceivable way, the tip of his cock hitting every hidden part of you.

His lips travelled along your neck and collar, sucking and kissing the soft flesh. Your mouth was still agape, hanging low with no sound, only letting out little gasps as his tip brushed past the deepest part of you, sending warmth radiating throughout every nerve-ending. 

"My beautiful baby.." Jongho hummed, pulling out gently before pounding into you, one strong arm wrapping around your hips and lifting them so he could pound against a different spot deep within you.

Suddenly it seemed to you as if Jongho's tip were brushing over your clit each time it pulled back before sliding deep into your entrance.

You gripped him tighter as his hips moved back and forth. Before you knew it, Jongho's name tumbled out of your lips as he hit a soft spot of yours. 

"Jonghooo..." you moaned, losing your mind.

"Gonna fill your pussy up with my cum...make you take it..." Jongho growled, snapping his hips up again with more force. 

"Wanna give you my kids. Would you like that? Add another to our family?" He groaned against your neck, squeezing your ass, then swatting it.

He pushed himself in as far as he could, biting your earlobe as his member twitched inside of you, "Tell me, baby. Do you like being a mommy to me and my twins, and being my pretty wife? Don't want anyone else...only my baby. I love you so much. You and my girls..."

"I love you and the girls too, Jongho. So, so much." You respond, feeling the tell-tale signs of the pleasure building deep within.

"Do you want to cum, my love? Gonna take every drop of daddy's cum inside?" he moaned into your ear. His husky voice was so hot, and the feeling of him, pressed into you, so unbelievably warm and powerful, caused your body to tense, and then go limp under his strong hands. "Want to give you a baby too, sweetheart. I'm ready for another set of twins, and another set after that, if I'm blessed with it."

And when Jongho slid his tip between your sensitive folds, hitting every raw spot he could as your body shook, that was it. The walls of your pussy contracted against him, a gush of his cum emptied inside of you, making its way to your awaiting womb, hoping for it to take seed and create more lives. You moaned and threw your head back, thrusting your hips upwards to meet his one final time.

Jongho grunted into your shoulder as he fucked his load into you, cumming as deep inside you as he could possibly go and taking deep breaths.

You wrap your legs around his waist, locking him against you and pushing his cock to the hilt inside your dripping walls, not willing to let a single drop escape. His pulsing cock makes your core pulse. The two of you stay as still as possible as you catch your breath, Jongho breathing hot air down your chest.

"Don't you dare pull out yet, Choi Jongho," you ordered firmly. You needed him close, wanted him near you. Jongho smiled up at you.

"Is that what you want?"

"Mmmmhhmmm..." you moan, and wiggle your hips to make his cock stir your insides. Jongho moaned back into the mattress and grabbed your waist tightly. You squeal in delight at his sudden movement, then press your lips firmly against his, claiming him as your own.

"Y/N...would you marry me?" Jongho asked softly a few minutes later, as he propped up on his left elbow and looked deeply into your eyes, stroking your hair gently. "Officially be the girls' mother and my wife? I was hoping..." 

He reached down beneath the pillows, and pulled something from underneath it. He looked shy as he revealed a black velvet box in the palm of his hand, holding it out towards you. "Would you, please?"

"Yes, Jongho." You say in response, watching him open the small, velvet box. Jongho exhales and a smile appears on his handsome features as he pulls the ring out of its housing, sliding the metal band on your ring finger of your left hand. "Absolutely yes."

It fit perfectly.

He crushed his lips to yours and you sighed into the passionate kiss, running your hands through his hair as his tongue pressed inside. It felt good, almost too good, but he pulled away and laid back on the bed. 

After a while of cuddling, kissing, and playing with his hair, Jongho buried his head in the crook of you neck. "I think we should clean the sheets, shower and just cuddle..." He said quietly. "I have a feeling that the girls will barge in once they're awake and we don't need them seeing this mess or smelling the room."

You hum in agreement. You and Jongho kiss softly, barely audible 'I love you's' being whispered between the two of you, your fingers running through his silky strands. You love this. You're so in love and you can't imagine not being with Jongho, and you truly love and adore his two girls.

After getting the room and the two of you cleaned, and the sheets changed and clothes pulled back on, the two of you laid comfortably in  bed in each other's arms.

Jongho turned so that he was hovering over you, one hand propping him up, the other lightly caressing your cheek and thumb tracing your bottom lip. He lowered his head and brushed his nose against yours, lightly pressing his lips against yours. He pulled away to see your cheeks a rosy tint of pink. He leaned his forehead on yours and chuckled. He went back in to continue kissing you.

The door flew open and the bed dipped as two weights jumped onto the end of the bed. Jongho rolled over, the twins landing in the bed, bouncing with their jump, laughing loudly. Joomi moved to sit on your lap, and Jooeun did the same with her dad.

"How was your nap?" You asked the girls, hearing the loud screams of the other children and their parents somewhere in the cabin.

"Good but we're hungry and Uncle Joong told us to wake you up for lunch, so we did! But we didn't run here. We walked." Joomi said.

"Yes," Jooeun agrees.

"Are you sure you walked or ran? I heard some feet scampering down the hall when I woke up," you smirked and booped their noses. They giggled.

"Y/N, are you and Daddy a couple now?" Joomi whispered in your ear. You heard Jooeun asking her dad the same thing.

You and Jongho both chanced a glance at the other before saying at the same time, "Are we?"

Jongho laughed before leaning in and giving you a small kiss on the lips. He also glanced at the girls who were jumping and cheering in your arms. "Why don’t we get you girls and Mommy something to eat?"

"I could hear them telling the other adults that their little plan worked." You whispered. The twins were talking your ears off, excited that you were going to be their new mother now that you and their daddy had finally gotten together.

"I love you." Jongho kissed you as the four of you walked together out to where the other adults were, to have their lunch.

"I love you, too." You kissed him back before kissing the top of the twins' heads. "And I love my new little girls so much."

The twins squealed and screamed louder, "Mommy, yay!" They both launched at you, hugging the life out of you.

"C'mon Mommy, lunch now!" Jooeun pulled you forward towards the table that had been set up for the lunch buffet style. Joomi held out her hands, palm open, to her dad. Jongho chuckled before interlacing his fingers with hers. The four of you walked towards the long table where the rest of your friends and the kids had already made their way to and piled their plates with their food, before sitting together and enjoying their food.

"Told you the plan would work!" The twins exclaimed, the adults laughing.

[bittencandy]

𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔫-𝔈𝔶𝔢𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. 

Nope. 

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

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

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

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

Ugh, you're hopeless. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then - 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, I get it!" You say quickly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But unfortunately, Ozzie had been right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moo💚

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

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

And just like that your will snaps. 

x/x/xx 12:43 am 

fine go ahead i dont even nrrd u 

x/x/xx 12:43 am 

duck 

x/x/xx 12:44 am 

*FUCK

x/x/xx 12:44 am 

*NEED 

x/x/xx 12:44 am 

go crawl to ozz for all i care 

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

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

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

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

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

It's fine. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fucking audacity that he has. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it has that horrible sinking feeling in your gut. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mammon," you whine brazenly, intentionally coquette. 

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

His web. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, no. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He really is so charming. 

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

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

You really want to wipe that look off his face. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mammon, what are you-"

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

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

Hugo - Lottie's coworker 

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

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

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

Thursday - 7:43 PM

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

Yep. That'll do it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, wait. Scratch that last one. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hell yes," you answer quickly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wow, look at you, being hopeful in Hell. 

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

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

"We're going to need a bath." 

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

[maxiemclaren]

Hii!! I wanted to request a Max verstappen fic. Its readers first time in the paddock after they public their relationship. So max just being very gentle with her like entering while holding her hand or guiding her with a hand on the small of her back. Him being a protective partner and during the media session he answer questions about her very gentley and smilingly...

Its okay if your busy but do consider it.

Its okay if

The Lover Boy

Pairing - Max x fem!reader

Warnings - mentions of anxiety, but mainly sweet Max fluff

Summary - Max and y/n decide to show up to the paddock after announcing their relationship, y/n is nervous but Max is there to wash away her worries.

a/n - I LOVE HIM, yes I google translated words because all I really know in Dutch is “kinderen eten rijst” which literally means children eat rice LMAO. Also sorry this took so long I literally had no motivation and went MIA.

“Schat, are you almost ready?” He yelled from the living room. “Yes, Max just a moment!” you say from the bathroom, where you were trying to hype yourself up for going to the paddock with your boyfriend. Just earlier this week you made your relationship public.

Earlier that week

“Max, I’m ready to make our relationship public” You say leaning against your boyfriend during your movie night, it was after many months of thought and deliberation you were tired of hiding. There is nothing wrong with having your relationship known but keeping it to yourselves, and that was frankly what you both wanted. “Are you 100% sure schat? Because we can still keep it on the down low if you want, don't feel pressured because of m-” You cut him off with a deep kiss, solidifying your decision. “I’m very sure Max”

Now here you are leaning against the counter whilst looking in the mirror and taking deep breaths reminding yourself that everything is going to be fine. “Everything will be fine, Max is there if anything goes wrong” you convince yourself “That’s right, I’ll be there the whole time” Max says as he appears from the bathroom door, grabbing your hand as he looks to you with love and adoration “If you feel uncomfortable or just want to leave just squeeze my hand, okay?” You nod your head in understanding, as you both head out to the paddock.

