#i dig both dynamics honestly
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ririrules60 ¡ 16 days ago
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old man yaoi
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whamss ¡ 1 year ago
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thinking about vrisrose… love thinking about conditional immortality and toxic kismesissitudes and all the fun that can be had with pushing two very unstable girls together who are all too alike and both so bad at finding healthy emotional coping mechanisms so they take it all out on each other… she sucks, so i don’t even feel bad about slitting her throat and watching her bleed out on the ground under me, but also i will sit there and wait for her to come back… just in case, just in case… all the potential for growth there. i think rose would’ve been justified in beating the shit out vriska on the meteor for the way she handled her alcoholism, but also vriska would totally fight back. more than one fixing the other, i’d like to see them grow together using each other as catalysts to make so many mistakes
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cielospeaks ¡ 1 year ago
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ngl i kinda wish ganglot had a friend/friends who would have a dynamic w her like bill and ted + the grim reaper
#its a good dynamic! im writing a bit of heroesverse and i crave this#the closest would maybe be kukko but hes such a sofboi#maybe el? itd honestly be hilarious if kukko and el are both her buds and tormentors#like omg. she should lighten up. but i get why she doesnt bc everyone is horrible#but shes a cool grim reaper and i dig her. also maybe another idea would be the reaper in that woo parody thing bc that was cool too#gameblogging#insert comment abt how both ganglot and eitr become major players and i didnt intend to like them/initially like them#i love the archetype of 'serious guy w rivalry and the other guy is just a regular guy and doesnt care' and imo its a good twist on it#where the stubborn rival actually gets /killed/ by the 'regular guy' bc they take things too far/the regular guy has a not so nice side#it reminds me a little of jojo lol#and idk. eitr is cool too bc shes the archetype of 'horrible villain but you have an option to save them before they turn into an asshole'#its an interesting concept but usually i like villains too much LOL#or theyre just unsympathetic from start to end also lol#honestly unlikely but itd be super swag if we got a cool member of the curse directive for b5's story#i have /no/ hope for 5 (sorry i meant 6 before). like its gonna be bad i know it#but maybe faf and/or fallen faf would be good so /pray hands#i need the former for spack backstory. (side note fallen faf+ dlc horty would be great. i want them this yr but id settle for next yr)#(dream banner would be dead ursula fallen faf and dlc horty. but idk if thats even likely lol.)#oh and gunter too bc hes worth it (maybe revels the parents also? but their base forms are cool too)
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esouliie ¡ 10 months ago
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BUT DADDY, I LOVE HIM
– pairing | wanda maximoff x fem! reader
– synopsis | you and wanda come back from a very successful first mission together and decide to celebrate in the shower.
– warnings | soo if you’re a mutual, DO NOT READ! this is literal filth, dom/sub dynamic, spanking mention, fingering (both! receiving), face slapping, mommy kink of courseee, pet play, dub con kinda(?) bc she forces you to pee… so piss kink🤠, dacryphilia, oral (w! receiving), some aftercare and cute lil fluff moment at the end as wanda wraps you in her towels bc she’s so mommy! :3 (18+)
– notes | i honestly have nothing to say about this other than i wanted to try something new and out of my comfort zone. it was supposed to be a blurb but ended being over 2.6k so enjoy lmao >.<
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It was your first mission as a couple. Unsurprisingly, it went well. To your core, you knew you’d both be fine. Wanda's leadership and responsibility were unwavering, and you knew deep down that you'd both succeed. Yet, your anxiety had waged its own battle, inundating you with "what ifs" and worst-case scenarios throughout the week.
The adrenaline still courses through your veins, mingling with the fatigue that weighs down your muscles. Dust and grime cling to your clothes, evidence of the challenges you faced together. But amidst the exhaustion, there's a sense of accomplishment, knowing you've made your girlfriend proud.
On the flight home, you shared a tired chuckle, the tension of the mission slowly fading away in the comfort of each other's presence. And all those earlier nerves fading to nothing but relief, knowing you’re both going home. Safe and sound.
…
“I need this suit off me,” Wanda exclaims, her voice weary but tinged with a hint of amusement. She kicks off her boots, already having peeled off her corset, dropping it in a heap by the door.
You giggle in agreement, the sight of your usually intimidating girlfriend as she struggles to take off her tactical gear highly amusing. “Yeah, I think I need a shower to feel human again.”
The sweat-slicked fabric of your own corset sticks uncomfortably to your skin. You would’ve thought Tony would at least have the decency to make your suit more breathable if he was going to stick you in a tight corset…. guess not.
Wanda shoots you a pointed look as you fiddle with your top. Your breasts push deliciously against the black fabric and she licks her lips at the sight of you - totally unaware of her growing desire.
“Well, we could save some water and shower together.”
The suggestion doesn’t catch you off guard as you’re used to the witch coming up with lame excuses to see you naked, and the idea of standing under the hot spray with an equally naked Wanda sounds infinitely more appealing than facing the solitude of your own shower.
“You know, if you wanted to see me naked, you could’ve just said so.”
With a smirk and after a quick press of her lips against yours, Wanda heads towards the back of the apartment, tossing a teasing glance over her shoulder as she beckons for you to follow. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
“Hold on, babe,” You quickly follow in her steps, your trousers and socks long gone, as you enter the shared bedroom, heading for the en-suite. “I need to use the bathroom first-”
Soft lips cut you off as hands slip around your back, swift in removing your blasted corset. She doesn’t wait to grope your chest - deciding she’s been teased enough seeing you in that tight material - and thumbs swipe over pebbled nipples, as she bites her way down your neck.
With an attitude that Wanda usually wouldn’t let slide, "This couldn't have waited five minutes?" 
She replies with a quick “nope” and a harsh nip as she mouths at your skin, now adorned with pretty little red marks.
“But I need to go-” Her teeth digging softly into your nipple interrupts your train of thought as your hands shoot up to weave into dark curls, scraping at her scalp.
You say her name in a breathy moan and she replies with her own; kissing, licking, and sucking as much of you as she can. Your eyes flutter close but an ever harsher pinch to your nipple jolts you forward, eyes wide in search of the culprit.
“Eyes on me.” And with that, she steps away, starting the shower as she adjusts the temperature until steam billows from the stall in a comforting cloud.
As she moves under the spray, you can't help but admire the way the water glistens on her skin, tracing the curves of her body in rivulets that disappear beneath the cascading stream. Emboldened by the steam and the intimacy of the moment, you strip off your panties and join her in the shower, letting the water wash away the tension that has settled in your muscles.
For a while, there is only the sound of water pounding against tile, as you both take time to clean yourselves on irrespective sides. The shower was big enough for more than two, designed with two large showerheads on either side and one in the middle that you never turn on. But then, Wanda breaks the silence with a soft laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she looks at you.
“Cute butt.”
You turn your head towards her, refusing to turn fully away from the warm stream cascading down your front.
“What? This butt?” You tease, hands gliding down your hips to grab a handful of your cheeks, before rubbing slow circles, making a show of the usually marked flesh.
Wanda may have liked having you as her good girl, but there was only so much you could take before reverting to your bratty self.
Turning away from your girlfriend, not letting her win at her game of teasing, you resume cleaning yourself. But, light fingertips brushing along your left nipple tell you she’s no longer on her side. The water makes everything even more slick, a delicious friction that almost wasn't. 
She guides the heel of her other hand down your side, cresting over your ribs until it reaches your ass. Rubbing circles over where your hands were, her eyes glazed over remembering the last time she had you bent over her lap, hues of purple and red stretched over the skin as she spanked you for mouthing off in front of the team.
She husks, “Uh huh. But I like it better with my marks all over.”
Not wasting any more time, she wraps an arm around, fingers sliding down your lower stomach and graciously over your slit, just nearly missing your bundle of nerves. As if she was the one being played with, she groans freely into your ear, her front grinding flush against your back.
“Spread your legs.” And you find yourself obeying, weight shifting to rest on your palms against the tiles. She chuckles softly, teasing you along the lines of being an “eager baby,” before two fingers glide across your peaked clit, and then curl them into your hot passes.
Your head begins to throb, a sign of the tension building within you. "Don't tease," you plead, knowing that the steam only exacerbates your headache. You reach for the faucet, desperately craving relief from the suffocating heat, but a hand stops you.
You find yourself being spun around to face the taller woman, your back arching away from the cold bite of the tiles. She stares down at you with an all familiar head tilt that dares you to challenge her, to defy her from taking what is hers.
But you remain still and she takes that as an initiative to slide inside deeper, a small smile on her face at your obedience. Starting at a hard yet slow pace, she fucks into you with little remorse. A reminder of that she owns you and can have you however she wants.
Just how you like it.
“Such a pretty little slut. Taking my fingers like that, huh? So fucking greedy.” She laughs as you cling onto her towering figure, the pleasure all too consuming as you whine and whimper so openly.
Chasing that high, you fail to notice how different you feel. Waves of pleasure burdened with a slight ache as you flutter around her. The front of your walls stimulated constantly as you rock into her thrusts. Looking down, you watch as she disappears inside of you and suddenly you remember how you needed to pee earlier. The urge to go had left as soon as Wanda started to suck at your nipples.
Your head snaps back, eyes searching to catch Wanda’s attention. But it was already on you as a smirk spreads across her face. “Don’t you have to go, baby?” She asks in a husky whisper.
Your mouth opens but no sound comes out as you resort to nodding relentlessly.
“Aw, you can hold it for me, can’t you?” She coos, fingers never slowing their pace. “I want to play with you a little longer.”
Knowing you won’t be able to hold out, the need to go growing stronger and stronger now that you remember, you whine out, “No, please, Wands- I won’t- I can’t hold it.”
With a fake sigh that conveyed an air of dissatisfaction and yet subtle empathy, “Then go right here.”
You grimace at the thought of peeing on your girlfriend, how gross it would be… the embarrassment would be too much to recover from.
“I don’t want to.” You admit, embarrassment working its way slowly into your mind, not far enough gone to allow Wanda to think for you.
She doesn’t like that, and so, her fingers work faster inside of you. Her other hand moving between pinching your nipples mercilessly and holding your hips down.
“I don’t care.” She hisses out, “If you need to go, you better do it now. Don’t make Mommy wait.”
Making Wanda wait was something you didn't really want to do, having seen the consequence on many occasions when you couldn’t come when she permitted you, but it was difficult. What she was asking of you was difficult.
With her less busy hand, she slaps a palm against your cheek, the sound echoing against the tiled walls, wet skin against wet skin making the assault sting worse than usual. “I won’t tell you again, slut.”
She doesn’t like how easily you can lose focus, your brain clearly overworking when you should be letting go, focusing solely on her.
You mumble out a soft “okay”, not wanting to be slapped again, before closing your eyes and willing yourself to relax around her fingers. Your body no longer fighting against the urge, fighting to hold it in.
But tight circles around your sensitive clit and fingers deep inside don’t stop as they continue pushing you closer to the edge. Your hand grips tight around her wrist, but to no avail. She was too strong and you couldn’t help but surrender to your throes of pleasure.
Hot liquid runs down the inside of your thighs and your eyes snap shut, shielding yourself from what’s happening, as you also begin to come – unable to stop the stream of piss, the flow faster and out of control as fingers still fuck into you.
“Oh, darling... look at you.” She coos, a hint of bewilderment evident in her voice. Not expecting you to actually look, but teasing you for it all the same. She revels in the way the warm liquid slips through her fingers on to the white flooring.
Despite how mean she was, you hold tight onto her as you lose the ability to stand on your own, legs wobbling beneath. You feel her push you further into the wall, using her body as support, not wanting to take her hand away from your weeping pussy.
“That’s it.” She says softly, fingers coaxing more pleasure from your clit. “Such a messy puppy.”
Tears fall from beneath your eyelids and you open your mouth to speak, only to be silenced with her tongue down your throat.
“That was so hot.” She admits before diving back in, teeth clashing as you open your mouth wide enough for her taking. Her tongue draws yours out as she wraps around it, sucking feverishly. Feeling you release all over her fingers - the heat easily detectable under the stream of water above as you managed to splash against her pale skin - turned her on so much, she couldn’t help but fidget, battling the urge to just fuck against your soaked thigh.
The kiss eventually comes to an end, the need to breathe overpowering the need for having Wanda explore your mouth, a few hungry strands of saliva linking you together.
“Good job, baby. You did so good for me.” She says, coaxing you further into that fuzzy feeling. She nuzzles into your neck, lightly nipping over your fluttering pulse, soothing the heated skin with her tongue. The steam making it harder to see anything clearly. You whine in reply, words no longer existing in your mind, as your heavy arms wrap around her waist.
Wanda, unbeknownst to you, wants you in this headspace—all clingy and dependable. She knows how easily things affect you, so she knew that pushing you hard like she did earlier, forcing you to pee all over her, would only cause your brain to overthink and turn against you. She had to keep you like this, for your sake as well as hers.
“I know you’re feeling all floaty but Mommy needs you to do something for her, sweetheart.” She grabs your hand heading towards the slick between her thighs. She was dripping, her clit so swollen it was hard to miss, and you couldn’t help but trace slow circles around the bud. “Mommy needs you here.”
She encourages you further with a moan so arousing, it had you almost slipping inside of her, desperate to make her come around your fingers already.
She whines, needing you to focus. “I want your mouth, baby.”
You sink to your knees, knocking her legs apart to accommodate. You hoist a leg and place it over your shoulder before leaving a line of wet kisses from her knee to the inside of her thigh. Her fingers caress your face, before getting a good hold of your wet curls and drawing you closer to where she needs you most. You waste no time and lick the length of her centre, greedily taking in the arousal that had gathered there. Wanda lets out a low groan and your eye flutter at her sweet taste. She urges you with the hand that was still tangled in your hair. Obedient to the woman’s demand, you push closer, tongue teasing around her entrance as the tip of your nose pushes into her nerves.
The grip in your curls tightens as she begins to guide your head up and down, your tongue running from just inside her, up along that sweet nerve. She curls forward, one hand against the wall, as she fucks against your face. You lick greedily, jaw slack as you let her take control, smearing her wetness all over.
Every pant melds with a breathy moan as she chases her orgasm. Lost in pleasure, she knocks your head against the tiles. It hurts - your headache now forming for certain - but she doesn’t notice until one sharp thrust has you letting out a sharp cry.
“Oh, I’m sorry, baby.” She husks, arousal still clouding her senses, but she’s concerned with your wellbeing as the hand in your hair travels to soothe where you hit your head, making sure there’s no bumps or cuts. Your eyes flutter shut but you don’t revel in the comfort for too long. Her diagnoses done, she guides you back to her pussy.
She doesn’t fuck your face this time, allowing you the space to gingerly tease her entrance, and within a few seconds, your curling your fingers inside while making a hither motion, eliciting long moans from the older woman.
You don’t bother working your way up, knowing how close she was to finishing before she stopped, as you flick at her clit, fingers pressing against her front walls with an expertise only she could teach you.
At this point, Wanda can’t stop moaning. Her hand leaving your hair as she palms her breasts, slipping her nipples between her fingers and pinching the sensitive flesh. Words of encouragement fly from her lips as she lingers on the edge and you work faster, harder, propelling her forward into a blinding orgasm. Her body trembles violently and you smooth your palms over her thighs, feeling the strong muscles rippling beneath.
“Fuck.” She draws out, light flicks of your tongue helping her come down, before she’s ushering you back on to your feet. You slide up and press against her awaiting lips, pushing your body against hers. Sensitive nipples rub against each other and she groans as she tastes herself, hungrily kissing back. She’s always been able to recover much quicker than you.
“Thank you, baby.” She whispers, still a little breathless, before she turns to shut off the water. Her hand grasps yours and you step out the shower, feeling a slight chill as the warmth of the water dissipates. Wanda reaches for a fluffy towel, wrapping it around you first before turning her attention to herself. With practiced ease, she begins to pat your skin dry, her touch sending ripples of warmth through you.
 She always takes such good care of you.
“Looks like I need to wrap your hair.” She says, a tender smile gracing her lips. She had managed to avoid getting her hair wet unlike you with your curls clinging to the sides of your face. Her fingers work deftly to wrangle them into a towel but she’s had enough experience and managed to do it first time.
“All done, little mermaid.” She lets go with a peck to your lips, moving towards the door, and you grab onto her stretched out hand.
“Come on,” She tugs gently, “Let’s watch a movie.”
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bittencandy ¡ 10 months ago
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𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔫-𝔈𝔶𝔢𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯
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Summary: You broke up with your ex more than a couple of weeks ago, and you're desperate to try and move on. Though it's more than a little difficult to do when his face and likeness seems to be everywhere. Pictured on everything from billboards to cereal to . . . Pregnancy tests?
But maybe you won't have to move on after all.
Warnings: Mammon is a warning all on his own. 18+ content. Minors DNI! AFAB, Fem pronouns. Some unhealthy relationship dynamics (this is probably the healthiest I could realistically make Mammon), some fluff. Jealous Mammon: voyeurism (sex while on a phone call); degradation kink; mirror sex; D/S dynamics; clothed m, naked f; biting; a web as a collar; cockwarming; overstimulation; multiple orgasms; PinV; cream pie; blink and you'll miss it electro play; oral (M receiving); size kink, height difference, belly bulge; honestly, these tags make this sound a lot more intense than it is.
Notes: 26.3k words. Not proofread. Warning divider @cafekitsune. Probably one of the most self-indulgent pieces I've ever written. I have no idea what possessed me to write for this absolute garbage disposal of a man - entity? - but here we are. I've long since stopped trying to make excuses for this. It just is what it is. His sh*t personality and adorable face has captivated me.
It's not explicitly stated but the Reader is heavily implied to be a Succubus.
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This was absolute torture. Each day that has passed you by seemed to crawl through the hypothetical hourglass in a reluctant, slow drag, like the universe was intent on leaving you alone to drown in your thoughts; dark, isolating, hopeless thoughts that clung to you with long, cold claws. There was no reprieve. There hadn't been for weeks. And instead of healing and drawing to a close, it seems like that aching, lonely pit that's been sliced into the pulse of your chest has only grown wider, and now it feels as though it might swallow you whole with flaying, gnashing teeth.
And to make matters worse, it's your fault. You were the one who decided to break things off with him. You were the one who said that the relationship was hopeless. That it wasn't going anywhere and the both of you were just rushing towards an inevitable dead end that would just wound you both. You believed you were doing the right thing at the time. Saving you both from the heartache. You were just too different. You wanted for different things and the goals and ambitions that drive you were too polarizing for you to have a healthy, coexisting relationship. And on top of that, after Fizzarolli had ended their ten-year partnership, Mammon had been hellbent on getting you to spy on the jester. Trying to utilize your position within Ozzie's restaurant to dig up dirt on the pair. You had refused, but he just wouldn't stop asking. It was enough to put a strain on what you had. You were offended that he assumed that you would just carelessly throw your friendship with the King of Lust away. That you'd betray his trust. For a little while you had felt so confident and vindicated in your discission in leaving the King of Greed. But here and now, you can't help but to second guess yourself. And the ceaseless chatter of the that tiny voice in the back of your head keeps telling you that you've made a mistake - 
No. 
Nope. 
You were not going to let yourself go down that route. You did the right thing. You did what was best for yourself and sometimes the right thing hurts to do, but it will be all right. You'll survive. You just need time to move on that's all. And then you'll be able to get yourself together. Remind yourself of all of the experiences and people that you had missed out on since you've been in a relationship and then you'll be a brand-new person, prepared for life and all of its opportunities. 
But it was a bit difficult to move on when the person that you were trying to get over was literally plastered over every inch of Hell. Seven Rings and all, he had found a way to weasel himself into every facet of everyday life, to the point that it is actually insane. You're surprised that you had never noticed it before. But now, ever since the breakup, you've been horribly hyperaware of all of the ways that he has marketed himself across the city - even in a Ring that isn't his. Billboards, TV commercials, magazine covers, even on the plastic packaging for diapers - he hates kids! What does he know about diapers?!
You couldn't even go without seeing his face when you were paying for things. You had never wanted to set a bill of money on fire before, but the urge had become increasingly difficult to fight when you had offered to pay for dinner last week with your friends, and you been reminded of the fact that his likeness is featured on the banknote for a hundred souls. 
You couldn't even go the corner store to stock up on your depleted supply of alcohol without stumbling upon that wide, jagged grin. It was irritating. It made you feel nauseous and sick - mostly because whenever you saw that familiar sneer an array of lovesick butterflies burst inside of your stomach; always closely followed by an adoring, fuzzy warmth that sweeps across your spine and burns at your cheeks. It's disgusting. Obnoxious. And not even the sound of some other customer loudly coughing a few aisles across from you nor the repetitive buzz of the stark, pale florescent lights hanging from the ceiling above are enough to pull you out of those old feelings. They cling to you like a kind of residue. Sticky, thick and stubborn. And even worse is the fact that you find comfort in it. It's familiar. It's warm. And a part of you can't bear to part with it.   
Ugh, you're hopeless. 
You reach for the bottle you came for - Beelzejuice, which is admittedly too cloying of a drink for you. It could make you sick with its sweetness if you consumed too much, but it got you drunk fast, and as of right now that's all you wanted. You wanted to forget. Even if it was only temporary. But even with your chosen liquor in hand, your eyes keep straying over to the bottle with his face on it. Some cheap knock-off brand, it seems. A watered down and bland substitute, but it looks to be like it might be one of the most expensive beverages on the entire shelf, because why wouldn't it be? 
The portrait of his face on the label is a simple sketch, similar to the rudimentary doodle that he always adds next to his signature, but it's still enough to have your heartbeat skip wistfully. It's a familiar brand of alcohol. One that you had found in his liquor cabinet several times. A poor duplicate of one of Satan's brands of whiskey. You had never gotten around to trying it honestly, and you wouldn't be trying it tonight. Not even with his adorable face sketched out on the labe- 
You jerk away from the shelf with a colorful string of profanity huffed out underneath your breath, strained and exhausted. This entire situation has you run ragged. Tired with yourself and your feelings and your apparent inability to just. Move. On!
You outwardly groan, squeezing tight onto the neck of the bottle in your grip, swinging your head back on your shoulders. The glare of the lights above isn't even enough to stray you from your thoughts. And for a moment you just stare upward, ignoring the dull sting that the pale glint projects against your eyes while you rove them over the water damaged stains on the ceiling, pointlessly making shapes in the splotches. Trying to look for some kind of distraction, no matter how stupid it may be. But you can only quietly stand in the aisle for so long before you're kicked out for loitering. 
"Dammit," You swear, dropping your gaze back down again, vision skipping around the store, over the colorful array of saturated products and the few other people randomly scattered about the floor. It gives you pause when it lands on someone who's standing only a few feet away from you, in front of the shelving facing your back. But irritation flares when you notice that they're watching you with a somewhat animated expression. There's a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth and despite the friendly aura surrounding him, the weight of his eyes has your skin prickling uncomfortably. And even with you telling yourself to just shrug it off, to just ignore him and continue on with your night, you can't hold in your annoyance. 
"The hell are you looking at?" You snap, glaring with a snarl. 