Hand in hand with smiles on both of your faces, you start to get swarmed with fans and cameras from Redbull and other sources. Stopping occasionally to take photos with fans you never stopped smiling, you loved to see how he interacted with his fans, especially the little kids. What took you by surprise was when one of the fans asked for a picture with the both of you, looking to Max with uncertainty he offered his hand to you allowing you to feel more comfortable. 

Nevertheless, Max had to go get ready for meetings and the media, so he navigated you through the swarm of people to his driver room, not letting go of your hand the whole time. Wanting to truly make sure he didn’t lose you amongst the chaos that can be the paddock, hospitality, and the garage. 

Here you were sitting in his driver room, just waiting away when you look at your phone it is blowing up with notifications from fans. Max’s fans. You open your phone carefully to see something that you did not expect. Positive tags, many fans gushing over the fact that Max was talking about you in an interview, smile plastered on his face and slight flush.

“So Max, you and y/n have made your relationship public recently, how are you both taking it?” one of the reporters asked. “Yeah, well y/n and I felt it was time to announce our relationship, She is lovely and has been so patient with all the traveling and racing. I won’t comment on her personal experience because that is her privacy but I can say that, I am extremely happy to bring the love of my life around with me and have the fans love her as much as I do.”  Max says. 

Watching the rest of the interview, you sit there all giddy and feeling the anxiety washing away from you after hearing all the praise and joy Max is expressing about his love for you. Having the courage to find that beautiful Dutch man, you leave the driver's room and find him talking with Lando. Not wanting to interrupt you stand there waiting, but Lando takes notice of you and nods to Max to let him know that someone would like his attention. Max turns around confused and then realizes you were there and a large smile breaks on his face. “I watched your interview lover boy” you tease. A blush creeps up his ears, “Yeah, so you heard everything I said about you?” He says while grabbing your hands. “I sure did.” you say leaning to kiss him. “Schat, thank you for coming with me even though you were hesitant. Now lets head back to the hotel and relax” he says with full sincerity.

[gremlingottoosilly]

The art of hospitality (Nanami Kento x fem!Reader)

Life wasn't that good after you dropped out of college. Luckily, a friend of a friend of a relative was willing to take you to live with him so you could watch over his weirdly big house while he was away on endless work trips. Nanami never thought that investment in the kindness of his heart would pay out like this. He is not complaining.

Tags and CW: Yandere, mild dub-con, non-consensual masturbation, Nanami is a panty stealer, light age difference, power imbalance, housewife kink AO3

Some people are just not built to fend for themselves. Nanami can name a few, even though the sentiment leaves a bitter, bun-haired taste in his mouth. He shouldn’t think like this – like him – but it’s as impossible as not thinking about a panda bear after you just been prompted with hot imagining one. 

He can only repeat that he isn’t like this. It isn’t like him. Some people are just not built to fend for themselves, so people like Nanami are doing everything in their power to protect them. Weak are ruling the society and this is exactly how it is supposed to be. Strong should be content with not having any gratitude, happy that they were able to help. This is exactly how it’s supposed to be, and yet… — Thank you so much for letting me stay here, Nanami-san. With the lease and everything coming up, I just… His cheeks aren’t dusted red because this won’t be a normal answer to the situation. He isn’t blushing because he is somewhat not used to receiving a little thank you from a nice girl next door that he allowed to live with him and watch over the house while he is away on the missions(dumb, dumb girl got kicked out of the apartment after a failed lease renewal and found him through a friend of a relative). He knows how grateful you are – not having many things or a lot of money saved, you probably would have moved back to the countryside if it weren’t for him. For a girl like you, it would be kissing your dreams goodbye. Not like sleeping on his couch is any better for someone your age. There is curry on the kitchen island. He recognises the packaging – generic brand from the convenience store he sometimes walked passed during missions in Asakusa. Hm. Last time he touched your cooking(four days before, when he actually managed to drag himself to the house without losing too much sweat) it was made from scratch. He isn’t complaining because he still wasn’t the one to cook it. Asking a girl in dire circumstances to play housewife would be… You don’t pay rent, you get half of the groceries from him(ever-lasting meal planning for everything, even when half of it gets thrown away after a nasty curse hunt is leaves him on the other side of the prefecture for few days in the row) and you don’t sleep on the couch. He has a perfectly comfortable guest bedroom with fresh sheets for you. 

Maybe, you could play housewife a little bit. It’s so stupid for someone in his position, but the packaging of a store-made curry almost made him question the decision to help you in the first place. He didn’t…didn’t expect you to cook for him, of course. He only took you in because being a young adult is tough and not having any friends in a city as expensive as Tokyo can crush a girl like you. He doesn’t know what is this feeling blooming in his chest. Maybe, the remains of the last exorcism are still clinging to him. — You found a job? You tilt your head, your (adorable) lips in a surprised impression. You probably never thought he’d give someone like you this much of his mind – not with how little you talked before. He might come off as too harsh – but he still looks you in the eyes, his gaze only softens because of the glasses he still insists on wearing even inside the house. Nanami promised to himself to not bring work home – but it’s hard to even determine what is home anymore. Maybe it’s a space on the couch, right next to your sprawled legs. Maybe it’s his bedroom. Maybe it’s… — Yes! It’s a convenience store, so it’s part-time, but… He frowns. You close your mouth immediately, lips pursed. Nanami doesn’t want to intimidate you – it’s just six thirty, already too late to be in a serious work mood – but it’s hard when you look simply divine with that scared impression of yours. He shouldn’t bully non-sorcerers, but some people are making it hard. Impossible. He almost understands Satoru. — This is all? — Well, they allowed me to pick more shifts, so I could actually start paying rent. N…not all, but just to thank you for letting me stay with you. You’re kind, he must give you that. Most people in your situation would already make him feel like overstaying their welcome, breaking the simple comfort he found in living on his own, and deflecting his family’s worries about not having anyone to settle down with. He isn’t thirty yet, he shouldn’t worry about it – yet, the thought itches at the back of his mind, Empty house. Most of his older coworkers were itching to ditch overtime because they wanted to meet with their families. He did it because after fighting curses(and returning to doing so) normal human life isn’t something he’d give much thought to.

— You don’t have to pay. I thought we established that. — I have to start somewhere, right? M…maybe I could save up and get a proper apartment. Still, Kento doesn’t like the idea that he might come home one day and won’t find you sitting on the couch and watching TV. Not because you just went out for a quick girl walk, or decided to go shopping – but because you got a big job, a normal job, and you won’t rely on his kindness anymore. 

Some people aren’t made to fend for themselves. Nanami wonders what would you look like if you ever saw a curse. If you were affected by at least one. He…he shouldn’t think like this. You’re lucky that you’re normal. — Paying for three months' rent, the key, and the debt would be impossible with a part-time store job. — I could live with a roommate! Or three… — What difference would it make for our current situation? He puts a hand on the back of the couch. Mere inches from your head – and he can see the surprised expression on your face only getting…more surprised. You are cute for a dropout – ahe he certainly doesn’t mind having you sleeping here. Taking care of the house for him. If he only knew that you also weren’t fully against the proper commitment to this place. Like that little job of yours has any value in terms of experience and…

— I don’t want to intrude too much, Nanami-san. I’ll just get out of your hair as soon as possible, yeah? He would love for you to get into his hair, come to think about it. He had some terrible headaches lately – maybe it’s the job taking its toll again, maybe it’s a lingering curse that he is too exhausted to notice. He doesn’t sense anything besides the overwhelming need for you to come around – and yet he knows he can’t expect you to do that. — I can pay you. 

— What? He wonders if the surprise on your face is going to be embedded in your features forever. He wonders what expression would you have if he’d proposed something more provocative. With something that would leave you panting and gasping and gaping. He shook his head. Too early for this – and too late, also. He already loosened his tie and it made the headache less permanent, but if he’d proceeded to imagine how your pathetic, useless (normal, college dropout) mouth wide around the base of his cock, he would have to excuse himself from the house altogether, Preferably moving back to the countryside you tried to run away from. — If you insist on working…there instead of taking time to actually improve yourself, I could pay you to watch over the house. You gulp, tensing up immediately. He must have come off too strong – but he is way too tired to control his tone, and you should be mature enough to handle the conversations like this. He wasn’t kicking you off – quite the contrary, in fact. But, young adults should take the time to be young. But, young adults should be serious enough to behave like adults – and you shouldn’t bury your ambitions while living with four roommates and their boyfriends and college and drinking and… Sometimes he forgets how not much older he is than you. Maybe this is why you’re so hesitant towards getting help from him – someone that you could imagine in the position of a boyfriend instead of a providing and caring figure. That’s bad, really. Nanami would like for you to see him as your husband. — I couldn’t accept it, Nanami-san. You’re already…already doing so much. “Too much” he can get from your frowned expression. Too much of a lonely man with a big house and no one to watch over it. Too much for a man who doesn’t acept any form of payment from you – a man who didn’t even insist on having you cook and clean, since he got a system that would be too much bother to teach someone other than him. System that you cracked in first few weeks, almost making him believe that the salryman dream he lost after returning to Jujutsu Tech, can be still obtained. Still within the reach of his fingers. 