The Imp blinks, shoulders drawing up tight like he's surprised, and the reaction just serves to irritate you even more. But before you can get another remark, another demon is breezing past you and joining his side with a sunny expression on their face. The guilt and humiliation that settles over you feels like a set of talons running down your back, and you immediately want to shrink into yourself and vanish. You can't fight off the cringe that sweeps over your body, and you struggle to give them an apologetic, strained smile, lifting the hand holding the bottle of mead up to give an awkward wave, and the alcohol inside sloshes around in a way that seems to hammer home your embarrassing predicament. 
He doesn't return the look, instead he's looping arms with his lover and leading them out of the aisle all together, but not without shooting you a wary glance over his shoulder and you hear him whisper lowly in their ear before they both disappear around the shelving: "Don't make eye contact with her. She might be a biter." 
You need to chill out. You're acting completely erratic, and towards people who don't deserve it. Complete strangers who were probably just here to pick up some junk food and a slurpy, and now they get to go home and talk about the crazy lady standing in the liquor aisle.  
It would be fine. Everything would be okay once you just get home. 
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Everything was indeed not fine. In fact, it might have been worse. 
It started out normal enough. You went about your regular routine. Or the routine that you had adopted these past few weeks anyways, which usually consisted of an occasional glass of alcohol and a bowl of ice cream, eating and drinking your feelings while you watched whatever mindless trashy show is currently playing on TV. You try to do some kind of selfcare. Anything to keep you from drowning and getting pulled down into the dredges of your pathetic longing and angst. Tonight, that meant painting your nails and applying a face mask that smelt of pineapples and nectar. And for a moment it was actually nice. It felt peaceful even. 
You had slid the glass door that led to your compact outside balcony open, letting in the distant lull of the traffic down below and the scent of the balmy night breeze inside your apartment. That was always a plus to the Lust Ring, that even with the heavy population and the smog of the bustling, neon city, the air here always seems to be a little perfumed, subtly sugared and almost a little heady. 
You were humming yourself, perched up on the soft cushioning of your couch, barely registering the angry shouting coming from the speakers of your television. It's probably just two of the ladies fighting again. Tension is going to be at an all-time high considering that Luz is getting married, and she didn't invite Opal to the wedding. Things were bound to get messy. But even with your interest piqued you could hardly get yourself to glance up from your work while you apply coats of a cheerful yellow nail polish to your toes. It wasn't your first choice, but you figured that it was a happy color. And you had hoped that maybe it would make you feel better. It didn't. You had decided halfway through that it was an awful decision. Whether it was because of the particular shade, you don't know, but you found yourself observing the polish underneath the warm glow of your lamp with a mild sense of regret. 
Oh, well, it's not like you can't change it. 
You lift your focus up from your feet that you had propped up against the lip of the coffee table, scanning the counter for the bottle of acetone, but you come up empty. There's nothing but your glass of mead and the half-melted bowl of cookies n' cream that you had forgotten most of the way into painting your nails. You could have sworn that you had grabbed it and a handful of cotton pads and swabs from your bathroom before you had started, but apparently you didn't.
And then - 
You hardly even make out the words, you just hear the voice. That horribly familiar voice, raised in that accented lilt. It has you perking up subconsciously. Your head jerks like it's being tugged on an invisible string, threatening to give you whip lash with your full attention zeroing in on the screen and your body twists in its hunched position to sit ramrod straight.  And for one fleeting moment, you hope that your ears are just playing a trick on you. That the universe was kind enough to give you a break within the comfort of your own home, but that small glimmer of optimism is quickly snuffed out like a weak flame when a blur of various shades of green streaks across the screen, accompanied by the jingling of bells and coins. And then there he is. 
Ruining the most recent episode of the Housewives of Sin City. 
This absolute hell. Well, yeah it is literally. But figuratively as well. 
What is he even doing on this show? You can't recall him mentioning to have an interest in it or any of the stars a single time that you had been together. Except for maybe that one time he had found you watching it, and he had casually asked you about one of the wives who had been in the throes of an enraged outburst, while shoving a handful of chips into his mouth, speaking around the mouthful: "What's wrong with that skank? She on the rag or something?" 
But now, he's apparently a guest at Luz's wedding. How that's even possibly - why that's even possible doesn't add up. And the shock and irritation running throughout your body like an electrical current has twisted up the features of your face, causing the moisturizing mask placed over your skin to lose its grip, suddenly peeling itself from its hold to fall onto the carpet in a flat flop near your feet. 
You don't even give it any mind. Instead, you're looking for an outlet, blindly reaching for the nearest object to throw and your hand snatches up an old Loo Loo Land apple plushie next to you on the couch for you to hurtle at the screen. It makes impact with a pitiful squeak before plopping on the floor and the TV doesn't so much as rattle from the hit, which is honestly a blessing as much as you'd love to see the glass projecting the image of his grinning face to crack and split down the middle. But you can hardly find it in yourself to be thankful for that little fact. You're annoyed and angry and hurt. 
Actually seeing him in motion and not in the form of pictures or drawings is just picking at that fresh wound that's still openly bleeding. And suddenly, those three long years of being at his side have never felt so far and yet so close: looming and almost painful. You lurch for your phone, scooping it off of the table to fervently scroll through your contacts. You briefly pause on Fizz's name, and for a second you consider calling him. He would understand. He would sympathize with what it's like to struggle with learning to let go of Mammon's influence and figuring out how to move on. But that wouldn't be fair. Not to him. Not after he's just recently cut ties with the King of Greed, and officially dropped the Sin as his mentor. It would be opening up a cut that he's still beginning to heal. 
It has you scrolling your thumb down a little bit further until you find Lottie's number and you press it without much thought, other than the fleeting wish that you weren't interrupting her. She should be free from her shift at the firm by now; it's late enough. But with each trill of the phones ringback tone you get a little more unsure, and the sinking feeling that she's busy, that you've disturbed her nearly has you ending the call. The image of her caller ID posted in the background doesn't help either.
You know that she won't be angry about you contacting her. She's actually been pretty insistent that you do just that if you ever begin to feel overwhelmed or upset, but suddenly the sight of her joyful, beaming face doesn't seem so jovial anymore, and the scarlet glint of her eyes seems accusing and harsh. It's enough to have you second guessing yourself, but just as you're about to press on the red button on your screen, she answers. 
The comfort that floods over you lifts from your body like a sack full of bricks and you breathe an audible sigh of relief when you set the call to an open speaker. "I think I'm going crazy," you blurt. You almost wince at the lack of tact, but you can't help it with all of the emotions and stress rising to the surface, forcing all of your worries to spill out of you like a flooding geyser. "Everywhere I look, he's there! How am I supposed to move on when he's shoved in my face every second of the day? I went to the store a few hours ago, and he was all over the place; on cereal boxes and chip bags and fucking laxatives-" 
"Okay, okay, okay, " her voice soothes firmly, successfully grabbing you attention enough to get you to just stop talking. "Listen. I really don't think that you're giving yourself enough time to move on from this. I mean, it's been what? Maybe just a little over a month?" 
"Yeah, " you nod dejectedly, scooping up some of your liquified ice cream on to the spoon to drink. "Just about three weeks." 
She hums lowly. "So, you two were together - surprisingly - for a few years. All of those feelings aren't just going to dry up overnight, babe." 
"Ugh, I know!" You whine in an elongated groan, dropping the spoon back into the ceramic bowl with a noisy clatter. You tighten the grip that you have on your phone so that it doesn't go flying out of your hand when you let yourself fall face first into the couch cushions, not caring if it stunts your breathing and when you speak next your voice is slightly muffled. "It's just so frustrating. I don't know what's holding me back. I mean, I really don't even know what I had ever seen in him in the first place." 
You hear her scoff on the other end and there's a clipped humorless laugh tainting the sound. "His money? Well, no he's too cheap to even spend it - whatever. Either way, I'm glad you finally woke up to his bullshit. The guy's a total sleaze." 
The comment makes you bristle despite your pervious statement, but you can only manage a grunt in response, tired and low while you turn your head, moving from the press of the cushions to finally allow yourself to breathe properly without inhaling the bits of perfume and dust that have undoubtedly gotten caught within the velvet fabric. You've heard all of the confused whispers and frustrated remarks for years. From Lottie and Ozzie and many of the other performers and staff at the restaurant, none of them were shy in voicing their bewilderment over your relationship with the Sin of Greed. They weren't looking down at you per se. You could tell that the side eyed glances and chatter all came from a place of good will and genuine concern - "He just isn't a good person, darling." Asmodeus had told you once. "I know him better than just about anyone and believe me when I tell you that he'll chew you up for all your worth and spit you out when he's finished licking up the bones. You deserve better." - but they still frustrated you. 
In the past you had told yourself that they just didn't understand him like you did. That underneath all of the selfishness and confetti and snark that there was something that cared. What a complete blind, fool you had been. 
Your eyes land on the TV screen, letting you defeatedly take in the sight of him on stage, guitar in his hands while he belts out one of his songs on an exuberantly decorated stage with champagne colored streamers and the glimmer of coins (fake of course, he'd never use the real thing out of the risk of other demons scooping the change off the floor and stealing it) falling around him, and a row of golden cannons shoot off explosions of sparkling fire and pyrotechnics. He's no doubt eclipsing the wedding ceremony with the act but knowing him that was entirely the point. 
So he's there as the part of the entertainment then. He's got to be charging them out the ass for this performance. 
You let yourself admire him, sweeping over the neon green of his eyes and the round shape of his face. You could almost feel the cool sensation of his cheeks against your palms. He's always ran a little on the colder side; a little chilled to the touch no matter how heated the atmosphere around him may be. But you had never minded. And you find yourself longing to brush your thumbs along his skin, to feel the weight of his face underneath your fingertips like you've done at least a thousand times. 
"He is still a little cute," you remark, melancholic but a little loving too. 
Lottie sighs on the other end, ragged and weary but then her breath snags and a small bout of silence hangs over you both. "Is that - is that him singing? Are you watching him?" She accuses, tone saturated in disbelief. She makes you feel like you're being berated by your mother. Like you're a child being caught doing something that you shouldn't have, and it has shame stinging at your cheeks. 
"I was watching my show," you defend yourself, eyebrow furrowing as you observe him break into the songs verse. "And then he decided to show up." 
"Oh, for fucks sake," she grouses. You can tell that she's shaking her head on the other end. Probably pacing, too. "All right, we're going to do something about this." 
That both intrigues and concerns you and you perk up just a little bit. "Do 'what' exactly?" 
She doesn't immediately answer and that sets you on edge. You can still hear her shuffling around on the opposite line and it has tension setting in your muscles while your brain tries to scramble around for whatever  it is that she's trying to plan or set up, but your mind keeps coming up frustratingly empty. "Seriously, what are you doing?" 
"I . . . " she begins a little distractedly. "Am setting you up on a date." 
It feels like a bullet has fired your heart out from your chest in sharp burst and the shock is enough to have you clambering up from your flopped over position to glare down at your phone. You can taste the adrenaline on your tongue like something acrid. For a moment you can hardly get the jumbled words out from your throat, and you're left sitting frozen with your mouth hanging open dumbly. " You . . . Wh - " Your eyebrows pinch close. "You what?  With who?" 
"Do you remember that coworker that I told you about? The hot paralegal?" 
You hum to yourself, trying to jog the memory free but nothing familiar rises up to greet you. "No," you answer bluntly, picking at a loose thread from the couch cushion. 
The admittance doesn't seem to dampen her excitement in the slightest. "Well, he's nice and Sherry said that he has a massive dic - "
"Okay, I get it!" You say quickly. 
"And I think this will be good for you," she says, tone dipping into something gentle and soothing. "I mean, I know I said to take time to move past this, but maybe you could use this as a reason to get out. To take your mind off of things - it won't be anything serious! Just a . . . distraction." 
Your lips purse and you can feel a refusal rising up from your lungs, but then your eyes are drifting back over to the TV. The bitter taste of disappointment hits you like a mouthful of lime juice when you see that he's been replaced on screen with one of the wives during a confessional scene, and it serves as a harsh reminder of how pitifully stuck on him you are. Sure, you know that you only need a little bit of time to completely move on, but Lottie's right. Maybe a harmless little date wouldn't hurt. Maybe it would be enough to finally help you to pry those bits of affection and devotion from him and take back your life. "Okay, " you relent wearily. 
She exclaims in a burst of excitement, and a part of you loathes how happy she sounds while you're currently stewing in your own misery. "Great! I already texted him about it, but I'll send you his number." 
You hum to let her know that she's been heard, a little absentminded while you continue to stare at the screen with some piteous part of you waiting for him to pop back up on the TV. The phone call drifts from there, directing back over to Lottie's day. A nice reprieve from thinking about your own, but as selfish as it is, it's hard to try and pay her words any attention while you're buried under your own emotions. You can't help but be a little bit thankful when she has to end the call, having to turn in for the night in the preparation of some early meeting in the morning. 
It leaves you to just sit in silence, with your bowl of melted ice cream propped in your lap while you mindlessly watch TV, seeing the content flit across the screen but not registering it. You had made yourself change the channel about fifteen minutes ago, even when your thumb had stubbornly hovered over the controls of the remote while your subconscious waited for that familiar grin to show back up on the screen. And that fleeting little thought had been enough to get you to mash down on the channel button until you landed on an entirely random program. Some renovation show, about taking homes from demons struggling against foreclosure to remodel the seized properties into luxury houses for reselling to the wealthy and famous. 
A lot of the designs were just beyond absurd. Like the bathroom with a mini golf course built into the flooring or the laser tag arena that was merged with a sex dungeon. It was an odd union of hobby and . . . necessity?
And that's where you stayed for an indiscernible amount of time without moving apart from a small shuffle to readjust; you had long since forgotten your intention to remove the yellow polish from your nails. You were steadily nursing on your glass of Beelzejuice, fighting off the slight wince on your face whenever you took a sip. Between the saccharine, syrupy flavor and the burn of the alcohol whenever you swallowed it down, you were hitting close to your limit for the night. Fortunately, a nice, relaxed haze was already settling over you and fizzling at your limbs and fingertips. And for a few blissful moments, you didn't have any clamoring, distracting thoughts or feelings welling up and threatening to stretch you thin. It felt like peace. 
You had texted the number that Lottie had sent you a little while ago - Hugo, it seemed his name was - just to try and make an effort, even if it was a reluctant one. It was just a quick hello, nothing much more than that, and you hadn't built up the courage to check and see if he had responded to you. It was so odd. The entire situation and you hate how much you feel guilty about accepting an invitation for the date. It had some acidic, nasty sensation bubbling in the pit of your chest; sharp and cold, but luckily the potency of the alcohol was enough to distract you. 
Not for long though, because the show is switching to a commercial break and once again the familiar sight of a layered, pointed clown costume drops across the screen, encapsulated around the looming shape a figure that you know all too well. His voice is raised, meant to grab the viewers' attention easily as he breaks into a pitch meant to entice the watcher into buying his newly manufactured sex robots, modeled after a pair of twins from the Envy Ring.  
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Your entire body seems to sag, weighed down with defeat, and you swear you can feel tears prickling at your waterline as he leans closer towards the camera, twirling his staff with one of his upmost hands. And for a while you don't even hear what he's saying. You're too busy being forced to watch him while he cavorts around a simple, plum purple background with a pair of robots obediently stationed behind him. And it isn't until he reaches for the both of them and presses them both up against his sides with a somewhat provocative grin stretched over his face that your mind seems to focus, and his indistinct salesman speech becomes fully audible.  
" - each sold separately! But if you purchase the both of them in a package deal, then you'll have double the fun for the low, low price of two thousand, six hundred and ninety dollars - not including tax! C'mon! Don't be a cheapskate - " He leans forward, eyes narrowing while his voice subtly shifts a few octaves lower in a threatening rumble - "you better get 'em both, you sick fuck! Ya know you want to!" 
Your hand seems to raise on its own, gripping onto the remote and smashing down on the power button, causing the screen to go black, saving yourself and your sanity from having to look at him for a second longer. 
It's safe to say that sleep didn't come easily that night. You had tossed and turned for hours on end, and it wasn't until the dawn was rising in the horizon in a blossom of pale lavender and peach hue that you were able to pass out from pure exhaustion. The next few days continued as they usually do with preforming down at the restaurant and going out for drinks with your coworkers afterwards. You had begun to text Hugo within that time, and you felt a bit of consolation to know that he too wasn't looking for anything particularly serious, having been out of the dating game for a few years after spending his focus on furthering himself in his field of work. The both of you had unanimously agreed that whatever was going to take place between you would be entirely casual. It was after two days of speaking that he had asked to take you out for dinner, and with Lottie's words echoing loudly inside your head, you had agreed. 
It wasn't until you were getting ready that night that your reality had officially sunk in. That you're actually going to go out on a date with a man that you hardly even knew. After three years of remaining in a relationship it felt like such a strange concept. You had never imagined yourself with any other person but Mammon. And now here you were, rummaging around in your closest for something to wear. Shoving through the mountain made of Thing plushies and all of the other miscellaneous trinkets that he had sent you once he had realized that you were indeed serious about ending the relationship, just to try and get to the clothes hanging from the closet rod. 
You had thrown most of his little 'peace offerings' away at first, but after the fourth day of having to carry the armfuls of Mammon plushies and oddly enough, Loo Loo Land novelty cups (you're fairly sure that he was just sending you stuff that he had found in inventory) down to the garbage hatch down the hallway, you had just begun to shove it all into your closet instead. The questioning stares from your neighbors had always felt too invasive whenever they'd watch you slip down the corridor with his pathetic attempts at bribing you back into a relationship clutched to your chest in the shape of stupid toys and knickknacks.
You actually manage a smile when you successfully tug the hanger holding your chosen dress free from the confines of the closet, but you don't even bother trying to fight against the scattered collection of plushies by attempting to close the door to your closet. Not with the way that they've tumbled out from the confines of the snug little alcove and onto the floor. It would be a losing battle, and you don't have time for that with the clock steadily ticking. You were quick to rush off to the bathroom, taking care to spend time on styling your hair as best as you could and making yourself presentable, spraying on a few puffs of perfume across your body. 
You had been fine throughout the entire process. The nervousness settling in your gut had been noticeable but manageable. It was faint enough to keep your mind off of it, to push it down and ignore. It wasn't until you were actually at the decided upon restaurant and sitting across from Hugo at a candle lit table for two that the restlessness and hesitancy become unavoidable. And you had long since forgotten your food, far too nervous to eat. It had you trying to distract yourself from the wild thrum of your heart beating in your chest by looking around the dining room, admiring the pale, iridescent shimmer of the dramatic crystal chandeliers hanging above the array of tables and the large, carved marble statues placed along the circumference of the great the walls. 
"Are you all right?" Hugo suddenly asks, breaking from your trance. Your attention snaps over to him, making the jewelry hanging from your earlobes jingle. 
"Yeah, of course," you reassure quickly, playing with the stem of your wine glass somewhat distractedly. "I'm just getting reused to this sort of thing. It's been a while since I've been on a date with someone new." 
He smiles, nodding in understanding way while he prods at his food. "Well, we're both in the same boat in that regard." The burgundy shade of his irises shimmer underneath the gentle glow of the candles flame. "It's no pressure, remember? This is purely casual." 
It has you breathing a visible sigh of relief, and the entirety of your body relaxes while you let yourself rest your weight on the table with your elbows. It was something that he has told you before, but it was nice to hear it in the moment, face to face. Hugo moves a bit closer, and the motion looks a little awkward. A little unsure, and as bad as it may sound, it was almost pleasant to see that he too is removed from his comfort zone. That you're not the only one that's entirely out of their depth. 
"I hope that this isn't too forward, but why did you agree to even do this?" He asks. "It's just, from how Lottie described it, it was all sport of sudden." 
The question gives you pause, as straight forward as it is and for a moment you find yourself without a proper response. He did say that this entire outing was casual, no strings attached. But even then, it isn't exactly appropriate to say that you were just trying to get out of the house because you were going clinically insane; that you're out here on your night off, drinking wine that's entirely too expensive because everywhere you look, you see your ex's face and it's been wearing down on your resolve little by little like pressure on a weak, torn rope. Sure, you have the potential to be an asshole, but even that feels a little insensitive. 
You had told him that you had just recently gotten out of a relationship, but he has no clue just how fresh the separation actually is. And you have no idea what Lottie may have said to him, but as of right now you'd like to try and keep your personal business to a minimum if at all possible. Satan forbid you accidentally mention just who you ex is. That last thing you need to deal with is him getting intimidated and running off because you used to have tied with the incarnation of Greed. 
"Honestly?" You say, absentmindedly tapping your nails along the stem of your glass with a soft shrug. "As superficial as it is, Lottie said that she knew about a hot guy that was single and looking for a night out. I agreed." 
He chuckles at that, playing coy but you notice the subtle way that he preens under the casual compliment. The hint of a smile curling at the corners of his lips, and the slight spike of lust that trickles across the air. It's low, a blink and you'll miss it scent; heady and a little warm, and the faint thrum of it nudges against your body like a hesitant touch before it vanishes. But despite your instinct to chase after that minute pulse of desire and cultivate it into something more, you find yourself completely uninspired to do just that. As dejected and disappointed as it makes you in yourself, you'd honestly rather spend the remainder of your evening catching up on your TV shows than wasting it between the sheets with him. But then again, that doesn't have to be the point of tonight. Tonight, you're just here to get out. To remind yourself of what's out there. You have to try. 
"Was she right?" He speaks suddenly just as your taking a sip from of your wine, leaving you to tilt your head curiously with an intrigued hum. "Am I hot?" 
You lower your glass, drinking the swig down and you make a show of eyeing him while you debate on how you really want this night to go. This could be a simple time out on the town, or you could truly try to go down the opposite route and wind up in some trashy No-Tell-Motel a few blocks down the strip. He seems receptive enough. In fact, despite his earlier statements, you're more than sure that he wouldn't be opposed to a little harmless fling. And maybe it would help you forget Mammon, even if just for a little while. But is that really what you want though . . ?
"Hmm, ask me later tonight," is all you say, smirking softly, and there it is again. That dim heated little pulse that leaves him and threads across the atmosphere. It should be enough to interest that deep, primal part of your psyche, but there's absolutely nothing. 
"So, what did your ex do, if you don't mind my asking, " he says, and you struggle to keep the smile on your face present at the mention of Mammon. " Sorry, I'm just trying to figure out what kind of expectations I'm supposed to be meeting." 
Well, that shouldn't be all that difficult to surpass. Not with how self-absorbed and oblivious Mammon has always been. And truthfully, Hugo was attractive - or hot, as Lottie had promised. Sure, you had seen pictures of him with all of the texting that the both of you had done but seeing him in person was somehow all the better. It was easy to see that he takes care of himself. His eyes are gorgeous, sharp and expressive and the suit that he wears is no doubt expensive. And with how considerate and patient that he had been with you throughout your entire time together, he didn't have much to worry about in terms of acceding past the standard that Mammon had set. 