The woman of his dreams – if a man like him allowed to have them – is sitting on his couch and gushes over paying him for letting her stay. Like he isn’t the one who should beg for her to not run away. Alas, even dream girls can be a bit…dumb. Stupid. Pathetic in a way that would be insane to anyone else. 

Nanami is ought to be a bit more firm with his dumb girl that still thinks she isn’t his. — I would appreciate you cooking way more than any money I’d have to take out of your savings. — But… — You shouldn’t rush into jobs just because you think I would throw you out. I won’t. — It’s…funny. In a way. 

— What is so funny? His hand creeps over the edge of your seat, edging on taking a handful of your hair and tugging. Not because he wanted to hurt you – but because setting you in place would be the desirable option right now. Your inability to believe in the kindness of his heart is almost adorable, if it weren’t also so frustrating. It’s a smart choice, although – would be insane to ask you to believe that a man who took you in did so out of the kindness of his heart. But, Kento doesn’t want for you to be smart and make choices that would benefit you. But, Kento wants for you to rely on him – and making smart choices isn’t going to include that. He could just force you, your weak points already accessed – he knows where to push, where to cut, where to ass a little pressure, so you’d stop being so stubborn. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but sometimes you need to crack a few eggs in the process. Sometimes being good doesn’t mean being nice. — I thought you really wanted to get rid of me at first, Nanami-san. He has been stealing your panties since you first stepped foot into his house. It was a mistake at first – neither you nor him knew how to live with someone so close after reaching adulthood and moving out of dorms where the social boundaries are much, much less permanent. You were silly and forgetful, sometimes mixing your laundry with his. Something as small as a pair of panties, no matter clean or not, were prone to get lost in the laundry area, forgotten in a pile of clothes you already washed – and if Nanami was a lesser man, he would have scolded you for not having the basic courtesy of keeping your things away from his. If Nanami was a bigger man he wouldn’t have slipped a lacey pair into a pocket of his pants, fidgeting on the fabric while you gushed over having to buy so many necessities all of a sudden, or apologized for wrecking havoc in his bathroom. Even now, when you’re embarrassed and warm, trying to explain your point of view to him, he is still playing with your underwear, buried deep within the pocket of his work clothes. He luckily didn’t run into Satoru today – he doesn’t really want to know if his Six Eyes could detect something as scandalous. Not in a normal sense, of course – you’re an adult, if a bit irresponsible – but in the form of him having connections. Someone to return to. 

Nanami wants to push you on your knees and take his rent right out of that surprised, open mouth of yours. You don’t wear any makeup, you’re at home, after all – but he would buy you some adorable lipstick, some sweet lipgloss, just so you could smear it all over his cock, choking and drooling. He wants to be a good man, a patient man, but he has your panties in his pocket already, and it’s always a fresh pair every few weeks – not enough to make you suspicious that this isn’t the washing machine eating it, but also desperately low for someone like him. 

He wonders if you would be even softer than the tender silk of the things you wear. — Why would you think I accepted you, then? 

He knows why you might be nervous – his attitude isn’t the most welcoming one. He can be soft if he has a reason you – but being soft for too long will make you spoiled. Bratty. He likes women with character, but not women with attitudes he can’t control. Even your sitting position, with both of your legs on a couch, is something he could change with a few spanks on the bare skin he can clearly see from under your shorts. Wearing this when there is a man in the house – how scandalous. How precious. He wonders if all the lingerie sets he already bought for you (getting exact sizes is quite easy when he already knows your proportions divided by 7), will be a nice look on you. For you. 

— Maybe it was your one good deed for the month, but then you’d get annoyed and… He touches you – for the first time in weeks. Maybe the first time since he shook your hand all those time ago. The first time he touched you while you weren’t sleeping, at least. Fully conscious, aware of the man in front of you. (Nanami liked to watch you sleep, sometimes. Stressed people have a bad habit of attracting curses, and he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t invite anything in the safety of his house. It’s what he keeps telling himself when he inevitably ended up at the food of your bed, hands on his cock, stroking it slowly, knowing a dumb girl – naive girl – won’t wake up even if he’d decide to finish on your face. He never would – not until you’d ask him to, at least. He hopes that he will be a good person even after you do) Nanami’s hand is on your cheek, holding you softly. Gently. You’re surprised because this is the first time he touched you so softly – so intimately. You’re blissfully unaware of the fact he was touching you so, so much already. Stroking your ass, your tits, your face when he felt particularly tender – when he knew you were too tired of whatever you were doing while being unemployed and having everything catered to you to notice that he is touching you. — I won’t get annoyed with you. 

You press your face against his hand, taking in his touch. He has soft hands – cared for, manicured carefully. He takes care of his appearance and you’re embarrassed to appreciate that about it. To even notice – he isn’t yours, probably doesn’t want to be, but he allows you to live in his house even though you suck at being a proper housewife, and it should mean something. It does mean something – you smile and close your eyes. You want to do something for him because he already did so much for you. The possibilities are making your ears burn. — How can I repay you if you don’t want rent then? He can think of a few ways. The possibilities will make your ears burn. — You can start by actually cooking. 

And he will call in to fire you later. 

[mental69er]

i think what i really need in life is a jealous victoria smut and i just need her to dom me badly i just need to be taken by her

content: 18+, desk sex, jealous and possesive victoria, top victoria, slight choking (not even but tagging it just in case), fem reader

setting: you've been working for Victoria and dating her in secret

"What do you think you're doing?" Victoria demanded as she shut the door on you. The room was dark, the street lamp from outside struggling to let its light reach the inside. The sounds of the party outside were muffled, your festive mood muting too at the harsh tone Victoria used.

She took a step deeper into the room and you backed up, your back hitting the desk. The red solo cup filled with holiday punch crinkled in your nervous grip.

You had started working for Victoria six months ago, inspired by her hard working ethic and her advocacy. That starry eyed adoration soon turned to more when you got the position on her campaign and got to work under her. Long work hours together fostered romantic feelings that turned into a secret relationship.

Given the nature of her work, it would be bad press if your relationship got out since she was your superior. Had you done something at the party, slipped up in some way, and made it obvious that the two of you were entangled?

"I-I'm sorry," you told her. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."

Victoria stopped a few inches from you. She had decided to go with a deep plum power suit today, complete with a shirt that hung a little too low and had inspired you to look down several times when you had thought she wasn't looking.

Her perfume, that rich and heady scent that made you think of powerful people, surrounded you and you cursed the drinks you had drunk already. It made you want to put your hands all over her.

In fact, it was why you kept your distance tonight. That way you wouldn't kiss her or flirt with her out in the open.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice you getting chummy with Lorie from Management?" she asked, tipping her head to the side, wearing that thin smile that meant she had little patience.

"I-uh," you had expected something else entirely. "I wasn't?" It came out as a question, and the uncertainty of it only seemed to make her more upset.

"You were," she said, plucking the drink from your hand and letting it slip into the trash can right by the desk. "I think that's enough for tonight. Maybe you should go home."

"Excuse me?" you couldn't help the indignation in your tone. "You don't get to decide that for me. And I was only chatting with her." Your heart pounds in your chest as realization comes to you. "Are you jealous?"

She leaned in at this, placing her hands on the edge of the desk. Mouth close, her dark eyes boring into you. "Who does she think she is, talking to you. Putting her hands on your shoulder."

"I wasn't flirting with her," you told her.

"But she was flirting with you." She hummed. "I don't like that."

You couldn't help it. You scoffed. "She doesn't know we're dating. And since we can't tell her, I'll just avoid her for the rest of the night. But I am not leaving. And, I will be drinking." You would not back down, because you would not be told what to do in a relationship.

You tried to indicate to Victoria to lean off of you, to let you pass, but she wouldn't let you. Instead, a small smirk began to wriggle it's way up her lips, that damned cocky look you loved so much breaking onto her face.

"I think after I'm done with you, you might need to go home," she whispered into your ear, breath hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "I intend to leave a mess."

You gasped involuntarily as you felt her hands grab you by the hips and tug you on top of the desk. "Victoria! We're at a party."

She ignored that, letting her hands run down your thighs. You could already feel yourself giving in, body turning to putty and she was barely touching you.

"Did you know this is her desk?" she smirked, voice low and thick as she stepped close enough to you that your knees were touching her.

A hot flush spread down from your chest to your thighs. "Victoria, seriously. She wouldn't have flirted with me if she had known you and I were dating."

"I don't care," she said, tone hard. It was as if a switch had been flipped inside her, seeing you with another woman almost draped over you. You hadn't even thought Lorie was hitting on you, simply been overly affectionate because she was a bit tipsy.

You hadn't known Victoria could even get jealous over someone like you. The idea of it, despite how risky it was to do anything during the company party, made you ache between your legs.

"Still, it's risky, with your campaign. The door's not even locked-"

"I don't care," she emphasized, nails digging into the flesh on your thighs. Oh, she was more upset about this than you thought. Fuck, why did the idea of that turn you on?

She kissed you without warning, hard, faces mashing together. You kissed her back just as hard, wrapping your legs around her hips to draw her in as her hand came up to cup your face, other hand on your neck lightly squeezing down. She didn't let up with the kiss, pressing in for another one, and then another, heads tilting to the side, tongue probing inside your mouth, hand on neck guiding you to stay where she wanted you, keeping control over the kiss.

You could feel her lipstick smearing all over your face with how messily she was kissing you. "I wish I could show them that you're mine," she mumured, breaking the kiss to mouth at your neck, no doubt spreading more lipstick that you would have to regretfully remove. "You'll have to show me how your mine, instead." She pushed you down lightly til you laid flat on the desk top. She tapped your hips and you released your leg lock on her.

"Go on, darling," she said. "Show me what's mine."

Blushing hard at her words, you shimmied out of your pants, throwing them aside, before slowly sliding your underwear off and letting it drop to the floor. The wood was cool on your overheating skin and sent small goosebumps prickling your skin.

You spread your thighs for her, fingers teasing apart your folds. You were certain it was too dark to see everything, but you knew for certain she could hear how wet you were.

"Tell me she can't have this," Victoria insisted as you could hear her swallow thickly. She placed her warm hands on your thighs and excitement mounted inside your stomach at how close she was.

You'd never seen Victoria jealous, never thought she ever could be, but seeing how much she needed you to be hers was doing things to you. Was it bad to say you wanted to see her more like this?

Deviously, you murmured, "maybe if you fuck me hard enough, I'll remember that this isn't hers."

That had the intended effect you wanted. "You're going to regret saying that. Turn around. I want you bent over that desk." The tight anger in her voice only made more wetness pool between your thighs. You quickly turned around. "You might want to hold on, because you'll need it," was her whispered warning into your ear as she poured herself over your back.

You just managed to grab onto the other end of the desk when she thrust two fingers deep inside you. You let out a surprised cry at the roughness of the motion, but she didn't ease the pace. Each thrust felt like it had the full force of her body behind it and you placed your mouth against the desk to try and stifle your cries.

She pressed kisses to your ear, muttering words. "You're mine, do you understand me? I will not share you. I don't even want other people looking at you."

You nodded your head, though you weren't sure if she wanted you to answer, busy as you were trying to keep quiet. The weight of her on top of you kept you pinned to the desk and you were desperate to raise your hips up to chase her fingers as they slid in and out of you, wet squelching noises filling in the room.

The party had long left your mind and you could only think of Victoria on you. Her thumb brushed against your sensitive clit and you jolted with pleasure. It wouldn't be long til you came.

"Your orgasm's are also mine," she reminded you, biting gently on the shell of your ear, slowing her thrusts. You let out a frustrated groan. "Understood?"

"Uh huh," you breathed out, wanting to come already.

She slipped her fingers out. "I said, do you understand."

"Yes!" you hissed out, squeezing your eyes shut with desperate want. Victoria slipped her fingers back in and went even harder than before. The pen holder on the desk fell over, spilling pens onto the floor, the stacked papers fell over with a light thud. You were glad nothing else was on this desk, otherwise you'd make an even bigger mess.

"You come, only when I tell you to come."

"Yes!" you hissed out, choking on the sounds of pleasure that wanted to erupt in full volume from your throat.

"Good," she said. She straddled the back of your thigh and began to roll her hips against you, free hand gripping the desk as well. It started to creak and groan with the combined effort of both of your motions.

You could feel yourself begin to grow close. "I want you to come with me," she ordered, fingers slowing as she rolled her hips into you with increased fervor, voice taking on a breathless quality.

You nodded your head dutifully, intending to hold out for her even as your pussy spasmed greedily on her fingers. She rode your leg, and you could feel her heat bleeding through her fabric. "Close," she muttered and rolled her thumb against your clit making you cry out.

"Come for me," she said, and with one more flick to your clit, you were coming, Victoria's hips stuttering to a stop. The two of you took a moment to recover and when she pulled you off the desk, one of the legs snapped and it slumped over with a loud crash.

You froze, worried that someone would come in and discover you if they hadn't already. But the noise from the party outside had increased. It seemed someone had turned on music. You let out a relieved breath.

"Did we, did we actually break her desk?" you muttered out in horror. How had that happened? You plucked your underwear and pants off of the floor and hastily tugged them on.

"Shitty quality desk," Victoria shrugged it off. "I'll order her a new one tomorrow." She paused. "Maybe."

You huffed. "You cannot still be mad at her."

Victoria said nothing, merely came up to wipe her smeared lipstick off of your mouth with her thumb. She smirked at the sight of you. "I think you're going to need to go home. Can't have you looking freshly fucked."

It was your turn to smirk now. "I think that you might have to as well," you said, hand sliding down to her pants and undoing the button there as you got to your knees in front of her.

[suplicyy]

Hello I saw your requests are open and thought I would drop one

I saw you do multiple characters so headcanons for Daichi,Nishinoya,and Hinata (separate) x rich male reader (if u want to do only one I would like it to be Daichi) the reader is the carefree rich kid spends money however and only went to Karasuno cause he thought it would be fun and he has no problems spending all his money on the people he cares about up to date gym equipment,paying for cheerleaders for the team and reader’s S/O is spoiled the most whatever food they want there closet is filled to the brim with clothes reader buys them treats the boys like gods (I’m quite new to requesting so sorry if this came off as rude in any way)

I want it, I got it!

Haikyuu boys x Rich!Reader

— Summary: He with a rich boyfriend who loves to spoil him!

— Characters: Hinata, Nishinoya, Daichi.

— Tags/Genre: Fluff | Male!Reader

Hinata Shoyo

He really has no idea what you saw in him: someone who is clumsy and who never achieved a high grade in any subject at school, and of course, who doesn't have a lot of money

His lively personality always made your day the best ever, it seemed that being by his side made you 100% better if you were sad. If you could, you could give the whole world just to him... but wait, you can!

Hinata is already getting worried about the amount of gifts you give him, his bedroom is tiny and he's almost running out of space for all the things you buy for him.

And you know how much he loves volleyball, so most of his gifts are based on that: official merchs, new equipments, and one time you even took him to see an official match!

He sometimes feels insecure about not being able to give you an expensive gift like the ones you give him, but already you love all the things he gives you.

It doesn't matter if it's just a souvenir like a cute keychain he saw and immediately remembered you for, or some snack he thought you'd like, the big smile on your face is enough to him realize how much you adore him.

One day, Hinata was doing his daily bike ride to school, and he ended up getting distracted watching the landscape, which resulted in a bad fall on the asphalt. He only had a few scratches, but the same couldn't be said about his beloved bike.

On the same day, you showed up at his door with a new bike that is identical to his old one.

At that moment he was SO happy, he was so attached to that bike, and no matter how many times you offered to give him a ride to the school with your car, he always preferred to cycle, an act that was part of his routine.

Nishinoya Yuu

He LOVES to be spoiled, and you love to spoil those you care about, so it's no exaggeration to say that you were made for each other.

I think he wouldn't be the kind of guy who would ask you to buy luxury things like designer clothes, but rather things that only an eleven-year-old boy would ask for.

"[Name]!! Did you see that commercial for those sneakers that glow in the dark!?" "Let’s go to the amusement park this weekend pleaseeee!!"

And if you give him a gift, expect to get one in return!!

He would love to give you gifts, especially sweets or snacks. Even if you insist that you pay, he always buys you and him a popsicle when leaving school.

But it's not just gifts that he likes to be pampered with, he's someone who REALLY likes physical affection, so don't be surprised if one day he stays attached to you like a tick for the rest of the day.

Many people in your life already said they liked your company/said they were your friend just out of interest in the fact that you have a lot of money, but Nishinoya was never that kind of person.

You can be sure that with money or not, he would be with you no matter what, because what really attracted him was your personality that matched his.

Sawamura Daichi

Daichi is definitely that type of person who is always embarrassed when he receives a gift, in addition to being a great saver too, which often leads him to worry about his significant other's expenses (even if that's the last thing you're worried about lol).

"Y-You really didn't need to...!" "Please don't worry about me, I really don't need another sports sneakers, the one I already have is still in good condition!" Says Daichi holding up a pair of worn-out sneakers.

The truth is that he is not someone who has little money, the real problem is that he is a cheapskate, someone of the type who is stubborn about their own savings. He will only buy something new if it is already in a state of disintegration...💀

But you are here to change that! Always reassure him that everything is fine and that you really don't mind spending your own money just to see his happiness, as every penny is worth it.

By becoming more confident about this matter, Daichi will no longer worry about it as much and will try to be more relaxed about it.

For the team, it's as if you two were Karasuno's parents: Daichi being the responsible and sometimes strict father, and you being the cool and caring father who always gives the best gifts on holidays (see what I mean?)

You care about the team as much as Sawamura, as you were able to see up close the trajectory and evolution of everyone by his side.

So you always love to help everyone on the team if they are going through any difficulties.