"He was . . . " You wrack your mind for a way to delicately leave out the hints that your ex just so happens to be the King of Greed. You really won't be able to handle the entire slew of questions that would no doubt come from that little nugget of information. " A performer . . . " You settle with a squint. "And a businessman of sorts. " 
"Oh, yeah? Is it possible that he's been in anything that I've seen before?" He questions conversationally. 
Yes. It's very, very possible. "No," you shake your head with what you hope is a neutral expression on your face. "I doubt it." 
You take a quick sip of your wine, desperate for some sort of liquid courage to dull the low turning of your stomach. He hums softly, letting you know that he's heard you and pats his mouth clean for any traces of food. 
"So, did you work together then?" He tilts his head in a curious kind of way, and the inquiry has your eyebrows furrowing incredulously, prompting him to clarify. "You said he was a performer. You work at Ozzie's, right?"
"Uh, yeah," you admit. "But no. He's business partners with my boss, so he pops in for meetings every now and again. That's how we met." You clear your throat, shifting in your seat to try and regain a sense of comfortability. The memory always leaves you feeling a bit confused. A little torn and stretched between contrast of a fond sense of love and nostalgia but reversibly the bitter sting of loathing and regret. It leaves you a jumbled mess. Stuck because you can't help but wonder just what you had ever seen in Mammon, but it's even worse because all those affections still haven't fully waned. Even before you had fully become acquainted with the Sin of Greed there'd always been that odd sort of intrigue that would pull at you whenever he had arrived at Ozzie's for a meeting; typically, a discussion over the production of Fizzbot's much to Asmodeus' chagrin. 
Your boss was never enthused over Mammon's presence in his restaurant, mostly because the Sin would always try to scout new talent to exploit in the shape of Ozzie's employees whenever he was present (not to mention that massive tab that he had racked up at the bar and the kitchen that he always manages to weasel out of paying). And you had been one of those employees yourself. You had been pulled over by the King of Greed one night after your routine, and he had shamelessly tried persuading you in becoming one of his performers directly in front of Ozzie, offering you fame and money and fans beyond your wildest fantasies. Naturally, you had declined the proposal. 
The refusal had visibly rubbed him the wrong way, with him no doubt taking it as blow to his pride and his image, but he hadn't let it stop him. Every time that he came in for that monthly meeting, he'd make sure to pop the question, and you'd gently let him down each time. But for whatever reason, his persistence never bothered you. It was almost fun in fact, like a game of cat and mouse. It was entertaining, in a strange sort of way, like the both of you were waiting each other out to see who'd crack first. You actually enjoyed his company. He was brash, garish and vulgar. The jokes that he made were always at another expense and he was insensitive to the point it was concerning, but for some reason you found yourself inexplicably drawn to him. He made you laugh; he let you be yourself, and the both of you could spend hours gossiping amongst yourselves and trashing other demons, laughing at their misfortune and mistakes. Was it rude? Absolutely. But with him, that was perfectly fine. He was a complete douche (still is) but he had never really flirted with you, he'd never given much of an indication that he was interested in you in a sexual nature, apart from admiring your talents on the stage it was a nice break from all of the constant salivating customers that would clamor up against the edge of the platform and ogle you throughout your shift. It was nice just having a conversation with someone who wasn't expecting or wishing to get some cheap blowjob backstage. Ironically enough, one of the most exploitative beings in all of the seven circles of Hell managed to make you feel the most normal. Like you were more than just your basest functions, more than lust and a performer.  
It had been Asmodeus who had recognized when your intrigue in the Sin of Greed had melted past an amused kind of fascination and into endearment and desire. He had seen the shift in your emotions long before you had, and you had vehemently shrugged off his gentle accusations for months on end. Insisting that he was reading into the weird type of kinship that you had fashioned Mammon all wrong. You had insisted that you were just friends. You just found him interesting, that's all. 
But unfortunately, Ozzie had been right. 
"Is it okay if we change topics?" You ask suddenly, desperate to get out of your head. To quit reliving old, painful memories. " It's just - talking about my ex, you know?" 
Something sheepish and a little ashamed flits across his face and he's immediately apologizing. "Oh, I'm sorry. That was a little insensitive of me." 
"It's okay," you say truthfully, shrugging with a soft smile. "So, do you have any kind of hobbies?" 
The conversation diverges for there - thankfully, carrying on while you both try to learn about each other. It leads you to discover that Hugo has a multitude of talents, such as being able to play several kinds of musical instruments and he has a proclivity for painting and a fondness for cooking that was cultivated by his grandfather. He was quick to offer to teach you how to make a dish from the Wrath Ring for your next date, after he learned that you aren't all the adept at the culinary arts, mostly due to the lack of interest. 
He's undeniably a sweet guy. He seems to be generous and easy going, but despite all of that you still can't hide from that sharp, nagging feeling that's been picking at you the entire night. The realization that there just isn't much of spark regardless of how charming and gentle he seems to be. And although conversing with him is easy, nice even, to a degree it feels like talking with a coworker or a catching up with a friend. But maybe the lack of attraction wasn't the only thing to blame. The entire night there's been this harsh, laughable sense of guilt and betrayal brewing inside of you, almost like you being on this date with Hugo is somehow cheating. But that's entirely stupid. Not to mention that it doesn't make any sense. Those bitter emotions shouldn't have any footing because you and Mammon aren't a couple anymore, but it's almost like your feelings and heart haven't accepted that yet. 
And it leaves you admittedly a little distracted, until you're just mindlessly nodding and laughing whenever it's the appropriate response. Eventually you're just sleepwalking throughout the entire dinner; your body is present, but your mind definitely isn't. Suddenly it's hard to keep yourself in place and your eyes start shifting around the dinning room like you're in search of an exit. This is too much too soon. You shouldn't have agreed to this. You shouldn't be here.
And in your internal panicking you couldn't keep yourself from covertly slipping your hand into your purse hanging from the back of your chair to retrieve your phone while Hugo isn't looking, too busy animatedly scanning his eyes around the room while he's reminiscing about some past vacation on an island resort in Envy. The sting of guilt makes you slightly shuffle in your seat like you might be able to shake the feeling free, but it doesn't keep you from hiding your phone underneath the table in the clasp of your hand while you tap the messaging app and search for Lottie's name. Maybe if you were able to explain yourself to her, she'd help to bail you out. Maybe you could get her to give you a fake call and come up with an excuse- 
You freeze, focus landing on the name posted directly underneath hers.
Moo💚
It's such a dumb nickname, and honestly aren't even sure where it had come from. You had just started using it one day, and you stuck with it because even when Mammon would grumble under his breath and roll his eyes like every utterance of the pet name costed a year of his immortal life, you would always see that monochrome blush tinting his cheeks at the sound of it. He'd get offended if you addressed him as anything else; one morning when your brain was still sluggish and dulled by the cloud of sleep, you had called him 'Mammon' and he had elected to give you the silent treatment until you were finally able to figure out just what exactly you had done wrong. And it would make your chest turn fuzzy and soft whenever you'd see the reaction that it garnered from him, full of devotion and affection. 
And now the simple nickname, something you had felt nothing but fondness for, feels like it's mocking you. Dangling something in front of your face that you'll never get to have again. You can't help yourself when you press on the contact's name, opening up your messages. It's like your heart is in your throat, heavy and trembling and threatening to suffocate you, and it takes every ounce of your frayed sense of will to keep your from reading the text thread. You could remember the last couple of messages that he had sent without looking over them. The last of them asking for you to 'come to your senses' and return back to one of his penthouses in Greed and when you refused the text had turned egotistical and indifferent, with him claiming that he didn't need you. That he'd do just fine without you. 
And just like that your will snaps. 
x/x/xx 12:43 am 
fine go ahead i dont even nrrd u 
x/x/xx 12:43 am 
duck 
x/x/xx 12:44 am 
*FUCK
x/x/xx 12:44 am 
*NEED 
x/x/xx 12:44 am 
go crawl to ozz for all i care 
Those simple set of words feel like a knife to the chest; sharp and slicing and you feel those pitiful emotions rising up again, threatening to spill over in the form of tears. You don't know what causes it. If it's the sudden call of Hugo's voice, laced with concern and curiosity as he asks if you're okay, or if it's the slight tremor in your fingers that makes your thumb twitch and press the image of the call button in the corner of the screen above your messages, but when it happens your stomach feels like it falls through your ass. You visibly lurch when his caller ID pops up with an in-progress call and you audibly gasp ragged and a horrified as you slam your finger on the end call button so harshly that it's a wonder that you didn't damage your phone. 
Your entire body is pulled taunt like you've been struck by a live wire, and you're sure that Hugo is more than confused because you must look as though someone has a gun pressed to the back of your head. 
"Are you all right?" He repeats, leaning forward over the table to make eye contact with you. 
It does enough to let you regain some control of your body, letting you pull a tight, unconvincing smile across your lips as you nod. "Yeah. I'm fine." You say, more so to yourself than to him. Honestly, you're being a little dramatic. The connection - if it could even be considered as one - couldn't have lasted for more than a split second. He probably won't even notice the missed call. More accurately, he most likely has your number blocked. You're blowing this entirely out of proportion. You're good. Everything is all right. 
"I'm fine," you reiterate and luckily, you're able to make your expression a little bit more convincing. 
It's fine. 
The air prickles. It shifts and thrums like it's being charged by an oncoming lightning strike, and you can feel your body respond to it. Your back goes straight from the sensation of something hot and buzzing shooting down the notches of your spine while your heart flutters from anticipation in some traitorous Pavlovian response before you even hear that familiar cha-ching! jingle across the electric, pulsing atmosphere. The space directly next to you erupts in a puff of rushing lime and emerald smoke, joined by a flurry of bright, neon dollar signs and confetti that whirls over the beverages and meals belonging to the neighboring tables; effectively tainting the other patron's food in its scatter. 
"Well, well, well, look who's come crawling back!" 
You're experiencing so many different emotions right now; you can't even keep track of it all of it while it roars around inside of you like a deluge bursting past the battered walls of a crumbled dam. You manage to recognize a few: concern, irritation, regret and most disturbingly, relief, joy and admiration. It's like you're entire being is suddenly overloaded with conflicting information and you aren't sure what you're supposed to say or do. 
In your disarray you notice that Hugo has gone still, just as surprised as you are. And the entire restaurant has fallen deathly silent, no longer noisy from the ceaseless chatter of varying conversations or the scrape of silverware on porcelain and the clinking of wine glasses. It's still. So hushed that you could hear a pin drop. Even worse, is that everyone's attention is now fixed on your table. Guests and employees alike, their focus is now on you. It's like you've been strapped down and flayed open on an operating table; you don't think you've ever felt so exposed, so judged in your entire life. 
Your mouth hangs open, but nothing makes its way out, not even when Hugo shoots you a questioning look before his eyes center back onto Mammon. 
"So this is who you're spending your time with now, " he remarks in that tantalizing lilt, leaning - looming over Hugo with an intrigued squint. His lower hands are folded across his stomach, but he uses the other pair to take ahold of your date by his wrists, spanning his arms open like he's inspecting a toy and his head tilts with the chime of bells. "He's a bit of a flimsy fucker, ain't he?" 
The expression on Hugo's face is understandably one of bewilderment, and he lets his arms drop back onto the table counter weightlessly when Mammon releases him. You can see all of the questions burning in his stare and you know that you have to give him some kind of explanation, even if this entire situation was a complete accident on your end. 
"Hugo, this is the . . . performer - uh, businessman that I was telling you about earlier," you clarify somewhat cryptically, giving him a tense smile. 
His jaw drops a little, shoulders going slack with what has to be the weight of shock and possibly intimidation. "Your ex is the King of Greed?" 
"Ex?" Mammon hisses, bending his body over the smaller demon while bearing his sharp teeth like he might bite and tear flesh while he jabs an accusing finger at Hugo. "What? You think just 'cause me and the missus had a little spat that you can just try and move in on my woman?" 
The fucking audacity that he has. 
Anger sears through you with a gravity that surprises yourself, and you stand up from your seat so abruptly that it has the legs scrapping across the smooth tiles with a sharp noise that could make you flinch if you weren't already so preoccupied. " 'Missus?' We aren't even marrie- we aren't even dating anymore! What the hell are you doing here?" 
The Sin blinks at you with what might be surprised before his expression melts into something composed and neutral. "You called; I came. That's what good boyfriends do," he says, and you can hear some kind of accusation in his tone, and he jabs a finger in your direction. " I showed up for you, even after you tore my heart out and practically pissed all over it! Did it get you off? Pissing all over our love?" 
The laugh that leaves you is entirely humorless, and at this point you're too upset to even consider that you're having an argument in the middle of some expensive restaurant with your ex while your date sits and watches like some kind of reluctant voyeur.  "Oh, please. Because you were always so invested in our relationship, weren't you?" you snap with your tone saturated full of sarcasm. "You poured more effort into trying to figure out ways in getting back at Fizz and Ozzie than giving me even a shred of your time. You started treating us like a chore, don't even try to pretend."  
You're able to find some satisfaction in the way that his eyes twitches, his composure slipping. In hindsight, it's pretty stupid trying anger someone who's capable of snuffing out your existence with the snap of his fingers, but as of right now, you can't find it in yourself to care. You want him to get mad. 
"And I told already fucking told you that it was only temporary," he defends, tilting towards you to get eye level. "I'm a busy man, babes and blackmailing and ruining the life or your backstabbing, shit-stain, ex-employee takes time. " He explains casually, making your irritation spike. 
"Well, that 'shit-stain, ex-employee' happens to be my friend," you hiss hotly, and your tail lashes out behind you. 
"All right, maybe we should all calm down and breathe," Hugo chimes in, advising in a hesitant pitch. 
Even with his suggestion hanging in the air it takes you and Mammon a moment to pull your venomous glares from each other, and onto him, but it's enough to have you revaluating your current position. You cast an awkward glace around the room, struggling not to shrink underneath the intrigued, gossip hungry stares of the other patrons. You sit yourself back down on the seat, outwardly cringing as it makes an obnoxious screech when you nudge it forward to tuck yourself back up against the table. 
"If I want your opinion, you little shit, then I'll ask ya for it, " Mammon snaps with a smile that's all teeth, lethal and razor sharp. 
"Then perhaps you should leave," Hugo says. Despite the firmness of his tone, you can see the way that his eyes shift nervously. Not that you could blame him. Mammon can be menacing when he's in a good mood, much less when he's genuinely displeased, and that's not even adding onto the fact the he's royalty that has an entire Ring of Hell serving as his domain. Honestly, the fact that the demon had chosen to speak up at all surprises you completely, and Mammon seems to share your astonishment if the befuddled way that his face has twisted up is any indication. 
"The fuck did you just say to me?" The Sin asks, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes glint in that venomous shade of green. You can see the tension setting into his shoulders as he arches over Hugo's space, using his height to make the smaller demon lean back into his chair. You try and send your date a wary glance, warning him to tread lightly. Mammon could be a little unpredictable at best, especially with how he reacts to criticism or just basic social boundaries, so there really wasn't any way to guess how he may respond to Hugo's request. He could either laugh it off with a few harsh insults or he could lash out and try to kill the Imp entirely. 
The latter of which, was the last thing that you wanted - for obvious reasons. 
But Hugo doesn't heed your forewarning glances at all. He looks up at Mammon, somehow managing to school his features enough to come across as unbothered. "Well, according to her, it seems that you two are no longer in a relationship; and she's made it clear that she doesn't seem to want you here anymore. " He says. "I just think it's best to respect what she wants." 
You can feel your mouth go dry and your tongue feels too thick and useless. Suddenly it's as though all of the warmth and oxygen has been syphoned out of the room, making your body tense like it's been dunked in frigid water. The grin on Mammon's face stretches just a bit too wide, and the cheerful expression almost seems a bit feral. You can feel that charged aura building up around him, not enough to create any visible static, but you can still feel it humming along your fingertips and brushing over the exposed bits of your skin. It's a decent indication to let you get a read on his mood, allowing you know that Hugo is wobbling along a very frayed tight rope right now, and any wrong miscalculation could send him spiraling down below. 
For a second you think that Mammon's composure might snap but instead that wolfish quality to his sneer melts away as though it had never been there, and he looks positively jovial. Somehow that's worse. 
"Ya know what!" he snaps one of his topmost fingers together. "You're right. We should give the little lady what she wants." 
Hugo blinks in surprise, visibly relaxing but the buttered-up tone that Mammon uses just sets you on edge. It's too performative - even for him. 
"I think that means you should be the one to leave then, mate." Mammon sighs, with a kind of artificial sympathy as he takes Hugo's glass of wine from the table and tosses the near full cup of alcohol back like it's a small sip before he leans close to the demon conspiratorially. "After all, she isn't here to move on, she's just here for a little distraction. Why she chose a limp dick like you for that, I'm still not sure. But hey! I'm not one to judge." 
That stings. Mostly because there is some actual merit to his words, as awful as they are to hear. It's a tough pill to swallow, but it isn't one that you want to take from Mammon of all people. That might have been one of the most difficult things about being in a relationship with the Sin. Is that regardless of how brash and inept that he happens to be at the best of times, he's undeniably good at reading others. He knows what makes them tick or how to use their insecurities as a tool. It made it so difficult to hide the most delicate and abrasive parts of yourself from him, and you suppose that might have been you fell for him in the first place. Because you could always be the worst side of yourself, and he had never shied away from it. Not once. 
"Well, I'd like you to leave . . . Your Highness," Hugo responds with halfhearted resolve, and you can hear the other tables whisper amongst themselves like they're occupying the front row seats to a drama. 
And it has that horrible sinking feeling in your gut. 
"Is that so? And just what the fuck are you gonna do to make me, bitch boy?" Mammon taunts, and you can hear the hint of a low growl tainting his voice. The enthusiasm and intrigue wafting from the other occupied tables in palatable, and it feels like you're all holding your breath, dreading whatever may come next but unable to look away. And you want to speak, to get Mammon's attention off of Hugo and onto you instead, but you can't manage to say a damn word. It's like your voice is stuck in your throat. 
Your date opens his mouth, to possibly defend himself or relent, but he never gets to opportunity to because one of Mammon's hands is lashing out in a quick blur, grabbing Hugo by the throat. The other sets of his eyes have appeared, glinting with a violent glare of chartreuse and the sibilant sound, similar to the hiss of a rattlesnake's quivering tail, or the disturbed hiss of a cicada puffs from his chest. He raises Hugo up to his level, making the Imps feet dangle pathetically above the floor while his tail lashes wildly. Mammon's lips curl in a nasty sneer, dripping with satisfaction and aggression. "I could break you, pipsqueak. Be careful not to piss me off more than you already have, yeah?" 
The grip around Hugo's neck way deadly, and you could see his eyes beginning to bulge from underneath the weight of the Sin's iron hold, making him look like some kind of fucked up chew toy. One good squeeze and he's as good as dead. "I can't believe this is the little fucker you tried to replace me with," he jeers, dangling the smaller Imp like a rag doll. 
Finally, all of the tension and chaos is enough to break you from your stupor, letting you reclaim control of your limbs to leap out from your chair for the second time of the night. "Mammon!" You shout, by the Sin doesn't seem to even register that you're speaking with the way that he doesn't so much as spare you a glance. His eyes are fixed onto the demon whose windpipe he has his fingers tightly secured around.
"Mammon! Put him down." You snatch ahold of one of the Sin's wrists, tugging on his arm. "Let. Him. Go, " you warn through gritted teeth, even though you're probably about as intimidating to him as gentle breeze. 
Mammon finally spares you glance, the sadistic cheer shifting from his face as his eyes cast down to yours. Hugo continues to thrash around wildly, like a fish tossed out onto a dock but the King of Greed doesn't seem to be in any rush to release him. Instead, he's sighing, exasperated and fully disappointed when he notices your enraged glare, and even without any visual pupils or irises you can still tell that he's rolling his eyes at you. "All right, all right, don't get yer thong in a twist, " he scoffs; frustrated. " Jeez, you've always been so protective over the other normies." 
He releases Hugo like he's a discarded piece of garbage, letting the demon land near his feet in a weak pile. You're quick to let go of the Sin's wrist as you slip past Mammon to drop yourself down onto your knees in front of your date, roving your vision over him helplessly as he heaves and sucks in ragged, labored breaths. Pure guilt and hatred wracks through your body at the sight of him and all the while your mind harshly chants that this is your fault. That you did this to him. 
"I'm sorry, " you whisper fervently. " I'm so sorry." 
He can't respond to you around the strained gasps shaking through his lungs, but you feel him flinch when you place a comforting touch against one of his shoulders. The reaction, no matter how warranted, makes you jerk away from him. It hurt. It dug that remorse in deeper like a hot poker and you were desperate to direct it something. It has you spinning on your heels, rising up to round on Mammon. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" You snarl, anger burning at your fingertips and searing in your chest. The combination of surprise and annoyance on his face just pisses you off even more, making your wings flair out. You catch the way that his eyes glance around the room, surveying the reactions of the customers and servers who have long since taken out their phones to spread the gossip. There's no doubt that this is going to be all over online headlines and trending on platforms like Sinstagram and VoxTok for the next couple of days, and you know that the way that you're publicly insulting him is a setting you on a fast track to his shit list. But you don't care. Not right now. You want him to get mad. You want him to become just as upset and irritated and wounded as you are. 
"You're a psychopath! " You rant. " Arrogant, insensitive, selfish -" 
" Uh, yeah, babes, " he interrupts, flourishing his arms across his body in a presenting flourish. " King of Greed." 
"I'm so tired of hearing that excuse." You scoff around the frustrated laugh bubbling up in your chest, clenching and unclenching your hands to try and relieve some of the tension in them. 
"Let's chill out, eh? You're causing a bit of a scene," Mammon grouses. 
That genuinely stalls you. Why, you aren't sure, you should be used to this sort of behavior by now, but you're already too worked up to just ignore that comment. "I'm causing a scene?" You point your fingers into your chest, staring up at him with a pure molten resentment. "You're the one who crashed my night and assaulted my date. If anyone here's the problem, it's you!" 
A part of you waits for him to lash out, fully expecting to see those sharp, neon flashes of electricity start to fizzle and shoot out around him in a warning, but it never comes. Instead, he's rocking back on his feet, and the irritated scowl on his face shifts, molding into something soft and deceptively charming. "Baaabe, " he draws out an almost singsong whine. "Let's not do this anymore. Aren't you tired of all this fighting?" 
His mouth sets into something like a pout, and that coupled with the gentle, saccharine lit to his voice has you hesitating to berate him even more. It's such an obvious ploy to manipulate you - it has to be - but even worse is that it's working. You can feel that annoying, sugared sense of affection rising up and stupefying you. He uses your stalled response to his advantage, taking your hips and cupping your face with both pairs of his hands to tug you a little bit closer into his space until you can feel the thrum of his magnetic aura dipping across your body. His thumbs sweep over the edges of your cheeks, and some treacherous part of yourself longs to lean into his cool touch. "I miss us. I miss you, " he confesses like the moment between you both is private, and for a minute you completely forget that you're in a crowded room, airing out your relationship drama for all to see. "Don't you miss me? Even just a little?"