Couldn't find a bus to take part in a match? In the same second you find one ten times better than the one they were planning to travel on. Is any gym equipment damaged? The next day you show up with a brand new one. Are they hungry after a long day of training? When you all leave school, you immediately go straight to a steakhouse, all expenses at your own expense, of course.

It's canon that Daichi is one of the characters with the biggest appetite in the series, so it's not an exaggeration to say that most of the things you give him as gifts are edible.

And as much as you can buy whatever food you want, he always preferred your homemade food.

The way you prepare each dish, always making them with the greatest care in the world, was certainly something that was worth much more to him than fancy and expensive things.

— A/N: Hello I'm back!!!! I'm sorry if it didn't turn out the way you wanted, I tried my best to write something good!!😓

[aquasarsstuff]

Spending the night with Lilia Vanrouge

Tags: Lilia Vanrouge x gn!reader, fluff, long-haired Lilia, yokai!Lilia, historical au, reader gets

A/N: I made this while waiting for the rain to stop. Like please stop now, I'm sooo hungry. Kinda regret not going out earlier. Welp- it's already noon, so I used some of my stacked noodles. Also, I was listening to Renegade over and over again while writing this lol, it help with my writer's block especially the part where I had to describe Lilia lol. Yes, there's some secret meaning in some parts here cuz why not

Your school has been demanding all your attention to be poured in your studies. Hence, you weren't able to visit you lover that was living deep in the mountains. You hunch over your desk after reading a ton of books. It was already midnight, and you were sure that if Lilia was here, he would have already lightly scolded you for staying up late. You stop working on your desk, and neatly arrange your school materials. Grabbing the lamp you have; you place it not too far from your futon. After all that work, you slip inside your futon and fell asleep.

The next day, while you were in school and about to leave, you saw a glimpse of Silver and Sebek who was also studying there. As usual, the two were having a one-sided banter. You walk towards them but was blocked by students who were also about to leave. You sighed defeatedly when you don't see them anywhere after trying to force yourself out of the crowd. You wanted to ask them about Lilia. You made up your mind; You were going to visit him tomorrow. It was weekend anyway, and the school schedule only lasts up until the weekdays. You were also studying for hours this past few weeks, and you were not like Riddle who enjoys doing it all day. You were going to spend the day tomorrow with Lilia, and also take a break from your studies. You were hitting two birds with one stone.

Before you head out mountains, you patted the head of the yokai you were living with. Grim merely rolled away from you but still not waking up. You softly laugh before shaking your adorable friend.

"Grim, wake up. If you do, I'll buy you a can of tuna this morning when I pass by the market." And as you expected, all it takes to bring Grim out of his bed was bribing him a can of tuna. The stock of food in the house was also running out, and you just can't bear the thought of leaving him alone in the house and then having to handle the mess he will make in the kitchen when you come back.

When you went outside, you carried Grim like he was some pet cat. Your left hand was occupied by a bamboo basket. You bought some berries and nuts, along with cans of tuna as you promise Grim earlier. Since you haven't had breakfast yet, you thought why not come by Epel's place. You walk away from the busy marketplace and entered a bakery. Immediately the scent of apples filled your nostrils. Delicious deserts made with apples were decorating the place. Epel was in the counter talking with Ace and Deuce in a seat near him. The sound of chimes hitting each other attached on the door, alerted the three people inside.

"Y/N!" Ace called you loudly. You took the vacant seat in front of them. "Did you come here for breakfast too?" Deuce asks you while taking a bite of his omelet. You nod.

"Good morning, Y/N. What would you like?" You gave Epel your order alongside with Grim. As what happens every day, the Adeuce duo somehow never fail to have a squabble.

"I'm not going!" Deuce protested against Ace.

"It's just some rumors. Don't tell me our juice is scared to come to the woods at night, because of it," Ace plasters his signature smirk at Deuce, while the blue head just glares at him. This piqued my interest.

"Rumors?"

"You don't know?" Deuce looks at you.

"Obviously. Why would they be asking?" Ace pipes in much to Deuce frustrations. Epel sighed at the duo and took over the conversation.

"You see Y/N, recently there's been whispers of a creature lingering in the woods who extinguishes any ignited light. All they see is an unseen silhouette, and then darkness." You turn your head slightly at his explanation.

"Myahh?!" If anything, you were more scared of Grim's sudden outburst...

Ace groans when he heard that. "It's pretty windy up there. It could just be the wind. That shadow, whatever it was, was probably just for dramatic effect."

"But, Y/N you're going to the mountain, right?" You almost laugh at Grim worried expression.

"You should be careful, Y/N." You nod at Deuce.

"Don't worry guys, I won't stay that late. I'll be back before sunset."

______

With a bamboo basket filled with berries and nuts, you trudge through the forest's thick foliage. You strayed the trail after reaching a place filled with vines. After a few minutes, you finally saw the cottage you were looking for, but the man you want to see was not there. As you were just about to call out and walk towards it, you notice thick strands of hair, much longer than yours taking purchase upon your shoulder.

"What do we have here?" You were suddenly aware by a presence as soft as melody. Before you could turn around, a finger reaches out from behind to catch your chin and spun you around. You were met face to face with Lilia. His face was uncomfortably close it made your heart ran erratic. His ruby red eyes that were looking through mine felt like it was holding the cosmos inside them.

When he started to inch his face closer to yours, you felt inclined to close your eyes. Suddenly, his finger disappears at your chin. A laughter that sounds like a bubbling brook then follows. "Someone has a mind that dances with the clouds."

You suddenly had the urged to bury yourself six feet because of this suave Nobusuma. You were just about to compose yourself when he drops himself to the ground and reach for your hand that wasn't occupied by the basket and kissed it. He looks at you teasingly. His eyes held the allure of a siren's call, like it was going to enchant and ensnares you with an irresistible allure.

While you were distracted, Lilia grabs the basket out of your hand and took a piece of its content. He greedily munches on the berry, its residue leaving a light tint of red on his lips. "I accept your offering after abandoning me for a long time, my enchanted rose."

"Stop making me the bad guy here Lilia," you sighed, finally out of your flustered state. "Where's Silver anyway?" he playfully plastered a frown on his lips, making him look like a puppy that was just kicked.

"I can't believe this; I just got betrayed by the closest to me. Poor me."

Safe to say, you spend the rest of the day trying to comfort his crocodile tears.

-----

It was already the golden hour, but you still weren't back in your place. You just couldn't bear to move and wake the sleeping Nobusuma in your lap. You gently touch the silk fabric of his black kimono. You traced the hand-painted crane design with the tips of your fingers, until you too fell asleep. When you woke up, a warmth and an aroma of a Chrysanthemum envelops you. You suddenly scramble up, escaping from Lilia's embrace.

"Oh no! It's already dark! I have to get back to Grim."

"Venturing the mountains at dark is filled with peril. It would be wise to stay here," he stopped me when I was just about to leave.

"But..."

Suddenly, his face morphs into a grin. "Don't worry, I won't do anything with you."

"I wasn't thinking about that!"

"Not yet atleast," his eyes glints with mischief.

-----

Bonus:

Lilia: If that doesn't convince you, I heard from human travelers-

Y/N: I know it was you, Lilia.

Lilia: *smiles innocently*

-----

Not sure about this, but let me add it.

Black kimono made of silk: represents a wealthy or high status

Crane design: Revered for their supposed thousand-year lifespan

Enchanted Rose: I dunno why I pick rose, but since he is a yokai and a fae in cannon I added enchanted. And reader's pretty enchanted with Lilia in this fic (I tried-)

Chrysanthemum: Often use as a symbol for immortality

Mind that dances with the clouds: a person who is a dreamer, or has thoughts that is beyond ordinary

okay- im done. You guys interpret the rest

[planetwaynez]

FLOWERS AND GOLDEN STRINGS

CHAPTER TWO

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Soulmate AU!

Chapter Synopsis: Jason can't stop thinking about the flower shop girl, and beacuse of that he takes matters into his own hands. Y/N feels like she is being watched.

WARNINGS: stalking, mentions of crimes and drugs, mental health talk. If there is more let me know.

WORDS: 1,5k

TAGLIST: @27drunkdeer @solarrexplosion @mariam12344 @nyxisnotok

NOTES: This one is a shorter one but it's a important one!!! hope u all enjoy <3 take a look at the tags! every chapther will have a different type of flower in the tags, representing the feelings of Jason and Y/N!

Jason takes a deep breath after he finishes telling Roy about the encounter with the flower shop girl, and how that gave him an uneasy feeling. He is sitting on the couch and Roy is standing in front of him, arms crossed, hair tied up in a man bun and furrowed eyebrows, deep in thought. 

“Just a weird feeling?” he asks, now looking Jason in the eye. To Roy there is only one explanation to Jason’s uneasiness: He found his soulmate, but they didn’t touch, therefore, they are not properly linked to each other. However, Roy also knows his best friend and if he says his theory, Jason is going to close himself off. So he keeps it neutral. 

“Yes” the brunette answers, not quite looking at his friend, thinking that he is probably just with another crush, like it happened before. To Jason, the idea of finding his soulmate is impossible. To him, after he died, there is no more link, after all, he was gone. There is no way.

Roy disagreed. But he kept to himself, after all, every time they had this conversation, they ended up not talking for several months. 

“Ok, it could be a crush, you know?” Once again the redhead tries the safe line of conversation, not pushing Jason’s limits. 

“Yes” but his answer doesn't sound genuine, not even to him. Roy arches an eyebrow, looking at Jason as if he's full of bullshit. And he is, and they both know it.

“What? You think that the flower shop girl is some type of rogue?” Roy jokes but he sees it in his friends eyes when Jason finds an excuse.

Since he came back, Jason is always finding an excuse to do things, especially to his feelings, so it’s not a surprise that he is trying to associate a normal, kind flower shop girl to some crime scheme. 

“She could be” he gets up, as if he just got a revelation and Roy is shocked with his friend, even though he expected it. “That’s probably why I got this weird feeling towards her, it’s my gut telling me she is a rogue”

Jason is looking at Roy with arms open and a sort of crazy look in his eyes, but the redhead doesn’t say anything too out of the line, after all, he knows that Jason already made up his mind. This is Jason’s excuse to watch over the store and find out more about the girl that picked up his interest. 

“You are unbelievable” 

Roy leaves to his bedroom, not wanting to continue the talk or he would end up telling Jason to go to therapy, again, and that’s always a complicated subject. So he leaves his friend alone and, in his loneliness, Jason can’t stop thinking about her, a tight feeling settling in his chest, like a rope ready to snap any moment. It’s uncomfortable and weird and makes his breath uneven. She is just too adorable and kind and so not deserving of having a crazy crime lord vigilante on her back.

However, Jason is too curious.

He is going to find out more about her. 

….

Y/N always loved the idea of soulmates. Someone destined to be with you, someone that will always understand you and support and love no matter what, this gravitational force that is so strong and out of this world that makes two people in love, their souls linked in this life and many others. To her, soulmates exist to bring some type of comfort to people and she feels comforted by the idea. Since she was a little girl, she has dreamed of the day she will meet hers, and deep down she already loves them, because she can feel it. The string moving and adapting, looking for its other half. 

As another client leaves the shop, she moves her shoulders, trying to break the tension. As much as she loves love and seeing people in love, after some time it gets tiring hearing all those beautiful stories while selling flowers, while waiting for her turn to be gifted. She can feel the tension leaving a bit, but not enough, as if her body kept alert because of something lurking in the dark.

It's been weeks since she started feeling this way, as if she is being watched. Rationally, Y/N knows she works in a considerably dangerous zone, but the Sunshine Flower Shop, owned by Mrs.Sullivan was never a target, after all, it's been open for years and Mrs.Sullivan knows everyone and since the Red Hood took over the most fragile parts of the city he made sure two rules stuck. 1. Never swelling drugs to minors and 2. Never taking from theirs; The second rule basically tells minor criminals that they can’t take away from their own people, from their one neighborhood. So she knows that they wouldn't risk it. At least that’s what she likes to think. 

“You seem a bit off, dear, what's wrong?” coming from the back of the shop, Mrs.Sullivan asks, her kind brown eyes looking at her with worry.

Y/N smiles, once again trying to get rid of that tension settling on her shoulders. “Nothing, I am fine, Mr.Sullivan” 

The older woman doesn’t believe her, and Y/N knows it, but they don’t talk more about it. Mrs.Sullivan let the subject go with an arched eyebrow and worry filled eyes and Y/N pretends to not see it. 

After that a few other clients come and go and they keep their harmony in the shop, making beautiful bouquets and giving free smiles to everyone. When the time comes, they close up and once again she feels it. That unsettling feeling, the one to be watched.

But, at the same time, she can feel in her chest the way her string dances, the way it seems it’s looking for someone. It almost takes her breath away, especially because she doesn’t understand this. How can she feel so scared and so safe at the same time? 

She walks home, her hands closed in tight fists and her eyes roaming around but she can’t find the source of her weird feelings, not in the dark alleys and in the full moon shining in the sky. When she gets to her building and gets inside, it’s like everything fades away. There is no more fear and no more string dancing in her chest, it’s an emptiness, it’s an almost numbing feeling and it hits her like a punch to the face. 

It’s unexpected and cold. Y/N hates to feel scared, hates the way the fear makes her legs weak and the way her veins feel like steel and adrenaline is pumping all over her body but she can’t ignore the fact that the fear this time came along that thing in her chest. The string dancing, almost as if it was calling it’s equal. That feeling she didn't hate, she just hated that she had to feel afraid to feel the string again. 

After so long, she felt it again and she can’t quite believe it or understand but it's there. It's alive and it’s dancing and singing and looking for its other half. 

When she is inside her apartment, she sits on her couch and takes a deep breath. She needs a shower, and to think and to sleep.

….

With fascination, Jason watched the girl from the flower shop go home. She seems so scared but so pretty at the same time. He knows it's not healthy to think like that but it’s almost as if a stronger thing inside him was controlling his thoughts that night. 

He made a deep dive into the girl's life. He knows her full name, her parents names, knows her address, her blood type, where she studied and where she is currently studying at. What she likes and what she doesn’t like. He couldn’t help himself, he went on a spiral; Jason promised to himself it was going to be only the basics but when he realized, he was too deep into her life. 

He feels guilty about it but in all honesty, he doesn’t regret it.

She is fascinating.

She is everything he is not and everything he wishes to have. It’s a pearl walking around, being danglend on his face. 

He tells himself it’s just a crush and a little bit of paranoia but Jason knows it's none of that, he knows it's something deeper. There is this thing on his chest, moving like a bear after hibernation, with caution but with a strange ferocity. He can’t ignore it but to his sake he will. 

The last thing Jason saw of her that night was her face in the moonlight, looking over her shoulder. The knit brows, the half open lips that seem so soft and the pink cheeks. He had to almost physically restrain himself as he watched her get inside the building and when she did, he immediately left.

Jason knows that he shouldn’t keep this, but he won’t listen to his logical mind for once. He will follow his wants. And he wants more of Y/N.

[anjelagarrick]

solace

simon riley x reader

summary: your boyfriend’s having an off day, you decide to comfort him.

tags: established relationship, depression, reverse comfort, fluff, a bit of angst, soft! simon

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

ADJUSTING THE SKIRT of your uniform, you smooth the creases, making sure your outfit was spotless before exiting the bathroom. Working as a barista was nice, you got to meet nice people, make cute latte art, it’s how you met your late boyfriend- he was dragged in by the arm by one of your regulars, Johnny. Simon was a big, burly man- hard eyes, quiet yet gruff voice. You found his mask adorable, unlike your co-workers that always had you serve him. Eventually, you managed to crack his wall and start little conversations; and eventually he came alone, no Johnny. He’d sit, observe. He was a good people watcher, you’d have to give him that. Something blooms, and eventually, you hesitantly leave your number upon a napkin, sliding it under his drink. You watched anxiously as he sat down, glancing at the napkin. He reads it for an awfully long time before pocketing it, he doesn’t look at you. He just drinks his drink, then leaves.

You feel extremely lucky that you managed to become his lover. Simon, despite looking tough and rough on the outside, was such a sweet man. He held you gently, helped you with cooking, he made you laugh. What got you to fall in love was his eyes, honey brown eyes that stared at you with adoration and joy, how he’d go from a stony look in public to a softened gaze when his eyes found you when you were out with friends. You understood that Simon would have to be away a lot, with his work and everything, you remember the first week he was away. You fretted, texting him every hour to make sure he was alive and kicking. With time; you developed more faith in your boyfriend’s abilities (not that you doubted them), and you held hope that he would come back. Simon had come home from deployment roughly about a week ago. He kept his experience quiet, not giving you many details- which wasn’t weird for him, yet something in him seemed more… sad.

“Baby, i’m going to work.” You lean upon the doorframe. Simon, to your surprise, was still in bed. With his job as a soldier, you were used to Simon getting up at six a.m, sharp, not a minute behind nor over. He’d have his coffee, go to the gym, come back and shower then allow himself to relax. Yet right now, as of seven forty-five a.m, he was in bed- in the same position you left him in. You knew he was awake, you had spoken to him briefly, told him good morning and kissed him sweetly. Simon doesn’t respond, his back to you. Slowly, you move away, walking down the hall. Instead of collecting your flats, you pick up your phone from next to your bag. It rings twice, then your boss picks up. “Hey, sir… so sorry but im gonna have to take the day off. Something came up.” You tell him, hearing your boss sigh. “Really? Rush hour is about to start.” He complains. “I know, but this is really important..! I’ll work a double tomorrow and Thursday- I promise.” You insist, glancing back to the bedroom. “And Friday. See you tomorrow.” Your boss hangs up without a goodbye. Heading to the kitchen, you make your boyfriend a coffee- just the way he likes it, and head back to the bedroom.