He almost sounds vulnerable when he asks it. The other sets of his eyes have long since vanished from sight, but the sheer amount of emotion gleaming from the main pair makes your heart ache. And even with all of your common sense raging inside of you and telling you to pull away from him, to slip out of his hold before you get caught too deep to pull out, you don't know if you can. Not when you can finally feel him again after so much time apart. And even with the smooth, press of his leather gloves keeping you from being able to feel his skin directly, the cool sensation of them is too good to let go of. "Yes," you admit, almost a little brokenly. There's the hurt of self-disappointment that runs through you when you say it, but the relief and exhilaration that rises up greatly overshadows it, frothing up and drowning it like the crash of a tsunami against the surf. 
"See?" He coos tenderly. "See how much better it is when we don't fight?" 
It's the sound of a rough intake of breath that finally rips you out of your moment of weakness and your eyes flit over to the origin of the noise out from your peripherals. It's when your focus lands on Hugo that reality comes hurtling down on you. He's pulling himself up onto his feet, still clearly a little disoriented but thankfully coherent. It has you tearing out of Mammon's hold before you can register it, approaching the Imp with a concerned furrow pinching your eyebrows close. "Are you okay?" You ask, a bit of a stupid question you admit, but you aren't sure what you could possibly say to make this situation any better.  
The stare that Hugo pins you with is a little wild and you can see noticeable traces of fear and rage, and he tries to smooth out the wrinkles that have marred his suit, combing his fingers through his unkempt hair in an attempt to try and right himself.  "Why would I be fucking okay?" 
It's a justifiable reaction, you suppose, but it doesn't make it any less painful take the brunt of that searing glare. You recoil away from it, thumping back into something solid and soft, and the scent of money carries over you; the hint of that leather musk that transfers onto the bills from being stuffed into purses and wallets; the slightly metallic notes of coins and the till from cash registers. That familiarity of it has you unconsciously sinking into the presence pressed up against your body for comfort. 
"You're still here, are ya?" Mammon's voice rumbles out, and you can feel the vibrations of it thrumming across your back, but it's hard to even hear what he's saying while you're bombarded by the searing pressure of everyone else's enthralled eyes pinned onto you; the bewildered, hurt stare that Hugo fixes you with as he steadies himself on his weakened legs. It has you feeling naked and bare. Stripped down to display all of your imperfections for all of the world to see, exposing you for judgement. But it's the cold, stinging weight of remorse that wounds you the most; driven in deep by that unforgiving voice in the back of your mind that keeps telling you that the entire trajectory of this night is your fault. That Hugo was humiliated and harmed because of you. 
You should have just stayed home. You should have just - 
"Let's say you and me ditch this shithole," Mammon purrs: the soothing chill of his hand's seeps through your skin, gripping around your shoulders and waist, threatening to make you go lax against him. "Let's go back home. We can make up for all our lost time." 
The scattered whispering around you nearly makes you miss the Sin's words. You can hear all of them, softly giggling amongst themselves and gasping in shock. But it's Hugo's shaken glare and all of the confusion and hatred that peeks through it that catches you. And there's some deep, knee jerk drive that tells you to go and try to comfort him. To try an apologize for the entire derailment of the date and explain yourself, but instead you're leaning back into Mammon's presence, savoring the musky scent of him and the distant magnetic thrum that constantly pulses across his body. 
You know whatever comes out of your mouth next is going to choose your fate. It'll completely seal the deal, so to speak, for the remainder of your life. And as dangerous as that thought is, as perilous as that truth may be, you can't find it in yourself to be scared. You find yourself leaning into it - into him - and fully accepting the troubles that may come from it. If you're going to be truly honest with yourself, these past few weeks have been complete torture because as much as you loathe to admit it, you've been lying to yourself. Pretending that you want to move and forget him, when in all honestly, that's the furthest thing from your true desires. You want him. You think that you always will, and some awful part of you basks in it. Seeks it out even. And that shameless bit of you helps you in shedding off the shame that comes with the looks from all of the patrons. Suddenly you don't mind all of the judgmental and fascinated ogling. When he's at your side, none of them matter.
"Sure," you agree, and all of that remaining doubt fizzles out into a dull, muted nudge in the back of your mind. "Let's go home." 
You can feel the pleased hum that he releases more than you hear it. A rumble that's close to a purr and he hugs you tighter against his body with all of his limbs like he's afraid that you might vanish if he doesn't. He scoops his lower arms underneath your legs, effectively clutching you to his chest and your arms grip around his neck instinctively. The look that he gives Hugo is outright gloating, with that wide, jagged grin stretched out across his face and you have to roll your eyes at the pompous display.  
"Hey, don't forget to pay the check before ya leave, mate," Mammon teases. " And make sure to leave a good tip. Wouldn't want to be a dickhead."
You can feel the electrical pulse around him begin to build. It gives you barely any time to scoop up the strap of your purse with your tail, lifting it from its place hanging on the chair before that little royalty free children's cheer breaks out with that loud cha-ching! and the room distorts and mutates into a twisting billow of green. Hugo's face is the last thing that you see as you vanish within Mammon's grip, still wearing that startled and insulted expression that twists up his features and the look in his eye's stings. It remains with you as the world shifts into something dark and distorted with shades of a deep jade and flashing neon; and everything twists and spins out until everything loses its sense of tangibility and becomes a weightless amalgamation of electricity and smoke. And for one elongated split second it feels as though you don't even have a physical body. Instead, you're just a thing conceptualized through thoughts and emotions and wills that serves as some kind of conduit for those scattered electrical currents to run rampant through you while they take you apart piece by piece and shrink you down into something small and fleeting until you're being is forcefully expanded and overblown. And then finally there's sensation in your toes and fingertips and the point of your tail. You can breathe again, and the cool press of Mammon's body and arms can be felt around you. 
You gasp, remembering to force yourself to inhale in an attempt to ward off that delicate weight of dizziness that fizzles around your skull, and with a few steady breaths the faint lull over your head fades away until you can finally focus and get a sense of your surroundings. 
At least you didn't vomit like the first time. 
It's a quick glance through the large observational window that helps to orient you, giving you a sweeping view of the dreary city down below and the glittering cast of the cerulean and lime green neon lights and signs that decorate some of the buildings. You're just glad that he teleported you both inside. The air in the Greed Ring - if it could even be categorized as air - can often times be putrid, if not outright lethal depending on what section of his domain you're in. Even though this particular penthouse happens to be in one of the more put together cities, far from the smokestacks overwhelming contaminated plumes, the factories and toxic landfills, the wind is able to carry the pollution over on its currents, and it's been known to be quite dangerous. Noxious and putrid enough to be detrimental. 
Seriously, you've seen it choke out a family of four. 
Reality hits you with all of the grace of a speeding truck, that you're actually here in Mammon's house, and you're left to try and brace for the oncoming torrent of regret and self-hatred that's going to absolutely piledrive you, but it never comes. There's no crushing weight of disappointment or exasperation. Instead, you're greeted with a delicate but fizzling sort of peace. It's like some kind of grip has been lifted from your shoulders and lungs and you're finally able to breathe again after being held underwater and suffocated. It floods through you like a soothing type of warmth, like the sunlight peeking out from the dense shield of cloud cover after days of darkness. It's pleasant and balmy despite the fact that the arms and hands holding you are somewhat tepid; a little cool, and you lean into it. 
It surprises you when that gentle feeling of relief starts to shift, and you can taste something sharp and hungry crack across the atmosphere, a little sour. Jealousy, you instinctively recognize. And it's quickly chased by a heavy, pulsing thrum that's heady and a little smoky, and your body's response is immediate, knee-jerk and intrinsic, and every part of you seems to flood with heat and buzz like you've been struck with a livewire. As rare as this particular brand of desire is, it's one that you're intimately accustomed to, and it has Mammon's magnetic signature all over it. All-consuming and wanting and possessive. 
He's never particularly been a lustful being, and all honesty, the number of times that you've had sex with the King of Greed has been far in between. In the beginning it was something that you had almost taken personally. You had nearly assumed that maybe there was something wrong with you, that perhaps he just wasn't attracted to you has an individual. But luckily, you had been quick to realize that he just didn't have much of a sex drive all together. It didn't stem from a place of disgust or even necessarily a full-on lack of interest, it was just the urge would rarely ever arise for him. It just wasn't an instinct that he had, or at the very least, it was one that would make an appearance very fleetingly. But it worked for the both of you surprisingly. Usually, after a shift at Ozzie's you were gorged on as much lust and energy as you could possibly take. Too much of a good thing could leave you feeling nauseous and uncomfortable in your own flesh, like your skin has been cinched too tight. It made being around him a breath of fresh air.
But that didn't mean that he absolutely never had a libido. But usually whenever his desire would emerge, it seemed to have a deep-rooted connection to jealousy and some inherent need to prove that you were his. 
One of the first times you had sex was during one of his Annual Clown Pageant's and some random demon had shouted up at you from your place above where you were curled up against Mammon's side, stupidly asking for you to lift up your shirt and show him your tits. And the violent crackle of electricity was about the only warning he got before he was roped by a sudden cast of glowing webbing and then promptly tossed across the long expanse of the stadium. Your pretty sure that several of his bones had been shattered. 
But as annoying as the stranger was, maybe you should give that guy some props. Even though he had landed himself a trip to the ER you had spent the remainder of your night getting your back blown out by the King of Greed. 
You have tried to tell Mammon that he doesn't have to have sex with you to convince you that you're his. That he doesn't have to buy your love and loyalty with sexual gratification. Despite the nature of your being, you don't have to have sex to feel loved or cherished. He satisfies the need you have for touch well, with his constant desire in having you stuck to his side or in his arms in some kind of fashion. You already know that you're fully his. You want to be, and you accepted him and all of his affections and at times lack thereof completely, but he'd always been insistent on touching you after someone has shamelessly flirted with you. Almost like he had to remind himself that you were still there. He wouldn't stop until every inch of you was doused in his scent and it was unmistakable you were his. 
Considering how long the two of you have been a part recently, how nasty the breakup had been and the sheer magnitude of the lust and jealousy prickling across the atmosphere and seeping into your skin and saturating your bones, you had a good impression of how the rest of this night is going to play out. It has anticipation running rampant in your veins. You tear your eyes away from the dark city outside of the window to face him, and the weight of his gaze nearly knocks you breathless. His eyes are glowing bright within the dim lighting of the room, burning a deadly shade of chartreuse. It makes you feel pinned in place, like you're being tracked by something dangerous. A weak animal dangling within the jagged, lethal maw of a starved creature. 
The energy that's descended over you dances over your skin, magnetic and searching and so vibrant that for a moment it almost feels as though it could transform into a living, breathing thing and consume you both until there's nothing but scraps left behind. You're toeing the line of something vicious, a little wild, and a part of you wonders if you'll even come out of this in one piece. You might just get torn apart. 
But you've never been one for self-preservation. 
You aren't completely sure who moves first. But suddenly his lips are on yours, tasting floral and a little spicy from the wine that he had stolen from Hugo earlier, and it feels like you've been zapped from the fervent exchange. Your body momentarily goes a little lax, making your tail drop your purse on the floor with a careless flop in favor of winding around one of his lower forearms. It's already a little sloppy and uncoordinated, fueled by desperation and want. Then again, Mammon always has been a little messy whenever he kisses, all tongue and teeth. It might have disgusted some, his outright lack of tact and finesse, but you've always found it endearing and honestly hot. It's depraved, completely filthy, and it doesn't stop you from moaning when he licks into your mouth to taste you. 
Every part of your body seems to burn like you've been dipped into melted wax. A shiver skips down the notches of your spine, quivering from the sensation of his lust clouding over you and curling up in your lungs, packing your head full of stuffing. His desire just serves to fuel your own, pilling it up on top of each other until it already has you near mindless. It's straight up embarrassing how easily he's able to affect you. To practically turn you into a pile of mush with a couple of looks and some kissing, but you can hardly find it in yourself to be ashamed. 
Both of your hands are everywhere, slipping across each other's bodies, groping and clawing. You can feel the hint of his talons pressing against the cover of his gloves, dragging over your skin like he means to leave marks. The simple thought of him scratching across you with dark, stinging streaks remaining in the wake of his sharp nails has you shifting yourself to wrap your legs around the thick of his abdomen so that you can shamelessly grind against his stomach like some kind of slut, impulsively seeking out your own pleasure. 
You can feel the vibrations of his low, mocking laugh tremble underneath you, spurring a liquid heat to build between your thighs. But the whine that leaves you is a little broken and ragged when he cruelly removes his mouth from yours to leer down at you. It makes you painfully conscious of the spit that's been smeared across your lips and the breathless way that you're already panting. 
"Look at you, grindin' up on me like a bitch in heat," he croons meanly, but it doesn't offend you, and he knows that. It's a little fact about you that he utilizes constantly for his own benefit. Your desire to take the brunt of his insults until your defenses are stripped bare and you're left to his wills and wants. You can practically feel the satisfaction rolling off of him in waves, thick and rousing and it just has you needing more. 
"Mammon," you whine brazenly, intentionally coquette. 
You can tell by the look in his eyes; glowing and craving, that it just fuels his ego, single handedly feeding into his hubris. Not that it needs to get any bigger. Regardless of that simple fact, you can't help yourself in indulging him majority of the time; watching him preen underneath your subtle praise and blatant desire; even when he doesn't realize it. Even then, it takes you by surprise when your spun around and tossed into the air as easily as a pillow. You land onto something equally firm and bouncy with a small gasp. The thick, individual threads that stick to your skin in a sultry, adherent grip, have your limbs stuck, keeping you secured to whatever surface he's stuck you to. 
His web. 
A cursory glimpse has you confirming just as much; taking in the sight of the bright neon glow of the silken twine that keeps your limbs fastened to its grip. The lack of mobility doesn't unnerve you in the slightest, instead, it has something excited smoldering inside the base of your abdomen. And the lust and ardor pouring from him, combined with the magnetic aura that constantly pulses over him does amplifies your fervor to an embarrassing degree. 
The grin on his face is sharp and smug, showing off the lethal rows of his teeth. He lowers himself onto the web slowly, his movement are all purposeful; calculated and unrushed. Intentionally dragging out his climb above you, no doubt reveling in the way that your body writhes to try and get near his own.
"You're so fucking desperate," he taunts and there's the hint of a laugh tainting his words. "Could have fooled me, with the way that you were practically eye fucking that cheap bitch." 
Your face crumples up into a light sneer, and there's a retort on the tip of your tongue. That low voice in the back of your mind is telling you to keep quiet, or else he'll drag this out more than he already is, but your sense of pride rises up to the forefront. "Well, I wouldn't have been off with another man if you hadn't acted like such a dick." 
His eyes narrow, and it could have been a trick of light, but you swear that they glow brighter underneath the shadows saturating the room. That electrical aura around him spikes, becoming palpable underneath his flaring irritation, trickling over your skin like an electrical current that makes you gasp. But he masks his indignation with a smirk that looks all too pleased, like you had blindly bumbled into a trap. 
"I really don't think that you're in position for back talk," he chides, tilting his head condescendingly as he continues his climb over you, spreading your thighs wide to fit himself between your legs with the musical chime of bells. He's settled himself over the expanse of your body, placing his topmost pair of hands on either side of your shoulders to prop himself up. Just another soft spot that he likes to take full advantage of. He knows the way that your differences in size affects you, that way that bulk of his body practically engulfs yours. It already has a thrill shooting down the nape of your neck, and your nipples harden underneath the cool silk fabric of your dress while your back involuntarily arches, seeking out the feel of him. You can't even stop yourself from attempting to grind your hips against the swell of his lower abdomen in some carnal search for friction. "It's making me feel like ya don't even want me here anymore," he says, feigning to sulk. 
You try to swallow the whine that bubbles up from your throat when he straightens himself, pulling away from you, but it escapes regardless, a little breathless and strained. He definitely heard, if the satisfaction that gleams in his eyes is any indication. He puts a studious expression on his face, eyebrows pinched close while he raises a hand to his chin like he's thinking. "Ya know, I'm pretty sure you left one of those little toys of yours after we split. "
Oh, no. 
That gives you some pause, makes your body cease the desperate roll of your hips to focus on him. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up, but once it does it's able to latch onto the fact that you did indeed leave one of your sex toys here at the apartment. One of your favorite ones in fact. A rabbit vibrator that you had bought a few years ago. You had been completely pissed when you realized that you had left it behind after you cleared what you had in his closet and bathroom, and returned back to your apartment to unpack. You had been upset about having forgotten it for the entirety of a week, but you were too prideful to text or call him about it. There was no way that would have broken your silence towards Mammon over a vibrator of all things. And it honestly throws you for a loop to know that he even kept it. 
But even worse than all of that is the smile that's stretching at the corners of his mouth. The sight of it alone has the alarm bells in your mind going off. "Considering that you don't want me anymore, I could just go get it for you. Put it in that needy little cunt of yours and let it take care of you all night." 
It wasn't an idle threat either. He'd absolutely deliver on it. It's something that he's done to you before, cruelly leaving you bound to his webbing with a toy placed on the highest setting to draw out orgasm after orgasm from your body until you were a boneless, drooling, thoughtless mess. The memory does admittedly have a thrum of heat pooling down between the apex of your legs, but the idea of not being able to touch him after so much time apart sounds like absolute torture. 
You find yourself shaking your head, chanting a series of 'no's' under your breath. He hasn't even done anything to you yet, and you've already been reduced to a pathetic pile of mush, already a little drunk from the influence of his lust and magnetic thrum. 
"Are you sure?" He presses, absolutely toying with you. His lower hands settle on your legs that have hooked around his waist to sweep up until they're rucking up the skirt of your dress and slipping underneath the fabric to pluck at the straps of your panties with the sharp edges of his gloved fingertips. The feel of his chilled touch on your heated skin leaves a buzzing trail in their path and you press your body further into their hold, savoring the pressure of them. 
"Please," you beg unabashed in your shameless behavior, but you've long since abandoned your pride if it'll just get him to actually do something. 
"Hmm," he hums lowly, squinting at you questioningly, making your anticipation rise only to snuff it out. "I don't know . . . I'm still not convinced." 
You try not to let your exasperation show. You don't want to give him the satisfaction to know that he's truly getting under your skin, though you're sure that you're failing fantastically. You could still smell his jealousy in the air, sharp and bitter on your tongue, and it gives you a pretty keen idea on how to approach this. It's obvious that he wants you to feed into his ego a bit more, wants to see you plead for him and earn his attention back to gorge those possessive urges that he has. You could definitely do that.  
"Come on, Mammon, please touch me," you whine, and your eyelids flutter when one of the golden bells hanging from the decorative layers of his costume catches on your clit from over your underwear, rolling over it in a way that makes your mouth drop open. "It's not the same if it isn't you. It needs to be you. Just you. I want you to use me, I need you to fuck me, please, plea- " 
"Yeah? You ready to make it up to me?" He asks, gripping onto your chin when you nod eagerly in response. He chuckles lowly, eyes burning in that intense shade of green while his grin stretches wide. You hardly register it when the grip he has on your hips tightens, and a quick blur has your positions switching when the silk strands of his webbing release from your skin and suddenly you're the one looking down at him, perched on his abdomen. He's practically lounged himself over his web with the top pair of his arms curled behind his head, reclining himself against the tapestry printed pillows and satin cushions. It catches you by complete surprise when he reaches with his other set of hands and manages to rip your dress and undergarments from your body with the harsh tear of fabric. 
"Well, then - " he starts, landing a cracking smack across the swell of your ass, ripping a delighted gasp from you at the sensation of the sting - "best get started. My dick ain't gonna suck itself." 
He really is so charming. 
You suppress the urge to roll your eyes at him, propping yourself up on your palms to slink yourself down from your place on his stomach and in between his legs. You meet his gaze with your own when your pull back the pointed, embroidered fabric of his motley to reveal the bulge of his cock straining against his pants. You haven't even taken him out from his breeches yet, but it never fails to surprise you how massive he is. It always takes you off guard, though it does nothing to dull the white-hot desire scorching at your body, threatening to eat you from the inside out; it only fuels it. 
He catches the lust and want in your stare judging by haughty glint saturating his expression, lips pulled back in that jagged grin. 
You really want to wipe that look off his face. 
You can't fight off the urge to lean forward, dropping your mouth open to glide your tongue over the fabric that's pulled taut over the heavy thickness of him. Trying to suck his dick through his costume like a degenerate. You moan aloud when you catch the head of his cock underneath your tongue, but you can't help but be a little disappointed when you're unable to taste him through the barrier of his pants. Though that little bit of discontent is quickly snuffed out by the subtle way that his thighs twitch on either side of your head. It has you pulling your mouth from him to take it in his expression. He's unfortunately managed to keep it unfazed for the most part, still sporting that smug smile, but you know him enough to notice the mild furrow pinched between his eyebrows that let you know he's affected. 
It gives you the motivation to reach up and unfasten the concealed buttons keeping his pants secured. You try to hide the anticipation in your movements, doing your best to stay articulate and nimble with your fingers as you pop the buttons free from their openings in the garment. Even with the confidence and desire rushing through your veins like molten sugar you have a difficult time keeping your features fixed into something unwavering when his cock springs free from his pants. He's big to say the least, almost ridiculously so. Sure, you've taken him before, but the memories never really do him justice. 
For a moment you're just left to stare dumbly. Admire, really. Roving your eyes over the length of him, appreciatively glancing at the ridges that flare and line down his shaft; shortening and tapering off the closer they get to the bulbous head. You've had a fair number of flings and lovers in the past, but he easily has to be one of the biggest you've ever taken. The first time that the two of you had sex you had almost been a little intimidated by the size of him. But with time, that intimidation quickly melted into a type of awe and desire. You can feel your body react, muscles drawing up tight and heat throbs between the apex of your thighs. 
"C'mon now, you were so fucking desperate for it earlier, " he coos, reaching down to grip himself, dragging the head of cock against the shape of your bottom lip, smearing his cum over your pout like a chilled gloss. You open your mouth to taste him, salty and musky across your pallet and you continue to lower yourself down him until you can feel him brush against the back of your throat. You can't help but hum, content from the weight of him on your tongue, the vibrations of your voice reward you with sharp hiss from his lungs. He's cool to the touch, but not unpleasantly so, and the chilled temperature of his skin is almost soothing, like a sort of balm spreading across your tongue. 
He's big enough that you can already feel the strain in the hinges of your jaw, and you try to mindful of your teeth, careful not to accidentally scrape him. There's absolutely no way that you'll be able to take all of him this way - you know from experience. It has you placing the rest of him that you can't fit in your mouth into both of your hands, using the saliva that's spread across his girth to aid the firm glide of your palms, moving them in tandem with your mouth to build a steady rhythm. It's already sloppy. Spit drips past your lips, coating his cock in a way that depraved, if not a little gross. Not that he's ever minded. Mammon always seems to prefer his head a little messy, and you've always been one to indulge him. 
You make sure to drag your tongue along the underside of his cock, stroking the point of it over one of the soft, sensitive ridges throbbing along its length when you drag your lips up to suck at the head, swallowing the precum that trickles from the slit in a generous pour. 
Tears have already begun to prickle at the corners of your lash line, blurring your vision just a bit. It's a little upsetting that it's made it difficult to see the expression on his face, the furrow of his eyebrows but the way that his mouth has dropped open for him to release a bout of ragged expletives is more than enough to dull the sting. 
It has you doubling your efforts, desperate to hear more of those breathless swears. You drop your mouth down on him until you can feel him in your throat, and the wet heat of it has him gripping the back of your head with a strained grip, claws threatening to burst through the leather of his gloves and scratch, guiding you to swallow a little bit more of him. 
You aren't even the one getting head right now, but you're just as worked up. Your entire body feels like it's being overloaded with something electrical and blazing. Your cunt is soaked, cum smeared down your thighs in a way that you couldn't bother being ashamed of. You're drunk on the scent of sex and the pulsing sensation of lust that's seemed to replace all of the air in the room, making it difficult to see past your desire and your need to taste him. You moan around his length, twisting your fists around him fervently as you suck at him with the goal to make him spill down your throat. 
"You're such a slut, ain't ya," but it's more of a statement rather than a question. "Trying to fuck yourself up against nothing like some kind of whore." 
For a moment your brain scrambles along dumbly, trying to make sense of his words when you finally realize that your hips have been rolling up against the air in some mindless instinct, and your thighs are tightly pressed together in an effort to find even the smallest bit of friction. It makes shame prickle across your tear-soaked cheeks and you're quick to halt the movement of your waist while you try to refocus on the task at hand, stroking your tongue over his throbbing girth. 
"Aw, none of that now," he chides, a little patronizing. Suddenly one of his legs is prying between your own, forcing a frayed mewl from the depths of your chest when he presses it against your slick cunt. It has your hips jerking over him, mindlessly undulating them to seek out that delicious rise of ecstasy. The laugh that bubbles up from him is demeaning. It should probably humiliate you. Make you upset.  Or at the very least motivate you to grab onto the remaining tatters of your pride and try to gain some sense of control. To make some half-assed quip or insult at him to at least to assume the illusion of authority. But you like it. You like being at his whims. It makes you feel like you're his. "Damn, you're such a greedy fucking thing. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to come for my spot." 
You can only manage to moan around his girth, trying to focus around the thick syrupy warmth that's begun to drizzle inside your skull, making your thoughts drown and sink somewhere a little fuzzy and distant. You can feel that familiar surge of heat and euphoria rising up and swelling at a rate that should be embarrassing. All you can focus on in the pressure of two of his hands holding onto the back of your head and one of your horns, using the leverage to work your mouth up and down his cock, using the wet heat to build up his own pleasure until you're practically some glorified sex toy. The very idea of it has your eyes rolling back in your skull and your hips jolt against the curve of his knee, rolling it against the slick swollen bundle of your clit. You keen at the contact, nearly gagging on the rhythmic press of his cock hitting the back of your throat.  
You can feel him pulse in your mouth, and his hips twitch with each thrust, losing the control of the even, pronounced pace that he had before until it's all but choppy and selfish. It has you doubling down on your efforts, rolling your tongue over him, swallowing even more of him down despite the how it makes even more tears trickle down your face; squeezing and twisting both of your fists around his length in a frenzied need to taste him. You want him to spill down your throat. You're immediately rewarded by his sweet, guttural groans, basking in the way that they ring out all ragged and low across the room. 
He's close. So, so close, and you are too. You feel your shared ardor and lust prickling up around you; in your fingertips and toes, burning white-hot and heavy in the cradle of your hips. Your body coils up tight, waiting to have it crest over you and sweep you under its unforgiving pull. 
And then his body is pulling up taut, back bowing until he's nearly curling over you. It takes you a bit by surprise when the grasp that he has on your head tightens in a grip that toes the line of near painful, and he jerks your mouth down onto his cock until it's snug in the back of your throat. He spills inside of you with a gutted groan of your name and a menagerie of frayed swears. "Fucking take it you fucking - shit - filthy bitch - fuck." You do your best to swallow him down, drinking down the cool burst of his cum eagerly. It's difficult with the abundance of it, and the sheer amount of it still shocks you little. But you do your best not to waste a single drop, slipping him from out of your mouth to lick up what's leaked down his length. 
You look up at him through your lashes, damp and clumped together, to admire the lazy smirk on his face. His eyes have gone heavy and a little lidded from the aftershocks and satisfaction weighing down his body. You lean into his touch when he cradles the side of your face, wiping the tears from your eye as he guides your lips away from his cock, still hard and throbbing to place all of your attention on him. He doesn't even have to ask for you to obediently open your mouth, dropping your jaw open and sticking out your tongue to show him that you've made sure to swallow all of his cum. 
"Look at that," he marvels, bells chiming. "You just might still be my good girl after all." 
You whine at that little shred of praise, rocking your cunt against his leg with even more fervor. The texture of the fabric dragging over your clit has your eyes nearly going cross, and you can't even find it in yourself to mad at the mocking way that he chuckles at your desperation. Probably delighting in the breathless moans and mewls that are pouring out of your in an unabashed surge. 
"Yeah? You want to make me happy?" He coos, all patronizing and falsely sweet. It should tip you off, and to a degree it does reach that coherent, long buried part of you. But you're already too cock drunk and caught up in all of the lust in the air to focus clearly. "Then quit fucking my leg and sit up." 
The sound that leaves you is mournful and little agonized. The very idea of that sounds like complete torture. You're so close to that precipice of ecstasy that you could taste it as much as you could feel it. Winding up your body tight and promising to drag you underneath a torrent of pleasure, all smoked honey, electrical and dulcet. 
"Mammon," you gasp with a plead saturating your tone. 
His face shifts into a fake pout, eyebrows furrowed like you've wounded him, and as obviously fake as the expression is, you can't help but be disturbed by the mere notion that you might have disappointed him. He places a hand to his chest dramatically. "But I thought you wanted to be my good girl again? And here I thought we'd made some progress."  
"I do," you insist vehemently. "I am, I swear I am."  And regardless of the pathetic nature of your tone, it's also firm in your conviction. You grip onto some of the thick threads of the webbing beneath you and you think you could honestly snap them if you grabbed them any tighter, sucking in your breath while you reluctantly will your hips to stop. You could honestly sob when you feel the heat in your cunt die out into a hungry, unsatisfied throb, but the need for Mammon's approval triumphs that want. He hums appreciatively when you get yourself to shift from off his leg and move yourself into a sitting position between his legs. You struggle not to clench your thighs together to rekindle that delicious high again.  He must be able to see the near pained look in your eyes because the satisfaction rolling off of him is thick and heavy. 
He cradles your chin in between his fingers, directing you to look up at him and center your attention onto him, leaning towards you with the rustle of fabric and the jingle of bells. But it's difficult not to track his movement when he sweeps one of his hands down to his cock, using the slick of your saliva and more of the precum that's begun to trickle from his head to aid him in jerking himself off. But you force your gaze to remain glued to his even with the nasty, languid shlick sound of his hand moving over his length begging you to peek. 
"Now you're gonna come up here and sit nice and pretty on my cock, " he orders. You can't even hide the excitement that runs over you, flaring deep inside of your abdomen and no doubt lighting up your eyes. But you should have known that there'd be a catch. That it would never be so straight forward with someone like Mammon. "And you're going to stay still and quiet. I've got a very important call to make - ya know, business and all. I won't bore you with the details, but if you try and get yourself off - if I pick up so much a twitch from those hips of yours or single whimper from those pretty lips and you can go ahead and forget cumming tonight."
All the hope that you had previously felt seems to leave your body like a deflated balloon. Despite your need to please him you can't keep your frustration from bleeding into your features and you can feel what must be the hint of a scowl twisting on your lips. But of course, Mammon being Mammon looks nothing short of entertained by the response. "Aw, don't be like that," he soothes with sarcasm coating his words while he pinches your cheeks between his fingertips. "It'll just take a second. 
Liar. An absolute liar. He's going to drag this out for as long as he possibly can, and always a masochist, you feel excitement unfurling in your gut at the prospect of it. 
"Understand?" He asks, with a wide, expectant grin. 
"I understand," you agree without a shred of hesitation. 
"Get up here then," he says, sitting himself up from his place lounged against the pillows. But then he's impatiently grabbing onto your waist before you even have time to move, flipping you around to press your back against his plush stomach, sitting you astride him with your legs on either side of his body. You can feel the head of his cock brush against your sensitive clit, making you twitch, a little tender from your ruined orgasm, but you swear that the light touch could have made you cum had it just been a little bit heavier. You have to draw in a deep breath, pulling your focus onto the chill of his body temperature seeping out onto your back as some kind of center. Serving as a kind of buoy to guide you through the deluge of thoughts, and sensations of both of your lust and that electrical aura that constantly pulses around him. It helps you to reach down and take ahold of his cock, lining it up until it's pressed against the slick entrance of your cunt, and you savor the pleased throaty rumble that it drags from him. 
He doesn't release the grasp that he has on your waist, even has you begin to lower yourself onto him. Your jaw drops when you start to sink down on his length, and your walls flutter as they stretch to accommodate the swollen head of his cock. It's something you've done plenty, but no matter how many times you do it, it never fails to make it feels as though the air has been snatched from your lungs. You gasp raggedly, grabbing onto one his free hands, lacing your fingers together with a squeeze as you continue to sink yourself down. The stretch comes with a slight burn. Lighting up a deep ache in between your hips but it's one that feels so good. It never fails to make your brain go blank. You just hardly manage to hear Mammon saying something to you. But it seems too far away and vague to make out with the delicious fog taking over your brain even though you are able to recognize the tone that he's using as encouraging and uncharacteristically soft. 
You hardly have time to register one of his fingers winding over your clit with tight, practiced movements that have liquid fire shooting up your spine. It makes your hips roll involuntarily and the head of his cock fully slips inside of your cunt with a filthy wet sound. You're finally able to make out some of his words now that the thickest part of him has finally worked past the tight ring of your entrance. "Remember when you couldn't even take me?" He asks, almost conversationally, like he isn't still teasing your clit and practically splitting you open with his cock. "But you were so eager to try. Now look at you, with your cunt taking it like a fuckin' pro." 
You drag in another quivering breath, continuing to sink down on him and for a moment you brain distantly worries, despite all logic that he isn't going to end. For a second it seems like he isn't. The brush of the ridges lining down his girth is an exquisite kind of torture, sliding against your walls in a way that has you whimpering and keening aloud. You feel so full already but whenever you think you're nearly done; glancing down to check, there always seems to be a few more inches left. It isn't until you finally feel the solid press of his thighs underneath your ass, physically keeping you from going any lower, that lets you know that you've managed to take all of him. You peer down, almost like some subconscious part of you needs to verify that you've actually fit the entirety of his length inside and when you do the sight of the subtle impression of his cock in your stomach nearly makes you keel over. It's something that you've seen before with Mammon, but it never fails to shoot pure euphoria into your veins, and the glides around your clit from his fingertips does little help you already frayed sense of self. 
You gasp unsteadily, panting like you've run a marathon and you let yourself sag against Mammon's abdomen completely, allowing him to keep you upright while you try to keep yourself tethered to reality. But Mammon, the complete bastard that he is moves the hand that had been on your waist and slips it around onto your abdomen until the soothing chill of his palm is pressed against the gentle outline of his cock. It tears a whine out from your throat and your cunt clenches around his girth so violently that for a moment you think you might cum. You tetter on the edge of euphoria for one glorious second before the sensation settles into an unsatisfied throb. 
"Look at you," he marvels with pure satisfaction. "Get a little bit of cock in you and you might as well as be fucked dumb." 
You definitely wouldn't qualify it as a "little bit." But you aren't going to tell him that. Not that he necessarily needs you to, your reaction to the girth and length of him is obviously more than enough of an indication of the affect he has on you. 
"You remember the rules?" He asks. It takes a minute to comprehend his words. His bells ring out delicately, signaling his movement before you even feel the weight of his chin resting on your shoulder while he waits for your response, sweeping his thumb over the bulge in your stomach in teasing motions. But the sensation also serves to ground you and pull your thoughts to the forefront. You turn your head as best as you can, meeting the searing green of his gaze from your peripheral vision with a clipped, sluggish nod. 
"Yeah, I remember," you confirm, a little breathlessly. His eyebrows raise expectantly, grin widening with his own anticipation, prompting you to reaffirm the list. "Keep still, keep quiet. . . And I can't cum unless you let me."  You add that last bit a little reluctantly. Mournfully. All you can do is wish that he won't drag this out for too long, even though you know you're just setting yourself up for failure. The entirety of Hell would freeze over sooner. Hopefully, he's not in the mood for breaking any records. You really don't feel like being edged for five hours straight . . . not tonight, at least. 
"Atta girl," he praises in a sonorous purr. 
And then his hands are everywhere. The finger on your clit is joined by another giving you no reprieve, and the palm that you had been gripping with you own slips free from your hold, joining its opposite to sweep up and take both of your nipples into their fingertips, plucking and rolling. It's wonderfully overwhelming and you have to fight off the unthinking urge to writhe and jerk underneath his ministrations. He might actually kill you tonight. Overload you with pleasure until you're burning and set alight with. Maybe by the end of this, there will just be your bones left. But what a way to go. 
It has you so distracted, caught underneath a blissful haze, that you hardly notice the phone that he's pulled out from of his costumes concealed pockets. You think nothing of it at first, but even in your glazed over mindset you're still able to vaguely muse how familiar the casing is. The color and pattern on the back of the device looks oddly similar to your own. But that couldn't be right. 
His thumb glides across the lock-in screen, tapping in the pin number to login and it shifts into the screensaver. The picture is familiar. Oddly so. It was one that you had taken a few years back of you and Mammon. He was towering over you with his face smooshed against the crown of your head from when you had abruptly tugged him down by one of his arms to fit into the frame. You were beaming in the photograph, riding an adrenaline high from just having gotten off one of the amusement parks more tame roller coasters, lips pulled into a joyful smile while you glanced up at the Sin who was looking a little disgruntled (because you had forced him to take you to Lu Lu World for your date and not his awful, cheap knockoff Loo Loo Land). But even through his displeased, and somewhat surprised expression you could see just the hint of a smile showing. It was one of your favorite pictures, one that came from an even fonder memory. It's your screen saver. That's your phone. A 'business call' he had said. The damned liar. 
"Oh-ho, I figured you would have changed this by now," he comments, amused and no doubt pleased. You feel something akin to embarrassment prickle at you. You were planning on changing it. Honestly, you were. You had just never . . . gotten around to it. You were initially also planning on purging your picture app and deleting the entire folder dedicated to him as well. You just hadn't done that yet either. But more important right now, is how he managed to get his hands on your phone in the first place. Or just what he's planning on doing with it. 
"Mammon, what are you-"
"Ah, ah, ah," he tuts disapprovingly. "What're the rules?"
Despite your curiosity, you close your mouth without further prompting. But even with his hands steadily building up a steady, consuming fire across your body, kneading and stroking your breasts while he continues to circle your clit with his fingertips, you can't tear your eyes away from the phone. Watching with intrigue and a dull sense of dread as he opens up your messaging app and starts searching through the names with the glide of his thumb. He's humming in your ear, low and concerningly cheery. You aren't sure what he's planning and that's what worries you. He pauses the screen with a small, "oop" and then scrolls back up like something caught his eye. It's when the screen pauses on a certain contact that your stomach sinks. 
Hugo - Lottie's coworker 
Your stomach sinks at the sight. And for a moment your brain hopes that you're wrong. There's no way he's actually going to that. He won't. 
"Let's see what kind of sick shit we've got in here." He clicks the name with a fascinated hum. But even then, you can hear the venomous edge to the sound. You don't let yourself watch when starts to read through the text thread. You can't really put attention on anything else really, other than liquid heat and electricity pouring over you, dissipating the concern and focus that briefly had. But there's nothing to be ashamed of regardless. You had hardly done anything with Hugo that could warrant any jealousy. At least not on your end. Yes, you had been cordial with him and maybe even a little intrigued, but that had hardly been anything that qualifies as outright flirting. Even Hugo, apart from some compliments had been pretty PG in the grand scheme of things. 
Your body goes lax against his abdomen when your cunt clenches around his girth, and you try not to twitch from the unanimous, harsh grind and tug from each of his fingers. His body tenses suddenly, coiled up tight like he's physically restraining himself from acting out on something. You're able to pull yourself together enough to glance back down, instinctively searching for the cause behind his apparent distress. Your eyes land on a text, one you vaguely recognize from the beginning, when you had just started talking to Hugo.  
Thursday - 7:43 PM
your ex kind sounds like a asshole. seems like he didnt deserve you, you're better off without him 
Yep. That'll do it.
You can feel the electrical current around Mammon pick up again, hot and sharp, just toeing the line of nearly becoming painful, but instead it has you gasping out in pleasure. Relishing the sensation of the magnetic aura thrumming across your bare skin, humming over your nipples and the wet heat of your cunt. You can feel it prickling over your clit, and it has your toes curling. Your head lolls back on his shoulder letting you catch sight of your reflection in the large mirror built into the wall across the room. You look absolutely debauched. Your skin was visibly peppered with perspiration; if you paid enough attention, you could see sweat glinting on your body like flecks of glitter, gleaming in in silver and gold underneath cast of the exuberant, vintage style chandelier. Your eyes have a clouded over quality to them, almost like you're intoxicated, and you suppose that you are. But the most lecherous and outright sinful is the way that you can see the impression of him appearing from within your stomach with each gulping, ragged breath you take; and the sight of his hands roaming and stroking over your body, strumming you like an instrument that he's so intimately acquainted with is the image of hedonism. So beautifully wicked, but so, so good. 
You easily could have lost yourself to it completely. All of the sensations, the scent of sex and lust in the air. But then it's back. The taste of jealousy, bitter and citrus on your pallet. It's able to rouse you from your sluggish, inebriated state long enough to recognize the muted trill of the ringback tone coming from your phone. But it's difficult to worry over that when the persistent fingers on your clit and plucking at your nipples are steadily tipping you towards that precipice of heat and rapture. Your cunt has started to flutter around his length and your abdomen clenches tight with the build of something heavy and vast rising up over you, ready to consume you from the inside out. 
You can hear the muted click of someone on the other side of the call answering - Hugo, your slow-moving brain supplies.
"Oh wow, he hasn't blocked you yet," Mammon muses aloud. "Now keep quiet. Unless you want 'im to hear."
You should make an effort to get Mammon to hang up the phone. You know that you easily could. The Sin is self-serving and obstinate at the best of times - all the time - but this is something that you could get him to stop doing with a single word. You could tell him to figure out a better way to 'get back' at Hugo and cure his jealousy in another way, and he would. But you don't find yourself even trying to get Mammon to end the call. Something about him being this insistent on proving that you're his has electricity licking up your spine. 
"Hey! This is the useless cunt that I met at the restaurant, right?" He greets, voice deceptively kind despite his words being just the opposite. There's a long pause on the other side of the line before you pick up a reluctant response, which sounds like it might have been a confused, "eer . . . yes? This Mammon, I take it?"
"The one an' only!" He replies jovially, like he doesn't have you a few good strokes off from cumming while he has a person on the line. But then again, that's his entire play. He wants Hugo to hear. Even so, you try to cling onto the rules he had set, biting into your bottom lip in the effort to keep your mouth shut and the whimpers that want to spill out tightly trapped in your chest. "Listen, I feel like we may have gotten off on the wrong foot earlier, so I just wanted to call and set some things straight to make sure we fully understand each other." 
You try to stay privy to their conversation, but it's getting progressively harder to. You have to squeeze your thighs to keep yourself grounded and sat still, but it backfires and only works to tip your closer to ecstasy. You try to pin your attention on anything and everything to keep you grounded. You tear your vision from the mirror instead to look out onto the city, focusing on the thin veil of some kind of smog or cloud that's begun to roll in, the flicker of neon lining the streets, and it appears that a building in the distance has been set aflame; lit up with green fire. That explains the fog - or more accurately, the smoke. 
It's no use though. You can still feel the pleasure fizzling over you skin and welling up inside of you. It's getting more and more difficult to hold off. Even while you try and think about a million different things. Taxes, the missionary position, Extermination Day, clowns.
Oh, wait. Scratch that last one. 
And then, horribly, a strained moan sneaks out from your throat. For a moment you're too caught up in the haze clouding over your head to even register the sound. And you probably wouldn't have if you didn't catch sight of Mammon's delighted, almost maniacal expression grinning back at you from the mirror in your peripheral vision, all sharp edges and a little feral. He looks all too pleased by your slip up. When he speaks next his voice has taken up that low, resonant tone that melds around his accent. "I just wanted to soothe any concern you may have had for my favorite girl. I can promise you she's in good hands. " And then, like the twisted bastard he is, he's lifting the phone from his ear to hold it closer to you like he's tring to capture all of the filthy sounds coming from your body. "I mean, if you could see the way she's soakin' me - " he whistles high and astonished -" it's a fuckin' sight, I tell ya." 
You try to keep your mouth shut so that Hugo doesn't hear and figure out what's going on. But it's difficult to swallow down the noises that Mammon keeps trying to pull from you with his nimble fingers, and then he's gliding his fingertips over your clit in heavy, mean circles that has your back bowing taut, and the seam of his glove catches on the sensitive nerves in a way that has your jaw dropping open. His fingers twists and glide over your nipples to add to the fire, and with just a couple more strokes you're practically blindsided by the molten electricity and bliss that rushes over you in an unforgiving stream. You cum with a loud pornographic cry as you twist and writhe underneath his attention, cunt clenching around his length in a wild spasm while your body tries to wring itself of all of its pleasure. For one moment your mind goes completely blank, leaving you just feel. The world drowns out underneath the onslaught of euphoria that wracks through your entire being, and the only thing that keeps you even remotely present is the cool press of his chest and stomach supporting your back. The chill of him soothes your heated skin, influencing your body to go slack over him. 
You have to remind yourself to breathe, drawing in labored gasps while the pleasant haze of endorphins hums through your veins and thrums within your skull like syrup and static. 
"Like I said!" Mammon says suddenly, reminding you of your current predicament. There was no mistaking what you and Mammon were doing. Hugo absolutely had to know the King of Greed had just made you orgasm while on a phone call. You feel a little flash of embarrassment, but it's so muted and distant. Buried deep and virtually nonexistent. "She's in good hands. So, if I see you anywhere near her, I'll gut you open like a fucking pig and scatter what's left of you all over Hell." 
You hear Hugo's muffled response, a little frantic, skipping over his words but before he can get out the rest of his plea or reassurances, Mammon hands up the call, and carelessly tosses your phone to the side. You don't manage to pick up the sound of a harsh clatter, so you can only hope that the artisan rug saved it from fall damage. You're still too sluggish and dopey to fully register the eager and starved quality that's melded into his lust. But the energy serves to rekindle your own fervor on a kind of subconscious level, even while your body still twitches with subtle aftershocks. He only gives you a small sort of reprieve, slipping his fingertips from your nipples to greedily knead at your breasts. But the touch on your clit doesn't waver it, it only lightens by a few degrees, still swirling and sweeping unforgivingly. You catch his faux pout in the mirror's reflection; pretending to be displeased and disappointed, but you can see the excitement bleeding into his features; lighting up the fiery chartreuse of his stare. "I didn't give you permission to be so noisy," he complains, and his eyebrows pinch close. "It's almost like you wanted him to hear you." 