Slowly so it wouldn’t spill, you place the steaming mug beside him. “Thought you were going to work?” He asks, voice raspy. “I called in sick.” You respond, changing from your uniform into some more casual wear. “Why?” Simon’s brows furrow as he watches you, not moving. “To take care of you. Somethings up, I can tell.” You reply, shrugging as you get back into bed beside him. Simon sighs, rolling onto his back. “You don’t have to. Just… having an off day.” He tells you, you hum, shuffling to rest against his chest. “Why? What’s the matter, baby?” You ask softly, hand moving up to gently trace over a scar upon his cheek. Simon raises his hand, enveloping your own and kissing your palm. “Dunno, just… not feeling good.” He responds. “Do you need medicine?” You blink up at him, watching him shake his head. “No, not physically…”

“Oh…” You mumble, letting the silence sit for a while. “Si, do you have- y’know… depression?” You ask sheepishly, worry growing. “Yeah, got diagnosed a while back. Before I met you.” You sit up at his response. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?” You frown, cupping his cheeks gently. “Didn’t wanna burden you. This is my fight.” He sighs, letting his eyes close. “Simon, you’re not a burden. You should of told me, I want to help you.” You lean down, kissing his jaw gently. “You’re such a good guy, Si. You deserve the world, and I want to support you as much as I possibly can.” You tell him, thumb still stroking his scar. “You… you don’t have to, babe. I’m fine.” Simon lies, voice thick; as if he were going to cry. “Simon…” you sigh, resting your head against his as you try to soothe him. “Let me help you.” You beg quietly. Simon stays silent for a few moments. “…okay.” He mutters, hand finding your back. You smile, kissing his temple before sitting up. “Okay. I have some ideas, just to get you out of bed and have you feeling active.” You move your hands to rest on his chest.

“I’m listening.” He responds. “Good! The first idea is, we could go out to a café; there’s a new one out of town that i’ve heard good things about. It’s not too far, to be fair.” You explain, watching his eyes; they’re kind, loving. “Up to you, love.” Simon shrugs half-heartedly. “Well it’s your day, baby. We can do something else if you want?” You remind him, he hums. “Fine, we can check out this café.” He mutters, letting you pull him up. “Okay. Drink your coffee before it gets cold baby, we’ll go soon.” You respond, kissing his cheek gently. “Thanks love… you don’t have to do this.” He smiles, it’s small. “I want to do this. I hate seeing you sad.” You frown a little, kissing his lips before pulling away so he could drink his coffee. He hums softly, sipping his coffee. “I know, but still… thank you.” He responds.

“Why’re you feeling so down, anyway? Anything happen? Maybe at work?” You respond, hand gently massaging his arm, specifically the one wrapped around you. “Yeah… uh. My job isn’t easy, and… this guy I was working with for the first time, he got really messed up. Almost died- and I… I could of helped- could of prevented it. I… I ruined his life.” You hear his voice waver a little at the end, yet he immediately shuts his mouth, closing his eyes. “Oh, Simon. It’s not your fault.” You cup his cheeks, fluttering gentle kisses over his face. “It is. I could of been faster.” He insists, sighing shakily. “Simon, look at me. There is nothing you could of done differently. Your job is dangerous, he knew that when he signed up to join.” You tell him, voice much more firm. Simon sighs. “You did all you could, I’m sure.” You add on, kissing his lips gently. “You weren’t there.” He seethes, eyes darkening a little. You try not to let his tone hurt you. “But I know you. You’re such a sweetheart, you truly do care about the people around you, even though you won’t say it. I know you helped him, he’s still alive, isn’t he?” You ask, hands moving to his sides, gently massaging him. Simon let’s out another sigh, closing his eyes once more. “Look at me.” You mumble, patting his cheek gently. “It’s not your fault.” You insist.

Simon takes a moment, leaning his head against yours before taking a deep breath. “Yeah… okay, you’re right.” He mutters, squeezing his mug tightly as his other arm hugs you tight. “Of course i’m right, doofus.” You half joke, kissing the corner of his mouth; feeling it curl upwards as you do so. “Finish your coffee baby, and try not to worry. You’re home now.” You point out, he nods. “Yeah. Just gotta relax a little…” he responds, kissing you gently. “Thank you, baby.” He mumbles, you smile. “Of course! I’m not gonna abandon you, Si.” You coo, cuddling against his side as he drinks his coffee. “Want me to pick out an outfit for you baby?” You ask softly, head leaning against his shoulder. “If you want, love.” He shrugs a little. You smile brightly. “Great!” Moving away, you get up, moving to the closet. Simon watches you, a glint of amusement in his eyes as you pick your favourite things on him out and put them on the bed. “I heard this new place serves that cake you like. We’ll have to get some.” You say over your shoulder. Simon nods, finishing his coffee. “Sure thing, baby.”

[joonberriess]

𓆩♡𓆪 “he a eater, he ate it for lunch” — jock!jk

·˚ ༘ 💌 TAGS — munch!jk, lots of pussy eating, rimming, cum-eating(?), brief fucking, unprotected sex, jk’s obsession with pussy eating, little to no dirty talk, reader being her cute bimbo self, talks about sex (jk’s made fun of), man’s a ass eater too btw

Jungkook didn’t care that people were staring at him for having a handful of your ass sitting in his hand. He used his hold to gently guide you around the store, steering you away from places you tended to wander off to. He didn’t want you leaving his side, especially since you were in those pretty pink velvet shorts.

You looked adorably slutty today.. With your little white hairclaw, a matching pink sweater with a white tank top that made your tits pop out beautifully and those damned shorts that hugged your ass tightly. To top it all off you were drinking your little pink drink because Jungkook couldn’t say no when you asked for Starbucks before the store.

So here you were, happily sipping on your drink and walking about the store with him. He held the basket with ease in his other hand as he listened to you ramble on and on about your classes and stuff that had happened prior. Jungkook only hummed in response with the occasional “Yeah baby?” while he picked out stuff he needed for his apartment.

“I got a perfect score on my essay today, the teacher even says that I would make a heck of a lawyer with my arguments!” You giggle, bouncing in excitement as you twirl to face him with puppy eyes, “But I wouldn’t wear those ugly colors they all wear, I would make my suit a different color like baby pink..maybe even pastel purple.”

Jungkook quirks a brow at this, “A lawyer? Are you gonna help me out in case I ever get into trouble?” He teases. You shake your head no with a ‘mm-mm’. “Oh? Why not baby?”

“Because if you’re my client I won’t be able to give you a good luck kiss for the trial..” You pout.

Jungkook laughs, “You’re so fucking cute.” He ruffles your hair and then pats your bum, “Alright, to the seasoning aisle, we’re going to make some spicy ass chicken curry tonight.” He nods his head in the direction of the exit, “And you can’t back out this time y/n, you promised you’d eat with me.”

You pout at him, “But-but, it’s too hot for me! It makes my tongue burn and my tummy upset.” You try reasoning with him but he isn’t having it either. He asks you to get something he needs from the lower shelf and without thinking much of it you bend over to get it.

Jungkook’s mouth gapes open, not only is your beautiful ass on show for him, but the shorts dip low to expose the hem of your thong. Not just any… the fucking g-string he got you with those gold letters on the back. “JK” stares back at him almost tauntingly, shimmering in the light as the two letters dangle from the pretty chain on your g-string.

“You’re wearing them?” He says in shock, “I didn’t think you’d actually use them..” He trails off given your reaction to the panties last time.

You stand up straight and tilt your head, “The panties you got me? Oh yes! They looked cute with my outfit so I put them on. Everyone thought it looked so pretty on me! Jihyo even asked me to ask you where you got them from because she wants her own too.”

He looks back down at your ass and curses because he can’t think of anything other than the g-string sitting underneath. “I think I got everything I need.” He rushes out.

That’s how you find yourself in the backseat of Jungkook’s car, legs tossed over his shoulders and hands tangled in his hair. Your shorts are long gone and the thong is hanging around your ankle, dangling around as your leg jerks every so often from the pleasure. There’s loud slurping noises that emit from between your thighs.

Jungkook works his tongue over your clit slowly, trailing down below to your slicked up hole. He flicks his tongue over and over, swiping it from side to side and up/down. The radio does nothing to obscure the slick and gushing noises from your pussy.

“Mmm,” you hike your thighs higher and press them against your chest, “stop teasing me,” you huff quietly, “you’re no fair.” You say, hooking your hands under the back of your knees and holding your legs up for him.

Jungkook doesn’t reply, instead he takes your ass in his hands and spreads you wide on his tongue. He nibbles on your clit teasingly knowing that you like the overstimulating feeling it gives you. His finger teasingly rubs against your puckered rim, he finds it cute that you tense up and whine at him to leave the backdoor alone.

“Jungkook,” you whimper out, toes curling as his tongue swipes over your swollen clit repeatedly.

Jungkook softly pants and pulls away, letting spit dribble down your cunt as it slides down between your ass cheeks. “Best fuckin’ meal.” He licks a stripe across your cunt to prove his point.

You wiggle around underneath him and gyrate your hips towards his mouth invitingly. You desperately want his tongue back on you, and you’re fucked stupid at this point and can’t collect your thoughts properly. “J-Jungkook,” you softly whine, drool slipping past your lips.

Jungkook coos softly, “I know baby, lay back, don’t need to worry that pretty little head about anything.” He dives back down to lick over your pussy over and over again.