"I was just giving you what you wanted, " you reply, dipping your tone into something soft and alluring. Sure, maybe it was a little stupid prodding at the Sin of Greed, and you know that you're playing right into his little ploy, but you can't stop yourself. If you tend to his ego some, he might be a little lenient on whatever 'punishment' he has in store for you. You reach a hand up to cradle his cheek, guiding his face to tilt down enough to press against the crown of your head. Affection blooms in your chest when you catch the way that he tries to subtly lean into your palm, trying to soak up its warmth. "That was the point, wasn't it? To prove to him that I'm yours?" 
You can feel his hips twitching underneath you, and the small shift works his cock in you just a little deeper. You gasp at the sensation, still hypersensitive and tender from your pervious orgasm, but even then, it doesn't fail to send a trickle of desire pooling down your back and in the center of your abdomen. Honestly, you're beyond shocked that Mammon has managed to hold himself off for this long. He's never been the one for self-restraint, and the amount that it must have taken to keep him for thrusting up into you must be monumental. That deserves to be rewarded a little bit, right?
Of course, you can't be too heavy handed with your praise, as much as he loves it when people sing him compliments and applaud his endeavors. It can't lean anywhere that makes him feel as though as he's not the one in control. It has to be delicate and subtle. At least while he's still coherent. Once he's a drooling mess, that's a different story. But you'll get to that. 
"Come on, Mammon," you beg, squeezing yourself around his cock while you work your hips against him in faint, gentle swirling motions. His eyelids lower, and you can see his grin waver just a bit, and it might as well as be a visual fracture in his resolve. "I want you to use me. Make me forget him, please." 
The grip he has on your breasts fall and take ahold of your hips, and that's the only warning you get before he's picking you up and lifting you up and down on his cock like a toy. It punches the air from your lungs in a way that's almost violent, and it leaves you scrambling, mindlessly clawing and gripping onto his arms in an effort to orient yourself. You can't even hear yourself anymore, but you're sure that you sound absolutely mindless right about now. You can feel every moan and cry that he forces from your lungs with each thrust. It feels like you're being burned alive, raw and merciless, and it has a fresh round of tears prickling at your waterline. You're still too sensitive, but it hurts so good that if he stopped, you're pretty sure that you might actually die.  
"Damn - fuckin' hell, you're already squeezing me, and I just started," he laughs with a kind of awe and pride. It shocks you completely, because he's right. You can already feel your cunt fluttering around the delicious drag of his girth, the ridges running along his length and the finger gliding over your clit building up the fiery pleasure, making all of your muscles winding up tight in the preparation of another orgasm. But maybe it really isn't all the surprising with the way that he's passionately fucking you onto his cock, like he's determined to have you both finishing as soon as possible. "You're mine. All mine, " he says, reaching up to grip your throat. Not to restrict your breathing, but enough to feel the pressure of his grip. 
"Yes," you agree brokenly, nodding dumbly because that's all you can really manage. "Yours. I'm yours." 
You can feel your grip on reality slipping away and fraying with each sharp grind, until your consciousness and sense of self is as good as a pile of mush. You're completely gone, lost with the confines of your own body and the euphoria soaking in bone deep. Your second orgasm sneaks up on you just as easily as the first, leaving you useless and practically immobile, leaving you to just take it. It isn't long until he reaches his climax, only a couple of thrust later and his release is filling you with a cool rush, and a ragged groan. 
But he's not stopping. He keeps thrusting into you, unrelenting and hungry like he's been caught in some kind of frenzy, and you're all too eager to take the brunt of it. His hands are everywhere, the sharp points of his claws are lethal enough to peek through the tips of his gloves and leave, exquisite, stinging marks in their wake, marking your skin. You can distantly feel his cum trickling out of you, being forced out with every slide in and out of your cunt. It's so nasty. You can hear the wet slap of your hips meeting each other, the breathless sound of your shared moans and swears. You aren't sure how many more orgasms he pulls from you. The both of you. Mind seems to blur together in one useless spill, and you're hardly able to even count the waves of pleasure that crest over you and rolls down and through your body in frothing, hot waves. 
You're coming off of a sort of high when you regain a shred of coherence. Pulled out of the fog when you feel the wet drag of Mammon's tongue sliding up your neck, tasting the salt and lust on your skin. You instinctively tilt your head back, giving him more access to your bared throat. He rumbles, guttural and soft at the display, inspiring a dopey smile to quirk at your lips, and it doesn't fade, not even when the deadly points of his fangs bite down enough to leave superficial bites behind. Neither of you have stopped moving, ceaselessly grinding your hips against each other's, not enough to create space for any decent thrusts, but just enough to create a small spark of stimulation, like you can't bear to stop despite the number of orgasms you've both had. 
"Think you've got one more in you?" He asks, lapping at the blood that has welled up from the bite marks, gently nibbling at the junction of your neck; teeth dragging to leave the stinging impression of them behind. 
"Hell yes," you answer quickly. 
"C'mon then, gorgeous, ride my cock. Show me how much ya missed me." 
He lifts you up again, just enough to reposition you, flipping you around without removing you off of his girth to face him. He lets himself fall back against the cushions and pillows in a relaxed lounge, making it easier for you to place your palms just beneath his chest for support as you perch yourself to bear most of your weight onto the balls of your feet and hands. He's already impatiently jolting his hips against yours while you try and find a comfortable position astride him. You can't find it in yourself to get upset by his restlessness, not when you can feel him physically holding himself back from moving too harshly. Something that requires a large sum of control and delicacy considering how much larger he is compared to you. Despite the size difference, his strength never fails to surprise you, how easily he lifts you around like you weigh nothing. Everything about it makes you embarrassingly turned on. Like how far your thighs have to stretch around his hips until there's a burn in the hinges of your joints just so you can place your legs on either side of him. 
It's enough to have that irresistible hum of pleasure pouring down and over your body, prompting you to lift yourself up his length, moaning and gasping as the ridges placed along his girth brush along your walls. You pull yourself high with your thighs until he's in at just the tip before you impale yourself on the rest of him, taking him in deep in a single thrust, swiveling your hips in your downstroke. The pace that you set is a little unforgiving on your legs, but it's already worth it with that way that his head rolls back into the sprawling pile of cushions. He's definitely just as tender as you are, but Mammon's never been one to shy away from a little overstimulation - something to do with being the Embodiment of Greed maybe, something to do with excess. And with all of the orgasms he's had tonight, you can already tell that he's tipping towards that mindless, drunken headspace that he occasionally achieves. 
"Oh, yeah, that's the stuff," he groans out in that accented lilt, deep and already a little gutted. Even without any pupils, you can tell that his eyes are rolling back in his skull. There's a little bit of drool smeared around his lips, glinting underneath the glow of the lights and it just inspires you to try and drag him in deeper to that blissed out headspace. He's already so close, precariously dangling over that wonderful edge. He just needs a little push. 
"You're feel so good, Mammon," you praise. You catch the way that his hips skip a little in their rhythm at your words. "You're the only one who can make me feel this way. There's no one else like you." 
His eyes lids flutter, but an arrogant grin makes an appearance on his face before quickly melting into a silent, open-mouthed gasp. "O-of course there isn't," he manages to say, even while you can see the rare tint of a monochrome blush staining his cheeks. It fuels your own carnal want, dousing it like gasoline on an inferno, driving you to ride him with even more ardor. He grips onto your waist like he needs the feel of you underneath his palms to stabilize himself underneath the barrage of ecstasy. 
The scent of your shared desire hangs heavy in the air like a special cocktail, a particular type of aphrodisiac that left you a thrall to pure debauchery and instinct. You can practically taste it, melting across your tongue all heavy and musky, saccharine and spice; a flavor that you couldn't find anywhere else if you tried. It's enough to have your body gravitating towards that debilitating pleasure and based on the blissed-out expression on Mammon's face, he isn't far off either. 
"So good, Mammon. It's just you, always you, " you moan, and the place between his brow's crinkles close. Your eyes are barely able to track it when he's propping himself up on a single hand, giving himself the leverage to reach up and loop something thin and smooth around the stretch of your neck. It's strong despite how fine it feels, like a silk thread - webbing. It's webbing. He grins when he tugs you forward with the makeshift collar, curling his body around you like he can't stand any sort of unnecessary space between either of you. His lips meet yours with a relieved groan, asking you to open your mouth with the split point of his togue, nipping with his teeth. You whine and moan into him, thrusting down onto his cock from how his thread tightens around your neck, more of a suggestion than an attempt to restrict your breathing, but it spurs you on even more. The pair of hands on your waist start to wander, one drifting up to cup your ass in a tight squeeze and the other dips low to roll the back of his knuckles over your clit. For a second it makes you lose the steady, deep drag of your pace, and your lungs snag on their breath, making break your kiss with a whine. 
"Don't you dare fucking stop," Mammon demands in a tone that's frayed and little slurred. "Keep going. I wan' it, I want it - fuck." His tucks his head into your neck, tracing the shape of his web with the dexterous glide of his tongue. You can feel his lips moving against your skin in some kind of repetitive chant and it takes a little while for your ruined brain to make sense of it. You can hear him whispering in a hushed, frayed voice: "Mine," over and over again as he licks and sucks at your skin, intent to leave marks behind. 
He pushes his hips up against yours in a punishing pace, plunging his cock up into you, hitting that devastating spot inside of your cunt that has you sobbing. Your hands claw at him, searching and gripping onto the layered fabric of his motley, twisting the material into the clutch of your fists while you try to hold onto the rest of your sanity, but you don't think that you'll be able to. It's all too much too soon. You can't hold on as much as you try to. Not while he grinds a knuckle against your clit, shoving his cock into you relentlessly, making any semblance of a coherent thought evaporate from your head as though they had never been there. You can feel it sweeping over you like you're a pathetic piece of debris caught with the current of a swelling wave. You can feel that magnetic vibration building around his body, catching you in its field and dancing across your skin, letting you know that he's just as close as you are. 
You gasp his name like it might save you, even while you're begging to be eaten alive. It's all so overwhelming, so consuming that you don't know what to do with yourself. How to cope with the scope of the emotions and sensations; the scent of you both and all the sounds bombarding your senses. It isn't a conscious decision when you pull Mammon down a little further and sink your fangs his neck, piercing the fabric that keeps it concealed. But it's hard enough for you to taste something like spiced iron flood across your tongue. 
The reaction it gets from you both is immediate. His body draws up tight while he gasps out a harsh, "fucking hell - shit - " and you can feel him pulse inside of you before you're flooded with another gush of his cum. The feel of it, the chill of it and the sheer amount is enough to trigger your own orgasm. Your vision goes dark, a vignette marring your sight while a white-hot tide takes control of your body, leaving you a passenger in your own mind. And for one blissful moment you don't even exist. You don't have a job, or an apartment with judgmental neighbors. You don't have a favorite food or a particular song that you listen to on repeat. For a moment it's just you and him. 
It takes everything in you to cling onto him. Your wings flare out involuntarily, body twisting while your cunt clings around his girth like it's trying to work him for all he's worth. You can feel that searing bliss in every part of you. From your toes to the pit of your abdomen, making your eyes roll in the back of your skull while you ride out the tail end of your pleasure and everything fizzles into a gentle darkness. For a minute everything is still. Peaceful and gentle while feeling comes back to your limbs and you remember how to breathe. But it's ultimately a familiar scent that guides you back to reality, light with the twinge of leather, earthy, warm and smoky. It sort of smells like money. It smells like Mammon. You lean into it, nuzzling your face into something soft and expanding with breath. 
It's enough to make you open your eyes that you hadn't even realized had closed, to look up. The small motion takes a great amount of strength with how sapped your muscles feel, even with the last bits of lust still thrumming in the air and energizing you, but you manage. Mammon has collapsed back against the cushions with you clutched against his stomach with each of his hands gripping some part of you. Even from this angle you can see the pleased, almost dopey smile on his face as he sightlessly stares up at the ceiling. It's such an uncommon expression to see on him, untainted by his usual snark or hubris, but the rarity of it always makes you cherish them even more. 
But then you see a furrow pinch between his brows and his mouth purses in clear annoyance. It has worry prickling at your skin, nestling in your gut like a block of ice, but before you can ask him what's wrong he's speaking. "I can't believe you were gonna leave me for that shitty little bloke," he grumbles. He tries to sound harsh and unbothered, but you swear you can hear something fragile peeking through the rasp of his voice. 
"I wasn't actually interest in him," you assure, answering honestly, propping your arms on his stomach enough to hold yourself up. "A friend had set me up. I just - I don't know. I was . . . I needed a distraction." 
"Which friend?" He asks suddenly, sounding a little too intrigued.
You squint at him suspiciously, letting a short bout of silence fall over you both. "No. You aren't allowed to kill them." He visibly pouts at that, and this one is actually genuine. You entertain the thought of making a joke. Of steering the conversation somewhere humorous to save the both of you from something that might be too real, too bare. But you know you can't. If you're going to try and do this with Mammon again then these kinds of talks need to happen.  "That wasn't just sex talk, I really didn't want him, Mammon. Not for a single second." 
His gaze sweeps down to you, and you're sure that you catch something vulnerable flit across his expression; eyes minutely widening with what may have been relief, but it was so quick that you barely get any time to register it. He schools his features into something indifferent and nonchalant before you can truly take it in. "Psssh, of course you weren't interested in him. How could you be when you've got me." 
"Exactly," you agree, watching him preen under the comment, inspiring you to lean into his ego a bit to draw him out of whatever dark thoughts may be running around in his head. "It would be stupid if I did."
"Dumb as shit," he agrees eloquently, with his brash charm. 
It has a laugh puffing from your chest, and it's quickly followed by a heavy drowning warmth in your chest, like a sun was caught within your bones. It's purely fond. Full of endearment and love. You love him. Fuck you love him, even if it tears you apart. It might be stupid, a road that leads to a dead end or a perilous cliff, but you couldn't be bothered to stop on your path to possible self-destruction. You don't know if the true scope of your emotions is returned. If Mammon is even capable of feeling something like raw, selfless love. Probably not. Compassion and consideration don't exactly align with his function as the Embodiment of Greed. Of being avarice incapsulated inside a body to fulfil a particular purpose within Hell. But you always held out hope that there was something in there. You've seen the pure affection displayed by Asmodeus for Fizz; living proof that a Sin could be more than its role, its basest instinct. If the personification of Lust could find and express love, then just maybe Mammon could to. 
Wow, look at you, being hopeful in Hell. 
You're broken out of your internal struggle when Mammon shifts, tightening his grip around you to keep you secured to his body as he tilts on his side. He curls himself around you even more until his chin is resting on the crown of your head, engulfing you in the breadth of him and his scent. It's enough to settle the torrent inside of your mind, replacing those insecurities and replacing them with comfort and contentment. You can feel the gentle fuzz of sleep beginning to lap at you, seeping into your limbs and weighing them down. You want nothing more than to sleep. To let yourself fall into the dredges of unconsciousness with the soothing chill of Mammon's temperature wafting over your body like a balm. But it's a little difficult to do that when every inch of you is still damp with sweat and his cum is still steadily pouring down your thighs from around the weight of his length that he's yet to pull out, flowing with each small shift or movement. 
"Mammon?" You ask, listening to the steady draw of his breath, hoping that he hasn't fallen asleep, but even then, the pattern is still too quick for him to be unconscious. You purse your lips, sighing audibly. "Moo?" You try again, and sure enough at the sound of the corny nickname a simple, but questioning grunt rising up in response. 
"We're going to need a bath." 
"Eughhh," he groans, low and already thick with the desire to sleep. "Fuck." 
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k0yaz ¡ 5 months ago
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if you still write for danganronpa could i req a kokichi x afab (preferably gn) reader smut oneshot? pls n thx!!
molded
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Pairings: kokichi x gn!reader
CW: nsfw, gender neutral pronouns, afab reader, breeding, no dom/sub dynamics, sort of vanilla sex but kinda rough??? kokichi being out of it? that pussy was too good
A/N: sorry I’ve been inactive for a few days I needed some time to collect myself lol also this one’s short bc I got not so creative feel free to request again if you want more detail or longer?
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Heavy breathing and strained gasps echoed off the walls of the surrounding room. New sounds were wrenched out of your throat every time you felt Kokichi bottom out inside you, dragging himself in quick, yet rhythmic motions. Every thrust inside you sent euphoric waves throughout your body, your mind blanking from every time his tip hit that one sensitive spot inside you.
Kokichi knew damn well that as much as he wanted to hear your gorgeous moans, he couldn’t hold back his own voice no matter how much he wanted to. Between each fervent thrust of his hips colliding against yours, his lower lip dragged between his teeth, muffling his own grunts as his hard cock pushed into you. The sensations enveloping your bodies was too much. It drove you over the edge upon feeling Kokichi press several sloppy kisses against your flushed skin between his movements, it was honestly an adorable attempt to show his love for you.
A guttural moan escaped your throat upon feeling him push himself to the hilt into your cunt, as if he was trying to reach inside you as far as possible. The way he buried himself into you was slow, yet calculated. Stretching you out from the girth of his dick and practically molding your pussy to slip around his cock perfectly. You heaved several shallow breaths upon feeling the delicious intrusion within you, clawing into his back and raking your nails down.
“K-Kokichi…” you drawled out weakly, biting back another moan as you clenched around him. Kokichi however couldn’t even respond, nor could he tease like he usually does. He was so lost in the sensations, drool piled up near the corners of his mouth and sweat beading down his whole body. At this point, the two of you were just giving in to any raw desire you had and going along with it.
Despite being so small in terms of height, down there he certainly wasn’t based on how you were practically screaming for him. Your thighs trembled in his grasp as the muscles tightened upon feeling his steady movements in and out of you once again.
The way Kokichi’s cock was lodged inside you, mixed with the rhythmic motions of each rugged thrust only assisted by your slick submerging his cock for smoother movements, drove him insane.
“(Name)- please I can’t-“ Kokichi gasped out, his head thrown back as he was evidently biting back a string of obscene noises.
He hissed under his breath, his thrusts becoming more sloppy and quick. Skin clashed against skin as you felt his hips roughly collide with yours, with lewd squelching noises filling the air shamelessly. Kokichi shamelessly pounded into you, his own moans now slipping out of him with tears stinging at the corner of his eyes. Euphoric sensations washed over your whole body, your eyes rolling back every time you felt the veins of his cock ridge along your walls, driving you mad.
Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, your eyes losing themselves in his violet gaze like you always did. You loved him so much. “M’gonna cum…can we? At the same time?”
Kokichi could only nod between his labored breathing and fervent thrusts, immediately pushing himself forward into you and filling you up completely. His head fell back, fingers digging into your supple skin and heaving out a low moan as ropes of his cum poured into you, your own orgasm washing over you not too long after.
Your chests heaved as you came down from your high, bodies stuck together as if you were both molded for each other. You pressed a kiss to the top of his nose, smiling at his flushed face and dazed expression.
“Wanna go for another?”
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A/N: delaying anything in my box because I got a personal request!! Hope u don’t mind short fic
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ask-geralt ¡ 4 months ago
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You guys want to know one of my favorite things about Edwin? He loves how smart his friends are. He gets so excited and outright a w e d whenever they think of something clever, make a keen observation, or offer a solution to their problems. All I ever want to write is Edwin who eloquently gushes and praises his friends' intelligence and skills. Edwin who, when the occasion arises, gases them up when they get self deprecating, because to him it's not an opinion, it's a FACT that they're smart, and good, and kind, and brave. That they're all equals. I would even go so far as to say he, himself, feels he has to continuously work and study so hard to keep up with them, to continue contributing.
Genuinely I feel like it's a pretty big factor in his hostility towards Crystal in the beginning. When Charles and Edwin first talk with her post-exorcism, she's unimpressed with the work they did to save her, and she insults the name of their agency, which Edwin and Charles are both clearly fond of. Charles, who's used to laughing at digs far more hurtful than that considering his life before death, let's it roll off him easily, but Edwin takes it more personally. From there, he grows jealous because of the attention Charles is giving her, made worse when Crystal proves her powers ARE faster than the methods the boys used before meeting her. Edwin feels like he needs to prove he's better, or at least still useful where Crystal isn't ("We all have talents.") to Charles, because if Crystal can do everything Edwin does, and does it better, then why would Charles keep sticking around? And of course, Crystal returns his hostility beat for beat, as she should. I feel like her subtle attempts to smooth things over and get along with Edwin aren't talked about enough, like she lets him get away with so many snide and openly rude comments before she starts biting back again in episode one. But Edwin holds a grudge and she shouldn't have to take his attitude towards her lying down, not forever, and neither of them are willing to, say, try and ask the other why they're so snippy towards each other, or apologize lol. Honestly their dynamic is so layered and fun to pick apart!!
What really seals it for me is the contrast in his reaction to Crystal compared to Niko. He warms to Niko pretty much immediately, calling her charming and quickly getting down to business on saving her, without even a token protest about helping yet another living girl. And I think that comes down to her attitude towards their assistance, what she brings to the table for the group's dynamic, and her willingness to let them do their thing without rocking the boat on methodology. She doesn't come across as a threat to Edwin's friendship (repressed and unacknowledged crush absolutely not helping either) with Charles, since she and Charles don't interact much, especially not one on one the way he and Crystal do, so she doesn't ruffle Edwin's feathers at all compared to how instantly and repeatedly Crystal gets under his skin.
All this to say I love all four of them, I love that they've all got their strengths and skills, I love that there's also that overlap, that they all get to do detective-ing and that Edwin doesn't get that petty protectiveness over that role. Yes he feels threatened by Crystal, but that has everything to do with Charles and nothing to do with her being competent, in and if itself. He doesn't see himself as a Sherlock Holmes with three Watsons following him around. He likes it when the others are clever, when he's not being a petty bitch (affectionate) who hates change/new things lmao
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p1utofairy ¡ 1 year ago
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PAC: your upcoming relationship 🎀🫧🎆
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pile 1 🧸 —
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ok so i immediately heard let the light in by lana del rey ft. father john misty! this is a very passionate relationship pile 1 wow. your person is very patient, attentive and willing to put you first no matter what. the dynamic will be similar to allie and noah's but minus the toxicity…there's a push and pull but just enough to keep each other engaged and entertained. i'm hearing a lot of witty playful banter, you grinning until your cheeks hurt and not being able to keep eye contact because they give you butterflies. i'm feeling some gemini influence in this pile hmmm communication will be really important between the 2 of you. i think you both are very similar when it comes to your interests and values but have a different approach to how you handle your feelings and express your emotions. you may be a bit more hesitant or resistant to sharing how you feel in hopes of keeping the peace but i feel like your person will encourage you to speak your mind instead of bottling it in. this goes for any scenerio as well, they want you to be able to step into your power and not dim your light for anyone or anything. your person could have prominent water/cancer/or 4h placements because they give nurturing vibes. i just heard "I JUST WANNA SEE YOU SHINE, CAUSE I KNOW YOU ARE A STARGIRL." you mean everything to them. even if you two were to have a disagreement, they'd probably be a bit moody at first but at the end of the day they'd want to talk it out and make up with you. (and i heard make it up to you) they'll never want you to go to bed angry at them or vice versa, this person is very mature and doesn't like to cut corners when it comes to their relationships. this person has an "all or nothing" type of mentality, when they commit themselves to you that's it. all they see you is pile 1, awww it's so sweet. you're gonna have lots of fun with this person.
pile 2 ⭐️ —
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love you like a brother, treat you like a friend, respect you like a lover. OOOO pile 2 your person is very suave, they know exactly what to say and when to say it. i feel like they light up every room that they walk in & could definitely charm the pants off of anyone. it might be hard to take them serious at first or you may question if they're serious about you because they seem to be very friendly or more experienced. but i'm hearing that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, because although this person may give player vibes they’re actually a sweetheart at the core. i can see this person having a really bright smile, they'll love to make you laugh and put you in a good mood. you will bring a good balance to them, they need stability and you're exactly that. they're very confident and extroverted but deep down they feel like no one really sees them except for you. i'm hearing infrunami by steve lacy so maybe some of you already know this person. it honestly does give a good friends to lovers vibe. i can see you two texting a lot, going on little dates and having random/deep conversations about any and everything. maybe lots of discussions about movies? i'm hearing some of you really love cinema. i think you'll definitely see this person in a different light as you get to know them, compared to your first impression of them. it’s like when andie was putting ben through all those hoops until they went to visit his family in staten island…and once she saw him in his element/who he truly was at the core she realized her feelings for him. yeahhh this is super cute pile 2, i dig it.
pile 3 🍬 —
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heyyy pile 3, right off the bat i keep hearing the word CUTE. like maybe this is what people will think when they see you and your person together? you two are absolutely made for each other, i think your inner child will really come out when you're around this person. i can feel the excitement, the giddiness and anticipation you two will exude when you're in each other's presence. i heard "like a kid in a candy store" lol that's adorable. power trip by j. cole ft. miguel is playing…yeah it's very much THAT. i feel like you both will pinch yourselves thinking is this real??? your person is gonna make you feel like you're on cloud 9 hehe i see them getting you flowers, writing you cute little messages on sticky notes and gifting you thoughtful things that you may have mentioned in passing but didn't expect them to remember. i feel like you (and maybe even your person) have been waiting/yearning for a connection like this for very a long time, i get an almost lonely energy. like you've been single for a long time and now you feel whole/complete. the intimacy between you two >>> not even just sexually but intellectually and emotionally! you're gonna feel so safe and comfortable with them. your person is very sentimental and they will never take a moment shared with you for granted. i see polaroid/photobooth pics of you 2 being all close and cutesy :) this person might be a little lowkey/reserved in nature but you definitely bring them out of their shell. the scene where jenna says “arrivederci” and is so giddy when matty responds back with “au revoir” is coming to mind. AH y'all are gonna be so goneeeeee pile 3 i love it for you.
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gnomewithalaptop ¡ 5 months ago
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I'm still too distracted to write so here have a list of YJ-cast centric fics that make me froth at the mouth
Kon-centric recs:
I Want It That Way (1990s Tim/Kon) by WynterSky / @wynterstars -- A revamped, 90s-style Superboy origin story with added Lex Luthor AND a lil bit of 90s Robin for spice and flavor. Honestly, this whole series is so elite -- goes hard with the Superboy mythos + angst PLUS the third fic leans hard into the secret identity shenanigans in a way that'd make Miraculous Ladybug jealous. The first fic splits its attention between Tim and Kon, but the latter two are solidly Kon-centric
one plus one (easy math) by connerdrakewayne / @comphetkoncass -- Cassandra Cain and Kon go to a gala together. I'm always a sucker for a good Cass + Kon friendship. This one's very short and sweet, and it gets the job done -- 10/10 would read again
a timeline can be a haunted house by connerdrakewayne -- post-universal reset Kon angst + terrible coping mechanisms! This one goes so hard I read it three times. Tbh this author has an excellent handle on Kon as a character in general, so I honestly recommend just checking out their whole fic stash
Tim-centric recs:
Top 10 Secret Identity Fails by @havendance -- Tim's new English teacher is his on-again-off-again superhero teamup Helena Bertinelli (aka the Huntress). This one's just fun, okay -- the whole thing reads like it could be straight out of Tim's 1993 solo run, plus I love the dynamic between him and Helena. Overall just a very cool vibe
only the dead stay 17 forever by Sky_Dust (couldn't find their tumblr sorry) -- Listen, I've really been restraining myself here, because I realize my love for time-travel bullshit is not universal, but I genuinely couldn't not include this one. This bad boy is a Tim-centric time-loop featuring a seriously unhinged Tim -- definitely a darker tone, but I can't stop rereading it
Bart-centric recs:
reflections on respawning: a gamer's uncertainty by merils / @mamawasatesttube -- Bart has a hard conversation about his death and subsequent resurrection (feat. Kon) man, I just vibe with this one so hard. It's such a thoughtful take on Bart's more contemplative side, while still managing to keep his personality intact
the backlash to the backlash to the thing that's just begun by @kermit-coded -- trans/gnc impulse my beloved <3 also we get some funky Max & Bart bonding, made much rawer and more real by the fact that it's the 90s and nobody knows what they're doing. Again, feels like it's straight out of Bart's solo series
Cassie-centric recs:
you and I, we are more than just this armor by @suzukiblu -- KonCassie bonding + gender feels. They're both so trans in this, and the author does a great job of really digging deep into their complicated feelings (both about gender and about each other)
(also PLEASE somebody give me more Cassie-centric fic recs I'm literally begging you)
Team recs
I'm all yours but you're all mine by suzukiblu -- Poly Core 4 Soulmates AU! Essentially, everybody gets their 'soulmark'/soulmate-identifier (not really, but the best word) right when Kon wakes up in his pod, and because Superboy hasn't really made his big splash yet, they misidentify their soulmate as Superman; this is an issue mainly because 1) they're all 14-15 and Superman is roughly 30-ish, and 2) by the time this fic takes place, Superman is pretty verifiably dead. Currently in-progress, but this is such an interesting and fun take on the usual soulmates trope. I pinky promise you won't regret reading it
Love, Not Loved series by @popsunner -- hoooomygod this series makes me cry literally every time I read it, it's genuinely one of the most realistic representations of grief I've seen on AO3. Basically explores the general fucked-up-edness of pretty much the whole YJ Core 4 Squad dying one by one, with each fic focusing on a different funeral (complete with survivor's guilt, regular guilt, and just plain old complicated feelings). We get Cassie feels, we get Tim feels, we get Bart + Kon feels -- it's the whole shebang. Don't worry -- there's a happy ending eventually, but you def gotta work for it. This series beat me up and stole my lunch money and I'd happily do it all over again
Lost the Last Piece of Me by InsaneTrollLogic / @last01standing -- YJ Core 4 Animorphs AU! I'm sad to say I've never read the original Animorphs series, but every single Animorphs AU I've ever read has been such high quality. Unsurprisingly (I love this author, okay), this fic is no exception to that rule. Solid alien-invasion plot, character driven, and the world-building is explained well enough that even a newbie like me can understand (feat. some TimKon, but it's not the main focus)
Ikonoclast by anantipodean (couldn't find a tumblr) -- Tim and Kon get sent to an alternate reality that's almost (but not quite) like their own. This one's just fun for me -- I love the TimBart buildup and the worldbuilding on the other Earth is a funky time. Also, the other universe's Tim is goth and absolutely cannot stand mainstream-reality Tim, and I find that extremely funny for some reason
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ironunderstands ¡ 6 months ago
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I’m having some Aventio thoughts.. :3
Possessive Aventurine urghhh Aventurine who won’t let Ratio out of his sight for more than 10 minutes when they are out together out of fear, Aventurine who is terrified he will lose someone else he loves and will hold Ratio’s hand at any opportunity he gets, Aventurine who mildly and vaguely threatens anyone who so much as looks at Ratio badly…. AAAAAAAAA
Like usually I don’t enjoy the “you’re mine” kinda trope/mindset, but Aventurine has lost practically everything and everyone close to him so I can see him being extremely, well, possessive, of Ratio. However he would still obviously respect the others boundaries (especially due to his trauma), it’s just I can see him keeping Ratio as close as he possibly can.
I think that’s why I like writing fics where Aventurine is rescuing/saving/protecting/etc Ratio because he needs the ability to care for someone like that just as much as Ratio needs the ability to just let go and be vulnerable
Like Ratio already spends all his time trying to help others so having someone else do it for him is a welcome change, and Aventurine constantly has all eyes on him, so not having to be the center of attention for once is freeing..
..which is also why I probably prefer dom aven/sub ratio when it comes to nsfw/suggestive content of them. It’s more interesting than the alternatives to me because it’s a dynamic that would benefit both of them and help work out their issues in canon. Not saying it’s some magic fix it or something but yeah I think Ratio needs to give up his control sometimes and Aventurine needs to gain some. I feel like people downplay how sex can be used to explore character dynamics and I know this is kinda off course for what I usually write/talk about but I just haven’t seen anyone discuss it so I thought it was worth mentioning.
Moving onwards, I really love writing Ratio when he’s not in a normal state of mind. Drunk, injured, sleepy, a fucking owl (IM WORKING ON THE FIC THANK YOU @aurae-rori FOR HELPING ME BETA ITS AT 6.3/~10k WORDS IM GONNA TRY AND FINISH IT SOON I PROMISE), etc.
Whatever one of these you decide to inflict upon Ratio allows for some really interesting characterization to be enabled, because well, the man’s a tsundere, and it’s kinda hard for him to keep that up when he doesn’t have the capacity to. Honestly I view his tsundere-ness as being half voluntary/a choice and half just the way he is because he’s not very good at expressing his emotions or dealing with other people’s emotions.
However if I were to say, make him drunk, a good portion of that barrier breaks and Ratio’s true self gets exposed, and he nor Aventurine nor anyone really know how to deal with that. It’s so much fun to just put a character out of their element and see what they do next, and I think messing with Ratio’s mental state is the epitome of that, because now he has to confront the fact that he IS hiding parts of himself, and that’s scary (in a good way).
I also think Aventurine dealing with the fact that someone just genuinely lives him but is too afraid to really show it would be compelling. Would he blame himself? Would he dig into it and accidentally cross Ratio’s boundaries, then feel horrible about it? Would he doubt that it’s really real until it becomes transparently clear that Ratio does love him? Oh the possibilities..
Would he see Ratio being kind to someone in a similar way that Ratio is to him and get jealous? Would he worry that maybe he isn’t special to him and is just selfishly imagining everything?
They make me insane.
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ceaselesswatchersspecialboy ¡ 1 month ago
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Okay here we go
Does Stanfraud's eye still bleeds, like when Bill was possessing Ford or doesn't because of his bigger connection to Ford's body?
Is Stanfraud an uncle/big brother figure to Soos, like Stanley is his dad figure? Does Bill even care about him even a little😢
I know that the main focus of this au is on Bill, but since Stanley didn't try to pretend to be Ford, how did Stanley's and Filbrick's first meeting went after the whole "getting kicked out" thing"? Especially since both Stan and Ford were definitely broke at the time
You mentioned that Bill still has access to a little portion of his powers, what are they exactly?
Anyway your au is genuinely awesome and seeing it on my dash is always a huge treat 💛💛💛
Okay the first question I really want to answer because I’ve been thinking about this:
— His eye definitely bleeds on occasion. Even though he is far more connected to Ford’s body here, he’s still a demon possessing a host. He shouldn’t be there. There’s some outer force keeping him trapped. So I have thought about the fact there would probably be some lasting impacts on the body due to possession exposure for so long, such as the eye bleeding becoming a regular problem and gradual loss of vision in that eye. There may also be other physical impacts, but I’ll work on those when I manage to get down an official design for him.
— Great News! He is like Soos’ weird uncle! That may be where he learned to be somewhat decent around kids, honestly. He absolutely tried to mess with him at first, make jabs, tell him the date of his death, attempt to drive him to madness just a little (this is why Stan had to get rid of the last handyman), but Soos proved to be incorruptible and took all of Stanfraud’s weirdness in stride. Bill does end up caring about him. He goes as far as to liking their conversations. Soos keeps up with his chaos! Even Bill isn’t sure what’s going on in that head of his (when he gets his own body back he’s going to find out).
— Though Bill is the main focus of the plot-change, the other aspects are equally as important and so I’m glad they also have people’s interest! Their first meeting is… tense, to say the least. If Filbrick has any regrets, which I think I’ll leave up to interpretation, he’s far too stubborn a man to show them, and would rather dig himself further into a hole than admit he made a mistake. Stan desperately just wants to ignore all the scathing comments and get this little reunion over with, until Filbrick makes a comment about Ford, then Stan snaps. You can insult him, he probably deserves it, but not his brother. Sure, they may not be his brother right now, but the intent is there, and that’s what counts.
It cuts everything short, with Stan grabbing Fraud and telling him they’re leaving (He doesn’t complain).
With Filbrick, I do kind of want to explore their dynamic over the years while he’s still alive, especially with Stan, but also with how he’d treat ‘Ford’ and his odder behaviour. I don’t want to just make Filbrick a one-dimensional character though, as I think there’s a lot to be said about the cycle of abuse and parental projection so. While the AU may be based around the question ‘what if Bill got stuck possessing Ford?’ The answers it has lead me down a lot of different paths to explore — such as this!
— The powers he has access too lessen over time, but currently he is somewhat capable of seeing potential future outcomes (ciphervoyance), pyrokinesis, telekinesis, faster healing factor and teleportation. Note that all of these are in a much weaker state and drain Ford’s body and by extension Bill heavily — especially teleportation. Doing that once can cause him to pass out, so it’s more of an emergency thing, most his abilities are honestly. Too much focus is required.
And I’m so happy to be a little treat on your dash!! I hope you enjoy all this just as much!
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apollosgiftofprophecy ¡ 12 days ago
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Okay Alder so I thought of this while studying and I must share (and concentrate, dammit). Anyway I started randomly thinking about TOA but with one of the female goddesses, because I feel like it could be a really interesting exploration of feminism and the lack of autonomy for women and stuff, and I was like "Well which goddess would it be?" and then I was like HERA.
Hear me out. So like idk why exactly it happens, maybe Zeus just got fed up with the fights or something, but anyway Hera is forcibly removed from Olympus and stripped of her powers, turned mortal, etc. She meets Meg, who I feel like she would honestly like a lot, despite being a demigod. I can see her trying to teach Meg manners and how to be a lady and Meg just being like "Nope. I must pursue my destiny of being a chaos gremlin." I would still have her at least try Percy's apartment, because while of course he would tell her to fuck off, I think Sally would have some sympathy and I think they could have a really interesting conversation woman-to-woman, especially as survivors of abusive marriages.
I'm going back and forth between Hera being a middle-aged mortal (because I doesn't really matter to her what she looks like), but I think it would also be really interesting if she was a teenager, because teenage girls have far less power than grown women, and it would be really interesting to have her be the same age as many of Zeus' victims.
Anyway thought?
OKAY. SO. THIS IS ACTUALLY SOMETHING I'VE TALKED ABOUT WITH CHRONIC ON DISCORD. A WHILE AGO.
the main difference is that we were discussing how ToA would go if Apollo was joined by Hera in punishment, and by god it was a god-tier idea. spoiler: the moment they figure out what is going on, they immediately turn on the other and blame them XD
CUE THE FORCED STEPMOTHER-STEPSON "THIS IS OUR GET-ALONG ROADTRIP" ACTION!!!!!!
and even in this version, I do agree that this would be a excellent opportunity to really dig into woman's struggles in today's day and age, and even compare/contrast them with the ancient world's! because let's face it, there were pros and cons in both times. tho i'd say we have more pros nowadays, but that ALSO depends on where you live and all that. very complex but also not if you really try :3
BUT. your mention of Hera & Meg bonding REALLY made me excited because Chronic and I have talked about this too! This would be SUUUUCH an interesting dynamic!! Hera could help boost Meg's self-esteem, not only just helping her feel comfortable in her body when she's wearing more "fancy" clothes (because those are the clothes usually forced onto her by Nero, so Hera helping her essentially "reclaim" them for herself can be Female Empowerment whoop whoop!), but also just by gaining more confidence in herself.
On the flip side, I feel like Meg would be a GREAT person to get Hera to "loosen up" per say. You can't convince me Hera was Stone-Cold her whole life. nuh-uh. and you bet I think Meg could draw that old Hera out from that mask.
not to mention that Hera knows Demeter quite well. that would be an very interesting conversation between her and Meg, especially since Hera may be a bit unsure what to say since Meg was left to suffer under the thumb of an abusive emperor for years without her mother ever knowing. I think Hera might struggle with balancing making Demeter look good (perchance this be an opportunity to dig into Hera's toxic idea of "perfect families"? making them look good even when you really shouldn't?) and being honest with Meg. Even though Hera is a crafty goddess, I don't think she'd be very comfortable with straight-up lying about her family- she values that bond far too much.
Chronic and I discussed this AU as if Hera was in a middle-aged mortal body, mostly so we had that aunt-niece bond with Meg, and stepmom-stepson one with Apollo, but also because of our thoughts on "what would Hera consider to be undesirable in a mortal form?", much like how Apollo was horrified to be in a normal teenage boy body. So we thought "wrinkles, probably. don't even need that many, just a few would probably make her freak out." because she is a god, and is def NOT used to normal things like wrinkles lol there were other ideas too i just can't think of them at the moment lol
I can see teenage Hera working for an AU where it's just her and Meg, or even with Apollo still! It would be extremely funny if at some point, Apollo just turns around on Hera and says, deadpan, "Okay, Mom." to a literal sixteen year old.
not. not to mention. how The Burning Maze could go. explore that Juno-Jason relationship/dynamic. Chronic once suggested that Hera could get seriously injured saving Jason, so there's food for thought >:3
also. can you imagine the Triumvirate's panic when they realize they don't just got one ex-god to deal with. they got two now, and it's the fucking Queen of Olympus herself.
boys i'd start running if i were you mwhahahaahah!!
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she-whatshername ¡ 1 month ago
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A poly Tyrrish Men headcanon you didn’t ask for but I want for myself
Because I too can have nice things lolol. These are my pairings and why they’d be wonder for or terrible or both. NSFW below the cut. You’ve been advised
Xaden x Garrick
A shameless flirt and a drama queen. It’s giving both Sign me up and get me off this ride, lol
Seriously you’d have one partner who would flirt and charm with with everyone and another that wouldn’t let you look at someone else without seething in jealousy.
Though the dynamic could be fun. On solo nights Garrick is taking you out in public, dancing with you and being your guy for all social things.
Xaden is more reserved, great for nights you want to stay in or if you have a quiet night out together
But let’s not forget these are both men that are obsessed with you so no matter what they are showing you off in their own way
I’m sure they’d fight with eachother on who is better in bed
Like literally fight. Pillow fights would turn into fists real fast.
Speaking of bed get a large one they would both take up so much room
But fuck wouldn’t they be awesome together taking care of you. Could you imagine?!
Garrick x Imogen
BRO
Step on my heart
Would it be toxic? But would it also be one hell of a time? Yes.
Yes indeed
They give me “established couple that like to bring in a third” vibe and you’re the third.
And honestly, it’s the best
Imogen tolerating you enough to bring you into her relationship with Garrick, you know she really likes you lolol
To be in Imogen’s good graces at all is amazing.
And you wouldn’t have to do anything in the bedroom
They would just fight with eachother on who gets to have you first and you simply have to sit back and enjoy the ride
And Imogen always gets you first
We love a dominate queen
Xaden x Liam
I’ve seen it before in fics and I’m not against it
Soft and sweet with moody and broody
I can dig it
I imagine you have Xaden being so experienced and Liam not so it’s a mix of first times and good times
Tho Liam’s aftercare and snuggles would be epic
And when Xaden is out taking care of the revolution Liam would be perfect company
Golden retriever men are just yes
Bodhi x Liam
Clawing at the gates, let me in to this love
Honesty name a better duo
They would treat you like royalty
Like they would want to do everything together and if you don’t bring the other along they would both look at you with such a pout
Without being aware they’d often kiss you a the same time. Both going in for a kiss on either cheek
And omg they would shed their cutsey behavior so fast if you were ever in trouble tho. They wouldn’t hesitate at all
Bodhi x a mirror
Lolol this man is perfect all on his own his reflection is the only other man I’d need
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sameschmidtdiffname ¡ 10 months ago
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MIKE SMUT SMTH ABT HIS THIGHS AND HE S ALSO SUBBY PLSSSSS
DAAAAAAAAAARLIIIIIIIIIIING!
GUESS WHO JUST BROKE THEIR TWO WEEK BREEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAK!
Pretty
Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader
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Summery: Men are so pretty. And they can be so stupid. And who doesn't like stupid, pretty toys?
Tags: No specified sex for Reader, Reader is referred to with a male title at one point for sexual purposes (which one I won't say, but it's not daddy! I will say that), otherwise no gendered pronouns used for Reader, sub! Mike, dom! Reader, dynamic switch, accidental kink reveal, thigh admiration (this was not as focused on thighs as I intended, honestly. I'm sorry lmao), Mike gets used like a BITCH, and I mean a BITCH. Bro gets DOGGED, bro gets USED, bro may be PREGNANT after this (he ain't, no mpreg, I'm just being funny), humping, biting, french kissing, marking, choking, just have fun with this. It's a treat for all!
Notes: I'M STILL ON A BREAK! BUT, you guys have been so sweet and so nice. So, a drabble, because I love you all and you deserve it <3
                     ▪︎◇{¤♧■♧¤}◇▪︎
I've always admired hands.
Strong hands, working hands. One of the first things I look for in men is if their hands look like they're capable of long lasting, almost back breaking labor.
The second thing I look for is shoulders. Preferably broad, capable of holding the third thing I look for. Which would be
Thighs.
I don't even have a particular taste for what those look like. The desire doesn't lie within the looks, although I could certainly spend a fair amount of my time stealing glances towards a fine, large pair. Straining against the material of their pants, spread out over a chair, doubling in size once someone sits. No, the desire lies in how sensitive they seem to be. Just a ghostly touch of your hands or lips upon the soft skin can usually send someone reeling. Can make someone sing such a soft, quiet note so raw and genuine before you've even drawn near to the area they want you the most.
I should've touched him sooner like this.
Mike Schmidt doesn't pretend to be a macho man. He's not insecure of his masculinity, he raises his little sister, goes to work, comes to bed. He doesn't have time to worry about being a man's man.
I can attest, however. Once in the bedroom, he has absolutely no issue with expressing his masculinity.
In any way, shape or form.
"Touch me," he moans breathily, bucking his fully clothed hips towards me in a desperate, needing manner.