More moans poured from your lips as you closed your eyes in bliss. He worked his tongue over and over again against your sensitive clit. You catch a glimpse of his expression and find him with his eyes closed, he moves from your clit to your gushing hole as he basically makes out with your pussy. His nose occasionally bumps into your clit and that alone is enough to send you into an orgasm.

“Mmm..!” Your back arches and you hold on to his hair to keep him in his place.

Jungkook slows down to let you ride out your orgasm in peace, his grip on your cheeks loosen and he greedily slurps up your cum. Your legs feel like jello as they drop down from his shoulders and you lay there trying to recover from the intensity.

“Thanks for the lunch.” Jungkook grins, patting your sensitive pussy gently.

+

The apartment was filled with loud laughter and the sounds of beer bottles clinking together. Jungkook was surprisingly alone tonight, so that called for a guys night with him, Jimin, Yugyeom, and his roommate Seokjin. Beer and fried chicken were given of course.

“Feels like I haven’t seen you in forever!” Yugyeom slaps Jungkook on his shoulder, “Your little girlfriend be occupying all your time, she doesn’t leave any for us man.” He whines.

The others agree with nods, Jungkook simply shrugs, “I rather hang with her than with you guys, Jin I see you everyday so you don’t count.” He nonchalantly says.

“Brat.” Jimin sticks his tongue out, “Name some fun shit you and y/n do, and sex doesn’t count.” Laughter erupts around the living room.

Jungkook takes a swig from his beer, “We’re always out and about buying shit from different places, it’s fun to shop for home stuff and shit. I run errands with her, we watch anime here or at her place. We play street fighter, go out to eat,” he shrugs, “we do a bunch of shit together. Productive shit.”

The boys collectively nod and Yugyeom clears his throat to speak, “That’s cool, I see why you hang out with her now. I mean I believe Kook on this one, my girl’s friends with y/n, she says y/n’s really fun to hang out with.”

“Who? Jisoo?” Jimin asks.

“Yeah, she always tells me what they talk about and shit. I didn’t know they talked about our sex life so often, Kook she talks about you too. Jisoo called you a munch.” Yugyeom laughs, elbowing Jungkook.

Jungkook snorts, “I don’t care I eat pussy, is that a crime?” He smirks with his hands raised, “I meannnn.. If you aren’t eating her for lunch and dinner something’s wrong with you. It’s a fucking crime even,” Jungkook slaps Yugyeom on the back.

The guys laugh loudly and Seokjin manages to speak in-between his laughter, “It’s true, I probably walked in on them like three times by now. All three he’s down there gettin’ to business with her. Don’t think he’s exaggerating, not even for a damn minute.”

“Danggg I can’t get that image outta my head.” Jimin shakes his head with laughter. “What else don’t we know about you?”

“I’d eat her ass if she let me.” Jungkook shrugs. The guys laugh even louder but Jungkook doesn’t care, “She’s got a fat ass what can I say?”

+

Jungkook was hitting it from behind and all his eyes could focus on was the way your cheeks bounced and slapped against his hips. Your tight puckered hole sat so sinisterly, winking back at him as if asking him to touch, inviting even. Your moans spilled from your lips and filled the once quiet room up.

He grunted with effort and pushed the hair out of his face so he could watch your soft globes bounce in tandem with his thrusts. The sounds your pussy made were obscene, it made his gut coil in hot white pleasure. He could see a ring of white form around the base of his cock every time he pulled out.

The intrusive thoughts were winning, Jungkook found it harder to contain himself with every thrust. He bites his lip and fucks into your creamy pussy harder to distract himself, he braces his hands on either side of you as he snaps his hips upward. You let out a surprised whimper and arch your back, “Jungkook..!” Then you do the most sinful thing ever, the nail to the coffin..you reach behind you to hold your ass apart for him, whimpering about how good it felt etc.

He fucking loses it.

He swiftly pulls out of you and gets on his knees, immediately diving in with an insatiable hunger. Jungkook eats you out like a man starved, his tongue is swiping through your creamy folds, trying to get every nook and cranny. His hands replace your own and hold your cheeks apart for him.

You let out a garbled moan, head falling into the pillows as your knees shift helplessly on the bed. You shakily poke your hand down there to rub quick circles on to your throbbing clit. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind and focuses on lapping up the mess your hole made.

Your words are slurred, drool dribbles down on to the pillow you have your head laid on. Your hips stutter in their movements as you rock back to meet his tongue. “S-So good, mmm, g-gonna c-cum.” You whine.

Jungkook pulls back, spitting onto your untainted hole as he watches it dribble down. You whine louder but it’s cut short when he puts his whole fucking mouth over your rim, licking at puckered hole. It’s definitely new for you, and in the heat of the moment you let it happen as you decide to rub your clit faster.

Jungkook’s eyes are closed as he happily sucks and licks at your sensitive rim, he dips his tongue in teasingly. Your body jolts in surprise, a loud cry leaving you as your thighs begin to shake. He doesn’t even dip his tongue in any further when he suddenly feels you shudder, indicating your orgasm.

“Fuck baby. I could do this shit all day, with an ass like this you deserve it.” He slaps your cheek, not minding that he didn’t cum at all.

You pant softly, turning on your side to face him with a blotchy face, “You’re so mean..” You pout softly and make grabby hands, “Cuddles?”

He licks his lips with a teasing little grin, “Least I know baby likes getting her ass ate.” It earns him a smack on the chest but he simply curls up with you in arms, totally worth it.

HE’S BACk!

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess

[temporarywelcome]

12 Fics of Christmas Day 3 - Jimmy Darling

"Kiss"

Words: 617 (short n' sweet)

Summary: Reader wants to knit sweaters for her castmates for Christmas, forcing Jimmy to help her. She gets annoyed. (inspired by a suggestion by @melsimps)

A/N: sorry its so short and pretty much ass I was writing a paper. I might edit the whole thing tmr tbh

____

“Is this a joke?”

She looked up from the bundles of yarn around them, tilting her head to the side, “A joke?”

Jimmy scowled, holding up his hands, “Do I look like I can knit?”

“I’m not asking you to knit,” Y/N giggled, plopping a ball of yarn onto his lap, “I’m asking you to help me knit,” 

“Gee, how wonderful,” he said sarcastically, however, he did not make any moves to leave. He instead held up the yarn, allowing his love to set up the strings and the needles, “So what are we knitting?”

“We?” she mused.

Jimmy huffed, “Yes, we. I am holding the yarn, therefore, I am knitting this as well,”

“I don’t think that’s how this works, Jimmy,”

“It does. I said it does,” the corners of his lips curled into a soft smile, leaning towards her and puckering his lips.

“No time for kisses,” Y/N replied, brows furrowed as she focused on her work. Jimmy pouted, frown deepening when she didn’t even notice his huge exaggerated expression. “I want to make sweaters for everyone,”

“That’s a lot of people, sweetheart,” he stated the obvious. 

“I know,”

“That’s a lot of yarn,”

“I know,”

“I don’t think we have enough,”

“We don’t,” she paused her work to look up at him, “You’ll buy some more, won’t you, Jimmy?” 

“You want me to buy the yarn for your knitting project?”

Y/N gave him a teasing look, giving him that little smile he adored, “I thought we were knitting, Jimmy,”

Oh yes. He did say that. “Will you say they were gifts from both of us?”

“Mhm,”

He thought for a moment, but he actually was not thinking, because he already knew he would buy her a hundred balls of yarn if she asked. He simply stared at her, admiring how concentrated she looked as she looped the strings together expertly. 

“I was thinking we could do a little Christmas act,” she began, and he listened. Well, no, he did not listen, because he was too busy thinking about kissing her. She just had such kissable lips, how could he not?

“Sounds good,”

“And I think I should kiss that Dandy Mott guy at the end of it,”

“I like that,”

She rolled her eyes, “You’re not listening, Jimmy,”

“You come up with the best ideas- Ow?!” he gasped as she flicked him on his nose, “What was that for?”

“You’re not listening to me. I just suggested kissing that dumbie Dandy Mott and you said you would like that,”

“I did?” he asked in horror, “I did?” 

“Yeah,” Y/N grumbled, “What are you thinking about that’s so important?”

“You,”

“Me? You’re thinking about me so damn hard you have to ignore me to do it?” 

“You’re rather cranky right now,” 

“Because I hate to be ignored-” he zoned out again as she babbled, smirking as he saw one of the members of the Freak Show busy decorating. They took out an object from a box: a mistletoe. Sweet. 

As Y/N spoke, Jimmy continued to stare until the cast mate felt it, snapping their head in his direction. He subtly tilted his head, beckoning the man over. As the man approached, Jimmy made a point to look at his face then the mistletoe in his hand. 

“...how would you feel if I just stared at you during every conversation we had and didn’t pay you no mind- Jimmy!” Y/N hissed, slapping his arm now next, “What the hell is wrong with you today-?” she paused, looking up to see the mistletoe held up between the two of them. 

“Sorry, darlin’,” Jimmy shrugged cheekily, “I think we need to kiss,”

____

Tags: @envy-of-greed @bohnerrific69 @loveofcherry