I never said masculinity involves domination.
It'd just started with us cuddling on the couch. Abby out at a friend's, us snuggled under a warm blanket at home on the couch. The comforter to his bed, to be specific. Everything else was too small or too cold for us, so we just dragged it out. The old TV in front of us displaying a rerun of a movie we were only halfway paying attention to, both of us beginning to drift in and out of sleep. Mike had wrapped me under his arm, placing a soft kiss on my forehead every now and then when he decided it'd been too long since he last had. I was pressed against his side, one hand on his thigh, absentmindedly rubbing circles.
Here's the fun thing about guys. Half the time they are so touch starved, it takes nothing to get them going. And that's fun.
I didn't realize why Mike was beginning to shift in his seat some. Why his heartbeat against my ear had picked up, why his breathing was getting somewhat shaky. Tell tale signs of something, but honestly I figured it was the movie. It wasn't until he pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead, then trailed down to my cheek, my jaw, and began nipping at my neck that it began to dawn on me.
"What's got you in a mood?" I chuckled, my fingers digging I just a little more to his warm, covered flesh.
"Nothing," he said breathily in my ear, his tongue beginning to trace my jawline. "Just thought you looked pretty."
I call his bluff when I dig into a tense muscle, a loud, pathetic moan escaping him that he tries to quickly stiffle in my neck. Moaning and biting at me, his hand beginning to search my chest to graze his fingers against my sensitive nipples, easy to play with under the smooth material of Mike's stolen, cotton shirt.
"Ah," I say, continuing to rub as he pants eagerly against me. "I see."
Mike's trying to maneuver us so that he can position himself on top of me, and regularly I would agree, but I'm not quite done with my new toy just yet.
"Let me up," I say into his ear, trying to pull away. Mike simply moans into my skin, biting harder as his fingers finally wrap around my already stiff nipple, tugging at it, making me moan in harmony to him. "Mike," I say, trying to ground us both.
Mike doesn't care, his other hand searching for my thighs, knowing how much I like for mine to be played with before he spends hours between my legs, gasping, choking, and grinning ear to ear with pride after swallowing whatever amount of cum I'd given him. His teeth sink into my neck again, this time not just playful. Digging in and making me cry out in slight pain, yet pleasure coursing through me as my eyes roll back into my head.
"So pretty," Mike moans against me, his voice soft and high. His lashes flutter butterfly kisses against my forming bruises while his lips trail to my collarbone, his stiff cock brushing against my hand as he shifts.
This is what settles the idea in my mind.
My hand snaps up, pulling harshly at Mike's dark, almost black curls, tugging until his head had snapped all the way backwards, exposing the tan skin of his throat to me. Eagerly, I lick a long, wide stripe up his throat, from bottom to top until I can clearly feel the prickly stubble of his facial hair on my tongue. His adams apple bobs under the wet muscle as he moans openly, a moan that only increases in volume and pitch once I bite roughly into the side of his neck, not allowing him a chance to escape as I keep my tight grip on his curls.
"Fu-ck," he drawls, his voice breaking as he begins to allow me to guide him to my desires, laying him on his back against the worn down couch, his hips subconsciously rolling towards me in anxiety for my touch.
"So pretty," I breathe in his ear, a soft whimper escaping him as his blush deepens, accenting the subtle freckles that decorate his skin like the stars decorate the night sky. I've tried to kiss each one, knowing the task was futile, but was well rewarded by the puddle of mush he'd dissolved into as my lips had trailed against his tan skin. Mike tries to turn his face away from me to hide the blush, unsure of how else to handle the compliment.
God, I love men. They're idiots.
I grab his jaw, forcing his mouth open and adoring the pathetic whine that escapes him as I shove my tongue into his mouth, his eyes half open, watching me as he gives in to the kiss, his hands tugging at my shirt as he humps against nothing, pent up and stupid underneath of me.
They're so cute, right?
When I pull away, a long string of spit still connects us, his eyes obediently trained on me as I pin him down against the couch by his throat, anticipating my next move. I move myself to tower over him, his mouth still open as he pants, and I spit into his mouth. His eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn't complain. Hell, by the glint in his eyes, you'd think he'd thank me. Though he doesn't.
It's fine. He will soon enough.
I lower myself along his body, my hands once more finding his thick thighs and squeezing them, admiring the firmness underneath of his shorts.
"Have I told you I love your thighs?" I ask, my breath fanning against his covered erection. Mike simply moans.
"I do. Watch them all the time. Don't even realize I'm doing it, honestly," I say. I lean down, placing a feather light kiss on his hip. He whines. "They're so pretty. Just like the rest of you."
His hips buck towards me, his cock obviously twitching underneath the material.
"Touch me," he moans, his face pink and halfway covered with his hand. I reach up and grab his hand away, smacking swiftly at his thigh.
"Be good," I snap, earning me a sharp gasp as he writhes underneath of me, mumbling some sort of agreement.
"Good," I praise softly. "Good. See, that wasn't so hard."
My lips start at his knee, kissing there and beginning to work their way up as he clasps his hands above his head, teeth gritted in an attempt to stay quiet.
"You can moan," I tell him, my other hand slipping underneath the pant legs of his shorts. "I like the pretty sounds you make."
Pretty. I didn't know that was his trick word. The word that could force him into a pathetic, begging mess that can't even keep eye contact. Oh, he's beautiful. Bite marks blooming against his skin, such a deep blush, tossled curls. His soft abdomen shutters with each unsteady breath, slightly exposed, his happy trail dark against his skin and leading to the place that shows how he wants me. His tongue darting out to lick his lips so often they'll be chapped by the end of the night from overstimulation. That's his tell that he's close.
"What, pretty boy gonna cum in his pants?" I ask, my hand trailing along his hot skin and digging my nails in to make him sing. His back arches slightly, eyes trained on the ceiling as his mouth opens in an almost silent gasp.
"No," he clearly lies, his hips subtly moving of their own accord.
"You look like such a pretty mess!" I chuckle against his skin, pressing a soft kiss on his lower thigh. "I wouldn't blame you if you did."
He doesn't respond to this, clearly lost in his thoughts.
"Michael," I say, voice slightly firm. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you."
Mike rolls his eyes, huffing and not obeying. Aw. Cute.
My hands grip underneath of his knees, quickly shoving them to meet his shoulders, eyes wide as he gasps at the maneuver he's done to me so many times I can't even count. Shoved into a mating press, I grind my hips against him, pounding against him quickly and harshly, relishing the broken sounds he makes as I hump him hard enough his head is bouncing against the arm of the couch, his eyes fluttering shut as they roll into the back of his head.
"It's a simple request," I hiss against his skin, rewarded with a loud moan. "I didn't ask for your fuckin' attitude."
The glint in his eyes when they open unintentionally shows he's fine with this response, happy to take more and more until he really does cum with hardly any stimulation to his cock. His mouth is open, tongue peaking out from behind his bottom teeth, his breathing on the cusp of hyperventilating as he submits to my touch.
"Is it so hard?" I ask, keeping even time with my abusive pace. "To just listen to me?"
"No, sir," Mike moans happily.
Oh?
"What was that?" I ask, leaning closer as I shove his knees harder against his shoulders. His eyes snap open, dead ahead on the ceiling as his mind clearly tries to process what to say next.
"Nothing," he says quickly.
"Bullshit," I snap, adjusting my grip so one arm pins his knees so that my hand can snake down between us and smack at his ass in scolding. "Repeat yourself."
"I don't know what I said," he says quickly, avoiding eye contact.
I smack again, this time hard enough he cries out.
"Say it," I seethe, increasing my tempo and pounding harder against him until he looks like he may cry, his eyes squeezed shut and mouth open as he pants like a whore underneath of me.
"Sir," he finally admits, shame burning bright in his cheeks. "I called you sir."
I toss his legs onto my shoulders, my hand now finding his throat as I hump him into the bed, rewarding his honestly.
"I see," I drawl, not relenting my pace nor strength. "Someone's into getting used."
This seems to roll him over the edge, his face bright and relaxing as his eyes flutter shut, only for me to bite at his bottom lip, causing them to open again.
"Watch me," I command, biting harshly into his lip. "I wanna see how pretty you look when you cum like a good toy."
His eyes widen slightly, his mouth slack as he obeys. The moment I release his lip his tongue darts out to wet it, lingering over the soft bite marks.
"It's alright, you can do it," I say softly, choking him slightly harder. "Let me watch, then I'll let you fuck me however you want."
His eyes are pleading, begging for more.
"You want something? Use your words," I tell him, slamming particularly hard this time, hard enough his head slams into the couch concerningly. But he doesn't mind, does he?
"Kiss me," he breathes, so light, the request sounds innocent and sweet compared to the way I'm abusing him on his own couch. I comply, pressing my lips against his in a soft, sweet kiss that he whines into, his lips parting and tongue slipping against my lips in a sloppy, pleading, silent request. And how can I say no?
I part my lips for him, enjoying the way he arches into the kiss, moaning as our tongues slide together in a messy, graceless fight for control. My lips trap the tip of his tongue, sucking on it and tugging it upwards harshly as he cries out, his hips beating against mine as his lashes flutter shut once more, but this time I don't scold him. I simply grind against him as hard and as fast as my tiring body will allow, guiding him through his overwhelming orgasm, the sounds of his crystal clear moans cutting through the air, perfectly complimenting his red face, glistening eyes and shaking body.
"That's it," I coo in his ear. "That's a good toy. Just let me fuck you."
He's stupid and lost to the world, his cock twitching pathetically as thick ropes of cum decorate the inside of his shorts, making the material stick to his skin, overstimulating him as I begin to lessen my pace, beginning to give him grace he no longer has words to ask for.
"So pretty," I whisper as I try to kiss each tiny freckle on his beet red nose, his breath hot against my throat as he tries to regain his focus. "So pretty, and mine."
"Where the fuck did that come from?" Mike slurs stupidly underneath of me, his legs still trembling on my shoulders.
I giggle, smiling as I lean down to place another kiss, sweet this time, against Mike's swollen, glossy lips.
"I dunno," I say, shrugging. Mike whimpers as I pull away.
"Guess I just thought you were pretty."
                             ¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤
I'm 100% gonna be late for work because of this, but worth it
Taglist:
@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3
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redrandomposts ¡ 2 months ago
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another au idea floating in my head
AU where ivan time travels back to pre-meteor shower after his death. he now definitely knows that till would never pick him over mizi so with all the knowledge he gained from the past life, he manages to pull a miracle and get all four of them out of anakt garden safely. mizi was definitely hard to convince so ivan had to, um, kindly shatter her innocent worldview and now both sua and till hate him for making mizi sad lmao but that's fine, they're getting out of there. what's two more people ending up hating him, honestly ?
and by some other miracle, the children were found by human rebels. they're taken in, clothed, fed, and are now essentially free from the aliens.
ivan sees this as his job being done and starts to slowly drift away from the other three. now that theyre free and not being prepped like lambs for slaughter, he doesn't have anything to offer them anymore. what other use could they have for him, really ? so he just floats around the human base, distracting himself by making himself as useful as possible to the other humans
(the other humans are just incredibly worried about this blank-eyed kid who looks like he wants to be hugged so fucking bad but also like he would crumble into dust the moment someone touched him, but ivan's a stubborn bastard who wont listen to anybody so they give him easy tasks in order to keep an eye on him)
the adults take notice of the now strained dynamics between ivan, sua, and till and how mizi is caught in the middle and try to help the kids sort through their feelings.
idk maybe sua wont give a fuck since all she cares abt is mizi but mizi would definitely want to repair the broken bridges bc these are her friends :( and ivan has definitely risked a lot to bring them to safety, hasnt he ? it's unfair how sua and till were being mean to him all because he made mizi cry.
but then there's till. would he try to make amends for mizi's sake ? or would he look even further away from ivan out of guilt ? who knows.
(and imagine the other three start to get memories of their past life through flashbacks and dreams later on lmao)
— 🌦️
me: ooh! a concept! what would u like me to do with this?
🌦️: ideas!!
me: here's your half-a-fanfiction that will make you shed tears!
i have no idea how it happened, by the way. it just did.
===
the escape is rocky at best—ivan was just barely able to get till up in time last time. the only thing keeping this from falling apart is probably of his past experience and fantasies that never came to fruition.
before till or sua, he'd get mizi first, except she has the most security around her; her owner treated her as a precious princess, after all. he's forced to get till then sua (who posed quite a problem, too), and have them both witness his struggle in getting mizi to come along. sua would be a massive help in persuasion, maybe even till, but ivan had uet to disable the chips in those two that set off alarms whenever a certain place was breached. it'd be more efficient if all three of them were gathered while he turned those off.
it's no surprise the animosity that comes from both of them as he rips off the bandage that had been blinding mizi, losing her oh-so-precious smile in favor of tears. sua whisper yelled at him, beating him down for daring to make mizi cry and why were they doing this anyway? till joined in, too, and ivan was barely able to divert the guard's attention.
they do manage to leave successfully, though. it's nothing short of a miracle—sua and till's glares digging into his back, mizi's muffled sobs barely getting by security... it takes a few hours longer than the last life, too.
that's a shame. ivan would have liked to see the meteor shower again.
running across the fields, it's ivan who sees them first. he has to he diligent; he's the leader, the one in front, he's the oldest, and the other two are focused on mizi and her tears.
human rebels. ivan knew they existed, but he's never seen them in his past life. they are driving in motorcycles down the dusty road. he calls out to them, eyes wide and hopefully projecting an innocence he's lost before he went to anakt garden.
would this have been an opportunity he and till would have had in that life?
===
before, ivan would have assumed that till and sua would ease up on their fervent hate of him. tears weren't especially special, considering the life they had led—that ivan had led. while no one had cried for him, he knew that they cried for others, and an awful lot at that too.
a month later, as sua purposefully took the last sweet treat on the tray, glaring at him, all he could think was hypocrite. sua had made mizi cry the hardest, and would have had he not pulled them out so soon.
and when till screamed and beat him down whenever ivan tried to get near him or dares to talk to him, sparing no mercy as he expended his entire vocabulary on ivan, ivan... wished he could say he didn't care too much.
ivan looks at the adults and wonders how they thought of the messy situation. witnessing how the two children bullied the one they assumed was the leader, in defense of someone who didn't really need nor want it. watching how they guarded one from another, effectively isolating him. noticing how they took the happiness the rebels had tried so hard to make and provide from him.
ivan doesn't know, nor does he want to know, but everytime he sees a sweet pastry on his bed—well, it's impossible not to make a conjecture.
the adults have tried to meddle. in fact, mizi—their sun, their light of their life, their god—had tried to meddle. it's fruitless, though; till nor sua will let ivan get a word in, even if the adults are there, and they're thoroughly convinced ivan had managed to manipulate mizi into intervening.
ivan stopped in front of a cracked open door when he heard shouting. he and the others had split rooms, leaving him alone in the smaller one. "guys, ivan isn't that bad! he got all of us out, that day, he must've been stressed too!"
"he couldn't have done it nicer?" sua grumbled.
"he doesn't know how to be nice," till countered, equally upset. "ivan's no good news, mizi. it's better if you stay away. he might—he might steal your things and beat you up."
"glad we can agree on one thing."
"that's ridiculous! you're ridiculous! it's just a bit of tears, it doesn't mean a lot, guys!"
"you never cried before," sua pointed out, eyes narrowed. "stop defending him, mizi. ivan doesn't deserve it."
===
ivan stands alone in the field, looking at the night sky and trying to conjure the lyrics he had written so long ago. it's been a few years since the escape, and on the anniversary each year he'd go to see if there's a meteor shower and sing the songs that marked death.
at the age of ten, they'd manage to escape anakt garden; all four of them. at fifteen, ivan finds that he's forgotten both songs he'd sung on stage for aliens to listen and for till to hear. it's not that big a problem, except he can't recall what sua would look like on the day of her death, either, nor what dress mizi wore when she disappeared, nor how till looked when he sang that song for mizi.
maybe it'd be easier to imagine if they let him near then in this life. instead, in the five years he's been here, it's mostly ivan doing odd jobs alone around the base when he can. he lessens the work on till and sua and mizi by taking it upon himself to do it first. the rest of them don't say anything about it anymore.
not too far away, in his own room, till shoots out of bed, forehead dripping sweat. his eyes are wide, brain working overtime, yet he can only catch fleeting parts of his nightmare—a missing poster.
===
ivan is twenty, ten years since their escape, and nearly every memory from his first life erased. he desperately grasps onto a meteor shower, one that he missed in this life, but he's not an artist who can immortalize the scene. he wishes he could, he does, and as he stands outside, his last memory leaves him.
ivan's long stopped trying to grasp at the melody of black sorrow or the lyrics of cure, so he's silent as he looks up.
ivan doesn't go back to the base. he can't stand another round of shots in the heart, not when he lost his final memory. he doesn't know where he will go, but it's not here.
on earth, he'd officially be an adult. today, he feels as though he's a little child who lost his parents forever.
=====
OH MY GOD I MIGHT CRY WHAT THE HELL
what devil possessed me
FUCK IM CRYING
sua starts the whole "ivan doesn't deserve it" and till follows her lead. crowd mentality, ig, till has some doubts but mizi holds a higher place in his heart.
the adults don't get too close, because ivan doesn't let them, but they do remind him that he has a place in the base. candies, pastries, clothes, and toys are left in his room by them when they notice he's particularly feeling down. it's concerning how much this occurs.
ivan starts to lose his memories because he largest wish—give till freedom—has been completed. meanwhile, a deeper and more silent wish to be loved causes the other three to regain their memories. unfortunately, ivan runs away before that one comes true.
ivan says he feels like a child when he loses that last memory — that's because he never grew up after going back in time. his maturity came from the memories, and without them he is a lost child.
on the last night, till's last memory he gained is actually r6, when ivan dies for him. he gets up immediately to find him, except he's nowhere to be found.
perhaps in a sequel till goes to find ivan and they make up—or, perhaps in a sequel ivan is found dead or captured.
scrapped scene:
"ivan, you're the reason they managed to escape, right?"
"yes..."
"what would you change? if you had to escape again?"
"i'd want to see the meteor shower. we missed it because it took too long to get out of the garden."
"i see. how'd you know about the meteor shower?"
"...hyuna told me."
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dearly-somber ¡ 6 months ago
Text
a…s…m…r | | m.jh
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-> pairing. boyfriend!myung jaehyun x f!reader
-> genre. established relationship, (domestic) fluff
-> rating. 13+
-> w/c. 863
-> warnings. None!
-> a/n. Inspired by the Tingle Salon interview he did with Woonhak. I think they both have very calming voices 😪 PSA: this ended up not including anything about what this whole thing was inspired by (aka: the asmr) but oh well 🤷🏻‍♀️
-> bnd ficlets, oneshots and series m.list
-> started. May 28th, 2024 @ 22:29
-> fin. Mon., Jun. 10th, 2024 @ 23:41
-> edited. Thurs., Jun. 13th, 2024 @ 23:38
-> divider credit. @plutism
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You and Jaehyun have, more than once, been told that your relationship is peak “black cat x golden retriever”. And honestly?
You wholeheartedly agree ((─‿─)).
You’d hated it at first—you don’t even remember why; maybe because you didn’t like people trying to box your relationship into a fixed dynamic, but nowadays you embrace it with open arms.
Really the only reason you don’t mind it is because Jaehyun’s started calling you “kitty” and, as much as you hate to admit it, you think it’s kinda cute. And also a little hot, but that’s a whole different thing. You just recently changed his contact name on your phone from “Loml💕” to “Puppy😻”, actually—mostly because you don’t have the guts to call him puppy out of your own mouth just yet…
…but that doesn’t mean you don’t think about it!
Anyway, that’s beside the point. The only reason you brought it up was to (very amaturely) segue into what you actually wanted to talk about via some strange, semi-related metaphor(?).
Imagine this: you’re planning on sleeping over at your boyfriend’s house Friday to Sunday (because school and work have been keeping you apart and you miss him); you arrive late Friday evening tired as fuck from a twelve hour shift and ready to pass the fuck out—but wait!—your sweetest Myungjae waited up for you the entire night and is coming to greet you before you’ve gotten your foot halfway through the door!
“Hey, kitty.” Jaehyun takes your duffle bag and drops it somewhere next to the shoe rack, pulling you into his chest with his arms around your shoulders.
You hum into his chest as your hands slide around his waist, closing your eyes and burying your nose in his shoulder (where you proceed to deeply and unabashedly inhale his natural smell mixed with the vanilla of his shower gel, letting out a satisfied sigh after which makes him snort). Your hands slide from his waist to the small of his back, your fingers naturally running over the muscles in his back.
“I missed you,” you mumble.
Jaehyun hums sympathetically, cupping your face and tilting your head back to look at you proper. You catch a glimpse of the soft smile on his face before he leans in and kisses you all over, your eyes fluttering shut at the loving onslaught. “Missed you too,” he says against your cheek, giving you one last peck on the lips before taking you by the hand to lead you to his room.
“How long have you been waiting?” you ask as he crawls into bed, letting out an old-man groan when he’s settled under the covers on his back.
“Not long,” he assures you noncommittally, patting his chest in invitation for you to join him, visibly eager to have you close.
“Let me change first,” you laugh, shaking your head at the overdramatic whine he lets out as you turn around to dig through his cupboard for something comfortable to wear.
“How was work?” he asks.
You groan, throwing your work shirt to the floor as you pull one of Jaehyun’s looser shirts over your head. “Don’t get me started on work,” you grumble, kicking off your slippers.
“Not good?”
“When is it ever,” you sigh, waving a dismissive hand when the fluffy grey sweatpants you pulled on at random starts slipping down your hips—you can’t be bothered to change into something that fits.
Finally turning around, you’re greeted once again by the highly inviting scene of your boyfriend patiently waiting for you to join him, bedsheets pooled around his hips.
You climb up the bed and into his warmth with a soft grin, throwing your leg over his waist and resting your hands above his shoulders. You hover over him as his hands gravitate to your hips, tenderly pulling your waistband a little higher up your stomach before focusing his eyes on your face.
You stare at him long enough for him to smile and raises his brow at you in that probing, flirtatious way he used to before you got together—it’s an expression you like to tease him for whenever you can (except you’re too tired to come up with anything good to say).
“What is it?” he asks, letting his fingers drum against your side while his eyes sparkle at you questioningly.
“Nothing,” you mumble. “Jus’ pretty.”
“Me?” he laughs.
You hum with a tired grin, leaning down to tuck your head under his chin while moving your hands to rest on top of his head. “Puppy.”
“Puppy?” he repeats, high-pitched and squeaky.
“Puppy,” you confirm, turning your head to place a loving kiss against his throat. “‘M tired now, Jae… can we talk in the morning?”
“S-sure, babe,” Jaehyun stumbles over his words (probably because he’s still stuck on the whole puppy thing) before he kisses the crown of your head, wrapping you up in his arms.
“Love you,” he whispers.
“Love you, too,” you whisper back, letting out a long, satisfied exhale and smiling into his neck as you immediately doze off to the sound of his heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
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